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raeynbowboi · 4 years ago

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How to Play as Link in DnD 5e (2.0)

With the release of both Mythic Odysseys of Theros and now the new big expansion in Tasha’s Cauldron of Everything, I figured now would be a good time to reexamine Link with the context of new subclasses, class features, and game mechanics that weren’t around the last time that I built him. While I won’t do this for every character I’ve built before, characters who have new options made available with these updates will get a new rebuild for 2021. If you want to compare and contrast this build to the original, I will link that build right [here].

The Spirit of the Hero

Link’s a Hylian and that’s just a fancy way of saying elf. His best racial options are either the High Elf, the Wood Elf, or the Half-Elf. Half-elf’s extra skills are tempting, but as Link is never given any parents or an ancestral family tree, we can’t really justify him as a half-elf. We’ll call him a Wood Elf for the extra +2 to his Dexterity and the +1 to his Wisdom as well as that woodsy vibe. But if you wanna go for a Half-Elf for the power build, I won’t tell anyone.

Link’s alignment is tricky. On the one hand, he is shown kneeling before the monarchy, defeating the forces of evil and darkness, and doing odd jobs to help the common people he comes across. However, he can also start forest fires, break into people’s houses, smash pots, steal people’s life savings or personal belongings, and attack the chicken population until they attack back. I’d wager he’s Neutral Good if for no other reason than his morality is highly dependent on the player.

My first choice for Link’s background would be the Folk Hero for Animal Handling and Survival. However, Link’s background is so inconsistent, it’s easier to just list out the skills he tends to have and tell you to pick a background that has those skills, or create your own: Animal Handling, Athletics, Investigation, Nature, Perception, or Survival. There’s a case to be made for other skills as well. Acrobatics works a little and his jumps did involve sick flips in Majora’s Mask, but Link doesn’t tend to balance or platform jump very often. Link can play instruments fine and danced in the Subrosian Dance Hall in Oracle of Seasons for Performance proficiency, but he’s usually playing instruments to activate effects, not to actually perform for a crowd. Link shows some Stealth skills in Breath of the Wild, but this hasn’t been a longstanding skill of his, so I didn’t lump it in with his main skill list.

Becoming a Hero

When it comes to his build, Link has made some use of spells in the past, but he’s nowhere near the spellcaster that Zelda and Ganondorf are. Link is definitely more of a martial fighter who augments himself with a wide arsenal of magical items. So when it comes to picking Link’s class, we have a few things to keep in mind.

BARD

Link is a talented young man, and he has had magical instruments in a few games over the years, as well as dancing in Subrosia, among other things. While I don’t subscribe to the idea of Link being a bard myself, I understand why people would come to this conclusion, as Link isn’t really bad at anything... except talking. And lying. And looking threatening. Or haggling. Yeah kind of hard to depict Link as a CHA caster who isn’t proficient in any CHA skill checks.

Spirits (UA) This doesn’t fit for every Link, but especially for Breath of the Wild where Link gets help from the spirits of his fallen comrades, the flavor of calling on the dead works for Link. For a non-BotW example, maybe Link can tell stories of his past lives, and the memories he shares with each of them.

Valor This college has the downside of being built as a cheerleader, while Link really should be built for solo-combat since that’s how he approaches most fights. But Valor is better than Swords and also gives Link proficiency with martial weapons and shields, while Swords does not.

FIGHTER

While there are many martial classes, the Fighter differentiates itself by being the most down-to-earth option. It’s not beholden to rage, or smites, hunting, or sneaking. It is the simple skill of the blade, and this is a skill Link has in spades. From the earliest games, Link has been a master of the sword, the shield, and the bow.

Battle Master Link is a strategic fighter. He looks for weak spots, and he exploits them the best he can. Of all the fighter subclasses, none is more clever than the Battle Master. Its many maneuvers resembles the numerous sword techniques Link has learned especially in the later games. Even in Smash, Link showcases how clever he is by being able to combine his arrows with his bombs and shoot a bomb arrow. To my knowledge, none of the other characters can combine their abilities like this in Smash.

Cavalier The subclass is poorly named, and was better in its initial name as the Knight, as that is really what this subclass is. It is the idea of the knight in shining armor. They can also be flavored as bodyguards, a traveling sellsword, or castle guards. So Link does not have to be glued to Epona to make use of this subclass. The main reason to want this subclass is the Warding Maneuver, as giving Link the chance to either block or reduce all damage he takes is going to seriously improve how well he can tank a hit, and help keep him in a fight longer.

PALADIN

More than any other class, the Paladin actually stands for something. They fight for a value or a belief. They swear their life to a cause and are prepared to die fighting for it. Link works on a lore level as a Paladin. Especially when he’s dedicated multiple lifetimes to the same cause. Across every timeline and game over screen, Link has always returned and stood in defiance against whatever evil may come.

Ancients This oath makes Link sworn to the forces of nature, such as the Great Fairy, and protecting the balance and harmony of the light, life, and love against death, decay, and darkness. The Ancients Paladin is all about protecting the balance in the world and valiantly opposing evil wherever it might arise. It also has a druidic or fey aspect, which kind of works for Link.

Crown With this vow, Link serves the Hyrulian Royal Family. This makes Link the princess’ personal knight, and an agent of lawfulness, order, and peacekeeping in the land. While 5e has backed away from typecasting Paladins as Lawful Good, this is probably the most Lawful subclass one could pick, as it places the authority of the royal family above all else.

Glory Instead of being sworn to the light or the law, the Glory Paladin is the harbinger of the goddesses. They are flavored as legendary heroes of destiny, possibly being demigods or the personal errand boys of the setting’s pantheon. This subclass is clearly focused on being a frontline warrior, and the features make Link a true force on the battlefield.

RANGER

Anyone who’s played Legend of Zelda knows that Link is very good at surviving. The games don’t tell you how to navigate the wilderness, Link just has to figure it out for himself. What’s more, Link may be willing to venture into the wilderness, but he’ll be hard-pressed to find many NPCs that far outside of settlements or cities. Yet what they fear, he thrives in. And it’s no wonder that this is the class most peole would assume for Link.

Hunter This conclave is the slayer of all things that threaten civilization. They can choose to be better at chipping away at one enemy, counter attack bigger monsters, or mow through hordes of minions with more ease by taking out multiple at a time. Especially at higher levels, this conclave excels at ripping apart Ganon’s forces with nary a golden curl out of place.

ROGUE

The rogue doesn’t need to be a wanted criminal on the lamb. They can be a clever fighter with a variety of skills and a knack for evasion. That speaks a lot more to Link’s skill set than one might assume at first glance. It’s not a perfect fit for Link, but it’s really not that inaccurate either.

Inquisitive This roguish archetype is defined by being clever in combat, looking for weak points to exploit. They’re also much more observant, making them better at discovering clues or secret passages, or telling when they’re being misled. At higher levels, their ability to look for weaknesses can even increase their sneak attack damage. This especially fits some of the older games where boss fights were focused on using items to exploit the dungeon boss’ weaknesses, rather than hacking away at their health bar. In these older titles, Link was less of a straight up warrior and more of a clever trickster pulling off strategic victories.

Scout The Scout Rogue has heavy Ranger vibes, as they get free expertise in Nature and Survival, enhanced mobility, the ability to disengage from fights more easily, and at higher levels become masters of ambushes. This fits well with Link’s sneakier sniper playstyle that can be done in Breath of the Wild, as Link can take out entire camps without ever being seen.

Thief While Link is not a standard cutpurse, Link is a treasure hunter, a dungeon delver, and the jokes about him robbing the people of Hyrule and breaking into people’s homes doesn’t exactly help. The thief also gets to use more magical items, allowing Link to use things such as enchanted instruments without being a bard.

WARLOCK

Link usually isn’t the hero of his own volition. He often starts his journey with Triforce of Courage, a source of power gifted by his patrons. It’s honestly a weak connection, but it loosely works, so I’m including it.

Celestial While this subclass is geared toward serving something other than a god, I don’t see any reason why a Celestial Warlock couldn’t serve the Triple Goddesses of Hyrule or even Hylia/Zelda directly.

Hexblade The most obviously martial warlock option, this is a good choice if you want to incorporate Fi into your character.

Link’s Toy Chest

Hero’s Sword - Longsword (+1-3) Mirror Shield - Repulsion Shield Hero’s Bow - Oathbow Gale Boomerang - Storm Boomerang Fire Rod - Wand of Fireballs (requires spellcasting) Mastersword - Sword of Zariel, Holy Avenger Longsword* Hylian Shield - Shield of the Hidden Lord Goddess Bow - Ephixis, Bow of Nylea Golden Gauntlets - Gauntlets of Ogre Power Zora Tunic - Cloak of the Manta Ray Pegasus Boots - Boots of Speed Hover Boots - Boots of Levitation Hook Shot - Rope of Climbing

SIDEKICKS

Sidekicks are a new edition from Tasha’s that let Link bring allies on his hero’s journey. Experts are skill monkeys who focus on Help actions, Spellcasters dip into the INT, WIS, or CHA spell lists, and Warriors are trained to fight and don’t have to talk, so they can be animals.

Epona - Defender Warrior Riding Horse Navi - Expert or Healer Spellcaster Sprite Sidon - Attacker Warrior Merfolk Sheik - Expert Noble (Elf) Wolf Link - Attacker Warrior Wolf

Theros Piety

The Piety System from Theros lets us be devout to a god and earn features from worshiping them. As far as I’m aware, this is an optional feature, and not every DM will make use of these, but if you’re able to, here’s a handy guide. These gods really stood out as the clear choices for Link to go with.

Iroas - God of Victory

Domains: War Virtues: Achieve a great victory, Overcome slim odds honorably, Defeat a foe in single combat, Perform a great feat of strength or skill Sins: Being a coward in battle, Beat an honorable foe through deceit, harm innocents Piety Bonus: +3 Learn Compelled Duel spell +10 Learn Crusader’s Mantle spell +25 For 1 minute, creatures cannot gain advantage on you +50 Increase STR or CHA by 2 to a max of 22

Keranos - God of Storms

Domains: Knowledge, Tempest Virtues: Solve a riddle or puzzle, defeat an unwise enemy, plan ahead for an upcoming challenge, build or restore a temple to Keranos Sins: Jeopardize others through foolishness, ignore a wise course of action, fail to plan for a challenge, give in to anger or self-destruction

Piety Bonus: +3 Add 1d6 lightning damage to melee attack up to INT mod turns. +10 Reroll a failed INT or WIS saving throw +25 Advantage on Initiative rolls +50 Increase INT or WIS by 2 to a max of 22

Nylea - Goddess of the Wild

Domains: Nature Virtues: Help any wild animal, stop those who hunt for sport or profit, win an archery competition, slay an aberration, fiend, or undead Sins: Kill an animal without reason, Dedicate a building to or make a sacrifice for any god (including Nylea), protect a city from a natural disaster

Piety Bonus: +3 Learn Hunter’s Mark +10 Learn Speak with Animals +25 Attacking creatures must pass DC 15 WIS save or change targets. +50 Increase DEX or WIS by 2 to a max of 22

Cunning Tactician

Battle Master Fighter (12) Inquisitive Rogue (8) Fighting Style: Dueling Maneuvers: Brace, Disarming Strike, Feinting Attack, Parry, Precision Attack, Riposte, Sweeping Attack Tools: Thieves’ Tools, Mason’s Tools

While Link is brave and strong, he is most defined by his clever mind and unorthodox solutions to boss fights. With this class split, Link has prioritized strategy and tactics over everything else. While it leaves him a little squishier, Link is still a very capable warrior. As a Battle Master, he got a free tool proficiency. Mason’s Tools allows Link to find secret passageways in stone walls, which most dungeons tend to be made of. On top of that, with his Feinting Attack, Link can give himself advantage, meaning he can use Sneak Attack even in a 1v1 fight, which fits his solo adventurer playstyle.

One-Man Army

Battle Master Fighter (12) Hunter Ranger (8) Fighting Style: Dueling, Archery Maneuvers: Brace, Disarming Strike, Feinting Attack, Parry, Precision Attack, Riposte, Sweeping Attack Hunter’s Prey: Colossus Slayer, Multiattack Defense Tools: Mason’s Tools

I used this build once in a level 10 campaign. 6 levels of Fighter, 4 levels of Ranger with a +2 Longsword, and let me tell you something. This build creamed the competition, which was the other PCs at the table, who were also built as level 10 characters. Link nearly defeated his first opponent in a single round, dealing around 70 damage between his four attacks. When I say this is Link’s “power” build, I mean it. I didn’t even sweat when an adult blue dragon showed up after the tournament ended, that’s how much faith I had in Link’s ability to fight. I honestly forgot to even use Link’s battle maneuvers, he was just dealing so much damage that it slipped my mind. You could swap Battle Master for Cavalier, but for me, the Battle Master is more accurate to Link’s favor of techniques over basic hack-and-slash.

RANGER SPELLS

1 Absorb Elements, Ensnaring Strike, Hunter’s Mark 2 Cordon of Arrows, Healing Spirit

The Hero of Hyrule

Battle Master Fighter (12) Glory Paladin (8) Fighting Style: Archery, Dueling Maneuvers: Brace, Disarming Strike, Feinting Attack, Parry, Precision Attack, Riposte, Sweeping Attack Tools: Mason’s Tools

As a Glory Paladin, Link is driven by a desire to be a legendary hero, and at least in the UA version, the Glory Paladin served the gods, as Link does. Like the two builds above, Link balances the brute might of the Glory Paladin with the tactile diversity of the Battle Master.

PALADIN SPELLS

1 Cure Wounds, Divine Favor, Guiding Bolt, Heroism, Protection from Evil and Good, Searing Smite, Thunderous Smite, Wrathful Smite 2 Branding Smite, Enhance Ability, Find Steed, Magic Weapon, Warding Bond

Oaths and Promises

Glory Paladin (12) Celestial Warlock (8) Fighting Style: Dueling Pact: Blade Invocations: Eldritch Smite, Improved Pact Weapon, Maddening Hex, Relentless Hex

The builds from here on are more for the flavor than necessarily Link’s character. As a Blade Pact Paladock, Link becomes a CHA-focused martial with some extra spell slots that turn his smiting sword strikes into a bokoblin slurry machine. This build focuses Link more as a servant of the gods than anything else. Just make sure he has the Hex spell, but you can replace Maddening Hex with Agonizing Blast if you want to use the Master Sword laser beam at full potential.

PALADIN SPELLS

1 Divine Favor, Guiding Bolt, Heroism, Protection from Evil and Good, Searing Smite, Thunderous Smite, Wrathful Smite 2 Branding Smite, Enhance Ability, Find Steed, Magic Weapon, Warding Bond 3 Blinding Smite, Crusader’s Mantle, Elemental Weapon, Haste, Protection from Energy

WARLOCK SPELLS

C Blade Ward, Booming Blade, Sword Burst 1 Armor of Agathys, Cure Wounds, Hex 2 Lesser Restoration, Misty Step, Shatter 3 Spirit Shroud, Summon Fey 4 Galder’s Speedy Courier

To Serve and Protect

Battle Master Fighter (12) Crown Paladin (8) Fighting Style: Dueling, Interception Maneuvers: Bait and Switch, Brace, Disarming Strike, Goading Strike, Parry, Riposte, Sweeping Attack Tools: Mason’s Tools

Link is Zelda’s knight, bodyguard, and servant. So this build prioritizes features that makes Link the loyal emissary of the Princess of Hyrule. As such, this build changes Link’s role to be more of a defender to the princess than a solo hero. This build assumes that the princess or someone else who needs to be protected is joining Link on his adventure.

PALADIN SPELLS

1 Command, Cure Wounds, Divine Favor, Heroism, Compelled Duel, Searing Smite, Thunderous Smite, Wrathful Smite 2 Branding Smite, Find Steed, Warding Bond, Zone of Truth

After all is said and done, I hope I gave everyone a lot to work with. Of course my suggestions are not law, and if nothing else, I hope it gives you an idea of how you want to build him. Last time I built Link, I gave one set build for him, but I still laid out other options. Recently though, I’ve been trying to show multiple builds at the end of my build posts to offer a wider idea of what building a character can look like. Happy 2021 everyone, and let’s hope this year goes smoother.

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vs-redemption · 4 years ago

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Hello, i love your writing so much. Could you some angst in wich Eraserhead has and S/O with a past of abusive relationships but he doesn't know that, so one day he kind of raises his voice in a discussion and she has the worst reaction? I don't know if this is too specific, but you can feel free to choose what to do haha

Hey! Thanks for the compliment and the request! It took me a little longer to get to this request than I would’ve liked, but it took me a minute to get into the mindset I needed. I’m not sure if I followed your prompt exactly the way you wanted me to, but this is the idea my mind latched onto. I hope it’s okay!

You can find Not Again:Part Two HERE

Not Again:Part One (Aizawa x Abuse Victim!Reader)

⚠️ I’m putting a trigger warning for the theme of abuse.

Letting out a shaky breath, you glance over at the man walking next to you. He was standing closer than you were comfortable with, but there wasn’t much to be done about it at the moment. A light rain had begun to fall just moments after he’d met you at the train station, and there was only one umbrella to share between the two of you. You still couldn’t believe you were really going through with this. Your friends had assured you that you were being extremely brave, but it had taken nearly a year of constant support and encouragement for you to find the courage to actually agree to date someone again.

Your previous relationships, though few and far between, had all turned out horribly for you. And even that was putting it lightly. You constantly wondered how people could seem so kind and charming as they lured you in, only to turn on you the second they sank their predatory claws into your heart. You felt guilty when you thought about all the wasted time spent isolated from your family and friends, fearing that every word and action you made would trigger a storm that ended with you feeling broken and terrified. Could you have prevented any of that? Had there been any red flags that you’d overlooked? Even in hindsight you couldn’t be sure. After being manipulated and controlled to the extent that you had, there wasn’t much you felt confident about anymore.

“Sorry about the rain,” your boyfriend sighs glumly. “At least it won’t take too long to get to the museum.”

“Yeah, it’s okay,” you say meekly. “It’s not your fault.”

It still felt strange to think of the man as your boyfriend. It was probably because the relationship was still so new and you were extremely apprehensive about committing yourself to someone after experiencing so much pain and heartbreak. The only reason you were even giving him a chance was because he was the pro-hero, Eraserhead. Surely someone who had dedicated their lives to protecting innocent people and getting villains off the streets wouldn’t turn out to be like the other monsters you had dated.

Your first few outings with the hero, who insisted you call him by his first name, had seemed to support your logic. You had gotten the impression that he wasn’t one for loud crowded places, but he hadn’t once objected to having your dates out in public. You had not told him as much, but the idea of being alone with him frightened you. It was always behind closed doors that the wolves tended to show their teeth. Aizawa did not seem too concerned with getting you alone though, so you took that as a good sign for now.

“If you’re hungry after the exhibit, there’s a nice café we can have lunch at nearby,” Aizawa mentions. The rain continued to gently pitter patter onto the umbrella as if tempting you into lowering your guard.

“Okay,” you agree. “I’m fine with that.”

You continue walking for a bit longer when the sound of a commotion catches your attention. Aizawa grabs you by the back of the shirt and yanks you behind him just as a couple of villains come flying down onto the street from above you. Their faces were hidden behind masks and they each had a black duffle bag slung over their shoulders.

“Hide,” Aizawa tells you quickly, “And call the police if you can.” He doesn’t wait for you to reply before jumping into action. He didn’t have his scarf with him since he was off duty, so you were a little concerned about how he would handle the two criminals. He called out to them to get their attention and then activated his quirk, making his hair float up off his shoulders as he canceled out whatever abilities the villains possessed.

“Oh great,” one of the villains sneers, “it’s a hero.”

“I’ll handle it,” the second one smirks before lunging at Aizawa with incredible speed. He must have been forced to blink because suddenly the first villain was growing long thin spikes out of the tops of his arms. You gasp in shock as the spikes shoot from his skin towards your boyfriend. He manages to dodge them as he wrestles with the first guy. The spike villain turns from the fight to run away and a man standing nearby runs to intercept him. You watch the villain aim his spikes and prepare to shoot at the human roadblock. Fearing for his life, you move to go and try to help him. A strong grip around your arm stops you and you turn around to see your boyfriend holding you back. His eyes were bloodshot from using his quirk and his hair still hovered over his head, making him look extremely intimidating. Behind him, some other local heroes had shown up to take over the situation, allowing Aizawa to come to you.

“Are you okay?” He asks a little louder than necessary, “What were you thinking going towards that guy!? I told you to hide!” Your brain doesn’t even register the first question he’d asked because the sheer volume of his voice brought back memories of other looming figures with similar angry eyes. Aizawa let go of your arm and let his hair fall back into place but the damage was already done.

“I’m sorry,” you say out of sheer instinct. “I’ll listen next time, I swear.” The terror on your face makes Aizawa frown. He had to assume that the encounter with the villains was to blame for the shake in your voice. He takes a step forward and reaches out to pull you close. Unfortunately, you misunderstood his actions which triggered another wave of panic in you. You stumble backwards, tripping on the curb and falling back onto the sidewalk.

“Hey, careful now.” He was at a loss, not knowing how to help or why you were reacting so strongly. He tries to take another cautious step toward you but stops when you throw your arms around your head defensively.

“Please,” your voice trembles as tears spring to your eyes. “I’m sorry. Just don’t be angry.”

The two criminals had been taken into custody now and the people nearby were starting to notice the little scene you were causing. Aizawa didn’t want people getting the wrong idea, so he had to do something to deescalate the situation.

“I’m not angry,” he promises. You had backed as far away from him as you could and now your back was against the building behind you. You lower your trembling arms and wrap them around yourself. “Let’s go somewhere with less gawkers and get you calmed down.” You flinch at the words and shake your head. You didn’t want to be anywhere with him by yourself.

“No!” You plead with him, “Just leave me alone!” Your words attract more attention, making things more difficult and awkward for Aizawa. He lets out a sigh and rubs a hand over his face.

“Do you want to just go home?” he asks in defeat, “We can forget about the museum for today.” You jump at the chance to escape. You nod your head eagerly and Aizawa waves for a taxi. You eye him distrustfully and only climb into the car once he promises to get a different cab for himself. You let out a sigh of relief once you’re tucked into the backseat and the taxi pulls away. With shaking hands, you pull out your cell phone to call you friends and tell them what a mistake trying to date again turned out to be.

Not Again:Part Two

#aizawa x reader #shouta aizawa x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #aizawa #eraserhead #shouta aizawa #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #my writing #writing requests #Cindy's Writing

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mydeardeath · 4 years ago

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Forever mine

TimDamiWeek day two : League of Assassins

Sorry for any mistakes, this was not proofread.

Also on AO3

Tim is no longer a vigilante, not really. He still worked as the new oracle on a regular basis, but he was rarely on the street himself. Most of his time was dedicated to WE and to creating a better future. He had abandoned his role as CEO to work for the research department, putting his brain to good use. While most of his projects were for clean energy, he also worked on better equipment for the bats.

It had been weird to hang up his cape, for him and the family. He had been the first one to abandon the R peacefully and chose his own replacement. He hadn't known Duke that well at the time, but he never regretted choosing him. The man had easily fit into the family, Bruce hadn't complained much, and Jason had been accepting of the new Robin.

A few years had passed since he had hung up the cap, and he had picked up his habit of following the dynamic duo at night. He did not indulge in it that often, but they were nights where he would climb on rooftops and watch the action from afar. Tonight had been one of those nights. Tim had finished his most recent project and had taken a few days off. He sat upon a building overlooking the diamond district, offering a great view of the fight going on below. It still amazed him to see Dick flying through the air, even after so many years spent working alongside the man.

A few months back, he would have been tempted to jump in to fight alongside Dick, but now he just appreciated the show. Dick is going up against a major threat, just kicking the ass of a few wannabe robbers.

The night is somewhat calm for Gotham, and Tim doesn't see the attack. One minute his eyes were on the street below, the next he's swaying dangerously on the roof's edge. He had barely time to regain his footing that another blow came to hit him in the back. He thankfully managed to avoid the next one and rolled back to a safer place. It doesn't take long for his attacker to come at him again, but this time he's facing him. It took a split second for Tim to identify his opponent as League of assassins. His memory takes him back to his meetings with Pru, Z, and Owen. He had not hesitated to fight them. This man, even standing alone, seemed more dangerous than they were. It's obvious by his stance that the guy has proper training, but what made Tim anxious were his own abilities. Tim was still dangerous himself, but he imagined that this man trained more frequently than him recently. Probably studied Tim's fighting style before attacking him, knowing the level of preparation the league put behind its assassination attempts. Tim can't afford to make a mistake. Hell, he should call Bruce or someone, but he doubted the assassin would let him make a call or even reach for his phone.

They danced around each other, exchanging a few blows. Tim could see that the man was holding back as if he was playing with his prey and waiting for him to get tired. He needed to find a way out of it, quickly.

His biggest hope might be to catch Dick he was still near him, but that would mean giving his back to that guy, and Tim didn't like that idea much. He still decided to attempt it. He packed a powerful punch toward his assailant before taking off to the next building's roof. Tim had never been the strongest in the family, but he was fast. He also had the advantage of having spent years on those rooftops and knew them better than this man. In the end, it didn't matter at all. The man didn't try to catch up to him, just threw a small knife to his leg that made him lose his balance. Then the man jumped after him. He was on Tim in no time, katana in hand. He managed to avoid the first slash but, soon, he felt the blade sliced through his skin. The wound wasn't deep, but the assassin kept going, covering his body in cuts.

Tim retaliated with a few blows of his own or attempted to anyway. The man was more than good. He could read him so easily, and Tim stood even less chance as time passed as his movement became slower and sloppier while his assailant was moving with grace, dancing around him. Tim fell to the ground a few minutes later, hitting his head hard on the floor. He tried to stand, but a harsh blow to the head made his vision blur, and all he could do was try to crawl away.

That was not how he had imagined dying.

***

Tim startled awake to the sound of his alarm clock. He attempted to reach for his phone, but searing pain stopped him midway. Yesterday's fights came back to him, and Tim wondered how he was still alive. It had looked like an assassination, not a kidnapping.

Tim slowly pushed himself in a sitting position in the bed, in arms straining under the effort of carrying his aching body. His wounds had been tended to and bandaged. Some painkillers were even waiting for him on the nightstand, next to his phone and some clean clothes.

Somebody had taken him to what seemed to be a hotel suite and taken care of him. Whoever it had been, wasn't part of their family or they would have taken him to the batcave. It didn't seem that Tim would have an answer quite yet about his mysterious savior. He couldn't hear a sound in the suite, and unless his savior was hiding, he was completely alone.

Tim didn't want to stay in bed too long and force himself up despite his body's protests. He needed to inform Bruce of what had happened. He wasn't a fool, the league didn't like to leave jobs unfinished, and the whole fiasco of the previous was proof enough that Tim couldn't protect himself from that threat. The realization had not been pleasant. But keeping in shape was apparently not enough, not against that kind of opponent.

Once he managed to gather the energy to get dressed and inspect the room(to no avail, there was no clue of who had brought him here), he hailed a taxi to drive to the manor. He was far too tired to make the trip to his own house and take his car.

Tim hoped that the driver hadn't recognized him, he didn't need to make the front page while looking beaten up. That would be hard to explain to the press, and Tim still didn't like dealing with them despite how many times he had to.

Tim gave him a good tip before exiting the car, hoping he would keep silent about dropping off a beaten up man at Wayne Manor. Then he made his way to the front door where Alfred had appeared. The butler led him straight to the medbay with a somber expression. He knew that Tim wasn't the kind to get in a fight. That was not supposed to happen to him now that he was retired.

The cave was empty at this hour. Bruce was probably sound asleep at this hour, and nobody else was living at the manor nowadays. Tim let Alfred examine him in silence, still tired and preferring to wait for Bruce to start speaking. He was sure to get a thorough interrogation, so he didn't see the need to tell Alfred every detail right now, simply informing him that it was the league of assassins.

Tim was glad to learn that he didn't have any kind of internal injury. He had hit the ground pretty hard, but he was not concussed. The only problem Tim could have to face now was septicemia because of his weaker immune system. Alfred would keep an eye on him to check he didn't forget his medication, and that would give even more of an excuse to make him stay at the manor for a while.

***

Tim couldn't shake off the feeling that he was being watched. He had already checked his room twice for cameras, and even though he had found none, he still felt observed. It was hard to tell if the presence if was feeling was a friendly one, watching his back, or an enemy waiting to strike him down.

He knew that Bruce was worried about the league of assassins. Batman hadn't run into Ra's Al Ghul in a while, and Bruce couldn't decipher why he would send his men after Tim now. Tim's works with Wayne Enterprise didn't interfere with any of the league business. There was nothing he could think of that would explain the sudden interest in Tim.

Everyone was worried about him. Bruce had demanded that Cass came home. She was by far the best fighter in the family and had been assigned as his unofficial bodyguard. Wherever he went, she was never far.

Usually, Tim would appreciate the time spent in her company, but he could tell she was tense. She was better at hiding than most, but they had known each other for a while, and Tim had been getting good at reading her microexpressions.

Not that Tim was faring better. Barely a day after he had gotten to the manor, he had received a gift elegantly wrapped. Bruce had been the one to open it in the batcave, not trusting a mysterious package arriving shortly after the attack.

The box hadn't exploded as they opened or anything of the kind. It simply held a dagger on a velvet pad. A very ancient and beautiful one, that was still sharp and ready to use. Guessing the origin of the dagger wasn't a hardship, especially considering the note that accompanied it. "You should always be prepared, Timothy."

That was a warning, Tim was sure. The assassin was playing with him. He wanted Tim to offer a bit more of a challenge.

Bruce had taken the note and analyze it thoroughly, from the type of paper to the handwriting. It was a lot of effort for nothing. It was unlikely that any of Ra's assassins would be in the cave database. Bruce didn't like not knowing why Tim was suddenly targeted by the league and not being able to predict when the next attack would come.

The next days passed in a tense atmosphere. Tim tried to relax and appreciate the time he got off work, but there were always shadows or doors creaking that made him jump to his feet, ready to fight for his life. That was not the greatest time off Tim could have had.

Tim was glad to be back at his office, finally able to take his mind off the attack to concentrate on his work, even if it meant waking up thirty minutes earlier than usual to put on make-up to cover his bruises.

Tim smiled at his secretary as if he was perfectly rested and had an awesome time during his break. She returned it with a knowing smile as if she was on a secret. Tim was pretty dumbfounded. He didn't think he had fooled her enough that she would actually think he had had that sort of fun while he was away. She seemed pretty excited nonetheless and Tim finally understood why when he entered his office. There was a beautiful bouquet of red tulips waiting for him in his office. Tim wasn't an expert when it came to the language of flower but it was pretty sure that red was the color of passion or something like that. It was doubtful that it was the company or a client sending it to him to say "good job".

Tim dismissed his secretary and gave a suspicious glare at the flowers. He had not been on a date in a while or even flirted with anyone recently. There was no reason for him to receive such a thing. Tim was almost tempted to send the flowers to be analyzed in case there were hiding poisonous spores but he would most likely pass as a madman to his employees. Still, he put in a far corner of the room, near the windows with the prepared excuse that flowers needed the sun to thrive. In a few days, it would be deemed acceptable for him to throw them away without generating gossip about him turning down an affectionate lover.

Tim spent most of his time working in the labs instead of his office, all to avoid the bouquet. Maybe he was just paranoid, but he preferred to be careful. Plus, that allowed him to also avoid his secretary who seemed to make him want to spill interesting details so that she could report them to the rest of the employees. Not that there was any to give. Tim just preferred to avoid the subject.

***

A week after he had gone back to work, Bruce deemed it safe enough for him to go back to his own loft. Alfred had dropped off some casseroles while Tim was still in his office, so Tim could sink onto his couch to eat a delicious meal while watching some shitty tv show.

It's only the following morning that he noticed the flowers in his room. A bouquet of purple hyacinth this time, according to the quick search he made.

Somehow, he doubted those had been from Alfred too. There was a note accompanying it this time, still handwritten in the same beautiful calligraphy. "Please accept my sincerest apologies, Timothy."

That had Tim wondering. Had the assassin not been sent by Ra's? He hadn't thought of one of Ra's agent going rogue. It could explain why he had never come back. Betraying Ra's often meant death.

Ra's Al Ghul wasn't the kind to lie, not like that anyway. If he had been the one threatening Tim's life, he wouldn't have tried to pretend otherwise. And the man did have a weird obsession with Tim at some point that could explain the tulips.

Tim wasn't one hundred percent sure that his life was no longer in danger, but he did finally start to relax.

Three weeks after the initial attack, Tim's peace was once again shattered. It was a different assassin this time. Not one trained by the league or with any real experience, Tim was sure of it as the man started to taunt him instead of doing his job, telling him how much money he would make from killing him and what he would do with that much in his pocket. His obvious excitation was short-lived as a bullet pierced his skull right in front of Tim. Tim saw the man's eyes widen suddenly in stupor just before he fell to the ground, lifeless.

Assassins were a daily occurrence after that, Tim having up to three attempts to his life in the span of twenty-four hours. Not that Tim expected anything else when he learned how much his head was worth. It seemed that if Ra's hadn't been behind the first attempt to his life, then it had given him an idea.

Weirdly enough, it seemed that all his attackers were taken down by the league's own agents before they could do any harm to him. It was as if Ra's was trying to eliminate all competition. But, Tim hardly understood why he had to be involved in that business.

It went on for weeks. Weeks spent worrying about an attack that may never come. Tim didn't understand why the league was stalling this much to finish the job. So he decided to finally act instead of waiting for assassins to attack again.

Without warning anyone of his intentions, Tim boarded a plane headed to Ra's latest known location. The probability that the man was still in a known base was very low, but Tim would try nonetheless.

Tim hesitated once he landed. He didn't have much of a plan, beyond demanding an audience with Ra's. He could be killed as soon as he crossed the threshold, and none would be the wiser. Tim wondered if he had really been the smarter Robin once upon a time, sure didn't felt like it now.

Tim took a hesitant step out of the plane before steeling himself. Showing weakness would do him no good, the least he could do was appear confident.

Guards watched him climb up the stairs without a word, not showing any signs that they would try to stop him even going as far as opening the door for him, slightly bowing as he passed. Tim's face was blank, seeming emotionless, but he was freaking out. It was almost as if his arrival had been expected, awaited even.

The White Ghost himself came to greet Tim quickly. It was yet another one. Ra's had gone through a few in past years. None had last long since his son's death.

Tim was lead to a grand room where a man that on a throne. The first thought when Tim's eyes felt on him was that the man looked regal in his green robe. The second he said aloud: "You're not Ra's Al Ghul."

The man seemed familiar even if Tim couldn't pinpoint from where, but not the leader of the league Tim knew. Definitely too young, the pit never made Ra's rejuvenated that way. Could be that Ra's soul had been transferred to a new body. He really hoped not.

"Ra's Al Ghul is the title of the one leading the League of Assassins, which I am. The man that preceded me is dead. For good."

"Did you kill him?" The question was out of Tim's mouth before he could stop himself. But the man didn't seem offended by the accusation.

"I did. Grandfather wanted to use my body as a vessel for himself. I choose to take his empire instead. It was my birthright, after all."

"You are Talia's son." They hadn't been aware that the Al Ghul family had expended. Tim hoped that hadn't been done with just the idea to provide a new body to Ra's. That would be twisted and horrible for the guy to be born for that sole purpose. And despite the moral instilled by his mentor, Tim found it hard to condemn Ra's murder.

"And Bruce's. I think you know my father rather well."

"What?"

Tim was having a hard time processing that bit of information. The man didn't seem to be lying, but how could the 'greatest detective' have ignored that bit of information.

"I believe you did not come to talk of my lineage, Timothy. I would like to reiterate my apology for hurting you the first time we met."

"That was you?"

"I'm afraid that yes. I had just taken control of the league, and I wanted to consolidate my power by eliminating all that Grandfather had seen as potential successors. Thankfully I saw your mark before my mistake became irreparable. I see now that you are not a threat to my reign. I will never again cause you harm. And I doubt any other will after all that tried in the last few weeks and failed. The world must have gotten my message."

"I'm not quite sure I understand."

The man stood to cross most of the distance separating him from Tim, stopping only a few feet away. His face only showed determination as he took the hem of his clothes in his hands and started to divest.

"Ra's." Tim stammered out, not quite knowing how to refer to the man.

"You may call me Damian, habibi."

Tim didn't react to the pet name, his eyes fixated on his mark adorning Damian's skin. Their soulmark.

Tim gaped inelegantly, short of words to express his emotion. He was beyond shocked. He hadn't given much thought to his mark in years. Not many had one, and finding one's match was rare as most people preferred to ignore it to make their own choices.

"I would like to offer you a place at my side to lead the league."

Tim was about to answer but Damian shushed him.

"Do not think of what the league had done so far, but what you could do with its many resources. Take your time to think about it. I will in Gotham in a few days, you can tell me your answer over a date."

Damian escorted back to his plan, bidding his goodbye to Tim with a single blossom of red salvia. A token of his intentions.

Tim was quite relieved that Damian didn't insist he stay longer. He had a lot to think about and some time alone would do him some good.

A true partner of Batman should have said no right away, but Tim saw all the possibilities, all the changes he could bring to the world with the league shaped to his image. The proposition was tempting and Tim was already making plans in his mind.

Tim wasn't quite sure what to make of Damian. The man's apparent desire to date, since he was not based on anything relevant. But Tim's love's life had been non-existent since Tam and he could admit that sometimes he got pretty lonely. He could even admit that Damian was easy on the eyes when he wasn't trying to kill him. It wouldn't hurt to go on a date.

The only problems were Damian's role as the leader of a criminal organization that his family had often fought against. And that he was Bruce's son.

Tim rolled the flower between his fingers, a soft smile on his face. For once, he would take time to enjoy his life and worry later. He didn't have to tell anything to his mentor and let Damian deal with it when the time came. It sounded like a good plan.

#TimDami #timdamiweek2020 #damitim

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dear-yandere · 5 years ago

Text

normal again.

don! giorno giovanna. word count: roughly 1,300. warning: implied isolation and dependency. dedicated to: @ddarker-dreams, and a very late birthday present for giorno !

art credit: unknown.

"Beautiful, aren’t they?”

They would be, if you weren’t here against your will. The elephants are certainly pleasant to see, though you would’ve preferred a date with other people around. Being alone with a kidnapper who thinks he’s done everything in his power for your own good is dangerous to your sanity. At some point, you caught yourself starting to agree with his twisted way of thinking. Stir-crazy, you’re going stir-crazy from being trapped on an island with no people; it’s to be expected, but Giorno insists his company alone is enough to curb your loneliness.

The company of a sociopath wouldn’t be pleasant to anyone, but you decide to keep that to yourself.

Giorno twines his hand in yours and continues his explanation. “When elephants lose a mate, they can die from a broken heart. They’re one of the only animals who die from heartbreak.” His tone seems to mourn all creatures who have died of heartbreak, and his expression is so soft it could trick you into thinking you finally understood his heart. “They are such peaceful creatures who put their family and loved ones above all else. How cruel it is to be taken down by their own beating heart.” He laments and directs his attention to you, growing worried for your taciturn nature today. He decides to lighten the topic.

“Do you want to touch them? They’re friendly, I assure you.” He offers with a charming smile, pointing at a full-grown elephant in the enclosure. The creature easily dwarfs you even from afar, but it carries a gentle air about it, and Giorno takes this as an opportunity to teach, as he so often loves to do on your little dates. “Some say they’re just like humans. If you treat them harshly, they’ll react harshly; but if you treat them well, they’re perhaps more altruistic and loving than humans.” The skin around his eyes tighten with a smile. They are social creatures indeed, and had this island been populated, they would make wonderful additions to a local zoo for the masses. He’d love to bring you every so often, if that were the case... “You are kind, so they won’t hurt you, cara.” He offers a reassuring squeeze against your hand, which you return in kind.

You’re tempted, to be truthful. Animals don’t sound so bad right now, especially if they are the only company you’re allowed; though, it dawns on you that they might be the only living thing you have contact with for the rest of your life. “Sorry... I’ll pass, really”, the words slip out before you can think of how they might hurt him, but you’d rather not get too attached to animals who die so easily of heartbreak. They... they remind you too much of Giorno. And perhaps, you, in some distant future where you are no longer yourself, some future where he whittles you down to your basic pieces and reconstructs you as something else entirely.

“Ah...” Giorno hums — almost mournfully — and nods. He’s never been one to force you into anything, that is if you disregard your current situation as a hostage bound to an island no one has ever heard of. There are limits to the freedom he'll allow, he’s explained, not that you ever understood his twisted rationale. The only human contact you’ve gotten in the past three months is him. Not even the personally-appointed bodyguards could interact with you unless an emergency arises. It’s lonely. You’re so fucking lonely it’s starting to drive you insane; you’d taken to speaking with the flowers in the garden, at one point... until your realized Giorno must have created them himself. It’s pitiful, really, almost as if you’re talking to his flowers to fill how much you miss him—how much you miss human contact.

“Perhaps the marine exhibit will be more to your liking, amore mio.” There’s an unmistakable swell in his voice — he’s always been partial to sea animals, and you can practically see on his face that he has a wealth of information to bestow. “They recently added a family of emperor penguins and elephant seals. I’m sure you’ll like them as much as I do!” He chirps and slides his hand against yours, taking it into his own.

The disgust you feel stirs conflict in your head. Every time he twines those gentle, warm hands with yours, you want to puke knowing how freely he touches you; yet, a dark, revolting part of you whines to never let go. His fingers fit so perfectly against yours, his skin free of the distasteful wear and tear of a mafioso’s life. These hands have held weapons you’d drop in a heartbeat, have been stained with blood of people you can only hope weren’t innocent, have killed people you know nothing of. Would it be better to know, or has being locked away from the outside world driven you to a point of gory curiosity? You’d kill for any information not contained to this island, for news of the outside world, of your friends and family, or even just your home town.

He taken that all away in a heartbeat and he has the gall to hold you as if he hadn’t. And yet, you don’t understand if you hate or love him. Perhaps what he says is true; perhaps... he really did do this all for you.

“We’re here, cara.” Giorno smiles when he tries to pull his hand away, only to realize you’re holding too tightly to let go. “Or would you prefer to hold hands for the rest of the day?...”, he trails off, and the rare blush that dusts his cheeks nearly makes our heart leap from your chest. He... he hasn’t smiled like that in weeks, you recall, and as much as you want to hate him, to villainize and condemn and curse him, you couldn’t. For a split second, everything felt normal. The earthy scent of the zoo smells normal rather than oppressive, and the lack of people and workers almost seems... mundane, in comparison. The Don of Passione is a simple man on a date with his beloved.

“I’d like that.”

Your answer comes as a surprise to you both, and the normalcy of it all tastes like dark chocolate or black coffee — bittersweet, addictive like a drug. What happened to resisting him? How could a simple smile make you speak as if... as if everything he’s done is okay? How is it that you find yourself craving that feeling, chasing it with outstretched arms and starry eyes, wishing he’d act like a lover rather than a boy forced to grow up far too early? This isn’t like you, but this island is lonely, with houses shrouded in silence and streets left deserted — this life he’s created for you is hollow and he is the only thing that’s whole.

You can’t stay broken forever.

“Keep your word. Don’t let go for the rest of the day.” You give his hand a soft, hesitant squeeze, scared his words are just for show, scared he’ll leave you alone for days on end again; and he chooses the ignore the fear that rolls off your body like waves, scared he’ll get caught in the tides like a shipwreck, scared that this is all a dream.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

The feeling of his skin against yours, holding tightly like a noose, is still disgusting, but you’re desperate. He is warm, so warm you realize you’ve been cold all along, waiting for him to return to this little island in the middle of nowhere.

He took your sun with such ease, you hadn’t realized he’d taken its place.

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hyper-fixate · 4 years ago

Text

you wouldn’t believe the dream I just had about you and me

[The other night, during a 3 am feed, I saw a post about soulmate prompts (I found it!) and saw this one (paraphrased):

20. They recognize their soulmate because they’ve heard their laughter in their dreams.

And today, those immortal husbands wouldn’t let me leave it be. Title from Some Nights by Fun.]

updated with AO3 version.

------- Yusuf remembered when his older brother, Hamza, had gotten married to a shy dress maker from the village over. She looked beautiful. She had hand stitched a beautiful pattern across the skirt of her simple tunic, with looping branches and leaves. A tree, the joining of two families to make one. Yusuf had been intrigued by it, choosing to sit by his new sister’s knee and gently traced his fingers along it. Something in the soft blue-green thread intrigued him. He knew he would sketch it in the hearth this evening, as he lay watching the fire dwindle to embers. His mother tried to shoo him away, admonishing him for touching the precious dress with his sticky fingers but Karima gently placed her hand on the nape of his neck and smiled at him beneath her veil.

‘Are you happy to be married to my brother?’ Yusuf asked breathlessly. Only seven, but already his mind was filled with the glory of love. The romance he still saw in his parents eyes as they brushed gentle fingers against each other’s cheeks and arms. He knew his parent’s love story and it warmed him to know that they were blessed with so many long, happy years together. He fell asleep with the same fervent prayer on his lips: let me have a soulmate too.

‘Yes, little brother.’ Karima glanced at Hamza in a way that was so tender and loving, Yusuf blushed as though he had intruded on something intimate. ‘From the moment I heard his laugh, it was as if a great weight was lifted from me.’

‘Then I heard hers, and she snorts. Like a boar.’ Hamza had come over to them, grasping one of Karima’s hands in his and drawing it to his lips. She swatted at him with her free hand, but she did laugh. And it did end in a small snort, a joyous noise that seemed to escape her against her will.

‘How did you know, then,’ Yusuf considered his words carefully, ‘that it was dreams of your soulmate and not a boar?’

That drew a great laugh from Hamza. He laughed with his whole body, throwing his head back and even Karima giggled lightly.

‘Little brother, your mind is a treasure.’ Hamza gently ran his thumb over Karima’s knuckles and they exchanged that look again. ‘I must continue to check on our guests? Do you need anything?’

‘No, our little brother is taking good care of me.’ Karima said and Yusuf felt the tops of his ears heat at the easy nature in which she accepted him. Hamza kissed her hand again and, with a whispered endearment, left them. Karima looked down into Yusuf’s shining eyes.

‘Do you wish to know a secret?’ She looked at him conspiratorially, and he nodded. ‘You must not say anything.’ Yusuf held his finger over his lips, to mime his silence. ‘But a part of me was so glad that my soul was bound to one so handsome and I was instantly ashamed. To be gifted a soulmate so close and so easy to find and to be concerned with his looks?’ She sighed, leaning back into her chair. ‘But what has been the greatest blessing is getting to hear your brother’s laugh at all hours of the day, not just in my dreams.’

She had a hazy smile on her lips, one Yusuf knew well from watching his parents. He had tried to capture that smile in drawings. Tried to imagine it on his own face when he caught his reflection in still water. To imagine the contentment of knowing you had found the other half of your soul, that you were finally on the path you had been destined to tread. He swallowed painfully.

For Yusuf had a secret. A dark, terrible secret, that felt so heavy in his young heart.

Yusuf was not certain he had a soulmate.

He knew how it worked. That when your soulmate laughed, you would hear it that night in your dreams. His father, Ibrahim, had spoken of the joy he had, growing up and hearing his mother’s light laugh every night. How happy he’d been, knowing his future partner was so carefree and easy to laugh. How he’d felt his heart would explode when he’d heard that laugh, outloud, that fateful day in the market. How it had speared him through his heart. And Yusuf had sighed at the romanticism of it.

But Yusuf didn’t hear laughter in his dreams. Not really. Sometimes he thought he heard small huffs, little sighs of sound. But never laughter. Not the type that seemed to ring in his family home at all times of the day. When Ibrahim caught Mariam in his arms and swung her. When Hamza told stories of the men at the docks, trying to haggle for the wares. When Karima brought him sweets from the market.

When Hamza and Karima announced that there would be even more laughter to look forward to, their intertwined hands splayed over her flat stomach.

He was nearly thirteen when Yusuf woke suddenly, spilling the papers he had been sketching on before he’d fallen asleep. He couldn’t remember falling asleep, but he knew what had woken him. A deep noise that sounded warm and joyful, but still so restrained. As he chased the dream, the noise seemed to slip through his memory and he couldn’t hold it. But a small giggle bubbled from his own lips.

It had been a laugh.

He had a soulmate.

A more painful thought occurred to him, then. His soulmate had had so very little opportunity to laugh that it had taken nearly thirteen years to hear it properly. He did not think discovering he had a soulmate would have made his heart heavier. But the ache in his chest when he realised that there was someone out there for him, but that this person did not have the joy Yusuf had? That cut him deeply. He scrambled out of bed and folded his body into the familiar shape of prayer. He swore, as solemnly as he could, to bring such joy to his partner that he would know that dreamy contentment Karima had shared with him all those years ago, on her wedding day. I will hear your laugh at all hours of the day, to make up for years worth of missed dreams.

Yusuf, like any good romantic, was also predisposed to fits of melancholy. He was not sure what he had done to upset Allah. He had had a good childhood, his silent existential crisis about not having a soulmate not withstanding. He had enjoyed his work with his father and brother, travelling by land and sea to trade their goods. Some part of him kept his feet moving. He seemed to know, deep down, that his quiet, solemn soulmate would not be found in the next village over. So he had travelled happily, easily charming those he met with a sharp wit and an easy wink. At every new market, new town, new inn, he wondered if this would be the moment he heard it. Heard the laugh that would begin his life anew.

Then that damned Frankish pope had called his holy war and everything had changed.

There was no laughter anywhere, not anymore. Not when Yusuf’s days were spent trudging through endless sands with this damned man. He’s not sure what made him offer his hand in peace after the last time they woke up. Honestly, it was more fatigue than any sort of mercy. He was covered in sand, his own blood, the Frank’s (Nicolo, his mind unhelpfully supplied) blood. There was bone and gore in his hair, caked under his nails and in his mouth. Surely anything would be better than this. Even walking with his once enemy who was trapped in this living hell with him.

It took many weeks for them to realise they shared a common language. It took them months to accept that whatever curse they both suffered had held and that perhaps, they should stop trying to kill one another and at least be civil.

Nicolo’s Greek was slow and halting, half remembered from when he was a boy and before he had been promised to the church. Yusuf’s years of travelling made languages easier for him and between Greek and exaggerated hand movements, he had begun to pick up bits and pieces of Nicolo’s mother tongue. Nicolo still tripped over Arabic hopelessly, but was a dedicated student. He asked constantly for the names of things and spent hours repeating them to himself, to try and imprint them on his tongue.

Yusuf watched his hopeless companion and decided that perhaps he had not angered Allah that badly. Though their meeting had been so violent, he had seen a kindness under the layers of doctrine and faith, an eagerness to learn and experience this new world. Nicolo was distractedly oiling his long sword whilst clumsily rolling the strange Arabic consonants and vowels around his tongue. He misprounounced every word.

His companion was amusing if nothing else. And a fairly good cook.

And that’s why you don’t tempt fate. Yusuf thought a moment later, as his musings were cut short by the sharp pain in his neck and he barely had time to see Nicolo jump to his feet as his world tilted sideways and went dark.

Yusuf awoke with a violent gasp. He sat up, his hands scrambling to his neck. His fingers found nothing but tacky blood. Nicolo was watching him, his eyes oddly bright in the dying light.

‘What happened?’ Yusuf asked, his voice rasping. He put his hands on his thighs, trying to ground himself. Nicolo moved back slowly, sitting down in front of Yusuf.

‘Bandits.’ Nicolo jutted his chin towards his right. Yusuf saw two bodies laying in pools of dark blood. ‘They shot you with an arrow.’ A small movement out of the corner of his eye drew Yusuf’s gaze back to Nicolo. He was holding an arrow bolt in his hand. ‘You did not wake up.’ Nicolo said, swallowing hard. ‘Not until I pulled out the arrow. I had thought-’ There was a half strangled sound from the Genoan. ‘I was wondering if your stubborn refusal to die was just at my hand.’ Nicolo said it so quietly, Yusuf’s tired brain took a moment to make sense of it.

It was easier to understand Nicolo’s tone in zeneize, his mother tongue. But Yusuf could hear fear in this man’s voice in any language. Anger and fear had been their first shared language, after all. Yusuf tore his eyes from the arrow, the arrow Nicolo had to tear from his neck, and back at his companion and saw the other man’s tunic was covered in blood.

‘Are you well?’ Yusuf reached out, his hand poised in the air between him. Nicolo didn’t move away, but stared at Yusuf’s hand as one would a snake about to strike. ‘Did they hurt you?’ Yusuf tried to make the return of his hand seem casual and not stilted, but the tension still hung in the air.

‘This is mostly yours.’ Nicolo said, waving to his chest. ‘It sprouted out of you like a fountain when I pulled this out.’ He rubbed a hand across his cheek, smearing more blood. He grimaced when his hands came away tacky. ‘How bad is it?’

‘For you? It’s an improvement.’ Yusuf said in perfect zeneize and in such a deadpan manner that it startled a laugh out of his companion.

Yusuf froze.

For a full moment, he wondered distantly if his heart had actually stopped and he was in the liminal space between their deaths and their gasping rebirth.

Nicolo laughed. Nicolo laughed.

And Yusuf knew that laugh.

He moved almost as a blur, reaching for Nicolo before the other man could react. Yusuf’s hands caught Nicolo’s face and the force of his movement knocked the paler man back, wedged uncomfortably, half on his knees and half on his pack. Nicolo squawked indignantly, trying to move away, his hands searching for a weapon on instinct. But it was too far away and the manner in which Yusuf had pinned him made it impossible to lever himself off his feet. Yusuf shushed him, softly, gently. Trying to convey that he meant no harm as one hand slid Nicolo’s hair away from his face and Yusuf searched those damned beautiful eyes for something.��

‘What are you doing?’ Nicolo, extremely confused and uncomfortable, stumbled out in slightly mispronounced Arabic, following it with a small huff at the manic look on Yusuf’s face. And it speared Yusuf right through the heart.

He knew that sound too. And his heart flew and broke and started thumping in his chest as if it wished to escape his flesh. Something had to escape, so Yusuf threw his head back and laughed. Nicolo went still under him, his eyes blown wide.

‘Mio Dio.’ Nicolo gasped under him and Yusuf couldn’t help himself.

He laughed again.

(Prologue, of sorts)

‘And I kept my promise, I have tried every day to make him laugh. If only I’d known as a boy, so unsure of my dreams, how those small noises of joy would make my heart soar. How drawing a full bodied laugh from this quiet, thoughtful priest would make my blood boil in a very different way then when we met-’ Joe says

‘Yes, yes. We get it. You’re still disgustingly sweet.’ Andy sits down, her hands curled around a vodka bottle and offers it to Nile. Nile shakes her head. Andy takes a swig straight from the top.

‘Wait, so you didn’t laugh around each other for months?’ Nile looks slightly dazed.

Nicky shrugs. ‘We were too busy trying to kill each other.’

Joe laughs.

Nicolo’s point of view here.

#Joe x nicky #the old guard #immortal husbands #kaysanova #yusuf al-kaysani #nicolo di genova #soulmate au #fanfic #I just can't stop thinking of all of joe's great big laughs and nicky's little small ones #I may have also changed the word fringe to hair #10 years in the uk and I still couldn't do it #but bangs just sounds silly #beans writes fanfic

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elizabethrobertajones · 4 years ago

Note

Saw you've been sucked into the MMO life in the form of FFXIV and I was wondering if you had any input into the debate I've been having about what class archetypes tfw would play. I think Sam would be most likely to tank because it requires a reasonable amount of leadership and is also more of a quiet, backbone type role compared to dps. Dean seems more the type to be singularly focused on the big damage hits tbh. He also tends to take more of the charging in and fighting role in their normal life with Sam being the one reading up on everything more carefully and being his backup. Which leaves Cas as healer which may just be me projecting because I play healer/support at every opportunity but literal angel healing aside I think that sorta fits too, he cares a lot for them and tries to keep them safe and shield them as best he can in their adventures? Idk half formed thoughts please completely contradict me if you want I'm genuinely curious about other people's opinions here

Heyooo :D It is less sucked into and more like I’ve returned to the warm cushiony nest of MMOs lol

If you’d asked me back when I was a WoW player I’d have fully agreed because you could only have one class per character and these are definitely the snap decisions that the fam would make when on the character screen. Dean would grab the sexiest DPS, Sam the stoutest tank especially as he’s the one who has read into the classes and strats beforehand, and Cas would ask what to do and be given the healer role because the other two in this scenario would know better about the game and sort of lump it onto him like, oh, we need a healer and you can do this.

(In my own gaming journey, this is what my friends and brother did to me, as they needed a healer to round out their party... I took druid because it was spoopy, and discovered in WoW that while you can’t change classes you can pay gold to respec your character’s role within that class... Promptly re-specced to a melee dps/tank feral druid instead of the healer one, and had a lot more fun :D)

In FFXIV you can take all the classes on your character (which I have done, natch) and it’s a much more interesting levelling approach, especially seeing how my friends playing the game have gone when it comes to taking classes as they level and why they claim to have tried and then rejected others. It’s an enormous personality test, even for peeps like me and my brother who have all the classes up at max level, which ones we prioritised and which ones we sort of struggled with or found a bit meh.

Hm so in the scenario that Charlie comes bursting into the Bunker demanding that she needs some friends for dungeons and raids and they’re all sitting on their asses scrolling the internet between a case, they can bloody well play final fantasy with her for a bit, let’s go for some headcanons :D Long because FFXIV has become my current obsession and I have the same in-depth feels about it as I do about SPN but I just never get to write about them with anyone...

First off, Sam of course has deep nerdery about it and will ask Charlie a ton of questions about what the right class to play is and do the same thing as we’ve already discussed and go for Paladin (which starts as gladiator), and also take all the crafting and gathering side classes because he’s a nerd and you learn nonsense lore while doing it. He’s also in the same starting zone as Thaumaturge which transitions to Black Mage and I BET he’d be tempted to have a little safe witch!Sam emotional release on the most un-Sam class. It’s the big unwieldy spell caster whose literal class quests and stuff make fun of how you’re small and squishy and will be standing in a very bad spot debating whether to finish a long-cast spell and get hit or stop DPS and run for safety. I think he could do with the perspective and learning to be selfish either way to blow off steam from tanking and also learn to prioritise himself IRL :’D Also the paladin quest is WEIRDLY pro-cop from 30 onwards for some reason until the writers saw sense and just. stopped. doing paladin stuff and went back to the Gladiator storyline for the class quests, so idk if he’d enjoy that or start to question other things. Whatever it is he’s getting challenged XD

At 60 he grabs Gunbreaker because it sounds more cool and is thankfully way less emotionally stressful tanking as it’s entirely about being a badass bodyguard and sick flips. This is far more aspirational for Sam, especially as he could just tie a knife to a sawn off shotgun and do these moves for real in his day job. He won’t, but like with black mage, the thought that he COULD is very emotionally satisfying to him.

He might also have decided to check out scholar to see how healing is but idk if he would be able to handle Dean teasing him for having a fairy follow him around so he’d only dabble with the nerd class on the side :P

Now, Dean can’t take ninja until level 10 or machinist (gun shooty DPS class) until 50, so his start point as DPS would either be pugilist (eeeey brass knuckle class!) or the other DPS classes to start with are Thaumaturge/Black Mage, Arcanist/Summoner, Archer or Lancer. Now. He’d probably think the first two are sissy because magic is for girls/arcanists literally only have a book as a weapon. Archer becomes bard and I think is ultimately a place he’d be very happy as it is a very supportive class to the whole party and basically the mom friend class. But I would love if he went lancer/dragoon because the level 50 class weapon is (folklore inspired name) “Gae Bolg” and every time I equip it I can’t help giggling at the name even though I know it’s a real thing and I shouldn’t. But. Like. It’s the class about waving enormous lances around. It’s got Implications, and Dean is drawn to those.

He’d probably, however, take rogue/ninja as soon as he could because stabbing things with knives, and the class trainer is the kinda guy who’d have wild gay tension with him while they both try to boast about women to each other, were they to meet irl. Ironically, the rogue trainer (a womanising charmer) and the ninja trainer (an intense, honourable guy bad at social cues even among his own people who ends up falling from grace and choosing to stay in the vicinity of said rogue trainer) are an interesting pair of NPCs to teach Dean about where to stick knives. :)

He’d go back and power-level dragoon once he starts Heavensward though, because Aymeric is also super intense with messy dark hair and big blue eyes that see right through you. :D He’s getting that gae bolg for him, you know?

If they’re going to bully Cas to be their healer, he’d probably get really dedicated to the discipline especially as he can stay up all night to play and doesn’t need to take breaks to pee so he’d probably level conjurer/white mage (nature healing) and scholar (ancient book lore with a class quest which mixes ancient curses on a whole people, family drama and a bit of interspeciesish love) and then also pick up astrologian, which is good because it’s spooky star and making your own fate magic. The storyline for that is garbage in the sense that it’s really weakly written, but my favourite character randomly picks up AST in the latest expansion, and has an absolutely fucking wild subtextual romance with another character, including SPN level adopting of a random child who matches Jack in many respects, with said character. And in many respects emotionally they’re Cas and Dean but without any of the personal baggage between them specifically so they really are just chill and married, whatever else they’re stressed about (I say, dreading the next patch is going to finally bring up some questions about what is going on with them as it’s getting weirdly conspicuous while still utterly unsaid). So I would hope if Cas started projecting onto an astrologian character it would be him :P

Cas also would get into summoner as the other branch of scholar because honestly those two classes are about as close to the random sigil drawing and reading things from books etc analogy to his own occult magic, except you can summon cool dragons and elementals to fight for you.

they’d buy Jack a boost to 60 and he’d pick up dark knight and white mage probably just to subtly fuck with Dean

(I am still not over Dean trying to test him to see if he was evil or not by whether he chose devil or angel cake)

#Asks #ffxiv #pfft #I'm sorry #I'm like #in the rabbit hole #I'm so in deep in the rabbit hole I've memorised all the lore #I did every quest #I am as forensic about it as I am about SPN but it's all just in my head!!#AAAH why is the fandom for this game small and uninterested in talking about subtext!#[edit to add: if you know where the fandom I'm seeking is and it's on reddit #I'm not going there and you can't pay me to for all the thancred headcanons in eorzea]

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peonybane · 4 years ago

Text

Beyond the Veil: Part 1

Pairing: Choi Youngjae (GOT7) x Psychopomp!Reader

Word Count: 8.3 k

Genre: Fantasy, Fluff, Angst, Psychopomp AU, Doctor AU

Warnings: Mentions and depictions of death (I don’t know how to word this as… this is a story about a Grim Reaper), Pining (so much pining)

Summary: Life is a gift. Every Spirit of Death knew this. They weren’t allowed to touch Life — weren’t allowed to experience it. Every once in a while they can, the unspoken rule being that Death can only fall in love once with Life. And never again.

Author’s Note: Thank you to everyone for your patience with me on this. Especially since this was suppose to be a one-shot and I’ve learn my lesson that it is not. Thank you to the platonic love of my life, @ropeseok for putting up with me through this whole process.

If you’d like to notified/tagged when PART 2 comes out, please reblog this part!

White. Sterile. The overwhelming use of anti-septic burned your nose slightly. A hospital. Here you were again. You practically lived here. Though, you supposed there was worse places you could end up as a Spirit of Death. You could’ve ended up like some of your brethren, always seeming to be summoned to battlefields. Or worse….

You shook the thought from your head. No, things could be far worse. Besides, Death was inevitable. No one could run from it. No one could fight it… not really. It was just a matter of how each soul would meet their escort.

You wandered the halls, the humans not noticing you at all. Looking down, you watched as the threads of your dress — thin, wispy grey tendrils, really — swayed and snaked around you, eventually fading away into nothing as they connected to the souls that you’d eventually escort, all varying shades of grey. One of the threads pulsed and darkened — this was the reason why you were here today — you were here to escort a soul.

Wandering around the hospital, you kept an eye on the thread — you had some time before you had to collect the soul. No need to rush being a voyeur to pain and grief.

Instead, you wandered over to the ward that was your secret pleasure: the maternity ward.

Babies were… fascinating to you. After all, most of those you interacted with were the aged and sick. You dealt with the inevitable. But birth… birth was practically magic to you. Despite the tales told by humans, your kind was not omnipotent — you just knew a few more certainties than humans did. But birth… was the greatest mystery of all….

It was the greatest forbidden fruit.

But more than just the babies, you came to this ward for a particular reason: Dr. Choi.

You nearly missed him — his back facing towards you, the white lab coat obstructing his figure before he turned at the last moment. He was excusing himself from a patient’s room, just down the hall from you. You probably would have missed him entirely if it wasn’t for his laugh. The place where you should’ve had a heart gave a small pitter patter when you saw him. He was… so full of life. The dedication he had for his patients. His zest for life. His laugh. He fascinated you in ways you never knew was possible.

He still made you feel the way you had the first time you saw him.

You got lost, actually, ending up in the wrong operating room. As an OB/GYN surgeon, he was skilled as he performed a c-section. What fascinated you was that as he was performing the operation, he kept speaking to the mother, reassuring her of how well she was doing. Even cracking a joke or two when he realized she was starting to freak out.

You were so distracted in that moment, you almost missed getting the soul you needed to retrieve, lest their soul wander free and reek havoc, haunting the world as they looked for their bodies or searched for the Forest.

Dr. Choi (you’d yet to hear his first name, you didn’t want to, you didn’t want to get too attached) adjusted his sterile blue scrubs before he made his way towards his office. You were tempted to follow him, just to watch him from afar… just like you always had.

“If you stare at him any harder, you’re going to set him on fire.”

You jumped at the sound of Jaebeom’s voice. “Dammit, Jaebeom! Don’t do that.”

You turned around, staring up into the dark eyes of Jaebeom, a named Spirit of Death — your brother in some sense. His shaggy, long black hair was pulled away from his face, showing off his piecing dark eyes. He smirked down at you, his stance utterly relaxed under his own Death Shroud, a duster jacket. On his shoulders, his Bombay feline familiar, Haneul, laid across his broad shoulders, her sleek, black fur almost disappearing under the blanket of Jaebeom’s own hair, her bright yellow eyes staring at you sleepily.

“Long time no see, little Morana.”

You rolled your eyes at him. You hated it when he called you that. Though to be fair… you didn’t have a name. None of the Spirits of Death did; instead — they’d take on a title of sorts, using names the humans made up if need be. The only way to have a Name, one that no one could take or abuse, was to live a Life.

A Life which Jaebeom lived to the fullest.

“It’s good to see you, Jaebeom.” You looked around. “Where’s the kittens?”

Jaebeom laughed. He reached into the deep pockets of his jacket and with withdrew his two other familiars, Yugyeom and Kunpimook. The older of the two, Kunpimook was lovingly called BamBam for all the trouble he caused as a lanky, white haired, green-eyed Oriental Shorthair. Yugyeom was a giant, blue eyed, fluffy, grey Maine Coon. Both of them looked at you, almost angrily, having their naps disturbed.

You smiled as Jaebeom passed off Yugyeom to you, the big boy immediately purring into your arms. Jaebeom smiled as he cuddled BamBam in his own arms. “He missed you.”

You smiled a little. You couldn’t hear Jaebeom’s familiars. Only he could. His mind was connected to theirs, their bond cemented when the foursome was human.

“I can tell.”

Everything was silent for a moment. Even the sound of nurses wandering around the ward seemed to have quieted down for a moment. You hadn’t seen Jaebeom for a while. Not since he came back from living amongst humans. You, Jaebeom, and Haneul were inseparable for the first few years after Haneul died, helping Jaebeom return to his previous duties as a Spirit of Death.

“What are you doing here, Jaebeom?”

Jaebeom practically bristled. Well, Haneul did anyways. “It’s your 1,500th year, right?”

You sighed. Of course. That was why he was here.

Yugyeom nuzzled further into your touch, smushing his face into the crook of your arm. Jaebeom continued. “I just... I heard that you were thinking about not accepting Hermes’ gift for once. You’ve always accept his gift before. Do — Do you want to talk about it?”

Sighing, you looked away from Jaebeom, no longer able to meet his gaze. He leaned down to be eye level with you. Haneul pushed off his broad shoulder a little to head butt you to get your attention. “Do you want to talk about him?”

You scoffed. “I’m not in love.”

“Could have fooled me. Besides, I never mentioned anything about love.”

Biting your lower lip, you asked, “Am I actually in love with him? Or do I just want what you have and see him as a means to an end? Either way — I shouldn’t tempt Fate.”

He was silent as he thought about it. “Only you can answer that. But I would give him a chance, either way. I wasn’t sure if I was truly in love with Haneul. But I trusted my instincts. How could I not take a chance when I couldn’t take my eyes off her? How could I not want her with me forever from the moment her gaze fell upon me? Not through me.”

His voice grew softer as he continued. “Our existence is a lonely one. Do you know why Hermes lets us live as humans for just one day every 500 years? Or why we’re allowed to live amongst them for a single lifetime?”

Swallowing, you shook your head. In comparisons to Jaebeom, you were practically a baby. Hermes was distant. He didn’t interact with his… children too much anymore.

Jaebeom stroked your hair, his gaze growing soft and tender. “Because he wants his children to have what he never could: to experience Life. To find companionship. There are nearly a million of us. But each of us is alone; our existence just an inevitable truth. A kindness. A tragic truth. We are alone, even when we’re together. But a lifetime with humans — the memories are fulfilling. We can fall in love —“

Haneul nuzzled Jaebeom, purring. In Life, they were married. For a moment, you wondered if their souls (or at least whatever your kind had) were entwined from the beginning of time. “— We can have a family.”

His gaze fell to the cats happily snoozing in both of your arms. In Life, they were Jaebeom and Haneul’s adopted sons, Jaebeom never being able to father any.

“Please… talk to me. Out of all our nameless brothers and sisters, I worry about you the most.”

Sniffling, you wiped the tears threatening to fall from your eyes, nearly dropping Yugyeom in the process. “I — I don’t want to condemn him. Like you said, our existence is a lonely one. And — And he’s just so full of Life. How could I surround him by death? Human always see us as a horribly dark thing.”

Jaebeom kissed your forehead. “Don’t make that decision for him. Let him choose.”

You opened your mouth to reply, to argue, then you felt the pull.

It was time.

It was time to collect the soul.

As if sensing it, Jaebeom took Yugyeom from your arms again, cradling the two overgrown kittens like babies. Your dress slowly started to change. From the simple dress, your Death Shroud changed into that of a military uniform, the grey threads unweaved themselves then reweaved, forming the new garment as it paled, turning white. Like it always did when it was time to guide a soul.

You no longer felt your body change — you had long since lost interest in the change. Your form changed to whatever the soul needed from you to find comfort. Sometimes it was just your face. Other times you might physically regress back to the form of a child, making the tragic loss a little less painful. At times, you might have ‘aged,’ providing comfort in being a quiet companion in their final stroll. And on rare occasions, your sex would change — a moment of familiarity or perhaps even safety, a small reassurance that everything would be ok — that you were nothing like the monsters they were finally escaping.

Glancing up, or rather, to, Jaebeom, your gaze no longer turned upward to meet his piercing eyes. Ah, probably meant you either resembled someone much taller than you’d normally stand, or your apparent sex had changed.

Looking you over, Jaebeom gave you a solemn nod. “Whatever you choose, little one….”

“I know,” sounding the same to your own ears, but probably vastly different to Jaebeom’s as his eyes widened slightly.

You gave him a casual salute before walking off in the direction of the soul you needed to collect. Glancing around, you tried to catch another glimpse of Dr. Choi. But he was nowhere to be seen. You let out a small sigh, disappointed before you headed towards the intensive care ward.

You phased through various walls until you found yourself in the right place. You could practically smell his soul becoming weaker and weaker. Your gaze following the thread that led from your Shroud, the thread this time at your left wrist, to his right hand, having wrapped around it along his life line.

There, in a hospital bed, laid an old man on a ventilator, his wife sitting next to him, her hand clutching his. His heartbeat grew slower, his eyes glassy. Slowly, you joined the two of them as you stood to the opposite side of the bed of his wife. He let out an exhale as his eyes focused in on you, finally seeing you.

It was time.

Leaning forward, you pressed your lips to his forehead. He took his last breath, his eyes falling closed. The heart rate monitor flat lined; his wife began to sob.

As you pulled away, you grasped his now lifeless hands, gently coaxing his soul from his body. Standing before you was not the withered, old man that laid in the bed. No, instead, it was a man in his prime, adorned in a perfectly maintained uniform and various medals on his chest.

You smiled at him. “On your feet, Captain. It’s time for your next mission.”

He looked around, dazed. He seemed solid enough. At least until he reached out to touch his wife, his hand going right through her. Staring at his hand, he asking you, shakily, “Am I dead?”

Gently, you replied, “Yes,” taking his hands in yours.

His eyes grew large. You squeezed his hands, trying to help him keep calm. “What… What about my wife?”

You glanced over to the woman, still weeping for the loss of her husband as a nurse entered the room. You were not her guide. You didn’t know when exactly when she’d die. But you could tell… she had a few years left in her.

“Do you have children? Grandchildren?”

He nodded. “Three daughters. Four grandbabies with two more on the way.”

You smiled at him. “She’ll be ok. As long as she has them, the rest of her life will be good. Even as she misses you. But you’ll be together soon. You just have to wait for her on the other side.”

He nodded again, slowly. He let go of your hands, turning back towards his wife. He leaned over and did the best he could, kissing her forehead. He whispered, “I love you, yeobo. I’ll wait for you.”

Turning back towards you, stood at attention, saluting you. In turn, you returned the gesture. “Shall we go, Captain?”

“Yes.”

You nodded. At your hip, you reached for your Sickle. Instead of the small, practical instrument that usually hung at your hip, it too had transformed to accompany your Shroud. At your hip was a ceremonial saber. How appropriate, you couldn’t help but think.

Unsheathing it, you admired its elegance. A small part of you wished your Sickle could have been a sword or a saber. Perhaps then humans wouldn’t fear a monstrosity of a sickle, fearful of it taking their souls by force. Taking a deep breath (despite not really needing one) you swung it in front of you, it’s blade cutting through space and time, opening a hole to the Forest.

The portal expanded, the edges shimmering as you sheathed the saber once more. You held your hand out again for him. “Come.”

As he took your hand, almost hesitantly, you led him through.

The Forest. Or, at least, that’s what you called it. Like everything else, it was nameless. But it had to be called something. Some called it Eden. Shangri-La. Arcadia. Xanadu. Yomi. Purgatory.

So many different names… and yet none of them quite correct. Perhaps the closest was Axis Mundi— where Life and the Afterlife met.

Your charge looked around the Forest in wonder as you closed the portal. You were surrounded by giant trees — trees that were sturdy even before Hermes began his sacred duty. In their bark was inscribed with uncountable names, each one belonging to a single soul that’s passed over. Their large leaves overhead provided ample shade, creating the illusion that there was a blue sky and shining sun above you. But there was nothing. It was just an endless void up there.

But that didn’t matter.

Not with the thousands of flowers blooming at your feet and the countless tendrils of ivy and moss dancing across the multitude of trees. Between the trees, you’d sometimes catch glimpses of other psychpomps out of the corner of your eye, finding themselves in comfortable silence with their familiars — whether as beasts or as humans. Wind rustled the leaves above, creating a sweet, comforting melody as it engulfed you in the familiar, loving smell of the flowers that were in eternal bloom. But there was no chattering of squirrels or the jubilant song of a bird, just the sound of leaves rustling and the bubbling of the creek up ahead.

No.

This was no place for them. This was no place for the living — no matter their form.

Your charge turned back to you. “Is — Is this Heaven?”

Smiling, you shook your head. So, he was the hopeful type. “No. This is only the threshold between your Life and what comes after this. Come.”

He followed behind you as you led the way down a very well worn path, the grass and flowers long gone. Even the top soil had been eroded away, leaving an almost polished alabaster stone path exposed. You led him down the path towards a creek, a bridge, born from the over grown roots of many trees, running over it.

“What… What is this?”

“Like this Forest and me, it has no name. But, I suppose humans would think of it as something like the River Styx. It’s a threshold into the Afterlife.”

His voice was strained as he looked between you and the bridge. “What — What comes next?”

You sighed, gazing at him in sympathy. You hated this question. “I don’t know.”

His anger fueled gazed turned its wrath upon you as he cried, “What do you mean you don’t know?!”

“I’m a Spirit of Death. I am bound forever to this plane, this side of the threshold between Life and what comes next. I cannot ever know what is beyond this point. But, I can tell you that you will not cease to exist. There is something after this. I just don’t know what it is.”

He seemed to have calmed down a bit. “Can I wait for my wife?”

You shook your head. “If you wait here, your soul will become restless. You’ll forget who you are. You’ll wreak havoc not only here, but also in the human world. You’ll be condemned to wander for eternity until one of my kind must Reap your soul.”

He glanced at the saber at your hip, understanding your meaning. “And your wife will not have you with her.”

He swallowed, absorbing what you’re saying. “So… do I just crossover? And that’s it?”

You smiled at him, nodding. “Yes. I’ve heard that supposedly, someone will be on the other side of the creek to greet you.”

He saluted you, one final time before he headed for the bridge. You stood there, watching him as he found his footing on the bridge. Your Shroud and Sickle slowly returned to their natural form, your body shifting as well back to its natural state.

As he walked further and further away, he began to glow, his luminosity increasing, a light that almost rivaled the sun until… he disappeared. The thread of your Shroud connecting you to him snapped, the sound as sudden and as loud as thunder. It took you awhile, but you at least no longer jumped at the sound.

Walking forward, you reached your hand out towards the bridge. You stopped just short of it, your hand shaking as you slowly tried to cross over that threshold, muscle memory reminding you that this wasn’t a good idea. And just as it had the few dozen thousand times before, the barrier zapped you, forcing you to retract your hand. You hissed, holding onto your slightly burnt fingertip as you glared at the barrier that now shimmered and rippled.

“I see you still haven’t learnt your lesson.”

You jumped, turning to face Hermes. He stood before you, intimidating and beautiful as always, this form suiting him well… even if the sight of him set you on edge.

Ebony skin glowed, a stark contrast to his billowy white cloak. His hood framed his lovely face as he looked down at you, almost making him appear angelic. And in a way, he was. At least in the sense that humans would think of him. It instead set you on edge when he changed his form to be… more ‘approachable.’ Like everything else here, he had no name — instead choosing to take on various mythical mantles: Hermes, Azrael, the Grim, Charon, Anubis, and so many others. You knew him as Hermes.

From his back emerged a pair of large, iridescent, black wings, the feathers fluttering with the wind. You couldn’t help but notice how a couple of the feathers were barely hanging on, signally that once they’d fall from his wings, new Spirits of Death would rise from them.

Bowing your head, you said, “No, Lord Hermes. But I want to answer their question. Almost all of them ask me the same thing over and over again.”

His deep voice rumbled, “And I wish I could give you that answer. But I cannot. I do not know what lies beyond the Veil. And we will never know.”

You nodded in understanding. The same answer… as always. He continued, “I heard that you do not want to accept my gift. Why is that?”

You cringed. You completely forgot about that. Silent, you hesitated to answer.

He sighed. “What are you afraid of? Is it answering the question of what comes next? Are you afraid of rejection? Are you afraid to Live?”

You shot him a glare. You hated this. Hated that he knew. Hated the fact that Hermes was connected to all of you, knowing your deepest, darkest secrets. All because he shed you as a Feather.

He smirked at you, crossing his arms across his chest. “Ah… I see. You’re afraid to Live.”

You hissed back, “I can’t live! I was never alive to begin with.”

“You are very much alive, my child. You just have to go and discover it.” He waved his hand, a gust of wind spiraled around you. Instinct took over, raising your arms to shield your face from the cyclone of wind and leaves. But still, you glared daggers at Hermes as he took away your choice once more.

Irony dripped from his lips as he muttered, “Happy Birthday.”

—~—~—~—

The sky was still dark in Seoul. The sun hasn’t risen yet. But you could see the sky taking on intense shades of blue and grey — the world quiet and still outside of the temple you found yourself in.

With a groan, you stood up from the cold wooden floor, goosebumps rising on your skin uncontrollably. You shivered. At least when you weren’t masquerading as human temperature never bothered you.

“Ahh. I thought her vision didn’t sound quite right. I’ll go get you a different set of clothes.”

Turning around, you came face to face with the caretaker of the temple, a young priest. Slightly bowed, his obsidian black hair barely hid the darting of his eyes, looking everywhere but you. He was dressed in a simple, traditional hanbok as he stood there, a pile of red clothes in his arms.

Ahh…. A seer must have mistaken you for some other kind of spirit. Some sort of Pyro or Asmod if the colors and style were anything to go by.

The priest continued to look everywhere but you. You tilted your head in curiosity before you remembered — oh, humans and their modesty. Glancing down at yourself, you noted breasts and the small patch of hair upon your mons pubis. Oh, good. At least this time you’re in your preferred form it seems.

Clearing your throat, you said, “Thank you, Priest — ?”

“Jinyoung. Park Jinyoung.”

You smiled at him, covering up yourself as much as possible, for his sake. You didn’t particularly care. “Thank you, Jinyoung-ie. And yes,” You glanced at the clothes he held tightly in his hands. “I would like a different set of clothes.”

He gave you a curt nod before scurrying off to get you something more appropriate.

You sighed.

24 hours. 24 hours of being human. The last time you were human… you were in Venice. Boy was that an interesting time with the Renaissance and all. Had… had it really been that long?

There was a knock on the door. This time it was a girl’s voice. “Grim? I’ve brought you your clothes. I’d also like to apologize for the mistake in my vision.”

Grim. Out of all the things humans called your kind… it wasn’t the kindest… nor the most horrendous.

“Come in.”

The door opened and a girl entered, her gaze was to the ground as she held a bundle of light grey clothing. She looked young, perhaps no older than 20. Certainly not of the age to know exactly what she was seeing in her visions. She had no control of what she’d see. She would probably just be finishing learning how to identify various demons and spirits from her visions if you had to take a guess.

She knelt before you, laying the clothes on the ground before bowing. “My name is Chaewon. I’d like to apologize, Grim. It was my mistake that my brother brought you the wrong type of clothes.”

You picked up the bundle of clothing, starting to dress yourself. “There’s no need to apologize. You’re the youngest seer I’ve seen in a very long time. I’m curious though, what did you see?”

Chaewon looked down, her face flushed and she turned red all the way to her ears. Oh?

Her voice shook. “I... I saw a man. He was naked. His face covered in shadows. And he made,” she paused, turning even redder before she continued, “a noise. A very… happy noise.”

“Oh.”

You felt your own face heat.

You may have lived for well over a millennia, but you still had some sense of shame. Or at least hers made you hyperaware of your own. As you finished dressing, you replied, “In that case, I don’t blame you for thinking I was an Asmod. A vision like that… I don’t know if I would have chosen any differently.”

“But I should’ve —“

“How old are you?”

You knelt down in front of her, your simple cotton dress pooling slightly around you as you knelt to get down on Chaewon’s level. She finally looked you in the eye. A small thrill went through you — the Living never looked you in the eye.

“Seventeen.”

Just as you thought. “You’re young. Younger than I would have expected. Despite your age, you interpreted what you saw well. If you saw sex, anyone would assume that it were an Asmod or some other daemon.”

She did not look reassured. You continued. “Do you what my kind typical do on our one day amongst the Living?”

She quickly shook her head. You smirked a little.

“We wander. The one day we’re allowed to interact with the Living, we tend to do what we did before: observe. Perhaps, we’d join in on festivities. Perhaps, we spend the day at a park, watching children play. Perhaps, we play with them. But sex? Sex is not something we are particularly interested in. You interpreted correctly.”

She didn’t say anything, but you knew she understood — that she didn’t make a real mistake. She interpreted what she saw correctly. But what she saw… concerned you. Why? Why you would you have… sex? It was such a… human activity. Your kind, especially those who had yet to live a Lifetime, didn’t understand it. It wasn’t like you could reproduce, so it never really made sense to you.

Your quiet moment was broken by Jinyoung clearing his throat. You looked up at him, he had changed into ordinary clothes. “Grim? Please let me know where’d you like me to take you. I’ll take you anywhere in the city.”

Standing up, you nodded. “Thank you, Priest. Lead the way.”

You made your way past Chaewon, following the young priest down the hall. He brought you to an entryway, several cubicles lined up with shoes. He indicated for you to take a pair. As you sat down to slip on a pair of black, flat ankle boots, he rejoined you. When did he disappear?

In his hand, he held a bag. “These are for you, Grim. Inside you’ll find money and other amenities you’ll need.”

You took the bag from him, looking at the contents. “I’m surprised you’re able to give me this much. Especially since I’ll only be here a day.”

He shook his head. “The Guardian Spirit of this temple makes sure that when you return to the Veil, the things we gave you find their way back here in due time. There is no need to worry.”

Smiling, you nodded. You stood up, ready to follow him. Nodding, he lead you out to a car. It wasn’t the fanciest car in the world, certainly not one of those sports cars you never bothered learning about. But it looked well taken care of.

Jinyoung opened the passenger side door for you. You nodded to him in thanks as you slipped inside. After shutting your door, he quickly made his way to the driver’s side.

After a brief explanation on how and why you should be wearing a seatbelt (How were you suppose to know that, at the very least, you could get him in trouble if you didn’t wear one?), he drove you out of the temple.

“Where would you like me to take you?”

Biting your lip, you hesitated to answer. Did you want to see him? Or did you want to avoid him completely. Before you could completely think it through, you found yourself replying, “Jung-gu. Near the hospital.”

He made a small noise of confirmation, taking you towards the district.

—~—~—~—

The drive was longer than you had expected. Who knew Seoul traffic was so congested?

Glancing out the window, you caught a glimpse of yourself for the first time, nearly jumping out of your skin. Normally, you had no reflection. The rare times you’d ever see your own reflection would be if you caught a glimpse of it mirroring you in the creek back in the Forest. Staring at yourself in the passenger side mirror, you couldn’t help but touch your face, brow knit together in concentration.

“So it’s true then.”

The sound of Jinyoung’s voice made you jump. Phoenix farts, why were you so jumpy lately? Turning to him, you noted the smirk on his lips and figured that behind those sunglasses his eyes were full of mirth.

“Is what true?”

“That you don’t see your reflections.”

You swallowed. “Rarely. Very rarely. Even when we do… they’re not quite as… solid as they when we’re occasionally human.”

He made a small noise of understanding, turning his full attention back on the road. Outside of the car, for a brief moment, between the shadows of buildings, you caught a glimpse of the hospital. It was an unusual feeling, but your heart thundered in your chest. You couldn’t tell if you were excited or scared. A part of you wanted to beg Jinyoung to take you somewhere else in the city. Anywhere. But another part of you, the stronger part, wanted to be there, to be near him.

All too soon, Jinyoung pulled into a parking space. You struggled for a moment, thinking that just tugging on the seatbelt would set you free before putting two and two together that there was a button. Heat flared up in your cheeks out of embarrassment — such an unusual feeling, not one that you’re sure you’ll ever get used to, you don’t think. Stepping out of the car, you politely bowed, ready to walk away from Jinyoung.

It’s a shame really… even as a human you would have been able to see the thread wrapped around his hand, following the pattern of his life line if he was a soul you were to collect. You would have liked to speak to him once again.

“Saja-nim!”

You paused. There was one you hadn’t heard in a while. A rather polite one at that. “Yes, Priest?”

His gaze was almost painful as he looked you in the eye. It was unnerving really — having someone looking directly at you like this. With utter certainty, as if he just knew, he cryptically said, “I look forward to speaking with you again.”

Before you could inquire further as to exactly what he meant, he reached across the passenger and pulled the car door shut and practically shot out of the parking space like a bat out of hell. What a weird priest.

Stepping away from the street, you took in your surroundings. The sun was out, filtering through the buildings of Seoul, this part of the city still relatively quiet though, still just early enough for most people to have not quite left home for work. It was peaceful. It was Life. And you could close your eyes, take a deep breath, and take it all in — truly take it in.

A piercing cry of “COCO-YAH!!!” broke your peace and quiet.

Turning towards the voice, you lost your footing as small white ball of fuzz on four legs bolted towards you, or rather, attempting to bolt past you. Attempting was the operative word. As you teetered backwards, sort of regaining your footing, the almost panicked ringing of a bicycle bell was the only warning you got before making eye contact with a startled bicyclist.

If you weren’t fighting instinct, perhaps you would have moved. But time and time against, you never had to worry about moving — danger would just move right through you.

But not now.

No, your brain had shut down in shock. Of course you would get hurt the one day you were human.

Before the cyclist could collide with you, you were harshly pulled out of his way. Instead of someone colliding into you… you were the one doing the colliding.

Foot catching on uneven cobblestone, your center of mass shifted, your body landing against a very warm, soft, yet very solid body, nearly taking him to the ground.

A sweet voice, one that sent shivers down you spine — one that you almost dreadfully recognized — asked, “Are you ok?”

Hesitantly, you looked up, holding your breath, trying to imprint this memory of his warm hold on you forever into your skin. When yours eyes met… you finally understood what Jaebeom was talking about.

You were absolutely and utterly fucked.

It was the moon-like face you’d seen from a distance more times than you could count. Except unlike the moon, he was close enough to worship with your lips if you tried. From afar you had always thought he was handsome, but up close, he was deadly — the combination of soft and sharp features were too tempting and dangerous.

Your eyes flicked for a moment to his lips, his breath faltering for a moment across your face before you dared to finally look him in the eye.

Definitely fucked. Hopeless fucked, really.

His eyes were gentle, in spite of their sharp, intense shape. So curious. So full of concern. And there was something else. You had seen it before, though you couldn’t place it where. All you knew was that you could get lost in those eyes… and happily so.

The spell was broken as his large wire-framed round glasses slowly slipped down the bridge of his nose. You pulled away from his hold, regaining your footing as you cleared your throat, hoping to buy another moment to clear your mind. Get a hold of yourself, you said you wouldn’t get involved with him. But, oh, the thought was so very tempting.

Your voice cracked. “Ye — Yes. Thank you for catching me.”

He nodded, wiping his hands on his pants, almost unsure of himself. At your feet, a couple of small barks got your attention. The little white dog from earlier was at your feet, barking, her little tail wagging as she gazed up at Dr. Choi.

Dr. Choi exclaimed, “COCO-YAH!!!!!” as he picked up the little, almost contrary, cotton ball.

Lifting her up to eye level, he asked, “Yah! What was that for? I lose my grip on your leash for a moment to grab the mail and you just bolt? No! Don’t you try that sweet act on me, you spoilt, little princess.”

He sighed in defeat as she wagged her tail, tongue flicking out to lick his nose, his face scrunching up cutely in response. You couldn’t help but laugh as he brought her in close, coddling her even as he continued to look exasperatedly annoyed.

He turned his gaze back on you, his eyes soft as he took a moment to wet his lips. He held his hand out to you. “I’m Choi Youngjae. And this little, fluffy, white hell spawn is Coco.”

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck—

This was the last thing you needed. You swallowed, a poor attempt at controlling your breathing. You placed your hand in his.

“It’s nice to meet you.”

There was a pause for a moment before Youngjae — no — Dr. Choi (he had to stay as Dr. Choi), smiled gently at you. Bending at the hips, he lowered himself just enough so he could tilt his gaze up to look up at you, a small smile on his lips as he cutely asked, “And what is your name?”

The usual spike of anxiety that would come with this question never came. Instead, automatically, almost as if you had answer this questions hundreds of time like a human, you gave him a name.

Not Morana. Nor Saja. But an actual name. It was… your name.

He repeated it quietly to himself. It struck you like lightning. This must be the feeling Jaebeom told you about so many times but never understood.

For a moment it was silent between the two of you. You wanted this feeling to last, whatever it was. You had never known such an inner warmth. What you wouldn’t give to have him whisper your name once more.

Of course, Coco had to ruin the moment, having had enough. She started wriggling around in his hold, desperately wanting to be free to reek havoc like she had before. Dr. Choi sighed, bending down further to place her back on the ground. A firm hold on the leash this time.

As he straightened up, he looked at you shyly from behind his glasses. “So, umm, where are you from? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you around here before?”

You swallowed. Never in a million years would you have thought you’d have to answer such a simple question.

You blurted out, “Visting! Umm, just for the day.”

“Well, umm, I guess I should let you get back to it then. I’m sure you must have plans.”

He went to turn, his shoulders slumping. “No!”

Dr. Choi turned back to you, eyes wide and eyebrow raised at your outburst. More calming you repeated, “No. Umm, actually, I don’t have plans. Despite wanting to come here for a while now….” You laughed out your response, “I have no idea what I’m going to do now that I’m here.”

A moment of clarity graced his features before the brightest smile you had ever seen revealed itself.

“In that case, how would you like a local to show you around?”

A smile found its way onto your lips. “I’d like that very much.”

He offered you his hand. You hesitated, glancing between the soft and dexterous hand and his hopeful face. “I know a great dog friendly cafe near by if you’d like to join me.”

You found yourself squeaking out a reply, barely above a whisper, “I’d love to.”

You placed your hand in his and for a moment, you swore sparks flew. His palm was warm, a stark contrast to your own chilly one. Dr. Choi gave a small laugh. You glanced up to him, brows knit. He licked his lips almost nervously before he shyly replied, “It’s just something my mother used to tell me: the kindest, most caring people are so worried about everyone else that they don’t even notice when their hands are cold.”

For some reason… him just saying that… it created a pressure in your chest, an almost overwhelming feeling, as if you were a pitcher ready to overflow with emotion. It was… it was gentlest thing anyone had ever said to you.

You felt the tears threatening to overflow, but you kept them hidden. After all, why would anyone cry at that?

All you could do was purse your lips as you look down at the ground, half-heartedly nodding your head, hoping that it was enough to hide the emotion threaten to escape. If Dr. Choi noticed, he didn’t say anything. He simply made a hum of acknowledgement, squeezing your hand before gently tugging you to an unspecified direction.

Little Coco couldn’t seem to make up her mind on whether or not she wanted to be carried or to lead the charge. Either way, Youngj — Dr. Choi — seemed to give in to her each time, never letting go of your hand no matter what. Coco was in his arms when she realized where we were and she started swimming frantically in the air, barking excitedly.

You couldn’t help but giggle as Dr. Choi sighed in defeat, setting the little hellion on the ground as she tried to mush her way through the people trying to go about their lives as she focused in on one target: MeongMeong Cafe.

The little cafe was on the ground floor, almost tucked away between the buildings, the light pastels and sepia tones a strong contrast to the grey buildings around it. The sun rise hadn’t quite yet turned this part of the city golden, the tones still a cool blue, just waiting to be woken by the spell of the sun. But that little cafe, with its little picket fence surrounding a small area of grass and it’s sepia shingles waiting for the sun to bring them to life, was already bustling to life inside. The cafe owner you presumed, was running about inside, setting up tables for the day and placing bread in the display cases.

As you approached the cafe, through the window, you saw the cafe owner look up, a look of surprise graced his features before a gummy smile took over as he opened the front door to the three of you. “Youngjae-yah!! Coco-ssi!! Welcome back!”

Dr. Choi returned the warm greeting, letting go of hand for a moment to wave at him, leaving your hand almost unbearably cold. “Hello, Mark-hyung! How’s it’s going?”

Coco’s barks suddenly came more rapidly as she pulled Dr. Choi after her even harder as a small (but most definitely larger than Coco), white poodle looked around the corner of the door. The shop owner, Mark, muttered something as he looked down at the dog at his feet, prompting the dog to sit down at him feet, its little paws tapping in excitement as it sat there.

Mark shook his head with an exasperated sigh, smiling slightly as Coco continued to lead the charge towards the cafe. “You know how it is, Youngjae-yah. But that’s besides the point.” His eyes twinkled mischievously. “Who is this lovely lady?”

Your face flushed with heat and you couldn’t help but look down at your shoes. Youngjae — no, Dr. Choi — gently entangled his fingers within your own, giving your hand a very gentle squeeze in assurance. He introduced you to Mark. “She’s from out of town and I’m giving her the local’s tour of the city.”

Mark’s eyes crinkled in the corner as he shot you a smile. “Then welcome to MeongMeong Cafe.”

You muttered your thanks as Dr. Choi led you inside to a table in the corner.

Sitting down, you noted that the cafe was the same on the inside as it was on the outside with pastel and sepia colors furniture all over the place. Nothing was a matching set it seemed, almost like repurposed yard sale items, but all dog friendly. In the corner of the shop was a blackboard, the menu items scrawled across it in different colors with their prices trailing after it.

Mark wiped his hands on his apron before pulling out a notepad from his apron pocket, the poodle (while Dr. Choi affectionately greeted as ‘Mimi’) following him, seemingly waiting for a command. He shot Dr. Choi an almost pointed look. “The usual for you and the cottonball, I take it?”

Dr. Choi glanced sheepishly at you before turning his gaze back to Mark. “Yeah.”

Mark hummed his understanding and jotted it down then turned to you. “And for the lovely lady?”

Your insides clenched in anxiety? What did you want? You looked past the two of them at the chalkboard covered in what felt like hundreds of choices. Did you want something sweet? Savory? Salty? Sour? Did you like bitter? 500 years was a long time between meals.

Dr. Choi placed his hand over yours, grabbing your attention. “If you’re up for it, I suggest the mocha latte and the croissant of the day.”

Mark piped in, “Which is Eggs Benedict, by the way.”

You swallowed looking between the two of them. “Um, then I will go with that then.”

“Alright then. Come on, Milo.”

Mark smiled as he jotted down your orders on his little notepad before making his way back towards what you supposed was the kitchen, Milo hot on his heels. You turned your attention back to Dr. Choi and you found yourself shrinking in on yourself, blushing under the intensity of his gaze.

Is this what it was like to be human? Is this what Jaebeom felt like? To feel constantly overwhelmed?

“Since you mentioned that this was the first time in Seoul for you, where do you live?”

For a moment your reply caught in your throat. Nowhere, just a forest between life and death.

“Busan! Yes, it took quite a while to get here.”

Dr. Choi smiled. “Ahhh. An overnight train ride then. I love Busan: the architecture, the food!”

You couldn’t help but giggle at that. He leaned back in his chair as he hummed. “And the people, so it seems.”

You knew that wasn’t true, but nonetheless, heat rose to your cheeks like an inferno. Youngjae — no, stop it — Dr. Choi asked, “Tell me about what you do for a living?”

Yeah… ‘living.’ Laughable.

Chewing on your bottom lip for a moment, you thought on how to answer it. “I’m in the family business.”

Dr. Choi sat forward, interest piqued as Mark returned with two coffees on adorable little plates, decorated with watercolor paw prints. “What does your family do?”

Before you could think better on it, you spat out, “Funerary services: cremations, burials, wakes, and the likes.”

Mark… poor Mark paused, his expression unreadable before he quietly excused himself. Dr. Choi on the other hand surprised you; he laughed. You stared at him, jaw slack and brow knit.

“I’m sorry…. I shouldn’t have laughed. I found it ironic. You give souls their final farewells while I welcome them into the world.”

Again, your heart gave a stuttering tap as a tsunami of emotion washed over you. How could he know the words you needed to hear? Or at least the ones that made you feel real at the very least. You took a sip of your coffee to try to distract yourself from the squall of emotion in your chest, only to hiss as you burn your tongue.

Dr. Choi is immediately at your side. “You ok?”

You touched the back of your hand to your mouth, looking away. “Yes, I was just being stupid.”

He laughed again and you couldn’t help but shoot him a pointed look. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to laugh. Just that, some times watching you do things is like watching a child discovering something new for the first time.” He smiled down at you sweetly. “I think it’s endearingly adorable.”

Your throat felt try and your face hot and your chest felt heavy. Adorable? You? You looked away from him, trying to appear as if his words didn’t do anything to you. As if your attention was taken up by something else on the far side of the shop.

But out of the corner of your eye, as he raised his own cup of coffee to his lips, there was a twinkle of mischief and mirth in his eye. Taking a chance, you lifted your own cup to your lips, blowing on it before taking a tentative sip. Immediately you hummed in appreciation. It was delicious.

Mark came back over with another set of adorable plates, one was your croissant (looking absolutely delicious covered in Hollandaise sauce) and Dr. Choi’s waffle. From the pocket of his apron he produced some sort of gourmet dog chew setting it down on the ground for Coco to try to conquer. You thanked Mark, who gave you a gracious but overly exaggerated bow before he excused himself.

You turned back to Dr. Choi as you mentally went over a game plan on how to tackle your delicious looking (and smelling) food. “You said you welcome souls into the world. What do you mean by that?”

You knew what he did. Did it count as stalking if you’re not alive and they’re just a form of entertainment between reapings? But you had the forethought to be mindful of that. You didn’t want this illusion to burst by muttering something suspicious.

He hid a small laugh as he took a bite of his waffle. “You promise not to laugh?”

You mimicked the way he cut into his waffle, the same way with your croissant, albeit it didn’t go as smoothly as his. “Promise.”

He took a moment to chew, almost thoughtfully before he said, “I’m, uh, well… I’m an OB/GYN. I deliver babies.”

You smiled at him as he tried to hide his blush behind shoveling food into his mouth. Barely above a whisper, you replied, “I think it suits you perfectly.”

He shot you a brilliant smile, looking away from you as his cheeks began to glow a nice shade of pink. As you sat there in the golden hours of the morning, you admired his features, realization dawned on you.

You were hopelessly in love with Youngjae.

Want more like this? Check out the following:

STAR-CROSSED, a science fiction series with Jackson Wang of GOT7

As always, reviews, comments, asks, and tags are always loved! ~Peony

Also, please note that I do NOT do tagging lists. Please see my FAQ for why.

GOT7 Masterlist

Masterlist

#got7 #got7 youngjae #youngjae #choi youngjae #youngjae got7 #got7 fluff #got7 angst #Beyond the Veil #BtV #peonybane #got7 jinyoung #got7 jaebeom #got7 bambam #got7 yugyeom #got7 mark

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kitchenscene · 4 years ago

Text

all roads lead to space [1/15]

read it on ao3

Eddie always loved the stars.

Loved them enough to read every space exploration book at the library as a kid. Loved them enough to write essays dedicated to the sky. Loved them enough to take a brochure at career day that read ‘Explore Space!’, and promise himself that one day he’d see them up close. A promise so strong that it kept him up at night, staring out the window, waiting for a future he so badly needed.

Soon, he promised. ‘Explore Space!’, he remembered. He held onto that brochure, kept it close. Hung it on the wall above his desk, read the words everyday. A dream, a hope. A promise to himself.

“Really?” his parents asked, “You know, it’s not easy to be an astronaut…”

Of course it’s not easy. He did the research in high school, determined to pull his dream within reach. A four year degree and a professional degree. Then three years of ‘relevant experience’, plus two years of training, assuming he’s chosen as a candidate (“join the military,” every pamphlet seemed to whisper, “NASA loves military pilots.” It’s like they were taunting him).

“Don’t listen to them,” Adriana reassured.

“You’d be good at it,” Sophia hesitantly complimented.

It’s a lot to handle. A lot of time and school and training, which leads to a lot of receipts and loans and debts he could never pay. It’s brutal. To want something so bad, but have it dangling just out of reach. To see the possibility glaring at the end of the road and know that it will always be just that. A possibility. Barely out of reach, almost a reality, but never quite true.

That’s when the vultures began to prey.

“Are you interested in joining the United States Armed Forces?”

Military recruiters. They’d scout out the high schools, searching for any able-bodied candidate they could find, preying on kids who had nowhere else to turn.

“There’s plenty of benefits for you and your family–”

Including, but not limited to: redacted letters from your loved one overseas, nightmares that will settle deep in your skull, and bullet holes that will never quite heal. All for the low, low price of–

“–We’ll pay for your college tuition.”

Of course that line always turned heads. Even Eddie perked at the offer. But he could never take it. It’s blood money, and he didn’t want it. Tempting, but no. No piece of paper, no cap and gown, is worth someone else’s life.

Eddie wanted to help people, not hurt them. Science, space exploration, it’s all about the pursuit of knowledge. Pushing mankind forward, not yanking them backwards onto the battlefield.

“I’m not interested,” he replied. Every single time.

Physically, sure, he could do it. He’s tall, mostly muscular, with no underlying health conditions. The perfect candidate to go to war. Or the perfect candidate to go to space. Eddie met every medical requirement. He could do it. Find a way.

Eddie graduated high school, and the vultures stopped swarming. He attended a community college and started taking physics classes (turns out, stars are complicated. Still, he had made it this far). Classes weren’t easy, but they were manageable. He could learn, he could go somewhere. With every lecture, the stars pulled closer, still out of reach but finally in sight. He might actually be able to—

“—Are you interested in joining the United States Armed Forces?”

So close. The recruiters didn’t disappear after high school, unfortunately. There was a constant military presence lingering over his head. Recruiters, ROTC kids, and the pamphlets he politely recycled behind their backs. The angel on one shoulder told him to go to grad school, and the devil perched on the other, whispering, “NASA loves military pilots (it’s cheaper than a masters degree).”

Space, not war. Stars, not gunfire.

He could ignore them. Move quietly through classes and return home at the end of the day. Say no, smile, and move forward. It’s not like he had to see them every day… right?

“You know it’s not easy to be an astronaut…” the words rang in his head. But Eddie had a plan, he always did. Graduate, apply to grad school, get accepted, find a scholarship, apply to work at NASA. Five steps, easy enough.

Easy until…

“Hi, I’m Shannon.”

A field of vultures, and she stood unfazed in the middle of it all. The only smile that seemed to be true, the only one not trying to sell something he didn’t want. A yellow dress in the sea of camo-green, leaning against a table of flyers and pamphlets and lies. She caught his eye, and he held onto hers.

“You don’t seem like the military type,” he noted.

“Neither do you.”

Not a student, he learned. Not a recruiter, either. Just a sibling, helping her brother because she had nothing better to do. Intriguing, she was. Standing so self-assured, not letting a single teasing remark stick. Vultures glared at Eddie, but he kept his gaze on Shannon, borrowing an ounce of her confidence.

She asked him out before he had the chance to ask her, ignoring the “oooh’s” and “get some!” of her brother’s friends. Not part of his plan, but a welcome distraction. How could he say no to the woman with more gusto than every soldier surrounding her?

One cup of coffee turned to three, and occasional texts from class turned into daily phone calls on his way home. All his free time, he gave to her, yet he still knew more about her brother than he did about her. She would pick and choose the details of her life, which to keep and which to divulge, whereas Eddie played his whole hand, letting Shannon see every part of himself. He trusted her, for no reason in particular. He laid out his ambitions, and she only nodded in return. But he was comfortable. Shannon gave him something to come home to; he spent more time in her apartment than his own house. His last year of college, and he spent it all with her.

He had his plan, a neat list of five steps to carry him through life. Shannon wasn’t part of that plan, but he could try and make room. Step one: graduate college. One more month, and he’d have his degree, tangible proof that he could follow through. Step two: apply to grad school. Confusing and messy and filled with questions he only half understood, but he could manage. He always found a way to manage.

Five steps. Five baby steps followed by one giant leap for mankind. One month and he’d—

“—Are you interested in joining the United States Armed Forces?”

Oh, fuck off, he wanted to scream. So close. He had to admire their determination, but he was just as determined. What could they possibly offer at this point? What sales tactic could they possibly try? His response was practiced, trained. No. The answer is always no. Because in no universe would Eddie ever willingly join—

“—I’m pregnant.”

Oh.

Eddie always loved the stars. So he finally followed them.

All the way to Afghanistan, betraying every promise he ever made to himself. Airman Eddie Diaz gave himself away and let the Air Force take him wherever they please.

Shannon was livid (understandably). Impulsive , she called him, stupid and reckless. She understood the system more than most; her brother had fallen for the same trap, but convinced himself he loved the force. Eddie always hated the military, tried to avoid it at all costs.

He didn’t leave Shannon. He left for Shannon and their baby. He could send them every paycheck and benefit he had to offer. They would be okay without him.

“NASA loves military pilots…”

God, he hated it. Hated himself; still thinking of his own damn future and convincing himself it was for Shannon (he wouldn’t even be a pilot for fucks sake, at most he’d get promoted to Sergeant).

“I’ll be back,” he promised.

“It’ll be too late.”

His plans changed. So he made a new one. Go to college, fight a war, explore space (more or less). Learn to be a dad somewhere along the way. Leave them behind, he left unwritten, consider coming home (it’ll be too late).

Sixteen weeks of basic training and nine weeks shacked in some Air Force base in Alabama. “Three years of relevant experience,” read every brochure he encountered. Two tours, three years of experience, one job application.

Eddie considered proposing. That’s what you do when you have a baby, you get married and start a family. But the idea died before he could really process the thought. It didn’t sit right, and part of him knew it would end too soon. A bigger part of him was half-sure she’d say no, anyways.

He apologized again and again. Every spare moment was spent calling home, reassuring Shannon that everything would work out (he didn’t know if it would; that’s a promise he wasn't ready to make). But it wasn’t enough. It was never enough.

Christopher was born. Eddie wasn’t there. His first tour ended nine months later and for the first time, Eddie met his son. He barely held him, scared to hurt him more than he already had. The military taught him to shoot and fly and throw a good punch in desperate times. College taught him to ask questions and write essays about books he barely read. His sisters taught him how to braid hair and avoid their parent's stern gaze. No one taught him how to be a dad.

Eddie wanted to hold him close and teach him everything he knew. He wanted Chris to have a good life. He didn’t want to leave.

But he was already gone. Eighteen more months. A stiff salute in one hand, his St. Christopher medal in the other, clanking against his dog tags.

In El Paso, the lights were too bright to ever see the stars properly. Afghanistan was darker, the lights much more muted. At night he could look up and see every constellation, every star, clouds dancing between the distant lights. His crew made fun of him for staring oh so lovingly at the sky; “you look at your wife like that too?”

“She’s not my wife,” he panned, still staring up. Maybe she could see them too. Or maybe she was too busy looking down, caring for their child. Fixing his mistakes.

“Well, that’s certainly true now, my friend.” She would never forgive him for leaving, and he dreaded the day he’d come home to her rage. Fighting a war is easy. It’s a series of protocols and orders. In war, there’s always an answer. But coming home hurts. It’s regret and shame and scars that will never heal right.

His last mission was meant to be a rescue. To bring a wounded soldier home. Nothing they hadn't done thousands of times before. So of course everything went to hell. The one person he was supposed to save bled out before he had the chance to tend to him. He had a family, a real one who needed him to come home, and Eddie let him die.

Three gunshot wounds later, and somehow Eddie’s the hero; Staff Sergeant Diaz and his shining silver star. Looking at it made him nauseous. A symbol of heroism, and he wanted nothing more than to let it drown. Burn it, bury it, hurl it into the sea. Chris said it was cool. His parents said they were proud. Shannon said nothing at all (he feared her silence more than he feared her rage).

No words could make up for his absence. A thousand apologies meant nothing. He wasn’t there, he wasn’t enough. No dream was worth all this sacrifice. Go to college, fight a war, explore space.

Go to college, leave your family, fight a war. Fight a war, come home, never leave again.

That soldier had a family. He wouldn’t have left them behind.

‘Explore Space!’ the brochure read, still hanging on the wall of his childhood bedroom. He ripped it from the cork board and let it fall to the floor.

Eddie always loved the stars. But he couldn’t leave Chris. Not again.

So Eddie stayed. He needed to stay. Somewhere along the line, Shannon left. He’s a hypocrite for being angry and a terrible person for being a little glad they never got married.

“You're such a downer,” Adriana said. She and Sophia came to El Paso to surprise Chris for his birthday. “Your sadness is making me sad. It’s making him sad too.” She nodded towards Chris.

“Did he say something to you?” As much as he wanted to deny his feelings, he couldn’t. Not if it was hurting Chris.

“No. But kids are perceptive,” she tried to level with him. “ You’ve been stuck in El Paso for years. At some point, you need to move forward. Or at least move out of our parent’s house.”

He frowned. “I can’t leave him. Not again,” he said, unmoving.

“How do you think he’ll feel when he grows up and finds out you gave up your dream because of him? Eddie, I’m not telling you to leave him,” she rested a hand on his shoulder, “I’m telling you to bring him with you.”

He stood still, his head stuck to Adriana’s words. He wanted to do what was best for Chris. Jumping between jobs, trying to make ends meet, did more harm than good. He was at work more than he was at home, yet he managed to convince himself it was better for their family. Chris needed stability, something constant in his life. And Eddie needed to leave El Paso.

He watched Sophia stack Legos with Chris. Adriana watched Eddie as he considered his options.

“If you think any harder, your head might explode,” she laughed. “Stop trying to make a plan. Stop thinking. Just tell me, what do you want.”

Go to college, fight a war, explore space. One job application. Just one more step. Chris smiled up at him, and for the first time in months he felt content. An idea that was once so distant finally fell within reach. No plans, no hesitations.

“I want to go to Houston.”

For Chris, he reassured himself, and this time he believed it. Everything he did, he did for Chris.

The next day he applied to be an astronaut. Two weeks later, and he was accepted, set to begin training at the Johnson Space Center in Houston.

“I was thinking of going on a trip. How would you like to come with me?” he offered Chris. Adriana and Sophia lived together just outside of the city and they offered to let Eddie and Chris stay with them (with the added bonus of free babysitting from his sisters).

“Together?” Chris was practically beaming. It broke Eddie’s heart to see how the simplest gesture brought so much joy. He never wanted Chris to doubt him again, never wanted him to think that at any moment, his dad might leave and never come home.

“Together.”

#here it is: THE astronaut au #911 fox #911 on fox #911 fics #fics #texas.fic #lmk if you want to be added to a tag list for this !!#astronaut au #mine:911

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niuniente · 4 years ago

Note

If this is okay to ask, I'd be curious to hear what pulled you towards being (a part-time?) psyhic. Was it something you were just born with, or was it a simple interest that kept on developing further? Or did you face a calling of some sort at certain point in your life?

It’s OK to ask! :3

I think it’s something I was born with in a sense that I was always a spiritual child, even when my family wasn’t (religion and spirituality are not things in this country) and it’s also a choice I made when I had a calling.

I contemplated reincarnation at age 6 on my own, I dedicated every morning opening at school to God since 1st grade, I controlled my dreams from the same age onward and I always just knew there’s something else out there. I have vivid memories from the time I could not walk or speak yet, which should be physically impossible. I remember wanting to express myself but because I was not able to speak yet, I had to ponder how do I convey what I want to say without words.

I have read about paranormal stuff since age 7. I grew up in a remote area in a forest so my contact to books was these few books in a library bus which visited the are every other week. At age 13, I started 7th grade in a town school and got an access to the small town library. It had one narrow shelf full of books for me and I read them ALL. Any subject, I devoured it from poltergeists to witches, from UFOs to ghosts, and from chakras to von Däniken’s ancient aliens.

I tried to conjure ufos to appear at the age 9 so I think starting with self-made runes at age 16 was just the next step :’D I found rune reading book which started my journey to readings and medium work. It spread slowly from there to tarot, then oracle cards and now I use also charms. I’m tempted to make stickers for readings, too. Spellwork is something that interests me a bit now, especially candle + magical oil stuff.

I was 19 years old and already read about spirituality etc. a lot, when I hit a wall. I knew I was given a choice by the Spirit; either I would continue the path I had chosen or choose spiritual path. If I’d continue the path I was on, I would reach material success: an education, a workplace, a husband, a house, a driver’s license and a car, a financial security. But, I wouldn’t be happy. At some point in the future, I would need to leave it all behind and start from zero, finally starting to live as who I am. If I’d chose the spiritual path, I would lack all the material stuff: an education, a workplace, a husband, a house, a driver’s license and a car, and financial security. I would concentrate on the spiritual growth and the material things would follow when I’m old, sometime in my 40′s-50′s. But, I would be happy and my own self.

I chose the spiritual path. I didn’t even have to think about it. The journey has indeed bee exactly like I was promised if I chose the spiritual path: I graduated when I was 27. I haven’t got driver’s license, car, husband or steady reliable work or an income. But I’m happy. I’m free.

(When I found Vol’jin and found out he had also needed to choose his path the exact same way as I did, with the same results, at very young age, I gasped in delight.)

Natural interest takes you far because then the work you do doesn’t feel like work, nor studying feels like studying. Always embrace your natural interests.

#ask niu #spiritual #oracle stuff #Anonymous

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dandivinity · 5 years ago

Text

Madokannon: Religious Symbolism in Madoka Magica

If there’s one word I’d use to describe the show, Mahou Shoujo Madoka Magica, it would be deceptive. If you’re wondering how a cute Sailor Moon rip-off with even brighter colors and a moe art-style is deceptive, congrats, you fell for the deception. As the series continues, it becomes clear that the show is not a cut-and-dry monster of the week where good always triumphs. Rather it is a pastel-colored Faustian bargain where even the best intentions can lead to dire consequences. In the end it is only through the titular characters unshakeable hope and faith and no small amount of divine intervention that the series reaches it’s bitter sweet conclusion. This is obvious upon a first viewing. What is less obvious is the nature that this divine intervention takes. While the show occasionally makes direct connections to Christianity, It seems to me that the theology implemented is Buddhist through and through complete with Four noble truths, samsara, vile rebirth, and an allegory of the bodhisattva Kannon.

Let’s start with the basis of the show, the wishes. This is one of Madoka’s most prominent aspects and the largest concern from the beginning of the series before the villain’s true underpinnings are revealed. For those of you not familiar, 1). Why are you reading this? And 2). The set-up of the Madoka, like most magical girl anime, involves a cute animal mascot offering the girls magical powers in order to fight monsters. What makes this set up unique however is that the oh so cute cat-bunny-thing known as Kyubey also offers the girls one wish as an incentive so that they would accept it’s “contract”. Now the use of the word “contract” is an obvious red flag meant to alert us to the Faustian nature of the deal. And yes, the agreement comes with several hidden clauses that Kyubey conveniently leaves out such as the fact that becoming a magical girl involves having your soul removed from your body and placed into a gem because it’s “easier to protect”. But Kyubey’s not exactly stealing it like a Christian devil would. More importantly than the hidden clauses though, is the wishes themselves.

Now stories of the devil tempting people with promises of wealth or power are quite common in Western literature, as are tales of djinn or monkey paws providing wishes that always go wrong in Near Eastern lit. But what’s extraordinary about Madoka is that for the most part the wishes the girls grant are simple in nature and rather generous. Our main focus point, and the only wish we see pursued from beginning to end in chronological order is that of Sayaka Miki. Sayaka is established to be crushing on a boy who was a former violin prodigy before a car accident left him paralyzed with no hope of playing ever again. Sayaka wishes for him to be healed, and just like that, it’s done.

The boy does not relapse, nor does he lead into another accident. He simply starts a miraculous yet slow path to recovery, until the series finale where he is shown without crutches and playing beautifully for a wide audience. The problem? Well as pointed out before Sayaka even makes the wish, she’s wasn’t actually doing it for him: she was on an unconscious level hoping that he’d be forever grateful to her. Does she hold this over him? No. Does he reject her? No. She simply doesn’t ask. Sayaka is too busy with her new responsibilities and ashamed of what she has become to ask.

And frankly the importance of Kyosuke in Sayaka’s fall is largely overstated by the fanbase. Yes, he’s a large factor but even more so than wanting to heal him or his gratitude, Sayaka wants to be a hero. This is heightened when their magical mentor dies within the first three episodes. Sayaka now feels like it’s her responsibility to protect her city as no one else will. Unfortunately, she’s simply not as strong as her former mentor or the new morally unsound magical girls that seeks to dispose of her (both Kyoko and Homura). This is really what leads to Sayaka’s downward spiral as she comments, “The world doesn’t need a magical girl who can’t even kill a witch”. Sayaka wants to be a hero, and she wants to get the guy and she gets neither. Her desires, both fulfilled and unfulfilled, all lead to her suffering. This is the First Noble Truth of Buddhism.

I realize this isn’t the most convincing argument on its own but let’s zoom out a bit here. What is desire if not earthly attachments? Attachment and inability to let go of attachment is a concept found in nearly all the wishes in the show. It doesn’t matter if it’s Sayaka’s wishing for her friend’s health, Mami literally trying to cling to life, or Kyoko (in the most directly religious moment in the show) wishing that people would come to her father’s sermons so that her family could have enough to eat. All of these desires are moral in some way and yet they are still desires. More importantly, they all involve a longing for what once was, and are attempts to return things to how they were rather than moving on. This inability to let go is characterized not just in the wishes but in the reason they’re implemented in the first place.

When Kyubey finally explains why they knowingly cause suffering to countless adolescent girls throughout time, they explain it’s to harvest enough renewable energy from the emotions of magical girls to stave off the entropy of the universe. The whole process is rather convoluted and -let’s face it- an excuse to deconstruct magical girl tropes, but that doesn’t change the fact that preventing the heat death of the universe is still Kyubey’s number one goal. That combined with their inability to truly understand the suffering they’re causing has caused some of the community to question their villain status or at least say they’re a villain with a just cause. And while postponing the heat death of the universe may be noble in the long run, it is a literal fight against the impermanence of the universe. A fight that we know from Buddhism is doomed to only lead to personal trauma in the face of inevitability of a changing world. But it is this fight against impermanence that kyubey embodies so well, and one that is baked into the wish-based magical girl system they run.

Ok, enough beating around the bush. It’s time to talk about Homura. After spending most of the show as a mysterious red-herring villain that knows far too much, Homura finally gets an episode dedicated to her near the end of the show where it’s revealed she’s a time traveller who restarted the timeline over and over again in order to make her wish come true; to be able to save Madoka. Specifically Homura has to replay the same month over and over again until she can succeed in saving Madoka’s life and cannot escape until this goal is reached. This obsession leads to a very literal samsara, by repeating the timeline again and again Homura is actively choosing to trap herself in endless cycles of suffering, death, and rebirth all because of her attachment to the mortal world. Through this process we can see Homura fall apart becoming more and more monstrous in her single-minded focus to save Madoka at the expense of everything else. By the time she arrives at our main timeline that the rest of the show takes place in, Homura is comparable to a hungry ghost. She’s directly accused of walking through the world as if dead, unable to feel anything except for the desire that damned her in the first place, her obsession with Madoka. When even this too seems lost, she nearly becomes a witch.

In Mahayana Buddhism, rebirth on earth is not the worst thing that can happen after one’s death. If one leads a sufficiently desperate life they can be reborn as an animal, hungry ghost, or in hell. This is where Madoka’s witches come from. Perhaps the most tragic twist in Madoka Magica is that if a magical girl falls into despair (usually due to her wish’s inability to make her happy), her soul gem will transform into a grief seed which then becomes one of the monsters they fight. These nightmare collage monsters have new names separate from their old identities and live in pocket dimensions where they lure people in. These pocket dimensions often in someway manifests the desires of their old lives being filled with sweets, TVs, or (in Sayaka’s case) violinists. Interestingly, when Sayaka first dies and is reborn as the witch Octavia in a train station, her labyrinth is also full of railroad tracks. She relocates to a concert hall and the labyrinth follows suit, but train wheels remain despite having no apparent bearing on her previous life. This could be a reference to Buddhist beliefs about your final thoughts and which direction you look when you die having bearing on which realm you’ll be reborn into.

Homura’s obsession in contrasted by Madoka’s ability to let go. Madoka’s final wish and subsequent ascension has often been compared to Jesus’s sacrifice on the cross, and rightfully so. Madoka’s wish to become a cosmic force that can take on all the despair of magical girls before they become witches at the cost of her own mortal life has many strong parallels to Jesus suffering on the cross to redeem humanity. However that idea only works if Jesus is suffering. Madoka is stated to be taking the grief of every magical girl who ever became a witch onto herself and we even see a far future version of her becoming a witch large enough to destroy the world. But before it does it is shot down by another version of a truly ascended Madoka in a white dress. This version states paradoxically that since her wish applies to all magical girls that would become witches, that includes herself. The fluidity of time and direct denial of the necessity of suffering or sacrifice are at odds with Orthodox Chriastianity, or at least its perception of Jesus. Rather I argue that the way Madoka saves all the magical girls, her subsequent erasure from existence, and even such mundane symbols such as the white dress all link her closer to the Bodhisattva, Kannon.

Let’s take a closer look at the scene where we see Madoka actually ascends and manifests to relieve the potential witches of their grief. We see Madoka split herself into thousands shafts of light, all of which appear above different suffering magical girls in different places and time periods. And above all of them Madoka appears, she touches their corrupted soul gems which are then purified before shattering, allowing the magical girls to die in peace. A rather sad ending, but one that’s better than rebirth as a witch, which we already identified as equivalent to the hell realm. So while it is unclear where the magical girls are going to go after they die (or even if they go anywhere at all as we just saw the gems holding their souls shatter, possibly destroying them), we can know that Madoka is saving them from a worse rebirth. This directly parallels miracle tales that surround the Bodhisattva Kannon, especially in her Chinese incarnation as the white-robed Guanyin.

Kannon is the primary example of Bodhisattva or one who has put off Budhahood to aid those still on earth. Kannon in particular swears to never ascend until all living things have been freed of samsara. She’s often depicted as having 11 heads and a thousand arms to better reach all those suffering in the world at once, like how Madoka splits herself into a myriad of forms. Many of these tales have devotees of Guanyin spared from tragic fates such as beheadings or shipwrecks. However a few, adapt these stories to instead refer to a more metaphorical salvation, especially in the pure land tradition popular in Japan which then says that anyone who calls out to Kannon on the verge of their death will be still die and be reborn to the pure land rather than wherever else they were supposed to reincarnate. Madoka’s god form even highly resembles the Chinese incarnation, Guanyin. Wikipedia states, “Guanyin is generally portrayed as a young woman wearing a flowing white robe, and usually also necklaces symbolic of Indian or Chinese royalty. In her left hand is a jar containing pure water, and the right holds a willow branch.” While we never see Madoka with any water; the flowing white dress, red gems along her collar bone, and branch-like bow (though on that seems to be more of a sakura branch) all bring to mind Guanyin.

Finally Madoka’s ascension ends with her body dissolving into glimmers of light as she explains how no one will remember her, but she’ll still be there. This dissolution of the her spiritual body is a visual symbol of ego-death. Madoka recreates a word where she does not exist, and had never existed, yet still manifests as a concept and virtuous force that leads others to salvation rather than as a sentient entity. This is the Nirvana. Madoka hadn’t just ascended to godhood, she had surpassed it and achieved nothingness, as her buddha nature radiates throughout the world, ultimately changing it into something better. This is the paradox of Buddhism and the goal of any buddhist practitioner, to achieve an inner peace so strong you become a part of the universe like madoka had. And the new world she created was better for it.

That is at least until the show decided to make a movie sequel and trick madoka into descending. At that point she stops acting as a Buddha and instead as Pistis Sophia in line with the obscure belief system of 2nd century Gnostics. But that will be a conversation for another time.

#madoka magica #buddhism #madoka kamane #kaname madoka #kannon #guanyin #kuan-yin #samsara #homura akemi #pmmm sayaka #pmmm #Essay #Religion #Religious studies #I should've submitted this two months ago when it was still relevant.#oh well

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allegra-writes · 5 years ago

Text

Lab Partners

Peter Parker x Stark! Reader

General audiences

Warnings: None

The request:

Hi! Could I have some Peter+stark!reader before infinity war or au where the snap didn't happen and Midtown goes to Stark Industries on a field trip and no one believes Peter works there but reader and Tony prove them wrong? Thank you!

MY MASTERLIST

"Dude, finally!" Peter's voice welcomed you as soon as you entered the lab.

"Ugh, don't even start with me" you placed the red bull can in front of him, hopping on the table next to it. "The machine outside is broken, so I had to go all the way to the third floor cafeteria to get these"

"The machine is broken?" He took the can from your hands and cracked it open for you before even opening his own. He was a gentleman like that, and you would be lying if you said it didn't make your heart melt for him just a little bit more. You guys had been on the lab pretty much all night and, while you were sure this morning you looked like the dead warmed over, his messy hair, slightly red eyes and puffy lips made him look somehow even more endearing. They made him look hotter.

"I know, right?" You cleared your throat as if that would cover your shameless staring, "this building is literally crawling with engineers and the freaking soda machine is broken!"

"Well, to be fair only like a handful of people has access to this floor of the building. And only one of those is an actual engineer" Peter pointed out sensibly, "Still, we should probably check it out once we're done here. I mean, we can't have the Stark princess mixing up with all the peasants at the cafeteria" He added cheekily, using the press's nickname for you to tease you. You punched him in the arm, causing him to start laughing.

"Shut up!" He laughed even harder. "Actually, something funny happened on the way to the third floor..."

"Really, now?" He was still smiling. Your heart was still doing somersaults inside your ribcage.

"Really really. You see, there was a bunch of kids our age there. Some of them were wearing Midtown high hoodies. Something you wanna tell me, Pete?"

That sobered him up. You sounded so much like your father right there, he just couldn't lie to you when you used that tone. He wondered vaguely if you were aware of that and did it on purpose, or you simply were so... well, Stark.

"Well? Is there?" You pressed on. Peter sighed.

"Yeah, my school had this field trip today... Mr. Harrington figured that, since I work here almost every day, it would be boring for me so I didn't need to go" He shrugged.

"That much I can understand" you nodded, "but don't you want to, I don't know... Pop down there to say hi or something?"

Peter hesitated.

"No, not really. I mean, Ned already knows what we truly do, and the rest of them don't even believe I'm an intern here anyway" he tried to sound nonchalant about it but you knew him too well to buy the act.

To be honest, he didn't want you to see the way Flash treated him and realize how not cool and lame he actually was. It would be awesome to prove Flash wrong, but risking you hearing him call Peter "Penis Parker" just wasn't worth it.

"What do you mean? Why would they not believe you?" You insisted innocently. He scratched the back of his neck and for the first time you noticed he was actually blushing.

When he finally met your eyes, he realized immediately what a mistake that was. He was just going to have to tell the truth. Damn you and your big, beautiful, soulful orbs.

"There's this guy... He's a jerk and he doesn't like me. I guess he kinda convinced everybody that I was lying." Your shocked face was doing something to his insides. You were so nice to everyone that it truly surprised you some people were just mean, and he was so screwed already, but that made him love you even more. Liz Allen had nothing on your beauty or your intelligence, and definitely had nothing on your kindness.

He was so amazed by this revelation he didn't even notice when Bruce entered the lab, commenting distractedly "Did you guys know the soda machine out there is broken?"

Nor did he notice when you took your phone out. It was time to send your father a message.

**********************************************

"... I told you guys, Penis Parker was lying all this time" A douchy kid gloated as they left the interns lab. That must be Flash. "If he really worked here, he should have been there"

"Peter works directly for Tony Stark" Ned defended his friend. "He's probably with him right now, that's why he wasn't with the other interns."

"Yeah, right! And he probably hangs out with y/n Stark on his free time!" Flash replied, voice full of sarcasm. Wow, Parker really didn't do this brat's level of jerkness justice. "Mr. Harrington, you're gonna fail him, right?"

The teacher in question stared at some papers on his hands, shuffling nervously.

"Well... You see...He's-"

Woah there, he couldn't let that happen, could he? It was showtime.

"Good, you're still here." Tony Stark's voice resonated through the hallway. Thirty or so shocked faces turned his way. A couple of them, including the douchebag's, even stared open mouthed.

"Mr- Mr. Stark, it's so good to see you"

"Thank you, Amanda" Tony interrupted the pretty blonde talking. "I'll take care of the tour from now on. I have a special treat for you guys" He added to the shellshocked group. " You see, my favorite intern is always talking about you and how smart you are" He leveled Flash with a look "well, most of you anyway. So I thought I would let you see where the truly cool stuff happens, so what do you say guys, wanna take a peak at one of my personal labs?"

Everyone was still too starstruck to answer, so he turned to an unimpressed looking girl.

"What do you say Joan of Arc, game for some real science?"

"As long as we can discuss your plans for remunerating the families of the workers that were forced to work under slavery conditions on foreign countries during your father's time directing Stark industries, sure. Name's Michelle Jones, by the way."

Tony blinked.

"Well MJ, I guess it's a good thing it's a long elevator ride up there, then..."

**********************************************

"... How did you even find out about those plans?"

"Oh, I didn't." The intimidating teenager admitted, "I was just trying to make you uncomfortable."

"Well, you did," it was Tony's turn to admit. "For a minute there, I thought the whole thing had leaked and the press was gonna caught wind of it"

"Why don't you want the press finding out about it?"

Tony shrugged. "It shouldn't be news to be a decent human. Besides, they like to twist everything, the press would say I just do it for the PR"

"Yeah, that's probably true... Hey, is that Parker?"

Tony followed her look to where his protegee and his daughter were doing what appeared to be some silly victory dance and... Singing?

"... Congratulations, work so hard forgot how to vacation, they ain't never had the dedication..."

"..Nanana nana and look we made it, yeah we made it!.."

"Nice to see you guys working so hard." Tony called out to them "Banner are you dancing too?"

"Tony! I can't help it, you should see what your kids came up with, this is game changing!" Bruce exclaimed excitedly just as the rest of the students entered the enormous lab. He frowned. "Tony, what the hell? This is a high security lab, this is no place for high schoolers"

That finally got Peter's attention and he stopped spinning you in his arms, staring slack jawed at his classmates, still huddled together by the glass double doors, as surprised to see him there as he was of seeing them.

"Relax Banner, don't go green on us. I just wanted to show the kiddies here where their friend works. Y/n, Parker, what do you have for me?"

You smiled mischievously at Peter before stepping away from his arms and practically skipping to your father's side.

"Dad, you have to see the new formula Peter developed for Spider-Man's web shooters." You gushed at your dad. "And... The other thing... I can't really talk about it in front of civilians" You added eyeing Ned significantly.

Ned's face lit up. "Is this about the creepy crawlers you and Pete were talking about last night?" Tony looked alarmed so he hurried to add, "About the ones I know nothing about, whatsoever"

Tony still looked suspicious but Peter choose that moment to come stand beside you.

"Hi, guys!" He said timidly to his classmates, and for once, Flash was speechless, no scantling remarks coming to his mind. In fact, his brain seemed to broke completely when his eyes came to rest on yours and Peter's intertwined fingers.

"Peter you work in Mr. Stark's private labs? That's... Very impressive. Well done! I'm tempted to just pass you this semester with an A plus right here and now" Mr. Harrington said, looking genuinely happy for him. Your smile grew bigger.

"That seems a little exaggerated" Your father intervened, placing a hand on the teachers shoulder, "Why don't we talk about you just giving Peter cero homework or assignments so he can spend more time here with me instead?"

Mr. Harrington laughed nervously. Your just father raised an eyebrow. "Why are you laughing, I wasn't kidding"

"Dad, I'd hate to be a joykiller but Bruce, Peter and I need to get back to work."

Your dad looked at you, then at the kids.

"Yeah, sure, we'll just leave you guys to it, then" He started ushering the students outside but then turned back to you, saying for everyone to hear "Why don't we get dinner later, though, all four of us? Oh, and I like this one here" he pointed at MJ "Can we invite her?"

"Sure!"

"Of course, Mr. Stark!"

He pointed at Ned "You are not invited. Oh, who am I kidding, of course you are invited. You are the man in the chair after all..."

Bruce, Peter and you watched them retreat back to the elevators.

"Don't think I don't know what you just did" Peter turned to you as soon as they were out of sight. You looked at him innocently.

"I have no idea what you're talking about"

"If you excuse me" Bruce declared "I still have work to do. Go do whatever it is you love birds do on your free time, you worked hard enough today. And last night."

You both opened your eyes big at that, you had thought you hadn't raised any alarms when you broke into the lab after patrol, when you had thought of the spider shaped spy droids for the avengers.

"We have no idea what you're talking about" you said at the same time.

And then,

"Wait, we're not love birds!"

"I really don't know what you're talking about this time!"

The end.

Wow! My first request is done! I hope you liked it, anonymous who send it. Whoever you are, I loved writing this one, so thank YOU!

#avengers #avengers!reader #avengers fanfic #peter parker #peter parker fanfic #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker x reader #peter parker x stark!reader #peter parker x stark!daughter #tom holland #tom holland fanfic #tom holland fanfiction #tom Holland x reader

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jadekitty777 · 5 years ago

Text

Dreams to Dance

People said I couldn’t make an AU out of this prompt... you better believe I made an AU out of this prompt.

Oh but am I EVER excited to get here. This one is my top favorite of my seven entries. I really hope y’all like it too!!

Day 6: Atlas Ball

Rating: K+

Pairing: Qrow/Clover

Word Count: 3.5k

Ao3 Link: Dreams to Dance

Summary: Season 7 of Step to the Beat is in full swing and dancing contestants Qrow Branwen and Clover Ebi have successfully made it to the fifth round. But with Ironwood judging their every move and a theme choice that was particularly unfavorable to them, the couple knew their elimination might be on the horizon. If they were going to stay in this competition, they needed something big, something that would blow everyone else away.

And Qrow just happened to have an idea.

(AKA: The Dancing AU no one asked for)

Qrow swore if his grip got any tighter, his phone was going to shatter.

“Is there anything you’d like to say to those commenting how last night’s choice of theme was particularly unfavorable for the only same-sex dancing pair?” The interviewer, Glynda, asked.

He liked her. She was all business and no nonsense when it came to her questions. She wasn’t shy to ask the difficult ones but never wasted her breath on anything that didn’t at least provoke some thought. And he was pretty sure she was rooting for his team.

It was the man she was directing the question to that he didn’t like.

“I believe those claims are unfounded.” James Ironwood replied, fixing his stupid cufflinks. “While yes, the theme of an ‘Atlas Ball’ brings upon these fairytale notions of a princess being swept up by her prince similar to Cinderella or Beauty and the Beast, it’s merely that. A notion. The theme is merely meant to be a springboard our pairs can use to express their creativity and my scores are issued on the merit of how well they executed that expression. Their gender does not matter.”

“Tch, fuck off.” Qrow grumbled.

Ever since the first episode of Step to the Beat, Ironwood had quickly been singled out as the biggest hard-ass of all the other judges. He seemed to find flaw in everything, docking points for even the smallest half-step out of line or every smile missed, only getting tougher as the seasons went on. He’d been gunning for his and Clover’s elimination since their very first audition where he claimed their foxtrot had been ‘slow’ and ‘uninspired’.

Clover kept telling him he was imagining things but after last night, when they survived yet another round only to have Ironwood announce the theme that was so geared towards the rest of their competition, even his normally optimistic fiancé didn’t have any reassurances to give.

They knew this was probably their end game.

“They say too much bad TV rots the brain you know.”

He looked up from the screen. Clover crossed over the practice mats, hopping up onto the edge of the stage next to him. Qrow huffed in annoyance as his phone was taken away and a water bottle placed in it instead, but ultimately didn’t protest as the video was paused and set, face down, behind them.

He uncapped the bottle, taking a hearty drink, before saying, “Doesn’t it piss you off though?”

“Sure. All the more reason to show everyone we’re more than just the token gay couple.” He replied with the same level of confidence Qrow had always trusted to lead him, whether it be out on the dancefloor or in the ups and downs of life. “So, let’s get started.”

Clover pulled out his little pocketbook, flipping a few pages in where he had written down the eight dance styles allowed for this round.

Since starting in the competition, Qrow and Clover kept themselves on a strict schedule for each new week. The first day was dedicated to choosing their style and song. The next two, they worked on choreography and practice. The day after those was deciding costume, lights and makeup – a portion Qrow, personally, excelled at since he had the eye for color coordination and fashion. Their last two days were spent putting it all together until they had it down to memory. It was exhausting work, and some days they didn’t leave the practice room until after midnight, only to come back a few hours later. But, it was also why he appreciated his fiancé’s knack for organization, because otherwise Qrow was sure they’d be nothing more than a confused wreck like the many other couples who possibly used this very same room.

Before being selected, Qrow hadn’t been all too worried about any of the horror stories they’d witnessed over the years. But, after week after grueling week having the pressure constantly on their shoulders or finishing one round, succeeding at it, only to be thrown into the next with no rest or break, even he and Clover had had their moments. It quickly became apparent to him how things grew so out of hand for the other pair-ups. But a snap of annoyance here or a need for an hour of alone time there was nothing compared to the former contestants who changed their performances halfway through the week or even the very night before going on, only to predictably fumble on stage. Arguments that broke out over trivial details like not having the right trinkets or lipstick. People trying out experimental moves to stand out that more often than not resulted in injury.

Then there was that one event during season three, when the stress of the competition became too much and resulted in a wife and husband filing for divorce.

The very idea a competition could ruin his relationship with Clover seemed ridiculous – if anything, despite the trials and tribulations, he’d never felt closer to his future husband.

He leaned on his arm, scanning over the list. As they weren’t allowed to perform with a dance they’d done before, audition included, a few were already crossed out. Like their uninspired foxtrot. Or the paso doble which had given them a second-place score during the third week. It had been an excellent choice, highlighting their skills like Clover’s strength and Qrow’s flexibility. There was only one dance they did better.

It was on Clover’s mind too. “You think it’s time to break out our rumba?”

It was tempting. They’d been keeping it in their back pocket, as a little ace up their sleeve; but secretly, they’d both hoped they’d get to show it off in the finals. Now not even knowing if they’d make it that far, it was hard not to pull it now. The complex, often speedy movements, the power, and the agile form the rumba called for were all things the two of them exemplified best at. For Qrow especially it framed him well, as it was a very hip-oriented dance and he knew how to use his.

It would almost definitely earn them a high spot for the round, making up for their lacking score last night. But, then what? They’d still have four weeks to survive through, and with their best dance behind them, he couldn’t see them getting that far, as everything else would pale in comparison.

Qrow rolled his head up, meeting the other’s gaze. “Do you think we can make it to the next round?”

Clover hummed, rolling it around in his head. “If we’re careful about it, there’s a chance. But this list is pretty limiting for us. We could do a tango. Maybe with an Addams Family angle?”

“Too predictable.” He waved off, scanning over their options once more. If only they were allowed to switch lead and follow, the jive would have been perfect. So, he skipped over it, only to linger on the very last one.

It was risky.

Probably stupid.

But as an idea formed in his head, he found himself pointing to it and saying, “How about we do this one?”

Clover’s eyebrows furrowed. “The waltz? Are you sure? All of our performances have been high-tempo. They’re not going to be expecting a slow dance from us.”

“Exactly. There’s more than one way to surprise our audience you know. Besides,” Qrow added as he hopped down to the floor. “You’re really going to like what I have planned.”

The minutes before their performance were the most nerve-wrecking Qrow had ever had to endure. Stuck backstage as the floor for the act before theirs was cleaned up and their own was readied, a short reel played for the audience – sneak peeks the camera crew had caught of Clover and Qrow’s work as they planned out their moves or answers to the various interviewers who stopped by to inquire about whatever drama was popular that week. Watching himself sink down a bit whenever the camera was on him and hearing his own gravely voice come out over the speakers did nothing to ease his jitters. In fact, it usually left him wanting to be swallowed up by the floor.

“Thirty seconds you two, and then it’s showtime!” One of the crew members called.

A hand slipped into his, squeezing gently.

“We got this.” Clover assured.

He inhaled shakily and let it out slow. Squeezed back. “Yeah, we do.”

Another member made a hand motion and they took it as their cue to walk into the darkness of the stage and get into position as their announcement boomed across the auditorium. “Introducing Clover Ebi and Qrow Branwen, dancing a traditional waltz!”

As the first trills of the violin started up, the lights came on, revealing them facing one another. Clover was down on one knee, holding Qrow’s hand in his.

The production allowed for any sort of props to be used to tell their stories or just liven up the set as a complement to the main attraction. Over the years, he’d seen all sorts of things be brought in – cars, cages, couches. For this dance, they’d only asked for one thing. Set behind Qrow was a small, plastic toy castle that he could imagine his nieces would have played with when they were younger. They needed nothing more, for the real prop was Qrow himself, dressed in an eye-catching scarlet red ball gown befitting of a real princess.

He could already hear the exclamations of the audience around him.

Clover lent forward and, like the true prince charming he was dressed as, brushed his lips to the back of Qrow’s hand before rising. His movements were grand as he swept Qrow down the ramp to the main stage, the two of them turning together so they didn’t waste a single footstep. All the while the soft, dulcet tones of Cathy Cavadini accompanied them as they moved.

“Dreams to dream,

In the dark of the night.

When the world goes wrong,

I can still make it right.”

As they came off the ramp, they started off slow, moving into a whisk that presented them fully to their audience, before Clover brought him back in, whirling him along to the edges of the stage. As they reached the far corner on the right, Qrow was pulled out into a turn. He felt the skirt of the dress rise with him and it felt wonderful to hear a few happy shouts from the onlookers just like they gave the women in similar clothing.

“I can see so far in my dreams,

I’ll follow my dreams,

Until they come true.”

They turned their way to the other corner of the stage, preforming another outward turn that resulted in another set of calls before heading back to the center as the last trills of the first stanza grew to an end, preparing for the first big move. They’d practiced it over and over, knowing it was a difficult maneuver that had to go right on stage no matter what.

Clover guided him into a parallel walk. It was similar to the whisk, all about showing themselves off, except instead of both of them facing the same way, they were back to front, moving in a circular two-step around each other. What no one saw, but Qrow felt, was the slide of Clover’s hand between a hidden slit in the dress, undoing the little metal hooks keeping it closed.

As the music hit a short, bright rise and Cavadini’s voice did likewise on the first verse, Clover brought him back in, his right-hand grabbing onto a fistful of the satin fabric. With the guide of his partner’s left hand, Qrow moved seamlessly into the two inside turns.

“Come with me,

You will see what I mean.

There’s a world, inside,

No one else ever sees.”

He knew he got it just right as the roar of the audience climbed around them while the dress fell away, revealing Qrow’s outfit underneath. It was another prince’s outfit, with greys and blacks and deep greens, that complemented the other’s sharp whites, golds and reds. He made a show of pulling from Clover’s hold, feigning embarrassment and shame.

Not for long though as Clover tossed the dress towards backstage and made a show of asking for his hand again.

Upon taking it, they renewed the dance, more vigor in their steps than before.

As if learning who Qrow truly was only made their love stronger.

“You will go so far

In my dreams, somewhere in my dreams

Your dreams will come true.

There is a star, waiting to guide us,

Shining inside us, when we close our eyes.”

Rather than down the edges like before, they stayed in the center, moving gracefully around one another in a square pattern, grinning at each other like lovestruck teenagers. At the last corner turn, they came close again for more sweeps and turns. With his legs now freer, he used them to his advantage, kicking them up or popping them behind him for a little extra pizazz on certain moves.

They knew they were approaching the big crescendo as the tempo started to pick up and the singer started to hold notes longer.

As it reached the peak, Clover turned him around so they faced away from one another. He gripped him strong and secure just underneath his armpits as Qrow held out his arms and fell back, almost down to the other’s waistline. With admirable strength, his fiancé kept him lifted up while they made two sweeping turns, Qrow’s legs never touching the ground as he held his legs in a leaping position similar to a ballerina’s grand jeté.

The resounding cheers were deafening.

“Don’t let go,

If you stay close to me!

In my dreams tonight,

You will see what I see.”

Ironically, at the apex of the last turn, Clover had to let him go. Qrow slid along the waxed floor, using his own momentum to swing around so he was facing the other when he stopping moving. Just as before, their separation was brief, Clover coming to lift him.

“Dreams to dream,

As near as can be,

Inside, you and me,

They always come true.”

They took another, tighter, swing around the stage, ultimately coming back to the center. The song winded down on the final verse and in turn, they kept their movements closer, more intimate. When the last words played, Clover dipped him and brought him back up slowly.

As the instruments also began to soften, Clover ended it as they began, taking a step back and falling to one knee. The only difference this time around was he now held Qrow’s hand in both of his, a perfect mimic of the day he’d proposed to him seven months ago.

The crowd went wild around them and the spotlight that had been following them was traded in for full lighting. Clover stood, gathering him up in an ecstatic hug that had Qrow laughing along with him. It had been a perfect performance.

“And that was Qrow and Clover with the last dance!” The host, Roman Torchwick, called as he joined them on stage. “Truly a marvelous way to end the night gentlemen. But, let’s see what the judges have to say about it, shall we?”

“Well, it was quite a display.” Ozpin was the first to speak as he leaned towards his mic. His grin gave away his feelings even before he spoke. “The story you two managed to tell with just a few short actions was masterfully done. You’re the one who crafted it, Qrow?”

Roman held the mic his way so he could answer. “Yeah. Fairytales are so often about overcoming life’s trials and finding true love at the end. I think a lot of us admire that ideal – and that’s what I wanted to capture with tonight’s dance.”

“Well, I’d say you did excellently. Not only was it heartwarming it also provides a poignant message to those watching that the right partner can lift you up.” Oz praised. “It absolutely is your best performance for storytelling thus far, and I’m happy to appoint it a 9.”

Qrow felt the squeeze where Clover’s arm rested on his shoulders and had to fight his blush as he heard his whispered ‘I’m so proud of you!’ that was thankfully not picked up by the mic.

“Oo-hoo! A top score.” Their host flattered. “Let’s see if you can keep it up. So, Port, your thoughts on their song choice and costuming?”

The aging man turned one end of his whitening mustache as he replied, “Dreams to Dream was a very nice choice indeed and truly sells the slow romance of the waltz. I can see from here those suits of yours are near perfect matches. The dress is where I see flaws. It holds a great level of ingenuity, but it was hard not to laugh outright when the lights first came on, which didn’t match the tone. I also hope you two know those turns at the end of the stage gave away you weren’t exactly wearing glass slippers under that frock, among other things, did you?”

“Hehe, we were admittedly a little zealous with the dress.” Clover admitted. “We knew we should have gone with something less flowy, but it’s hard to deny how aesthetically pleasing it is to see a woman’s dress twirl with her. We wanted to have that too, even if it revealed a bit too much.”

“Zeal can be a great attribute when handled in the right way, but in this case I’d say part of it fell flat – as is, I’m giving you boys a 7.”

Still a good score. Qrow started to breathe a little easier. As long as James wasn’t a total ass and gave them more than a 3, they were moving on to next week

James straightened up, clearing his throat. “It’s really a shame-”

Oh, here we go.

“-That this is the first time you two have given us such a marvelous show all across the board.”

…Eh?

His eyes widened, certain he’d misheard.

But James cold-as-steel Ironwood was smiling. “Your footwork was impeccable and your rhythm to the music was like watching artwork in motion. This performance tonight shows just what you two are really capable of and that you’re truly a force to be reckoned with in this competition.”

Qrow couldn’t get his vocal cords to work. Luckily Clover found it for both of them, “Thank you, sir.”

“I hope you both keep it up. For now, take home another 9 with pride.”

He shared a look with the man beside him, both going from slack-jawed to grinning in seconds. A nine! A nine!!! For the second time, Qrow was tugged into his partner’s solid embrace, this time being twirled around on stage while Roman declared them as tonight’s winning team and the audience hollered and applauded.

Even after they were ushered off stage so the pair that had come in last could give a final goodbye and the announcement of the next round’s stipulations could be broadcast, neither of them couldn’t stop smiling, still buzzing with so much post-performance adrenalin and joy. The smiles stayed on their faces the entire time Glynda asked her questions. Throughout every call from family and friends giving congratulations. The whole drive back to the hotel.

After a warm shower and a hearty dinner, Qrow eventually found himself pillowed against the headboard and tucked against Clover’s side, sleepily watching reruns of the performances. Usually, they ran commentary over them, picking out the flaws and successes of each dance, particularly their own, to try and improve for the next round.

But as he drank in the applause once more as theirs came to an end, he found he didn’t have much to say. The TV was turned off, washing them in silence. He laid his head onto Clover’s chest, feeling fingers thread through his hair.

“You were magnificent out there.” Clover said.

He craned his neck some, enough so his fiancé could see his tiny smirk. “Weren’t half bad yourself, charmer. I’d say you swept me right off my feet.”

He chuckled heartily. “How could I not?” He dropped a kiss on his lips. “You are my fairytale.”

“And you’re mine.” Qrow vowed, cupping Clover’s chin and met him for another kiss.

More than the winning scores or a fancy trophy potentially on the horizon, he’d attest that it was only in moments like these that he attained true victory.

---

A/N: Got a lot of dedications to list for this one:

-The song is as Port says “Dreams to Dream” – specifically Tanya’s version from Fievel Goes West. Cathy Cavadini is her voice actor. I recommend giving it a listen to get an idea of the pacing and where their moves happen.

I took the inspiration for Qrow and Clover’s dance from various Dancing with the Stars performances and recommend watching them as well. I’ll list them out here:

-From both Heather Morris & Maks Chmerkovskiy and James Hinchcliffe & Jenna Johnson’s performances I took the inspiration of circling the stage and some of the up kicks Qrow mentions he does after the dress comes off. You can also see a lot of the ‘whisk’ moves they do in the center of the stage (presenting themselves to the audience). The dip and slow return that James and Jenna do at the end is similar to the one Qrow and Clover do.

-Von Miller & Witney Carson – from this one, the way Von takes Witney’s hand in the beginning is how I envision Clover asking for it the second time during the dance. The square pattern they do midway through is also the one Qrow and Clover do.

-Marla Maples & Tony Dovolani – This is the big one. This is the lift Qrow and Clover do at the end. It’s really cool looking, so I recommend giving it a watch.

-However, Qrow having his clothes removed mid-performance was inspired by Elizaveta Tuktamysheva’s 2018 ice skating performance.

#qrow branwen #clover ebi #fair game #fairgameweek2020 #rwby #fanfiction #Chase Firekitten's Tale

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