#He still has reservations about being with her given the manner of his birth

[bunsandstuff]

“Alright, I’ve closed my eyes. What is it?”

A first kiss

[lilyharvord]

Sun

OH OH BABY. It’s MOTHER’S DAY. You know what that means…. :))))  It’s time to celebrate Mare Barrow. While I’m working on the next chapter of the Chain, I figured I’d give you guys this. This next chapter is gonna have to steep like a fine tea cause it’s Cal and the Colonel going head to head and those conversations need to be GOOD. LOL it’s unedited too, sorry. ALSO AVAILABLE ON AO3: link 

Rain patters against the window next to me, but the day outside is too dreary and grey for the event that occurred this morning. I couldn’t care less though, my entire focus is on the little bundle squirming in my arms. My son is as restless as he was inside of me. Still, I smile down at him as I lean back further into the pillows so I can see him better. He looks like me, and like Shade. My heart breaks a fraction at the thought, and heals at the same time. I never thought I’d see my brother’s face again, but there it is, on my son’s.

A tiny gasp draws my eye to the doorway, and my face splits into an elated grin as Coriane sprints across the room and tries to leap onto the bed.

“Momma!” She cries as she only manages to get the top half of her body up. Cal’s right behind her to lift her the last foot so she can crawl across the sheets to me.

“Hello darling.” I laugh as she nuzzles into my side. “I’ve only been gone a day, but you are acting like it’s been forever.”

“It was forever!” She bemoans, her large amber eyes growing impossibly wider as she tries to wind her arms around one of mine. “Grandma told me I had to sit and be quiet but it was so long.”

I don’t need an imagination to picture how that went. My child has more energy than a lightning storm. She bounces around rooms with a smile bright enough to power Ascendant for the rest of its existence, but she can be loud, and a handful if Cal or I isn't there to keep her in check.

“I hope you were good.” I murmur, earning a bright red blush from her as she turns her eyes to Cal. He sink down on the edge of the bed as she crawls away to sit in front of him. Nearly identical features mirror each other as he raises a brow at her when she looks up at him. That simple fact is a reminder of why I’m holding another baby right now. I may have carried and birthed Coriane into the world, but she is her father’s daughter in all aspects. She looks like him, she mimics almost every one of his expressions, and she follows him around like a duckling. The only distinguishing factors are her burning Red blood, and my skin color and mass of curls. I wanted one more to even the score when I realized that maybe she was more of a daddy’s girl than we had originally thought. And I got my wish, which makes me happier than a bird taking flight.

“I was.” She replies when Cal doesn’t step to her immediate defense like he normally does. Which just tells me she was opposite of good and I may have to find a way to thank my parents for watching her.

Her eyes fall to her brother and she edges away from Cal to get closer to me, a strange silence and stillness falling over her. She sits on her haunches next to me, her eyes trained on the little baby sleeping in my arms. She reaches a tentative hand out, but pulls it back quickly, as if thinking better of touch him.

“It’s all right.” I assure her, before shifting Shade so she can see him better. She leans forward, her eyes blinking a few times as she takes in his now sleeping face. With one of her fingers, she touches the tip of his nose and then traces his cheek.

“His skin is so soft.” She whispers, before looking up at me with wide eyes.

“Yours was too.” Cal teases before leaning forward with her. I haven’t let him hold Shade yet, and he may be getting a little impatient that it’s been a few hours. I wanted my time with him first, and he had willingly given it to me. He knew from the moment I found out it was boy that this was going to be my baby for a while. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to hold his son though.

“He’s so small. Was I that small?”            “You were actually smaller.” I smile weakly at the memory of her little body settling in my arms for the first time. Tears begin to build in my eyes at the memory and I roll them at the hormones that will take a while to calm down, before wiping the tears away.

Coriane watches my movement with a curious tilt of her head. That’s not one of Cal’s movements. A part of me flutters in surprise at the concept. She must be starting to develop her own mannerisms. Julian told me she would eventually, when she got old enough to start building her own personality. And she certainly is doing just that.

“I’m not sad darling.” I say, even though another tear slips by and falls down my check. She still wears her concern like Cal though, between her brows which scrunch just slightly.

Reaching my hand out, I curl my arm around her little shoulders and pull her into my side. She settles on her knees so she can press into me at a comfortable angle. “Sometimes, people are so happy, they can’t hold it in and it comes out as tears.”

“Having a new baby made you so happy you are crying?” Coriane reasons as she reaches a hand out for Shade again. He blinks open honey colored eyes and yawns. My daughter’s face splits into a bright grin as he weakly closes his hand around two of her little fingers.

I don’t know what gods to thank for the fact that she does not think we’re replacing her, or handling this like any of my siblings did when a new baby came. I remember thinking Gisa was the worst thing my mother ever made, simply because she took my parent’s attention away from me for a bit. Coriane hasn’t shown us that she’s acting like that. In fact, she had been the opposite side of the spectrum. She might have been more excited at the prospect of the baby than we were.

“Both of you make me so very happy I can’t hold it in.” I whisper to her before pressing a kiss on her hair. Never in my wildest fantasies did I see this day coming. I may have had faint visions of children when I lived in the Stilts, but those thoughts had never been serious. I had been so focused on simply getting through the day, I hadn’t thought about the months or years to come. I didn’t want to bring a child into the mud and the life that I had been forced to live. I didn’t even really want to bring one into this new world that we were all forging from the broken pieces of the old. But Coriane had moved inside of me, and I had become so sure of the path I was walking that when I finally saw her face, I knew I had made at least one right decision in my life.

Cal’s hand is warm on my knee as he gentle massages the joint with his thumb. Laying my cheek on Cori’s head, I smile at him. He returns the gesture. He looks tired, maybe just as tired as I do. We have a long couple years ahead of us too. Piedmont tries to march on the States every other month, and the Lakelands puddle along to the beat of their own drum, no matter how hard Evangeline tries to beat a different one. Tiraxes and Prairie refuse to hear talks or peace. We’ll be called on sooner rather than later. I know now more than ever, I will be loath to leave this little slice of peace that Cal and I have carved out over the years. There is war and strife all around us, but at least for this moment, we are together.

Pressing another long kiss to Coriane’s head, I whisper to her. “Your brother’s name is Shade.”

“Daddy told me.” Coriane replies in kind. “Grandma said it’s a special name like mine. That it was your brother’s name.”

“It was.” I try to keep my voice even, but it breaks on that admission all the same. Cal’s hand grows a little warmer, and he squeezes my knee a little tighter. There’s no room for him this high up on the bed, but he still wants me to know he’s here. I couldn’t be more grateful for him in this moment.

Coriane rests her head in crock of my shoulder and says, “He’s Clara’s daddy.”

“He was. And he would have loved both of you.”

Shade would have loved my daughter like he loved his own. I know he would have, and he would have teased Cal mercilessly the whole time. His absence is like a knife in my heart still, but the blade has dulled over the years. My son has dulled that blade further, and I suppose removed it an inch.

“Can I hold him?” Coriane breathes her question so quietly I almost miss it.

When I don’t respond to she looks to Cal and then back up to me for permission. I hesitantly push her hair behind her ear in response to her gaze.

“Dad hasn’t held him yet.” I murmur in answer, and her little lips immediately purse into a pout.

Cal rises from the bed in the rustle of sheets before scooping her into his arms and sinking down next to me with Cori in his lap. “We can hold him together.” He says to her with a smile that is reserved only for her. She grins back up at him, before turning that shining look on her brother. She practically vibrates out of Cal’s lap as I reluctantly give him over to them.

Even though Cal takes most of Shade’s weight in his hands, it’s Coriane’s body that Shade presses up against. He squirms for a moment, not happy with being shifted so much so soon, but settles quickly as Cal adjusts for him.

Coriane’s eyes open wide and her mouth opens in a little circle as she whispers, “he’s heavy momma.”

“You don’t need to tell me that darling.” I can’t help the comment. It slips past the filters I built after having my daughter. She’s getting older though, and she understands those sideways jokes for the most part now.

           “Be careful, make sure you don’t move too much.” Cal warns her when she squirms and tries to hold him by herself.

           “She’s all right, let her try.” I nod down to our children and Cal watches me for a heartbeat, trying to judge my comment. When I don’t say anything else, he adjusts his grip and lets Coriane take the full weight of her brother. She takes to him like a duck on water, and grins up at me when he nuzzles into her chest. I return her smile, joy oozing out of me. The lights overhead flicker for a moment, and then buzz louder as my emotion tries to manifest as something else.

           Cal smirks at me, but I can feel the pride and heat that rolls off of him in waves. He can’t hide it either. He wanted this as much as I did. I’ve always known he would be a good father, whether or not I was the mother of those children had remained to be seen. But it happened, and I couldn’t be happier to be doing this with him, to be growing our family and trying to carve out a place for them in the world.

           “He looks beautiful.” Cal leans around Coriane to whisper that to me, trying not to disturb the moment our daughter is having as she coos nonsense to Shade. Clara did the same thing to her when we brought Cori home and let my niece stick her head into the bassinet to say hello. The memory brings another wave of happiness over me that immediately makes the lights buzz again.

           “He’s healthy, and that’s all that matters to me.” I reply with a smile before letting him press a gentle kiss to my lips.

           “You were faster this time. Even your mother was impressed.” He teases before pulling back to avoid the sparks I try to snap at his cheek with. He smooths Coriane’s curls as he gives me a mischievous smirk she completely misses. I hope she never sees that smile, because then she’ll start copying it, and I don’t think I can take my child smirking at me like that.

           “Momma.” Coriane calls for me again, forcing me to switch my scowl for a smile instantly. She tries to wiggle and offer Shade back to me, her face pinched with her effort. Cal almost dives forward to make sure he makes it back into my arms, and I have to move just as quickly to avoid him falling into my lap. He makes it nonetheless, and I breathe a tiny sigh of relief as I sink back. Coriane, oblivious to the moment as much as a child can be, immediately starts trying to cliimb all over Cal. Apparently she was done sitting still.

           Cal manages to wrap an arm around her when she throws herself over his shoulder and says, “I wanna go play with Clara again.”

           “You don’t want to stay with momma and Shade?” Cal asks her as he twists to catch her and guide her back into his lap. She giggles at the game immediately does the whole thing again.

           “I wanted to make sure momma was okay. She’s okay.” Coriane dangles from his shoulder again and gives me an upside down smile from around Cal’s back. “And Shade’s okay too. I wanna go play now.”

           Cal pulls her back through and manages to wrangle her into stillness before saying, “let’s try to stay together as a family for a little bit.”

           Immediately she pouts, and her eyes glint as she glances at the door. I know that look, and it does not belong to Cal. That’s my brain turning wheels over and planning how to escape.

           “Just for a little bit darling.” I whisper as I reach out to brush my fingers through her hair. She glances at me, drawn like a magnet. I wonder if she’s an Ardent, an electricon like me who senses the electricity that dances under my skin. We haven’t had her tested, and we don’t want to know either. Let her be normal for a bit.

           Her pout melts away and she lets Cal hold her a bit closer before moving closer to me so we’re all squished together. I’d normally protest the discomfort, but right this moment, I want all of them as close as possible. A warm arm slides around my shoulders and I sigh before sliding into Cal’s embrace and resting my head as best I can against him. Coriane wiggles between us, trying to get comfortable, until she ends up in the crevice between our bodies. She’s already getting too big to squeeze into that space, and soon Shade will be that size and then they’ll both be grown. When they are, they’ll be taller than me, Sara told me as much. I don’t mind that though. I’d hate for my children to be burdened with my height.

           “This is the last one.” I whisper to Cal after a few minutes of being lulled by his warmth. Coriane sighs as I shift, and when I glance down, it’s to see her eyelashes fluttering as she dreams. I hope they’re happy dreams, tinged pink and covered in honey. She deserves that life, and I plan to carve it into existence with my bare hands for her and for Shade.

           “You said that after Cori.” I can hear the laughter in Cal’s voice at the same time that I feel his lips curl into a smile against my temple.

           “I’m serious this time. I’m fine with being a mother twice over. But if you get me pregnant again, I will kill you, Tiberias.” I murmur, but the threat loses all power as I smile down at Shade who grabs a tiny fistful of my shirt.

           His laugh is quiet, but deep and wonderful. I love that he laughs so much these days, that I laugh just as much. His fingers brush along the scars that reach up the back of my neck as he whispers, “But you make such a wonderful mother.”

           I can’t help but smile, even at the same time that I swear to myself that Shade will be the last one.

[wallgirl]

The Little Nereid Part 10

Record of Ragnarok fanfiction

Poseidon x OC

Word count: 3,100

Dynamene, youngest of the 50 Nereids, has lived most of her adolescence as a servant alongside her sisters at Poseidon’s palace. But with her coming-of-age birthday and other developments, what she initially thought was just admiration of her master blossoms into something stronger and more passionate… and painful.

Categories and warnings: Romance, angst, unrequited love, coming-of-age, earn-your-happy-ending, slow-burn (ish); no sexual content. There will be some graphic violence in the future.

Updated regularly, twice a week; will have about ?16? parts total.

---

Three long banquet tables took up the middle of the palace's dining hall. The middle table was reserved for the family and their close friends; the other tables were filled by guests of every sort. Each table was piled high with mountains of mouth-watering dishes; quail and fish; breads and pastries; olives and cheese. Gilded bowls of fresh fruit grown in the neighboring orchards and gardens were being served by dryads, and the satyrs went around with large jugs of wine, ensuring that no one's glass went unfilled.

Dynamene, now dressed in her finest golden peplos and her ceremonial coral wreath, made her way through the high-spirited crowd. After stopping to exchange bows and pleasantries with a faun she'd attended school with as a small child, she heard someone call her name. Turning around, she saw Thoe waving her over to a chair at the main table.

"Your seat's here next to me. You know, since we're seated in birth order," Thoe sighed as Dynamene took her chair. "I don't miss having to sit in order like this."

"What, don't like being reminded you're one of the youngest too?" Dynamene laughed.

"I am still nearly four centuries older than you, and don't you forget it!" Thoe protested, jabbing at her lightly.

"Well, since you're the second youngest of us thirteen here tonight, I suppose you're stuck next to me." Dynamene craned her head to look towards the front of the room. "Where are Mother and Father?"

"Ianeira said they'd be out any minute. Everyone else should be taking their seats soon..."

As if on cue, everyone still on their feet scrambled to their seats. The satyrs hurried to top up the last of the glasses before chugging down the remaining wine in the jugs for themselves. The eleven other Nereids present quickly made their way to the table, talking in excited whispers. "They're coming," Ianeira announced as she took her seat close to the head of the table.

Two figures appeared at the entrance at the front of the great hall, and the crowd's clamor dimmed to a murmur. Nereus and Doris, the esteemed father and mother of the Nereids, had made their appearance at last.

They were both tall and statuesque, though the similarities ended there. Nereus was an imposing man with a kind face, his smile largely hidden behind a vast beard that fell nearly halfway down his broad chest. He rose one hand in greeting to his guests, who called back their approval. "Greetings, my esteemed guests; my dearest of friends; and, of course, my beloved daughters. We are beyond honored to share our hospitality with you tonight."

Doris beamed at her daughters, her dark eyes crinkling warmly. Her long black hair fell in spirited waves and curls to her thighs, decorated on top with a coral hairpiece that matched theirs. "We are gathered here this evening to rejoice; thirteen of our beautiful daughters have returned home to celebrate Dynamene's coming-of-age. Please join us in filling this evening with merriment beyond heart's measure!" She rose her glass in a toast, and the rest of the hall joined her with cheer.

The opening speech given, the crowd returned to socializing. Doris and Nereus made their way to their gilded thrones at the head of the family table.

"More and more beautiful every year," Doris sighed contentedly, looking at her daughters with pride. "I am so glad to see you again, loves. It's so quiet here with you all away."

"I don't know about that; Nerites almost makes enough noise to make up for it," laughed Nereus merrily.

"That's not true!" Nerites protested from the other end of the table. He looked up from the kabob of roasted fish he was chewing. "I make more than enough noise."

The family erupted with laughter at his unexpectedly peeved retort. "I jest, Nerites," Nereus soothed. "You're the noisiest lad on the coast; I promise."

"Especially on days your father and I are trying to sleep in," Doris added smoothly, passing a plate of poached figs to her husband.

"Aye, and the days we're not trying to sleep in, too," Nereus whispered boldly, winking saucily at her. Dynamene nearly choked on her wine as her older sisters laughed at his raunchy remark. Doris threw a grape at him playfully.

"Mind your manners, or we'll be sleeping in separate suites entirely tonight, and it won't matter either way."

"Ah, just having a bit of a laugh, my love." Nereus brushed her hair back affectionately. "But your mother is right; it's not the same here with all of you girls gone. Too bad the rest couldn't come as well."

"I'm surprised Poseidon agreed to let thirteen of us come to begin with," Actaea said, swirling her wine thoughtfully.

"He does have business elsewhere, so he doesn't need all of us tending the palace as usual," Ianeira replied. "Honestly, though, he could have let all of us come and things wouldn't change at all. It's not like anyone else would be there to make a mess."

"Mm, quite right." Thoe took a dainty bite from a pear. "I'm sure he wants to keep the rest there just to prove he can. Another status symbol."

Dynamene stared at her plate. I'm sure he's not doing it just out of spite.

"Do you want something else to eat, Dynamene?" Doris asked. "I know lobster isn't your favorite. Do you want to try some quail?"

"Oh, no," Dynamene rushed, holding up her hands. "Just lost in thought. I've grown more fond of lobster lately, to be honest; especially with lime sauce."

Doris tutted fondly. "Finally getting a taste for shellfish; you really have come-of-age, haven't you?"

Ianeira watched quietly for a moment, then spoke up. "Mother, do you think I could speak to you in private later tonight?"

Doris looked up in concern. "Of course, dearest; is everything alright? Is it something we should speak about right away?"

"No, it's not urgent," Ianeira said. "Just something that's been worrying me." Her gaze lingered on Dynamene, who took notice, before quickly darting away.

Again with that strange air of secretiveness... But what does it mean? Dynamene pondered for a moment.

Oh, well. I suppose if it involves me, I'll find out sooner or later. She reached out to try a bit of quail. Lobster still really wasn't quite her favorite.

---

Some hours later, the feast had ended and the guests had dispersed. Dynamene had retired to take a soothing bath in the wide tub of the grand bath. Worn out from the long day, and stuffed to bursting with delicious food, it felt wonderful to let herself relax in the hot salt water. It wasn't long before she began to feel sleepy, and she knew it was time to head to bed.

Freshly bathed, and with her damp hair hanging loose, she put on a fresh chiton that smelled of the ocean outside. She felt so much more relaxed since they'd arrived at home. She left the bathroom and wandered down the dimly lit halls to her childhood bedroom. The gentle orange glow of the torches set a warm, soft light everywhere it touched. Her bare feet weren't cold against the ground here, unlike with the cold marble at Poseidon's palace. It would be nice to sleep in her old bed again tonight.

She was almost to her room when she heard quiet voices coming from Ianeira's room. She paused, remembering Ianeira's request to their mother. Surely she was hearing them talk about whatever it was that troubled Ianeira.

She hesitated outside the door. It wasn't right for her to eavesdrop, but when she remembered that had persisted since her sisters' meeting with Poseidon, she couldn't bring herself to walk away. Brushing her hair away from her ear, she leaned in to listen.

"...worried about her, lately. It wouldn't be a concern if you hadn't sent us to a place like that in the first place. I just don't understand. Why?"

Ianeira's tone was rather vulnerable, now that she was speaking in private with her mother. It took Dynamene by surprise; for so long, Ianeira had been the one guiding the rest of them, and now here she was herself seeking counsel with her mother.

"We sent you to Poseidon's palace to broaden your prospects," Doris answered firmly. "To give you opportunities you could never have here. Your father and I are rather ancient by the rest of the pantheon's standards, and our influence has already peaked long ago. It was our hope that, by sending you to serve Poseidon, that you might meet others, gain an education, and make your own way in the world."

"The tutors were top-class," Ianeira admitted. "But Poseidon himself is a geyser, just waiting to blow. Don't you remember what he did to Adamas? Ripped him in half without a second thought. We were there, serving him, when that happened, remember? We saw the body, Mother. I can still hear the screams some nights..."

"I think about it more than I ought to," Doris whispered. "And I am sorry that you had to witness it. It was an unspeakable act. But I don't believe for one second that he would ever harm any of you."

"It matters not what you believe! I don't want to risk that happening to Dynamene! If he was capable of doing that to his own brother on a whim, what would he do to her?" Ianeira cried.

Doris sighed. "Your father and I have always had faith that Poseidon would never lay a hand on any of you. All fifty of you are clever and resourceful; we know you would never tempt fate with him. And he would never tempt fate with you."

Ianeira laughed humorlessly. "Tempt fate? Oh, Mother, if only you knew."

"I don't understand, Ianeira. Why are you afraid for Dynamene? What do you fear Poseidon is going to do?"

"It's more about what Dynamene might do at the moment, Mother," Ianeira said, her voice defeated. "You see... Dynamene is infatuated with Poseidon."

 One could have heard a pin drop. Dynamene clapped her hand over her mouth, hiding her gasp of shock. How long had they known about her feelings for Poseidon?

"...She has always been a passionate girl," Doris murmured. "Always a bit of a romantic. But, I suppose, this really isn't so surprising of a development. Of the fifty of you, one of you was bound to become enamored with him."

"I'm worried for her, Mother," Ianeira whispered. "She's still so young; she's still a child in so many ways. I don't know what to do."

"Dynamene is at that strange stage where she has the desires of a woman, but the reasoning of a child. She is inexperienced. It will just take time; she will grow and learn."

"But that's what I'm worried about, Mother!" Ianeira pleaded. "She's already so infatuated with him, and this is Poseidon! If, in time, she really does fall in love with him, and he lays claim to her - what can we do to protect her from him? She'll become his consort, and then..."

"Dynamene is still too young to truly know romantic love. I assure you, dearest, what Dynamene feels right now is just a passing fancy. Poseidon is a powerful god, and he is handsome; I would be more surprised if she did not develop an attraction to him. But Poseidon is infamously cold and stoic. Nothing will come of it, you have my word."

That stung. Dynamene winced, her face flushing with humiliation. It was uncomfortably jarring to hear her family speak candidly about her innermost feelings this way.

"I don't want to risk that! Dynamene is around him all the time, as we all are, serving him at the palace. Please, just request that Dynamene remain home longer, even if only for a year. If it's truly a mere crush, then her feelings for him should fizzle out by then."

What? The gears in Dynamene's mind began to turn rapidly. Ianeira was asking Doris to keep her here even longer...

Almost as if the whole point of the trip had been to get her away from Poseidon.

Dynamene swallowed hard, feeling a surge of angry betrayal wash over her. Her clenched fists had begun to shake. She resisted the urge to barge in; they were still speaking, and she wanted to listen until the end.

Doris was quiet. "I will consider it. But the thirteen of you have only just got here today; it could very well be the case that, by the time the month is up, Dynamene's attention will be on someone else."

Dynamene heard Ianeira exhale. "Thank you, Mother. I just... I just want her to be safe."

"I understand, my child," Doris comforted her. "But have faith; everything will turn out just fine."

Dynamene couldn't stand to listen to anymore. She ran to her room and slammed the door shut, angry tears forming in her eyes.

They had known. They had known this entire time how she felt. And now, instead of supporting her, or even just hearing her out about her feelings, they were trying to keep the two of them apart. Her sisters, the people she trusted most in the whole world, had betrayed her trust.

Any joy she'd felt from their homecoming dispersed within her chest, replaced by the hot, prickling sensation of rage. How could they do this? She wasn't only angry at them; she was angry at herself, too. How could I have been so blind?  She asked herself angrily. Of course they'd never accept my feelings for Poseidon. If one thing's clear now, it's that they hate him. They've never spoken to him the way I have. They've no idea.

I never wanted to stay here for a month from the start, let alone a year. By the time we go back to the palace, the council of the gods will have taken place, and Hera will have done her best to force someone else upon Poseidon. I won't let that happen. I'll do whatever it takes to go back before then.

A gentle rap on her shut door broke her out of her angry reverie. She didn't bother to check who it was before shouting, "Go away!"

But of course, the door opened anyway, revealing the last person she wanted to see: Ianeira.

"Leave me alone," Dynamene snapped at her.

Ianeira stared at her in shock. "What's gotten into you? I just came to check on you. Is something the matter?"

Perhaps now wasn't the right time to break out into a fury. Dynamene unclenched her jaw and took a breath. "No, I'm sorry for snapping. I just have a headache."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Ianeira said, coming to sit next to her. She reached out to stroke her sister's hair, but Dynamene pulled away.

"Well, I'll keep things brief then," Ianeira started over. "We had a good time today, didn't we?"

"Yes," Dynamene muttered as she looked away. It was going great until now.

"I know how refreshing it is to be here at home. It's where we belong, really, although with how much time we've spent at Poseidon's palace, it can be hard to remember."

Dynamene was silent, knowing where her sister's words were leading to and loathing it. Ianeira carefully ventured onwards. "So... How would you like to take the year off and stay here, at home?"

Dynamene looked at Ianeira with loathing in her eyes. "So you can keep me away from Poseidon a little longer?"

Ianeira's mouth fell open, but no words came out.

Dynamene jumped to her feet, unable to rein in her rage any longer. "You can't even deny it, can you?! That this whole trip was a ruse to get me away from him! Is that the real reason why you left me out of the audience?"

"Why... How on earth could you possibly know that?" Ianeira shot back, standing up.

"I have a predisposition to eavesdropping, I guess," Dynamene clenched her fists. "I heard what you were saying to Mother. How dare you decide what's best for me like that?! You haven't even asked me about any of it!"

"About what? Your infatuation with a madman?!" Ianeira yelled back. Her eyes were snapping with long-repressed frustration and anger, and Dynamene couldn't help but shirk back. "You think I haven't lost sleep, worrying about this? And now you want me to compromise with you over it?!"

"How dare you say that!" Angry tears threatened to overflow from Dynamene's eyes. "I don't need you deciding what's right for me! I've already made up my mind; I want to stay with him! I want to be with him!"

"Be with him?! Are you insane, Dynamene?!" Ianeira threw her arms up in disbelief. "You want to be with the man who tore his own brother apart without a second glance? Is that the same fate you want, once he decides you too don't meet his standards?!"

"He would never do that to me!" Dynamene cried, clutching her bracelet. "He wouldn't! Even when he caught me spying, he-"

"He what?" Ianeira's voice went deadly quiet. "You did what?"

"I..." Dynamene knew she had made a mistake, and she looked down.

"You spied on him? Why?! Are you even thinking?! If Mother and Father knew-"

"I had to know what he was talking about with Hera! I don't want him to be with anyone else; I love him! I love him!" Dynamene's voice cut off as she began to sob with abandon. "Please, don't tell them! They'll never let me-"

"How could you say you love him?! He has no heart! He cares for no one, not even us!" Ianeira hurled. Her hair was steaming with rage. "You're not even thinking, taking risks like that! There's no way you're returning to that palace! You're still a child; Poseidon will ruin you! I won't let him do that to you; not you, or any of my sisters!" Her shouts echoed in the small room.

"You can't stop me!" Something within Dynamene had snapped. "I'm not a child anymore, and you don't control me!" She threw open the windows and let the night wind pour in, billowing about her. The black seawater swirled many feet below.

"Wait, Dynamene, don't!" Ianeira cried out, reaching for her.

Dynamene dove headfirst out the window without a second glance. She plunged into the cold ocean water below, the thin fabric of her chiton swirling about her.

I won't sit by and let others decide my life for me! They could never know how I feel. They won't even try to understand. Tears drifted from her eyes, leaving a trail of bubbles in her wake. That's just fine. I'll take things into my own hands. I'll find a way; I will.

Dynamene let her body disperse into the water, swimming away as fast as she could into the dark waters of the night.

---

Author’s Notes: This part has taken me the longest thus far now. I gave myself time to recharge before finishing it because I wanted the emotions to be strong. Can't do that if I'm suffering writer fatigue. I watched part of The Little Mermaid and felt ready to continue. Here we are!

Can you blame Dynamene, Ianeira? Have you LOOKED at Poseidon, I mean REALLY LOOKED? Man's got the looks of an angel. Too bad his personality doesn't match.

The parts now have names (on ao3)! We're at part 10 now; I thought names might help tell them apart. No spoilers in them, but descriptive enough that people who have already read them will hopefully be able to tell which is which.

Nereid birth order:

Ianeira - 1

Actaea - 6

Callianassa - 23

Eione - 27

Thoe - 41

Dynamene - 50

[adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy]

Supposedly 

A/N: this was a request sent in that inspired me a lot for some reason and i figured i’d do it cause i haven’t done any demon!h and demon!reader in a while so i gave it a go and I’m pretty happy with how it turned out :D enjoy!

Anonymous: This may be too cutesy for them, but do demon!harry and demon!reader ever cuddle after they fuck? Or they fall asleep separately but wake up in each other’s arms and just try to play it off awkwardly 

word count: 4.5k

content: some angst but nothing major, fluff, mentions of nudity, and some cocky asshole demon!h because that’s his Brand laidese and germs!!

///

Despite the emotionless, unattached agenda demons tend to uphold, let it be known that Harry didn’t really mind what was happening at the moment. 

On the surface level, from an outside perspective, this definitely doesn’t fit the bill for what is expected from his kind. Cuddling is an action reserved usually for real couples that have a sentimental bond, which he and Y/N are very much not. He’s not even quite sure what they are, really. Their relationship— if he can even call it that— was born out of three very important, adequately limiting notions: a mutual understanding, the desire for a convenient warm body, and sheer boredom. 

Nothing more, nothing less. 

The mutual understanding was that neither of them wanted a genuine significant other, given what they are, so it was established that feelings were to be kept out of this arrangement completely. Emotions lead to complications, complications lead to a falling out, and a falling out would be inexplicably messy considering that they’ve shared the same friend group for well over a decade now and neither are willing to let a booty call mishap ruin that. Feelings stay dormant, end of discussion. 

The desire for a convenient warm body is pretty self-explanatory— Harry and Y/N had known each other for a while now so there was no annoying getting to know you phase, they both agreed that they found the other attractive, and they both live relatively close to one another so it was a pleasant set-up with minimal issues. Harry could shoot her a text at three in the morning and she’d be at his place in less than five minutes, or vice versa. There was no spending hours at a bar trying to pick someone up, no time wasted learning what the other person likes and dislikes, and certainly no fretting over birth control tactics to keep up appearances— they were both dead, which is a morbid advantage but an advantage nonetheless. It was easy access, easy fun, and easy clean-up. 

The sheer boredom aspect was just that. It had started on a drunken night out with friends, where— by a series of fortunate events— Harry and Y/N had ended up together post-bender, sitting in his car in the parking lot of a club. They had been waiting for him to sober up to drive them home and she had made a passing comment about not wanting to turn in for the night quite yet. He’d blinked at her sluggishly, absentmindedly reaching over to tuck a rouge strand of hair behind her ear because he was getting secondhand irritation from it tickling her nose. He’d spoken up, voice numb and thick from the alcohol. “What do you wanna do, then?”

Y/N had glanced over at him, eyes half-lidded as they had raked down his lean tattooed chest, his unbuttoned silk sheer shirt leaving very little to the imagination. When she’d pinned her gaze back up to his, her eyes had inked black as they’d flitted to the palm of his hand for a second, a suggestive glint washing across their reflective surface as the corner of her pretty mouth had quirked. “I have a decent idea of exactly what I wanna do.”

And now here they were, with many restless, heated nights, ruined bed frames, and rumpled sheets littering their past, as well as their immediate future. 

And here Harry was, slowly blinking awake after one of those said nights, cruel scratches itching across his back as they finish up healing, an empty content still bubbling at the pit of his stomach. 

His lashes flutter open as he inhales a large sigh, flinching at the bright sunlight filtering its way through the lightly swaying curtains. The only sound in the room is the soft thrum of the air vent at the far corner of the ceiling, alongside Y/N’s soft, rhythmic breathing. 

In his barely conscious state, Harry goes to do what he always does the morning after he’s spent a night doing Y/N’s back in: he goes to stretch. He does most of the work more times than not— courtesy of his dominant tendencies— but she always gives him a run for his soul. Anything he dishes out, she usually returns with the same amount of energy and will. Last night hadn’t been any different and the ache at the bottom of his spine and along his inner thighs proves it. 

Harry instinctively goes to lift his arms above his head, reaching for the top of the headboard to use it as support. He is stopped cold when he realizes a foreign weight is keeping one of his arms pinned to the bed. 

He knuckles at his eyes with his free hand, ridding them of the last residues of sleep, and then drags his palm up his face and through his mussed curls to comb away his disorientation. He cranes his sore neck to the side and downwards, eyebrows jolting up in surprise when he’s met with a wall of fluffy, tangled, mandarin-scented hair. 

Harry lifts his head up slightly, neck straining to see over the back of Y/N’s wild halo to make sure that the image before him isn’t some type of exhaustion-induced mirage. 

It’s odd for her to be so near him— she usually likes her space; says that being too close in proximity for too long is irritating. It’s why she usually sleeps with her back to him at the other end of the bed, and why he’s gotten accustomed to giving her the majority of the mattress space. Despite the fact that it’s his flat, she’s stubborn, hard-headed, argumentative and frankly, he’d rather just forfeit the extra leg room instead of bickering for thirty minutes just to end up losing anyways. It’s gentlemanly, in a sense. Minimal, but it’s something.

Given Y/N’s general disgust for excess contact, it’s no shock as to why Harry is utterly baffled right now. He’s about ninety-eight percent sure she’d fallen asleep all the way across the expanse of his sheets so how did they willingly end up here? How did they end up with her bare back pressed to his chest, her legs intertwined between his, and his arm wrapped almost protectively around her waist, wedged between her hips and the bed. 

Harry would never outright admit it but...he’s not necessarily mad about it. 

As he lays there for a few more seconds, absorbing the situation with an expression of pensive dismay pinching his face, he slowly comes to terms that he’s actually starting to enjoy this.

The warmth of her smooth skin gradually undoes the knot of confusion between his brows. The sensation of her back flushing against his chest as it rises and falls with her breathing erases the unease dipping the corners of his stinging mouth. The way she’s started to unconsciously rub her calves gently up and down his own makes the last traces of unsettlement melt off his face, replaced by an appearance of subtle affection, lips parting in blank wonder. 

Harry relaxes back into the plushness of the mattress, eyes remaining glued to a blissfully ignorant Y/N. His thoughts are scurrying around the inside of his skull, attempting to get accustomed with this new experience, having a difficult time arranging into place. He’s aware that he seems to be taking easily to what’s unfolding, but there’s an unsteady bubble inflating in his chest. He knows that if he lets himself dwell in this too much, it’ll end up biting him in the ass later, most likely as a wave of undealt emotions and crippling loneliness; that’s baggage he’s spent too many years compartmentalizing for it to all just come bursting out. 

All those decades of locking away his issues are in danger of resurfacing, and all for some harmless hugging? Doesn’t seem like a fair negotiation, and he knows plenty about negotiations. 

However, he can’t seem to make himself pull away. 

Especially not when Y/N suddenly shifts in her sleep, turning onto her other side so that she's now facing him, snuggling deeper into his body and tucking her head into the junction between his neck and collarbones. Her annoyingly soft, hot lips smear against his throat, settling into the dip at the center where a pulse would normally be present. The feeling of her exhales washing across his cold skin sends a wringing down his spine, a hushed “fuck…” escaping his dry mouth as the warmth behind the gesture spreads upwards, spilling redness into his cheeks and along the shells of his ears. Her hands come up as loose fists, pressing between his pectorals lightly, her own naked chest flushing against her forearms. 

Surprisingly enough, her supple chest isn’t at the forefront of his mind at this instant. Instead, he’s focused on the intimacy they’re sharing in this moment, unbeknownst to her and stressfully beknownst to him. 

Harry’s free hand acts of its own accord, coasting upwards towards her face and moving her chin over a bit until his palm can comfortably nurse her jaw. He rubs the pad of his thumb across her bottom lip slowly, every ridge and bump sending miniature shots of electricity surging through his veins, his eyes falling shut at this strange form of pleasure he hasn’t felt in ages. 

Y/N just looks so beautiful like that, in such a vulnerable state that he knows for sure no one else has ever gotten to witness— at least not in a very long time. 

No one else has gotten to see the way her lashes sit atop her cheekbones so delicately, her face soothed by sleep, not a wrinkle or grimace in sight. She looks as if she were made of porcelain, her features nothing short of perfect. No one has gotten to witness the way she mumbles a handful of incoherent, groggy words, her mind lost in a meaningless dream, or the way her nose twitches in the cutest manner as a draft from the air conditioning runs across it, causing her to sniffle. No one has seen the way she gives into his touch, her face cradling deeper into his hand, chasing the uncommon gentleness behind his demeanor and it hadn’t occurred to Harry that maybe— just maybe— she’s craving this type of innocent bliss, too, though he’s certain she would never confess to it if she were awake. 

Harry runs his hand down the slope of her bruised neck and across the curve of her shoulder, tracing the teeth marks he had left the night before. The tip of his fingers follow down the incline of her torso, wriggling around her side, his wrist resting upon the faint dip of her waist. He cups her lower back with his large hand, borrowing a moment to appreciate the way it fits flawlessly. He then leans forward some to give his reach more length, his digits carefully trailing up the middle of her spine, the action timid and tranquil. 

He looks down at her from over the tops of his colored cheeks, chewing on his bottom lip nervously as he continues to lull his fingers up and down her back. Y/N releases a shy whimper of gratitude, her whole body bathing in a light shiver. She does like it.

Harry swallows thickly, moving away a few locks of hair off her shoulder with the tip of his nose, glassy jade irises studying her facial expressions to make sure she’s still asleep. He puckers his tingling lips, pressing a bundle of chaste kisses to the fading bite marks on her staticy skin. If his heart still beat, he feels like it would be glowing right now. 

He tilts his chin up, settling it on top of her head and sighing in satisfaction as he feels her steady breathing wash across his Adam’s Apple, her flyaway hairs tickling his nostrils. 

He decides to stay like that for a while,  just basking in her company within this tender setting that he knows he probably won’t receive again anytime soon. Harry lays there, limbs woven between Y/N’s as his black-polished nails scratch gently at her back, swimming in his numb thoughts. 

After what feels like hours— but is realistically just ten minutes— he goes to gingerly shift the arm stuck beneath her body, trying to regain some circulation. Y/N stirs, resulting in him freezing in place to prevent a mishap, his mouth finding her warm forehead and placing a lingering kiss between her brows. It eases her. 

Harry waits five minutes before trying again.

He manages to escape this time around, lifting his arm above his head and twisting out the cramp in his wrist, then folding it behind his head. He allows his eyes to shut once again, intent on spending a bit longer milling in this bubble of domestic peace.

His plan is shattered to pieces by an alarmed, angry sentence. 

“What the fuck?”

His eyelids fly open, ice materializing across his entire nervous system. 

Shit.

Y/N launches upwards, sitting up rigidly with her face contorted in startled repulsion, clutching his blood red sheets to her chest as her hair stands up in tousled tuffs. “What in Lucifer’s red, barren hell are you doing?”

Harry now has two distinctive routes to pick from: confess to partaking in the unorthodox cuddling, or fake it and say he was asleep as well and that it had all been an unintentional mistake. 

It’s hardly a choice. 

He flings his arms away from the other demon’s body as if sickened, shooting up into a seated position and slouching back onto his palms, a look of agitated horror plastered across his sleepy, handsome features. “What do you mean what am I doing? What the fuck were you doing?”

Y/N blinks at him as if he’d just stabbed her between the eyes with a demon blade, irises momentarily flitting black with nerves, the area under her waterline webbing with dark veins. “What do you mean what was I doing? You were the one with your arms around me!”

Harry narrows his sight at her pointedly, thick brows furrowing with faux resentment. “You were the one with your head snuggled into my neck and your hands on my chest!”

“You were the one kissing my forehead!”

“You were the one rubbing up on my legs!”

“Because you were close to me!”

“Because you rolled over here!” 

“No I didn’t!”

“Oh, so what?” Harry snaps sarcastically, drawing forward and crossing his arms over his chest adamantly. “Did an angel sneak in and place you there? Because as I recall, you always sleep on the left side of the bed, so what were you doing on the right?”

Harry’s accurate counter renders Y/N speechless, her mouth parting quizzically as if waiting for a response to magically appear. Her eyebrows cinch down begrudgingly, the gears in her head spinning on overdrive, trying to piece together an appropriate rebuttal. Her grasp tightens on the blanket covering her bare body. “Well, I...I don’t know—I don’t think I—”

Harry cocks his head to the side expectantly, loose curls falling across his forehead as he shrugs his brows with a condescending air. He mimics her with a high-pitched voice. “Well, I— I don’t know— I—I don’t think I—I—I—”

Y/N’s face goes sour as heat floods her cheeks, fire threatening to spark across the tips of her sizzling ears. She yanks the sheets off of him, holding them with one hand as she uses the other to begin crawling across the bed towards the edge, a haphazard defense thrown over her shoulder. “Shut up! It wasn’t on purpose!”

Harry scoffs in dark amusement, not even bothering to cover himself up. He bites into his cheek to keep from exploding into a round of triumphant laughter; he can’t believe he managed to turn the tides so quickly. “Oh, so you admit it was you, then?”

Y/N dismounts the atrociously tall bed, stumbling over the long linens as she desperately searches for her clothes. “No! I’m just saying that whatever happened, it didn’t happen intentionally!” 

“Obviously.” The brunette demon snorts, shaking his head for subtle emphasis, crossing his ankles offhandedly and returning both arms to the place where one had been prior— tucked behind his head casually. “What do you think we are, mortal?” 

“Of course not.” Y/N agrees quickly— a little too quickly, which hints to Harry that she might be trying to cover something up. Perhaps she wasn’t as disgusted by this as she had led on…

He watches as his friend— he uses the term lightly— shuffles around his room, peering at the floor in an determined quest to find her jeans, underwear, and black lace blouse. Or maybe she’s just hellbent on avoiding eye contact with him. 

“Y/N…” His tone has lost its arrogantly mocking edge, softened by what she can only decode as...guilt? 

She ignores it and doesn’t answer, nearly passing out in relief when she spots her panties and bra hanging off the doorknob to his closet. She snatches them swiftly, panning her gaze around the rest of the room for her leftover clothes, spotting them in a pile sticking out from underneath the opposite corner of the bed. They’d probably gotten kicked there in the heat of the moment. 

Harry repeats himself a little louder, adding onto his comment to try and stifle some of the embarrassment radiating from her. “Y/N, you don’t have to leave. You usually stay for breakfast.” 

Y/N scoops up her outfit, settling it into the crook of her right elbow and squaring her shoulders as if ready to brace a hellhound. Their gazes lock and he feels his stomach flop when he sees the vulnerability she’s obviously trying to hide. She’s good at it, he’ll give her that, but if he stares intently enough, he can just make out the traces of conflicted longing leaking into the disinterested facade around her pupils. 

“It’s fine, Harry.” She sighs heavily, her tone drastically different from the unkempt girl that had been floundering about just seconds ago. She’s now calm, cool, collected, and scaringly so. “I have somewhere to be later. Meeting someone to close a deal.”

She shrugs one shoulder indifferently, grabbing a handful of the sheets arranged around her figure and pulling away, dropping the bedspread at his feet and leaving herself completely nude. 

And there she is, the Y/N he so well knows. The same one that uses sex appeal as a shield. 

She’s managed to spackle the cracks that had appeared in her typical barrier of heartlessness, her confidence and ease leveling off once again. She places her clothes on top of the crumpled sheets, picking out her cheeky bright red panties from the heap and working them up her tempting legs. Harry can’t help but notice the hickies covering her inner thighs, as well as the finger prints staining her hips. 

Y/N catches him ogling, smirking to herself now that she has her composure back in order. She hooks her index finger around one of the straps in her bra, lifting it up and bouncing the lace lingerie in front of him teasingly. She raises her eyebrows at her lover provokingly, a sultry air pouting her lips. “Think you can help a girl out?”

Harry licks at his slightly chapped lips thoughtfully, eyes flickering between the article hanging off her hand to the sly grin decorating the edges of her pretty mouth. When he speaks, it’s low and thicker than usual, accent heavy. “Of course, pet.”

His legs thunk emptily off the bed and onto the floor, a small grunt catching the back of his throat as he pushes himself up onto his feet. He is most definitely sore. 

His footsteps are soft against the carpeted ground, faltering as he rounds the corner of the mattress. 

Y/N eyes his every move, suckling her bottom lip at the way his muscles flex and contract under his sun-kissed skin. She doesn’t let herself wander below his waist though; she’s never one to pass up flaunting her power of will. 

Harry stops about a foot away, taking the bra from she is offering and holding it out for her to slip into. She does so at a mind-numbing pace, her toes curling as she feels his warm fingertips running the material up her arms and onto their designated spot on her shoulders. He tugs at the hooks gently, pinning them into place and tucking the tag in, exactly how he’s seen her do countless of times before. 

He then runs the palms of his hands up her arms, sighing softly at the silky sensation of her skin and giving her shoulders a dismissive squeeze. “All done.” 

Y/N turns on her heels to face him, looking up innocently through her lashes, lips quirking into an easy smile. “Thank you. Such a gentleman.” 

Her playfully seductive personality is unbearably contagious, seen in how Harry returns her action with a coy scoff and a simper of his own. “For you, always.”

“Well…” Y/N turns her lower half to the side, showing him her ass for significance, which is covered in the unmistakable print of his hand and rings. “I wouldn’t say always.” 

Harry’s pursed lips break into an even wider shit-eating grin, his cheeky laughter echoing across the walls of the apartment, his arms absentmindedly folding across his broad chest. “Yeah, well, you can’t say it’s one-sided, can you?”

He points towards his neck, stretching his chin upwards so that she gets a good view of all the fading love bites she’d left there the night before. 

Y/N’s giggles match his. “Touché.”

Harry rummages through his drawers as she finishes getting dressed, shimmying into her tight jeans and throwing her shirt on, finger-combing her hair into a decent state. He comes up with a pair of maroon briefs, slipping them on as he walks back towards her, letting the elastic band snap into place against his lower abdomen. 

The two demons with benefits stand before each other, Y/N with her braided black sandals swung over her shoulders and Harry with his hands fixed on his hips nonchalantly. 

“You really can’t stay for breakfast?” Harry inquiries one last time, lifting his eyebrows curiously. “I’m making those cinnamon bun waffles you like so much.” 

Y/N sighs grandly, clutching her chest dramatically as if it physically hurts her to decline his offer. “I’d love to, but work is work. Don’t really have a say.” 

Her friend nods in understanding, well aware of the truth behind her words. “It is what it is, then.” 

“However...” Her sudden continuation makes his head perk. She reaches up, carding her fingers into his messy curls and combing them back from his face, tucking a handful of rebellious ringlets behind his small ears and giving him one final self-assured smile. “Do y’think you could maybe save me two and I can come pick them up tonight?”

Harry cranes his head to the side, placing a slow peck to the palm of her hand and then biting into her skin jokingly, a certain lewdness painted all over the deed. “I think that can be arranged.”

“Great.” Y/N quips happily, wrapping his curls around her knuckles roughly and hauling him in for a sloppy, dirty kiss that leaves his teeth numb and his face buzzing. 

Once she breaks their mouths, lightly panting with her skin a darker shade than before, he has to blink three times in order to reign himself back in. His ability to form coherent sentences right now is about as useful as alphabet soup; he just gives her a jerky nod instead. 

Y/N wipes at his swollen lips with the pad of her thumb, giving his cheek a playful pat. “I’ll see you then, H.” 

Harry can’t tear his eyes away as she leaves, his bedroom door clicking shut behind her, the soft, distant thunk of his front door accompanying the sound a bit later. 

Fuck, that was something is the first comprehensible thought that registers in his mind. 

It was absolutely something and who knows how differently it would have gone if he had admitted giving into the weakness they had both sworn off of. 

That notion haunts him for a while— the idea that he could have driven her away for good if he had confessed that his emotions had bleed through their arrangement. Sure, it had only been this once, but Harry has a horrible gut-wrenching feeling that he’s unlocked a box deep in the back of his skull that won’t easily be chained down again. 

He thinks this over again and again as he prepares his morning meal, the looming uncertainties of it all causing him to check out of reality here and there, resulting in a few burn marks across his hands and two charred waffles in the bin. 

As Harry finally sits down to enjoy the food that had nearly not made it to his plate, he finds himself mentally running through the awkward encounter he and Y/N had faced this morning. He can’t stop himself from dwelling on the expression he had seen crack through her eyes earlier— one that showed she seemed to be feeling the same kind of emotional turmoil he was. It opens too many unanswered questions for their future and he hates himself for being so worried when nothing had truly happened. For all he knows, it could have just been a trick of the sunlight that had been streaming into the room. He’s getting himself out of sorts for nothing. 

However, as he goes in on a forkful of his cinnamon-glazed pastry, one pesky detail suddenly launches him into a coughing fit. 

It was so minuscule he had missed it the first fifty times he had run through the events, but it had decided to prick him in the brain now, the weak dam of reassurance he had built crumbling to ashes.  

After Y/N had woken up, saw what was happening, and their fight had ensued, she had made a comment about how Harry had kissed her forehead. 

On the surface, it had seemed unimportant because yes, that is exactly what he had done. The problem arose when he remembered that she had been dead asleep when he had done that. 

Supposedly.

He had gone to remove his arm from below her body, she had fussed a bit, he had pressed his lips to her forehead to ease her, and she had remained asleep for a while longer until he decided to finish removing his arm. That final motion was what had awoken her.

Supposedly. 

If she had been unconscious the whole time they were cuddling, then how did she know he’d kissed her?

[vicecityhq]

██████████████]99% loading…suspect into the apd database…

WITNESS(ES) SAY HE REMINDS THEM OF: glasses, academia, coffee shops . with a slight resemblance to JEON JUNGKOOK of/the BTS.

CLICK BELOW TO VIEW ENTIRE FILE.

FULL FILE:

last name, first name: lee, david alias: electro realm of birth(if earth, nationality): earth age: 23 date of birth: september 1, 1997 gender: cis-gender male preferred pronouns: he/him, they/them species: cyborg level 1, civilian sexual orientation: questioning

VISUAL FILE:

skin color: light tanned eye color: dark brown, blue tint when using eye enhancemets scars: none reported piercings: both ears tattoos: a simple black star on left wrist hair color: black, dyed a variety of colors at times abnormalities: none reported horns/ wings/ etc: none transformed form: none

PERSONAL FILE:

powers & abilities: enhanced vision, lens screen, vital monitor and data collection, temperature scanning, night vision, light adjustment vision, app synchronization (photo, video recording, downloading) traits: determined, aloof

BACKGROUND CHECK:

date of birth: september 1, 1997

date of death: -

crime record: a clean record

BACKGROUND/BIOGRAPHY:

david was the 2nd born in his family, to a career solider and a

struggling

opera singer. his sister was 1st and her words upon seeing him as a baby was “i’m cuter.”at times he felt neglected given that his sister was getting more attention that him, she was the golden child while he was …david, quiet most of the time but had moments of intense energy. his parents enrolled him a variety of sports which kept him in check. he excelled in martial arts (taekwondo and kumdo) and basketball which was used as leverage to keep in ballet. that was something his mother wanted for both of her children, though he never got a reason why. near the end of elementary school his parent’s divorced and his mother remarried a “rich man”. though he was kind he was very distant to him. his sister however took a liling to increases social status she had.

it was during middle school did david and his sister start to grow apart. sneaking out, skipping class, among other things became his sister’s focus. he had an idea of some things but didn’t speak on them since it would lead to an argument. “boring and straight laced” was what she called him, he and to edge to him. the young boy’s concern was to make in on a national team, it didn’t matter the sport. david used his studies as a shield against the chaos around him, not just at home and school, but the city in general. sometimes it felt like a comic with how crime was almost normalized be it in the background or directly involving you. he kept his circle small and hid most information about himself, his image had to be pure for the scouts and his future career.

given the reputation of his father, david knew military enlistment was the next step college or not. now being in the army was a double edge sword. there wasn’t this pressure to perform like say the marines but he was held to a higher standard. sometimes he was afforded privildges like extra time but also more severe punishments for making the same mistake as others. just going for 2 years wasn’t enough, he was expected to stay for 3. not for his own goals or wants but that of his father. it was during this time did david see that he had lived a rather comfortable life compared to others in his unit, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have any issues. the constant question on his mind was “where do i belong?”.  well the military wasn’t the answer, his discharge date couldn’t come soon enough and when it came, he was already in another system. college.

a bit older and wiser, david could fully focus on his studies (again) something he was happy about and rebuild some parts of his past that he couldn’t while serving. while he is aware his parents expect to major in something like medicine or law, he has no interest in either. his duties to his family and country are complete. it’s for david to live for himself. during his 1st year of college his sister got married much to the joy of his parents. his brother-in-law was “well put together” despite being a little off in his manners. it wasn’t until a few months later did his sister reveal she married a vampire along with hints of her planning to become one. their step-dad was willing to overlook all of his since it met more access to money and power however their mom had reservations. knowing her relationship was rocky with her daughter, she asked david to look after her.

this was 1 of the few times in his life he went against his parents wishes. david had a real chance to be a top athlete and having a gang affiliation wouldn’t help. even if he did have access to money and in some ways protection it was too big of a risk. his sister made her choice to get and stay involved, if she did need help he would but only from her directly. not going through with it put distance between the young man and his mom. maybe it was pressure of college, stress, or still trying to answer the question but david had a chance to “be better” and secretly got an enhancement on his eyes. this afforded him the ability to study in any lighting and pick up on details he would other wise miss. his grade improved greatly but the bigger reward was that his physical fitness was fine tuned to the point he could stay at his peak. with his enhancement he could monitor his calorie intake and vitals, adjust his work out plan so his whole body performing at it’s maximum. this offered him some stability as he had something to thrive for and could take his mind off of the less appealing parts of his life.

INTERVIEW QUESTION (PARA SAMPLE): “JUST RUN US THROUGH WHAT HAPPENED THAT NIGHT”. - OFFICER

he was nervous looking at the “window” of the home unsure if there was others on the other side. running his hand through his hair was a ploy to cover his eye and scan for temperature, a rather unused feature of his eyes. he sighed out of relief not “seeing” anyone though he knew to not let his guard down. again the officer repeated their statement. this time he looked at them directly hands under the table quietly toying with the zipper of his jacket, “i was going home from the library but stopped at the store for a drink.” that was true, it was all true. though now he wished he just went straight home. “but you didn’t see the fight?” the officer raised a brow not totally convinced. “no, i wasn’t focused on that. i heard people yelling but didn’t look that’s how you get jumped. it wasn’t my business so i kept going,” he answered. “uh…david, you’re in school right? what do you want to be?” this sad attempt to relate to him. “that’s really irrelevant to why i’m here, shouldn’t you be talking to them or the store owner? i don’t know why i’m here, when i didn’t do anything.” his words had a hint of annoyance, he wasn’t a child. “you are a witness, maybe not a good one but still one regardless. even if your details are…missing. it’s enough with common sense to help confirm the series of events.” the officer replied, “you may go.” he was didn’t need to be told twice with his bag already on his shoulder and made his way out of the station.

[acommonloon]

I remember asking Master Distiller, Jim Rutledge, when would the juice in Bulleit bottles no longer be Four Roses. It had been announced Four Roses would no longer provide the juice for the Bulleit brand. I asked my question at a Bourbon Society meeting in Louisville and though I don't recall the year, I very clearly remember Rutledge was easily the most boring master distiller to ever speak to us. In fact, he was the only boring master distiller to ever speak to us however, he immediately warmed to my question.

He said by the end of the year they (Bulleit) would likely have sold through all the Four Roses juice, then he proceeded to tell us about the birthing of Bulleit Bourbon. To the best of my recollection:

He said he was brain storming one day with marketing when he came up with the idea that the word "Bullet," like from a gun, would have a great association for selling bourbon. Again, I don't remember details but he said they found Tom Bulleit who had a connection to bourbon under another brand name so they entered into a business agreement with him and began to sell their (Four Roses) bourbon under the Bulleit brand. Thus lies legends are manufactured. lol

Now, it was understood Four Roses could sell their bourbon under their own brand name more profitably so the arraignment with Tom Bulleit was being discontinued. While he never said anything specifically derogatory about Tom Bulleit, it was clear, in his opinion, Tom Bulleit's only contribution to the whiskey being sold under the Bulleit brand was his name.

To this point, I don't remember tasting Bulleit Bourbon but I had tasted the highly regarded Bulleit Rye. This Rye was sourced from the giant MGPI (Midwest Grain Products) at Lawrenceburg Indiana. Yes you read right. Bulleit's suddenly popular rye whiskey was made in Indiana and in fact most of the 95% rye sold in America was made there and sold under dozens of other brand names. So none of Bulleit's whiskey was distilled by a distillery owned by Bulleit.

Why am I recounting this random boring story to folks who likely care little about bourbon whiskey? Well it's March and March is Women's Appreciation Month - Right? What's that got to do with Bulleit? Not so much back then.

I've always been a proponent of women. Most men would say the same but I doubt they mean it as I do. I mean, anything good is better when women are involved. I mean, I like women as people better than men, generally speaking. I mean, women rule men drool...usually after women. How do women not rule the world???

Anyway, in those days when Bulleit Bourbon became high profile, their primary brand ambassador was Tom Bulleit's daughter Hollis. While I never got to meet Hollis, being one who keeps himself informed, I knew who she was and I applauded Bulleit for employing a woman in such a prominent position. I even bought a bottle of Bulleit Rye. I think there's still a bit left in it.

At some point, Bulleit was bought by the British spirit giant Diageo and they applied their leverage (money) to promote the Bulleit brand. Also at some point after that Hollis came out as gay.

This did not go over well with her father, Tom, and they began to fight in a very public manner. Mostly Hollis revealing how awfully she was being treated by her father. If you google Bulleit Bourbon you will find many articles describing the back and forth but there is no doubt, Tom Bulleit is a homophobic POS and Diageo did not support Hollis. At some point Hollis was outed again...from Bulleit this time.

Diageo continued to promote and grow the Bulleit brand and have now constructed an actual distillery but by this time I was out. I never bought a second bottle of Bulleit or even a drink with a Bulleit product in it. Hey, it's what I can do.

So why am I posting pic of a bottle of Bulleit Bourbon. Well 1st, Tom Bulleit has been removed as the face of Bulleit bourbon and as far as I can tell is not involved in promoting the brand. Second Diageo has hired a BLACK WOMAN as one of their two blenders and her name is Eboni Major. This bottle is especially marketed as part of the Diageo Craftswomen campaign, intended to shine a spotlight on the contributions of women in the spirits industry. Finally, this bottle has been given rave reviews as super delicious bourbon.

So today is March 12th, my 57th birthday - no need for happy wishes. I grew up with little recognition for this date and honestly, having survived another year, while fortunate, it's no accomplishment. The alternative is death so. I bought this bottle designating it a birthday gift to myself. I do this when I buy things within 30 days of my birthday but, I would've bought it anyway. It's a bit disappointing to be honest.

It's a 100 proofer, a bit hot on entry with good viscosity on the palate and medium linger but little depth of character taste-wise . It tastes like bourbon with a nutty character I enjoy but a bottle of Wild Turkey Russell's Reserve is superior whiskey in this regard. Damnation by faint praise? Was hoping for more but not sad I bought it.

[azrael-asks]

Heaven's Executioner

Name: Azrael (Also known as ”Azzy”, however that mannerism is used exclusively by Luke and anyone who does it behind their back and lives, other mannerisms include the “(Arch)Angel of Death” or “The Executioner”)

Date of Birth: December 31, Capricorn

Gender: Agender

Pronouns: They/Them, however they answer to male-oriented familial pronouns (“Brother”/“Sir”)

Sexuality: Asexual Aromantic

Species: Archangel/Angel

Personality Type: IS-NFJ

Personality:  Azrael is a stubborn angel with a secret mother-hen instinct for those they consider "delicate" (children, or those with childlike innocence) with yandere-like tendencies. They are often times with a steady head unless certain topics are mentioned, then all hell will break loose. (They are literally one meltdown away from initiating a genocide if given the chance.)

Likes:

- Textbook Yandere

- Legit has trouble processing emotions sometimes

- Basically Lucifer but as an angel.

- “What gender are you?” “I am a villain”

- Grumpy Mom friend (Like Lucifer)

- Stern and kind of stubborn

- Obedient. Answers directly to Michael

- Secretly a mother hen (more like mother bear)

- “I have only known Luke for five minutes, but if anything were to happen to him, I will kill everyone in this room and then myself.”

- Their rage is reserved for Lucifer and his brothers

- Literally one meltdown away from initiating a genocide if given the chance.

Dislikes: 

- Earl Grey (Cookies)

- Sparring

- Children

- Philosophy and Human Sciences

- Lilith

Skills/Abilities:

- Lucifer and his brothers

- Demons

- Disrespect

- Skilled in sword, spear/staff, and hand-to-hand combat.

- They pride themself in being the strongest in the Celestial Realm (even though they lost to Lucifer but they don’t try to talk about that).

- Being an archangel, they have more than one set of wings (golden feathers).

- As an angel, Azrael is capable of travelling freely between all three realms, although their travel to the Devildom is limited due to their tendency to fight with demons, especially Lucifer.

- They have some experience with magic (they use it to create “miracles”)

Fun Facts:

- The voice claim I have for Azrael is Yusuke Kitagawa from Persona 5 (English)

- Azrael gives off a scent of rosemary, but they claim that they don't use any special products that would warrant this scent.

- Azrael is commonly recognized as "Heaven's Executioner", both because of their violent acts during any wars the angels have against an opposing force and due to them wielding Azrael's Blade (the Flaming Sword/The Celestial Sword) whose main purpose is to erase its victims from existence.

- Azrael has a scar on their left cheek that runs down towards their collarbone in the shape of a burn. This was given to them by Lucifer during the Celestial War.

- Azrael is the second “brother” relating to the Archangels. Michael being the eldest. Other archangels that Azrael consider their “close brothers” to make note of are Raphael, Gabriel, and Uriel.The “golden knot” they wear was a gift to them from Lilith.

- Azrael is responsible for guiding souls to their final destination. Thanks to Lilith teaching them sympathy among other emotions, they will sometimes take pity on some human souls and take them to the Celestial Realm/paradise themself.

- Azrael is the guardian/wielder of “Azrael’s blade” which is also known as the “Flaming Sword”. This weapon is capable of erasing any being from existence, meaning Azrael is also responsible for erasing anyone Father declares deserves such punishment (hence why they are also known as “The Executioner”)

- The scar on Azrael’s face was caused by Lucifer during the Celestial War. However, because of the purpose behind Azrael’s blade, the scar gives off a constant burning sensation in their flesh that never goes away.

- Because Azrael is cursed unable to lie, they don’t address people by their nicknames or aliases. They can only address people by their true given name if they know of it.

Backstory:

When Azrael was first created, they were responsible for guiding souls to their final destination and was more or less an obedient soldier of their Father and brother, Michael. At least that was the case until Lilith came into their life.

Originally an emotionless husk, Lilith exposed Azrael to the wonders of the human world and gave them some understanding of how human life was. Little did Lilith realize that she taught them how to love as well.

Azrael would do anything to make Lilith happy, unaware that she eventually had her eyes set on a human. Which is why it broke their heart to learn she stole from the Celestial gardens to save his life.

Their trained obedience overpowered their love for Lilith and Azrael sided with Michael when the war broke out. In the war, Azrael was the main driving force that massacred the majority of the rebelling angels, burning most of the realm to the ground in search of the one they were ordered to erase.

When they found Lucifer, they tried to be a voice of reason, pleading Lucifer as their brother to hand Lilith over so he and his brothers could be spared. Instead, Lucifer denounced their relation.

Azrael spun into a rage and turned the flaming sword on him in an intense battle.In a fight where the victor was meant to be the sole survivor, Lucifer’s actions caused Azrael’s blade to be pressed against their own face, resulting in a burning scar that was branded into their left cheek and neck.

As far as Azrael was told, Lilith fell to her death and Lucifer and his brothers became demons. To this day, Azrael still holds resentment against Lucifer and will jump at the chance to pay him back for their scar.

[toyhenoctus]

Can Auzaria be next?

Beep beep lettuce

human!Auzaria’s name stays the same

Character Chart 

Character’s full name: Auzaria

Reason or meaning of name: Named after a friend

Character’s nickname: Zari, Az and The Sniper

Reason for nickname: Zari is reserved for close friends, Kade is the only one who calls her Az and The Sniper was given by the party

Birth date: 1/29

Rest under the cut

Physical appearance

Age: 23

How old does he/she appear: 25

Weight: 153 lbs.

Height: 6��� 1”

Body build: Ectomorph - Lithe

Shape of face: Diamond

Eye color: Green Hazel

Glasses or contacts: N/A

Skin tone: Grey blue

Distinguishing marks: Pierced ears

Predominant features: Hair and ears

Hair color: White

Type of hair: Kinky

Hairstyle: Loc’d and typically piled up on top of her head

Voice: Deceptively lilting

Overall attractiveness: 8/10

Physical disabilities: N/A

Usual fashion of dress: Sleeveless, high neck leotard, hooded cape, breeches, thigh high boots, archer’s gloves and a heavy belt

Favorite outfit: Her masquerade dress

Jewelry or accessories: Four gold earrings and the occasional hair accessory

Personality

Good personality traits: Cunning, passionate, fastidious

Bad personality traits: Selfish, untrusting, under-handed

Mood character is most often in: Sour

Sense of humor: Crude

Character’s greatest joy in life: Slaying Duchess Xenia

Character’s greatest fear: Getting her family torn apart again

Why? Kade is all she has left; she knows her mother was ostracized and her father was the last of his line

What single event would most throw this character’s life into complete turmoil? Losing Kade; which it did

Character is most at ease when: She’s nestled in tree branches

Most ill at ease when: Exposed in the open in broad daylight

Enraged when: She’s touched

Depressed or sad when: She thinks about Kade

Priorities: Saving Kade

Life philosophy: I trust no one and neither should you

If granted one wish, it would be: To have been born in the Undermount

Why? As much as she hates to think about it, she knows she would have thrived

Character’s soft spot: Kade

Is this soft spot obvious to others? Yes

Greatest strength: Perception

Greatest vulnerability or weakness: Physical strength, hand to hand combat and humility

Biggest regret: Following Mal that faithful first day

Minor regret: Not doing more strength training

Biggest accomplishment: Putting an arrow through the eye of a target over 60 meters away

Minor accomplishment: Furthering her mastery of magic

Past failures he/she would be embarrassed to have people know about: None

Why? She isn't embarrassed by anything

Character’s darkest secret: She’s known that she has magic for a long time

Does anyone else know? No

Goals

Drives and motivations: Saving her brother

Immediate goals: Destroying the Shadow Court

Long term goals: Mastering more magic and building a new home

How the character plans to accomplish these goals: By emptying her quiver into the bellies of anyone who stands in her way

How other characters will be affected: Everyone will be better for it if the Shadow Court is destroyed though Auzaria couldn’t care less

Past

Hometown: Riverbend

Type of childhood: Rather quiet

Pets: N/A

First memory: Learning to make soup

Most important childhood memory: Discovering her magic

Why: It frightened it and as the only elf in town, she deigned to keep it to herself

Childhood hero: She admires many elves

Dream job: Apothecary 

Education: Advanced literature and arithmetic as well as medicine

Religion: N/A

Finances: N/A

Present 

Current location: Riverbend

Currently living with: Kade

Pets: Auzaria keeps a wild stallion named Ventis

Religion: Nature, particularly the moon

Occupation: Fledgling adventurer

Finances: Selling poultices

Family

Mother: Serana Everbloom

Relationship with her: Never knew her

Father: Faustus Nightheart

Relationship with him: Never knew him

Siblings: Kade

Relationship with them: Kade is the only person she’s cared about for 23 years

Spouse: Not yet...

Relationship with him/her: N/A

Children: N/A

Relationship with them: N/A

Other important family members: She still has her two aunts in the Everbloom family but doesn’t know about them

Favorites 

Color: Black

Least favorite color: Yellow

Music: Elven music

Food: Root vegetables

Literature: She likes history

Form of entertainment: Archery

Expressions: “That will be your last”

Mode of transportation: Horseback

Most prized possession: The Bow of Gal'dariel

Habits

Hobbies: Drying herbs and throwing knives

Plays a musical instrument? No

Plays a sport? No

How he/she would spend a rainy day: Tending to her plants

Spending habits: Frugal

Smokes: No

Drinks: Like a fish

Other drugs: No

What does he/she do too much of? Snap at people

What does he/she do too little of? Relax

Extremely skilled at: Archery, deception and healing

Extremely unskilled at: Close combat, teamwork and being kind

Nervous tics: None; her poker face is impeccable

Usual body posture: Rigid and tense like a tightly strung bowline

Mannerisms: Quick and precise

Peculiarities: She sleeps best when she’s high above the ground

Traits 

Optimist or pessimist? Pessimist

Introvert or extrovert? Introvert

Daredevil or cautious? Cautious 

Logical or emotional? Logical

Disorderly and messy or methodical and neat? Very neat

Prefers working or relaxing? Working

Confident or unsure of himself/herself? Confident

Animal lover? Yes

Self-perception 

How he/she feels about himself/herself: She’s very cocky

One word the character would use to describe self: Unflappable

What does the character consider his/her best personality trait? Perceptiveness

What does the character consider his/her worst personality trait? How untrusting she is

What does the character consider his/her best physical characteristic? Her lips

What does the character consider his/her worst physical characteristic? Her ears

How does the character think others perceive him/her: Bitchy

What would the character most like to change about himself/herself: She wishes her ears were smaller so they’d fit under her hood better

Relationships with others

Opinion of other people in general: Untrusting

Does the character hide his/her true opinions and emotions from others? Generally

Person character most hates: Duke Erthax

Best friend(s): Begrudgingly Tyril

Love interest(s): Imtura

Person character goes to for advice: Nia

Person character feels responsible for or takes care of: Kade 

Person character feels shy or awkward around: Imtura

Person character openly admires: Adrina

Person character secretly admires: Tyril

Most important person in character’s life before story starts: Kade 

After story starts: Kade

[dekuscrybaby]

Hi, I'm new, Do you think he could request a headcanon or scenario from Aizawa as a single father, with a little girl who inherited his mother's quirk? They are divorced but the mother is not very present in the life of the girl. If it bothers you or you don't want to do it, please ignore the request.

hey! this totally doesn’t bother me at all, in fact i found this super super cute and i’m really glad you sent it in! i’m gonna do both the headcanons and scenario so hopefully this meets your expectations! i’m unsure how to feel about the scenario though so just let me know :)

Aizawa as a Single Father

y’all know how we always like to tease aizawa and his potential of being a good parent?

well, this is where it all comes from, him being an actual father

as we know, aizawa is a very private person which is why no one knew that he was once married and they especially didn’t know he had a little girl

i feel like she would’ve been an oopsie baby, despite aizawa and his ex-wife being married

children weren’t in either of their plans but accidents happen and at first, they were both onset to not keep the baby, whether that be abortion or adoption is up to you guys

however, after the first ultrasound, aizawa became super attached to the little blob on the screen

he did everything in his power to convince his wife to keep it which caused this huge altercation 

it was so bad that they ended up getting divorced but he didn’t really care since he eventually convinced her to hand full-custody to him

once his ex gave birth, papers were signed and little hayami (you can change it) was officially his 

he struggled with the newborn at first, like any other first-time parent, but it was especially hard since he was a single father but he didn’t mind at all

he love his daughter with all his might, it also helps that she’s basically a mini female version of himself so he’s even more attached

basically, he has the hugest soft spot for his daughter 

and he’s actually funny? or well he tries to be funny with her and since she loves her daddy, he’s the funniest guy ever

with the help of his friends and family, he was able to get a hold of fatherhood, baby hayami was given possibly the best childhood ever 

her mom was never involved in her life and aizawa didn’t care because he was able to give his little girl everything she needed and he had enough love to give her so that she never missed her mom

going back to his daughter looking exactly like her, he assumed that she would develop his quirk since his genes appeared to be dominant

boy, was he wrong 

i see his daughter having a quirk completely opposite to him and by that, i mean a quirk that could be considered extremely chaotic

she has an emitter type quirk and if i had to be specific to what it’d be, i’d say it’d be something somewhat destructive like maybe wind? 

hayami is about five years old when she develops her quirk and it’s set around the same time aizawa is teaching class 1a

imagine how frightened he’d be if one of the teachers rush into the middle of a class, bearing the news that his daughter has developed her quirk at school

baby girl is probably terrified because she just completely blew away one of her friends during recess, and maybe herself because it was a pretty strong gust of wind

aizawa practically dashes out of that classroom, quickly muttering to the class that they shouldn’t do anything stupid while he’s gone

he goes to pick her up from school and the teachers give him the rundown of what had happened and the quirk she could have manifested before she’s released and aizawa is able to take her to ua 

the grind never stops for aizawa so he plans to finish teaching with the little girl somewhere with the teachers

once the father and daughter get back to ua, baby aizawa does not want to leave her father’s side since she’s still shaken up 

so what does aizawa do?

bring her into class!!

with a little girl on his hip, he walks into class and you can kinda figure out class 1-a’s reaction

a chorus loud gasps and quiet murmurs filled the classroom as aizawa walked into the classroom with his mini-me. not being used to the environment, hayami hid her tiny face in her daddy’s long locks, not wanting to interact with any of the “big kids.”

shota glances down and saw how his little girl was practically clinging onto him, causing him to smile softly.

“whose child is that?” mina was the first to speak, enthusiasm dripping her voice.

“class, this is my daughter hayami. she had a little scare concerning her quirk at school today, so she’ll be joking us in class and training.”

“your daughter!?” the class all questioned in unison.

“i don’t remember any of you being hard of hearing. yes, my daughter. she’s five and, as you can see, very reserved maybe even shy.” aizawa spoke in the same monotone voice as usual, but even kaminari could notice the obvious softness in his body language when he was looking at the child in his arms.

“she looks exactly like you, mr. aizawa,” uraraka gushed, wanting nothing more than to hold the black-haired child in her arms.

“well she is my daughter, so i’d assume she’d look like me.” 

with that, class restarted and everything was normal despite the temporary addition to the class. the students got through their lessons and were on their way down to the training field.

during that time, aizawa had to instruct his students in a more personal manner which meant he had to let hayami on her own for a bit. this made the girl very nervous since she wasn’t used to being around the class, but that didn’t stop everyone from trying to talk to her.

by the time aizawa had come back, hayami had basically made friends with the majority of the class. she ended up taking a particular liking to midoriya, uraraka, iida, todoroki just because they weren’t as loud as everyone else and they were simply more easy to approach.

while aizawa supervised sparring matches, the dekusquad got to know his daughter a lot more and they even helped her out with her quirk!

midoriya and uraraka were especially helpful. midoriya just knew a lot more about quirks for her to receive help with and uraraka was a lot softer and helped her understand anything she didn’t get.

by the end of the day, everyone had come to adore hayami and hoped that she’d be in class sometime soon. hayami had even come to love the liveliness of the class and wanted to come to this class than the one at her school.

aizawa had to break the news about not being able to return to the class unless another accident happened but he was incredibly happy to see all of his kids interacting together. 

no one would ever know that because he’s simply not the “soft type.” but in reality, everyone knows about the soft spot aizawa holds for not only his daughter but his rumbustious yet very entertaining class.

[rena-rain]

Adrien’s Chloe Issues

I’m not thrilled that in Malediktator Chloe got thrown a party. I do think Adrien guilted Marinette into that. Whether it was intentional or not.

It’s not like Marinette’s the only one happy to see Chloe leave. Every single person in the courtyard was thrilled.

Chloe’s bullying has spanned far and wide - we’ve seen her attack Mylène, Ivan, Alya, Kim, Juleka, and that’s only off the top of my head in season 1. All of the aforementioned teenagers got akumatized (not that it takes much to be akumatized, but she directly causes so much pain).

Even Tikki happily noted that akumatizations will drop without Chloe in Paris.

So what makes Adrien so different here? Yes they’re childhood friends but he doesn’t seem to like her that much. I want to dive a bit into his psychology here.

*Not

loving

this*

As established, they grew up together. Having a childhood bond is a powerful thing, no matter how well you know or like the person currently. I’m friends with a girl I’ve known literally since birth, and while I haven’t talked to her in months or seen her in over a year, I’d still probably help her bury a dead body.

He shows this kind of loyalty in Origins with the gum incident. When Nino asked him why he didn’t tell on Chloe he said they’d known each other since they were little kids and “she’s like my only friend.”

The word only here is suuuuuper important. Adrien’s lonely. He has good manners and a kind heart but he’s not well socialized with kids his own age, so it makes sense he’s not willing to throw away his ONE FRIEND on his first day of school ever. We learned in Weredad how much he hates solitude, how it’s the ultimate pain: “Nothing hurts more than isolation.”

Similarly, in Sandboy we saw his nightmares were being caged and Ladybug hating him. Ladybug is his closest, most trusted friend, and he loves her. This episode goes to show how devastating it would be to Adrien to be abandoned by a loved one. I can’t see him doing that to other people lightly.

So first day of school. Our boy’s in an unfamiliar place with a bunch of strangers, encounters trying situations he never had before. Is this terrified boy really going to push away his one constant?

The isolation may mean that he’s missing some important context here. He didn’t go to public primary school like us mere mortals. He wasn’t exposed to the cliques, the hierarchies, the bad blood, the rivalries, the compounded psychopathy of a bunch kids crammed into one place everyday. As such, I’ll bet that Adrien doesn’t intrinsically get how Chloe has traumatized her classmates over the years.

Not to mention that just wasn’t his experience of her growing up. Given Chloe fawns over him in the series, it seems Adrien was treated to a “nicer” version of Chloe if not a kinder one. So while he knows she’s got a nasty streak he got a watered-down and drawn out dose of her that effectively immunized him. Obviously this is conjecture, but I suspect over the years she was mean enough for it to register with him but not mean enough to feel like a legitimate threat. He seemed actually surprised that she put gum on Marinette’s seat in the first place.

“Hey! What’s that all about?”

“You think that’s really necessary?”

This is not the Chloe persona he grew up with. What I’m getting from this scene is he’s used to her being rude, clingy, and annoying, but not malicious. Despite seeing her do this cruel thing it must be difficult to reconcile with what he knew about his oldest friend.

Adrien absolutely recognizes when Chloe is being mean. I don’t think he grasps her systematic reign of terror because 1) he hasn’t grown up with school social structures so he won’t recognize such a thing, and 2) he’s become desensitized to Chloe’s bullshit from a lower dose of it for a long time. It’s likely he never properly stood up to her and that must be a tough habit to break.

It took something big - like, say, Chloe getting the ENTIRE school in trouble for something she did - for him to be Adrien “enough is enough.” By then he’s developed at least two strong friendships and multiple good friendships. She’s not his only option anymore.

That doesn’t change the fact that he’s desensitized to her. By the end of Despair Bear he laughs and says “she’ll never change.” Despite his frustrations with her, he doesn’t understand the deep hurt her repeated bullying causes. It’s a bad screencap, but if you look below, Adrien’s mostly amused while Rose is literally falling on the floor and Marinette’s making gross faces at her.

To be clear, I am not condoning or excusing his failing as a bystander. I like exploring why characters react the way they do and Adrien’s so reserved that he makes for an interesting subject.

In conclusion Adrien needs to get his head out of his ass, but I understand how sentimentality clouded his perception of everyone being excited about Chloe leaving in Malediktator. 

Ko-fi

[velmia-warins-blog]

Ooh, can you tell us more about RO? 👀👀 (and if that ok if we ask ro's reaction ask? 😀)

Yeah, I’ll tell you a bit more. Also, of course you can ask RO reaction asks. It would make me very happy to get them.

Alex: He is an individual of organization and order in general. This often entails taking up a leadership position which he has been used to doing most of his life, and he does take up a leadership role among the dorm upholding it unless the MC asserts themself more so. In most free time he is reading a book, often enjoying Drama as a genre given social dynamics to him are more entertaining to learn as they’re much more chaotic and unpredictable compared to learning logical and structured subjects. Though some Mysteries have continued to evade him, he considers the Mystery Novel ‘Unlike Sicily’ his greatest bane given how he couldn’t figure out the solution to the mystery until it was revealed at the end of the story. Friends often comment hearing him talk can be entertaining given the depth of his thoughts and passion for everything he has learned. Other hobbies of his are Tabletop RPG’s, computer programming, and Astronomy.

Eliza: She can build pretty much anything if given the right materials, and she has made a lot of friends by building various complex machinery. Mostly computers but she can also do televisions, phones, video game consoles, and in one case even a car. Her passion is everything when it comes to Engineering, and she is looking forward to how anything she can plan to build will be possible for her to do just that with the use of magic. She also tends to be very popular on her own in a social sense, she is earnest, sincere, kind, understanding, and believes everyone has a great depth to them that can be discovered if given enough patience and space to open up to others. Although she believes most people are good and can be healed thus redeeming them from past mistakes, Eliza holds a strong value in the Moral Line. The idea that an individual who crosses crimes like murder is to be viewed as evil for life. Hobbies of hers also include video games, archery, and watching soap operas.

Hussein: He grew up in less fortunate circumstances in comparison to many other of his classmates, and definitely less kind ones to him than the rest of his dorm mates. Hussein has never known his birth parents and was a foster child passed on through several neglectful/abusive homes up until the age of eleven. At that point, he was adopted by one of the Child Protector Service agents and her wife where he lived with four other boys. Two older and two younger he came to consider his brothers. From then on his life was much more supportive and stable, however, his upbringing still made him very cynical to the world at large and especially the crueler group of nobles who entertained themselves by picking on the poorer populace. He can be very defensive, of himself and close friends so he has learned to fight and maintain his body through a lot of physical activity. Hobbies of his include scrapbooking, knife throwing, and baking.

Ramona: She is a complete ball of energy and creativity. Everything related to the arts and using the imagination she has a passion for. She writes, paints, draws, designs clothes, sings, dances. She has done everything to be able to proclaim herself the embodiment of the practitioner of everything considered an art. She is considered the colorful child among a family who is mild-mannered and mundane especially her parents. Her father being an accountant and her mother being a technical writer. Although she’s never been shamed or looked down upon because of her interests, it’s been hard for her to feel truly appreciated due to a household that never cared much for the vibrant and creative things in life. A bit more understandable as they have been mages who prefer the practical side of magic. Instead, she gains inspiration among friends and the expansive eternity that is the cycle of life and death. Her most prominent hobbies are poetry, painting, and clothing design.

Ilsa: The student escort of the MC and first second-year student met at the Academy. She is the ideal of a model student at the Nellis Noble Academy. Very passionate about everything magical, and she does her best to learn about every single field. Though what she excels at are Arcane magic and Wind magic most especially. She likes to consider herself a peacemaker in everything she does, though she can definitely be very forceful when it comes to this goal. Being even more overbearing and authoritarian than Alex himself. Yet this strong will and need to maintain order has made her leader of her dorm. When it comes to her softer side she is more of a guide and a nurturer, someone who wants to see everyone achieve their true potential and reach their goals no matter how impossible they may be. Given her much looser moral code even if someone wants to rule the world or become the next lich to destroy all life she will encourage anyone with the will and hunger for power to do it. Her hobbies include dancing, playing any game related to strategy, chess, and the video game series ‘Elemental Banner’.

(The following are the other RO’s the MC has yet to meet at the academy. Ilsa’s dorm mates.)

Sifer: Ilsa’s second and command, it is best to refer to Sifer as they given they are non-binary. Sifer covers Ilsa in a more measured and logical manner whenever she becomes much more intense in her behavior. They are quite measured, logical, but pragmatic to the point it can be considered concerning. Despite holding humanity to be a high value, it only goes so high as when they deem something to be much higher value than the life of a person can be considered worth sacrificing in their mind. On the surface, they appear to be very stoic and reserved when it comes to their emotions. However, if looked closely at the eye all their emotions can be seen. Their eyes are intense when angry, bright when happy, flow with tears when sad. Very few people know why, but when they feel understood by someone else they feel confident about opening up about everything. Their hobbies include studying philosophy, gardening, and creating historically accurate dioramas.

Martin: The biggest defending champion of flirting and charming his classmates at the Academy. Whether they be male, female, or identify outside of those usual pronouns, anyone attracted to guys he considers a chance to charm his way into their lives. Rumors vary on whether he has succeeded in sleeping with the rest of his dorm mates. Though the truth of the matter is that he managed to make out with Lucas once and the rest of the dorm is mildly amused by how casual they are about the whole matter while just being friends by that point. Managing to get to know him past the first date reveals the more sincere side to him, someone who would prefer a more serious relationship but in his past struggles to make friends desires the popularity of being a flirt in the meantime. Though it takes just as much effort to get him to lower the persona of a heartbreaker and create something more sincere when it’s just a friendship. His hobbies include pottery, animal raising, and playing guitar.

Kelsie: A very standoffish woman who presents herself with a very dark and aggressive personality. Most people consider her to be a bad girl, a reputation she would like to uphold especially as her dorm mates have taken to teasing her by trying to attest to something very different. She desperately wants to be proficient in death magic and crush her natural talent in life magic. Ironically sabotaging her own goal by not understanding the complimenting elements of life magic that death is so intrinsically connected to. Her anti-social behavior makes her difficult to approach. Being fowl mouthed, reflexively aggressive to people of a soft or weak disposition, picking fights, making casual death threats that vary to the extreme and make it difficult to tell how serious she is. Only her dorm mates really know what’s behind her persona of the adoration of death and general violence. So they are definitely looking out for someone who could come into her life and handle the rage she has for the world. Her hobbies include heavy metal, casting summoning rituals in attempts to summon demons and sword fighting.

Lucas: The most chill guy one could ever meet in their life. He is almost comedically calm in just about any situation imaginable. Demons have been summoned into the dorm and everyone needs to work together to banish them? Cool, does he need to look over the banishing ritual? The mysterious interdimensional portal is now in the kitchen? Eh, nothing has come out yet so he’ll take the extra five minutes of sleep. He likes to advise others to take the time to slow down and appreciate the small things in life. Relax, not fret over the big picture and take the worries over life down a few notches. He likes to roll with the punches, and when good things in life come then he likes to stop. Focus on those single moments in time and make them the longest memories that will truly count. It takes extraordinary circumstances that make him worry, freak out, and especially for something to come up that will make him afraid. His hobbies include swimming, fishing, and meditating.

[khaleesirin]

Hi, khaleesirin! I’ve read your “Daenerys Targaryen is the Great Other” analysis, I thought it was particularly amazing (because the standard is high as it is), it gave me a new lens to look at and analyze Daenerys’ story and it propelled me to reflect further about her arc and themes in relation to the other characters’. I’d like to know your opinion about my musings.

So, I think it’s obvious that the show - at least in its final episodes - had double standards when it came to Daenerys in order to paint her in a bad light. However, I wonder if that won’t also be the case in the books, to a lesser extent.

One of the major themes permeating FeastDance as a whole is false peace, which you can see with the Lannisters and the Tyrells squabbling over Tommen; the several factions in the Night’s Watch; the Freys in the Riverlands; the Boltons and the former Stark vassals (especially the Manderlys); Dorne’s supposed allegiance to the Iron Throne (and also Arianne’s years-long resentment); the situation in the Vale with Littlefinger as Lord Protector; Team Aegon out of public sight (for the most part); and, of course, Daenerys’ campaign in Slaver’s Bay. In all of these plots, people are trying to resolve their disagreements in vain: sometimes war is inevitable.

What makes me uncomfortable is that, as far as I’m aware, Daenerys is the only character whose choice of war (or, more precisely, Fire and Blood) is possibly being framed negatively. I say “possibly” because we don’t have TWOW in our hands to be sure, but you can see that’s a possibility considering how a significant part of the fandom has come to the conclusion that she just can’t be a peacetime queen, she has shown her “true colors”. This opinion never sat well with me because, as I said, lots of characters are heading towards this direction, and Daenerys herself only arrived at that place after having made many efforts to make amends, but they weren’t meant to last because some wars need to be fought on. It is a specific situation that will likely bring out her more violent impulses, yet it doesn’t define her character as a whole. I’ve read arguments about how the peace was worth it in Meereen and how Daenerys is now going backwards, but I simply disagree with them and, considering the pattern in the narrative and the anti-slavery ideas in Fevre Dream, I lean towards GRRM disagreeing as well (I’d really like to know if his main inspiration for Daenerys’ storyline was the American Civil War or the Iraq war, because knowing that would really clarify what he is trying to convey with her storyline). In any case, again, why is she the only character whose decision to fight the just (and inevitable) war is being framed as a step too far, a turn to the darkness?

a) In this case, I think it’s worth considering the Doylist viewpoint. ASOIAF was supposed to be a trilogy of books about Westeros first and foremost. Daenerys was supposed to live among the Dothraki, birth her dragons, get an army and get to Westeros in the beginning of the third book. As we know, GRRM is a “gardener”, so, as he had more ideas for the characters in Westeros, he had to create more stories for Daenerys as well, and one of them was her ruling in Meereen. This brings me back to your essay about her: being the fire of the song of ice and fire, why isn’t her anti-slavery war in Essos given as much importance as the War for the Dawn? Why should it be a mid-point for the character to realize that her endgame is Westeros? If Jon’s struggles against the Others represent the battle against the supernatural form of slavery and the ice part of the story, why shouldn’t Daenerys’ narrative be the battle against the human form of slavery and the fire part of the story? I’d argue both are just wars, though the WftD is an easier, more black-and-white, standard fantasy conflict, while the war in Slaver’s Bay has more nuance (one may argue that the characters revolving Daenerys are not fleshed out enough or dumbed down military speaking or one may point out the racist aspects of Daenerys’ story, but the socioeconomic situation is indeed complex) and is more controversial, which only reinforces the need to continue developing this story and, most importantly, Daenerys’ political career (which I’ll get to later).

These questions show that GRRM also has his architect side. Daenerys’ endgame is Westeros because he’s already said his story is about Westeros. Therefore, he needs to transition her to a mindset that’ll propel her to finally leave, but I don’t think he’s considered (or cared enough about) certain negative implications that I laid out above (and it’s not exhaustive, other writers have talked a lot more about it).

b) We also need to consider how the show factors into those speculations and how we look at the story, because, like it or not, GRRM still told the ending to D&D, even if in a very simplified manner. Before season eight aired, I was fine with the idea that all of the six main characters were going through the darkest phases of their journeys, but that Daenerys’ in particular would cause more collateral damage as a natural consequence of the power she wields. After season eight, however, I started to reflect if GRRM may have double standards against Daenerys as well. In any case, the show has made it very likely that her fire and blood phase will culminate with her burning of King’s Landing. On the one hand, this could be dramatically interesting, but on the other hand, it could amplify those very double standards against her. I’ll explain:

b1) As of ADWD, Daenerys hasn’t yet been exposed to the atrocities her father has committed (in part because she refuses to do so). What better (if deeply tragic) way to do so than have her directly confronting the legacy he’s left behind - namely, the wildfire caches all over the city? It would shatter her sense of purpose in life and lead her to question herself and her sanity. It would lead her to be critical of the Targaryen legacy and how she wants to engage with it and how she uses it to define herself. It would make her feel more lonely and isolated than ever, especially since one of her core wishes is to belong somewhere, to have a place to call home… And no one would embrace her if they think she did it on purpose. I can see this being dramatically really interesting.

b2) But I have my reservations about this: 1) If this happens, Daenerys will be in need for redemption and this doesn’t feel right to me (similar to how I feel about Arya). 1.1) She is not and has never been morally flawed as characters like Jaime or Theon or even Tyrion and Sandor. As of ADWD, she’s only committed two morally ambiguous acts (ie crucifying the 163 masters and torturing the wineseller’s daughters). She’s always had her heart in the right place and, if this tragedy happened, it wouldn’t necessarily turn her darker, she’d be a victim of circumstance (and I say so because I don’t see how her actions are any different than the other leaders fighting in the Wot5K, again the double standards…). I dislike how this would frame her outcome in such a moralistic way, especially considering how her character and arc have been paralleled with Jon’s and I’ve yet to see any theories of his character taking a dark turn. 1.2) She’s one of the characters who better embody the books’ idea that you have to do the right thing even if you don’t get anything in return. And yet, not only her war in Essos will be given less narrative importance compared to the WftD (because it will be treated as a middle stage to her fire and blood phase), but when she arrives in the protagonist-centered Westeros, she will be committing war crimes (even if accidentally in the case of the burning of KL)? I’m not a fan of this scenario because it strengthens the idea that she can’t be a peacetime queen because her choice in her final ADWD chapter was fire and blood (which as I’ve said ignores all the time she spent trying to make peace). 2) Also, I’ve noticed a tendency of fandom also demonizing the Targaryen dynasty as a whole, the dragons and the Iron Throne (which to them serves the same thematic purpose as the Ring of LoTR) and I don’t buy their interpretation either because we’ve already seen previous kings who did right by Westeros sitting on the Iron Throne and using their dragons. Having Daenerys fail so spectacularly to restore her family’s dynasty and destroy its most important symbol (the Iron Throne) does not say much about the dynasty’s nature or even the corrupting nature of power as they’d like to believe, it mainly creates sexist implications (that I’ll discuss below). Of course, this depends on how it’s framed: if the dynasty’s end is meant to be a tragedy because of Aerys II’s actions, then I’d buy it; if the dynasty’s end is meant to be a better course of action for Westeros, then it does not work. I wonder why the Targaryens are so vilified when every other house is also working under the parameters of feudalism. Feudalism as a whole should be criticized. Why are the North or Dorne in any better conditions under the governments of House Stark and House Martell? And if GRRM wanted to make an statement about how it’s bad for one individual to accumulate so much power under a centralized government, he really failed, because the Targaryen dynasty is made of successes as much as failures. 3) I’d still expect Daenerys to choose a diplomatic course of action before ultimately deciding to use her dragons on Team Aegon. Heck, it’s still mind-blowing to me to know how the Yunkish masters have burned a lot more things in ADWD than Daenerys and then envision a scenario where she decides to go fire and blood and then accidentally burns everything. GRRM will have to be careful with how he executes this plot if this happens, precisely because it doesn’t gel that well with her previous characterization.

b3) If Daenerys burning KL comes to pass (and the show made it seem very likely that it will), then Daenerys is most likely another queen who failed, which is another tired plot point as well. Anyone who’s read F&B knows that Aerea and Rhaella Targaryen, Rhaena Targaryen, Rhaenys Targaryen, Rhaenyra Targaryen and Daena Targaryen were all considered as queens but were ultimately passed over for their male relatives. It’s a shame that GRRM had so many opportunities to let women rule and chose not to, so why can’t Daenerys be the ultimate change for the dynasty? Related to that point, why can’t she succeed in re-establishing her dynasty when Aegon the Conqueror could? You can’t escape the gender aspect of her potential failure, and having Sansa end as QITN doesn’t fix that, it only makes one question the double standard that plagues House Targaryen and not the others. Finally, in hindsight of the historical (and GRRM’s) pattern of setting female rulers aside and of everything that might happen to Daenerys in the books, having Aegon take the throne and get the love from the smallfolk Daenerys craves for only adds salt to the wounds.

b4) Of course, all I’m supposing that happened in the show and will also happen in the books is that Daenerys will burn King’s Landing. Will she be made a villain and implied mad as well after a lot of stupid foreshadowing in which male characters only told us what the writers wanted the viewers to see, rather than the writers actually showing signs of madness? Will she willingly burn a city full of innocents? Will she be robbed of her perspective by waving away all her actions as “Targaryen madness” (another way of the fandom demonizing the Targaryens, which the text doesn’t really support if you look closely)? Will GRRM not pay attention to how those actions could undermine the book series’ main themes (not that the fucking show has conveyed any themes in a consistent manner, but that’s a bigger issue)? Will he have it happen at a point that’ll leave Daenerys with no chance to redeem herself and end her story with her legacy forever tarnished in-universe, general awareness and pop culture? Will he make Jon Snow look good even after killing her (if that’s how she dies)? Will he make her work within a system that never gave her a chance and have her last appearance be drenched in Nazi symbolism? Because of the double standard that’s also present in the books affecting how Daenerys is perceived, I’m no longer a fan of the theory of her burning King’s Landing. But, if it happens (and it won’t happen without its share of issues), please, GRRM, let her voice be heard, pay attention to her previous characterization, reflect on how those actions will be tied to the book series’ themes and give her a chance to redeem herself and ultimately end on the side of the heroes (because that’s what she is, and that’s important to acknowledge because of her previous acts, the series’ themes and how she compares - or doesn’t - to the actual villains of the story).

Anyway, I agree with you that it was great to see Daenerys rule in Meereen and that it’d a shame if GRRM doesn’t recognize that in the future books. I’m not sure the original Daenerys as he envisioned was going to be as revolutionary as Daenerys is, but, considering the OTL as it is, if their trajectories have changed, then naturally their endgames must be different as well (fitting with GRRM’s gardener identity).

I’d argue that Daenerys’ ending should emphasize her as a political force. Therefore, if one must have her have her dark phase and then burn King’s Landing (and not allow her to continue the Targaryen dynasty, which I would have liked to see), then have Daenerys decide to turn back east with her three dragons to continue the good fight after concluding that Essos has never felt like home, but it was where she did put the effort to build trees, while Westeros was the dream and home of her ancestors, who do not need to wholly define her. It is the end of the Targaryen dynasty, but not with her death. Why I’d choose an ending like this: 1) The circular ending matches show!Jon’s, whose ending I thought would be fitting for book!Jon’s as well; 2) She ends her journey being more critical of external influences and more aware of her needs and actual experiences instead of simply taking on Viserys’ and her ancestors’ dreams to find an ultimately failed sense of belonging. She’s the one in charge of her journey from now on, which is an existential victory of sorts. The continent where she made and can still make a difference is Essos, and she’ll return aware of that, and with a more realistic and resilient sense of purpose; 3) It emphasizes her role as a queen and a revolutionary, not only as a savior (to people who have been in the abstract for her for most of her life); 4) It won’t be a totally happy ending. She’ll be left scarred from the events she witnessed in Westeros, from the burning of King’s Landing to the fight against the Others to the rejection she experiences from the lords and smallfolk alike. She’ll always feel like she needs to atone for her mistakes and she’ll be another Targaryen queen who failed. She still won’t have found a place and people to call her “home”. 5) That being said, she’s alive, in a position of power, more aware of herself and her place in the world and with the possibility of continuing to do good. And she’s also mentally stable and a hero, far from a villain.

So, what did you think? Do you think there are double standards against Daenerys in the books as well, especially in regards to how the inevitability of the wars is framed? What did you think of my observations about the (likely) upcoming burning of King’s Landing? Would you rather have her sit on the Iron Throne, go back to Essos or something else entirely? Please tell me what you think! I really enjoy your posts and they are the reason why I felt the need to gather my thoughts.

[youreawizardharr]

My piece in the Cradlesona community. I decided to revamp Eirene for the last time.

The image I used can be found here.

Cradlesona credit goes to @lovingsiriusoswald

Tagging: @cradlesonanetwork

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Name: Eirene Beverly Chapman

Alias: Princess of Cradle

Nicknames:

Lady Eirene (by Blanc Lapin)

Ei (by Oliver Knight)

Renee (by the Red Army)

Mother Hen (by Ray and Fenrir)

My Beloved (by Harr Silver)

Alice (by Loki Genetta)

Age: 23

Date of Birth: July 9th

Astrology Sign: Cancer

Gender: Female

Height: 5'5"

Occupations: 

Shop Keeper (former)

King of Cradle

Affiliations: The Red Army

Alignment: Neutral Good

Family:

Maryam Louise Sommer (mother)

Katherine Anne Sommer (grandmother)

Harold Reeves Sommer (grandfather)

Erza Chapman (father, deceased)

Pet: Ginger

Paired With: Harr Silver

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Background

Eirene was raised in the Land of Reason. Or, to be more precise, in the countryside of England. She, along with her mother, moved to London to live with her maternal grandparents. Eirene helped around the house, and even helped her grandfather with his small business of selling various wares.

She met Blanc not long after closing the shop, walking home, picking up his pocket watch when she noticed he dropped it by accident. Wanting to return the item back to its’ original owner, Eirene soon realized the man had left, running off in search of him.

She eventually finds him, calling out to the strange man, but he doesn’t hear her.

Blanc vanishes without a trace, seemingly falling down the rabbit hole that appeared suddenly. Has it always been there? Without thinking it through, Eirene follows him, her long, black locks whipping violently, her blouse rustling, as she descends quickly.

Something about this place felt familiar.

A sense of deja vu overcomes her.

Eirene was surprised to learn that she was born in Cradle. Her mother being from the Land of Reason, while her father was a native to Cradle. Erza Chapman, the name of the man who gave her life, was a kindred spirit, who drew everybody in. He helped anyone in need, and would give up the clothes he wore. Erza was one of the rare few who were born with the ability to harness magic, the magical energy he possessed was far greater, due to his royal lineage. After learning about his existence, the Magic Tower murdered him by extracting his soul. Luckily, Erza bidded Maryam and their newborn time to escape from Cradle through the portal connecting their worlds.

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Personality

Eirene is independent, she wants stability, and strives to work hard so that she doesn’t have to depend on the people around her, members of both armies can clarify this simple fact as they have given her odd jobs.

She is friendly with everyone, unless they give her a reason not to be. For instance, the night she found herself in the garden, Jonah wrongly accused her of trespassing. Eirene defended herself and told him she didn’t know, promptly apologizing for doing so.

She became angry, however, when he called her a liar. Eirene told him she didn’t have a reason to lie, and that she hated it when people never believed anything she says.

Her sudden change in attitude surprised him and Edgar, both. Jonah knew Eirene was being honest, right then. Her eyes held so much emotion within them, he apologized for his accusations, but didn’t let her leave.

Eirene is kind and caring to the point that she’ll help anyone who needs it, much like her father had, regardless of their social standings, or where they are from: be it the Red Territory, Central Quarter, or the Black Territory. She’ll defend them with every fiber of her being, having morals to abide by, and despises people who believe themselves to better than their neighbors. Eirene refused to side with either army when the two armies clashed against eachother, having come to love and respect both of the armies.

She’s easily forgiving and understanding, for Eirene forgave Edgar for threatening her into joining the Red Army, and refused to hold Ray accountable for it. She understood they had their reasons, and still cares about them.

Eirene is sensitive and overly emotional. Ray and Fenrir have both commented that she acts just like Sirius at times, being concerned about the wellfare of other people and always wanting to take care of them, so they dubbed her the nickname mother hen.

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Relationships

The Red Army

Jonah Clemence ;

Eirene never liked Jonah when she first met him, believing him to be rude and egotistical. However, the more she got to know him better, the more her opinion about him changed. She admires his integrity, and makes it a habit of telling him so. She also compliments him on everything he does.

Eirene shares the same fondness of sweets with Jonah, something the two of them bonded over. She’ll go with him to the cafe whenever he’s not so busy with his duties.

Edgar Bright ;

Her instincts told her that Edgar couldn’t be trusted, especially after he forced her to join the Red Army by using threats against her.

They became friends after he makes it his mission to apologize by offering her his jelly beans as a peace offering, of sorts. Eirene forgave him, telling him she understood the reasoning behind his actions, even if he did scare her when they first met in the alley.

The two often play board or card games together, with her always being the loser. Edgar never let’s her live it down. He’s also aware she’s smitten with someone in Cradle.

Kyle Ash ;

Eirene shares many similarities with him, but wishes he could be a bit more sensitive. She values her friendship with him, and hangs out with him whenever he goes to the pub for drinks with Oliver and Blanc. The two are really close. She defends Kyle when the others tease him for his bad habit, and says she’s just as much of a lightweight as he is.

Eirene helps Kyle with his daily rounds in the Red Territory, the Central Quarter and in the Black Territory, where she meets and visits the members of the Black Army for chitchat.

Lancelot Kingsley ;

When Eirene was first brought to the Red Army Headquarters, he intimidated her. Or, at the very least, he tried to be, but she was firm against him. Like Jonah and Kyle, Eirene worries about his health. She wishes he takes better care of himself, but doesn’t try to pressure him. Though, Eirene will mother hen him into eating something light on his stomach, much to his utter surprise.

Eirene usually helps him with his paperwork, the typical work of a secretary (only if he allows her to help him), but she doesn’t take no for an answer and helps him, regardless.

Zero ;

Eirene thought Zero was kind when they first met. The two were kind of awkward, and barely spoke to one another. She wanted him to trust her, so she did everything she could possibly think of to get him to open up to her. They became good friends, eventually.

Neutral

Blanc Lapin ;

Eirene never blamed Blanc for the mishap of her descending into Cradle. She actually thanked him for it because she met so many wonderful people that she forged bonds with. Each and every friendship she made meant more to her anything else in her life.

Blanc knows about the secret her parents are keeping from her. Eirene is an anomaly of both worlds. Her conception has never been heard of before. It has been recorded by him.

Eirene visits him frequently for tea and cake.

Oliver Knight ;

Eirene thought Oliver was a child, and treated him as such. He immediately despised her because of it, and threw insults at her everytime they saw eachother. At one point, he unintentionally made her upset by making her believe he absolutely hated her.

To make it up to her, he allowed her to embrace him (only occasionally), whenever she came to visit Blanc every now and then.

Eirene eventually learned about his curse, but never judged him for it. In fact, she told him it isn’t something he can control, that it wasn’t his fault. She wanted to be his friend, and if he wasn’t comfortable with that, then just being around him is more than enough.

Loki Genetta ;

Her first impression: strange. Eirene thought he was strange. The way he carried himself, his mannerisms. He acted like an actual cat.

He had this strange fixation with her, tried getting her to open up to him. She supposed he dealt with people like her on a daily basis.

When he asked her to go on dates with him, Eirene rejected him politely, but said they could have fun on days she wasn’t helping Kyle, or anyone else around Cradle. Loki looked dejected, but agreed to be friends.

Their friendship continued to blossom the more they hung out together. Eirene still acted reserved, shy even. Especially whenever he dragged her to his shared home with Harr. Loki watched the spark of interest within her eyes come to life, saw the way her face lite up with a dark scarlet hue.

Eirene has an attraction for Harr, huh? Thus, a series of feline shenanigans began. There's an unrequited love that Loki has for Eirene.

Harr Silver ;

The moment Eirene first laid eyes on the reclusive man, her heart races inside her chest. It felt hotter than the typical warmer weather Cradle usually deals with. Loki kept staring at her with the most delighted expression she had ever seen. She didn’t particularly like the look he was giving her.

The mischievousness flashing within those heterochromia eyes made her nervous, and she was certain that Harr felt the same way.

The next time Eirene met Harr, Loki brought her to the Lake of Tears, where said wizard had been occupying for several hours. She sat little ways from Harr, placing her hands on her lap. The awkward silence between them was deafening, but Eirene felt content just being there with him. She attempts small talk, elated that Harr responded to her.

The third time Eirene met Harr, Loki invited her over to their house, purposely pushing her up against Harr while making excuses about having to go on an errand. The two awkwardly stood there until Harr offered tea.

Their relationship continued that way. With Loki scheming, and both Eirene and Harr finding themselves in awkward or embarrassing situations. She gets to know Harr little by little, bringing pastries or apricotes for them to share when he’s fishing. She learned he loved apricotes that day and, with Luka’s help, baked him an apricote cake and a few apricote pastries.

They completely opened up to one another, after a month passed, doing little things Loki knew were signs that Harr returned Eirene’s feelings. It took him several attempts to get them to admit their feelings to one another.

They lounged around the Lake of Tears one afternoon, Loki purposely pushed Eirene off the small rock she stood on with his magic. She ended up falling on top of Harr, their lips connecting in that moment, causing the two of them to blush in embarrassment. Loki watches them from the sidelines, grinning.

Mousse Atlas ;

The former Ace of Hearts visited Eirene days after Edgar brought her to the Red Army, bombarding her with all sorts of questions about the Land of Reason. She answered each question truthfully, and then told him she was enjoying her stay in Cradle. The two would occasionally meet in the Central Quarter for a cup of tea and pastries while he asked her more questions about where she came from. They ended up becoming such good friends. After defeating her cousin in battle, Mousse offers to be her ambassador after she reclaims the crown.

Dean Tweedle ;

Eirene has met Dean a couple of times, but hasn't tried engaging more than a few conversations with him. She does enjoy hearing him tell stories about his students.

The Black Army

Sirius Oswald ;

Sirius knows about Eirene’s feelings for his childhood friend, Harr Silver. He even encourages her to try to get to know him, but warns her that Harr isn’t used to women.

Sirius hired Eirene after the war against the Red Army. The two are really close, and completely trust one another. Eirene works for him as a volunteer (in her perspective), rather than an hourly worker. He still pays her, no matter how much she declines lin.

Seth Hyde ;

Seth immediately gotten himself attached to Eirene the moment they met. He helps her lack of sense for fashion by helping her pick out dresses, shoes, and accessories to go along with her attire. He compliments her beauty, and always wants to dress her up.

Eirene taught Seth how to stitch one day, he kept jabbing himself with the needle, and Eirene cleaned and bandaged his wounds.

Fenrir Godspeed ;

Eirene harbored a crush for Fenrir after meeting him. She thought he was beautiful (until she met Jonah), and liked his charming personality. Her crush for Fenrir eventually wore off, and she came to view him as nothing more than a great friend.

Ray Blackwell ;

In her opinion, Ray should have sent one of the Thirteen to guard her. Instead, he sent a lower ranking soldier with her to the Centeral Quarter. His decision ultimately lead to her immediate capture by Edgar.

Eirene doesn’t hold Ray accountable, and said she forgave him after the war ended.

At one point, Ray and Fenrir drags her down to mischief hell, roping her in on their pranking other members of the Black Army.

Luka Clemence ;

Eirene had a tough time getting close to Luka. With her persistence, Luka eventually opened up to her, allowing friendship to grow. She always helped him with cooking.

Eirene developed her cooking skills through him, and he couldn’t be any more prouder.

Magic Tower

Amon Jabberwock ;

Amon wanted to use Eirene for his devious plots of ruling the Land of Reason, Cradle, and beyond their country. His magic crystal reserves weren't equivalent to her magical prowess, but her magic wasn't enough to combat against the magic he stole from her father: whose soul he infused into himself.

Eirene despises Amon for making the people she cared about suffer for selfish reasons.

Dalim Tweedle ;

Eirene immediately disliked Dalim, finding his attitude annoying. When he tried capturing her by the orders of Amon, she gave him a piece of her mind and kept defending herself against his magic and the spells from the other disciples. He told her that he wanted to be the one to experiment on her, but then said Amon would be livid if he ever said that where he can hear him.

After Amon's defeat, Eirene decided to give Dalim a second chance by letting him continue working in the tower as long as Harr was the new leader if he chose to be.

┈     ┈     ┈     ⋞ 〈 ⏣ 〉 ⋟     ┈     ┈     ┈

Additional Information

The beauty mark Eirene inherited from her father is a trademark of the Chapman family.

Eirene is sometimes seen carrying Ginger around, or she has Ginger in a carrier. Eirene never walks the fennec fox on a leash, despite Jonah’s insistent nagging about his concerns that Ginger might harm Pineapple.

Her favorite colors are gold and royal purple.

Her favorite dessert is red velvet cake, especially if Luka is the one who makes it for her. He bakes it for her birthday every year.

Eirene hates the aftertaste of bitter alcohol.

Eirene inherited the capability to use magic from her father due to the high amplitude for the art that passed through the Chapman family for generations. Due to her mother being from the Land of Reason, her defensive magic is extremely powerful.

[medievalfangirl]

Mortals - Part I

Notes: Written for @tephi101 800 follower challenge. A massive congratulations love, your followers are a testament to your writing talent and sweet soul 💖 So now I have three WIPs - is this how I die? 

Prompt: Supernatural - Hellhound 

Summary: After a life spent dancing with death’s messenger, Halfdan is still the most fascinating thing Ylva has ever seen. 

Warnings: mentions of death, mild violence 

Words: 2891

Pairing: Halfdan the Black x OC

Ylva first saw the Helhound on a frigid winter day, nestled between her tenth autumn and eleventh spring. It had black fur, as dark as a night of wretched deeds and buried secrets. Thin lips were rolled back to form a snarling mouth, thick drool oozing over glistening teeth. It’s claws shone in defiance of the deep grey clouds that hid the sun. Yet it was the eyes of the animal that firmly named it a beast. They were blood red, and shone with the malice of another world. Those eyes were the place hope travelled to die. To look into them for too long was to know the most primal of dread, the birth of terror. A feeling that crept into your soul and blackened it beyond salvation. For less than a heartbeat she’d stared, frozen, looking deep into the chasms that led to Hel. Her own strangled scream had torn the moment in half.  

As she grew, encounters with the creature became a part of Ylva’s life. It was death given teeth, a sight no mortal should bear witness to. But she did. And each visit pushed her further towards a great precipice, terror and hopelessness gripping her heart like a vice, squeezing her tighter each time she saw it, threatening to tip her over the edge when her fear finally drove her to madness. 

She learnt it’s deadly dance, how it would appear on the edge of town and wait in the shadows. There in the darkness it chose it’s victim, stalked their steps and slept under their bed. No one survived once marked, and no one save Ylva could see it. When a stumble in the street had brushed her hand against another's, a woman recently marked by the beast, visions of the woman’s death had knocked Ylva to her knees. She understood then: the hound did not deal death - it warned of it. The lady had fallen through the ice while fishing the lake and the naive girl had tried to save her. She’d almost drowned in the attempt. Whether they met their end by sword, sickness or other means, those poor souls were caught in the clutches of fate. She couldn’t free them. She was just a woman - cursed with knowledge and bound to watch.

Word of her talents soon spread, and naturally, the great shield-maiden Lagertha wanted to benefit from this asset living in her kingdom. So the girl, now a young woman, had trained to be merciless with her shield and axes. Despite years of visits from death’s messenger, she kept it’s darkness at bay. She learnt to wield her curse like a weapon: regaling Lagertha with every glimpse, anything she saw in the blurred backdrop behind the premature demises. Anything that could sway the future in their favour. While that one death was set the rest was fluid, and sometimes, others could be warned of the circumstances, such as a sinking ship or burning home. Just as the bite of her axe helped her fell foes in battle, this weapon too helped her defend herself against her greatest enemy: her own fear. Using the visions gave her a semblance of control over the madness that thing had brought into her life. 

Yesterday she had seen the hound, blending with the shadows that hugged the docks. She could feel its anticipation to mark someone. And death was coming, there was no doubt of that. Lagertha had killed Aslaug and taken Kattegat back, but for long would she hold it? Her enemies were poised and waiting. The coming war would pit viking against viking, brother against brother. The sons of Ragnar were divided. King Harald and his brother Halfdan too found themselves on opposite sides of the gulf. Halfdan and Bjorn had returned from the Mediterranean, and a roaring feast in their honour was the root of Ylva’s drinking that night. 

Halfdan the Black was enough to pull her from her own contemplations. His presence made no sense. She simply couldn’t reconcile her memory of him with his choice to oppose his brother. 

He may have been the lighter brother in appearance but he was the darker in nature. He was a more reserved man than his brother, never one to waste words with flamboyancy. A maker of cool observations, alertness than verged on caution when around a potential threat - which he saw everywhere. For his cool manner off of the battlefield, when he fought he was wreathed in flame. As ruthless as any Viking, there was something vicious about him when he killed, something unhinged. As if he relished the chance to shake off all and any humanity. The only person she’d even seen him show any affection for was Harald. Watching them fight side by side during the Second Siege of Paris, their sibling bond looked unbreakable. Both men seemed to love sparingly, and with great intensity. And now they were ready to stare each other down across a field of blood, ready to end each other’s lives?

The man talking with Lagertha was one of two things. A different man to the one Ylva remembered, or a traitor. Curiosity piqued, concern building, she was determined to find out which. Letting ale flow across the floor like tributaries into a great lake she watched, waiting until Halfdan had drank enough to relax. Or relax as much as he seemed able to.

Only when his posture held less rigidity, one arm propped on the back of his chair, did Ylva approach. Two drinks in hand, she took the seat opposite and offered one to him. The warrior hesitated before he took the ale, watching her over it’s rim as he drank. Sharp eyes studied her from behind a tousled forelock. 

Slowly he lowered the horn, still observing her with an intensity that neared unnerving. “I know you.” 

“I fought during the Second Siege of Paris.”

Recognition dawned across his face. “You are Lagertha’s seer?”

“I am the woman you remember, yes. But I am no seer.” 

Halfdan frowned, mouth forming a straight line. “You knew what would happen that day. You warned the French had a fleet strong enough to challenge us.”

He remembered the day’s bitter loss well. But he didn’t know her, and like everyone else, he was quick to assume and slow to accept he was wrong. 

“Foresight is not limited to seers.”

“Then what are you?” 

Using the arm still draped across his chair, he pushed himself upright with the fluid grace of a cat. Ylva pulled her auburn braid over her shoulder. Fiddling with the end, she answered with a nonchalant tip of her head. 

“A mystery.”

“Tell me.” Halfdan’s eyes flashed. This man may have moved like a feline, but he was no tamed house creature. Something wild simmered beneath the surface. “I am a curious man.” 

“Your curiosity will fade,” she dismissed with a wave of her hand. 

“No it will not. And I have far less patience,.” 

As he spoke he grabbed the wrist she swung between them, long fingers curling around the joint. His grip was unyielding, not painful but too tight for comfort. Ylva wasn’t stupid. She heard the warning in the harder edge his already raspy voice had taken. Bright blue eyes flickering across his face, she saw it too in the firm set of his features. 

Quite unintentionally, she had caught this man’s interest. A man who was accustomed to having whatever he wanted. A man who never heard ‘no’, and when he did, likely took matters into his own hands to change that answer. That had not been part of her plan to find out his true motives for being in Kattegat. But perhaps she could use it? She could tend that spark of curiosity; make him yearn for her truth enough to tell her a little something in exchange. 

Slowly she spoke, choosing her words carefully. Halfdan the Black was not a man she wanted to push too far. Danger glittered in blue depths behind a messy shock of blonde. And that danger’s hand currently had a rigid hold around her pulse-point.  

“I have never told Lagertha, and I have fought for her for many years. As for you, Halfdan, I do not even know if I can trust where your loyalties lie.” 

For a moment he neither moved nor spoke, some emotion flickering too briefly across his face to be named. She’d tried to toe the line between inciting his curiosity and his ire - perhaps she’d fallen to the wrong side? 

“I will fight for Bjorn,” he responded at last. 

Ylva watched him steadily, working to keep the relief from showing across her face. She sensed her fear was a weakness he would use. Tilting her chin up, she asked, “will you? Convince me.”

“I owe your leader an explanation. Not you, seer.”

The pressure on her wrist increased enough to set off a dull throb beneath his fingers. 

“And I owe one to no one,” she snapped, eyes narrowing into a glare. A fierceness slipped into her voice, a far cry from the careful cool she had maintained so far. “My name is Ylva, you will use it.”

He’d poked a raw nerve one too many times. 

Seers could cast their mind’s eye forward and read the words of the world that hadn’t yet been written. Their gift showed them both good and ill. Her curse showed her naught but doomed souls whose destiny was already written in blood. The guilt of watching friends die not once but twice had festered in her, and soon she’d found herself stood at the edge of that great cliff. The one she’d felt the hound pushing her towards since the very first sighting. It had been a simple choice - harden her heart, or fall, and break. 

So when she declared she wasn’t a seer, she meant it. She was a woman who predicted death without feeling. A woman who wasn’t sure she had any soul left. 

“Are you threatening me?” 

A sharp tug on the limb he still held brought her hurtling back to the present. Her stomach smacked into the table rim, her upper body tilting precariously, following the path of her outstretched arm. And Ylva had thought he’d felt menacing before. She would have laughed at her naivety if the situation wasn’t so serious. 

Head tilted, lips twisted into a dark smirk, Halfdan’s expression was amused disbelief. He was watching her like she was prey. Entertained in the way a wolf would be, to see a rabbit show defiance. Oh, what a deadly game she had started by drawing him into conversation. Her heart hammered wildly in her chest, icy cold trickling down her spine. He was no doubt armed, and strong enough that she could not free herself. If the mood took him he could kill her then and there. And yet, hemmed in by his intoxicating presence, she had never felt more alive. He had a hypnotic allure that set her body humming. The lethal mix of icy calm and fiery peril that seemed to wage a war in his eyes called to her. It was enough that she hesitated, considering the risk of pushing him further, just to see what he would do. Her self-preservation instincts, however, would not allow her to quench that thirst to know. 

Swallowing her pride, she shook her head. “No. I’m asking you.” 

“I name you as I see you.” 

The warrior sought an explanation - he wanted her to lay her secrets out for him, and was unaccustomed to people denying him. But he had given her nothing. He hadn’t budged an inch - and neither would she.

“And you have given me no reason to trust you with the knowledge you want.” 

The close quartered-quiet wasn’t ideal for the shield-maiden. She could not deny her attraction to the man when she was close enough to count the lashes on one eye. Lithe and tall, though not enough to tower over her as Bjorn did, his body didn’t flaunt his strength. But she had seen him hack men to pieces. She knew the power that shifted beneath his skin. His unkempt blonde hair gave him a feral look his nature did nothing to negate. This was the first time she’d been close enough to study his eyes. She found intertwining brown hues, like mighty dragons fighting in the sky. As with every part of him, body and beyond, they were captivating. 

In silence they sat, pinning each other under stubborn glares. Their obstinate dispositions had brought them to a stalemate. Each wanted to draw the information they craved from the other, without divulging anything about themselves. All Ylva’s attempts to manipulate the situation had failed. They’d spoken about her more than she’d like - Halfdan kept spinning the conversation until she was the one answering questions. Her approach had been all wrong, and had set him on the defensive. 

Dropping all pretense and veiling from her voice, she spoke plainly. “I am sorry for talking in riddles, and implying you are not to be trusted. I saw you fight at Harald’s side in Paris. I simply find it difficult to understand why you are not by his side still.” 

The warrior considered her for so long she feared he would keep her in his bruising grip indefinitely, and say nothing. But he didn’t. He released her, and the feeling rushed back into her hand like water from behind a broken dam. She eased herself back into her seat, body stiff, waiting in earnest for his answer. 

“Bjorn saved my life.” 

She’d overheard him say as much to Lagertha - she wanted more. Drawing details he didn’t want to give was like drawing blood from a stone. 

“Surely you and your brother have saved each other many times over?” 

Taking a sip of his neglected ale, he shrugged enigmatically. He held the answer over her like a bone over a dog. But his reticence begged the question: what could possibly have happened in the Mediterranean between Bjorn and Halfdan?

“I overheard you telling Lagertha about the Mediterranean. Would you tell me something?” 

Halfdan drained his horn before replying, contemplating his words.  “A wanderer named Sinric was our guide. He may have been a God, walking among men.” 

“That…” Ylva trailed off, eyes wide.. Of all the things she’d thought he would say, that was not one of them. “I hardly have the words. What made you think him a God?” 

“He has this way of appearing somewhere, without seeming to travel there. And he is always at home, wherever he is.”

“That is incredible! To be in the presence of a God… I cannot imagine it. Did he share in your adventures?”

“You could call it that,” he shook his head ruefully. “He was nearly executed alongside Bjorn and I.”   

“Executed?” Ylva echoed, enthralled. 

“By an Arab, on plains of sand that stretched as far as the eye could see.” 

When speaking about his travels he was lighter. The heavy tone, laced with warnings and implications was replaced by something natural. His eyes captured wonder, an appreciation for what the world could hold, beyond his desire to take it. A brief smile tugged at his lips, and Ylva swallowed hard, taken aback by how it transformed his face. Even his posture was different, some of the tension draining from his shoulders. 

“I would like to see this desert for myself,” she admitted, the truthful words coming with unusual ease. Pale hands gripped the worn table-edge. “But there is always another battle to fight.”  

Halfdan furrowed his brow, disagreeing quietly. “There is more to life than fighting for glory.” 

Hadn’t this man spent his life fighting alongside his brother for little reason other than power, glory, and the thrill of it? 

That was when she understood. He was no traitor; indeed it was the other, less likely option. 

Halfdan’s experiences had subtly changed him. What he’d witnessed she hardly understood - he’d surely fed her only the scraps of his escapades. But those days in a world of sand had resulted in a man who could side against his brother. 

Ylva wasn’t sure what to say, but he didn’t seem to mind. Ale may have loosened his tongue, but he had never been the most loquacious of men. Shortly after he stood. With a quiet, “seer,” he bade her farewell, inclined his head, and left. 

She watched him brazenly as he walked, people parting from his path. A few clapped his shoulders as he passed through. 

Their conversation had allayed most of her concerns over his loyalties - that should have been the end of it. But she couldn’t help but turn his words over in her mind, hearing him deliver them again in that throaty voice. He’d stolen her attention with his unexpected arrival. Now they’d spoken, her interest was heightened like the waxing of the moon. Except she already doubted this feeling would wane. From the darkness she’d anticipated to the lightness she hadn’t, he was a puzzle. Complicated in a way that made her want to figure him out.  

There was time yet before the defenders of Kattegat and her intended conquerors would meet. Halfdan would find she too had curiosity to burn.

@geekandbooknerd    @naaladareia    @notyouraveragegirl17  @xxxvalaryaxxx  @waiting4inspiration   @inforapound (I hope you don’t mind me tagging you? I thought you may have been curious about this other time-stealing project of mine. If not say so and I shan’t bother you with it 😉😂)

[mikhaelkosanik]

Chapter 3 (google translate)

My office was located in the old part of the library. Many years ago this building was enough. Then Brumaltown was only restored after a wave of migration. But gradually the city grew, and a small house was not enough to store all the books. The authorities rebuilt a new public library in the city center, and dividing this into two parts, they gave it to private practices and the Grasse Foundation. While working, I occasionally saw Kathleen Grass, the youngest of Emma's children. She brought valuable documents to the archive and personally entered the materials into the file cabinet. Apart from her, no one could do this: Eliot and Emma died almost twenty years ago, and their eldest son Eugene was developing for the treatment of the virus. He was not up to the papers. As a result, Emma’s children shared responsibilities: the son was engaged in science, and the daughter in the fund of assistance and archives.

Kathleen was happy with everything: from childhood, she had seen what difficulties her mother had faced and what kind of ostracism she was subjected to. Science was not given to her either, and everyone noticed this: from parents who encouraged any undertakings of children, to teachers. And although the fund hired volunteers from time to time, they were not full-fledged assistants. Funding had severe restrictions: all donations went to meet the needs of patients and small salaries of those same volunteers. I knew this, because the Grasse Foundation collaborated with FVP and provided them with quarterly reports.

At first I was surprised that volunteers were paid money, but then I realized why: the fund worked not only in the states, but also around the world. His activities were equated with the Salvation Army or the Red Cross from the past. Because of this, few people went to such work, and there were always not enough hands. It was rumored that the fund even sometimes offered those works that were not directly related to risk as socially useful work. For example, all the same work in the archive. But recently, this has not helped.

The library was the best choice: it was hidden behind massive trees in the depths of the largest city park. Silence - and only rare visitors distracted from work, embarrassing applicants. Sometimes people came to me with such problems, which it’s a shame to admit even to ourselves, not like outsiders. Over the years, I have seen a lot. FVP did not like it, but everything tripled me. Without an eternal eye, working on your head was easier. And besides, part of the library was given to the archive, which also drove idle onlookers from this place, because they did not care about “some kind of documents there”.

When meeting, Kathleen gave me access, provided that I would check the operation of the equipment in the archive. She rarely came, busy with no less important matters, and it was extremely difficult to remotely check the archive. Looking for at least someone who will often visit this place, Miss Grasse asked for my help. The work is simple and easy - of course, I agreed.

Before, another employee worked with me, and we went upstairs one by one. But time passed, and Dale was promoted, moving to work in a private school for Eno. I was left alone among the books, dust and noise of the archive fans. This weighed, and at the same time saved: it was easier for me to experience my grief alone than in full view of others.

The caller came a little earlier and was waiting for me near the entrance. “This is good,” I said, recalling what other times there were clients.

More than once or twice, I came across those who called, begged for help, made an appointment, but never came. There were people who called three to four times, but found excuses not to visit a psychologist. So with all desire it was impossible to help.

“The costs of work,” I consoled myself, trying not to think about the bad. “I can't force them, after all!”

The current visitor nevertheless found the strength to come to the appointment, for which I was very grateful to him.

It turned out to be a tall, tight, though not complete, man in a strict business suit with a bright spot - a tie.

His stern facial expression with small wrinkles, barely noticeable on pale skin and cold evil eyes burned through me, hinting that the owner is not one of those people who blindly trust others.

“Eh, the consultation will be difficult,” I said immediately, hurrying up to the front door and standing next to the stranger.

The gestures of the applicant were smooth, but verified and very mean. I noticed this when the man turned to me. Like he was hiding something. This reminded me of the equilibrists in the circus - they just as carefully and smoothly moved, walking along a thin rope over the abyss gaping beneath them.

Approaching, I hastened to extend a hand to the expectant, noting the smell of cigars and "burnt" skin, mixed with subtle touches of cologne. My observation was confirmed: the stranger shook my hand tightly and gestured that it was worth continuing the conversation elsewhere.

Opening the door and minting a few steps on the bright tile, we went into the office near the entrance. Once there was a children's reading room. I really liked that from those times there were drawings on the walls and shelving with books. Many of them were written off, and I just took the books to myself, making excuses that I would read these tales to either my sister or my nephews.

We were greeted by a spacious room in blue and light yellow tones. I did not touch much, because it did not stop me from doing serious work. In addition, children's drawings and the situation itself sometimes said: for me there are no children's problems - there is a misunderstanding between children and adults.

When the visitor and I settled down in comfortable chairs left over from the past, he proceeded to the story.

“My name is Eric Coleman,” the man began, continuing to drill me with a heavy look from beneath his bright wide and straight eyebrows. - Your number was given at the hospital. It so happened that my daughter began to hurt herself.

- How long have you noticed this behavior? - the bright office tuned for a peaceful manner, and I hoped that I would be able to find out the details. I understood that, while working for the ZSC, I did not arouse the confidence of the newcomer, but still relied on his consciousness.

“Just yesterday,” Eric spoke calmly, his pose not expressing excitement, but I understood that this was not entirely true.

The one sitting opposite me seemed a strong-willed, decisive person, maybe even tough and straightforward. It shone through in his precise and dry manner of speech, in the article and direct posture. And although the man was large, which only added severity to his mind, he spoke surprisingly emotionless and calm. It’s just dry, as if stating the facts from some encyclopedia.

How many people will immediately tell a stranger, albeit very famous in narrow circles, that his child hurts himself and, perhaps, is trying to commit suicide? I also did not know such. Sometimes I spent a good half of the session on a banal clarification of the situation and its circumstances ... if not the entire session.

  “Don't think, my daughter doesn't want to die,” Mr. Coleman remarked, guessing what I was thinking. - She inflicts wounds horizontally. If these were suicide attempts, she would inflict them differently.

- Selfharm? I asked. “Are you sure about that?”

  “Most likely,” Eric answered my question. “I saw the veins being cut,” the man ran a finger along the sleeve, showing a vertical section.

Here I was already thinking: I had many patients who tried to commit suicide. Often, adoptive parents did not even know about the depression of their children, turning after one or two unsuccessful suicide attempts. I was definitely not the kind of person who should prove the lack of such a motive in behavior. I had a selfie in my practice, but for a long time. And he was connected with completely different circumstances.

Eric immediately made a reservation that this is not the case. But perhaps he simply did not know all the circumstances?

Maybe his daughter did not know how to inflict wounds in order to die? Or maybe she did it to check if she could bear the pain or not. A case came to mind: a boy inflicted wounds long enough to prepare for pain. But, without talking to the child himself, I could not draw any conclusions. Maybe a man is really right and the wounds are just self-harm, not talking about the desire to die? True, the latest version cannot be completely discounted. Statistics inexorably told me that even ordinary self-harm could ultimately lead to suicide attempts.

“You said you were a pink family?” - I remembered the detail of yesterday’s dialogue. It was awkward to be silent for a long time, considering options that might actually not exist at all.

I knew very well that “pink” families are called families where one of the spouses belonged to the eno. Officially, enos were considered hermaphrodites, which was indirectly confirmed by the structure of the genital organs. But only indirectly. Not all enos were born like that. In addition, a biological evaluation took place at birth. Therefore, the Garth test was created. It consisted of two parts: a biological assessment, which is given to all children at birth, and a psychological assessment, passed at eight and fifteen years. Often I saw very young children who did not even pass special tests, with a marker of the third sex - a pink choker on their neck. Why they put on this attribute so early was a mystery to me. Only the Garth test finally put an end to the question of the gender of the child. More precisely, even a fifteen-year-old teenager. This is the official age when every third-sex citizen received documents with a special note.

Over the years, I have seen a wide variety of enos, from gentle and sweet, when looking at which it is impossible to believe that they are biological men, to completely brutal and strong. After all, biology remained biology, and the psyche does not always affect the appearance as we would like. Within the norm, at least.

The formation of the “pink” marriage took place even if not before my eyes, but I found the forerunners of the current liberalization. And I'm ready to put my hand on the Bible, swearing that now everything is more or less good!

When the first outbreak of the virus broke out in 2034, almost every government threw itself into creating a cure. These attempts to cure the Mehoni virus led to the discovery of the Encantant. It began to be used after the first clinical tests on cell cultures. There was no time for more serious research.

A side effect of the drug and became irreversible changes in the psyche of some men. For a long time, it was believed that “Encantant” was a kind of chemical lobotomy that changes gender awareness and disables sexuality. That is how eno appeared.

The institute of the “pink” marriage and the “pink” family took shape finally not so long ago, about 60 years ago. A crisis in the economy, a crisis in politics, a lack of resources, a lack of women - all contributed to the forerunners of the “pink” marriage. Even the church did not condemn this, with the proviso that the guys do not sleep with each other. In addition, in those years there was a definite base, both cultural and scientific, allowing for relations between people of the "same" gender.

Healthy girls then massively campaigned to give birth to children. They tried to ban abortion, legally require the birth of children under a certain age. But all this was before the war. After that, another misfortune appeared - the reduction of the population. Almost all governments quickly realized that, if they continue to restrict women, the economic crisis will lead to the collapse of the remnants of the past, and the reduction in DBV will completely destroy the economy, returning the world to the agrarian-feudal system.

During the years of devastation, the third sex did not bother anyone, and the problems of eno remained in the shade for some time. Everyone tried to restore what was left of the once great country, split in two. Moreover, the migration of survivors from dead lands has become a huge problem - both for the states and for the S.I.C. Amid a similar problem, the enos seemed inconsequential and were ignored. As, in fact, what is happening in the shelters of St. Elena for patients with the virus. No, shelters appeared long before the first bombs fell on the world. That's just not easier from this. And then, after the story of Emma Grass, society had to put up with the fact that there are patients with a virus dangerous to humans and they also have their own rights. Because of this, the institution of the “pink” family was created. This is the price that the vast majority of countries were willing to pay for the peace of their citizens. At least that's what I knew. After all, sick children and women had to be put somewhere.

In addition to the third sex, who married a man, there were female “pink” families, where both partners had a virus note in their documents. But there were very few of them, and in my practice I did not happen to meet them. Eno alliances with women were not considered “pink” because of biology. Moreover, such marriages steadily made up for the shortage of the third sex, because Enos could only give birth to their own kind.

I doubt that female "pink" couples formed a relationship from a good life. More likely because of ostracism and loneliness. There was no question of love.

I already had a certain practice in working with “pinks”. It was necessary to work in such families not only with children due to a number of legislative aspects, but also the characteristics of the enos themselves. Almost all eno, both according to my data and statistics, had a soft psyche, a compliant character and a very strong parental instinct. Often they were brought up very strictly and in places harshly. The first years of the FVP required the education of eno children in closed schools. Due to the artificiality of the third sex, after coming of age, graduates of closed schools were transferred to the jurisdiction of the SSC. Then eno accounting was very tough, they were considered as a resource, and I even found those times ... Well, yes, there were enough problems in society, the economy was rising from its knees, and we had to look for ways of least resistance.

At that time, “pink” marriages were most often the second for male widowers, and eno spouses were considered by them as an option for a free nanny for children and a housemaid. A kind of bonus for good service to the homeland. After all, someone should lead a life, take care of children, especially after overpopulation has begun. Because of it, the number of officially permitted marriages was limited. These almost had nothing to do with love or sex. No one was embarrassed by the consumer attitude towards eno. Yes, and they themselves put up with this, just to survive: almost all the knowledge of the third sex was reduced to housekeeping and caring for children. Just 25 years ago, everything was just that. In those days, the “pink” couples tried not to advertise the relationship after the wedding. Yes, and the WCC did not strongly advocate the openness of these families. Well, yes, they once engaged in the selection of couples for eno: it is unprofitable to advertise problems in such families. So there was a cult of silence.

It might seem that no other options existed, but this is not entirely true. There were parents who wished their children happiness regardless of gender. Yes, society imposed severe restrictions on the behavior of eno, on their ability to learn, live and work independently. But loopholes were even then. My couple, for example. He received a very good education and after college got a job as a teacher. For those years, it was just “unheard-of arrogance” on the part of Eno.

Today, in 2133, everything was different, although the sediment from those troubled times was still felt. Almost every show or program said that “pink” families are one of the pillars of society. From screens, posters and newspaper pages, Protection of family values ​​seemed to shout out its slogan: “A strong family is the key to a happy future!” First of all, this concerned precisely the “pink” families and eno spouses. And it is not surprising that such families turned to me in the most difficult and neglected cases ...

According to my information, officially in Brumaltown there was only one “pink” family, which did not want to make contact. The same girls who were infected with the Mehoni virus. This created additional problems. Most likely, you will have to work not only with the girl, but also with one of her parents.

“Yes,” the interlocutor answered, a little confused. Bitterness froze in his eyes. Then the amber flame flashed, and Eric added:

“But,” having paused, “we are not quite so.”

It was very important. Of course, I probably could not know what was meant, but certain assumptions nevertheless appeared.

With the onset of the liberalization period, a sufficiently large percentage of enos did not want to formalize any kind of relationship. Yes, and to join them, too, did not dare. It was easier for them to live apart than to follow the stringent requirements of society. My former colleague Dale, who worked directly in the educational center, also complained about it, and the top of the FVP expressed their complaints about this - this was regularly reported in the news. If we count the number of eno, then we get quite decent numbers of single citizens: approximately every fifth state citizen and every twelfth citizen of S.I.C were alone. For other countries, I did not have statistics and could only refer to these summaries.

As a result, the Defense even had to make concessions and allow lonely eno adoption if they met the requirements of agencies. To be more precise, the latter, it seems, was influenced by the Grasse Foundation, which could not endlessly sponsor orphanages and orphanages, where, in one way or another, children with the Mekhoni virus got into.

I involuntarily breathed a sigh of relief: I will have to be very careful both in communicating with the Coleman family and with the Family Values ​​Protection authorities, which, upon completion of work, I will add this case to my report. I couldn’t conceal customer data. No ethics could cover this!

“Good,” I finally remarked, scrolling through the foregoing in my mind, “come with your whole family.” I’ll try to find out the reason for your situation. Eric thanked me and left the office without saying another word. After his visit, I involuntarily recalled what I had been trying to escape from for thirty years. Alas, I knew firsthand what the “pink” family is.

***

The next day, the Coleman failed to arrive. Eric called and dryly warned me that due to busyness, the meeting would have to be rescheduled. I agreed. In terms of speech, it looked like the first time Eric’s husband had called me. Understanding the state of the Colemans, I was very afraid of meeting with members of this family.

During the weekly break, I thought for a long time whether to take a new family or not. “Pink” families had their own specifics, because of which working with them was extremely costly in terms of resources. I was not sure that my reserves in this case could be enough. Neurotization in such pairs always exceeded the average, and it was simply not always possible to reduce it. And without it, the whole workflow would turn into hell. In addition, I myself once had a “pink” pair, because of which I could somehow project my experiences onto strangers, which could also affect my work. And the worst thing was that if I took on this case, I would have to lie to the Protection of family values. It would affect me too. After all, I worked for this organization.

I was persuaded by Eunice to tackle this, always getting in where I didn’t need and loving to put her two cents in any of my business. True, it was she who said that only I can understand such a family and help, having a certain experience behind me.

“You understand that someone else will calmly report about them to FVP?” Or somewhere else! Can you imagine what it feels like? - the last argument of the sister was a shot at the bull's-eye.

She knew that I could not talk about something if they did not directly ask me, even though I myself worked for the Defense of Family Values. Therefore, “pink” families turned to me in the hope that I would not say too much. At least that was before.

"Okay. If I can’t help, I’ll try to find another specialist who can be trusted, ”I reassured myself, as I did in situations with missing clients.

Eric did not deceive and really came on the day off with his family. That day, the door of my office swung open, loudly and unpleasantly banging against the wall. For the first time they burst into me like this, and I was even taken aback by such things, having remained standing by the table.

A guy of a dry physique flew into the office in a whirlwind. Dressed in a crumpled T-shirt, well-worn trousers and a battered leather jacket, the guest reminded me of a huge stray dog ​​from distant childhood: the same one, beaten by the life of a rogue.

The guy’s eyes smiled, as if to spite the whole world, sparkling with excitement. It reminded me even more of our shaggy friend with Eunice. He also brazenly smiled at his mouth, wagging his tail and edible bulls at the guys in the neighborhood. And only by the small gray lock in the visitor's long tousled hair did I realize that the stranger had long been not a teenager or even a youth.

Rushing across the entire hall, he flew up to me and, holding out his hand, he rumbled:

  - Hi. Are you dock?

I did not want to respond to such familiarity. I was just about to speak out, looking around at the sloven, as Eric entered behind him in a heavy, measured gait. Behind him peered apprehensively a little girl in a closed dress and with an elegant scarlet bow on her head.

“You ...?” I asked in surprise.

- Adrian Coleman. I called you, - still holding out his hand, laughed "rogue." “This is my ...”, hesitating and less confident, “my husband, Eric.”

Then, pointing to the still hiding girl, he said: “And this is our daughter Rina.” The girl only embarrassedly smiled and waved my hand, hiding again behind the adult. She seemed against the background of high enough strong parents quite tiny and reminded me of a beast of galago. Especially with large purple eyes, a small nose and a bow, one to one like huge triangular ears.

“Good afternoon,” Eric greeted dryly again, sitting down in a chair and showing with a gesture that his partner should do the same.

Adrian sighed theatrically, but still sat next to his spouse. Rina initially also sat next to her parents, but soon she became interested in the environment. We started a conversation, during which at first Adrian spoke more, chattering about all sorts of nonsense and nonsense. In contrast, it looked comical: a groovy jerk with smiling eyes to the whole world, like a dog’s eyes, and a gloomy phlegmatic man, boring others with a stern look. That's for sure - opposites attract.

And I realized what Eric meant by saying that they are unofficially a “pink” family. Colemans simply did not formalize the relationship! It’s good that I didn’t start the report. Now I was free to write in it about the conversion of a single father. Then I thanked the Lord that there was still a code of ethics for the psychologist and I could refer to it if someone tried to find something in my documents. And reports often turned out to be simple formalities for archives. Therefore, I breathed a sigh of relief: I did not want to set up my clients at all.

Coleman's daughter, Rina, turned out to be a silent, slightly aloof girl. She really looked depressed and painful: she covered her face with hair, hid her eyes, even if only for the first time. When parents talked about themselves, Rina separated from us adults, sitting back on the floor and hugging her knees. Talking with the Coleman, I remembered Eric's first visit. The man seemed a stern, domineering man with a heavy look. Straight and cold. This impression was complemented by the manner of speech, not a bit changed in the presence of the family, and the same strict, even prim style in clothes, and even dry, verified gestures, in which almost no emotions slipped.

The only thing that stood out against this background was a hairstyle similar to a yellow dandelion, and a more or less bright tie (albeit combined with the main suit). It seemed that Eric was a stern, imperious tyrant, accustomed to keeping both his partner and daughter under control. But I was wrong. All three spoke very openly and warmly, which was also evidenced by the fact that Adrian was chattering non-stop, and Rina, seeing a bookcase with books, asked me for permission and went to look for something interesting for herself. None of the fathers limited her to this. He didn’t even say a word. When the girl got up, I noted that her walk was a little uneven. This was not evident, but the girl limped on her left leg. “Leg injury?” I thought. “Athlete?”

The men themselves, though a little nervous, tried to be as honest as possible with themselves and me. And although only Adrian spoke, and Eric was silent, I saw that the men were in solidarity with each other. In the circumstances, lying did not make any sense. The mental state of the child depended on my work and both parents understood this.

Not finding anything interesting among the books, the girl painted the whole meeting something in her album. Adrian said that she often draws various sketches and gives to her friends. This hobby replaced another, and both fathers were glad that their child had found a new interesting activity for themselves.

“It was very difficult for us to find something like this,” Adrian smiled awkwardly with his hand behind his head. - Rin, almost no one wanted to take in circles and sections.

“She does not look like a conflict person,” I thought again, casting a cursory glance at the girl immersed in the drawing. “Asperger Syndrome?”

After a short presentation, we talked about their problem and a little more on abstract topics. I made sure that all three of those who came relaxed and realized that I could be trusted. The whole conversation, as I noted, rested on Adrian. He enthusiastically talked about his hobbies, his daughter and Erica, noting any trifle. He was probably nervous because I was connected with the FVP, and thus tried to cope with the jitters. At first, I could not understand which of the parents in this pair is Eno. No one had a hoop on his neck, appearance, too, as I said earlier, was not always an indicator. But still, I noticed that Adrian’s behavior is a little more characteristic of Eno than his husband’s behavior. In any case, it was he who spoke more often about Rina and with great warmth.

As the atmosphere in my office became more laid-back, I suggested the Coleman play a little. First I needed to establish the level of aggression of all family members. Aggression is not always directed outward, and I, as a psychologist, understood this very well. It can also be directed inward, in other words, towards itself. This is exactly what happened with Rina. Cuts could be a sign of auto-aggression. I wanted to understand if this is true. For identification, the Wagner test was useful to me. However, I immediately stipulated the principle: everyone takes a piece of paper and writes his answer in this charade. And then he hands it to me. In fact, this test is not carried out, but I was not sure that I would meet all the family members again. I needed to understand: could Rina adopt the level of aggression from one of the parents, was this level high or not.

Eric just rolled his eyes, Adrian nodded, and Rina folded her hands and put them to her cheek, like children do during sleep. I regarded gestures with signs of consent. He began to show one hand drawings in different poses one by one, asking the same question: “What does this hand do?” This was the test. Looking at images of hands in various poses, patients talked about their personal associations, albeit subconscious. They kind of projected their emotions onto drawings with hands. The drawings themselves depicted only hands in one or another pose, without any context or background. Nothing complicated. Simple work of associations. But only in this case the test took a lot of time.

I showed one card and waited until everyone wrote something on my sheet. A couple of times I saw Adrian peeking at Eric or Rina's sheet and indignantly resented that this answer was incorrect. Well, the answer itself was not voiced, limiting itself to exclamations: “Nonsense!”, “But she doesn’t do that!” Now I understand why Rina left the fathers a little distance. Another test I offered was for her. As if in jest.

“Rina, you're an artist,” I remarked. - There is such a test, Lusher test. Do you know him?

The girl shook her head.

“Choose the colors you like best right now,” I laid out a few cards on the floor. - You can choose them yourself and put them in order from the most attractive to the least. Just choose them precisely according to the “like” principle, and not according to the principles of combination, tradition and other things. Good?"

Rina nodded and enthusiastically began to choose the colors she liked.

This test took very little time. A minute later, in front of me was a table of the following order of colors: blue-green, black, brown, dark blue, violet, red and orange. It turned out that on the one hand, Rina was a very confident girl, but on the other, her aggression most likely had an internal motive. This was evidenced by the dark colors that followed the first blue-green. Another tick in the direction of depression.

Due to the speed of choice, I had no doubt that it was made exactly as I requested, without any association with fashion or any traditions. The only thing, I still had a little doubt about the black color. Rina herself was dressed in a black dress with white ruffles. But I still decided to accept these results. Nobody bothers me then to conduct this test again as a control check.

After the charade, I invited the Coleman to tell the story of their family. It would be nice to get an anamnesis, because I could not rule out a single variant of the occurrence of such a state of my young patient. At that moment, Rina looked at her fathers and pointed to her album. She did not utter ten phrases for the whole meeting, plunging into her drawings.

“Exactly,” cried Adrian, “forgot!” You have a lesson in the studio today! Sorry, petty! ” Rina shook her head - they say it’s fearless to be a little late - and, taking her father's hand, she went to the door.

- I trust Eric! He is our family's walking encyclopedia! Will tell you everything! - shouted Adrian, hiding from sight.

“As always ...” Eric sighed, sitting comfortably in his chair. - He likes to shift concerns to me.

“And in my opinion, he trusts you very much,” I remarked, sitting opposite my interlocutor. - Can you tell how Rina appeared in your life? It will be very important for me now to know how your daughter grew up. Perhaps the reasons for her behavior are in some event from the past.

Another sigh - and my interlocutor was immersed in the memories of almost thirteen years ago.

[borderlandscast]

discworld au

i covered rythian in this post, with a hint of someone’s mystery origins in the previous post. chances are that this au is looking to be a very weird crossover. xephos and nilesy are up next!

lomadia:

her family owns a farm that provides most of the crops and produce for the small town she lives in. her family resides in the ramtop mountains. it’s a very insular mountain town, where everyone tends to leave their doors unlocked. no new face shows up without a good bit of gossip following. everyone has a horseshoe hammered to the top of their doorframes.

she became a witch when she was young; about ten or so. her family noticed her lack of childishness, her no-nonsense sensibilities, and the fact that she rarely cried, even when she got hurt. that, and the below incident.

when she first attended what passed as school, one of the rowdiest boys (a year or two older) pulled on her hair. the teacher ran out when the two didn’t return to the classroom after lunchtime. she found the boy meekly pulling up flowers and turning it into a flower crown for lomadia, who was quietly sitting on a nearby rock, merely watching. the rest of the children fell into line. new children quickly learned this hierarchy. rarely had schoolchildren been so well-behaved.

her family had reservations about lomadia becoming a witch. that is, until an injured hawk crash landed in the garden and viciously bit everyone who tried to go near it. lomadia gently wrapped it in a tea towel and took it into her room, whereupon the hawk let itself be bandaged and fed bits of raw meat (leftovers from a butchered hog). she let the hawk go once it recovered. until then, her family had to put up with lomadia’s stubbornness to let anyone see it and the hawk’s demanding nature.

an apprenticeless, elderly witch who shared lomadia’s familiarity with animals accepted her into her cottage. lomadia grew up learning a witch’s practical magic, with a grand heaping of veterinary mixed in. the old witch looked after lomadia like she was a beloved grandchild; sternly and fondly, with tough love.

for lomadia, whose family had been torn about whether to treat her as a child or as a miniature adult, this came as a wondrous blessing. she flourished under the witch’s guidance and teachings.

lomadia eventually inherited the steading and cottage. she feels a lot of the time that she’s not up to the gargantuan task, since her mentor was (and still is) regarded as one of the best witches to consult about animal health. her mentor rarely left the mountains unless it was an emergency concerning multiple herd/flocks/gatherings.

she knows about mythical animals. it’s one of the biggest secrets her mentor impressed on her.

the hawk that lomadia healed as a child? moved into a large tree next door to the steading as soon as lomadia became a witch. she hasn’t named it, and it accompanies her on her daily flights around the mountain. other hawks seem to flock to her if they’re hurt or need a place to safely rest.

lomadia’s understanding of animals, their handling and care is not without its cons or dangers. when lomadia treats horses, she is still vulnerable to being kicked in the head, or be gored by a gassy bull that refuses to be seen. sometimes she can’t always save an animal, but she definitely tries.

lomadia’s hobby is falconry. a lot of the birds of prey living around and on the mountain are persecuted for their fierce reptutations. she accepts orphaned, wounded and elderly birds into her aviary. only the able ones are released back into the wild. the rest, she cares for. it’s a demanding job on top of her regular witch duties, and thus, it’s well known to the locals and the other witches that lomadia will only deal with animals.

she only ever deals with people in a crisis. rare, but it’s happened, especially if it’s in relation to an injury.

she’s a very proud person, if a little haughty at times. she’s fiercely independent, and while she attempts to project a mature and worldly manner at all times, it tends to fall apart when her temper flares up. her temper can be on the short side, especially if she’s dealing with idiots or simple minded people.

she’s somewhat emotionally immature, and can be childish at times. she acknowledges this, and that she can’t help it sometimes, she still tries her best to do better.

her dealings with people can be rather abrupt, and she prefers most of her relationships with others to be ‘cordial, you know my name and what i can do, but nothing else about me’, which is funny considering her home town has known her since birth. she considers respect as something to be earned, especially when it comes to wizards.

ravs the nac mac feegle

ravs moves in when she ‘saves’ him from being eaten by one of her hawks. ravs is in no real danger since pictsies are practically indestructible, but the hawk thought he was a strange looking squirrel.

ravs wants to pay her back, and when lomadia gently turns him down, he decides to look after her, claiming that a hag’s always in need of a helping hand, and that nac mac feegles never forget a debt, whether drunk or sober.

as to why he’s wandering on his own, he claims that he aspires to be a gonnagle (a nac mac feegle’s version of a war poet/bard). he also heard of the ‘bachelor’ lifestyle from the bigjobs (aka, humans), and wanted to try it out. so far, it’s pretty lackluster, but maybe it doesn’t apply to pictsies.

he is very tiny, about the size of a closed fist, if the fist was very meaty and stocky. he wears a kilt, and is bare footed. he’a also ripped, though nobody can tell given his size, kilt and speed. he can also drink booze like it’s water, and make his own. his strength and hardiness are also pictsie standard. his blue tattoos indicate his clan. his hair used to be orange until he dyed it using archival ink in pursuit of the bachelor lifestyle.

he maintains and carries around with him miniature bagpipes, which were lovingly hand crafted from mouse bones and other discarded oddities. he’s actually pretty good at playing them, which is considered something of a quirk to other nac mac feegles. by lomadia’s request, he’s not allowed to play the pipes unless he’s deep in a mountain cave, owing to how far carrying and enthralling it is.

he has never recited a single bit of poetry or song in front of lomadia. it’s the one thing he’s deeply embarrassed about, despite his lifelong aspiration to become a gonnagle. he has surprisingly detailed knowledge of bigjob instruments and music, though (most of them pub songs).

he can read and write. lomadia taught him on the basis that it would benefit him, and especially more so if he wanted to be a gonnagle. ravs conquered his superstition about written words. he refuses to learn math however, and draws a line at it.

ravs looks after lomadia’s steading when she’s gone, and also helps her maintain her aviary. he’s her live-in handyman of sorts. it helps that people who visit think that her cottage has a very literal spirit residing in it. most animals also fear ravs, and submit to being handled by him readily. it must be the bagpipes.

he lives in one of lomadia’s dirt filled flowerpots, in a broken teapot. the flowerpot resides on a windowsill in the kitchen. ravs considers it prime real estate, and the dirt helps him feel like he’s closer to the ground than he actually is. he’d prefer to have a mound of his own, but really, that’d defeat the ‘bachelor’ lifestyle he’s trying to achieve. the spout of the teapot acts like a chimney, and he’s built himself a pictsie sized residence inside the teapot using junk and castoffs.

he does not like being seen by any bigjobs aside from lomadia, who is the sole exception due to her being a witch. he makes an exception every now and again though.