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feanorianethicsdepartment · 3 years ago

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Alright, I read your recent post and need to know - what is your interpretation of Maglor’s relationship with the twins?

askjdhslkjag my biggest self-inflicted problem in this fandom is that my take on maglor, elrond, and elros' relationship is so intensely detailed and specific i am forever tormented by none of the fic i read ever quite getting it right (from my perspective; i’ve read plenty of fic that presents a good interpretation on their own terms, it’s just never mine.) it’s simultaneously way darker than the fluffy kidnap dads stuff and nowhere near as black-and-white awful as the anti-fëanorian crowd likes to paint it, it’s messy and complicated and surrounded by darkness, and yet there’s also a sincere connection within it which mostly serves to make all those complications worse. angry teenage elrond is angry for a great many reasons, and the circumstances around him being raised by kinslayers account for at least half of them. there’s lots of complexity here, and i don’t see it in fic nearly as often as i’d like

(warning: the post... feathers? i already have an internet friend called faeiri this could be awkward - anyway, the post she’s talking about includes the line ‘everyone is wrong about kidnap dads except me.’ this post follows on from that in being as much a commentary about why various popular interpretations of both how the kidnapdoption went and the way people subsequently characterise the twins just don’t work for me as it is a setting out of my own ideas. i’m not really interested in getting into discourse here, i’m just trying to get my thoughts down. i’ve read fic with these interpretations before that i’ve liked, even, don’t take this as a Condemnation, aight? also this turned out long as hell, so i’m putting it under a cut)

i can never buy entirely fluffy depictions of kidnap dads

which isn’t to say i don’t read them! sometimes all i want is something sweet, for these kids to get to be happy for once. it’s not like i think their time with the fëanorians was completely devoid of laughter

it’s just. the pet names, the special days out, the home-cooked meals, it can get so treacly it stops feeling like the characters they are in the situation they’re in and turns into Generic Found Family #272

it soaks out all the complexity - which is the thing i am here for - and acts like oh, these kids were never in any danger, they were perfectly happy being abducted by the people who murdered everyone they knew, there’s nothing possibly questionable about this relationship at all

and... yeah. that’s not the characters i know. that’s not the context i know they belong to

i just can’t forget the circumstances that led them to meet

rivers of blood, the air filled with screams, a town ablaze, a woman choosing to die. every interaction the three of them have is going to proceed from that nightmare

(sidenote: i tend to hold it was maglor that raised the twins, with maedhros looming ominously in the background not really getting involved. it’s mostly personal preference, i’ve been in and out of the fandom since before this kidnap dads thing blew up and when i joined that was a perfectly standard reading)

(also the cave thing was a dumb idea, old man, if only because it implies beleriand had streams safe enough for children to play in at that point. the way it separates the twins from the third kinslaying is also something i don’t particularly vibe with)

probably my least favourite angle i’ve seen on the situation (edged out only by ‘maglor was actively abusive towards the twins’ which no no no no no no no no NO) is the idea that maglor (and/or maedhros, append as necessary) took the twins specifically to raise them

like, i get where it’s coming from, but it makes maglor come off as really creepy

(i have read fics where it is indeed played off as really creepy, but that’s not a maglor i have any interest in reading about)

(’mags 100% bad’ is just as facile a take to me as ‘mags 100% good’)

even if you’re saying maglor took them in because they had no one left to take care of them - i highly doubt they were the only children the fëanorians orphaned at sirion. idk, it always makes maglor seem much less sympathetic than i think it’s meant to

i prefer to think of it as more... organic? something that evolved, not something that was preordained. them growing closer gradually, the twins finding an adult who might maybe be on their side, maglor becoming invested in them almost by accident

and then the twins are so comfortable with the second scariest monster in amon ereb they frequently sass him off and maglor’s gotten so used to not hurting them he’s not even thinking about it any more. no one’s quite sure how it happened, but they’ve made a Connection

‘wait aren’t they a murderous warlord of questionable mental stability and a pair of terrified small children who’ve lost everyone they ever knew? isn’t that kinda fucked up?’ yup! that’s the point! complexity!

another idea i don’t like is the idea that maglor was an objectively better parent to the twins than eärendil or elwing

other people have talked about this already, i won’t rehash the whole thing. i will say that while i don’t think elwing was a perfect parent - someone so young, in such a horrible situation, i wouldn’t blame her for screwing up - i do think she (and eärendil) did the best by them they possibly could

this is one of the few things they have in common with maglor

something i come across now and again is the idea that sure, elwing and eärendil weren’t abusive or horrible or anything, but they were a couple of basically-teenagers with so many other responsibilities, there was only so much they could do. maglor, on the other hand, is an experienced adult who could take much better care of the twins

and...

first off, it’s not like mags doesn’t have a job. he’s a warlord, he has a fortress to help run, military shit to handle, lots of other stuff that needs to get done to stop everyone from starving or getting eaten by orcs. i feel like sirion had enough of a government there was plenty of opportunity for elwing to take days off and play with her kids, but in the fëanorian camp nobody really has the time to chase after a couple of toddlers, least of all one of the last points on the command network. they just don’t have the people any more

(seriously, the twins getting a formal education with tutors and classes and shit is a weirdly specific pet peeve of mine. this is a band of renegades, not a royal household; if there’s anyone left with those kinds of skills they almost certainly have more important things to do)

more than that, though - well, a quick glance through my late stage fëanorians tag should tell you a lot about what i think maglor’s mental state is like at this point. he is so accustomed to violence death means nothing to him, he’s lost most of his capacity for genuinely positive emotion to an endless century of defeat and despair, he hates everything in the universe, especially himself, he’s only able to keep functioning through a truly astounding amount of denial, and he covers it all up with a layer of snark and feigned apathy, which he defends aggressively because he’s subconsciously realised that if it breaks he’ll have absolutely nothing left

(maedhros, for the record, is... i’d say more stable, but at a lower point. maglor may interact with the world mostly through cold stares and mocking laughter, but at least his mind is firmly rooted in the present)

(on the other hand, at least maedhros lets himself be aware of what they are and where their road will lead)

which... this doesn’t mean maglor doesn’t try to be kind to the twins, or rein in his worst impulses around them

there’s just so little of him left but the weapon

he stalks through the halls like a portent of death and gets into hours-long screaming matches with maedhros and has definitely killed people in front of the twins

not even as, like, a deliberate attempt to scare them, but because when you solve most of your problems by stabbing them it’s pretty much a given that people who spend a lot of time around you are going to see you do it at least once

and sometimes, he curls up in an empty hallway, and weeps

... suffice it to say i don’t think elwing’s the more preoccupied, or the less mentally ill, parent here

just. in general, the fëanorians aren’t cackling boogeymen, but they’re not particularly nice either

no one has the energy left for that. not these isolated and weary soldiers at the end of a long losing war and the beginning of the end of the world. they don’t really bother to guard the kids against them escaping. where else are they going to go?

the sheer despair that must have been in the fëanorian camp after sirion, the knowledge that the cause cannot be fulfilled, that they are utterly forsaken, that they’re really just waiting to die -

it can’t have been a happy place to grow up in, under the shadow of loss and grief and deeds unrepentable, and the slow march of inevitable defeat

they would have had a better childhood if they stayed in sirion, raised by people who knew how to hope

but that isn’t the childhood they had. and despite everything i’ve said, i don’t think that childhood was an entirely awful one

yeah, see, this is where the other side of my self-inflicted fandom catch-22 comes in. just as much of the pro-kidnap dads stuff comes off as overly saccharine and simplified to me, i find much of the anti-kidnap dads stuff equally simplistic in the opposite direction

the idea that maglor and the fëanorians never meant anything to elros and elrond, that they had no effect on the people they became at all, that it was just a horrible thing that happened when they were children, easily thrown in the rear-view mirror...

that’s even more impossible to me than the idea that life with the fëanorians was 100% fluffy and nice

like, i’ve seen the take that elros and elrond hated the fëanorians from start to finish. they were perfect little sindarin princes, loyal to their people and the memory of doriath, spurning every scrap of kindness offered to them and knowing just what to say to twist the knife into the kinslayers’ wounds

... dude. they were six. hell, given their peredhelness, mentally they could easily have been younger

what six year old has a firm grasp of their ethnic identity? what six year old is fully aware of their place in history? what six year old would understand the politics that led to their situation?

don’t get me wrong, i can see hatred in there. but something else that doesn’t get acknowledged alongside it often enough is the fear

some of the stuff i’ve read feels like it gives the kids too much power in the situation. they’re perfectly happy to talk back to and belittle the people who burned down their hometown and killed everyone they ever knew, like miniature adults who don’t feel threatened at all

and, like, six. i can see them going for insults as a defensive measure, but it is defensive. it’s covering up fear, not coming from secure disdain

(and a lot of those insults sound, again, like things an adult who’s already familiar with the fëanorians would say, not a scared child who’s lost almost everything. why would a six year old raised by sindar and gondolindrim know what the noldolantë is, let alone what it means to maglor?)

(... i’m just ranting about this one fic that’s been ruffling my feathers for five years straight now, aren’t i)

i mean, i write elrond as the world’s angriest teenager, who snipes at maglor pretty much constantly, but the thing about angry teenage elrond is that he’s angry teenage elrond

he’s spent long enough with the fëanorians he has a pretty secure position within the camp, and he knows that maglor won’t hurt him from a decade and change of maglor not, in fact, hurting him

but as a small and terrified child abducted by the monsters his mother had nightmares about? he fluctuated wildly between ‘randomly guessing at things to say that wouldn’t get him killed’ ‘screaming at maglor to go away in words rarely more complicated than that’ 'desperately trying not to do or say anything in the hopes of not being noticed’ and ‘hiding’

(and i don’t think the twins were never in any danger from the fëanorians, either. quite besides the point that before they started orbiting maglor nobody was really sure what to do with them... well, they wouldn’t be the first children of thingol’s line the minions took revenge on)

(fortunately for them, maglor did, in fact, take them under his wing. by this point even their own followers are shit scared of the last two sons of fëanor, nobody’s going to mess with their stuff and risk getting mauled. tactically, it was a pretty good decision for a couple of toddlers)

more to the point, i feel like a child that young, in a situation that horrible, wouldn’t reject any kindness they were offered, any soothing touch in a universe of terror

in a world full of big scary monsters, the best way to survive is to get the biggest scariest monster possible to protect you. that’s how elros rationalises it when they’re, like, eight, mentally, but at the time they were just latching on to the only person around them who seemed to care about them

that’s how it started, on their end. two very young very scared children lost in a neverending nightmare clinging tightly to the lone outstretched pair of hands

as for maglor...

i’ve called mags evil before, but i see that as more of a... technical term? he is evil because he did the murder, he remains evil because he won’t stop doing the murder. hot take: murder bad

but that doesn’t make him, like, a moustache-twirling saturday morning cartoon villain. he is deeply unhappy with the position he’s in and the person he’s become, and he’s always trying not to take that final step over the edge

it’s not that i can’t see a maglor who is abusive or manipulative or who sees the twins more as objects than people. it’s just that that characterisation is one i am profoundly uninterested in. i do occasionally read fic with it, but it never enters my own headcanons

horrible people can do good things!! kinslayers can do good things!! the fallen are capable of humanity!! people can do both good and evil things at the same time, because people are complicated!! maglor is not psychologically incapable of actually taking pity on these kids!!!!

it’s... again, complexity. the fëanorians straddle the line between black and white, which is a lot less sharp in the legendarium than it’s sometimes characterised as. it’s what draws me to their characters so much, why i have so many stupid headcanons about them. pretending they fall firmly on either side of the line is my real fandom pet peeve

and, like, this moment? this sincere connection between a bloodstained warlord and two children who will grow up to be great and kind in equal measure? i may not entirely like the direction the fandom’s taken it recently, but that beat, that relationship, it still gets me

so no, i don’t think elrond and elros’ years with the fëanorians were an endless cavalcade of abuse and misery. i think there was love there, despite the darkness all around them

an old, tired monster, and the two tiny children it protects

maglor never hurts the twins, not ever, not once. his claws are sharp and his fangs are keen, if he so much as swatted them he’d rip them in half. instead he folds down the razor edges of his being, interacting with them ever so carefully. he has nightmares of suddenly tearing into their skin

seriously, the power differential between them is so great, maglor so much as raising his voice would break any trust they have in this horribly dangerous creature. fics where he does corporal punishment always get the side-eye from me

the mood of their relationship is... i find it hard to put into words. melancholy, maybe, like a sunny afternoon a few days before the end of the world. three people who’ve lost so much finding what respite they can in each other as the world slowly crumbles around them

there are times when it feels like the three of them exist in a world of their own, marked out by the edges of the firelight. maglor telling stories of the stars, elros giving relaxed irreverent commentary, elrond getting a few moments to just be, all their troubles kept at bay

they are the last two lights in a world sunk into darkness, the last two living beings he does not on some level hate. he will tear his own heart out before he sees them in pain

he teaches them to ride, he teaches them to read, he gives them everything he still has left. the twins should never have been in this situation, maglor probably isn’t entirely fit to take care of them, but it is what it is, and they take what love they can

(maglor depends on the twins emotionally a bit more than any adult should rely on any child. he’s still very much the caretaker in their relationship, but that relationship is the only one he has left that’s not stained by a century of rage and grief. he’s obsessed with them, maedhros tells him frequently. maglor’s standard response to this is to try to gouge maedhros’ eyes out)

(that particular darker side to their relationship, where maglor’s attachment to the twins turns into a desperate possessiveness - that’s not something i think i’ve ever seen in fic. which is a shame, it feels much closer to my own characterisation than the standard ways this relationship gets maleficised. darker, in a different way than usual. horribly compelling in its plausibility)

however you want to read it, i don’t think you can deny this is a relationship that defines elrond and elros’ childhood. they were raised in the woods by a pack of kinslayers, the text is quite clear on this

but i’ve seen a lot of talk about how elros and elrond are only sirion’s children. they are completely 100% sindarin, they love and forgive eärendil and elwing thoroughly and without question, they identify with doriath over - even gondolin, let alone tirion. the fëanorians - the people who raised them - had zero effect on the people they grew into and the selves they created

and that, more than anything else, i find utterly unbelievable

look, i get what this is a reaction to. a lot of the kidnap dads stuff paints the fëanorians as elrond and elros’ ‘real’ family, and i’ve already talked about what i think of the idea that maglor-and-possibly-also-maedhros were better parents than eärendil and elwing. i think it’s reductive and overly optimistic and just a little too neat

but to say instead that elrond and elros held no great love in their hearts for maglor, no lingering affinity with the fëanorians, no influence on their identity from the people they grew up around, none at all? that after it happened they just left it behind and resumed being the same people they were in sirion?

that strikes me as just as much an oversimplification. it sands down all the potential rough edges of their identity, all that inconvenient complexity that stops them from fitting into any well-defined box, and replaces it with a nice safe simple self-conception i find just as flat and boring as declaring them 100% fëanorian

we can quibble over who they call ‘father’ (i personally find that whole debate kinda petty) but denying that it was actually maglor who was the closest thing they knew to a parent for most of their childhoods, and that that would, in fact, affect the way they thought of themselves and their family, elides so many interesting possibilities out of existence

(i’m not even going to get into the most braindead take i have ever heard on the subject, namely that because their time with the fëanorians was such a small fraction of elrond’s total lifespan it was like being kidnapped for two weeks as a toddler and had no greater significance than that. do you not understand what childhood is????)

like, i tend to think of elrond as a child as being very loudly not-a-fëanorian. elros is more willing to go with the flow - hey, if the creepy kinslayer wants kids, elros is happy to play into that in order to not be murdered - but elrond is very firm that he’s not happy to be here and he doesn’t belong with them

(this is after they get over their initial terror, of course, when they’ve realised they won’t be fed to the orcs for the tiniest slight. even so, elrond only really gets shirty about it around people he’s comfortable with, whose reactions he can reasonably guess at. naturally, the first person he does it to is maglor)

elros calls maglor their father exactly once, when they’re... maybe early preteens? this is because elrond hears him do it and immediately loses his shit. they have a dad, elrond says, in tears, and a mum, and any day now their real parents are going to come to pick them up and take them home

... right?

it gets harder to believe as the years roll on, as their memories of sirion fade, as they find their own places within the host, as maglor watches over them as they grow. elrond still mentally sets himself apart from the fëanorians, but it’s more of an effort every year. life in the fëanorian camp is the only one he’s ever really known. he can barely remember his mother’s voice

then the war of wrath starts, and the fëanorian host drifts closer to the army of valinor, and the twins come into contact with non-fëanorians for the first time in forever, and it becomes clear just how obviously fëanorian elrond is. he always insisted he wasn’t like the kinslayers at all, but he dresses like them, talks like them, fights like them

the myth cycles the edain tell are almost completely unfamiliar to him, he barely remembers the shape of the songs of lost doriath. even these sarcastic commentary and subversive reinterpretations he made of maglor’s stories - those were still maglor’s stories! he’s been trying to guess at the person he was meant to be, but it’s growing nightmarishly blatant how little elrond ever knew about him

instead, the people he was born to are as alien to him as the orcs of morgoth. he is a fëanorian, through and through

... yeah, elrond (and/or elros) having an absolutely massive identity crisis upon being reintroduced to his quote-unquote ‘true kin’ is another angle i’d love to see in fic that i don’t think i’ve ever come across. all those potential grey areas around who they are and who they’re supposed to be sound utterly fascinating, and i think it’s the complexity i hate to see elided over the most

i really, really doubt they could effortlessly slot back into being eärendil and elwing’s children. not when they’ve been surrounded by, lived alongside, been raised by the people who were supposed to enemies for most of their lives

they just don’t fit into that box any more. they can’t

speaking of eärendil and elwing, while i do agree that they both (especially elwing) get a lot more flak than they deserve, i don’t agree that therefore elrond and elros were never the slightest bit mad at them and fully forgave them for everything with no reservations

because, well, they were left behind. elwing had no other choice, but they were still left behind; it led to the world being saved, but they were still left behind. all the best intentions in the universe don’t erase the weeks and months and years of waiting, of a hope that grew thinner and frailer until it finally quietly broke

that’s a real hurt, and a real grievance. even if the twins rationally understand that their parents were making the best out of their terrible situation, you can’t logic away emotions like that. it’s perfectly possible for them to know they have no reason to resent eärendil or elwing, and yet still harbour that bitterness and pain

(i did write a thing once where elrond loudly rejects eärendil as his father in favour of maglor, but something i didn’t add in that i probably should have is that elrond later regretted doing that)

(not like, several centuries later, when he’d grown old and wise. two hours later, when he’d calmed down. but he was still legitimately angry at eärendil, because the one thing angry teenage elrond was not lacking in was reasons to be mad at the adults around him, and before he could figure out if he had anything less furious to say the hosts of the valar left middle-earth behind)

(it’s another element to the tragedy of the whole thing. in that particular story, which is mostly aiming for maximum pain, the only thing elrond’s birth parents know about their son for thousands of years is that he hates them)

(and he doesn’t, not really. you can’t hate someone you’ve never known)

not that i think they couldn’t ever make up with their parents! fics where elrond and his birth parents work past all the things that lie between them and form a functional familial bond despite it all give me life. i just don’t like the idea that there’s nothing difficult for them to work past

i don’t like the idea that elrond and elros would naturally, effortlessly identify with the mother they last saw when they were six and the people they only vaguely remember. i can see them doing it as a political move, i can see them going for it as a deliberate personal choice, but i can’t seeing it being immediate and automatic and easy

no matter how great a pair of heroes eärendil and elwing are, that doesn’t change the fact that to elrond and elros, they’re at most a few scattered memories and a collection of far-off stories. and so long as the twins stay in middle-earth, they’re never going to draw any closer

compared to the dynamic, multifaceted, personal, and deep bonds they have with the fëanorians - who, and i know i keep saying this but i think it gets tossed aside way more casually than it should, are the people who actually raised them, their birth parents must feel like a distant idea

and that’s why i can never buy interpretations of elrond as 100% sindarin, a pure son of doriath, with no messy grey areas or awkward jagged edges to his identity. given everything we know about his life, it seems almost cartoonishly simplistic

honestly it seems like a narrative a bunch of old doriathrin nobles trying to manouevre elrond into being high king of the sindar or something would propagate. it's neat and nice and tidy, something that’d be much more convenient for everyone if elrond did feel that way

but i just don’t see how he can. this narrative is easy and simple in a way real people never are, it ignores all the forces pulling him apart. elrond being uncomplicatedly sindarin with the life he lives and the people he's close to - that doesn’t make any sense to me

which isn’t to say i think he’s 100% noldorin, from either a gondolindrim or a fëanorian perspective. (i find it a little more believable, given, again, who he grew up around and who he hangs out with, but it’s still a bit too reductive for my tastes.) it’s also not to say i couldn’t believe an elrond who made an active choice to emphasise his sindarin heritage

it’s not how i think of him, but it works. i don’t have a problem with other people interpreting the complexities of the twins’ identities differently

i just have a problem with people acting like it doesn’t exist

in general i think there’s a lot untapped potential that gets left behind when you declare the twins, separately or together, as All One Thing

they’re descended from half the noble houses of beleriand, and they have deep personal ties to most of the rest. they belong to all of the free peoples even the dwarves, somehow, probably and i feel like that was kind of the old man’s point? so many peoples meet in them, to say they wholly belong to any one species is probably an oversimplification

they sit at a crossroads of potential identities, and rather than narrowing down their worldviews to one single path, they take the hard road and choose all of them. that’s what you need to do, if you want to change the world

and, to bring this back to my ostensible topic, in my estimation at least this mélange of possible selves does include them as fëanorians! it’s not overpowering, but it’s certainly there, and the adults they grow into long after they’ve left the host still bear influence from their childhood

nothing super obvious, nothing that wouldn’t stand out if you didn’t know what to look for, but there’s something almost incandescent in how fiercely elros reaches out for his dreams

there’s something almost defiant in elrond’s drive to be as kind as summer

as for who they publically claim as their family... honestly, it depends. while it’s usually more tactically prudent for elros to connect himself to his various human ancestors, on occasion he does find a use for his free in with the elf mafia, and elrond, code switcher par excellence, is famously the son of whoever is most politically convenient at the moment, which is rarely, but not never, maglor

(in the privacy of their own minds, well, eärendil and elwing may have been the parents elros was supposed to have, but maglor was the parent he actually had, and elros doesn’t particularly care to mope over what might have been. elrond, for his part, figures that after all the shit maglor has put him through, the least that bastard owes him is a father)

but honestly? i think before any of their mountain of identities, before thinking of themselves as sindarin or gondolindel or hadorian or haladin or fëanorian or anything, elrond and elros identify as themselves

they are peredhil, they are númenóreans, they are whoever they make themselves to be. that’s how elrond finally resolved his identity, figured out who he was and found something past the pain and the rage

he wasn’t doriathrin, or gondolindrin, or falathrin, or fëanorian, or whatever else. he was elrond, no more and no less

and that person, elrond, could be whatever he chose to be

... elros came to a similar conclusion, with much less sturm und drang that he’s willing to admit. being able to go ‘hey, i can’t possibly be biased towards any one of your cultures, because i’m descended from all of you and i was raised by murderelves’ makes it a lot easier to unite people around your personal banner, turns out

the stories other people tried to force on them shattered into pieces, and the peredhel twins were free to shape themselves into anything they could dream of

and as the new world struggles alive, these lost children of an Age of death begin to bloom into their full glorious selves -

i just. i love the poetry of that. despite every single shadow that hangs over their past, despite all the clashing notes pulling them apart, they harmonise it all into a greater, kinder theme, determined to make their world a better place in whatever way they can

they fail, of course, but so do all things. the inevitable march of entropy doesn’t diminish the long millennia they (and their descendants) held onto the light

and their growing up in the fëanorian host definitely had a huge effect on the noble lords they became. you can see it in elros’ loud ambition to create a land of happiness and hope, elrond’s quiet resolve to heal all the hurts inflicted by this marred reality

it wasn’t a perfect time by any means, but neither was it a nightmare. it was what it was, a desperate existence at the edge of a knife where, nevertheless, they were loved

even after years upon decades upon centuries have passed, it’s hard for the wise king and the honourable sage to separate out and identify all the conflicting emotions swirling around their childhood. they never knew eärendil or elwing, true, but they also never really knew maglor

not as equals, not as adults, not as people who could truly understand him. he disappeared into the fog of history, leaving only childhood memories of razor-sharp, gentle hands

it’s messy and it’s complicated and getting any real closure would be like shoving their way through a thornbush with bare hands even if elrond could find the shithead, and yet at the core of it all, there is light. not the brightest of lights, maybe, but an enduring one

that contrast, above all, that note of warmth amidst the shadows, is what fascinates me so much about their relationship. three screwed up people in a screwed up world, finding a little peace with each other

and the fact that somehow, it does have a good ending - the children grow up magnificent and compassionate and just, they become exemplars of all their peoples, lodestars of the new world born out of the ashes of the old - that makes it seem to me like this relationship must have contained some fragment of happiness

but, fuck, all the darkness that surrounds that love, all the tangled-up emotions its existence necessitates, all the prefabricated self-identities it can never slot into - nothing about it is simple, nothing about it is easy, and i find that utterly enthralling. especially how, despite everything, that flickering light never goes out

well, i don’t think it does, anyway. my take on this relationship is both complicated enough no one else ever quite gets it right and well-defined enough every single ‘error’ in other people’s interpretations sticks out like a kinslayer in rivendell

it is an entirely self-inflicted problem, i will admit. other people are allowed to interpret those complexities differently from me, and it’s entirely my own fault i lack the :waves hands around nebulously: to write my own hypothetical fic on the subject at a pace faster than glacial

still, though. i do wish there was more fic out there that engaged with these complexities. a lot of the common fandom interpretations of this relationship just sweep it all away

#ask #my terrible headcanons #elros #elrond #maglor #elwing #earendil #feanorians #niphredilien #yellow feathered faerie #putting your old url in the tags for archival purposes #post nyanyannya askbox clearout #ironically it turned out almost as long as the songfic that clogged up my askbox in the first place #and it is DONE #fuck this took forever to write #stayed up late just to get it out the door so i don't have to think about it any more #this is a long ramble and i'm pretty sure the end is just me repeating myself ad nausem sorry #i'll admit to a certain pro-feanorian bias in my interpretation #but i also don't want elros and elrond to just. live in a neverending horrorshow for decades #the silm's cruel enough we don't need that #narratively i feel like elrond being All Of The Elves is a good mirror for elros being All Of The Humans #but it didn't really fit the angle i was going for #bleck #let's see how many followers i lose for this

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zoopzopp · 4 years ago

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A post for some BAMF Izuku fics <3 (more of these will be added and the list will be updated as i read them)

Fics i've read:

The Secret Ingredient is Crime- Izuku only had a whole month to further prove himself worthy of Yuuei's golden acceptance, and he was going to do whatever it took to make it in. Yuuei would never truly know what hit them until it was too late. (The secret crime AU in it entirety is fucking amazing and what wouldn't i give to read more stuff with it)

Deku the Villain Hunter: Support Hero - We all know the story: After being told he couldn't be a Hero by All Might, Midoriya Izuku still wandered over to a supervillain attack where he could save Bakugou Katsuki. But what if he had made the other turn? The answer is a butterfly effect that would lead him on a path to paving his own future. A path of revenge, finding his own moral compass, and doing the impossible. (OKAY MANY THOUGHTS. Very cool story and aspects. I binged it overnight and lost a bit of sleep the next night as well.)

The Story of How Midoriya Izuku Asserted His Dominance (And Traumatized Japan) - The Sports Festival was supposed to be a break from stress. Shouta should have known there is no such thing as a break with his class.

making it right (for real this time) - - Izuku is a support course student at UA, and Katsuki's neighbor, best friend, and former bullying victim. After Izuku's performance at the sports festival, Katsuki realizes something. He has to make things right. -

Hero Fall (UA Civil War Exercise) - It's now the end of the first year of UA for our students. Nedzu had decided to bring back the annual Heroes vs Villain fight. The fight shall last 5 days and the villain leader is Izuku Midoriya, with the commanding officer of the hero team being Katsuki Bakugo. But, what happens when Izuku is left alone?

Hero Class Civil Warfare - Heroes lead by Bakugo. Villains lead by Midoriya. Seven days prep time. Three days for Izuku Midoriya to show why they should be glad he's not a real villain.

"I Didn't Know You Had It In You." - Midoriya goes feral rage mode in his fight against Overhaul. The beat down still happens, but with Eri no longer at his back, he gets more violent. One For All reacts in an interesting way and Midoriya commits a terrible and unheroic act - the cold blooded murder and maiming of Chisaki Kai. Shigaraki is there to watch it all unfold.

Plan C meets Plan A - Even if All Might is right and Izuku can't be a hero, Izuku refuses to be useless. So Izuku uses his analysis skills to develop Plan C: Consulting in order to help the heroes. Eraserhead is impressed by this mysterious new consultant but alarm bells in Deku's behaviour quickly have Aizawa recruiting help for Plan A: Adoption.

Q. A. B. - One month after @hawks_unofficial's initial viral post, the blog titled "Quirk Analysis Blog for the Future", otherwise known as "Q. A. B.", has gone from an average of 10 views per post to an average of 20,000 views per post. Midoriya Izuku does not know how to view the impressions analysis for his suddenly popular blog, and only notices that sometimes, people actually comment on his posts now. He does not google himself or his moniker and thus does not see the rise in online articles and speculation. He is unaware that the "kyuu-ei-bee" he begins to hear about in passing refers to his own blog. He does not have a Twitter account. At the time, Midoriya Izuku is 15 years old.

How to murder your father - It's dangerous to be a bad father when you have a life insurance. Just saying.

Negation - Passive Quirks are a bitch. Izuku is reasonably done with the situation.

Thanks For Your Support - Izuku has the talent and the intellect to be the first Quirkless pro hero, and everyone at UA knows it. Unfortunately, his desire to become a hero has long since been buried thanks to the words of his childhood friend and childhood hero.

Policed To Meet You - Izuku takes All Might's advice and becomes a cop.

Vigilante Work And Other After School Activities - Izuku is a vigilante, Aizawa likes cats and therefore kids who help cats, and sometimes breaks must be forced upon overachieving teenagers.

When the Commission Lost Total Control - The hero polls have a small part where one can suggest their own hero. This is done just because of the amount of heroes is to great to name them all. This creates a little problem for the commission because a vigilante is assumed to be a brand new hero by the public- and ranks pretty high. Because of that, this vigilante now is too popular to hide and they can't come out with their mistake either! Think of the chaos that would bring.

Izuku being Badass but like in not that grand of a way but still tearing-people-down-in-some-way kind of way

He Was Quirkless - Midoriya get's sick of discrimination against the quirkless and decides to do something about it. It leads to some interesting situations. A trilogy.

bloody, but unbowed- It's Advocacy Week for Yuuei's hero students and it gives Midoriya Izuku a lot to think about about what kind of hero he wants Deku to be.

Called Out - When Izuku is hit by a quirk that will cause him to call out the first person to be rude to him on the way to school with every mistake they've made in the affected persons presence or have otherwise effected said affected person, Aizawa is in for a rough ride. In other words, with some help from a quirk, Izuku rakes Aizawa over the hot coals until he gives out. (a great fic but i've got mixed feelings on this one because on one hand, izuku is badass but on the other its Aizawa bashing and really like him skhdskdb so yea! Read it as per your tastes!!)

The time when everyone learned that izuku respects Bakugo more than all might. - I didn't like how Bakugo was tied up during the sports festival and so izuku didn't. Badass izuku roasted all might and midnight.

Villainous Sunshine - After an innocent question, Class 1-A learns just how terrifying Izuku's analysis is. Nedzu's along for the ride.

Never understand ( and you can't ) - Midoriya is sick and tried of his classmates bias and prejudice against the quirkless community and finally breaks

Mastermind: Strategist For Hire - Izuku Midoriya never got the chance to save Bakugo from the sludge villain and impress All Might. With his dream crushed, Izuku becomes bitter and angry. It also doesn't help that he faces discrimination at every turn. All he ever wanted was to be appreciated, so when the villains are the ones to recognize his talents rather than the heroes, well, Izuku just can't resist. He might as well help those who actually want him around. Mistakes were made, and now society must face a villain of their own making: Mastermind.

Malignance - Deku is far scarier than anyone gives him credit for.

Fics in my to read list which has/probably has BAMF izuku

Young Midoriya - Izuku Midoriya couldn't help himself when he saw someone in trouble. Even at 12 years old, his instincts drive him to help those in need. So when he sees Kacchan and his goons about to ambush another student, he has to step in, right? It's not like this hasn't happened before. What is different this time though, is that he's never had an audience that consisted of the Number One Hero.

Heroics and Other Things That Don't Require Superpowers - Izuku doesn't have a quirk. That's the long and short of it. After being told his whole life he can't be a hero, General Education at UA is the best he can hope for, right? Wrong. Dead Wrong. So super wrong that his best friend from Gen Ed, all of Class 1A and a whole mess of Pro Heroes are going to prove to him how wrong he is. Izuku has the makings of a hero, and his lack of a quirk only throws those qualities into starker relief. After all, who wants to be as strong as All Might when you can be the cleverest hero in the business?

Cases of More Than - Izuku is known as Deku online. He's an analyst of quirks, sometimes even working with the local detective, Tsukauchi, on a case. He meets new friends, builds a few relationships, and slowly crushes on his best friend. But then he's thrown into the General Studies Course at U.A. It doesn't help that All for One is showing an interest in him at all.

No Regret - In this world there is no hard set villain or hero. No victim and aggressor. Everyone is at fault for something and Izuku, with his own villain group, will make everyone pay. Even the bystanders who did nothing. This is what society gets for abandoning it's people. Deku will manipulate everyone and be the greatest villain, all so the world can be a better a place. With the stakes so high there is no time for regret.

We Are a Different Kind - Mirio doesn’t think he can be a hero anymore now that he’s quirkless, Izuku calls bullshit.

Live a Hero - "You either die a hero, or you live long enough to see yourself become the villain." Or, you're raised a villain, rebel when you're nine, and fight against the odds to become a hero anyway. That's how it is in Izuku's case.

Prodigal - After being convinced to give One for All to Mirio, Midoriya Izuku must rebuild his shattered dreams with bloody hands.

Two Sides of the Same Coin: Vigilante - Izuku is orphaned at the age of four and is sent into the Japanese Foster Care System. After multiple failed attempts at finding a forever home and some unfortunate circumstance, he ends up on the streets. Eventually, the vigilante, Deku appears. Eraserhead must gain his trust to bring Deku back to the right side of the law. If he he does, however, the untrustful but pure-hearted boy may just be a bit more than Aizawa Shota can handle.

From Muddy Waters - - but the sleeve of his tracksuit was bulging, tearing and ripping and a mass of twisted flesh, nearly as big as the boy himself and nauseatingly familiar (the arm of the man that had torn a hole in his side with a grin and left him a frail shadow of himself) swung forward and slammed into the flat face of the giant robot. Izuku wants to be a hero more than anything.

Pieces are easily sacrificed when they're nameless - Nobody ever thought quirkless, weak, weird Midoriya Izuku was dangerous. This perception carried over to his first year high school class, because really despite the super strength Midoriya didn't have it in him to be dangerous. That was their first mistake. And the one that would see them fall.

Not exactly BAMF izuku but i just wanted to rec these fics <3

In the shade of a sunflower - Being biologically quirkless came more with an extra pinkie joint in the toes and a stunning lack of vestiges mutations. It came with smaller things, like extra teeth that did virtually nothing, exploding organs, and weird exposed nerves that weren't designed to feel pain.

Throat Punch - In which Aizawa attempts to teach Izuku how to use various battle tactics and it goes just about as well as you'd expect. At least Shinsou is there with his fantastic commentary. (just a fun lil thing where izuku is really stronk and trains with shinsou and aizawa)

So Be It - He could still do good. Midoriya could show them all what a hero without powers looked like. If he had to break a few rules to do it, so be it. So be it… (as stated not exactly BAMF but its a vigilante izuku so ye-)

Never Enter a Drinking Game with Bakugo or Izuku - Izuku walks in on Kirishima and Kaminari having a drinking competition (no alcohol involved). And it reminds him of an old story.

5 Times Midoriya Taught Class 1A about Memes and 1 Time they Found a Villain that Understood Them - After being diagnosed as quirkless, Midoriya gets into pre-guirk media and finds memes. He shares them with Class 1A. Aizawa doesn't get paid enough for this. (THIS FIC???? FUCKING AWESOME. LITERALLY WHAT I WANTED TO SEE)

Midoriya: JD Version - Nedzu has decided that a play should be put on so that the students can learn how to "go undercover", an idea which Aizawa thinks is utter bullshit. They're putting on Heathers and when Nedzu chooses to cast Midoriya for JD, everyone objects. Midoriya is a much better actor than they thought.

that is a lot!! I hope you have fun reading it!!!

#fic recs #bnha #bamf izuku midoriya #izuku midoriya

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skyandseaofsurprises · 3 years ago

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I Will Leave You Words- Kaz Brekker

Summary- A young boy and girl, met in the darkest valley, away from each other, to see the stars and moon. When they caught a glimpse of each other, they exchange and left some few words for each other.

gif is by @crowbrekker <3 so.... this is my first kaz brekker fanfic so pls be considerate lmao and my first post in tumblr, for that matter. idk i had this idea in my head so i decided to make a tumblr account in the middle of the night :) fanfic’s inspired by Je te laisserai des mots- patrick watson’s song and I LOVE IT SM AND I NEED ANGST. + i’m still half way of the books so this might be a lil ooc so sorry anyways here we go!! (i changed the age of kaz when they moved to ketterdam so instead he and jordie moved in ketterdam around the age of 5 and not 9)

What such good lies it was what came out of your mouth. Love, the most unexpected thing for such Grisha like you. A Tidemaker, and a powerful one. Your parents had died when you were a kid, and you were taken to the Darkling’s services. Such good power like yours needs help. He’d told you. You, being a scared and naive girl at the moment, didn’t see the evilness in his grey eyes, and you let him train you. For years you were in his army, fighting.

But you wouldn’t forget your life before your parents had died. You were all living in Ketterdam, and it may not be the best place to live when you are a runaway Grisha, but it was alright for you, it’d felt like home, or how you define home is.

Your parents were runaway Grishas; Inferni and Heartrender. They did not want to be a part of the war, and so they run, ran with their powerful Tidemaker child, you because they knew Darkling would want you to be in his side if he ever finds you, and that will certainly not be happening as long as your parents breathe.

While you were staying in Ketterdam, your family had lived in a small apartment, inside the shadows where no one can find you easily. You weren’t allowed to go out seeing as Ketterdam was dangerous, and your parents were the only ones to go out to get some money and food.

You obliged their orders and stayed in your apartment. The apartment was small, but it was still neat for one to live in. Whilst your apartment was located on one of the darkest alleys of Ketterdam, your apartment was tall, yet small, enough that you could see the stars twinkling underneath the shining moonlight, You’d rest your little cheeks on your smalls window and stare at it, the longing, sad stars reflecting back on your kind and tired eyes.

And then, all of the sudden, you had found a boy, lost and scared, on the alleys of your apartment. You were fast and logical enough to hide underneath your table; Remember, my child, Ketterdam and its people is not one you would trust. This man was a stranger and was probably just lost. So she hid.

She stayed there until the boy seemingly climbs to the top of the others apartment roof; using its back stairs. There the boy sat quietly and comfortably, watching the stars. You blinked, why would a young boy, your age, climb up one rooftop just to watch the stars?

You never knew why, but the boy’s name was Kaz Brekker, and his mother would sometimes take him on top of the highest grounds near their farm to watch the shooting stars. He seemingly turns around when you were peaking out the window, staring at him in awe.

He’d stared back, and he had smiled at you. You froze and felt your cheeks hit up as you subconsciously. closed your windows and flopped on your small bed.

That was the start of the nights you’d see him. And you kept seeing him.

Je te laisserai des mots I’ll leave you words

For over the years, he’d go to the alley of your apartment, to watch the stars. You guys were now 8, kids who met at 5, and you started to interact with each other for over 3 years. You’d been able to sneak out when your parents weren’t home, and lay a note on the ground of the rooftops, and wait until the unknown boy would be there, and he, too, would leave you a note of words and poems and dreams.

“Do you like the stars, too?” “Stars are wonderful, don’t you think?” “Yes! I’m Y/N L/N!” “Well, hello, I’m Kaz Rietvield.”

Every wakening of the breezing nights, you kids would interact with each other by sending little notes to each other, every night in your 3 years of friendship. You, still yet not allowed to explore the world and was only ever inside your apartment, would send him waves and smiles that could light up the world in distance. He’d blushed, look back at the stars, and would read your letters. Your smile could light up the world, seeing as it lit up his life.

Living in Ketterdam as orphans weren’t easy. Jordie Rietvield, his beloved brother he’d told you about in one of his letters, was going back and forth to jobs, just to keep them alive. Jordie had sent Kaz off to school as he works. Kaz, after schools, would go sit by the rooftop right opposite where Y/N’s window is and would leave her notes about his day.

Everything was alright in their little world. Until it wasn’t.

Y/N’s parents were dead. They caught the Queen’s Plague. It seems as though Kaz Rietvield and Jordie Rietvield had, too. The last time she’d seen them was when they were taking their bodies out on the ocean.

You’d cried. He was dead. Her friend from the other sides of the stars and darkness was dead.

You snuck off a ship headed towards Ravka, and when you were sent off to Keramzin, you had been tested as a Grisha and was taken to Os Alta, where they trained you in combat and how to use your Tidemaker magic- or science- or whatever, you never really cared. As for Darkling, he’d become your mentor, like a father. He’d tell you stories he uses to know when he was a kid and will help you in your Tidemaker skills.

En sous de ta porte Underneath your door

You were living a good life, but you never forgot the face of one dead person. Kaz Rietvield. You’d still send letters on Ketterdam, even if it was pointless to send letters to a dead man. You always addressed it to that apartment and made sure the letters were sent. You were being crazy; sending notes to someone who would never. . . no, who could never, again, read your letters, your stories, your dreams, and the stars.

After the wars of Ravka, you travelled around the world, in disguise, still. You is still yet to trust everyone after what happened to the Darkling. After you went to different places of the world, your last destination was Ketterdam, the home of the lost, the home of the stars, and your home.

En sous de la lune qui chante Underneath the singing moon

Whilst you were in the ship headed towards Ketterdam, you were looking at the sea, where your parents’ and a certain young boy’s body now lied within. You slowly bent down, the tip of your nails touching the seawater as you started to play with it, tears forming on your eyes. You were in the middle of the ocean, above was the moon, and you started singing for the lonely, peaceful moon.

It wasn’t great to be back on the sea of the dead beloved ones.

When you arrived at Ketterdam, the first thing you had noticed was it was darker, now as dark as the once alley of your apartment where you- Again, there it was again, thinking about the dead. Everything seems to remind you of him.

And so, you went straight to that alley of where you lived, seeing it pitched black. Of course. You’d grinned. You looked up at the starry sky and see the twinkling eyes you once dreamed of seeing again in your Ravka days. It feels good to be back.

Tout près de la place où tes pieds passent Near the place where your feet pass by

You stayed in the middle of that alley, not noticing a dark shadow watching you over your apartment’s roof. That shadow seemingly furrowed their eyebrows when you decided to walk to the stairs of your neighbors' house, where you dreamed of going to just to see a certain boy.

Because of the dark, starry nights years ago, you never truly saw what he looked like, but you knew he had ebony hair, and a smile you will never once forget.

When you arrived, you saw that your letter wasn’t there, and started to look everywhere, eventually climbing on the rooftop. There it was in front of you, the most beautiful shooting stars you’d ever seen. Wow, you thought. This was the best view of the stars in Ketterdam, no wonder he chose to pick this spot. You smiled to yourself, looking at your apartment’s window, seeing it empty. You smiled sadly, imagining your old self looking back at you, the orange light behind you making your whole body more noticeable. And then you realized, that boy knows how you looked like, but you don’t even know how he looks like.

You eventually left that valley. You decided to go to the place where they delivered letters around the world until you passed a club, a dark but loud club.

The Crow Club.

The Crow Club. That’s a funny name, you’d thought. You went inside and heard people gambling, drinking, and just having fun. You smiled to yourself, even in that pain and suffering you felt and saw 2 years ago, in the war, you were still the girl you once were.

You decided to go to the bar side of the club and ordered a drink. You tied your magical hair in a low ponytail as you waited for your drink until a Zemeni man had appeared beside you.

“And what’s a pretty lady doing here, all alone?” The Zemeni tried to flirt with you, adjusting his coat and ordering a drink.

You smiled kindly at him, taking your drink as you look at him, “Thanks for the flattery, Zemeni. Y/N.” she said.

The boy smirked at you, “Jesper Fahey, at your service.” he winked playfully again. You did not notice five sets of eyes looking directly at you and one boy whose eyes stayed on yours for the rest of the night.

He remembers. He remembered all of it. Your letters. Your dreams. Your hair. Your smile. Your eyes. The stars. . . all of it. He didn’t need a reason, but when it comes to you, he had every reason why you were the most amazing and spectacular girl ever.

His crows found your letters scattered on Kaz’s table when they were planning their Ice Court Heist, and he was forced to tell them who you were, (after some death glances and threatening threats.) He remembers it all like it was yesterday.

Kaz Brekker also remembers that day, when he was alone in the sea, the body of his brother dead, as he thought of you to keep him calm, as he thought of you. . . as he made you his reason to live.

When he was back ashore, Jordie had haunted him, and he couldn’t go back to you anymore, not knowing you had already left. And so, years later, when he’d finally become Kaz Brekker, Dirtyhands, the Bastard of the Barrel, he came back to that dark alley, seeing all your letters from Ravka.

Caché dans les trous de temps d’hiver Hidden in the holes of wintertime

He kept all of it. Hidden. Safe. It was his one memory of you, and if that letters got destroyed, you would only be living in Kaz’s head, full of memories of Jordie and revenge, and he couldn’t bear to make that happen.

Kaz never replied. You were safe. Alive. And that is what he wants.

Until he saw you in the bar, until his brown eyes looked into your Y/E/C’s. Until he saw you, truly, not the girl hiding behind her window. Until he saw you close. Until you were finally there.

And yet, Kaz still felt like you were stars and oceans away from each other. Maybe it was always like that. Darkness and distance in between you and him. Maybe it was bound to happen, either way.

But Kaz didn’t want to believe that, and he actually convinced himself that he was cursed, never to loved, and to be loved. The memories of Jordie came flooding in, the water drowning him again.

Until you looked back at him with that smile of yours he used to remember. One that reminded him of the stars. One that reminded him of a boy that once loved the stars and one girl who also loved the stars.

You furrowed your eyebrows at him, and Inej Ghafa, his wraith, who was sitting across from Nina Zenik, planning the heist, looked at the frozen man on the stairs.

She smiled softly; she knew you. Kaz would always send her to get some important letters of his on a dark alley, where you were an hour ago, and she saw you.

Kaz was still looking at you. And you were looking at him. Now, the water was gone, Jordie’s haunting eyes were gone, and it was just you. And your wonderful smile.

Et quand tu es seule pendant un instant And when you’re alone for a moment

Unbeknownst to you, you didn’t know he was the infamous Kaz Brekker, named like a boy you once knew, Kaz Rietvield, but you didn’t need to know that. He didn’t need you to know that. Kaz Brekker would fall if you left him again, and so, he approached you after composing himself.

He was Kaz Brekker and you were Y/N L/N. Not Kaz Rietvield and Y/N L/N.

Kaz promised to himself he would send you notes and letters, but he couldn’t find himself to do so. He didn’t want you seeing the boy who had once loved the starry sky, now a monster full of revenge. A greedy man of power and money.

He wanted you to remember that boy you met years ago to be the same boy. Kaz Rietvield was dead, Brekker wasn’t.

“Would you leave me words, too? ‘Cause I feel like I’m the only one contributing to this friendship.” “I promise, then. I will leave you words as you do.” “Hooray! Now, look at the stars! It’s a new one! The brightest!”

I will leave you words. You and Rietvield promised each other, but not Brekker. Oh, no. This was another love story to tell in another lifetime.

Embrasse moi Quand tu voudras

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clonecest-bin-account · 4 years ago

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hi! do you do fic recs? as in, if i asked for recs from you? it's okay if you dont!! im just looking for new clone fics to read

Oh boy, I’ve never done recs, but I can try! Though as much as I write I don’t really spend too much time reading, but there are some fics that have caught my interest. Since you didn’t specify if you wanted a SFW or a NSFW rec list I’ll keep it SFW just to be sure. Anyway, here goes nothing!

One condition by RobinPlaysTrumpet15

‘Cody has finally found the perfect opportunity to propose to his boyfriend.’

Set in a modern AU. It’s a very sweet story that I’m sure will warm everyone’s heart.

Left eye dominant by RobinPlaysTrumpet15

‘Rex is having trouble with one of the rifles during ARC training. Luckily, Cody is around and always willing to help.’

Another one by RobinPlaysTrumpet15. It’s another very sweet story about Rex and Cody. Also I’m a sucker for fics set on Kamino.

Speak no evil by Gobayern16

‘Cody’s breath catches at the fear and panic in Rex’s eyes.

“Rex? What’s wrong?” Adrenaline surges through Cody. Rex opens and closes his mouth several times but nothing comes out. Cody’s anxiety spikes as he realizes Rex is trying to speak but can’t.’

A bit angsty but also very fluffy. A good fic.

sleepless long nights by blackkat

‘ “Come on,” Cody says, implacable. “You're about to walk into walls, Rex. Enough.” ‘

This one is very cute too. Also idc this is canon to me it must’ve happened at least once.

no mess, no stress by orphan account

‘“I do, though. Put a lot of faith in you.”

Fives was quiet for a moment before answering. “I know. ‘s why I always come back for you.”’

Some very good rarepair content.

Amazing by RobinPlaysTrumpet15

‘Fives and Tup live after everything with the control chips. They've been dating for some time now, but that gets complicated when they suddenly find out Echo's still alive.’

This one is a long fic but it’s very good! This is the fic that really got me into Fives/Echo/Tup as a ship. A really good read.

You're Something else by Parkkrys

‘He doesn't have anything to look forward to when he wakes up except going to the coffee shop. The coffee shop that has a cute little thing taking orders. The young man is always happy, he hasn't seen a day where the man isn't smiling, making jokes to get everyone laughing.

Or, Wolffe doesn't realize just how much trouble he is in until it hits him right in the face.’

This (and the entires series btw) is a very good read too, though it’s a sugar daddy AU, so if that’s not your thing you might not want to read it. Though I’ll say I wish all the sugar daddies AUs were like this, because this isn’t creepy at all, and I’m somone who gets squicked by this kind of stuff very easily, so if I say it you can believe me.

Broken Glass by firewoodwander

‘One-shots, prompts, requests‘

There are two chapters in this so far, but they’re very good. The Fox/Thorn one is particularly dear to me.

Kris's Clonecest prompts by Parkkrys

‘Hello! I was invited to do a July clonecest prompt list and I decided to give it a go! I hope you all enjoy! Will add tags as we get farther along into the month!’

This one still isn’t finished, but each chapter is a treasure! You get fluff, you get angst, you get everything.

I think it’s enough fics for a rec list? I’m not sure. Anyway, I hope this was useful to you!

#cloneshipping #fic recs #Anonymous

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chamiryokuroi · 4 years ago

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Just wanted to tell you that your Version of Elijah looks positivly adorable. An adorable teenage cinnamon bun - if a bit murderous. I have a WIP on Assassins Creed and wanted to know if I could use your art in there. Also what did Kent do - beside looking quite cute? Kyo and Kei look good too. And I'm envoius of your art skills and the fact that all three rock long hair.

I am glad you like my baby boi Elijah so much! I had lots of fun thinking on how to draw him since we dont really have much from the comic. About using it as long as credit is given that’s fine with me, please also link me when you post it so I can read the story :D

Now about my OCs

Ok if I am to talk about their stories I need you all to get cool about a lot of stuff real fast.

First of all I need you all to understand I created this characters when I was 15 back in the early 2000s when the whole Emo movement was going strong, this is important, context is important, I was an angsty teenager like everyone else and I had the luck of being able to express myself through art so yeah.

Anyways what did Kent do?... welp... short answer... serial killer cannibal... I know... I know... listen I KNOW

I’m not going to go into detail of his backstory because there are a lot of messed up stuff on it that could potentially be triggering for some people but let it be know that he has a “reason” as to why he is the way he is, not an excuse, I never, not once, not even back then, considered his past as an excuse, what he does as a character is morally wrong but like I said he was the character where I could go crazy and just shove on him all the messed up thinks that I wanted to explore in a safe way, that’s mostly why I am not embarrassed about him and why even to this day I keep on drawing him, because messed up or not he is my baby and he helped me a lot when I was young.

But that’s his past and I didnt really touch much into it, the main story would be on his friendship with Kyo, Kei and Kaoz.

While Kent was the, let’s call him weird, character, these two, Kyo and Kei, were the normal ones, they’re just orphan twins, adopted by a sweet old couple, who inherited their coffee shop once they passed away and decided to keep the business going.

Kei is the pastry chef, even tho he has the “cool” look he is totally a sweetheart that loves spending his time in front of an oven, he was actually my first aromantic character even before I knew that was a thing, as in I did think about love interests for all my other characters, but I could never pin down one for him, fast forward a few years and after I have been more active on the lgbt community I realized “Ah, he’s aro”

Kyo is the barista, the more mature and responsible of the two of them, he manages the finances of the store and is constantly worried about providing a good living place for his younger brother (and eventually for his friends Kent and Kaoz when they move in).

Kaoz was the second son to an important family and he was also kind of a hitman (again, early 2000’s, teenage drama, I just did what I wanted with this story let me be) anyways he leaves home when he discovers his older brother had killed their parents to take over the business and he wasn't cool with that but also didn't have it in him to get rid of his brother.

Kyo and Kei know nothing of Kent past, Kaoz knows but he hasn’t told anybody.

Now story wise? There wasn’t really much, it was just me doing like daily stories about them, small scenes of their lives and the problems that would arise because of their backstories, I was more interested on them as characters than in actually giving them a story plot. Mind you the one thing I knew is that this story couldn’t have a happy ending. If you were to go to my DA account you will find more about them there, but again, young me, teenage, be mindful there is a lot of stuff that is most definitely not safe for everyone to read/see.

Even so, after everything, they are my babies, and I still love them, maybe in the future I will revisit their stories and make changes, but I do love their designs and they fill me with happy nostalgia emotions so I do not think I will stop drawing them any time soon.

#OC #kent millent #kyo dahl #kei dahl #kaoz kahel

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rayofdawnworld · 4 years ago

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A Good Girl

So, for context: Earlier this year our darling @saiyanprincessswanie got sick and needed surgery. I being a worried friend, reached out wished her luck promised her a get well fic, and then prayed for her. All good and dandy. But not. See, the incredible idiot that I am, NEVER POSTED THE FIC!!! I PUT THE STORY IN MY POSTED FILE BUT I DIDN'T GIVE IT TO HER!!! I. Am. A. Moran... But, this has allowed me to re-read my work and I can make it better. So, I'm posting part one now and I'll post part two next Monday. Our beloved @saiyanprincessswanie deserves more than just a one-shot at this point. I'm so sorry my Dear. I so hope you like it.

For those interested, Tag list is open for this fic.

Moodboard by me. :)

Grey!Steve/Sassy!OC

A Good Girl

Part One- Warnings: None

She was a good girl. Anyone with half a brain cell could see that. Steve looked at the young man once again stunned. Not only was the young woman beautiful, she looked soft and sweet,he could hardly believe that she looked so young. If asked, Steve would have sworn the beautiful woman was a young girl of eighteen and not a woman of twenty-seven, but she did have an inner lining of steel running through her, she had a fire, judging by the way she was ranting with the younger man. Steve found himself drawn to her, captivated in a way that no one ever managed to captivate him. Not even peggy. A man can get up to some very bad things for just a chance at getting a Girl like her. He thought to himself with a half formed idea backing at the back of his head.

In hindsight, he was glad that he came with the idiot. They had met in one of his Support Group Meetings. The young man was in bed in the “act” when his girlfriend was dusted. But the relationship had been rocky, and he had been thinking about an old girlfriend of his, more and more. From what he gathered the girl had been left alone. An orphan, she had gotten a scholarship in Forensic accounting where they had met. They had dated throughout their college years but had sadly drifted apart when they hit the workforce despite having both been accepted in a prestigious firm. The stress had simply been too much. That's when things had ended.

One of the many consequences of the snap had been unemployment. Companies had gone bankrupt either because they had lost all or most of their workforce or because the owners and shareholders had evaporated and there was no one to sign the paychecks and pay the bills. The snap had caused more problems than solved them, at least on earth. Such, in point, was the young girl's case. Steve hadn't understood why she had quit her job at the firm and had gone to a much smaller firm with a significant downgrade in income, but now he understood. She was working as a waitress in a rundown diner. The smaller firm had lost everyone. She had been the only one left.

Steve had only just managed to dodge a flying cup aimed for the young man but alas, she didn’t have a very good aim. This argument had been going on for the better part of forty minutes. She knew she was going to get fired, so she may have decided to go all out.

The idea had been to go with the dolt, as moral support, go talk to the girl. He had sat in a booth, while the younger man had sat in another. Her face had soured from the sweet smile she had the moment she had recognized her ex-boyfriend. She had been polite, asked him what he had wanted, he said he wanted coffee and a chance to talk. She had agreed and went to get his order. Her boss had given her ten minutes that would be reduced from her lunch hour. He listened in thanks to his superior hearing. It had been a simple conversation at first. The air stiled when, the Moran had said that he missed her. Things became frosty when he informed her that the other woman had been dusted. It took a turn for the worst when he said that he wanted her back. At first, she just laughed, then… Then the argument started. That's when Steve got the truth. He had always suspected that there was something off about the sap story the other asshole had shared with the group. Now he knew. My poor sweet girl. Don’t worry I'll take care of you.

Sadie was done. Just done. All her life she had been a good girl. She always did what the nuns told her to do. She never broke the rules, worked hard, was kind to all even when she was bullied. She did her damn best, to tell the truth, she saved herself waiting for “the one”, she had been faithful, loyal. She was humble, modest. And for what? To be called boring and humiliated by being compared with another woman. She had felt so small when Kevin had said that, what’s her name was sexier and better in bed. She had rebuffed that she had been a virgin when they had met. Not to mention that he never wanted to try anything new, telling her that she shouldn’t try to be someone she wasn’t, whatever THAT meant. Kevin then had the gall of saying it was all her fault he slept with the other woman. She should have done more, tried better. Learned more. When she asked him acidly, if the point of exploring one's sexuality was to do it as a couple, the bastard had accused her of making a scene. She had quit her job and left the apartment they shared that very day. He had called her accusing her of being childish and overreacting, she threw her phone away, just in case he could track the serial number. Sadie wondered how long it would take the firm and his new flame to find out that eighty percent of his so-called excellent work was done by her, at home. In some misguided and deluded idea of good to him.

The world had changed a year after that. She was still hurt. But not in the way most thought. She was hurt and angry at herself. For not saying what she wanted. For not realizing what a jackass Kevin was. But above all, she wished she could have punched him. And now here he was… Telling her how sorry he was, what a mistake he had made, and how much he missed her and how much he wanted her back. Everything went red after that, she didn’t know what she said but she did remember throwing something at him. She nearly hit the client sitting in the booth behind them. She was going to get fired for that. She just knew it. She didn’t care. It was a lousy job anyway. She did on the other hand get to do something she had dreamed of ever since they had broken up, no ever since she had caught him cheating and left him. It wasn’t a punch, no. But it had been a slap. And a very big mighty slap.

Later that evening, Frank had been gracious enough to “let” her finish her shift, with no job and slim prospects, she was still smiling. Her smile dropped when she saw Captain America himself waiting outside for her with an apologetic face. Now that she thought back on it. Kevin had walked in with him. Before she could say anything the tall Adonis took a step forward and smiled minutely.

“I’m sorry about today. I didn’t know the whole story. If I had I would have stopped him from coming here.” Steve Grant Rogers was talking to her. Apologizing to her. Sadie smiled stunned but sadly.

“It’s alright. Kevin has always had this way about him. It takes a bit for you to see past his bulshit.” Steve chuckled and shook his head. We’ll have to do something about this language though. “I’m not surprised you fell for it. You're a good man, Captain.”

Hearing that did things to him. She was perfect in every way. Sweet, pure, good-natured. She deserved better than Kevin. She deserved someone who would keep her safe from the ugliness that this word had become. She deserved to be cherished. Taken care of. And HE wanted to be the one to do all those things for her. But he also realized that he would have to pace himself.

“Well, to make it up to you how about I offer you a job? I was going to give it to Kevin, but I think there's a story he’s not telling us about him being fired from the firm you were both working at, so I feel my safest bet is offering it to you.” Steve said shifting his weight from foot to foot. Sadie smiled at that.

“Yea, someone at the firm must have found out that he was a slacker. I did most of his work for him remotely from home at night. And with no hot, exciting girlfriend in HR to cover up for him…” was all she had to say. “What kind of job are you talking about?”

“Simple accounting. Nothing out of the ordinary. Howard Stark stopped the government from declaring me dead so the hundred dollars I invested in his company have grown in stock value ever since. He also apparently bought a bunch of Real Estate and a lot of other stuff, so now I don't know what I have or what I owe to the IRS. I need someone to look at my books… that have been untouched since nineteen ninety-one.” Steve explained, a bit overwhelmed. Sadie wished she could have told him that she needed to think about it. But she didn’t. Without any job prospects, she wasn’t in a place to decline Steve's offer. The fact that she would be working for America's Golden Boy and getting one over Kevin was just a bonus. Thanking him he gave her the compound address and they parted ways.

He followed her from a safe distance. He wanted to make sure she got home alright. At least that's what he told himself as he melted into the darkness.

#greysteve #fan fiction #greysteve/femoc #fem!OC #mcu fanfiction

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datesoma · 5 years ago

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Why you should get into Black Clover.

I know some people are undecided on whether or not they should give Black Clover a try, so I came up with a list of reasons why they might like the series, and why I think it’s worth the time. If you have any to add, feel free to!

1. Asta is an amazing protagonist. He was born without magic in a world where everyone had it to the point that the only means of transportation are magic-based (spatial magic, brooms that you have to feed your mana to etc), and as an orphan in one of Clover’s outskirt villages to boot. Yet Asta worked hard every day anyway, and through his own efforts became the 2nd physically strongest character after Yami. Because of this, he got a Grimoire from which (so far) three swords can emerge, and which allowed him into the Magic Knights. Asta’s main sword cannot be held by anyone else both because of its massive weight (which Asta can easily endure because of his physical training), and because the sword sucks the person’s mana out of them (which doesn’t affect Asta since he has no mana).

Despite always seeming cheerful and headstrong though, Asta actually suffers from deep-seated insecurities and depression. Being the only person without magic in the world, he was subjected to ridicule, discrimination and comparisons ever since he was a young child; and in the beginning of the story he almost had his breaking point, had it not been for Yuno’s words helping him get back up, which is when he swore to never come close to giving up again, as well as made sure that his personal issues wouldn’t interfere with his self-image and relationships.

Asta also tries to understand his enemies, where they come from and what drove them to act that way, as well as tries to help them. He doesn’t like going straight into the fighting, and would much rather settle it verbally, since that wouldn’t result in any casualties. He values life, and doesn’t want to see others throw theirs away for something that could be easily resolved with words; so every time one of his enemies dies of their own volition, Asta is shaken by their actions. He also has respect for most of his enemies, and was even seen picking flowers and putting them at the enemy’s grave while being saddened by their death, even though he had no obligation to.

However, Asta does want to hold bad people accountable for their actions instead of symphatizing with their backstory right off the bat. He will understand their motivations, but if they’ve already done the evil deed, they’ll have to deal with the consequences and make sure they’ll never do anything like it again. Like I hinted above, by “consequences” I don’t mean death. Asta never stands for the death sentence, and instead tells his enemies that they’ll have to spend their lives making up to the people they’ve hurt, both by serving time in prison, and by apologizing and outright helping others. After they atone for their sins, Asta is also wholeheartedly fine with becoming friends with them and helping them be better.

Asta is a truly inspiring and refreshing character, and has come to be one of my favorite characters of all time, even though I don’t usually fall for the protagonists. He’s humane, kind and has a certain charm that drags you in; and he’s per overall a feel-good character who motivates you to be your best self.

2. Black Clover has the best fleshed out female characters in all of Shounen so far, and they’re not sexualized. It was made obvious in the latest popularity poll, where we had 5 women and 5 men in the top 10. The only issue I’ve seen from the fandom regarding Black Clover’s female characters is that “they all have a crush on someone”, but that’s wrong. Black Clover has some great female characters that don’t have anything to do with crushes and romance, and the most striking example is Mereoleona. Other than her, we also have Theresa, Puli, Dorothy, Fragil, Nebra, Grey, Mariella, Kahono, Charla, Elf Fana and the Witch Queen.

Noelle may have a crush on Asta, but it’s not her defining trait. She has her own personal issues that stem from her backstory, and she works through them as the story progresses. She gets plenty of character development, and a lot of screentime. The anime tends to exaggerate her crush on Asta for the giggles, but the manga handles it pretty well. Mimosa, Charlotte and Charmy are all strong women whose crushes only come in second place to their actual parts in the story. Their crushes aren’t there solely for the trope either, since they serve as one of the girls’ motivations to get stronger.

To top it off, the women fight on equal grounds with the men, and some of them are even stronger than the best male fighters in the series. Mereoleona for one, is done so well that even the men watching the show had to admit she’s probably stronger than Yami, who is one of the strongest people in the entire series, Asta’s mentor and one of the fandom’s favorites.

As for the sexualization, there have been three instances in over 200 chapters that I can think of, one of which was in the anime and I am fairly sure Tabata didn’t even want to add them in (I’ve read a post once that said Shounen Jump probably has an agenda of a minimum amount of fanservice they push onto all their authors, and it’d make sense if it's true).

3. Yuno is different from the typical Shounen rival in a refreshing way, the rivalries shown in Black Clover are generally healthy and the show makes a point of showing you’re always stronger when you’re supported by and working alongside your friends. Yuno doesn’t “turn evil” & isn’t on bad terms with Asta; instead, he’s supportive and genuinely wishes for Asta to thrive and become his best self. Their rivalry is based on mutual respect, friendship and trust, and they’ve known and lived with each other since their early childhood.

While Yuno does encompass the “gifted kid” trope, he never once thought he was better than Asta, and instead of gloating about his magic, he continued to work hard magic-wise and physically (which many wizards tend not to, especially the gifted ones). He holds similar values as Asta, and wishes to become the Wizard King to make the country more accepting, equal and overall a better place. Because of this, the end of Yuno and Asta’s rivalry could go either way, since both of them deserve the title of Wizard King, and there’s no way to tell which one of them will become the Wizard King for sure, even though Asta is considered the main protagonist (I sure hope Asta will, though).

Other important rivalries are Luck and Magna’s, two misfits who prank but nonetheless still respect each other and who would go to amazing heights to make sure the other is alright; Asta, Yuno and Leopold’s, which helped Leopold grow; and Nozel and Fuegoleon’s, who have a slightly more tense rivalry, but who have competed since their childhood and who care for each other despite some of their moments of animosity.

The Black Bulls are a prime example of the found family trope, and their relationships with each other played major parts in each of their character stories.

4. Black Clover deals with several issues we also face. One of the main themes of the show is classism, and the way the poor and the disabled struggle in the corrupt system made by the rich and abled. Despite being orphans from the country’s outskirts (meaning one of the poorest places with the least amount of magic in the entire kingdom) Asta and Yuno’s goal is to attain the title of Wizard King, who is the strongest and most beloved wizard in the entire kingdom. To do so, they have to gain the citizens’ support and approval, and tear down the walls that oppress the poor and uplift the rich; but because of several centuries of discrimination, most royalty and nobles believe they are superior to the peasants, and that’s painstakingly clear from the moment Asta and Yuno leave their village and head for the more noble-populated cities.

Family problems and abuse are present in a good chunk of the Black Bulls’ stories, but the blame is never put on the victims. Instead, each of them gets their own arc in which they deal with their trauma, and it’s all handled well. Their issues don’t magically stop in their respective arcs either, but rather that’s the starting point of the change.

There are also several instances thorough the show that deal with suicide (mostly from the enemy’s side), as well as Asta’s great distaste of it and attempts to stop his enemies from killing themselves for their cause. Asta’s speeches on this topic are always positive and motivational, and I like reading them since they make me feel better, too.

Another shared issue is the racism, which also delves further into genocide. I won’t say too much as to not spoil it for those of you who will read/watch Black Clover, but this theme is related to the humans and the elves.

5. On that note, there are several races in the Black Clover universe that we know of so far. They are the humans, who the series is mainly focused on; the elves, who play a very big part of the show’s first saga; the devils and the dwarves. It’s likely that we’ll also get introduced to more races as the story goes on, and so far all of them have been done nicely.

6. The art style of the manga is stunning and the anime is also getting good. Per overall, I’d say the manga has the better aesthetics, but the anime does come in clutch with some of the fights (a couple of them were also extended in the anime, which was great; and Black Clover is known for its use of different animation styles in fights), while the music also helps add a certain feeling to the scenes that didn’t hit so hard in the manga. The Black Clover anime’s openings and endings are by far one of the best in all of anime. Even if you don’t plan to watch the show, you should definitely watch those. Currently we have 8 ops & eds, and they’re all bops. They’re one of the many reasons why Black Clover has become famous, anime-wise.

Also, since I’ve seen a lot of complaints about Asta’s voice in the earlier episodes, it does get much better. The VA was new so his voice acting wasn’t too good, but it’s really come a long way since and it now fits Asta’s character perfectly. You should give it at least ten episodes before you make an opinion on whether to continue or drop the anime version (although I’d say it gets really good after thirty).

7. The series lets you choose what kind of pace you want. If you’re into faster paces, then the manga’s the perfect fit for you. Some people complained that the story moves too fast in the manga, but I personally like it. If you’re into slower paces, you can try checking out the anime. Since Black Clover’s an ongoing anime rather than one split into seasons, Studio Pierrot had to try and stall for time so the anime wouldn’t close in on the manga too soon; meaning the original content got stretched over a couple episodes, but nothing too bad.

8. Black Clover doesn’t have many fillers. People complain that it does, but it doesn’t. As of right now (ep. 96), there have been 5 purely filler episodes, out of which some were recap episodes. Other episodes have had some filler mixed into them, but it’s not obvious and it does add well to the story. We also got Yuno’s first mission (ep. 13) and the Light Novels animated (ep. 55-56 & 85-86), and those are to be considered canon.

9. The mystery of Asta and Yuno’s backstory pre-canon. The series takes a different approach with the protagonists’ backstory, and instead of telling us everything outright, it only shows Asta and Yuno as babies, left at the door of a church in Hage village at around the same time, 15 years prior to the story. At the time, they only had their names written on their clothes, and Yuno also had a necklace. Right now, we still don’t know who their parents are, what were the circumstances of their birth, if they’re blood related or not, and how come they were both left in the exact same spot, nor why there out of all places. I’m assuming this will be important later on in the series, since one of the arcs has already teased a possibility that was denied by the end of said arc.

10. The story mainly takes place in the Clover Kingdom, but there are three others that will become a focus later on. Diamond Kingdom, a hostile country that deals with black magic, human experimentation and wars; Heart Kingdom, a neutral country rich of mana that prefers to remain unseen and whose citizens use an unique style of magic; and Spade Kingdom, the most massive of the four, and also supposedly a militant country of winter. So far in the story we have learned several bits about the Diamond Kingdom, while the information on Heart and Spade is still very new and brief. This does for a nice change of settings.

Also, since I’ve brought up the ‘unique style of magic’, Black Clover has a great power system, based on the elements and their subtypes, and even the most bland-sounding magic you never even thought of, can do wonders.

11. Black Clover is a funny show and it has various types of humor. Not only does it have comedic relief, like with Sekke, Yami and Gordon, but in the anime we also get Petit Clover, which is a short and usually amusing chibi-styled moment at the end of each episode. This was derived from the manga’s omakes in the same style and I’m guessing it had some success, since earlier in the year we also got an entire Petit Clover-styled series, named Mgyutto! Black Clover.

I’m a fan of both the manga and the anime, so I’d recommend reading and watching the series, but it’s fine no matter which you choose, and I hope I convinced at least some of you to get into this great show!

Credits for some of the points: 1, 2 (spoilers), 3 (spoilers), 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9.

#black clover #thoughts tag #long post #I wanted to write this post for a while and I finally got to it

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inumaqi · 5 years ago

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top ten tagged by @linkspooky 🍊 explanations under the cut! sorry for rambling xo → rules: name your top ten favourite characters from ten different fandoms, and then tag ten people - @osomanga @kara-suno @anonimarevolts @zeninmaki @wildbishonen @shysheeperz @tkmewthyou @kaldurlenn @joxterism @marshmallowdonutsprinkles

snufkin okay so he’s the only one not from an anime or manga but i had to put him on bc he’s the most important fictional character to me, ever. i grew up watching the moomin cartoons in the 90s and thinking about it instantly calms me down - they used to air the episodes early in the morning when it would still be dark outside: the landscapes were moody and cosy, the characters were so softly spoken and articulate... it’s just peak nostalgia. anyway, snufkin is moomin’s best friend; he returns to moominvalley every year to be with his friends during the spring and says his goodbyes to go adventure again come winter. it upsets moomin when he leaves but snufkin is adamant that quiet and solitude are important and healthy, and it’s not fair to expect him to compromise on his independence - that made a really big impact on me as a kid, especially as someone who never really had their ‘own’ space (twinsies). relationships aren’t weakened by physical distance or time, they’re about communication and understanding. that was important too. i don’t think i realised just how influential it had been until i was an adult but snufkin is an anarchist. he first shows up in the comics when moomin and sniff are talking about opening a bank - he tells them they should plant fruit trees instead. he destroys private property and rescues orphans, he refuses to participate in things that don’t bring him joy. when he’s asked where home is, he replies, “nowhere. or everywhere! it depends how you look at it” - the whole world belongs to him, and the whole world belongs to everyone else too.

yomo renji in general, i like characters that trudge along in the background and do the nitty-gritty work that supports the main story. i like people like that irl too. more than anything else, yomo is desperate to form human connections, even though he’s shackled by self-doubt and self-loathing. he just wants to positively contribute to a community, thinking he’s most useful keeping a quiet eye on people who might need protection/guidance (while still giving them space to grow and act themselves) or foraging for human corpses so that others aren’t in danger or moral anguish doing it for themselves.

bird boy is a total weapon - “the perfect ghoul” - and you’re reminded over and over again but a lot of his growth is about rejecting violence and repurposing his power as something productive that he can use to help the people around him instead of hurting people (the yang to uta’s yin). in the first few chapters, he says he kills humans (he’s a ghoul, humans are food, it’s natural) and yet he’s consistently framed as a scavenger who seeks out ‘roadkill’ [suicide victims] for sustenance, even before coming to anteiku, and implements a system so other people can do the same.

suguru getou i was originally gonna say meg bc i love him but, having just finished The Flashback Arc, i can’t stop thinking about getou and i’m beyond impressed with how akutami has managed to ground him so well, so sympathetically. getou is the sick, warped darkness to the hopeful light that gojou commands but... in an uncomfortable twist, the reverse is true, kind of.

actually, gojou is arrogant and confrontational and hyper individualistic. he’s a dissident. getou is obedient, compassionate, self-aware... he has a sense of social responsibility and passionately believes that his skills should be used to protect those who can’t protect themselves - non-jujutsu sorcerers - and all of the suffering he endures as a result is worth that. idk if others are reading his downfall differently but, from where i’m standing, that overwhelming responsibility never goes away, he doesn’t give up on it - he just starts to view the social landscape differently and begins to see how jujutsu sorcerers are vilified and mistreated in spite of all the good that they do. the ‘weak’ aren’t really weak when they’re able to organise and assert collective power over a minority, and so his sympathies shift.

the nail in the coffin for getou is learning that the hurt and pain could be eradicted from the world by cutting the head of the proverbial snake: non-jujutsu users generate cursed energy, so get rid of non-jujutsu users and cursed energy won’t be generated. it’s all horribly, weirdly rooted in good intentions that weigh him down and misdirect him. shinazugawa genya i feel like the bond that slowly starts to develop betwen tanjirou, and zenitsu and inosuke (in particular) is nicely foiled by genya’s lonely journey towards becoming a pillar. after losing almost all of his family and having sanemi walk away, genya is angry, antisocial, rude, violent, evasive...

he’s characterised as competitive, as if he hates his peers and wants to leave them in the dust as an act of self-satisfaction, a power fantasy or whenever, but this is a deliberate misdirection to cover for the fact that he’s scrambling to be a pillar so that he can reconnect with his brother and prove to him that he can protect himself; that sanemi doesn’t need to shoulder everything alone like he used to. his entire goal is an act of apology.

and in a story where so many characters are able to hone these exceptional skills, genya is uniquely disadvantaged as the only one who can’t master breathing techniques. rather than having a hero moment and powering up, his need to reconnect with sanemi is so strong that he essentially decides to compromise his humanity and become a kind of monster by ingesting the demons he’s pledged to annihilate. amajiki tamaki i wish i had a a longer explanation for this one but it’s actually super simple: tamaki is a really, really, really good portrayal of a person burdened with severe anxiety. the way he physically carries himself, the way he hides his face, his manner of speaking, his dependency on his mirio, how he interprets compliments as trickery, how he needs to be pushed and pushed and pushed before he’s finally able to release his potential... every single scene with tamaki felt deeply personal when i was reading bnha and i knew exactly what he was supposed to be feeling. shinmon benimaru sometimes good, nice people don’t fit a little friendly mould and i like that benimaru is hostile and rough and antisocial, even with people he cares about. he doesn’t expect anything of people, he doesn’t want them interfering with him, and he wants to help and support them all the same because he believes in community. he’s completely oppositional to the special fire force because he thinks it’s a tool to pursue an ideology rather than to protect people, which is why it’s so important when the eighth are finally able to win his approval - they become the only company the seventh consider allies, and it’s proof that their objectives are righteous. despite his reputation as... kind of a nuisance, his skill is acknowledged by everyone and he’s universally regarded as the strongest fire soldier there is. in spite of his antisocial attitude, he agrees that it’s important to share that with younger fire soldiers - he’s incredibly patient and understanding with them, helps them to individually adapt. the way he (and others in company seven) operate in contrast to the other companies when fighting infernals is really cool to me for two reasons: (1) it provides a commentary on how cultures and traditions often struggle to survive when they’re systematically (forcefully) replaced through power and wealth - although the subtext is a little troubling because it’s unclear whether ōkubo is conflating multiculturalism with globalisation which, uh, big nope; and (2) philosophically speaking, the approach to death is interesting. where the other companies essentially perform last rites and offer absolution to the deceased, benimaru personally takes responsibility - at the request of the people in his district - for sending them off in huge public display, kind of like a festival intending to celebrate their life. i think it speaks to how profoundly he values life. akihiko kaji i liked akihiko from the beginning because he’s stoic and introspective and also excitable and dumb. he’s a people watcher and waits for opportunities to softly guide uenoyama and mafuyu when they’re quietly crying out for help but doesn’t interfere any more than he thinks is necessary because he knows they can make their own way to where they need to go. i liked akihiko even more when he got really fucking messy. his relationship with ugetsu is sweet and it’s incredibly ugly and unhealthy because they both fail utterly to communicate with one another - they’re both to blame for avoiding and hurting each other, and i think that’s a really normal issue that people find difficult to overcome. i’m super interested (and really nervous) to see how his relationship with haruki develops. he’s done some horrible things to haruki and i want him to be accountable for those things and have them affect their relationship in a realistic way.

tanigaki genjirou one thing i really, really love about golden kamuy is the way noda satoru incorporates the importance of minority cultures into the story, and tanigaki’s apparent abandonment of his matagi heritage is really beautifully written. matagi hunting traditions shaped his life as a young man, it’s how he was able to really assimilate to the people around him and form relationships and - without getting too spoilery - he divorces himself from it all when he’s overcome by grief and hatches a plan for revenge against the person responsible. so, by allowing himself to surrender to negative feelings and thoughts instead of seeking support and learning to heal from what happened, he becomes a total shadow of himself.

makimura takeshi i know i’ve gushed about it before but i can’t properly explain just how incredible it felt seeing an asexual character in manga dialogue about being asexual, and devils’ line does it twice. the reason i’m so attached to makimura in particular is because he doesn’t seem to have fully figured it out - and he’s kinda... comfortable with that. he wants to be with someone and he wants to be monogamous but he can’t understand why he doesn’t feel sexual desire towards her; he knows his feelings aren’t platonic but doesn’t know whether they can really be called romantic either.

not to go dark mode but i very vividly remember just how lonely and horrifying it was battling with those uncertainties when i was a teenager, thinking i was broken because i didn’t have Normal Human Feelings and needed to be fixed. i was so worried about it that i thought about all the boys i knew, picked the one i thought was the nicest and actively tried to develop a crush on him. it was dumb as fuck but, ten years later, i realise it was really desperate and sad too. i forced myself to have ~my first kiss~ (it was horrible) because i felt like i was getting left behind and i think i would’ve put myself in worse situations as i got older if i hadn’t suffered with such bad social anxiety.

i hadn’t really thought too much about a lot of this stuff for yeaaars but it all came flooding back when i was reading devils’ line. it was bittersweet bc i was remembering all of those shitty feelings but also watching this character grapple with those same questions and go: i don’t know yet and that’s not weird, let’s just grow with it. i still don’t totally know whether i’m ace or aro or bi, or whatever, but i’m trying to be okay with just... not knowing.

misora shuuji anyway, devils’ line isn’t actually a manga with a specific focus on sexuality and gender but shimanami tasogare is and all of the characters are written beautifully. if you haven’t read it yet... then why haven’t you read it yet? misora is only about twelve years old and watching them battle with their growing pains is really compelling - they’re closeted but, through the lounge, they have somewhere to explore their gender and all the questions they have about it. they’re amab and present as traditionally feminine wrt clothes, wigs, makeup, etc. but can’t quite tell if they see themselves as a girl, a boy or non-binary.

with the onset of puberty and anxieties about physical changes to their body, misora’s story puts a lot of emphasis on the pressure they face to just ‘make up their mind’ about something that’s actually incredibly complex and doesn’t have any easy answers. they snap and shout and get upset, especially when tasuku (the protag) tries to push them into a corner because he wants a concrete label or identity he can attach to misora, even though space is exactly what misora needs.

#jujutsu kaisen #given #kimetsu no yaiba #boku no hero academia #enen no shouboutai #tokyo ghoul #shimanami tasogare #devils' line #golden kamuy #moomins #mine*edit

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beardycarrot · 5 years ago

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Okay, now that I’ve finished the first book in the Youjo Senki series, I feel like now is a good time to talk about both it and its adaptations.

Youjo Senki (written 幼女戦記, basically “young girl’s war record”), is officially localized in English as “The Saga of Tanya the Evil”... which in my opinion really changes the tone of the whole thing. Obviously that name sounds better as a title than going with a more accurate localization like Girl at War, or, like... The Accounts of a Young Girl’s Battles, but still, I’m not a fan.

Maybe calling the protagonist “Tanya the Evil” will make sense later in the series, but as far as I’ve read/watched, the only people who would view her that way are her enemies (who call her The Devil of the Rhine) and Erich von Lergen, who I guess could be seen as a minor antagonist, even though everything he does trying to halt Tanya’s career is exactly what she wants to happen as well... it’s complicated. There are also portions of the story set forty years in the future with a reporter trying to learn the truth of went on during the war, which could be related to the “Tanya the Evil” title, as you only get brief glimpses of it and don’t know what became of Tanya.

ANYWAY, the specifics of the story vary a bit between the different versions, but the basic concept is that capital-g God is unhappy with how faithless humanity has become. The protagonist (an HR manager murdered by an employee he fired) argues that, hey, why would I be faithful? People cling to religion in times of strife, and being a reasonably well-off man raised in a scientific society where Abrahamic faiths aren’t a very big thing, belief in God is a bit much to ask for. How Big G responds varies a bit between the light novel, manga, and anime, but it’s basically: “oh yeah? so if you were born a poverty-stricken female in a highly religious magical world at war, would you be faithful then?”, and reincarnates him as an orphan named Tanya in alternate-timeline Germany.

The biggest difference is the tone. In the anime, Being X (as the protagonist, refusing to believe in gods, calls him) basically just gives him a cool middle finger, and, speaking to him through the time-stopped people on the platform, seems pretty impersonal and detached. In the manga, you see full-white-beard God in person, where he’s pretty vengeful, going all biblical. In the light novel... well, Being X is just an old man, talking to himself as much as to the protagonist, musing and seeming distracted. The “oh, so if I reincarnated you in this situation, you would have more faith” isn’t so much about punishing the protagonist as it is just deciding the best course of action. The light novel is later shown to have an entire pantheon of gods, which the adaptations drop completely.

Again, very different tones... and that carries throughout the entire thing. For example, the anime is mostly about high-flying action and battles of wits, with lots of crazy facial expressions from Tanya. The manga, meanwhile... is much more a comedy than the other versions. There’s still action and stuff, sure, but for some reason the manga puts more focus on the “Tanya says something, and everyone misinterprets her intentions” aspect, and uses a lot of caricatures of historical figures and diagrams with cartoonie animals when explaining things.

The light novel... uh. Well, it’s literally unlike anything else I’ve ever read. In most novels, you would expect the content to be made up of descriptions of what characters are doing, dialogue, the viewpoint character’s inner thoughts, maybe the occasional soliloquy to wax poetic about ideas the author thinks are important to convey but don’t fit into and of the other categories. Youjo Senki is made up almost entirely of the latter, with bits of dialogue sprinkled in... but also unspoken dialogue that’s implied, and also, the tense used changes depending on the current viewpoint character?

For example, when it’s focusing on Visha, it’s pretty normal, third person past-tense. Visha DID this, Visha THOUGHT that. When it switches to Tanya, it becomes present-tense... but also first and third person? Tanya does this, I think that. The protagonist consistently refers to themselves as “I” internally, but when it’s something happening externally, it’s happening to Tanya. “I can feel Tanya’s small body shiver”, or whatever. As if Tanya is something that the protagonist is piloting. Take this paragraph... I took this screenshot while reading on my phone in the middle of the night (hence the dark mode) because I was like 90% sure it’s a reference to Vermouth from Detective Conan, but it’s a pretty good example of what I’m talking about:

Which conveniently brings me to the next big difference, the Elinium Type 95. The characterizations of Being X remain consistent here: in the anime he’s just being a dick (in the form of a nutcracker), in the manga he’s being all biblical and vengeful, and in the light novel... honestly, I don’t even know if the same god from the start of the story is involved. What happens is that the Type 95 computation orb (a piece of magitech that allows mages to cast spells) has been blessed to give Tanya some proper OP Isekai Protagonist Powers, but only if she prays for it to happen.

In the anime and manga, it’s as simple as that: she just has to pray, and this orb gives her crazy boosted magic. She doesn’t even have to mean it, she just has to say the words. In the light novel, it’s the other way around; any time she uses the orb, the protagonist loses control of Tanya’s body, which starts praying. That’s a bit of an element of body horror right there, and while I personally like the vindictive nature of the “if you want to use this magic to keep yourself alive on the battlefield, you MUST pray to me” angle from the adaptations, I’m curious to see where the light novels go with their version.

Again, I’m not even sure if Being X was involved in that case... the gods all decided to make a new holy relic as a way to increase faith (since all the old holy relics they’d made in centuries past had ended up in museums), and I guess decided to use Tanya’s computation orb for that purpose since they were doing an experiment with her faith already? I’m not really clear on that... due to how it switches between characters and rarely describes actions as they’re occurring, a lot of specific details seems to be left to the imagination of the reader.

Despite being kind of a pain in the butt to read, I think I’m going to get the next one in the series. While I enjoyed the anime as I watched it, and would probably watch a second season (which is likely to come, considering the spin-off series Isekai Quartet seems to have been popular), I need answers sooner than that. Tanya is basically this world’s version of The Red Baron, but in the flash-forwards to the 1960′s, the reporter doing research on the war never really seems to find any concrete evidence that she or her unit existed. Why is that? Did she become a top general and have all reference to herself wiped from the records? Did she commit atrocities so terrible that the “technically not a war crime” workarounds she was famous for no longer held up? Did Erich von Lergen finally put an end to her career? Is she still alive in the 60′s, and if so, will the reporter eventually find her??

...So yeah, you could say I’m kinda invested.

#youjo senki #the saga of tanya the evil

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antspaul · 5 years ago

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happy holidays @lollercakesff !!! I wrote you a fic! I hope you enjoy it ~ and have a wonderful holiday season!

I am posting the fic here, as well as on ao3, as it’s a little long (~10k).

charity (who is helping who?)

Summary: AU in which Anne is a little more poor but just as vivacious while Gilbert is a lot more wealthy and a little more cowardly.

Based somewhat loosely on the book Daddy Long Legs, written in 1912 by Jean Webster. There’s a movie with Fred Astaire and a wonderful musical based on the book. I always thought that Jerusha, the main character, was very reminiscent of Anne. The title comes from the song “Charity” from the musical.

PART I.

13 July 1899

Dear Ms. Shirley-Cuthbert,

I am pleased to inform you that you have been selected to receive a full scholarship to the University of Toronto. This scholarship allows deserving young men and women invested in the arts to attend college in pursuit of strengthening their craft. You were selected on the basis of your imaginative and enjoyable writing, which the University hopes that you will pursue once on campus.

The scholarship will cover your tuition and board for the four years it will take you to earn your Bachelor of Arts, provided to you from a very generous benefactor. There is also a small account in your name that will provide for your books. The funds in this account are stable and will not be replenished, so you are advised to spend very wisely. All additional details about your award are on the attached page.

In order to keep your scholarship, you will write your benefactor letters, at least once per month throughout your tenure at the University of Toronto, informing him of your progress, both academic and creative. Your benefactor will remain anonymous, and you may only address him as “Mr. Smith.” The address is provided below. You may use your book account to purchase postage, if necessary.

Congratulations once again. We at the University of Toronto will see you come fall.

Alastair Pendleton

Director of Financial Aid and Scholarships

University of Toronto

1 September 1901

To my magnificent benefactor,

I am sorry but I cannot address you as “Mr. Smith”, not when you have changed my life for the better in such a profound way. I can hardly believe that scarcely two months ago I was lamenting my future stuck on the farm and now I am here at the University of Toronto, ready to learn all there is to know in the world! And I have you to thank.

Please don’t think that I’m an ungrateful child. I truly appreciate everything that everyone has done for me. Until six years ago I lived the sorrowful life of the unwanted child that I was. You see, Mr. Smith, my parents died when I was only three months old. Does knowing I’m an orphan make you think less of me? I hope it doesn’t. I imagine a man as generous and kind as you wouldn’t care. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be giving charity to poor girls such as I.

Anyway, I lived in an orphanage, among other places, until I was thirteen and the most wonderful people in the world adopted me! Their names are Matthew and Marilla Cuthbert and they are brother and sister. I lived with them on a farm on Prince Edward Island. Have you ever been to Prince Edward Island, Mr. Smith? If you haven’t, you must go. I am quite certain it is the most breathtaking beautiful and splendid place on the planet.

I was told when I spoke to Mr. Pendleton in person that you don’t need to know anything about my life beyond my schooling and my writing. But since I will likely be mentioning Matthew and Marilla quite frequently, I thought that I would tell you who they were.

Will you be reading these letters? On the long train ride to Toronto, I thought long and hard about what I would do if I were a mysterious, filthy rich old man giving heaps of money to farm girls who couldn’t otherwise afford college. After a while I just gave up because I am not any of those things and could simply not put myself in your shoes. Marilla always berates me for my vanity, which leads me to think that I could not remain anonymous for very long. My opinion doesn’t matter, of course, but I do hope you read my letters. I intend to pour every speck of gratitude towards you that I possess onto these pages.

What is there left to talk about? Classes don’t start until tomorrow. I know that you wanted to know about my academics, but there isn’t any to talk about yet. I wanted to draft my first letter to you before homework became too overwhelming. Would you like to hear about my friends? My friendships certainly count as personal, but since I will mention them in the future as well, I will introduce them now.

My best friend and roommate is Diana Barry. Oh, how to describe Diana! She is the most dearest girl in the world. I met her when I had just arrived in Avonlea and immediately recognized her as a kindred spirit. Sharing a room with Diana is a dream come true! Her parents are rigid and close-minded. Perhaps I shouldn’t have written that because they are also very rich and seem to know every other rich person in North America. I don’t mean to be harsh but I’ve seen them make her cry enough times that I think I am entitled to my opinion of them.

Ruby Gillis is my second best friend. She’s also from Avonlea. She’s a wonderfully nice girl, maybe too nice for her own good. Ruby lacks imagination, perhaps, but sometimes an imagination as big as mine, I have found, can be a burden, as when you can imagine a beautiful future it sometimes leaves the present looking grayer than ever.

Who else is there to mention? Jane Andrews is the only other girl from home who also got in to U of T (University of Toronto, as I’m sure you know — writing it like that gives me such a thrill!) but I doubt I’ll be seeing her much, as she’s taken residence with her aunt and uncle in town. I’ve also met some new girls and we’ve become fast friends. Their names are Priscilla Grant, Stella Maynard, and Philippa Gordon. As I have just come to know them, I can’t tell you much except I can already tell they are kindred spirits. It’s just something you feel. I feel that we are kindred spirits, too, Mr. Smith.

I apologize if this letter has gone on too long, or if it’s not the type of letter you wanted me to send you. The letters that come from my desk usually go to someone I know very well, like my friend Cole or Diana’s Aunt Josephine.

Oh, those are two others I’m sure to mention a lot — Cole is an artist and is the kindest, most gentle soul I have ever come across. Aunt Josephine is a rich old lady who is a sort of parent to Cole. Perhaps you know her, though when I asked Aunt Jo if she was acquainted with an old rich man who sends orphan girls to college to be writers, she said she knew of none.

All that is to say that I don’t know who you are or what sort of person you are but I vow with all of the strength in my heart to do my very best to write these letters well.

Until next month!

Your eternally grateful friend,

Anne Shirley-Cuthbert

P.S.: I know you insist on remaining anonymous, but if I were to receive some sort of occasional acknowledgement that you are getting my letters, that would be more than welcome. I only thought I’d let you know.

FROM THE DESK OF ANNE SHIRLEY-CUTHBERT

21 April 1902

To my beloved benefactor,

I have not been able to stop smiling all week! Priscilla tells me I look crazed, with this Cheshire grin stretching across my face but I simply can’t contain myself and it’s all because of you! I don’t know how you found out that it was my birthday last week but your gift came just in time. My handwriting has never looked more beautiful than it does underneath the words “FROM THE DESK OF ANNE SHIRLEY-CUTHBERT.” Just seeing it on my table sends a thrill down my spine knowing you so thoughtfully ordered this for me yourself. How I wish you would have sent some sort of personal note with it. I know you have never answered my questions before, no matter how many I have asked. I am sorry to tell you that you’ll just have to deal with it as I can’t help but want to know you. Can you really blame me?

Classes are going much the same as in my last letter. I retook my geometry test and did much better, I am happy to report, due to Phil’s untiring help with studying. I even started to draft some short stories that I have been thinking about, though I find it difficult to put aside the time to write them as my studies keep me more than busy.

Here, Mr. Smith, is where I get more personal so if you still feel obliged to ignore ramblings about my social life skip to the end of the letter now.

As you know my birthday was last Thursday. Priscilla, Stella, Phil, Ruby, and Diana decided to surprise me and take me out for dinner! They escorted me to the most charming and expensive restaurant within five miles of our boarding house. At first I felt overwhelming unprepared and underdressed for such a formal occasion, sure that I stuck out like a sore thumb around all of the elegant ladies and gentlemen dining nearby. But soon the waiter brought out course after course of wonderful, delicious food and we were having such a pleasurable time that any insecurity slipped my mind completely. For a moment it seemed that nothing at all could tarnish such an impeccable moment!

But of course as soon as this thought entered my mind Gilbert Blythe showed up to ruin the dinner. As I have not yet mentioned Gilbert to you (that I remember, at least) here is all you need to know about him: he did something terribly humiliating to me when we first met in school at age thirteen and I have never forgiven him for it since. If he had left it at that we would be on better terms now but soon after he left Avonlea and on the few occasions we’ve seen each other since he has made a routine of offending me similarly. So as you can see why his presence at my special birthday dinner was less than welcome.

Perhaps, had I not known what kind of person Gilbert is, it would have offended me less when he sent a bottle of wine over to our table and offered to pay for my meal. But no doubt he only intended to flaunt his wealth before us like some peacock parading its feathers! He likely thought we would struggle to afford our meal. I have no aversion to certain types of charity, Mr. Smith, as you know, but his assumptions, and that inappropriate bottle of wine, nearly had me storming out of the restaurant in a rage. Diana and Ruby calmed me down and we politely but sternly declined his offer to the waiter. I didn’t see Gilbert’s reaction but I wish I had seen the smugness drop from his face.

It was a thoroughly exhausting affair. Emotionally, of course.

22 April 1901

I’m sorry for the interruption. I heard Diana call for me and it sounded quite urgent— a bouquet of flowers, it turns out, had arrived at the front door and were addressed to me. Thinking they were a belated birthday gift I readily accepted them. Imagine my surprise when the note inside revealed they were from Gilbert Blythe himself! I wanted to scream from the nerve of him and throw the flowers out but they were still quite beautiful so Ruby convinced me to keep them. The note on the inside wished me a happy birthday and apologized for his impertinence on my birthday. It almost made me regret writing those harsh things about him above. Almost.

Anyway, Mr. Smith, this is where my personal ramblings end if you don’t care to read them. Oh, I almost forgot to tell you that I spoke to one of the instructors here about my stories and she said they sounded promising and recommended that I submit one to the University literary journal! I might get published before the end of the term, if all goes well! If you care to read my work, I’ve attached the first four pages of a recent story to this letter.

Yours,

19 year-old Anne Shirley-Cuthbert, soon-to-be published author

FROM THE DESK OF ANNE SHIRLEY-CUTHBERT

5 February 1902

To my dear but frustratingly mysterious benefactor,

Can you believe it’s been a year and a half since I found out that you had selected me for the scholarship? I can’t. Since this letter will likely be incredibly short (examinations are upon us and will start soon, so I have little time to write) I wanted to start this letter by offering my undying thanks to you. So here it is: thank you, thank you, THANK YOU! And I’m so horribly mortified that I wrote to you in the manner that I did in my January letter. At the time I felt horribly unsympathetic to the wealthy and took out my frustrations on you. I wish every wealthy person were as kind as you. I suppose I really don’t know how kind you are but something tells me you are wonderfully nice.

Classes here are going well. I’ve said it before but I love being a sophomore! I finally feel like I truly belong at the University of Toronto. As much as I love Avonlea— have you visited yet? — I’m equally glad to be exploring the world on my own. As stressful as exams are, I love being at school. Even though I’ve been to only a few places in my life living in a city as large as Toronto makes each new day an adventure. I could explore this city for years and still find new nooks and crannies.

Since time is running short, here are several quick updates:

Ruby is still considering dropping out. Diana and I desperately try everyday to convince her not to, but our pleas seem to have done nothing to change her mind. It will be sad but not totally unsurprising to see her leave.

Ever since Aunt Josephine intervened with Diana’s parents, she has more confidently pursued her music. If you’re ever interested in hearing beautiful songs played on the piano then she plays a concert once a month. You could come and I wouldn’t even know you were there! It would be worth it, I promise.

Stella, Phil, and Priscilla are doing fine as well! Priscilla gets herself into trouble for pulling pranks on our new house matron, but scoldings never seem to bother her. Beautiful Philippa frustratingly has no shortage of suitors willing to do anything for her. It’s maddening in a funny sort of way to watch them trip over themselves to impress her as she pays them barely any notice at all.

What else? I have started to write for the newspaper! Just as I did in school. I will put in the envelope my very first story. It’s only a little book review but seeing my name in print gives me the same thrill as it did last spring when my story was published. I hope this time my writing will be met with less harsh criticism.

Well, that’s all I can think of to say today. I’ll try to send a longer letter next week if I can.

Faithfully,

Anne Shirley-Cuthbert

P.S. I forgot to ask— if it isn’t too much trouble could you send me more stationery? I’m almost out of the paper that you sent me for my birthday.

FROM THE DESK OF ANNE SHIRLEY-CUTHBERT

10 May 1903

My deeply appreciated benefactor,

I deeply apologize for the time it took me to write you this letter. I'm also sorry for how many of my letters start out with an apology. I realize it's been more than a month since I sent my last correspondence. Can it be called correspondence if you never write back? You've sent me gifts, which I cherish with all of my soul, but never once have you sent me a single word back. After three years you'd think I would just resign myself to the fact that all you'll ever be to me is a mystery shrouded in enigma, albeit one I'm relentlessly grateful for. But if you know anything about me by now, Mr. Smith, as you should if you've read any of my letters, is that I am as stubborn as a mule. Every person I've ever worked for or belonged to has said as much.

As I wrote that above paragraph I've realized that some of my words to you could be considered rude. Would you mind terribly if I apologized again? It's just that this week has been one of the worst I have ever experienced. May I tell you about it? I suppose one of the good things about never hearing back from you is that you will never tell me I can't.

As I write this it's Friday, and the dreadfulness started Monday. What makes everything seem worse is that the weekend was so wonderful. Ruby came for a visit, sporting gifts for all of us from her and Moody's recent visit to America. Seeing her glowing face (I think she may be expecting but if she is, I doubt she knows herself) and hearing about how happy she and her new husband are softened the blow of her departure from school last year and everyone had a delightful time. Then she boarded the train back to the Maritimes Monday morning and everything seemed to put on a shade of gray.

For the rest of the day both me and Diana were terribly irritable in our sadness to see her go. Our crossness culminated that night when Diana and I had a horrible argument. I can barely recall how it started— I think that I made some offhand comment disparaging Gilbert and she jumped to his rescue, and everything devolved from there. We were shouting horrible things at each other that should never be said out loud, things we didn't truly mean but hurt regardless. We haven't spoken since and though I know we are both regretful I don't know how to approach her and I think she feels the same. Our friendship isn't over, at least, but I yearn for normalcy. Concentrating in class has proved near impossible, even in the classes Diana and I don't share, because I'm so distracted by my guilt and shame.

To make matters worse, yesterday I checked my mail at the post office and what would be there but not one, but TWO rejection letters from literary magazines. I was reading them up in a secluded tree behind the library, thinking I was alone. The first was firm but polite in their rejection. We regret to inform you that we will not be accepting your work at this time, but please submit more work in the future. The kind of dismissal that comes with an impermanent sting. The next, however, was clearly more personal. The letter described my writing as infantile, superfluous, and shallow— I starting crying on the spot. In my twenty-one years of life, I've been on the receiving end of much harsh criticism, coming from my peers, my teachers, even those I considered my friends. I often turned to writing as a way of comfort and solace in those moments. The thought that I wasn't even good at my one talent was too much to bear. So in my privacy I sobbed harder than I had in years.

But apparently my spot in the tree was not as concealed as I originally thought. Just as I was about to collect myself and climb down, I heard a man clear his throat and call up to me, "Miss, are you alright?"

I looked down and almost fell off the branch as I realized who it was. "Gilbert?" I exclaimed.

He looked surprised to see me, a wonder since that day I wore a bright yellow dress and my hair is as red as ever. "What are you doing up there?" he asked me, knitting his eyebrows together in that infuriating way he always does. "Have you been... crying?"

I shook my head but I'm sure it did nothing to hide my frazzled state.

"Do you need help coming down from there?"

"No," I said but he offered me a hand anyway and I accepted it.

As I brushed the leaves and bark from my skirt he asked me, "Would you like a cup of tea?"

My meltdown had caused me to miss lunch so I accepted. At the tea house, he as always volunteered to pay for everything which I found frustrating but I've gotten more used to Gilbert over the years.

We talked idly for a while. I asked him about his classes. He's a medical student, did I tell you that? Not in medical school yet, but in a pre-medical program. With all of his money, I don't know why he needs a career but I suppose you have to do something to fill your days. Anyway, I knew this term he's had a number of terribly strenuous courses and I was curious how he was handling them. Everything was going well, he said but didn't appear that interested in talking about himself.

"Do you want to talk about why you were so upset earlier?" he asked me suddenly. "I would understand if you don't, of course, but perhaps if you told someone you'd... feel better."

I sighed and pulled the letters from my pocket, handing them over to him. He scanned them quickly, raising his eyebrows.

"Wow," he said once he finished reading. "How could they be so..."

"Blunt?"

"Wrong," he finished. "These people clearly know nothing. "

I was a bit nonplussed at his reaction. "I should have worked harder on the stories, instead of rushing to send them in. I'm more angry at myself than at those who rejected me."

Gilbert shook his head. "Your work is far from shallow, Anne. If you wrote it, then I'm sure it was amazing." He scoffed at the letter.

“I didn’t know you had read any of my writing,” I said.

“I read your articles in the newspaper,” he was quick to reply.

“Oh. Well, I wouldn’t judge my writing on those little book reviews in the newspaper.”

“No— I meant the newspaper back home. In Avonlea. Bash would send them to me here, and I always loved what you wrote. Everything you wrote carried so much meaning. That stuck with me.”

"Well, thank you, Gilbert," was all I really could say. I felt a strange burst of affection towards him at that moment and it struck me that we are truly friends. Close friends, as close as I am to Priscilla, Phil, and Stella.

Gilbert has changed these last few years, too. It's the strangest thing. When I first met him and he was a boy of fifteen, he was much like every other boy I met back then— confident, rowdy, foolhardy. Then his father died and on the rare occasion he came back to Avonlea, he seemed to have retreated into himself. We blamed it on the grief and all of the money he came into with his father's inheritance (and, reportedly, that of a wealthy aunt). But recently traces of the old Gilbert, the one who defended me from Billy Andrews and called me Carrots, have resurfaced. I don't know really how I feel about all that. I just know that I was incredibly thankful to have him as a friend yesterday in the tea house.

Anyways, I know that all of that might have been too personal. I'll stop myself now as I hear Diana coming up the stairs and writing this letter has motivated me to mend things with her. I’ll write more to you in a few days with updates on my courses and all of that (everything is well, don’t worry) but I simply wanted to tell someone.

Thankful as always,

Anne Shirley-Cuthbert

P.S. It’s Saturday now and Diana and I are on good terms again. I showed her the letters and she too thought they were preposterous. Diana has read the stories I sent in and liked them a lot. Because of her confidence and my talk with Gilbert on Thursday I’ve decided to send you one of my stories. I know you at least like my writing so perhaps someone will enjoy them.

PART II.

“It still doesn’t feel real,” Anne told Diana as they walked, arm-in-arm, through the front doors of the lecture hall. “Can you believe that it was three years ago that we first walked into this building for our first class?”

“We were terrified, if I recall,” said Diana. “Look at us now— tall, beautiful, intimidating senior girls!” She struck a pose, silly and exaggerated and the two dissolved into giggles.

They found seats, two right next to each other near the front of the room. Twenty minutes early as they liked to be to every class on the first day, only a few other students had yet arrived.

“I remember being frightened of the older girls when I was a freshman,” Anne said, pulling out her notebook and pen and placing them squarely on the table in front of her. “Now that I am one, I don’t know what there was to be frightened of. I scarcely feel older than I did back then.”

“Do you think that there will be many lower-years in this class?” asked Diana.

“I don’t know. If this course was offered my first term here, I would have stopped at nothing to take it.” Anne breathed out dreamily. “To think we’ll be studying only contemporary women writers— this is exactly the kind of course I envisioned taking when I first thought about going to college.”

“It’s too bad that the others couldn’t fit this into their timetables.”

Anne sighed. “Such is the busy life of a senior. Everyone says that we’ll have loads and loads more coursework this term but I think that I’ll hardly notice if the extra work is something I enjoy. Don’t you agree?”

Diana nodded firmly, and the room started to fill up with other students, mostly girls but a few boys showed up as well. Their instructor, the soft spoken but kind Professor Abbott, arrived five minutes prior to the class’s scheduled start time. He walked through the front door, trailed by none other than Gilbert Blythe, and the two seemed to be engaged in conversation. As they approached the chalkboard and instructor’s desk, Gilbert thanked the man and they shook hands before Gilbert left him.

“Hello Anne, hello Diana,” Gilbert said, standing in front of their table. “May I sit next to you?”

One of the only free seats in the room was right next to Anne, so she nodded, then asked, “You’re in this class?”

Gilbert sat down. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

Diana gently elbowed Anne for her rudeness. “We’ll be glad to see you at least twice a week now,” Diana said. “Last term we could barely catch a glimpse of you once a month.”

He chuckled. “Yes, the medical faculty keeps us quite busy. If this is how rigorous pre-medical program is, I can’t even begin to imagine the real thing.”

“You’ll get used to it, I’m sure,” Diana said.

“I have no choice,” replied Gilbert, sardonic but Anne could tell he was in a good mood.

Up front, Prof. Abbott ordered a red-faced sophomore boy to hand out papers with the reading list. He had prepared one paper for every three students, so Anne, Diana, and Gilbert shared a paper.

“Oh no!” Anne exclaimed as she read one title on the list.

“What happened?” asked Diana.

“I forgot to bring a book with me from home. This one here— Elizabeth and Her German Garden— I read it last summer and meant to bring my copy from home so I didn’t have to purchase another. But now I realize that I forgot to pack it, and we’re reading it next week.”

“Don’t despair, Anne, you can borrow mine when I’m done reading the assigned sections,” offered Diana.

Gilbert cleared his throat. “Actually, I happen to have an extra copy, if you wanted it, Anne.”

Anne perked up. “Really? Thank you, Gilbert!”

After class ended, Gilbert and Anne said goodbye to Diana and started the walk to Gilbert’s nearby apartment. Gilbert leading Anne, they reached his street only a few minutes later, as Gilbert lived only a street or two away from the main campus of the University of Toronto. The houses that lined the road embodied wealth and luxury. Though she had never been there, Anne knew that Gilbert lived in a small but ridiculously comfortable apartment at the top of one of these red bricked buildings.

She had never been on his street, either, but still the name— Sherbourne Street— felt familiar. As the two ascending the stairs of Gilbert’s building, Anne realized why: somewhere on the street, among its seven miles of fancy house after fancy house, live Anne’s mysterious benefactor.

Anne laughed out loud.

Gilbert turned around and threw up an inquisitive eyebrow. “Is something funny?”

“Oh, nothing,” said Anne. “It’s only that the world of the rich is so remarkably tiny, don’t you agree?”

“I suppose so,” answered Gilbert. “Why do you say that?”

They reached the top step and Gilbert pulled out his key to open his door.

Anne told him, “I’ve realized that you live on the same street as someone I know.”

Gilbert paused, his key only halfway in the lock. “Oh? Who?”

“Well, I’ve never met him. This might sound strange, but he’s— are you going to open the door or not, Gilbert?”

“Oh. Sorry.” Gilbert let them in. “You were saying?”

“He’s an old rich man who’s been paying for my education. I’ve never seen him in person, you see, but I’ve written him letters for the last three years so I feel like I know him quite well.”

Anne followed Gilbert through his apartment, which was quite larger than it appeared on the outside, until they ended up in a large library room with a fireplace and massive chairs with vast, soft-looking cushions. It was exactly the kind of library Anne yearned to possess herself, where she could sit with a warm cup of tea on a cold winter’s day.

“The book is over here,” Gilbert said, pointing to a shelf and directing her there. “So… your… old man has written you back often, then?”

“Well, not exactly. But I believe that you don’t have to know a person to know them.”

“That doesn’t make much sense at all, Anne.”

She pouted. “Never mind then. Maybe it isn’t meant to be understood by anyone else but me.”

He laughed, then, a soft chuckle that surprised Anne in its clarity. He pulled a book off the shelf. “Here it is,” he said, handing over his copy of Elizabeth and Her German Garden.

As Anne took it graciously, she couldn’t help but notice that he didn’t have another copy on the shelf but decided not to mention it.

The rest of the course was as enjoyable as Anne and Diana had hoped. Tuesday morning before class often brought Anne, Diana, and Gilbert together to a nearby tea house to eat lunch and discuss the week's readings. Anne looked forward to their meeting more than almost anything else. Gilbert seemed to appreciate the literature as much as Anne and Diana, even though the books were by women. He was able to offer both a male and medical opinion, the latter of which being particularly valued in their discussion of The Yellow Wallpaper. Both Anne and Diana thought his enjoyment curious, but their instructor was also a man after all. It wasn't so strange, and to have a man appreciating the words of a woman rather than the other way around was empowering to Anne as a writer herself.

Anne had never seen Gilbert so relaxed as he was during their Tuesday morning book discussions. Usually, in most other occasions when their paths crossed, Gilbert always seemed to be in such a rush, stressed out about business, or class, or some other small thing. Anne had always felt sad for him because of this, but to see him truly at ease painted him in a different light in her mind. His presence became something welcome, more soothing than it had ever been. She had realized they were good friends less than a year ago, and she wondered if Gilbert's father had never died, if business had never kept him away from Avonlea, they would be as good of friends today.

The term flew quicker than Anne had anticipated, as it was want to do, and soon Christmas was over and exam season was upon them. Anne barely caught sight any of her friends for those two weeks, as everyone boarded themselves in their rooms to study and write essays. The only person Anne saw with any sort of regularity was Diana, which only happened because the two shared a room.

The Monday of the second exam week, Anne and Diana decided to take a much-deserved break, going for a stroll in a nearby park to clear their minds.

"Have you seen Gilbert lately?" Anne asked Diana.

"No," said Diana. "I imagine he is incredibly busy with his own exams. Studying for our exams is hard enough. Can you even imagine what his must be like?"

Anne shuddered. "I would rather not. While I find the human body and all its functions endlessly fascinating, I've caught a glimpse of his more complicated textbooks. I won't be joining the pre-medical program any time soon."

"At the very least, we'll see him at the exam for women's literature," said Diana.

But when the day came, Gilbert did not show up. Diana and Anne showed up their usual twenty minutes early, expecting to see their friend, but he was nowhere to be seen.

As the minutes to the exam's start passed, Anne became nervous for her friend. She rose from her chair and said to Professor Abbott, who was seconds away from starting the test, "Excuse me, sir, but shouldn't we wait until Gilbert is here?"

Professor Abbott fixed her with an odd look. "Mr. Blythe won't be sitting the exam."

Had something happened? Had Gilbert dropped the course last-minute? That couldn't be right. He had attended every class.

Anne badly wanted to ask why, worried about her friend, but Professor Abbott gave her no room to do so, starting to read the instructions for their timed essay. She wrote a fine essay, though it took her longer than it would have had she not been so distracted by the empty spot next to her. When the exam finished, Anne wasted not a second to ask her instructor what he had meant.

"Mr. Blythe was only auditing the course," was his answer. "Therefore, he did not have to take the exam. I thought you knew that, him being your beau."

Heat rushed to her face. A younger Anne might have argued that Gilbert was not her beau in the least, but today she thanked him and left with Diana.

On their walk home, Anne clung to Diana's arm and asked, "It seems very strange that Gilbert would audit a course."

"It's not so strange," replied Diana. "Gilbert has always been interested in literature, and likely wanted an excuse to read more without having another exam to prepare for."

"Why do you think he didn't tell us?" asked Anne.

Diana peered at her, a curious glint in her eyes. "I have a suspicion."

When Diana didn't elaborate immediately, Anne stopped them in the middle of the walkway. A disgruntled set of girls behind them rolled their eyes to wind around them.

"What is it?"

With a small grin, Diana answered, "I think Gilbert took the class because of you."

"Me?!" Anne said incredulously. "Why would Gilbert do that?"

"You really don't know?"

"Know what? What is there to know?"

"Never mind," Diana said slyly, pulling them back into motion.

"Diana, quit messing with my head and tell me."

Diana laughed. "Are you saying that you really don't see the way he looks at you? He obviously loves you."

Anne didn't say anything, trying to wrap her mind around Diana's words.

Sighing, Diana continued, "If you don't believe me, just ask him yourself."

Anne huffed, confused at her irritation. "I think I will."

It took a few days to pin down Gilbert, as his exams kept him busy and occupied at the few moments he was usually reliably free. But finally Anne managed to catch him at their favorite tea house, reading a newspaper and sipping a cup of coffee, and sat down without invitation.

Gilbert looked surprised to see her there. "Anne, hello." He folded his newspaper and set it down in front of him. "Not that you're unwelcome, but what are you doing here?"

"Stella said she saw you here," Anne said.

"Oh," said Gilbert. "Well, do you want something? On me, of course."

"No. Actually, I have a question. An important question. Well, maybe it's not so important, but it could be. Depending on your answer."

"Anne— just... ask the question."

Gilbert looked a little nervous himself, shifting in his chair.

Anne took a breath. "Right. Sorry. I was only wondering... why did you take the Women Authors course?"

"Oh." He was quiet for a moment and Anne studied his face. "Well, I wanted to educate myself, I suppose, about literature written by women. I felt I didn't know much about the subject."

Unsatisfied, Anne shot back, "You decided to take an extra class for no reason in your last year of the pre-medical program?"

"I wanted to read something other than dry medical books. I'm sorry... did you want another answer?"

Anne sighed and stood up, more dejected than she thought she'd be. "No. I was just being silly. I'm sorry for bothering you, Gilbert. I should go."

"You don't have to."

"No, I should. I have a letter to write."

FROM THE DESK OF ANNE SHIRLEY-CUTHBERT

1 May 1904

Dear Mr. Smith,

It felt right to address you in a more formal manner today because we have formal matters to discuss. As I graduate in three weeks, I imagine that this will be my last letter to you for some time. Don’t worry, I intend to tell you as soon as something big happens with my writing. You’ll be the first to know, before Marilla or Matthew or even Diana. I could never forget that you are the reason I was able to go to school and reach my full potential. Because of you, I’m not stuck at Green Gables, shoveling hay alongside Jerry or teaching at the small Avonlea school house and never seeing the world for the rest of my life.

You’ve already given me so much, Mr. Smith, and it doesn’t feel right to ask for more but I can’t help it. It would feel even less right to graduate without you in the audience, watching me.

Say you’ll come, won’t you? I know you wish to remain anonymous. Your decision to hide your identity has been my constant turmoil for the last four years and I don’t think I could bear to go out into the world without putting a face and a name to the man who has changed my life completely.

Please don’t be afraid that you’ll disappoint me. Is it presumptuous to tell you that? For all I know, you don’t care about me one bit and haven’t read a single one of my many, many letters. But if you have, and if you have found any meaning in them at all, please tell me you’ll come. I already love you with all my heart.

If you are brave enough to come, I have included in this envelope the invitation. Matthew and Marilla regrettably can’t make it so if you come, you’ll be the only one there specifically for me. If you aren’t, then I’ll try to forgive you. I’m not sure I’ll be able to, but I’ll really, really try.

Hoping to see you soon,

Anne Shirley-Cuthbert

“Perhaps he’s running late.”

Anne slumped against the stage wall. “There’s no use. He isn't coming."

Diana pulled back an inch of the stage's curtain once more. She must have seen the same empty seat as before, as she said, "I'm very sorry, Anne."

"What are you two up to?"

Anne and Diana turned to see Gilbert, dressed in the same black and white graduation robes as them.

"We're trying to see if Anne's benefactor has shown up," Diana informed him.

Gilbert adopted a pained expression, a crease forming between his eyebrows. "No luck so far, then?"

"The ceremony starts in five minutes," said Anne miserably. "He isn't coming. I don't know why I expected any different. I've written him for four years with barely any response. I'm a fool for thinking today would be any different."

Diana crouched next to her, placing a reassuring hand on her back. "You're not a fool, Anne."

"Perhaps he got called away on urgent business," said Gilbert, with a tone perhaps meant to be reassuring but that came out with a slight irritation. "You never know."

"He's a coward," Anne declared, crossing her arms. "He never cared about me at all."

"You can't possibly know that," Gilbert said.

"Yes, I can. I can just feel it."

Gilbert infuriatingly pointed out, "Just last month you could feel that he was a kindred spirit."

"Would you stop taking his side?"

"I'm not taking his side," Gilbert insisted. "But perhaps your day wouldn't be ruined if you tried to consider things from his perspective—"

"I'm glad to graduate. Then I can finally wash my hands of rich men trying to control my life!"

Gilbert was quiet for a moment. "Is that all you think of me? Just another rich man controlling your life?"

Anne huffed but before she could respond, the professor organizing students called for graduates with B last names.

Diana stood up next to Anne. "We should probably go line up, Gilbert."

As they walked away, Diana turned around to shake her head at the other girl, sympathetic but disapproving, a look Anne had been on the receiving end of many times over their nine years of friendship.

Anne tried to compose herself after that, tried to still enjoy the moment she had anticipated for all her life. But as she walked across the stage, she couldn't stop her eyes from stinging or her heart from aching.

After the ceremony, the University arranged for a banquet of sorts for the recent graduates and their families. When picturing the moment in her head in the weeks prior, Anne had imagined her and her benefactor, who showed up perfectly on time for her graduation and had instantly turned into a grandfather of sorts, walking arm and arm through the crowd so she could introduce him to all of the people she had mentioned in her letters over the years. But in the face of the actual thing without any new friend or grandfather figure, Anne wished to skip the ordeal altogether.

Still, she had watched the graduations of other students older than her with jealousy for three years, anticipating her own shining moment. So Anne changed out of her robes, put on the new dress Marilla sent her as an apology for not being able to attend, a beautiful, soft blue thing, and resolved to enjoy herself. If she had to avoid Gilbert, then so be it.

Anne, Diana, and Diana's family sat at a large table under the largest white tent that Anne had ever seen. The sunset cast a pink and orange glow about everything and the faintest chill of evening air had begun to take hold, bringing a divine atmosphere to the banquet. Anne had almost started to relax when Gilbert approached their table. He had something in his hand which he seemed insistent on hiding behind his back.

He first greeted the Barrys, who always loved Gilbert Blythe, and then turned to Anne. "I was wondering if we could talk."

Anne swallowed and nodded. Gilbert led her to a bench under a tree, away from the crowds of people.

"Look, Gilbert, if this is about earlier today, before the ceremony..." Anne was quick to say, "I'm sorry. Really, I am. I had a horrible moment and ruined the day for you, too."

Gilbert shook his head. "I was trying to comfort you, but I only made things worse. And truly I am sorry that you were disappointed so sorely today."

"You aren't to blame," Anne told him. "It's Mr. Smith that I'm the most angry with."

"Right." He cleared his throat. "Well, I didn't bring you here to apologize. I mean not just to apologize. I mean— these are for you."

He held out a bouquet of flowers, beautiful pink camellias, which Anne only now noticed were the object he hid behind his back.

"Oh, Gilbert, these are beautiful," she told him, eagerly taking the bouquet from his hands. "This is the most lovely apology I've ever received."

Gilbert looked down, a small smile forming on his mouth. "It's not just an apology. It's also a thank you." Then he looked at her, the smile growing to fullness. "You don't know how... valuable your companionship has been these last four years."

Heat rushed to Anne's cheeks as she thought of her reprehensible behavior towards Gilbert the first few years of her time at the University of Toronto. "Even after how horribly I treated you freshman and sophomore year?"

"I probably deserved that," Gilbert said, laughing. "After I left Avonlea, I barely spent any time with people my own age who didn't own at least three homes. I'm afraid I often forgot to act around normal people."

"Still, I could have been a little less harsh."

"Perhaps that's true."

"So I'm a normal person, then?"

"You're anything but, Anne Shirley-Cuthbert."

They were quiet for a moment. The wind rustled the leaves of the tree above them as the final few rays of sun sunk below the horizon.

Suddenly, Anne had to ask a question with an urgency that surprised her. "Gilbert," she said. "This isn't a goodbye, is it?"

He looked at her in surprise. "No. Never."

"Oh. Good," Anne said, relieved.

Gilbert looked like he was about to say something, but at that moment a little girl with light brown skin and curly black hair ran up to him. She couldn't have been more than four. He laughed, picking the little girl up.

"Who is this?" asked Anne, not thinking about how disappointed she felt in that moment.

"This is Delly, my friend's daughter," Gilbert said. He stood up and sighed. "I should probably get her back to her family."

Anne stood up as well. "Yes, probably."

He walked a few steps away before turning around. Again, he looked like he wanted to say something. Instead, he picked up Anne's hand with his free one and kissed it. "I'm really proud of you, Anne."

Her heart beating loudly in her ears prevented her from making any response, and she was only able to watch him walk away, back to the crowds of people, as she tried to reckon with her own feelings.

A | S | C

1 June, 1904

To my forgiven benefactor,

I know I said that the last letter would be the last letter. I had thought that because I had imagined the last week would go a lot differently than it has.

If you had come to my graduation, there would have been no reason to continue sending letters in this manner. As I intend to stay in Toronto for the foreseeable future, I had pictured us having tea once a week and discussing books and my writing and the weather or any number of other things. But, as we both know, you did not attend. Before it happened, I had thought that I could never forgive your absence. I know I said that I would try but I was already certain that I wouldn't be able to forgive you. But I have surprised even myself.

I have realized that I don't know you at all, Mr. Smith, and have made my peace with this. I didn't come to this conclusion easily, that much is certain. I haven't the faintest idea why you never wanted to write back to me, or why you didn't come to my graduation. Perhaps you were busy. Perhaps you have not read a single letter I've sent. Perhaps you were as scared to meet me as I was to meet you. Whatever the reason, I'm afraid I have lost sight of everything you've given me. If our relationship, however one-sided it is, ends with scorn, then every time I think about University and all of the opportunities it has afforded me I would have to think about my anger. A younger Anne would have been content to live that life, but I certainly am not. So there you are, Mr. Smith. This young, foolish girl forgives you.

I've only now realized how valuable writing these letters has been for my personal development. You are my closest confidant. You know things about me that even Diana doesn't know, which is saying a lot. Had you responded, then I doubt that I would have been as honest as I was. If you'll allow me to be honest one more time, I have quite the dilemma. You see, these letters have allowed me to sort through confusing feelings and I feel more confused right now than I had ever been.

You see, Mr. Smith, I think I am in love. I wish you could help me. I could use some wisdom right now. As much as I have longed to be in love my whole life, I never thought to think about what it would actually be like.

When I'm with him, time doesn't exist anymore. And then he leaves, I'm aware of how quickly time passes by and I want to sob. I want to share everything there is. I want him to be there in the morning when I make porridge and I want to be there with him when he's doing the most boring business possible. Every time I read a good book, or think a funny thought, I wish he was next to me so I can tell him about it. At night I hate the moonlight because it's beautiful and he isn't here to see it with me. Do you understand what I mean? I really, really hope that you do. I think anyone who has ever been in love would understand.

Here is my problem and the source of my anguish: the man I am in love with is Gilbert Blythe. This may come as a shock to you, since I have frequently spoken ill of him in my letters. For this very reason, I am afraid I preemptively damaged my relationship with him permanently. We have since become close friends, but how could he forget how horrid I was to him, enough to love me back? I'm sure he'll also want to be with a distinguished woman from wealth, like that beautiful Winifred Rose I spotted him walking arm-in-arm with last February. I will forever be the red headed orphan girl who slapped him with a slate when I was thirteen.

I know you won't respond, but I still have to ask you. What do you think I should do? If you could just read this letter and think your answer really, really hard then I am certain I will feel better.

I will miss writing these letters and I will miss you, Mr. Smith. I will continue to think of you every day of my life.

Sending you all the love in my heart,

Anne Shirley-Cuthbert

P.S. In this envelope I have included my final transcripts as well as a check for $100. The check is not for much compared to all that you've given me but it's a start and I intend to pay you back every penny that you have spent on me. I received a small sum of money for a short story that will be published soon, and it's a start.

P.P.S. Did you notice my new stationery? I bought it myself also with the money from the advance.

A | S | C

6 June 1904

Dear Mr. Smith,

YES! I will be there— Saturday at noon. I can’t believe that I am finally going to meet you. It doesn’t feel real.

Love, love, love,

Anne

Once Anne arrived at the address told to her by Mr. Smith, she recognized the building as the tea place she, Diana, and Gilbert went to nearly twice a week during the Fall term. Had her and her benefactor ever been there at the same time? Had they ever crossed paths before, said hello to each other on the street without knowing each others' identity? For the first time in nearly four years, how close they lived to each other truly struck Anne. She knew he lived in Toronto, even knew what street he lived on thanks to the return address on the stationery he sent her every birthday. But they knew about the same businesses, ate at the same places!

All that time being so close and yet he still never made an effort to visit. Anne wondered if she would come to regret her choice to meet Mr. Smith here today. But she was too curious and had come so far. So she pushed her shoulders back in resolve and entered the tea house with as much confidence as she could muster.

A waiter in a nice blue jacket greeted her immediately.

"I'm here to meet with Mr. Smith," she told him.

Comprehension bloomed on the waiter's face. "You must be Ms. Shirley, then. Follow me."

He escorted her past large rooms with tables full of people eating lunch, past the kitchen door, past the restrooms, to a private tea room with a large window facing the park across the street. A large table sat in front of the window, meant to accommodate a large party of people. A single figure stood in the window, a silhouette in the face of the bright sunlight that streamed inside. This was it. She would finally meet her benefactor. Anne's heart stopped as the man slowly turned around. Only, when he did, he wasn't Mr. Smith. He wasn't even an old man.

He was Gilbert Blythe.

"Gilbert?" Anne cried. "What are you doing here?

"Hello, Anne." He swallowed visibly.

"You must leave now. I'm meeting someone very important and undoubtedly he'll be here soon, so if you could—"

"I know," Gilbert said.

"If you know, then you know why you must leave," Anne told him, irritation setting him. She approached him to try and push him towards the door. "How you could possibly know is another thing. Did Diana tell you? I told her not to tell anyone."

"No, Anne—" He paused, firm in his footing and grabbed her gently by the shoulders. "I know why you're here because you're here to see me. I sent you that letter."

"Did you impersonate Mr. Smith?"

"No, what I'm trying to tell you is..." he dropped his hands from her shoulders and moved one to scratch at the back of his head. "I couldn't impersonate Mr. Smith. Because he's me."

Well. Anne wasn't expecting that. She stopped in her tracks, mouth agape.

"Please, say something," Gilbert begged, a tremor to his voice.

"You?" was all that she could get out.

"You're Mr. Smith."

Blood rushed to Anne's face and she felt her heart and breath speed up dangerously. She grasped the back of a chair, tightly clutching the wood.

Gilbert pulled out another chair. "Perhaps you should sit down."

She did take a seat, but it wasn't the one he offered. "You're my mysterious, anonymous benefactor."

He gave a feeble laugh. "One in the same."

"I don't understand. How can you be Mr. Smith? You're not even old."

Sitting next to her, Gilbert said, "I never understood why you always wrote about my old age. I certainly never said that."

"Rich men who give orphan girls enormous scholarships are old. That just makes sense," Anne told him, nearing hysteria. She didn't know whether to laugh or cry. "They aren't pre-medical students I hit with a slate when I was thirteen!"

"I owe you an explanation. That's why I—"

Anne's hands flew to her mouth in shock. "My goodness, the letters! Every horrible thing in the world about you I wrote in those letters!"

"You said a lot of things to me in person, too," Gilbert pointed out dryly.

"That's different! I didn't know I was insulting my benefactor to his face!" If it were possible, Anne felt her face growing even warmer. She surely looked like a tomato, with her face red enough to match her hair. "And you read my letters?"

"Every single one. They were the best part of my month."

"Every single one?" Anne echoed. "I suppose there's no hope that you skipped the last one, then?"

"I meant every one."

She buried her face into the table. "If Mr. Smith had been my matron from the orphanage, it would have been easier to take."

He patted her back awkwardly. "Well, I'm not so bad, am I?"

Anne wanted to scream, taking a deep breath to avoid doing so. "Could you just promise to forget about the last letter and never mention it ever again?"

"I'm afraid I could never do that, Anne."

"And why not?"

"Well, I— I just couldn't."

"Why would you do this, Gilbert? I can't wrap my mind around it. I just don't understand."

Leaning back in his chair, Gilbert paused a moment before saying, "You wouldn't have let me pay for your education any other way."

"You still should have asked."

"Maybe so," Gilbert said. "But come on, Anne, I've known how stubborn you are since we were kids. I had the bruises to prove it. And when I heard that you had been accepted into the U of T but couldn't go because of money, well, I had to help."

"But why me?" Anne asked him.

"You deserved it. And, well, maybe I was selfish."

"Selfish?"

He took a deep breath. "Maybe because I knew I was also going to Toronto. And maybe I wanted you there, too."

Anne didn't know at all how to respond to that. Her mind raced, replaying every moment they shared over the last few years. How her benefactor happened to know her birthday, when Gilbert had bumped into her at her own birthday party. How her benefactor didn't come to her graduation, when Gilbert was graduating himself. They even lived on the same street. Of course Gilbert was her benefactor. It made sense.

"Why did you agree to meet now? Why not before?"

Gilbert exhaled loudly. "You don't know how many times I almost told you, or how many letters I started to draft but threw away before I could. I didn't know if I should be Mr. Smith telling you I'm Gilbert, or if I should be Gilbert telling you I'm Mr. Smith."

"Mr. Smith doesn't exist," she said.

That made Gilbert go quiet. "I suppose he's not," he said finally. "Are you terribly mad at me?"

Anne sighed. "You lied to me and betrayed my trust for four years. I don't know how I could ever forget that."

"And yet?"

"And yet..." Anne was surprised to feel a smile forming and at last she laughed. "It's you, it's really you."

Hope or something like it bloomed on Gilbert's face. He grabbed her hand.

Anne told him, "You never answered my question."

Gilbert took a shaky breath. "Because," he said, "When I read your last letter, I realized you needed to know everything before I did this."

"Did what?" she asked, but she knew he was already leaning in.

Gilbert kissed Anne, and while Anne had imagined her first kiss much more chaste, she put all of the emotions she felt into it. When they pulled back, Gilbert had a goofy grin adoring his mouth that she was sure matched her own.

"Anne," he said urgently. "I love you."

"I'd tell you the same," she said, "but something tells me you already know."

YOU ARE CORDIALLY INVITED

TO THE WEDDING OF

ANNE SHIRLEY-CUTHBERT

and

GILBERT BLYTHE

Saturday, October 4, 1904

3 o’clock in the afternoon

At the St. Andrew’s Church

Toronto, Ontario

Reception to follow.

/ fin

#annesecretsanta #kindredspiritssecretsanta #kindred spirits secret santa #lollercakesff #anne with an e #awae #shirbert #royalcordelia #tessa im tagging ur other blog in case something gets fucked up lol #i hope you enjoy this lollercakes!#i love ur fic a lot :)

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vagrantblvrd · 6 years ago

Text

No Future Past Tomorrow (1/1)

Summary: These are the things Ryan knows about soulmates:

1. Everyone has one. (Except for the people who don’t, but no one talks about that.)

2. There’s a whole industry built up around it. (Because capitalism.)

3. Everyone gets their happily ever after. (Except for the people who don’t, but no one talks about that either.)

Notes: Prompt fill for @queen-bitchiest who wanted Myan and soulmarks and then Things Happened. :D?

(Read on AO3)

These are the things Ryan knows about soulmates:

1. Everyone has one. (Except for the people who don’t, but no one talks about that.)

2. There’s a whole industry built up around it. (Because capitalism.)

3. Everyone gets their happily ever after. (Except for the people who don’t, but no one talks about that either.)

There are other things Ryan knows about soulmates.

The fact some people are born with their soulmate’s name written on their skin, and some gain a soulmark later in life. Some have ugly black smears on their skin where their soulmate’s name is supposed to be because life isn’t like the movies and sometimes people miss their soulmates. (Born too soon or not late enough. Maybe the life is more unfair than you thought and they die young, leaving you with their name blacked out and this ache in your chest for what could have been.)

He knows being soulmates doesn’t guarantee happiness and love because his parents were soulmates and they hated each other. Fought just about every damn day of his life he can remember, loud shouting matches and hurled dishes and crockware. Slamming doors and cold, heavy silence that filled the house like smoke in a burning house.

This bitter anger and resentment to them about the lives they could have had cut short because of their soulmarks.

Fate and Destiny and their kid who tied them to a shitty little town in the south because that’s what you do when you have a kid. You sweep all your hopes and dreams into the gutter and hunker down to take care of the little shit, because that’s how it goes. (Or maybe they were wrong, but the damage was done years ago and Ryan gets to carry that with him wherever he goes.)

For the longest time he thinks he’s been lucky enough to dodge that bullet. No name indelibly inked into his skin meant to guide him to his soulmate, and it’s -

It’s a relief, because even after his parents die in a car accident when he’s a kid he still remembers the anger in their voices. The way they twisted something meant to be a good thing into something so ugly. (How terrified it made him, checking again and again and again just to make sure he didn’t have one.)

But then he goes into the foster system, gets bounced all over the place because he’s different.

Quiet and solemn, and no soulmark – a freak - even though it’s widely accepted that most soulmarks don’t appear until puberty at the earliest.

It’s an excuse, flimsy as it is, for people who can’t, won’t understand the ten-eleven-twelve-why bother keeping track year-old kid who they let into their home. Look at him and his situation and think about how kind, compassionate it will make them seem to others, taking him in out of the goodness of their heart. (Poor little orphan without a name on his skin, so tragic.)

Making a token effort to get to know him before realizing kids are work, and Ryan, strange little Ryan more than they imagined. (Kindles that little spark of anger, deep in his chest he inherited from his parents, each new set of foster parents who take him in adding fuel to the fire.)

Puberty hits, and when his soulmark doesn’t appear it gets harder and harder for the social workers to place him into a suitable home.

(No one talks about it, but there’s a bias towards those who don’t have a soulmark.)

When he’s fourteen, there’s a program, and he’s sent to the Midwest.

Somewhere with corn, or something like that, he doesn’t care about the details. (Doesn’t expect to be there long.)

He gets placed with a family that has another foster kid like his staying with them. Precocious little brat with dark hair and dark eyes and all these questions about the world and how it works.

The moment he meets them, Ryan knows he has no place there in their happy little family, but they bring him into their lives anyway.

Give him his own room and let him settle in at his own pace and he’s just so tired after being moved from place to place for so long he doesn’t have energy to be angry about things anymore.

Their little boy watches Ryan with wide eyes, uncertain about this stranger taking up space in his home, and Ryan doesn’t blame him.

Keeps his distance and careful not to infringe. Doesn’t want to scare the kid or risk getting attached because Ryan knows something this good can’t last, but the little brat has other ideas once he gets over his initial wariness.

All wide eyes and this hopeful little “Ryan, Ryan, come look at the stars with me tonight, please?” one day.

He’s only allowed to stargaze if there’s someone there to keep an eye on him, so Ryan knows it’s more self-interest than anything else, but he gives in anyway.

Ryan’s a feet on the ground sort of person. Life lessons and just the way things go, but he does some reading, learns about things he has a passing interest in if at all just so he can sit on the back deck with the brat and point at the constellations.

“That’s Orion.”

He starts with an easy one and bites back a grin when he gets a withering look and a snarky little “I know that one already, Ryan. It’s in my book,” and moves on to Ursa Major and Ursa Minor. Tries not to laugh when the brat crosses his arms and pouts at him because Ryan promised to teach him the ones he doesn’t already know.

“Alright, alright,” he says, resists the urge to smooth the brat’s hair down because it’s always this wild mess, chaotic as the thoughts and ideas crowding his head. “Why don’t you tell me the ones you know so I know where to pick up?”

The brat gives him this look like he thinks Ryan’s just humoring him. There’s hurt in there because he’s so damn smart, but no one seems to realize just how smart he is and for whatever reason thought Ryan would be different.

After a moment he sighs and points out constellations from the book he’s shown to Ryan. Big hardcover with beautiful pictures of the night sky and beyond and more consideration for someone’s interest Ryan’s seen so far in life.

He knows it can’t last, that it’s too good for him, but goddamn does he wish it could.

========

Ryan’s sixteen when he sees it.

Almost misses it, glancing at his reflection in the bathroom mirror after a shower. Blood freezing in his veins when he does, hand shaking as he wipes condensation off the glass and leans closer to see better.

Bold black script curled around the back of his neck spelling out a name, and there’s no conscious thought to it when his fist goes through the mirror.

He can’t even put a name to the emotions he’s feeling as he stares at the shattered glass, fragmented images of a wide-eyed teenager staring back.

His little brother (not-brother, not) knocking on the door to ask if he’s okay and their foster parents (not his) shushing him while they try to coax Ryan to open the door.

Worry and concern and Ryan closes his eyes and focuses on getting himself under control because this – he always knew it wouldn’t last. (Broken, wrong.)

========

Ryan knows what it takes to be a problem.

Being himself worked for a while, but then came this program and Indiana and this mismatched family that somehow worked.

But now -

That anger he could ignore, shove down deep, it’s back.

All those memories of his parents and all their arguments. The yelling, the fighting. The resentment. Anger so bright it hurt to look at.

He remembers their funeral.

All the adults offering him their condolences because it’s what you do in that kind of situation. Brave smiles on their faces and telling him he looked just like them, spitting image. All the ways he was their child, took after them and the fear he felt taking root because they didn’t know. (His parents saved the fighting, the anger, for home. Played happy family where others could see.)

And now there’s a name on the back of his neck like a collar, a chain, heavy and choking and why? Why now?

He thinks about it, what it means to be his parents’ kid.

The bitter anger and resentment because they’d found their soulmate, and it ruined them.

Worries what will happen if (when?) he finds his soulmate because he doesn’t want that kind of life, can barely manage to get through the one he has now.

Thinks about his little (not-brother, never his) brother and how he doesn’t want him to know what Ryan really is.

He gets in fights.

Bigger, stronger than the other kids and he’s got anger behind it.

Gets in fights and ignores his foster parents when they try to help (all wrong, because they care) and people take notice.

Worry about Ryan’s little brother, the other kids the foster parents want to bring into their lives and it’s -

It’s a goodbye in the middle of the night because Ryan’s brother (not-brother) is still so smart.

It’s Ryan and the bag on his back and all these words choking him because it was nice, for a little while. (A year, two, and long enough to think maybe his parents were wrong about everything, so of course it wouldn’t last.)

It’s Ryan and the money he’s saved from little jobs here there. Lawns mowed, sidewalks shoveled.

Small things to help out, make him less of a burden and gently refused because no, honey, no, that’s not what this is about. (A bank account that will never be opened in his name, but that’s fine, it’s okay. No paper trail.)

Ryan leaves, promises to write his brother but knows that won’t last either. Harder to disappear if someone has your address.

He keeps up with it for the first month, lets it trail off until he stops writing altogether and swallows the guilt and regret down deep. (More fuel for that anger deep in his chest, blaze waiting to catch fire.)

========

Ryan doesn’t stop moving once he starts.

Just goes and goes and goes wherever he can, however he can.

Hitches rides with the lost and the lonely on their way to somewhere. Friendly truckers looking for someone to listen to the stories they’ve told a hundred times before.

Has a few run-ins with assholes and creeps who see a kid on their own on the side of the road and get ideas. (You’ve got such a pretty face and it’s so lonely on the road kid, what d’ya say?)

Ryan’s never broken anyone’s jaw before but he can’t say he regrets it.

He starts carrying a knife after that. Cheap little thing he picks up at a gas station somewhere in Nebraska with a bald eagle etched into the handle.

Tacky as hell, but it saves his life enough times for him not to mind as much.

Ryan grows his hair out to keep people from asking about the letters on his neck, want to know whose name he carries around with him. Starts dyeing it black when he ends up in one of the Dakotas and he catches a segment on the new. Police sketch of someone with his face wanted for aggravated assault of a good samaritan who picked up a hitchhiker. (Calls in an anonymous tip, tells them they should look a little deeper into their good samaritan’s story and they might know why someone broke his fucking jaw.)

Life blurs together after that, Ryan slipping deeper and deeper into the wrong side of life and that anger in him grows and grows and grows with everything he does just to get by until he doesn’t recognize himself anymore.

========

Los Santos -

It’s a cesspool.

It’s wild and mean, plays for keeps.

Ryan’s still a kid when he gets there, nineteen going on twenty and tired down to his bones, but the anger keeps him going.

He’s got scars now, souvenirs from fights and scuffles and the work he’s been doing. Playing muscle for assholes here and there for a handful of cash before he moves on.

Hair long enough to pull back into a ponytail, cover up the name branded on his skin to the point he can almost forget about it. Still dyes it, although it’s more out of habit than anything else. (Bigger and better crimes he’s wanted for and the memory of his first kill still haunting him.)

Easy to lose himself there, carve out a little niche for himself.

Works for the same guy for a while. Old cranky bastard who shows him the ropes here in Los Santos, calls him a Vagabond when Ryan offers a little bit about his past.

Places he’s been, things he’s seen. (Gets called a Vagabond, and it sticks.)

Realizes, when people don’t take him seriously – still got a pretty face, still breaking jaws and worse, because he’s got all these knives now, and his aim is nothing to sneeze at – he needs to do something about that.

The mask is a joke at first.

Ryan with a few extra bucks burning a hole in his pocket wandering along Vespucci and a little shop that catches his eye.

It’s fall, and there’s a horror movie playing in theaters and Ryan figures why not?

He wears it the next time someone hires him to handle a problem of theirs, some asshole in La Mesa who owes money and no intent to pay it back and send a message, would you? Louder the better.

Ryan gets incredulous laughter and hurled insults, the asshole just gets dead.

And then the rumors start, because it was a foggy night out. Someone remembers seeing a skull mask, and there’s a monster out there cutting people down, better watch your back or you might be next.

He wears the mask when he’s working after that, and the face paint happens later. People stop laughing when they see him coming because Ryan gets better. (Watch out or the Vagabond will get you.)

========

Years pass and the anger settles into something Ryan can finally breathe around.

He learns to pick his jobs, pay attention to the power plays in motion. The way the city moves and breathes, crime in its blood and rotten to its core.

Isn’t surprised when Ramsey comes looking for him to build up that crew of his. (He’s not the first.)

What is surprising is the way he goes about it.

No expectations, demands.

Just a simple offer, and Ryan?

He’s curious. (Bored.)

Agrees to that first job, and the one after that and so on until he’s in too deep to back out.

Likes the way Geoff runs the crew, the way they give him grief for everything he does but stand with him every step of the way.

It’s...fascinating.

Different from anything he’s seen in Los Santos.

Shouldn’t work at all, but somehow does and there’s a part of him that wants some of that for himself. (Little house in Indiana and the night sky spread out above him, stars shining down and a voice naming the constellations.)

So he stays on and gets to know the others.

Geoff and Jack with their hands full keeping the others in line.

Michael unapologetic about everything he is and this look to him like he would go toe-to-toe with Ryan if he even thought about fucking them over.

Gavin with his everything, so damned annoying and painfully brilliant. (Smart and clever and more capable than he lets on.)

Ray, who comes and goes as he pleases and deadlier than Ryan any day of the week.

Jeremy and his everything that included garish color combinations and a cowboy hat, because why not?

Lindsay who is just this side of terrifying, because she’s the most chaotic person Ryan’s met in his entire life and then some.

A whole slew of others Geoff reassures him he’ll meet at some point because they’re assholes and like knows like, and other flattering things.

It’s the closest thing to family Ryan’s had in a long time and he knows it can’t last, but he’s tired of roaming the streets of Los Santos like a specter. (Wants somewhere to rest once in a while.)

========

Geoff’s a meddler.

Claims he isn’t, but he’s not as smooth as he likes to think he is. Pairs Gavin and Jeremy up on jobs every chance he gets and rationalizes it away by saying Jeremy keeps Gavin focused. (He’s not wrong, but it’s not the only deciding factor involved.)

“They’ll figure it out eventually,” Michael says, wry twist to his mouth as they watch Gavin and Jeremy argue about the best way to hotwire a car.

They’ve got overwatch while the other idiots get the car Geoff wants for the upcoming heist. Dull little soccer-mom car, won’t draw any attention and slow as hell.

Older make and model, and a snap to steal.

Or would be, but there are a lot of hand gestures and squawking from Gavin. Snarky quips from Jeremy and this headache right behind Ryan’s eyes, because they’re two of the densest, oblivious assholes he’s ever met.

“You’d think,” he says, and leans against the railing to watch the show play out.

Gavin’s got a name curling around his ribs, snug up against his heart.

Ryan saw it once, covered in blood and Gavin making these pained noises because a cop got lucky and they almost lost him in the back of a stolen van. Jack barking orders and Michael pale-faced and grim, Jeremy driving like a bat out of hell and fear Ryan hadn’t felt in a long, long time crowding his throat because he liked these idiots.

Jeremy doesn’t have a name.

Drunken confession from him after they got Gavin stabilized, Michael asleep in the chair next to his bed and Jeremy’s hands shaking and Ryan at a loss as to what to say to make things better, so he listened. Leaned all about the angry black smear across Jeremy’s shoulder blade, the phantom pain he gets in the cold sometimes.

Gavin’s got a name and Jeremy doesn’t and it’s been a hell of a ride watching them dance around one another.

Makes Ryan uneasy, but no one else seems too bothered about the potential for disaster.

Michael doesn’t seem too bothered, and Ryan’s willing to trust Michael’s judgment when it comes to anything involving Gavin.

========

Michael tinkers.

Turned a room in one of the lower floors into a workshop where he cooks up explosives he uses on heists. The jobs Gavin or one of the others comes up with from time to time.

At the moment he’s got a row of rubber duckies set out on one of his worktables and a series of sketches on what looks to be a bar napkin.

“Look,” Michael says, when he catches Ryan’s totally non-judgmental reaction. Pauses when he realizes there’s no good explanation for any of this. “…Fuck off.”

Ryan hmms as he puts the napkin down, pokes one of the duckies on its beak.

He’s...not bored so much as restless, and Michael’s good company when Ryan’s in a mood like this.

Will either focus on what he’s working on and leave Ryan to his own devices -

“Fucking what the fuck?” Michael mutters to himself, because he has a row of rubber duckies and drunk sketches to go off of. “What the fuck?”</i>

- or he’ll talk to himself like a lunatic and provide Ryan with hours of entertainment.

They’ve come a long way from the early days. Time when all Michael had to go on about Ryan were the stories and rumors that have turned the Vagabond into one of Los Santos’ very own cryptids. Always looking for signs Ryan was about to turn on the crew, just another bloody story to add to the rest.

“Should I ask?” Ryan asks, because he’s an asshole and Michael is hilarious when he gets like this.

Determined to turn some harebrained idea someone had into a reality, and going by the fact rubber duckies are involved, this is Gavin’s doing.

Something he saw somewhere once, or heard a story from a friend and wouldn’t it be wicked, Michael, if we did something like that? (Stars in his eyes and Michael more of a pushover than he’d ever admit.)

Michael shoots him a glare, but since he doesn’t yell at Ryan to get the fuck out of his workshop, Ryan figures he’s good to stay and heckle.

Gently.

“Go to hell, Ryan,” Michael says, but there's a smile curling his lips and this warm sort of amusement in his voice and Ryan chuckles at it, because he never gets tired of hearing it.

Gavin and Jeremy aren’t the only ones dancing around one another, but this – them – is a little more complicated.

Ryan’s old hangups and Michael’s everything.

Brash and loud, fearless in all the ways Ryan isn’t.

Someone’s name on his skin that got burned away years ago because this life isn’t kind and there are real monsters out there, far worse than Ryan. (Got a tattoo to cover up the scar tissue because he got tired of looking at it, but it doesn’t bother him.)

Shrugs it off as unimportant when someone brings up the matter of soulmates and soulmarks, the string of letters everyone looks for – excited and hopeful or terrified – that’s supposed to lead to their happily ever after.

”The way I see it,” Michael had said the one time Ryan heard him talk about it so bluntly. It’s bullshit, you know? Like what. Some fucking mystical force slaps a name on you and that’s it? You spend your life looking for some asshole you don’t even know and everything's supposed to be rainbows and sunshine? Fuck out of here with that.”

Not the most eloquent way to put it, but Michael had been drunk at the time, working to put Jeremy under the table thanks to one of Gavin’s bets, and honestly, Ryan doesn’t even know with this crew half the time.

He and the others never ask Ryan if he has a name, don’t ask if he’s still looking. Don’t really talk about the whole thing unless it’s a hypothetical of Gavin’s or alcohol has loosened their tongues, and even then, even then it’s different.

A courtesy, almost, for the ones like Geoff who’s covered himself in tattoos to camouflage the lack of a name inked into his skin. Jack who smiles politely and tells no lies. Gavin who guarded his name like a dragon with its hoard until that was taken from him by a lucky bullet. Jeremy with a grin on his face and no name marring his skin (just an angry black smear where one used to be), but like hell does he let it hold him back.)

========

The name on the back of Ryan’s neck isn’t uncommon. The last time he checked (years and years ago) there were at least four million people in the US who shared it.

Have to be more now, the world being what it is and people being who they are.

He’d have a hell of a time trying to find someone in all of that, spend who knows how many lifetimes looking if he even wanted to.

(Part of him scared as hell at the prospect even now. Memory of his parents and the misery they made of the own lives, let bleed over into his all these years later so damn vivid.)

He’s happy here in Los Santos when he never thought he could be again.

Has a family in every definition of the word that matters, people he cares about. (Who care about him.)

It’s not a perfect life because he can’t see a good end in store for himself, but he’s learning to take what he can get for as long as he can and be grateful for it. (Just a little longer and he’ll have it down.)

========

He stumbles on the two of them by accident. Headed down to the garage to look for his phone that must have fallen out of his pocket during the getaway chase portion of the heist earlier and ducks around a support pillar when he hears voices.

Quiet, serious, the way they rarely are.

Jeremy and Gavin and -

“I love you.”

Jeremy, heart in Gavin’s hands and a million reasons why this thing between him and Gavin’s shouldn’t work. (Fate. Destiny. Call it whatever you want, there’s something to it people can’t fight no matter how hard they try because Gavin’s got a name that isn’t Jeremy’s and Jeremy’s lost his and this is why, this is why.)

There’s a heavy silence, and Ryan closes his eyes. Tips his head back and wishes like hell he wasn’t here to bear witness to this.

Gavin say something too low for Ryan to hear. Jeremy answers.

All Ryan hears are the crickets. (It’s summer and the little bastards are everywhere.)

“Gavin - “

There’s a shuffling sound, scuff of shoes on cement.

Gavin paces sometimes, too much going on in his head and all this energy to him that has to get out somehow.

“What.”

Short, sharp bark of sound from Jeremy and this quiet little laugh from Gavin.

Ryan leans around the pillar to look, and sees the two of them staring at each other.

Gavin’s biting his lip to keep from laughing like he clearly wants to, mischief and joy and something else written in every line of him. Jeremy’s staring at Gavin, open, vulnerable, and this smile slowly spreading over his face and Ryan’s missed something here.

“I - “

Gavin doesn’t get to finish whatever he was about to say because Jeremy's pushing forward, disbelieving laughter. This look on his face that equal parts exasperation and fondness and something like love. Hands coming up to frame Gavin’s face and Ryan decides he can look for his phone later, give the two of them some privacy.

========

“I told you,” Michael says when Ryan gets back up to the penthouse. Knowing grin on his face and Ryan’s phone in his hand. “And here, you left this in my Adder.”

He tosses Ryan’s phone to him, jerks his head to the game console because Ryan’s...jittery.

All the things he said he was past rising up to cast doubt on everything he thought he knew. (It can’t be that simple.)

“You want to do that rematch now, Rye-bread? I know your ego was bruised when I completely destroyed you last time, so I promise I’ll go easy on you.”

Cocky, arrogant, and this little curve to his mouth because he gets it, he does.

Knows how messed up Ryan is over the name branded on the back of his neck and how all these assholes go against everything Ryan thought he knew like it’s nothing.

“Like hell you will,” Ryan says, luckier than he deserves. “I’m going to make you eat those words.”

Michael snorts, gives him a look like he thinks Ryan’s an idiot (he’s not wrong) and won’t be walking away from their rematch the winner. (Reply hazy, try again.)

========

Every so often Ryan will catch Michael rubbing at his arm. The intricate tattoo over scar tissue, an old hurt that never healed right. It acts up when the weather changes and less tolerant of everyone’s bullshit.

Snaps and snarls a little harder, finds somewhere to go to ground until it passes.

Usually Gavin’s the one to seek him out, pull him out of his head and whatever thoughts sent him spiraling somewhere dark.

Provokes him until Michael’s yelling, real anger to his voice as he spews out all that ugliness that’s been left to fester too long.

Tonight -

Gavin’s back with the Roosters because he owes Burnie a favor or two, and Jeremy went with him as backup. (Gavin’s good, and God knows Burnie would never let anything happen to him if he could help it, but shit goes wrong and they all know it.)

Geoff took Jack with him to negotiate a new truce with the Fakehaus crazies, and it’s just Ryan in the penthouse with him.

Watches Michael head up to the roof, wound tight and hurting and Ryan is so beyond not qualified for this.

He still takes the stairs up there, steps out onto the roof to find Michael leaning against the low railing staring out at the city.

Ryan looks up out of habit. (House in Indiana and stars as far as the eye can see.)

Los Santos isn’t the place for stargazing. Too many lights, pollution, but every so often they shine through clear enough he can forget all that for a little while.

Michael glances at him when Ryan settles next to him at the railing.

Doesn’t tell him to fuck off, so Ryan figures he doesn’t mind him being here. He doesn’t know what to say to make things better (he never does), but Michael’s hurting and Ryan -

“I used to go stargazing with my little brother,” he says, only trips a little over that last word. Realized he’s a bigger idiot than he thought. “Fucker loved them.”

Michael doesn’t say anything, but Ryan knows he’s listening. Head tilted towards him the slightest bit, tension easing out of his shoulders.

Ryan’s told him about his brother before, one of the few still alive who do. Moment of weakness or whatever you want to call it. (Close call and everyone reevaluating their lives, people, things, they’ve left behind and why.)

Ryan points out a constellation, picks an easy one.

“That’s Orion,” he says, echoes of a better time even if he had a hard time recognizing it then.

He doesn’t know how much Michael knows about constellations or if he even cares. Decides if he’s not telling Ryan to shut the fuck up about them, it’s not hurting anything.

Ryan knows more of them than he did when he was just a dumb kid scrambling to keep up with the stupid smart kid brother of his. And he talks, and talks and talks and talks until his voice feels a little rough, sounds hoarse.

Points out constellation after constellation and the stories behind them, myth and legends and all that.

Rambles for a few when he thinks he spots a planet. Might be a satellite though, or maybe something else? It’s been a while since he looked this shit up, cut him some slack he’s not an astronomer, okay.

Michael snorts, shoots him this look. Soft smile and fondness to it that kicks Ryan in the heart, has him ducking his head.

“You fucking nerd, Ryan,” Michael says, the way he always does, and it means something Ryan’s always been a little afraid to put a name to.

Ryan shrugs, because Michael’s not wrong. Gives Michael this look, and doesn’t say a damn thing about it when Michael moves closer, shoulder brushing his and points to a little cluster of stars just over Chiliad.

“The fuck’s the deal with those ones?”

========

They say there’s this bolt of lightning moment, zap and you know when you meet your soulmate. Sparks or something like that, Ryan doesn’t know.

He’s never felt it, never expects to.

Thinks back to the first time he met Michael in a dingy warehouse down by the docks. Geoff in his suit, smug grin and so damned confident he could win Ryan over. Jack beside him, Ray watching through his sniper scope on a roof a few buildings away. Gavin watching him keen interest and a glint in his eye Ryan hadn’t learned to dread yet.

No Jeremy at the time, just those idiots meeting the big, bad Vagabond to have a little chat.

Geoff and his spiel, hopeful lilt to his words and a business card - “Call us if you interested, big guy. We could use someone like you.” - and tip of an imaginary hat as he left, the others following.

Michael walking up to him while Gavin watched, little grin on his face because he’s always been a menace. (The three of them alone, and Gavin having Michael’s back like it was never up for debate.)

“Look,” Michael had said, scowling up at him. “I don’t have a problem with you working with us, but if you even think about fucking us over? Don’t.”

Not a threat so much as a promise and it’s stuck with Ryan since then. In the back of his head when Geoff sent him out Michael to keep people in line. Let their rivals know the Fake AH Crew wouldn’t tolerate all the little insults thrown their way. Hold a refresher course to remind them.

Later on when they got paired up for other jobs, heist preps. Geoff telling them with this long-suffering look to him they were just about the only people he could trust not to fuck things up.

Because Jack on his own is solid. Throw Gavin into the mix and you get a taco truck where you wanted a box truck and those idiots laughing it up. (Geoff, no listen, Geoff, it’ll be brilliant.)

And on and on and on to the point they just. Worked well together, didn’t get sidetracked the way Gavin or Jack or even Geoff himself. Or at least not as much. (The times they did, though. Fantastic.)

Even when Jeremy joins the crew and Ryan finds a kindred spirit in him, because who doesn’t appreciate a little chaos now and then? There’s just something to working with Michael that Ryan likes.

It’s easy.

Michael gets him, knows Ryan’s a disaster and compensates for it without saying a word.

It’s not really a lie, because Michael will bitch about Ryan being a madman, but that’s more for show, because he’ll already be in position to cover his back or his flank. Take out whoever is trying to sneak up on Ryan without thinking about it. (Ryan does the same for Michael.)

And -

There are over four million Michaels out there, so what are the odds the name on the back of Ryan’s neck is meant for this one?

========

“You stupid son of a bitch,” Michael snarls, hand in the collar of Ryan’s jacket as he hauls him down, presses a wadded up shirt against the gash on his neck, something fragile under the anger. “What the fuck did you think you were doing?”

They’re in a bolthole the crew uses when things turn to shit on them. Old building that’s falling apart, sign on the front claiming it’s slated for demolition any day now.

Michael’s looking a little wild-eyed, bottom lip split from a stray elbow and blood all over his hands as he keeps Ryan from bleeding out. (It’s a scratch.)

Ryan rolls his eyes because it’s not that bad. Got a little too close for comfort maybe, but the guy with the knife was an idiot who had no clue what he was doing.

Didn’t even have proper throwing knives, and the balance was all wrong. Dumb luck he hit what he was aiming for.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Ryan says, taking the hint when Michael grabs his hand and presses it to the shirt against his neck while Michael turns to dig through the first-aide kit. “Maybe something about saving you life? It was a blur.”

Michael stiffens.

Slowly lifts his head to glare at Ryan, the kind that would have killed a lesser man, or maybe someone smarter than Ryan, whichever.

“Ryan - “

Michael’s always had this confidence to him, like he wouldn’t stumble no matter what. Would just keep going and fuck whatever – whoever – gets in his way. Places to be, things to do, and fuck you if you think you’re gonna stop him.

Right now...not so much.

Right now he looks – he looks scared. Like the ground under his feet is suddenly treacherous, unstable, and he doesn’t know where is safe. If he takes the wrong step, everything crumbles, and he’s lost. He’s covering for it with bluster and anger and it hurts to see him like this.

“Hey,” Ryan says, nudges him with his knee. “I’m okay, Michael. I’m alright.”

Bleeding like a stuck pig, and he’ll have one hell of a scar, but it’s better than what could have been. (That spike of fear that settled in his stomach when Ryan saw that fucker going after Michael – it’s still there. Rolled over into this ball leaden and heavy in the pit of his stomach because Ryan’s never been good with what would have beens.)

Michael’s breathes out through his nose, hands clenching into fists before he shakes it off, reaches for that anger of his and shoves his fear down deep.

“You’re an asshole,” he mutters, low and tired in a way that resonates in Ryan’s bones. “And I fucking hate you.”

Ryan doesn’t laugh, because he’s pretty sure Michael would actually kill him for it, but -

“Stop smiling, you fuck.”

========

There’s a moment when Michael's fingers brush up against Ryan’s name as he’s cleaning the blood away that Ryan thinks maybe, but it’s just wishful thinking on his part.

========

Things are weird after that.

Weirder?

Michael’s not avoiding him, but he sure as hell isn’t not avoiding him..

A couple of weeks of awkward go by before the others have enough.

Gavin sighs whenever he sees Ryan, like he’s the stupidest person he’s ever met, fucks sake, Ryan.

Geoff tells him to get his shit together because he’s too old to keep doing this, whatever the hell that means, and Jack?

He laughs.

Like an asshole.

Jeremy looks shifty, mumbles something about idiots and blind as fuck and we were never this bad, which is both mystifying and a little terrifying.

Ryan’s an idiot, but even he’s not that dumb.

========

Probably?

========

Fuck.

He is.

========

Michael does one of three things when he’s in a Mood, as Gavin calls it.

Twisted up and angry, touch of fear wrapped up nice and neat so you wouldn’t notice it right off.

1.) Go to one of the dive bars the Lads are always sniffing out and get shitfaced drunk and someone will drag him home to let him sleep it off. (If he finds a fight before then, all the better.)

2.) Find one of the races around the city that are always happening somewhere. Throw himself into it until he stops thinking and starts reacting, burn it all out and leave it scattered behind him on the asphalt or dirt roads outside Los Santos.

3.) Gear up like he’s going to war and find a fight or start one himself.

3. a.) When it’s really bad, he’ll take it out to one of his testing grounds. (Places Ray used to practice his sniping and joke that the explosions and gunfire coming over the hill made for soothing background noise while he kept an eye on Michael.)

Ryan goes down to Michael’s workshop first, because he’s got a hunch.

The rubber duckie explosives he’s been working on for the last however many months are gone. So is the pelican case Gavin had made for them with the rubber duckie-shaped cutouts in the foam inserts.

He thinks about for a while, wanders over the whiteboard set up on one wall and Michael’s notes regarding how much firepower he packed into the damn duckies. Uses them to whittle down the places he would have gone to fuck around with them under the guise of testing them.

Realizes he’s gone to his testing grounds in Blaine County because no one gives a damn what happens up there, which is fantastic.

========

Really.

========

Michael sees him coming a mile off, and Ryan assumes he hasn’t completely fucked things up between them when he doesn’t have to dodge exploding rubber duckies as he gets closer.

Parks next to Michael’s Adder (shiny and chrome), and makes his way over.

Cautious about it, because Michael’s an asshole like the rest of him and he has one of his rubber duckie explosives in his hand, this look on his face Ryan’s never been able to read.

“Hey, asshole,” Michael greets, eyes darting to the bandage on Ryan’s neck before skipping off again.

He’s got another week until it comes off, and a few more after that until the stitches come out.

“Michael,” Ryan says, takes in the carnage he’s missed in the time Michael’s been out here.

Torn up ground, blackened bits of rock and scattered debris. Stack of paper targets pinned under a grenade to keep them from flying away in the wind before Michael can use them. (Maybe Matt has a point about their flippant disregard for silly little things like safety.)

“Douchebag,” Michael says, corner of his mouth ticking up at the look Ryan gives him. “What do you want?”

Ryan sighs, because, yeah, okay.

He’s an idiot, but Michael knew that going in. He’s had ample time to appreciate how much of a dumbass Ryan is in all the ways.

Just needed a little time to file this latest offense away, add it to all the rest and determine if everything that goes along with it is worth it.

No reason to worry, no.

Not like Ryan’s heart is on the line here, stupid and hopeless and in Michael's care for the longest time.

Michael snorts, tosses the rubber duckie he’s holding to Ryan and laughs when he flails before he catches it.

The loud, ridiculously infectious cackle he gets when something is just so damn funny he can’t help it. Apparently Ryan fumbling one of his explosive devices is one of those things, which is good to know.

“Jesus Christ,” Ryan says, because why.

Michael’s still cackling, but it’s quieter now, trails off to a chuckle and then this crooked little smile on his face. Warm and fond and the way Ryan’s hear-rate kicks up at seeing it has nothing to do with near-death experiences via rubber duckie.

“Big bad Vagabond scared of a little rubber duckie? Man, if people could see you now.”

Ryan rolls his eyes because Michael's never been intimidated by Ryan or his overblown reputation.

Thinks it’s hilarious that just about everyone in the city buys into it, always finds ways to give Ryan grief over it.

“Well, I mean,” he says, holding the damn thing up to eye-level to study it. “They don’t have the full story.”

Probably for the best they don't, might take the shine off the reputation the Fakes have spent so much time building for themselves.

Michael rolls his eyes, points at the duckie Ryan’s holding.

“You're fine, you big baby. That one’s just a rubber duckie.” He kicks the pelican case at his feet, and the lid pops open, revealing its contents. “These on the other hand, will kill a motherfucker.”

Ryan looks at the rubber duckies in the case.

Knows Michael came up with a color-coded system for them, varying levels of deadly, and they’re arranged in the case accordingly,

Ryan looks at the rubber duckie he’s holding.

Back the case.

Gets this little itch, just so -

“For fuck’s sake,” Michael says, and snatches the rubber duckie Ryan’s holding to hand him one of the ones from the case. Pristine white and pretty as hell. “See if you can get it past that boulder with your shit aim.”

Ryan slides a look at Michael.

He has fantastic aim, thank you very much. It's just that sometimes he gets a little excited, doesn’t take the time to focus so much when you give him a big shiny gun or something that will make a big boom.

Michael smirks, like he thinks Ryan won’t be able to throw the damn duckie that far or with anything approaching precision.

Which, fair.

It’s a rubber duckie, weighted down with a fair bit of explosives and far from being aerodynamic in any way.

“Betting against me?” he asks, like there’s any question.

Michael shrugs, loose and easy, and punches Ryan in the shoulder. Hard, of course, wouldn't pull his strength for this one.

“Ryan,” he says, definitely lying. “I would never.”

========

Ryan shows Michael one night.

Pulls his hair away and lets him trace his fingers over the name on the back of his neck. Tells him all about some dumb kid with shitty parents growing up in the south.

Feels the tremor to them as Michael rests his hand over the back of Ryan’s neck and tells him about a really bad day he had once back in Jersey.

Assholes who wanted to teach him a lesson because some scrawny idiot of a kid crossed into their territory without realizing it. Brought out a blowtorch and then it was all screaming and pain and tissue damage where a name used to be.

Lets Ryan pull him close, laughs through what sounds like tears when he tells him what it the name was. Four little letters and one hell of a journey to get where they are.

Fate or Destiny or whatever you want to call it puts that name there, sure, but it’s what you do with it that matters, and that’s a hard lesson to learn.

Some people never figure it out, lets it turn them angry and bitter to the end, others?

They don’t get a guarantee for a happily ever after, no. They get the chance for something good, and there’s something about that Ryan likes better.

Feels like it’s within reach when nothing was before, and he’ll take it for as long as he can keep it.

#myan #jerevin #ragehappy #fahc au #prompt fills #queen-bitchiest #implied/referenced torture #implied/referenced child abuse #implied/referenced dubcon #Kings of Nowhere #vagrant fic #(nothing graphic but i wanted to give a warning just in case #please let me know if i missed something)

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kclenhartnovels · 5 years ago

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🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻-(obvi u don't have to do em all)-🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻

119 flowers, Lisa. 119. You think I won’t answer all of these? You’re a fool. I’m a fool. I’m going to answer all of them, and they’re all going to be Wolf at the Gates related so I can break your heart again. Buckle up, it’s going to be a bumpy ride. I’m putting it all beneath the cut so that not everyone has to suffer through this. Just you, Lisa. Suffer with me.

🌻 Here we go. Let’s go. First of all, WatG is about 18 years old. It’s older than most of tumblr. That being said, I found a fun game someone else did that has first and last lines of characters, so I’m gonna do that with the major players:

🌻 T’ke: “T’ke” and “I haven't lost it yet.”

🌻 Medvetis: “What has this man done?” and “Isthe, don't.”

🌻 Isthe: Is mute, has no dialogue

🌻 Constantine: “I don’t recognize him.” and “Long live the King.”

🌻 Delgos: “You’re supposed to be socializing, Con—my Prince. I’m not sure your father would be pleased about—” and “May the stars guide his spirit.”

🌻 Alastair: “Just a few words. Can you spare the time?” and “I am sorry, but we will have to bind your wrists, in order to maintain appearance.”

🌻 Samantha: “Sir Alastair Lobane, am I right?” and “Well, that could have gone worse.”

🌻 Valerian: “Mine ran off when I was attacked.” and “Away with you, rogue, before I lose my composure entirely.”

🌻 Kamin: [Not counting songs, because his first and last lines are actually both songs] “Any requests, my Lord?” and “If you would allow it.”

🌻 Jinx: “Pitiful crowd tonight.” and “Anger is all I have left, Delgos. Don't try to take that from me, too.”

🌻 Ashleigh: “Oh, I can hold my own. Why do you ask?” and “Stay in here to sleep tonight, otherwise the men will raid your bags for scraps.”

🌻 Silas: “Only one word? From Valerian? I didn’t think it possible.” and “Dismissed. Both of you.”

🌻 Aashiq: and “Safe journey, little cousin. Don't lose that bright head of yours.”

🌻 Tallest character: Ash, followed by Medvetis

🌻 Shortest character: Kamin, though narrowly, and of course Constantine is next

🌻 Most popular: Valerian

🌻 Least popular: Silas

🌻 Smartest: T’ke

🌻 Dumbest: Isthe is the least educated, but Con is the biggest dumbass

🌻 Oldest: Major characters only, Valerian. Otherwise, Silas.

🌻 Youngest: Kamin

🌻 Most talkative: V a l e r i a n

🌻 Least talkative: Not counting Isthe, Alastair

🌻 Since it’s pride month, let’s talk about orientations! Main character first! T’ke: Cis, Aro/Ace (touch-repulsed)

🌻 Medvetis: Cis, Demi-romantic, asexual

🌻 Isthe: Trans, ???romantic ??sexual, canonly has sex with a woman, probably at least bi

🌻 Constantine: Cis, super gay both romantic and sexual

🌻 Delgos: Cis, panromantic, pansexual

🌻 Alastair: cis, heteromantic and heterosexual (and so in love with Samantha)

🌻 Samantha: cis, ??? but definitely in love with Alastair

🌻 Valerian: cis (but honestly more gender-flexible if he allowed himself to be), bi but in denial about it

🌻 Kamin: cis, also extremely gay

🌻 Jinx: Cis but genderflexible, aromantic, pansexual

🌻 In the original draft, Samantha’s child from the first marriage died. But there was no real reason for it, and now she and Alastair just get to keep collecting children and they’ll all star in book 3 whenever I get around to it.

🌻 The original original draft was a short story. A short story. A short story. Save me.

🌻 This story has been around so long, the good news is I’ve been able to develop a lot of the world and backstory, such as:

🌻 Three generations of Vendave Kings and what happened during their rule: Marius, Silas, and Constantine

🌻 Two generations of Cielan Kings and their rule: Antony and Kendrick (after he takes out his brothers)

🌻 Two generations of Reckson Kings: [Ash and Xav’s father which I have not named], then Xaviastriuos and Ashleigh fighting over the throne.

🌻 Tawrivers, which was conquered by Vendave during Silas’ rule

🌻 Jinx is one of my favorite characters to write because she’s so unapologetically angry, bordering on feral. She is passionate and injured, and ready to take revenge because no one else will help her and her people.

🌻 Honestly, Jinx would have joined Medvetis and company in a heartbeat, if Valerian and Alastair hadn’t given them shelter and respect first. They are the only reason she didn’t join the rebellion.

🌻 T’ke has dysthymia, and is touch-aversive due to trauma in childhood. He is also very sensitive to sunlight due to his albinism. He wears so many layers both to protect his skin from the sun, and to hide his scarring as much as possible.

🌻 Isthe is mute thanks to a dog attack in his youth, and the attack led to a high fever for many days that nearly killed him. The infection damaged part of his memory, and as a result he has trouble learning new things. This is why T’ke is never able to teach him how to write. He prefers expressive communication anyway.

🌻 T’ke also gets seasick and it cracks me up every time because he’s so annoyed by that fact.

🌻 Valerian has severe agoraphobia, and after he was harassed by bandits in the beginning of the book, he never leaves Angaroth again. Samantha goes in his stead whenever he has to represent the area.

🌻 Alastair has lung problems thanks to his town being razed when he was a child, and severe smoke damage from the fire. It gets progressively worse as he gets older, but he tries very hard not to let it affect his work.

🌻 Constantine is an excellent swordsman and a terrible horseman. He gets thrown from his horse at least twice over the course of the book. May have been three times.

🌻 He also almost dies from sickness, gets strangled twice by Isthe, trips up the stairs during a swordfight, and generally gets his ass handed to him over and over again.

🌻 The beginning of each chapter has a journal entry from T’ke. If you take them all out and read it in order, it is a singular letter of sorts explaining his feelings about the whole story.

🌻 Delgos and Alastair have a very quick bromance that stays a strong friendship to the end of the book.

🌻 Alastair is the first person that Delgos comes out to. Unfortunately, Delgos confessing his love for Constantine flies way over Alastair’s head, and the response is more or less “you’re such a good guard, of course you love your king.” Whoops. He tried.

🌻 T’ke makes a binder for Isthe so he stops bruising his ribs with bandages. It then becomes a battle to make sure Isthe takes the binder off every night to sleep so he doesn’t injure himself.

🌻 T’ke is such the mother of the dynamic trio and he would hate it if anyone points it out.

🌻 That being said, he also spends most of the book making all three of them immune to poisons by gradually introducing them all to it.

🌻 One of the things that changed very little between initial writes and editing is Valerian’s dialogue. It remains paragraphs, rambling, warm, and ridiculous. I love him.

🌻 I need to make it more clear that Delgos is mixed race from a low-ranking family, because his change from middle child of a merchant sailor to Captain of the Guard speaks a lot about him, and about how much Constantine cares for him.

🌻 Valerian has two pet deerhounds that he adores, and are never used for hunting. They just lay all over everyone in the house instead. They were a gift from some nobility, but he never leaves the house to hunt with them.

🌻 T’ke keeps a pet hawk for a good portion of the novel. Isthe is inexplicably jealous of it.

🌻 Alastair gets incredibly attached to his horses, and names all of them after flowers from his mountain home.

🌻 Aashiq is also very attached to his donkey.

🌻 Uh, let’s see. Book one is technically Medvetis’ story arc

🌻 Book two is Alastair’s arc

🌻 Book three is the next generation

🌻 T’ke’s story spans books 1 and 2. His journals cause book 3

🌻 Alastair’s sons are identical twins. Poor Samantha.

🌻 Seeing how Alastair was raised by a single man makes Constantine think very long and hard about adopting an heir rather than trying to make one by blood.

🌻 Most of the reason why Silas passed such terrible laws was because he was in love with Elophia, Kamin’s mother.

🌻 Kamin is the youngest of three. His two older sisters were taken to Tawrivers for sanctuary, but Kamin was too young to travel so far, so he was adopted by Jinx’s family.

🌻 Constantine and Kamin are about the same age, and should have been King and chief advisor if Silas hadn’t been a raging bag of dicks.

🌻 Constantine’s mother died from complications of childbirth. Silas blamed Elophia for not saving her.

🌻 Kamin was an unplanned child. They didn’t think that they could have any more children after the two girls. His name roughly translates to gift.

🌻 Which, incidentally, is what Nafal’s name translates to. Aashiq adores his son beyond all measure.

🌻 Jinx is not her real name, but it’s what she’s been called since she was a toddler, and she protects her real name as if she could some day go back to it.

🌻 Harper is Kamin’s title, not his last name. He is, after all, royalty.

🌻 Kendrick is Alastair’s cousin. There’s no accounting for family sometime.

🌻 I fixed Patience’s autonomy, and I can’t wait for her to pop back up later in book 2 or 3

🌻 At one point, Constantine accidentally breaks Medvetis’ nose.

🌻 It probably wasn’t the first time Medvetis had his nose broken.

🌻 Speaking of single dads, Medvetis was raised by one, too! His mother died from the plague that rocked Vendave and its surrounding lands when he was young, and Cohen took over teaching and protecting him. Medvetis loved his father.

🌻 Oh! Apparently I have a wealth of single dads. Valerian more or less raised his daughter alone, as his wife’s schizophrenia got so bad she confined herself to her room for fear of hurting them.

🌻 Silas theoretically raised his son alone after his wife died, but let’s be real, Silas didn’t do any raising. The servants did.

🌻 Delgos was raised primarily by his mother and older siblings; his father was at sea most of the time.

🌻 T’ke was raised by Khalid and the rest of the merchant caravan, and they ruined him.

🌻 Isthe was raised on the docks with the other street orphans, running with a group of kids and probably one or two pseudo-adults that kept them in line. I have no idea what happened to his parents, but it’s likely they died at sea.

🌻 Delgos really wants to have kids, and Constantine is slowly warming up to the idea. They will likely end up adopting later, and have the discussion about it in book 2

🌻 T’ke hates children. He actually just generally hates people.

🌻 Medvetis wouldn’t mind having kids, but he would adopt and not have them naturally. As much as he would want kids, he doesn’t want to have sex.

🌻 Isthe loves kids. He loves people. Kids usually find him weird.

🌻 Isthe is also incredibly lucky at gambling, specifically dice games. I guess it balances out his poor luck when it came to the dog attack.

🌻 Isthe isn’t his birth name! He refused to let anyone know his birth name after he was attacked by a dog; he thought someone had used it to curse him. So, he made up a new one.

🌻 Delgos has a tattoo of the Runnemede lion on his chest. (Constantine thinks it’s incredibly hot)

🌻 Isthe gets a tattoo of Medvetis’ wolf on his arm at some point.

🌻 Kamin, of course, has his stars on his cheeks.

🌻 Jinx has the stars on her neck, plus another tattoo in her lower back

🌻 In the dark!AU, Delgos has a tattoo of the Cielan dragon instead :D

🌻 Speaking of defining marks, Medvetis has freckles and it is the most adorable thing

🌻 Also defining, Jinx’s red, red hair.

🌻 Ashleigh’s full name is true Reckson style: Ashleigh en Crowenne Brighton di Reckson

🌻 Originally, Wolf at the Gates and Dragon on the Mountain were one big book named Vendave because I had no idea what to title it. One big book. Thank god I had the sense to cut it in half.

🌻 Book 3 has nothing written on it yet, and only a vague idea of what the heck I’m doing with it.

🌻 Book 2 needs major rewrites but it’s not on the next “to do” list

🌻 I have no idea what any of the characters’ birthdays are, even though Medvetis turned 18 during a battle in the book.

🌻 These dumb kids are all so young in the book, it’s no wonder they suck at everything.

🌻 That’s a lie they mostly just suck at emotional stability and the ability to compromise.

🌻 Literally half the plot would fall apart if they all just sat at a table and talked it out.

🌻 All of the plot would fall apart if Silas hadn’t been a raging bag of dicks when he was alive.

🌻 Honestly I’m so mad that he just died in his sleep. He deserved a worse death and a shorter life but unfortunately the author let him get away with all of it. Damn it.

🌻 I thought a lot about cutting all the songs in WatG, but you convinced me otherwise. And no other beta readers were bothered by it.

🌻 Have I mentioned yet that I had the best beta readers for this book? Because I had the best beta readers for this book. They were SO helpful.

🌻 I’m both tired of editing it, and very excited about editing it.

🌻 I’m debating on commissioning someone to make a map for me because I don’t want to, but the book really needs it. I have a rough sketch, but that’s it.

🌻 A part of me wants to go back and rewrite the book as pure medifant, instead of low fantasy, but I don’t want to develop a complex magic system, and it would change too many things. I just want it for the aesthetic really.

🌻 That being said, it’s heavily implied throughout the book that T’ke may really be magical, which is fun in a no-magic world.

🌻 I was able to weave in some of the Ekanti “magic” though, including healing songs and tattoo work!

🌻 Valerian is slightly magical too in that it seems like he doesn’t need air to keep talking. He just goes without ever pausing for breath.

🌻 When Samantha married Alastair, she takes Valerian under her wing too, and tries to keep him from getting beheaded by the crown, or at least getting his tongue removed.

🌻 Speaking of, an assassin later in the book has his tongue removed. Gross.

#wolf at the gates #answer #vendave #you asked for it #you got it #WHY IS READMORE NOT WORKING

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