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teawaffles · 3 years ago

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The Conspiratorial Bullet: Chapter 8 / End

“Hey, Helena. In the middle of the game, you suddenly went along with that guy and disappeared — where on earth did you go?”

“Hmm…… Explaining it would be a real pain. Just imagine what you like.”

The girl groaned in annoyance. “……Can’t you just tell me? Meanie.”

After the game had ended with the blue team’s victory, as he observed Helena and her former friend’s conversation from a distance, Bond spoke to William.

“Those two sure have gotten closer, haven’t they?”

William answered with a smile.

“Perhaps it’s like how after rain, comes fair weather.” [1]

“Though for the two of them, it must’ve been like a bolt from the blue, huh.”

After that modest exchange of proverbs, Bond wondered aloud.

“Moran-kun and I haven’t heard the details, but for now, can we consider the case closed without incident?”

“Yep; the perpetrator has been caught, and the threat to Helena and her family has been effectively eliminated.”

This time, the plan had been set up after William and the others leveraged their intelligence network to identify the criminal, and then shared the information they’d obtained with Helena. From his profile of Andy, William had read the man’s every move, then intentionally left him at large in order to catch him in the act — that was the entire flow of it. Hence, apart from the key players involved, the others had been told nothing more than that they would be “using the game to capture the criminal”.

William had put an end to it all. After hearing his report, Bond seemed satisfied.

“That’s great. To be honest, ever since I got caught up in the game, I’ve been thinking a little — that maybe, I haven’t actually done anything useful today.”

“Far from it; on the contrary, it’s because you took the game so seriously, that Andy dropped his guard and carried out his plan to frame Mr Kevin.”

“——So you’re saying the match between me and the old geezer was well and truly a serious one.”

Placing a hand on William’s shoulder, Moran joined the conversation. Behind him stood Jack and Albert.

Jack sighed in consternation.

“You’re quite persistent, you know. It was just one hit.”

Yet Moran was undeterred.

“Still, it’s a fact that I scored that hit. If it was a real bullet, you would’ve been a goner.”

“Wasn’t it because it wasn’t live that it managed to hit me……?”

Jack smiled wryly, and Albert spoke up in a cool voice.

“Furthermores, it’s an undeniable fact that you got hit right after. Isn’t that right, Colonel?”

“Ugh.”

Albert had been spot on, and the corners of Moran’s mouth twitched as he fell silent.

Having watched their exchange with amusement, William thanked them once again.

“I’m truly grateful to all of you for lending a hand today. Truthfully, it pained me to have involved everyone in catching just one criminal.”

Hearing that, Moran clapped him on the shoulder.

“As I said, we had fun, so it’s alright. In fact, it’s been a long time since we’ve fought one another all out, so I’m grateful for that.”

“Indeed: we’re also pleased to have had a showdown with Colonel Moran.”

“Now hold on just a minute. Don’t think you’ve won just because you caught me off guard once.”

Even now, Moran was still snapping at Albert. Seeing that, Jack spoke up in a grave tone.

“On the battlefield, even the slightest carelessness will cost you your life, Moran.”

“I’m well aware of the basics! Don’t give me those useless platitudes!”

Just like that, William and the others were engaged in an amicable conversation, when the parent and child who’d been the central figures of this case called out to them.

“Everyone: thank you very much for today.”

Having wrapped up her conversation with her friend, Helena thanked them in a light-hearted tone that was distinctively hers. Continuing from where she’d left off, Kevin stood beside his daughter as he gave the entire Moriarty household a deep bow.

“How can I ever thank you enough for this……?”

On behalf of all of them, Albert spoke.

“We have simply acted according to our sense of justice. In particular, Mr Kevin, I would like to apologise for not informing you of our plans.”

Kevin hastily shook his head.

“No no no; Lord Albert, you have nothing to feel guilty about: you all saved Helena’s and my lives.”

“That’s right — we’re really grateful for that. We’ll probably never forget this kindness.”

Upon hearing that inappropriate cockiness, Kevin admonished her at once.

“What’s this pomposity towards the people who’ve helped you? Also, you should be saying ‘definitely’ rather than ‘probably’……. Apologies; to have such an unpleasant exchange at this time…”

He bowed repeatedly as he said that. But suddenly, as he remained in a bow, Kevin looked up and asked a question.

“……Come to think of it, what happened to that man? It seems the other participants haven’t noticed anything at all.”

He was concerned about Andy Krueger’s fate. He had punched the living daylights out of the man, so much so he’d been knocked unconscious — that much Kevin himself knew, but as William and the others had taken care of the aftermath, he hadn’t heard the details of what happened after that.

“He’s now on one of our carriages, with Louis and Fred keeping an eye on him,” replied William. “We felt there was no need to blindly call in the police and spoil the fun.”

“I see……. Then, will he be taken to the police after this?”

Handing a criminal over to the police. That was what common sense dictated, but William deliberately tilted his head with a troubled expression.

“As much as we would like to, ……the nobility of this country wield an outsize influence, hence there is a concern that even judicial rulings will be twisted in their favour. If that were to happen, both of you may end up in harm’s way again. As such, we shall engage in careful negotiations, with the aim of preventing such things from ever happening again.”

A calm smile rose to William’s face, and unconsciously, Kevin gulped.

Normally, negotiating with a criminal outside the authority of the state would be out of the question. But William’s smile held a power that seemed almost divine, erasing all such doubts.

How would they deal with Andy after this? It was probably wiser not to probe into that. Anyway, it was true that they had saved both their lives. Best to let sleeping dogs lie.

The unfathomable nature of these young men made Kevin’s blood run cold. Then, William changed the topic.

“So, what are your plans from here on?”

Kevin lowered his gaze a little, and met his daughter’s eyes as she stood beside him.

“Just like before, I’m going to spend time with my children. As for the plans for the new store…… To be honest, I’m worried about going it alone, but I intend to do my best anyway.”

“Hmm — I have no idea how to manage a store, but my brother and I will be supporting Mr Kevin together. Even though I don’t look like it, I’m good with housework and stuff, you know.”

“……Is that so?”

At their words, William nodded, and a strange silence settled between the two parties.

Kevin and Helena were trying to appear relieved at having overcome great danger, but even so, it must’ve been an immense shock to learn that a person important to both of them had been murdered. That emotional wound had yet to heal, and now that fact revealed itself in the form of silence.

“U-Um……”

In a hurry, Helena tried to find the words to dispel the unpleasant atmosphere. Right then, Kevin raised his voice a little as he made an announcement.

“In any case, we’ll be alright. Somehow, I believe we’ll overcome this tragedy and move forward.”

Helena nodded along with his words, and William broke into a gentle smile.

“Indeed. I shall be praying for your family’s bright future.”

After those modest words of encouragement, William held out a clenched fist towards Kevin.

“Also, that punch was very satisfying.”

“Definitely. You socked him with all you had — I’ve seen you in a new light.”

Helena did a swift one-two as she shadow-boxed, and Kevin ruffled his hair in embarrassment.

“It was unbecoming of me. Though, I don’t regret it one bit.”

“Since you had the courage to pull that off, I’m sure you’ll do just fine from here on.”

“I’m honoured to hear that. Well then, I hope we meet again someplace else.”

As Kevin bid them farewell, Helena stood up straight and looked at William and the others in turn.

“To everyone in the Moriarty household: today, we are truly in your debt. We’ll never forget this kindness, definitely not.”

With an uncharacteristically polite tone, Helena expressed their gratitude once again, and both father and daughter left the scene with peaceful expressions.

As he sent them off, the eldest brother asked his younger sibling a question.

“——Well now, is this truly the end of it, William?”

A hint of the Lord of Crime — who was striking terror across the country — revealed itself in William’s expression as he spoke.

“Of course not: we still have the finishing touches left.”

At those words, the entire Moriarty household smiled in unison.

T/N: Helena’s story isn’t over just yet — there’s one final piece of the puzzle, and it’s a big one! Stay tuned x)

Footnotes:

[1] This is the literal translation of the proverb 雨降って地固まる — essentially, it means that good things do come out of bad things.

Translator’s notes

The Moriarty household

I’ve translated the phrase モリアーティ家 as “the Moriarty household” when it is used to address everyone in the Moriarty organisation, since “the Moriarty family” suggests that only the three brothers are being referred to.

#moriarty the patriot #yuukoku no moriarty #yuumori #english translation #the girl who sees rainbows

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peaky-whore · 4 years ago

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What Happens to the Heart • J. Shelby [Part One]

Pairing: John Shelby x Fem!Reader

Word count: 1,656

Warning: None

Summary: You’re the best of friends with John.

A/n: This is in your point of view. Also, I’m sorry is this doesn’t make sense, it will eventually. And there is a memory in here, so that’ll be the italics. Overall, this is just the beginning!

To say John and I were the best of friends would be an understatement, the two of us were inseparable from the day we met; wherever he was, there was no doubt I’d be right by him. Dangerous, or not.

Most of the time, though, folks thought we were in a relationship, something along those lines. Other times, we’d get ourselves into trouble, Polly - my mom also - wouldn’t be pleased to talk us out of jail. To make it short, we’d get smacked in the back of the head by our guardians whilst on the way to Watery Lane, along with lectures on how to behave, I was even told that my actions are not ladylike. They still loved us, I know that much.

Our closeness brought me unexpected feelings for the Shelby boy, and though we told each other everything - from my first kiss to his first fuck - I would never admit how I felt towards him. Especially since he found a girl he fancies. There was no way I was going to break them up, I loved him too much to do something destructive as that.

So there I sit, awaiting his arrival at the Garrison. I couldn’t even order a damn drink without him. But as minutes turned into a half hour, and that an hour, I gave up. He wasn’t coming, Martha probably needed him more than I, but as a good friend, I’m okay with that; as a secret admirer, however, I felt jealous - I just despised the thought of it - upset that he’d ditch me here.

Just as I was going to walk out, here came the handsome, blue eyed man himself. He looked to be panting.

“I’m sorry, Y/n, but Martha kept me. Sit. I have something to tell you.” He explained, hooking his arm with mine and pulling me to a secluded table. The smile he wore was one I have never seen before, so I couldn’t help but follow along and sit across from him.

The news must have been too important for drinks.

He looked at me, a smile still plastered on his flawless face, one that will most definitely be stuck in my mind for days on end. John looked like a little boy, happy that he was told he had good manners and behaviour in school, whilst really, he was quite the opposite. Except the manners, he had those covered.

I rested my arms on the table and leaned forward, impatiently waiting for him to speak. “Oh, get on with it John.” There is no way I’m playing the guessing game tonight.

“Martha, she’s with child. My child. Y/n, I’m gonna be a father.” It felt as if he’d spoken a foreign language, one I couldn’t understand but still heard. I’m sure my expression is surprised, since he waited for me to talk. I simply couldn’t.

Before he started to ask questions, I cleared my throat and threw on a forced smile. “Congratulations, John-boy. You’re a man now, I hope you know.” He let out a playful scoff and an eye roll, making us laugh.

“I’ve always been a man.” He replied, giving a smug smirk at the end. His eyes met mine for a brief moment before looking towards the shelves of liquor behind me. “I think this deserves a drink, eh?” Before I could answer him, he got up, lifted me by the arm and drug me across the nearly empty pub, and ordered us whiskey - an entire bottle to be precise.

This happened until the war broke out, boys across Europe were being sent to fight for their people, or enlisting, including John, and his two elder brothers, Arthur and Thomas. By then, Martha was pregnant with their fourth child, meaning she’d be alone for the birth of their baby girl, or boy. And she was, but Polly, Ada, Finn, and I were present, keeping her company before and after she went into labour.

It’s been four years since the boys left, leaving families behind, I know some won’t be returning, and it breaks my heart just thinking about it. There will be so many mothers, sisters, aunts, and wives without their men. And the ones that do return are going to be stuck with those God awful memories, nightmares.

Since they left, I’ve been the opposite of trouble, I’d actually gone to church with Polly and her little clan, along with Martha and her children. I prayed for the boy’s safety, that included my two elder brothers and the many cousins I have. They all meant the world to me, each of them taught me something valuable, and I couldn’t let the thought of them not coming home get the better of me, so I turned to God. Polly turned me to God.

And because so many unspeakable events happened in these long, devastating four years, all I wanted was my brothers home, and John. How I longed for him.

It must be pathetic to be falling this hard for your best friend - your now best friend’s husband - I hated how much I wanted him for myself. He’s got a beautiful wife, smart and rowdy children, there’s no way I could be that selfish. John has what he always wanted, a family of his own.

What kind of monster would try to take him away from those he cared for and loved? The question was branded into my brain and was beyond hard to ignore.

Tragedy struck when Martha fell ill, her sickness was beyond the doctors, and she was put on bed rest until it was her time to go. I couldn’t face not having her around, she and I became rather close - practically sisters - in the last few years. As time went on, she died peacefully in her and John’s shared home. Their children were heartbroken, they were young but old enough to know what death is.

Since her funeral, Polly put me on nanny duty, knowing she didn’t have time for them and the betting shop, I agreed. During the first few weeks, the children were a mess, throwing tantrums for their mother, refusing any food I cooked and bedtime. They soon got comfortable with me around more, until Polly announced she heard Germany had surrendered and all countries agreed to stop fighting until their negotiation was set.

Although I was still mourning the loss of Martha, I couldn’t be anymore happy that our boys will be coming home to us. The kids were beyond the moon that their dad was returning, and so it was the same thing all over again; they were acting up again, asking for their daddy.

I promised them soon.

Which brought us here, Birmingham train station, with loads of women and children, along with relatives of the men’s families. I held Daniel at my hip, glancing up from him telling me about his day every once in a while to see if the train was near, surely I would hear it if it were nearby.

This morning, early this morning, I would pinch myself to see if this were a cruel dream, or if it were real.

“I hear it!” Exclaimed Ada, her arms draped around Finn’s shoulders, keeping him in place so he doesn’t wander off. She gave a big smile and as if on queue, I heard the horn from a distance.

My heart rapidly pounded against my chest. It’ll be the first time in four years that I’ve seen my brothers. What scares me most is that they’ll be mad at me for not writing and telling any of them about our mother, but she made me promise not too until they got home, so I kept my word.

The train took another five minutes before it stopped in front of us, all our men were soon off once the doors opened. I searched from where I was standing for the two goofs that were my brothers, of course, not like I didn’t expect it, they stepped off with blank expressions; no look of happiness to be home.

I couldn’t help but let my tears flow. They’re not the same boys I grew up with, but men who’ve experienced more than they should whilst on the battlefield. The boys who used to be carefree and adventurous were not the men standing mere feet away from me. I secured Daniel before squeezing through the crowded train station, almost face to face with my older brothers. They looked different but I still recognized their faces.

Their cold gazes met my figure and softened. Immediately, I was embraced by both of them, sobbing onto their uniforms in no time.

“Is . . . is this real?” I asked frantically, not wanting them to disappear if I were to let go of them. They let out light chuckles and nodded.

“I’m afraid so, little sister, you can’t rid us that easy.” Mason jokes, trying to lighten up the mood, I could see his eyes searching for someone. Our mum. How am I going to tell them? It’ll be more difficult than I thought now that they’re here.

Andrew looked down at Daniel, his eyes lighting up. “Got yourself a bloke I see. Hope he’s treated you well whilst we were away.” He started to make silly faces at the boy in my arms, causing him to giggle. I shook my head, tightening my hold on him so he wouldn’t accidentally fall.

“He’s a sweetheart, but if you look closely, the boy resembles a Shelby. I’ve taken on the care of Martha and John’s lovely children since she died.” They looked at me like I sprouted two heads. “Yeah. Almost a year ago. Pestilence.”

But before another word was spoken, I was being embraced by someone else. Someone oddly familiar. Nonetheless, I wrapped my arms around them, feeling a sudden warmth, one I’d been missing more and more as the years went on.

“John.”

•••

If you enjoyed reading this, please leave a like, reblog, or comment! Feedback is welcome!

#j. shelby #john shelby #peaky blinders #john shelby x reader #john shelby x you #peaky blinders fics #my work

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good-rwbyaus · 4 years ago

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Be Careful Who You Blackmail pt. 1 / 2. | #Criminal Minds RWBY AU | mod lilac

AU Description: Based on n3b1r1us's AU Prompt where Jaune's plans usually consist of crimes. Also, Ren is the sole voice of reason because the rest of team JNPR are filthy enablers.

Cardin blackmails the wrong person. Story’s written in Cardin’s POV.

previous piece in this AU :: The Voice of Reason

Uggh. His head. Why’d it feel like he got hit with a sledgehammer or that all the blood in his body was rushing to his head? Did he fall out of bed or somethi-

Wait. Something’s wrong. It’s too windy. Wasn’t he sleeping in his tent earlier? Why was he outsi-

Cardin startled as he opened his eyes, the world upside-down as he dangled from a tree branch. Even worse was that the tree branch he was hanging from happened to be jutting past a cliffside, and underneath him was the forest of Forever Fall, cloaked in the shadow of night.

The alarming thing was that, underneath the ropes tying him like a hog, he was clad only in his boxers. No weapons, no armor, just him and the very real dangers of Remnant. Seriously, he needed to get out of here and find his way back before the Gri-

“Grrrrrrggr.”

His gaze turned directly downwards and met a pair of glowing red eyes. His throat dried up as a large vague outline peeked out of the treeline, a stalwart figure that only meant one thing in these parts.

The Grimm. An Ursa.

“Shit!” he couldn’t help but yell when the Ursa rose on its hindlegs, its attention clearly on him. Wiggling and flailing like a worm, he screamed to anyone that would listen, “Somebody. Anybody! Help!”

“You know if you keep screaming and moving, I might not be able to keep hanging onto this rope,” spoke a familiar voice.

Wasn’t that....

With dawning horror, Cardin lifted his gaze from the Ursa and spotted the last person he expected to see on the cliff. Peeking out from behind the tree he was tied to, Jaune waved his hand jauntily while holding his lifeline in his hand.

No way. Jaune didn’t have the guts to do what he was threatening. This was after all Jaune, a doormat shaped like a person. Didn’t voice a complaint despite the humiliating things he’s requested Jaune to do in exchange for not telling Ozpin about the blond’s faked transcripts. Hell, even during this trip, he was always scurrying away and hiding in the most random places in Forever Fall just to avoid him. A clear bluff.

Cardin gritted his teeth in anger and sent a sneer towards his fellow classmate.

"Jaune! When I get out of these ropes, I’m going t- AHHH!" Gravity suddenly took hold of his body, the ground closing extremely fast. His eyes closed shut as his screams rang through the night.

“Hurk.” A sudden resistance took hold as the rope around his feet pulled taut.

Realizing he’d been given a momentary reprieve, Cardin opened his eyes once more and found the Ursa was a lot closer than he’d like. Its claws groped skywards trying to reach the tasty morsel just dangling out of its reach. A warbling discontent growl echoed from its maw as he felt himself being pulled upward towards the cliff edge and met the face of his tormentor once more.

"I was really patient, you know. Ren said that bullies go away if you don't give them a reaction,” Jaune explained as he kneeled down to meet him eye-to-eye, the same innocent smile still plastered on - as if the blond hadn’t tried to send him to his death seconds earlier. "And well you just didn’t go away. So you thought to blackmail me instead.” The blond began unfurling the rope in his grip, Cardin belatedly realizing what his classmate was going to do again.

“STO-!”

He felt another jolt as he descended the cliff in freefall, screaming. Only when he felt the rope pull taut against his legs did he have the courage to open his eyes once again. He wish he hadn’t. He saw the metallic glint of the Ursa’s claws sail right past his nose, the wind of its swipes beating upon his face. He was so close to the abomination that he could smell it, a disgusting cloying mix of sugary syrup and iron. And within its eyes, he could see his brutal death reflected in its crimson hues. Even with Aura, you don’t survive an Ursa, even a Minor, without weapons and armor. "Stop lowering me Jaune! Pull me up! Pull me up! If you don’t, I’m going to-!”

What was his stupid mouth about to say?! Threatening Jaune at this point? When Jaune was already willing to go this far?!

“Jaune! Come on. We can talk it out! You know you can’t get away with this. I won’t say anything if you just st-"

"Oh. I am going to get away with this; I just haven’t gotten to that part yet,” Jaune grinned. “You know, I nearly died several times trying to find the most obscure places to hide, knowing that you and your team were looking for me, even after off hours." The blond rubbed his jaw with his free hand. “I even remember taking a couple punches for inconveniencing you too.”

The insane boy moved his hand away from his chin and snapped his fingers. “But now team CRDL has the reputation of being reckless explorers, breaking the rules to explore deeper into dangerous areas. Such a gunner, you. Even going out at night to prove your worth.” The blond sniffled a few times, hand wiping a fake tear, as if he were a proud parent watching his kid get an award.

“Not a bad result from a game of hide and seek, right?” the blond looked straight at him, grinning.

How- Him chasing Jaune through Forever Fall was part of Jaune’s plans? How many steps was Jaune thinking ahead? How long was he planning all this behind his back? How deep was he in the other boy’s schemes?! He’d always thought it a joke when people said Jaune was a brilliant tactician, but....

Cardin shivered as he felt himself being slowly pulled upwards towards the cliff again. His blood turned cold upon seeing the expression that met him, Jaune looking like the very cat that’s found a mouse to 'play’ with. He wanted to say something more to Jaune, but the fear that he’d say the wrong thing and be sent plunging to his death stayed his tongue.

“And well, as for me getting away with this...”

Jaune opened up a Scroll and revealed a screen displaying a live recording dot and a familiar blond figure talking to the rest of team JNPR at the campfire.

Cardin could only stare at the Scroll in horror.

"How?”

“You don’t have to ask where I got the body double. In any case when morning comes and roll call happens, everything’s going to think Cardin Winchester bit more than he can chew and never came back,” Jaune said solemnly. “Your team...well, your team will go on an ill-advised journey to avenge you and then disappear forever into the depths of Forever Fall. No one will ever find the bodies.”

The blond held his chest with his free hand and closed his eyes, momentarily silent.

“I’m sure Beacon Academy will provide your families the appropriate remuneration.”

This lunatic's going to kill him. And he’s not going to let off the rest of his team. His heart pounded like a jackhammer. Jaune’s seriously trying to kill him. This isn’t a joke. He’s going to die. He doesn’t want to die. No-

“Look Jaune. Jaune. Buddy. Friend. I wasn’t really going to tell Ozpin. Really. It-was-a-joke. And-”

“Yeah about that, I'll admit those forgeries weren’t my greatest work,” Jaune scratched his chin in bemusement. “They look good at first glance and even at second glance, but well it was my first time, and I might’ve overdone it when I realized it might give me a chance to meet my idol.”

“But there’s no good excuses for poor work, and I really have a reputation to keep,” Jaune stated sincerely before looking at him straight in the eyes, expression as serious as death.

This didn’t seem quite right. Wasn’t Jaune scared about being expelled from Beacon? When did this becom-

Jaune must’ve seen the surprise in his eyes because the blond laughed.

“Oh. You were thinking Professor Ozpin would expel me for something like a fake transcript?” Jaune laughed, “After I made it this far? After showing I can learn and become a great tactician and leader? When there’s students from Beacon who’ve never been to any sort of combat academy at all? As far as I’m concerned...”

“He’d probably give me extra credit if he knew,” Jaune bared a toothy grin. “Cardin, the only reasons why I let you blackmail me was because I didn’t need to be known as someone who did shoddy work and that I didn’t want my peers thinking I cheated the system to get in. Even if I totally did.”

“Wow. What a funny misunderstanding. But... well now we’re here, “ Jaune shrugged, “Though one of us won’t be shortly.”

His heart skipped a beat, alarm bells ringing in his head. His breath turned unsteady as he tried not to succumb to the growing panic and horror; he thought he had Jaune figured out, only to find he’d been provoking a complete psychopath all along.

“Look. Jaune. I won’t say anything at all. I won’t bother you ever again. I’ll do whatever you want. I’ll clean your clothes. I’ll clean your team’s clothes. I’ll pay y-”

“Your offer sounds really good,” Jaune held a hand up as he interrupted, “but I’m the type to get rid of trouble before it festers. I mean, if I get rid of you and your team now, I don’t have to worry about having my reputation smeared in the future. Don’t worry, Cardin. I’ll make sure you have company.” The blond began unwinding the rope from his arm again, “Bye Card-”

“NO! Please! I don’t wanna die. My mom and dad are waiting for me back home. Ihaven’tmade a name for myself. Please! Idonwanttodieireallywanttolive. illwalkyourdog. ill make pancak-” The incoherent blabbling wasn’t something he could help, the words forming faster in his head than his mouth could say them. The tears and nose dripped down his face and forehead as he tried everything to appease this demon from hell. Pride - who needed pride at this point - just as long as he could stay alive!

As he babbled continuously, the blond boy just hummed as if considering his words.

“illbeatupwhoeveryouwant. illbeyourlackey. illfetchyouyourlocker. please don’t kill m-”

“Hmmm,” Jaune tilted his head, “Okay.”

“and I’ll- Huh?” He couldn’t help but drop his jaw in surprise, his brain screeching to a halt at that simple single utterance. After all this talk about killing him, was- was Jaune seriously going to let him go?

“Oh, you’d rather the Ursa have you? Well if that’s the cas-

“No!”

The blond smirked in amusement.

“Alright. I’ll let you go for now. But remember, if you speak a word about this or the other thing to anyone else...”

“I won’t. I swear. I’ll-” He was definitely going to stay far away from the clearly unstable blond if he could help it. No one can pay him enough t-

“Just remember, I can get to you at any time. It might be eaten by an Ursa today,” Jaune whimsically said, “It could be maimed by a disgruntled bunny-eared Faunus tomorrow. Well. Good night.”

“Good nigh-? Urgkurguurugurg.”

His body spasmed uncontrollably as something struck into the back of his neck. And then he knew no more.

#criminal minds RWBY AU #jaune arc #rwby au #cardin winchester #and no not Neo #rwby fanfic #mod lilac

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elfy-elf-imagines · 4 years ago

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Cruel Summer | Orophin

Pairing: Orophin x Human!reader

Genre: Angst with some fluff at the end

Warnings: Heartbreak; unrequited feelings...??

Words: ~5,222 (oh boy is it a long one)

Note: If you’d like to be added to a tag list for any of my works, there’s a link on my page! I hope you all enjoy this one, it was a real treat to write! ♡

“I didn’t realise a forest could be so beautiful,” you whispered, staring in awe at the towering trees that shined like silver. The night sky was nothing new to you, nor the moon and the stars, yet they seemed more captivating in Lothlorien than anywhere else. The moon burned as bright if not brighter than the sun, illuminating everything in its silvery glow. Stars dotted the sky, glistening like bright torches in a dark room.

Lothlorien had been beautiful during the day time, the golden leaves so vibrant and unreal, you could swear someone painted them. You’d thought that beauty would be unmatched until night fell. Everything once golden and blinding is now soft and silver, the trees glittering like fine jewels. And it was perfect, the inner peace and calm Lothlorien brought to you was unmatched.

The sound of footsteps came from behind, gaining your attention. Turning around you see Orophin, still wearing his grey cloak that marked him a Warden of Lorien and the light armor all the rangers wore. His silvery hair that would’ve put any Targaryen to shame was pulled back in its typical fashion. He was beautiful-- well all elves were beautiful, something you’d learned rather quickly, but Orophin radiated another type of beauty. His beauty was more akin to a predator luring in it’s prey of choice with enchanting words and a pretty face, luring you into a thrilling game you always lost.

You knew he was dangerous, an alarm in the back of your mind going off every time he gets too close or graces you with a look that was lethal to your wellbeing. But instead of sending you running like it should have, it lured you in closer and closer, like a moth drawn to a flame. It’s dangerous-- he’s dangerous.

But you never seem to listen.

“I ithil a elena thind in ennerion na i er nin,” he said, a smile pulling at the corner of his lips. A smile that promised nothing but pain and heartbreak, but also the thrill that comes with gambling, even when you know you’re going to lose. And you will lose, it’s just a matter of when and not if.

“That’s not fair, you know I can hardly understand Sindarin, especially not when you speak it so fast,” you said, your eyebrows furrowing the slightest as you scowled. Orophin raised an ashen eyebrow at you, and you couldn’t help but feel envious at the lack of lines on his perfectly smooth forehead. His grin widened as his eyes glinted with mischief, and slowly like a prowling lion, he moved towards you.

“I said, you are beautiful my dear, but you would’ve known that if you would pay attention during our lessons.” he said, eyes noticeably tracing your form. Your face flushed red immediately, images of you and Orophin, tangled together in your room, nothing but a sweaty flustered mess in your bed. Heat spread through your body as you remembered his icy lips on your hot body.

And he knew it, that bastard knew the effect he had on you. It was obvious in his expression, like a cat that got the cream.

“Or maybe you aren’t as great of a teacher as you like to think?” you shot back, mentally throwing ice cold water on yourself. Get a grip you idiot!

“Oh? My lady wounds me! How will I ever hope to recover from such harsh words? Please, tell Rumil I’ve never enjoyed his singing and tell Haldir ho na burui hon in a adaneth,” he proclaimed, snickering towards the end. You pinched the bridge of your nose and exhaled loudly.

“Orophin! How am I supposed to tell Haldir what you said… if I can’t understand you?”

One.

Two.

Three steps.

Orophin waas close enough that you’re sure he could hear how rapidly your heart was beating against your chest, how uneven and shallow you breathing was. His eyes glanced down your form, slowly travelling back up to your face. His pale blue eyes glittered like sapphires as his soft hand reached out to touch you. His long fingers delicately traced your body, leaving you a shivering mess as you attempted to maintain a calm composure. Your head was nothing but static as your face grew hotter with each passing second, despite the cold air hitting you.

“Well then perhaps we continue those lessons?” he asked, the smirk on his face growing wider with each unsteady inhale of air.

“Right now?” you managed to say, your voice barely above a whisper.

He simply nodded his head, his smirk turning into a full blown grin. It was wicked and fatal and positively sinful. You attempted to pull back, your mind screaming at you to not fall back into what you knew to be a honey trap. But instead of backwards you moved forward, desperate to get as close as physically possible to him, but even then it wasn’t enough.

“But someone could see, the Warden’s heavily patrol this close to the city,” you said, eyes widening a fraction as you stare up at Orophin. His finger moves up your body and to your face, tracing your cheekbones with a phantom touch.

“Let’s hope they have enough courtesy to not interrupt, these lessons are paramount to your stay here in Galadhrim.”

Before you could even breath, he brought his face down towards the crook of your neck. And when his face was only a few centimeters away from making contact with your skin, he paused. The warm breath that hit your skin felt like a frost storm compared to the heat building in you.

“Im innas na harno cin, nin lend lóth”

“Im innas na harno cin, nin lend lóth.” The phrase felt jagged and rough, the elven dialect still foreign from your lips, while Orophin’s were smooth as silk.

“Good, it seems you’ve learned more than originally thought,” he muttered, the vibration of his voice sent a shiver up your spine, leaving a tingling sensation in its wake. You couldn’t do anything, your mind nothing more than a pile of mush. All you can do is nod, anticipating the next move Orophin made.

“What does it mean?” you asked, voice so quiet you were sure he didn’t hear.

After what seemed like eternity, but in reality was only a minute, Orphan placed his soft lips against your neck, leaving behind feather light kisses as he moved up your neck, onto your jawline, and up towards your cheeks. He pulled away just a hair as you watched him with wide eyes, desperate for him to do something.

“It means, my dear, we have a long night ahead of us.” he whispered. He graced you with one more wicked grin before closing the gap between the two of you, his lips firmly pressed against yours.

o0o0o0o

The pillow beneath your neck was plush and soft, your body nearly melting into a puddle, sinking into the heavenly mattress that supported your tense body. A silk blanket was haphazardly strewn across your body, crumpled and bunching in places. As was usual in Lothlorien, the night sky was beautiful. From your location, the moon was out of sight, but the stars burned so bright you hardly noticed as their light trickled in from the open roof of your talan. The air was cooling against your hot skin, a welcomed change in temperature.

The soft melody of elves singing in the distance would normally lull you to sleep, their angelic voices drawing out your thoughts, but tonight it grated against your ears. You clenched the delicate blanket in your hands, finger causing crinkles in the soft fabric as it threatened to tear. But you weren’t mad at them or their heavenly singing that was without a single flaw, no it was something unrelated to singing, but very much including elves.

“Are you trying to ruin your duvet, meril nin,”

And like clockwork, the very source of your anger and confusion waltzed into your room as if it was his. The lighthearted easiness he carried himself with was a matching set to the smirk that always seemed to be tugging on his lips. But his eyes, his eyes were different this time. You were never good at reading people, even worse when it came to elves who’ve had hundreds of years to practice controlling their emotions. Yet even you could tell there was something different in them tonight. Maybe it was the starlight and the way it shined down upon him, casting a halo atop his beautiful silvery hair. A part of you wondered if you could cut a piece and sell it off to an unsuspecting merchant and pass it off as silver that’s been turned to thread.

“What do you want Orophin, it’s late?” your tone was exasperated and tired. It always seemed like one thing or another with Orophin that would just leave you more confused than sated.

“To see you of course!” he exclaimed, a jovial expression perfectly placed on his face. His eyes were alight with wonder and excitement, his lips curling into a grin filled with promises of fun and bad ideas.

“Well I need to sleep.”

He just raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow at you, but otherwise seemed undeterred. He took long strides towards your bed, closing the already miniscule distance between the two of you. Before you could even blink more than three times, he sat on your bed, languidly leaning back until he was lying atop your thighs. He looked at you with wide eyes and fluttered his lashes at you.

“Why are you so grumpy, meril? I thought humans had fun,” he teased, lifting his hand and tapping the end of your nose with his finger, booping you like a cute pet. You couldn’t tell if it was demeaning or downright adorable.

“I’m not grumpy.”

“Yes you are my dear.” He pushed himself up just enough to swing one leg over you, now straddling your thighs. He began crawling up your body until his knees were flesh with your hips, hands resting beside your head. He leaned down, until there was only a few inches in between.

Your skin was on fire, burning hotter and hotter with each second that passed. Your eyes searched his face for anything to clue you in on his motives, despite already knowing them. Maybe you were just hoping for something different than the usual procedure.

“Perhaps I can offer some assistance?”

A smirk appeared on his face, eyes shining in the pale light streaming in from the open rooftop. It was trouble, you knew that, but maybe the fallout wouldn’t be so bad. So against your better judgement, you leaned forward, connecting your lips with his.

His lips were as sweet and soft as they normally were, the scent of him lulling you deeper and deeper into euphoric bliss, like a wave pulling you deeper and deeper into the ocean. All reason left your brain, the only thing it could focus on being him and the feeling of his body pressed against you. You reach a hand up, tangling it in his silver hair. It slides through your fingertips like silk, falling from your hand like a waterfall. Your hand wandered up until you met the braids that held the front pieces of his hair back. You scrape your fingers along his scalp before trailing your hand down. You graze the very tip of his ear, light as a feather.

He lets out a gasp, the sound swallowed by your mouth. He pulls away for a moment, migrating his lips from your mouth down and down until he’s leaving angel kisses along your neck.

Then like being woken from a deep sleep with a piercing scream, your eyes shot open. You pull your hands away from Orophin, cradling your hand as if he burnt the flesh. You sit up and attempt to catch your breath, feeling like you ran 10 miles without a break.

“We need to stop.”

“Why meril?” a sly smirk appeared on his face, as he began to crawl towards you to close the new distance between you two, only pausing when you held a hand out.

“I’m serious, Orophin,” your voice was stern and confident, the opposite of the chaos that was in your brain. Worldesly, he moves off of you, opting to sit on the other side of you, feet hanging over the side of the bed.

“What is it?”

“What are we?” you said, he opens his mouth, but you cut him off, already not liking the glint in his eyes. “I’m being serious.”

A sigh escaped his mouth, causing your heart rate to increase and your anxiety to kick into overdrive.

The dreaded conversation you always knew would come.

“I thought we were just, you know, having fun.” The words cut into you like a knife, the pain almost physical.

“Oh.”

“It’s just, it’s difficult, I thought you knew that.” he said, some frustration leaking into his voice, whether it was directed at you or him, you didn’t know. “Us together would just be too difficult.” The knife embedded in your heart twists.

“How can you say that when we aren’t even trying?” you exclaimed, the words rushed and your voice crackling at odd spots.

“Because I know it to be true.” he said. His voice was short and cold, something you never associated with the warmth Orophin usually radiated.

You stutter, your brain short circuiting as you attempt to process everything.

And when your brain finally caught up, Orophin was gone, disappearing into the night.

o0o0o0o

“You lean too heavily to your right, did you know that?”

You jumped, not far, but enough to break the intense concentration you moments prior had. In your fright, the hand tightly gripping the bow string loosen and before you could react the arrow was released. It pathetically sailed through the arrow, bearing too far to the right. It only managed to get halfway through the training ground before it fell to the ground, like a limp noodle.

Whirling your body, a scowl overcoming your face, you saw Orophin. He was only a few paces away from you, holding a bright red apple that he brought to his mouth and took a bite from. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes when he started making exaggerated noises of delight, his eyes shut as if the apple was the most euphoric thing he'd tasted.

“What was that for?” you exclaimed, your very short fuse exploding. “You ruined a perfectly good shot!”

He finished chewing the piece of apple he bit off and then tossed it into the trees. One ashen eyebrow quirked at you as Orophin sauntered towards you, walking with the relaxed confidence only he could manage and a sly smirk on his face. Like clockwork, your heart began pounding in your chest and your face heated up.

And he knew it too, you could see it in the way his smirk widened just a fraction and his eyes lit up with amusement.

So you just scowled deeper, narrowing your eyes at him in hope of convincing not only him, but yourself that he didn’t have any effect on you.

Biggest lie of the century.

“If it was perfectly good it would’ve hit the target?” he said, his words teasing and light.

“Well it would’ve if you didn’t distract me!” you replied. You were seething, not because of the arrow, but because of Orophin. He was confusing and infuriating, and perfect in every way. And you hated yourself, hated yourself because you couldn’t hate him, not really.

“Are you saying I’m distracting? My lady, I am flattered that you can’t focus on anything just by merely hearing my voice!” he exclaimed, smirk contorting into a full blown smile. It’s blindingly bright and captivating, everything the sun shining down on Lothlorien was.

“That’s not that I said you i-idiot!”

“Really? That’s what I heard,” he replied, closing the distance between the two of you. He stopped a few inches away from you, close enough that you could hear his heartbeat and feel his breath fanning against you, and if you tried hard enough, you’d momentarily make contact if you breathed hard enough. The intoxicating scent of trees, rain, and something else that was distinctly Orophin. You hated how dizzy it made you feel and you hated that it was easily the sweetest smell you’ve experienced.

He placed his hand on your tense shoulder and began to turn your body. With eyebrows that nearly touched your hairline, you opened your mouth, prepared to demand to know his intentions, but nothing came out except for a pitiful squawk. He turned your body until you were facing the direction of the training field, staring straight at the target you previously attempted to hit.

“Relax, you’re as tense as Haldir when we’re on patrol.” He practically purred in your ear, the air from his words tickling your ear in a way that wasn’t entirely unpleasant.

“What are you doing?” You were cautious and on high alert, full well knowing how things with Orophin usually ended.

“Fixing your form. it’s not bad for a human, but you’re with the Eldar now,” he whispered. Orophin wrapped one arm around your waist and brought the other one to rest underneath the elbow of your bow arm. His touch was light and delicate, feeling more like the caress of a ghost than a corporeal person. And like a machine, you brought the bow up into position, placing a fresh arrow into proper position with a single fluid movement.

“I also wanted to apologize for last night. I should not have stormed out the way I did.”

“It’s okay,” you said, your voice hoarse and rough, like a sharp rock.

“It’s not, but I appreciate the sentiment. Now let’s get back to the archery lesson, mell nin.”

“Mell nin. That means my dear?” You turned to face him, eyes widened like a doe as you carefully watched his face. His eyes locked with yours, his grip on you tightening ever so slightly. He grinned at you with a look more radiant and shining than before. Gods, you could go blind if you stared at him for too long, but it would be worth it. Blindness wouldn’t be so bad if his face would be burned into your mind for the rest of your life.

“You’ve been catching on”

“Sometimes I listen,” you replied, keeping your voice low so as to not disturb the quiet aura that encapsulated the two of you. You don’t think you’ve ever seen Orophin this soft with you, usually he was all mischief and sex appeal. But now he was… at ease and relaxed, like he didn’t have to put on any airs.

It was… nice.

Your lips tilted upwards as your eyes shined like starlight. Your erratic heartbeat slowed until it was in time with Orophin’s. Your eyes flickered down to his lips then back to his eyes. He followed your movements, not eyeing you like a predator but with… something else. Something you’ve seen the elves share with their husband or wife, the type of softness and vulnerability only present with someone you really care about.

And you know, without a shadow of a doubt where Orophin’s thoughts stood seeing as he verbalised them last night in your room. You knew he didn't see this going anywhere permanent. Yet the look in his eyes and the complete ease he has around you says otherwise.

And then it’s suddenly cold. And before you have a chance to even blink, Orophin is gone, again.

o0o0o0o

“You can come out now, you pointy eared dummy!” you yelled, flailing your arms wildly as you do so, the wine bottle precariously held in your fingertips slipping and falling to the ground. Your eyes follow it, watching with wide eyes as the bottle hits the forest floor, bubbly liquid pouring out of the open top.

“Shit,” you muttered, but made no move to pick it up.

“That’s not very nice,” a soft melodic voice said from behind you. It was beautiful and light… you hated it. Whirling around, your legs wobbled as you began to lose your balance. Orophin surged forward to steady you, but you slapped his arm away.

“Don-- don’t touch me. No means no Oro,” you said, stumbling backwards until you fell to the ground, landing on your butt. Pain immediately flared up in the area, a pathetic whimper leaving your mouth.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, moving towards you with slow and exaggerated movements, treating you like a scared baby. The thought caused you to scoff. You probably were a baby to half of the people here. Stupid elves and their stupid immortality.

“Yes, emotionally and physically,” you said, closing your eyes and holding your head up, attempting to keep a sliver of your dignity. “But mainly physically right now.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t drink so much then.” Once he was close enough, Orophin sat on the ground, his knees ghosting your skin. It burned like hot coals, singing the skin.

“Maybe you shouldn’t drink more!” You pointed a finger at him and scowled, attempting to appear menacing. And in your mind, you were, except your finger couldn’t stay still and your face looked more like a pouting puppy than a fearsome killer. It would’ve made Orophin laugh if not for the sorrow poorly hidden in your eyes and your current pathetic state. He didn’t have to ask, he knew it was because of him.

“I haven’t had any wine today,” he said, using the same tone he did when he found you alone in the Lorien woods all those months ago. When he had to coax you out from behind the mallorn trees after narrowly escaping a pack of orcs that got too close to Lorien.

“Not my problem.”

“Of course! I must bear this burden on my own, my lady.” His tone was overly exaggerated. Against your better judgement, a smirk pulled at the corner of your lips, faint chuckle escaping between your lips.

“There’s that smile,” he teased, reaching forward and poking your cheek.

“Stop treating me like a child you stupid dolphin fin,” you muttered angrily, swatting at his invading hand. “I’m an adult you know.”

“Of course you are.”

“And don’t you forget it, buster!” You pointed a finger in his general direction, eyes still firmly shut.

The two of you sit in silence for a moment, allowing the quiet atmosphere to swallow you whole. Orophin sighed, moving so he sat beside you, careful to not touch you.

“What’s wrong meleth? Why did you drink so much? Normally it’s near impossible to get you to drink more than two glasses when we’re together,” His voice is quiet and serious.

‘Don’t call me love like that, you fool. You don’t love me, not really,” you muttered, leaning your head against the tree behind you. The silver bark is softer than you thought it would’ve been. Certainly not as rough and coarse as the ones back home.

“And how do you know that?” His eyes burned into your skin, like the sun bouncing off of a magnifying glass and incinerating small ants.

“In case you’ve forgotten, you’re the one who said we couldn’t be together.” you said, opening your eyes for the first time since he sat by you. You searched his face for anything, but you couldn’t read him, probably due to your state of intoxication.

“That’s not wh--” he began but you promptly cut him off by placing your hand over his mouth.

“But it’s how it was received. I get it Orophin, I’m human you're an elf,--” you obnoxiously exaggerated the word. “--your oil and I’m water, I get it now, don’t worry. It’s cool, there were no rules, so it’s on me that I let it get this far,” You told him.

And you tried. You really tried to sound unbothered and nonchalant, to be as cold as ice. But the words were hollow, exposing how hurt you really were.

Stupid elf.

“You have to understand how diff--” Once again, you cut him off, the words being swallowed by the palm of your hand.

“No, you don’t understand. I’ve played your little game for months and I’m tired of it. You hear me? Tired!” you exclaimed. You leaned forward and attempted to stand from your sitting position, however as soon as you moved, the world around you grew fuzzy, Orophin multiplying into two.

“Be careful,” he snapped at you as he reached out to grab a hold of you. He pulled you from the ground, but you violently ripped away from him.

“Don’t touch me you-- you, you big dummy!” you yelled, pushing him away and onto the forest floor. The fall was broken by the lush greenery that covers the Lorien first floor, so he easily scrambled up. You stumbled away, in your mind moving at the speed of lightning, however you were only able to get five paces away before falling to the ground.

Tears of frustration and sadness built up in your eyes, your hands clenching tightly into fists. Hot tears streamed down your face, as you lay there on the floor like a baby throwing a tantrum. You smacked your fist against the ground, the throbbing pain dulled by alcohol.

“I hate you, you know that? I hate you because I really don’t,” you muttered, already knowing Orophin was standing behind you. He said nothing and you couldn’t decide if that was better or worse.

“I just- I don’t want to do this anymore. I don’t want to keep sneaking around like I’m some horrible secret. I don’t wanna keep secrets just to keep getting small pieces of you.”

You turned and looked at him, eyes tear stained and your face splotching and red. God you were a mess. And in the glimmer of the starlight, you saw a faint stream of tears falling down his cheeks, landing on the ground. God, they even cry pretty.

“Y/N--” he began, taking a single step towards you, causing you to scoot forward, sliding across the forest like a toddler who can’t walk right.

“God, I love you, and that’s probably the worst thing you’ve ever heard,” you muttered. Your mind no longer felt foggy from the wine, your eyes glossy from tears and not a state of intoxication. You stood up, and walked away, leaving Orophin behind. And the hand he held outstretched towards you slowly fell limp as he watched you walk away.

o0o0o0o

It had been months since you’d last spoken to Orophin. Time passed agonizingly slow, minutes becoming centuries, yet everything felt like a haze at the same time. Every day regret would beat against you, pushing you further and further into a never ending abyss. It was odd not having Orophin intruding on your day in some way, scarily enough, it was almost like Orophin was never there. The phantom of where he used to touch you burned like ice until you were nearly numb all over your body.

God it was hell, trying to keep up with his whirlwind of emotions, trying to decipher if you were just having a fun time or if he truly cared for you. It was exhausting being in a constant state of turmoil, your heart bleeding nearly every second, only to be lazily patched up with every kiss. But at least you had a piece of him, even if it was just a sliver.

You did everything to give off the illusion of being preoccupied. You went wandering through the forest collecting flowers, you practiced embroidering and then practiced again, you read the same three books over and over again, but everything always came back to Orophin. And for that you were glad he was gone with the other Wardens, patrolling the forest. The orcs were growing more bold in their attacks, so Haldir increased the watch and the Warden’s time away. You didn’t trust your self control, and if Orophin was just within your grasp, you would’ve caved long ago. Falling back into him and whatever he was willing to give you, only to begin the hellish cycle all over again.

For once you were grateful for Haldir’s extreme dedication to his job.

So now you lay in your favorite clearing, lazily flipping through a book you’ve already memorized, the grass cocooning you, leaving angel kisses on your body. The sound of grass crumpling beneath someone’s step brought you from your thoughts. Looking up, you saw Orophin, standing with the trees. He was wearing his Lorien cloak, weaved in every color of the forest to better conceal the wearer, and his leather armor with his bow loosely held at his side.

You stared at him and he looked back. His eyes were wide and hopeful, nearly glossy in the light. His lips were pulled in a thin line, and you could see him chewing on the inside of his lips.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, slowly closing your book and placing it beside you. You sat up, but didn't stand. You refuse to be the one to leave.

“You were wrong.”

“What?” you asked, eyes narrowed at him as you purse your lips.

“You were wrong.” he stated again, as if it would suddenly become clearer to you.

“I don’t under--” you began but he cut you off. Like the wind, he rushed towards you, his bow forgotten on the forest floor where he used to stand. He slid onto his knees so he was level with you, grasping your hands in his and surged forward, the force knocking you to the ground.

“What are you--” You started to say, face immediately turning red and your heart rate increasing. And then he’s kissing you. Not with his usual playfulness, or the lust that laced every touch, but it was nice and soft and sweet. More akin to an innocent first kiss rather than the fire he usually possessed. And as soon as his lips were on you, they were off, but he didn’t move, and you didn’t want him to.

“You were wrong. It isn’t the worst thing I’ve ever heard.” he muttered, his breath tickling your lips.

Oh.

In that moment it clicked, the foggy memoires you have of that night coming back to you. You’d uttered that exact phrase to him, “I love you, and that’s probably the worst thing you ever heard.” Against your better judgement, a small smile forms on your lips and this time it was you closing the distance.

“I love you, meleth nin. I. Love. You.” he punctuated each word with a kiss, causing your skin to burn where his lips touched. “And I’m sorry I refused to admit it for so long.”

“You better be,” you replied, pulling his body closer to you, if that was physically possible.

“Does this mean I’m forgiven?” he asked, pulling away from your lips. You smirked at him, eyes alight with the mischief that was missing for so long.

“No, but that could be earned,” you said, playing with the fine hair at the nape of his neck.

“I must warn you, it’s going to be a lot of hard work,” you teased, pressing your lips to the corner of his lips. A small whine left his mouth as he attempted to capture your lips fully with his.

“Then it’s a good thing I’m a dedicated Warden.”

“We’ll see about that.”

o0o0o0o

Tags:

@kenobiguacamole | @aearonnin | @emiliessketches | @vibratingbones | @ranhanabi777

#orophin x reader #orophin imagine #orophin #Orophin x human!reader #human!reader #lord of the rings #lord of the rings imagine #lord of the rings oneshot #lord of the rings Drabble #LOTR #lotr imagine #lotr oneshot #lothlorien #lothlorien elves #Lothlorien Imagine #unrequited love #angst with a happy ending

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that-soccer-guru · 4 years ago

Note

Hi! Draft anon here! I would love to better understand how the draft works, and also what the new draft rule is where you don’t have to declare? I really just want to know everything!

Anon? You're my new best friend, these are the BEST words to read.

OKAY I'm going to assume a base level knowledge about the draft, aka it's teams picking people, and work from there. BUCKLE UP BRO, IT'LL BE A RIDE. I'm gonna hide this under a break too because it's a long one and it includes a moment where I raged against the league. Have fun!

Okay so, let's do the basics. College athletes, for the most part, are under the NCAA umbrella, which gives athletes opportunities for scholarships, aid and support and sets up championships between schools. Colleges are divided in 3 divisions (conveniently named the D1, D2 and D3), with the first division being the top schools in their sports, players in those teams are the ones that usually turn professional in their sport just because their schools have more money and therefore better resources for their athletes.

Every athlete in a D1 school has 5 years to play 4 seasons of their sport, and most of them are expected to run their eligibility by the time they graduate (the eligibility rules are a little different for D2 and D3 schools but more or less aims for the same thing) SOME of those players forfeit their remaining eligibility before graduation to turn "pro", and enter their sport's draft, although it's not necessary and players who've run their eligibility usually enter the draft before they graduate so they can start playing for their team right after college. The draft is when whatever national league they expect to play for (the MLB, NHL, NFL, NWSL, etc) pick from a pool of players leaving their college teams to play professionally, these are "prospects".

For the NWSL, the teams are assigned a pick number. The worst team in the league picks first, and so on until the top team selects their pick and that signals the end of the round, for expansion years the expansion team picks first, then the worst team in the league, and so on. The league creates a pool of 40 players that can sign up to be drafted, and the draftees are set up in 4 rounds of 10 players each.

The players aren't put in any particular order in the draft pool of picks but they are "prospected" to be picked by a certain numbered team based on their skill and acollades. For this upcoming draft pool, Catarina Macario is expected to be the first pick of the first round. It's not a great vibe to go to the worst team of a league but draft picks are the future of a team, and coaches that pick first are, usually, desperate and will begin to build their team formations around their draftee.

In other leagues draft pick trading is, I think, way funnier. Because the team that originally had the picks, let's say for example Sky Blue trades up for the 4th pick in the first round from Washington. If it were another league, let's say the NHL, Washington gets a little note from Sky Blue saying "we want Jane Doe for the 4th pick", Washington would have to pick her with all the fanfare that goes with it, and then watch her go to sky blue because they traded the pick away. In the NWSL the team that gets a pick in a trade does the picking themselves. Which is less "lol" and more "business as usual".

NOW THE NEW RULE: the NWSL obtained a waiver from the NCAA to draft D1 players who, in any other year might not have an option between entering the draft and forfeiting their last college season, which would suck for people who've put their hearts and souls into their teams, or skipping the draft for one more year and have to be out of the game for nearly a year once their season is over. Which, like, is awesome on the NCAA's part! These players get a last chance at college sports and can report to the teams that drafted them once the season is over.

The part where the NWSL went and took a wonderful thing and fucked it all up is with the rule that anyone who has exhausted their 3yr eligibility is draft eligible, REGARDLESS of them signing up for the draft. The logic is that it will expand the talent pool and give teams more talent to work with.

Let me tell you what this does in NOT PG13 words—children cover your eyes. This just about fuuuucks player rights up their hindquarters with no warning and no lube.

Players that are eligible, even if they don't enter the draft (read as: don't want to be drafted yet or maybe ever) can be picked by teams and their rights will be held until the 2022 season. It means that drafted players can have their rights traded away and, if they ever expect to enter the league, will be sent to whatever fucking team their rights were drafted by or traded to without their input. ESPECIALLY BECAUSE, AND HERE'S THE CATCH 22, THE NCAA WAIVER MEANS PLAYERS CANT SIGN AGENTS TO QUALIFY FOR IT.

What does that mean for my point, you may ask? It means that, let's say:

Jane Doe is a player in a D1 school. She doesn't want to be drafted to the league so she doesn't sign up. However, she is a college senior with 3 years of NCAA eligibility behind her, and is therefore draft eligible. She doesn't want her rights to be held by whomever the hell to do with as they please before she's ready so she thinks about hiring an agent. However, if she hires an agent she, as far as I know, would have to forfeit her remaining college eligibility and "go pro". If she does, she won't be eligible for the draft according to these rules, but she also can't play for her college team, AND she won't have a team once the college season is over because she wasn't picked up in the draft. So now, she's out of game shape, she has to find a team to sign her and maybe her best odd was going to be being drafted in the 3rd or 4th round of the nwsl draft, now she has to look for a team to sign her. Or have to not play professionally. But she will want to play professionally. So, her only option is to be picked up by some team in this draft, even though let's say she expected to have better odds for a higher pick in the next draft, and have her rights done away with for a whole season and have to report to a random team after maybe having had her rights used as a bargaining chip for trades.

Now, obviously, this is hella fatalistic. And looking at it in the worst possible light. But we know that the NWSL is not a stranger to doing all kinds of willy nilly shit with players who are not federation allocated, and this is just one more open door into fucking with players rights, this time with prospects.

It was such a good idea to begin with, to take up this Waiver and give their prospects one more year of college soccer where they can push for their last championship, before coming in fired up to the league, knowing for an entire year what team they would play for, probably having off season training with their new teammates. This was, in no uncertain words, a good thing. But then the league had to stomp on it.

It's trial and error and the NWSL is a newish league, and hopefully no one will get their playing rights messed with. But in case they do, I'm gonna hate to have to say I told you so.

I hope that answers your questions?

I WELCOME ANY OPINIONS ON MY VIEW OF THIS. I'M VERY FATALISTIC ABOUT IT BUT I KNOW SOME OF Y'ALL HAVE BETTER VIBES!

#nwsl draft #nwsl rules #nwsl draft rules #nwsl 2021 draft #college draft #nwsl college draft #NCAA woso #NCAA eligibility #woso #nwsl #thanks anon #anon asks #answering asks #sonnett side up answers

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musedblues · 4 years ago

Text

Born To Love You [Part: 7]

summary: When Gwilym ropes you into a lie, the truth becomes painfully obvious. When Joe makes things harder, there’s no telling if he even has a clue

a/n: I can't really believe I've finally finished this. If only you all knew how long this story sat in my drafts before I even considered sharing it. I'm eternally gratful to those of you who’ve stuck around and shared your thoughts and shown me and this fic such sweet love. I can only hope I've done some kind off justice in bringing this wild ride to a close. As always, and especially now, I really can't wait to hear what you lot think. So here you have it.... The End! 💖

w/c: 4k

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Even after all this time, not a moment passed that didn't dazzle you. No little gesture slipped by unnoticed, or underappreciated.

From across the room, you adored the way his eyes glowed as he laughed. How they shined and crinkled in a pattern you'd memorized long before you were brave enough to stare. How they always sparkled just so when he spun into a fit of giggles, a sound you couldn't help but turn toward.

Joe tossed his head back, letting out a hearty chuckle as James and Andy filled him in on the details of their recently disastrous road trip. For their anniversary, they planned to cruise around the countryside for a week. But a flat tire, and a run in with a couple wild animals sent them running back to London before the week was up.

You couldn't have gotten luckier, when you found the perfect house in the safest part of the city with the best schools; just a half an hour drive from where James and Andy had moved a couple years before- after living with you for longer than you could recall in a flash.

They helped you move boxes from your old flat, and stood with you in the empty place, taking a silent beat to say goodbye to all the life you each lived there. You'd fondly remember the parties, and even the tears. The day you found out about Olive. The room you brought her home to. The place you loved. But it was never the same after your dear flatmates found a home of their own.

On their generous drives to help you unload boxes in an all new place, that's when your pair of best pals really got to know Joe. They (like everyone else) laughed at most of his jokes, and beamed when he laughed at theirs in turn. When they weren't helping you unload boxes, they were off cackling with Joe, too awestruck by shared conversation to help you move your sofa into a reasonable spot.

And when you and your man with fossil colored eyes were settled, James and Andy still managed to stop by for plenty of surprise breakfast visits. And every time they stopped over, they each took turns insisting that their location was the sole purpose you'd been so keen to move to this part of the city. And while they might have been half right, you'd never let on that it was one of the many reasons.

London just made sense. It was closer to Gwil's new place. He'd been traveling to and from the city for work so often that he'd felt like his usual train car was more of his home than the one down the road from your old flat. So he found a cozy space just outside of London and loads more work within the first few days of settling in. When he wasn't busy on set, or away for an audition, he was just a few streets away- ready and willing to come and take Olive on days he hadn't planned to, at her beck and call.

Some days you missed when all Olive knew how to say were a handful of words. But you knew you'd soon miss all of the girls never ending questions, too. "Why can't cats talk?" "Where do all the badgers sleep at night?" "Why do I have to wear socks with my shoes?" She had a knack for asking the silliest questions when you least expected it. She'd come out of no place while you were busy making dinner. While she should have been practicing tying her shoes. In the dead of the night, at the edge of your bed. She'd stop everything just to ask a question or two, and some days you reckoned she fancied getting you to giggle more than hearing an actual answer. You always chuckled before you could muster the brain power to give any semblances of an educated response. And when you were too busy, getting ready for work, or hurrying about the market before it closed, Olive would ask Joe.

You loved the way Olive made him laugh then, too. Just like you. But before ever giving a reasonable answer, he'd always ask her the same questions back. "Well, what do you think is at the bottom of the ocean?"

And as she decidedly rambled about imaginary creatures and cities, Joe would listen. He'd even remember the names of some of those made up monsters long after Olive had moved through several more memorable questions. You couldn't believe how patient he was. It was astounding to you, the way Joe dropped everything to bend at Olive's will, as she wrapped her fist around his wrist and yanked him across a bookstore toward the children's section.

You'd find them after getting what you strolled in for, and join in for story time, before checking your watch and ruining all the fun. Joe was usually more disappointed for those moments to end than the kid who was hooked on his every fictional word.

You loved Joe's heart. How you could tell when it was in the right place. When he offered help and advice and suggestions to anyone who trusted him enough to pour their heart out to his open ear. How he at least pretended to be excited when your friends begged the two of you to join in a night out at the end of a particularly busy week. Neither of you were keen on letting them down, because you'd come to value those rare nights out with the people you loved. You'd made a sacred, personal decreed to never let your friends forget how vastly you'd cared for them. So you were right behind Joe each time another offer came to sit among your pals and listen to their lame jokes and drunken singing.

But it was no secret that nights in were your favorite. You might have marveled even more so, over Joe's heart, then. You relished how it hammered under your palm, as his pulse raced from your touch. You loved the sound of its steady beat under your ear, as you rested against his chest till morning. He'd run a lazy set of fingers through your hair while the quiet of the new day threatened to lull you to sleep again. Then he'd say something so ridiculously hilarious that you'd laugh your drowse away.

You never took for granted Joe's countless attempts to get you to smile, despite yourself. In the middle of movies, at the end of long hard days- and during times you wondered how much stress you could endure before your head exploded and your dramatic expiration ruined the upcoming holidays.

When you and Gwilym argued over Olive's imminent school year and how many summer holiday trips were one too many, Joe waited for the bickering to end. Then he'd say something that made stupidly perfect sense. He'd make you and Gwil apologize to each other, and you did with all the grace of two grumpy toddlers. Then you'd all go to some posh brunch place and try and enjoy the last of the perfect summer weather that crept into the first few weeks of London's picturesque autumn.

Olive would stop eating to ask one of her latest queries to the sweet elder waitress who dropped off another round of drinks. You'd all take turns giving the kid answers, and steal bits of the chips she'd left over. When your meal was finished, Joe and Gwil went off to see a game together, and you were left with your darling girl for a whole glorious day.

Times with just the two of you weren't very rare. When you could, you made sure to take afternoons off work and save the laundry for later to spend a day with Olive. Of course, some were just as difficult as ever. But between odd growing pains and missed nap times, were icecream dates and trips to the aquarium. The latter, a place she always begged to spend hours strolling through. So when you could, you'd be quick to take her.

And when Gwilym took Olive along to visit his mother's family in Wales, you'd gotten used to the tiny wave of melancholy that came when your girl wasn't attached to your hip. But unlike all the other times before, you weren't nearly as lonely.

When it was just you and Joe, and a handful of days to waste however you pleased, you had to stop yourself from wondering how you'd gotten so lucky. You knew if you thought too long, you'd start to feel bad about how everything came to be. But you learned to let go of the regret attached to the mess you'd made during your first month long visit to London. You realized that it was silly to wish for a redo. Because everything worked out anyway, didn't it?

Joe was always quick to remind you how lucky he felt, too. Sometimes he'd say so, when he worried about the future and stopped rambling long enough to let you promise everything was going to be okay. Or first thing in the morning, when you got to wake up with the sun instead of a blaring alarm. But most of the time, he showed it. He'd leave silly little notes for you to find while you brushed your teeth. He'd bring your knuckles to his lips while waiting in the queue at the market. He'd take photos of you walking through the park and pointing to a pair of birds flying close overhead. He'd upload them in the middle of the night- when he said he was staying up to finish writing a script, or memorizing lines of another.

You'd get the notification and smile to yourself while you pretended to be asleep in the other room. When it was just you and Joe, it felt too good to be true. But that feeling didn't go away when your time alone was over.

Ben asked you to fetch him from the airport after he'd spent months away filming in another country. You and Joe fought over who got to hug him first, but when the blonde materialized from baggage claim, his arms were too stuffed with packages to dream of embracing either of you. He'd collected far too many presents during his time away- all of them for Olive. You scolded him, reminding Ben of the article you read about how kids with fewer toys grew to become more creative and resourceful. Ben argued that since you weren't going to spoil her that he was just going to have to. He'd leave the dozen gifts in the back of your car, and drag you and Joe out to a pub until you could hardly keep your eyes open.

Life felt too good to be true on nights like then, too.

And the feeling remained when Lucy and Rami got back from acting their hearts out in America. They stole Olive away as you and Joe ambled behind them on trips through high end shopping centres. When that day turned to night, your remarkable friends settled onto your sofa to tell all the stories they'd been saving up. Then they crashed there, when the night turned to morning and the sun threatened to rise before you'd stopped giggling long enough to sleep.

Those times were cherished. When your friends came around. When you went out of your way to go and see them, because it had been too long. You knew you were lucky to have mantiatiend a handful of connections with some of the most adoring and admirable friends that must have ever existed.

And on some especially rare, but guaranteed occasions, everyone got together.

The thought of joining forces was usually a never ending sentiment exchanged through the group chat that kept you all in touch. But it was Lucy's eventual doing, of course. She went about renting that darling little cottage in the countryside- the one she'd found last minute for Joe's birthday.

She got there before everyone, before Rami, even. The paint was a little more chipped, and the trees seemed even more mighty, guarding the home nestled miles away from the nearest town.

"You're just in time!" Lucy squealed as you lugged a bag into the house that hadn't changed a bit since your stay a few years back. You snorted a laugh as you stepped closer to the den full of mismatched furniture.

"For what?" You wondered. No one else had shown up yet, the night was very young.

"To keep me company, duh." Lucy shrugged as she moved to wave out of the open front door.

"Does bigfoot live out here?" Olive asked, as she skipped inside, her beloved worn down stuffed penguin tight in her clutch.

"He might." You chuckled. Because hell, you'd come to believe anything was possible at this point. And you didn't realize Olive even knew about the mythical creature, but you had a hunch about who'd been the one to tell her.

"I can't believe this place is still standing. It's charming as ever." Joe marveled, shutting the door behind him. Lucy beamed, turning to glance around.

"Yes! Remember last time?" Lucy asked, like she really wanted to know. Like it wasn't something the lot of you thought back to often. And right when you considered responding, she spoke up again. "Well forget it because this time is going to be the best ever."

The bubbly blonde recruited Joe to help her finish unloading all the treats she'd brought along to store away for the entire weekend you planned to stay. Olive trotted ahead of you toward one of the dozen tiny rooms you remembered struggling to sleep in last time, finding no reason to bite back your smile now.

It was too cold to think of going out back to enjoy the chest full of sporting goods, or the tattered net that somehow still remained. Olive was already complaining about the chill, so you abandoned your bags and tossed her a sweater, deciding to start a fire in the stone place while you awaited everyone else.

Ben was the next to arrive, bringing his usual ton of liquor and a brand new set of books and crayons to keep Olive entertained. You flashed a middle finger his way when the kid wasn't looking, and called dibs on his most expensive bottle of booze he brought to decorate the counter tops much like the time before.

By then the kitchen had been stocked, and Lucy was on a new mission to make some Pinterest worthy snacks. You scolded Ben for encouraging Olive to dance around the countertops and banished them to find some new trouble to cause. Lucy kicked you and Joe out soon after, following close behind with her plate of savory treats.

Rami dashed in from the cold around then, chucking his bags away and rushing to join the rest of you in record time. The fire you'd maintained was starting to die, and the home was too perfectly warmed to dream of starting up another, for a while. So as the evening shifted, you and Ben offered to clean up and carry everyone's rubbish away, while Joe offered to pour everyone a drink. While you went about your duties, Olive was busy yanking on the strings of Rami's hooding, begging him to join in some imaginary game the two of them made up long ago.

"I'm really glad she's joined us this time around." Ben grinned, catching a glimpse of Olive, her curls peeking around the corner, her laughter floating from one room to another. You agreed with the sentiment as you tossed your collection of rubbish in the bin. And as he followed suit, Ben rambled about his high hopes to have a couple of children of his own one day. It was something you'd always suspected Ben was keen on, but a subject he'd only just ventured into discussing lately.

"You ever think about having anymore?" He wondered in passing.

"Sometimes." You smiled to Ben, offering an innocent shrug, before catching Joe's eye from across the kitchen. He balanced a trio of glasses of wine on his way out, shaking his head of coppery hair. He shot you a look you knew well, an eager grin below a set of fiery eyes. "Sometimes" was an understatment. But Ben didn't need to know everything.

By the time Gwil showed up, Olive was on cloud nine. She ran to attach herself to his ankle, so you took his bags while he bent to scoop her up. Then, you reckoned, that this might have been the first time everyone was together that Olive might be able to recall for years to come.

She bounced from one person to another, showing off nicely colored pictures in the books Ben had brought along. He shot you a wink from across the room before she fell asleep with a dozen sunset toned crayons in one fist. You gathered her from the floor and carried the girl to the room you'd chosen hours earlier.

And before you'd even finished tucking the kid away in bed, another set of feet creaked into the room behind you.

"Here's this. And some things she forgot last time." Gwilym extended Olives favorite stuffed penguin in one hand as he rested a bag decorated in cartoon drawn bats on the chair in the corner. Your tradition of trading the girls things might never end. You'd be rattled if it did, actually.

"Oh, thank God. I mean, I know I asked you not to forget that, but I'd forgotten." You chuckled in a whisper, tucking Olive's ratty old penguin beneath the covers at her side.

Gwilym chuckled too, saying something about how he'd nearly left her bag behind on his rush to get here before nightfall. And then a silence fell, as you both waited a beat to make sure Olive was out cold. It was second nature, something the pair of you became accustomed to after the first year, when leaving Olive alone for a minute was usually followed with unhappy, ear piercing cries. And as you thought back to then, you seemed to think back to everything all at once.

"Lucy said that last time we stayed here won't be worth remembering, because this time will surely be the best." You said with a lithe grin. "And I think she may be right, but last time wasn't so bad."

"It wasn't?" Gwilym turned to you with a quizzically raised brow, a hint of a smile on his lips. You knew he was asking if you were sure. If you remembered correctly. How he'd said things he didn't mean, last time you were here. How you hardly slept that night. How it haunted you for days afterward. How he knew that.

"It wasn't." You kept your smile, sure. It could have been much worse. You could have been alone through all of that shit. But you weren't. You had Gwilym. And you hoped he knew what you meant, now. How grateful you were for him, and the kindness he'd show you, how it still remained. You couldn't go on worrying that his company might fizzle away in the years to come. Because it couldn't. You wouldn't let that possibility come to pass. So you bumped your shoulder against his arm and nudged Gwilym to leave the room.

"Let's go have some fun." You whispered. Gwilym let his smile linger as he studdied you for a beat. Then he nodded, and led the way back to everyone else.

The coloring books had moved to rest on the mantel, and bottles of alcohol had moved to the coffee table for easier access. And then you all took turns cleaning up for the evening and flipping through stations on the telly till some classic film flashed across the muted screen. And it was lots better than last time, with familiar drinks mixed in fancy new ways, and favorite laughs decorating the old unchanged home.

By the time Ben had drunken himself into a fit of random laughter, and Gwilym was nodding off between Rami and Lucy, Joe was saying something about American traditions. He demanded everyone's attention, and insisted the lot of you confess at least one thing you were thankful for. And after Lucy shouted the name of the drink in her hand and Gwilym sat up to clink his cup to hers, you all started giving actual answers. Each revolving around family, and friends, and health and happiness. But before anyone could get too choked up, Ben stood to shift gears with his favorite game of drunk history that never really went the way he wanted it too.

But it wasn't till the next morning that you realized it must have been that silly American holiday. And when you rolled over to find Joe was already awake, you announced how poorly you felt for not realizing when he made everyone say thanks. You hadn't even said good morning before you started yammering promises about how you'd remember to have a proper celebration next year.

But instead of saying good morning, or acknowledging your apologises, Joe broke into a laugh. The kind of laugh that reaches his eyes, the way you love so much. Then he told you he loved you, and you said it back; and then you sprung into another lucky day among friends.

You spent the weekend watching Gwilym teach Olive how to bake and assisting her in passing around treats she helped pour spoonfulls of ingredients in to create. Rami was most often roped into her imaginary games, and he played along with ease. You and Joe were invited to join in one morning, but neither of you could grasp the ever changing rules to Olives satisfaction, and you were swiftly kicked out of the loop while she and Rami played on.

Lucy made sure Olive was perfectly content snuggled up with Ben to watch cartoons, before she pulled you into her room with a bottle of wine for each of you to sip from. You spent a whole afternoon there with her, taking turns spilling your guts over all things you could only discuss with your dearest darling Lucy.

And when the getaway was over, everyone left in separate hurries much like before. But unlike then, you weren't so worried about where everyone might end up. You weren't worried about where you were going, either. You'd all managed to keep coming back together so far, and with an established faith that your group would keep finding excuses to do so, you didn't despair.

You remembered everything, on your drive back to London. The time you'd closed your eyes on this ride, years before. How you and Gwilym survived the nonsense you'd swept yourselves up in. Lucy's unconditional friendship. Rami's strong hugs. Ben's strong feelings.

You thought of what Joe said to you, when you met. How he said he saw a future with you, before he even knew your name. And the thought tore you away from remembering everything to look ahead. To look over, and settle your gaze on Joe. His pretty profile, and the shine of his moonstone eyes. You couldn't quite picture the places you'd end up, but you realize that you couldn't dream of a day without Joe at your side. He was always meant to be there.

While you drove, he entertained every one of Olive's questions that echoed from the back seat. You turned a grateful smile his way every now and again and savored the way he smiled back, in the way you loved so much. In a way that you didn't have to wonder how he felt, or what might come next. Unlike before, Joe made up a million of your memories. And unlike before, you knew he always would.

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taglist: @sonic-volcano @imtheinvisiblequeen @redspecialty @itscale @stardust-killer-queen @joemazzelo @dancetohotspace @kiwi-hardy @joeneslee @borhapqueen92 @im-an-adult-ish @johndeaconshands @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye @beepbeephardy @slutforbritdick @joemazzmatazz @almightygwil @sadhwstudent @freakibanana @lelifesaver @drummah-in-a-rocknroll-band

#joe mazzello #joe mazello x reader #joe mazzello fanfic #joe mazzello imagine #gwilym lee #gwilym lee x reader #gwilym lee fanfic #gwilym lee imagine

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secret-engima · 5 years ago

Note

It's gonna be interesting to see Lucis's reaction to the existence of the second Prince.

OH IS IT EVER.

-Meltdown just about covers it, but not quite. Like- not only is this a second prince, but he’s OLDER than Noctis by a good seven years. Ignoring the media for just a sec (though OH BOY THE MEDIA) the MOOGLENET (or whatever the FFXV version of the internet is) is gonna have a collective heart attack. Some people are gonna be joining on the media boat of questioning Regis for having a son out of wedlock (and if he still has Nox’s mother in hiding somewhere as a mistress) but others are going to be harping on Nox himself. Like- the theories get WILD. How did Regis’s agents not find him until he was 15+? How strong is his magic? Why does he wear long sleeves in every (rare) photo or video and why are his photos and videos so rare? Where was his mother from? Was she even Lucian?

-Top theories on those are that either his mother/mother’s family HID him from Regis’s agents or he was living in another country until recently (considering the only other “countries” right now are all under Niflheim’s thumb, this immediately spawns the theories that he’s a double agent for the Empire or he was tortured by them and escaped, which would explain the long sleeves). Other theories for the long sleeves is he’s hiding tattoos that would shame the royal family (he already has long hair and strange taste in earrings after all). Maybe Regis is hiding him from the public eye because he’s ashamed of his illegitimate child, or maybe there’s something wrong with him (people who go with the “tortured and escaped the Empire theory assume he has mental issues on top of scars). A really popular theory for his mother was that she was from Niflheim, possibly a Nif agent there to get the royal bloodline in Nif hands, until someone dug up a picture of him hanging out with the glaives and someone else (probably a Galahdian tbh) did a breakdown on how the single braid visible in all of Nox’s photos is a Galahdian braid, which immediately makes the theory that his mom was Galadhian way more popular (there’s also a niche theory that he’s the kid of Queen Sylva and Regis and that Slyva had been hiding him in Tenebrae until recently, but few people subscribe to that one).

-And let’s not forget the DRAMA the mooglenet is waiting breathlessly for the moment his existence is known. I mean- think about it. Much older illegitimate prince with possible scars, mental issues or enemy agent mom suddenly gets found and taken into the Citadel and named the second prince? A lessor inheritor even though he’s older than the Crown Prince by seven-ish years? If this was a drama show, then Regis would end up assassinated by the long-lost son he foolishly took in and Noctis would either die or disappear mysteriously and Nox would suddenly be the only LC left to take up the throne (and possibly turn it over to the Empire if you’re one of the theorists on the “was born and raised in Niflheim and is their double agent” boat). Like- you KNOW that is how the plot would go, and so does all of the mooglenet, who await the descent of their kingdom into Game of Thrones intrigue and murder with baited breath and much frantic typing.

-But those are mostly Insomnian mooglenet users. No, the ones who live out in the wilder areas, the small towns and the outposts where Hunters often come through have a different kind of meltdown that mostly comprises of “hgdgfd that guy who saved me from monsters/daemons/nifs was WHO????” or “That’s my regular non-regular. He and his weirdo Uncle stop by my ramen stand whenever they’re in and bicker over the best toppings. ACTUAL ROYALTY likes my ramen WHAT IN THE WORLD-” or, arguably the funniest one, “HGFGFHGFD THE DRIFTER I REGULARLY HIRE TO DO RANDOM CHORES IS THE PRINCE. OF. LUCIS?? THE KIDDO WHO DRESSES LIKE A HOBO AND TAGS ALONG WITH AN EVEN MORE HOBO UNCLE IS ROYALTY???? I SENT ROYALTY TO COLLECT MY BEAN CROPS??????”

-Basically while all of Insomnia is wary and confused by Nox’s existence, the rest of Lucis is collectively losing their minds because, you know, Nox has helped out his people where he can, which means he has ABSOLUTELY done all those random side-quests where you harvest somebody’s crop or look for a lost shipment or go out and fight HORRIBLE MONSTERS so bring back some of their parts that you need for your dinky little weapon’s shop. Like- everybody thought they were the only ones who got helped out by this random drifter kid, but then THIS happens and the mooglenet explodes with stories from ALL OVER FLIPPING LUCIS of this kid dropping everything to like- help a researching find certain colored frogs or something in exchange for trinkets and petty gil and shop discounts and the occasional potion.

-While Insomnia is busy prepping their Game of Thrones style fanfic and the tabloids are speculating on the mental (in)stability and bloodline of the “brooding illegitimate prince, no doubt embittered over his early life and eyeing the little brother keeping him from the throne”, the rest of Lucis are basically melting into puddles of shock, confusion, and adoration for the royalty that would drop everything to help out random citizens. Care packages start showing up from all corners of Lucis to thank their prince, and after they’re cleared by security, Nox opens them all. And writes thank you cards. Personalized thank you cards that often reference some individual event or factoid of the person/people it comes from (thing’s like, “I hope your ankle is doing better”, or “tell your wife thank you for the knitted socks, they’re very warm and she didn’t have to make them for me, I know wool is expensive in your area”, or “sorry I won’t be around to deliver your next batch of spiracorn tails, my father doesn’t want me going on Hunts right now for whatever reason”) and this proof that he REMEMBERS and STILL CARES just makes them love him more.

-Also there’s this music-based drabble thing I’m working on that happens JUST as the mooglenet/media is starting to calm down and THAT sets everything off again with even more screaming and confusion and Insomnians going “I’M SORRY WHAT????” while the rural Lucians just go “ahh. Ah yes that explains it. That’s our little Drifter.”

-Regis is torn between being Responsible About Security and wanting the Hilarity Factor of letting Nox have a social media account. Like- his son hates public appearances of any kind and he respects that (barring the few mandatory noble balls), but Regis can just imagine the utter chaos Nox would unleash if anyone ever let him have a Twitter account and it’s .... tempting. The nobles haven’t been this off balance in years and for all some (a lot) of the tabloids and media commentators are annoying in their harping and gossip, the collective brain-melt Nox keeps triggering in the collective public/nobles/Council/media is HYSTERICAL.

-Nyx, snickering, announces one day that Nox has fanfiction about him. Like- A LOT of it. He is reigns over a thriving chunk of the Real Person fandom, almost all of which is massively OOC and either filled with political intrigue and assassinations (and sordid badly written romance) or just straight up AUs (vampire/werewolf/supernatural Nox is a stunningly popular AU as is the Usuper Dystopia AU). Nox is morbidly curious but refuses to actually read any of it for fear of losing his mind (she doesn’t tell him about the very fierce Shipping Wars that have broken out, or the fact that most of those Shipping Wars are over various popular celebrities Nox has never met, Noble Daughters he’s met and despised, and Aranea Highwind, who is on the list solely because she’s a famous female Nif officer and the Nif!Nox theory is very popular).

-There would be a segment of that fandom dedicated to works from the common folk who’ve actually met him, but for that part of the population it’s more popular to share various stories about how they met the then-unknown prince for real and how he either helped them or was adorably awkward over something (there is a magazine anthology of those stories, released monthly and very popular out in Lucis proper, Cindy has a subscription that Cid refuses to admit he reads).

-The fandom/theorists even stretch into Altissia and Niflheim. If ANYONE asked, Loqi would refuse to admit, on pain of DEATH, that he is the author of That One Fic everyone knows about/favs/follows/fanarts that features a Nox/Aranea ship, the now ex-Chancellor as Nox’s maternal uncle, and a SCARY in-depth knowledge/breakdown of both Niflheim and Lucian politics (in the context of Nox and Aranea navigating them, surprisingly this is the one Super Popular Nox-Nea fic that DOES NOT feature a Double Agent!Nox).

-The only reason Ardyn does not contribute to the rumors/fanfics/theories is because he doesn’t Understand How the Mooglenet Works™. He has, however, gleefully listened to some of the glaives read Loqi’s That One Super Popular Nif-Written Fic and smirked to himself over how it is so OBVIOUS who the author is, and pleased that Loqi the author is actually tasteful in his courtship subplot and shipping habits.

#SE asks #hamelin-born asks #Nox verse #Melodies and Manuscripts #Secret Engima Rambles #*cackles*

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skelffricat · 4 years ago

Text

Uppa (Mother)Hoods

I have never given birth, yet I have made three children. At the cosy NCT* group in the Ormeau Library, where I went with my first child (when I managed to get up early enough) I felt ashamed of this. The mothers there were Proper Mothers, with scars in their vaginas; tits out for milking; organic rice cakes for snacks; and great pride in their beautiful birth stories. They were horrific to me (the stories, not the mothers). I couldn’t talk about my birth experience without crying. I even made my GP cry, telling her about it. My eldest was whisked out of my unconscious middle in a now-derelict hospital in South Wales, while my legs were stirruped up (I once made the mistake of visiting the Erotic Museum in Amsterdam- the Sex Museum is better- whilst very stoned. One tends to be stoned, in Amsterdam, I suppose. The floors were confusingly slanted, giving me a sinking feeling, and the top floor’s “sexy” scene was a hospital one. Mannequins in stirrups do NOT turn me on. I had to immediately leave. I may have wept.) There was a student in the hospital room, with horror on his young face, gawping between my legs, and a nurse was urging the doctor to wait for me to go fully under the anaesthetic before he sliced my layers open with the scalpel. My eldest’s father had already been bade to leave. I think he signed something as he left. Signed our lives away?

I learnt later, whilst perusing my eldest’s little red book**, that her lung had collapsed. (I asked why they hadn’t told me. Oh, but it’s fairly common, they said. One in ten thousand. Not worth mentioning, really. Wtf?!) She had pooed in my womb (how rude!) and inhaled some of her own meconium. Meconium. Meconium. I had already learnt that word as a teen, from the band James, in their brilliant song, Gold Mother.

Then I had three friends- well, six, really- who had had stillborn children, at full term, and stopped feeling ashamed of how my child had made her clumsy entrance to the world, and merely relieved that she was alive and kicking, and proud of her. The biggest, reddest, loudest, baby in SCBU***. (“How will I know which one is mine?” I had croaked. Then, it was so obvious, I’d laughed.) I can also feel smug about not pissing myself on trampolines, or every time I sneeze, like most of the women I know who’ve had natural births. Perhaps I’ll start an Unnatural Childbirth Trust. Do your pelvic floor exercises. Now.

TRIGGER WARNING: I am going to talk about teenage suicide.

Now my youngest child has died, by suicide, just short of her 15th birthday, and I try to feel relief that she is at peace, and that I got 15 glorious years with her. If I think about birthdays like the Chinese people do, I can call it 16****. Almost a woman.

I found her. She arranged that I would, I suppose because she thought I could cope with it better than her father could (she was right, of course. She was usually right. She was very wise. I miss her wisdom, and her unfailing ability to open any jar I couldn’t. She was strong.) I don’t know how to feel about that. People keep telling me that I’m strong, but it seems strangely shameful to be strong at this time (and I still can’t open jars). Perhaps the anti-depressants are working too well? I wonder. I worry that my blasé attitude to death made her decision easier (though I understand that it is pointless to worry about these things now. It won’t bring her back.) We tended to talk about death a lot. Some of my friends had died by suicide, and I would discuss with my mother, her granny, around the children, how suicide was no longer a shameful thing. How you shouldn’t say “committed” in front of it, because it hasn’t been a crime in the UK since 1961. It shouldn’t be a crime anywhere. We went to funerals in brightly coloured clothes. I celebrated dead people’s wonderful lives with them.

She was hanging from the trapeze I’d had built for her, in our quiet back garden, from a hammock that I had bought for her. I had wondered about the hammock being out there in winter, and thought it was tied in a funny way, a few days before, but not done anything about that. I try not to regret that either. My logic comforts me thus: at least these things could be taken from the garden, and destroyed (the hammock) or used again (the trapeze) and I didn’t have to cut down any trees. I said to myself- she would have done it anyway, somewhere else, at some time. She did it with her things. She used to do amazing things on them. She could soar and swoop gracefully from that trapeze, and even the hammock got strung up high and spun from.

I had been drinking the night before with my lovely Scottish lover. We watched Wild at Heart, and drank red wine. I thoroughly christened the new bright yellow carpet with a full glass of it, oops. Tried to clean it with a sock. My youngest child was baking in the kitchen. She made a vegan chocolate cake. At one point I went in to her and she was sat on the floor, looking at the cake in the oven. Her head was practically in there. When I was a child, we had electric, not gas, and I thought that people who killed themselves by putting their heads in the oven were cooking themselves to death. How did all the heat not escape, I wondered? How long would that take?! Those thoughts went through my head as I looked at her. She had attempted suicide before, around a month ago. We had been to the hospital. She convinced them (and me) that she wasn’t suicidal, and was sent home. I am not angry at this. What is the point in being angry? She is gone. She was a good actress. A cry for help? She had been to CAMHS that very day. I felt hopeful. She was making cake! She was going to try school tomorrow, in her own comfortable clothes. She hadn’t been for ages. She was too anxious, about uniform, about what to learn, about the future. I asked her what she was doing and we laughed about her proximity to the oven.

He and I ate the cake, later, with natural yoghurt. It was delicious. We called her to join us and she wouldn’t. The last time I saw my youngest daughter alive I was thinking about her killing herself, in a jocular way. Then she did. In a jugular way. Fuck, sorry. I find myself saying the most inappropriate things.

Sometimes I imagine her last breath. Or dream of disembodied heads. I wonder did she change her mind at the last minute, or feel resolute, and pleased with herself, her escape? Did she make a noise? Did she call out to me, to anyone? I guess you probably can’t call out...? At first, the shock was so severe, I couldn’t think about it without feeling a massive surge of pure panic. I saw my face in the mirror that morning, and it was ashen grey. Later, my eldest described the sensation as a perpetual feeling of dread. Impending doom. Yes, I said, like we’re waiting for something horrific to happen! Then we would realise it already had. My heart thumped so viciously hard inside of me, it felt like it was going to jump right out of my chest. Proving its aliveness. Until I calmed it with (mostly) legal drugs. In the next few weeks, I liked to listen to hearts beating, breath flowing. People being alive, alive- oh.

My lover had left that night, as he was to go on a walk early the next day. I am so relieved that he had. He has his own demons. He never went on that walk, of course, but at least he didn’t have to find her. He left at around 3am. Her bedroom door was closed.

I awoke just before 6am. I’m not sure why. I expect I needed water, because I’d been drinking wine. Her door was open. The light was on, and I could see her bed was empty. I got water, and went to her room and saw there was a note on the bed. It was written in green biro, on an A4 file page, folded twice. There was a little cheeky red smiley face with its tongue out on the outside. It was a suicide note. Full of love. Was it a suicide note? So much love. It can’t be a suicide note. I started to look for her, around the house. It was still very dark. I was switching on the light in a room and looking around it and switching the light off and looking in another room. I couldn’t find her. I looked in some rooms twice. I even opened the compartment under her bed. I looked in the cupboard under the stairs, like Harry Potter’s room, that she and her friend had once shut themselves into, to see each other’s glow-in-the-dark bicycle helmets. Where is she? I thought. This is the worst game of Hide-and-Go-Seek ever! Perhaps it’s not a suicide note. Perhaps she has run away? I got dressed.

Then I found her, in our dark and silent back garden. As she was on the far side of the trapeze to me, her feet were level with the safety mat under the trapeze. I thought for a second that she was just standing there, very still. I was still hoping it was all a joke. A mistake. One of our white garden chairs was beside her. When I realised she was hanging, I swung her slightly. This movement haunts me. Her face... her face was distorted. Her tongue lolling out. I hope you never have to see that on anyone. Especially not your child. My friend hanged herself years ago and my daughter’s face reminded me of her dead one. So, I was thinking, she is dead, in one layer of my mind, and in another, I was thinking, I shall save her. I was calling her, and caressing her freezing face. She was so cold. Dead cold. I ran into the kitchen, got a serrated knife. I am unsure of the order of things. Had I already phoned 999? Was I trying to talk on the phone whilst doing all of this? I cut rapidly through the hammock- it was easy. She flopped into the muck. It was so mucky. I was trying to pull her by the arms onto the trapeze mat, away from the cloying mud, but she was a dead weight. Dead dead dead. No help there. I couldn’t move her. She was so ungainly. I felt inept and weak. I tried to put her in the recovery position. Then I thought, oh wait, no, I need to do chest compressions- I can’t do that on a soft mat anyway. I kept dropping the phone in the mud, and the man on the end of the line was almost shouting at me.

I put her on her back and was doing chest compressions and he was asking, “is she breathing?”

She seemed to breathe when I pressed her. I thought, oh! She’s alive? I kept pressing, and dropping the phone in the mud, and I was all mucky too, and she wasn’t breathing- I was just pushing air through her- but I had a glimmer of hope, and the 999 man was counting with me through my mucky mobile phone, and I heard the ambulance coming, and I said to him, I have to let them in! and he said, NO! Keep pressing! I said, I have to, my garden is inaccessible, and I let them in. Two ambulances, filling my dark quiet street with noise and lights and hope.

They took over. They asked for towels to kneel on in the muck. I’d never thought of that- I got them, as quick as I could. I paced, and watched, and walked away then watched again, and the cat jumped and wheedled around everything. Did he see her die? I wondered? Why didn’t you come get me, cat, like Lassie, or Skippy, or fucking Flipper!? She must have shut the kitchen door and kept him away. They tried and tried, and I paced. They did the defibrillators. Then her breasts became visible and I baulked at the indignity of it, whilst knowing it was entirely necessary, and just... human. They did the adrenaline shots. Four of them, taking turns. Is there any hope? I asked one. Not really, he said. We’re trying because she is young. She’s been there a while. At least I could feel less guilty about getting dressed. I kept thinking, why did I get dressed? I got dressed to go find my dead daughter.

Was it starting to get light? It was going to be a beautiful morning, I thought, what a pity she can’t see it. I changed out of my mucky clothes. Layered up. It was so cold. There was time, while they tried to save her.

They tried for 20 minutes before they pronounced her dead. There was mud everywhere. They put the mucky towels in a shopping basket I had outside to light fires in. The ambulance people all told me they were very sorry for my loss.

I don’t like euphemisms for death.

Saying I’ve lost her implies I could find her again. I suppose I find her in my dreams. Though I dreamt of different, unknown, children last night. Two little mixed race boys that I was minding in the (huge dream version) of the Carnival Centre. They kept running away and messing about. At one point we were all on top of a huge concrete topped lift (elevator), that lurched away from beneath us so that we flew into the air. It was falling faster than us. How is that possible? We couldn’t catch up with gravity. Griefity? We weren’t falling fast enough. I keep dreaming of losing children. Not children dying. I dreamt I lost my son the other night too. He was led into a room I wasn’t allowed in. I could see him through the window of the door I couldn’t go through. Then he went out of my sight and I woke up, shaking, horrified.

I recently found my daughter alive again, in a dream. She was very wee- three or four. Before her first haircut. She was being really bold and naughty. She kept running away from me, and she had pooed herself a little, and was rubbing the poo on things, half on purpose. I was trying to catch her and clean her and her hands. We were on holiday? Maybe on a big ferry? I think we had to catch a flight. She had run into a swimming pool room and climbed into a pile of boxes and upset the boxes, and pulled another little girl on top of her and hurt her too. I was trying to pull them out, without hurting them, without losing my temper. I was really trying hard to keep my temper. I was thinking as I woke, if this keeps up, she'll be taken off me. It was so vivid that as I came to, I thought, I must text the Woodcarver; I must text my youngest daughter, to see if she's ok. It was quite a while before I awoke properly and thought, of course she's not ok, she's dead. She's already away. Then I got upset, and cried, but I was glad I got upset because I've been taking anti-depressants and not feeling anything much, so it was a relief to feel sad. I accidentally hadn't taken any for a couple of days at that point.

Saying she has passed annoys me more. Passed what? Her exams? Wind? (That’s always funny.) She has passed tense? She is past tense.

It wasn’t until she was pronounced officially dead that I phoned her father, the Woodcarver. I thought, there is no point in giving him false hope like mine. He made a loud guttural noise, like a wounded animal, on the other end of the line. It woke my son, who was staying with him. He thought his father was dying. Wrong relative.

It was a brightening cold morning by now. The police came. Her father came. He kicked the white chair she had used, and broke it. This satisfied and disturbed me in equal measure. He hit his head off the sink. I was frightened by him, despite the police presence. I was frightened for him.

The police were very kind. A man and a woman. The man was comfortingly camp. They had masks on. There’s a pandemic, it is said. They took their hats off, but left the masks on. No-one else really bothered with masks, for the next while. I was fascinated by the police officers’ dark green peaked hats- one for boys, and one for girls- on my kitchen table. I made myself tea and put sugar in it. I never take sugar in tea. I’d heard it was good for shock.

My dead daughter’s father’s brother came. He told me to phone my mum. I said I would wait until she normally got up. What is the sense of breaking your last peaceful night’s sleep early, to find out something that won’t be any less dreadful half an hour later? He had brought my son; my daughter’s father’s mother; my daughter’s father’s girlfriend. This is starting to read like Anna Burns’ The Milkman. My daughter’s grandma was also fascinated by the police officers’ hats. She said that one wanted mending, and she wished she had a needle and thread. I didn’t think to fetch her one. I asked if it is true that pregnant women are allowed to pee in police officers’ hats, but they hadn’t heard that before. I kept checking the time on my phone, every few minutes, and drinking sweet tea. I was waiting for the real morning to begin. Nothing has felt real ever since, though.

When I did ring my mother at 8am, she didn’t wake. My little brother did, though. He went and told her in person, and when she arrived, she was bawling, and had forgotten her glasses. She looked tiny. She was due to see everyone the next day. She had been quarantining as she was not long back from Spain. I deeply regret not bringing the children to wave at her in the garden. She hadn’t seen them for months.

We were flitting between my house and our friends’ house round the corner. My garden was now a crime scene. My daughter’s father didn’t like this. He wanted to hold her lifeless body’s hand. At that point, I thought I never wanted to see her lifeless body again, but I changed my mind a few days later, and that was alright. I saw her in her casket and her face looked... Dead, but not distorted any more. She looked peaceful, I suppose, and very beautiful, in a sad way. She was surrounded by toys, trinkets, food she loved. Dried mango. Finn and Jake. Her elder sister tucked her pride flag around her. She hadn’t seen her for ten months.

There were many people now, milling inside, and out in the sunshine, between the two houses. The neighbours were out and about, too. I had made horrendous phone calls to a workmate and a couple of friends and the word was spreading. I had phoned my eldest daughter in Wales. To spread the word. The bad word. The worst words. I have had Joshua Burnside’s song, The Good Word, in my head a lot, this last while.

“Last night I dreamed

We were running for our lives

From robots in the jungle

Helicopters in the sky

But the ground opened up and I

Couldn't save her

Couldn't save her again

Oh no

No sir

Not this time

Glory hallelujah.”

My lover came down and was of the utmost comfort to me. When the coroner had been and they were to take her away, the Woodcarver’s biggest brother- he that had been there first- came to me in the other house and asked did I want to say goodbye to her body? I said, no, I do not, that is not my daughter any more.

I sought comfort in words. We read poems on her bed.

Various people told us of a humanist celebrant. She offered to help us for free, and she did, and I am so grateful.

A friend gave me valium. At some point, someone went to the offy. More and more people came. The lovely camp police officer returned, with my daughter’s bank card, and people panicked, because of Covid, but he didn’t say anything. He only wanted to help.

The next while was a blur...

*National Childbirth Trust- it was the only secular one. I also enjoyed the ones in churches, with their cream teas, and knitted religious folks, trying not to try to convert you and yours. It perhaps could’ve been called the Natural Childbirth Trust, because they kept banging on about it...

**The NHS issue these red books as personal child health records.

***SCBU- the Special Care Baby Unit. They pronounced it Skiboo, in their lovely Welsh lilts. My doctor looked like a child. She had been working for 24 hours straight, and was still charming and kind.

****Age reckoning originated in China, where it's believed that a baby's age starts from its time in the mother's womb. The practice is also common in Korea, Japan, Taiwan, Hong Kong and Vietnam.

#suicide #scbu #nct #death #motherhood #uppahoods #teenagesuicide

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silyabeeodess · 5 years ago

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Hey, Fusion Fellas: As heartbroken as many of us still are over the DMCA shutdown, it’s nice to see so many fans of the game continue to carry on in whatever way they can. I’ve kept up with whatever news appears as much as I can, seeing the news spread and more people come together to find ways to enjoy something that was such a big part of their childhoods. There’s some stuff I’d like to say, regarding my personal thoughts and what I plan to do since I know some of you follow me for my fanwork of the game. The first half is largely negative so, if you like, you can skip over that: I’ll have things written in bold to mark where this starts and breaks off.

I’m still angry at CN. I know about the guy spreading lies to the network and I understand that they have to protect their IP. That’s not what I have a problem with. What I have a problem with is a multi-million dollar company targeting a harmless, fan project over a piece of their IP that they themselves have confessed they aren’t planning on doing anything with--effectively keeping it vaulted where no one is allowed to touch it: Targeting a group of devoted fans who’ve shown more love and care for this franchise and the fanbase (along with the shows its attached to) than their own hired creatives have. Beyond a matter of law, this is a matter of respect--and CN has lost all of mine.

Take a game like Undertale and its creator, Toby Fox. You have a small team making a game that boomed in popularity, similar to FusionFall back in its hay-day. The difference is people can still buy UT and the game continues through the AU that is Deltarune while there’s no possible way for fans of FusionFall to ever experience it without a server. So how do these two separate creators--Toby Fox and CN--react to their fans? Toby Fox says, “Hey fans! Go make your fanart! Make your fan games, so long as you don’t try to make money off of it. You can even make your more mature content, just please tag it separately from the game’s official title.” Here, you have someone at greater risk of financial loss; understanding that what the fans create, they create out of love; giving as much allowance as he can to the people that enjoy what he started. Cartoon Network? “Yes, we know you love this game and although we’re never going to touch it again, you can’t either. How about you watch our awful reboots instead? We know you didn’t want them and that you don’t like them, so we’ll be sure to call you names and spit on you if you have anything negative to say about us. Because we don’t actually care about you.” This is a company that doesn’t think of its fans beyond the dollar signs they see attached to them. The fact that they’ve apparently only addressed one person over the course of weeks despite the countless emails and messages sent to them regarding FusionFall is also terrible--like they’re waiting for people to give up so the whole issue can be swept under the rug, like they think we’ll simply forget.

That post I made before about this? I still mean it. Cartoon Network doesn’t respect us, so why would I want to support them? Moneygrubbing, Hollywood empire Disney has shown a better attitude toward people than CN has as of late--and I can’t stand a large bulk of what Disney’s done over the past several years! Everyone can make their own choice regarding the company--I’m not calling for a boycott--but I’ve stopped watching their shows and I’ve cancelled my plans for purchases I was going to make for their newer merchandise. Even if I could make a few exceptions for them, their behavior overall is too horrible for me to want to give them so much as a dime of ad revenue from watching a video.

Because of this, I’ll be perfectly honest, I don’t even feel like making fanart anymore or writing the headcanon posts I’ve been covering. I’ve enjoyed them, but they have been always solely for fun and it’s hard to want to make anything when all that’s happened is on the forefront of my mind. Part of what makes it so hard on a personal level is that I loved what Cartoon Network used to be--and admittedly does still exist in small fragments of their content now. The creatives that wanted to push the envelope for animation and storytelling: Not the trash banking on old shows and jokes that were dated the moment they uttered them in hopes of getting a cheap laugh because there’s nothing better on TV. (Not even realizing how doomed for failure they are as things move toward streaming because then people can shift through the garbage that much easier.) When I was a kid, I watched the PPG on a regular basis and Numbuh 5 from KND was the person I wanted to be. In middle school, I planned my afternoon schedule around episodes of Total Drama Island and bounced on a trampoline while singing Are You CN This? like it was the top single of the year. In high school, our theatre members’ turns backstage were shared watching Steven Universe. Now, I feel nothing but bitterness and disappointment, like someone who’s lost a friend that changed for the worst.

So, how will this effect what I post? I did have a bunch of stuff planned, but I keep going back and forth on what I want to do. It’s hard to truly enjoy making stuff, as mentioned before, but at the same time I’ve never been one to drop anything easily (even if it takes me years to actually get something done, as some of you who follow me for other things already know.)

Some of you may have noticed that I didn’t post a fic for last month’s prompt and haven’t posted any new prompts for this month. I did start writing my story for April, but ended up leaving it hanging when everything hit. I don’t know about finishing it, and since I’ve been the only person working with the prompts from what I’ve seen, it seems pretty pointless. Since I kinda began an arc with a few of them, I might try to at least wrap that up, but I just don’t know.

For the comic, since I already have some work done on what would’ve been the first chapter, I might go ahead and finish that. (Just know that it’s several pages long, meaning it’ll still take some time to finish... and that you’ll need to be braced for wave of posts when its done. It’s got about eleven pages now: I would have more done, but since I backtracked on the script to cover the tutorial rather than jump straight into a totally original plot as first intended, some of that stuff had to be put aside.) Keep in mind thought that it really might be just that chapter. Without the drive and with being so backed up on other projects--and since we don’t have the game to rely on for references as easily anymore--I just don’t know how long I could keep working on it.

With the headcanons, I could still do a fair amount of research to get those done, but it’s just not the same. If I made more, the masterpost would still be updated; however, tags on the posts themselves would be limited to FusionFall rather than include the cartoons. I don’t care about traffic: I don’t want any confusion from anyone thinking I’m supporting CN’s current work. (Petty? Most likely, but at least there’s no question where I stand.)

Even if I don’t post as much FusionFall stuff, people are still free to send me asks about the game. So long as the asks follows the terms I’ve set up for my blog, it’s perfectly fine. I’ll try to answer them as usual.

Overall, at least for now, expect these posts to wane: Not dropped entirely, but definitely less frequent. I’ve said it multiple times already: I just don’t know. I’m upset that the game’s gone. I’m upset at those involved for its shutdown. I’m upset at those who don’t care about the fans and those who act like the fans are wrong for caring. I’m upset at those in the community going at each other’s throats when people are trying to salvage the fanbase as much as they can. The whole thing is just plain sad and I don’t feel like there’s much I can do except sit at my desk, pick up my pen, and push myself to do what I’ve always done: Focus on my work.

#silya speaks #fusionfall

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lassieposting · 5 years ago

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I adore your thoughts about deamon culture and upbringing. Something that’s always bugged me is that we don’t really get an insight into the culture and layout of heaven and hell or the non-humanness that makes angles and deamons. Please give more thoughts!!!

OH BOY, DO I

DEMON CULTURE HEADCANONS COMING RIGHT UP

[1] My personal headcanon is that devil was originally a Lilim word that basically meant “warlord” - the leader of a clan with his or her own territory - and there were thousands of them, because demons lived in warring clans. Every clan had a _devil, _and they all considered themselves the ultimate authority and were constantly fighting for power. When Lucifer staged a coup and took over one of the strongest clans in the Ninth Circle, he basically went on a conquering spree, up to the point that there is now only one devil; all the other clan leaders have bent the knee to him. There’s probably either a Lilim way of distinguishing between A Devil (a warlord) and The Devil (Lucifer, King of Hell), or it’s become sort of an archaic term used only to refer to Lucifer and another name has become commonplace for your bog-standard warlord. The word then made its way to Earth both through Lucifer himself and through other demons before he outlawed possession, and developed its modern meaning from there.

More under the cut - this is long as fuck. It’s becoming a habit.

GENETICS:

- Demons live in one of the most inhospitable, treacherous environments of any dimension in the known multiverse. They’ve been shaped by the need to survive in their habitat.

- Demons in general have a much higher heat resistance than humans, as well as far better low-light vision and enhanced speed, strength and endurance.

- Hell has different habitats the same way Earth does, though, and the demons who live in the Ninth Circle (the part of Hell we see in the show, the part where Lucifer’s palace is) would have different adaptations to the demons who’ve evolved to live in the swampy marshland of the Sixth Circle (where Maze was born).

- Demons are an R-coded species, so they have large numbers of babies, less parental care, a short gestation period and a very low survival-to-adulthood rate.

- Because their babies have such a low survival rate, demons have very little parental attachment and they don’t form family units the way humans do (i.e. child raised by biologically related caregivers, close relationship between parents and child).

CHILDHOOD:

- Baby demons are born already equipped with fantastic low-light vision, a full set of needle-sharp teeth, and the ability to get up and move around very shortly after birth. They’re not wholly independent - they don’t learn to talk or develop fine motor/dexterity skills until they’re older - but they are very much born armed and dangerous, which they need to be because…

- They can and do eat their siblings in the nest, like sharks. Cannibalism is fucking rife in Hell. A large chunk of spawn are lost in their first year to fratricide/sororicide. It’s just seen as weeding out the weaklings.

- In most clans, the spawn are raised communally in a creche run by designated nest-minders; these are usually the weakest members of the clan who would not be any use as warriors. Raising the young during their first few years of life is a fairly low-status position in society, but it does ensure that those weak demons will be fed, housed and protected - nobody wants to have to take over their job, so it’s worthwhile to keep them alive.

- Demon spawn are…little demons. A large part of why Lucifer doesn’t like children is because of extended exposure to spawn. They completely lack empathy and social skills, so they’re loud, they bite, and a large chunk of nest-minders’ time is spent separating them when they try to kill each other. They won’t develop logic, critical thinking or their (still limited) sense of empathy until they’re a lot older.

- Contrary to what some might believe, demons do have affectionate nicknames for their young - the sort of thing a warrior might call his trainee, or a nest-minder might call their favourite charge. The English equivalent would probably be kiddo or something, but they’d translate literally as “spawn” or “offspring”. There’s a sort of implication there that you care enough about this kid to see them as family; they can probably rely on you to protect them if they’re in danger.

ADOLESCENCE:

- Demons don’t have a long childhood, and mostly they learn a trade by apprenticing under a professional. A would-be warrior is trained by an experienced warrior; a kid with a talent for art might apprentice under a leathercrafter; if you’re particularly intelligent and politically savvy you might get lucky and learn from your clan’s devil, if you manage to impress them.

- A juvenile who wants to be a warrior (like Maze, for example) goes through a series of incredibly dangerous trials to become a fully-fledged adult warrior of their clan. It’s sort of like living in the Hunger Games, but, you know. Permanently.

* Around the onset of puberty, at around 10 or 11 years old, they’re given a simple weapon and some supplies and sent out into the world by themselves to find something useful to bring back to their clan, to prove that they’re worth the time and effort it will take to train them.

At this point, they have no formal training. They’ve got a decade or so of viciously scrapping with other youngsters in the creche for food, but they’re expected to get by mostly on their wits, their viciousness, and their willingness to kill to survive.

There are hundreds of things that can kill a young demon alone in Hell. Demons from other clans. Heat exhaustion. Feral hellhounds. Dehydration. Volcanic eruption. Manticore. Harpy. Dragon. There’s even a chance another kid from their own clan will panic and kill first, ask questions later.

What they bring back can be any of a number of things. Maybe some priceless gemstones that can be traded for commodities not native to their area of Hell. Maybe information about a territory ripe for overtaking. Maybe spoils taken from dead enemies from a clan yours is at war with. Whatever it is, it needs to be something the leaders of your clan will benefit from, or they might send you back out to find something better. Maze brought back Lucifer.

How impressive your gift is generally determines who you apprentice under; the kids who brought back the most impressive things will usually get sent to the clan’s top warriors.

Only 30% or so of the kids sent out into the world will come back. The ones who didn’t clearly wouldn’t have survived training, so it wouldn’t have been worth the effort to train them in the first place.

They’ll spend the next ten years or so (maybe more, maybe less) in training. Their mentor will teach them to fight with a whole load of different weapons, how to hunt, how to torture a captive, how to plan a battle, etc. The ones with leadership potential, training under the clan’s War Chief, also learn - on the DL, because nobody wants to get murdered - how to deal with your devil when they’re being an asshole, and how to bring them round to your way of thinking when their plan for a war clashes with yours.

In bigger clans, at the end of their training, each warrior’s trainees get put in an arena to fight to the death. Of each class, only the last one standing actually becomes a warrior. Despite the immense amount of lives lost in childhood, demons breed so prolifically that plenty survive to adulthood.

ADULTHOOD:

- Adult demons often wear identification marks, usually on their faces, to show whereabouts they’re from, which clan they belong to, and what rank they are if they have one. Some clans (like Maze’s) use face paint, others prefer tattoos, still others use scarification or branding. You don’t get to wear them until you’ve proved yourself, so it’s a great honour for a warrior to finally get their stripes.

- This helps establish social order - who you can and can’t flirt with, who you should and shouldn’t pick on, etc. If you’re a humble furs trader, you really don’t want to start a fight with a visiting devil over a casual insult to your work; you’ll get smoked. But fortunately for you, her face markings tell you who she is, so you keep your mouth shut.

- Demons are promiscuous as fuck and don’t really go in for monogamy. It happens occasionally, but it’s definitely not the social norm. While every demon spawn knows who their mother is, it’s very common to have multiple potential fathers.

- Demons can and do fall in love. They’re not very open about it, and there’s no way to say “I love you” in Lilim. Any demonstration of love is a demonstration of weakness, and in Hell any weakness will be used against you. Long term relationships between demons tend to look a lot like Lucifer and Maze - ride-or-die friends who hang out naked and have each other’s back against outside danger regardless of the issues they’re having with each other.

OLD AGE:

- A demon who’s too old to battle anymore but was once a mighty warrior can still command a huge amount of respect; many become advisors to the clan devil - especially if he’s young; Lucifer had to lean on very experienced older advisors as a young king consolidating his power - or train the most promising up-and-comers.

- Demons can and do grieve, but it’s usually expressed as a roaring rampage of revenge against whoever killed your ally. If something happened to Maze, for example, Lucifer wouldn’t cry or get sentimental; he’d cause so much carnage they’d be talking about it for millennia. By demon standards that would be the most touching tribute he could give her tbh.

- After someone dies, their clan usually eats them - in a world where the creatures you eat can kill you just as easily as be killed by you, meat is meat and a meal you don’t have to work for is a gift. (This is why Mom asked if humans eat their own when She first came to Earth. Hell was a horrible surprise for both of them for a variety of reasons, and this is definitely one of them.) To humans, this is horrifying; to demons, it’s not even something to bat an eyelid at.

- Devils don’t often get old. They live in a cutthroat world of power games and ambition, and everyone wants their spot. Devils get to the top by being especially cunning or vicious or physically powerful, and once the thing keeping them there starts to run down, they’re often killed and replaced by someone stronger. It’s just as common for your allies to turn on you as your enemies, so you’re watching your back constantly, never truly safe, always reading into every interaction for signs of danger. There’s a reason Lucifer doesn’t trust easy. As an angel he’s stronger than practically all demons, but Hell-forged steel can kill him; all it would take is for him to let his guard down just a little bit too much at the wrong moment.

#1billsookie #lucifer on netflix #lucifer on fox #lucifer in hell #demon culture #DO YALL KNOW HOW MANY FEELINGS I HAVE ABOUT LUCIFER + DEMON CULTURE #SO MANY #THANK U FOR ASKING IM DELIGHTED U ENJOY MY IDEAS #ALKDFHSLDKFHDLKFH #shoutout to everyone who notices the stepdevil reference #lucifer headcanons

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holidaywishes · 4 years ago

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The Light Beyond The Stars IV

part iv: an illness beyond compare

Summary of series: When Malcolm is young, he dreams of a place where he could run off to and leave his life behind. When he meets Cassandra, his perspective changes and his dreams only include her.

Summary of Chapter: Apollo’s P.O.V as he tries to keep Cassandra from Malcolm

Warning: nothing right now

Author’s Note: First off, to those who’ve sent in asks, I haven’t forgotten about you. I had this chapter nearly finished before I left last week and wanted to finish it before I forgot. Next on my list are the few requests I have. Second, I think I had a different idea for this chapter but it kind of escapes me now so I decided I’d write another P.O.V chapter, this time from Apollo. Keep reading and I hope you keep enjoying ;)

masterlist

the other masterlist

Apollo’s P.O.V

You could see Cassandra falling for the boy from the square from the way she looked at him and spoke to him but you didn’t trust him.

“I don’t want to be the overbearing father that her mother expects me to be,” you said to your father, Zeus, as the two of you stood in the Throne Hall, “but I know he’s tricking her. I can’t let her be tricked”

“How do you know that he’s tricking her?” he asked

“That’s how they met. He was playing some foolish games, magic tricks, in the square.”

“He’s mortal. That’s what they do. That’s how they have fun...”

“She’s too trusting”

“She’s naïve, yes, but she’s smart. She won’t let herself be tricked.”

“She won’t know”

“What are you proposing I do?”

“I need to see his life.”

“You’re asking my permission to look into this boys future? You don’t have to ask, that’s your ability, Apollo. Your choice.”

“I never look. I never take advantage of that responsibility. Others, I’ll be honest, have come in handy. But I would never look into someone’s future.”

“Are you going to change this boys future?”

“No?” you questioned, unsure of what he was saying

“Have you ever planned on changing anyone’s future?”

“No”

“Then why would you never look? You need to know. It’s your gift. Your responsibility”

“The Oracle said..”

“I don’t care what the Oracle said,” he interrupted, “she gave the gift to you. And you passed it down to your children. That makes it your choice what you do with it. If you do not plan on changing this boys future as it is written, then there is no harm in seeking what you wish to find.” You shook your head trying to clear your confusion, slowly making your way to a large pool of water that acted as a gateway to the prophecies you held.

“We’ll dream up a world of our own...” you heard the boy’s voice say, his image appearing on the water

“What will this world have?” Cassandra’s voice cascaded shortly thereafter. You skipped past this moment, as it couldn’t have been too far from the present and you needed to find something further away; something to prove your fears true.

“A little Follow-the-Lady..” a man’s voice slurred. When you didn’t see the young Malcolm you recognized anywhere near this man, you assumed you had found him grown up so you continued to watch. You saw that he had a child, a boy, named Rumpelstiltskin and, though he didn’t appear to be a great father, he loved his son. You watched the two of them together, skipping past moments like they were on videotape until you found the father and son on an island

“Best of all: We can fly!” Malcolm exclaimed

“Flying is impossible” His son added

“Neverland is where the impossible is possible. If you believe it.” You watched as the man jumped off a rock, attempting to fly, only to fall on his face and his boy rushed to his side; Malcolm becoming aggravated with each failed attempt

“Maybe you can’t fly because you’re not a boy anymore.” Rumpel stated and the words seem to trigger something in his father and he took his son to a tree to acquire a handful of Pixie Dust. Malcolm climbed the tree, leaving his scared son below, and found the flowers which held the Dust.

“I want to fly...” he whispered to himself but was quickly met by a shadow who told him he didn’t belong on the island. You were sure that would be the end of this moment, so you began to fast-forward but when you saw the shadow reappear, you stopped to listen to what Malcolm had to say to his son

“I can never be the father you need me to be.” He said, a look of pain on his face, “I’m too weak.”

“I don’t understand. What are you trying to say?” Rumple asked, moving toward his father

“That there is a way that I can stay here, a way that I can get the pixie dust to work so I can fly again,” he whispered, “just like I was when I was a boy.” You found yourself pulled into the discussion between the two, waiting to hear what the conclusion would be

“How?” The young Rumple asked intently

“By letting go of the thing that is holding me back-- You.” His father answered, and the shadow growled before pulling the boy away

“Help!” Rumple called to his father, trying to get away from the monster pulling him away, crying when Malcolm wouldn’t help me, “Don’t let him take me!”

“I don’t have a choice. To stay here, I have to believe I’m young again. And with you here to remind me, I can’t.”

“No, Papa, please! Help me!”

“A child can’t have a child, Rumple! I’m sorry but it’s true.” Malcolm responded, his voice softening only for a moment before letting the shadow take his son away, “I was never meant to be a father.” The shadow forced Rumple to watch as his father was lost in a flurry of green dust, changing into his younger self and you watched the boy cry as he watched the shadow take away his son.

“Apollo?” Anthea asked from around the corner, noticing that your breathing was harsh

“That boy is evil.” You stated, hovering over the pool of water where you had watched Malcolm’s life unfold, “we need to keep him away from Cassandra.”

“How do you suggest we do that? She’s in love with him” Anthea answered

“Love can be controlled. She can be convinced” you said, turning to face your niece

“Uncle...”

“Anthea, you don’t understand what I’ve seen of this boy. He’s going to hurt my daughter. I can’t let that happen. I won’t.”

“I don’t think you understand how young love works--”

“This boy has mortal love. It will fade when he discovers who she is, what she is and what she can do. Her love can--”

“If you tell her to stay away from this boy, if you try to squander her love for him, she will not listen to you. She will find a way to see him. To be with him”

“Not if I have anything to do with it!” you yelled, your voice boasting throughout the room, quieting Anthea and causing her to bow her head to you before walking out of the room. You were forced, now, to wait for your daughter’s return. When she finally arrived back at the house, you quickly directed her inside to rip her away from the young man in front of her. You stood by while Cassandra and Anthea went back and forth about the mundane activities that Cassandra’s night must of held before you finally answered, “You cannot change this boy’s fate.”

“I’m not trying to change his fate!” she challenged you, her eyebrows clenching together in frustration

“Aren’t you?” Anthea started, “what was it you were telling him outside? That there was good in him? Magic even?”

“You cannot tell mortals that there is magic in them.. They cannot know it exists”

“They already know it exists!” she yelled

“What do you mean?” you asked, panic in your voice before you narrowed your eyes at your daughter

“He knows about Neverland,” she explained, “I didn’t tell him. He already knew. And yes, fine. I told him there was magic in him. That there was good in him. But I didn’t tell him what he could do with any of it.”

“That’s not the point, Cassandra!” you shouted, moving closer so your frame would tower over her, “we have the gift of sight. Of Prophecy. It is a burden that we have been entrusted with. You cannot use it to make the boy you love stay good!”

“I’M NOT!” She shouted, tears brimming her eyes as she tried to make herself appear taller for a moment before returning to her original stance, “I believe in him, papa, is that so wrong? I want him to know that he doesn’t have to go down that dark path. And he won’t, if he’s given a chance”

“You can’t provide that path for him, little one,” you said gently, placing your hand on her shoulder to calm her, “he needs to find his own path. To find his own light, not the light that you show him”

“I’m not trying to tric–” she started, stopping suddenly, “the boy I love?”

“What?” you and Athea said together and Cassandra took notice

“You said I can’t use our gift to make the boy I love... stay good” she said

“I–” you stammered, glancing at Anthea only to see her shake her head and shrug to you

“I never said I loved him” Cassandra continued, her voice steady as she walked toward you

“But you do, don’t you?” Anthea added, “I saw the way your heart broke when you thought he wasn’t going to show…”

“I do love him,” she admitted, “but I never said I did”

“I’m not blind, Cassandra, and I think you forget, my sister is the Goddess of Love.” You mentioned, your voice balancing finally

“And what would she have told you of this mortal and I?” Cassandra added

“That you loved him!” you defended, raising your voice to try to hide your secret

“No,” she countered, taking another step toward you, “no, she wouldn’t have come to you just to tell you that ‘your favourite daughter was in love’ she would have said that you needed to stop me from falling for a mortal. From making the same mistake you did” Her words at a bite to them that you didn’t expect, not quite this early on in her life. And not directed at you.

“You’re going to get hurt, Cassandra,” you shouted, “mortals think they know everything. Think they can handle anything. But they find out about us and they run away. He will run away if he finds out about who we are.”

“He’ll say you lied. That you kept secrets from him. He’ll never trust you again” Anthea spoke up, a growl to her tone

“There’s nothing that says he has to find out. I love him but I am willing to put his future before mine” Cassandra tried, her voice becoming meek

“It’s not fair, my love, to him,” you said, sitting down and gesturing for you to do the same, “you know his future. You know his choices. He won’t know yours. Loving him and him loving you is not fair to him.”

“I haven’t looked at his choices or his future since I met him. Since I saw him.” She admitted

“But you knew it without looking,” Anthea added from where she sat, shrugging when Cassandra scowled at her, “that’s the point”

“Papa, please,” she pleaded, reminding you of Malcolm’s young son and you had to clear your throat before the memory crept onto your face, “what are you going to do?”

“Me?” you spoke firmly, “nothing. Unless you lead me to it. No, I won’t do anything and neither will you”

“What?” she exclaimed

“You cannot see him anymore”

“Father, please” she begged

“Enough,” you stated, standing up, “you are not to see this boy anymore!”

“Papa” she pleaded weakly

“Cassandra, there are rules,” you stated once more, “we are immortals, this boy is a mortal”

“So am I. I’m like him. Part mortal” she said, beginning to sob

“BUT YOU ARE ALSO MY DAUGHTER!” you yelled, the house shaking as the lights rose and fell with your voice, “and you will do as I say.” You watched as she wiped away the tears from her eyes and she sniffled as she looked up at you; you could sense a rage burning inside her that concerned you

“Would this have worked if someone told you to stay away from my mother? Or the Cassandra who broke your heart?”

“No but you are not me and you are not them” you answered

“You can’t forbid from seeing him, father” she argued

“I can and I did” you said, trying to force finality to your tone

“Why?” she whined

“Because, Cassandra,” you said, seething as you stopped toward your daughter, “he is not like us. You need to choose your family over a love you will never have!” She nodded softly, just once, before walking toward her room.

“I’ll check on her.” Anthea said as you sat down, crashing your palms onto your forehead and thought to yourself that you just wanted what was best for your daughter even if she didn’t agree with you.

After nearly two weeks of Cassandra’s moping, you had heard of an illness going around and it had gotten quite serious according to the few tales you’d heard from the mortals.

“It started as a flu, apparently,” you heard someone discussing the symptoms, “but after a few days, her son was vomiting and coughing blood!”

“Oh my goodness,” another squawked, “how is he doing now?”

“He passed last night. After only eight days. Tragic.”

“Truly.” The discussion ended there and you made your way throughout the town square, listening in on conversations when you thought they may be discussing this new illness; discovering that a great deal of the population had already succumbed to it, some so fast they could barely determine what the cause was.

“Father!” Cassandra ran to you, terror in her eyes, “have you heard what’s been happening?! Everyone is so ill”

“So I’ve heard. Some have had gangrene or parts of their body swollen up. It must be horribly uncomfortable” you replied and she stepped back from you

“Papa...” she said and you looked at her, finding a look of disgust on her face, “you could be a little more... empathetic toward them. They’re suffering”

“They’re mortals, Cassandra, they’re suffering will end. They will live with it until they can no longer.”

“It’s awful, just awful. I wonder how it started. I heard it was from the Great Famine that only ended two summers ago.”

“Enough of this, Cassandra. It is a plague. They happen. People die and then it ends.”

“You’re so callous, father!” She gasped and you furrowed your brow, “must you act so heinous?”

“Cassandra,” you leaned in to whisper to your daughter, “I am a God. I am not acting callous or heinous. I am merely reciting the reality of the situation. It is terrible, I agree. But there is nothing we can do about it.”

“But there is...” she whispered back, causing you to tilt your head to the side in curiosity, “you can heal them. I haven’t quite gotten a good understanding on that ability. So much can go wrong, as I’m sure you know, but you can heal those who are ill. Those who need to be healed.”

“No, Cassandra.” you stated, tearing your gaze from hers

“Papa...” she whined but you continued to look forward, slowly walking through the square, past the gossiping townsfolk

“It is impossible, Cassandra,” you continued, “as you said, so much can go wrong. You forget that as easy as it is for us to heal, it is just as easy for us to...” You hesitated, looking down at your daughter whose eyes were still filled with fear and had a sinking feeling

“What?” she asked, eyebrows raised as she awaited your response

“Spread the illness ourselves...” you answered, “Cassandra, we have many gifts. It was a cruel responsibility that I was granted, to be able to heal mortals and immortals alike but to also be the cause of the very plague that I was healing them from. Plague’s much like this one.”

“Can’t you control which one you use?” she questioned and you shook your head

“It’s not that simple, my dear,” you replied, “the smallest distraction and the rate of survival diminishes.”

“So... how do we stop this?”

“We don’t,” you said, “we can’t. It must run it’s course.” You noticed her inhale sharply and her eyes fall to the ground before resuming your journey.

“It’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen. People are terrified... it is an illness beyond compare, isn’t it father?” She proposed and you nodded, looking at her as she watched the people rush around the two of you in fear as they attempted to avoid others. All you could wonder was ‘had your daughter caused this?’ Her abilities were stronger than yours had been at her age and tearing her away from the boy she loved may have manifested in a new Plague that was devouring this small, peaceful village that you’d spent your days in.

“Cassandra!” Malcolm exclaimed as he bumped into your daughter, apologizing profusely to both of you, “I haven’t seen you for nearly a fortnight!”

“Malcolm...” she greeted softly, “I am sorry that we haven’t spoken, my father and I have had to look after some of the critically ill. Have you heard of this disease making it’s way throughout the village?”

“I have. It’s quite deadly,” he mentioned, looking up at you once before finding Cassandra’s eyes once more, “it’s spreading throughout the entire country!”

“The entire country? Oh that’s terrible!” she exclaimed in shock

“We must go,” you said, pulling your daughter away from the mortal boy, “there are many who need our assistance. Good Day, Malcolm.”

“Good Day, Sir” he replied as you and Cassandra began to walk away. You had almost gotten away from the boy without Cassandra stopping to say anything more when her kindness got the better of her

“Please,” she whispered to Malcolm, holding his hand before squeezing it gently, “stay safe. I don’t want to hear you’ve gotten yourself sick. And keep Charlotte safe as well.”

“I will,” he smiled, placing his hand atop hers before he caught your stare, “stay well, Cassandra.” He placed a small kiss to the back of her hand before he turned and continued on his way. When Cassandra turned back to walk with you, she had a small smile forming on her face that seemed to fade when you cleared your throat

“My opinions on that boy have not changed, Cassandra, you are not to see him.” You concluded, noticing her turn to find Malcolm in the crowd

“I know father.” She replied distantly and you shut your eyes in defeat as you realized you’d lost her to this mortal boy who you’d seen give his own son away for a taste of the youth he once had.

#Peter Pan #Peter Pan Fic #Peter Pan Imagine #Peter Pan Series #Peter Pan OUAT #Peter Pan OUAT Fic #Peter Pan OUAT Imagine #Peter Pan OUAT Series #masterlist #the other masterlist

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artificialqueens · 5 years ago

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don't make me wait another day, chapter 3: good as hell (kamasia) - holtzmanns, writworm42

A/N: Last chapter, Kameron and Asia continued their flirtation over text and agreed to have another session. This chapter, Kameron prepares for their second session before being Very Distracted in it. Thank you Bean for beta-ing, we love you!!!

Title from Good as Hell by Lizzo

The week creeps by far too slowly for Kameron’s liking. It doesn’t matter how many clients she sees, how many hours she clocks, how many appointments or errands or other things she fills her personal time with. By Monday, everything starts to meld together, a blob of meaningless, tedious chores.

Well. A blob of meaningless, tedious chores, except for one small detail.

On Thursday, at 3 p.m. on the dot, she’s going to see Asia again.

“That’s all very romantic,” Kameron’s coworker, A’keria, interrupts her story with a roll of her eyes, “but if you tell me how sick you are of waiting for Thursday one more time, imma have to go drown myself in the pool.”

“Oh, leave her alone, Kiki!” Another of Kameron’s friends, Vanessa, pipes up from her place at the front desk. “You just bitter ‘cause you ain’t got no man.”

“Please, bitch, you ain’t any better than miss Kam over here. Where’s Brooke Lynn, anyway, you finally separated her from your clingy ass?” A’keria grunts, glaring daggers at Vanessa as the other woman blushes deeply.

“She’s cleaning the pool,” Vanessa grumbles under her breath.

“Excellent, so she drownin’ herself already, too.”

“You’re both the worst.” Kameron grumps before a gym member comes by to ask Vanessa a question, breaking up their conversation. It’s not that she doesn’t think she’s being annoying–she knows she is, she’d probably be fed up too if she had to listen to herself. But at the same time, she can’t help it.

Asia O’Hara, the gorgeous woman with the white teeth and the amazing sense of humour, is going to be spending time with her again in less than a week. In just a few days, she’s going to be spending a whole hour with her.

A lot can happen in an hour.

Her phone buzzes beside her, interrupting her thoughts. Before she can grab it, though, a long, pale hand swipes it up for her.

“Oooh, Asia again?” Brooke grins, waggling her eyebrows over the top of Kameron’s phone. “You guys text a lot for girls who’ve just met.”

“Give me my phone back.” Kameron snatches it away from her hands, furiously keying in her password as Brooke snickers fucking lesbians under her breath. “And go fist Vanessa while you’re at it.”

She looks up her phone just in time to see Brooke thrust her fist in the air as she walks away.

A: Say, I was thinking…

K: Yeah, I do that a lot too

Kameron smiles to herself as she sends that text off, hoping that as cheesy as it is, it’ll make Asia laugh.

A: BITCH

Mission accomplished. Before she can enjoy the moment though, three dots pop up on the screen, and her heart stops for a moment.

A: Seriously. I was thinking

A: I probs need new workout gear. I don’t have much.

A: Just a sports bra and some shorts maybe

A: I want something with good support tho.

Kameron’s throat goes dry, all thoughts in her mind suddenly scattered like ping pong balls. Asia’s flirting with her. This is a clear, blatant display of trying to turn Kameron on, trying to get her to imagine Asia in tight spandex shorts and a sports bra that puts just a little cleavage on display. Isn’t it?

Kameron is Asia’s personal trainer, and she’s texted Kameron for advice on things like how to do a particular home exercise in the past. Maybe she only wants a recommendation of where to buy new clothes, that’s a possibility too, and there could be no flirtation at all-

“Bitch, she’s flirting with you.” Vanessa’s scratchy voice over her shoulder makes Kameron jump. She’s about to chew Vanessa out for reading her screen when another text comes through, and Vanessa smiles wickedly as they both turn to look at what it says.

A: How d’you feel about something like this?

The attached picture nearly makes Kameron’s mouth go dry. It’s a mirror shot, Asia twisted slightly to the side. Maroon leggings hug Asia’s ass perfectly, and she really doesn’t even need to do the crap ton of squats that Kameron always forces on her clients.

Asia has one of those body types that’s naturally muscular, naturally defined, the kind that usually makes Kameron grumble out of jealousy because she has to actually work for her own. Asia, though, with the slight indentation of abs that peek out above her high waisted shorts, makes Kameron feel more lightheaded than anything else. Asia’s matching bra crisscrosses over her shoulder blades, tracing around the muscles of her back and framing her breasts in a way that makes Kameron dizzy, her eyes moving frantically to pick a spot to focus on first ( how is she supposed to pick a spot to focus on first?).

And if there’s any doubt that Asia knows exactly what she’s doing, another text follows up, one that’s almost mocking in its blatancy.

A: So you think these will have enough support?

Kameron lets out a laugh in disbelief, because Asia’s really trying to kill her, she is, and having a grand old time while doing so.

Though two can play at this game.

K: Mm, tough to say. We’ll have to test that out together, won’t we?

There’s no response for a moment, enough time for Kameron to come dangerously close to spiralling, wondering if she’s said too much, too soon.

“Still texting her?” Brooke taps her fingers on the other side of the counter and Kameron jumps, nearly dropping her phone in the process.

“Nope! Nope. Why do you guys care so much, anyway?” So what if she’s texting Asia? Especially if she hasn’t replied. Why hasn’t she replied yet-

Bzz.

“Bitch, look at this!” Kameron is pulled back sharply as Vanessa materializes behind her, grabbing onto her shoulder for support as she cranes up on her tiptoes to peek at the text message that pops up on her screen.

A: can’t wait to see how you like them in action ;)

“Damn, I know you’re lesbians, but y’all move fast!” Vanessa’s voice is gleeful as she dances around to the other side of the counter, leaning against Brooke’s side and beaming when she wraps an arm around her.

“Your girlfriend is literally beside you right now.” Kameron points between the two of them.

Vanessa flips her ponytail over her shoulder. “And?”

Kameron rolls her eyes, turning away from the others with an exasperated sigh. “I don’t have to be here, I got a session to get to.”

“At two-thirty? Huh, A’keria, did you know we were doin’ sessions on the half-hour now?”

“Hm, you know, that’s funny, ‘cause I’m lookin’ at the schedule right now, and Kam doesn’t even have anything until four…”

“Prep time!” Kameron fires back over her shoulder and flips the others off as she hurries away, but she’s unable to keep the smile off her face as she goes.

____

Kameron spends a bit longer than necessary choosing her outfit on Thursday morning. Sure, the muscle tee she goes for shows off her arms, though she’s most definitely not wearing it for a specific reason, nor is she wearing the spandex shorts to get a certain someone’s attention.

Most definitely not.

Lo and behold, Asia is wearing the sports bra and leggings from the picture that she had sent earlier in the week, the one that feels like it’s branded onto Kameron’s eyelids because she can’t stop thinking about it. Kameron can feel herself swallow hard while she tries to keep her eyes up, waving at Asia as she walks in and drops her duffle bag on the counter.

“Hey, Kam.” Asia’s voice is sugary sweet and the toss of her ponytail over her shoulder would almost make Kameron laugh, if it wasn’t fucking hot at the same time.

“Hey.” Kameron can’t help the slight curve of her lip. She’s been looking forward to this hour more than she wants to admit. “Ready for me to kick your ass in the gym again?”

“ Bitch, first of all, I’m fit as hell-”

“That you are.”

“-and - wait, hey .” Asia pokes Kameron’s side. “Second of all, you really should kick my ass outside of the gym. I mean, what?”

Asia spins on her heels and walks to drop her duffle bag in the change room before Kameron even processes what she says, her mouth dropping open when she sees the way that Asia winks at her before disappearing behind the door.

Kameron wants to take it back. She’s not ready for the mini heart attack that Asia will mostly likely be responsible for causing.

Asia returns and Kameron rolls out her shoulders, gathering her thoughts because she is at work, and Asia is her client, and she can’t exactly do anything stupid while on the clock, no matter how much she wants to. And no matter how much Asia is hinting that she wants the same.

That can wait. Kameron’s patient.

Kameron tries to keep her cool as Asia starts her warm up, running through the exercises that she’s going to take Asia through in her head. They’re things that she’s done a million times with clients, but with Asia, it feels different - Kameron really wants to impress her, get her to come back. Catch her interest.

Asia wipes the sweat from her brow as she rises from her last burpee, panting. “I will never, ever forgive you for making me do these. Never. It’s been two minutes and my legs are already jelly.”

Kameron passes Asia her water bottle, her eyes trailing along the curve of Asia’s jawline as she grabs a drink. “That was only our first exercise.”

Asia groans. “Remind me why I come to your sadistic ass for personal training again?”

“A part of you enjoys it, I can tell.” Kameron grins. It’s unfair, really, that Asia still looks good after breaking a sweat.

“Pfft.” Asia grumbles underneath her breath as she tucks a stray later behind her ear. “As if.”

“Admit it, you do.”

“Make me.” Asia grins at her with a wicked gleam in her eyes, her tongue peeking between her lips which is distracting enough to make Kameron’s eyes flit downwards.

“Okay.” Kameron smirks, noticing Asia’s slight raise of her eyebrows. “Let’s do five more burpee reps then. C’mon.”

“Bitch.”

Kameron’s proud of herself, really, for staying professional throughout their warmup and the beginning of when Asia begins lifting. At least, until she has to spot Asia.

Her fingertips ghost along Asia’s bare sides, along the small strip of midriff showing between her sports bra and the top of her leggings. Kameron can see the goosebumps rising along Asia’s skin as she shifts her hands to support her back. It’s a contrast from the way that they’re sweating underneath the almost suffocating heat of the gym, the stuffiness not quite overbearing enough to keep Kameron from feeling a shiver run through her system.

“Next one, I’m going to have you squat while holding the bar above your head.” Kameron lifts the bar, handing it to Asia who grunts.

“No extra weights on it?” Asia lifts the bar up above her head, arms beginning to tremble, and Kameron snorts as she lifts her own hands up to the bar to stabilize Asia’s grip.

“Gotta start with just the bar first. It weighs fifteen pounds on its own.” Kameron brings her hands down slowly as Asia’s grip on the bar becomes stronger.

“Fifteen? Damn, I don’t want anymore weights on top of this.”

“Now squat with it.” Kameron has to hold in a laugh when Asia makes a face of disbelief.

“Bend my legs? While holding this shit? I’m not going to be able to get back up.” Asia huffs, her grip tightening on the bar.

“Just try. If you get stuck, I’ll help you get back up.” Kameron can’t help herself, really, from the wink that she sends in Asia’s direction. Especially because it makes Asia blush, before she lets out a scoff.

“You will, huh?”

“I’m very supportive.”

“Yeah, I bet you are.”

Kameron’s not sure if she’s imagining the way that Asia’s glance flits from her eyes down to her lips, then back up, the way that her tongue peeks out from between her lips. She distracts herself from the fact that all she wants to do is lean in, kiss Asia, maybe bite on her lower lip and see if it makes her moan because-

She’s still at work.

So she takes a step back, coming to stand behind Asia before she starts her reps. Her hands hover near the bar without quite touching, should Asia need the support. Asia’s warm in front of her, the beads of sweat dripping down the back of her neck showing the effort that she’s putting in to keep bar up, along with her shaky hands.

By the time the session is over, Kameron’s absolutely twitching. It doesn’t help, really, when they finish and high five and Asia takes the opportunity to lean on Kameron, an elbow on her shoulder. Asia’s wiping the sweat from her brow, the muscles of her taut stomach lightly shifting as she breathes, and somehow it’s fucking hot. Kameron’s parched, and it’s not for water.

“So, do I get a reward or something for surviving that session?” Asia tilts her head as she looks over, the gleam in her eyes making Kameron’s mind travel a million miles an hour.

“Depends on what what you want.” Kameron doesn’t miss a beat, doesn’t hide the way that she slowly drags her eyes from Asia’s face down her frame, knowing that Asia’s watching.

“You should come and find out.” Asia lifts her elbow from Kameron’s shoulder, turning on her heels to flounce towards the changing rooms, the very ones where Kameron knows there are rows and rows of showers.

The wink that Asia throws at her before letting the door swing closed behind her is enough to get her to follow, after dropping her clipboard behind the front desk without a second thought.

Good thing Asia’s her last client for the day.

#rpdr fanfiction #kameron michaels #asia o'hara #vanessa vanjie mateo #brooke lynn hytes #akeria davenport #asia x kameron #lesbian au #fluff #dont make me wait another day #holtzmanns #writworm42

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cjdemooi · 5 years ago

Text

The problem with performing

When I told a few friends in the entertainment industry I was going to write this piece, they begged me not to post it. They all agreed with what I wanted to say but desperately tried to persuade me I had to ‘play the game’ and under no circumstances criticise those who might be in a position to give me a job.

However, I found myself in an unfortunate yet unique position. After the last 4 years and through no fault of my own, I’m utterly toxic so can speak out with no consequences. After all, I can’t get more unemployable! If I was willing to play tedious games, I’d still be on television, have regular auditions and a career. Now I’ve been permanently deprived of those and am no longer willing to work with people I don’t trust, there’s nothing to keep me quiet or compliant. That rules out large swathes of opportunities but so what?

Smiling sweetly while being dismissed as a worthless commodity is something performers endure every day. The simple fact is, if you’re not willing to toe the line and do what’s expected, there are countless others who will. My response is, and always has been, screw that! The performance arts aren’t jobs, they’re callings. From a very early age, we all knew what we wanted to be and that fire only grew more intense. Of course there are sacrifices to be made but a line has to be drawn somewhere. I personally don’t believe that integrity and personal ethics are worth giving up for a dream.

Please understand that is only my view and I don’t in any way diminish those who strive tirelessly to succeed. Decisions have to be made and weighed up against such incredibly fine margins that distinctions become blurred. I’ve made my choices but each to his or her own.

I spoke out and criticised the BBC for the lack of same sex representation and racism. I lost my job because of it and was subjected to a smear campaign of lies in the national press. The implicit threat was, we pay you so do as you’re told. That’s a price very few people would be able or willing to pay and ultimately, I couldn’t afford it either. I lost everything because I didn’t shut up as was demanded of me. Honestly though, I don’t regret it.

Actors are treated with utter disdain. The recent interview with Mena Massoud in which he revealed he hadn’t had a single audition since Aladdin is a case in point. If the lead in a billion dollar movie is struggling to be seen, what chance does anyone else have? I have an impressive and award nominated CV but 4 auditions in 5 years speak for themselves and yet I’m still relatively lucky. Thousands of others are in far worse positions.

Recently there has been a campaign to persuade casting directors and producers to let auditioning performers know if they haven’t been successful. Hanging around, waiting and hoping to hear about a role is not only frustrating, it causes people to miss out on other opportunities. A bulk email would take 5 minutes and allay a lot of fears but such a simple courtesy seems beneath a lot of people. We don’t need an apology or meticulous dissection of our technique. Just a quick ‘Sorry, not this time’ is all that’s required!

My worst experience, and there have been more than I care to remember, was a few years ago when I was called in for the national tour of Rent. I was sent 3 songs and dialogue for an audition 4 days later. I worked hard and managed to learn it all, travelling to London the night before to prepare. The next morning I had a singing lesson to warm up and set off up Tottenham Court Road. Literally as I was about to knock on the door, I received a text saying the producer had changed his mind and didn’t think I was right for the role. After all that effort, they wouldn’t even allow me 5 minutes to show what I could do. I was incensed so emailed him back expressing my disappointment and asking where I should send the invoice for my time and expenditure. He replied with indignant pomposity saying that was the way things were and if that’s how I was going to be, he was glad he didn’t have to work with me but I sent him the bill anyway.

Of course this damaged my reputation with him and many others he spoke to but the fact he considered it completely acceptable to treat hard working professionals in such a manner was unforgivable. You may not want to work with me but I assure you, the feeling’s more than mutual. As actors, all we want is a chance. If we’re not good enough, fine but at least give us a few moments to try and impress you.

I’ve burnt my bridges with a lot of industry professionals because I’m strong willed (or arrogant, depending on which side of the desk you’re sitting) but I’ve never once wished I’d kept my mouth tightly closed and my opinions to myself. I’m nothing if not brutally honest and direct. No doubt that attitude has cost me a lot of roles.

A casting director who’d rather give a job to someone who’s become available from another production rather than sit through 3 days of auditions because the pay’s the same either way. A producer who consistently advertises jobs without pay because he’ll still be inundated with eager young things desperate for their break. A director who rehearses for 10 days then cuts your role to the bare minimum in order to give himself a big scene (and yes, this happened to me in panto in Clacton) Playwrights who promise you a script then go back on their word expecting you’ll bend over backwards to assure them it’s all fine. If nobody has to face any consequences, where is the incentive to change?

Too often, it’s not what you know, it’s who you know. Although thankfully no longer as common as it once was, it’s also not what you know but who you’re willing to sleep with. I wish that this wasn’t true but I can say from personal experience and stories from others that it most certainly is.

Potentially the most harmful barrier is the competition, very little of it healthy, between artists themselves. This rarely produces a buoyant environment of support for each other. It’s always been a case of how can I knock the other person down rather than raising myself up? I can reluctantly understand why this would be the case when trying to secure an audition but it happens all too frequently when there’s no direct or obvious rivalry. The whole industry seems to be predicated on survival of the fittest, so talent and kindness are often reduced to irrelevancies. I truly believe most performers are caring and encouraging but they’re battered down by a system that’s relentless and ruthless. The fact may very well be that I’m not good or obedient enough to succeed as an actor and those who are clever and subtle enough manipulate the system to their own advantage are the ones who will make it big. I honestly congratulate them as they’re better and more skilled than I ever will be.

We are taught there are standards to be upheld such as unrealistic body image or heteronormativity and these have been immensely damaging in the past. Fortunately, at least in this aspect, times are changing. I’ve been honoured to work with some amazing and nurturing people who’ve actively fostered workplaces of support and inclusivity. I hope these very positive models will soon represent the rule over the above examples rather than the exception.

The problem is, drama schools are churning out increased numbers of students every year. They’re not taught how to cope in the outside world and find themselves ill equipped to vie for a finite number of jobs. The vast majority hold down multiple jobs just for a brief glimpse of their dreams. The time between sinking into debt during drama school and having to give it all up in order to live is probably only 3 or 4 years. That’s an cruelly narrow window to achieve something they’ve been yearning after for decades. The harsh reality is, most will never have a professional contract and will all too soon have to give up in order to survive. Surely casting directors and producers can appreciate that and at least give a few more chances to a few more desperate people?

I know these aren’t popular opinions but I believe them to be the truth. I refuse to play those ridiculous games pretending everything’s fine and not making waves with anyone with the power to employ me. I’m under no illusion that this article will obliterate any slim chance I had of ever working again so that gives me a free pass to call out what I believe to be wrong with the industry I love. Only when we come together in respect will we move forward in solidarity and strength. Performing is one of the very toughest communities to be a part of so I beg you, please, treat everyone in it with consideration and they’ll do the same in return.

We all deserve that.

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