#and so the saga of me taking on more than i could possibly manage continues

[thefootnotes]

just signed up for another challenge lord help me

[oneawkwardwriter]

So High School

pairing: James Potter x fem!reader warnings/tags: none except some teeth rotting fluff, possibly inaccurate Quidditch team (I didn't know everyone's positions), allusions to suggestive content?, no use of Y/n summary: just James being an absolutely amazing boyfriend totally not self-insert what- a/n: and thus begins the saga of me taking Taylor Swift songs and turning them into stories about fictional characters. Don't even act like you're surprised, you shouldn't be by now <3 Also, I've been wanting to write for James but couldn't get it right, so a little thank you to Miss Taylor for making this possible wc: 0.8k

"And another goal made by Gryffindor chaser James Potter!" Remus shouts into the microphone while he reacts to the latest Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw. "That is three in a row for Gryffindor. Sorry, Ravenclaw, it seems like you'll have no chance of winning today, better forfeit already-"

He is cut off by Professor McGonagall taking the mic out of his hands, "Don't get forget to stay objective, Mr. Lupin," She says, just loud enough for the microphone to pick it up, but the crowd is too busy cheering to hear it.

James does a victory lap on his broom, flying close to the crowd. When he comes close to your section, he sends a quick wink in your direction. You lightly chuckle and roll your eyes when a couple of first years nearly faint from being so close to their unrequited hallway crush.

Not that you can entirely blame them, seeing as you yourself still can't shake the giddy feeling of butterflies whenever James wraps his arms around you. Sure, you'd been dating for about half a year, but somehow he still managed to make your heart skip a beat.

Not long after, the match is over when Marlene manages to catch the Snitch. Louds cheers erupt once more from the spectators on the stands, and soon enough, they're running onto the field to greet the victors.

You're pulled along in the flood of people, practically carried towards the field until the crowd parts for the Gryffindor team. You smile as you lock eyes with James, who practically storms right at you before trapping you in a bear hug, slightly lifting you off the crowd.

"That was amazing!" You say as you wrap your arms around his neck, kissing his cheek. "You did so great out there."

"Only because my lucky charm was in the stands," James replies, burying his face in your neck as he grins, "Couldn't have done it without you cheering me on." You chuckle, knowing arguing against him would be pointless even though you know he's a great player whether you're there or not.

The celebrations continued in the Gryffindor common room, the firewhiskey flowing while people cheered, laughed and talked to each other. Throughout the entire night, James held you practically glued to his hip: always an arm around your shoulders or waist, kissing the top of your head or your cheek.

"-And then Mary fired that Bludger at the Ravenclaw Seeker, and I ducked down for the Quaffle, and then-" James rants about the game, completely caught up in his story.

"Remember to breathe, James. We don't need you passing out," Remus says, making everyone laugh and James shake his head.

"Oh please, as if I could breathe when this one here takes my breath away the entire time," James quips, "Not that I mind, though. I'd gladly pass out if it meant you sitting next to me in the hospital wing."

"James!" You exclaim.

"What? It's true," He responds shamelessly as he shrugs, making the others shake their heads and chuckle.

As if you weren't already glued to his side, James pulls you even closer to him, making you laugh when his breath tickles the nape of your neck.

"Oh come on, can you two act even more like high school sweethearts? We're getting cavities from looking at you " Sirius groans, to which you only raise an eyebrow and reply with, "That's rich coming from the guy who had his tongue down his boyfriend's throat less than a minute ago."

"I don't see the relevance of you pointing that out, but alright," Sirius replies with mock-ignorance as he sits close to Remus, who nuzzles his face in Sirius's nape and softly smiles.

As the night progressed, the firewhiskey started to take over your systems, making you a bit more bold and unfiltered.

"You know, sometimes I still don't understand how we got together," You say, slightly slurring your words as you look at James.

"Oh god, here we go again," Sirius sighed, turning to Remus, "James is going to confess his undying love for her again."

"Hey, I can't help it that this perfect angel walked into my life, you have Remus to blame for that," James shrugged as he kisses your cheek for the millionth time that night.

You and Remus had been friends ever since first year, finding companionship in your shared love for literature and classic history. James swears he fell for you when you were rambling about the works of some ancient philosopher, claiming that you could light up an entire city with the energy you put into it.

"Well, I don't know about perfect angel, but thank you anyway," You say, resting your head on James's shoulder as you whisper in his ear. "I love you, James."

"I love you too, love."

© This work belongs to @oneawkwardwriter, please do not copy this work to any other site or claim it as your own. Reblogs are allowed and appreciated!

Taglist: @unofficialxmarvelfreak

(to join the taglist, simply leave a comment or message me!)

[misscorn]

Takaritsu Week Day 1 2023: First Kiss/Blush

Let's go yall @takaritsuweek

***

Onodera Ritsu was not a particularly brave fifteen year old. He - like many teenagers - was unsure of himself and didn't know what steps to take in order to gain the confidence that others seemed to have in spades. However, he - also like many teenagers - did not have a fully developed brain capable of making good decisions yet. That alone probably attributed to his brief moments of courage that allowed his clumsy love confession and all the decisions he had made since Saga had stated that he didn't mind going out.

This included Ritsu's most recent decision to initiate a kiss.

It wasn't that Ritsu and Saga weren't kissing - they were. A lot. In fact, Ritsu was going to develop a heart condition if the amount of affection he received from his Senpai continued to exponentially grow like this. That aside, the main issue was that Ritsu had yet to initiate a kiss himself. It was always Saga that kissed Ritsu first or scooted closer or wrapped an arm around him or unbuttoned his shirt-

The point was, Ritsu was determined to make some sort of contribution to the affection being exchanged between them. His feelings may have been stupidly obvious, but if they were dating then that meant Ritsu should reciprocate, right? It was only fair. Ritsu didn't want to accidentally make Saga feel unloved because of his own anxieties.

It really shouldn't even be that big of a deal, Ritsu scolded himself, currently in a familiar sitting position on Saga's bedroom floor as he waited for Saga to come up with some drinks and a bowl of popcorn for the movie they (somewhat) planned on watching. Despite his thoughts, Ritsu couldn't get his heart to stop racing. Unfortunately, no matter how much he tried to convince himself it wasn't, it was a big deal to him. Because, while this wouldn't be Ritsu's first kiss, it would be the first time he initiated any kind of romantic touch with anyone and that felt significant.

"You could've started it without me." Saga's voice made Ritsu jump a little as he came back in and sat down right next to him, their legs touching. "I've seen it before."

"I-I didn't mind waiting. Thank you." Ritsu managed to say as he took his drink and sipped it, hoping it might cool him off a little as he could already feel a blush creeping up his neck.

Saga hummed in response before picking up the remote for the DVD player that was laying on the floor and starting the movie, setting the popcorn down between them. He idly sipped his own drink, glancing at Ritsu every so often from the corner of his eye.

He seems even more nervous than usual today, Saga thought, I didn't do anything did I? Maybe he doesn't want to do it today and doesn't know how to tell me or something. Saga felt a bit of disappointment at that possibility, but didn't let it show.

Ritsu set his drink aside before swallowing hard and looking toward Saga. "Um, S-Senpai?" He started just to get his attention.

Saga turned his head toward Ritsu, a little confused (though secretly delighted) to see that Ritsu was already bright pink. Seriously did I do something? He wondered, Fuck, he's so cute, though, his thoughts continued as he had to hold back a wistful sigh. "Yeah?"

Ritsu opened and closed his mouth a couple times, totally frozen as he briefly blanked on what he had even been planning to do in the first place. This left him staring at Saga with a dumbstruck expression for a few seconds too long as Saga started to feel his ears get a little warm.

Why is he looking at me like that? Is there something on my face? Saga wondered, turning his head away to try to regain some of his usual composure.

But, just as Saga started to look away, Ritsu's plan of action came crashing back to him and he suddenly surged forward, but his lips planted on Saga's cheek instead. He pulled away just as quickly, even more embarrassment piling on top of him as he realized he had failed.

"I....I...." Ritsu's hands were shaking.

"Did you just...try to kiss me?" Saga asked, slowly meeting Ritsu's gaze once more, his cheek still warm from where Ritsu's lips had briefly pressed.

Ritsu wanted to die.

Instead of that, he opted for the next best thing: running away.

Ritsu shouted out some kind of incomprehensible apology as he sprung to his feet. He managed to take two steps toward the bedroom door - barely managing to avoid kicking the popcorn - before Saga quickly reached out and snatched his wrist, causing Ritsu to stumble backward and nearly fall into his lap. It must have been due to a miracle that Ritsu's crappy center of balance didn't screw him over today, however, Saga wasn't satisfied with that.

In an impulse decision of his own, Saga pulled Ritsu down to sit in his lap, wrapping his arms around him tightly to prevent anymore escape attempts.

"Where the hell are you going? Why are you freaking out?" Saga asked. As if he was going to let Ritsu run out of here after doing something cute like that.

Ritsu covered his face with his hands since he could no longer run and hide, this position making the entire situation more mortifying. "I'm so embarrassed!" He exclaimed.

"Why?" Saga said. "We've done a lot more than cheek kissing, so I still don't understand why you're so worked up."

Ritsu could feel his non existent confidence fizzling out even more at the fact that Saga was witnessing his panic.

"Because...because I've never kissed you before! So I wanted to do it and I just - I messed it up!" Ritsu said miserably.

Saga blinked a couple times. Had Ritsu hit his head today or something? "What are you talking about? We've kissed so many times."

"But I've never kissed you." Ritsu reiterated. "You're always the one kissing me." Ritsu's voice started to approach a whine as he tried to hide himself as much as possible.

Oh.

Why is he so fucking cute?! It pisses me off. God, he better spend the night tonight, Saga thought, his grip around Ritsu tightening even more.

"Then kiss me." Saga said. "Right now. Kiss me." He urged, wanting to kiss Ritsu more than he ever had before, and that was saying something.

"I-I can't just d-do that!" Ritsu protested.

"Sure you can." Saga said. "It's easy. Like you said, I kiss you all the time, so why shouldn't you be able to kiss me?" He asked, but Ritsu refused to look at him still. "I'm just going to keep bothering you until you do it." Saga warned, but still Ritsu did not budge. "Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me, kiss me-" Saga started to poke at his side, hoping to annoy or embarrass Ritsu enough to spring him into action.

Ritsu did in fact come out of hiding in order to cover Saga's mouth with his hands. "Please, I'm begging you!" He exclaimed. "Th-The moment passed, I failed, I-I'll try again another day!" He added, hoping Saga could be satisfied with that.

Saga was not, of course.

The older teen pressed a gentle kiss to Ritsu's hand, making him pull his hands away as though the touch had burned.

"Just like that." Saga said. "It can be short. Just kiss me." He insisted.

Ritsu hesitated, looking around the room nervously, trying to find anything that may provide an excuse or escape route.

"Th-The movie-"

Saga very briefly detached one arm from around Ritsu's waist to grab the remote once more and pause it.

"We'll watch it later."

"Um, uh, S-Sorata...?"

"He's not even in here, I made sure to close the door." Sorata had interrupted one too many times, Saga had learned his lesson by now.

"I..." Ritsu faltered.

"Just kiss me already. Don't make me wait all day." Saga leaned forward, gently bumping their foreheads together. "Would it help if I closed my eyes?"

"....m-maybe."

Saga let his eyes fall shut and Ritsu took a deep, shuddering breath. Ritsu squeezed his own eyes shut for a moment because if he continued to view the up close sight of Saga in this position he would never be able to build up his courage - no matter how nice it would have been to simply stare at his long eyelashes.

Okay...I can do this...I can do this, Ritsu told himself after a few more seconds, peeking his eyes open just a bit to make sure Saga still had his closed. When he saw that he did, he took another deep breath to steel himself before leaning forward and kissing Saga.

It was gentle, hesitant, and swift - perfectly replicating Ritsu's nature. When Ritsu pulled away, he turned his head and closed his eyes once more so he didn't have to see Saga's expression.

I think my heart is about to explode, Ritsu thought, though he wasn't the only one experiencing that sentiment.

Saga slowly opened his own eyes and when seeing Ritsu looking away he allowed himself to smile a little. He really is too cute for his own good, Saga thought, a little annoyed with himself for using that word so much today, but it was true. His own heart thudded hard against his chest, threatening to reveal his secretly flustered state if Ritsu noticed. Somehow his lips are even softer when he's the one kissing me. I love him so much, it drives me crazy. Saga's fingers twitched slightly with the urge to run his hands under Ritsu's uniform jacket that he had yet to take off. Saga's whole body felt warm with affection and desire for Ritsu, undeniably charmed by Ritsu's shy kiss. His lips especially wanted to chase after that warmth and have it back.

"Um...i-if that's all, can you please let me go now, Senpai?" Ritsu said quietly.

"No way." Saga said. "It's my turn to kiss you now."

"E-Eh?!"

"You kissed me, so now I kiss you, and so on and so forth. It's only fair, right?" Saga asked.

"Th-That isn't what I meant at all!"

"Do you not want to kiss me?"

"No - I - I didn't mean that either!" Ritsu flailed his hands wildly in desperation.

Saga forced himself not to chuckle at how easy it was to mess with him.

"Then there's no problem, right? Ah, now that I think about it, you should catch up with all the times I've kissed you before we start taking turns. So, you might want to let your parents know you're spending the night. It's gonna be a while till we're even."

"W-What?!"

It was beginning to dawn on Ritsu that he may have made a terrible, terrible mistake.

[girlinlotsoffandoms]

day twenty nine - fallen

notes: we’ve made it guys! Two months later than originally intended but we’re finally at the last chapter! Thank you all for the continued support as this febwhump saga became Marwhump and ultimately whumpril 😅

This chapter is taken from a current WIP of mine that will hopefully one day see the light of day. Enjoy!

read on AO3 or below

Firehouse 51 had been one of three stations that responded to a gas main explosion that caused a partial collapse of an apartment building. Fifty-one had been tasked with searching for and evacuating any remaining tenants while the other houses worked to extinguish the flames.

The damage was devastating, and Kelly knew, as he weaved through the debris in the hallways, there was no saving the building. It was going to be condemned if not demolished. There was a small silver lining—the explosion happened in the middle of a workday, meaning most of the tenants were at work or school. The few residents that were still in the building were elderly or retirees.

The only downside was, according to the building manager, they were scattered over different floors and a few were in the direct path of the explosion.

Severide was clearing a unit on the second floor, almost directly over the site of the explosion when he found a victim. The victim was elderly and had clearly been thrown by the shockwave. They were obviously injured but the rescue would be dangerous, even getting into the apartment would be dangerous. The structural integrity of the building was lacking in the undamaged parts of the complex but in the area directly affected by the explosion? It was abysmal. If he was going to save this victim, Kelly knew he had to work smart and work fast.

“Fire department! Can you hear me?” Kelly yelled.

The response was muffled, but Kelly could hear it clearly. “I’m here! I need help!”

“I hear you! I’m coming to get you!” Kelly yelled back then radioed Boden about the victim and requested assistance. Severide heard Cruz say he was on his way over the radio and he took that as his sign to enter the apartment.

Severide made his way over to the victim, an older man as he came to find out, and from first glance it was clear that Severide wouldn’t be able to get the victim out himself. The man, Victor as he introduced himself, had a piece of metal protruding from his abdomen. There was minimal blood loss which meant the metal was acting as a stopper, keeping him from possibly bleeding out.

The scene was too precarious to allow Gabby and Brett inside so Severide (and Cruz whenever he showed up) would have to find a way to get Victor outside without moving the metal in him.

“Hang in there Victor. I’m just waiting for my teammate and then we’ll get you out of here.”

Victor nodded and Kelly worked to get the remaining debris off and keep him calm.

Voices from the others filtered through the radio: information on the search, updates on extinguishing the fire, but more urgently, the call from Boden to evacuate the building—the building was unstable and they needed to get out.

The order came just as Cruz arrived at the door to the apartment. Severide stood up to call him over, but he never even got a chance to say the words. The floor gave way, taking Kelly and Victor with it.

—

Kelly was greeted with blinding pain in his head and led when he came to. He'd lost consciousness in the fall but didn't know how long he was out. It couldn’t have been too long as dust and debris were still settling around them. A cough, which quickly turned into a groan, from his left captured his attention. Kelly turned and saw Victor just a few feet away.

Their situation was bad, but the most alarming part of it was the rapidly growing bloodstain on Victor’s shirt. The metal shard had moved during their fall. Victor was bleeding out— he was dying.

Kelly moved to crawl over to him but was stopped short by the blinding pain in his leg. He bit back a scream, and it took several shuddering breaths before Kelly steeled himself enough to continue the agonizing crawl forward.

Time felt like it was standing still as Kelly slowly inched closer to Victor, but he eventually made it to the other man’s side. Victor’s eyes were closed, screwed shut in pain, and his chest was moving, signaling he was still alive. As Severide’s eyes focused on the blood stain on Victor’s shirt, and the dark pool growing around them, he knew there was a very real possibility Victor wouldn’t stay that way for long.

“Victor? You with me?” Kelly asked, rubbing a fist roughly on the other man’s sternum. He only stopped when he heard the man groan. “Come on Victor, open your eyes.”

It took a few minutes, but Victor was finally able to open his eyes. He turned his attention to Kelly. “What happened?”

“The floor gave out on us,” Kelly answered distractedly as he grabbed a nearby piece of cloth and pressed it hard against Victor’s wound. At Victor’s pained yell, Severide pressed a little harder. “Sorry but the fall caused the shard to move. You’re bleeding pretty badly.”

Victor moved his head slightly and saw the blood. He groaned. “I haven’t seen that much blood since ‘Nam.”

“Hey! Victor! Help’s on the way so you gotta stay with me.” Kelly yelled as Victor’s eyes closed again. “Keep talking. Tell me about the Army?”

“Marines. Got a medical discharge after my unit ended up on the wrong side of an ambush.” Victor was quiet, thoughtful, for a moment. “I lost some good friends that day.”

Kelly was the one quiet this time. He knew loss like that as well. “I’m sorry to hear that. And I know you probably hear this all the time, but thank you for your service.”

Victor hummed in acknowledgment and Kelly could see him fading. Still holding pressure on Victor’s wound, Kelly looked around, almost praying for his team to appear and save them. When they didn’t, Kelly pressed harder. “Come on Victor… How’d you end up in the Marines? Family business?”

“Far from it,” Victor huffed out a laugh. “My old man wanted me to follow in his footsteps, groomed me from birth to take over one day. I tried it and it was fine….I was good at it but it wasn’t enough. You know? I wanted to do more, to be more.”

“One of my buddies enlisted and I decided to join him. Pops was mad—boy I’ve never seen him so angry. Everything I’d ever known, my family, my friends, my future, it was all up in the air but joining up was the best decision I ever made. I made my own path. I fought in two wars and I lost a lot, don’t get me wrong, but I found myself and a lot more along the way.”

Kelly didn’t say anything, couldn’t say anything, he just listened. Victor’s story was hitting him harder than the man could’ve known.

Victor kept talking but it was clear he was losing the fight. Kelly tried to keep him conscious and added more pressure to the wound, but the bleeding didn’t stop.

Victor’s eyes closed for the last time just moments before the rest of 51 made it through the rubble to rescue them.

[halfbakedspuds]

You know what, tell me about your stories. I wanna know all of them. Also is there 2nd ch of children of star?? We a re mutuals and we don't interact cause I have shit personality and you don't need to answer this

Thanks for asking and giving me an excuse to go on a tangent! And don't worry about interacting, as long as you're willing to put up with my ESL self occasionally forgetting how to speak English, you're welcome to do so.

There isn't a second chapter of Children of the Stars just yet. Mostly because I'm in my matric year and have been stuck with quite possibly the worst case of writer's block I've had in years. Two factors which have been making it quite difficult to write further, but I managed to partially get my jive back this week so progress continues!

Starting with the Tempest Prince, which is very blatantly inspired by me reading Percy Jackson and the Mortal instruments books during my first playthrough of Bloodborne. It used to be just one book, then I realised that I might need three to tell the full story (Which is when I started calling them the Saga of Storms). Soon, the Saga was five books long and then I realised that this universe still has a ton of loose ends after the story ends, and so five books became 21 split across five saga's, each told from a different perspective and dealing with a different thing that's been left unfinished. I will not milk this for content. There is no content, there is only a story that needs to be told and the 21 books it will take to tell it.

Worldbuilding wise, Earth in this universe exists as a result of five different layers of reality sitting on top of each other. The border realm, realm of chaos and entropy, has quite a visceral reaction to humanity seemingly existing to create order and reacts by corrupting living beings into beasts to kill us (Humans are sort of immune to this, but that's a long story). The higher the density of people, the more often these things manifest. Several thousand years ago, someone figured out that penguins who are corrupted become what humans call Dragons, and the bones of dragons can be made into weapons and infused with the wielders blood to become harder than steel, and immediately grant the bonded all the necessary instincts to wield it: the most effective weapons for killing beasts.

Thus were born the hunters, silver blooded super-warriors who were as much their weapons as their weapons were them.

With time, the hunters realised that with enough concentration, they could manifest runes to perform simple arcane tasks, and that chaining them together could create spells. At the time, people thought these runes were the language of dragons, and called it "Draconic magic". Later, the mages who dedicated themselves to its study realised that these runes were part of something far older, far more ancient. A theorized choir whose words maintained the universe, aptly named 'the worldsong'.

Fast forward eighteen thousand years, past a literal apocalypse, a civil war, and a complete reset of human- 'Redblood' -society to make it seem like the hunters never existed, and you end up in Vereeniging, South Africa, 2021 CE, where two unsuspecting brothers named Jason and Alex bear witness to a greatbeast manifestation (like a beast but considerably harder to kill), and despite having never ascended to become hunters or even having known that the supernatural even existed, the pair fought the beast and despite having not a drop of silver blood in them used actual magic (Which even they didn't know they could do).

Some shenanigans follow, the pair agree to become hunters, and Jason (being the oldest) finally reached the day where he'll ascend and begin his formal training. All the other candidates smear their drakespine (dragon bone) weapons with their blood, submerge them in water, and then pull them out to reveal perfectly refined weaponry hewn with silver veins. He follows their example, except when he pulls it out, the veins aren't silver...

... they're gold.

And nobody, not even the people responsible for prophecies and things, knows what that means.

After that, a mysterious group catches wind of the ordeal and begins scheming in the shadows, Jason and his new friend Helga start doing their training at the Academy of Allyria, with him deciding to study to become a Mage because he's honestly kinda dogshit with a sword, and her studying to become a medic to disprove that demihumans are too brutish to be in a position of caring for the injured.

Out of the blue, Alex is abducted by a group who knows the meaning of golden blood and wants to use it for themselves, and Jason, angry as he is that someone dared to mess with his family storms off to find them, with Helga offering to tag along and help the only person other than her mother and her girlfriend who's ever treated her as a person, as more than a barely sentient animal.

That's about all I can say without spoiling.

Children of the Stars follows Lyanni Sverik, a former noblewoman who was set to inherit the ruling title over an entire Barony who witnessed the genocide of her people. In her anger, she began learning the forbidden knowledge of alchemy and of the arcane. When the temples learnt of this, she was arrested, branded a witch and made a mere slave of the state.

After she meets the patron Angel of her people, Adrian, she eventually learns that he's not divine or supernatural at all. He's simply an alien, a human from the Terran Empire working to uplift her people that decided that the mask of an angel was the easiest path to his goals. All the miracles his kind performed, the arcane might they showcased, were merely spectacles of technology so advanced that it was indistinguishable from magic.

Adrian is what I like to call my little bundle of incredibly fucked up. Like the amount of trauma this man has makes him a minefield to navigate.

The first person he ever killed was trying to kill his mother and succeeding in strangling her (A feat in and of itself, she was practically a one woman army on a bad day). His solution was to smash a shop window and grab a shard of glass to slit her assailant's throat with because Callistoan honour meant he had to protect his own. What's fucked up about this? He was only nine when he was forced to make that decision. His family helped him work through most of the trauma thereof, but even twelve years later, after fighting in a war and watching most of his family die because of what he believes was his mistake, after getting half his body blasted off and becoming a supersoldier for a few years before he was handed an honourable discharge, one of his remaining silent mannerisms is an absolute aversion to anything like a knife or a shard of broken glass.

Ironic then that his eventual girlfriend (Lyanni) usually has at least two of the things on her. Two knives and enough random chemicals to start making bombs and corrosives at a moment's notice.

The thing that's very interesting to write so far is the fact that both my protagonists are horrible people. Hell, they only need to be reframed slightly to be seen as the villains of the story (And only one aspect of the worldbuilding needs to change for them to actually become the villains),and yet they try and succeed in being better people for each other's sake. Also they're the first couple I wrote that got someone's approval for being well made, so yippee!

Other than that, a lot of politics, and a lot of speculative socio-political commentary (regarding topics that won't even have a chance to be controversial for at least another century), but it's fun to write at least.

Echoes of Shadows is based on our world as it was between 1895 and 1902. It's a fantasy world where magical control of the environment is tied to how well you understand what's happening around you. Understand the processes behind combustion well enough and you'll develop pyrokinesis, understand the properties of metal and why they exist well enough and you'll develop ferrokinesis, etc.

The point is, with general human knowledge growing as fast as it is, and the improved public access to such resources, almost half the population are mages with varying degrees of power in various fields.

The fictional country that the book is set in, Ost-Rietland, and its sister state, Zuurveldt, are based on the IRL Boer Republics that historically were one of the few peoples that the British Empire got its ass kicked by and gained respect for even after their subjugation. Ost-Rietland is based on the Transvaal Republic (The province I live in actually used to be part of their territory over 124 years ago), while Zuurveldt is based on the Orange Freestate Republic.

The city of Zuidpunkt is actually based on both Cape Town and Durban with inspiration drawn from photographs of Johannesburg in the 1880s.

The culture of most people outside of the five in the main group is just a slightly different portrayal of my own, down to the incredibly satirical personality of its people (If you've ever seen South African ads, you know what I mean, we make fun of everything- especially social problems- as a way to cope. After all, if you can laugh at something it suddenly doesn't seem so bad, and sometimes lifting that uneasiness helps spur discussions on how to fix it. Nandos is famous for this).

This universe actually came to be while I was giving a crash course on worldbuilding and I was creating a setting from scratch to show my method in practice and some problems that may arise from it when I thought "Hey, this could make for a cool story actually". Unfortunately, I have barely touched the writing for it, so not a lot to comment except that I'm a bit too proud of myself for my method of only portraying the eldritch by only revealing enough about how they look for your mind to do my job for me.

Also, all my WIPs actually share a multiverse. Adrian, Johan and Jason canonically ended up meeting when the veil between their worlds got especially thin, and you can see a different POV of the resulting fight in each story (plus, I have plans to maybe bring all three together for a crossover book at some point, but that's still years down the line if it happens at all)

Sorry for rambling, but thanks again for the ask!

[dornish-queen]

GQ MEXICO - PEDRO PASCAL 2021

It seems that Pedro Pascal is in all possible universes. Here and there. In the past, in the present, and in galaxies far, far away. Today, the actor is considered the great entertainment reference and one of those in charge of saving a franchise that seemed lost. Enough reasons to talk exclusively about discipline, gastronomy, creeds and how he traumatized his father in 30 seconds.

The RAE defines 'creed' as the set of ideas, principles or convictions of a person or a group. For example, by creed, one can leave his country and be in exile. It happens that one can leave the loved one behind. Or simply live in another reality. And also one can put on a helmet to pretend never to take it off again. If that is the path to follow, the creed says that it must be done with the profession of faith and without stopping to look. Turning the pages of the script for The Mandalorian , the Disney + series that revived passion and nostalgia for the Star Wars franchise , Pedro Pascal came across this definition in every dialogue and moment, and reflection carved his way.

More than two decades have passed since the Chilean-American, Pedro Pascal, began his acting career and today, named as the great reference of 2020 , he misses the theater and it still hurts him not to have the discipline to exercise and maintain a diet sana while acknowledging the irony of having the best year of her career in the midst of one of the worst in recent history. But even in physical solitude, the man who carried the best-selling Christmas baby rescues many positive things and shares his vision of the universes he has traveled through, his passion for distant galaxies and how to traumatize your family with a simple scene of TV. In an interview, the Mandalorian of Latinamerica.

IMDB named you the 2020 benchmark in entertainment, a year in which the world took refuge in fiction. How was living your best time locked up and what do you rescue on a human level from it?

The strength of family relationships and friendship. For them, we endure this physical loneliness. I do find it ironic that in 2020 I received projects so well received by the public, although they were carried out before the pandemic and their impact was during it, and that year I was isolated and alone. But I must emphasize that this loneliness is a privilege when many people had to continue working, surviving and maintaining the functioning of the world. We only had to be alone, but they more than that and you must value it too.

Among the activities you have missed, how much do you miss the theater?

Much indeed. It's something that I miss the most and being with people without being afraid. See a play and return to those experiences of being with people doing and living things in common. That is what I need most, in addition to my loved ones.

Disney fully entered streaming and its strong letter has your face, what do you think of the discussion of platforms against movie theaters?

There are incredible things in streaming and many people develop great projects that they did not have access to before. The diversity of voices is gaining ground and it is important to recognize that opportunities grow exponentially and boundaries change. It is incredible the availability that we have to very well made content and how creative people can share their work in different ways. But I also want to be honest: limiting the experience of watching content only on our gadgets or at home is a mistake that affects the stories we can tell. You have to achieve a mix of opportunities and challenges.

You jump between the fictional universes that mark the last decades until you reach the universe of universes. What is your first Star Wars memory and how do you summarize the essence of this legendary story?

For me, Star Wars is nostalgia itself. It is one of the primary things in my memory, of my childhood. I came to the United States with my Chilean family when I was less than two years old and one of my first memories is going to the movies with my dad to see the saga ; it becomes one of those romantic childhood things that opens your mind, so imagine how special it is to participate in this project. I think the creators of The Mandalorian perfectly understand this nostalgia and that power, and they managed to count on that element as a great ally for the world of Star Wars and I couldn't be happier to be part of it. (From which we expect the third season The Mandalorian)

The Mandalorian exploits the power and nuances of your voice, did you have that letter on your resume?

I didn't know I could do it, but I resorted to my theater preparation, which was very physical on all levels and feelings. There are elements that have to do with and that are essential to create a role, and they teach you that the voice is something primary, something you have to start with and you cannot hide. Now I have learned much more about the importance of that, and how to use it economically. The body also has to do with that, because something very subtle communicates something. In The Mandalorian , I had a great time figuring out how to do it, they gave me the opportunity to develop it in different ways. The opportunity to be very intense at it.

What happens to the ego when someone works under a suit and a mask?

In the conversations about the project, before doing it, we were communicated the idea and the concept of the entire season , so I clearly understood what it was. I wanted it to be the most powerful version of what they were trying to accomplish, so there was no point in involving my ego, you know? It was already very clear what the project meant, so I knew about the character , the piece that it represented for him and the opportunity that it was for me, so I was only focused on executing in a better way the part that touched me in everything this. In the theater, I worked several times under a mask and it helped me develop the experience.

It seems that The Mandalorian has a very theatrical base ...

Exactly, and thanks to the physical experience of working in theater, doing a play a few times a week, discovering how your body and your voice communicate , being part of a whole image, and how you will tell that story visually, I achieved this character. I never imagined that it would be something I would have to use on such an important Star Wars project .

On the list of entertainment greats, there are names like Steven Spielberg and George Lucas, do you think John Favreau should be added to the list?

I think your name is already included. Without a doubt, it is in that category and it is incredible. His vision fascinates me. I remember an episode in the second season , and I had some boots and I walked so much in the snow, it stuck to them. He figured it out, so he talked to the art department about the kind of boots you need when you're out in the snow. They approached me and gave me new ones that fulfilled the idea I was looking for. He noticed it in an instant. It is such a wonderful detail and it is repeated to scale in every session with him. He thinks of absolutely everything and his vision of the use of technology is admirable. He is someone who makes you feel motivated and always sees how to achieve the goal.

One of the reflections in the series is on how and under what circumstances a man can break his creed and way of life. What makes you break with your beliefs?

I think that you must follow your heart so as not to regret anything; Although sometimes it brings pain or conflict, deep down when you look back, everything is worth it because it was what you heard in your heart. I am very afraid to deny that feeling or not to attend to it. I am 45 years old now and I cannot believe I have a finer philosophy. Make it more disciplined. It's ridiculous, but I'm trying to accept that I am and it's all I can say, "follow your heart." Although, you know, I'm not on a good diet yet, I still have trouble sleeping or exercising.

Still good at Chilean empanadas?

Yes, I couldn't stop. And also how good that I do not live in Mexico City because I would only spend it eating. I could move my whole life to defe just to eat.

I want to deviate and ask you, with whom did you see the chapter of your death in Game of Thrones and what traumas did you cause in your family?

For me, no trauma. I separate myself well from the characters , although I fully understand that if I were a Game of Thrones audience and loved that character, it would make an incredible impression on me. Thank you that it was not. I had to interpret it and there was a model of my head to be crushed that way with the tubes and the fake blood, you know? Me lying there, with pieces of my meat, it was funny in the end. But not for my family. For them there is nothing funny but traumatic. My dad's voice changed completely when we saw the episode, he turned around and said: “I didn't like it, Pedro . No, Pedro , not this ”.

The media found similarities between your villain in Wonder Woman: 1984 and Donald Trump. When playing a character with characteristics like this, do you humanize him or do you understand him?

The project had nothing to do with the former president. They always told me that my character in Wonder Woman: 1984 was emotionally messy, and I took that and took that as far as possible. Instead of creating it with images or certain inspirations from life, it was more to work with what was on the page. Personally, what made sense to me is the size of the story that is being told and there is always more, and we all want more. Creatively, if this makes sense, that meant "blowing her out of the park." Connect a hit with the character and be committed to telling his story faithfully, in a way that was true to me. So all the exterior elements found their way.

What a way to start 2021 with the theme of the Capitol ... How do you perceive that moment?

I am not a politician and it is not that I do not have an opinion about this type of event; however, it is not necessary to state the obvious. My opinion would be very simple compared to that of a person who studied this, who knows how to act in these kinds of scenarios; I believe that I am next to the majority who experienced this, which is the logical result of what we have experienced during these years and we are all horrified . It was distressing to see this violence.

If you had the monolith in your hands, what would your wish be?

My wish would be… it's impossible, really (laughs). I think it is to be together again, with less fear and that people have the opportunity to connect.

What is your position on the reality that Chile has experienced in recent years and how has the relationship with your country been since exile?

It is something that I am developing and I continue to do in my life, trying to understand that it is my home. To be in Chile is to be at home, but my life has been very nomadic, living different things and having many influences; so it is strange, I do not feel with the title of a complete Chilean identity nor with an American one.

Neither here nor there?

In a sense, but I'm also completely both. My parents are Chilean , my brothers were born there before my parents traveled, and I came back sometimes because my family is very large; in fact, my parents came back. It has always been there, it continues to develop, and it will be a part of me. I don't know if it answers your question, but it has a lot to do with who I am.

What is your relationship with Latin American cinema? Are you interested?

Much, it has invaded me in life like American cinema. The movies that I carry in my heart, seeing something like Y tu mama was also something that changed me; I also love the work that comes out of Chile , and the only thing I can say is that it is a cinema that needs more access and projects.

Today you have a comedy with Nicolas Cage on the door, can you tell us something?

It's my first shot at comedy , as a complete story within the genre. Speaking of American influences , in the 80s I saw all the films where Nicolas Cage appeared , he came into my life and it's great to be his partner after seeing all his performances.

How is the relationship you have with the comedy genre?

I love it, I have done a lot of comedy in the theater, what happens is that in film and television issues , I was always part of drama castings . And in the cinema, you go where the doors open; Although I identify with one or the other, I think that being an actor , one goes and does what one has to do. Comedy is something unique, it is very challenging because it must be very real to be funny, you cannot hide or use normal tricks. I was very excited to have this challenge in front of a camera.

Finally, Pedro, after going through so many fictional worlds, literally, what do you dream about when you sleep?

I dream that my bathroom is dirty, that I haven't done my math homework, that the oven is on and all that stuff. Sure, there are times when I close my eyes and see myself in all these projects , although my conscience is with the anxieties of the day that you can imagine.

Without a doubt, Pedro Pascal is a particular type .

English Tranlation: Google Translate

SOURCE:  GQ MEXICO

[evebestt]

You're All Mine (2/2)

Fandom: Fate: The Winx Saga

Pairing: Farah Dowling x Reader

Rating: Explicit

Warnings for smut, alpha/omega dynamics, breeding kink.

~

I couldn't help myself, after a couple of requests I just had to write another chapter I just really love Alpha!Farah. Enjoy <3

Read Chapter 1 here.

Read Chapter 2 here on AO3 or below.

By some miracle you both made it back to Farah’s small cottage on the edge of campus, dragging each other up the steps and through the front door. The moment you were inside, Farah was pushing you towards the bedroom with her body, rough hands pulling at your clothing while she bit at your neck. You were whining, your body too hot, an ache inside you that would drive you mad if you didn’t have Farah, if you didn’t bend over for her to take you, her cock stretching you out and soothing that—

You hadn’t noticed you’d made it to the bedroom until Farah bent you over the bed, your legs splayed for her to stand between and your trousers already pushed down. They pooled around your ankles, trapping you, and you managed to step out of them and kick them away. Farah ground her hips against yours, still clothed, and you whimpered out a plead.

“I need you, please,” you cried, and that seemed to get to her through her rut. She reached down and undid the buttons on her trousers, pulling out her cock, and you stood on your toes, pushing towards her as much as you could.

Farah was desperate, acting on instinct alone as she lined up with your entrance and pushed in at the same time, bottoming out in one thrust. You let out a sob, the stretch of her cock sending shivers of pleasure and relief up and down your spine. Farah groaned, putting her hands on your shoulder blades, trapping you, but you didn’t care, not when you were full again and you swore you could feel her cock faintly pulsing inside you.

She began to move, barely pulling out before thrusting in again, but as her hips slammed against yours in a steady tempo, she rubbed a spot inside you that made you quake, hands fisting in the sheets as she moved.

You bit your lip, a small mewl still escaping you, pulled out by the slide of her cock inside you, and Farah gave a huffing purr.

“So obedient for your Alpha,” she rumbled. “My bitch to breed.”

You keened, the sound turning into a loud moan as Farah’s thrusts became longer. She was your Alpha, and thrills of pleasure shot straight to your sex as her words sunk into your mind. Farah’s normally well-checked possessive streak was a secret love of yours, and hearing her claim you while wild with her rut had you moaning unabashedly into the comforter beneath you.

She dropped to her elbows as she pushed you further, her body hot against yours even through both of your shirts. She nosed at the hinge of your jaw, teeth pressed against your neck as she murmured, “Mine to claim.”

You just whined and nodded your head, pressing back against her as best you could, taking her strokes diligently while arousal and her seed dripped down your thighs.

It was easy to come like this, every nerve in your body alight with pleasure and all focused on your sex, the slick pull of Farah’s cock making you spasm and your body clench like a fist. You moaned wildly as the waves of pleasure crashed over you, nearly overwhelming you as you pulsed and clenched around Farah’s cock. She growled and thrusted faster, wrapping an arm around your chest and pulling you tight against her while the head of her cock bumped against your cervix. The press of her cock against you and the delicious stretch of her thrusts had you panting and quivering, your orgasm only seeming to build further as you came, rolling through you like an earthquake.

Just as it seemed to be dying off, Farah shifted her hips to press harder into you, and there was a deep pressure in your belly as your womb clenched hard with a second orgasm, your entire body shaking with pleasure.

“Take me,” Farah husked, thrusting faster again as she felt you come once more. “Let me breed you.”

You cried out as another wave of pleasure hit you, brought on by her words — she was breeding you, planting her seed deep inside, and that thought sunk into your mind, your hormones singing with it in a wash of primal pleasure as you thought of Farah leaving her mark inside you.

Her knot had begun to swell, hot and heavy at your entrance, her thrusts shortening with it. The arm wrapped around your chest moved to wrap around your hips, pulling you up so that your feet nearly left the floor, your hips pressed firmly against hers. She mouthed at the bite on your neck, each slow, hard thrust a command to take it, to take her knot like a good bitch and let her fill you, and you ached to do nothing more than obey.

Three more strokes and her knot slipped inside completely, and the ache in your cunt burst throughout your body until you were coming again on a wail, arousal running down your thighs as you squirted around her.

Her teeth slotted fully into the bite at the feel of you clenching around her, and your eyes fluttered at the sensation. She ground desperately against you, huffing, then her hips jerked hard as she came, warm and thick as she filled you.

“Farah,” you moaned as you spasmed yet again, clenching desperately around her knot, and Farah groaned your name in response and you were in love.

Farah purred as you both relaxed, smoothing her hands over every inch of you. She stroked at your back, your stomach, her thumbs rubbing small circles on your hips while she kissed at your shoulder, and tears pricked your eyes at the display. She was your Alpha, and she took care of her Omega, soothing you and caressing you and making you feel more loved than you ever had.

The knot slipped out after a time, and carefully she moved you onto the bed, letting you flip onto your back. You felt cold and small in your heat without her near, and you grabbed at her, pulling her between your legs and wrapping your arms around her. She gathered you close too, every inch of her body pressed against yours, and you felt her cock, hardening again, slide against your folds. You tilted your hips, and it barely took a thrust for her to fill you again, both sighing at the feeling of her sliding home.

She took you slow and gentle, and contrast to the frenzied coupling of her rut, but the primal urgency was still there, an undercurrent of feeling like there could be nothing else in the world but Farah inside you, breeding you, filling you like you knew you needed.

You came as she thrusted inside of you, bursting with an aching pleasure. Farah moaned when her knot slipped in again, squeezed tightly by your walls, and her hips jerked with every pulse of her knot as she came, filling you even more than you thought possible, your belly heavy with her seed.

You wiggled beneath her, a sudden surge of possessiveness welling up in you, and Farah seemed to sense what you wanted, the wash of hormones and instincts making you both more attune to each other. She bent her head, tucking it into the crook of your shoulder in permission, and you wasted no time leaning up and sinking your teeth into her neck. She gasped, hips jerking against you, and you felt the heavy comfort of the mating bond slide into place, purring unconsciously as you licked the bite. Farah seemed to feel it too, turning her head to mouth at your bite, and for a long moment you seemed to become one. One body, one soul, one mind, and you felt you could weep at the certain knowledge that Farah was yours, just as sure as you were hers.

The bond settled, the white hot light of it dying away, but the euphoria of it remained, your chest nearly bursting with love for your Alpha, your beautiful Farah who loved you too.

Like she knew what you were thinking, Farah gave a satisfied hum, pressing kisses down your neck to your shoulder. “My love,” she murmured into your collarbone, pressing a kiss there. “My mate,” she continued, and you felt her smile against your skin, matching your own grin.

“My mate,” you echoed softly, drawing a hand up her spine, and she gave a quiet purr.

Raising her head, she smiled softly at you, brushing your hair from your forehead. “I don’t want to ruin anything, but you’re alright with this, yes? I know this is all unexpected and moving quickly…” she trailed off, and you smiled at her, leaning up to kiss her quick.

“I’m more than okay with this. I couldn’t ask for a better mate.”

Farah gave a dazzling smile, one that made your heart skip a beat, and she kissed you again, longer and sweeter.

When her knot slipped out, she tenderly undressed the both of you, pressing little kisses to your skin before retrieving a damp washcloth and cleaning you. She slipped under the covers then and pulled you close, arms wrapped securely around you.

The heat in your blood still drummed though you and you could smell Farah’s rut thick and heavy on her skin, but sleep pulled at your mind, and dimly you thought you should rest before Farah would undoubtedly wake you in a few hours, rolling you to your stomach and mounting you. 

Closing your eyes, you couldn’t help but grin and burrow into Farah’s shoulder. “I’m glad you’re my mate.”

She hummed sleepily and pressed a kiss to your hair. “There’s no one else I’d rather have.”

[embrassemoi]

Surrounded by the Moon and Stars ✷ 19

Pairings: Sirius B, Remus L, [F]Reader    Content: Language, possible errors, 

【 Masterlist: Previous Chapter | Next Chapter 】

Chapter 19: Mrs. Lupin

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The rest of Valentine’s Day was spent with Y/N compiling a list in her head:

1. Avoid drinking anything the Marauders — actually, avoiding drinking anything around James to dodge their concoction of face and body-altering potions. When students at lunch and dinner drank from the pumpkin juice supply, more than several people who were already in relationships morphed into those they weren’t dating. Let’s just say that this prank wasn’t as uplifting and fun as the Marauders originally had in mind. Even the Bloody Baron told Peeves to spare them.

2. Make sure Lily didn’t drink anything around the Marauders — or anything around Marlene and Mary (who caught word from Peter of her supposed feelings). They were dying to know who caught her attention and bets were being placed.

3. James just wouldn’t shut the fuck up about Emmeline. She could even hear his voice: Whiskers! Did you see how pretty she looks? Woah, I can’t believe she agreed to be my girlfriend? I’m so lucky! She’s beautiful! Ugh — did you see her smile? Emmeline this, Emmeline that — it was even worse than his obsession with Quidditch. But, it was too endearing in a sickening, annoyingly charming way and she was happy that he seemed happy, so Y/N kept her lips sealed.

Remus suggested drowning him in the bottles of love potions littering the castle but Y/N thought differently. James already acted like what a love potion was rumoured to be like; he’d become unstoppable if he even caught a whiff.

4. Shockingly by the end of the day, Y/N’s bag was stuffed with cards and gifts — all filled with confessions. She rarely socialized with anyone but the girls and Marauders, so it came as a surprise.

5. And now found herself stuck in a very uncomfortable situation.

Relaxing in the lounge area by the library, James and Mary were casting spells, Lily and Y/N chatted while Remus aided Marlene, going over course material, however, her face scrunched up as she flicked through his notes.

“What does this mean,” Marlene asked after desperately trying to decipher his writing. She slid it over to him, pointing to a highlighted section. But before Remus could translate, Y/N peeked over.

“Um — Owl to Opera Glasses. This spell emits fleeting wispy white vapour from wand — point at owl — no sound will be produced.”

She sat back in her seat, snapping off a piece of chocolate before handing the rest over to Remus beside her. Everyone looked shocked.

“Erm — what?”

Mary sputtered, “How did you read that? It’s fucking scribble!”

“He’s got doctor writing.”

They waited for her to elaborate.

“My mom’s —” “MUM!” “— writing is horrid. I swear all doctor’s have awful handwriting. I spent so much time reading her medical jornals, scans, charts — to keep me busy. So comparing Remus’ writing to hers, it’s legible.”

None of them seemed to understand besides Lily and Mary. Y/N just dismissed the matter entirely, sliding back the parchment to Marlene as they went back to their quiet conversations.

“So,” Remus leant in, his head craned down to talk to her. “Doctor handwriting — I should flaunt that?”

She chuckled, “Might make you sound smarter, but you don’t need that.”

“You flatter me too much.”

“Humble, aren’t you?”

“I have to bully myself daily. Can’t let it get to my head, not like egomania over there.”

Ah yes, the thrilling saga of bullying James Potter.

But before she could add on, a shadow caught Remus’s eye before he nudged her. His head tilted over to the direction of a wall, littered with portraits and awards with Quidditch trophies. “Looks like you’ve got an admirer.”

A blond boy, young — was staring at her, blushing madly as his chest puffed out, determination trickled through every step as he neared.

Remus’ smile became impossibly large, dripping in amusement before snapping, gaining the table’s attention.

“Hi,” there was a nervous waver in his voice, but confidence in his stance. He was pale, amplifying the scarlet blush on his cheeks.

Damn, she knew what was about to happen and so did shit-eating grin Lupin.

“Hello… What’s your name.” Right, that was a good place to start. Her eyes wandered to his tie: a Ravenclaw.

“Gilderoy Lockhart,” he announced, going up to flick a strand of hair from his face, flashing her a pearly white smile. “I’m in first year.” In his small hands, he outstretched his arms holding a box of chocolates — identical to the one Remus received a few days ago along with a meticulously crafted letter.

“You’reveryprettysowillyoubemyValentine?”

James, Mary and Marlene let out an involuntary snort which had all of them leaning into one another to support themselves from toppling over. Lily had to cast Silencio over them. They turned their heads away from Gilderoy before barking out silent merriment. Remus was the complete opposite, thankfully, as he remained poised, face void but his lips quivered upwards.

“Um… right... well,” she stalled. Maybe she should get up, take the boy elsewhere to softly let him down. “Thank you, I appreciate it a lot. But er… I can’t accept your feelings. Thank you for telling me, though. I appreciate it.”

“What?! Why!” He demanded. His face turned a deeper shade of pink, now causing a scene.

She made eye contact with Lily, however, James’ hand hammered down on the table, startling them all. His two hands formed pointed tips, mimicking two people kissing as he repeated the motion, pointing to her and Remus. Mary took the opportunity to grab Lily’s wrist, flicking a reversal charm on all of them.

“She’s dating Lupin!” She shouted which caught the attention of a few onlookers. James tossed his head back, knuckles in his mouth and Lily’s brow rose high in a startled grimace.

“For a month now!” Marlene continued, her hand slapping down on her thigh.

Y/N was going to murder them.

She went to open her mouth to say — well, okay, she didn’t know what to say but Remus budded in, lifting his arm, wrapping it around her shoulder and pulled her in awkwardly. She instantly got the hint, bringing a hand and patted his chest stiffly while the group tried not to bellow. Even Lily’s facade was beginning to break, her hand shooting up to cover a growing smile.

There was never a boring day at Hogwarts.

But she was taking too long to answer. This would've been quick, easy, had not everyone else been around and especially if they hadn’t lied about her dating.

“I’m sorry but yes, we’ve been together for a little while now, haven’t we, darling?” said Remus, saving her from the hesitation. Y/N nodded, at least she didn’t need to give a reason now.

Remus’ lying was exceptional. There wasn’t even a flicker in his expressions aside from the involuntary dark blush that ran down his cheeks to his neck. Y/N couldn’t blame him, her face felt like it was on fire.

Gilderoy tried to play it off coolly but his shoulders slumped, looking absolutely dispirited. He meekly nodded, placing the box and letter on the table and sped off.

“Cougar L/N!” Marlene roared once he was out of earshot.

“You lot are ruthless!” She barked at them.

“I did nothing!”

“Lied to a poor boy!” Lily lectured sharply.

“And she went along with it!” “Because you —”

While everyone was now bickering or on the verge of tears, Remus peeled himself off of her and Y/N patted him once more.

“You’re welcome.”

She looked up at him, “Darling? Really?”

His eyes rolled, “Did you want me to call you a troll?”

“Got me there, thank you.”

His face softened at this, shoving her in a teasing way before seizing the small box of chocolates, cracking it open and handed her a piece.

“What?” he smirked, moving to open a book, flipping to his worn-out bookmark. He side-eyed her uncomfortable expression as she looked at the box. He recited her words, “Expensive chocolate is still expensive chocolate.”

“You’re a dick.”

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February 17th, 1976

Y/N quickly learned that it was a mistake using the excuse that she and Lupin were dating because now the entire school believed it.

It spread like wildfire. Girls rejected by Remus shot her a hardened gaze, eyes scorned through her robes while other’s who confessed to Y/N avoided her completely. They would all gossip the moment they passed the hallways and she could feel their gaze.

“Lupin beat me to it!”

“— how long have they’ve been —”

“I’ve fancied him for two years! Two years and she suddenly just swoops in?!”

“Honestly, I thought she was with Potter.”

“She’s hot.” “He's fit!”

“— jealous of her —”

“Crikey — don’t they have anything else to talk about?” Remus said, turning away from the hall.

Remus disappeared for the past couple of days, only now hearing the commotion for the first time. He looked fairly pale, eyes red and tired — but not unusual. Y/N shrugged off the rumours and speculations before entering the hall, shouting to him to wait.

Many students stopped their gossiping for a moment to watch her pass before resuming. She marched up to her customary seat, her friends whistling at her.

“Where’s Remus L/N?”

“Mrs. Lupin!”

“Fuck off.”

She shoved snacks into her bag, hoarding enough food for the both of them and managed to grab a giant mug filled with coffee, making her way out of the hall with a few people loitering after her. James forcibly brought Sirius to his feet, Peter leaped over and Lily sprang up from Marlene, cutting her off while looping her arm with Y/N’s.

Mary elected to stay back, engrossed in a chat with Dorcas and Alice before quickly roping Marlene in. Nevertheless, she shouted once she saw the coffee mug, “That’s for Lupin, isn’t it?!”

“Don’t start… it’s just coffee.”

“Black coffee my arse!”

James ran up to her, tugging on her robes lightly, “Does this mean I should swap my Galleons to Lupin?”

Y/N shrugged him off, stomping over to Remus waiting by the door. She handed him the mug, glancing back in hopes of Celeste: no letter from her mother, again. She sighed before hauling the rest of the group to Kettleburn's classroom. This time, empty but always open for students to come and go. Even a sign was plastered on the entrance: Hold a Niffler if feeling down! (BEWARE of theft).

“Sneaking off like this is going to fuel more rumours,” said Lily, settling her things down on the desks beside her.

“Sorry Whiskers — Moony!”

Remus cracked his fingers, a long breathy sigh trickled from him slowly. “We should mitch lessons today — let it cool down for a bit.”

“Mitch?”

“Skip classes —”

“Moony is possibly the worst prefect in Hogwarts History — he deserves a gold star for it,” chuckled Peter.

Sirius grinned and the two made brief eye contact but neither looked away until James’ voice rang out again. It made Y/N's skin go warm.

“Mate’s going for a record.”

Sirius went to scratch the back of his neck, his head turning down to fiddle with his rings out of habit. “Maybe they’ll put him in the next printed copies of

Hogwarts: A History.” 

Remus rolled his eyes, fixing his posture to sit straighter. “Ungrateful gits. All I hear are three wannabe detention attendees. You ought to be thanking me. With what you pull, I could easily give you two years worth of ‘em.”

A collective sigh went around from the boys who seemed to bow their heads in mutual respect. They grouped and drawled, “Thank you, Moonyyy!”

Lily turned to her, “I’m sorry, but you’re not skipping.”

Her voice automatically switched at the mention of class; it went strict and firm and eerily sounded like Professor McGonagall which had Y/N double down.

Once the bell rang, Sirius quickly walked up to her, taking the place of Lily.

“Fine, we’ll keep the Puffskein in my dorm.”

She considered him for a moment. “I’ll visit daily.”

“Jolly.”

He sped up, hooking an arm around James’ shoulders as they headed to Potions. Y/N's eyes followed him, unable to look away and her heart dropped.

━━━━━━━━━༻☽༺━━━━━━━━━

“The Draught of Peace is a potion that often comes up on the Ordinary Wizarding Level. As you know from review, it calms anxiety and high levels of agitation. It’s been used to calm students who are too stressed with NEWT exams.

“And today,” Slughorn says, trying to look cheerful but failing — looking far too stiff and forced, “ We'll attempt to brew it.”

Lily sat up bolt-straight, eager to soak in new information. Instead of sitting with Lily today, she took a seat in between Remus and James, Lily with Snape.

“The instructions are up on the board, if you have any questions, ask away. Be warned though; be too heavy-handed — mix too fast and you’ll end up with a potion that would make the consumer fall into an irreversible sleep.

“You will be graded on your progress once finished.” He flicked his wand, opening all of the student’s textbooks to an ingredients page, unlocked the cupboard and turned back, “You have until the end of the class, begin my pupils!”

“Sluggys lookin’ pretty sluggishly today,” whispered Lily as they met briefly while collecting their ingredients.

Slughorn did look a little down. His face and voice were desolate, missing its happy chiper.

“Whiskers, I have everything already, don’t worry about it!” James beckoned.

The potion, in her opinion, wasn’t as hard as she predicted it to be. She was doing quite well, better than Lily and Remus which gave her a small sense of pride.

“So, Prongs, when are we going to get to meet Emmeline?”

James didn’t look up from his fiddly potion, too engaged but there was a small grin on his face. “We’re trying to take it slow —” “Pfft,” interjected Remus, “James Potter and slow — in a relationship? Doubt it. Did your Veela powers run out?”

“Hey! I like her and I don’t want her to run off or feel pressured.”

“Ah, what a gentleman, isn’t he Lupin?”

“Quite.”

James shook his head, “You shouldn’t be talking. Shouldn’t you lovebirds be on a date yoursel — Merlin! Moony don’t do that!”

Remus flicked his wand before a handful of leftover powdered moonstone fell on top of James’ head, giving him an iridescent appearance.

Y/N ignored them, stirring clockwise, then counterclockwise, simmering the heat down to the perfect level for seven minutes, then added in two drops of syrup of hellebore. A shimmery silver mist stemmed from her cauldron. A satisfied smirk settled it’s way on her face before scanning the class. Nobody else, besides Remus and Snape who’d been adding their finishing touches, was done.

Just as James was about to finish his perfectly brewed potion, a small beam was directed at his cauldron, ruining the entire potion as it sputtered multicoloured sparks. He tried to prod at the flames at the base of the cauldron, trying to cool it down but it was already too late. It soon became a thick, muddy concrete mixture.

“What the fuck? You guys saw that, right?!”

They had indeed seen a spell hit his cauldron. Their heads whipped around in search. With only ten minutes left and James’ grades about to drop, they all panicked slightly. If his marks were to drop below a certain level, James would be in jeopardy of losing his Quidditch title as captain and be forced to step down, focusing more on the OWLs.

Remus spotted them first: “It’s Snape.”

“How do you know?”

He didn’t respond, leaving them to follow his line of vision to look. Snape wore a horrible smirk, going as far as to wink at James. His perfectly brewed potion shimmered in the light before whirling around to talk to Lily.

“Fucking Snivellus,” James muttered tensley.

“Alright, in five minutes, I’ll be coming around to look at your potions! Be ready to present them.” Slughorn announced.

Remus sighed. “Prongs, just take mine — I’ll take yours. My grades are high enough but if yours drop —”

“No Moony,” he stated firmly. “I’m not going to let you go down with me.”

Distracted, Snape blushing like a fool to Lily and the boys fighting over Remus’ endeavour at being noble, Y/N swished her wand, levitating Jame’s cauldron and directed it over to Snape. She bewitched a temporary invisibility charm, switching them, before levitating Snape's back to James. Now, in front of James was a flawlessly brewed Draught of Peace.

“James, take my help —” “I said no you wanker!”

Slughorn was making rounds around the classroom, but Snape beckoned him over to his shared table with Lily, confident as he sent a nasty look to them.

“Evans, looking good! Perfectly brewed — I’ll add an extra point on your mark.” The praise did not go unnoticed as her chest puffed with pride, her head turning and locked eyes with Y/N, a large smile on her face.

Nice! Y/N mouthed, a thumb sticking upwards.

“Now lets — Severus!” exclaimed Slughorn, flashes of surprise shot through him, “What happened? This is so unlike you.”

The Slytherins in the class all looked up — scratch that — everyone in the class snapped their heads towards him; Snape had never once messed up a potion. They watched as Snape’s face fell from his smug smirk as a black stemming, multicoloured, cloud of smoke puffed in the air, making the surrounding students cough.

“Sir — I swear it was fine moments ago, I don’t know what happened! It must’ve —”

Their professor sighed, a very disappointed look crossed his face before shaking his head.

“It’s quite alright, Mr. Snape. Accidents happen. Evanesco.”

The contents, including the puff of smoke, vanished, leaving Snape to gape around. Lily touched his shoulder, rubbing her hand up and down and began murmuring into his ear.

But before Slughorn could go to another group, Y/N raised her hand, flagging him down while the rest of the class was still paying attention. “Professor! We would like for you to clear us, please!”

“Whiskers, what are you doing?”

“Trust me.”

“Look at what she did with your cauldron,” Remus mumbled, his eyes darting to her.

Complete surprise and utter awe replaced his face as Slughorn let out an excited squeal. His hands clapped together. “Everyone should take a page from Potter, L/N and Lupin. I’ve never seen such great work for this potion! Amazing you three! Ten points for Gryffindor.”

Their heads whipped towards her, Remus just smiled while James stared wide-eyed.

“You love to underestimate me.”

[ljones41]

"The Deconstruction of Dr. Jack Shephard"

"THE DECONSTRUCTION OF DR. JACK SHEPHARD" I have a confession to make. I must be one of the few fans of the ABC series "LOST" (2004-2010) who did not dislike the series' lead character, Dr. Jack Shephard. Before anyone makes the assumption that he is a favorite character of mine, let me make one thing clear. He is not. But for some strange reason, I never disliked Jack.  I still do not.

Throughout most of the series’ run, many "LOST" fans had consistently ranted against Jack’s faults. Mind you, he was not the only flawed character in the series. In fact, most of the major characters seemed to possess some very serious flaws. Jack Shephard seemed to be one of very few characters that had drawn a considerable amount of ire from the fans. I do not know why he was been specifically targeted by these fans. But I cannot help but wonder if the combination of Jack’s role as the series' lead character and his flawed personality had set fans against him. Now, someone might claim that my last remark sounds ridiculous. As I had earlier pointed out, most of the major characters are also seriously flawed or have committed some serious crimes. Extremely flawed characters like John Locke, Jin Kwon, Michael Dawson, Kate Austen, Miles Strume, Ana-Lucia Cortez, Charlie Pace, Sayid Jarrah, James "Sawyer" Ford, Sun Kwon, Boone Carlyle, Mr. Eko, Juliet Burke and Shannon Rutherford. Hell, the list was practically endless. And yet, the only other character who had received as much criticism or hate as Jack was Ana-Lucia Cortez. Why? Well, I have my theories. Both Jack and Ana-Lucia had assumed leadership among the castaways at one time or the other, due to their personalities, circumstances and professions. Ana-Lucia assumed leadership of the Tail Section passengers that crashed on one side of the island and remained stuck there for forty-eight (48) days. Since Day One of the Oceanic 815 crash, Ana-Lucia had stepped up and utilized her skills as a police officer to save lives and make decisions when no one else would. Jack, a spinal surgeon, did the same with the surviving passengers from the Fuselage Section on the other side of the island. In one early Season One episode, (1.05) "White Rabbit", he seemed willing to back away from the role of leader, until John Locke convinced him to resume it. Jack remained the leader even after Ana-Lucia and the remaining Tail Section passengers joined the Fuselage camp by the end of Season Two’s (2.08) "Collision". And it was not until after his departure from the island in the Season Four finale, (4.13/4.14) "There's No Place Like Home, Part II" with Hugo "Hurley" Reyes, Sun Kwon, Sayid Jurrah, Kate Austen and Aaron Littleton (the Oceanic Six) that he finally relinquished the position. Recalling the above made me realize something. Human beings – for some reason or other – expect leaders to know everything and always do the right thing. Always. And without fail. Humans seemed to have little tolerance toward the imperfections of our leaders. This certainly seemed to be the case for fictional characters who are leaders. And many fans of "LOST" had harbored a deep lack of tolerance toward Jack and Ana-Lucia’s personal failings. In the case of the former L.A.P.D. police officer, many fans had complained of Ana-Lucia's aggressive personality. They also accused her of being a bitch. In other words, being aggressive and hard – traits many have claimed are more suited for a man - is a sure sign that a woman is a bitch. And unlike other female characters on the series, Ana-Lucia lacked the svelte, feminine looks prevalent in productions such as the 2001-2003 "LORD OF THE RINGS" saga. Actually, gender (and racial) politics may have played a role in the fans' opinion of Jack. His main crime seemed to be that he did not fit the image of a heroic leading white male character. Physically, he looked the part. Unfortunately for Jack, he had failed to live up to those looks. He made the wrong choices on several occasions – choices that included his decision to continue Daniel Farraday's plan to set off the nuclear bomb Jughead in the Season Five finale, (5.16/5.17) "The Incident". It is interesting that many fans had dumped most the blame upon Jack’s shoulders regarding that bomb. And he was partially to blame. But those same fans had failed to remember it was Daniel Faraday who had first insisted upon setting off the bomb to reset time back to the day of Flight 815’s crash – September 22, 2004. And they also failed to recall that Dr. Juliet Burke's decision to set off the bomb for her own reasons was the final action that led to her death. Many had accused Jack of failing to be a proper parent figure to his nephew, Aaron Littleton, during his three years off the island. And at the same time, many had praised Kate Austen for pretending to be the boy’s mother. I found this rather perverse and a little disgusting, considering that Kate had set in motion the lie about her being Aaron’s mother. Jack (along with the remaining members of the Oceanic Six) was guilty of supporting Kate’s lie. But instead of criticizing both for lying about Aaron and keeping him from his Australian grandmother Carole Littleton for nearly three years, many fans had criticized Jack for not being an effective father figure to Aaron and praised a kidnapper like Kate for being a good mother. Ah, the ironies of life. Many fans had accused Jack of being emotionally abusive toward Kate. And yes, they would have every reason to criticize his behavior in episodes like (1.11) “All the Best Cowboys Have Daddy Issues”. But Kate’s own behavior in episodes like (1.12) “Whatever the Case May Be”, which featured her constant lies and attempts to manipulate him and others, occasionally triggered his temper. If one character is going to be criticized for the situations I have previously described, the other character involved should be criticized for his or her own questionable behavior. Some of Jack's other mistakes included sanctioning Sayid’s torture of Sawyer, failure to organize a genuine search for the only child passenger from Oceanic 815′s Fuselage Section, the kidnapped Walt Lloyd, instigating that ludicrous search for Walt’s dad Michael Dawson and communicating with Martin Keamy and the other hired mercenaries aboard the S.S. Kahana. Yet, he had received more complaints about his relationship with Kate, along with his tendencies to get emotional and shed tears than for anything else. Once again, many “LOST”  fans managed to prove that we still live in a patriarchal society. It was okay for female characters to shed tears in very emotional moments, but not male characters. Especially if that one male character happened to be the series’ leading character. Jack's penchant for tears was not the only sign of how some fans can be hypocritical. I have written articles criticizing some of the series' other characters. Most of my articles have criticized Kate Austen. I will be honest. I used to dislike Kate very much. However, my dislike of her has finally abated - somewhat. Most of my dislike had stemmed from her past flaky behavior and especially from the fans’ tendency to excuse her mistakes and crimes . . . or pretend that she had never done anything wrong. However, Kate was not the only character given this leeway. James “Sawyer” Ford had murdered three people – one in Australia and two on the island - within a space of two to three months. Yet, many fans had made constant excuses for his actions. I never disliked Sawyer.  But I have complained about his flaws, mistakes and crimes on numerous occasions. When I did, many fans had pretended that he had done anything wrong. And to this day, I still find this frustrating. Sometime back in Season Two or Season Three, actor Matthew Fox and the show’s producers, Carlton Cuse and Damon Lindelof, made it known to the media and viewers that they were doing something different with the Jack Shephard character. They took a superficially heroic type – a brilliant surgeon that assumed leadership of a group of stranded castaways – and deconstructed him. In other words, they slowly but surely exposed his flaws and took the character to what could be viewed as the nadir of his existence. Jack eventually climbed out of that existence by the series’ last season.  But certain fans on  many "LOST" message boards and forums made it clear this was not a path they had wanted Jack to take. Instead, these fans had wanted – or demanded that Jack behave like a conventional hero. During most of Season Six, Jack had managed to avoid indulging in self-destructive behavior. He also refrained from displaying any inclination to pursue a romance with Kate. The worst he had done was engage in a temper tantrum over his discovery that the island’s spiritual "man" Jacob had been observing and possibly interfering in the lives of several castaways. Another personality change I noticed was that he had passively allowed others to take the lead without questioning their decisions. I must be honest. I never liked that particular period in Jack's emotional makeup.  It made him seem like a mindless moron. Did Jack finally become the hero that so many had demanded, when he saved the island in the series finale?  Apparently, those responsible for the Emmy nominations believed he had. Why else did they finally nominate Matthew Fox for a Best Actor in a Drama award, after the series' final season. Mind you, Fox had been giving outstanding performances since the first season. But when Jack finally became a likable and somewhat conventional hero, they deemed Fox worthy of an Emmy nomination. Dear God. Personally, I never did care about Jack Shephard's status as a hero. Nor did I really care for his passive behavior in Season Six. But I did hope that he had  finally discovered some inner peace for himself. And I believe that he did during the series’ final moments.

[annakie]

Month 11.5 of 6.

I wrote about how Patchy has lymphoma, diagnosed two weeks shy of a year ago.  She was doing well four months later.  And four months after that, a few problems but still doing well.  I figured out that her stomach problems were from the dry food I was giving her, and after stopping letting her eat that, no more stomach problems.

Although I think about the fact that she has lymphoma at least twice a day every day when I give her her medicines, her diagnosis was so long ago and she’d been doing so well the reality that she was dying was like, background noise, though I still don’t take her for granted at all.

Two months ago she got her first bad report at the vet.  The cancer had grown significantly.  So we doubled up on her cancer medicine for two weeks. Took her back and it had shrunk all the way back down.  Kept her on double medicine another two weeks and for the last month and back to regular amount.

Today was another vet visit.  It’s now officially fifty weeks, or eleven and a half months since her diagnosis.

There’s good news and bad.  The cancer had grown back some, but not as bad as it was two months ago.  Back on double medicine for a week, then a recheck. 

The good news was that we did bloodwork and for the most part her bloodwork is very very good.  Vet gave her a penicillin shot, but was very pleased about everything else.  Because her cancer meds are chemotherapy, more or less.  So we’re poisoning her to keep her alive.  And her second medicine is to counteract some of the symptoms. 

My vet told me today that he has several other lymphoma patients, and he says that he tells them about Patchy and about me when he diagnoses them.  With proper management, this isn’t the immediate end, realistically 3 - 6 months but this other patient is still going after almost a year.   He said he wishes they were all as understanding as I’ve been, as dilligent, that the other cats were as successful as Patchy.  She is bringing hope to other cat owners, and I love that so much.

But really what we’re realizing is that for about the first ten months after she went on the medicine we were at a stalemate with the cancer.  The medicine did its job, the dream team of Patchy, Dr. N and I did what we were supposed to do and while we weren’t winning, we weren’t losing, and that’s the best we could hope for.  We’re slowly starting to lose now.

I can’t complain.  I keep telling myself I can’t be sad.  I go back and re-read my post from almost a year ago when I was saying I might lose her before the end of July, or the very best scenario would be that I’d lose her near the end of the year and... that didn’t happen.  We’ve lasted twice as long as I dared to dream we might.   And that is a victory!  That is a miracle.  Every day before was gift and since has been an embarassment of riches. 

And we still have time!  We still probably have another three months, or maybe more!  Even if it’s less, it’s so much more time than we were first given.  I tell people when they ask that I’m okay, and honestly I am.  I feel like my life for the last year has centered around knowing that a painful few weeks culminating in a very bad day is coming, and everything else has been on hold.  And yet I want to keep putting it off as long as possible.

-----

The other cats are all doing well, including 17+ year old Leela. They all have checkups coming in the first week of July.  Crossing my fingers that things will continue to be uneventful for them for a long time. 

Literally the only other thing I can think of of concequence lately is the saga of my house’s gas line.

In March I had a huge tree cut down in my backyard as the roots were fucking up the sewer under the house and the foundation.  I had them grind the stump of the tree.  In the process, they cut into a gas line going from my house to a small grill that I have literally never used in my backyard.

So I called a plumber and had them just cut the line and cap it at the house.  And no, the tree company wouldn’t pay as they had a “we aren’t responsible for below-ground damage done” even though they said they’d call the gas company before stump grinding and did not.

And then when the gas company came out to test the line, it failed.  After a lot of back and forth, I ended up having to replace the whole fucking gas line from the alley to the house.  The tree’s roots had fucked with that, too. Wouldn’t have known and it probably wouldn’t have been a real problem for many years if the tree people hadn’t fucked up the small line to the grill in the first place. So that was a lot of hassle and $3700+ spent.

Uhhh.... I said fuck a lot in those last few paragraphs but uh.... that’s how I felt about the whole experience.  Very fucked.

Home ownership.  Yay.  Poured a significant amount of my emergency savings into this place between the tree getting cut down (over $3k), and that.  And there’s several more things that need to get done sometime soon. =\

Anyway, gonna go spend my nightly hour before bed hanging out with Patchy.  Gonna be happy for my blessings instead of continuing to wallow in what’s going wrong.

[lunewell]

The Lunewell Saga - Natura: Ch 3

Chapter 1 here

Chapter 2 here

Can also be read on ao3 (:

Book Sumary:

Zarifa Birch, an antique shop worker with an unusual past, has made a home for herself in the sleepy town of Lunewell. Though the shop she works at is not exactly ordinary, with cryptid items and odd occurrences, she has managed to carve the normal life she always desperately wished for out of it.

However, all that comes crumbling down, as a woman from Zarifa’s past throws everything into chaos. Faced with unimaginable horrors, seemingly unsolvable mysteries, and returning repressed feelings and memories, Zarifa along with her coworkers, must find a way to return the balance- and escape the cruel hands of death in this eldritch horror mystery

As always, he had not been himself in the night. He had been an old man, holding a rather nice-smelling bag, walking through the forest towards… something. Something he cared about.

His thoughts were not quite his own, but not the man's either; more a drowsy sort of mish-mash of voices, a bit like falling asleep in the middle of a bustling city. However, none of it really mattered, as he very much felt, smelled, and lived in the forest, above the crunchy leaves and around the warm scent. So hard to place. It was familiar, and yet, the exact detail of it had faded out.

He could hear his own voice, humming. It did not sound like his voice, not really, but it felt like his own, and that was enough for it to be his own. The vibrations travelled through his chest as he burst out in melodic sounds. He was humming a workers’ song, one that someone in his family had sung. Again, the details were blurry, like there was a block in his brain.

The forest was calm, basking in a sunny glow. Autumn leaves decked the ground, and the trees looked familiar. There was a comfort in this place, a home in the scent of mud and moss, and one that he cherished happily.

The trees, though originally quiet to his senses, rustled softly in a pleasant way. The wind must’ve been extra strong, he must’ve just not noticed it through the thick shield of stems.

The trees rustled once more, and felt a beat against the soles of his feet. It was slight, barely noticeable, but it got him to tilt his stiff, aged, neck downwards, if even just for a second.

It was then that it truly happened.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the trees curving, but he didn’t have any time to process as he was slammed down to the ground by a vine sprouting from the ground. A crack wrecked through his body, not unlike the sound a carrot makes when snapping, and he, in what simultaneously was and wasn’t his voice, howled in pain. His leg, already weak to begin with, felt as though it had been ripped in two, and he could clearly see red blood leaking from where the knee was bent at an unnatural angle. Fire coursed through his nerves, burning from his leg to his spine. The pain was so mind-numbing that he didn’t notice the much pointier vine heading right for him until it was too late.

As though it was sentient, a throned vine plunged at him, and punctured right into his stomach. It sliced all the way through him, as though his body was not but soft butter, before pulling out in an equally swift motion and landing him limp on the ground.

There was no pain, even as thorns began to wrap around and puncture every millimeter of skin, only numbness. Numbness from pain that could not be described in the English language. Numbness that no one alive had ever felt. Numbness that acted as a relenting defeat against his continuous fight for any hope of life.

And as he lay there, hands bloodstained, stomach gaping, and so incredibly empty, he feared. Feared for his wife, feared for his unachieved goals, feared for what was coming next. Even this fear, however, held a tragic sort of air to it, as it was dulled down by unrelenting numbness.

The numbness faded, along with all thoughts, as white, hot, pain came crashing down like a hammer. He let out one last pitiful, agony filled screech - for a scream was much too human to cover the sound - muffled by the thorns that had stuck themselves into his lips, before everything went black in what was truly the kindest mercy. ————————————————

Bruin awoke with a gasp, clutching his stomach. His eyes darted around his barren room, pulse racing at an olympic level under his skin. With a weak breath - still clutching his stomach with an iron grip - he closed his eyes, and repeated his mantra; You’re Bruin Becker, you’re not them, you’re safe.

The phrase played over and over again in his mind as his vision slowly morphed from a blur of panic, to the usual, groggy morning one. Taking a more stable breath, he slowly let go of his stomach. He couldn’t resist scanning his hands for blood, though he knew there was none.

Once he was sure his hands were clean, he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, and watched the world come to life. The white desk and closet popped from the midnight blue walls, the sheets on his bed clear as glass. He glanced at his face in the mirror, and was not surprised at what he saw; deep, dark bags under his slender eyes, porcupine-like hair, and a thin sheet of sweat that lined his forehead.

He collapsed back into his bed with a tired sigh, wanting nothing more than to ignore the clock that was taunting him with the ridiculous hour he had awoken. He would probably do that. Go back to blissful sleep, that is. He doubted he even had gotten an ounce of it because of his stupid… nightmares? Visions? Whatever they were.

He closed his eyes, relaxing back into his bed, mind so far gone and forgetting one quintessentially, very, important thing. A thing he was oh-so-kindly reminded of by what could have only been described as the sound of every single plate in the house shattering at once.

With an almost inhuman speed, Bruin threw the cover from his bed, and darted to the room next door. He adjusted his hair along the way in a frantic motion, pulse having quickened yet again at the commotion. He braked as he reached the kitchen doorway, looking at the source of the sound.

On the grey tiles sat a dazed Grant, covered head to toe in flour, shards of ceramic plates scattered around him like a bomb had just gone off. Grant looked sheepishly at Bruin, blue eyes just as bagged as his own. “Uhh… good morning?”

Bruin couldn’t help the look of absolute disappointment that rolled over his face. “How did you manage to - never mind. I don’t want to know,” he said, exasperated, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Well, if you must know,” Grant began, ignoring Bruin’s statement, “I was trying to make pancakes. Keyword there being trying.” He got up and tried dusting off the flour powdered on him like snow, but gave up almost immediately. “It was a shame really. I make lovely pancakes. It’s the only good thing about living with me, according to my dearest exes.”

“I’m surprised they listed any good things about living with you,” Bruin mumbled, before joining Grant to pick up the last pieces of the plates.

Though he would never admit it, Grant had been a blessing in disguise. When he first rented the little cottage in Lunewell, he had accepted that his co-worker would be an annoying, messy, music-box obsessed pest in the house that he would hopefully have to deal with as little as humanly possible.

Yet, almost like a mold, he had to admit that Grant had grown on him. Sure, he still couldn’t stand the messiness, and he swore that every time he turned a corner he saw another damn music-box, but those were things he had learned to forgive over the years.

“What possessed you to make pancakes?” Bruin questioned as they threw the last pieces in the trash.

Grant quieted, biting his lip.“They’re great comfort food,” he said slowly, as if testing out the words.

Bruin tensed, suddenly hyper aware of the rumbling in his stomach. “Oh,” he said quietly, after minutes of silence, “did you have a bad night’s sleep?” The question was pointless, but Bruin felt the need to ask it anyway. If only to take away from the barking that had begun playing in his ears.

“Yeah,” Grant responded, eyeing him, “I was up working on fixing an antique box, planning to go to bed, but I think someone was begging for their life outside, which wasn’t a very nice sound to fall asleep too.”

It was an invitation, one which he pondered for a while, before finally giving his response; “I wouldn't imagine so, no.”

He looked away as Grant's ocean blue eyes filled with pity, something that hurt him as much as any gun wound. “Hey, I… uh,” Grant began, no longer looking at him, “don’t feel obligated to answer this, but, are they getting worse?”

“You should probably go and get changed. I’ll make some breakfast for us. We still have a while before work.”

Grant, bless his heart, didn’t push. Instead, he simply nodded, vanishing the sad look from his eyes. He was halfway out the door, when he turned around with a snap; “that’s what I was forgetting to tell you!” he said, “Zarifa called earlier, she wants us to come in early.”

“Really? That’s unusual.”

“My thoughts exactly. I didn’t ever find out why though, she remained all vague. Sounded a bit panicked, if I’m honest.”

Bruin nodded. “We’ll head out after you and I get changed then. I’m not really in the mood for breakfast anyway.”

“Aye aye, Bruiny,” Grant said with a mock salute, before slipping out the door and presumably into his bedroom. Bruin did the same, taking one last glance around the rustic kitchen before walking towards his own room with a newfound haste. Zarifa had always been more than lenient with the times they showed and left work, especially once she realised both Grant and Bruin had abysmal sleep quality and patterns, so something like this was not only highly unusual, but equally concerning.

He just hoped nothing too terrible had happened. ——————————————

The walk to the Office was a beautiful one, especially this time of year. They were both bundled in hats and scarves that Grant had insisted on, as golden yellows and flaming hues passed and fell around them. For all the flack they could both give Lunewell - a lack of internet service, isolation from almost everything, and navigational systems that were seemingly built by a sadist - neither could deny that living there on mornings like this was truly a magical experience.

Or would be, were it not for the unfortunate scenario.

“Oh I hope she’s alright,” Grant panted out, slightly out of breath from the speedwalking that bordered on jogging. Working in antiques was unfortunately not a field that kept one in great physical condition, and in moments like this it truly showed.

“I’m sure she’s fine,” Bruin reassured, “thinking logically, we know nothing serious has happened,” probably, “so it’s most likely something mundane, slightly ominous at best.”

Grant looked unsure at that, but didn’t say anything. Under the glasses, Bruin could practically see the well-oiled cogs turning in his head, eyes glaze as though lost in the mechanical world. It was his typical zoning out look, which was for once highly appreciated, as Bruin himself was in no mood to talk.

They walked up the path, letting the old, wooden store come into view. It seemed no different than yesterday, albeit much darker, except for, alarmingly enough, a room in the upstairs flat. They shared a questioning look, panic visible on both their faces, before speeding up and half-sprinting to the door.

With a lead ball in his stomach, Bruin realised that the door was not only unlocked, but stood slightly ajar. He shoved it further open, with an urgency but still lightly, as not to break any antiques.

Even the golden rays of autumn sun couldn’t hide the ruins of the shop. The furniture was at a slight angle, as though a lash had come whipping at the legs, the fragile glass and ceramics that had been close to shattering finally lay dead and dismembered on the floor, and most concerningly, there was an unidentifiable black liquid smelling vaguely of ozone.

“Zarifa?” Grant began calling, stepping over the mess with all the grace of a drunk octopus, “Zari? Boss? Are you in there?” Bruin followed his shouting companion, straightening the furniture as he went. They made it to the counter, still no sight of her, though that was changed as they heard a thunderclap of a sound emitting from the backroom.

They were in the employees’ lounge within seconds of the sound, greeted by the sight of an unusually casually dressed Zarifa surrounded by long walls of antiques, stacked in an organised manner. “Oh good,” she said, upon seeing them, giving them a warm smile that reached her tired eyes, “you made it.”

Bruin wasn’t so much looking at her, as staring at the large pile of antiques behind her. Some of them he recognised, like the ‘Girl in Field’ painting, or that odd statue of an old man made of clay, 200 years old, but painted in a cornflower blue pigment that could be no more than 100, though there were also surprisingly a lot of pieces he had no recollection of seeing. Zarifa, noticing his staring, looked at him apologetically; “Sorry I had to dismantle your system. I tried to keep the organisation, and I promise I’ll help sort it afterwards.”

“It’s fine. I’ll sort it myself,” he assured, not quite sure he truly trusted anyone to touch what he had sorted. Grant was a disaster on legs, and for as much as Zarifa was good at keeping schedule, she lacked the sheer efficient sorting instinct he had had since childhood. “Why is it all up here? Was there water in the basement again?”

Zarifa shook her head, before pulling a slightly splintered, old, wooden box with a golden, dust-painted leaf-engraving on top from behind one of the piles. Bruin’s eyes widened as he remembered where it had previously been, involuntarily glancing upstairs, and then back down to Zarifa. She hadn’t really… had she? No one had ever been in Valours flat, hell, no one even had the key to it.

She opened the lid cautiously, the box creaking as ancient and rusted hinges pulled back. She pulled out aged, folded paper, and slowly laid it down in Bruins hands. Though he would of course properly examine it later, he could tell it was far older than anything he was comfortable holding with his bare, gloveless hands. “It’s more sturdy than it looks,” comforted Zarifa, upon seeing his panicky stature, “go ahead, open it up.”

With a force comparable to a feather, he opened it in precise, calculated movements. He winced as he saw the handwriting, the fine, thin squiggles dating the paper to 300 years old at least, letting go of the note to the point it was barely still in his hands. He felt Grant peeking over his shoulder, and down onto the note curiously, mumbling the words as he read down the torn page.

It wasn’t a very long read, but it added tenfold to the confusion. “What seal?” Grant eventually asked, looking up at Zarifa, “this is the page blonde-pink-girl wanted, right? Why would anyone want this?”

Zaria sighed, looking at the paper with a darkness in her eyes. She looked contemplative, opening her mouth a few times to begin a sentence, before shaking her head and going back to thought. Finally, after tracing the golden part of the box a few rounds, silence echoing the room, she spoke; “We’ve all had encounters with Them before, right?”

Even with that single word, everyone in the room instantly Knew what she was talking about. It was Them that had drawn the entire group to the shop, Them that had left that hollowness that lived in all their eyes, Them that left all of them flinching at sounds and throwing hurried glances over shoulders, and most importantly, Them that created the bond they all shared.

Zarifa signed; “Take a seat, boys. This might require a bit of an explanation.”

—————- After a long, long conversation, involving the raiding of Valour’s alcohol stash for some well earned drinking, along with expensive chocolates for an alcohol-abstaining Bruin, all had finally been explained. There was a silence in the air, tinged in cheap wine and dread, as they all looked intently at the ornate box. “So,” Grant said, clasping his hands ripping away the silence like a band-aid, “we’re dealing with a big orb, monster thingy, which intentions are unknown, who kidnapped our intruder who was reading text that made vines sprout around her and smoke fill her eyes.”

“Yeah, that sums up what I experienced this morning nicely.”

Grant blinked, Bruin hurrying his mouth which had been firmly hidden deeper in his palm. “Fucking hell, I need another drink,” Grant exclaimed with a groan, reaching his hand out with his designated office mug towards Bruin.

“You guys are all out,” Bruin said with a tired voice, “besides, I don’t think alcohol is the wisest right now. I think we should try to figure out what actually happened.”

“Good idea,” Zarifa said with a nod, “we can begin with the note. Funnily enough, it’s the easiest thing here to deconstruct.” She took the box and gave it one last glance over, before rotating it away from herself and giving Grant and Bruin the opportunity to see it; “Obviously the seal is referring to the monster. I think it’s just a matter of gathering the ingredients, and whatever happened, will be reversed.”

Bruin, more than prepared, had already pulled out his black notebook and found an empty page. He looked once again at the section of the note containing the ingredients:

A key is forged by fragments of Touched sanity eating a sight of one that Sees, dipped in water oh-so divine. Once the key has begun, the fragments must sew themselves between the fabric, letting all webbed light shine on them. As they are blessed by the minute, and after the final step of-

And out of the nonsense, quickly jotted down the list of ideas that had been proposed by a slightly tipsy Grant, and an unusually frantic Zarifa;

Fragmented Touched sanity (Magic mind? Pieces of brain?) Sight of one that Sees (Some creature’s eyes obviously, maybe cow eye cult? (Most likely, Grant’s paranoia over cow eye cult, and not actually cow eye cult)) Water divine (Holy water?) Webbed light (Interconnected grids of light? Light systems?)

Jotting them down like that, was sadly, not very revealing. Partly because all their minds were still reeling, and what they had brainstormed was mostly a series of disjointed thoughts rather than a narrative, and partly because there was still so much hidden at the bottom of the riddle ocean. Bruin could still hardly find himself believing Zarifa’s situation, and had it not been for the black liquid stains he saw himself, the cryptic note, and the wobbly tone of her words as she recounted the events, he probably would have dismissed her as being driven a bit mad by paranoia.

Even now, fully aware of the fact that it was real, he was incredibly tempted to just storm out the shop, notebook in hand. Though he encountered the unearthly almost every time he was in deep slumber, he had never actually had a fully conscious encounter. And those… nightmares, visions - whatever they could be called - had left him gluing the pieces of his mind with only the instinct of survival. A real encounter would break him.

And yet, he couldn’t run. He had nowhere to go. Thorns Antique wasn’t so much a place he had chosen to stay, as a shelter he had desperately thrown himself into. Physically, yes of course he could travel or move. Marcus had been asking him if they could move in together for months, and would be more than elated to take him in. And he was sure he could put that business degree to good use.

But, though he was physically free as a dove, his mental wings were clipped. What was he supposed to do when he inevitably woke up one night in Marcus’s bed, screaming about the knife that he was convinced was lodged in his brain? How would he explain the countless of cryptic, weird, objects littered between pages upon pages of ripped-out death notices? Markus would see him as insane, and any future job he would have wouldn’t tolerate his hazy, obsessive, jumpy, and sleep-deprived state.

Though he did not personally know what their stories really were, he suspected Zarifa and Grant were stranded on the same boat of forbidden knowledge. Zarifa had no interest in history, having a passion for literature instead, and a people-pleasing nature and work ethic that could get her far, and Grant, though a bit of a clumsy idiot, was also incredibly academically bright, and a true cityguy at heart. They were an odd group, but a strongly connected one.

Or, at least somewhat connected.

“I propose we figure out what to do now,” Bruin muttered, after reading the bullet points a couple of times, “I don’t think there’s a standard protocol for situations such as these.”

Zarifa hummed in agreement, leaning against the table with a pensive look, sipping on some more wine. “I think we should prioritise figuring out what the riddle is actually saying,” she said, “and I think most of the answers lay here. There must be some connections between all this supernatural weirdness, and I’m pretty sure it lies in the antiques.”

Bruin and Grant nodded, both pulling the wildly uncomfortable chairs close to the table in a loud, squeaking drag. “As for the stuff that we can’t find the answer to,” Zarifa continued, once everyone was seated, “we can always ask for that.” She turned to Grant; “You’ve called Valour, right?”

Grant blinked, the words taking a few seconds to register, before grimacing sheepishly. “I’ll go do that afterwards, promise.” Bruin sighed, but Zarifa simply nodded. She’d always been a lot more forgiving of his scatterbrain than Bruin.

“I’ll do the same with Lottie. Assuming she’s, well, alive. She probably won’t answer, but it's worth a shot.”

“Thought Lottie didn’t give us her number?” Grant said, Bruin mirroring his confusion. Zarifa stiffened, smile dropping by a minuscule amount.

“She didn’t, but I know how to get in contact with her,” she stated, in her best assertive tone. Before Bruin could ask what she meant by that, she powered on, bulldozing in a purposeful manner. “What about you, Bruin?”

Bruin racked his mind for a good answer, recalling what needed to be done, and all the archival systems they had buried in the husk of a computer. “Every item has a corresponding ID, and a short descriptor. I wouldn’t mind taking a look at both the system and the antiques . However, we’re all out of gloves, and our magnifying glass has been broken for two months, so I’ll head to the shop first.”

While this was completely true, Bruin did leave out the little detail that it was also beyond time to see Marcus again. Through a mix of nightly hauntings, and antique mishaps, the days had somehow slipped by without them having a proper chat. He didn’t so much mind the lack of interaction, as the guilt that came with it.

“Thank you,” Zarifa said with a smile, “and, if it isn’t too much of a bother, please keep an eye out for any… unusual sights.” He nodded, her shoulders slumping down visibly, even under the thick cream turtleneck. Grant then promptly slipped out of the room to give Valour a ring with his smashed phone, and Zarifa headed out the front door and into the shop to tidy what was left of the mess, leaving him all alone.

He buried his hands into his neatly combed hair, tension deflating like a balloon as he exhaled heavily. His head was being squeezed by a thick rubber band, though whether it was the usual sleep deprivation or stress was anyone’s guess, and his eyes were droopy and heavy, as if magnets were attempting to pull them closed.

Nevertheless, he got up, pulling his winter coat and messenger bag off the chair. He left the scarf and hat where they lay, feeling they were a bit over the top considering it was only October. Slipping the black notebook into the black and purple bag, he headed out the door, and towards the outside world, heading in a general life direction he was not fully comfortable with.

[gusu-emilu]

thermal scheming

Ship: Jiang Cheng / Nie Huaisang

Summary: When Jiang Cheng joined this camping trip, he didn’t realize it would mean sleeping in the same tent as Nie Huaisang. Now it’s nighttime, and Nie Huaisang won’t stop complaining that he’s cold. Apparently he expects Jiang Cheng to do something about it.

Modern AU, Sharing a Bed (except it’s a sleeping bag) - read on AO3

* * *

“Jiang Cheng.”

Good grief.

He ignores the voice, instead focusing on the chirping of crickets in the forest outside the tent walls.

“Jiang Cheng.”

He opens his eyes. He is lying on his back in his sleeping bag, hands folded over his chest. His fingers dig into his knuckles in irritation.

The cramped tent space was pitch black when he closed his eyes a few minutes ago, but now there’s a faint, cool light coming from the screen of a phone. He furrows his brow at this unwanted brightness.

“Jiang Cheng.”

“What?”

“I’m cold.”

It’s really too unlucky that his tentmate is Nie Huaisang, one of the chattiest people to come on this camping trip. Sure, not as bad as Wei Wuxian, but at least his brother he can hit over the head and be done with.

Yet after so many years, Jiang Cheng still hasn’t figured out how to handle this babbler that he now shares a tent with.

“Jiang Cheng, I’m cold.”

“The hell you telling me for?”

“So that you feel bad for me.”

Jiang Cheng finally looks over at the sleeping bag next to him, where Nie Huaisang is huddled in a ball. Only his eyes and forehead peek out from under the covers. Jiang Cheng ignores how endearing the sight is.

Jiang Cheng scoffs. “Not gonna happen.” He turns away and closes his eyes again.

It’s a lie, though. For some reason, lately it’s been difficult to bring himself to brush off Nie Huaisang.

He hasn’t enjoyed the skittish young man latching to his side during the camping trip, coaxing him to eat sweets at breakfast and pointing him to every bird they see on the hiking trips and nervously brushing shoulders with him at the sight of just about every other wild animal. Or telling him absurd stories that force him to hide his laughter, or deliberately sabotaging him in card games and spikeball, or pushing him every time he lies on the hammock.

No, he hasn’t enjoyed the attention.

But he hasn’t made much effort to stop it.

Well, it’s only because he’s too tired. Camping wears Jiang Cheng out, especially with this crew of imbeciles. Even though he didn’t originally agree to come on the trip, now it’s him doing all the work—setting up the tents, cleaning the boats, cooking dinners. Everyone else is as lazy as Wei Wuxian.

Except for the few times that Nie Huaisang actually volunteered to help Jiang Cheng, even though he normally refuses to raise a finger in manual labor.

But that’s probably because he was scared of angering Nie Mingjue.

“Jiang Cheng? Can’t you have some pity on me? It’s freezing!”

“It’s not that cold,” Jiang Cheng snaps. It’s summer, after all. The nights are chilly, but not unbearable.

“You’re not cold?” Nie Huaisang asks.

“No.”

Why is Jiang Cheng even bothering to keep up the conversation? His entire body is heavy, longing for sleep. Today’s lengthy canoeing trip has sapped a lot of his energy.

“Er…what are you wearing?”

Jiang Cheng’s eyes snap open. He looks over again at the mousy figure cocooned in the sleeping bag.

Nie Huaisang’s eyebrows dart up. “Well, um—it’s just, if you’re not cold, I’m wondering how—”

“I’m in sweats,” Jiang Cheng says flatly.

“Ah, hm. Well, you see, I’m only…” He lifts an index finger out from under the covers. “I’m only wearing a T-shirt and boxers.”

“Then put on more clothes and stop complaining.”

The entire sleeping bag wriggles. “That’s the problem! I left my backpack in Da-ge’s car!”

“So go get it!”

Nie Huaisang shakes his head, but half of his face is hidden by the sleeping bag, so Jiang Cheng just sees a pair of eyes floating back and forth like haunted lights. “No, no, I can’t wake up Da-ge!”

If they continue this whisper-shouting, they will wake up the entire campsite anyway.

Nie Huaisang lowers his voice to speak slowly and melodically, like he’s singing one of Wei Wuxian’s stupid campfire songs. “Jiang Cheng…do you have a sweatshirt I can borrow?”

Why didn’t he just ask this instead of dragging Jiang Cheng through an entire saga before getting to the point?

“No. I only brought two hoodies, and you can blame Lan Xichen for dropping one of them in the mud when I just asked him to hold it for five seconds. I’m wearing the other.”

“Oh. Well, that’s unfortunate.”

Finally, silence. The sound of nothing but peaceful crickets.

Nie Huaisang should be done now.

“Jiang Cheng?”

Apparently not. He sighs. “What now?”

“Can I have the hoodie you’re wearing?”

For a disturbing moment, Jiang Cheng actually wants to give it to him.

It’s precisely because of that thought that now he must refuse. “Just steal Nie Mingjue’s car keys and get your own clothes.”

Nie Huaisang groans. “But I’ll be even colder if I go outside! And I’ve spent so much time warming up my sleeping bag with the tiny bit of heat my poor body has left. By the time I get my stuff and come back, my sleeping bag will be cold again, and I’ll have to start all over!”

Jiang Cheng rubs his temples. “How long could it possibly take? Two minutes? Your sleeping bag is not going to get cold in two minutes.”

“Yes it will! And then I’ll be so sad!”

Jiang Cheng rolls on his side with his back to Nie Huaisang and pulls the covers over his ears.

Everything his tentmate is saying is completely idiotic.

Yet Jiang Cheng is feeling something…soft about it.

Disgusting. Maybe if he clenches his fists hard enough it will go away.

“Er, can you…Can you come in my sleeping bag and keep it warm while I go get my backpack?”

Jiang Cheng bolts upright. He grimaces at this horrifying request. “Absolutely not!”

Nie Huaisang finally lowers the covers to fully expose his face. As if showing his little nose and chin would make Jiang Cheng any more likely to agree.

“Please? You’re already sitting up now, you might as well do it. Please? Please?”

“No!”

The sleeping bag squirms again. “But if you don’t keep it warm, then when I come back with my sweatshirt, it won’t even matter because I’ll be even colder than I was before!”

Jiang Cheng pauses. If he gives Nie Huaisang a reason to complain for longer, even if it’s a ridiculous, obviously made-up reason, then Jiang Cheng will never get to sleep.

His lip curls with distaste at what he’s about to do—crap, is he actually about to do something this humiliating?—and a strange fuzziness fills his chest.

“Fine. Better be quick,” he says through clenched teeth. He intended to have an edge in his voice, but somehow it’s barely there.

“Thank you so much! Oh, thank you! You’re the best!” Nie Huaisang scampers out of the sleeping bag and waits in front of the door flap of the tent. He crosses his arms and shivers as he stares at Jiang Cheng expectantly.

Muttering curses to himself, Jiang Cheng crawls over to the empty sleeping back and slips inside.

He catches a grin from Nie Huaisang before turning his head away in shame. He hears the zipper of the tent open, then the sound of quick, fading footsteps.

This sleeping bag is, in fact, colder than Jiang Cheng’s. Maybe Nie Huaisang wasn’t exaggerating as much as it seemed.

An odd satisfaction swells inside Jiang Cheng at the idea of his body heat keeping Nie Huaisang warm.

He nearly chokes.

What is he thinking?!

He clenches the covers tight in his fists.

It hasn’t even been thirty seconds when Nie Huaisang scurries back into the tent. Jiang Cheng repositions to look up at him. He’s still only wearing a loose T-shirt and boxers, and in his hands there are no car keys, no backpack, and no sweatshirt.

“What are you doing back already?”

“It’s too cold outside!”

Suddenly, the covers lift, then fall, and there’s a body pressed against Jiang Cheng.

Nie Huaisang.

In the same.

Sleeping bag.

As him.

Panic.

Sheer panic courses through Jiang Cheng like a lightning strike.

“Hell no! Get out!” He shoves the body that’s squished into him, but there’s no room for either of them to move.

“It’s my sleeping bag!” Nie Huaisang says.

“Yeah, but now I’m in it!”

“So stay in it!”

“Are you out of your mind?!”

Jiang Cheng tries to force his way out, but the sleeping bag only opens on one side—the side Nie Huaisang is blocking—and now their limbs are even further entangled.

He pulls his arms away and tries to slither out the top, but that only makes his hips rub into the body next to him, and that is not okay.

“Jiang Cheng, please just keep me warm,” Nie Huaisang whispers as he tucks his hands into his chest to avoid touching Jiang Cheng again.

Jiang Cheng stops squirming. Every one of his muscles becomes rigid.

He is grateful that Nie Huaisang’s slender fingers aren’t groping him anymore, but his entire person is still snuggled into the same sleeping bag.

Jiang Cheng shifts his jaw back and forth trying to squeeze words up his throat. “Take my hoodie instead,” he manages to choke out.

Nie Huaisang’s drowsy eyes drop their gaze, as if hiding. “Well. Um. Would just your hoodie be enough, though?”

“…You’re not getting my sweatpants.”

A breathy laugh tickles Jiang Cheng’s neck. “That’s not what I meant.”

Then what does he mean?

This is the most confusing situation Jiang Cheng has ever been in. How do the two of them even fit in the sleeping bag? Why is there a dizziness churning in his head? Why are his hands itching like he wants to put them somewhere—on someone?

“This is weird.”

Nie Huaisang’s eyes wander up to meet Jiang Cheng’s. He looks like a puppy. “Do you want me to let you out?”

His throat closes up.

He should say yes.

Why can’t he?

Nie Huaisang leans away. “I’m, um, I’m sorry,” he says with a hint of dejection. He fiddles with the flap of the sleeping bag. “Here, let me—”

“Don’t be dumb.”

Some kind of restraint breaks inside of Jiang Cheng, as if a net around his thoughts has been cut loose.

Nie Huaisang stops dead. “Huh?”

Jiang Cheng fumbles over what to say next. Strange feelings are flooding into him, but he can’t decipher them. He decides to just block them out, as he usually prefers to do when it comes to emotions.

“If you freeze in the night, your brother will kill me,” Jiang Cheng says with as much authoritativeness as he can muster. “That’s the only reason I’m staying here. You got that?”

Nie Huaisang wriggles back onto his side to face Jiang Cheng, gaping at him in wonder. His hands are still clutched into his chest trying not to make contact, but they end up nudging against Jiang Cheng’s torso anyway.

“Yes, yes, I’ve got it, I’ve got it perfect!” Nie Huaisang’s head bobs up and down, then rests on the cushion next to Jiang Cheng’s shoulder.

They remain motionless like this until Jiang Cheng is about to explode from the awkwardness.

Nie Huaisang lifts his head an inch. “Er, Jiang Cheng?”

“What?”

He rubs his chin and smiles sheepishly. “I’m still cold.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I’m not, I swear!”

“I’m already in the same sleeping bag as you! That’s enough! What more do you expect me to do?”

“Hmm,” Nie Huaisang hums as he trails a finger along Jiang Cheng’s shoulder.

Jiang Cheng’s entire body freezes at the touch.

“I don’t know,” Nie Huaisang says. “I really don’t know.”

The feathery touch creeps up to his collarbone. Jiang Cheng flinches, then it slinks down to his bicep, teasing him, encircling him. There is a devilish glint in Nie Huaisang’s eyes that Jiang Cheng has never seen before.

“Can you think of something, gege?”

His brain shuts down.

All he’s aware of is a fire growing in his belly.

It urges to consume. To blaze everything into in cinders.

Jiang Cheng’s breath deepens as he struggles to regain control of his mind and extinguish the fire inside him. That finger is creeping up to his neck again. He grabs Nie Huaisang’s wrist to stop the unbearable touch.

They lock gazes. The devious look on Nie Huaisang’s face disappears into nervousness, as if he realizes that he’s pushed Jiang Cheng too far.

This entire trip, Nie Huaisang has been pushing him too far.

“You’re cold?” Jiang Cheng growls.

Nie Huaisang gulps. Jiang Cheng’s eyes hungrily follow the movement of his Adam’s apple.

“J-J-Just a little bit…”

A hand slowly snakes down to Jiang Cheng’s waist.

The flames inside Jiang Cheng erupt with desire. “Turn around.”

A flicker of uncertainty crosses Nie Huaisang’s face. Then the corners of his mouth twitch with delight, and he shifts his position, twisting the fabric of the sleeping bag, until he is facing the other way.

Jiang Cheng wraps his arms around Nie Huaisang and hugs him close, pressing Nie Huaisang’s back tightly into his chest. Nie Huaisang intertwines his arms with Jiang Cheng’s and melts into the embrace.

“Still cold?”

“Not at all.”

Jiang Cheng leans forward to hover his lips over Nie Huaisang’s ear, fighting the urge to nip at it with his teeth.

“Then I better not hear you say it again.”

Nie Huaisang shivers.

Satisfied, Jiang Cheng closes his eyes and holds Nie Huaisang tighter.

Jiang Cheng is not sure how long they stay like this.

At first, loud thoughts batter around his mind. Anger for allowing himself to become so vulnerable. Cravings to explore Nie Huaisang’s body with his hands. Memories that suddenly have a different meaning, reaching back to the first day they met as teenagers. Anxieties about what they feel for each other now, six years later, as they cuddle in the same sleeping bag.

Jiang Cheng has not felt this many emotions at once in a long time.

How…how did this even happen?

But after a while, it becomes peaceful. Jiang Cheng’s heart stops racing, and Nie Huaisang’s breaths slow down. The steady rise and fall of Nie Huaisang’s chest is soothing, comforting.

“You know,” Nie Huaisang says. “I was never cold in the first place.”

Jiang Cheng pulls away in surprise. “What?”

“Mmhm. I was just pretending.”

Pretending?

Jiang Cheng should be furious about being tricked, but somehow he’s grinning instead. “You little gremlin.”

Nie Huaisang spins around to face him. He pokes Jiang Cheng’s cheek. “No, no. That’s not right. You think I’m this sneaky all the time? Only for you. It should be ‘my little gremlin.’ Come on. Say it.”

“You’re out of your mind if you think I’m saying that.” He tries to scowl, but he can’t stop smiling.

My? As in ‘mine?’

Something warm fizzles inside Jiang Cheng at this thought. He hates the feeling. He hates it so much.

Nie Huaisang pokes him in the cheek several more times.

“Stop.”

Now both of his hands are drumming over Jiang Cheng’s torso.

“Stop it!” Jiang Cheng laughs as he snatches Nie Huaisang’s hands and forces them to hold still.

Nie Huaisang sighs and drops his head onto the pillow, as if admitting defeat. His eyes are round and innocent, drawing in Jiang Cheng like they have their own gravity.

Then a foot pokes Jiang Cheng in the leg.

“Hey!” Jiang Cheng shoves his own feet into Nie Huaisang. “You wanna die?!”

Nie Huaisang smirks, the devilish twinkle returning to his eyes.

“Yes please.”

* * *

Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this fic, you can be a supportive sibling like Jiang Yanli by liking, reblogging, and visiting me on AO3!

[wrestlingisfake]

The CM Punk Saga

It's almost time for AEW's "The First Dance" show, and everybody's still prefacing their hype with "if CM Punk isn't there it'll be a huge disaster, but..."

I'll be in the building. They could've booked CP Munk and I'd still be there. But obviously the Punk tease makes this special. If he's there, it'll be historic to witness the reaction in person. And hell, if he's not there, it'll be historic to witness the fiasco in person. I find that kind of funny--after all these years, it's not the man that sold me a ticket, it's the drama surrounding the man.

Punk had wrestling fans in the palm of his hand after the 2011 "pipebomb" promo, in which WWE allowed him to air his real grievances with the company to build tension for a world title match with John Cena. I get the impression WWE expected it to cast him as a whiny heel. But Punk tapped into the fans' frustrations with WWE, and they embraced him as someone who would fight to change what they resented about the company. He was "the voice of the voiceless."

The problem with that kind of role in WWE is that you can only "fight the power" as far as Vince McMahon lets you on his TV show, and then he'll book his side to win the argument. Within a couple of months a lot of the edge was taken off the storyline. Fans still wanted to believe in him as a rising force for change, but the product didn't reflect that. That dissonance came to a head at the 2014 Royal Rumble, which happened to be the day before Punk quit WWE.

In hindsight, Punk's departure had nothing to do with the fans' frustration with the Daniel Bryan vs. The Authority storyline. But at the time nobody knew what Punk's problem was, and neither side was talking. So the two issues sort of got blended together--Bryan's crusade against kayfabe management and Punk's beef with the real thing. I'm sure a lot of fans figured, if Bryan wasn't going to defeat the Authority at Wrestlemania, then Punk was the logical alternative, and WWE must've screwed that up too. Unless...maybe it was all a work, a storyline to make things seem hopless for Punk and Bryan before slamming them into key Wrestlemania matches.

The buildup to the March 3, 2014, episode of Raw was surreal. Stop me if you've heard this one: The show was booked in Chicago, weeks away from a big pay-per-view, and CM Punk wasn't advertised, but it felt like the perfect opportunity for him to make a surprise return, so the live crowd was ready to go apeshit if he didn't appear. When he didn't appear, I think fandom truly started to accept that he was gone for good. But the saga shambled on.

When it was clear Punk wouldn't be fighting for their cause in WWE, fans nevertheless clung to him as a symbol of resistance. The "CM Punk" chant became a potent and controversial tool for disruption. If you just boo at the show, WWE can play that off like you're mad at the bad guys, but if you chant the name of the guy that walked out on their bullshit, there's no good way for the company to spin that.

A lot of people came to hate the Punk chants, but here's the thing: They mainly happen during an absolute dogshit Raw segment. If you listen to your audience and keep them entertained, then they're easier to control, and it's less of an issue. WWE instead prefers to control the audience by telling the them how to be entertained and refusing to listen if they dissent; the Punk chant puts the lie to that approach.

Punk's next move outside of WWE was a huge topic in 2014. Again, fans wanted to believe he'd continue to fight for them somehow. Remember, this was back when Global Force and Lucha Underground had just been announced, and before Impact had gotten thrown off Spike TV. It felt like it wouldn't take much for a serious alternative to WWE to emerge, and give Punk a way to quit WWE without quitting wrestling.

Months of silence led to increasingly wild speculation. A friend of Punk's wrote an editorial about how fans were hanging around outside his home waiting for him to throw out the trash. I'm pretty sure I know what they wanted to ask when they met him. His appearance on Colt Cabana's podcast and his UFC run helped clear the air, but not enough. Fans never gave up trying to find out when he'd come back to save pro wrestling. Punk's comments on the matter were rare, and never seemed to be enough to get people to leave him alone about it. He'd gone from wrestling's Che Guevara to wrestling's JD Salinger.

The rise of NXT and the ROH/New Japan alliance in the mid-2010s seemed to almost be enough to distract fans from their CM Punk fantasies. But then in 2018 Cody Rhodes and the Young Bucks decided to run their own indie supercard, and picked Chicago as the location. You could almost hear the Punk in fans' heads saying, "At last, a non-WWE US show big enough to be worthy of my star power. This is what I have been waiting for!" Punk denied that he would be there; of course, to wrestling fans that just means he's swerving us and he will be there. And he wasn't there.

But this is the turning point in the story. I was at All In. I heard like one guy try to get a Punk chant going, more out of ironic self-awareness than anything. Nobody was into it. They'd have been glad to see Punk on the show, but they were there to see the Young Bucks, Kenny Omega, Cody Rhodes, Kazuchika Okada, Kota Ibushi, etc. That's probably when it hit me: Everyone had been waiting for Punk to lead the revolution, because they thought no one else could, but these guys had gone ahead and done it without him.

As All In led into AEW, speculation about Punk remained high. But then another funny thing happened, when Jon Moxley dramatically exited WWE in 2019. Moxley didn't immediately announce his future plans, and lots of people figured Moxley must be done with wrestling. The Punk saga had clearly taught fans to manage their expectations. Rumors about both Punk and Mox appearing at Double or Nothing were all over the place, but were generally dismissed as wishful thinking. Then, out of nowhere, Moxley ran in at the end of the show. Then he was announced for a run in New Japan. Fuck, I thought, who needs CM Punk?

And so, I've spent the past few years being over this whole thing. I'd given up trying to figure out CM Punk, or what it would take to bring him back to wrestling. I had a whole array of big names trying to play the part everyone wanted him to play, in a promotion that I thought would never exist without him. Let him enjoy his retirement, and I'll enjoy AEW. So of course he'd decide now is the time to come back. Allegedly.

I'm excited about the possibility of seeing Punk blow the roof off the United Center. It'd be fascinating to see some satisfying closure to this whole thing. And yet, I have no idea what CM Punk means to pro wrestling in 2021. What does "the voice of the voiceless" do in a company full of people listening to their audience? Will fans be into him when they realize he can't/won't be exactly like they remember him from seven years ago? At 42 years old, will he need to play a bitter old heel to stay relevant? How will fans respond when they realize this isn't the big comeback they always dreamed of?

It's those questions that are the real draw for me, regardless of whether The First Dance lives up to expectations. And it's strange to think that's the main attraction to Punk, as if we're talking about an Ultimate Warrior comeback or something. Seven years ago I just wanted him to return to wrestling so I could see him wrestle. Now I kinda just want to see if he looks totally different from the last time I saw his picture.

[beybladefanboy]

Beyblade Seasons Ranked

Here is my personal ranking, from worst to best, of the seasons of Beyblade Metal Fight: Metal Fusion, Metal Masters, Metal Fury, and the awkward spin-off Shogun Steel. Yeah, let’s get into that:

4 Shogun Steel

Honestly even if I did like Shogun Steel for what it is, it would still be at the bottom just by default. It can barely be considered part of the Metal Saga. The main characters in the last three seasons are either absent or reduced to supporting roles in favour of new characters who aren’t nearly as interesting or likeable. It is by definition a spin off. It feels very disjointed from the rest of the series because of these factors along with the lighter tone, the changes to the Beyblade system, and even some continuity errors particularly with Fury. Bringing back Doji again was also the biggest leap in logic this whole series made and feels downright lazy. The whole story just feels like a watered down Fusion with many of the story beats being similar and some characters never growing past mere echoes of the old characters. Some of the bey battles are fun and Ren and Takanosuke are decent characters but there’s a reason this show doesn’t get much attention. It falls into the Star Wars Sequel Trilogy trap of being overly dependent on original series sucker punches for its appeal and not putting as much effort into the new stuff. So as a result, the new stuff, some of which has potential, isn’t as fleshed out as it should be. This show is honestly fine on its own but awful when compared to the Metal Saga and it is comparing itself to the Metal Saga. This show intentionally put itself in the Metal Saga’s shadow and seemed content with being just that: a shadow of greatness.

3 Metal Masters

Okay, this is where I’m gonna start pissing people off. Don’t get me wrong, Masters is great and I don���t think it’s clearly worse than the other two seasons or anything. I think the main three seasons are very close in quality and putting them in any kind of order was incredibly difficult. However, I do think Masters is slightly weaker than Fusion and Fury. First off, it introduces Masamune. I don’t like Masamune. I find his whole “I’m the number 1 blader” shtick incredibly obnoxious and he’s everything I don’t like in real Americans: self absorbed, disloyal, big mouthed, entitled, and just annoying in general. He did have good character development over the course of the season but I personally can’t stand him. The pacing of this season also isn’t the best. With the exception of the Dark Tsubasa arc (which I’ll get to!), the season is just a normal world tournament until they get to America, which I don’t find very interesting. Kenta is also criminally underused. In Fusion he was basically a second main character and there are some episodes specifically following him. Then in Masters, he’s pushed aside in favour of side characters. People say Fury underused characters, and I’ll get to that, but holy crap, Masters gave Kenta no room to grow. Aside from him though, the other characters are used really well. I particularly like how Kyoya and Ryuga are incorporated. This is actually the season where I grew attached to Ryuga during my viewing in December. I was starting to like him in Fusion but this season cemented my newfound attachment. This season also gave us the dark Tsubasa arc, which is one of my favourite plot points from the show overall. It’s a fascinating look into the mind of a character I already really liked and it allowed Tsubasa to develop a lot. I love the conclusion that you cannot drive out the darkness in yourself, you have to accept it as part of who you are in order to properly control it. It’s brilliant, and I can personally relate this message to my own life. The dark Tsubasa arc is probably the strongest part of the season overall as the rest of it until we get to the HD Academy conflict kind of drags for me. However, when we do finally get to the HD Academy conflict, it is very fun. The whole “spiral energy” thing was actually pretty creative and while brainwashing isn’t a new concept for this show, I think they went more in depth with it in this season and it was pretty interesting. So yeah, still a really good season.

2 Metal Fusion

If I was ranking based on nostalgia, this would be number one. In fact, it probably deserves to be number one. However, I do have a few problems with this season that hold it back and it’s not the pacing. Actually, out of all the seasons, Fusion probably has the best pacing. The main villains, Doji and Ryuga, are introduced early in the season and all the characters are developed throughout the season, building up to the final tournament: Battle Bladers, which is also set up fairly early. The story is predictable but very well-structured. My biggest problem with this season is the plot twist with Gingka’s dad. Not only is it painfully obvious, but the reveal of the twist drags the plot to a screeching halt for nearly an entire episode, hurting the pacing and making an entire episode an exposition dump. It also made Gingka’s dad a terrible character. You can argue that him abandoning his teenage son and making him believe he was dead was for the greater good, although I personally still think it’s messed up, but breaking Gingka’s point counter like that was a step way too far. That moment serves to further the story by forcing Gingka to work harder to get into Battle Bladers. But did it have to be his dad who broke the point counter? I argue it didn’t. Gingka’s dad was flat out abusive to his son on that occasion and was pretty cold to him in general as Phoenix and yet the plot and even some of the characters praise Ryo for doing this. Why?! The way the story is structured puts Ryo in the right for abusing his son which disgusts me. That is my biggest problem with this season and possibly the whole series to be honest. I hate it that much. However, apart from that and those random filler episodes with Sora that in my opinion were boring, this season was really solid. Like I said, the story is told well and the characters are all introduced and developed well. Battle Bladers is definitely the highlight of this season, having the most intense battles and hardest hitting moments. Those episodes are exhausting to watch, because of Reiji and Ryuga. Reiji was randomly introduced in Battle Bladers and decided to try and rival Ryuga in how much he could traumatize the characters (and younger me). I have no idea why they decided to do that, but it worked. Ryuga in this season is the best villain in the whole series. He has such a presence to him: his (dubbed) voice, his sadistic expressions, his abilities, the music that plays when he’s onescreen. He’s over the top but in my opinion, Ryuga is the perfect balance between entertaining and intimidating. He’s even slightly sympathetic by the end of the season when he gets taken over by dark power and is seen trying to fight its control. They managed to both make Ryuga an irredeemable psychopath and found a believable way to redeem him. I love that in the end, Gingka isn’t fighting to defeat Ryuga, he’s fighting to defeat the dark power, which came from the greed and hatred of humans. Basically, the problem isn’t humanity, it’s humanity’s greed/hatred and being consumed by these feelings lead to evil. That is genius. This season also had two of my favourite battles in the entire series: Kyoya vs Ryuga, and Gingka vs Ryuga.

1 Metal Fury

Yeah, I said it. Fury is my personal favourite season. It probably has more wrong with it than Masters and Fusion but honestly, Fury’s strengths more than make up for its weaker parts for me. The only problem I have with Fury that actively hinders my enjoyment is Kyoya’s poorly handled arc, which I’ve been over multiple times and wrote a whole fanfiction rectifying. To sum it up briefly: it was rushed and weakened Kyoya’s character when it had the chance to develop him. I will admit this season also had too few episodes. I don’t think it was rushed per say, it just feels like parts are missing. There should’ve been more leading up to Nemesis’ revival and an actual epilogue episode because as it stands now, Fury ends really suddenly without much actual confirmation of where the characters we know and love ended up. It’s kind of jarring. Overall however, I really love Fury. I love the adventure style story and there's so much variety to the bey battles this time around, both in terms of the beys themselves and the stadiums. It’s just more interesting to watch. It also did a great job giving all the major characters victories, not just Gingka. This is something Masters also did well and a gripe I have with Fusion: Gingka gets all the major victories in Metal Fusion and pushes the other characters to the wayside. Well, Masters and Fury fixed this issue in my opinion. The very final fight of Fury against the shadow Nemesis could’ve been executed better in my opinion. However, it hits all the right emotional beats for a final battle and still grabs my attention rewatching it, so I can put aside my criticisms of it while watching it. Also, I like that “destiny” is something these characters are controlling themselves and can go either way rather than being some unstoppable force that they will all give in to eventually otherwise they’re villains. Because that’s how Yugioh does it and it’s probably my biggest problem with that show. In that series, it feels like the characters are all just blindly accepting “destiny” and those that don’t, Kaiba and Marik most notably, are deemed villains for wanting to take control over their lives and not be governed by some invisible force. Yes, I know Marik went to some horrible extremes using this logic but it still bothers me that the only characters in that show that don’t throw their lives away blindly following someone else’s whims are deemed villains. It’s just kind of messed up. Fury thankfully subverts this. “Destiny” is not an unstoppable force in Beyblade, it’s the will of the characters and those characters are allowed to make their own choices. It makes the story more interesting and the characters more likeable because the characters are the ones driving the story, which feels so much more natural. Yeah, I really like the characters in Fury. Honestly, I’m more attached to Yuki, King, and Chris than anyone introduced in Masters and the other legendary blader characters all bring something different and interesting to the table that I don’t think older characters could have. I also like how the old characters are used. Sure, Tsubasa and Yu are underused this season. But guess who also got a lot of focus last season? Tsubasa and Yu. And some of the characters who were underused in Masters, Kyoya and Kenta, get more focus in this season. They did mess up Kyoya’s arc in my opinion but the effort is there and I appreciate his presence before and after that. Kenta especially was severely underused in Masters so this season decided to make him relevant again and they did it in such an endearing way. You all know how much I love Ryuga and Kenta’s friendship. It’s one of the things that should have gotten more focus but what we do get is good enough build up. This season was the one that drew the most emotion out of me during my most recent viewing and that was because of Ryuga and Kenta. I was devastated by Ryuga’s death (even if he may not actually be dead, that’s certainly what it felt like in the moment) and the scene where he gives Kenta his power was the most touching moment in the entire show for me.

Well, that ranking probably pissed some people off. Again, I love the classic three seasons. (I’m not a fan of Shogun Steel but it has its moments.) Choosing between the three of them like that was incredibly difficult, especially Fusion and Fury. In the end, I just had to go with my gut.

[omgkalyppso]

It's 1 AM — happy belated birthday Owain! I wrote some owainigo / laslodin ? Intended as being able to be read as an S support for Laslow and Odin. Written to recognize Inigo as bisexual and polyamorous and Owain as a trans man. Vague about Owain's sexuality because he currently has his sights on Inigo only.

.

It had been a long time since Laslow had felt like dancing; even recently, he’d wondered if he’d ever want to again, when they’d fallen into Valla and all hope had seemed lost. Yet when Xander had ordered he and Peri enjoy themselves this eve, he’d had a week for his dancer’s garb to be refitted — the clothes he’d arrived in — now matching a soldier’s girth and shoulders. He was not the spritely lad of years past, and wondered whether he looked like a fool.

In the least, the steps were as familiar as breathing, and the melody of the drums was known to his heart, even if the tune wasn’t the same.

His mother — his birth mother, whom he’d only known for such a short time, so much of her dancing was made for battle: relief in victory, love in anticipation, heart in loss. She remembered music of happier times, but those dances hadn’t translated into his tiny feet, so used to the sound of war drums.

He found his dancing riled the spirits of some, who watched or tapped a foot, mimicking a step or two, and Laslow felt further from them than he ever had before.

They were going home. He was going home.

This crowd would only be a memory.

.

He wondered where he would find himself: would it really be the world left in relative peace where Grima lay sleeping? Or would his intent send him spiraling far and away to the land of memory, nightmares and blight? Would Owain even wish to leave Nohr? It suited Odin Dark so naturally. He seemed happier as a mage, and through magic, his own and discovered, Owain had even managed to mold his chest into a form that brought him joy and comfort.

Inigo wondered whether Owain would hold any apprehension in sharing this version of himself with old friends and family.

Some would say Owain had no understanding of shame or embarrassment, but they’d never read his stories aloud, or seen him as a young bashful man who knew little and less of how to present himself. Still, Owain had grown, had carved himself and the world around him in ways that had secured their victories as of late.

Inigo knew that it was his own insecurities over returning that truly alarmed him.

Meanwhile Severa knew what she wanted. She always had. Her heart might be large enough to reserve pieces for all who showed her kindness and some manner of discipline, but she could never stay away from Morgan and her parents. Her home was known and waiting.

.

The song ended and he shared a soft laugh with his liege, a man whose trust and generosity he was on the cusp of betraying.

.

Public celebrations were a favorite of Owain’s. He had learned to handle a crowd, and could often find a group or three to regale with tales of victory, honor and suspense. There were jeers at times, but less when the people were joyous and relieved. Perhaps not all understood the challenges that had weighed upon their liege lords and borders, or their fabric of reality, but they knew strife, and wanted to believe it could be felled by a hero — why shouldn’t he be that.

He’d been shouting over the music for so long, that he’d nearly missed Elise’s voice marveling excitedly, “Hey! Did you know about this? He told me his dancing was a secret.”

While the Xander hushed his sister and they chittered on in silence, Odin Dark also fumbled in his tale, glancing, for a moment, to where Laslow spun daggered discs on his wrists. Owain might have trailed off entirely, and taken the time to watch as much of the performance as possible, whether to jeer or jest or compliment, but Odin had an audience, people who would think him missing or worse in the weeks to come, and so he dove back into an embellishment of the beasts they had defeated. He could watch Inigo dance again. He was sure of it.

.

The tents were relatively empty when the witching hour came to pass. The masses had retreated to the castles and campgrounds, manor houses and taverns where guests and guards were making due. A flutist was speaking with Laslow, a dancer by his side, correcting his posture, of all things. Owain sat on the edge of a fountain, and watched until his friend noticed, as Laslow turned away, red in his cheeks and upon his neck. He stopped their performance swiftly, seemingly assuring the dancer that he would remember to practice. It put a pinch in Owain’s brow, mournful that he’d spurred his friend toward another broken promise.

“You were watching then?” asked Laslow, spinning a ribbing at his side through his hoops so that they would lay at his hip, jingling.

“Even those whose ears I captivated with tales from the saga of Odin Dark, could look nowhere else!” He chuckled as Laslow sat by his side, shifting slightly, as the costume left little protection against the cool damp stone of the fountain. “If only you’d told me, we might have coordinated our performance!”

“I’d make a poor archrival then,” Laslow teased. “If I weren’t stealing your audience.” He stretched, and Odin watched how the bulge of his belly and triceps marked Laslow for his latest manner of fighting — reserved, sturdy, and strong. “And still, not one enraptured lady to request an encore, nor a single suitor to waylay my evening with a flower or three.”

“Only me,” Odin said mournfully, shaking his head.

“Only you,” Laslow agreed, smirking, and he saw how tired Owain was then, and hoped it was his performance, regaling the public with magic and mystery, but he knew it was the war, the ever present ones they’d fought through. He wondered if he would ever feel so comfortable as to compliment his friend, the growing wrinkles at his eyes, the stubble of his beard, the mouthwatering line of muscle revealed by his boastful outfit. He licked his lips. “My vexatious tormentor. Are you headed to sleep?”

Owain saw that the question had two answers. The first was an affirmative, though he would go to his room and stare at the ceiling, perhaps retreat to the library and spend his last few hours in this realm reading more and more of foreign magic as their time grew short. The second was a negative, and perhaps he and Laslow could find somewhere that drink still flowed, and they could pretend to lose themselves in tankards while he made a show of failing to find them dates and he either made a friend of the barman or annoyed him until they were both ejected into the night. However, something inside him overflowed, and Owain found himself seeking to fight the beasts of trepidation and consideration — perhaps he had already won, and it was their blood that had filled him with their ferocious candor as he asked, “Do you know I’m in love with you?”

Laslow’s eyes blinked wide, lashes casting a flickering shadow across his cheekbones.

“Owa—Odin,” he objected. “You can’t—” He huffed, frustrated, taking to his feet. “We fight against each other with every step.” He hid his eyes in his hands and then slowly adjusted his head as he admitted aloud, “I fight against commitment with every breath.”

“When do we not fight towards a common goal — against the forces of darkness, together?” Owain asked with a small smile, leaning forward to rest his forearms on the insides of his spread knees. “My confession need not change anything between us, it certainly doesn’t mean to change anything about you. My affection has grown even as you’ve found joy and rejection with your strings of lovers. And I’ve found that I can love you — that I do,” he swallowed, “love you. I’m saying it too much now.”

“There is nothing consistent in our lives,” Inigo said, sad and distressed. He wrapped his right arm around himself, squeezing at a shoulder, too muscled to feel right going back into his old life, too scarred to hope that wherever they found themselves in two days time that there would be the peace and family he’d hoped for. “I have gone days feeling as though everything around me is temporary, and others believing that this is what is real and it is me who doesn’t belong. We nearly failed. We—”

He hesitated as Owain stood before him, reaching out carefully to take hold of either of his elbows.

“We didn’t,” Owain said, calm and sure.

Time passed. Neither man could say how much. Patiently, Owain did not force an embrace, but he did rest his temple against Inigo’s, rocking his face towards him as he whispered, “And you’ve had some consistencies in your life. And me in mine.”

He waited longer, breathing deeply while his friend calmed in his arms, and then Inigo was lifting his left hand up to Owain’s hip and the mage smiled, letting his hands creep around the small of Inigo’s back, locking them together. “If I declared that I would dedicate my life to you, very little would change … and I think that’s very telling.”

“I feel good, with you,” Inigo murmured, tucking his face into the curve of Owain’s neck, “but my trysts don’t last and you—” he bit his lips, and as they rolled back into place he felt them pout against Owain’s skin, almost a kiss, “you’re too important for me to risk in a bout of bad behavior.”

Owain snickered. “Are you asking me to make sure you don’t grow bored? I think no matter what awaits us after tomorrow, I can promise it will be interesting.” He tossed his head back, and smiled wider as Inigo admired him; it was a wonderfully new feeling. “Do you think Odin Dark would settle for less? That the tale of the Avengers of Righteous Justice would end here?”

“Avengers?” Inigo repeated, pulling away from the embrace.

“I don’t forget my friends,” Owain assured him, but Inigo continued.

“And, really, I rather hoped that my tale might end. In some manner of the word… I want to rest. I want to feel the relief that these people felt, that our parents felt when their journey was over. To find a stage to dance upon, perhaps a student to apprentice while I’m still young enough to perform.”

“Then we will find it,” Owain said with conviction, his hands on Inigo’s shoulders. “A place where Selena can be a tired old general, or an extension of nobility, where our friends are close, and our families closer still, and where I study all the magic that has ever beset us with worry — that of gods, and dragons, and travel between realms—”

“Is this why you sought to be a mage?” Inigo balked, holding the dips at Owain’s elbows.

“All to keep us safe,” Owain said cryptically, blue eyes flickering with withheld words. “I will work tirelessly to make that peaceful realm you dream of, friend.”

“I can’t expect you to vanquish evil on your own,” Inigo said, a measure of wonder on his face. A puff of air passed his lips, joy and shock and hope twisting his lips first in a frown and then in a smile. “Very well then. Together, this time. We’ll start this tale together, as we’ve always been.”

“Then—?” Owain prompted, hopeful.

“Of course,” Inigo assured him, pulling himself into Owain’s space again, this time to plant a kiss on his warm lips. “I’ve loved you too. You need only look to your side — if you truly wish to take me as I am … then you will always find me here.”

[askaceattorney]

Dear Anonymous,

I still have yet to play (or watch) DGS2, unfortunately, so we’ll have to save that part for another time, but I’d love to delve into the shared adventures of this adorable duo in the first game.

When Ryuunosuke first meets Susato, she’s nothing more to him than an ally in his defense in court.

He doesn’t see her again until he and Kazuma find themselves at the end of their rope.

It makes you wonder if she’s the one who founded whatever School of Interrupting at Just the Right Time so many Ace Attorney characters apparently went to, doesn’t it?

When she appears, “calm and dignified, in our desperate final moments,” to use Ryuunosuke’s words, she causes quite the stir.  Luckily, the five minutes granted to her by the judge to present some crucial evidence is all she needs to help him and Kazuma pull off the first turnabout in Ace Attorney’s history.

The mysterious legal assistant’s wish for Ryuunosuke’s good fortune was granted, apparently.

Thus Ryuunosu--  Um...  Is it okay if I call him “Ryu” for short?  Thus Ryu’s life was saved by a humble young woman who had the courage and decency to collect, summarize, and present the evidence that turned the case around in the nick of time.  After leaving to finish his acquittal procedures with a humble bow, she disappeared, never to be seen by him again.

Or so he thought.

Similar to Phoenix and Maya’s first encounter, Ryu and Susato's second meeting occurs under the most tragic of circumstances.  His close friend and classmate has been found dead in his cabin on the ship he managed to smuggle himself onto.  Unlike Phoenix and Maya’s situation, however, it’s the lawyer (or soon-to-be lawyer) who is initially blamed for his death.  To make matters worse, the young woman who helped to save his life isn’t feeling quite so compassionate this time around.

Her anger and distrust are understandable, considering that the evidence seems to point to Ryu as the culprit, on top of the fact that Kazuma was her foster brother.  Luckily, she’s polite and reasonable enough to hear Ryu’s side of things, and even claims that she wants to believe him, so the two of them are at least able to treat each other civilly.

That is...until he tries to start investigating.

There’s a bucket load of energy beneath that demure countenance of hers, it turns out.  Her move even has a special name -- the “Susato Toss.”  Who would’ve thought she came straight out of Street Fighter?

Thankfully, she still has a reasonable side.

By presenting evidence of his innocence, Ryu not only vindicates himself, but finally starts to gain Susato’s trust.

Sadly, her trust only lasts until a certain world-famous detective shows up to accuse Ryu of being a Russian revolutionary.

It’s hard to blame her, of course.  Who wouldn’t trust THE Sherlock Holmes’s logic?

Nonetheless, her determination to find out more about Kazuma’s death is strong enough for her to begrudgingly continue the investigation with Ryu.  One notable moment occurs here when he attempts to gain favor wither her by appealing to her love of mystery novels.

She’s no fool, of course, and only dislikes him even more for expecting her to fall for it.

If I didn’t know any better, I’d say this was the “main characters don’t get along until they’re forced into a situation together” cliché.  This situation may not fit that cliché perfectly, but it’s not too far off if you ask me.

When Ryu is finally allowed to investigate outside the cabin, Susato begins to show a bit more sympathy for him.

I have to give her some credit for that -- it takes a special kind of person to show compassion for a possible murderer.  It also seems like she’s beginning to see Ryu as more of a human being than a heartless criminal.  Baby steps, as they say.

From that point on, their dialogue begins taking on a more friendly tone.  Thus Susato, whether on purpose or by fate, takes on the role of the first official assistant in Ace Attorney’s history.  And boy, does she pull it off like a pro.

To make a long story short, their cooperative efforts combined with the ridiculous logic of a kooky detective (as well as the assistance of the less kooky Detective Hosonaga) bring them to the truth of Asougi’s death in the end.  While this clears Ryu of the crime and offers some much-needed closure for both him and Susato, his death still affects them deeply.

Something wonderful stems from this tragedy, though -- a crucial moment, not only for the two of them, but also for the Japanese and British Empires.

With Asougi’s passing, the exchange program between Great Britain and Japan is forced into suspension, unless, somehow, a replacement attorney can be found before the ship reaches London.

It’s a shame it has to end this way after all they’ve been through together, but that’s just the way it goes someti--

...Oh.  Well, then.  Who would’ve seen that coming?  (Besides us, I mean.)

And strangely enough, the young woman who once saw Ryu as a cold-blooded murderer has this to say about him becoming an attorney:

Thus a new attorney/assistant pair arises from the ashes of one attorney’s passing (pun fully intended), and the two of them step into a new journey in their lives together.  And thankfully, it wasn’t exactly the cliché it appeared to be -- the two of them are now trusted friends, and Susato even offers to let Ryu toss her three times as punishment for not believing him.  (It doesn’t quite end that way, but that’s beside the point.)

The first leg of said journey takes place in the “centre of the world” the incredible city of London.  What a place to begin, am I right?

Thus their incredible legal adventure begins (or adventures begin, I should say) in beautiful Victorian Era Britain.  To describe their encounters here briefly (and so I don’t spend a whole year on this essay), they learn together how the British court system works...

...about its imperfections...

...how it feels to pull off a turnabout in a British courtroom...

...and perhaps most importantly, about the value of trust.

To say nothing of their misadventures with Mr. Holmes, his young genius assistant, and several other unforgettable British folk.

And a fellow Japanese immigrant, too, of course.  Who could forget him?

You know, I’m starting to wonder if he might be one of Larry’s ancestors.

The game throws one final curveball for the great legal duo before it ends.  After telling Susato she’s the world’s best legal assistant, Ryu gets a very unexpected response from her:

When he attempts to confront her about it, all he gets is another Susato Toss.

What could someone like her, who’s already proven her worth as a legal assistant several times, be hiding?  Unfortunately for Ryu, he’s unlikely to find out soon, since her father’s illness has called her back home, leaving him to pull off his next turnabout on his own.  She doesn’t go without leaving behind as much helpful evidence as she can muster, of course.

But, as fate would have it, a storm prevents her ship from departing for at least half a day, giving Ryu and his new flatmates a chance to see her off.  On top of that, it gives Ryu the chance to find out precisely what inspired Susato’s words of doubt.

He catches her preparing to throw a copy of the British Empire’s Code of Law into the sea.  What would cause her to do such a thing?

It turns out she broke one of the rules by tampering with the scene of the crime, and another by concealing that fact.  Her intentions may have been good, but her conscience became a little too heavy for her to let it go.  She takes it a step further by claiming that, for one moment, she began to doubt the law.

She may not be wrong in stating this (she learned it firsthand in the British courts, after all), but it still caused her to see herself as a failure of a legal assistant.  Luckily for her, though, Ryu had learned some things himself in the time they spent together.

While her methods were questionable at best, Ryu recognizes something in Susato that sets her and every just person apart from a criminal: a desire to protect the innocent.  Whereas Chrogray used her tampering as a way to protect himself, her only desire was to protect Gina’s life and to ensure that Ryu would be able to prove her innocence in the end.  In other words, her faith in the system may have been lacking, but her desire for justice, like Ryu’s, never faltered for even a moment.  With that knowledge in mind, the two of them can part with a better knowledge of the law, a better understanding of each other, and smiles on their faces.

So, to sum it up, Ryu and Susato go from being friendly acquaintances, to a murder suspect and suspecter (for lack of a better word), to investigative partners, to full-fledged legal partners, and finally, to a legendary legal duo.  Will their relationship ever go any further than that?

Also, full disclosure -- it’s been a long time since I watched Dai Gyakuten Saiban, so I had to do a hefty amount of re-watching in order to remember some of these details...hence why this essay took so long.  Thanks for waiting!

And hey, how’s that for good timing?

Don’t know about you, but I’m eagerly looking forward to revisiting this unforgettable saga.  And, y’know...doing it the proper way instead of depending on fan translations.

-The Co-Mod