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theelvenhaven · 4 years

Text

Reunions in Arda

Part 2

Vanifinwe x Maglor

4.4k words

Warnings:

Character Death Mentions

Battle

Bad Dreams

Vanifinwe’s description of The Crossing

Nesa - q. Sister

Hanno - q. Brother

* * *

When Failendis laid her head upon the pillow in the guest room, thoughts and concerns about what all had transpired with her brothers dissipated. Ground to a solid halt as the soft mattress cradled her tired body softly, the duvet wonderfully heavy and warm with a fire that blazed noisily in the hearth. Against this harsh winter weather, this warmth was heavenly… Failendis merely prayed she’d never had to know such freezing temperatures for so long ever again.

All the warmth and softness lulled her to sleep, something that she hadn’t indulged in, in Eru knew how long… Failendis could hardly keep her eyes open, willingly she let it embrace her, pulling her eyelids down like iron curtains. She only wiggled further down into the duvet before she stilled completely, sleeping deeply.

Nothing beyond the room could pull her from her sleep, or make her even stir. Hours ticked by, turning into a day. This prompted Makalaure to at least peek inside and check on her as the dawn of the second day came. Yet even still Failendis didn’t make a sound or even move to roll over, too exhausted to get up.

Flashes began, a grisly reminder of the Battle of Lammoth as elves fought gruesome and gnarled creatures in their crude armor and steel swords. The sounds of steel against steel clashed loudly, and the air heavy and full of wails and screeches. Pain and agony filled and stained the air in sound and emotion as the groups clashed viciously. Voices rang out commands she couldn’t follow, only recognizing Arakano’s voice and Nolofinwe’s.

Her own hands slashed at one creature with a dirk in her hand, given to her by Arakano, and kept the beast at bay before Findekano’s blade lobbed its head off into the icy floor. Quietly, the two nodded before they looked ahead. Watching as Arakano had forged a path of slain bodies, despite the swarm of grotesque beings around him.

She yelled quickly for him, which garnered for Findekano to put out his arm to keep her from going any further forward. Before, to their horror, a sword plunged within Arakano’s chest!

With a startled gasp, Failendis shot up in the bed. Sweat beads formed on her forehead, dripping down her face as she looked around the room. She tried to remember where it was she was at! Her mind still engrossed in the dream and left disoriented. The duvet fell around her. The fire in the hearth was blazing with fresh logs. Failendis released heavy pants. Relief filled her as she remembered she was in her brother’s hold… No longer in Lammoth or on the frozen and hellish ice of the Helcaraxe.

Praise Eru.

Though the wound of Arakano reopened and feeling fresh once more, it made her chest constrict tightly as the vision of losing him intrusively filled her mind. Without a second thought, Failendis pulled back the covers. She moved towards the armoire to retrieve a warm robe. Slipping into it, before hurrying from her room as Failendis’ mind busied itself by replaying the scene over and over and over.

Tears brimmed and spilled at their own volition, even as she fought against them, not ready to be so emotional over the trauma… It would merely bring up thoughts of Elenwe too. If Failendis had the capacity, she’d weep for weeks for everything that they lost, the sounds of their heartbreak audible even now in memory. How she had grown used to it while on the ice. Now there was silence, no wails or cries of heartbreak, yet it was eerie and only made her mind replace it with the memories...

She merely winced heavily as she hurried down the hallway and stairs. Failendis spoke not a word to the maids or to the few elves she passed. Visibly pained by what was on her mind as she came into the kitchens. Having retraced her steps to the dining room, and through the door, Minyarussa had come through when he fed her.

The kitchen pulled her from her thoughts; it was empty, fortunately, though embers still were in the hearth. So warmth filled the room and it wouldn’t take long to get a fire going once more to make some tea. Something to soothe her nerves, to quiet the thoughts that raced incessantly. To put at least a damper on them… Even if now she feared the thought of resting once more to meet with such terrors.

Failendis sifted through the shelves, before she found a cast-iron kettle- one even still her brothers had created something so simple with the family crest. It left her to sigh out heavily before lifting it to take to the water pump. Before she could set it down, a hand reached for it, startling her. Failendis jumped back with a yelp in surprise, looking up at the intruder with wide eyes as her heart thudded even harder in her chest!

“It’s just me, nésa.” Makalaure whispered with tenderness, going to place a hand on her shoulder to stroke and soothe her. All the while he took the teakettle from her hands, and she moved to place a hand on her chest as if it would still her heart and panic. Yet she could not meet his eyes, only moving to lean against the counter as Makalaure took over in making the boiling water for her.

He watched as his Failendis leaned over and buried her face in her hands, rubbing, visibly distressed still. An intense sight he had never truly seen from her before. Once the hearth was rekindled and the kettle placed on the hook, he came to stand next to her. Makalaure placed a hand on her back, brushing away her long starless strands over her shoulder so he could rub without tangling her fine hair to continue to placate her shot nerves.

“How long have I been asleep?” Her voice came out in a soft whisper as she peered over to him from her hands. Her expression fell to be more neutral. Makalaure heard her swallow thickly, releasing another sigh before Failendis buried her face back into the comfort of her hands. Hiding the remnants of tears that had reformed at being startled.

“Almost two full days… It is near midnight now.” Makalaure responded softly, watching as she nodded at his words. Moving to stand up straight, and rest her hands on the counter, she felt like she had to move to shake the memories off of her mind. Makalaure could easily see that something ate away at her. Failendis wasn’t exactly doing a good job at hiding it, and he hadn’t missed the glassiness of her eyes from unshed tears. Nor the yelp when he had touched her.

“Nésa, what is the matter?” He pressed with care, but Failendis just sighed out heavily. Her head shook at his words as he attempted to claw into what was ailing her. Makalaure suspected that she’d confess as it ate her alive from the looks of it, so he didn’t press any harder, just patiently waited.

“It was a dream.” She whispered, unable to help herself. Failendis needed to get it all off her chest… For someone to know. Yet there was hesitation because she wasn’t sure she could trust her brother. Even if he extended his hospitality to her. Gravely Makalaure hummed out at her words and looked down at his hands and arms.

“Of the Kinslaying?” Without hesitation, Failendis shook her head, making inky black hair move in response. Her face scrunched up, wrinkling freckles, and furrowed her brows as her lids hid her sapphire blue eyes.

“No… I stopped having such thoughts of that years ago, I suppose.” She murmured to him, her long and slender fingers twiddling in her uneasiness. Interlocking them but still moving them around her knuckles, Makalaure could only imagine what was on her mind. Something that would override the thoughts of watching pure mayhem and slaughter of innocent elves.

“What was it you dreamt of then?” He pressed with care, seeing the exhaustion that lingered within her eyes even despite the sleep she had. This was exhaustion that ran down into her fea, as physically she appeared in good health, even if she looked thinner. Surely from the lack of true sustenance… He hadn’t missed how frail she felt in his arms when they hugged in the study.

“The Crossing and our arrival plagues me now.” She breathed out to him with pain in her voice, though she tried to say it casually, not wanting to show that it affected her so strongly. Fully Failendis even expected for Makalaure to press relentlessly about how she should’ve joined them. It would’ve been the better outcome, would it not have been?

To have avoided years on ice, listening to the heartbreak, to see the frozen and lifeless elves. To have avoided the sight of when Elenwe drowned and Arakano’s slaughter, even if Arakano had sacrificed himself for the greater good. It didn’t take the pain of losing him away. It could’ve saved Atyarussa and maybe even Maitimo… But Makalaure didn’t rub it in.

“It is truthfully, hard to imagine how severe it was since I was not there. I am not here to invalidate your experience, I just struggle to picture what you all went through since I have not experienced it.” Makalaure confessed as he moved from his spot next to her to go to the kettle. A tactic to get her to open up further about her experience. His nighttime robes rustling softly with his every step, Failendis only sadly looked at her brother. Watching how he carefully fiddled with the kettle, and then turning afterward to face her, waiting patiently for her to continue.

“It was iced over and cold… Far colder than it is here. Winds constantly howled and whipped against exposed skin, I never knew it could feel so sharp… Like razors against your flesh. Or that it could steal one’s breath and for so long that you felt as though you were suffocating.” She began and her words gave Makalaure pause as he watched the far off look in her eyes as she thought on it. Her expression was more morose, certainly as she remembered her own experience of the ordeal.

“So many died Makalaure…” Failendis breathed out, which didn’t sound too unfamiliar… Many had drowned in the coming to Losgar, the ships having fallen apart in the choppy ocean waves… Freezing to death sounded just as horrid. Not to mention he was sure it came in greater numbers with them being gone for so long.

“Did you... almost pass on to the Halls, Vanie..?” He asked with care and for a long moment, only tension lingered in the air. Makalaure could not blame her if it was something that she didn’t want to share with him… He did not have the right to press this way. To pick it apart as if he and the rest of his brothers didn’t contribute to stranding her and binding her to such a cruel journey and fate. As though he didn’t hold a torch and set aflame a ship that could’ve brought her to them and saved her.

“Yes.” At this, Makalaure swallowed the lump in his throat. To know how close they came to losing her as well. He couldn’t imagine losing his nésa. An ocean’s distance was acceptable, but to lose her to the elements and the Halls. It was bad enough losing Atyarussa and Maitimo.

Suddenly the squeal of the kettle pulled them both from their thoughts, Failendis moved to grab the teapot and cups, setting up a tray as Makalaure came round with the hot kettle. The two working in silence, once the scalding water was dumped in the pot, Failendis adding the loose leaves into it. The lid clinking lightly against the ceramic dish,

“Will you join me for tea, hanno?” She asked quietly, looking down at the silver tray before herself, while her brother set aside the kettle. He quickly turned his attention to her, nodding at her words without hesitation.

“Of course, Vanie. I shall carry the tray...” At that, Makalaure rounded the counters, grabbing the tray and following right behind Failendis up to the room she was staying in. Both walking in silence, and both hoping they’d not run into any of their brothers. Especially Curufinwe for now, Failendis didn’t know if she could handle another argument right now. It would be positively catastrophic if she argued with him, her resentment having grown for him after the argument in the study.

Nor could she handle listening to Makalaure and Curufinwe go against one another in argument… She was grateful when they made it to her room without incident. Opening the door and letting Makalaure go to the couch that sat before the hearth, placing the tray on the table in the center. Failendis locked her door, still not wanting nosy and prying eyes and ears to mess with her and Kano.

“Tell me nésa… If it is alright, what was it like? To you.” He began, carefully poured her a hot cup of tea. The smell of chamomile and lavender filled her lungs as she took her place next to him, reaching for the spoon that sat in a small jar of honey.

“I… admittedly remember little at the beginning of the Crossing.” She whispered, stirring the spoon in her teacup aimlessly and slowly. Her eyes engrossed upon the flames before them, that lapped and licked at the logs within. Again she felt Makalaure’s hand come to her back, in another attempt to be comforting.

“I was so angry with Atar, and it struck me with such grief over Atar disowning me and for stranding us to the Crossing. Not to mention what happened in Alqualonde. I thought it meant you all would feel the way he did as well.” Even if she had been devastated and angry with her Atar and her brothers… It was no easy feat being told you no longer had a family. Even if her Uncle was more than willing to foster her.

“It was Findekano and Nolofinwe that kept me from fading over the grief.” She explained in a soft voice and at this confession, Makalaure felt ice run through his veins. Even if Failendis had just told him she had indeed almost died, the reasoning was heartbreaking to hear. His grip on her shoulder becoming firm as he scooted closer to her, Failendis’ gaze still lost to the flames.

“Then, once my senses came to me, I felt like I could not breathe. My lungs burned from the frigidness of the air. The wind would lash out angrily, and it was like trying to walk on a field of traps. One moment you could walk across the ice, with ease. The next you were wrapped within a sheet of ice, feeling the chill down to your bone and stiffening your muscles.” At this, Failendis came back from her thoughts, reaching for her teacup, inhaling softly the smell of chamomile and lavender. A smell that brought on some nostalgia, reminding her of when she and amille would sit and share in a cup of tea together, the thought making her heartache at the thought. Finally, she took a generous gulp.

“The second time, it was just sheer exhaustion and from being so cold. I did not think I could make it. My fingers and lips went blue, I could hardly move my legs and arms… I felt so frozen stiff and so tired. I had just wanted to lie in the snow and give in to sleep, not caring if it killed me. It made walking across the ice an even more dangerous game.”

“You never knew if where you stepped was safe or not until it was far too late. The ice could suddenly give way and drag you down into its icy depths, and it was very unforgiving nor willing to relinquish you once it had you.” The moment of Elenwe and Itarille came to mind when they all walked together and suddenly the ice beneath their feet swallowed them whole… Itarille was lucky Turukano had thought so quickly. Yet even despite his quick thinking, it had been too late for Elenwe.

“That... was how Elenwe passed. Itarille almost as well.” She breathed out the thought without prompting, and Makalaure looked away from his sister in shame to hear such words. A member of his own family suffered a fate of death because of their actions… Itarille almost following. He released a shaky breath despite himself, only peering back to Failendis as she set down her teacup.

Try as she might to prevent them, the tears came in silence, without sniffles or heavy breath. Their screams replaying in her head, and the distaste Turukano held for them all was massive. Failendis did not blame him. How could she? Her family was responsible indirectly for Elenwe meeting such a fate.

“It was horrible, Makalaure… It happened in an instant and she was gone. The water was thick with ice once more, just as quickly as it broke.” The emotions she tried hard to repress coming out in a sob, the trauma still fresh even if it had been years ago. At this Makalaure put his arm around her shoulders, pulling her into him, and willingly she went. Accepting the comfort he had to give her, and he swallowed the lump in his throat. Letting his tears roll down quietly while she cried,

“Vanie..” He moved to say something to reassure Failendis, but what could he say? He thought it better to let her speak her peace instead…

“I see it. Over and over and over again, despite being awake. I can hear Turukano’s cries of panic, see him rushing to save Itarille and clawing at the ice, trying to save Elenwe.” She sobbed out, moving to rest her head against his shoulder. Makalaure could her body shake against his, and the unsteady breaths in which she took as she spoke,

“Now in my sleep, I see Arakano. There is no relief.” Eru knew how long since it had been that Failendis last had relief from the thoughts of death or the thoughts of her brothers being so heartless. Since the Kinslaying, it was never-ending it felt like. Each passing moment only serving to further prove how cruel they were, save this moment and the last.

“He hates all of us, Makalaure. For what happened to her, Turukano openly expressed it in Lammoth. Arakano was the final straw.” She cried, all the hurt and festering just spilling over into a blur of words even if it had no context.

“Curufinwe and Carnistir, I am sure hate me too. I feel unwelcome everywhere, yet I have only just arrived in hanno. I have no place with Nolofinwe, no place with Turukano nor Findarato.” She continued in a shaky panicked breath, Failendis’ body wracked with her sobs and uncontrollable sharp inhales. What was she thinking when she followed her Atar, regardless of what he told her? Feanaro was right. She should’ve stayed in Valinor...

“What happened with Arakano, Vanie?” He asked in a soft voice, trying to keep himself in check, not wanting to take this moment from her. Even if he felt the heavyweight of his actions resting upon his shoulders,

“Orcs killed him.” Failendis said coherently, trying to wipe her face and will away the tears. Makalaure closed his eyes, letting out a heavy breath. Where did he even make amends? To fix this horrific mess his Atar left in his wake?

Nolofinwe’s words about his inability to say it was good to see him only continued to make further sense. How could he even repair that relationship knowing he and his brothers killed not one, but two of Nolofinwe’s children? It would be easier were his eldest brother here… Maitimo would certainly know what to do.

But he was not here, another victim to their Atar’s oath.

Failendis had clearly been the wiser of the eight when it came time to refuse the Oath. Even if she were, it was clear even still she suffered from it indirectly. Bound to it regardless of what her answer to Feanaro had been.

For some time, Makalaure and Failendis sat huddled together, letting her release all the pent-up emotions. Even if it took hours, Makalaure didn’t dare move, only tightening his grip to be snugger and resting his head atop hers. Neither of them touching the tea that they had brought for themselves, leaving it to sit and grow cold.

Failendis let the warmth of his hug wash over her, savoring how good it felt to have comfort from one of her brothers. Breathing him in, just resting against him without worrying about such harsh judgment from him. Makalaure having only patiently listened to her, without rubbing things in. Without accusing her of being a traitor and implying that Failendis was not his kin.

It was only when she reduced herself to sniffles that he would start trying to fix this with Vanie at the very least. It may be but a small step, though Makalaure valued it as his most important one to start with.

“No matter what has happened between us, you are my nésa. You will always have a place here with me. Maitimo too, I am sure, if he were here. Regardless of what the rest of our brothers think or say.” His voice came out like satin, full of warmth and love for his nésa as he turned his head to press a kiss to the top of her head. Giving her a gentle squeeze,

“I care not for what Atar claimed…” He whispered, “You are my kin, and you may stay as long as you need to.” Makalaure assured her, and Failendis could only manage a nod at his words.

“As for Nolofinwe… I think you underestimate how much of a place you have garnered in his life and with his people Vanie.” He realized the bond that the two shared before had ballooned in their crossing together. In the angry and mocking words of Curufinwe, she was the equivalent of a pious devotee of Nienna in their eyes. Someone who proved that even one of them could think rationally and compassionately despite all that had transpired to their family, to have avoided causing such mass hurt. They’d all benefit now to follow their sister’s lead as opposed to continuing down this chaotic path Feanaro had set.

“Bring the issue with Turukano to Nolofinwe, and let him handle speaking with Turukano, for if there is anyone he should not hold a grudge towards in this family, it is you. You are equally… as troubled and have been through so much just as they have. For that moment I am sure he thoughtlessly spoke out of grief.” At this he felt Failendis relax in his hold at his words, reassured by what he had to say. Mentally and physically exhausted from all the crying that she’d done, though lingering within was a relief to have finally spoken on the ordeal.

That her brother had patiently listened to her every word, that he didn’t rub in how “foolish” she was to have denied their Atar her commitment to the oath. Relief that he still loved her and cared about her, and hopefully remorseful for everything he had contributed. Vanie pulled away, moving to sit up as she wiped at her face again with her hands. Her cheeks becoming raw and tender from the repeated motion. Her thoughts running through her head, questions that had piled up… But the most important question coming to the forefront of her mind.

“What do you need from me, nésa?” He asked her patiently, and for a moment she was silent, looking at her hands as she sniffled. What she needed now was the answer to the question that had been plaguing her thoughts.

“Makalaure… Do you regret what all has happened?” She breathed out, needing to know if the compassion and empathy he gave to her were merely selfish to bolster himself- or if it was genuine. Failendis watched Makalaure with scrutiny as she continued to dab her face repeatedly, desperate to dry away all the emotion, while he sighed out hanging his head down.

“More than anything, Vanie. If I could redo everything, I would. I cannot speak for the rest of our brothers, save Minyarussa I am sure.” He breathed out softly, bringing his hands together as he rested his elbows on his thighs with a frown on his face. It had been a nightmare, and with every action, the regret only grew heavier. Like pure iron bars piling in his gut and heart. Quietly, he reached over to hold her hand and squeezing it.

With this information, Failendis could breathe a sigh of relief that someone in her immediate family truly regretted their deplorable actions. It would at least help soothe her fretting over Makalaure and the ellon he had become. Though Failendis wouldn’t hold her breath, he had yet to rescind the Oath.

“Is there anything else, Vanie?” He breathed out, sitting back up and turning more to face her, Failendis merely shrugged for a moment, feeling again the pull of sleep trying to take its hold on her.

“I-I just need rest right now, hanno. Alone.” Vanie mustered a very weak smile, though she was simply too exhausted and spent to muster anything greater. Makalaure returned the soft smile, nodding at her words.

“I understand… I shall leave you to rest.” He began moving to stand, watching as she did the same. Failendis didn’t move towards the bed right away, instead of moving forward to embrace her brother one last time. Makalaure kept his smile, returning the affections, lingering for as long as she did.

It had been years; she missed him and even if she wanted to be angry, right now she couldn’t be. She would save all of her questions for him for another time. With that, the two parted with Failendis eagerly moving to crawl back beneath the duvet. Settling easily into the soft bed, before her eyes could no longer stay open.

Makalaure quietly slipped from the room, only to discover an unwanted eavesdropper outside the door. Curufinwe tensed his jaw as he ground his teeth, waiting for his brother to finish closing the door. He didn’t need to open his mouth, for Makalaure knew what this was about. It was about Vanie staying and surely a slew of other things he overheard.

He merely sighed, shaking his head at Curufinwe’s actions,

“Let us speak in private, Curufinwe. She’s been through plenty, Vanie deserves to rest.” At this Curufinwe, without a word, followed behind Makalaure, stewing on all that he had to say. For truly it couldn’t be expected of them to extend their hospitality to a traitor, regardless of kinship.

* * *

tags: @saviorsong @lilmelily @dicksoutformtl @fandomhoe101 @icarus-fell-in-spring @allinwonderlands @red-riding @eluriel-undomiel

Quenyan Names for the Finweans

Maitimo - Maedhros

Makalaure - Maglor

Carnistir - Caranthir

Curufinwe - Curufin

Atyarussa - Amrod

Nolofinwe - Fingolfin

Findekano - Fingon

Arakano - Argon

Turukano - Turgon

Itarille - Idril

Elenwe - Turgon’s Wife

Findarato - Finrod

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whiskey-bluerose · 3 years

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Fic Masterpost

Hello!! This is my tumblr for updates on my ao3 fics. My ao3 is Whiskey_With_Patron and my main tumblr is @false-anachronism

Homestuck

Coffee - My own Homestuck epilogue. You are John Egbert and you have chosen to return to the Furthest Ring. Not to fight Lord English, but to find Terezi Pyrope. Your actions will cause a butterfly effect that will change the course of Earth C forever. Multichapter, ongoing, no consistent update schedule.

Beauty of Decay - Annihilation AU. Jade Harley’s husband, Dave, disappeared on a military mission one year ago. She and Dave’s brother, Dirk, are setting off to find him. Multichapter, ongoing, no consistent update schedule.

I'm Not Paranoid, I'm A Realist - Your name is Vriska Serket-Nitram, and after watching your shitstain of a mom die, losing your eye and your arm, and watching your brother completely lose the use of his legs, you are going back to school. Humanstuck. No consistent update schedule.

Dream SMP

Nearly Departed - On that fateful day in May 2021, when Tommy followed Ghostbur into the prison, Dream died. Tommy achieved his goal, and Dream was no more. At least, that's what he thought, until a smiling ghost in a green hoodie showed up in his house. Tommy killed Dream in the prison, and now he has to deal with the aftermath. No consistent update schedule.

What Is A Legacy? - Oneshot about what could have happened if Dream had failed to resurrect Tommy in prison. Written in second person and involves themes of death.

Catharsis - Quackity said he’d make Dream’s life hell if he didn’t tell him about the revive book-- he’s just making good on that promise. Rated E, PLEASE heed the warnings in the tags and do not read if blood makes you squeamish. Oneshot.

Like Father, Like Son - c!Fundy centric fic about his struggles with being a parent, featuring the Las Nevadas crew as babysitters. Found family elements with a touch of angst, written as connected oneshots. On indefinite hiatus.

Is This Hell? - 30!Wilbur dies and is taken to limbo, where he meets another version of himself from a different SMP. Oneshot.

Fourth Time’s The Charm - Quackity never believed in soulmates, not even when he met Wilbur Soot face to face. Oneshot, soulmate AU, an exploration of c!Quackity’s relationships throughout the DSMP.

Moonlight Smoke - Fourth Time's The Charm told from Wilbur's perspective. Can be read as a standalone oneshot.

A Gas Station In The Middle Of Utah - If you find yourself in Utah, travelling through the desert, and you suddenly run out of fuel, you may come across a gas station. And if you pull up to the only pump, a man will leave the building, in an old orange jacket with navy blue sleeves, a friendly smile on his face and a white streak in his brown hair. Oneshot, written in second person.

QSMP

to err is human - Pac finds Cellbit alone for the first time since prison. They talk. They both learn some things. Oneshot. Cellbit and Pac centric.

Trigun

roses are falling - Wolfwood dies, and things are left unsaid. It's for the better. Specifically based off of Wolfwood's manga death scene.

There's A Stranger In Town - A poem about Vash and his time as Eriks.

Just As Beautiful As The Day I Lost You - Vash ends up in New July City to visit some Independent PLANTs. His past, unfortunately, shows up in the form of a priest with warm skin and a bright smile, and he doesn't think he can outrun it this time. Wolfwood reincarnation AU, three chapters, ends with vashwood because i love them very very much <3

Sanders Sides

Flores Facets - A Nico Flores centric oneshot series about the facets of his own personality. Mild angst and lots of gay panic. No consistent update schedule, I take a lot of unplanned hiatuses with this one but I always come back to it!

Gays, Gangs, and Accidental Adoption - Crime AU where Janus is a crime boss, Patton is being hunted down by a gang he has a questionable past with, and his kids Virgil, Roman, and Remus are left to stay with Janus, Logan, and D.W. (the Dragon Witch) while their father is on the run. The rest of the series will be in the form of shorter stories and oneshots. On hiatus.

Saint Bernard - Patton struggles with religious guilt over his feelings towards boys, all while trying to graduate and deal with his less than supportive family. Lots of flower symbolism and dark themes. Logicality and Moceit centric. Complete!

Hollywood Undead

Undead Origins - A series based off the Undead Origins comic. The first one is the comic itself put into a written form, and the rest is an expansion of the universe and story.

Who You Gonna Call? - A bunch of crack-ish fics about HU as ghost hunters. This series has been abandoned, or is at least on indefinite hiatus.

Legends - Hollywood Undead fantasy AU with dragons. On hiatus.

Misc/multifandom

nosebleeds - Multichapter Escape From Furnace fic. Gary Owens survived the apocalypse. With more and more survivors crawling out for he woodwork, there’s only one question: what the hell is he supposed to do now?

Vent/Comfort fics - Exactly what the title says. A bunch of fics I wrote to help me feel better about situations I’m stressed about. They include HU fics and Sanders Sides fics so far.

Camp Unus Annus - A crack fic with a few serious moments. If you miss Unus Annus and also enjoy Sanders Sides, you might like it! It’s about the Sides at Camp Unus Annus. Everything that could go wrong does go wrong.

Parting Words - A Moon Knight oneshot of Steven leaving one last voicemail for his mom after learning that she’s dead.

Dreamstuck - A DSMP Homestuck AU. Your name is TUBBO UNDERSCORE, and it is your BIRTHDAY. You are going to play a game with your FRIENDS, which unbeknownst to you will bring about THE END OF THE WORLD. Multichapter, in progress. It’s a trash fire. Have fun!

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twohundredpower · 3 years

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Despite the darkness which had come over the island, Lloyd was still able to experience so many moments of happiness during it-- things he had never expected to, that he never once thought would be possible. The last few days felt like he had even gone back to Iselia, but had so much more than he ever did before; his mother, both of his dads, his loved ones by his side.. in an odd way, he hoped that it could last forever, that these wonderful things would never go away-- but.. he knew better than that. He knew that eventually, things would come to an end in one way or another; even if he was forcing himself not to think about it as much as possible.

He just.. never expected to lose everything again so soon.

He and Dirk were spending the day working together, bringing supplies back to the forge for some projects Lloyd wanted his father to help him on-- and though everything had been going fine, Dirk suddenly slowed behind Lloyd on the way back home.

“Dad..?”

As the brunette looked back, he caught sight of his father going down onto one of his knees; dropping the items from his hands onto the ground as his body slowly started to become transparent.

Lloyd felt his body go cold, dropping everything he was carrying as well as he rushed to Dirk’s side.

“Dad! Wh-why are you-- I can see right through you! What’s going on..?!”

It took a moment for the dwarf to respond, slowly raising a hand to clutch at his chest. But despite Lloyd’s fear, Dirk remained relatively calm; glancing down at his open, see-through palm before closing his eyes.

“’s alright, Lloyd. Looks like it’s for me to go home, back to Iselia.”

No. No. Panic immediately filled Lloyd’s expression, desperately grasping at his father’s shoulders to keep him steady-- and though he could still feel him, it felt like Dirk would disappear from his grasp at any second.

“But.. but you just got here! You’ve only been here for a few days..! There’s still so much I want to show you, and do with you! And you.. you haven’t gotten to see everyone yet..! I wanted Zelos to spend time with you, too, and..”

“I know, boy. But I don’t think ‘ve got a choice.” Dirk glanced up, and the sight of of the sadness on his son’s face was enough to break his heart; he wished there was some way he could do more, to stay here longer and be with his family.. but Dirk knew it was time. “Cheer up, now. You know I’ll be waitin’ for ye at the house, whenever you and Noishe come back.”

There were already tears welling in Lloyd’s eyes, squeezing them shut as he gripped onto his father even tighter.

“I-.. I know.. it’s just.. it’s been so long since I’ve seen you, and.. I finally had my whole family together..” How long would it be until he could see Dirk again? How many more months would he have to go without him? His gaze fell, watching as the tears fell one by one onto the grass below them. “.. I guess it was stupid to hope it would last forever, huh..?”

Dirk frowned, then; reaching up to cup Lloyd’s face into both of his hands.

“‘course it wasn’t. Don’t speak of yerself like that. Though it’s over.. just be happy that it happened. That’s the best ya can do. No matter where ye are, no matter what goes on in yer life, your family will always be there for you, even when you can’t see ‘em.”

He pulled Lloyd into a hug, just as the brunette’s eyes widened. .. even though it was painful.. Dirk was right. That’s.. always how it had been for him anyway, right? His mom had died, but she was still watching over him for his whole life; and no matter where his dads were.. they were always thinking of him, always doing what they could to cheer him on in the sidelines. He was never truly alone, even when it felt like it sometimes; and Lloyd suddenly held onto his father in return, easily able to feel that his grip wasn’t as strong as it usually was.

“.. yeah.. you’re right,” Lloyd sniffed, feeling more of Dirk’s form getting lighter, and lighter. “Thanks, dad. I won’t forget that.”

“Good. Now, don’t get into too much trouble, alright?” parting somewhat, Dirk smiled finally; allowing Lloyd to keep him steady as parts of himself began to dissipate into small clouds. It felt strange, but the man wasn’t afraid; all that mattered to him was the knowledge that Lloyd would be alright, even in a world far away from their own. “Say hello to that Zelos boy for me, tell ‘im I’m sorry we couldn’t talk. And.. tell Anna and Kratos I said goodbye, too. That ‘m glad we could all be together.”

There was a smile on Lloyd’s face from those words, shining in the corners of his teary eyes.

“I will. I promise.”

“Goodbye, son. See ya when y’get home.”

“.. bye, dad. I’ll be back soon.”

Dirk slowly fell forward, his body becoming nothing but mist as his image faded from sight while Lloyd kept his arms in place; circled around where he once was.

#isola drabble #event: mistified #figured i'd post this now cause i think(?) i'm caught up with everything but...#bye dad :'(

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sacred-algae · 4 years

Text

Nights Like These

It's no secret that Todd is bad at feelings. Bad at expressing them, bad at handling them. Really bad at handling them. Because Dirk has a boyfriend. A boyfriend who isn't Todd. And it tears him apart. All he ever feels any more is hopelessness. And tonight was no different. Until it was. It was about to be VERY different.

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 2,851

It was nights like these where Todd didn’t like to think. He wished he was incapable of thinking. Screw that, he wished he didn’t love him.

He’d never been in love before and oh how he wishes he wasn’t right now.

Because this sucked. It hurt like hell.

Having to see him every day. See his beautiful smile and perfect eyes and know that he didn’t love him back.

Being in love with Dirk was one thing a month ago.

He always knew he liked him, well, not always, but when he realized he was in love with him… That was another story.

He felt like he was walking on air when he realized it. He realized how lucky he was to have him in his life and how happy he made him.

He even started flirting with him, to no avail but he still did.

And it felt right. One day he would get the courage to ask him out.

But before that day came… the worst day of his life came.

He got a boyfriend.

A boyfriend that wasn’t Todd.

And ever since then it’s been “Brett this, Brett that,” and he wanted to punch that bastard right in the nose!

… But he made Dirk happy. And so Todd was happy if he was happy.

Scratch that. Todd was very unhappy.

He wanted to die every time Brett kissed Dirk, he wanted to cry every time he saw them holding hands, he wanted to punch the wall when he heard the exchange of pet-names, he wanted to scream every time smiled at his phone after getting a text from him.

He was miserable. He had gone from being depressed before Dirk to being the happiest in his life to being happier to being even more depressed and it was horrible.

So yes, he thought about this every night. What made this night worse than the other nights, what made this night “nights like these”?

It was date night.

The night of the week where he wanted to curl up in a ball and cry.

So he did.

And he sobbed.

And to make matters worse, his episodes have always been more emotionally fueled so “date night” was always a reliable alarm clock for his body to betray him.

And to make matters even worse, it was their one month anniversary, and Dirk was all excited about their big date.

So he had to buckle up for a long, sleepless, painful, night.

And his first attack of the night was over.

He sat on the bathroom floor, huddled in the corner between the sink cabinet and the wall, shaking violently as his post-attack nerves calmed down. Breathing heavily as tears streamed down his hot face, head whirring.

And it was only 10:00.

It was only 10:00 when he heard a knock on his door.

Stumbling, he stood up and wiped his eyes on his flannel sleeve as he approached the door.

And he was ready to kill a bitch when he saw who was on the other side of the door, sobbing.

“Oh my god, Dirk what happened? Are you ok?”

He flung himself into Todd’s arms. “He pulled a Warner, Todd,” he choked between tears.

“He pulled a what?” Todd stood flabbergasted, not quite sure on whether or not he should return the hug, but then he did, Dirk needed him.

“Like that musical, Pink Lawyer.”

“Oh, you mean Legally Blonde? And that was a movie before it was a musical.”

“But I like the musical better. I like the song 'Gay or European', it's like a song about me.”

“Whatever you say, Dirk. What happened, what do you mean he pulled a Warner?” And then it hit him, “Oh my god, he didn’t!”

“Mmhmm,” Dirk gave a sad, affirmative hum and nodded into Todd’s shoulder.

“On your anniversary?! THAT DICK!”

Dirk laughed slightly.

“What-” Todd wasn’t good at this, in fact, he was very bad at this. “What do you need?”

Dirk pulled back and looked at Todd confused. His eyes red, swollen, and glossy. He hated seeing him like this. He wanted to hold him until the end of time and make sure he was never upset again. The things he was going to say to Brett- but he needed to focus on Dirk right now.

“I mean, you came to me for a reason, right? What do you need?”

He stood silent for a moment, not really understanding the question. In all honesty, his brain couldn’t process much at the moment. “Right, why I’m here, um, yes! I-” he sighed, “I don’t know. Universe said I should come here.”

Damn you universe, Todd thought.

“Ok.” His mind shuffled around the possible answers to this. In the past he would have made some flirty joke like, “oh, the universe wanted you to be here, huh?” or something or other but he wasn’t past Todd. He was present Todd and he would be there for Dirk. And he doubted the universe actually wanted that to be honest. He would always just be friends with Dirk. Hopelessly and endlessly. “Come in then, want to talk?”

“Maybe,” he sniffed as he walked in. “I don’t know. I just want to be here.” He paused for a moment. “Do you have any tea?”

Todd smiled, “Always.” He walked over to the kitchenette and dug through the pantries as Dirk sat down. “What type?”

Dirk beamed, “You have more than one type? You don’t even like tea.”

Todd had started keeping tea around in case of situations like these. Not break-ups specifically, he hadn’t planned for those, but any situation where Dirk needed some comfort. And he didn’t know what Dirk preferred so he just bought a lot of different types.

“Yeah, what type?”

“I don’t know. Do you have lemon? Sour tea to fit my sour mood.” He sunk into the sofa.

“Don’t be like that, Dirk.” He heated up a mug of water in the microwave, receiving a wince from Dirk but he was just happy Todd was trying. “I’m assuming you want milk and sugar in it?”

“Yes, please.” Todd chuckled.

He put the teabag in the mug and grabbed the milk carton, a spoon, and the sugar and clumsily carried it all back to the couch.

“Thank you, Todd.” He smiled through his pooling grey-blue eyes.

They sat like that for a while. Staring at the wall. A million thoughts flooding through their heads.

The main one in Todd’s head? He was going to fucking kill Brett. He should have fucking known, with a name like Brett. And his stupid books, and his stupid sweater vests, and his stupid perfect hair, and his stupid collection of snobby tea. Now that he thinks about it he was really perfect for Dirk, Dirk didn’t want some punk-reject. He wanted an elegant refined man, not a scrumpy hobbit asshole of a man. NO! Brett was a dick. An absolute dick and he hurt Dirk. No one hurts Dirk on Todd’s watch. Not unless they want to get killed.

It wasn’t like he couldn’t do it. He could blame it on a holistic situation next case. Yes, brilliant. He would find some way to drag him into it push him into the danger. It was perfect, foolproof, and oh my fucking god was he really plotting a murder right now? He needed to focus on Dirk. Who had just started crying again, oh god he was bad at this.

Todd looked over to him. He sat rigidly. The warm mug in his hands, somewhat of a grounding stim, his head tucked into his chest as his tears fell.

He cleared his throat and nervously spoke up. “Need to talk about it? Sometimes venting helps.”

Dirk bit his lip and wordlessly nodded before turning to Todd.

“It was a stupid reason, really,” he sniffled.

“Any reason to break up with someone as amazing as you is stupid in my books.” Dirk smiled. Smiling was good.

“No. There are plenty of good reasons. I’m annoying, I talk too much, I’m dangerous, I’m an idiotic fool-”

“Stop with all the negative talk,” Todd said sternly.

“But it really was a stupidly stupid reason. I… I was telling him the story of our cases-”

“Ooo which one?”

“The Coconut Caper.” He set the mug down on the coffee table with the rest of the stuff Todd had brought out.

“That was a fun one,” They laughed for a moment reminiscing on it. The Coconut Caper was one of their more… well… heated cases. There was a lot of tension there on both their parts, but both of them only recognized his own feelings and was completely oblivious as to the other’s.

“So I was telling him the story and out of nowhere, he got mad! He said… he said he was tired of hearing about you.”

What?

“That it’s always ‘Todd, this and Todd, that’ and he was sick of it. And- and,” he stuttered to get the words out. “And said he was sick of it, and that it was all I ever talked about and- and,” He fell into Todd’s shoulder, covering his face with his hands. Regretting what he was about to say before he even said it, but Todd asked so he would say it. He would play it off as if it wasn’t true. “He said he thought I was in love with you… and then he dumped me!”

A question burned into the back of Todd’s mind. A question he knew he shouldn’t ask for fear of losing everything, and pushing Dirk farther than he needed tonight... But the question remained, it refused to leave. It wasn’t going to go away unless he asked.

So Todd made the rash decision to ask said question, a decision he knew as the sentence formed out of his mouth he would later regret as he already knew the answer but something told him he didn’t know the full truth. He needed the full truth. He needed all of it.

And so he asked the question.

“Dirk, do you love me?” His voice shook like the after-shock in a house seated across the street from a quarry. His face burning hot, his own eyes filling with salty betrayal.

“Uh-buh-buh-buh,” He sat up abruptly, straightening himself out, his mouth flapped like a fish. “What an odd question, Todd.” Dirk sat back up with a very bad look of hiding the truth. Todd almost let the corners of his mouth upturn. He thought he knew the answer, and he thought it might be the one he wanted after all of this time.

“Dirk, answer the question.” His voice slowly losing its tough persona.

“You see, it’s a very complex answer, that question, Todd.”

“Answer the goddamn question!”

“Ok fine. You want the truth? Here’s the truth! I’m in love with you... I always have been but I know you don’t love me and so that’s why I started dating Brett.”

“Dirk-” His voice even softer now, a pang in his chest, heartbreaking at the thought of Dirk not knowing and feeling the way he did, knowing Dirk felt all of the pain Todd did.

“LET ME FINISH. I thought if I dated someone else I would forget about you and stop loving you but the truth is I can’t.” He started crying, again. “I can’t forget you. I can’t, Todd. I’m sorry-”

“Dirk-” More insistent.

“SHUT UP FOR ONE BLOODY FUCKING MINUTE AND LET ME FUCKING GET THIS OVER WITH BECAUSE THIS IS FUCKING HARD!” Woah. He shouted at the top of his lungs before returning to normal, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Half apologizing for freaking out and half apologizing for his feelings. “I am. I can’t help it, I can’t help that I love you but I do.”

He sped up almost incoherently, vomiting out words, not caring if he was repeating himself or saying things that didn’t make sense. Let him choose his words and tone for this ok? Like he said, this was hard. “Just promise me, promise me you won’t leave because I don’t think I could take it because honestly you saved my life in so many ways not only physical and I couldn’t bear if you left so promise me you won't leave and I don’t care if you aren’t my best friend anymore just don’t drop off the face of the earth and promise me-”

“Dirk-”

“SHUT UP, TODD.”

“I LOVE YOU!”

Dirk jolted back, not quite sure if he heard Todd right. If his mind was playing tricks on him, if Todd was playing tricks on him.

“Oh, now you’re just being cruel.” His voice accusatory.

“No, I do!” His voice defensive.

“You’re just saying that to shut me up. Because I’m annoying and stupid and-”

“What did I say about saying that about yourself?”

“Not to.” He pouted, “But you don’t. I think I would have figured that out by now.”

“I didn’t figure it out”

“Yes, but you’re just saying that. How do I know you love me?”

Todd smiled. The first time he smiled that night.

“Because I do. Because you changed me. You made me a better person. And my life was boring before I knew you. And it sucked. And I know that doesn’t mean much but this does. And I wish you could see yourself like I do. The amazing, kind, wonderfully-crazy, funny and, not going to lie, sexy man you are.” Dirk chuckled and hid his face. “I want you to know that you make my life better. You give me a meaning and purpose I didn’t have before. You make me happy, Dirk. You make me so happy. And I hope that’s enough for you to know that I do love you and I’m not just ‘saying it’.”

“I’m sorry, Todd.” He looked up, holding back more tears. This was a night very much filled with tears.

Todd shook his head confused, “For what?”

“For yelling, and assuming you were lying.”

“Nah, I get it. I’m an asshole. I wouldn’t believe me either.”

“Ok, if I’m not allowed to say I’m stupid and annoying you definitely aren’t allowed to call yourself an asshole. We both know how I feel about you calling yourself that.”

“Ok, how about dickhead?” He laughed and Dirk playfully shoved him.

“That might be worse.”

All of the anxiety was slowly wearing off, and it left them in a quiet moment.

A very quiet moment.

Too quiet.

They stared at each other, smiling. Heat rising to their faces, ok maybe they were just too angry and sad to notice it earlier but they were both made suddenly aware of their red faces.

“God, this is awkward,” Dirk mumbled as he twiddled with his thumbs.

“Yep,” Todd replied.

Silent again.

How did they manage that?

And then Dirk realized something.

Something big.

His eyes widened and Todd immediately recognized the expression. Dirk had figured something out. Something holistic.

And before Todd had any time to respond. Any time to process…

Dirk’s mouth was on his.

He leapt forward, not thinking, much like he did with everything in his life. He never thought. Ever. It was quite relaxing actually.

Unaware of his brute force, that combined with Todd’s shock had sent them spiraling backwards into the couch. Todd’s eyes wide.

And all he could think, well, no, he couldn’t think. All he could feel was, “Oh my god this is actually happening! Is this happening? It better be fucking happening, and holy shit his lips are soft- ” Soft despite the fact that the kiss was awkwardly aggressive and very quick. It all happened in about a second. One second before Dirk realized what he had done.

He pulled back extremely suddenly, but still hovering over Todd as the couch swallowed him whole, cheeks fire-engine red, spilling out his words in a perfectly Dirk-y way.

“Oh-my-god-I’m-so-sorry-I-didn't-ask-first-and-I-didn't-think-and-I-just-did-and-did-I-just-mess-up-did-I-misjudge-the-situation-I’m-so-stupid-and-oh-no-am-I-squishing-you?!”

And Todd just smiled and grabbed the sides of his jacket, pulling his face back down to his, and he kissed him. This time properly.

And Dirk melted at the touch. This was nothing like kissing Brett, this felt right, safe, home. Like the entire universe had been preparing for this moment.

It started soft and slow, meant to show Dirk how much he meant everything he said, how much he loved him. And then he started to realize that it was finally happening, and he hungered for more, and Dirk obliged, sending their kiss deeper and deeper. Fully enveloping themselves in each other, in this perfect kiss, this perfect moment. This moment where everything was as it was supposed to be for once.

All they could think of was each other and how for the love of God had they not done this sooner.

Breathless, Todd pulled back and moved his arms around Dirk’s neck, and looked fondly into his eyes.

“I-I think… I think I know why the universe wanted me to come here.” Dirk breathed with a wide smile brandishing his swollen, pink lips.

Todd laughed, “You think?”

#brotzly #Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency #dghda fic #dghda #dghda fanfic #brotzly fic #brotzly because yes #first kiss #fanfic #idiots in love #I love these two #love confessions #Todd Brotzman #Dirk and Todd #dirk gently

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aminiatureworld · 4 years

Text

The Music of the Night

Ship: Geralt x Jaskier

Warnings: Someone gets stabbed

Premise: The family goes to a music concert, courtesy of Jaskier, and Geralt gets to experience something he never has before.

Author’s Note: I was hoping to post every five days, but unfortunately with classes starting and the larger Medieval AU this fic was a long time coming. I was more liberal with Geralt and Jaskier being open about their feelings, or at least I tried to be.

Hope you enjoy this fanfic and thank you so much to the 42 people who liked my last Geraskier fanfic as well as the 6 people who reblogged it. Know that every single one of you contribute so much to my happiness and my determination to continue writing!

Notes about pieces, historical accuracy, and other such things in end note. Ao3 link in reblog

“Alright, are we ready to go?” Yennefer shouted down the hall. Geralt ground his teeth, staring at the array of weapons laid out in front of him. It was a very important night, one that Jaskier hadn’t shut up about for the better part of three months. A guild of musicians was in a town neighboring Yennefer’s newest stronghold, and the house’s resident bard had been adamant that this would be a perfect family outing, and that no one was getting out of it. This hadn’t entirely been surprising, and Geralt had begrudgingly agreed to the whole endeavor, not being a huge fan of enclosed crowds. When he’d realized that maybe going to a concert unarmed in the middle of what could only be described as the Continent losing its collective mind was a bad move, his intensely minute planning, something that both Yennefer and Jaskier teased him mercilessly about since he’d properly brought Ciri into the family, had spun out of control. Now there the Witcher was, staring at the various knives, daggers, swords, and other miscellaneous weapons that he’d found lying around the house, wondering which to take and which to leave. The two usual swords were among the bunch, of course, but somehow Geralt knew that Jaskier wouldn’t take kindly to them being brought, something along the lines of ruining the atmosphere. Still, he had to bring something and as the banging in the hall grew louder Geralt wondered how he’d ever easily made up his mind about arming himself before.

“Geraltttt!” Jaskier’s voice came singing down the hall, followed almost immediately by the banging of the door. Rushing over, he planted a quick kiss on Geralt’s cheek, something which never failed to bring on a blush, and shook his head excitedly. “You look lovely in everything darling, I promise no one will be in the mood to glare.” Geralt smiled fondly, if a bit exasperatedly, at the bard, before shaking his head.

“That’s not it. I, well, was trying to choose.” He gestured towards the table and Jaskier, turning around and surveying the paraphernalia, nodded thoughtfully.

“Hmm… tough choice.” He brought his hand to his chin for a moment, before his eyes lit up and he picked up a dirk sheathed in black leather. “I’ll take this one!” Checking to confirm the blade was indeed steel, Jaskier smiled up at the, admittedly baffled, Geralt, who couldn’t understand the bent that Jaskier was taking.

“Jaskier, I-”

“Oh and of course the others will need something too!” Jaskier scurried into the hallway. “Guys!! Geralts got his weapons laid out, better get one!” There was an incoherent reply from Yennefer, and the quick footsteps of Ciri, who, running into the room, grabbed a thin knife, this one wrapped in ordinary leather with green silk woven into the hilt, an old gift from a grateful pawnshop owner if Geralt could remember right. Geralt frowned as Ciri ran back out of the room, but before he could raise a protest Yennefer had waltzed in, scanned the table, and ran off with an elegant dagger, a whirling pattern built into the blade. Geralt immediately gave a grunt of protest at that, but Yennefer simply raised an eyebrow and walked out. Jaskier, returning, walked up to the poor Witcher, who was running about three paces behind the entire ordeal, and gave him a smile. “Thank you for thinking of that! This should be a relatively calm affair, more serious you know, but hey, protection is always a must!”

“I… those were for me.” Geralt shook his head. “I couldn’t choose which to pick.”

“Well, we’ve whittled down the selection haven’t we?” Jaskier smiled indulgently. “Now hurry up and choose yours now, you know how much I’ve been longing for this, and nothing is going to stop me from enjoying tonight. Especially not a late indecisive witcher.” And, pressing a kiss on Geralt’s nose, and nearly falling on him in the process, Jaskier ducked out, leaving the slightly bashful Witcher to pick up a weapon, another dirk, this one wrapped in old worn leather with half rubbed off runes cut into it, and run after him.

The venue was already quite crowded when they arrived, and the front seats full. Jaskier gave a dramatic groan at that, but Ciri, muttering a quick word of assurance, ducked off to find four seats. Geralt could barely make her out, as she slipped quickly and quietly between various patrons, but he trusted in her abilities not only to find a good spot but to be able to take care of herself. The latter part of that trust had been harder to build up, the first few weeks they were together Geralt felt as if he were walking on melting ice, worried about the various ways he might put his newfound family in trouble. It had taken a lot of lectures from Yennefer and coaxing from Jaskier for the Witcher to finally accept that Ciri wasn’t a waifish girl in need of coddling; after all, hadn’t she survived without him? Through war and death and a cult chasing after her? No, Geralt now knew that being a good adoptive father didn’t mean locking one’s daughter away, even out of paternal worry.

As Ciri waved the band over to a set of seats in the third row, Jaskier admitting that the choice was “not bad at all”, Geralt reflected for a moment on where he was now in life. He’d never thought at the beginning of his life he’d be a witcher, and he’d never thought at the beginning of his witcher life that’d he’d be destined for anything other than a lonely life, walking the Path with the cold determination of someone who knew no other way. How odd fate had proved out to be, and how grateful Geralt was that he’d been wrong. How happy he was that his life had changed, that he had changed, for the old Geralt knew nothing about either reflection or hope, not in the way current Geralt did, and as he slipped into one of the creaky wicker chairs set up around the semi circled stage, Geralt glanced at the family around him. Yennefer was enquiring after Jaskier the type of music that was to be played, the bard replying with a garble of songwriter facts and music theory that no one but himself understood, while Ciri was scouting the people around them, trying to determine where they were from no doubt, as she’d once confessed to Geralt seeing Cintran refugees always gave her pause, even if she no longer felt the urge to walk up and say hello. It was a happy sight, despite everything that had happened, the mistakes, the goings, the years apart. It was nice to have a night such as this, and as Jaskier turned to glance at the Witcher he seemed to wink, as if to say to Geralt, see, I told you this was a good idea. Geralt lifted his eyebrow, but he couldn’t stop the smile that spread across his face, and as the people hushed and the musicians came out Geralt found himself very happy he’d let that bard follow him around.

Geralt wasn’t entirely sure what he expected out of this night. He knew that it wouldn’t be the same experience as tavern songs, that this wasn’t going to simply be a group of bards, that the singing would be minimal, and that the songs would be longer and more complicated. What he certainly wasn’t expecting was the sheer beauty that hit him. The song started with one musician playing a fiddle, a low pleasant sound, which rose up in a variety of trills. It put Geralt in the mid of early springtime, the birds just emerging from their nests, or coming up from where they’d left. It made him think of the fields right after a frost, buds beginning to dot the trees, the world coming to life again. Slowly the other musicians, of which there were about 60, began to join in with the lone player, adding to the effect of a world waking. The music chased away the rest of Geralt’s thoughts, and he found himself leaning forward, as if somehow he could envelope himself in the notes floating around the theatre.

A glance over at Jaskier made evident that the bard was also feeling affected by the music, for the bard had clasped his hands over his mouth, though every once in a while one would float up, as if guided by the music, and Jaskier’s eyes would close. It was a side that Geralt hadn’t really seen before, for though he knew of course that Jaskier loved music, loved it in an all consuming way, he didn’t show it often, mostly joking that no one wanted to hear the intricacies of Dorian mode, or listen to him sing the praises of men and women long dead. A warm feeling filled Geralt’s chest, and he was almost choked by the sense of fondness that he felt, surrounded by what Jaskier loved best, watching him in his element. Turning back to the performers Geralt thanked every god he could think of and all the ones he couldn’t that Jaskier had brought the family, and that Geralt got to be around such a beautiful being and share in such a beautiful experience.

The music continued, each song more beautiful than the last. After what Geralt could only call the springtime piece came what seemed like four, but Jaskier later told him was only one split up into different “movements”. Their, or rather its, tone was dark, and even when the song seemed faster Geralt only felt agitated, rather than happy. Deciding he didn’t like that as much as the first song, though Ciri rather seemed excited by the frantic energy of it, Geralt was glad when four guild members stepped out and began playing a calmer song, this one another split in four, why did songwriters do such a thing? The second part of the four songs was quiet and soft, almost like a lullaby, and when the third part started again at a bright tone Yennefer, who’d dozed off, jerked up in her seat, to the great amusement of both Ciri and Jaskier, who giggled so incessantly that someone behind them told them in no uncertain terms to either shut up or go home. After that was a song much more based in the flutes and the reeded instruments, which consequently sounded much more fluid and loose, bringing to mind a great city with lazy morals and interesting sights. Geralt was enjoying himself immensely, a happiness only added to by Jaskier’s occasional squeals of glee and raucous clapping at the end of each song, as well as a whisper in Geralt’s ear whenever the Witcher seemed to get lost.

The night was fading away and as the musicians announced that this was to be their last piece the crowd moaned, and shouts of encore echoed through the hall. The musicians stood up and bowed, causing many in the audience to jump to their feet in applause, and some even to begin to walk out, much to Jaskier’s annoyance. “They’re going to miss the best of it.” He scoffed, sitting back down as the stage emptied. Emptied that is except for one woman. She paused, waiting for the noise to calm down, before placing her fiddle on her shoulder. “This is it.” Jaskier whispered, and then she began. Immediately Geralt was blown away. Although there was only of her, multiple notes were certainly coming out of the instrument, at a breakneck pace, which had Geralt in mind of a horse, frantic and wild. The song developed, as a sweet melody came out of the endless pounding of hooves, only to be brought down by another melody, this one thick with panic and fear. The momentum kept going, pitches rising, melodies crashing into each other. It felt more like a torrent than a song, so swept away Geralt felt, giving him an odd sense of dread. Suddenly everything smashed into one another, and the song dropped, giving one the lingering feeling of discomfort. Turning to Jaskier, Geralt looked at the bard with raised eyebrows, not entirely sure how to convey what he’d felt. Jaskier glanced back at him with what seemed like satisfaction. “Based off a poem,” he explained, “of a man trying to save his son, only to be chased by a specter, one who promises the boy happiness and luxury if he goes with him, only to take his soul and kill the boy.” He sighed, seeming much happier than Geralt felt, for a pit had begun to form in the Witcher’s stomach. “Imagine your writing being immortalized in such a way… one day that’ll be my piece Geralt, just you wait. I’ll be the one striking fear into your heart.”

“I hope not.” Geralt responded, a bit brusque for he couldn’t get the image out of his mind. “It sounds like a terrible poem.”

“Tragedy is immortalized better than glory. I’m sure you understand that. Besides, it’s just a story, and one that can bring all people together. You thought her playing was beautiful didn’t you?” He gestured towards the woman, who was receiving heaps of deafening applause. Geralt nodded slowly. He couldn’t deny the talent of both the musician and the songwriter. Still, the music sat uncomfortably over him, and as the family made ready to leave, he couldn’t help but let everyone pass in front of him, thinking of how even if the scenario in the poem itself wasn’t true, the general idea certainly was real enough.

Outside the air seemed to clear a bit, and the group fell into happy chatter. Ciri was still on about how bombastic that second song had been; “I can’t believe how loud they got sometimes! It was like the roof was going to fall!” Yennefer said nothing, rubbing her eyes slightly, but the look on her face was one of contentment. And, of course, Jaskier seemed ready to burst, talking this way and that about all sorts of things. “Did you see the way the fiddle bows were all together? And the vibrato on that first flautist, I couldn’t believe it! Shame that vibrato isn’t exactly a lute thing. And I can’t believe how much work the composer must’ve put into those pieces! I mean, I can barely read two clefs, imagine being able to read four! Maybe I should consider that for the next big project…” His voice carried off, and Geralt smiled indulgently, knowing that for the next few months there’d probably be horrendous amount of noise as this bard tried to put all he’d seen to good use in his own music. Inhaling the cool, fresh air, Geralt began to feel the shroud of that last song shake off, reminding him of how beautiful he’d thought the first song was.

The reverie didn’t last forever though, for as the group made their way out of the stables – Yennefer had insisted on no stays at the inns, for who would spend that much money when there was a perfectly fine home only five miles away – and into the woods the atmosphere seemed much more oppressive. When two men stepped out of the shadows Geralt tensed, wishing he’d brought his swords after all. “What brings you to stop in these dense woods?” Jaskier called out, swinging out of the saddle, a move which caused Geralt’s throat to constrict, and made him simultaneously want to protect and strangle the bard. The men said nothing, and Jaskier shook his head, shrugging his shoulders and holding his hands out to the tall, ragged figures. “Well if you say nothing I cannot help you, and will assume that you’re playing a rather insipid game of hide-and-seek. Now if you don’t mind it’s late, and I’d rather spend a cold night like this in bed than staring a statues.” Going to turn Jaskier stopped in his tracks when one of the men piped up.

“Those are some nice horses. Nice clothes too.”

“Oh you think so?” Jaskier turned around. “I’ll admit I do agree my fashion is impeccable, I’m glad you can see that. But unfortunately I think your judgement on horses is rather lacking. I mean of course Lyra is the loveliest girl, but honestly could you say Roach is anything close to nice?” He gestured towards Geralt, who gripped the reins. The men on the road had the sense to look slightly uneasy at the realization that a witcher was amidst the party, but “evidently they had a scarcity of sense, common or otherwise” Jaskier would later say, for they both looked back upon the bard, and the bulkier of the two drew a ragged sword out of its sheath.

“We’ll be taking Lyra and Roach now. And the horses of those lovely ladies.” The second began walking towards Yennefer and Ciri, the former of who raised her eyebrows, and the latter of who looked extremely unimpressed.

“Do what you want.” Jaskier threw his hands up, as if in surrender. “I must warn you however that one such lovely lady is unused to having her horse stolen out from underneath her, and I daresay mages aren’t known for their forbearance.” The two men halted for a second, and the one closer to Jaskier turned towards the bard. Geralt by now had begun to slide off Roach, looking backwards to make sure there were only two such men, and taking care to be as silent as possible. Jaskier looked as unruffled as ever, and even when the bulky man took a step towards the bard, he stayed in his position, leaning slightly against Lyra, arms crossed at his chest.

“It’s no good lying to us.” The bandit, for that was most surely what these two people were, had a voice that could only be accurately described as gravely. He pointed his sword towards the bard. “I’ll have to teach you a lesson.”

“How menacing of you.” Jaskier deadpanned, and as the man lunged and Geralt made for his weapon it seemed for a moment as if Jaskier was truly about to get struck.

The surprise on the other man’s face was one of complete terror, as his compatriot dropped like a stone. Jaskier pulled his dirk, now drenched to the hilt in blood, out of the man’s ribcage, turning to Geralt, who was likewise frozen. The last bandit distracted Yennefer made quick work snapping her fingers, and in place of the man soon stood a very confused rabbit. Whirling off her own horse Ciri stepped towards the animal, who made a weird sort of strangled sound before bolting into the forest. Walking over to Geralt, Jaskier handed the Witcher the dirk. “Could you hold this for me? My handkerchief is in my pocket, and this doublet is newly made.” Careful to avoid using his right hand, Jaskier pulled out the square of linen, and wiped his hands and the dirk, before sliding the blade back into its sheath. “Thank you darling!” Jaskier planted a kiss on Geralt’s hand, causing the inevitable blush. The poor Witcher still felt like he’d somehow missed something, and as he looked around at the rest of his family, already back on their horses and starting to move on, the Witcher wondered how he’d become the pacifist in the family.

The rest of the ride was quite a jumpy one for the Witcher, who kept expecting various monsters, highwaymen, and other of the sort to come jumping out of the trees at any moment. By the time Yennefer’s place was in sight, Geralt felt an immense sense of relief, and as the group all untacked their horses, Ciri, determined to be the fastest of the group, already combing Melusine, Geralt stayed silent, ears trained on the soft sounds of the night outside. The cleaning done and the hay placed in the stables, the family filed back into the house, Geralt at the rear, locking the bolt to both the stables and the house firmly behind him. “Did you enjoy yourself?” Jaskier immediately asked.

“A bit too long for my taste, but you couldn’t deny the talent.” Yennefer yawned. “Thank you for having us attend Jaskier.”

“Of course my dear Yennefer.” Jaskier dipped into a short bow. Yennefer snorted and walked up the stairs, the bath was definitely going to be hogged for the next hour or so.

“I liked all of it!” Ciri declared, plopping down on the rug in front of the fireplace in the main hall. “It reminded me of the kinds of concerts my grandmother liked to see. I was glad to go to such a thing again.” She smiled softly, and Geralt and Jaskier both walked over to the girl, enveloping her in a group hug. Ciri hummed happily. “Thank you both.” And giving each of the two a quick hug she too went up the stairs, closing the room to her door with a bang, as was custom.

“And you?” Jaskier looked over to Geralt. “Don’t you dare say anything about a filling-less pie this time. I know you lied through your teeth then, and I’ll know you’ll be lying now.” Geralt smiled, old memories swirling through his mind, how long ago that seemed now.

“I liked it. It was…” he paused, trying to find the right words, “different. All the songs were different, but they all fit together. And I felt, carried away.” He lay back on the carpet and sighed. “I felt almost as if there was a spell in the air.”

Jaskier nodded, flopping down besides Geralt. “That’s how I feel too about it. You hear this piece sometimes, and, I can’t even describe it but your entire soul is lifted up, and you just start to drown in it, but you don’t even mind, you want to be further enveloped, further dragged in. That’s what true music can do. Cast a spell without magic.” Geralt turned to look at Jaskier, who himself was staring into the fireplace. “One day I’ll do something like that.” He continued, his eyes warm and full of determination. “I’ll create something like that.”

“I think you already have.” Geralt said, and Jaskier turned to smile at the Witcher.

“Truly?”

“Yes. I think, well, I’ve seen how people react to your music. Even those in the shittiest taverns in the shittiest towns. They seem, almost younger, as if their cares have lifted.” Jaskier’s smiled widened, and he pressed a kiss to Geralt’s jaw.

“Thank you my dea, you have no idea how much that means to me.” Standing up, Jaskier reached out his hand and helped pull Geralt up. “Now be a darling and help wash this dirk, I know that you have your fancy way of cleaning these blades of yours. Then come to bed, it’s late, and I’ll chase away the spirits of the forest.” He laughed at Geralt’s expression. “What? You think I didn’t notice? That last piece seemed to send you out of your skin! And even before that idiotic attempted attack you look ready to throw yourself in front of everything.”

“Cruel of you to notice.” Geralt replied, and Jaskier laughed.

“Well then I must be cruel indeed, for I notice everything about you.” He kissed Geralt softly then, and the Witcher felt the familiar feeling of love and contentment wash over him, something he never thought he’d be able to feel in his younger years.

“There’s nothing cruel about you. Even if you’re wicked with a knife.” And, returning the kiss, Geralt went quickly to take the dirk and wash it off, the music of the evening still in his head and the love for his current life in his heart.

End Notes: For all the music nerds out there, I know that these would all be considered songs rather than pieces, one of these are based off a full symphony, and another based off a string quartet, but seeing as I don't think Geralt would use such terminology, indeed most of said terminology didn't exist in the 13th/14th century, which is the time period I would put this series into the real world, I chose to refer to pieces as songs, composers as songwriters, and make vague mentions of most instruments.

String instruments such as violins, violas, and cello originate from the 16th century, most likely around the 1530s. I took creative liberties again, after all this is a fantasy series.The pieces that are vaguely referenced are as follows: The Lark Ascending by Ralph Vaughan Williams, Dvorak Symphony No. 9 "from the New World", Dvorak String Quartet 12 "American", Rhapsody in Blue by George Gershwin, and Erlkonig originally by Schubert for piano and voice, adapted for solo violin by Heinrich William Ernst and based off a poem by Goethe. The last one is my personal favorite of the lineup and I would highly recommend checking out both the piano and voice lieder and the violin solo (Hilary Hahn's my favorite).

Hope any of you found this enlightening and once again thank you for reading.

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birriabirria · 3 years

Text

homestuck: if you never bleed, you never grow

AU: FANTASY - the prince of derse dirk gets knight of prospit karkat as a reward SHIP: DIRK/KARKAT RATING: MATURE WARNINGS: MOST PROBABLY OOC, IMPERIALISM, KNIGHTS, PRINCES AND PRINCESSES, DEVOTION, PROTECTIVENESS, PROMISES PART 1: IN MY DEFENSE, I HAVE NONE

Karkat ran as fast as he could. There was panic and fury in his chest and it blazed. He couldn’t let them get Dirk. He couldn’t let Dirk get dragged back. There was a man in front of him and he angled his shoulder towards him. He had missed his armor. He always missed it. Now wasn’t an exception. His shoulder met the man’s chest. They both went down. Karkat rolled then jumped to his feet. He kicked. His foot connected with the man’s jaw. When the man went down, Karkat continued running.

He picked up a bucket as he ran. He didn’t want to look at it, never mind touch it but it was necessary. He threw it at another person with as much force as he could. He kept running. He didn’t look back if the person went down. He’d fight them later. Karkat glanced up. The sun was setting. If he could just find a horse then Dirk could get away safely.

He saw what he was looking for. It was a simple cottage and it had been abandoned when they found it. Karkat clenched his jaw. Its door had been kicked in. He ran inside and skidded to halt.

‘Hey!’ Karkat shouted. People turned to look at him and in the middle was Dirk. Dirk was looking at him with wide eyes. Karkat unsheathed his sickle. Dirk took him in. Karkat bared his teeth and the curve of his sickle gleamed. There was dirt on his face and his eyes were the color of whetstone under the light of a blaze. He looked dangerous. Karkat lunged.

He brought his sickle up and blood splattered into the air. He fought against the group with that flinty glitter in his eyes. He stood over the beaten and bleeding bodies. His shoulders were moving from how hard he was panting. Something touched his forearm.

Karkat whirled to face him. His sickle came to rest on a throat. Karkat looked at Dirk and Dirk looked back. Dirk took in Karkat. The flinty glitter in Karkat’s eyes had bloomed into the brightness of a blaze and his grip on his sickle was steady. He had whetted his blade against these people. A thought came to Dirk. He swallowed. It was sudden and ludicrous. If he put his lips against Karkat’s lips, were they sharp enough to cut him?

Karkat blinked, snapping back. This was Dirk. He had come to help him. ‘We need to go,’ he managed to say. He handed Dirk a sword and its sheath on a belt. Dirk’s hand curled around its grip. He put on the belt then unsheathed the sword. Karkat ran out of the house and Dirk followed. There were people ahead of them. One of them swung a sword. Karkat crouched down to dodge then jumped up. His sickle ran across the person’s torso. Blood blossomed across their shirt. Karkat shoved them and they stumbled back.

Metal clanged against metal. Karkat parried a sword. He lowered his sickle then yanked it up. There were more people and Karkat fought through them. Dirk dodged his steps, fighting the others. He could feel his muscles burn. It had been a while since he last fought and he had lost that fight. Dirk gritted his teeth and continued fighting.

Karkat looked around frantically. There were horses around here. He just had to find one. ‘Come on,’ Karkat shouted. He ran and Dirk followed. People ran at them then fell away. Something caught Karkat’s eye. There! There was a horse up ahead. It was in the enemy’s colors but that didn’t matter. ‘Hey!’ Karkat shouted. Dirk looked at him. Karkat jerked his head towards the horse. Dirk saw it. Karkat continued fighting. He had to make way for Dirk.

He fought with furrowed brow and gritted teeth. Dirk had made it this far. They were so close to the group. He couldn’t be dragged back. His fist met someone’s jaw and they went down. He couldn’t bring his armor with him and fuck he missed it but he had managed to find steel-knuckled gloves on the way. Everyone he had fought had worn the enemy’s colors and he had worn it once too. He had been proud to wear the colors once but looking at it now made him uneasy.

Karkat brought his sickle down. He picked up a light sword then continued on forward. He could feel the shadow of tiredness. He was used to slogging through mud under rain with armor but he couldn’t sleep yesternight and he had spent all these hours fighting. Karkat shook his head. He could sleep later. The edges of lips quirked up. He could sleep when he was dead. He kept going.

Karkat dodged and parried as he kept advancing. The sword he had picked up was light enough for him to wield with ease. He cut through the enemy and Dirk turned to look at when he had the chance. Karkat was short and he had narrow shoulders. Dirk thought once that he could overpower him, could bring him under his heel and crush him and losing against him had rankled. But now… But now, he depended on Karkat. Dirk trusted Karkat’s strength. Karkat would bring him home.

Karkat sank his sword into someone’s chest then yanked it out. The person fell. He looked around. Was that everyone? He frowned. No, that can’t be. They’d send as many people as they could. His eyes landed on the horse. It didn’t matter. Dirk would be out of here soon enough. ‘Go!’ he ordered. Dirk looked at him. Karkat looked back. ‘Go!’ he snapped. Dirk moved.

He ran to the horse. He pulled himself up, mounting it. Something moved in Karkat’s peripheral vision. He turned to look. There was a woman readying her crossbow. Karkat’s body moved automatically. He ran at her. The woman moved the crossbow to face him. She pulled the trigger. Karkat let out a loud gasp.

‘Karkat!’ Dirk shouted.

Karkat didn’t hear it. His knees buckled but managed to keep his footing. He kept running. He struck the woman down. Karkat’s chest heaved. He swayed then stumbled back. He fell. He landed on the ground with a thump but he didn’t hear that either. He stared at the sky blearily. The sun had further set and in several minutes the night would come. He rolled, setting his hand on the ground. He could see boots running closer.

‘Don’t you touch him,’ Dirk growled, his eyes flashing like lightning.

Karkat managed to slide his feet under him. His feet set against the ground and he slowly stood up. His shoulder was pain, all sharp. Karkat sucked in a breath then clenched his jaw. The sharpness of the pain had given him clarity. He gripped his sickle tighter. He got to his feet. Someone came at Dirk and Karkat cut them down with a swing. They fell away.

Dirk whirled around, sword pointed at the person’s throat. Karkat scowled at him. ‘What are you doing?’ he snapped. Dirk blinked, snapping back. He lowered his sword. He stepped closer and his hand came to lay on Karkat’s forearm. ‘I told you to go,’ Karkat growled.

‘I’m not leaving without you,’ Dirk said quietly.

Karkat snarled, bright red eyes flashing like his sickle under the moonlight. ‘Stupid,’ he spat.

Dirk took him in. There was blood and dirt on his face, his clothes, his hands. His grip on his sickle was still steady but the blaze in Karkat’s eyes had dimmed into embers. There was a bolt in his shoulder and cloth around it was wet with bright red. He swallowed. To Dirk, he still looked dangerous. Thoughts came to him. They didn’t feel sudden and they didn’t feel ludicrous. No, it felt like it was always coming regardless of where they were and it felt right. It felt like there was some sense in the world and in him. Dirk wished he had flint to reignite the fire in Karkat’s eyes. If he put his lips against Karkat’s lips, would he survive it if Karkat cut him to pieces?

‘Maybe,’ Dirk replied. His grip on Karkat’s forearm tightened. He pulled Karkat towards the horse. Karkat frowned but he was helpless against it. People ran at them. There were more people around. Dirk let go of Karkat’s arm to fight. He had to make way for Karkat. Karkat had stayed with, had fought for him. He couldn’t be dragged back. Dirk wouldn’t let anyone touch him. ‘Go!’ he ordered. Karkat looked at him. Dirk looked back, his eyes were steady. ‘Go!’ he ordered. Karkat scowled but moved.

Karkat breathed in. He broke into a run. He reached the horse and pulled himself up with just one hand. He gripped the reins and turned it towards Dirk. ‘Yah!’ Karkat yelled. The horse broke into a gallop. ‘Dirk!’ Karkat shouted.

Dirk’s head snapped up. Karkat was coming towards him. Dirk sheathed his sword. Karkat held out his hand. Dirk caught his hand and Karkat pulled him up. Dirk got on the horse, sitting behind Karkat. He was still holding onto Karkat’s hand as his other hand came up to grip the reins.

‘Should have just left me there,’ Karkat muttered.

‘You didn’t leave me behind,’ Dirk returned.

‘Because you’re a prince, Karkat answered, ‘I couldn’t leave you there. Or anywhere. I’m just a knight. And not even a good one.’

‘You are a good knight, Karkat, one of the very best,’ Dirk said softly. Karkat snorted. Right. One of the best. He wanted to believe it, in fact, before this, he could believe it. ‘Karkat, are you alright?’ Dirk asked worriedly.

‘Yes,’ Karkat replied, ‘cold and tired with a bolt sticking out of my shoulder. Haven’t felt better.’ His eyelids felt heavy.

Despite himself, the edges of Dirk’s lips quirked up. ‘Don’t worry, I will get you help. You will heal,’ Dirk said determined. There was a knot of worry in his chest. ‘Hang on, we’re almost there,’ he added.

‘Wake me up when we get there,’ Karkat murmured. His eyes slipped close. The last thing he heard was someone calling his name. His last thought was simply “Dirk.”

Karkat slept and Dirk watched over him carefully. The sun had completely set and the moon shone down. The knot of worry in his chest had gotten bigger. It had turned into a ball. He swallowed. He stopped the horse. It couldn’t go any further. Dirk carefully got off. He caught Karkat. He put his arm behind Karkat’s back and put his other arm under his knee. Dirk lifted Karkat then set him down on the ground. He looked at the horse.

He took off its bridle and saddle, throwing them away. He looked into the horse’s eyes. ‘Watch over him. Keep him safe,’ Dirk ordered. It felt silly to talk to a horse but he was desperate, he didn’t know what else to do. They were close to the people they were supposed to meet. So close. Dirk paced, his mind racing. They just needed another horse. If there were patrols in this area that’d be dangerous but that would mean there was another horse he could use. Dirk went to find another one. He didn’t have to go far. There were patrols in the area and one was working. He unsheathed his sword, looking down at its glitter.

He shouldn’t kill so easily, it would catch people’s attention. Enough attention to rival the attention when stealing a horse. Dirk scowled. The storm in his eyes grew stronger, the thunder rumbled. Karkat needed help and they had to move quickly so he would get it. Dirk gripped the sword’s grip tighter. He needed to whet his blade against these people. He needed to be strong enough to bring Karkat home, strong enough to keep him. He grabbed the patrolman’s hand. He dragged him into the darkness.

Dirk’s sword sank his sword into someone’s chest then yanked it out. The person fell. He went to their horse and mounted it. He went to Karkat. He got off then lifted Karkat into the saddle as the last horse looked at him. He sat down behind him. ‘Yah!’ Dirk yelled and the horse broke into a gallop. The moon moved across the sky and set but Dirk’s white-knuckled grip on the reins didn’t loosen. He would bring Karkat’s home.

Dirk yanked on the reins. The horse came to stop. They had finally arrived. Dirk got off, catching Karkat. There was a house up ahead and maybe it was a trap. Dirk looked at Karkat’s face. His gray skin looked sickly. He clenched his jaw. Maybe it was a trap and they both would be dragged back but that didn’t matter. If Karkat would be healed then it didn’t matter if it was a trap. He carried Karkat as fast as he could to the house. ‘Open up!’ Dirk shouted, ‘I NEED YOUR HELP! HE’S HURT AND HE NEEDS HELP! PEASE YOU HAVE HELP HIM!’ Dirk gasped. His shoulders were moving from how hard he was panting. The door opened and Dirk marched in. People came to him and Dirk tensed. Someone closed the door behind him.

Karkat frowned. His eyes cracked open. He looked up at the ceiling blearily. Where was he? He turned his head slowly. Dirk appeared beside him. Karkat opened his mouth but no sound came out. Dirk breathed out shakily, his shoulders relaxing. The ball of worry in his chest loosened. ‘You’re alive,’ he gasped, ‘you’re alive.’

‘Dirk?’ Karkat managed to say.

Dirk’s head snapped up. ‘Karkat,’ he breathed out. His hand came to lay on Karkat’s forearm.

‘Where am I?’ Karkat asked.

‘You’re here with me,’ Dirk answered, ‘it isn’t home but you’re safe.’

‘Safe?’ Karkat asked. He frowned. ‘You should be safe not me,’ he mumbled.

‘Your safety is important too,’ Dirk said. His grip on Karkat’s forearm tightened then loosened. ‘Your safety is important too,’ he repeated. Karkat looked up at him. Dirk looked back. Karkat’s hand came up and he laid it on top of Dirk’s hand.

‘Are you safe?’ Karkat asked.

‘Yes,’ Dirk answered, Karkat’s hand was warm and soft, ‘I am.’

‘Good,’ Karkat mumbled. He went back to sleep. When he woke up, his head was clearer. He was thirsty, hungry and there were bandages on his shoulder. He stared at the ceiling. The Empress Mother said that they had to keep their victory against Derse and he had failed. He had grown soft towards Dirk and not only had he let him escape, he had protected him. For anything remiss on a knight of Propsit was a disgrace. Karkat set his mouth in a thin line. He missed everything and he was a disgrace.

The door opened. Karkat turned his head to look at it. Dirk stilled. He closed the door quickly and went to Karkat’s bedside. Dirk’s bright eyes searched Karkat’s face. ‘Are you alright?’ he asked softly.

‘Fine,’ Karkat croaked, ‘thirsty. Hungry.‘

‘I’ll go get you something to drink and eat,’ Dirk said, He straightened. He walked out of the room. Karkat stared at his back. He really meant it. He didn’t leave him behind. Why? His tongue felt heavy. He wanted to call Dirk back, he wanted to call Dirk by name. Karkat set his mouth into a line. He couldn’t open his mouth or everything would spill out.

Dirk returned with a tray with food, a pitcher of water and a glass. He set it down on the bedside table. Karkat laid his hands on the bed and pushed himself up. An elbow buckled and his shoulders dipped. Dirk’s hand shot out. It curled around Karkat’s bicep and he helped Karkat sit up. Karkat leaned against the headboard. Dirk poured water into the glass then handed it to Karkat. Karkat took it. He drank the whole thing. Dirk handed him a plate. Karkat took it, setting it down on his lap. He picked up the fork and dug in. He ate in silence under Dirk’s watchful eyes.

Karkat finished eating. He set the fork down. He raised his eyes. ‘Where are we?’ Karkat asked.

‘In a safe house,’ Dirk answered.

Karkat frowned. ‘Are we in Derse?’ he asked.

‘We are,’ Dirk said.

‘But not in the capital?’ Karkat asked slowly.

‘No, I can’t go there yet. None of us can. It must be cleared of Prospit before we come back,’ Dirk explained.

Karkat nodded. That made sense. ‘What about me?’ he asked.

‘What about you?’ Dirk asked.

‘What’s gonna happen to me? I don’t think they’ll think highly of me since I got you as a reward,’ Karkat said.

‘You’re staying with me,’ Dirk said.

There was a flash of a sickle under moonlight in his eyes. The knot of worry in Dirk’s chest unraveled. There was Karkat. ‘But?’ Karkat warned.

‘You will be fitted for a collar and you need to stay close to me,’ Dirk answered.

Karkat frowned in confusion. It turned to realization a moment later. He snorted derisively. ‘So I’m your reward for coming home,’ he stated.

‘No. It’s not like that,’ Dirk blurted out, he had to explain, ‘it’s to keep you safe.’

‘Keep me safe?’ Karkat asked.

‘People will come after you and staying by my side will keep you safe,’ Dirk explained. He laid his hand on Karkat’s forearm. He looked into Karkat’s eyes. There was a storm brewing in Dirk’s eyes. ‘I don’t want to hurt you and I don’t want you to be hurt,’ he admitted.

Karkat’s eyes slid down. He looked at the blanket. There had been a spark of affection and devotion in Karkat’s chest. He had stoked the devotion but abandoned the affection. The devotion would help him bring Dirk home but the affection was useless. Affection’s embers flared up now and if he wasn’t careful, it would turn into a proper fire. Would he survive it if burned him? ‘How the tables turn, your Highness,’ Karkat mused.

‘You don’t have to keep calling me that,’ Dirk blurted out. He was being careless but he didn’t care. ‘You called me by name before,’ he pointed out. He sounded desperate to his own ears but Dirk didn’t care.

Karkat licked his lips. ‘I can’t do that,’ he said. He raised his eyes. Karkat looked into Dirk’s eyes. He blinked. Dirk watched his eyelashes brush against his cheeks. The flutter of butterfly wings. ‘I don’t have the right to call you by your name,’ Karkat admitted.

‘You protected me. You brought me home. If there’s anyone in this world who has earned the right to call me by name, it’s you,’ Dirk declared.

Karkat took him. Dirk’s eyes were free of the storm. His eyes were the color of topaz under the afternoon sun. Karkat remembered the feel of the hardness of the gem and it’s sharp edge. He put his fingertip on its edge and pressed down. It would draw blood, it would hurt but Karkat didn’t care. He licked his lips and Dirk’s eyes tracked the motion. Karkat opened his mouth. No sound came out. He closed his mouth. ‘I can’t,’ Karkat said with such bright eyes, ‘I can’t say it.’

Dirk swallowed. He took him in. Karkat really was dangerous. He could cut him into pieces and Dirk would put himself back together to return to him. HIs grip on Karkat’s forearm tightened then loosened. ‘It’s ok,’ he said softly.

Karkat searched Dirk’s face. ‘Is it?’ he asked.

‘Yeah, it’s fine,’ Dirk said gently. His topaz eyes glittered and Karkat saw no lie.

‘I am a terrible knight,’ Karkat said slowly, ‘and you don’t really need it and I know that shoulder is fucked up but if you want me, I will be your knight.’

He did. He did want him. The thought came to Dirk with the clarity of a blaze. ‘You are, you are my knight,’ Dirk answered. Karkat was his. His to protect and his to keep.

Karkat lowered his head. ‘I am at your command, your Highness,’ he declared.

Dirk laid his other hand on Karkat’s shoulder. He could feel the edges of the bandages through the cloth of Karkat’s shirt. ‘My first command,’ Dirk said softly, ‘don’t be so reckless. I don’t want you to be hurt,’

Karkat frowned thoughtfully. ‘That’ll be hard to do,’ he replied.

‘But you’ll do it?’ Dirk prompted.

Karkat sighed. He smiled, small but bright as a blaze. ‘I will,’ he promised.

#dirkkat #my writing #i write

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captainkurosolaire · 4 years

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A Withered Bloom

(Narration) Winds howled overlooking a greenery mounted hill. Where often Idealist sent themselves to die among or perhaps, to take that leap. That of faith of which is believed in or for. The breezes were close off from the Costa Del Sol waves the chimes were ecstatically heard. Those who pledged themselves to the blues could without a doubt hear the splashes acted like a finger beckoning one to return to them. Sunlight rippled out of the clouds through to a figure as a shadow waged over hill stood towering above a small spy-glass unhooked looking directly down at a scenery of a ship with a golden optical. Slaver pirates off a undisclosed and unrecognizable ship painted over. The one who should be leading those lads and Captaineering that vessel was thrown out overboard for inexperience and weakness. A loss that traumatically effected and ran a course of doubt. It’s expected to often be resoundingly strong and command with a fearsome blood foam from the maws. For hesitant acts often lead to deaths, emotions were scrutinized. Stereotypes were created often to paint visual pictures, pirates often wore toughness and uncanny barbaric to show they weren’t to be trifled with they were beasts roaming in wilds. Freedom which was sought held prices and tolls unrecoverable, battles were all but guaranteed. Those shinning their titles and flashing as the law shielded and imprisoned which was chaos rightfully. So the person and his first mate. He entrusted to watchfully overlooked like an advisor. He protected and safeguarded the Ill-Fit Captain and put up with him. When he was bloodied and looking like that of a mangled beast after slaughtering for his first act. He was met by his First, “I’ll take care of it.” It was this ‘First’ who aided in disposing and ensuring the safety net. A natural and the issues with this pirate was his compassion a warning even by his Founding Captain before the mantle served to be picked up to him. How was he even elected or even retrieved the respect of his peers because of like most leaders who are thrust they are charismatic and offer high-stake promises they cannot genuinely ensure in their tenure or leadership they have an inkling of where they want to go and take, but they lack the experience and true conviction to deliver when a crisis occurs and that is dangerous a set as often sets-up for mass failure. The Firstmate had all the appropriate tools and skills to lead. He held nearly every quality to forcefully carve his name into the seas as a Warlord and undertake rule. But couldn’t win over the people he held that face of uncertainty and cruelty. Furthermore there was extra conflict as he genuinely held feelings of unspoken and unexplained for the Captain he served despite shortcomings as company could often sway. But ambitions and love they often weren’t for debate. And since he too drank from the same muddy source of the old, that compassion was a tendon. There could never be an act. Eventually frustration won over ire. Years past without progression just floating on standby there was expectations by already fastened in wealth and pleasantries would have been stricken and taken. But which lead was too lagged-behind. A cruel lesson would have to be exampled so when the Captain feel ill from a case of scurvy by giving away his rations. The First like a snake slithered behind making allies and banding together enough to cast a parley and revoke at the youthful Captain’s rule and challenged to a parley. On the decks they battled but like his namesake ‘Parabellum’ he shot using his infamous Dirk of betrayal and wedged a decisive blow that sent the Captain to be exiled and dethroned off the planks without placement and title. Slit across the cheek of the Captain. It was his First-Scar and fitting for the one deemed ‘First’ in his thoughts. It also became so attached and close to the face it was a shame he wore unbearably through any and all reflections. Betrayal was often common among the crew it was known that there could be any point a cross to be made when exchanging with greedy. The Captain too least expected it to ever come from someone he too himself admired and valued. There was no-mercy in the eyes or showing of anything they once cherished. It was simply business. As it stood someone with compassion didn’t have a place. Not welcomed weakness would never ever climb. As it was seen. A heart of gold that was a myth. Miraculously somehow this individual who wasn’t titled never broke in spirit. Of soul perhaps but of general spirit he was able to rebound. The ‘First’ achieved as suspected in his tyrannical methods. Leading with fearsome disgust. While that which was compassionate repeated history and failed some-more. But something happened each time, progression was made. He grew and learned in adaptation as the more paramount losses occurred. Losing multiple wives and crew in varied ways, banding together a wildcard select of crew to siege relics that weren’t meant to be ever attained but held prices of curses. Continuously clawing back up not because he was anything special but because the effect he was seen by others. Even when after this event he cast away every thought and buried this back even removing the scar to try and forget and run-away. Though he couldn’t ever know peace due to it. Because of that he cast himself in a repeat. Until eventually he gained so much that he was on the highest point and took a plunge. Falling and losing possessions but in losing it all. He learned, there, then... The values of which he could gain. His eyes opened up both in fullness. He entrusted himself to be freedom an inspiration to his forefather pirates of whispering folktales and that of the vast seas. By drinking from the pool of doubt that perhaps they were correct, he never let his way be crafted with his values. He couldn’t ever make a genuine difference because he accepted along with others that weakness held no place. Constantly watching the storm of the mightiest devour the fragile to depths. He realized there though that isn’t everyone a pirate in some capacity are they not creatures of hope? All with aspirations, valued treasures they find, hearties, greed of some sort and shape. He saw no longer a difference or separation. Glint he acquired became useless and material. He was stained in lust and recklessness. Battered and season holding off the wings of a dreamer. He nearly gave it all up. But he saw of fortune or not, his idol even was a false. He saw a slave and miserable cast by someone he herald as free. Why was that? Because they lacked charging and leading to their destinations. They had no guidance for themselves it became meaningless conquest. They led the blind even unsure themselves never a proper means or goal to thrive. Because of that betrayal he saw even that and slit his own cheek, brought back which he washed away. Overlooking these hills he looked down at his next destination. Finally becoming the next turn. Changing winds and course he became boundless and he was free as ever. To any and all. He’d cherish and trophy all that he garnet. And take compassion and scoop it as a weapon to pave his path. The most underrated value and attribute to attain was taken as adaptability the prospect to learn and become the writ. It all started with a battle he held for himself below in that painted slaver ship. One he’d give himself.

#Becoming the Lettered Bottle to the Past #Part 1 #The First #The Last #Warlord #Pirate Affairs #Parabellum #The Dirk #In-depth #The First Love #The First Betrayal #The First Scar #Stories and Chapters need Closures #Unfit Rule when Grown #FFXIV #Final Fantasy XIV #Confront #Practicing on getting back #creative writing

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orionsangel86 · 6 years

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Narrative Mirror Characters in Supernatural – An Overview for the Uninitiated.

Mirror characters have always been a classic story telling device. The purpose of a mirror character is to reflect on the main characters journey and emotional state and to provide lessons for the main character to learn. Mirror characters in TV and movies can also be used for foreshadowing purposes and encourage the audience to question the main characters path.

A famous example would be Frodo Baggins and his narrative mirror Gollum in The Lord of the Rings. Gollum is a dark mirror for Frodo in that he represents everything that Frodo could become if he succumbs to the power of the One Ring. Frodo’s present is Gollum’s past as Smeagol, and throughout the books Frodo becomes more and more aware of his fate as he grows closer to Gollum/Smeagol and makes the decision to try to save him as a reflection of his desire to save himself.

Narrative mirrors are everywhere and widely used in all forms of storytelling. To deny them, is to deny basic storytelling tropes. Sometimes the narrative mirrors are extremely, painfully obvious, and other times they are quite subtle and have only a very minor meaning in the greater story.

Supernatural is a series which has used narrative mirror characters quite extensively throughout its long history. It frequently uses mirror characters to provide an additional layer to the emotional journeys of its lead characters to encourage emotional growth. Supernatural also often uses mirror characters to highlight unspoken main character storylines which support subtextual themes as well as foreshadowing potential future plot outcomes.

Supernatural relies so heavily on its narrative character mirrors, that recently in episode 14x04 Mint Condition it gave its viewers a textual lesson on character mirrors straight from its lead characters mouths:

Gif Source: (x)

DEAN (Pointing at Samantha): She’s like your twin.

[SAM pushes his hair back just as SAMANTHA does the same.]

SAM: What? What are you talking about?

DEAN: Soft, delicate features, luxurious hair. She’s like your wonder twin.

SAM: Yeah.

[A man, DIRK, is crouching in front of the comic book stands picking up comics. He has a lollipop in his mouth. SAM points to him.]

SAM: Well, okay, if that’s me then that’s you over there.

DEAN: That guy?

SAM: Yeah.

DEAN: Yeah, we have zero in common

(The scene then proceeds to show just how much Dean has in common with Dirk)

Following this fun scene, the episode continues to show how much Sam and Dean have in common with their mirror characters in many ways, including a moving moment between Dirk and Dean in which Dirk talks about how important his friend Stuart is to him. (Stuart who was first introduced in this episode wearing a tan trench coat similar to the classic coat worn by Castiel – Dean’s best friend).

From this blatantly obvious in-show commentary, we can infer how the Supernatural creators like to present their mirror characters and how we, the audience, can keep a look out for them. The key indicators are as follows:

Similar clothing - Character clothing choices are very important in this show. The brothers are almost always dressed in plaid and what Castiel would probably call “lumberjack chic”. Castiel always wears a tan trenchcoat, formal attire, white shirt, blue tie. His mirrors are pretty much the easiest to spot. Arguably any side character wearing a tan trenchcoat is a mirror for Castiel.

Siblings – Where side characters are siblings, they are mirrors for Sam and Dean.

Parent/Child pairs – Less common, but also often a comment on Sam and Dean’s dynamic, Dean being the parent to Sam.

Immortal characters with a sympathy to humanity – usually a Cas mirror.

Tastes/interests – Like with Dirk, if a side character appears who the main characters bond with over mutual interests, the chances are they are a mirror for the main character in question.

Storylines; depending on overarching season plots – less obvious, but sometimes the most interesting. Characters that appear in standalone episodes that have an emotional tie to the mytharc plot of the season usually serve to give lessons to the main characters. Those characters will stand in for the main characters when dealing with their own emotional turmoil, which will usually be similar in theme to the emotional turmoil that the main characters are going through. Consider Ed and Harry from 9x14’s #Thinman episode - such a blatantly obvious Winchester mirror that it should need no explaining here.

By taking all these various indicators into consideration when watching any episode of Supernatural, it becomes rather easy to spot the character mirrors and depending on the actions and plot purpose of those mirror characters, we can usually conclude their purpose and the connection to the overall mytharc, or in some cases character development plot.

I’m about to pull out some big examples so you can use those as templates to go forth and find the mirrors! But my main point in this post is to argue that meta writers aren’t pulling this stuff out of our asses. Character mirrors are a story telling technique that is used frequently and with clear author intent. Don’t ever let anyone tell you that you are seeing things when you believe that characters are meant to be mirrors. It is far more likely that they ARE intended mirrors than not.

I recently came across these tweets on Twitter:

Mark Harris is a former Entertainment Weekly executive editor and author of several books on Hollywood and the film industry.

Brian Koppelman is the co-creator and showrunner of the TV show “Billions” and has worked in the TV and Film industries for over two decades.

I would hazard a guess that both of these individuals have a greater authority on the inner workings of TV show production than YOU or I or anyone else in this fandom about to scream those immortal and highly ridiculous words “yOu ArE rEaDiNg InTo ThInGs!”

But by all means, if you are going to disregard my post as nothing more than a “crazy” fan trying to claim author intent where there is none, perhaps you could first take a look below the cut, because these mirror characters in SPN are hardly coincidence, and the general motto to run by is that if some characters are definitely mirrors, then the chances are that wherever you THINK you see a character mirror, and it makes logical sense, the INTENT was for you to see a character mirror all along.

So therefore, never disregard a fan interpretation of a narrative character mirror when they see one.

If you do, you are going to look like a huge jackass.

Please keep reading for glaringly obvious Destiel character mirrors along with some nice brother character mirrors for comparison. We ain’t kidding around folks.

First of all, lets consider some examples where Supernatural has used narrative mirror characters specifically to highlight Sam and Dean’s emotional growth.

A recent and very obvious example is from 14x12.

The brothers interview Eddie, the twin brother of a murdered man in a case they are investigating. Eddie is distraught by his brother’s murder, and he says the following:

“I can’t believe he’s gone. We were close. Best friends. Alan always said he was my big brother, ‘cause he was born first. By, like, four minutes. Losing him is like losing a part of myself. I never knew it could be this bad.”

In this situation, Eddie is a clear Sam mirror character, because his emotional response to his brother Alan’s death is exactly what Sam’s would be if he were to lose Dean. Dean, in this scenario, is the one learning the lesson. He is having to witness through a character mirror the pain that Sam would go through upon Dean’s suicide. This reflects the current mytharc plot in which Dean has chosen a suicide mission of locking himself away with the archangel Michael in order to prevent Michael’s escape.

This is a simple mirror which specifically relates to the theme of the episode. However, other character mirrors have a wider lesson in mind. Another recent episode that used character mirrors for the brothers was 13x12 Various and Sundry Villains.

In this episode, the brothers come up against a pair of villainous witch sisters. The sisters are determined to bring their mother back from the dead and will stop at nothing to succeed. The sisters are dark Winchester mirrors in that they symbolise the lengths the brothers will go to in order to save themselves and their family – putting their own goals above the safety of the world. This episode took place during a season 13 mytharc plot in which the Winchesters own mother Mary was trapped in an apocalyptic universe and the Winchesters were looking for a way to save her (and Jack) regardless of warnings from Death herself that no good would come from jumping universes.

It was also a wider commentary on the Winchesters own toxic co-dependency – a theme that has been running within the subtext of the show since Season 8 which portrays the brothers co-dependent relationship as a negative force in their universe and something that they need to break free of – a theme which has been building quite nicely in these later seasons.

The episode 13x12 ends with the witch sisters horrifically murdering each other whilst under a spell in a scene which symbolically shows just what could happen to the Winchester boys if they don’t free each other from their own toxic relationship.

This was a prime example of character mirrors have a deeper message in terms of their relation to the main characters and their overall character journeys on the show.

Sam and Dean have had mirror characters established in the show since the early seasons. One obvious example was in 1x18 Something Wicked This Way Comes which prominently features a young boy called Michael who feels responsible for his little brother Asher. Michael is an obvious Dean mirror used to emphasise Dean’s loss of innocence at a young age due to the boy’s early introduction to monsters by their father.

Many of the early season character mirrors were used to provide backstory for Sam and Dean such as this one, or to provide dark foreshadowing (like used with Frodo and Gollum) for Sam particularly with the “Special Children” throughout seasons 1 and 2.

In the later seasons, character mirrors are more likely to be used to either provide Sam and Dean with emotional lessons, or highlight their co-dependency as a negative force.

See, its quite simple so far right? Would you actually deny that these characters were Winchester mirrors? You can possibly argue with my interpretation, but you can’t really argue against the mirrors themselves, that much is obvious.

Now is where it gets interesting. Because whilst you may have no problem seeing mirror characters for Sam and Dean in the show, would you feel the same way if I was to present you with an EVEN LARGER mountain of evidence for mirror characters for Dean and Cas?

Another frequent use of character mirrors within the show in the later seasons is to highlight a potential romantic partnership between Dean and Castiel. This is a controversial opinion and one many viewers of the show either ignore or adamantly deny. However, arguably you can’t pick and choose your meta in this show. If you agree with one set of thematic mirrors, you must surely admit to the same filming techniques being used elsewhere. If mirrors exist between Sam and Dean, they must also exist between Dean and Cas, and sometimes those mirrors are just as blatantly obvious, if not more so.

One prominent example (and probably the most obvious) comes from episode 9x20. Written by the current showrunner Andrew Dabb, this episode was an attempt at a spin off show with a completely new set of characters. One part of this episode included a love story between monster characters David and Violet.

Please refer to this post: http://bluestar86.tumblr.com/post/178577156431/i-cant-recall-where-but-i-read-somewhere-that-a for further detail about this character mirror. Because it’s so obvious its laughable.

The basic mirror is that David is Dean. He is the son of a powerful monster family in Chicago who is pulled back into the war when his brother Sal is murdered. “David” = Dean, “Sal” = Sam. Get it? That’s one clear mirror. The back story alone is obvious enough.

Violet is the daughter of another powerful monster family, one that is actively antagonising the others and supports the war. She spends most of the episode wearing this:

Violet is clearly our Castiel mirror. A daughter of a troublesome monster family that wants to start war, but who tries to prevent that because of her love for one of the other families sons? Its Romeo and Juliet but it is also very Dean and Cas.

The turbulent relationship between David and Violet is told using lines previously spoken between Dean and Cas word for word, but in an obviously romantic way (because heterosexual romance is irritatingly obvious even when using lines previously given to “just bros”). Seriously, go read the linked post and just TRY to deny this mirror.

One of the more recent obvious DeanCas mirrors in the show comes from season 14 between Mary Winchester and AU!Bobby. In the episode immediately following 14x04’s lesson in recognising mirror characters in Supernatural Mary and Bobby show up to put our mirror recognition to the test.

Mary has been used as a mirror character for Castiel and vice versa since she was reintroduced to the show in season 12. In terms of the key indicators, she has often been seen wearing a tan trenchcoat, or a general tan coat with white and blue clothing (her clothing is often coded for Castiel) as well as her emotional journey being tied to his in her struggle to find belonging among her family.

AU!Bobby is a Dean mirror. His story very closely compares to many of Dean’s storylines over the years, including Purgatory and being traumatised by the loss of his son (a canonical fact being that both Sam and Dean acknowledge that Dean raised Sam and was practically his only parental figure).

The romance between him and Mary is still pretty much completely subtextual, and yet people still acknowledge its existence. It has been shown through longing looks and conversations with the brothers where Mary voices her frustrations at her inability to break through the supposed communication barriers between her and Bobby (an interesting storyline which compares extremely closely with season 13’s long running miscommunication theme for Dean and Cas.)

Bobby and Mary’s current story reflects Dean and Cas’s especially in Mary’s frustrations to get Bobby to open up to her about his troubled past. There is an underlying message here which indicates Castiel’s own frustrations at Dean for not being more open and honest with him (again this was shown far more subtly as recently as 14x12 in how Dean keeps things from Cas because they are far too painful for him to address). This mirror is practically undeniable, just like David and Violet. Yet both are romantic.

The other glaringly obvious het character mirror pairing for Dean and Cas was Cain and Colette in seasons 9 and 10. Just because the story didn’t resolve itself, doesn’t mean the mirror wasn’t intended and specifically catered for Dean and Cas from the start.

Cain and Colette is a HUGE example of a mirror that was practically textually confirmed (and was actually confirmed by Jared Padalecki at a convention).

(x)

In fact, arguably 10x14 called for the audience to notice character mirrors before 14x04 did! Cain constantly reiterated that he was a Dean mirror TEXTUALLY. He told Dean that Sam was his Abel. He very clearly stated how Dean would live his life in reverse - Cain killed Abel first, then he unwillingly killed his wife Colette, before finally giving in and killing his demonic kin - the knights of hell.

He told Dean he would first kill Crowley - his own demonic kin in a sense, then he would kill Castiel - Deans... partner? Before finally killing Sam. How can I make this any clearer? Oh yeah. This:

In fact just got take a look at the source post for those gifs to see all the other ways Cas is a mirror for Colette and watch me laugh at anyone still trying to deny this: http://casclaire.tumblr.com/post/119456988024/and-everyone-you-know-everyone-you-love-they

Those were the het pairings (among many others) but Dean and Cas have also been mirrored to practically every other queer pairing in the show save one (and that was played purely for jokes for W*ncest fans).

Now the importance of queer representation is something we frequently discuss in fandom. So before some asshat decides to pipe up and accuse me I’ll just add a nice little disclaimer so said asshat can shut the hell up:

Theorising that queer pairings in Supernatural may also be mirror pairings for Destiel does not diminish the pairing or the representation in its own right. To claim it does so is utter bullshit. The pairing is still awesome and should be celebrated because hey! It’s on the show isn’t it? It’s out in the open as a canon queer pairing! YAY for US! Speculating that it could also be a Destiel mirror pairing only ADDS to the awesomeness. It does NOT diminish it in any way...

Unless you hate Destiel of course in which case... well:

So now we’ve got that out of the way:

Several of our best queer pairings in SPN over the years can also reflect Destiel and their relationship.

Charlie and Gilda is a prime example:

Gilda appears in episode 8x11 as a fairy from another realm who has been taken prisoner and forced via magic to do horrible things against her nature by a bad guy. Charlie is able to free her from her “masters” spell.

Sound familiar?

It should do, because this is basically Castiel’s story in season 8. He is brainwashed by Naomi to do bad things against his nature which culminates in Dean managing to break through to him by declaring how much he “needs” him. Isn’t it all so marvelously gay?

How about this awesome gay couple:

(x)

Honestly I could wax poetic about this episode for a thousand years, but I will just stress this: Anyone who tries to suggest that the mirror here is for Sam and Dean is clearly missing the fact that the entire point of this episode was about a BROTHER getting revenge for and mourning the loss of his BROTHER. So the Brother mirror is already well established at the start of the episode.

But Cesar? Cesar is all Cas. He’s the “foreigner” supporting his partners revenge quest regardless of his own desires. Hell, even their names are similar. Besides, their entire relationship was a lesson for the audience in how to recognise body language. All those shoulder squeezes and longing stares? Destiel was all over Jesse and Cesar. I have no doubt in that.

But if that didn’t swing it for you how about this lovely canon pairing?

(x)

The fandom coined “DreamHunter” pairing between Claire Novak and Kaia Nieves was built completely on famous Destiel moments. Longing looks, pledges of protection, “I’ll go with you”, saving each other, trying to go back for each other, mourning the others death… Dreamhunter was also still completely subtextual until recently when Jody Mills stated “First love strikes quick” a simple sentence, and it was confirmed as canon in the show.

Here’s a handy post of how dreamhunter was built on a Destiel framework:

http://bluestar86.tumblr.com/post/179549508598/tinkdw-first-love-strikes-quick-to-lose-it

Other than these obvious pairings above, there are literally hundreds of character mirrors used throughout the show’s 300 episode run so far which are put in place by the writers and the crew specifically to indicate some deeper meaning to the overall lead character emotional arcs. This has been common and frequent in the show throughout its long history. The above examples are just the most obvious ones related to either Sam and Dean or Dean and Cas. Almost every episode of this show includes character mirrors in some way or another. Character mirrors specifically linking to Dean and Cas have been particularly frequent throughout Carver and Dabb era (practically every episode in season 8 had a tragic human x immortal creature love story for example).

So for ANYONE to argue that we are seeing mirrors where they don’t exist? Well, those people are straight up wrong. I don’t care who they are, or whether they have some status within fandom or if they are just some asshole on the internet, unless the denial of character mirrors is coming from the writers or the directors of the episodes, they are wrong.

Which leads me nicely to this:

My reason for writing this long meta post was because of this. Simple enough right? We got three kids in 14x13. One is a tall nerdy boy who just seems to radiate with the same aura as Colin Morgan’s young Sam Winchester. One is a fiery young lady called Max, who wears a plaid jacket and has a shy crush on her friend - she also gets behind the seat of the Impala at one point as if that wasn’t obvious enough. The other girl Stacy we don’t know much about, other than that she is quiet, pretty, with dark hair and clearly the object of Max’s affections.

When I first watched this episode with @tinkdw and this scene came up we both didn’t even have to think about it. It was so clear to us. Nice one SPN, we see what you did there. The framing, the characters personalities, the coded clothing... there wasn’t a doubt between us that this was framed intentionally, and in a scene literally moments before Cas comes home to his family.

It was supposed to be simple, no big deal. Yet another Destiel mirror among the mountain of Destiel mirrors the show has already given us. Its not even anywhere near as impactful as one of the character mirror pairings previously mentioned in this post. Yet it was enough to cause such a huge wank storm on Twitter and have BNF accounts start a parade of abuse and blame towards meta writers for even DARING to consider that Destiel mirrors may exist AT ALL in this show, let alone with author intent!

Colour me effing surprised.

If ANYONE tries to tell ANY Destiel shipper that they don’t have a right to see character mirrors in the show, to believe that there is author intent, to SHAME them for seeing those mirrors in queer pairings specifically. You go right ahead and block those people. Because their opinions are their own no matter how much they may scream like they have some kind of authority. They don’t.

No one has any authority over the way you interpret the media you enjoy. Even me.

Don’t forget that.

So my point on this post was basically to say this.

You go right ahead and keep looking for character mirrors in SPN, because they have been intentionally included in the show since its humble beginnings. Destiel mirrors are a huge part of that. You are NOT wrong for seeing them.

Max and Stacy in 14x13 were just the latest in a long line of Destiel specific character mirrors in a show renowned for using character mirrors to the point that it has textually given its audience A. Lesson. In. How. To. Spot. Character. Mirrors.

I am not making this shit up.

At the end of the day, by believing the mirrors are intentional, and what makes this post controversial, is that it means I am telling you that TPTB are intentionally providing us with romantic Destiel subtext.

Well, that is exactly what I am saying. Because they are. There is no doubt about this. You don’t fill your show to the brim with romantic tropes, romantic character mirrors and an underlying romantic narrative C plot for at least 4 seasons without having some intentional desire to potentially make this thing an actual thing.

You just DON’T.

The writers know what the hell they are doing. They want to keep Destiel an option for endgame, so they keep it going throughout the show. Whether or not they eventually make it textual to a point that a general audience can’t deny its existence is another story, because that’s the kind of thing that need a green light from the CW suits.

But the writers, the creators of the show, everyone involved to an extent, they all know what they are doing. Anyone who at this stage would deny author intent regarding Destiel loses all my respect because frankly its insulting to the creators themselves. No one is so idiotic that they would make something look unintentionally romantic for 10 years.

The mirrors are real. Destiel is real. The creators of SPN continue to include it so they can keep it an option for endgame because (and this is the part I don’t know for sure but can at least guess because I don’t consider the entire writing team to be asshole queerbaiters) they want to make it canon as much as we want it to be canon.

Whether they actually CAN or not is the issue at this point. The debate on whether or not we “are reading into things” has been null and void since season 12. It was practically null and void since season 8 TBH.

So keep looking out for the Destiel mirrors (and the Sam and Dean mirrors and any other character mirrors you may pick up on) and you go right ahead and post and speculate and tweet and blog and do whatever the hell you want to do to voice your opinion on the topic because NO ONE has the right to police what you see in the show - especially when it has already been proven to be clearly intentional on the part of the creative team.

Finally I will leave you with this humble message from our “overlord” in case my post hasn’t already swayed you away from negative thinking and believing the deniers:

Thanks for reading. :)

482 notes · View notes

mintchocolateleaves · 5 years

Text

Locked Out The Other Side (1/?)

Summary: At the end of the day, Jake isn’t brave, or an adventurer. He wants to be, but he is not. He is just a sixteen-year-old boy who wants to go home, Or, on Earth-C, Jake can't find himself settling down in the same way others do. So, he decides to head somewhere that seems more like home. His own, personal adventure.

Notes: You guys KNEW THIS WAS COMING. I mention reading HS, you all should have known. Okay so essentially, I love Jake. I wanna write a lot for him. If tumblr’s being a pain then here’s an [AO3 Link]

Jake isn’t exactly sure what he’s expecting the moment he opens his eyes, but honestly, it’s not this. He’s not expecting to wake up halfway across the tiny village they now call home, with goosebumps on his arms and eyes staring up at the stars. He’s pretty sure he should be back in his new room, the one that’s bare of any movie posters, and not in the cold of the evening.

Although really, he says that it’s cold, but frankly, it’s not that much. Not really.

Sure, goosebumps are rising up his skin, but that doesn’t mean he’s not comfortable, lying here and staring up. It’s nice knowing that he’s one of the reasons these stars exist now, except, well, not really, he didn’t really do anything and Jake knows that and-

Oh.

Maybe lying down here looking up at the stars isn’t so comfortable after all.

He pushes himself up, blinks as he rubs at his eyes and checks to see if his phone is in his pocket. In the past, he used to text mainly with his skull-top helmet, but now that seems kind of… silly. And impractical.

Nowadays it’s just him and his phone, and honestly, Jake is surprised when pushing into his pocket shows that he does, in fact, have his phone on him. For a moment it was a little nice to think maybe, in the depths of the evening, it had been just him.

Still, his phone is here, still mostly charged, and so he takes the opportunity to check Pesterchum. He wouldn’t want to be ignoring anybody, because honestly, he’s probably a bit too skilled at ignoring people and that’s not a skill he should be condoning.

Honestly, he shouldn’t be surprised that there are none.

He scrolls down and there are messages from the day before, all of them answered in quick succession because else the same tightness in his chest would return. A message from John mentioning how they’re hosting a movie night and wouldn’t it be cool if Jake joined them? A quick hello from Roxy asking if he was going to explore a little bit with her, Jane and Dirk.

Both rejected.

It’s not that Jake doesn’t want to watch any movies, but the idea of getting together in a big group kind of leaves him feeling kind of… strange. Like, he’d probably be so focused on not making a huge fool of himself that he’d end up making a fool of himself – and even then, he wouldn’t even be watching the movie.

He’d told John maybe another time. Maybe they could watch movies with just the two of them? He kind of thinks that’d be nice.

And the whole Roxy exploration idea? Gee, it’d be cool and all, he’s always loved exploring but well. Jane hates him, and Dirk was so mad at him when they broke up and honestly, most days he thinks Roxy’s only being nice to him because she’s like, pitying him and just being polite.

His phone buzzes.

-- gardenGnostic [GG] began pestering golgothasTerror [GT] at 04:21 --

GG: hi jake!!!

GG: couldnt sleep either huh

GT: Not really.

GG: that sucks :(

GG: i cant really sleep either so i was just tending to the plants were growing

GG: have you been to the green house yet

GT: Not yet.

GG: its pretty cool im growing pumpkins again

GG: remember in our letters how i was always losing pumpkins

GG: i recently found out that it was roxy who was taking them shes really cool :)

GT: Yeah.

GG: hey jake are you okay you dont seem okay :(

GT: Gosh jade i didn't mean to worry you!!

GT: I'm actually feeling quite merry right now!

GT: I woke up because it's a bit chilly in here so i'm going to get nice and toasty and head back to sleep.

GT: Sorry i can't stay and talk but an adventurer needs his sleep you know!!

GT: until tomorrow jade!

-- golgothasTerror [GT] ceased pestering gardenGnostic [GG] at 04:24 --

GG: ok

GG: :(

GG: im worried about you jake

GG: ill talk to you tomorrow

-- gardenGnostic [GG] ceased pestering golgothasTerror [GT] at 04:31 ----

Jake slips his phone back into his pocket, pushing himself up so he can hug his knees. Now that he’s firmly not looking at the sky and the stars, he’s staring out past their village, to the trees that seem to loom over them.

He’s not sure whether they loom because they’re so large, or whether it’s because recently he’s been feeling pretty small.

Jake isn’t entirely sure, but he doesn’t really think the difference is that large anyway, so not knowing is fine. Adventurers don’t mind not knowing things, and Jake is an adventurer, even if he’s not really been doing much of that recently.

Breathing out a sigh, he blinks again.

Funny how since they’ve come to Earth-C they’ve all pretty much stayed in the same area. Sure, they adventure out sometimes – like Roxy and the others, they’d been fine with looking around the immediate vicinity – but he doesn’t think that they’ve gone any further than a few miles.

Maybe because they’ve got a home here, and there’s no point searching for anything else when they’ve already got that.

The only thing is, with the busyness of this entire place, the amount of people – human, troll or carapace – Jake doesn’t really consider this place to be home. He’s got a room, and he’s got his own space, but home isn’t…

Home isn’t this.

It is secluded, hidden away on an island that is purely his. It’s overgrown vines and mystic ruins, isolation and seclusion. It’s having the space to be on his own without ever feeling like he’s trying to hide away.

Disappearing is something Jake’s been trying to do recently. He’s not altogether good at it, but he’s not bad at it.

Really, it’s not that he wants to disappear, but rather: Jake wants what he’s wanted since their session ended, since it even began, and that’s just… to go home. Earth C is so foreign to what he’s used to, that most days he thinks that maybe everything he’s remembering is gone for good.

Actually, that isn’t a half bad idea.

If it’s impossible to feel settled here, in his bare room and isolated state, nervousness swimming through him – then why doesn’t he try to find the home he remembers? This new earth is similar in a lot of ways, so he reckons he could find at least something resembling the pacific island he’d lived on.

And if he can find it, then surely, he can… settle there.

It’s not like this place is really tying him down. He doesn’t know most of the people living here well enough to be tied to them, and those he does know? Roxy, Jane, Dirk…

Well, then they have their space from him. He wouldn’t want the lot of them to be anymore pestered by him than they already have.

It’d be an adventure.

And adventurer would definitely go for it. They’d map out the lands they explored, take note of the terrains as they search for the treasure that they’re certain is out there. They’d explore everything, they’d see places that they’d never been before and goddammit, maybe Jake hasn’t been an adventurer in a while but he-

He kind of wishes he could be one now.

He wishes he believed in himself enough to be one, to take that first step and grab everything he needs, to let everyone know that he’s going to find something great, past this village that they’re trying to raise. Jake wishes he was brave enough for that.

But he’s come to realise that honestly, he feels more like a fake, feels more like a coward than anyone brave, so he doesn’t. He doesn’t have the courage to let everyone know, to be an adventurer who gets to go on some sort of quest.

At the end of the day, Jake isn’t brave, or an adventurer. He wants to be, but he is not.

He is just a sixteen-year-old boy who wants to go home.

And that want is all he needs to decide to head out in search of it. It is not an adventure. It’s not some miraculous journey for him to find himself, or anything. It’s just Jake, and his head, and the thought that maybe things will feel a little better when he’s home.

It is a bright morning, the skies holding no clouds in sight, and Roxy Lalonde is ready for action.

She’s got a lot of plans in action for today, actually, because the sun is bright and although she’s late to push herself out of bed, she’s got things to do.

Most of the things are similar to yesterday. Help build a little more of the village up, help Jane with some baking, spend some time drawing with Callie. But today – today Roxy has a brand-new plan that she’s been musing over for a while.

Well, it’s more something she’d tried in a different way before, but today she’s pushing the issue. No longer will she skirt around it.

Roxy is going to find a way to bring their friendship group together again.

She’s been trying to subtly bring them altogether for a while now, and frankly, it’s been harder than she’d expected. Well – not really. The motion has been mostly a success.

Callie has integrated into the group easily enough, which has been amazing. And Jane has become much more comfortable talking with Dirk again, which is even better, because Roxy had been lowkey worried that their mutual affections would cause some bittersweet rivalry.

And Roxy herself, has managed to get over the big, awkward crush she’d tried to force onto Dirk in the past, managed to move past to a point where their conversations don’t seem as strained anymore.

There’s only one person that they’re missing and that’s Jake.

Roxy isn’t a fool, she knows when someone is dodging her attempts to bring everyone together, and Jake has been doing just that. He’s kind of a shut-in to be honest, turning down all of her promises for adventure before she even has the chance to emphasise how awesome they’re going to be.

But enough is enough.

Today is the day.

Roxy’s got her game on and she’s going to drag Jake out on an adventure with them today, whether he wants to or not. Even if he throws a tantrum and the entire day goes horribly for it, she doesn’t care.

They’re going to hang out because how else are they supposed to get over all the things they’ve said and done to each other as a group. She won’t let him remain idle while the rest of the universe moves on.

No throwing away of friendships today, no, no.

Jake lives near the end of the village, on the side nearer to the river than the forest. It’s not that far a distance from where Roxy herself lives, so she settles on walking, letting her kitten, Frigglish the second, pad along beside her for some exercise.

“Let’s go get Jake,” she says to the cat, leaning down to run her fingers through soft fur, grinning as the cat follows beside her. “This is going to be so, frickin’ sweet.”

-- tipsyGnostalgic [TG] started pestering gutsyGumshoe [GG] at 11:05 --

TG: janey

TG: adventrue today!!!

TG: *adventure

TG: be ready okay

GG: Alright, see you soon! :B

GG: Cupcakes?

TG: hells yeah <3

-- tipsyGnostalgic [TG] stopped pestering gutsyGumshoe [GG] at 11:09 --

-- tipsyGnostalgic [TG] started pestering timaeusTestified [TT] at 11:10 --

TG: di-stri!!!

TG: ur adventurin wit/ us today right??

TG: u cant say no

TT: If I can’t say no, then isn’t the answer yes?

TG: exactly!!

TG: see u there

-- tipsyGnostalgic [TG] stopped pestering timaeusTestified [TT] at 11:14 --

-- tipsyGnostalgic [TG] started pestering golgothasTerror [GT] at 11:15 --

TG: jakey-boiii

-- golgothasTerror is now an idle chum! --

TG: dammit jake

TG: were draggin you out of isolation

TG: this is a prison break

TG: we wont take no for an answer

-- tipsyGnostalgic [TG] stopped pestering golgothasTerror [GT] at 11:16 --]

“You know what Frigglish the second,” Roxy says, glancing down at her cat as it pads along beside her, coming to a stop just outside the door to Jake’s house. “I think this adventure is going to be pretty epic.”

Frigglish the second lets out a small mewl that Roxy takes as agreement. Then, he lets out a second mewl that’s a slightly different pitch. Roxy implies the meaning to be one of, knock on the door already.

Roxy does.

Knuckles rapping on the door, she offers three sharp knocks, waiting for the any signs of life behind the door. She doesn’t know much about Jake’s sleeping habits recently, but she doesn’t think he’d still be asleep at eleven in the morning. He’d always seemed like more of an early bird.

“Jake!” She knocks again, this time, several more raps echoing a jingle she remembers enjoying before they’d played Sburb. “Jakey, open the door, we’re going on an adventure!”

Jake does not open the door.

Fine, if he wants to play things that way, Roxy thinks, then she’ll just up her game. She’s not a rogue of the void for nothing.

Closing her eyes, Roxy visualises the object she wants in her mind, fingers tingling slightly as she tries to bring the object into existence. It doesn’t take too long until she feels the object plop into her hand, corporeal and weighty.

“Last chance Jake,” Roxy calls, opening her eyes again. There is no movement. “Fine, I’m coming in.”

Taking the object she’s conjured, she lifts it up to the door handle. It’s a key, brass coloured, and it fits within the hole almost as if it were the real thing. Maybe because with her powers, it pretty much is.

The door unlocks with a faint click, and Roxy pushes it open, wincing slightly at the creak. Jake’s really got to put that on his to-do list, creaks like that belong in a horror movie or something.

“Jake?”

She searches through the rooms individually, glancing around. Some areas are messier than others, but most importantly, they’re all empty. No life in sight other than Roxy and her cat.

Jake is gone.

#homestuck #jake english #jade harley #dirk strider #dirkjake #jane crocker #roxy lalonde #mywriting #Fic: Locked Out The Other Side

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coinofstone · 5 years

Text

Mint Condition 14x04

If you follow me on the tweety you’ll know that I made a pathetic attempt at a full season re-watch starting in like… September. I got as far as the end of S5 before S15 began, but given my severe case of swiss cheese brain I decided to pause the full series re-watch there and pick up at 14x01. I figured it’ll be faster to get through S14 for a refresher and then go back to S6. Shut up my logic makes sense to me. ANYwho, Mint Condition is probably my second favorite episode of S14 and definitely an overall series stand out for me - even tho I did have terrible nightmares after the first time I watched it. That fuckin dummy was goddamn terrifying and my subconscious was REALLY GODDAMNED SURE he was going to kill me in my sleep. I’m happy to report i had zero issues sleeping after watching it this time. :) Altho watch I just jinxed myself, since I am gonna watch again as I write this to pull quotes and screens. You can tell I’ve been looking up recipes cuz theres a massive intro nobody gives a shit about before I get to the point of the post. NEVER FEAR! The good bits are under the cut.

Let me just start by pointing out that while I do believe that Stuart is a mirror for Cas, The whole toxic fanboy/incel/chan troll shtick isnt reflective of Cas as a person in the way we (I) would normally judge someone like that. I’m not sure if it’s because Davy actually sympathizes with and sees no harms in humanizing those people, or if it was for the fun of playing with a character like that, but there certainly are some parallels there - in the sense that even within his own community he’s a misfit, rebellious, and argumentative. either way, the trench coat is pretty damning.

Girl Sam comments that the store had been left to her and Dirk, but Stuart had been fired twice, the previous owner kept catching him stealing. But they hired him back because “he’s my friend”. That forgiveness, Stuart’s bad choices and lack of ‘impulse control’ it’s all reflective of Cas, even though it paints Cas in an unnecessarily negative light, on the surface it’s arguable but not entirely wrong. When Stuart pulls out the Panthro toy, his response is: “so angry, so handsome” and damn if that doesnt describe Dean lol.The fact that the first thing we see him do is steal this handsome, angry figure from the place it was sent is just another Dean detail.

Hey you know who else got stabbed in the gut like that and almost died?

These two are the strongest mirror in the ep. Bonding over candy, shared fashion sense and a love of horror flicks, Dirk tells Dean (those names) that he wants to ‘watch over’ Stuart while he is unconscious, and that despite his rough edges, Stuart has been there for him, giving him a place to crash and escape his shitty father. Which, I mean, this is heavy handed as fuck, presumably to make sure the GA doesn’t miss it, but seriously all this kid needs is an American classic muscle car and a love of Led Zeppelin.

This where I

curse my inability to gif because it’s the sublest of moments here but when Dirk asks Dean which of the All Saints Day movies is his favorite, Dean throws a quick glance over his shoulder, as if to make sure nobody is listening. He’s so used to hiding this side of himself, the nerd, the fanboy, that even though he’s a grown ass man that regularly kills supernatural evils, he instinctively looks around real quick to make sure he won’t get caught having this conversation. It’s heartbreaking, and I think, attributable entirely to Jensen - but that’s entirely spec on my part. He does this three times in this scene, before finally getting comfortable and enjoying Dirk’s company. Jesus you’d think he was engaging in some kind of elicit trade the way he’s got his head on a swivel. Poor thing.

“growing up it was always nice to check out for while… I like to watch movies where I know the bad guys’s gonna lose.” Dean’s preferred method of escapism is relatable, sure, but he’s also point blank telling us right here, WHY he’s been hiding out in his room watching these movies, he’s self-soothing. He’s just revealed that he was awake and drowning the entire time he was possessed by Michael, he doesn’t know why he was ‘released’ but he knows he came home to find a ‘house full of strangers’. The fact that his self care at this point is pizza, beer and movies the way he did as a kid rather than cheap whiskey, the way we’ve seen him do as an adult, probably speaks volumes to how actually affected he really is.

Dean being the one to wrestle with the father figure - the owner of the store who taught them everything they know before his death, leaving them the business to run and then possessing the lifesize figure of a mechanic who’d been literally burned in order to get revenge on the one who’d been stealing from them - I hate the idea of a John vs Cas parallel and I don’t think it was intended to go that deep, but there’s no denying a paralell between the ghost of Jordan and John.

The thread on these two, in my opinion, is a little thin. Beyond the ‘ha ha Sam’s a girl’ joke, and their shared science nerd bit here, the main thing really is that even though the store was left to Sam AND Dirk, it seems like Sam is the defacto leader. She’s the one we see dealing with the incoming delivery, she’s the one behind the counter, and she’s the one who called Stuart to call him out on their one star yelp review. At this point in the season, Sam Winchester is the defacto leader of the new hunter collective he’s inadvertently assembled by way of rescue hunters from Apocalypse World. She also demonstrates Sam’s usual ‘lore’ skills, figuring out that it’s the keys that the ghost is most likely tied to, and finding a chemical in the morgue to use as an accelerant to help rescue Dean. That’s literally all I’ve got on them two.

This is random, but the significance of that poster has been bugging me since the live airing of this ep. I do not understand that reference and it’s driving me bonkers, so if anyone does, PLEASE TELL ME.

🙃 I really hope I don’t have nightmares tonight. That mask on the dummy is fucking horrible.

#supernatural #spn meta #spn 14x04 #spn mint condition #spn s14 #destiel positive #spn spoilers #spn #i really fucking hate tags #supernatural 14x04 #not proofread #a year late but still good #ok i give up #fuck tags #character parallels #MetaCoin

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ironforgedrp · 5 years

Photo

♛ NICHOLAS LANNISTER

↳ details; male, 30, 476 AC. ↳ status; heterosexual, single, no children. ↳ face claim; Bradley James. ↳ hails from; Casterly Rock, the Westerlands. ↳ loyalty; House Lannister, The King, The Knight’s Code.

↳ title; Commander of the Lannister Armies, Lord of House Lannister of Casterly Rock. ↳ religion; Faith of the Seven (privately, atheist). ↳ spoken languages; the common tongue, bastard Valyrian, High Valyrian. ↳ reason for being in sunspear; to resume his duties as well as closely support his brother and King.

♛ PERSONALITY

↳ type; ISTJ-T (logistian). ↳ alignment; lawful neutral. ↳ star sign; leo. ↳ positives; loyal, forthright, honorable, intelligent, brave, disciplined. ↳ negatives; ruthless, detached, reckless, sarcastic, asocial, cynical.

♛ BIOGRAPHY

↳ family lineage.

Born in Casterly Rock to Lord Tristifer of House Lannister and Lady Alyson, made Nicholas the middle child; second right after Arryk, their father’s Golden Lion, and before Lysella, their family’s Golden Flower and the apple of their mother’s eyes. Though being the second son should have allowed Nicholas more freedom than what was granted to his brother, this was not the reality. From a very young age, Lord Tristifer showed him just how hard and difficult of a man he actually was. A man obsessed with raising House Lannister and upholding the pride of their House thought of both of his sons as assets; Arryk was the perfect heir, already groomed to their father’s liking, and that for Nicholas meant that he was destined to be more involved in other fields. On all accounts, Lord Tristifer had always been particularly cruel on Nicholas, for, from a remarkably young age, Nicholas showed exceptional talent in the art of the swordsmanship. From an early age, he seemed to be rather reckless and unhinged, and he would often wander outside the castle’s walls, seeking adventure, completely disregarding any potential threat the outside world held for a small child; a strong-willed, hard to bend young boy despite his father’s harsh treatment. He was sent away to the Lannister barracks to be trained as a soldier from the tender age of six, where he was exposed to danger, death, and injury far sooner than most children ever were; learning how to yield sword and bow, dirks, hammers, short swords, and the cudgel. He was often sent to live amongst the wild in the forests with the troops, and sometimes on his own; every slight error was cruelly punished, leaving him out in the snow and rain to fend for himself, sometimes with no food, testing his willpower and mettle. But Nicholas was of strength immeasurable and possessed a fiery spirit. He persevered, proving himself a proper soldier time and time again; not of fear of the punishment, but out of the sheer will to not yield to whatever was thrown at him. It was not long before he was sent to train with the Golden Cloaks, joining them in battle and jousting tournaments around the capital. There, he became Squire to the Commander of the Royal Army himself, and he traveled with the troops, spending a couple of years on the Night’s Watch, fighting beyond the wall and undergoing many months of extensive (and expensive) training.

Even whilst training at the barracks, he was rarely home and he grew quite distant from his family. Always caring and worrying about them, but not really knowing them especially as the years passed with him seeing them no more than a couple of times a year. Even when allowed to be home, his father would always make sure to treat him not as a young lad, but as a knight in training, demanding of him no less than perfect discipline and dedication to the craft of war; for he was one day to command the Lannister armies himself, and there was no room for neither childish, foolish toyings, nor for affections that would soften his character. Any attempts of Lady Alyson to grow closer to her estranged son would be met by annoyance from her husband, and she would find her son no more interested either; Nicholas thought of them to be foolish and unnecessary, having become unaccustomed to such treatment. Though he cared deeply for his siblings, having not once received any sort of soft treatment from his father or built any sort of a relationship with him, and though he respected the man, he held no particular feelings for him, either. The only person that could ever truly soften his heart, was (and still somehow is) his little sister, Lysella.

Nicholas spent his years following his training on the battlefronts; always traveling, always fighting; a man forged from blood and iron, he has served the Lannister clan, and then, the crown, all his life, dedicating every minute of his existence to protecting the realm. During the Dothraki “invasion”, he remained vigilant and gallant, protecting the ruling Lord and the city fiercely; for his many accomplishments, he was granted Knighthood long before the moment his brother was crowned King. His travels and quest often found him at the Night’s Watch, where he spent quite a lot of time. It was there where news of his brother becoming King reached him. Though he was soon to congratulate his brother in person, he was gone just as quickly. And again it was away that news of Lord Tristifer’s passing reached him, but he did not rush to his family’s home. The weight of inheriting the title of Lord of Casterly Rock only then becoming apparent to him. However, news of Lady Alyson being appointed regent did not bother nor concern him at all; for Nicholas has never been groomed to fit into this role. Though well educated and skilled in politics, to fight wars was what he was meant for, not to rule his House. Regardless, he has maintained his position as Commander of the Lannister Armies and has been and service in his brother’s command ever since, protecting the realm to his best of his ability, bravely, selfishly; and even though he is a Lannister to the bone, he is religiously dedicated to the code of chivalry and honor his Knighthood demands and would willingly give his life to protect the weak and innocent. He follows his code closely, sworn to fight fairly and honorably and obey his lieges.

↳ personality.

Nicholas is powerful, and he knows it. He’s a true-born leader and is notoriously exceptional at all that he sets his mind to. A cruel but fair (in some ways) underboss, he protects the crown and the people and systematically destroys anyone who hurts them. He is the epitome of quiet power. He’s calculating and observant. Every action he takes is meticulously planned; every step he takes is accounted for; and every possibility is weighed; and thus, he has not once in his military career been on the losing side; however, in the throes of battle, he can be reckless; rough; his sword unforgiving, merciless. A beast of a fighter, Nicholas’ is cold in his interactions with people he holds no respect for; he loathes idle chats and believes them a waste of time. He is cynical and detached, difficult to approach. Prideful, and strong in body and spirit, he is dedicated to the Code, body and soul, and spends day and night working, hard, constantly, always on alert.

↳ the splitting of the kingdoms.

After the latest developments in the political scene and the Kings and Queens being called to Sunspear to attend the summit, Nicholas once again left his second in charge to withdraw to the Night’s Watch for a few weeks’ time before returning to join his family and support his brother and King. Being of Lannister blood, he deeply favors his brother being King and though latest developments have led to rather complex political schemes and developments, he remains in good faith of his brother being a capable King and leader, though that does not mean that should the need arise he will not take whatever action deemed necessary to ensure that both of his siblings, and nephew, won’t be harmed in any way.

♛ STATUS: TAKEN

#cheryl.#house lannister.#taken.#taken male.#bradley james fc #westerlands.

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robottattooartist · 5 years

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Dirk: Process

It had been one day since Rose had been found. He had resisted the temptation to tear straight through the air and leave a perfectly straight line of absolute destruction in his wake to meet her. He had resisted the temptation to ask to see her immediately. He had done everything in his power to stop himself from grabbing her and holding her tight and never, ever let her go again. And it was one of the hardest things he ever had to do.

Dirk paced through the Fortress. His arms were folded behind his back. His pace was quick, steady, and firm. His fingers were digging into his arms. There were day old cuts and scrapes and bruises on his arms, knuckles, and legs from the robot fight he’d done last night to begin processing these emotions. God, all these emotions. Trepidation. Fear. Hope. Joy. Anger. There was another couple in there he wasn’t too familiar with and he wasn’t sure he knew the words to accurately describe them. Was there a word for “Trying to cover up the feeling that he’d been missing his ectodaughter by trying to gain the favor of every Rose that fell into his gaze and now there were a Bouquet around him while his Rose now stood at the center and what was he supposed to do with all these fucking Roses now?”? He’d probably have to make one. He also silently congratulated himself for creating the word for multiple Roses.

He was in the biosynth lab now. His mind continued to race. He was barely aware of where he was.

He wanted to see her. Touch her. Confirm she was real. Confirm she was His. Confirm that his madness had not reached a peak, causing him to snap, and none of this was real and he was muttering and gibbering in a padded room while Roxy watched helplessly. He ran his fingers through his hair, then patted it back into its proper style. He rubbed his chin. He kept walking.

He was by the Forge now, in the front hall. The heat of the magma caused him to sweat already. He wiped his forehead, an instinctive motion. He wasn’t even aware he was doing it.

And did Roses arrival mean something? She was the Light. She was a beacon. Was this a signal? A sign that others were to follow? Dave? Jane? Jake? Jade? What about them? Was Rose the lantern that would bring everyone out of the dark?

He was in a secret passage. He was sure Roxy didn’t know about this one, but he’d been wrong before, and if she knew it didn’t matter. Not anymore, at least. He blinked, looking around, though he didn’t lose pace. He rubbed his chin in thought.

Maybe...

Dirk was in front of a wall. Just like the rest of the Fortress, in was smooth, gray, and solid rock. Dirk took off one of his gloves, and pressed his bare hand to a seemingly random spot on the wall. His hand sank into the wall very slightly, as the false stone gave way to read the lines in his hands, the DNA in his sweat, and the precise pressure he gave. The wall opened, and he stepped inside.

The room was absolutely massive, but there was very little room to move, just a straight line that lead to a single monitor ten feet in. Every single other inch of the room belonged to probably the largest supercomputer this side of the planet. This computer had one singular process: To find everyone in any conceivable universe. He strode to the monitor, wiping the dust off the screen, and flicking it on. He looked at the data. He stared at the data. He didn’t move. He didn’t breathe.

“Three...” he whispered it under his breath. They were here. Three of them. Rose and two others. Timeline upon timeline, universe upon universe, and they never even left this planet. His hands were gripping the edge of the monitor. He didn’t remember grabbing it. Cracks splintered across the screen from his fingers. His hands trembled. Why didn’t he program the computer to tell him WHO it’d found? Why didn’t he program it to alert him when something was found? Why did he even have this if he had given up?

No. He hadn’t given up. He didn’t. He’d always hoped. The ground was a lot closer now, he realized. He’d sunk to his knees. The monitor was still in his hands, the wires connecting it to the computer straining as he’d pulled it away from its resting place. The data was barely visible, the screen was so splintered and cracked. He sighed.

He never gave up. Not really. But he had resigned himself to the fact that HE would not be the one to find them.

There was a spark, and the smell of ozone. Dirk rubbed his eyes under his shades quickly. A tiny plume of smoke rose from the now broken monitor. He took a deep breath. It was shaky. There was a large lump in his throat.

He placed the broken monitor, gently, on the floor, and stood up.

Dirk left the room. He turned to the wall as it closed behind him. He placed his hand on the same spot, but he pressed much, much harder. There was a high pitched beep, and the muffled sound of an explosion. Dust wafted from under the wall where it opened.

It had been pointless anyway. She was here now. More were here now. It was all falling into place. And he wasn’t the one to do it.

His failure was piling up, and for some reason, he didn’t feel that was so bad. He tapped the side of his shades and looked at Roses contact info. The sides of his mouth twitched upwards. He wiped at his eyes again.

#Drabble #Closed

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queerspacewhale · 5 years

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What will i do with the seasons of love?

Soooooo I went on this tangent on discord whilst listening to Rent and I had this spark of inspo.

I intend to do something properly with this, probably write a proper fanfic with this but that will have to wait for now so have the base plan dudes. And drop your opinion.

I did post the text under the pics of my original brainstorming session so If you want you can go there to read it if you don’t like

Okay this is more of an idea then a snippet but o was thinking about doing a Jake/dirk fic set during the 1980's aids epidemic in NYC, the research I've just started so things may change.

This story would most likely end in a somber note because I love making myself sad.

Dirk is an engineer, working what jobs he can. He lives with his older brother, a indie film director and photographer, who has been banned out of a couple of restaurants because of his boyfriends bickering. Who had a habit of getting into fights with folks who spite out one too many slang at them.

His other roommate is a cranky, romance author and part time waiter called Karkat.

Recently an elderly woman moved into the flat across them, bringing with her, a large, burly hound and an excitable man.

She seems to hit it off with his brother, the two often drinking tea and cracking jokes at each other. They become accustomed to her coughing fits and random fainting, helping her to her bed whenever Jade faints.

Her flat is more like a jungle covered in fauna and plants. All tended to by her and her grandson.

Jake, her grandson, is a weird fellow but nice enough, he spent most of his time backpacking across the states but as his gran's fits grew more frequent, he ended up moving with her to the concrete jungle.

He hardly has a fashion sense but he makes up for it with his quirks.

Dirk does have some trouble because of his brother reputation but he ignores it. To him, his big brother is the best and he'd rather be jobless then deal with bigots.

In about a year, his big brother gets sick. And within a month Dirk meets someone one of the other most important people of his life. A man called John. His was older but he respectful and didn't force himself into his brother's life.

He was happy in their strange relationship with Karkat and it's one of the things he chose.

Dave dies at home, while watching some shirty movies with John and Karkat. After fading away slowly, decaying internally but never losing his spark. He had simply falling asleep on the couch, and passed.

Jade dies soon after. Apparently falling down a flight if stairs but both John and Jake suspect something else. Especially since her trusted hound had vanished upon her death.

John was surprised when he saw his half sister sitting next to a sick Dave and a tired Rose, arguing with him over the importance of vegetables while one is sick.

John had falling to his knees and cried for his big sis. Apologizing for things Karkat and Dave didn't know went down.

They grandmother favored John but her distaste for Jade was deep, almost as deep as the sea itself.

Karkat and John still see each other whenever they can but John is often taken all over the state. It was on one of these trips when Karkat passes, dying in a hospital bed as John boarded the plan to see him. He was buried next to Dave. John began to use his money to fund what research he could.

And well, Dirk and Jake grow closer. Becoming good friends and Dirk begins to have feelings for Jake but never telling him, over thinking as always and keeping his feelings to himself. Years pass and they grow older and well Jake ends up seeing someone.

Dirk was distraught but he hides it well, being a good friend but also losing himself.

After a few rocky relationships, he meets two young girls at a support group, a cancer patient called Calliope and an overdose survivor named Roxy, quickly becoming close friends with the duo and entering a strange relationship with them. And well, with their help, moving away from his old apartment into their "shitty" studio.

His contact with Jake is strained but they do call from time to time, not informing him of his condition, slowly growing sicker with time.

Dirk passes the day before Jake's wedding, at his bachelors party. It was a small thing, only being them and a couple of other people but they two didn't leave the other's side.

Talking and enjoying the time they had.

As the night continued, they left their group. Ditching the other fellows and enjoying the night air.

Holding hands the entire time, they ended up on a park bench talking about what the other missed and well, just talking. Dirk was still in awe of the man, having grown into his lanky body and rocking it. Feeling his heart tighten at his friend, he didn't want this to end, he didn't want to die.

And the flood gates open, breaking into a wheezing sob in front of Jake. Rambling and rambling to him about everything. About his feelings and how he loved the other man and how he didn't want to die.

He was scared of dying.

Jake was shocked, not aware his friend was dying, and slowly he confused something as well, taking Dirk's hand and staying he too had feelings for the man, but he was afraid when he was younger. Running as he always did.

They shared their first kiss underneath the light of a lamp post and for the first time Dirk felt hopeful.

They ended up going to Dirk's hotel and cuddling, Dirk stating he was sleepy and Jake complied. Cuddling his friend.

And they two were happy.

And then Dirk drifted. And Jake woke up alone.

Also, Roxy lives, helping Calliope and using her knowledge to start a research facility with full funding from Mr.Crocker, John had been funding causes like this and actually started the support group which the trio met. Who was running that group?? A Ms.Rose Lalonde who started it after losing her brother and her Partner's best friend.

Jane at first is a bigot, believing a lot of what media said about the queer community and AIDS. But that changed when her pop got sick. Revealing his Asexuality and how he had two lovers who died to young. Wishing to be buried beside them.

#dirk strider #jake english #dave strider #jakedirk #I do this because I enjoy making myself cry #fanfic plan #Au #sadstuck #i guess #Rent got me good man #suffer ya'll #Homestuck AU #homestuck #roxy lalonde #roxy x calliope #This is what happens when I write.

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