#I respect your right to hold your own beliefs of course hate that old man all you want☝️😔 but I dont wanna see it...

[allgremlinart]

shut UPPPPPPPPPP 😭 as always, this post was not an invitation for all that

[writingonesdreams]

Only the most powerful

Summary: Zephyr gets valuable training lessons from his father. Backstory piece.

Author's note: I was thinking about key moments that decide character personalities and shape their beliefs in life and this came out. Plus my uncle has been teaching me some self-defense and these are literally techniques taught for fighting situations.

The night Zephyr came home with a bleeding nose and a black eye, his father took him crying from his mother's arms and threw him into the dojo.

Zephyr could only blink with one eye in surprise. For all authority and respect he owned his father, he never knew him to he a cruel man.

"Take your position and fight me."

How was Zephyr to explain to him that it wasn't failure of skill that caused his injuries?

The truth was, the three boys that robbed him had worn-out clothes and desperate looks and he felt sorry more than he felt afraid.

"Don't stare, boy. Get ready." Zephyr couldn't read his father's steely face.

Trying to ignore his aching back, throbbing ankle, he stretched his bruised arms and steadied his pose.

The cuts on his face were still bleeding.

His father ferocious attacks quickly made him forget his discomforts.

He fought and strained, and got his fair share of kicks for the eye he couldn't see from and the wobbliness of his movements. He was tired, hurting and slugging, and found himself struggling on his knees in short time.

Zephyr was only 8 years old, so of course his father didn't fight him as an adult man but fitting to his skill. But he fought him seriously, not in the playful way of mornings or the focused tired evenings, but like during a duel with onlookers to teach.

This was all the harder, since Zephyr rarely lost, rarely had to fight with pain like this.

"You have to force yourself through the pain. How well you manage it is how strong your will is." His father guided. The tone still wasn't right, but at least he was still getting advice.

Zephyr trying to calm himself enough to get up. He truly did. But the ankle wasn't holding and his breathing was too quick for a longer breathe to give him any strenght.

"Get up, boy."

Zephyr bit back the tears and stood up, swaying on his feet. It wouldn't last long and he prepared to nose-dive back to the ground, had a strong firm hand not caught him by the shoulder.

"Listen. I'm not mad you lost. Neither am I upset you felt bad for those boys."

Zephyr took a sharp breath and refocused his remaining eye on the blurry figure in front of him. So he knew?

"You have a gentle soul. But you have to understand something. Only the most powerful can afford to be gentle, for right decisions are always more difficult to make."

He hated that he winced, when his father touched his cheek. But his crazy heartbeat began to slow down and the world stopped tilting to the side so much. His father's hand held him in place.

"To use this magic, you need full control over your body and soul. You need balance and inner resolution and the will to stand any pain."

Zephyr nodded.

Father caressed his cheek and then ruffled his hair. Then he stood up.

"Get ready for another round. Grit your teeth and take the pain. Make peace with it."

Finally taking a deep breath, the boy found his feet and straightened his back.

"You will be the strongest so you can be the kindest. For there is no peace without the threat of violence, there is no fairness where people can't be firm, and there is no change if you can't win."

Zephyr readied himself back into a battle stance. More lose and relaxed. He would not just defend this time.

"Always strike first. Ask questions later. Never hesitate. If you are wrong, you will apologise. If you are right, it will save you from ending up beat up on the floor, easy target to break or worse."

He wet his lips and focused his mind, reading his father's steps as he circled around him like a shark.

Always strike first.

And so Zephyr did. He always did.

[theseerasures]

a yearning nation’s blueeyed pride

honestly there is just like. no point as of Witch (if not earlier) in thinking about Marrow and Winter as following along the same defection path, and downright facile to compare the two in terms of who is “closer” to defecting and therefore “less problematic” (even setting aside that making value judgments along those lines in fiction is...never that straightforward), when the narrative has emphasized REPEATEDLY how they are on entirely separate tracks in terms of character and role in the Atlas military.

seriously, it’s like saying “this orange is bad because you can’t eat the peel like you can eat an apple skin”

so like, yes, Marrow is the one who has verbally expressed his misgivings, and has clearly articulated scruples (as opposed to just the dial-up noise) and will blurt them out any second now as soon as he gets a word in edgewise. but also: Marrow HASN’T gotten a word in edgewise (except with Winter, fancy that), and has done approximately fuck all to actually subvert the system that he is growing to hate. both his theory and lack of praxis are tied into Marrow’s relatively low, overlooked position in the Atlas system, and feed into the fact that for Marrow the project of Atlas is not personal.

Marrow joined the military on ideological grounds. he clearly does want personal connection, but that has been denied him at every turn, largely by his teammates, largely by his partner, all of whom use him to enforce their own struggles with the clash between political duty and personal grief. he has been alienated by the system he upholds, which started even before we meet him. this makes it much harder for him to rebel in deed, because he doesn’t have a lot of power to begin with and he knows the system will not protect him if he does; at the same time, that relative powerlessness and isolation keeps his investment in Atlas abstract, uncomplicated, and much easier to dispel. Marrow is still with Atlas because he has a job to do, because it’s his duty, because he is still clinging to the Atlas military’s illusory altruism. he wants Penny to come with them so she can save Atlas. his protestations at seeing Team FNKI, that they are “just kids,” comes from the belief that it is categorically wrong to send children into battle. what is keeping Marrow from defecting is belief, and once the belief is shattered--like, say, when his boss’ new ingenious plan is to Nuke the Poors--there is nothing keeping him around.

and once his path is set he will not waver, because Atlas, by design, has no hold on him materially or personally (outside of his own life, which he was already happy to dedicate to a cause). Marrow then, is the limit case of Atlas being hoist with its own petard: an exemplar for how it gives its people nothing while demanding everything, but also an exemplar for how quickly the entire system folds in on itself when the veil is lifted. when Marrow defects (and it IS when) it will represent Atlas as a whole defecting from itself, even if we don’t see it visually--from the civilians, to the enlisted soldiers, to perhaps even members of Marrow’s own team.

NONE of the things i just mentioned really apply to Winter, because there is nothing about Atlas that is not personal for Winter.

i have no doubt that Winter is in some ways invested in same abstract principles that swayed Marrow, but that is constantly overridden by the fact that Winter has family at all sides of this, even before everything fell to shit, and the narrative will not stop reminding her.

“what about your sister?” “would you say the same thing if it was your sister inside?” her father was gunning for a seat on the Council. the man who took her in is essentially Head of State. Penny has made herself Public Enemy Number One, and Weiss is actively abetting her. even Whitley has now thrown himself into the fray, unbeknownst to her. and another person might be better at compartmentalizing all this the way Winter clearly wants to, and stick to the party line, but Winter cannot, because the more i watch her the more i’m convinced that the current crisis in Atlas is just a microcosm of the real issue, which is to say: everything is personal in Atlas for Winter, because everything is personal for Winter.

at a moment-to-moment level, and especially when backed into a corner, Winter defaults not to ideology but her tightly coiled lattice of personal relationships. and this makes perfect sense, because Winter grew up in a household where she had to perpetually crisis respond, and then she never stopped. Marrow does what he does because he believes in the dream, in making the world a better place, and therefore it is more difficult in some respects for him to defect, because it involves taking a long hard look at and then rejecting the structures he bought into and made himself complicit in. once lines are crossed and he DOES do that, though, he’s home free. for Winter, there are no lines to cross, because all Winter wants in the end is to throw her arms around everyone she cares about and drag them to safety. to keep them there, closely held, where she can see them and make sure that they stay safe.

but what’s tricky about Winter--what’s fascinating to me, what Jacques tried to beat out of her, what James alternately capitalizes on and tries to quash, what she resents about herself--is that in times of crisis (which for Winter is again ALL THE TIME), “everyone she cares about” becomes everyone, so that suddenly she takes a shine to the General’s war machine, so that she’s risking her life to give Penny and Fria a few more seconds of time, so that she’s stepping in front of Elm’s incoming fist, so that she’s letting JYR go rescue Oscar. Marrow has ideals he values, but at her core Winter has nothing but the people, who are real the moment she sees and feels them--real enough to defend, or defend against.

Winter jealously protects her web of people, but that web will also spiral out to infinity if she lets it--so she doesn’t. she has adamantly refused to move out of the mode where she lives present-by-present, only reacting to what is right in front of her, what she has been told, weighing her own life against the people who are closest, and no more. this is unquestionably a trauma response, but it’s also reinforced by 1) her choice to become a career soldier, and 2) the fact that Winter actually HAS quite a bit of power, and she knows that. but she has never trusted herself with any of it, largely because her hypervigilant response to situations has only ever been chastised instead of rehabilitated. Winter knows the weight of her name and her position, but she constantly tries to ignore it, or run away from it, so that she is only ever the heiress, the second-in-command, and never the Queen. she cannot be a leader until she is Good (that is to say, perfect and rational), so she tries to obliterate her power the same time she obliterates that pesky personhood: remaining still for as long as possible, avoiding situations that she knows will prompt action and choice, and when absolutely pushed to think through her power, moving the pieces around with extreme caution, hoping that the world won’t be burnt black by it.

Marrow and Winter are fundamentally at opposing ends of the personal-political bleed, and the story could NOT telegraph it any more clearly than their conversation in Witch, where Marrow makes a personal plea to Winter so that she can make a call far beyond just that, and she refutes him, by reminding him of his obligation to Atlas in the form of impersonal duty.

i’ll conclude by pointing out that there is something very interesting happening with Winter right now, that exceeds her power in-universe. because even as a Schnee, as Ironwood’s protege, what Winter can do is limited (partly because she limits herself), except for how the story has resolutely centered her actions and MADE them significant. in the course of this war Winter has let herself make exactly two choices--both of them noninterventionist, easily justifiable, and not meant to take any ideological stand--and they ended up altering the entire fabric of the war with Salem. all because she loved her sisters more than her duty. all because she was shown a slim chance to save the kingdom and a fourteen-year-old boy, and she thought just for an instant, what’s the harm

(and James Ironwood will never know. that even with his plan, his bomb, all his ships, all his soldiers...he was no match for her. his loyal lieutenant. the only child he will ever have, who has only ever called him “sir.”)

it is not about what Winter COULD have chosen in those moments, if she had the ability to stop Penny and Weiss from leaving, if JYR were even Oscar’s rescuers, in the conventional sense. it is about the fact that she DID make those choices, and the story has made them reverberate, in spite of the fact that she did not mean for them to. Marrow’s story is about being neglected and overlooked by the system, the moment of recognition that it needs you more than you need it, that there are so many more of you, and together you can stop chasing the dream and make your own. Winter’s story cleaves to the heart of not just Atlas, but the RWBY monomyth, which goes something like: stars are like us. the world was created because two brothers could not get along, and sundered because a woman could not cope with her grief. just because you move closer to the elite, to the center, to the top, to the sublime, it does not mean that you move farther from the fallible. we are all, at our deepest layer, people.

but the world does not tremble any less for it.

[theshopkeepofremnant]

I want to talk about a scene...

Okay, I guess this is actually going to be a few scenes, but they’re all related, I promise!

Disclaimer: Yang is my favorite character. In RWBY, obviously. In all media? Honestly, maybe. I love her. To wit, over the course of a single year I vomited up nearly half a million words of fanfiction centered almost entirely around her. Still, I think my take on this isn’t so biased as to be useless.

Let’s start with the scenes that inspired me on this. First, from volume six, chapter 4:

“That bastard!”

Now, leaving aside the fact that every one of these child soldiers have a right to be mad at the body-hopping deity who lied to them in the process of roping them into a suicide mission that won’t even win or truly advance the cause of his impossible war, why is Yang especially mad?

Or in volume six, chapter 13:

“Does that mean he’s been watching us this whole time?”

Again, any of them could be upset here, but Yang seems especially peeved.

Why am I talking about this? Well, I’ve been watching RWBY reactors who are just now catching up, and in most cases I’ve seen the same misinterpretation of what’s going on here. This was somewhat surprising to me, as I avoid reactors that hate Yang (or any of the main cast) and tend to prefer those who have a generally positive outlook on the show. Still, in every case both of these scenes garnered some version of “chill out, Yang.” It was as though everyone saw these scenes and just thought Yang was being a brat, or hotheaded, and they could not be more wrong.

But why this misconception?

My current guess is that they either have forgotten, or never fully understood the end volume 5.

I loved it as much as anyone when Yang told Raven off. I cheered when Raven broke down, because she deserved every bit of that tongue lashing and more. Yang standing up to her train wreck of a mother and showing her what true strength was? *Chef’s kiss* Love it, it was perfect. But if this is all you remember, you didn’t understand the full arc of this character moment. The next minute was one of the most complex moments in the show in terms of development, and there was not a word of dialogue.

Now yes, this shot was visually stunning. That’s enough to distract anyone. And yes, maybe Yang is simply wrung out from a hell of a day, and her mom is the worst, and she was overwhelmed with the weight of volunteering to be a target for an all-powerful, monster-controlling witch. I mean, those things are all true, and valid, but none of them explain why she, specifically, was so angry with Ozpin in the later scenes.

What else is going on here?

We are witnessing a complete loss of innocence.

Yes, Yang insisted she was an adult back in volume 4. And you know, losing an arm in combat while defending the one she had only fully realized she loved was probably quite a move in that direction, but she was still holding on to one childish dream: the fantasy that her mother wasn’t absolute trash. The belief that maybe, just maybe, she had a good reason for leaving.

Look, was it still strategic to hunt down Raven as a shortcut to Ruby? Sure, but that wasn’t why she went there. She went there because the last shred of her inner child demanded it. She needed to know if there was any place in the world for that girl, and at the bandit’s camp she almost put that to rest.

When she confronted Raven at the camp, she was not terribly impressed, and she certainly didn’t like her mother, but there was still a modicum of respect. This was a woman who knew things, important things, who commanded respect from her followers. Her mother wasn’t a good person, but there was still something about her, a mystique. She still saw Raven as out of reach, larger than life, and the childish dream persisted.

Then came the vault.

When Yang realized that her mother had murdered a child for power, everything fell into place. Yes, her mother wielded incredible magic. In a fight, she would steamroll Yang. But as Yang pointed out, being powerful and being strong are not the same thing. In that moment, she saw her mother as no more than a coward, a woman so afraid that she would kill a scared child to protect herself. That realization spurred her on to demand the relic, because she knew that her mother would willingly sacrifice her to protect her own sorry hide. And the worst part? She was right.

Can you imagine what that felt like?

Every child eventually sees that their parents are human. But for many of us, that’s a chance to forgive them their faults and vices. To see that they did their best despite their flaws, and that’s all you can ask. Right? For Yang, it was the realization that her mother was more than willing to throw her own daughter to the wolves if it meant keeping them at bay. She knew it without a doubt, down to her core, and it shattered that last fragment of innocence she had, in the worst way possible.

A loss of innocence is always painful to one degree or another, but this must have been excruciating. Her walk into the vault, her breakdown at the lamp, it spoke volumes. CRWBY deserves all of the awards for that beautiful understatement of a scene.

Then Yang went upstairs and...didn’t tell Qrow about Raven.

Why?

Because once she’d mourned the loss of her inner child, she stopped clinging to the dream she’d held onto and began...well, not forgiving Raven, but understanding. Raven was weak, the knowledge of Salem had broken her. Yang wouldn’t let it break her, and now that she knew what was ahead of her, she would face it in the way her mother could not.

Then Jinn showed her the lie. There was Yang, only just beginning to face years of trauma, slapped in the face with a truth she wasn’t ready for. Yeah, maybe her mom was still a shitty person, but maybe she wasn’t so wrong to run. That maybe, just maybe, if Ozpin had left her alone, she wouldn’t have done the things she did, become the person she was.

And years of barely acknowledged, let alone processed, anger boiled out at the only target available. At the man, the demigod who played with the lives around him and was at least partially responsible for breaking the will of a fragile woman who didn’t ask for any of that madness. At the immortal wizard who played chess with the mortals around him with seemingly little regard for the fact that they were sentient beings with their own hopes and dreams and foibles. To him, they were just cannon fodder, pawns in a game that he was destined to lose.

Is that what I think? Not exactly. I empathize with Ozma, really. He is in an impossible place. But everyone telling Yang to chill for being angry at him, for transferring some of her anger to him, rightfully or not, needs to take several seats. He’s thousands of years old, she’s a teenager who just wanted her mom around. If you can feel bad for him and a not for her you need to reevaluate who gets your sympathy.

[kookiepredictions]

Jungkook Ideal Type

This was a request so I thought I’d start from here.

Jungkook has high expectations in terms of ideal type because he actually has very small expectations from them. This is obviously confusing so I will explain.

As mentioned in an earlier post, in a relationship, Jungkook is a very giving person. He hardly ever thinks about what he can get from the person he loves. Most of his fantasies are about what wants to give to them. However, he is pretty aware of this personality trait in himself and knows that it is something that can be easily manipulated. This is why his screening process of letting people in is so strict and fussy. He wants to make sure that the person who will be the subject of all of this generous affection, is someone who naturally understands what he needs without him having to ask or demand, because it’s not his natural personality to ask for anything. Even if he needs something, which everyone does, he will just keep it to himself and stay hurting on his own when no one understands it. He is quite aware of this whole process and cycle and therefore feels that he needs to be extra careful of who he brings into this. This is why his ideal type personality traits are so nit-picky-like. They mainly cover the aspects of the ability to understand his own personality traits, which are complex and quite confusing, often even to himself.

Now getting to the specifics, the previous point leads to the most important characteristic that Jungkook wants in his partner: someone who understands him in all his myriad moods. When Jungkook is in his best form, he is the best partner, friend, son, brother, colleague that anyone can even hope to have in a lifetime. But no one is always is their best form and Jungkook is no exception. But what sets him apart from most people is that he has a general awareness of this, and therefore knows that when he goes into his dark place, he is also a really difficult person to handle. And he thinks it would take someone exceptionally understanding to stand by him in those moments. He fears that anyone who gets into a relationship with him only for his good, brighter moments, will stand to be shocked at his not-so-bright moments and then will start unloving or possibly even hating him and it will leave him with a heartbreak that he will never recover from. It’s also a possibility that he has already had an experience of this kind and therefore is even more careful about who he chooses now.

Jungkook has an innate ability of aesthetically appreciating beauty and his head is bound to turn at the sight of someone pretty, but the majority of it is in a more artistic manner, so the subject of beauty can be a woman, or a man or an object or anything else, without always having a romantic or sexual connotation. So although he is a “man” man who enjoys looking at beautiful people with the occasional thought of “smash-worthy” in his mind, he’s also the type to judge a face on its closeness to the golden ratio. It’s just the artist in him lol. When it comes to relationships, Jungkook is definitely the type to find someone a lot more beautiful when he develops feelings for them. Someone can look really average in the books, but if Jungkook is in love with them, they are the MOST BEAUTIFUL person in the world and no Maxim cover model can ever compare to them in his eyes.

Having said that, he appreciates a person who takes care of themselves. It’s an often misunderstood demand because people might think he wants someone skinny and perfect but his mindset behind it is really his own principle of prioritizing health and fitness in life. It’s something he does for himself because he believes it to be important and right. Therefore someone he would spend his whole life with should naturally prioritize this as well, because he doesn’t want to spend his whole life convincing or arguing about something that should be considered as a necessity. However, he doesn’t have a set body type that he idealizes. For him, the personality trumps looks and if he does expect his partner to look a certain way, especially now that he is a famous idol, it’s because he knows that whoever will become his partner will be subjected to a lot of judgement and criticism from really harsh people and the media, so he feels that someone who naturally has an understanding and love of their physical upkeep, will not have to go through an unnecessarily rough time adapting to these societal demands. Interestingly though, personally, Jungkook is a lot more lenient about his partner’s looks. Being a K Pop idol has actually desensitized him to physical appearances because he constantly sees both the before and after glam-room changes, and he now values the things that do not change with or without makeup. Even at his age, he’s the type of mature who knows that no one, no matter how beautiful, will always stay looking the same way, and that if one’s love is dependent on such a fleeting thing, they will never find true fulfillment in life. Peep the old interview in Sydney where BTS members were asked to describe their ideal type in one word and Jungkook said “nice girl”. He has the makings of being the type of husband who, you know how women’s bodies change when they give birth, would shower even more compliments about how great they look so that they don’t feel insecure about themselves. The flipside of this is that if he ends up disliking someone, they’d better run for the hills because Jungkook will say and do everything to make them feel worse about everything about themselves even though he actually doesn’t mean it nor does he consider anyone unattractive for their physical appearance. He tends to be a lot more critical about his own looks that others’.

Besides being someone who can fully and patiently understand him, Jungkook has no other “demands” from his partner. He’s flexible about everything else. It’s just that understanding Jungkook automatically means that his partner has to have a set of really complex and nimble personality traits themselves. Patience and empathy are key elements here. Don’t be too quick to judge him. Like any other 22 year old, he’s in a stage of forming and crafting his own life view, so there are plenty of rough edges that show through without him intending as such. Be willing to listen to his viewpoints without instantly adjudging him wrong. Be open-minded as well as aware of your own limitations. Are you judging him because he is wrong or are you judging him because of your own limitations in thoughts and beliefs? There is that little window of exchange that Jungkook opens and if he feels violated off his own freedom of thought and speech, he quickly shuts it down. On the contrary, the more space he is given to be himself and figure things out for himself, the bigger that window gets and eventually one day, there is no wall at all.

Jungkook admires someone with their own goals and ambitions. It doesn’t have to a very big goal, it just has to be your own and something you are really passionate about. He doesn’t expect his partner to be a hugely successful anything or bring in a lot of money to the table. Jungkook tends to hold this concept that he has to be the bread-earner of his family, so he doesn’t depend on anyone else for his own material needs (kind of a reason why he moved out of his home to follow his own career path so early in his life), so it’s really not about the money or the status. Rather, because of this wanting to be the provider, he tends to feel insecure if his partner is a little too passionate or successful in their own career because then he starts to worry if he will ever mange to match up to that, but that is a minor egocentric blockage that he has to work on which I feel like he will. The reason why he wants his partner to have their own passion is because Jungkook himself doesn’t work solely for money. He works (or at least really wants to) for his ideas and visions. And he needs someone to understand the importance of this in his life.

Although he seems quiet and introverted, Jungkook really enjoys a good conversation. His Aquarius dominated chart really shows through here. It is a stimulant for him to the point that it can be foreplay lol. Jungkook doesn’t engage in any and every conversation because 1) he’s not interested in superficial small talk all the time, and 2) it’s sad really that he has been, for the most part of his life, not taken seriously for his speaking or even thinking skills. He’s been more treated as this person with the “body” and everything a body can do (I’m mostly talking about singing, dancing, exercise, but yeah what you’re all thinking about as well), so he keeps the “mind” part more to himself and only opens up when he feels like he won’t be judged or belittled for what he has to say, because secretly though, he knows that he’s a lot smarter than a lot of people around him. But since he has been directly or tactically told to shut the hell up all his life, he now does it on his own without having to be told. But of course, he wants the one he chooses to spend his whole life with, to be someone who wouldn’t do that and with whom he can have many hours of conversations with.

This directly says that his ideal type can’t be someone who is overcritical of them. That is because Jungkook is overcritical of himself and what he needs is someone to balance that out by encouraging and motivating him to see his better side, and even when he needs to be corrected or critiqued, which he actually wants his partner to do for him, it has to be with genuine love and understanding and not with the intent of insulting him. His own mind and self-talk is pretty demeaning to himself that erodes his self esteem every day, and he doesn’t need someone to add to that.

He likes someone who speaks with love and gentleness but he can also tell when someone is being a fake sweet talker so don’t try that on him lol. He likes honesty with respect. Also when he said in his interviews that he wants someone who can teach him new things via a relationship, he wasn’t lying. A lot of things he wants in his ideal partner are also things that he wants to learn for himself. So if he wants his partner to be honest and respectful, it doesn’t mean he only wants them to be that way while he gets the clean chit to do whatever he wants. Rather, he wants his partner to be that way because he wants to learn to fully embody those qualities too.

Jungkook has a very dominant masculine type personality, and deep down, he longs for that to be balanced. This is why he actually craves for someone with an equally strong personality as his own, who won’t be daunted by the strong aspects of him, yet be fluid enough to fill in the cracks and crevices as needed. The yin to his yang. Like I said, Jungkook’s ideal type right now is flexible for the most part. It is less of ticking from a list of “I want this and this and that” or how she looks and is on the outside, and more of who will best match and adapt with his personality which is also changing every day. This “match” also has to be beneficial for his partner because he believes that an ideal relationship is about the happiness of both people, and when he’s interested in someone, he’s often obsessed with the thought of whether he can keep them happy. So his ideal type is someone who not only fulfills him, but someone whose needs he can fulfill as well.

[wh6res]

“𝑰’𝑴 𝒀𝑶𝑼𝑹 𝑳𝑰𝑮𝑯𝑻, 𝒀𝑶𝑼𝑹 𝑶𝑵𝑳𝒀 𝑺𝑨𝑽𝑰𝑶𝑼𝑹.”

part of the 21 ways to kill your lover collab hosted by the lovely miss solange @du0tine

pairing. entity! xdj & f! reader | word count. 5.4k

synopsis. he wasn’t a god, he wasn’t a devil, and fuck, he’s surely not an angel, but he will be your saviour and your light ‘till kingdome come.

warnings. tread with caution. yandere/possesive themes, religious themes, violence, mentions of gore, swearing, mentions of ptsd, mentions of physical abuse, a lot of character deaths, manipulation, stalking, and implications of suicide

disclaimer. i do not condone whatever tf i wrote in this nor does it reflect my beliefs or values or morals and such. it is all pure fiction and i also dont think xiaojun from wayv would act like this in real life.

a soul’s vulnerability gives him strength. he has scourged far and wide and has yet to encounter a soul as interesting as yours. he never thought a heart filled with hatred and a fragile mentality can be such a sweet combination. xiaojun would be stupid not to latch his greedy talons onto you.

he hides in the darkest corners of your room at night, unseen and unheard, just watching over you like a predator to his poor unsuspecting gazelle before diving into the anticipated chase. 

he moves in with you into the cheap apartment you got for yourself here in the big city—which he thinks is an awful move because of how lonely it’ll be. but hey, it wasn’t anyone’s fault that you got chased out of your own home by your stepdad, your very own biological mom too scared to say a peep of defense to your name. 

your downfalls became xiaojun’s highlights. 

he would’ve felt sorry for you after finding out about that abusive old man. ugh, he scowls. your stepdad makes the entity’s blood boil and he doesn’t even have blood to begin with. the same man who holds the bible in his left hand when he preaches sermons for the people, is the same hand he uses to hit you across the face. 

the same hand he uses to pull at your hair. the same hand he uses to punch your gut. the same hand he uses to shove your mom down when she tries interfering. 

xiaojun may hate men of god but above all, he absolutely detests the kind your old man is—a faker, who thinks he can get away with the shit mess he’s making. xiaojun would never take that preacher’s murky soul even if he offered it to the entity voluntarily. fake. fake. fake. fake. fake. xiaojun should’ve killed him. xiaojun should’ve slit his throat. xiaojun should’ve torn his eyes out—

ah, ah, ah.

he can’t afford to make you any less vulnerable than you already are, now, can he? after all, he can be anything you want but he’s no angel. 

so he watched from the sidelines. 

watched you cry. watched you bleed. watched your scars form. watched the hate and resentment you have for your own family fester in your heart until it grew to a size you can’t hide within yourself anymore. 

and then you left home. 

xiaojun has to admit, for a second, maybe leaving home will make your soul unworthy, will break the mold he’s already had of you and will completely spoil his well-thought out plans.

so really, he can only scoff when he watches you walk around the apartment wearing that pretty dress on a sunday morning, darting around with calculated steps to shove everything inside your bag to go to church. the dress hangs nicely against your skin but he’d rather you stay and wear nothing. 

maybe you’d finally find contentment and happiness in this place, in this city, on your own. soaring high without a cage, without someone to hold you back—these things fill his thoughts like a plague until you come barging back into the door 30 minutes later. 

he’s been watching you long enough to know church service wouldn’t end for another 30 minutes or so. xiaojun’s eyebrows quirk up. why would his fragile little gazelle come back oh so early? but his question is immediately answered when he detects your shaky breaths and the unshed tears in your glistening eyes

you’re suffering the post-traumatic effects your shit stepdad has caused. seeing another preacher must’ve been a trigger, he thinks, eyeing you with a look on his face. xiaojun felt a little stupid. of course, swimming to the surface will be tough with all that trauma anchoring you down.

it’ll be tough, indeed… so why not sink you even deeper?

it didn’t take much energy for him to start manipulating your dreams. every nap, every deep sleep, he’d replay all the horrible things your stepdad has done to you and he realizes how dreams depicted from his perspective took a larger toll on you versus the ones from your own point of view—witnessing for yourself how weak and helpless you had been seemed to chip away bigger parts of you, he notices. your terrified screams when waking up in cold sweat getting louder and louder with every passing nightmare.

he pushed, and pushed, and pushed until you were standing right at the edge of sanity. until you start questioning your own self-worth and judgment, the invisible chains of the trauma too strong to break. until your radiant skin looked deathly, with gaunt cheeks and white lips. until you developed a fear of sleeping because no, you don’t want to witness those horrors again. no. no. no. no, please don’t hit me—

xiaojun can’t help but admire his handiwork but no, he doesn’t have time for that! 

the next time you fell asleep you had been desperately holding onto your 5th bottle of gatorade like it was a torch breaking through the darkness. you’ve intake so much of the energy drink that your body has grown used to it. you would’ve switched to caffeine, but from how much you drank it prior to the energy drinks, your blood is practically coffee at this point. 

“you’re living in my house now, young lady! i’d like to see some respect from your or i’ll fucking beat it into you!”

“stop! please. hit me instead, hit me!” 

“this is all your fault, bitch! how can you raise one daughter wrong? no wonder your husband left you!”

murky and black, you can’t even see the bottom at this point. it keeps pulling you down, and down, and down, until you couldn’t breathe. until your head feels light. until your heart beats erratically within your ribcage as you fought to the surface. 

with all the negative emotions surging through you in thunderous waves, it’s a wonder how no other lonesome, starving entity has latched onto you like xiaojun. although realistically, he was here first, as if he’ll let any other being like him go near you.

it took a greater amount of energy to twist and manipulate the plotline of certain events in a dream. if xiaojun hadn’t grown strong from all your negativity, he’d never be able to do it. 

he can never forget the day he first appeared to you in a dream. to have you cling onto him as you willingly took his hand—not that he was caught by surprise, anyway. every second of every hour of every day xiaojun spent plotting your demise has led to this fruitful day of “meeting” you for the first time. 

“i’m right here,” he said, shaking fingers tracing over your cheeks. a soft caress you have never experienced. 

the man in your dreams is someone you’ve never met before—you’re positive that you haven’t because you’d never forget a face as handsome as his. he appears like an angel casted over divine light, with a soft smile that can cure the plague as he offers his hands for you to take. it was beautiful, how your nightmares turned into dreams the moment the mysterious man arrived. 

how’d you ever know, that the hand you grabbed is the wolf in sheep’s clothing?

it’s sad really, how you’ve only managed to escape one horror only to jump into the next but xiaojun can’t find it in himself to feel bad. well, maybe a little, it’s a fleeting thought. something that disappeared as quickly as it had passed by.

it was only after a few weeks of constantly appearing in your dreams did his plan start to backfire. the change in your behavior isn’t subtle, either, and it angered him all the more. he didn’t see this coming, not even from lightyears away.

simple to say you’ve grown a little more… how can xiaojun put this into words? well, a little more outgoing. adventurous. meeting new people and going to new places and experiencing new things. he can see everything as clear as day—you were healing from your past, leaving the dark chapters in your life to write newer and brighter ones that revolved on having actual healthy relationships for once. 

his seething anger of his failed plans had made all the windows in your apartment burst into thousand little pieces. if you had fine china dishes displayed on your kitchen cabinets he would’ve broken those too. how can you go against him like this? look at you all happy and smiley even as the room turned ice cold because of xiaojun’s suffocating presence. you never even thought once about it—how naive. 

tormenting you through dreams isn’t working anymore. xiaojun has to up his game if he wants to break you down and revert you back to that paranoid, sensitive, and frail self that couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep, and couldn’t talk to any other human being without feeling the ghost of your abusive step-father’s hands against your skin. 

who says he can only control you through mind games alone? after he’s done what needs to be done, grief and self-pity will go hand in hand. a combination so cruel and heavy on your shoulders that xiaojun can already savor the metallic tangy taste of victory. 

“no! yeji—!”

xiaojun watches unblinking when he makes one of your new friends walk out the sidewalk and right into an overspeeding car. 

tires skidding across the pavement, the breaks not working, glass shattering, bones cracking against the force of the hit—dead, right on the fucking spot.

he’s never heard you scream that loud and he shudders in pleasure as the vibrations of your shrill voice courses through his veins. 

he missed this, your complete and utter misery. 

but he wasn’t done yet. 

“don’t you think it’s a ‘lil chilly in here?” ryujin asks, looking over to your side before drinking the hot chocolate she prepared for both of you. 

grieving together with a friend can be good, hence why you’re now in her apartment a month later after yeji’s funeral. 

you answer after taking a sip. “no, not really.” 

xiaojun grins, giddy and a skip in his step while making his way towards you as he side-eyes your friend, who religiously drank her hot chocolate all the while bundling up next to you so you both can watch the movie together playing on the laptop. 

this one, well, he particularly doesn’t like this one. 

if your other friend was meant to be a casualty, a death borne from not one smidge of personal vendetta, this one, this ryujin is different. heck, he even remembers her fucking name.

no, no, no. xiaojun can feel his skin crawl as ryujin cuddles intimately closer as she stares at you from her peripheral, feeling out whether you’d react or not as she sneaks an arm around your waist. his anger turns a fever pitch, seeing you with someone else driving him up the wall. you were meant to be his sad and hopeless little gazelle and his alone.

xiaojun hoped the poison travels fast or so help him he’ll fucking rip her off of you—and he would’ve, when he saw you and ryujin slowly leaning into one another, head angled and obviously going in for a kiss. he would’ve, when one of ryujin’s hands come up to cup your face. he would’ve… until the poison reached its destination in her body, right when your lips were about to touch. 

ryujin’s lungs seized, breathing becoming an agent to her demise as the oxygen from her lungs disappear into nothingness. the last thing she saw is your horrified face, tears streaming. she swore you were shouting something, probably her name, but it’s overpowered by the incessant ring in her ears.

when her mouth foamed and she laid limp on the couch right next to you, you knew ryujin would never wake again to give you that kiss. 

xiaojun steps back to admire the havoc he wreaked. two of your friends dead, that should be enough to incapacitate you—whether it be permanent or not, he just wants to see you drown in misery. 

and as he slowly dissipates into the void, there’s a little smile on his face as he stares you down, burning the image of your histeria in his head, the echoes of your woeful cries music to his ears. 

you never dared step foot out of your apartment. 

groceries were delivered to your door, trash is slowly but surely building up, and the place was a whole mess. the entity haunting you has never seen you this… shattered, even when you left home. it was like your brain has stopped working and your body turned into nothing more but a cusp of who you used to be. 

it’s scary looking in the mirror and not recognizing the reflection—so, you painted all of them black. it was an in the heat of a moment kind of thing that took place the moment you came home from the police station, on the exact day she passed away before your eyes. 

xiaojun just has to “misplace” a few pints of paint you had used from when you renovated the apartment in the past, putting the cans where you can easily see them and think that the idea belonged to you when in reality, it’s the entity that put the idea in your head. 

there was a blanket over your shoulder when you came back from the station. it wasn’t yours, they gave it to you while you sat opposite to a stoic detective in a cold interrogation room, yet you made no move to shrug it off even after arriving at your apartment, fingers clutching the fabric like a lifeline and refusing to believe whatever that had transpired in ryujin’s apartment. 

eyes unseeing, stumbling with your steps, back hunched with the curse of the universe weighing down on your back—xiaojun couldn’t’ve been more proud of what he had done.

you were spiraling out of control. a self-destructive cycle you cannot seem to fight your way out of as your nightmares came back to haunt you. the tall waves of anxiety and paranoia drowning and pushing you under the surface. 

for once you don’t fight the current, you just let it pull you under. 

every time you close your eyes, you can hear the deafening screech of rubber tires against concrete before the car hits yeji. can vividly see the foams of the poison coming out of ryujin’s mouth as if it was caught on tape and is now playing on loop. 

your other friends have donned you as bad luck, cursed to have a fucked up life and will fuck up other people’s lives too if they get even as close as an arm length to you. too scared to lose any more people, you decided to completely push everyone away and had completely shut yourself out from the world beyond the four corners of your apartment. 

it’s like your trauma from before has come crawling back to you, only now, he brings himself a little friend called guilt. 

what are the odds that your two friends died after the other when the person they’ve each last spent time with was you? even the police found it too much a coincidence. if it wasn’t for the cctv cams in the corners of ryujin’s apartment, you’d be facing trial for a murder you didn’t commit. 

you eye the usb stuck in one of your laptop’s ports. it’s black, with an srj poisoning case written in red ink on the small patch of masking tape pasted onto the back of the plastic. 

after being stuck in an interrogation room for the last two hours, you had sneakily swiped it out of the detective's desk on your way out of the station. you remembered it was the usb with a copy of ryujin’s cctv cams, some underling busting into the interrogation room while in the middle of your questioning, holding the tiny usb between his fingers. 

your stomach churned when the detective looked at you spitefully, as if he couldn’t fucking care less of the evidence presented to him in a silver platter and would thoroughly take pleasure in throwing you in jail himself, guilty or not. the last look he shot you still sends shivers down your spine, the sharpness in his gaze as he regarded you. “you killed them. i know you did.”

a week of self-induced isolation later and you start to believe in it yourself. 

in the middle of screaming your lungs out and cursing the gods above for your sorry excuse of a life, you had thrown the usb somewhere in the apartment. not that you bothered to look for it right after, you were too busy wallowing in self pity before passing out on the living room floor. when you wake up, you’ve forgotten all about it. 

so it was interesting, seeing the usb again after days and days of wallowing in grief. you had fallen off the couch while in the middle of a slumber and you spotted the small piece of tech lying underneath it with the other empty coke cans. 

eyeing the laptop on the coffee table, you remember you haven’t taken a look at the evidence yourself—the detective had given you the stink eye when you tried shuffling closer to peep a look. carelessly, you shove all other objects off the table to pull the laptop closer. you plant yourself on the ground cross-legged, not batting an eyelash even when you feel the crumbs of chips against your skin. 

you boot the laptop on, thankful you’ve yet to forget its password, and plugged the usb in again. it was simple to navigate, to say the least, the folder popping up in a matter of seconds. you thought it stored a whole collection of her cctv footages but alas, it didn’t, saving you the time and energy scourging through unwanted boring files. 

hands shaking, you clicked on the video. 

and it was as if you’re thrown back into that event in your life that has now become a distant memory. the hug ryujin gave you when she opened the door, her words of comfort when you opened up about your deteriorating mental health after your friend passed away, and finally, the warm feel of the mug against the palm of your hand. 

wait a minute. 

you perk up from your seat, groaning aloud when your knee hits the underside of the coffee table at your haste, fingers darting around to press the back 10 seconds button. the sweat starts forming in your forehead and palms, making your hand feel clammy and disgusting but it was the last of your worries. 

did you see that correctly?

the quality is a bit low and the camera angle isn’t optimal. you can only see ryujin’s side profile but her glassy eyes are unmistakable and her actions look robotic at best. 

this is after she made your hot cocoa and had delivered it to your shivering, sniffling form on the couch, all bundled up snug and cozy in the blanket she provided. you remember ryujin winking as she walked back towards her kitchen after you thanked her. 

the way she poured poison in her own mug ruled her case as suicice. the evidence is right there in your face but the unease still sits heavy on your stomach and confusion clouds your brain like cannabis. 

this doesn’t make any sense. 

you knew her, ryujin. she’s never one to succumb to her negative emotions, always facing her problems with head held high. her overall mindset, in general, made her the last person you’d think would ever commit suicide. you’ve replayed the video a thousand times by now, still unable to wrap your head around the fact that she killed herself. 

having the sudden urge for another bottle of gatorade, you pressed the pause button as you try hauling yourself up with your arms. 

you pause. pushing your face closer to the laptop screen, rubbing at your eyes incredulously as you eye the corner of her kitchen. 

ryujin’s apartment isn’t that luxurious, nor is it too rundown, but there can be little exceptions here and there. 

like the cheap LED bulbs attached rather messily onto her ceiling, one of the six sources of light flickering on and off. you remember how many times you’ve told her to get it fixed yet she never really paid you any heed.

with shaking fingers, you replayed it one more time, hoping on everything you believe in that it wasn’t what it looks like. this can’t be it—how is that possible—

it’s him, the man who has appeared like an angel in your dream to sweep you away from evil. but standing in the corner, under the flickering lights of your friend’s kitchen, he looked anything but an angelic. 

your mind is going haywire, your body shook in confusion, and sweat started dribbling down your neck. you would’ve thought you made a mistake because how is this even possible? the angelic man in your dreams isn’t real—he can’t be real, he can’t appear like this when you aren’t even sleeping because he’s not real!

he can’t… right?

he doesn’t look too harmless, what with his hands crossed and leisurely leaning against the wall. but one look at his eyes and you know you’re wrong. even through the shit quality of the cctv footage you can still feel the fury and the absolute hate his eyes held as he stared her down menacingly, unblinking.

stared her down as she made her own cocoa, as she hunches down to open the sink cabinets to get that pesky rat poison, as she poured it on her mug, as she swirls the spoon around to mix the deadly concoction all together in a hauntingly robotic way that looked too much like ryujin was being told what to do.

and as you let the video play the rest of its content and felt like the tragedy was unfolding right before your very eyes again—you couldn’t breathe, panic gripping onto you like a vice, the sharp talons of fear sinking deep under your skin. 

you don’t register the coffee table toppling over in your haste to stand up. desperately putting a distance between you and the laptop as you turned and stumbled towards the hallway leading to your bedroom. 

you stop, pathetically landing on your knees before the open archway. if you hadn’t been shaking in fear before, then you surely were now. 

he’s here—can you even call it a he?

the man stands at the end of the hallway. in that similar, non-threatening stature with his arms crossed and body leaning against the wall. 

but the mischief in his eyes is enough of a warning. 

he’s come for you. 

he’s come to finish the job. 

“finally figured it out?”

you screamed, throwing the closest thing you can at him as you shuffle someplace else in your apartment. his laugh sounded pleasant in the ear when you were off in dreamland, but now? it sounded like nails grating against a chalkboard. 

your legs eventually led you to the front door. appearances be damned. you weren’t even wearing a bra and you haven’t showered for days but fuck no you’re not going to stay here with that—that—that monster!

“baby, don’t leave! the fun hasn’t even started yet!”

you grab the doorknob and twist, practically throwing yourself out into the hallway, eyes frantic as you stumble and land face first against—

sticky. the floor’s sticky and there was a smell you can’t seem to pinpoint. it’s tangy, metallic, and you can almost taste the scent yourself in your tongue and when you look down—you want to throw up. 

lying next to each other in pools of their own blood, lies yeji and ryujin side by side, faces towards each other. their eyes hauntingly empty and unseeing as they stared up at you. 

you shrieked, voice scratching against your dry throat as you threw yourself back into your apartment, the door slamming shut in itself. you didn’t care if there’s now a huge mess of blood staining the carpets on the foyer. you curl in on yourself, hair sticking to your face as you covered your ears and shut your eyes. 

“oh, my love…”

you felt his presence before you can hear him. 

a flashback plays in your head—hot chocolate, soft blankets, and a friend who you loved with all your heart. “don’t you think it’s a little chilly in here?"

you answered. “no, not really?”

the tears start streaming like waterfalls, mixing with the blood and sweat already caked in your face. ryujin knew, she felt it back at her apartment yet you disregarded her completely.

“it’s not your fault,” the entity’s hands are ice cold when he gently pulls at your wrist. “everything is as it should be. now, open your eyes. there’s nothing to be afraid of. i’m not going to hurt you.”

stubbornly, you shook your head as you squeezed your lids even tighter, refusing to look at the monster dead in the eye.

“don’t be like that, my love. if i wanted to hurt you, i would’ve done it a long time ago.”

you don’t listen, hunching and curling your knees even more against your torso as you try to block out his voice. it’s unfair how gentle it sounded but your blood ran cold when you realize this is how he got ryujin to poison herself, this is how he got yeji to walk in front of a speeding car—

“hail mary, full—full of grace,” you pray under your breath, shaking like a leaf. “the lord… the lord is with thee. blessed art thou among women…”

“you’re praying?” there’s an underlying mocking to e in his voice. “this is fucking hilarious!”

your incessant mumbling partnered with how you rocked your body back and forth, made something snap within xiaojun. he already stated he won’t hurt you! did he break you so much that now you’re unable to hear stuff properly, too?

“holy mary, mo—mother of god, pray for us sinners, now and—and at the hour of our death, amen. hail mary, full of grace…”

“stop.” his body twitches, having the sudden urge to pull all his hair out and burn this fucking building to the ground.

yet you continue. “the lord is with thee, blessed art thou among—among women and blessed is the… the fruit of thy womb, jesus…”

“i said stop, [name]. don’t fucking test me.”

“holy mary, mother of god—pray—pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our—”

you screeched in pain as your forehead comes in contact with a mirror, the sound of it shattering is deafening to the ears. his icy fingers let go of your nape, letting you fall hard to the ground. your ears perk up at the sound of streaming water. 

you weren’t in the foyer anymore, you feel cold tiles instead of the rough texture of the dirty carpet underneath you. eyes fluttering, you slowly pry them open, and the first thing you see is the faulty pipes found underneath your bathroom’s sink. patches of your clothes start getting wet. 

“you think a prayer of all things can stop me? i’m insulted!” you hiss when he grabs your face, hands so cold that it feels like you’re skin is burning off. “i was going to play nice.”

he pulls you towards him, hand encased around your throat. he shoves the open hair dryer into the half-filled bath tub as you feel him vibrate against you. “you don’t know how long i waited, how much energy i needed to appear to you like this.”

it’s with dread you realize that he’s actually giggling.

you whine, eyes feeling like it’ll pop out of their sockets when he squeezed your neck tighter. with a sudden rush of adrenaline, you anchor your wrists against his arm but it proves to be useless when he’s too strong. 

“please,” you wheezed. “i did… i did nothing wrong. let go—please.”

in the corner of your eyes, you stare at him from the mirror, stomach twisting in discomfort when you see him throwing his head back, eyes rolling up after taking a long whiff of your hair. “this—this fear you have, my love, only makes me stronger.”

“nothing… i did nothing wrong—please! please… let, let me go…” you’re starting to feel lightheaded, black spots floating around your vision. 

“nothing? are you sure about that?” 

you cringe when he licks up the tears in your face, toes curling at the sheer disgust you feel. but the words he spews next is far worse than the hand he’s wrapped around your throat. 

“didn’t you left your mom alone with that abusive asshole? didn’t you make yeji walk into that incoming car? didn’t you make ryujin drink that poison?”

he whispers them so softly, so gently that you almost mistook them as proclamations of love. 

“no…” your voice breaks. 

“yes. yes, you did,” he knew you like the back of his hand, knew what to say and how to say them for you to break in his arms. “you killed them, my love. you’re a murderer. you don’t even deserve to be alive after all of the things you’ve done.”

it’s almost pathetic how you shake your head, eyes closed, refusing to acknowledge the truth. 

“that’s… that’s not true…”

“you’re a curse to the people you love, the embodiment of they're suffering. don’t you see it?”

“stop lying!—”

“am i?” he retorts, maneuvering you around to face the mirror. you swore you covered the whole thing with black paint. “just look at yourself.”

oh, how badly he wants to shove your face against the mirror but he mustn't get ahead of himself. 

“did any of your friends even visit you to see how you’re doing?” no, they never did. he smiles like he knows what you’re thinking. “the answer is all before you now, my love. you need to see through the haze and accept it for what it really is. no one loves you. even the god you’re praying to didn’t answer. there’s nothing, no one, left.”

and for the first time since he has you in his tight hold, you stopped fighting. sobs wracking through your body as your shoulders slump and accept defeat. 

xiaojun automatically lets you go, cooing like a lover in your ear as he tucks you into his embrace. “you want this all to stop, don’t you? someone to save you?”

you nodded, unable to look at him as his hand came up to wipe away your tears. no one has ever done that for you in months ever since yeji and ryujin died.

“i’m here,” xiaojun says, running fingers through your hair comfortingly. “i’m your light, your only saviour. you want that, right, my love?” choice is a mere illusion but he likes keeping up with formalities. 

you fail to notice the steps he took towards the now overflowing bathtub, too lost in the new highs and lows of emotions you feel. 

“yes.”

it only took seconds to push you into the tub. its water buzzing with a live electric current brought by the hair dryer he dropped only minutes ago.

the effect is instantaneous. he watches your muscle spasm, your skin growing darker as the live water fries your body alive. quickly, xiaojun reaches down to lift your head out the water, not wanting to ruin your pretty face.

the last thing you feel is xiaojun’s cold lips pressing against your own, the gentle caress as he wiped your tears away… and the electricity finally passing through your heart. 

when the entity pulls away from your dead body, he only whispers three things—“mine, at last.”

[mooncxmm]

Todo's Petal

You rest your back against the roughed up bark of the old Sakura tree and let a relaxed sigh. You tilt your head back and squint up at the swaying flowers.

It feels like you're in your own little peaceful beautiful world, until footsteps snap you back into reality. 

Looking at who was walking up to you, you see it's the love of your life, Shoto Todoroki.

The half n' half male approaches and stops in his tracks as he's right in front of you.  “Petal… You actually came. I’m glad.” He spoke in his monotone voice.

“Of course I came, Sho. I wanted to see what you wanted to talk about,” you said softly.  You watch your boyfriend sit down next to you and look up at the pink flowers.

"Petal I just want to apologize for not spending as much time with you anymore. Nakamura-Chan is really all on me and has me on a leash," your beloved explained. 

"Nakamura-Chan this, Nakamura-Chan that… you know, I'm really sick and tired of hearing that bitch's name," you mumble under your breath. 

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” Shoto said, looking at the ground covered in cherry blossoms. “I don’t want this to happen either. You know I'm against it, too.”

“You know I’m against it, too,” you mocked. ”If you were so against it, we wouldn’t be here in the first place."

Todoroki just looked at you in shock. He knew how you could get when you were upset but damn. 

"You know if I see that bitch being all lovey dovey with you again, I'm going ape shit on her ass," You bluntly put that out there. 

Todoroki's eyes widened. As he knew you showed your emotion with your eyes, he knew you were dead serious. 

“I know you’re upset, but please don’t do that,” he said. You could tell he was shaken after what you said.

"No promises boo," you say nonchalantly. Your blood was boiling. All the times you had to watch Nakamura be all up on your man, touching him and shit, it was living hell for you.

"Baby look at me," Shoto said softly. He reaches for your cheek, but you slap his hand away, making him frown.

"I don't want your Nakamura germs," you say straightforwardly. 

"Baby, please don't be like that," Todoroki pouts.

"Baby, please don't be like that," you mocked. 

"Petal," Todoroki said firmly. 

"Don't 'Petal' me," you said. 

"It was all a lie when you said you loved me, wasn't it!" You shout in frustration. You slowly feel yourself lose your composure, your anger slowly increasing.

Todoroki's eyes widened. Did he just hear you right? He knew you didn't like the situation you were in at all but he didn't think you were doubting your guys' relationship. Did he do something wrong? Was it all his fault? Immediate guilt overfilled his soul and mind.

"Petal I-" Before he could even form a sentence you just shut him up real quick. 

"No, just stop! I'm sick of this! I can't take it anymore. I'm about to lose my shit!" You yell at him before bursting into tears. 

Todoroki's heart broke into pieces as he watched your tears stain your cute cheeks. He didn't mean to make you upset. None of this was supposed to happen. 

“Peta- Y/n...I’m sorry,” he said, you can hear his voice cracking, choking even. 

As you sob, Shoto leans towards you, grasping you with his arms, holding you tight. He just allowed you to punch his chest as you cried and shouted out threats towards Nakamura who wasn't even there. 

"It's not fair! Not fair! Not fair! Why don't you just tell her that we're in a relationship already?! Please! Just end it with her!  Who cares about your fucking father?!" You cried. You were just so tired of this whole situation. 

Todoroki just held you and took it all in. He started to apologize over and over to you. He was so sorry that he had put you through this. He felt so shitty for doing this to your guys' relationship. 

“If you hate him so much, why can’t you just tell him no? The one time you really need to?” You said through tears. “Why is this happening? Why is this the thing you can’t bring yourself to do?”

“I'm scared for both of our safeties,” he blurted. “I kept this up with Nakamura for as long as I did for us.” He looked a bit ashamed.

"What the fuck do you mean you're scared for both of our safeties? What do you mean by you did this for us?" You asked. 

“I didn’t know, or even expect, that Nakamura would…” he trailed, “I didn’t expect that Nakamura would threaten to hurt you.”

You freeze. That bitch really threatened both you and your boyfriend. Ah hell no. She's definitely getting a beat down now.

In the midst of all of your confusion, Shoto's phone had a bing, and you could’ve guessed who it was.

*Nakamura<3 sent a message:*

‘hey! I noticed you were looking a bit down recently and I wanted to treat you!! meet me at that restaurant near your house, we can get some cold soba, i know you love that stuff!!! <33’

Confusion is gone, regret is in. You didn’t know what to do after your fit. His reason wasn’t something that you were really expecting.

“Shoto I…” you trail. ”I’m so sorry.” The embarrassment you felt was immeasurable and the regret was overwhelming.

“It’s okay Petal, I know this is something I should’ve said sooner so we could put an end to this but…the thought of Nakamura going through with it,” he exhaled. You could hear his shaky breath. “It frightened me beyond belief. And if she really did do it, I don’t know what I would have done with myself.”

You frown as you wrap your arms around his waist. "Sho it's okay… she can't hurt me. You know I'm a big girl. I can handle myself," you reassure him. "I'm a crazy bitch, I know how to handle myself," you joke.

Shoto chuckled and he nodded his head. He buried his head in the crook of your neck and he plants gentle kisses on the skin of your neck. 

You started to giggle a bit, since your neck is ticklish. "Sho! Stop it!"

Shoto chuckled once again and he moved and kissed another spot on your neck and gently nibbled down on your skin. 

A faint moan escapes from your lips. "Baby…" you whisper. 

Shoto let out a curious 'hm' as he was making love to your neck. He was really into it as well.

"I swear if you leave a hickey on me…" you mumble. 

Shoto growls at you playfully. He pulls away from your neck and asks,"What if I did?" 

You pout your lips and you poke his cheek harshly. "Sho sho!" 

"Okay that's enough. Let's go to the restaurant and meet up with Miss Nakamura," you say as you push away Shoto and crack your knuckles. 

Shoto pouts as you push him away from your neck, his sweat drops when he hears you cracking your knuckles. Shit was about to go down. 

The way to the restaurant wasn’t too far from the park you had been at, and the excitement of beating down Nakamura was getting to you; making you speed up your pace, basically dragging Shoto.

“Finally! The moment I’ve been waiting for is coming!” You said in a mix of giddiness and aggression, looking like a mad man speed walking to your destination.

“Slow down a little, Petal,” Shoto chuckled, you could tell he was stumbling over his feet a little from the pace of speed.

You could just see the restaurant in the distance. Oh gurl you were r e a d y to beat her ass. You were holding Shoto's hand, dragging him to the restaurant but in your other hand, you had a fist. Your knuckles were white from how tight your fist was. 

Once the restaurant was in your view, you licked your lips as you saw a certain person standing outside of it. You let go of Shoto's hand and sprinted towards them. 

"What the fuck?! You crazy bitch!" 

-

The sun was setting, and the wind was blowing gently. The sky was the most beautiful thing you had seen, a mix of orange, red, yellow, blue, and even the clouds looked a beautiful shade of pink. Undoubtedly, today was probably one of the best you’ve had in a while, and nothing could ruin it.

“Thank you for taking me out Sho,”You said, a giant smile plastered on your face.”I know I’ve been a little rash, everything just hasn’t been the best lately.”

“It’s okay, Petal, I get it,” Shoto said, he had a gentle smile on. Your heart has never felt this warm and you know it’s because of him. How could you have been so lucky to find someone who understood you so well? Someone who basically knew you inside and out?

While walking, you could see his black roofed house. Even though this was one of the most beautiful sceneries you could possibly witness, all you wanted to do was get to his place, plop down, and rest your footsies.

Like the gentleman you knew Sho was, he pulled the slide doors open for you, obviously to let you in first. And to your surprise when you had taken your first step, you saw Enji. And he wasn’t alone.

He had a petite brunette girl with golden yellow eyes, and you had no idea who she was.

After you had technically stepped into the house, Sho was a couple of seconds after, making a joke on the way in. Once he turned around from closing the door, you could see he was just as startled as you were. 

"Father, who is this girl?" Shoto asked as he took off his shoes. He places his shoes next to yours. 

"Hikari Nakamura met my son, Shoto Todoroki, your new boyfriend," Enji said bluntly. 

Both Shoto and you froze, in shock. 

This hurt you so badly. You knew and respected that Shoto wanted to keep your guys relationship a secret but this was bad. 

[deborahdeshoftim5779]

Merlin & Arthur’s friendship: clichés versus reality (Part II)

Following on from Merlin & Arthur’s friendship: clichés versus reality Part I, here is part II. 

CLAIM #3: Arthur *constantly* denied that Merlin was his friend

This claim assumes that Arthur was 1)- serious when he did deny being friends with Merlin and 2)- unwilling to change that viewpoint.

Arthur had no need to either deny or admit to being friends with Merlin. Even when he said in episode 2x13 that, “I know I’m a Prince, so we can’t be friends,” the implication is that he does want to be friends. After all, he was insisting that Merlin confide in him. This pattern would repeat in many episodes to come. 

Bear in mind that Arthur has described other people as friends, too. This includes people we never saw onscreen. A clear example comes from episode 5x05, when Arthur was so moved with grief by Sir Ranulf’s death that he personally led a collection of knights to bring the sorcerer Osgar to justice. He explained to Gwen that “...he was a friend. We knew each other as boys.”

So why would Arthur have trouble admitting that Merlin was his friend? The viewpoint that being more arrogant and prejudiced in the earlier seasons, Arthur would not admit to friendship with a servant, does not hold as much water as some think. As early as episode 2x05, Arthur called Merlin a “true friend”, because he (mistakenly) thought that Merlin was criticising Lady Catrina on his behalf. 

Admittedly, the best examples of Arthur accepting Merlin as a friend come from Seasons 4 and 5. 

In episode 4x01, Merlin said, “I always thought that if things hadn’t been different, we’d have been good friends.” Arthur’s response? “Yeah.” During the crucial episode 4x03, Merlin sat outside the throne room all right, facing a crossroads between the end of his dreams and remaining loyal to the king. Of course, Arthur had no idea about this, but he appreciated the gesture. “You are a loyal friend, Merlin.” In episode 4x05, Arthur called Merlin “old friend”, which is self-explanatory. 

It’s also worth noting that even after claiming in episode 4x05 that he didn’t need friends, when Merlin later said, “I’m your friend!”, Arthur did not disagree. 

Now, I could cite the example of episode 4x07, where Arthur said to Merlin, “I’ve had my heart broken once today. I don’t want to lose another friend.” Self-explanatory. But was this proof of their friendship? No. Arthur was essentially threatening to end his friendship with Merlin if the latter continued criticising Agravaine. Later, in episode 4x11, Arthur again threatened to banish Merlin for the second time (thus ending their friendship) if he accused Agravaine of treason again. This once again shows how Arthur associated loyalty with family first. 

One of the best examples comes from episode 4x13: “I came back because you’re the only friend I have, and I couldn’t bear to lose you.” Is Merlin Arthur’s only friend? No. However, out of all Arthur’s friends, Merlin was his best friend, and losing almost everyone and everything else made him realise that yet again. 

Then we have all the actions which prove Arthur considered Merlin as a friend. 

For example relied on Merlin’s opinion, as Princess Mithian rightly observed in episode 4x11. “One thing I’ve learned since being here is that Arthur values your opinion above almost all others.” 

He complained about Merlin’s periods of silence and broodiness, like in episode 3x05: “Come on: I’m missing your usual prattle!” In episode 3x09, after noting that Merlin was upset, he said, “For goodness’ sake, what is your problem?”

Another example comes from episode 5x01, where Arthur noted Merlin sitting outside the camp and took the time to find out why he was “so upset”. 

The example from episode 5x05 is self-explanatory: “Seriously, I haven’t seen you smile these past three days.” Arthur relies on Merlin’s cheerfulness to remain optimistic, because he faces the constant threat of death. Notice that shortly after Merlin’s sombre mood, Arthur stopped dismissing Osgar’s warnings about The Disir.

As if this were not enough, look at Arthur spending downtime with Merlin. A great example comes from episode 3x04, where Arthur decides on “a nice, cold tankard of mead” after hunting. In episode 3x13, both were sitting on the courtyard steps discussing the future of the kingdom. Even despite his strenuous denials and ingratitude in episode 4x05, you can see Arthur gesture for Merlin to sit down the morning after they captured Caerleon.

What about all the hunting trips? Arthur knows that Merlin hates hunting (in fact, he takes pleasure in this fact), yet still brought him along, as episodes 1x13, 3x04, 4x11, 5x03, and 5x11 show. 

By far my favourite example comes from episode 5x12, when Arthur and Merlin were playing dice at the tavern. (I don’t know iwhat this game was called.) In my view, this happened regularly. Why else would the common people watch and laugh while Merlin poked fun at their king? (Percival’s face was classic.) And why was Arthur playing against Merlin? When did Merlin learn how to play dice? Who taught him? When? 

Obviously, I do not know, but it’s worth asking. 

Despite being speechless after Merlin “won” the game, Arthur let Merlin “win” all of his money. (Clearly, Arthur was the better player: “Feel free to retire at any time.” The king only used theatrics to get the right dice roll, while Merlin cheated with magic each time. If Merlin hadn’t “coughed”, then Arthur would have rolled correctly a second time. Hence why Arthur said beforehand, “Enjoy this moment, Merlin… while it lasts.”) 

Look at Arthur, who was dressed in a plain shirt, rather than his armour and cloak. When we put this scene in conjunction with episode 3x04, where Arthur again wore plain clothes, we can see that he enjoyed these moments of normality. “There’s no better place to measure the mood of your people than the local tavern… I’m just a simple peasant like everybody else.”

So where is this strenuous denial? Nowhere. Arthur never constantly denied that Merlin was his friend. Nor did he only admit this in secret, otherwise the great dice scene in episode 5x12 would never have happened. Sure, the people might have been astonished to see their great king playing against a servant, but they must also have known that if Arthur allowed himself to be “beaten” at a game by his servant, the latter must be his friend. 

CLAIM #4: Merlin was usually/always (in the) right

Wrong. Being right most of the time does not mean being right all of the time. Merlin failed to realise this, and consequently made grievous errors throughout the series. The most grievous errors came when he tried to fight against death. Episode 3x05 shows this; all of the grief and pain suffered by Arthur, Gwen, and Uther stemmed from Merlin mortally injuring Morgana in a bid to prevent her from killing the king. 

He effectively ignored the warning to “use what you see for good.” 

Then we have the example to end all examples; Merlin’s recklessness, presumptuousness, bold-faced hypocrisy, coldness, prejudice, and most of all, jealousy towards Sir Mordred. 

Even as early as episode 1x08, Merlin almost let the boy Mordred die on account of a prophecy. At least back then he questioned it before hiding in bed like a coward. Mordred also blamed Merlin for Uther’s carnage in episode 2x11, though in the case of that episode and episode 2x03, I think Merlin’s actions were no worse than presumptuous. 

It gets far worse in episode 5x02, when Merlin yelled, “You should have killed him!”, to which Arthur rightly said, “What is wrong with you?” Mordred saw that he could not jump across the gorge, so he surrendered and walked away. (He probably knew that Arthur would arrive in Ismere soon, as his later conversation with Morgana demonstrates.) 

Later on, Arthur gave Merlin another strange look after Merlin said, “I told you, you should have killed him when you had the chance.” How could someone usually so compassionate insist on executing a man who stopped threatening them?

Remember how Merlin reacted to Arthur killing Caerleon in episode 4x05, despite having plenty of evidence that Caerleon was a threat to Arthur’s life?

By the way, episodes 5x01 and 5x02 are my favourite examples of Merlin being horrendously wrong. Other episodes include 5x05, and the crucial errors he made in episode 5x11. (I watched most of episode 5x11 last Sunday, and I was floored. It shook me more than 5x12 and 5x13, which I had also been avoiding for years.) 

Going back to episodes 5x01 and 5x02 (because episode 5x11 is too depressing): if Arthur had listened to Merlin’s “advice”, he would have abandoned his knights to a slow death in slavery. He would also have committed murder, simply on Merlin’s say-so. If you kill someone who is defenceless and has surrendered, that is murder-- regardless of whether, like Merlin, you are desperately scared of a prophecy and speaking without thinking. 

Also, if Arthur had rushed back to Camelot on Merlin’s say-so, he might well have been assassinated by Ruadan. 

Most of all, almost everything that Merlin “advised” violated Arthur’s core beliefs-- the very beliefs that made Merlin respect Arthur in the first place. It’s astonishing that Arthur had to explain no less than five times that he would never abandon any of his men, otherwise he would be abandoning his own values and the values that built Camelot. 

So desperate is Merlin to fight against death that he either quietly ignores this advice, or claims he agrees, only to try dissuading Arthur later on. 

Just to be clear: I perfectly understand that beneath all Merlin’s horrible advice and prevarication, he does not want to lose his friend. 

However, just watch Merlin’s marvellous inconsistency throughout episode 5x01. First, he plays Devil’s Advocate by asking Arthur, “Do you really think Gwaine and Percival could still be alive?” Arthur says he has to find out, because they are knights of Camelot. Merlin says, “I understand.” Of course he did. 

Bear in mind that this happened before Merlin learned of the prophecy. Some have therefore asked what made Merlin unwilling to look for the missing knights, who were his friends. 

In Annis’ castle, Merlin said, “I’m not sure we should go to Ismere.” On the other hand, Arthur, acting on reliable information that Morgana had rounded up slaves, took this as a sign that his mission was right. Merlin tried arguing, then gave up. One might assume that after two rational explanations, Merlin would see reason, particularly since even Kilgharrah could not confirm that the fated battle would take place. 

But no. After the knights left Annis’ lands, Merlin complained again that Morgana was “powerful… dangerous.” So, Arthur explained yet again that “no matter what lies ahead of me, I won’t abandon them.” Merlin respected this answer, because he said, “I understand. I wish I didn’t-- but I do.” (Why does he wish he did not understand why Arthur would risk his life for all of his soldiers?) 

But the very next day, after the ambush, Merlin turned to rage: “The two of us against Morgana, are you mad?” He tried stopping Arthur from going any further. So Arthur explained himself again. Consequently, Merlin continued following Arthur. 

The very same night, he once again insisted that, “We have to turn back.” Arthur explained himself yet again, and Merlin promised to “protect you or die at your side.”

Which one is it? Not to mention that in episode 5x02, instead of apologising for his carelessness, Merlin said, “And I told you to go back to Camelot.” This is silly, given that Arthur had already refused to return on numerous occasions until he had rescued his men, assuming they were still alive. 

The most hilarious example comes later, when Merlin says, “We can’t let them hand us over to Morgana: we need to get out of here, we need a plan.” But when Arthur comes up with that plan, what does Merlin say? “You’ve got to be joking!”, “You should have killed him!”, “Next time, we might not be so lucky.”, “We’ll never make it in there.”, and “How did you talk me into this?” 

Again, which one is it?

I know why Merlin behaved this way, of course. However, there’s a difference between the noble goal of protecting your friend, and ignoring everything and everyone else in order to reach that goal-- particularly through controlling means. Throughout the series, Merlin’s biggest fault comes from his controlling tendencies, which always backfire. And he never learns.  

In this way, Merlin shackled Arthur with unrealistic expectations about a Golden Age based on prophecies that he could not verify. Somehow, this Golden Age had now become evading Arthur’s death. He wanted Arthur to share that belief. Worse, even while his motives came from a noble goal, he treated other people as expendable. 

Another example of Merlin’s absurd reasoning comes from the fateful episode 5x05. Putting aside the fact that Merlin tried claming that sentencing Mordred to die was an acceptable price to pay “for Camelot”, he also previously claimed that, “I do care. About who you are, Arthur. Who you are destined to become.” 

This makes zero sense, given that Arthur had already taken the throne and “brought peace to the kingdom” (episode 5x03). What more did he have to achieve? It depends on who you ask: bringing back magic, uniting the five kingdoms, eternal peace, avoiding the prophecy about Mordred, bowing to the Triple Goddess, being the greatest king this land has ever known… 

Can you see how unrealistic this is? Moreover, can you see how Merlin used Arthur as a vehicle of his own unrealistic ambitions? This is why the Golden Age never happened: it was a myth. It allowed the Druids, Gaius, Kilgharrah, etc. to live vicariously through the new king. 

Bringing back magic was impossible while Morgana continued using it for great evil. (And the Triple Goddess, who complained about Arthur persecuting sorcery, allowed Morgana to continue that evil conduct.)

Arthur did take considerable steps to uniting the kingdoms, particularly when he signed a treaty with King Odin in episode 5x04. But eternal peace? Impossible, otherwise episodes 5x01 and 5x02 would not have happened. 

The unbiquitous prophecy about Mordred was never backed by evidence, leaving Merlin in a state of constant paranoia, and causing him to make horrible errors. This despite the fact that, by his own admission, “I like him [Mordred] myself.” [1]

Bowing to the Triple Goddess was nothing but blackmail using Mordred’s life as a bargaining chip. This once again shows how many sorcerers had caused chaos and misery. Remember, this same Triple Goddess used torture techniques such as controlling people’s minds using the Fomorroh, as Morgana explained in episode 4x06. 

While I believe that the persecution of peaceful sorcerers was wrong, Arthur had no quarrel with the Druids (episode 5x11), and he still had good reason for banning sorcery (also explained in episode 5x11). Nobody, not even Merlin, gave him a reason to change his mind. Kara definitely did not, for she wasn’t executed for being a Druid: she was executed for murder and attempted murder. 

As for being the greatest king this land had ever known… Well, Arthur appreciated that statement in episode 4x12. However, when Merlin spoke of the greatest kingdom in the world in episode 4x13, Arthur said, “You’re making this up.”

In episode 5x01, Merlin claimed that, “Arthur, without you, Camelot is nothing.” Arthur disagreed, saying that abandoning his men was worse than surviving Morgana. Even in episode 5x04, Arthur accepted his death. “So be it. But understand this, Odin: you kill me, and you’ll have all of Camelot to answer to.” Odin was astonished that a king could have such confidence in the face of death. 

The most important example comes from episode 5x13. Merlin said the same thing about Camelot being nothing without Arthur, to which the dying king said, “There was a time when that was true. Not now. There are many who can fill the crown.” And of course, he gave the royal seal to Gwen. Can anyone argue with this? 

I guess you could say that Arthur didn’t believe his own hype.

Indeed, Arthur felt satisfied about what he had achieved in his life. “Everything you’ve done, I know now. For me, for Camelot. For the kingdom you helped me build.” (Episode 5x13). That was it. Arthur knew that he had changed Camelot for the better, that Merlin killing his half-sister had brought “peace at last”, and that he owed Merlin an unpayable debt for helping him to achieve all of these goals. 

Why did Arthur accept the certainty of his death for so long? Because he believed his cause was right, and his death would help save the lives of thousands in Camelot. Dying in service to Camelot was his real destiny. It was inevitable, and to him, it was the most honourable act he would ever undertake. 

You cannot know how great you will be until you die. “That’s the way things work, I’m afraid. You get the glory when you’re not around to appreciate it.” (Episode 4x06). At that point, you will never see your legacy. Merlin either did not know that, or he did not want to know it. 

Arthur’s death ultimately serves as the greatest evidence that Merlin was wrong the whole time.

TO BE CONTINUED IN PART III

FOOTNOTES

[1]  I don’t doubt that Merlin liked Mordred. In fact, the scene in episode 5x05, where Merlin buried Osgar, shows how difficult it was for him to maintain his mistrust when the druid was so polite and perceptive. So why the contradiction? Why claim you like someone, yet insist that they would commit regicide? The answer is that Merlin used the prophecy as an excuse. In fact, his prejudice against Mordred had more to do with jealousy than the prophecy. After being involved in an attempt to trade Arthur and Merlin as slaves to Morgana, Arthur knighted the druid for one noble act. Did Merlin aspire to be a knight? I don’t know. He definitely wanted that same level of trust and respect given to Mordred, though, and knighthood created a bond that a servant could not have.

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Next part of the weird Thorin-story that comes to me while I swim

Dear friends…Here I am again with another part of a story I had not planned to write and that has taken on a life of its own…

I love you, don’t hate me…

(Warning: this is less formal and a lot more…ridiculous than the last parts)

(It is “in-universe”, but barely, because I have no idea of the universe per se…)

She took the bowls to the river to rinse them in the cold waters that glittered and glimmered in the dimming light; the way the last sun of the day reflected in the ever-changing blue hues reminded her of the man she was travelling with.

It came as a very small surprise to her that her old nan had been mostly right about the dwarves, and she was more inclined to believe her post-mortem, now that she had seen a dwarf lord, no a future king, with her own eyes.

She harboured not the inkling of a doubt in her mind that he would indeed be king one day; there was something so noble in his demeanour and deportment that she found it easy enough to have faith in him. He was clearly born to lead, just as she had been born to serve.

A pang of pain washed over her heart like the cold water submerged her numb hands; she wished she could tell her grandmother about the magical creature she had come upon in the woods. How nan would have loved to hear about a man whose eyes held all the mystery of endless tunnels and the deep longing of the open sea at the same time; she would have laughed and nodded her fragile, little head, saying that kneeling was easy to those who will stand up for you as a protector rather than as an executioner.

“You shall find your master one day.” Old nan used to exclaim every time her young granddaughter had been particularly wilful or disobedient, running wild in the forest or toying around with the ingredients the old woman had collected during long hours.

She had loved her nan, but she had not believed that anyone would ever manage to curb her spirit and bind it to their will. “There are things between heaven and earth, child, that you cannot even fathom. Creatures of great strength, beings of profound wisdom, and lives full of beauty and suffering; one day, you’ll find your place in the grand design and you shall bow to its magnitude.”

At this moment, her nan’s words revealed their true and full meaning. She had believed that walking to the chapel every day would be her life’s work, but she had been wrong. All her life, she had but been waiting for the quest to begin. A quest for truth and for freedom.

His cloak was still around her shoulders and she regretted having to take it off to slip back into her own, sinfully rumpled, clothes. Checking if he was looking at her, she lifted his garment to her face and inhaled.

It smelled of woodsmoke, pine needles and of something darker that she could not identify, for she had not known any man before. Not like that. She had not smelled their skin and thought about pressing her lips against theirs; she had spent her youth with an old woman and her adulthood alone.

“Woman, there are hills in the distance. Can we reach them before night falls?” He called out to her and she dropped the garment, feeling caught and embarrassed.

“No, but we should reach them soon after. Why?” She responded, returning to where he stood, both feet firmly planted on a rocky outcrop cutting through the grass like a blade.

“We could spend the night in one of the caves in the rocks.” He cocked one eyebrow as if that had been a very obvious thing to consider.

Approaching the point where he stood, already holding on to her cart, she hesitated.

“We cannot.” Her feet stopped moving entirely as they bumped against the edge of the rock.

“I have never gone beyond this point. This is where the wilderness starts.” She whispered, pulling a small, needle-like dagger from her pocket and planting it forcefully in her forearm. While her blood dripped onto the grass, she said a quiet prayer.

“What are you doing?” He asked, interested and slightly alarmed to see her bleed onto the floor.

“My blood is bound to this earth, Master Dwarf, I want the ground to remember me and to bring me home if ever I lose my way.” She sighed before adding with a tremor in her voice: “Many have not come back after stepping past this stone. This is where the world of fire and mystery starts.”

He looked at her with calm interest. “We are getting ever closer to where my kin lives.” He declared, an unspoken question in his eyes. “Aye.” She nodded, forcing herself to smile.

“Are you afeared?” – “Aye.” She repeated, but with a heaving sigh, she lifted her foot onto the ledge. His hand closed around her elbow as he pulled her up and took his cloak from her cold, trembling hands. “You may turn back now; I won’t resent you.”

She laughed in a low, rumbling voice. “I cannot turn back, Master Thorin, I have pledged my service to you. Your story is part of my blood now, inscribed forever in this earth you might never tread upon again. Maybe, it always has. Maybe, old nan knew what would happen long before I was born.”

He had to admire her blind faith. She seemed so brave in her belief that all that happened was meant to be. Closing his hand around the shells buried in his pocket, he decided to believe her.

“Why can we not take refuge in the caves?” He then asked as they made their way through the rougher terrain. Sometimes, he had to steady her as she tottered and stumbled because she could not see the small boulders jutting out of the ground like gravestones; she never complained or pulled away from him and the smile she wore in the semi-penumbra was full of faith and affection.

“You cannot breach the integrity of the rock and delve into it without being given permission. It is rude and bad manners lead to bad accidents.” She shrugged.

“Another teaching of old nan?” He commented without irony or ill-will. “Everything beyond that rock”, she pointed to the ledge they had just passed, “is alive. We are now in the realm of the old souls where the trees have voices and the stones are stubborn. Listen, Master Dwarf.” She murmured and he was surprised, again, at the simplicity with which she accepted these things.

Indeed, he could feel the rock underneath the thin layer of greenery thrum with anticipation; it had been a long time since last someone had come this way.

“The stone bears you no ill will, woman.” He heard himself say in a low, gentle voice. Her tread was so light that it felt like a caress to the neglected ground; or, maybe, it was the inherent reverence she seemed to hold for everything around her that swayed the unmoving to support her insecure, flailing steps as well as they could.

“I give thanks to its gracious acceptance then.” She smiled, kneeling on the ground immediately and pressing both her hands to it in silent prayer.

This, he thought, was why she had survived. She had believed herself out of the reach of what she called “magic wilderness”, but he was almost certain that every element surrounding her had conspired to keep her safe.

“I have a sister.” Why did he tell her those things? “Oh, really? Is she beautiful?” She looked up.

“No, she’s a terrible…yes, she’s…She’s my sister. I guess she’s alright. Others find her beautiful.” He laughed and her smile broadened while the ground hummed in agreement with the joy they were spreading.

“She has those two terrible boys. I wonder…Would you teach them?” He was not usually this open, protecting his family and their secrets with fierce jealousy, but a part of him wanted her warm light of affection and respect to shine on his kin as much as on himself.

“Teach them what? What could a simple maiden like me teach princes?” She scoffed.

Maiden? Had she really told him that? She could have died of embarrassment.

Thankfully, he did not pick up on it, instead pinching the bridge of his impressive nose and groaning: “Respect…and how to swim.”

“Love shines brighter than respect, Master Thorin, but it doesn’t cancel it out. I’ve respected nan a great deal, but I loved her more. You are their uncle first and their king second, I’m afraid.” She smiled and he was struck by the truth in her words. It had been a silly remark, only half-serious, but her earnest tone chased away all teasing in his voice as he agreed with her.

“Keep that gorgeous head over the waterline and you’ll be fine.” She then picked up on the second part of his sentence seamlessly with a cheeky wink. “That much, I had figured out.”

They neared the looming rock now, pocked with caves and alcoves, and her steps slowed.

“Trust me, we are quite welcome.” He reassured her when he saw her hesitate; her hand slid very willingly into his own as he led her up a narrow ledge, leaving the cart at the foot of the small rise.

“I’ve told you so much about my sorry, lonesome life. Tell me more about yours if you please.” She asked as they entered a spacious cave. “We are on our way to rejoin my kin in Ered Luin.” He started, his face growing hard and unforgiving for a second in the light of the small fire he was coaxing to life. “One day, I shall reclaim Erebor though.”

She gasped. Another childhood story seemed to bleed from her befuddled mind into the real world surrounding her. “The lonely mountain…is real?” She asked, her breath bated.

“Of course it is real. What do you mean? What do you know about it?” He looked up sharply.

She had poured over every map in the small library of her town, she had even asked for express permission to enter the one in the richer, more sophisticated neighbouring town and she had questioned every travelling merchant she had encountered, but nobody had ever seen that fabled mountain. Many had even scoffed and laughed at her, shooing her away like an unruly child with too many questions and not enough common sense.

“Oh no, you were telling me a story, Master Dwarf.” She shook her head, undecided if she should tell him about a family secret; after all, since she had met him, many things she had imagined being mere fiction and a dash of conjecture had turned out to be completely true. Maybe, he would know more about those things and old mysteries would finally be resolved.

“As I said, I shall reclaim Erebor and lead my people home…after the bane is dead.”

“Which bane?” She cradled her head in her hands, elbows resting on her drawn-up knees and listened to him talk. He had a deep and melodic voice, the voice of century-old pride and eternity-spanning strength, and she liked the way it soothed the gnawing fear inside of her guts.

The sound of his voice was a presence in itself, reassuring and as solid as the creature it spilled forth from; it conveyed confidence and inspired trust. It was the voice of a king, booming in alarm and lulling in peaceful narration.

“The dragon, Smaug.” He uttered with disdain and barely held-back anger. “A dragon? Really?” She shook her head, dazed beyond words; dragons were even less likely to exist than dwarves.

“Yes, really. What other creatures do you not believe in?” He seemed partially impatient and partially amused; when his face split into a dazzling grin though, she realised that he was mostly entertained by her apparent naïveté.

“Are there really creatures made of pure light who can talk to trees and float over the ground?”

“His name is Thranduil and he’s a pain in the ass. Excuse the language, he’s a treacherous, disloyal coward, but yes, he is fair. As in…he shines with a cold, hard light. He rides an elk and some say that his soul can travel in the form of a white cow…or deer…or something stupid like that.” Thorin grumbled, heat flushing his face upon thinking of that distasteful creature he was describing. She laughed, she threw her head back and laughed heartily, her laughter echoing deep within the lonely stones encasing them. “Amazing!” She wheezed, clapping her hands and, had he hated Thranduil just a smidgen less, he would have been tempted to take her to the dark woods that cursed king lived in just to see her marvel at him.

That leaf-muncher riding other grass-eating dumb beasts did not deserve her starry-eyed wonder, even though, Thorin didn’t doubt that for one instant, the king of dark trees would have loved that.

She would also enjoy the forest, at least the way it had once been; she would love the different berries and herbs one could find galore in the shade of the trees that did indeed whisper of their dark secrets.

“Oh, I hope you won’t be disheartened by the long walk. There’s so many people I want you to meet: my darned nephews, my fiery sister…Ori, he sure loves a good story. If you start telling him your stories, he’ll follow you around like a puppy.” Thorin rumbled and she was struck by the love in his voice. These people sounded interesting and she couldn’t wait to meet them.

He inspected the fading burns and muttered: “Óin will want the recipe for this salve. If you manage to charm the old boy, and I’m sure you will, he might trade some of his own tinctures and potions with you.”

“Oh, I’d love to share my recipes with him. I’m sure there’s a dire need for it…with furnaces and dragons and such things.” She exclaimed, completely disregarding the gravity of the subject.

“Do you think they’d want to meet me though? I am just a human and far from the best of them.” Suddenly, she was overcome by a sense of dread and insecurity. She had never left her valley and the surrounding area; she would strike them as a silly girl who knew nothing of the world they had been born and raised in.

“You’re charming and you bring skills and knowledge we’d greatly profit from…but yes, we’re a private people and there will be dwarves who will not take to you kindly. I shall do my best to protect you.” He would not lie to her and she was thankful for his candid words.

“I have been poor and outcast all my life, I am not afraid of being shunned. I am used to a life in the shadows surrounding the bright lights.” She gave him a warm smile that was meant to be reassuring; she did not want him to trouble himself on her behalf.

“There will be none of that under my rule.” He sounded definitive, clearly, the last word was spoken on the matter and she dared not contradict him.

“Will you tell me of your prophecy?” His voice was soft now, enchanting, coaxing, seductive.

“Will you tell me of your mountain?” She shot back in the same melting tone.

“Tell me what you know of it first.” He challenged her and she blew up her cheeks in an effort to remember the exact words, handed down from generation to generation in her family. From daughter to daughter, words spoken in kitchens over steaming cups of herbal brew and at bedsides when the fire burned low.

“When my nan’s mother was but a babe in arms, or was it her grandmother, I don’t recall…either way, a traveller came to them.” She rolled her eyes, adding in a narrator-tone “Travellers coming seems to be a theme in our family history”.

“So, a traveller came and told them a great treasure had been received in the Lonely Mountain.”

“The Arkenstone.” Thorin exploded, shocked and outraged, apparently, she had touched upon another one of his well-guarded and jealously kept secrets.

“No, it didn’t sound like it was a stone. It was said that – after desolation and ruin, after being lost and found, upon returning home through the fire to lead his people – he, whoever he is, will be the “spring”.”

She paused, rubbing her index along her lower lip slowly to focus her mind.

“Go on…” He encouraged her. “I do not know if “spring” is meant in the sense of the season of rebirth or of the source of something good…or even as the coil that will catapult the world into the future, but he shall be the “spring”.”

She shrugged. “It’s been, oh so many years, and no doubt, the story has been tweaked beyond recognition or sense, but there it is. We’ve only ever heard of that place once: as the crib of a miracle.”

She shivered in the flickering light of the dying embers and when he took her hand, it was icy cold. “It’s a real place…I was born there, but we had to leave when the dragon came. It has vast halls, once filled with laughter and light, and…a treasure.” He tried to hold up his end of the bargain.

“You said that twice.” She teased. “What?” He frowned.

“You said that you have lived there and then you said there was a treasure. I understood you the first time.” She grinned when a treacherous blush stole into his cheeks. He was a warrior and a leader, he was not used to shameless flattery from females and he did not know how to react.

“I meant an actual treasure. Gold and gems.” He stammered, lost for words.

“I meant an actual treasure too, silver and marble.” She smiled, waving aside his embarrassment.

“Did you believe in that prophecy?” He then asked, to change the subject.

“Oh, Master Dwarf, human lives are short, but we believe in cycles. We are born, we live, we die, but everything and everyone comes back somehow. What has been lost, will be found. What has left, might well return. Nan used to say when one is at a loss, one should go back to where it ended, because chances are, that’s exactly where it will start again.”

Giving his hand a slight squeeze, she whispered: “You will face your dragon again, you will see your home again, you will have the chance to walk the same path backwards and find new solutions to old problems. This is not the end, it is but another beginning.”

She looked like an old, wise woman herself now, despite the youth of her face and the softness of her body, for her eyes seemed timeless. How many cycles had those eyes and the knowledge within them seen?

“Where is old nan now?” He asked. “Buried under the chapel where you found me. Where I found you.” Her smile was unfathomable and deep, as if the world held no secrets for her anymore, and he was in awe of her once again.

“You are cold.” He said in a hushed voice when she shivered again. He remembered how she had plunged into the cold water for his dinner and suspected that she had never really dried.

“I am fine.” She crept a little closer to the dying fire. “I don’t want to leave you here to fetch more wood.” He murmured as if to himself and she was quick to promise that she was completely comfortable the way she was. She had known cold and darkness before and she was not afraid of it.

“Will you teach my nephews to swim then?” He prompted her again, just to see her warm smile. She thought them children, but to her, they would look like full-grown men already.

“I could not bear to see such beautiful hair turned into this.” She pointed at the matted, tangled mass of her own hair hanging in a wild nest from her head.

“Their hair is pitiful either way. You might want to brush, should I give you privacy?” He offered, turning around and handing her a comb.

She wondered where he had taken it from, but she suspected that he brushed his own luscious locks obsessively every time her head was turned away, because there was no way his hair looked like this on its own.

He could hear the comb dragging through her hair and the sweet smell of fresh water filled the air, a note of citrus and wild flowers dancing on the waves the scent conjured up, and he had to grit his teeth to keep himself from turning around.

“You know you can watch me brush my hair? I don’t make a secret out of it.” She laughed after a moment and he did not need more coaxing or inviting than that; he spun around immediately, his eyes riveted on her slow movements.

She felt slightly awkward with him staring at her as if she was about to undress in a slow, salacious way; more than ever, she was convinced that he brushed his hair in secret in a kind of semi-erotic ritual. His hair was of course also something that was quite bewitching.

She didn’t question the fact that she seemingly found everything about him enchanting, literally from the top of his head down to the sturdy boots he was pulling off now.

“Don’t do that, you’ll get cold feet.” She warned, mainly because her own felt frozen stiff by now, but he just gave a rumbling chuckle that seemed to be echoed by the walls.

“I am…not.” He laughed, rubbing his thumb over her cold, frail hand slowly to show her that he was much better than her at keeping his body temperature stable.

“So…have you always been a herb witch?” He asked, not letting go of her hand. For some reason, he just couldn’t bear when she fell into silence. He was so full of questions; old nan had never told her that dwarves were such nosy creatures.

“What? I am not. I am a potter by trade. I started making the vessels for my nan’s tinctures, but when…after the plague, there was no need for vases and plates and so I made money how I could.” I needed to eat, she thought, and my nan’s knowledge of the world around her saved my life.

“A potter?” He sounded taken aback. “Yes, Master Thorin, I make fragile things to be used just like you make durable, strong things to be used. We are what we make, it seems.”

He cocked one eyebrow: “You don’t strike me as particularly fragile.”

“I guess it doesn’t matter anyway, we learn a trade and we work in it, but ultimately, we must come back to our blood and the responsibility we have towards it, don’t we?”

He nodded slowly. One of her hands felt warm now, encased as it was in his huge paw, while the other one was still numb with cold.

For one moment, she debated if this was the moment to be prideful, but then she just extracted her hand from his, shoving it into the gap between her tunic and her skin.

He looked positively hurt by her action.

“I am sorry.” He mumbled. “Why? For what?” She asked as she extended her other hand to him; he just stared at it in confusion. “Could you warm this one up as well, please, Master Dwarf?”

It was mortifying having to ask, but he seemed puzzled. “Oh, I thought I had crossed a line by holding your hand for so long…I…you snatched it away to tuck it away in a safe place…kind of…wiping it…I don’t know.” He confessed.

She didn’t know if she should laugh or frown at that kind of stupidity. “You are very warm.” She simply said, sighing with relief when he took her other hand and rubbed it slowly.

“You are clearly not.” He replied, his strong hands closing around hers up to the wrist. She felt like crawling into him and staying there.

Had nan known about this as well? Had she known that a dwarf lord was like a furnace, radiating light and heat in to the confined space she was huddled up in? The almost dead fire before her seemed a ridiculous, puny thing compared to him.

The hand in her tunic was growing cold again and she proceeded to another sneaky switch, which made him chuckle under his breath. “Scoot in closer?” He offered.

It was inappropriate. He was a king-to-be, he was a creature she had not believed existed in the first place, he was wholly too virile and intimidating, but when he extended his arm she pressed against his ribs with fervent eagerness.

“You’re frozen…and your clothes are wet. How are they wet?” He exclaimed as his arm settled around her shoulders. She had thrown them too carelessly onto the bank and they had soaked up some water, she thought, but she would not tell him about her own stupidity for fear of making him worry more than she was worthy of.

“Enough is enough. I’ll go get some new wood and fetch some dry clothes from the cart. You get out of these rags.” He rumbled, but when he tried to get up, she slung her arm around his waist in a fit of childish petulance.

“I’ll be back soon.” He draped his own cloak around her. “No, you’ll be cold. Take it.” She cried out, extending his garment to him. “Stone and metal hold heat better than mud.” He smiled gently and exited the cavern.

His sudden absence turned the cave into a grave and she scrambled out of her wet clothes with frantic urgency, spreading them on the rocks at the back of the grotto.

“Oh stone, let me hear those heavy footfalls so I know I’m not alone.” She begged, lying down on the floor, his cloak underneath her skin and half-draped across her shivering body.

He found nothing but his own clothes and, in his haste to get back to her, he grabbed a tunic of his and hurried up to the cave again.

She was lying on the floor and for a second, he thought that she might have fainted or worse, but when she sat up, a smile of welcome blossomed on her face that made his heart wince.

His cloak had slipped and he realised that she was back in her chemise, her naked body clearly fathomable under the thin layer of fabric. “I could only find my own tunic, I am, again, so sorry.” He mumbled, walking over to her slowly. She did not flinch or move back; her whole body seemed to lean towards his approaching silhouette instead.

While he threw some twigs onto the fire, begging it to flare into life again for her sake, he couldn’t help observing the way her breasts lifted and sank as she shrugged into his tunic, sighing in an expression of pleasure that was cruelly uncalled-for in her present state of hypothermia.

“Tell me more about your kin, Master Dwarf. Tell me about the people I shall meet so I shall know them when I see them.” She begged, extending her arms to make him sit down by her side.

“Are you still cold?” He asked, alarmed, as he settled next to her. She slipped back under his arm like a child, feeling frail and shivering, but sighing contentedly.

“I shall be warm in a minute. Look at the fire, Master Dwarf, what beautiful things we could fashion if we had the tools and the time.” She murmured, fatigue making her voice grow slow and melting, like honey dripping onto his senses.

He was aware of her slowly heating up flesh and her tiny hand resting innocently on his thigh as she was snuggled against him the way his nephews had when they had been but tiny little things. Only, he had never felt the fire pass from the hearth in front of him into his bloodstream when his nephews had sought solace or protection under his wing. He had not wondered about the way he might feel or smell when they had been this close to his body.

“I think that you’ll like Balin. I really do. He’s kind and smart; he’ll love the stories about your nan. Ah, you’ll get to meet Dwalin as well, he’s…probably my best friend. He’s solid, but he’s…there’s a reason he’s my best friend. We’re…less courteous than we should be.” Thorin started to honour her wish. “You’re lovely, stop it.” She mumbled hazily.

He thought about her words and about the mussel shells he still kept in his pocket. She was right, if he had the tools and the time, he would make something beautiful for her; she deserved something frivolous and gorgeous for all the help and devoted service she had offered him.

His eyes fell on her feet that were extended away from him and he was aghast to see them take a blueish hue. She was not falling asleep; she was succumbing to the surrounding cold still.

“Close in, oh stone, protect her.” He whispered, but the rock around him seemed to mock his words. “Close in, oh son of stone, son of ore, protect her.” Voices thrummed through the unmoving walls, and so he did.

Gathering her up like a bundle of empty clothes, he pulled her into his lap, leaning back against the stone wall and held her there.

Looking down, he saw the naked expanse of her legs which made him feel like an idiot for not having thought of that before. With one hand, he bent her legs at the knee and tucked them safely into the hollow he had created by spreading his own.

She lay flush against him now, he could feel the rise and fall of her chest against his own and, when he pulled his cloak over her gently, his hand brushed the smooth skin of her unclothed thigh.

Just a hand-breadth higher he would have brushed against other parts, secret parts, that were much like his dinner: firmly closed now, but if heated just right, revealing a glittering pearl.

This was a very inopportune thought to have, he berated himself, as his body heated up against his will, making her press against him with ever more fervour.

A maiden, she had used that word, and despite being clearly of age, he wondered if she had meant that in the most allusive and perversely seductive of senses.

When had that plague ravaged her village? When had old nan died? How long had she been alone?

It didn’t matter. She would not consider sacrificing that most precious of prizes to one such as him…She had not denied him anything this far, he remembered, not her time, not her care, not her boundless courage.

Not this though, he curbed his own fanciful imagination, never this. He would not ask anything of her, not before he could show himself worthy of all the things she had given up for his benefit this far.

Her hand snaked up and came to rest just above his heart. “Lovely.” She repeated in a low, mumbling voice.

And, as she was warm and clearly asleep now, he permitted himself the tiny, tortureous indulgence of pressing his lips for one brief moment against her head, resting against his shoulder as if it belonged there. Maybe…it did.

[nothisis-ridiculous]

Take Me Home Now: Chapter Five

Chapter Five: All My Memories Gather 'Round Her

Set after the events of ME3.

A rewrite. Ao3.

FemShepxKaidan

He ruffled her hair.

Again.

It was a mistake letting her hair grow back out, now clocking back in at impressive two inches Jane was growing used to the platinum blonde locks. Sure, there were some off-handed comments, but a stern attitude dissuaded most of the direct jokes. Well, for most, it did. Roy was always an exception when it came to her.

Annoying geezer.

But was it a sense of direction or trust that guided her to follow through his every command? It was true Jane had been wary at first- she had seen first hand what the power of being made a defacto leader could do to someone. Abuse, rape, and murder. Here, at least for the time being, Roy kept his head. Even begrudged the position. Not that he shared it pubically, only mentioning it in passing to her, but she understood the burden all the same. Jane had lived it: rejected it. It was a strange sense of comfort to follow, better that the man leading was becoming a dear...

She couldn't; she had to reject that notion.

"I know you're there."

The whir of the door a dead giveaway when it came to being followed. Jane's hypervigilance had only increased with her time spent outside active combat. Sure, she still found herself battling at least on a biweekly routine, but it was nothing compared to her time on the Normandy. That person spent more time in cover than under covers.

The mousy-haired girl stared up at her, brown eyes hard and unyielding. Hell, this kid was scary.

"Do you need something, Evelyn?"

The girl harrumphed, "what are you doing?"

Leave it to the lady carrying a dying plant around to be the most suspicious thing going on in the compound, "Spectre business."

Evelyn's, not Eva's, glare worsened. Her cheeks and nostrils flaring.

"What are you doing?" Jane replied in the same smarmy tone.

"My job," she returned matter-of-factly, "even if I don't like it, and even if Papa says you are sick."

"What, are you like, three? You don't have a job."

"Seven. And yes I do! Pater gave me one," the kid smirked, sticking out her tongue.

"And what's that? Being precocious?"

"Pre- what?" Evelyn stammered.

"Being a shit," the swear already escaped before it could be altered. Thus, reinstating the belief that children did not belong around her in any capacity.

Her furrowed brow gave way to a secretive smile, "Pater said someone needed to watch you. Seems stupid, but Papa said we all have to do things we don't want to right now."

Of course, Roy would.

"You're weird," the girl stated plainly, "your face is kinda glowy, and you spend a lot of time with those aliens."

Back on Earth, it wasn't hard to forget that First Contact was a meer thirty years ago. Not that it was blame for their attitudes, but most of the humans had a hard time trusting the aliens. It was only made worse when the squadron of Turians joined them, piling them on top of the loud and aggressive Krogan; most of the natives were uncomfortable. Already the Turians and Krogan had old beefs to settle, and the dash of human fear for the Turian species quickly started a lopsided triangle. At least the Krogan adage of 'seek the enemy of your enemy, and you will find a friend' came to the humans and krogan developing a tenuous alliance.

"Those aliens are nothing to be afraid of," Jane chided gently.

The kid neither gave up nor responded, instead following the woman through the hall and into the open atrium. The place had boomed in population, the mall teeming with signs of life that would have echoed its days before the war. Voices, distant music, and the general clatter of movement greeting them from outside the confines of the sealed hallways. Once Jane could walk through here without watching a step, now she dodged other people, weaving through the crowd with ease and speed intended to dislodge her charge.

Evelyn was spry, knocking into the lady as she unexpectedly stopped. She peeked around her, watching as the red Krogan started to cheer loudly. Another alien, smaller and with a grey carapace charged at his elder, the two rather than colliding ended the charge with a weird arm hold. For a moment, the two crests rested against each other, sharing a few soft and private words.

Even weirder was The Recruit, looking over the scene sadly, a hand held over her heart. Her jaw flexed, another sharp and illuminated line flaring vertically up her cheek—another note to add to the log.

"They look so mean," Evelyn complained, unsure why Jane would be watching this sadly. It was frightening, to her they were great brutes that usually ended up destroying something.

"They really aren't," Jane countered softly, a slight crack in her voice, "if one gives you an attitude, a head butt will set them straight."

She did like that this grown-up did not treat her like a child, unlike the rest.

Both of them tensed at the appearance of a green-shelled krogan; the arrival of the male ended the short embrace between the red and grey one. Then, as usual, the aliens returned to their fierce and violent natures, turning the greeting into a shoving contest.

"Don't fu-," the adult caught herself this time, "leave him alone. He's trouble."

Jane strode forwards, picking up her pace. It was no longer weaving through the crowd, as so much a straight charge across the atrium and to the access corridor that leads to the western parking lot- deciding they wanted to stay out of the way for practicality and ease. The Turians chose to take up the ramp as their headquarters. And this is where Jane headed for her errand.

Yeah, make me, make friendly with the Turians. Screw that they respect the chain of command more than a friendly face, all arguments Jane had tried in vain against the LT to get out of this assignment,  watch me fuck this up over a plant. Jeez, why not let them grow their own garden? Fuck if I know what I am doing.

But he did have one counterargument that made complete sense and was entirely of her own fault. She was the known member of the humans in residence to have any formal diplomatic training. She was still kicking herself for that slip of knowledge.

"You should head back home," she murmured to her back, "boring adult stuff. You won't miss much."

The baggy military rags were not enough protection from the spring chill, but she would press on. Clipping up the three-story climb to reach the perched Turians. The 'outpost' could overlook the entire mall with well-placed postings, which the military-minded turians had already accomplished within hours of selecting this area as a base of operations. The forward guard used to seeing the Recruit hardly blinked, only balking in their subtle way at the package tucked into her arms.

"Recruit," the LT wasn't the only one called by their moniker, the pinkish hued Turian gave something equivalent to a grin eyes wandering down to the plant the human carried, "another issue?"

Jane pushed the plant on the turian, "pretty much. I don't know shit about these plants."

"I grew herbs in my kitchen, I'd guess too much sunlight?"

"Makes as much sense as anything else. We've learned they can't be next to potatoes, now they hate the sun," Jane glanced down at her arms, "and I forgot to wear gloves. That's disappointing- I had plans for those hands tonight."

Silva's mandible vibrated, "there are other ways to relieve tension."

So begun the dance. It always started clean, water running over her arms, a quick quip about the luxury of running water, and the application of ointment. The all too gentle rub of talons across the top of her knuckles, a lingering glance Jane couldn't quite bring herself to notice, and finally a cocky declaration of future victory.

The Commander enjoyed the relaxed regulations of the Turian military, not that Alliance would have ever forbidden forbidden a friendly sparring match it felt much better to let off some steam without fear of repercussion. One didn't have to play nice. Fringe pulling, blows below the belt, untamed aggression was all too welcome in the turian fighting cage. While today wasn't a dirty fight day, Jane was all too eager to move.

Silva made the first jab, and the Recruit absorbed it with a smile.

"The LT is going to have my head one of these days," the Turian went in for the next blow, this time the human dodged, "I'm even going soft on you."

"Come on, Shepard," Garrus mocked, weaving below her fist, "stop dancing around."

Roy didn't appreciate the fighting, even after learning they were all in good sport. The punishment of latrine duty was now part of her chores, for how much she heeded his grumbling. He blamed the bruises for too many things- headaches, sideways glances, the lack of respect she commanded for herself. Why did he care? She never asked, never expected it. But he never told her to stop, so she wouldn't.

"I can't always make it take easy on you, Vakarian," Mary retorted, sweeping out her leg to purchase at a braced turian.

The female turian's claws grasped into her arm, but she was ready, twirling around and planting her elbow into a painfully rigid chin sending the offender reeling back a couple of steps, "that's one advantage of an exoskeleton."

"Or are we afraid to bruise our pretty face in case the Major struts on by," Garrus teased, barely inching past the biotically charged fist going for his scarred mandible, "unless he doesn't know about our little fight club?"

"At least I can roll."

"I wouldn't worry, Shepard," if the Turian were human, his eyebrow would be cocked and a flashy grin across his face, "it's so much better when they are angry."

The turian cackled; today the hits were much easier to connect. Or was the human not trying? She could be like that, destructive. Silva kept the hits low and softened the severity in which she delivered them. Jane struggled to keep her hands where they belonged, one threading and rubbing through her hair each time they disconnected to reset their stances.

"Like I care what the M-" her friend's stern glare shut her down, "don't jealous Gar-Gar."

Jane tumbled to the ground, nose trickling the strange red color. It was time for this fight to be over, the human shook underneath her grasp. But the too expressive species wore a brave face, "Jane."

"Two hundred years later, and still nobody talks about fight club," Mary after close inspection, did notice that the Major strutted, "I'm disappointed I wasn't invited." The handsome human specimen winked at the Commander, his sideways grin all-knowing.

"It's fine, probably enough for the day."

The female moved out of her grasp, turning around to wipe at her face. Silva pretended not to notice Jane went for her eyes first.

"Well, that was quick," the turian was a little disappointed, "you're different for a human."

Jane deaned to turn her head back for that comment, cocking an eyebrow at her, "you must not have left Palaven, or whatever your colony was, much."

"No, ma'am," the turian hesitated, "at least, the rest of your group doesn't seem interested in us."

"How would you feel if this was Palaven?"

Her mandibles vibrated.

"Now add your species being attacked thirty years ago by this species you suddenly have to get along with," Jane smiled softly, she was too harsh, "plus we're a bunch of cranky jerks."

Silva laughed deeply, "and add a war that has crippled an entire galaxy, it is a wonder we aren't all fighting."

"It's the krogan," Jane mused.

"Spirits bless, the krogans being the most level-headed."

"After Tuchanka, they probably feel at home," damn her words, "it was the Salarians all along."

"I mean, that's some deep level conspiracy, but it checks out," her companion tried to keep up the fading mood.

"Just give us some time; we're people of action only that really means something," to which race the words were meant for was moot.

[conservativetranny]

2020 blog update

Hello. No idea if any of you ‘remember’ me but I do seem to have a fair few followers on here. I managed to access the login information for this account and it is safe to say this blog is dead. I denounce everything I stood for on this stupid shit. 

I’m writing this because it’s what the blog deserves. Not looking to be dramatic, not looking for sympathy, in fact I think i’ll get a bit of backlash for this but bring it on. 

The past and the present- a summary

I had this blog when I was 14, unfortunately way too young to have a social media presence (one which carried any responsibility like this one anyway). No matter what age I said I was, no matter how I portrayed myself or how you, my followers interpreted me, I was a sad young trans guy desperately hoping to look big, cool, masculine and stoic, and that manifested in the most toxic way possible. 

I’m 17 now, still very very young, and after developments in my life, especially pursuing my medical transition and becoming happy within myself, I no longer hold such toxic beliefs as I once did. I am happier with myself and no longer feel the need to sacrifice others’ dignity, respect, and unfortunately sometimes on this blog, privacy, for my own. I was a very insecure, stubborn, and ignorant teenager, who dealt with a lot of denial. I’m not blaming the way I treated people online on other factors, but of course external factors came into play. I was dealing with bullying and insecurity, with parental problems, and with loneliness and depression. I seeked some sort of community, and I wanted to push myself away from the ‘weak’ trans community (the way I viewed it at the time). I wasn’t in denial personally, with the fact that I was trans (being gay is a different story- I was in complete denial with the fact that I’m gay), more just with the way other people viewed me (I will expand on this). I could elaborate on the way in which I viewed other people and the way that projected onto my conduction online, but it is a complex and confusing story. I have completely changed my viewpoint on trans ‘discourse’, I am open minded, I am close friends with people I would have turned my ignorant nose up at years ago. I am so proud to say that I am a completely different person now. I grow every day, it seems, and I can assure that I will never return to this ignorant mindset.

Growth

With experience, I have grown too. Obviously, from 14-17 i have become more mature. I have different experiences now as well, for example, I don’t bind often at all really anymore, because its more comfortable and can sometimes make me more dysphoric to know I am binding. I’m bringing this up because I bet you back when I was active on this blog, I would’ve laughed at the more mature, tolerant me, and probably went on a tyrade about how I was a fake trans guy or less of a man for not binding. I often wonder what ‘old me’ would think of ‘new me’. Now obviously, three years isn’t a hell of a big difference, but to a 17 come 18 year old it is. I understand I am not an adult yet, but I’ve always taken pride in conducting myself with a sense of maturity and articulacy, and for this post and platform especially I feel it is appropriate.

The Truscum Mindset

Back when I ran this blog, I was in an echo chamber of like minded people, which didn’t help my ideological development. I watched youtubers like Blaire White and Kalvin Garrah, who I thought gave me a balanced, moderate, and fair opinion which is clear is not the case. Back then I would’ve scoffed at the idea of Blaire and Kalvin and other similar people as being radical or a gateway, but I urge you, if you feel you are slipping to obsession with those ideologies, to seek to widen your opinions and associations. I understand it’s a fairly niche discourse topic, but for me it opened a wider rabbit hole into the alt right. From wanting to fit into the lgbt and wider communities as a masculine male, this opened up the black hole of the alt right, I browsed (now deleted) subreddits and 4chan boards, and forums that put me in a very negative and dangerous place. If you’d like me to make a post elaborating on this, I am more than happy to, but this post is to address conservativetranny.

Denial and owning up to responsibility

Back in 2017/18, I was very much in denial of certain aspects of myself, especially my sexuality. I am gay. I thought that this was, and especially as a trans guy, a demasculating quality. I still deal with those feelings sometimes, as a lot of young gay guys do, but thankfully it does not manifest itself as toxic as it once did. I just wanted to portray myself online as how I thought I wanted to be viewed-I didn’t want to be viewed like ‘any other trans guy’. I wanted to be different, but now I can appreciate individuality and I can also embrace being trans as well.

I used to think that having alt views was the coolest thing ever, which contributed to my slip into the alt right, something on which I’ll elaborate on in later posts. I am now an advocate for deradicalisation, and being rational, truly rational. I’m also an advocate for maturity and owning up to your mistakes.

I have hurt people, especially in my personal life, throughout my time as a stupid, thoughtless immature teenager and i am sorry, from the bottom of my heart, for that. I now respect the hell out of those people and unfortunately, but definitely rightfully so, they have lost their respect for me. I don’t blame them, because as I said, up until very recently I was a horrible, toxic person. With maturity, in the past half a year I have been able to own up to my mistakes and I am now taking responsibility for that. No excuses, because I was a shitty person. Of course there is a line between excuses and justification, and I hope those which are reading this can distinguish and appreciate this difference.

Self Hatred and Truscum

Back when I ran this blog, it was very easy to tell I was self hating. Everything I wrote on here, pretty much, was hateful except for the odd two posts that were about something unrelated to my ideology. I was extremely dysphoric and in a bad place when I wrote these things and certainly projected my insecurities onto others. I wanted to find a community of different thinking people that would accept me, and this community was certainly the wrong turn. I had a feeling that it was wrong at the time, but I was too naive and cowardly to own up to it and seek a way out. I kind of just naturally fell out of it, a a lot of things happened in my personal life in late 2018 that forced me out of trans discourse and into much more toxic places like the alt right and true crime fandoms, and I think I’ve only recently ‘found myself’ in the past year or so. I might make a post on self growth on the future as I intend to keep this blog to elaborate and voice my opinions on deradicalisation and highlight the importance of owning up and self awareness.

Don’t fall into the rabbithole

I’m not too acquainted with trans discourse anymore, so I’m out of the loop on this one, but I’d imagine that there’s still ‘transmed vs tucute’ ideas. Kalvin Garrah’s community comes to mind, I haven’t watched his videos ‘as a fan’, if that makes sense, for a while now but I am aware he has a large fanbase of young trans teens that were in a similar mindset to where I was back when I ran this blog. I would love for this post to reach his opposers and supporters for that matter, as a means to show them that they don’t have to fall into this cycle of hate which can be very damaging. I used to be an avid fan of Kalvin, and Blaire White, amongst others. I watched exclusively their content alone and formed my opinions around theirs. If you’re doing that now, I urge you to consider other people when you do. Think about the people like Brennan Beckwith, people who were severely impacted and hurt by hateful rhetoric. Those people are human too, and with maturity you will learn that people with different experiences and views are, at the end of the day, the same as you, and they have feelings as well .I’m going to make a post in the future about Kalvin Garrah, certainly, but maybe Blaire White as well.

Why now?

You may be wondering why this post is being made now of all times, and that is a question that has every right to be asked. I feel as if this timing is right because I finally possess the level of maturity needed to own up to my mistakes and tell you that I was wrong and it was certainly wrong to post those opinions and mistakes online for all to see, and put people in my real life on blast like I did.

I had completely forgotten about this blog, and forgot about the rude and ignorant words I had written towards the people in my real life, until chance had it that I was in contact with one of the people mentioned in this post. [https://conservativetranny.tumblr.com/post/169351517511/no-one-pretends-to-be-trans]

I’m not going to go into the nuances of the conversation we had, but it turns out they had, for a while and definitely rightfully so been hurt by the fact that I had mentioned them, by name, in this post. And while I’d of course still like to keep these people anonymous and will not sacrifice their anonymity in order to tell a story or ‘save myself’, this post is quite funny to read back on as I am good friends with the people referred to as ‘P’ and ‘Shadow’ now.

This is the end of this post, as I feel I have said everything I have wanted to say regarding my previous conduct on this blog. I’m going to change my name on this blog and my bio as I do intend on further posts in the future. I’m not sure how many people, if any, this post will reach, but I’m satisfied I have written this anyway. I certainly do plan on writing future posts but I’m not exactly sure how to formulate them. But thank you so much for reading this far, and if you have, I appreciate it.

[yekistraight]

Hey, could you explain what being a feminist means? I’ve heard all these terms before, and there’s this huge stigma around it. So do you think there’s a way you could clarify at least what your beliefs are, and what you believe it to be? I’m simply trying to study stuff and see what it’s become or is. Thank you.

Sorry I wrote so much i just wanted to make it comprehensive:

General definition of feminist is someone who believes in the socio-economic equality of the sexes. In the beginning this was a straightforward ideology to follow. Women needed to be equal to men. It’s only fair, there’s no reason not to be. But sharing power is not something the ruling majority particularly enjoys so there’s been some bumps in the road. Decades and decades of bumps.

The feminists of the past started this push a long time ago with one message: “we want to be taken seriously, we are humans too and we need rights that benefit us and protect us from you[men]” and they were right. Sex based crimes against women were happening at an alarming rate. So much so that it had become part of some cultures and traditions, meaning it would be defended and men would be protected while women basically died, physically and socially. Women lived in fear and helplessness, being sold a dream of subservience promoted by religion and ego in exchange for protection from men. What about the women that still, despite the odds, wanted to choose a different path? Well, they were brave enough to step out of line and others followed. They exist throughout history, inspiring other women will their bravery and confidence, proving that it was possible to have the power and authority that men had. Now imagine giving every woman that access to power? They’d have everything right? Well feminism didn’t start like that (it was racially exclusive actually) but fortunately the ideologies spread out through cities, across oceans and into continents where women wanted, no, NEEDED such power; the power to change their destinies that had been set upon them by another mere human being.

So feminism is like a sisterhood, where we’re only related by a common goal to protect each other while trying to defeat our common enemy. Here’s where the simplistic ideology begins to mutate based on strategy and cultural progression.

Feminism is a sisterhood, but not a monolith. There’s been different waves (eras) of feminism where each sisterhood used different tactics to achieve their goals for equality. Its like making a new checklist after the old one gets checked off. However there’s been one item that still needs a lot of work before ticking off and that’s dismantling gender roles. Gender roles are the root cause of every.single.thing. Toxic masculinity, performative femininity. Gender roles were created to control humans and keep them in their place. For a feminist to push her way into male dominated spaces, she must first acknowledge that gender roles have been constructed to work against her and break through it. So take note, everything is the way it is because of gender roles.

In this era, the sisterhood has been split into two major groups, two warring tribes if you will: libfems and radfems.

Liberal Feminists accept everyone. They use the tactic of assimilation, where they water down feminist ideologies to make it inclusive for everyone. They follow the lead of oppressed minorities who reclaimed slurs and instead reclaim methods tused to oppress women that past waves of feminists fought to dismantle. Remember what I said about gender roles? These women are bringing it back and think they’re reclaiming it. How do you reclaim something that hasn’t been dismantled yet?The only power they’re concerned with is the feeling of superiority that comes from thinking bowing down to the patriarchy is their idea. Their feminism tackles issues like rape, victim blaming and misogyny, things that affect them personally, while taking on the burden of other marginalised groups as their own, pushing their own goals to the backseat while feeling a self-righteous high. Basically, they’re activists who have lost the plot but would keep pushing blindly than admit it. The second group was born from libfems that wanted more than a feel good pat on the back from the patriarchy for not being too interfering.

Radical feminists are still following the original objective of their predecessors. They still have their eyes open to sex-based oppression and are aware there’s still a lot of work to be done. They don’t put the opposite sex’s needs above their own or let other group’s ideologies influence theirs and because of this, other groups as well as libfems have dubbed them as enemies to progress. Ironic isn’t it? The group that still fights for sexual equality has been silenced by none other than their own. Of course hatred for this group of feminists didn’t come out of nowhere. Radfems and their female-only values are presumed to hurt trans women, as trans women are biologically male and don’t have the same sex based experiences as biological women. Trans activists took these as transphobic fighting words and ostracised radfems, silencing them and their ideologies, claiming that everything they fought for was an attack against the trans community. Conservative americans also share some radfem values, basically the one on keeping the movement focused on female only issues, and because the right is notoriously bigoted (ironic because conservatives are the ones who uphold the gender roles feminists fight against so a conservative feminist is paradoxical) this is enough to tell people that radfems can’t be trusted. That they’re all racist, transphobic white supremacists. Because all groups that share similar ideologies are bad. The public, not wanting to be on the Unpopular Opinion side of history, shifted away and further pushed radfems into the background while libfems and their blind acceptance values were hailed as the patron saints of feminism.

So what feminism was and what it is now are vastly different. It started as a movement in different countries with different goals, then it graduated and took on more serious topics. It was like a game where every level gets tougher to prepare you for that last boss, the one who holds all the power you need to physically change your reality.

Today in the year 2021, young girls are being told that it’s feminist to enjoy selling their bodies for money. That it’s the same as working in a mine (a common comparative statement). That it’s feminist to look as womanly as the gender roles men created dictate. That it’s feminist to watch porn and be happy your romantic partner watches it to; this means you’re sexually liberated. Grown women go to Tiktok full of minors in the style of pimps to show off stacks of money they’ve made from pleasing men. They say “i did it because i wanted to and so should you”. Minors are all over twitter trying to lure men with financial dominatrix tags. They can’t wait till they become legal to start selling their nude bodies to men. They were told it would make them feel powerful. People who are skeptical are shamed into silence, because the popular crowd is always in control and no one wants to be the odd one out.

Now compare that to women who spend time researching horrifying news of sexual violence still happening today. Women still having to sell themselves to survive in 2021 is a clear indicator that we’re still not taken seriously. Sex buying, pimping and displaying women as commodities is the reason little girls are being stolen off the streets and shipped off to a disgusting dreg who think he’s owed sexual satisfaction.

Radfems want to end child sex trafficking, sex slavery, wedding night virginity checks, honour killings, femicide, sewing up little girls vaginas to avoid them exploring their sexuality before their wedding night and bring attention to way more hardcore shit being run by top dogs who are cooperating with the old powers that influence the governments.

Whose side do you think the media will be on? Whose side is worth not risking ruffling feathers?

Feminism has become many things now. You can choose the one that reminds you of the cruelty of man or the one that creates a comfortable fantasy of false empowerment while women’s violence continues. Both get stigmatised anyway.

If it wasn’t obvious already, I’m a radical feminist.

I’m an autistic radfem living in a backwards country where the lgbt community can’t thrive so there’s no pride parades, no trans movement, nothing that can be publicised anyway. I can’t create a fantasy where everything works because nothing works. Women are dying around me everyday for being female, my best friend is trapped with an abusive father who hates her for being a female firstborn (something babies get killed for), I’m not worthy of basic respect without a husband, a poor woman from a muslim state gets death threats from her fellow muslims for wearing a backless top while a rich married one gets praised and women can’t apply for anything important without a man’s permission.

Now why on earth would i want to pamper the gender that made and uphold those laws? The battle here is still greatly a battle of the sexes. Despite this stale level of progress, our movement, like many others have allies. Male allies are great, allies are great, we need them to push buttons yes but also remember they can never fully understand what we feel. All they can do is try their best to help and in return we give them acknowledgement and support; so no we’re not supposed to be misandrists or transphobes. We just hate anyone who uplifts what we and our ancestors have been fighting to destroy.

That’s all

[twoidiotwriters1]

Written In The Stars CII (Harry Potter xF!Oc)

A/N: You definitely won’t trust now, but I hope to see y’all in two weeks anyway, please don’t hate me -Danny

Words: 5,048

Series’ Masterlist

Previous Chapter // Book 5

Listen to: I Only Wanna Talk To You -by The Maine

Chapter Thirty-Seven: A New Vow.

Many things changed as the school year came to an end, none of them was good. 

Students would avoid her in the halls, they would stare at her and Harry carelessly, some frowning, some just plain scared. That wasn't new and it didn't hurt her anymore.

What hurt her was the way Harry grew distant out of the blue. He wouldn't touch her, not even sit beside her on accident. He would talk to her as if nothing had happened but she could see it in his eyes, some kind of distress, she had the ugly feeling that he resented her.

Mel was talking to Erick one morning in the courtyard, where they used to hang out during her first year. She was there to deliver Dumbledore's message and to thank him, it was their first time talking since the first task.

"I don't know what I would've done without the watch... it saved us."

Erick shook his head. "I merely confirmed his suspicions, Dumbledore was already looking for you when I got to him."

"You got him when I fainted during the task, you stood guard outside the tent while we were inside and I was..." She didn't know what to call it, her first thought was always directed to the word 'dying' but she knew now that those weren't her feelings, it was Harry who'd been dying, not her.

"You looked possessed. I thought you were... that you had..."

"That I was crazy," Mel sighed.

"...How's Harry?"

"We don't talk about that," Mel frowned, not wanting to go there. "Dumbledore has a message for you."

"Tell me."

"You won't like it."

"Try me."

"He said you could be of help," She replied carefully. "That if you're willing, you could join us."

"For what?" Erick asked in puzzlement.

"He didn't explain... said you could search for rogues."

After ten seconds, Erick spoke timidly. "Rogues like me?"

"I think so..."

"He wants me to dig around, see if any other Slytherin shares my... views."

"He kept saying how we have to stick together," Mel shook her head. "I think he's expecting us to try harder next year, unite the houses while we can..."

"I..." Erick started to stress. "It's too dangerous for me, you know that. Half of my friends come from Death Eaters or you-know-who's supporters. It's like walking on thin ice."

"You don't have to do it," Mel said promptly. "I know how your parents feel about this, and if they catch you doing something like that, trying to speak in Dumbledore's favour... I know that in comparison to me, you're on your own. I can't make you risk your well being like this."

Erick stared at her, he remained silent for a while, Mel didn't know what to do.

"Did you know, Miss," He finally uttered, "that Rapunzel isn't saved by a prince?"

She tilted her head and waited for him to finish.

"Found her way out of the mess, rebuilt her life on her own," Erick continued calmly. "I believe we'll do too."

"Bin havin' a cuppa with Olympe," Hagrid said as they settled around his table. "She's jus' left."

"Who?" said Ron curiously.

"Madame Maxime, o' course!" said Hagrid.

"You two made up, have you?" said Ron.

"Dunno what yeh're talkin' about," said Hagrid. When he had made tea and offered around a plate of doughy cookies, he leaned back in his chair and examined Harry and Mel closely. "You all righ'?"

"Yeah," said Harry.

"All right," Mel smiled.

"No, yeh're not," said Hagrid. " 'Course yeh're not. But yeh will be. Knew he was goin' ter come back. Known it fer years, Harry. Knew he was out there, bidin' his time. It had ter happen. Well, now it has, an' we'll jus' have ter get on with it. We'll fight. Migh' be able ter stop him before he gets a good hold. That's Dumbledore's plan, anyway. Great man, Dumbledore. 'S long as we've got him, I'm not too worried."

Mel looked down to her cup, frowning.

"No good sittin' worryin' abou' it," He said, patting her shoulder gently. "What's comin' will come, an' we'll meet it when it does. Dumbledore told me wha' you did. Yeh did as much as yer fathers would've done, an' I can' give yeh no higher praise than that."

They smiled, the very first glimpse of their old self coming to the surface.

"What's Dumbledore asked you to do, Hagrid?" Harry asked. "He sent Professor McGonagall to ask you and Madame Maxime to meet him — that night."

"Got a little job fer me over the summer– Secret, though. I'm not s'pposed ter talk abou' it, no, not even ter you lot. Olympe — Madame Maxime ter you — might be comin' with me. I think she will. Think I got her persuaded."

"Is it to do with Voldemort?" "Migh' be," Hagrid grimaced. "Now... who'd like ter come an'visit the las' skrewt with me? I was jokin' — jokin'!"

Mel's eyes found Harry's and he quickly averted his gaze. She frowned, a resolution already forming in her mind that she would clear things out with her best friend before they were back home.

She walked into his room when she knew he'd be alone packing up his things.

"Harry?"

"Yeah?" He said, gaze fixed on his trunk.

"I want to talk to you. You're the only one I want to talk to, but you keep avoiding me..."

"What d'you mean?"

"Can you at least look at me for just a second?" She frowned.

Harry did as told, his face remaining neutral as Mel approached. She looked into his eyes and pulled him in for a hug.

"I'm sorry," She mumbled against his shoulder. "Whatever I did– Please don't be mad. I swear all I wanted was to help you–"

Harry stepped away from her, not returning the hug.

"What're you talking about?"

"You know what I'm talking about! You don't... you won't–"

"I'm not mad at you!" Harry said exasperated. "Don't you see this is all my fault?"

Mel blinked.

"What?"

"I saw the bruises... What happened to you during the time Voldemort got me– you could've died!"

"Harry," She looked at him in disbelief. "You could've died."

"This is about you," He replied firmly. "It's my fault. I've dragged you to all of my mistakes and you end up hurt–"

"Those were my choices–"

"It was never your idea," He stated. "Dumbledore said that we're too close..."

"No! That's not... I did all that because I need you to be–"

"This was a mistake," Harry was breathing heavily, he was in distress. "What we did was a mistake."

"What, exactly?" She said in a shaky whisper, knowing where this was going.

"You know," His eyes hardened.

"That's rubbish!" It felt like holding sand, desperately trying not to let him slip away from her fingers. "This is not the solution–!"

"I don't think I ever liked you for real," He blurted out, "it wasn't my choice..."

"What?"

"I... I mean it," He turned around, hastily packing the last bits of clothing. "I think it might be the lifeline stuff... didn't like that you were getting close to other people– It sounds selfish, but it makes sense... some kind of instinct– doesn't mean it was real..."

"Harry, don't be stu–"

"I don't want you," He insisted. "I can't have you."

"Glasses–"

"My name is Harry!" He yelled, turning to face her. "Stop calling me that! I hate it! I hate the stupid nickname and I don't like you!"

Mel felt cornered, Harry had never spoken to her like that before. He turned back and slammed down the lid of his trunk.

"Just leave me alone." He said, abandoning the conversation as well as the room.

She stumbled back to his bed, falling heavily on it. Without being able to control herself, she burst into tears.

Mel avoided him for the rest of the term, spending most of her free time with the twins like the old times. It was good for her spirit, they knew how to make her laugh. During the feast she was seated between them, Dumbledore stood up to give his farewell speech and they fell silent.

"The end of another year. There is much that I would like to say to you all tonight," said Dumbledore, fixing his eyes on the Hufflepuff table, "but I must first acknowledge the loss of a very fine person, who should be sitting here, enjoying our feast with us. I would like you all, please, to stand, and raise your glasses, to Cedric Diggory."

And so they did. Every student in the room.

"Cedric was a person who exemplified many of the qualities that distinguish Hufflepuff house. He was a good and loyal friend, a hard worker, he valued fair play. His death has affected you all, whether you knew him well or not. I think that you have the right, therefore, to know exactly how it came about... Cedric Diggory was murdered by Lord Voldemort."

George looked down at her and put a hand on her shoulder, squeezing lightly.

"The Ministry of Magic does not wish me to tell you this. It is possible that some of your parents will be horrified that I have done so — either because they will not believe that Lord Voldemort has returned, or because they think I should not tell you so, young as you are. It is my belief, however, that the truth is generally preferable to lies, and that any attempt to pretend that Cedric died as the result of an accident, or some sort of blunder of his own, is an insult to his memory. There is somebody else who must be mentioned in connection with Cedric's death," Dumbledore went on. "I am talking, of course, about Harry Potter."

She refused to look for him and kept her gaze on the old man ahead.

"Harry Potter managed to escape Lord Voldemort. He risked his own life to return Cedric's body to Hogwarts. He showed, in every respect, the sort of bravery that few wizards have ever shown in facing Lord Voldemort, and for this, I honour him."

She lifted her goblet and said his name, but found herself saying it with a new resentment that had never been there before. It didn't feel right.

"The Triwizard Tournament's aim was to further and promote magical understanding. In the light of what has happened — of Lord Voldemort's return — such ties are more important than ever before. Every guest in this Hall, will be welcomed back here at any time, should they wish to come. I say to you all, once again — in the light of Lord Voldemort's return, we are only as strong as we are united, as weak as we are divided. Lord Voldemort's gift for spreading discord and enmity is very great. We can fight it only by showing an equally strong bond of friendship and trust. Differences of habit and language are nothing at all if our aims are identical and our hearts are open. It is my belief — and never have I so hoped that I am mistaken — that we are all facing dark and difficult times. Some of you in this Hall have already suffered directly at the hands of Lord Voldemort. Many of your families have been torn asunder. A week ago, a student was taken from our midst."

Her fists were closed tightly, there was still a faint greenish shadow were the bruise on her forearm had been days before.

"Remember Cedric. Remember, if the time should come when you have to make a choice between what is right and what is easy, remember what happened to a boy who was good, and kind, and brave, because he strayed across the path of Lord Voldemort. Remember Cedric Diggory."

" 'Arry!" Fleur Delacour was hurrying up the stone steps, Joseph was beside her.  "We will see each uzzer again, I 'ope. I am 'oping to get a job 'ere, to improve my Eenglish."

"It's very good already," said Ron clumsily.

Mel had her attention on Joseph.

"It was nice," Mel smiled fondly. "You're ten times funnier than your cousin."

Joseph laughed.

"Don't judge him too hard, it's the way he's been brought up. He used to be a lousy kid, very loving too... people grow out of it, unfortunately."

"Will I ever see you again?"

"Maybe," He smiled sweetly at her. "Take care, will you?"

"Yes."

"Will you watch after my cousin too?"

"Not like I have a choice..."

He chuckled. "See you, Mel."

"Good-bye, 'Arry," said Fleur, turning to go with Joseph. "It 'az been a pleasure meeting you!"

As Mel watched them leave, she had the reassuring feeling that maybe Erick wasn't entirely on his own after all.

"Wonder how the Durmstrang students are getting back," said Ron. "D'you reckon they can steer that ship without Karkaroff?"

"Karkaroff did not steer. He stayed in his cabin and let us do the vork." Krum said behind them. He looked at Hermione. "Could I have a vord?"

"Oh... yes... all right," said Hermione.

"You'd better hurry up!" Ron called loudly after her. "The carriages'll be here in a minute!"

"Oh shut up, Ron," Mel scolded. "Let her have one moment in private with him."

"What, is not like she'll be missing him lots, they didn't even date."

"You don't need to date someone in order to miss them," She snapped. "Or like them, for that matter..." She felt Harry purposefully look away as she spoke. When Krum returned, he talked to them.

"I liked Diggory. He vos alvays polite to me. Alvays. Even though I vos from Durmstrang — with Karkaroff."

"Have you got a new headmaster yet?" Harry asked.

Krum shrugged. He held out his hand as Fleur had done, shook Harry's hand, and then Ron's. Ron looked as though he was suffering some sort of painful internal struggle. Krum had already started walking away when Ron burst out, "Can I have your autograph?"

Hermione turned away, smiling at the horseless carriages that were now trundling toward them up the drive, as Krum, looking surprised but gratified, signed a fragment of parchment for Ron.

The trip back was good enough, even if Mel and Harry couldn't look at each other in the eye. Dumbledore's speech had given them energies, and just like he'd said before, they still had to remain together, for the greater good.

"There's nothing in there," Hermione signalled to the Daily Prophet Harry was staring at. "You can look for yourself, but there's nothing at all. I've been checking every day. Just a small piece the day after the third task saying you won the tournament. They didn't even mention Cedric. Nothing about any of it. If you ask me, Fudge is forcing them to keep quiet."

"Of course he is," Mel scoffed, "he's an idiot, but not that kind of idiot."

"He'll never keep Rita quiet," said Harry. "Not on a story like this."

"Oh, Rita hasn't written anything at all since the third task," said Hermione delightedly. "As a matter of fact, Rita Skeeter isn't going to be writing anything at all for a while. Not unless she wants me to spill the beans on her."

"What are you talking about?" said Ron.

"I found out how she was listening in on private conversations when she wasn't supposed to be coming onto the grounds," said Hermione.

"Oh, right!" Mel said. "What was that about?"

"How was she doing it?" said Harry.

"How did you find out?" said Ron.

"Well, it was you and Mel who gave me the idea, Harry."

"What? How?"

"Bugging," said Hermione happily.

"But you said they didn't work —"

"Oh not electronic bugs," said Hermione. "No, you see... Rita Skeeter" — Hermione's voice trembled with quiet triumph — "is an unregistered Animagus. She can turn —" Hermione pulled a small sealed glass jar out of her bag. "— into a beetle."

"You're kidding," said Ron. "You haven't... she's not..."

"Oh yes she is," said Hermione.

"Holy Godric," Mel laughed loudly for the first time in days.

"That's never — you're kidding —" Ron mumbled, examining the jar.

"No, I'm not. I caught her on the windowsill in the hospital wing. Look very closely, and you'll notice the markings around her antennae are exactly like those foul glasses she wears."

"There was a beetle on the statue the night we heard Hagrid telling Madame Maxime about his mum!" Harry exclaimed.

"When you fainted there was a beetle in the curtain as well," Mel replied, her eyes fixed on the tiny creature. "And when I talked to Cedric before the first task..."

"Exactly. And Viktor pulled a beetle out of my hair after we'd had our conversation by the lake. She's been buzzing around for stories all year."

"When we saw Malfoy under that tree..."

"He was talking to her, in his hand. He knew, of course. That's how she's been getting all those nice little interviews with the Slytherins. They wouldn't care that she was doing something illegal, as long as they were giving her horrible stuff about us and Hagrid. I've told her I'll let her out when we get back to London. I've put an Unbreakable Charm on the jar, you see, so she can't transform. And I've told her she's to keep her quill to herself for a whole year. See if she can't break the habit of writing horrible lies about people."

"Hermione, I love you," Mel grinned.

The door of the compartment slid open.

"Very clever, Granger," Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle were standing there. "So, you caught some pathetic reporter, and Potter's Dumbledore's favourite boy again. Big deal." He stared at them with bright eyes. "Trying not to think about it, are we? Trying to pretend it hasn't happened?"

"Get out," Harry tensed.

"You've picked the losing side, Potter! I warned you! I told you you ought to choose your company more carefully, remember? When we met on the train, first day at Hogwarts? I told you not to hang around with riffraff like this! Too late now, Potter! They'll be the first to go, now the Dark Lord's back! Mudbloods and Muggle-lovers first! Well — second — Diggory was the f —"

It was as though someone had exploded a box of fireworks within the compartment. Blinded by the blaze of the spells that had blasted from every direction, deafened by a series of bangs, Harry blinked and looked down at the floor.

Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle were all on the ground and they were on their feet, all four of them having used a different hex. Nor were they the only ones to have done so.

"Thought we'd see what those three were up to," said Fred entering their compartment.

"Interesting effect," said George, examining Crabbe. "Who used the Furnunculus Curse?"

"Me," said Harry.

"Odd– I used Jelly-Legs. Looks as though those two shouldn't be mixed. He seems to have sprouted little tentacles all over his face. Well, let's not leave them here, they don't add much to the decor."

Ron, Harry, and George pushed them out into the corridor, when they straighten up, Ron turned his head slightly towards her.

"Er... Mel?"

She walked out of the compartment and found Erick standing there, looking down at the three Slytherins.

"Oh," She smiled. "Hello. Don't worry boys, I got this."

Erick had a sort of exasperated look on his face.

"Why don't you turn around and forget you saw this," George ignored her. "We promise not to hurt you if you do."

"You promise not to hurt me?" Erick let out a dry laugh. "Right..."

"He's not here to report us," Ron said, pushing his brother back into the compartment. "Listen to Mel..."

"Don't annoy her, the year's over and so is the committee," George insisted.

"George," Mel sighed. "It's okay."

"Listen, we can clear all doubts in a moment, but can I talk to her first?" Erick frowned. "In private."

The boys entered the compartment reluctantly, they had just closed the door when he spoke.

"I'll do it. Whatever Dumbledore wants me to do."

Mel was taken by surprise.

"Are you sure?"

"What he said during the speech... he's right," He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "It's time to make a choice."

"But your parents–"

"Don't have to know. If there's any chance that there are more people like me... if I can convince them... it'll be worth it, right?"

Before she could stop herself, she held his hand.

"Come."

"What?"

"Come in for a second, meet the Weasleys."

"So they can kill me? No thanks–"

"They won't," She dragged him inside. Everyone stared at them. "Erick won't report us."

"Good for him," Ron replied in disinterest.

"I think it's time we clear things up," She continued with determination. "Erick and I are good friends. He doesn't need to prove his loyalty to anyone, but he wants to help my uncle, so it'd be brilliant if you could, you know, be nice to him."

"No need to look so outraged," Erick said, staring at the twins' faces. "Being a Slytherin doesn't equal being a monster. I could've reported you to Professor McGonagall thousands of times during the school year but I kept my mouth shut. Why?"

"Because you knew we could've kicked your arse?"

"Very classy," He rolled his eyes. "I did it out of consideration for Mel. Now Dumbledore asked for my help and that's what I'll give. All I want is for you to stay out of my way and stop acting like I'm the danger. I assure you, Mel's the bad influence here. All I care about is being of use."

A heavy silence surrounded them as the boys processed the news.

"All right then, be of use," George shrugged. "Close the door and sit down, we've had enough visitors for today."

"Exploding Snap, anyone?" said Fred, pulling out a pack of cards. "Be of use, Flint, open the window before you sit."

"I'm going to regret this..." Erick groaned, doing as asked.

She purposely seated Erick between her and Harry for the rest of the trip.

"You going to tell us, then?" Harry said to George after a while. "Who you were blackmailing?"

"What?" Erick looked around in confusion.

"Long story," Hermione said over her book.

"It doesn't matter," said Fred. "It wasn't anything important. Not now, anyway."

"We've given up," said George, shrugging.

"Come on!"

Harry, Hermione, Ron and her insisted so much that Fred lost his patience.

"All right, all right, if you really want to know... it was Ludo Bagman."

"Bagman? Are you saying he was involved in —"

"Nah. Nothing like that. Stupid git. He wouldn't have the brains."

"Well, what, then?"

"You remember that bet we had with him at the Quidditch World Cup? About how Ireland would win, but Krum would get the Snitch?"

"Yeah."

"Well," He glanced at Mel, "The git paid us in leprechaun gold he'd caught from the Irish mascots."

"So?"

"So," said Fred, "it vanished, didn't it? By next morning, it had gone!"

"So I guess, you could say I told you so, Lady," George scowled. "We were idiots."

"But — it must've been an accident, mustn't it?" said Hermione.

"Yeah, that's what we thought, at first. We thought if we just wrote to him, and told him he'd made a mistake, he'd cough up. But nothing doing. Ignored our letter. We kept trying to talk to him about it at Hogwarts, but he was always making some excuse to get away from us."

"In the end, he turned pretty nasty," said Fred. "Told us we were too young to gamble, and he wasn't giving us anything."

"So we asked for our money back."  

"He didn't refuse!" gasped Hermione.

"Right in one," said Fred.

"But that was all your savings!"

"Tell me about it," George scoffed. "'Course, we found out what was going on in the end. Lee Jordan's dad had had a bit of trouble getting money off Bagman as well. Turns out he's in big trouble with the goblins. Borrowed loads of gold off them. A gang of them cornered him in the woods after the World Cup and took all the gold he had, and it still wasn't enough to cover all his debts. They followed him all the way to Hogwarts to keep an eye on him. He's lost everything gambling. Hasn't got two Galleons to rub together. And you know how the idiot tried to pay the goblins back?"

"How?"

"He put a bet on you, mate," said Fred. "Put a big bet on you to win the tournament. Bet against the goblins."

"I knew it!" Mel exclaimed.

"So that's why he kept trying to help me win! Well — I did win, didn't I? So he can pay you your gold!"

"Nope– The goblins play as dirty as him. They say you drew with Diggory, and Bagman was betting you'd win outright. So Bagman had to run for it. He did run for it right after the third task."

"My Grandad's a big fan of Zonko's," Erick mentioned casually, placing his cards on the table. "And he relishes on supporting young inventors, reminds him of the old days. If you send me samples I'll show them to him and he might help you... What? Don't look at me like that, it's not dirty money!"

"Sorry," Fred said, raising a brow. "It's weird to see you acting like... well, like a good person."

"Unexpected, you mean," George suggested. "You have the looks of a conceited prat."

"Give it time," Mel muttered.

"Shut it," Erick nudged her arm. "Anyway, I better leave and finish my rounds before we arrive... I'll write if anything comes up, Mel."

They waved him goodbye, the twins looked at her with their eyebrows raised.

"What?"

"Nothing," Fred smirked. "Bad influence you are then, aren't you?"

"You've corrupted Slytherin's Prince!"

"Careful Harry," Fred teased. "Don't let him get too comfortable or he'll think he's got a chance!"

"Shut up," Mel interrupted harshly. "Erick doesn't like me that way..."

"Sure thing, and Krum's nothing but a good mate to Hermione," George grinned.

"Fred — George — wait a moment."

She heard Harry said after leaving the compartment. She froze, curiosity winning over her.

"Take it," He said, and she could hear the distinct sound of coins inside a sack falling onto someone's hands.

"What?" said one of the twins.

"Take it. I don't want it."

"You're mental–"

"No, I'm not. You take it and get inventing. It's for the joke shop."

"He is mental."

"Listen, if you don't take it, I'm throwing it down the drain. I don't want it and I don't need it. But I could do with a few laughs. We could all do with a few laughs. I've got a feeling we're going to need them more than usual before long."

He was giving them the tournament's money. Her heart did that odd flip it hadn't done in days.

"Harry," she kept hearing, "there's got to be a thousand Galleons in here."

"Yeah, think how many Canary Creams that is– Just don't tell your mum where you got it... although she might not be so keen for you to join the Ministry anymore, come to think of it..."

"Harry–"

"Look, take it, or I'll hex you. I know some good ones now. Just do me one favour, okay? Buy Ron some different dress robes and say they're from you."

Harry left the compartment and faced her. There was a moment where she caught a glimpse of something, for a second he looked like he wanted to speak. It disappeared right away though, taking all her hopes with it. He scowled and walked past her without uttering a word.

"See you, Harry," said Ron, clapping him on the back.

"'Bye, Harry!" said Hermione, and she did something she had never done before, and kissed him on the cheek.

"Harry — thanks," George muttered, while Fred nodded fervently at his side.

Harry winked at them, turned to Uncle Vernon, and followed him silently from the station. There was no point worrying yet, he told himself, as he got into the back of the Dursleys' car.

As Hagrid had said, what would come, would come... and he would have to meet it when it did.

Mel entered her mother's car in silence, she was still trying to understand how things had gone to the dogs between her and Harry so quickly. There was something pressing on her chest and she wasn't sure she wanted to plug it out.

Her mother spoke for the first time in the day.

"We're not staying at Privet Drive this summer."

"What?" Mel asked absently.

"We'll go there to get your clothes, then we'll leave first thing tomorrow morning to Remus' place," Her mother explained quickly. "I know you want to stay and make sure Harry's fine, but I have things to do and you can't be left alone–"

"Okay."

Her mother stared at her.

"What?"

"I know Harry's going to be safe, surrounded by muggles and all," She tried to keep her voice neutral. "If we're of use somewhere else, I want to go."

Emily knew right away that something was wrong, but whether if she thought it was about Harry or not, she didn't comment on it.

"All right. It'll be a long summer, this one..."

"Yeah," Mel looked out the window as the car left their parking spot.

The girl felt like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders, she'd been dreading to go back and have no one to talk to but Harry. Not that he'd be visiting her house at all, but at least now she had an excuse to stay away from him. To leave him alone, just as he'd requested.

Mel thought, very bitterly, that her biggest dream and worst nightmare had come true at the same time. She made a vow not to wish for anything ever again.

Next Part —>

Taglist.

@dee123ksha​ @vampiregirl1797 @siriuslysirius1107 @stardusthigh @mikariell95 @vernon-dursley @thesuitelifeofafangirl @tomshollandz @kylosleftbuttcheek @reverse-hxlland @bloodorangemoonlight @omiwashere​ @t-rexs-world

[thiswaycomessomethingwicked]

I have a silly Napoleon ask for you: if he suddenly woke up in the present day what do you think he would a)like most about it b) like least about it c)get unreasonably addicted to d)decide to do for a living

hahah I’ve answered a similar one before here and here. 

Most Like About It: A lot, I think. Central heating. Guys, he’d fucking love central heating.

In general, he’d love most technological advances. Cars, planes, trains etc. like he’d be very into that. “Bertrand we’re going to ride the TGV all day every day. Look at how fast we are going! This is genius.” 

“Bertrand WE ARE IN THE SKY. This is AMAZING. We are going from Paris to Rome in a matter of HOURS. HOURS BERTRAND. WE DON’T HAVE TO CROSS MOUNTAINS.” (sorry just assuming this is exile Napoleon who woke up in modern day.) 

Public transit in general - the metro, buses - anything that makes life more efficient for people. Dishwasher, washers/dryers, modern electricity, laptops, printers, ball point pens etc. 

I suspect he’d be a big supporter of public health care and all the advances made on vaccines and medicine in general. 100% would hate anti-vaxxers. Pro-modern glasses (he’d get himself a pair asap. Then they’d explain contacts to him and I think he’d be like “WAIT NO, I WANT THOSE.” He would not be into lasik, I suspect). 

Modern hygiene! Razors, tooth brushes, floss, moisturizer - general daily body care he’d probably be keen on. (All that stuff we take for granted.) Though maybe not all of it, he was quite traditional in certain things (his penchant for older fashion, par exemple). Maybe he’d keep the old straight razor shaving approach. But modern dentistry would be a huge improvement and I can’t see him being against it. Especially as someone who had a tooth extracted in the early 19th century. 

‘Oh they give you pain killers now? Fantastic.’ 

‘Sir, we just numb the area where we are doing the work.’ 

‘So it doesn’t impede my awareness? Amazing. Please, fix all my teeth right now.’ 

He’d also support the greater access to education that exists, especially compared to his day. Also, streaming services. He would binge so many things. ‘Bertrand we are watching every thing this very soothing sounding British naturalist made about planet earth. Holy shit look at that they’re under water! They’re at the bottom of the ocean! Bertrand look at this. if only Josephine were here. She’d be so excited.’ 

Pro-zoom/Microsoft teams/facetime etc. 100%. ‘If I had this instead of people relying on my bad handwriting ...’ 

Oh, he’d like the EU as a concept. Except he would be very disappointed that France wasn’t at the helm. I think France’s position globally would disappoint him, overall. But yeah, the broad principles espoused by the concept of the European Union would appeal to him. 

Brexit though. Lol. I think he’d enjoy watching England shoot itself in the foot. But if you asked him for his opinion, as in “do you think the UK should do this” he would answer no. They should remain. 

He would like globalization, trade agreements, things like NAFTA, CETA etc. Supporter of big government. Reduction of religion in public sphere. Though would he be pro-banning visual manifestations of faith? (i.e. Hijab etc.) I don’t know. I doubt it. Simply because he was very focused on religion in government, so if churches aren’t involved in decision making, what citizens get up to on their own is their business (so long as you don’t cause problems). But I don’t know, he might be pro-it, because he was also into assimilation and creating a broad sense of a French culture. I could see him really going either way on it. It’d probably come down to whatever he thought would garner the most public support as a political move (since a lot of his more liberal moves as a leader were tied to understanding that marginalized communities would gun hard for him if he helped them). 

He would be pro-mask wearing for COVID because he wasn’t a fucking idiot and lived in a time when pandemics were still a real going concern. 

He would also probably like how comfortable modern clothing is. I don’t think he’d like how cheap and made-to-wear-out that most brands are, but he’d like the over all philosophy. Like Napoleon would dig t-shirts. Lounge wear. The fact that jeans have some stretch in them. That sort of thing. 

-- 

Least Like: I think he’d be very wary of the internet. For many reasons. For the lack of government control (Napoleon “What is a free press? never heard of her” Bonaparte). But also, because of the misinformation problems. The side effects many of us are now bearing witness to, and experiencing the ramifications of. 

He would dislike the whole fake news nonsense. Oh this man was a master spin-doctor, very good at twisting a narrative around to suit him, but he still did have respect for and a firm belief in basic facts. Especially fake news that usurped the sound advise of scientists and doctors (i.e. COVID nonsense). 

Free press, I think he would be wary of it. Mostly from a government control perspective. Like as a day-to-day citizen, since he wouldn’t be anyone in power in this hypothetical, I think he’d value it. He would do that disassocative thing he did when he talked about things in the abstract. That cold, calculating way he would position himself in a situation and be like “Ah yes, these are the things that need to be tamped down if you want control of a populace as a monarch”. Then he had his more liberal, call-back-to-that-misspent-jacobin-youth moments where his views shifted. 

I suppose it would also depend what age this hypothetical Napoleon is. He softened a lot in retirement exile. Napoleon at the height of his power, thirty-odd years old, different man to fifty year old Napoleon. 

Would not be into women in politics. He’d be like ‘Why is there a woman in charge of Germany? Also what happened to the Habsburgs? Where’s Prussia? Silesia? What the FuCk is happening in the Balkans? I’m very confused about Europe’s current geographic layout. ...Corsica...still doing you, I see.’ 

He’d dislike Trump and his cronies. As I wrote before: “ I think Napoleon would find Trump disgusting on a personal level. Uneducated, incapable of holding a real conversation, gauche, anti-intellectual, anti-fact-based discussion, anti-science, anti-art etc. He’d also feel that Trump is disgracing the position of President and that he is unworthy of leadership. Napoleon would also find Trump physically repulsive as he could be a wee bit shallow in some of his assessments (though, very early modern to 19th century to assume your physical appearance is a manifestation of your interiority).” 

Steve Bannon’s fiddling with finances? Napoleon would find that repulsive. Mitch Mcconnell disgracing his office by fucking around with constitutional loop holes? Napoleon would think it a disgrace. 

He had a lot of respect for America’s experiment with democracy. Like, quite a lot of respect. So I think he’d be vastly disappointed in not only the person occupying the white house, but also a lot of the apathy in voting that is going around. (Yes, this coming from a [mostly] absolutest monarch, too.) But Napoleon valued and respected the notion of civic duty. If you live in a democracy, you have a duty to participate. To opt out is to shirk that duty which he would find insulting and distasteful. Because, I would argue, he was very much a believer in people doing right by their fellow citizens. 

--

Get unreasonably addicted to: MODERN BATHS. HE WOULD NEVER LEAVE THE BATHTUB. THEY CAN HAVE JETS AND EVERYTHING BERTRAND THIS IS GREAT. 

Also central heating. Saunas. Jacuzzis. He was like a wee lizard seeking warmth at all times. 

I think he’d be into driving. I don’t know if he would be good at it. Don’t let Napoleon take the wheel, guys. But if someone else was driving he’d be that person “go faster. you’re driving like my grandmother.” And gods, he’d do dumb shit like drive like a maniac around the arc de triumph six times in a row because he’s an adrenaline junkie and a risk-taker (it’s that bored ADD brain of his). The autobahn would be his dream. 

I think he’d be super into epic fantasy series. Like the big sweeping ones like Lord of the Rings. I think less so GRRM because GRRM is unrealistic and Napoleon is pedantic. Especially about politics and war. Exhibit A: consider Napoleon’s very detailed nitpicking of Virgil on his inaccurate rendition of Troy from a military perspective. Therefore, I suspect GRRM’s lack of accuracy in how society works, how war works, how politics works, all the plot holes and illogical character decisions, would drive him up the wall. Napoleon liked Homer because he could tell Homer had been to war. And you can tell Tolkien has been to war. Also LOTR hits all those notes of high-hearted emotion and big sweeping scenes that Napoleon so liked in Ossian and the Illiad etc.

All this to say, overall, as a genre, I think those big, sweeping fantasies with lots of plot, politics, intrigue, soaring battles, great heights of emotion - he’d love that. It would hit all of his buttons for what he liked in fiction. Lots of emotion, lots of action, lots of big scenes, lots of crazy shenanigans. This can also be applied to Sci-fi. I think he’d be a big nerd on that too. But the science would have to make sense. 

I think he’d be into Star Trek, particularly Picard, if only for the philosophical aspects of it. He liked those sorts of questions and hypotheticals. So I think he’d binge all of The Next Generation (among other seasons). 

--

Do for a living: Teach? God knows. This is Napoleon from 18-something who just woke up? He could be paid for consultant work for historians and film crews and the like, I guess. Just to tell them how accurate stuff is. Of course, be wary, this is Napoleon I Am A Spin Doctor Bonaparte. 

I think he could lean into writing histories - particularly the classics, early French and European history - that sort of thing, where he already has a strong background in it and it wouldn’t require him basically learning an entirely new trade. Like, will Napoleon ever fully be a natural with computers and cell phones? Probably not. Could he be like your old school Professor emeritus who still churns out papers and does 90% of it the old fashioned by-hand way? Yes. And Napoleon had a bunch of histories planned on St. Helena that he wanted to write, so I think he could do that. 

As this is literally Napoleon Bonaparte he’d get a book deal in seconds. There’d be a bidding war over it. 

--

Thank you for the ask! This was very amusing :D 

[himbowelsh]

i keep seeing your valetine’s day prompts and i adore them! if you haven’t already, could you do one for the ginger father figure dick winters? thank you for making so much content!!!

valentines day alphabet  ( accepting! )

A   :   AFFECTION.   how does your muse show affection?

Dick is very careful with his affection; he’s naturally restrained, so the liberal physical contact so popular with some men doesn’t come easily to him. He can’t just...  hand out hugs or compliments like they’re candy, because that’s not how he was raised, and not how his brain was wired. Dick’s affection has to be earned. Once someone’s crept their way into his heart, however, it’s always there   ---   in little smiles, dry teasing, the way he’s able to be at ease around someone in the quiet moments. Dick’s affection is a tranquil thing, but it leaves the recipient feeling like the most important person in the world.

B   :   BOUQUET.   does your muse like flowers? which ones are their favourite?

He’s a traditional man. Maybe he can’t raise a garden himself, but he’ll get a nice bouquet for every occasion.

C   :   CHOCOLATE.   does your muse like chocolate? which one is their favourite?

He read somewhere that dark chocolate is healthy for you, so he tries to eat it sometimes, but can’t stand the taste. Not much of a chocolate fan  ---  but has a weird soft spot for peppermint bark.

D   :   DATE.   what is your muse’s ideal date? where / who with / etc?

No dinner and a movie for him  ---  he’d like to do something that’s not so predictable, something that offers the chance to get to know his date better. Dick might take them for a walk around the local trails, soaking in nature; or he might try for horseback riding, just to see how his date handles themselves. If they’re not a natural rider, even better, because he can help them  (and maybe it’s also an excuse to get closer). Dick wants to see a different side of his date, the side they’re not always able to present to the world. This isn’t first date material  ---  for the first few dates, he takes them out for respectable dinners and movies   ---   but, given the choice, he’d prefer something a bit adventurous.

E   :   EMBRACE.   does your muse like hugs? what are their hugs like?

“Dad Hugs” are the best word for them. Dick’s hugs are steady and comforting, however infrequent they come around. He’s not much of a hugger, so...  he’ll only really hug if someone needs it. Like, “borderline sobbing” needs it. Even then, he might settle for patting their back. Dick feels awkward giving hugs, but actually has a talent for them.

F   :   FLIRT.   is your muse good at flirting? how do they flirt?

Oooh, no. No, no, no. Don’t leave this man alone to flirt, because he physically can’t do it. The closest he ever gets to flirting is his banter with Nixon, and that’s just because they know each other so well. There’s not a flirtatious bone in Dick’s body. He’ll literally go up to someone, stone-faced, and be like “hello, my name’s Dick, would you like to have dinner tonight?” That’s the best he’s capable of, and anything smoother might injure him.

G   :   GIFT.   is your muse good at gift - giving or do they struggle to get it right?

He’s...   very practical with his gifts. Weirdly practical. He’s given almanacs as gifts before. He bought his sister a box of pencils once. He nonironically buys socks? (They’re an important thing to have, especially in the winter! All the Easy men know the importance of socks!) He won’t get something anybody hates, but his gifts are certainly nothing to get excited over. Sometimes, of course, they can be very heartfelt.

H   :   HEART.   is your muse quick or slow to give their heart away?

He’s not slow, he just...  doesn’t make a habit of it. Dick’s a private person, so before he gives his heart away he’d have to really get to know someone. He’d need to feel like he had a measure of them, and they of him; he wouldn’t really give his heart away until he began imagining a future together, a next stage from wherever in the relationship they’re in now. (He doesn’t realize just how much Nix means to him, for example, until he starts thinking about what rent must cost in New Jersey.) When Dick starts planning, he’s in for the long haul.

I    :   I LOVE YOU.   does your muse find ‘i love you’ easy or hard to say?

He doesn’t say it often  ---  it’s much easier to show, instead of tell  ---  but when he does say it out loud, he means it sincerely.

J   :   JEALOUSY.   does your muse get jealous in a relationship?

Nah, not really. He’d annoyingly levelheaded about things like this, and never the first to jump to conclusions in any situation. Dick has...  good self-esteem? (What kind of witchcraft?) Moreover, he trusts his partner implicitly, and it would take a lot for him to even consider they might be unfaithful to him. Dick would have to see his partner literally on top of someone to truly feel betrayed.

K   :   KISS.   is your muse a good kisser? why / why not?

He doesn’t have a lot of experience; that’s the only thing that separates a good kisser from a great kisser. Given practice, Dick could easily be a great kisser. As it is, he’s unsure of himself, seeking guidance from his partner before crossing any lines they’re uncomfortable with. He’s very careful with them, as though they’re something fragile; his hands remain in a gentlemanly location at all times, even if a determined partner is trying to get him to lose his cool. He keeps to the lips, not exploring anywhere else, but his kisses are...  intent, determined, and always heated by a smouldering flame that hints at something more.

L   :   LOVE.   who does your muse love?

Dick is very closely bonded to his family and his community; that’s simply the way he was raised, and he can never deny the influence they’ve had on his life. Dick loves his parents deeply, and would do anything for his little sister Anne; he loves the family he stayed with overseas, the Barneses, who practically became surrogate parents to him; he cares deeply for his men, and his friends even moreso. Nixon holds a very crucial place in his heart; even if he were to get into a romantic relationship with someone else, so long as he’s nearby, Nix would be a very persistent third wheel, and Dick wouldn’t mind it. He’s simply...  used to having Nix there.

M   :   MOONLIGHT.   is morning or night a more romantic setting?

Why does this man have so much energy in the mornings? Is this...  is this legal? Is he okay?

N   :   NAUGHTY.   what is your muse like in bed?

He’s got a lot of self-control; even in the bedroom, he can’t relinquish it completely. Dick doesn’t like to come undone. It would take a lot of effort from his partner  ---  and even then, he’s mostly silent in the bedroom, letting his fierce grip on his partner’s body and the tiny sighs that pass his lips do all the speaking for him. Now he’s free to let his lips wander, and they do, all over his partner’s body  ---  he’s a kisser during sex, and will gladly kiss any exposed area of skin. A generous lover, always placing his partner’s comfort over his own. Not always sure what he’s doing, but makes up for it by having very steady hands. Willing to explore more kinks than one might think, even if he hasn’t revealed (or discovered) his own yet.

O   :   ODE.   does your muse have a way with words?

Not really. He’s...  straightforward in his speaking, without many embellishments. Dick can speak his heart perfectly well, but never says anything he doesn’t mean. Writing is a whole other tray of crackers; he can agonize over a paragraph for ages, and it’s definitely not a skill that comes naturally to him, but he tries.

P   :   PARTNER.   what does your muse look for in a partner? looks / personality?

Dick wants someone clever, with an inquiring mind and a multifaceted view of the world. Someone...  who challenges him in ways he didn’t realize he needs to be challenged, and who doesn’t admit defeat easily. He’d do very well with someone with a firm set of beliefs, or at least morals which guide them; as someone with a solid sense of his own identity, he might like someone the same way. Maybe a little bit messy, to counter his organization; a little funny, to measure out his dryness. Someone with a smile that can make the sun shine brighter on darker days. Someone who wants peace, above all other things, and can always look ahead into a future where the world is kinder.

Q   :   QUESTION.   would your muse ask the big question or expect their partner to?

No, he’ll ask  ---   honestly, the other way around never crossed his mind. Dick’s very straightforward about it, and fights off the Anxiety Bear with a stick until finally popping the question. After all, if he wasn’t sure his partner wanted this too, he wouldn’t ask; he waits until the time is right for them both, until they’re at a stage of life when getting married feels right. Then, over dinner, he’ll casually pull out a ring, and just ask right there at the table   ---   will they have him?

R   :   ROMANCE.   is your muse a romantic or a cynic?

He’s...  not certain, to be honest. Romance feels like an enigma to him, and there’s always the nagging thought in his mind that he’s not doing it right  ---  Dick Winters isn’t built for flights of fancy. He likes to get flowers, he likes to look after his partner...  but he doesn’t have the imagination to plan big romantic adventures.

S   :   SWEETHEART.   did your muse have a childhood sweetheart?

Honestly, he didn’t even date in high school. The closest he ever got...  oooh, he doesn’t like to talk about this. He had a cousin. A distant cousin, twice removed, but their parents were close and they lived close by so they were the nearest family members... Grace was in love with him, but Dick politely did not return her feelings. When Grace, as a precocious five year old, declared she and her four year old cousin were destined to get married, Dick just blinked at her and didn’t argue. Unwilling to upset his cousin, he never pulled away from the kisses on his cheeks, and let her drag him around as her “suitor” for a year before she eventually got bored with it. (And that’s the story of Dick’s first failed marriage.) His parents fondly bring up this story at family gatherings, embarrassing grown-up Dick and Grace to no end. He’ll never let Nix hear about it, because the jokes would be endless.

T   :   TRUE LOVE.   does your muse believe in true love?

He honestly wouldn’t be able to say. Love...  isn’t so complicated, in Dick’s mind. Either it is, or it isn’t. Any form of love can be true love if it matters enough to someone...  and if love is real, then obviously true love must be as well. Why set a certain type of love apart from all the rest?

U   :   UNREQUITED.   has your muse had their heart broken?

Nix once ate the last biscuit in the officers’ quarters before Dick could get one, and he took it pretty hard. (Lowkey no, he’s never been in love enough to break that way.)

V   :   VALENTINE.   how does your muse feel about valentine’s day?

He never celebrated it as a kid, and never had anyone to celebrate it with growing up, so...  it’s not something he’s thought much about. Will labor for hours trying to get reservations at a nice restaurant, though, if that’s what his partner wants.

W  :   WEDDING.   would your muse get married? why / why not?

Yes, of course. He honestly never considered anything else. That’s just...  the way it’s done, isn’t it? You meet someone, you fall in love, you marry, you raise a family...  Dick has a conventional view on romance, and it would take an outside-the-box partner to get him to see differently. While he craves a peaceful, quiet life, that doesn’t necessarily involve romance; he’d be a happy man if he never married at all, but should he fall in love with someone, he’d naturally proceed to marriage after a while.

X   :   XOXO.   does your muse use / like pet names?

Not very good at them, usually doesn’t try. He shortens people’s names when he’s especially fond of them (”Lew”/”Nix”) but that’s as far as he’ll go. Pet names always feel awkward on his tongue. (Some days, he’ll splurge on the occasional “sweetheart”, but that’s it.)

Y   :   YOURS.   does your muse get protective easily?

For sure. Part of Dick’s job is sending people under his command into dangerous situations, fully aware that they could get injured; he’s learned to numb himself to the desire to protect the ones he loves most, because in many cases it’s just not possible. Doesn’t mean that instinct isn’t still there, though. Dick will try to diffuse a tense situation however possible, be it talking it through or separating the conflicting parties. He won’t start swinging, that’s not his style...  but Dick’s got an air of authority, and will use it to quietly intimidate the hell out of anyone messing with the people he cares about.

Z   :   ZZZ.   how many people has your muse slept with?

Haha...  hah...  ha. Hah. He’s, uhh, he’s...  look, you know, he’s not going to answer this. He’ll just give that patented Dick Winters Look and walk away without a word. What is the answer? That’s no one’s business but his own. (Pro tip: ask Nixon, because he’s the only one on earth who’s got the facts.)

[davidmann95]

Might as well get this out of the way... RWBY is Disappointing and Here’s Why: thoughts?

No interest. I guess I’ve mostly heard that hbomberguy is good, but I don’t care to listen to 2+ hours about how a thing I like is bad actually; I’ve gotta exceptionally despise something to care to listen to that about something I hate. Plus from what I’ve heard he spends most of it talking about the first two seasons not working, and that along with the Faunus allegory ultimately spinning into extremely dicey respectability politics are my main issues with the series anyway, so why spend the time going “I already know this and agree with it, but it brings me no pleasure to hear it reiterated”? Pretty much every complaint I’ve seen about it from assorted corners of the internet in the last year or so that I started paying attention falls anyway into either those categories, or anime nerd nitpicking about power scaling/disagreeing with plot decisions or character motivations/not seeing for the forest for the trees regarding character development, so I just don’t really care. This is something where I’m mostly content to just enjoy the thing on my own rather than taking up the banner of defending it from all comers.

everythingsucksbutthatsokay said: I want to like RWBY, but it just has not grabbed me any of the times I’ve tried to start it. The character designs and fight choreography are awesome, but the characters and storyline just don’t hook me. What is it about the show that made you keep watching?

I’m not surprised it hasn’t grabbed you, because I’m gonna hit you with what’s apparently considered a Hot Take among the longtime RWBY fan community: those first two seasons ain’t very good, which is a situation only tenable because they’re only a couple hours apiece and still breezy enough fun. I only started watching it because I heard “Hey, Marguerite Bennett, who I quite like, is doing a miniseries for DC based on that internet kinda-anime I’ve seen references to and a couple cool fights from on Youtube. Well, it’s free online, what the hell”,* and it was exactly good enough to occupy my attention on the treadmill watching it on my phone without caring enough yet to switch to my laptop. It isn’t until season 3 that the plot seeds and character threads start to come together into something really engaging (and not until season 4 that they switch from the original extremely dated visuals to the current graphics system, even if the choreography from the early parts still holds up), but once it did I unexpectedly found myself profoundly taken with it.

* And then of course the last physical issue of that was cancelled due to the cornoavirus comics industry hiatus; I, a dope, will get the trade, because I liked it and I want it all in one format.

It is when it comes fully into its own a story about pain - abandonment, disaster, political terror and paranoia, endless generational war, oppression, inadequacy, abuse, displacement, long-term emotional trauma, unfair responsibility, and the losses of every stripe of loved one - and how people live with theirs and work to do the right thing and care for one another with that weight bearing on their shoulders, or fail to with monstrous consequences. It actually strikes a very similar chord to me as Kingdom Hearts even if it’s the slightly more ‘grown-up’ take, with its archetypal character templates and old-school fantasy worlds (even if it’s an old-school fantasy world in this case that’s progressed into flying cars and cellphone territory ala latter-day Final Fantasy) and unabashed emotional sincerity. It’s just that for the most part instead of struggling with relatively abstract notions of personhood or literal inner darkness, the people here are outright dealing with death and shame and resentment and uncertainty, even if it’s just as earnest as its counterpart in its belief that those challenges can be overcome, in this case through the power of love or friendship or pride or principles or simple respect for your fellow man or punching a fool with a shotgun blast. Also there are gauntlets that make punches shotgun blasts, and dogs are occasionally fastball specialed at robots, and there’re rock-pop tracks about food fights and fucking up fascists.

So I’d recommend either watching those first two seasons as basically background noise TV or make a marathon night of it, and then give season 3 a real chance to win you over. It’s far from flawless by any metric, but it becomes something really special given time to grow. And don’t forget the little character shorts that go before some of the seasons, they’re not super-important but they do flesh things out.