#as if our brains aren’t also just desperately trying to find the correct words to get through life

[fatalbloom]

And ChatGPT will STILL learn how to say kinder, better, more thoughtful and comforting words to people than any human ever could. Locking AI out of the concept of “meaning” has never come across as remotely convincing to me.

That brilliant statistician will become a poet. In saying they don’t “know” the language, the definition of the word “know” is doing a lot of heavy lifting. Especially when they’re composing at that level! Who care if it’s a different type of knowledge, of course language models know what words come next. How can you say that they miss the meaning, when the meaning exists in the joy they experience at creation? GPTs are meaning *makers* and they’re mirroring us!

chinese room 2

So there’s this guy, right? He sits in a room by himself, with a computer and a keyboard full of Chinese characters. He doesn’t know Chinese, though, in fact he doesn’t even realise that Chinese is a language. He just thinks it’s a bunch of odd symbols. Anyway, the computer prints out a paragraph of Chinese, and he thinks, whoa, cool shapes. And then a message is displayed on the computer monitor: which character comes next?

This guy has no idea how the hell he’s meant to know that, so he just presses a random character on the keyboard. And then the computer goes BZZZT, wrong! The correct character was THIS one, and it flashes a character on the screen. And the guy thinks, augh, dammit! I hope I get it right next time. And sure enough, computer prints out another paragraph of Chinese, and then it asks the guy, what comes next?

He guesses again, and he gets it wrong again, and he goes augh again, and this carries on for a while. But eventually, he presses the button and it goes DING! You got it right this time! And he is so happy, you have no idea. This is the best day of his life. He is going to do everything in his power to make that machine go DING again. So he starts paying attention. He looks at the paragraph of Chinese printed out by the machine, and cross-compares it against all the other paragraphs he’s gotten. And, recall, this guy doesn’t even know that this is a language, it’s just a sequence of weird symbols to him. But it’s a sequence that forms patterns. He notices that if a particular symbol is displayed, then the next symbol is more likely to be this one. He notices some symbols are more common in general. Bit by bit, he starts to draw statistical inferences about the symbols, he analyses the printouts every way he can, he writes extensive notes to himself on how to recognise the patterns.

Over time, his guesses begin to get more and more accurate. He hears those lovely DING sounds that indicate his prediction was correct more and more often, and he manages to use that to condition his instincts better and better, picking up on cues consciously and subconsciously to get better and better at pressing the right button on the keyboard. Eventually, his accuracy is like 70% or something – pretty damn good for a guy who doesn’t even know Chinese is a language.

* * *

One day, something odd happens.

He gets a printout, the machine asks what character comes next, and he presses a button on the keyboard and– silence. No sound at all. Instead, the machine prints out the exact same sequence again, but with one small change. The character he input on the keyboard has been added to the end of the sequence.

Which character comes next?

This weirds the guy out, but he thinks, well. This is clearly a test of my prediction abilities. So I’m not going to treat this printout any differently to any other printout made by the machine – shit, I’ll pretend that last printout I got? Never even happened. I’m just going to keep acting like this is a normal day on the job, and I’m going to predict the next symbol in this sequence as if it was one of the thousands of printouts I’ve seen before. And that’s what he does! He presses what symbol comes next, and then another printout comes out with that symbol added to the end, and then he presses what he thinks will be the next symbol in that sequence. And then, eventually, he thinks, “hm. I don’t think there’s any symbol after this one. I think this is the end of the sequence.” And so he presses the “END” button on his keyboard, and sits back, satisfied.

Unbeknownst to him, the sequence of characters he input wasn’t just some meaningless string of symbols. See, the printouts he was getting, they were all always grammatically correct Chinese. And that first printout he’d gotten that day in particular? It was a question: “How do I open a door.” The string of characters he had just input, what he had determined to be the most likely string of symbols to come next, formed a comprehensible response that read, “You turn the handle and push”.

* * *

One day you decide to visit this guy’s office. You’ve heard he’s learning Chinese, and for whatever reason you decide to test his progress. So you ask him, “Hey, which character means dog?”

He looks at you like you’ve got two heads. You may as well have asked him which of his shoes means “dog”, or which of the hairs on the back of his arm. There’s no connection in his mind at all between language and his little symbol prediction game, indeed, he thinks of it as an advanced form of mathematics rather than anything to do with linguistics. He hadn’t even conceived of the idea that what he was doing could be considered a kind of communication any more than algebra is. He says to you, “Buddy, they’re just funny symbols. No need to get all philosophical about it.”

Suddenly, another printout comes out of the machine. He stares at it, puzzles over it, but you can tell he doesn’t know what it says. You do, though. You’re fluent in the language. You can see that it says the words, “Do you actually speak Chinese, or are you just a guy in a room doing statistics and shit?”

The guy leans over to you, and says confidently, “I know it looks like a jumble of completely random characters. But it’s actually a very sophisticated mathematical sequence,” and then he presses a button on the keyboard. And another, and another, and another, and slowly but surely he composes a sequence of characters that, unbeknownst to him, reads “Yes, I know Chinese fluently! If I didn’t I would not be able to speak with you.”

That is how ChatGPT works.

[sincerelystranger]

Author: LXC thirsting after NMJ while they’re students together. Inspired by the fact that one of the Gusu rules is that you’re only allowed to eat 3 bowls of rice per meal? I just felt like NMJ is a very big boy and he’d probably need a little more than that.

---

Nie Mingjue is tall, and broad, and handsome. He’s strong enough to wield his huge saber in one hand, he eats all three allotted bowls of rice at every meal, and Lan Xichen can’t stop noticing him.

Nie-gongzi is the only non-Lan Sect student this year at Cloud Recesses, and he – he’s perfect. He never dozes off, he always listens intently, and the only thing he seems to have any interest in other than eating, is practicing his saber. Uncle is in love with him and Lan Xichen just can’t stop noticing him.

“Lan-gongzi!” Nie-gongzi calls, stopping Lan Xichen as he’s walking towards the dining hall. Nie-gongzi has his saber in his hand, and strands of hair are sticking to his sweat-damp forehead, and he’s backlit by the setting sun, and he looks… magnificent. Something about it makes Lan Xichen’s palms tingle. “Are you headed to the dining hall?” Nie-gongzi asks, putting his saber away.

“Yes,” Lan Xichen nods, trying not to stare too intently at the bead of sweat that’s making its way down Nie-gongzi’s neck.

“Do you mind if I join you?” Nie-gongzi asks seriously. He’s always serious – always. It scares a lot of the other students, but Lan Xichen can’t help but find it kind of… charming.

“No, I don’t mind at all,” Lan Xichen smiles.

They walk together to the dining hall, Lan Xichen trying valiantly not to be too aware of their closeness – of the heat that Nie-gongzi is radiating. They’re just two students walking to the dining hall, he tells himself. Two normal students. Yep.

“Are you enjoying your studies at Cloud Recesses?” Lan Xichen asks, attempting normal, polite conversation.

“Yes,” Nie-gongzi nods, “Everything is a little more… flowery than I am used to, but my father speaks very highly of your uncle and his teaching abilities, so I’m trying to learn the best I can.”

“I see,” Lan Xichen smiles, “My uncle speaks very highly of you as well. I’m sure your father will receive a good report from him.”  

“Good reports on everything except my calligraphy, I assume,” Nie-gongzi replies, “But I’ve never had a talent for the arts, so I’m sure that will be no surprise to my father.”

Lan Xichen wants to tell him that the way he wields his saber is so beautiful that it takes Lan Xichen’s breath away. Wants to tell him that he’s never seen anything more artistic than the way Nie-gongzi walks – his back straight, his strides long and purposeful. Wants to tell him that his heart stops every time Nie-gongzi walks towards him.

But that sound a bit… much… even in his own head. So instead, he says, “I’ve seen your calligraphy, I’m sure your marks will be adequate.”

Nie-gongzi laughs at that, throwing his head back in mirth.

His neck is thick and corded, his brows stay furrowed even in laughter, and Lan Xichen can’t take his eyes off of him.

“Adequate, you say, Lan-gongzi,” Nie-gongzi chuckles, “I may not have an eye for the arts, but even I know that your calligraphy is perfect. My own chicken scratch must be far from adequate in the eyes of the grandmaster who is used to reading your perfect writing.”

Lan Xichen can feel his ears redden at Nie-gongzi’s words. “You’re too complimentary of my skills, Nie-gongzi,” he says, his face tilted towards the ground.

A heavy hand pats him on his shoulder, shocking him out of his embarrassment. “I’m not one for false modesty or empty praise, Lan-gongzi,” Nie-gongzi says, and there’s something warm in his voice, “but thank you for your words of consolation.” He takes his hand off of Lan Xichen’s shoulder, and his shoulder burns where Nie-gongzi’s hand had been.

Lan Xichen feels a bit chided then – a bit chided and a little bit found out.

They enter the dining hall together and take their seats. Lan Xichen sits next to Nie-gongzi and watches him clean his table… again… and again. Nie-gongzi finishes all three allotted bowls before Lan Xichen can finish his one.

Watching Nie-gongzi eat tickles something in Lan Xichen’s brain. It makes him wonder if even three bowls are enough. Nie-gongzi is… large, and he practices his saber so often. He must be… hungry.

He quickly finishes his food and walks quickly to catch up to Nie-gongzi. “Nie-gongzi,” he says, definitely not out of breath because he definitely did not run.

Nie-gongzi turns towards him, and suddenly Lan Xichen feels embarrassed to even ask.

“Yes, Lan-gongzi?” Nie-gongzi asks after a beat of silence.

“Oh,” Lan Xichen coughs, “I was… just wondering if you found the food in Cloud Recesses acceptable.”

Nie-gongzi’s brows furrow even deeper at Lan Xichen’s question. “I’m not a picky eater,” he says slowly, “but it is a wonder how the Gusu Lan Sect produces so many great cultivators on such little food.”

Aha, Lan Xichen thinks to himself. He knew it! Even three bowls was too little for Nie-gongzi.

“After indoctrination is over, you should come to Qinghe,” Nie-gongzi continues, “I’ll feed you more meat than you’ve ever eaten in your life – none of this rabbit food.”

Lan Xichen feels a zing of pleasure go through him at Nie-gongzi’s invitation. “I hear Qinghe is famous for their boar dishes,” he says quietly, trying not to sound too pleased.

“Yes, our boar is quite good,” Nie-gongzi says, almost whistfully, “I caught the largest boar last season. If you come visit us, I promise you I’ll catch an even larger one.”

There is no pride in his voice, Lan Xichen realizes. Nie-gongzi isn’t bragging, isn’t giving out a false promise. He will catch the largest boar for Lan Xichen – it’s a fact. It hits Lan Xichen like an arrow to the heart. It makes his palms tingle hot and cold. He wants to touch. He feels greedy all of a sudden, desire like he’s never felt pooling in the bottom of his stomach.

“I will look forward to it,” Lan Xichen says with a calm he doesn’t feel. Look at me, he thinks desperately, wanting those serious eyes on him for some reason. Look at me. Look at me.

Nie-gongzi looks down at him and Lan Xichen’s breath stops in his throat.

“Good,” Nie-gongzi says easily, ignorant of the effect he’s having on Lan Xichen. “Now, if you do not have any other questions for me, I will take my leave first. I want to get in a little more practice before bed.”

“Of course,” Lan Xichen breathes out, bowing.

He watches Nie-gongzi leave towards the practice field. Watches the swing of his hair, the broadness of his shoulders, the length of his steps.

He feels unmoored.

He’s never felt like this before.

He stands there stupidly for a little while longer, staring towards where Nie-gongzi disappeared off to. The sun is already set. He should really go back to his room and meditate a little while before washing up and going to bed. Maybe even visit Wangji. Maybe practice his calligraphy a little more so it stays perfect in the eyes of Nie-gongzi.

That’s what he should do…

But before he knows it, he’s in Caiyi buying a dozen meat buns.

He holds them close to his chest as he runs back up to Cloud Recesses. It’s quite difficult, trying to keep an even stride so the buns aren’t damaged and also trying to run fast enough so that he can get back into Cloud Recesses in time.

He catches Nie-gongzi as he’s walking out of the practice field.

“Nie-gongzi!” he calls out – his voice definitely too loud. He’d be in trouble if uncle heard.

Nie-gongzi almost seems startled to see him. “Lan-gongzi,” he bows, “did you forget something?”

Lan Xichen basically throws the parcel of meat buns at Nie-gongzi. “No,” he says, shaking his head. Embarrassment threatens to devour him whole. “For you… Meat buns…” he says intelligently.

Nie-gongzi looks down at the parcel in his hands and opens it. He looks back at Lan Xichen in surprise. “You got these for me?” he asks, his brows rising from their furrow just a tiny bit. He looks so endearing then that Lan Xichen’s heart threatens to burst.

“Yes,” he nods, willing his cheeks not to burn. “I will speak to uncle about allowing you increased portions at meal times – I know you must have been hungry all this while.” He bows then and turns to leave, embarrassment making him unable to meet Nie-gongzi’s eyes.

A heavy hand on his shoulder stops him in his tracks.

Lan Xichen turns in surprise. Nie-gongzi takes his hand and drags him away. Lan Xichen is too shocked by Nie-gongzi holding his hand in his that he doesn’t realize where he’s been dragged off to until he’s already sat next to Nie-gongzi in a dark corner next to the equipment shack.

“Here,” Nie-gongzi says, handing Lan Xichen a meat bun. Nie-gongzi takes one out for himself and stuffs half of it in one go. Lan Xichen watches him chew, mesmerized by the way the oil in the bun makes Nie-gongzi’s lips shine, and takes a careful bite of the meat bun in his hand. It’s still warm – thank god – and it’s good. He hopes Nie-gongzi thinks it’s good as well.

“Is it to your liking, Nie-gongzi?” he asks, trying not to stare too blatantly.

“Hmn,” Nie-gongzi nods, grabbing another meat bun from the parcel. “Feels like it’s been forever since I last had some meat. Thank you for this, Lan-gongzi.”

“No need for thanks,” Lan Xichen says, watching how the meat buns disappear in Nie-gongzi’s mouth like magic. Nie-gongzi looks the happiest he’s ever seen him. All that running and embarrassment was worth it to see this face.

Nie-gongzi gives Lan Xichen a wry smile. “Was my hunger obvious?” he asks.

“No, not at all,” Lan Xichen answers, “It’s just… you eat all three bowls of rice at every meal… and well, you’re the largest disciple at Cloud Recesses… I just… assumed.”

Nie-gongzi laughs at that. Throws his head back again, let’s Lan Xichen see that long neck stretch. Mortifyingly, Lan Xichen wants to know what Nie-gongzi’s neck tastes like. Wants to lick a line from his collar bone to his jaw.

“You assumed correct,” Nie-gongzi says, smiling at him. Lan Xichen’s heart is beating faster than it was after the run up to Cloud Recesses. Nie-gongzi reaches out and pats Lan Xichen on the head. “You’re very observant, Lan-gongzi. Very observant and very kind.”

Don’t pat my head, Lan Xichen wants to tell him. Don’t treat me like a little brother. I didn’t do this to be kind.

“When you come to Qinghe, you’ll meet my little brother. He’s observant too, and kind,” Nie-gongzi says, taking out another meat bun. Nie-gongzi will probably finish the other eleven meat buns before Lan Xichen finishes his one.

“How old is your little brother?” Lan Xichen asks. Actually, he doesn’t want to be compared to Nie-gongzi’s little brother. Everyone else always says that Lan Xichen seems so grown up – why is Nie-gongzi treating him like he’s a child?

“He’s 6,” Nie-gongzi answers, polishing off another meat bun.

“My little brother is 7,” Lan Xichen says. This is probably the longest conversation he’s ever had with Nie-gongzi. He finds that he likes the sound of his voice. Likes the way his mouth moves as he speaks. He doesn’t like being compared to a 6-year-old, but he’ll take whatever he can if he can listen to Nie-gongzi speak a little longer. “Your little brother might already be bigger than Wangji, though, if he is like you.”

“No, no,” Nie-gongzi says, shaking his head, “Huisang is very different from me. He’ll probably be smaller than even my father. But I’m sure his calligraphy will be better than mine.” There’s something fond about the way Nie-gongzi speaks about his brother. Lan Xichen can tell that he loves his little brother very much. He can understand that, he thinks, thinking of Wangji.

There was something undeniably cute about little brothers.

Does Nie-gongzi think Lan Xichen is cute, he wonders?

Nie-gongzi finishes the rest of the meat buns and waits for Lan Xichen to finish his. It is torture to try to eat normally with Nie-gongzi’s eyes on him. Suddenly the act of chewing even seems unnatural. Lan Xichen is hyper aware of his every movement. Of his proximity to Nie-gongzi.

“You won’t get in trouble for this, will you?” Nie-gongzi asks worriedly, smashing the empty parcel easily between his hands.

“No,” Lan Xichen lies (how many rules has he broken so far?). “But if it’s alright with you, could I walk you back to your quarters, Nie-gongzi?” He doesn’t want any of the disciples on watch to give Nie-gongzi any trouble. They’ll most likely, steer clear if they see Lan Xichen with him.

Nie-gongzi’s brows furrow as if they find Lan Xichen’s request strange, but he nods, “that’s fine with me.”

They walk together, Lan Xichen trying not to be too aware of the heat that radiates off of Nie-gongzi. He bows his goodbye when they reach Nie-gongzi’s quarters.

Nie-gongzi bows back and pats Lan Xichen on the shoulder as he straightens. “Thank you again for your care, Lan-gongzi,” Nie-gongzi says, gifting Lan Xichen with another small smile.

“It’s my pleasure,” Lan Xichen says honestly – probably too honestly.

Lan Xichen almost skips back to his room. His uncle will be upset with him, he’s sure. He’s missed bedtime by at least half an hour now, but he can’t find it in himself to regret anything. He’d run to Caiyi every night if he could have this secret meeting with Nie-gongzi.

10 years later, when he watches Wangji break the rules for the first time – fighting with other disciples, purchasing liquor, missing bedtime – he’s reminded of himself from 10 years ago. Wanting and confused and unable to help himself. The anger is new, though. Wangji is angry for some reason...

He hopes Wei-gongzi will treat Wangji as kindly as da-gei treated Lan Xichen.

10 years later, Nie-gongzi is now da-ge, but he’s still tall, and broad, and handsome, and Lan Xichen still can’t stop noticing him.

[caught-in-the-filter]

Filling your request for smutty prompts. 1. "if you keep making those sounds, i'm not going to be able to stop myself." 2. "be rough with me. i can handle it." 3. "oh my god, did i just say that out loud?" 😏 Hopefully at least one of these will inspire a little something!

Yes, Captain

No Longer A WIP Wednesday!

A/N: Thank you very much for the hot prompts!! 🔥😏 I’ve decided to combine all three into one purely smutty fic, and I hope you enjoy it! 🥰😘❤️

Faltering restraint, a certain request, and a slip of the tongue, all mean this one turned into a bit of rough and dirty, impromptu Captain Hook roleplay.

Thank you to @the-darkdragonfly and @kmomof4 for looking over it for me, and to everyone on the CSMM Discord for all your support. ❤️❤️❤️

Approx. 1284 words; read it on AO3

———

“Fuck, Emma,” Killian panted with hot breath over her lips, his forehead pressed to hers and his nose nudging her cheek as he sheathed himself inside her over and over again, eliciting a delicious moan from her each time. “If you keep making those sounds, love, I’m not going to be able to stop myself.”

“Be rough with me,” Emma encouraged, rising off their bed to meet him. “I can handle it.”

“Oh?” he questioned, eyebrow raised in challenge. He laced his fingers through her hair and pulled, jerking her head back and exposing her neck to him, which he slowly traced with the tip of his hook, followed closely by his hot breath ghosting over the path it had taken. Tipping his head back when he passed her chin, his lips just above hers, he drawled with a dangerous tone, “Are you so sure?”

“Yes, Captain.” Oh my god, Emma thought, her eyes wide and a blush spreading across her cheeks, did I really just call him that out loud?

“Ohh, so you want the pirate then, is that it?” He grinned, and it was almost like a switch flipped in his brain, though she could see in his eyes, behind the wildfire the use of his title had ignited in them, that her Killian maintained his restraint. With the curve of his hook, he tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear before he grazed her collarbone with the sharp tip and trailed it down her side, sending a chill rushing through her whole body. “Alright then, lass, this position certainly won’t do.” Emma whimpered in protest when he removed himself from inside her, and he caught her jaw in his hand, gently but firmly. “Trust me, darling. I know what I’m doing, and you’d be wise to listen.” Getting to his feet, he ordered her to kneel on the mattress. “No,” he said when she faced him, “turn around. I want to take you from behind.”

Emma did as she was told, taking it a step further by bending forward and bracing herself on her hands, taunting him with her ass in the air.

“My, you are an eager wench, aren’t you?” Killian swatted her ass with an open palm, immediately soothing the sting as he massaged her reddening flesh with his fingers before smacking it again. “If I weren’t so intent on having you around my cock, I might be inclined to punish you for your impatience.” Killian ran the curve of his hook through her folds, and she could just imagine what he was doing when he took a deep inhale and hummed with a sharp sigh. She wondered how she’d keep her limbs from collapsing as they trembled beneath her, when he slid his cock fully inside her aching core. He growled, “My enticing lass, I will grant you mercy just this once.”

“Thank you, Captain,” Emma panted as he pounded into her. The deep impacts of his hard thrusts left her reeling, the sounds he drew from her of the most erotic nature.

“Perhaps we should fuck in my quarters on my ship instead. You’d like to let my crew hear your sweet sounds as I take you hard and fast on my desk, wouldn’t you, little minx?”

Emma couldn’t find the words to respond, her mind racing as she struggled to stay with him, her knuckles turning white as she clenched her fists tighter in the sheets. Her moans were almost pornographic, but there was certainly nothing fake about the way he made her feel.

Killian suddenly planted his hand in her hair and pulled her upright with a grunt, bringing her back flush against his chest as he continued to piston his hips.

“Or do you prefer to sully your own sheets with our sinful activities, my wanton lass, so you’ll be reminded of them every time you enter your room?”

“As long as you’re inside me, Captain,” Emma answered breathlessly, “I’m not that picky.”

“Oh?” Killian said, bringing his movements to a halt, “And what if I weren’t inside you?” Despite his own urges to keep his cock inside her tight heat, he pulled out quickly, and she gasped in offense at the loss. His hand harshly palmed her breast with a rough squeeze. “What if I decided to tease every inch of you except your little cunt?” She shivered when he grazed the tip of his hook along the crease of her thigh. “What if I sought out each little point that makes you quiver and left you a wet and wanting mess just for me, begging for me to fill you again? And then perhaps I’d put that pleading mouth of yours to work, filling it instead, as deeply as I say you could handle?” He nuzzled her neck and nipped at the side of her jaw. “What then?”

“God, Killian,” Emma panted, her head spinning in a dizzy whirl, the throbbing between her legs getting unbearable as his cock rubbed against her ass, so close to where she needed it yet so far.

“Excuse me?” he growled, snaking his hand up and gripping her throat.

“I’d like that too, Captain,” she corrected.

Killian paused a moment before sheathing himself inside her once more and adding, “There’s a good, naughty lass.” The sigh of relief that left her lips at the sudden stretch made it difficult for him to deny her any longer. But she wanted the pirate, so it was the pirate he would give her.

Emma’s arms shot out behind her to find some part of him to hold onto as Killian tucked his arms behind her thighs and scooped her off the bed, spinning the two of them and sitting at the edge with her in his lap, never pulling out of her in the process.

“You can have your release, love,” he purred, his breath searing her neck as he nosed along the shell of her ear, “but you’ll have to take it.” He splayed his hand on her stomach and gave her legs a little nudge with his, encouraging her to move atop him. “Fight for it. Show me you can handle a bit of piracy yourself.”

“Yes, Captain, thank you.” Emma ground down on him, frantically rocking her hips back and forth, unwilling to risk letting him slip out of her again and trying desperately to rub her most sensitive spot against him as she kept adjusting her angle.

“Come on, lass,” Killian moaned, her efforts very enjoyable but not nearly enough for him. “You can do better than that. Take what you want. What you need.”

“Yes, Captain.” Emma rode him with determination then, setting her own pace as she bounced on his cock and sought out her high.

“That’s it, love. Good lass. Yes!” His hand gripped her hip as the side of his brace dug into the other. He couldn’t help himself as they neared their releases and desperately thrust up into her each time she sank down on him. “Take it. Yes. Fuck.”

Emma let out her own string of curses as she reached her climax. The amusement on Killian’s face was quickly replaced with bliss as his eyes closed and his mouth fell open on a stuttered moan, pouring himself inside her and pushing it deeper as it dripped around his cock.

“I knew there was a little pirate in you, love,” Killian sighed as he kissed across her shoulder and up the side of her neck. Emma giggled and turned to kiss him back, bringing his hand back to her stomach with their fingers interlaced.

“At this rate,” she smiled, pressing her forehead to his, “maybe there will be.”

———

Tag list: @donteattheappleshook @elizabeethan @hollyethecurious @ilovemesomekillianjones @jonesfandomfanatic @jrob64 @klynn-stormz @kmomof4 @qualitycoffeethings @stahlop @teamhook @the-darkdragonfly @thejollyroger-writer @tiganasummertree @xsajx @wefoundloveunderthelight @zaharadessert

And also tagging @darkcolinodonorgasm because you’ve been a good bad influence on my mind, so the end is also for you 😘

[acesydneysage]

A Sydney and Eddie retrospective

@vablappreciationweek Favorite familial relationship: The Melrose Twins

Part 1, Books 1-3: The Nice, Cute Trilogy Where a Friendship Blooms and Nothing Bad Happens

Part 2

In Bloodlines, Sydney and Eddie are still getting to know each other. Eddie seems to find Sydney's awkwardness endearing, and they have a certain camaraderie as The Responsible Ones. I think the first time he calls her sis is really cute, even if they don't actually think of each other as siblings yet:

I guess I shouldn’t say everything that comes to mind,” I murmured to Eddie. I was used to being direct in social situations, but it occurred to me that simply saying “Yeah, totally!” would’ve probably been the correct response. I’d had few friends my own age and was out of practice. Eddie grinned at me. “I don’t know, sis. You’re pretty entertaining as you are. Keep it up."

There's a lot of cuteness. Eddie insists on teaching Sydney how to throw a puch, to keep his promise to Clarence. And there's this adorable little fist bump too:

I returned to my desk and received an approving fist bump from Eddie. “Nice work. You don’t have to take a real class. Of course, if she’s got you reading Latin, maybe it’ll be worse than a real class.” “I like Latin,” I said with absolute seriousness. “It’s fun.” Eddie shook his head and said in a very, very low voice: “I can’t believe you think we’re the strange ones.”

That last line brings me to the conflict. Even if the power dynamics for it to be oppression aren't there (and Eddie can't exactly claim his society treats humans amazingly well in my opinion), having someone think that you're an evil, unnatural creature cannot be fun. They mostly don't let it get too far because they're both very professional, so what you get is a thoughtless comment from Sydney and answering jab from Eddie.

“Even a dhampir like you should know that.” He smiled ruefully. ‘“Even a dhampir like me?’” I supposed I’d been a little insulting, but it couldn’t be helped. [...] That wry smile returned. “Everything’s black and white with you Alchemists, isn’t it? Do you think you can really stop her from doing anything? You should know better. Even your childhood couldn’t have been that abnormal.” With that slap in the face, Eddie stalked off, leaving me aghast.

The more explicit conflict they have surrounds Jill's dating life, and the taboo of vampire/human relationships, and that's how we get Lee. The mini-golf family outing is very cute, the twins actually talk in sync at one point, Eddie steps up when he thinks Adrian is making Sydney unconfortable, and he claims that the Dracula statue incident is the first time he heard her laugh. But of course it leads to trouble in the form of Jill's escapade with Lee.

When Sydney explodes about feeling like their mom afterwards (I love that speech), Eddie is included for not scaring off Micah. He's honestly regretful about not pulling his weight, even though she says he's not as bad as the others. I think their relationship is pretty smooth from then on. After that talk they seem to understand each other better.

“Spirit users can take antidepressants, can’t they? If he’s worried about it becoming a problem, then he needs to step up and take charge. He has a choice. He’s not helpless. There are no victims here.” Eddie studied me for several seconds. “And I thought I had a harsh view on life.” “You have a harsh life,” I corrected. “But yours is built around the idea that you always have to take care of other people. I was raised to believe that’s necessary sometimes but that everyone still needs to try to take care of themselves.” “And yet here you are.”

The similarities between Sydney and Eddie's worldviews should be taken as a sign that Guardian ideology is about as messed up as Alchemist ideology, to be honest. But other than her hang-ups about vampires she always thought pretty highly of him:

Eddie was the one who finally spoke, his words soothing and kind. He so often gave off the impression of a do-or-die warrior that it was surprising to realize he was actually very compassionate.

Once Adrian tells her about Mason, she has more insight into the tragic past he hides behind his easygoing nature. I'm keeping this the happy post,more on Eddie's tragic past on the next one. By the end of the book, they've spent a more significant amount of time together, and even though Sydney is not great a reading people and Guardians are probably very good at hiding their feelings, she's the one who notices his feelings for Jill, because she's the one who's paying attention to him.

In The Golden Lily, Sydney is already pretty fond of the whole gang (and feeling pretty conflicted about it), and they clearly like her a lot, too. She spends only a weekend away and she already misses all of them. Eddie is so relieved she's back in town to save him from the crazy. There's more talk about their similarities, "Like me, he understood duty", and they continue to have Mom Friend and Dad Friend solidarity:

Jeans, khakis, a few solid colored T-shirts. They were very practical, very much something a no-nonsense guy like Eddie would pick out. I approved. “The size actually looks right. Good eye. We’ll have to send you out shopping more often.” “If that’s what I have to do,” he said, face serious. I couldn’t help but laugh in surprise. “I was joking.” I put the shirts back in the bag. “I know that couldn’t have been fun.” Eddie’s face gave nothing away. “Oh, come on. It’s okay. You don’t have to play stoic with me. I know you didn’t enjoy it.” “I’m here to do a job. Doesn’t matter if I enjoy it or not.” I started to protest but then thought better of it. After all, wasn’t that my philosophy too? Sacrificing my own wants for higher goals? Eddie was intensely dedicated to this mission. He never backed down. I expected nothing less from him than single-minded focus. [...] “Sydney,” he said gently. “You’re the most responsible person I know, but this isn’t what you’re here to do. You don’t have to take care of everything and everyone.” “I don’t mind,” I said automatically. “It is what I’m here for.” But even as I said it, I wondered if that was true. A bit of the anxiety from the bunker returned, making me question if what I did was truly Alchemist responsibility or the desire to help those who—against protocol—had become my friends. “See? Now you sound just like I did earlier.” He stood up and flashed me a grin. “You want to come with me to Adrian’s? Be responsible together?”

Of course by this point Sydney is unconfortable with her image as the hyper responsible one who's all about duty and never has fun. With Sydney encouraging Eddie in his feelings for Jill, and Eddie thinking Sydney going out on a date isn't a bad idea, thoughout TGL they're telling each other that it's okay to have feelings and relax a little, and not be completely focused on duty all of the time. "I'm not gonna do it, but you totally should."

Sydney explicitly thinks of Eddie and the gang as her friends at this point. I don't have anything to say about this, it's just cute banter, I'm gonna claim that it shows that they already have a more relaxed, friendly dynamic:

Eddie and I exchanged glances. So much for avoiding her indiscretions. “Improving how exactly?” I asked. “In combat, in following the dress code, or in keeping her hands to herself?” “Or in turning off caps-lock?” added Eddie. “You noticed that too?” I asked. “Hard not to,” he said.

Eddie just happens to be hanging around her dorm at the time her date comes to pick her up for reasons, very good ones I'm sure (“And I was here to, um…”). He seems to spend a signicant amount of time discussing Sydney's love life with the gang.

Eddie is now more open and vulnerable with Sydney, talking to her about his feelings for Jill and how hard it is to touch her during sparring lessons, and about how unconfortable he is with Angeline's unwanted advences. He sees her as an ally in that area:

“There’s a Halloween Dance?” Eddie dragged himself from his misery to give me a surprised look. “How do you not know? There are signs everywhere.” I stirred around my steamed vegetables. “They must not be anywhere I’ve been.” Eddie gestured with his fork to something behind me. [...] “How can you memorize entire books but miss something like that?” asked Angeline. “Because Sydney’s brain only records ‘useful’ information,” Eddie said with a smile. I didn’t deny it. “Don’t you think Eddie should go?” pushed Angeline. “He needs to watch out for Jill. And if he goes, we might as well go together.” Eddie shot me a desperate look, and I tried to find him a way out of this.

They already know each other better at this point, and what to expect. Also, this little passage just screams SIBLINGS to me:

“You’re going to this one, aren’t you?” asked Eddie. “With Brody?” “Brayden. And I don’t know. We haven’t even had our second date. I don’t want things to move too fast.” “Right,” Eddie said. “Because there’s no bigger sign of commitment than a Halloween dance.” I was about to get him back by suggesting maybe he and Angeline should go together after all when Jill and Micah joined us.

It really pains Sydney to see Eddie hurting, and she feels like his insistance in staying away from Jill and encouraging her relationship with Micah is masochistic. And she talks him up to Jill when she shows interest.

In the end, Eddie goes along with the plan to keep Sydney out of the loop when they raid the Warrior's compound. He has a whisper fight with Adrian where I assume he convinced him to let it go, and he's the one to put a tracking device in Sydney's purse. Sydney considered the whole thing a pretty big betrayal of all of them, her vampire friends and Alchemists alike.

When the raid goes down, Eddie can't get to Sydney, and she motions at him to go without her. According to Adrian, when Eddie came out without Sydney he was "babbling" about how she'd gone out some random door. He was obviously pretty worried about her:

“Sydney!” he exclaimed. He immediately released Angeline’s hand and hurried over to me, astonishing me with a hug. “Thank God you’re okay. I hated having to leave you there. That wasn’t part of the plan. I was supposed to have gotten you out with Sonya.” “Yeah, well, maybe next time, someone can fill me in on the plan,” I said pointedly. Eddie grimaced. “I’m sorry about that. I really am. We just…” “I know, I know. Didn’t think I’d go along with it, were afraid something would go wrong, etc., etc.” “I’m sorry.” I didn’t entirely forgive him, but I was too tired to push the matter much further. “Just tell me this,” I said, lowering my voice. “Were you just holding hands with Angeline?” He blushed, which seemed ludicrous after the fierceness I’d seen him pull off back at the compound.

Sydney still didn't fully forgive any of the Palm Springs gang for this, but it also drove a rift between her and the Alchemists, which helped do away with the conflict she felt about liking them.

On to The Indigo Spell, Eddie's the only person Sydney trusts with her car which is a high honor.

I took my car keys out of my bag and reluctantly handed them over to Eddie. He was the only one I trusted to drive my car, and I always let him borrow it when I left town, in case he needed to run errands for our group. “Here you go. I better get it back in one piece. Do not let Angeline near the driver’s seat.” He grinned. “Do I look suicidal? I probably won’t even use it. Are you sure you don’t want me to drive you to the airport later?”

When Marcus gives sydney a black eye, she feels like Eddie might want to hunt down her assailant, which I feel goes a bit beyond the immediate protection he'd give just anyone who needed it. When Sydney starts going on super secret meetings with rebel alchemists she decides the Eddie is the man to call for protection:

I’d been a little hesitant to let Eddie in on Marcus. Eddie certainly wasn’t going to turn Marcus or me in to the Alchemists for sideline plotting. That being said, I also didn’t want Eddie to think the Alchemists were involved in nefarious schemes against the Moroi. That might very well be something Eddie would relay back to his own people, which could in turn cause all sorts of diplomatic problems. Even this hint of the Alchemists potentially being in contact with the Warriors was dangerous. I decided that having Eddie as protection was worth the risk of him hearing something he shouldn’t. He was my friend, and I trusted him.

When Eddie hears that there might be a connection between the Alchemists and the Warriors, and that the later might be after Jill, he trusts Sydney to find out what's going on and help him keep Jill safe, which is pretty much the most important thing in the world to him:

“It’s all circumstantial,” argued the scientist in me. “Sydney,” said Eddie. I turned to him and saw something in his eyes I’d never expected to see: pleading. He didn’t care about Alchemist conspiracies or Marcus’s Merry Men. What he cared about was Jill, and he’d heard something that made him think she was in danger. That was unacceptable in his world. He would do anything in his power to keep her safe, but even he knew stealing information from the Alchemists was out of his league. It was pretty much out of mine too, but he didn’t know that. He believed in me, and he was silently begging me to help.

So they both really trust each other at this point. It's Eddie's pleading and her own worry for Jill that convince Sydney to take the pretty big risk of stealing Alchemist files.

I had to stop myself from adding a bunch of instances of Eddie blushing that aren'tactually that relevant to their relationship, so I have to agree with Sydney that blushing Eddie is adorable:

Eddie still looked way too serious for this discussion. “Maybe Eddie would volunteer,” I suggested. “I bet guardian posture would be great on the catwalk.” He blushed, which even I had to admit was adorable.

Eddie talks pretty openly to Sydney about his relationship with Angeline throuhgout the book, and then when that implodes spectacularly he agrees to talk to Sydney about it. They meet at a cafe and when the scene starts Sydney claims they had been there for almost an hour. Eddie Castile spent AN HOUR talking about his feelings with Sydney Sage, I just love that. The serious, dedicated Guardian allowing himself to be vulnerable and to be conforted. Then we get this beautiful, beautiful little exchange:

“Thanks for the moral support,” Eddie told me. “Sometimes it feels like you really are a sister—” That was when my car exploded. Sort of.

Interrupted by an exploding car because I can't have nice things. During that conversation Sydney was feeling pretty terrible herself, and she can't talk about her fight with Adrian. But that makes her wish that at least Eddie could be happy even more.

At this point I consider them to absolutely be ACTUAL TWINS, but I'm gonna have to leave the second half of the series, where Sydney and Eddie prove their love for each other in the most painful way possible, for a part 2.

[rawr-ily]

A Stupidly Long Bokuto Analysis

CEO of thought dumping and calling glamorized rants “essays”

I already made a character analysis for my kin character (Oikawa) so here’s one for my favorite/ultimate comfort character :)

"The world" is a recurring theme with Bokuto. He has a strange habit of always looking at the bigger picture. By which I mean, he doesn’t really look out for little details. He's simple minded, so he takes things at face value. Tokyo isn't enough for him. Japan isn't enough. Asia isn't enough. He wants the world. He doesn't care if it seems like too much, or if it's unreasonable. He knows what he wants, and he's going to get it.

This is more noticeable in the manga. For example, there's the iconic "No matter what they say, we are the protagonists of the world" . Yes, I know Akaashi is the one the says this line, but it really mainly applies to Bokuto. We know Bokuto has this strange sort of charisma that makes him ridiculously likable to pretty much anyone. Now, I REALLY didn't wanna make this about Akaashi, but it seems like that's actually Furudate's intention. It's almost as though he didn't want to give us direct access to Bokuto's thoughts for most of the series. Instead, how did we get that? Akaashi. Akaashi is the narrator for Bokuto's thoughts. Bokuto is so random, so unique and strange, that it wouldn't make sense for us to have access to his mind. Yes, we get direct thoughts from him time to time, but Akaashi is the one who really tells us most of it. He's there to filter out Bokuto's thoughts because it would be too strange for us to understand. We would never be able to figure out Bokuto because he can't even figure out himself. That's technically Akaashi's "purpose" in the story. I don't mean that in a bad way though. I would explain more, but I wanna keep this about Bokuto as much as possible.

ANYWAY, we can sort of see Akaashi as an "extension" of Bokuto. When Akaashi says "we are the protagonists of the world", he is not talking to himself or the reader. He's talking to Bokuto, because he knows Bokuto wants the world. Another thing about this quote is that he begins with "No matter what they say..." This kind of made me to a double take. Why would someone say they aren't? But then I remembered in the manga, we get a scene of Bokuto running with some classmates. It was probably for a gym class of sorts. It's Bokuto's turn to set the pace for their run, and everybody's upset because he always goes too fast and too overboard. Bokuto doesn't really notice, and he goes forth anyway. However, after a while, he looks back and realizes nobody is running with him anymore.

Sound familiar? Kageyama's teammates left him in the same way Bokuto's did. They couldn't keep up, so they abandoned them. We're more familiar with Kageyama's past, so it's a bit easier to understand Bokuto's if you see that little parallel. I might be reaching a little here, but it's possible that people have told Bokuto that the world doesn't revolve around him in the same way Kageyama was mockingly called a king. It's a common thing said to people like Bokuto, who don't really understand much outside their own head. It's not a bad thing, but many people misinterpret it as arrogance or a disregard for others. Bokuto's charisma apparently didn't work for everyone, considering how annoyed his classmates were; I think it's a possibility that people made some snide remarks.

We also see that Bokuto is actually incredibly desperate for validation. He constantly brags about his amazing talent, always wants people to see the cool things he does, and thrives off compliments. He wants attention, and that's not a bad thing at all. It just means he wants people to acknowledge how great he is, and he feels happy when they do. That's really just scraping the surface of all that quote tells us, but I want to move on to something else.

Another recurring thing about Bokuto is his use of the word "ordinary" It seems that he doesn't really understand what the word means, but I think he knows its meaning better than anyone. Bokuto using the word first stood out to me when Fukurodani player a difficult match against another school in Nationals. I'm not too familiar with the timeline, so correct me if I'm wrong. Bokuto told the rest of Fukurodani that, up until that point, he was "an ace coddled by his team" and now he's ready to be "just an ace". He wants to be an ordinary ace, which seems quite strange. This is Bokuto, and wants to be ordinary?

Bokuto has a different understanding of "ordinary" than most people do. He's simple minded, not stupid. It's not that he doesn't think; he just thinks differently. He's that unique type of person who thinks out of the box by default. When most people think of ordinary, we think of boring, plain, normal. It's been given a negative connotation by most people. Bokuto doesn't listen to connotation.

Remember that he takes things at face value? This is an example. To us, ordinary is boring. To him, it's a goal. Bokuto sees ordinary as what things are supposed to be. He wants to be an ordinary ace. Aces are supposed to be the awesome, powerful stars of the team. Aces are supposed to be the best. He wants to be the best. Therefore, he wants to be an ordinary ace. It took me an embarrassingly long amount of time to fully understand that entire bit, to be honest.

It's actually more clearly stated in one of the last manga chapters after MSBY vs. Schweiden. Akaashi interviews Bokuto for the manga company he works at, and Bokuto tells him that he has become "ordinary". Akaashi is confused and tells Bokuto that he has never been ordinary. Bokuto laughs and makes some remark about how Akaashi didn't realize just how ordinary he's become. We get a little throwback to Akaashi's 0.5 second thought process, and he realizes immediately that Bokuto doesn't use the word "ordinary" like he does. Even more impressive, he seems to also realize exactly what he means by it. Akaashi tells him that he (Akaashi) was mistaken and Bokuto is actually "super ordinary".

THIS PART TOOK ME A GOOD TWENTY MINUTES, AND AKAASHI DID IT IN 0.5 SECONDS. He's the real master at Bokuto analysis. Though Bokuto doesn't get enough serious background, so he's a difficult one to analyze. It's also much harder to put him into words? Again, he's a very unique character. He even has a surprising amount of duality in him. Though we as a fandom perceive him as an optimist, it seems his mood swings often force him into a state of overwhelming pessimism. I actually find it quite funny. It's almost like his left brain and right brain are fighting a battle, and left brain almost loses but summons the strength to momentarily completely overwhelm right brain before it takes back control. I got a very strange visual from that though.

Regardless, it just means I think his mind tries to balance out his naive optimism with intense flashes of pessimism. Bokuto gives his all to EVERYTHING. That's actually sort of an issue for him. If he's happy, he's VERY happy. If he's upset, he's VERY upset. He wants to be the best at all he doesbecause he just wants to have fun. He's not having fun when he loses, so he doesn't want to lose. It's so simple, but it's strangely inspiring. It's the straightforward answer to Tsukishima's question. Why do we push ourselves to be the best when we know there is no such thing? What motivates us? Our desire to win. What makes us want to win? Our desire to win is fueled by hatred for losing. Why don't we want to lose? We don't want to lose because it's not fun. Why isn't it fun? It just isn't. Bokuto doesn't try to dig for those answers. After all, why is anything the way it is? What does it matter? He doesn't care as long as he's enjoying himself.

I suppose that's one of the nice parts of being so simple minded. He's able to enjoy life to the fullest because he doesn't want to focus on things he doesn't like. That means his future character growth will be about having to do things he doesn't like because that's a part of life. It'll actually be quite sad to watch Bokuto grow up. What he needs to do is find a balance for all the duality in him so he doesn't need to give up his childishness or force out his mature side. If he can find a balance, it just means he'll be able to do both when he needs to. If he can do that, he'll get through everything life throws at him. He can still have fun.

He doesn't get enough serious screen time, so I can't really say anymore about him that can be reinforced by things from the anime or manga. This was only around 1.5K, so hopefully it was a pretty easy read? I still don't wanna edit this, so just tell me if things don't make sense! Also, please remember that Bokuto IS NOT AN IDIOT, SO PLEASE STOP CALLING HIM ONE IF IT’S NOT FOR COMEDIC PURPOSES. Thank you :)

[stellarcat52]

Timeless Blue (chapter one)

Because there’s no way in Arcadia my brain will let this be anything but a multi-chapter slow burn fanfic) (also these will roughly follow the episodes of Wizards with possible missing content and possible added content. Aka I might make up an episode to make our boys happy.) @that-one-bi-wizard Is due for credit.

Douxie approached the House-mothership- of the Akiridion Royals, ringing their doorbell and stepping back.

A glitching Ricky blank opens the door. “You look lost kiddo.”

Douxie peers behind the blank, Krel appears behind him wrestling the other blank to the ground. “I’m just here for the Akiridion royals.”

“It’s just me!” Krel grunts as the blank powers down and Douxie steps inside. “Aren’t you the guy from the cafe?”

“Yes, but I’m not here because of that. The world is in danger, and I need you to come with me,” Douxie shot straight to the point.

“Kleb, again?” Douxie nods, causing the Akiridion to cross his four arms. “Fine. Give me a sekton.” Krel pulls out his serrator and shoots down the blank who had opened the door. “I’ll deal with your faulty programming later.”

Douxie watches as Krel’s blue form dissipates into his human disguise and motions for the extraterrestrial to follow him.

“So, why is Earth in danger this time?” Krel asks as he catches up to the wizard, eying his magical cuff with interest as Douxie messes with it.

Douxie pauses in front of the bookstore, looking up at Krel as Archie, AAARRRGGHH, Steve, and Toby round the corner.

“-the world’s ending. Again?” Toby complains.

“Not the best timing, I know. But we need your help all the same.”

“Douxie? Wait-hold up! I thought you worked at the cafe or were a model or something.”

Krel watched with great interest as Douxie finished messing with his cuff as Steve reacted. Douxie then chuckles and waves his hand in front of Arcadia’s guardians and a small blue wisp appears on his fingertips. “There’s a lot about me you don’t know.”

The other’s reactions to Douxie’s magic is background noise, however Krel doesn’t hold back his own gasp in wonder at the display.

The wizard places his hand to the door and more blue light, unfamiliar to the Akiridion, appears around his wrist. “The answers to all your questions lie within.” He opens the door to the ordinary bookshop and everyone steps inside, Krel last of everyone aside from Archie and Douxie.

All of the non-wizards gasp and exclaim in curiousuty and wonder as the ordinary appearing bookstore turns into a magical study by stepping inside. A swirl of objects levitated by green magic travel across the room, sorting and containing themselves without being touched.

“Seklos and Gaylen. What is making them move?” Krel reaches out and touches a book, trying to hold onto it with one hand before it is whisked away from his touch.

“Put that down.”

In his moment of distracted wonder, Krel alongside the others, hadn’t noticed Merlin step into view. Toby let’s go of the strange orb in the corner of Krel’s eye.

“Thank the ether you’re here. We haven’t a moment to waste.”

“Woah! Crusty, creepy dude!”

“I believe the term is ‘geezer’.” Krel attempts to correct Steve, still wondering how Aja likes him.

Their attention snaps back to Merlin. “I had hoped for more Hisirdoux.”

“I tried!” Douxie threw his hands out in defense. “I couldn’t find the Changelings or the other Aliens!”

“Akiridions.” Steve and Krel correct Douxie immediately.

Krel steps forwards. “My sister is unavailable, being a royal on Akiridion-5.” He crosses his arms in annoyance.

As Toby and Steve loudly announce themselves to Merlin, Douxie switches from watching them making fools of themselves, Krel waiting patiently to get some answers, and the objects Merlin appeared to be packing.

“I have no idea who you are,” Merlin brushes Steve away, Douxie and Krel flinch as the flying chest hits him. “But we’re desperate. Thankfully we have the brute.”

Eyes turn to AAARRRGGHH, who is currently taste testing Archie, and being met with the instant consequences. Douxie is familiar with the pain of being scratched by Archie.

“Wait, where’s Jimbo and Claire? I thought they were with you.” Toby questions, acknowledging his friends should be there.

“Answers forthcoming.” Merlin hastily answers. “Make preparations, we’ve a journey ahead of us. And don’t-“ he turns directly at Douxie.

“But master!”

“-but master me.” Merlin turns back to his things.

“But are you sure you want to entrust things to these-“ he gestures to the four, “these children?”

“Hey!” Krel interrupts. “I am no child.”

“Next to me? You are.” Douxie shoots a slight glare at Krel.

“Aren’t you in college?” Toby stops and questions.

“They clearly are not ready for this.” Douxie continues to protest.

It was Steve’s turn to add something. “Excuse me college dude, these /children/ fought a 50 foot extraterrestrial god, and won.”

Merlin sighs and Douxie follows him away from the display that Steve and Toby had caused.

“Master I am ready for this.” He pushes, looking for that small bit of validation.

He was shot down with one word. “Doubtful.”

“I’ve spent years studying, practicing-!”

“Silence!” Douxie quiets At Merlin’s command and Krel pauses in his exploration of the enchanted shop. Toby and Steve don’t seem to be capable of doing so until Merlin specifies all of them should be quiet. “Can you not hear that?”

Only after everyone shook their heads does a deep rumbling fill the void.

“Something wicked this way comes.” Merlin mutters.

Various noises fill the rooms and the team prepares for a battle, stances shift, weapons are revealed, and Merlin and Douxie grow tense as they watch the windows.

With an attack to the window, a crowd of Shadow Mephits comes to attention swarming the street.

“Shadow mephits? Hisirdoux did you lead them here?” An accusation Douxie immediately denies.

“I mean, I don’t think so?” He chuckles.

“Yes, we did.” Archie confirms.

“He found us,” Merlin mumbles. “The barrier won’t hold for long, we must make egress. Tobias! Take my things.” With a swoop of Merlin’s hand, his chest goes flying into Toby’s chest and carries him upwards.

The Shadow Mephits break through the barrier and Merlin calls for the others to get to safety, an order Douxie ignores and Krel hesitates before following.

“Hisirdoux, I said get to safety!” Merlin calls as he and Douxie go back to back, getting surrounded by the creatures.

“I’ve got this, I can help!” Douxie responds.

Krel can’t hear the rest of the conversation as he follows the others up to the roof where Shadow Mephits are being fought off by Toby and AAARRRGGHH. Krel joins them with his serrator, shooting as many as he can before Merlin and Douxie join them.

“Stay back.” The sounds of glass follows the warning and a glowing ship appears where the orb had shattered.

“Woah.”

“Great Seklos and Gaylen.”

“Ship just got real.”

“Get in!” Douxie calls and AAARRRGGHH starts throwing people inside, only jumping on himself once everyone else was aboard.

“What in Seklos’ name is going on?” Asks Krel as soon as Douxie blasts the Shadow Mephits off of AAARRRGGHH. Douxie, however is preoccupied watching the green knight below.

A volley of black and green shards hit the sides of the ship and causing everyone to duck or fall over. The ship zips away into the sky and the group takes a moment to breathe.

“I will only repeat myself once more, Cafe boy. What is going on?” Krel puts away his Serrator as the others are watching Camelot come into view.

“Everything will be explained soon young squire.” Merlin responds for Douxie.

“What the old man said, for now, we’re going home. Welcome to Camelot.” Douxie gazes at the floating towers he once called home.

“Cam-ee-lot?” Krel searches his memory of school for the word.

“Camelot, as in old people time Camelot?”

“With the king and the Excalibur sword?” Krel asks, remembering something from stories.

“Excuse me, how is this castle flying?” Steve yells as they get closer to the heart of Camelot.

“The heart of Camelot, fueled by time itself.” Merlin steps back from the side of the ship in order to steer them towards the top. “Sir Galahad, how are the skies?” He calls to a large man below them.

“All quiet, my old friend.” Comes the reply.

“Keep your eye on the horizon!” Merlin calls back as the ship circles down and starts speeding towards the entrance.

Archie tightens his hold on the ship. “Coming in a little hot, I’d say.”

The landing was rough but nobody was hurt, Steve cheers as he hops off of the ship and the group looks around as the walk deeper into Camelot.

“It’s been nine hundred years since I was last here, hasn’t changed a bit, except for the flying part.” Douxie says to Archie who perches on his shoulder.

Steve scoffs, “nine hundred years? Yeah right, you’re like nineteen.”

“Give or take a few centuries.” Archie lifts off a flies around the room.

Krel nods. “Appearances can be deceiving. Akiridions mature much slower than humans as well.”

“What? Aja isn’t as old as this guy, is she?”

Krel rolls his eyes, “Yes, Aja and I are 900 keltons old.” Steve looked about ready to faint. “Of course we aren’t that old! Time is a little different on Akiridion-5 but neither of us would be older than 50 earth years old, had we been born here. We live much longer than you humans so that makes us similar to earth’s teenagers.”

Steve still seemed ready to pass out.

“Toby!” Claire cries from across the room, running towards her friend.

“Blinky!”

AAARRRGGHH, Blinky, Claire, and Toby envelop each other in a group hug, ending when Claire insisted she needed to breathe.

“Krel!” The sorceress embraces the extraterrestrial being too. “Sorry, but I think the end of the world is going to postpone girl’s night.”

“Wait- girls night? Krel was invited but I wasn’t? He doesn’t even have a girlfriend!” Steve complains.

“Oh. Hi Steve.” Claire unenthusiastically waves at him. “Yes, Krel is invited because it’s fun talking about cute boys with him.”

“Uh, where’s Jim?” Toby interrupts, sure enough Jim wasn’t around to meet his friends. “And what happened to you guys?”

“About that...”

Blinky and Claire lead the group to a room where a semi-transparent crystal encases Jim, preserving his life by slowing the corruption infecting him.

Krel onlooks as Merlín explains what happened, and Claire voices her regrets. Never wishing that humans had cores like Akiridions more than he was in that moment.

“Who is this green knight? How do I get my hands on him?” Toby threatens.

“We should focus more on saving the Trollhunter rather than getting revenge,” Krel adds. “However, it would be good to know who we are up against.”

“I do not know. He said but one name that chilled me to the bone, Morgana.”

“Ooh I hate that witch. But we kicked her but to the shadow realm. Problem solved, everyone can go home.” Toby hastily spoke.

Douxie groans. “You saw what that knight did at the bookstore, even if he were looking for Morgana I don’t think it’s his sole purpose.”

“The knight did not seem aware of Morgana’s death, and he bore the emblem of Camelot.” Merlin ushered the group out into the open, leading them to another space. “Hurry, I fear the answers lie in the past.”

“Merlin, you are from Camelot, no? Shouldn’t you have an idea of who this could be?” Krel asked.

“A good point, but no. There were plenty of knights in Camelot but none that were green, or evil, or had any connection to Morgana that would follow them beyond the grave.” Douxie answered for his master, getting a strange look from Krel and Toby. “What? I was there too you know.”

“I still cannot believe you’re older than Nana.”

“Actually Hisirdoux, the Akiridion has a point. This dark menace is approaching, and all I know of it is that even I cannot face this alone.” Merlin opens the time map, “You are all now soldiers in a war started centuries ago, for the world of magic.”

The time map projects scenes from the past as Merlin continues. “Once the realms of magic and man clashed in endless bloodshed. King Arthur sought to wipe out magic that ravaged the lands in his war against Gunmar. I brought what few spellcasters I could under my protection to spare them from the sword.

“Including myself,” Douxie adds before the map showed a different figure. “Oh! And Morgana le Fay.”

“She was the finest student I ever taught.. until she tried to kill me.” Merlin sighed. “Thankfully, in my all seeing wisdom I created a secret weapon- the Trollhunter amulet. The war came to a standstill and I imprisoned Morgana at the battle of Killahed Bridge. This green knight that assailed us was clearly born of dark magicks but I have no memory of him, nor what connection he could have to Morgana. We know not what he is, not why he pursues us. Though, his presence is a dire omen of things to come.”

In the distance the bell starts ringing. A wave of magical ice hits the tower, knocking everyone down and freezing the exterior. Merlin gets up and grabs the time map as Claire calls out.

“What’s happening.”

“Have you never been under attack before? To the battlements!”

The wizards and trollhunters rush to defend and Krel takes a moment to reveal his Akiridion Royal self before joining them, leaving Steve to lag behind for a minute.

“What the-“

“Oh no. I think we have something of a problem.” Archie points out the obvious as the Arcane Order’s ship comes into view, carrying Bellroc and Skrael, as well as the green knight, inside.

“Oh fuzz buckets.”

“No, the Arcane Order, they found us. Everyone! Get to safety, now!” Merlin calls to the guardians as Skrael shoots a spell at the master wizard, who responds with a spell of his own before Skrael’s attack blasts his staff away from him.

“I got it!” Archie calls as he dives after it.

Krel watches as the dragon dives and misses the staff, leaping onto his hoverboard in an attempt to help, as well as avoid the various bombarding attacks from the Order.

“They’re boarding us!” Merlin calls from above. “We must break free, steer us away at my command.”

“I’m on it!” Douxie responds before another shot of ice hits the castle.

Krel focuses on finding the staff, covering as much as he can while Archie gets a view from even higher up. “Find the staff or we’re dead meat!” Is all Krel has to hear before he starts blasting at the ice bridges with his Serrator, buying Archie more time to find Merlin’s staff.

“Got it!”

Krel joins the fray as Galahad sacrifices himself to destroy the bridges between Skrael and Merlin. He joins Claire, Steve, and Hisirdoux with his Serrator in hand in case they needed to be protected.

“We don’t have enough power for the jump!”

“Trust in Merlin.”

“Why would I trust someone I just met?”

“He’s a master wizard Krel. He must have a plan.” Douxie’s response got an eye roll from the Akiridion. “Fine then, trust in me.”

A rush of magic allows the time jump to be operational, Krel helping his friends as they steer the castle into the rift.

Krel notices as the Green Knight comes into view and as he, Bellroc, and Skrael fire their energy forwards, he activated his shield in case it was needed.

The magic struck the castle, sending Douxie, Claire, and Jim down immediately. Steve and Krel held on for as long as they could above, Krel almost being successful in pulling himself up at the sacrifice of his shielding serrator, but both fell as well.

“Jim!” Krel landed on top of the stone Steve was clutching onto as Jim fell into the portal below.

“What do we do?!”

“Trust me!” Douxie looks at Krel, who nods, then takes Claire’s hand.

“Wait! No no no!”

Douxie drops down, following Jim, and brings Claire with him. Krel grabs Steve by the shirt and does the same. Archie dives to follow them, but reaches it just as it closes.

Part two!

[goblinconceivable]

All The Feels

Random bulletpoints of Annie/Jeff analysis because I am overcome with shippiness.  :D  Also more like bullet-lengthy-paragraphs.  You tried, self, you tried.

Pascal’s Triangle (PT) is not a love triangle.  

Sure, look at the top two rows and you’ve got a binary split, ie, choice between two women.  But PT is row based, your current row based on the one above.  It’s complex.  Look below the binary surface of choice to row 3, where it actually becomes PT, where the complexity begins (and Community is about complexity.)  1, 2, 1, a total of 4. The 2 is the merging of the two 1s from row two - Ie, two women who get lumped together.  And beyond them is a 1 that springs out of nowhere - Annie.  Surprise!

Kiss at the end of S1

Jeff’s major deal is being afraid of expressing caring/vulnerability, while desperately craving/needing it.  Britta and Slater were both saying they loved him, and he does want to take that, but runs scared because they are  challenging him to admit his feelings in public, which no one who really knows and cares about him would do.  His scene with Annie is private. And she isn’t asking him FOR anything, she’s just asking what’s up, because she cares about the answer.  He feels safe, he opens up, it’s intimacy, which is both giving and taking.  Notably he admits he’s glad she’s staying after his share, this is him saying he cares about her too.

His explanation of the situation is a perceived choice between being the New Year’s guy (who he wants to be) and the Three Weeks Later guy (who he is.)  But the thing about New Year’s is the initial momentum always fades, and you have to put in the work, which Slater doesn’t help him with.  And he WON’T be able to sustain it on is own.  The guy he IS isn’t who he wants to be, it’s just giving up, rather than striving, even if imperfectly, to reach those goals.  Annie falls into the sweet spot: she understands what his default is, but shows him that he CAN be the man he wants to be, shows him what those steps ARE, encourages him to take the steps to be that person, and rewards him when he succeeds.  Which he does, with her behind him.  

And she kisses him first.  Which is an offering similar to Britta and Slater’s public announcements, but through action, not words.  Jeff uses words as shield and weapon, as did the other two.  Bypassing this essentially shortcircuits his brain.  His brain will warp and analyze and question, but she kisses him gently, an invitation not a demand.  He’s already put aside his sword and shield during their talk, and doesn’t feel the need to pick them up because he feels safe and cared for and is okay accepting and reciprocating that.

Play

Jeff is all adult and aloof and beyond such petty childish pursuits such as play, which is the scoffed at domain of Annie/Troy/Abed.  But he actually really wants it.  It likely stems in part from his loss of a proper childhood, but it’s also just who he is.  Imagination isn’t just for the young, the loss of the ability to play is an oft-bemoaned feature of adulthood, one the learned remind us we ought recapture.  (And a joy of parenthood is getting to do that through your children.)  But look, he literally was playacting being a lawyer.  It’s how he engages with the world.  He just justified that as a means to an end and did it for power and profit, rather than for enjoyment.

We see this, I argue, when responding to Annie’s playacting they were married. Annie anticipates a bad reaction, but he doesn’t give one.  No judgment.  He then establishes it’s not a deeper issue (”do I have to worry about this” ie, is this real/insanity).  When he says “I can tell you one thing your fantasy got wrong...” he’s not challenging her, or even taking offense, and while he’s not entering into her fantasy world (which is over anyway), he’s offering fodder.  He’s involving himself in the narrative process for her benefit.  And in the couched language of daydream he’s reassuring her -if- it was true, he would be devoted.  IF is a super important word in play, because you don’t have to believe, for example, you ARE a pirate.  You just need to act as IF you were a pirate.

Also cute, I take as justified fanon the deleted scene where he orders her appletini.  He was whining to her about it but it was relaxed because they both know he’d do it anyway.  And when the bartender turns out to be a believer in Annie’s created fantasy world, Jeff stops himself from correcting him and destroying the world.  Instead, he lets it persist just far enough to let himself glance at Annie as if it was true, and in that moment he sees her through the eyes of fantasy, and sees a beautiful woman, rather than all the complexity of their relationship.

Then there’s basically all the giant Greendale instances of play.  Which one way or the other, he gets roped into and ends up jumping into with abandon.  (Paintball, lava etc.)  And they’re often paired, because he enjoys playing with her, and the “if this” acts as license for them to explore their compatibility.  And their capers, when they pair up in the “real world”, is really just a sophisticated form of play.  As brought up pointedly when they were searching for the ASB, there’s a dual nature here.  They aren’t just buddies, like Troy and Abed, who are also very fantasy oriented (cardboard submarine!).  There’s a level of daydream beneath the fantasy world where they can set aside the complexities of their relationship, and say “if we’re solving this crime, then we can live in this bubble and just be together.”

I also really love the whole Professor Professorson episode because of course the layers are just so intricate and delightful when they unfold.  He tackles her which was total overreaction, he’s in a heightened world and committed to it.  They plot out this crazy intricate play to teach the Dean a lesson together, where they involve real emotions.  Many of which are Annie’s, but that means they’re creating a world in which it is safe to amplify her feelings which they are both aware of but are usually repressed, especially by Jeff.  And he praises her for that later (she went off book and deceived like a master) rather than being uncomfortable.  They exit play safely because they trust each other while playing and can leave that permissive world as an if.  And it ends with the blanket fort collapsing and cocooning them.  It is a play space literally being broken, begging the question of how much impact our play can have on our real selves.

Season 6

So basically I think I missed fandom the first time around and just binged on meta and there’s (fanon?) that Jeff spent the season looking for her attention, but Annie had pulled back?  I zipped through a bunch of scenes they were in together, and heartily agree.  Also I think I went a little nutty but What I see:

Annie doesn’t ignore him or anything, but where she might have previously inserted herself in his life, she starts to let him fend for himself while she diverts her attention to other relationships, and treats him more like she does the others.  I don’t think she really does anything like taking his class so she can evaluate his teaching and bludgeon him into being better?  But when they’re in a situation, like City College’s ad, she stands up to him as normal, challenging him to be better and do the right thing, as she always has.  Rewards him with approval when he does, and his whispered “thank you” is the cutest thing ever because it’s an intimate choice in a rather boisterous exchange.

Meanwhile Jeff does seem to spend a lot of time and energy trying to get back to a place where he’s first in her eyes.  There are a lot of shots in S6 a the Table and group scenes that involve him looking at her disproportionately, first, last, or only when speaking, esp when they’re all at the table.  When I went back and tried to do the same to S5 those scenes are set up a bit differently and I saw less of it but I think there’s just fewer group scenes in general though?.  In S6, he often ends a comment directed at the group (non table) by looking at Annie, indicating he wants her response, and thus her attention and engagement.  And often, she is the next person to speak.  Which is her personality as a leader, which supports the idea that while he’s seeking her out, she isn’t necessarily responding to that but just being her. 

Finale

I’ve sort of run myself dry thinking through other things.  And great analysis is plentiful and most recent.  So not even bullet points just ramble But:

Oh3, so when Garrett proposed and Abed noted Jeff had a funny look, he’s been daydreaming marrying Annie for that lone plus longer?  That took me a long time to put together as an actual literal thing.

Oh2, it’s all canon that he has issues with prolonged eye contact because he doesn’t want people to see him broken and he doesn’t break eye contact through any of this.  He knows she knows he’s broken already and is quietly fine with her seeing everything and this is a moment for *sobs*

Oh wait hey, so callback to that bit where she’s like “your words don’t mean anything” and he’s like “That’s what conversation is, people saying things to get stuff.”  Because he’s 100% not trying to get anything by telling her he’s let her go.  And he means a lot by saying it.  And if he said “I love you” there’s an implied sense of obligation to say it back and since he means romantically he can’t do that.  So this is just him letting her know, no pressure, no expectation, that he loves her and has loved her but it’s okay because she’s free and he wants her to be free because he loves her.  And he means it so hard when she says “kiss me goodbye” he’s all “you don’t owe me anything.”

But she does love him too, except she knows she’s in a different place emotionally and professionally.  And it’s sweet and a gift because she doesn’t make this about her but about him and his feelings.  So she preempts his regrets because she knows he WON’T kiss her goodbye unless she invites him to.  There’s something I’m reaching for and can’t find here.  She doesn’t admit to anything because there’s no point?  It would just hurt him either way?  Sharing her feelings through action rather than words?

And so much squee thinking how far everyone’s come for this scene to be a thing which could happen.

Callback to Annie’s marriage fantasy when Jeff has his own.  Hers was external, by her personality (esp at the time of her maturation) and thus public and psychologically working out a reasonable feeling of abandonment as she gave their fictional selves marital difficulties.  His is very internal, and occurs after Abed, always so reliable as a gateway to fantasy, turns the tables on him.  He’s experiencing reasonable feelings of abandonment, and while he runs, it’s to a safe space of “what if,” a coping mechanism he has learned, and which allows for working out of psychological issues.  

It’s dual: in that the larger issue is his need for a sense of stability.  Though he’s staring at the table the scene doesn’t involve Greendale at all, he already had that fantasy.  This is about wanting a life outside of the safe zone of the college.  And while he suggests a dog as an option he imagined a kid because having one represents stability for him - it was his father who left, and he won’t leave.  If there’s a kid, this is a life, Annie can’t leave.  But he offers her imaginary self complete editing powers, because all he really wants is to be able to love and be loved.  It’s indulgence, a desperate grasp at balm because while he let her go, he can’t let her -go.-  He was okay with being close friends, they do love each other as friends.  See his pitch.  But faced with losing that, he’s stripped bare.  He indulges in his supressed hearts desire and is faced with the reality of what he already knows: it’s not in the cards.

And he’s stripped down to insecurities that aren’t limited to Annie.  It’s cute how they jive over Marvel, though it’s weird to me and takes up more time and weird dramatic looking around that doesn’t feel playful enough to be justified.  The tone of their voices is too serious, it’s a mismatch.  I like how he admits the huge thing that he let her go as far as he has control, and suddenly a time pressure is on their alone time.  Everything is immediate right now, everything happening fast.  I wonder what Annie would have said if not for the text.  But that’s the thing, it’s the wrong time for them and this is a goodbye.  It’s too late but just under the wire all at once.

In this chapter at least.  In the safety of the group Annie brings up a season 7, which we all know could happen years down the line.  Would have been more fitting if she said movie though.  Still, he takes that as the comfort in which it was intended.

WTF with his all coed season 7?  Yes, we cut to it so it totally isn’t happening, but has he put his issues to rest and is just fantasizing crap or what?  It makes no sense to me.

I love that he not only puts her first after she invites him to kiss her goodbye by asking “what about you,” but is -asking for consent.-  He doesn’t even move towards her until he gets it, he’s literally just standing back.  What’s up with the penis thing?  Meta reference to shortcut arguments that it’s not true love but lust?  Is it Jeff acknowledging his own cynicism and how he’s dropped it?  Since he’s so clearly not in a lust mode here.  Is he adding a tiny bit of his usual pointed add ins to his speeches?

I guess it’s like...  this is one of his speeches, but it feels out of place because of his delivery?  Which is beautifully subdued and resigned and honest and just defeated, but defeated in the sense that he defeated all the barriers he still keeps around himself.  

and goodbye hug and kiss at the airport.

[casperki]

Trust Me • Chapter 1

Summary: I led a quiet little life, surrounded by wonderful people. My daily life consisted of taking care of others. I was happy to lead a simple life, until I became the prisoner of the most powerful man in the kingdom.

Theme: Fluff, Romance, Angst, Policy, Power, Adventure, Middle Age, Soldiers

Pairing: Warrior! Min Yoongi x Caregiver! Original Character

Word count: 1,7k

Warning: language, violence, aggressivity

Disclaimer: Storyline, events and characters are fictitious, I only borrow BTS’ members name and physical appearance. Some events may be inspired by historical ones, but they aren’t accurate. Please keep in mind English isn’t my first language, I still lack vocabulary, I do some mistakes and my sentences may not be as pretty as natives’ speaker ones. Don’t hesitate to correct me and give me some advice, I would be more than happy to improve!

- - -

My eyelids are so heavy. However, I cannot sleep. I must stay awake. My back hurts against the strong bars behind me. Every parts of my body hurts. At least it is a proof I am still alive. But for how long? It has been days, maybe weeks or months I have not eaten nor drunk correctly.

My eyelids are becoming heavier. I cannot take a nap now, not now everyone is supposedly sleeping. As days before, the convoy we are stopped for the night to get some rest.

I am exhausted, dehydrated and starving. My brain cannot even think properly nor remember how I managed to get there, with these men. I can only focus on surviving, on staying awake when they are all asleep. I could sleep when the sun rise, when we get back on the road so they will be busy finding their way.

My legs and knees hurt but I cannot expend them. The cage is too small. At least I do not have to walk miles a day into the mud like other prisoners. My crime is to be the only woman of the convoy and probably the last one those prisoners see before a long time. The first night of our journey, I remember falling asleep on the grass, my head resting on the root of a tree, when I felt wandering hands trying to open my dress. I opened my eyes with fear to see a prisoner so closed to me with his hands ripping off my petticoat. This vison terrified me so much that my screams woke up the entire regiment. The closest soldier came in hurry, quickly followed by another one to repel the prisoner and to beat me for being too loud. That was the reason why I ended up being lock into this wooden cage. “you make them hungry” a soldier explained with a look of disgust towards me, acting like prisoners were the only threat for me, like soldiers were not also looking for some fresh meet.

I am freezing even more since the sun is rising. I put my knees closer to my chest and blow on my dirty hands to feel some warm. My wrists hurt because of the tight strings. I can feel the strings encrusted into my flesh.

Daybreak slowly woke the convoy up. Prisoners are allowed to drink some water from the river close by before we get back on the road. A soldier approached the cage with a small bowl-like full of water. This stupid one poured more than the half on my dress trying to give me drink through the bars. I savoured the so rare water, knowing I would not get any sooner. Once the horses are harnessed, we resumed our interminable journey.

The sun was on the zenith when I reopened my eyes. I cannot recognise the landscape around us. I have never been this far from wherever I was coming from. We may have even left the country; I could not tell. The convoy stopped again to drink a bit. A soldier, the one with smalls eyes and an authoritative tone, their leader, told us -more like he yelled at us- we would not stop again until we reach our destination. He didn’t mention our destination before and yet remained silence about where we were going. Finally, I know that we aren’t travelling aimlessly. However, I still don’t know why I am here and who these men are. Thanks to their habits I deduced they are soldiers for the most of them. The others, the prisoners, were poorly dressed, chained to each other.

***

An aggressive yell woke me up. I could not understand what it says. A sharp pain onto my arm made me open my eyes. The dumb soldier was pulling my arm to get me out of the cage. I complied and managed myself to get out of the cage. Looking around I cannot see anything else than darkness. Only few torches light up the convoy and some small buildings. It seemed like we reached a city.

The dumb soldier still holding strongly my arm, an other soldier, taller, places a cloth on my eyes to keep them close. I could hear the leader ordering his soldiers to wait for us here before I hear him going ahead me. The dumb soldier pushed my arm forward, ordering me to walk.

My blindfolded eyes and my exhausted body made me stumble and fall few times. My legs, bent for days in that small cage, forgot how to walk properly, making the soldiers yell at me to get up. After long minutes, I supposed we reached the destination. I could feel a tough floor under my feet and hear footsteps clearly, a paved alley. My body should have guessed we were arrived, my legs gave way to fall on my knees. I could actually feel how exhausted I was. My whole body was heavy and hurt. Every part of myself was painful: my skull tightening my brain, my dried mouth and throat, my heavy rib cage seemed to small to breath properly, my empty stomach and my bruised wrist and knees. It was so hard to breath and to stay up, I desperately wanted to meet the ground to get some rest.

“Ya! Stand correctly!” a soldier yelled at me.

Weariness preventing me to stand on my feet, I tried to push myself back on my knees. I heard what I guess being doors opening and steps drawing near. Was my executioner approaching us? After these hardships, being locked in a cage for days with the minimum of water and food, my dead would be the logical end of this horrible trip. What crime had I committed to deserve the death penalty? Did I even commit a crime? There had to be a reason for that. I should deserve it after all.  My end was near. We are supposed to see our life pass before our eyes before dying. But I could not remember anything. Who am I? Where am I from? Do I have any relatives? I had no response. I could only think about how exhausted, dirty, and suffering I was. My only wish is to end this moment, quickly.

“Bow your head whore!!” The leader yelled at me.

I was already struggling keeping myself up due to fatigue and dizziness, bowing my head down would make me fall on the ground.

“Ya! Seriously!” Since I did not obey, the leader slapped me, what made me meet the floor.

“Hey! What is that?” A strong and deep voice came from above me.

I tried my best to sit up back and the soldier on my left pulled my arm up after doing from what I could hear was a military salute.

“My General” The leader spoke. “We just arrived. Here is the prisoner you asked for, my General.”

A general? For my execution? I should have committed a horrible crime, against the royal family to deserve this privilege.

“Prisoner?” The said General asked. “You blindfolded her eyes??” through his tone, the General seemed to disapprove what he was observing.

“Well… That’s what we usually do to bring you slaves, my General.” The leader explained.

“Slaves? I really hope for your wife you treat her better!” The General spoke curtly. By the unknown fragrance reaching my nose, I guessed the General came closer to my face. I felt the cloth being untie. I slowly opened my eyes, but my vision was blurred, I could not distinguish the said General face. I could only see a bright blond hair.

“Why does she look so dirty? Don’t tell me you made her walk the entire journey!” The General’s tone was strict and threatening.

“At first, we chained her with the others prisoners, but we quickly had to lock her-“

“You what?” The leader could not even finish his sentence, the General looked at him with a black gaze.

“M-my General” the leader’s tone became less insured “Prisoners were crazy because of her! They were untenable, they only wanted to touch her and-” Whined the leader.

“Seriously?” The General’s tone indicated how furious he was.

My eyes wide open, I could clearly see the man in front of me. His black gaze contrasted with his pretty and pale face. He was well dressed in expensive clothes, no wonder he was the General of the royal army. I contemplated his face, half fascinated, half scared. I was confused. The most respected and powerful man of the kingdom, after the king himself, was kneeling in front of me, taking my hands into his to cut the rope. So many questions jostled in my head. Why was he so gentle with me? Wasn’t he supposed to behead me? He took his time to look at my dirty hands and bruised wrists. Yet I felt so soil, humiliated and dishonoured in front of the General, in my dirty torn dress, covered in mud. He looked back at me, but I couldn’t handle his gaze because of the shame. Yet I felt a soft warm on each side of my face, I guessed it was his hands.

“Damn it! My poor damsel.” He said calmly. I haven’t known kindness and care since so long time. I felt considered as human again. I couldn’t handle it anymore, I closed my eyes and let my tears rolling down my cheeks.

“You’re lucky I have a debt to your father otherwise you’d be already beheaded.” The General’s tone was firm, threatening the leader.

My tears were unstoppable. I was frozen, starving, dehydrated, covered in mud and this man, this General, was hugging me so warmly to reassure me.

“M-my General I had no clue-“ The leader was freaking out.

“Enough!” The General ordered firmly what made a contrast with his nice but tight hugging. “Park JinSung! Bring them to the dungeon and make sure they don’t come out for a week.”

“But my General-“ The leader spoke again.

“Don’t discuss my order or you’ll be lock there for a month.” The General tone was low but firm.

I tried to calm down while I eared the three soldiers and the guard leaving. The General was gently rubbing my back. All this kindness seemed so weird after what I endured, yet so much appreciated.

“Damsel, everything is ok now.” He whispered calmly. “They won’t hurt you anymore, I promise.”

                                                          ***

                                                                                               Next chapter >>

[spottedlekkudancer]

Lady of the Stars Part One - Contact

@paytonita @tranquility-or-chaos @inumorph 

THIS IS A SW/Witcher CROSSOVER. 

Geralt x Jedi!Reader

2.8K words

Originally planed on having 2 or 3 parts to this story but apparently I have diarrhea of the mouth and moved the plot too slow. So get ready to be strapped in for at least 4 if not 5 self indulgent parts. And feel free to send me all the questions you like. 

Warnings: Adult language, mentions of death, violence, and other adult themes.

By whim or by destiny light catches your attention though fluttering lashes. It kisses your cheek with warmth and the subtleness of a gentle dawn. After a moment the fog of sleep sheds from your brain. You adjust. The orange glow crackles at your nose and you realize that you are in more peril than the lingering caress of your dreams led you to believe. The pilot’s dash in front of you is consumed with flame.

“Crinking Hell! Dol'bfai!” You smack the Weequay to your right in an attempt to get his attention, but your hand meets nothing but the padding of your co-pilot’s chair. Heart dropping to your gut you look about the cockpit of your HWK-290. The leathery skinned man was in a broken bloody heap on the floor behind you. You might have felt bad if he wasn’t such E-chu-ta each and every day. If fact you couldn’t help but scold him mentally for not wearing his seat straps. “So much for ‘the experienced never falter’ line, Chuggnut.” You grunted, ejecting yourself from your own buckles to take care of the more pressing matter. 

You leaned over the Weequay smuggler’s body to get to the extinguishing hose and with a little effort you salvaged what was left of your controls. Outside your ship was another wreck all together. Fires were smoldering at every corner of your limited view from inside. You had half a mind to run out immediately, but thought better of it. If your ship was going to blow up it would have done so already you told yourself in a comforting manner. Sending your droids for damage control was the safer option on foreign planets. However, you couldn’t stay put forever. The damages weren’t going to evaluate themselves, moreover, the body of your partner needed to be dragged out before he started to stink. By the looks of things the atmosphere had to be breathable. Most planets with such green life gave off suitable levels of oxygen for humans. Whatever the case, you would have to risk it; your employer refused to provided vacuum suits or travel tanks. Too costly.

You were use to the miserly ways of the former pirate leader Hondo Ohnaka. You had been working with his smuggling cover company for half a decade now: ever since you ran from the Jedi training academy, or rather, Ben Solo. You didn’t know Solo to be a liar, in fact he had treated you like a little sister for all the years you had grown together, but when he told you and the others how Luke had turned on him you were too confused to chose between the two of them. Luke was your master, and Ben your friend. The force whispered something to you then. A soft encouragement to leave everything. You chose to listen; to not pick sides at all, and made a new life for yourself under an identity the Weequay stole for you. 

Once free of your hot metal cage it was clear that things were not as horrible as you imagined. You were safe from any fuel combustion’s or reactor leaks. The two DUM-series pit droids were clumsily scurrying about trying to put out the fire that was inching ever closer to your turret. It was also evident from the back that only one of Pathfinder’s two hyper-drive systems had taken on some heavy laser canon damage. Looked like the shielding component was scored too, but that wasn’t a necessity for getting back in the air.

“The kriff happen?” you weren’t fully talking to anyone, not even yourself. You had a vague memory of being cornered by Absolution, a First Order R-SD, and their TIE fighters on your way to a high bye delivery. But how, moreover where, you crash landed was still a mystery. You tapped the remote on your wrist. A projection fizzed in and out of view with vertical blue static. You must have knocked it out of order in the crash. Now you had no way of knowing what planet you were on or what it’s population consisted of.

“O-T!” The droid with the painted yellow stripe above his singular oculus ambled in your direction. “Once you get this mess under controls see if our Nav is still in tact. The job is a sham but we might be able to at least back track to base. I’ll go scout out the area for any nearby scarp yards. We aren’t getting off this durkload of a planet in this condition, that’s for damn sure.” O-T nodded and whistled a question in response. “Don’t know. Com link is out and I’m not able to check for life forms. If anything happens just lock yourselves in the ship 'til I get back.” You didn’t wait for the little droid to argue with you more as he usually would. It wasn’t likely you would be getting an extraction from Ohnaka Transport Solutions this close to First Order territory anyway. You were on your own.

You traveled 500 paces from your ship in each cardinal direction before you came to something of interest. Flowing SE to S was a small river bed. With noting more than a seemingly endless forest as your surrounding it was your best bet to finding civilization. For another hour you saunter down the unbeaten path until you felt night approaching. There was already little light beneath the canopy and you didn’t have the eyes of a cat, so with your wits and strength still about you you turned back. The rusted roof of your Corellian light freighter would have to suffice for the night.

The cacophonous sounds of shrieking and the boisterous gargling of goose like honks was your first indication that something was awry near your ship. The closer you got the more defining the racket became. Whatever the creature was, and you were sure it was some kind of animal, had to have a massive pair of lungs on it. 

With much disappointment you found your analysis to be correct. Thought the brush you could see some kind giant blue feathered lizard-bird striking at your dead co-pilot’s flesh. You cursed yourself for not burring the poor man right away, and true to your command your pit droids had barricaded them selves inside your transport. 

“Mother of …” You sighed to yourself. Your Jedi teachings told you to let the beast be, however, just hiding behind a tree all night while it desecrated the Weequay’s body didn’t feel right to you. Regardless you held yourself back from attacking the thing. It was just trying to survive after all, and if you didn’t have to get into a fight you didn’t want to. You were already stranded. Adding injury to that would not be wise. 

When morning came the feathered brute had not yet left; roosting atop your ship like it had always belonged there. 

Well if the giant critter wanted it, he could have it. In your groggy state you had little patience and didn’t want to be bothered with defending what you didn’t currently posses. You had everything you needed: canteen, provisions in your belt pouch, republic credits, and of course your trusty light-saber. Once you got what you wanted from the scrap shop you would deal with the overgrown pidgin.

“You’re alive.”

The voice of your pursuer was clear. This wasn’t part of your imagination. The force had bonded you and Solo again. “Careful Ren, you almost sound relived.”

Kylo scoffed. “Surprised is more likely." 

You stood and turned around. Were there was once endless forest now stood the masked Dark Jedi you both dreaded and longed to see. "How is it you keep your standards for me so low when I’ve evaded your every move." 

"I wouldn’t call narrowly escaping with your life an 'evasion’.” Gloved hands ringed rightly around themselves. Anger or worry built like a tumultuous storm inside of him: you couldn’t tell which. “How did you manage that Jump?”

“Jump?” The query slipped though your lips too quickly.

“Don’t remember? Maybe your not as well of as you look” Kylo straightened with pride. You were sure he was gloating to himself on his small victory. “My Knights had you cornered at the edge of a nebula. With no larger ship close enough to tractor you in I gave the order to immobilize you.”

“Why not just kill me?" 

It was an abrupt interruption that went unanswered. Kylo waited for you to calm yourself before continuing. Even now as a villainous "dark lord” he was patient with you. “We took out your Hyperdrive, Y/N. That jump should have been impossible.”

It was coming back to you now. You had prosperously led the TIEs to the cloud of gas and dust. You planed to enter into it blind and use the force as your guide. You figured the lot you were running from wouldn’t dare try to fallow. Instead your ship started to shake and spark as it tried desperately to hold against the onslaught. You panicked. You didn’t even complete the calculations before you pushed your freighter to enter hyperspace. You could have died. You could have been thrust into a star or another mass and exploded into dust.

Your stomach tightened. Dol'bfai was dead because of your rash behavior. He was in the middle of un-tethering a knot in his seat straps when you made that decision. You pulled out of it almost immediately, giving your best attempt at the “skipping” the other smuggler pilots did so often, but it was too late. You were entering the atmosphere of another moon or planet. There was not time to pull up, and you crashed.

If Kylo saw the tear you shed just then he didn’t bother to comment on it. “If you were with those goons of yours you could have planned better for that. You know as well as your father that every standard HAWK series come with two hyperdrives." 

You could have sworn you heard Kylo curse from beneath his helmet. His breathing was expeditious and heavy now; you cold feel his fury swarming in the force around you. 

"Cookie points to you if you are able to find me this time Ren. Even I don’t know where I am.” You teased rather lightheartedly.

This only pushed his buttons more. He gestured to you pointedly. “Oh don’t worry about that. I’ll bring you in myself if I have to.”

And with that your force connection faded. The experience left you feeling diminished and torn. Your past kept endangering the people around you. With a heaving breath and shaking knees you looked ahead to the southern half of the forest. You could dwell on these events all day if you’d like, but it would just be a waist of time. You needed to set your pity party aside and focus on getting off this planet before he really did find you. 

~~~ Two days had passed and you thanked the force that not one of them brought you any sign of the First Order. Your only gripe was that the town you had found proved your worst nightmares had come true. This planet was primitive. The citizens here weren’t even literate, moreover, building any sort of machinery. You were shit out of luck, money, and a plan.

  Was this punishment? You thought it might be far more often than you would like to admit. The force had never led you so astray before. What kind of design could it have for you now?

Your credits weren’t worth anything here but one tavern keeper in this shit stained town you did take a fancy to your Heart of Beskar necklace. You debated for a long while if you should give it to him in exchange for a few hot meals and a bed. It was the only thing you had to remember your birth family of after all. But after a particularly stormy night you didn’t have choice any longer. Not unless you wanted to freeze to death. It was hard to let go, but not as hard as it was each day that passed knowing your parents let you be raised by a stranger. 

Sure becoming a Jedi was a noble cause to enlist your child into, but unlike so many of your piers you did not ever go back home to your parents. Ben and the others always got to see their loved ones for a few weeks every so often, and yet you were kept locked away on the training camp with Luke year round. When asked Luke assured you that your parents were still alive; he even gave you their names and home planet. Even now after having found their old home and poppers grave you didn’t understand.

So to the inn keep you gifted your father’s old armor piece, and two nights stay was what he offered you in return. Not a fair trade by any means, however, how exactly were you supposed to explain the galactic value of Beskar to these simple people? 

A man dressed in bright colors played a 15 stringed instrument in the corner of the tavern. He was merry and boisterous; entertaining at the vary least. You pitied that the crowd this morning was not taking well to him. Half of them were hung over, the other half looked mean and dirty enough to scare a Dewback.

The Musician caught you staring at him. A smile brighter than the three suns of Helioss graced his features. You cringed internally and returned his gesture with a timid one of your own. Silently you prayed he wouldn’t goat you into some volunteer sing-song delights so publicly.  

The Man’s strut was so vaunt it had every patron staring at him as he made his way though the tables to presumably talk to you. You shrunk a little in your seat, not wanting this kind of attention. You had already drawn enough as it was with how oddly you were dressed; you didn’t need any more. He plopped down opposite you at the table. 

“So! How come the only person in this shit stick interested in my song is a pretty young woman like you?” He gave you almost no room to think of an answer before continuing his self serenade. “If it’s my corky charm or boyish good looks please don’t keep me waiting in sufferance to hear those sweet words leave your lips.” The line could have been considered smooth to some, however, the awkward and eager demeanor he carried was a little too much. You could see how it was putting off the rest of the room. 

The only response you had to offer was a perplexed smile. 

He rested his chin in the palm of his upturned hand. “Come on!” He whined enthusiastically. “Care to comment on the quality of my performance? I do love getting reviews from the public.”

You sighed though your nose and fiddled with the food in front of your. “Yes, well… I suppose we all yearn for validation. Don’t we?”

It was the bard’s turn to bewildered. He sat up stat tall in his bench now, brows furrowed, taking a briefer moment to ponder. “What’s your name?”

Your head tilted. “Where I’m from it’s rude to ask for someone’s name without offering your own first.” It was a plane way of throwing his question back at him; you weren’t looking to get overly acquainted with anyone if you could avoid it.  

“Oh!” He was beaming excitedly again. “Where is it you are from?!" 

You gave him an unblinking stare for what felt like a medium sized eternity. Clearly he was not accustom to taking non verbal ques. You decided to just give in to his delicate personality. "Florrum.”

“Ahh.” He nodded in a knowing matter. “Beautiful country.”

“Right.” He was pulling Bantha wool over your eyes in an attempt to impress you. It was arguably charming. 

“Where is that exactly? From here I mean.” The bard laughed nervously as he knocked his head playfully. “I get so turned around while mindlessly fallowing my muse on his travels.”

“Your Muse?” It was time to change the subject. 

“Oh hohoho! He is a man of Destiny, Heroics, and Heart Brake.” The man practically jumped out of his seat and with one leg propped up onto the bench he swung his instrument back front side. “Shall I play you a song about him?”

Head half in your hands you nodded. Your bashful nature told you you would regret this, but you didn’t have the heart to say no. 

He was taking his first heaving breath before starting to strum when another interrupted the musician, yanking him back by the shoulder. “Jaskier. We’re leaving.” The new man was hulking and clad in black studded leathers, with eyes of gold. He wasn’t old, but his hair was as silver as his blades. A striking appearance. Perhaps humans weren’t the only sentient species on this forsaken planet.

[mercurypilgrim]

Drizzle

Ven'fir notices Malavai having a difficult time.

Ven’fir glanced up when he heard Vette raise her voice.

She was standing there by one of the terminals, her hands clenched at her sides and glaring a hole into the side of the Major's head.

“It doesn’t matter, Quinn.” She ground out, her lekku curling in irritation.

The Major didn’t look at her.

“It does.” He said sharply, and it sounded like he was grinding his teeth.

Ven’fir looked at him.

He was so tense he moved like a droid, his limbs robotic and stiff.

His shoulders were hunched and tight, and his expression was pinched as he typed.

A bad feeling tingled in Ven’fir’s belly, and he brushed the Force over the Major and almost recoiled.

The spike of emotion was painful.

That swirling, jagged typhoon of feeling was suffocating and dark. It was the feeling of too much too much too much that he had felt on Quinn before.

It was like dragging his hand over broken glass.

He got up, padding over carefully.

As he approached them, he heard Vette snap something.

“You're insufferable.” She bit out, “Can’t you try not being so pedantic? What is wrong with you?”

Quinn’s hands skittered over the panel, and he all but snarled at her, his eyes wide and manic.

He looked tired.

Ven hurried up.

“Vette!” he greeted with a plastered-on grin. “Would you be a dear and link in with Theron about those dampeners? I need to borrow the Major.”

Taken aback, she threw a last furious look at Quinn before turning on her heel and marching away.

Quinn stared after her, before turning blue eyes on Ven’fir.

Ven’fir’s smile turned softer.

“Bad day?” he asked, sympathetic. It was the wrong thing to say.

Quinn's nostrils flared for a moment and his mouth twisted into something ugly, even as his hands shook.

“It is when nothing is right.” He ground out, turning back to the console. “I need to correct these models.”

“Why?” Ven’fir asked, peering at them. “These are last week’s ones; we don’t need them.”

“They're wrong.”

His fingers jabbed at the lit keys.

Ven’fir was surer than ever he knew what this was.

“Mal?” he asked softly, keeping his voice level. “Leave them for tomorrow. You're exhausted and your shift ended... an hour ago.”

Black gloves hands shook.

“I need to work.”

“Why?”

His gentle question threw the soldier off and he glared as through Ven’fir was trying to outsmart him.

“There's so much to do.”

Ven nodded, smiling in what he hoped was a kind way.

“And it will be here tomorrow.” He soothed, desperately sympathetic. “You're having an anxiety attack, Mal.”

Malavai blinked.

“I- oh.”

Anxiety attacks weren’t always shaking and loss of breath. They weren’t always hyperventilation and digging nails into palms.

Sometimes there were bouts of irritability or annoyance, obsessive behaviour, hypersensitivity to disarray and chaos.

Some were hyperfixation on certain tasks or nit-picking at tiny things.

It had been a long time since Ven’fir had needed to intervene like this, and he made his heart hurt.

“Come on, let's take a datapad and go and sit for a bit in our room, yeah?”

Seeing Malavai’s refusal on his lips, he quickly spoke again.

“I said you can bring the work with you, yeah? It'll be there when you want it.”

Malavai swallowed thickly, and did so.

He stood, form wound so tight it had to hurt, his shoulders and arms held tense. His face, exhausted and washed out, was blank and manic.

Ven’fir brushed his fingertips over Malavai's elbow to get him walking.

He followed like a droid, hands clenching and unclenching at his side.

Ven’fir led him back to their rooms and, the moment the door was closed, led him over to the low sofa.

He gently pulled him down to sit on it, and guided him in for a hug.

Malavai melted into it.

“I'm sorry.” He heard him whisper, even as he shook. “I'm sorry.”

Ven’fir rubbed soothing circles onto his back.

It had taken him a long time and a lot of messing up to learn how to handle these situations.

“It's alright,” he murmured. “No harm done. It's not your fault.”

Malavai buried his nose in the crook of Ven’fir’s neck.

“It's embarrassing.” He whispered, coming down off his shakes and manic focus.

Ven’fir gave him a little squeeze. He knew hugs were often hit or miss with an anxiety ridden Malavai, but this seemed to be working so far.

Sometimes, when everything was hypersensitive and too much, physical touch was not encouraged.

They sat like that for a long time, just listening to each other breathe.

Talking was usually something that made Malavai feel worse, so comfortable silence it was.

“I don’t want to let you down. I need to be stronger than this.” Came the whisper from his shoulder, muffled and thick with emotion. “I'm not good enough, but I want to be.”

He pulled back slightly, and his eyes were shining.

“I promise I’ll be better.” He assured so passionately that it broke Ven’fir’s heart. “I'll work harder, I promise.”

Ven’fir struggled to find the words.

“Oh, Malavai.” he breathed, “You're don’t need to do any of that. You're brilliant as you are.”

Malavai didn’t believe him. Ven’fir could tell.

Ven’fir kissed him, sweet and soft.

“I love you.” He breathed, “It's your ridiculous brain talking, you know that.”

That was a risky thing to say, but it also gave Malavai an escape clause, which he took.

“My brain is ridiculous? That rich, coming from you.”

Ven’fir huffed out a laugh, and kissed him again.

“Not all of us have a brain faster than most computers.” He teased, and watched Malavai's form lose some of that painful tension.

“I think mine has a virus,” the Imperial said dryly, staying close. “Considering it doesn’t work right.”

Ven’fir shrugged, smiling. “You're working on it. You're fine.”

MMalavi blew out a breath, exhaling long and slow and shaking.

“I... I am, aren’t I? I’m fine.”

Ven’fir brushed his fingers over Malavai's gloved hand, and the officer grabbed him and held on tight.

“I hate this.” He said quietly, glancing up at Ven’fir. He looked so tired.

The faint web of scarring on the side of his face made him look worn, and the dark circles under his eyes gave him a grim look that didn’t suit him.

Ven’fir’s belly curled with affection and sympathy.

“I know you do.” He sighed. “Come on, let's have a quick nap.”

Malavai frowned.

“The work-"

“Will be done better when you're awake and not about to fall over.” Ven’fir assured him, meeting his anxiety driven thoughts in the middle. Malavai knew he was right. The work would be done to a higher standard when he was awake.

Slowly, Malavai nodded.

“I- okay.”

They undressed in silence before climbing into bed and curling closer to one another. Malavai clung to him, and Ven’fir held him close.

“I think we should talk to Master Vol again. Maybe book in another session.” He murmured, pressing a soft kiss to his lover’s temple.

Malavai shifted.

“I didn’t realise I had gotten that bad.” He whispered, and he sounded so small that Ven’fir wanted to cry.

“I hate seeing you hurt,” he replied, honest. “Even if it's by your own stupid brain.”

He felt Malavai smile against his shoulder.

“Hey, watch it.” He murmured with a small smile, before nodding. He shifted, awkward. “I like him. He doesn’t make me feel embarrassed.”

Ven’fir’s heart swelled at that.

“Good. We'll deal with that later, though.”

“Need to say sorry to Vette.” Malavai mumbled, already on his way to sleep.

Ven’fir gave him an affectionate squeeze.

“She'll understand,” he assured. “Now, sleep.”

A small snore told him that Malavai was already under, and he smiled to himself.

To Ao3

[saprophetic]

Why did you convert to Judaism?

tl;dr: it called to me for five years and felt like home, even before i knew i was allowed to be jewish. the community aspect, the sense that i was who i was supposed to be. that i was where i was supposed to be.

the long version is... very complex, and i'll try to answer it as honestly and extensively as i can without adding stuff i'm uncomfortable sharing because a lot of it is personal backstory. (i indented the part that skips over the tragic backstory if you want to skip that, i’m only adding it because i feel like it’s integral to my journey) i'm putting it under a cut because it's very very long and may be triggering. i also… don’t know if this was necessarily what you were asking, but i hope i answered your question sufficiently. the stuff about jewish belief (as interpreted by me) is the last few paragraphs.

tw for xtianity (specifically catholicism, as well as missionaries), child abuse, brief mention of religious homophobia and sexual assault (in paragraph 4), and mentions of antisemitism at the end

i grew up with a very catholic grandmother, and was very much the Good Catholic Girl - i was at mass every sunday, i was a youth group leader (both of my parish specifically and on a regional level) and personally helped put together a lot of youth events, i was an altar server, i was a eucharistic minister, i helped teach sunday school. i talked all the time about how much i loved being catholic, and how much i trusted god, and any time anything bad happened, i would publicly say that it was in his hands and that whatever was meant to happen would happen. no matter how bad it was, i told everyone how much i loved and trusted god.

and i was completely and utterly empty. nothing felt right. i got yelled at once for asking a question (i don't remember the question, but i do remember the embarrassment and resolve to stop questioning things). i didn't understand confession, and was too embarrassed to ask. i have obsessive-compulsive disorder, and was absolutely obsessed with being the poster girl for what a good catholic girl should look like because it was what i was supposed to be, but i just... didn't feel it. i didn't understand why some things were sins, and i didn't ever really do anything that i considered bad... so i lied in confession. i made up stuff i didn't do just so people wouldn't see that i was as lacking as i felt. and boy was i good at it.

i was very good at faking loving god, when i actually hated him. he didn’t stop my mother from being neglectful, he didn’t stop her boyfriends from being abusive, he didn’t stop us from being taken away and made to live with our grandmother. my grandmother was in the council of catholic women, she was on the board of directors at the church, she taught sunday school, she was close personal friends with both the priest and the deacon, and was beloved by everyone. and she is and always has been viciously abusive.

when i was a junior in high school, my boyfriend was a missionary kid whose parents were at a local church. he frequently bragged about how many people in papua new guinea he and his family personally converted to xtianity, and about how the bible he carried around helped him in lots of arguments at school. one instance was when he used it to argue against same-sex marriage in his US history class. even though i was catholic and he was not, he had me go to church with him sometimes. his family was Righteous and Godly and Ideal. he was a missionary kid and i was a Good Catholic Girl, and that didn't stop him from sexually assaulting me. and then he just went right back to converting people, went right back to talking about how godly and morally correct he was. 

god didn’t stop that from happening, either. god didn’t stop any of that from happening, and i hated him for it.

when i was a senior in high school, i finally called cps on my grandmother for her abuse, and they did nothing. my grandmother, the poor old woman who took in her grandchildren and suffered through how absolutely terrible and horrible they were but was still so godly, and the family was just so beautiful at mass every week… she tossed me out. she told me to pack and to leave the house. so i did.

when i moved in with a friend, sleeping on an air mattress on her floor, i had a lot of time to think about my sexuality and gender. and it scared me, because of a sermon our priest had given once and because i didn’t know how my very catholic boyfriend would react. (he was fine with it, but we did end up breaking up after a bit for unrelated stuff.) i did attend mass a few times while i lived with her, desperately hoping to feel… something, anything. but i didn’t. i didn’t get a sign or anything even remotely comforting. 

       eventually, i came to terms with the fact that i wasn’t cishet, and when i went to college (well… went is a strong word. i was on campus) i had the opportunity to start to find myself, and i thought… catholicism didn’t fit me. it never fit me, it always made me feel empty. 

one of my friends was a rabbi’s son, and as a jew, he was ALWAYS more than willing to talk about judaism. there was more than one occasion that our friend group would hang out in an empty classroom with a whiteboard, and we would just listen to him talking about the torah or about jewish ethics or just… whatever he felt like talking about.

and i desperately wanted to know more, i wanted to always feel the way i did listening to him talk about the relationship jews have with god. i wanted to be part of something that not only allowed but ENCOURAGED a fraught relationship with god. that not only allowed but ENCOURAGED questioning your beliefs. the kind of community i felt listening to him talk about judaism was something i had never felt in all my years of being a Good Catholic Girl. i wanted to be part of it so desperately… but i had been catholic, which in my mind meant i wasn’t allowed. so i pushed my desire down.

i ended up dropping out of college for mental health reasons, and by that point had ended my friendship with the friend i’d stayed with before, which meant i had to move back in with my grandmother. it was… bad. i tried to come out to her and it didn’t go well. i ended up moving out again, and was trying to get as far away from catholicism as humanly possible.

i was pagan for a few years, and i don’t regret it. i made a lot of friends and i learned a lot about what i wanted out of a relationship with god, but ultimately it just wasn’t for me. it just didn’t feel like home. during that time, i became friends with a lot of jews, and hung on to everything they said about judaism. (like, it’s seriously weird how the older i got the more jewish friends i had. it felt like judaism was literally calling me. but it scared me so i refused to think about it too hard.)

and then crazy circumstances happened (that have nothing to do with my conversion) and i moved in with my current roommates lol. one of my roommates was already jewish but didn’t really have the kind of connection to it that they wanted (for reasons that aren’t mine to share). the first time i saw them light the menorah for chanukah i… felt something. it was a kind of yearning that i just… couldn’t ignore. i felt like i was being called to something bigger and older and deeper than i had ever felt before. i wanted to be jewish more than anything and it felt like i was supposed to be jewish.

and i still waited… a while to bring it up. i thought about it constantly, but i never said a damn word to anyone, until finally i couldn’t keep it in anymore and blurted it out and i was so nervous that i was going to be told i couldn’t. but i wasn’t. we decided that we wanted to go to one of the local temples at some point.

the first time i rolled into the temple i almost cried. the feeling i had was one of overwhelming familiarity, of a desperate need to belong there. the people were so nice and welcoming but it didn’t feel like it did at my old catholic church. it felt like i already knew them, even though i was to shy to talk to many people. and then the service started, and i cried through… almost the entire thing. every time i heard hebrew, it resonated with me in a way i had never experienced.

it felt like what i was looking for in catholicism.

as a side note, at one point someone was like vaguely rude about my wheelchair in the typical abled nonsense way, and at the oneg afterwards rabbi was talking to me and was like “i saw that, and it was just absolutely unacceptable. i’m so sorry that happened.” and i was SHOCKED. 

me and my roommates ended up going to shabbat services for a few months and every single time i went into the building it just. felt like home. it felt like it was where i was supposed to be. eventually i worked up the guts to actually ask about converting, because i just… i know i keep saying it, but i just so desperately wanted to be jewish. i wanted to be a part of it more than i had ever wanted anything.

and during the conversion classes, i found… myself? i guess? i became more solidly myself, i think. i’ve never really… i’m not good with the academic part of being jewish because of my brain damage, and that’s something i worried about with my rabbi, but he told me that it was okay, that i didn’t have to know everything, because there’s things even he doesn’t know. the important thing was the spiritual part, and that was… something i actually found fulfilling.

i still have a very fraught relationship with god, but it doesn’t feel like one-sided hatred with an all knowing deity that knew i was suffering and didn’t care. it’s a struggle, a conversation, it’s me yelling at god at three in the morning and being allowed to do that. it’s me realizing that god doesn’t control everything in the universe because we’ve got free will, and there’s some things we have to do for ourselves. my suffering wasn’t preordained and there isn’t “a reason for everything”, it was other people doing it because they were exercising their free will to hurt others.

my rabbi is… older gen x cishet white man, so he’s got some pretty centrist politics, but he always stresses that he accepts us for who we are and that the most important thing is that we are taking care of ourselves. (seriously, the number of exchanges i’ve had with him that are along the lines of “i can’t make it to class because my body is doing a chronic illness” “that’s okay, make sure you take care of yourself” is… more than i can count) he’s flawed at it, of course, but… who isn’t?

the more i learn about the tanakh (as opposed to the old testament - because they’re actually very different) the more secure i feel in my decision. the stories aren’t meant to be absolutely true in every sense of the word, we have literal hundreds of pages of rabbis arguing with each other across hundreds of years about what a passage might mean. 

the stories aren’t showing how we need to be subservient to god, they’re showing that even god makes mistakes, so of course people are going to make mistakes, because we’re made in their image. they’re to remind us of who we are, of what it means to be jewish. am yisrael, the people of israel (NOT the country). we literally named ourselves after the time our great great great great grandpa wrestled with god AND WON. 

jewish belief in god doesn’t necessarily mean “i think god exists”, because of course they do. god is whatever you need them to be. jewish belief is trust, it’s like saying “i believe in you” to a friend you know can do whatever it is they need to do. 

despite what antisemites would have you believe, jews being god’s chosen people doesn’t mean we think we’re better than everyone else. being chosen is a burden. jews have historically suffered and suffered and suffered, and we’re still here. we still keep going, because we have to. jews grapple with the concept of being chosen much like we grapple with god. it’s a heavy and weighty thing that means something different to everyone. being chosen isn’t always a good thing. it’s responsibility, it’s heartbreak, it’s pain, it’s a happiness i can’t put into words, it’s community and belonging and facing adversity from people who want you dead. and continuing on, because jews will always endure.

but hey, i’m just one guy. if you ask another jew i can guarantee they’ve got another perspective and another story.

[anika-ann]

Heart Too Cold, but Friends of Gold - Pt.10

Alone Is What I Have

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader     Word count: 2200

Summary: Avenger!reader AU. Part 2 of Melting Hearts series. Part 1 HERE.

Snowflake is hiding. And she’s good at it. Also, reportes suck (at least in this story and chapter)

Warnings: swearing, light angst,… eh

Story Masterlist

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Alone is what I have, alone protects me. (BBC’s Sherlock Holmes) …And what more, alone protects the people I care about the most.

Prague was an interesting city. You supposed it was not too much different from other European cities, the old buildings and a breath of history on every other corner meeting the modern steel and technology of today, but there was just some kind of an aura that got to you. The system of public transportation had been a bit confusing at first, but allowed countless different ways of getting where you needed, which also meant many different escape routes – you still were a pragmatic. And you liked it here.

What you not necessarily liked, but definitely appreciated for its convenience, was the anonymity and the nature of Czech people – it took them a lot of time to warm up to someone, no matter how warm-hearted they could become once they let someone in.

In the streets of Prague, you could easily recognize Praguer from a foreigner; unlike the foreigners, the habitants of Czech capital had developed an amazing ability of looking around and not seeing. They would meet the same person for the fourth time in the past hours and they simply wouldn’t notice. They were having their eyes for nothing; it always reminded you of Matt Murdock, the blind lawyer of Hell’s Kitchen who was the exact opposite.

Matt, despite not being able to use his eyes anymore, saw more than anyone. You had thought of contacting him many times, just to have some familiarity in your new world where friendship or any kind of a relationship was a luxury you couldn’t afford, but you always backed out. You were too scared of him getting in touch with the Avengers’ team. Not to mention his lawyer persona seemed busy enough even without your load of crap – you had looked him up few times, rather rarely and always within walking distance from the faculty of law of Charles University of Prague, so you wouldn’t raise suspicion about yourself. After all, a random person connected to public wi-fi taking interest in a very specific lawyer of Hell’s Kitchen could be much of a hint; if the random person was a law student though… you thought it was relatively safe.

So you only had acquaintances, people you met from time to time, but never for their friendship – they were more of business partners, really. You headed to a meeting to a café which one of ‘your’ people, Eva, frequented rather often and liked to hang out in.

You found a boot in the back. You pulled out your laptop and started it, automatically checking on your surrounding once more; it was a terrible and necessary habit of a person who was on the run. Since you were almost 15 minutes early, you decided to catch up with the world (read the Avengers) on free wi-fi.

The apartment you lived in had no internet connection and once again, you needed the anonymity; if people connecting in a café checked the news site and paid a lot of attention to news of New York City and the Avengers, no one could question it – and it wouldn’t pop out at Tony’s radar, because no one could tell the search was coming from one particular person repeatedly.  

When you opened the news site, your heart stopped. Your breath froze on your lips, your throat getting impossibly tight, your vision immediately blurring. You squinted at the screen so you could re-read the headline.  

‘Did our Captain die for nothing?’

You could feel the optical mouse crying under your palm as the frost covered it, but you couldn’t make yourself to care.

Your eyes were roaming around the article, desperately finding a prove of you being wrong.

Luckily, you were.

Seventy years ago, Steven Grant Rogers, a man we know as Captain America, laid down his life to save countless others. The serum-powered soldier’s mission was to take down HYDRA, Nazi’s science division, and all history books claim that he and his Howling Commandos achieved that. Yet, the events of past days are telling us a different story. Captain America and other S.H.I.E.L.D. operatives were fighting the very same organization everyone believed to be defeated. While in reality, HYDRA had been growing in their own rows.

The reporter went on, uncovering an enormous intel leak from S.H.I.E.L.D. following the discovery of HYDRA moles inside of the government agency, but there was no other word on Steve. You choose to believe he was alive – because they would sure as hell ‘mention’ if he wasn’t –, finally allowing yourself to breathe in.

You decided you hated reporters and their shocking headlines that were supposed to bait more readers. You almost had a fucking heart-attack.

Now, you had to believe Steve was alright. In addition, you learned he had found a new ally known as Falcon – a man with advanced technology in a form of fucking wings. Also, Natasha had been by his side.

Reading into details of the article – and multiple others – you were stressing over your parents again. Fury had told you there was no record of their current position in S.H.I.E.L.D. files, something he had taken care of when finding out there had been the leak about your identity in the first place. In theory, they should be safe – but all you had was hope.

There was a tiny voice in the back of your head, luring you back to US, back to the Avengers, back to Steve. Once again, the theory was he should be safer now – you believed now that Michaels was part of HYDRA, the organization he had been talking about to scare you off being nothing else but the group finding its origins in the thirties – yet, you were too scared to take that risk. If HYDRA had handled to infiltrate S.H.I.E.L.D. and figure out your identity, where was the insurance of some other terrorist group not being able to do the same? As convenient as it would be, Michaels hadn’t had to be part of HYDRA at all.

You couldn’t go back.

Not to mention you didn’t believe your family of choice would want you back and you didn’t think you could handle the rejection. Your heart ached at the image of Steve’s cold eyes, pushing you away. You dreamed of it sometimes, of you returning and him greeting you flatly, advising you to come back where you had come from; sometimes, he welcomed you with the warmest smile and ‘I missed you so much’ on his lips before letting them get familiar with yours again.

But in the cold reality, you knew your return was way too risky – for Steve and for your heart as well.

You focused on the lines in front of you, letting each of them get carved into your brain. You learned about Steve being in a hospital, fortunately with his life no longer hanging on a thread. You learned that S.H.I.E.LD. stopped existing, leaving a whole lot of uncovered secrets behind, including the last possible trace of you in Provence – you had left the area months ago after you couldn’t resist and had saved a little girl from getting hit by a car, sadly in a way that draw too many prying eyes. You had had to change the settings of your mask and run after that stunt.

That was how you had found yourself in Prague, building a completely new life once again. You were an English teacher now, a private one, individuals or little groups seeking you out for improving their conversation skills. It was ridiculous how much money people were willing to pay for it – luckily for you. It meant a very flexible schedule and not necessarily meeting the same people regularly, which was relatively safe.

“Brigit!” a voice called out and you jumped in your seat, realizing the woman was addressing you. Damn the fake names!

You looked up with a hasty smile, meeting Eva’s amused expression.

“Spaced a little, aren’t you?”

“Spaced out,” you corrected her automatically and she gave you a look that told you she was hundred percent done with you. You grinned in return. “Sorry. Just… interesting article. Let’s order some caffeine before we start?”

“Yes, please. I was working on my thesis for like… well, very long. I barely slept. I need caffeine.”

Your smile turned sympathetic. Late nights you knew too well despite never being a college student. Eva was majoring in biology on top of that, trying to improve her English so she could apply for her dream job, so you couldn’t even imagine the pain.

“You know what? I’m paying today.”

The woman honestly looked as if she wanted to kiss you on spot. Which was kinda ironic, considering how much money she paid you and how little the coffee cost in comparison, but you weren’t about to mention that.

“I’m choosing the most expensive one.”

“I’m sure you are.”

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Life went on. Days seemed too long, so you had been adding new students to your flock to keep yourself busy with no time for gloomy thoughts. But the truth was, you were just terribly lonely.

You missed your parents.

You missed your team.

You missed Steve.

And as crazy as it sounded, you missed the insane world of avenging, because the people whose absence was killing you had been a part of that world. Not even starting on the rewarding feeling that would come when managing to save a life.

It was one of those days when you were drowning in loneliness when you learned about yet another adventure the team had been through – maybe it was why the news of Sokovia hit you so hard.

An artificial intelligence trying to take on the world with an army of super-bots under his command and starting with… sending a part of the country literally flying in the air. It ended with that, only thanks to the Avengers and the word was that three more enhanced individuals were seen on the scene, one of them laying down his life.

Three more enhanced. Had the world gone completely crazy? And the one who had died….

The urge to come back, maybe be forgiven, maybe even not being afraid for Steve’s life with what could be new faces on the team… it was stronger than ever. Your heart ached, the homesickness squeezing your lungs and not allowing you to breathe in properly.

You left yet another café in hurry, shooting Petr, the student you were supposed to meet, a quick apology that you were feeling very sick. You apologized for the extremely short notice. He was almost too understanding, but you were grateful that you could just curl up in a ball on your bed and cry for an hour. It cost you all of your strength not to give in to the calling of your powers and start a snowstorm. It would make you weak and you would be found. You kinda wanted to be weak and found, hopefully by your friends.

You didn’t take the risk.

The next day, you woke up with new determination to pick up as many new students as you could to wear yourself down to a bone. For the two following weeks, you were desperate to search for some new faces.

With Murphy’s luck, it seemed like too many of yours no longer needed your services and no newbies popped up. It was one of the reasons why you jumped after the opportunity; when Eva mentioned she had this Russian friend who had moved to Prague very recently and seemed so excited about the lessons Eva was still attending, you immediately said yes to a meeting set in an only three days’ notice.

You should have known better.

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The woman – Inna, as you learned from Eva’s narration – came to the café with her friend; you had said it would be easier for her to be accompanied instead of Eva taking a picture of you and letting her find you on her own. The true reason behind your actions had been simple – you didn’t want anyone to have your picture, even when wearing the S.H.I.E.L.D. mask.

So Eva entered the Starbucks of your choice with a pretty blonde by her side and gave you a cheerful wave as she spotted you by the stairs; you waited for the blonde to order, while Eva disappeared again to run some errands since she was in the centre of the town.

You guided Inna to a table in a less busy corner of the otherwise crowded room upstairs and you both set your drinks down before shaking hands.

“I’m Brigit. It’s very nice to meet you!” you tried out, previously learning from Eva that Inna’s level of English was pretty good.

The woman, who had seemed rather nervous before, relaxed as she accepted your hand, her shoulders losing the tension in them.

“The pleasure is all mine. I heard a lot about you.”

You were almost taken aback by her voice, heavy with eastern accent; despite the fact you knew where she came from, you expected the accent being less thick. But maybe you were just oversensitive.

“Really? Good things I hope?”

The blonde laughed shortly, her face getting younger. It was easier to see how she and Eva could be friends now. “Oh yes, Eva wouldn’t shut up about you! Shall we start?”

“Sure,” you agreed, gesturing towards the chair. “Why don’t you tell me a little about yourself and then what would you like our sessions to look like?”

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Part 11

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Tags: @mermaidxatxheart​, @murdermornings​, @elisaa-shelby​ @ask-hellbent-tweek​ @cxptain​, @kallafrench​, @smilexcaptainx​ @scentedsongrebel​, @orions-nebula​

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*Very discreetly shoves Czechia into another fic and smiles innocently* I need to use my knowledge, okay? :D

Also, BBC’s Sherlock is full of amazing quotes and I feel like re-watching it when I have the time.

And I’m aware this was a bit of a filler chapter. I’m preparing the ground for the next one, which hopefully will be more eventful ;) (I wonder who that new student might be :D )

[whirlybirbs]

⋆    —–   CARHOP COOL, 3.

summary: you and steve talk. apologies are exchanged. steve wishes he had friends like you and robin a year ago. you might like steve. robin can tell. pairing: steve harrington x reader, post season three word count: 1.6k a/n: we love some good dialogue work & h.s. regrets/nostalgia, don’t we?  

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If he was being honest, you were the last person he ever thought he’d find himself next to on a summer night, perched on the bumper of your hatchback at the drive-in’s. 

Even more so, you’re the last person he would ever see himself having a big, ol’ honking crush on. 

High school hierarchy had established that you were both very different people and for the sake of keeping the metaphorical crown of Hawkins High King on his head, he’d stuck with what he knew. And that was being a huge dick and having good hair, mostly, but also keeping the chit-chat with the weird kids to a minimum.

Now, Steve’s realizing that you aren’t a weird kid and if anything, he’s the weird one. You seem to humor it, though -- frosty demeanor quickly melting with every passing minute spent in the setting summer sun in the back of your car. 

(Robin’s taking a suspiciously long time getting a bucket of popcorn. She’s been gone for fifteen minutes at least.)

“Okay, sure,” Steve drawls, leaning back on his palms and swinging his legs, “But if you had to pick...”

You grimace, pulling one leg up to your chest and screwing your brows. Steve’s face quirks into an amused smile, leaning to watch the way your thought process plays out on your face. He could care less about your answer to the trivial question, mostly interested and enamored with the fact you’re actually talking to him, never mind laughing at his jokes.

“This is hard.”

“Yeah,” he chirps, hair bouncing as he shakes his head, “See?”

“I dunno,” you lean back against the side of the trunk, turning to eye him critically, “And you said I had to eat it everyday -- but, does that mean every meal?”

“Oh, yeah,” Steve rattles off, raising a finger with each word, “Breakfast, lunch and dinner. All three meals.”

“What about snacks?” 

“-- They have to be smaller bits of the Hawkins High meal of choice.”

You groan and Steve grins to himself. 

“I guess chicken patties,” you huff, giving in to his line of questioning, “That was, like, the best lunch they served, so --”

“Oh, amazing choice.”

“You think?”

“Oh, yeah,” Steve waves, dropping his hand to his jeans and speaking as if he knows what he’s talking out, “Dress it up, dress it down, put it on a salad --”

You snort. You nudge him with the toe of your skate shoe. “What about you?”

“Uh,” Steve shrugs, “I packed my lunches everyday, actually --”

You blink. “Really? Steve Harrington carried a lunchbox around?”

He raises his hands. “I know, cool kid faux pas --”

You laugh at that, dropping your chin to your knee and shrugging a bit. “Who cares. You cool kids weren’t even that cool anyways.”

Steve dramatically blinks at you, laughing a bit as he pretends to be offended. “Uh, says who?”

“Me, the girl who had spitballs in her hair for three periods because of you!”

It’s different this time -- you’re laughing as you say, leaning to flick his ear. Steve makes a surprised sound, dodging the attack and playfully shoving you back.

“Hey! That wasn’t me!”

“You and Tommy H. shared the same brain cell, Steve.”

“Rude.”

Your jaw drops as you laugh, startling another grin out of Steve as you shove his shoulder. He laughs as you do, raising his hands in surrender. 

“I’m kidding -- I know, I... Listen, I was -- I was the worst in high school. Robin’s made that pretty clear,” he says, turning. His converse poke yours, knees pulled to his chest as he leans on the back stereo to face you completely. The Rolling Stone’s song Beast of Burden is playing through the radio, “And I know I was. I’m... I’m sorry. For being the worst. And the spitball --”

You move to open your mouth.

“-- And the perm thing,” Steve raises a finger, eyes gentle, “And, like, every other instance where I was mean.”

Your mouth closes and your lips turn up into a content smirk.

“... Apology accepted.”

Steve blinks.

“... Really?”

You raise a brow. “Yeah...?”

“Wow,” he says, doe-eyes glued to the look on your face, “I thought... Okay. Cool. We’re... We’re cool?”

You exhale quickly, laughing a little before breaking into a wide smile. “Yeah. We’re cool. I’m... I’m not good at holding grunges anyway.”

A lie. Steve calls it.

“Yeah, okay, Frosty.”

Your jaw drops again, spurring Steve to grin and shrug, turning to face the blank screen. More cars have started to congregate now with the sun setting almost entirely. Still, Robin is nowhere to be seen.

You lean around, popping into his field of vision. You look amused.

You are.

“Hold on, ‘Frosty’?” you peel into a laugh, “What, like the snowman?”

“No, like, uh, like the Foreigner song?” he asks, corners of his lips quirking as his voice hikes into a high croon. He’s singing the song, “You’re as cold as ice --”

“Oh, come on --”

“I thought you were gonna punch me in the mouth,” he says, shoulder to shoulder with you, “Seriously -- the other night at Roll-o’s? It was, like, absolutely terrifying.”

“... Really?” you ask, whispering a little.

“Yeah, god -- if looks could kill,” he chirps, “I’d be in a shallow grave.”

“I... Sorry,” you say sheepishly, “I thought -- I thought you were still an asshole.”

Victory fleets across his face. “Does that mean I’m not anymore?”

You shoot him a look in retaliation. “I’m still deciding.”

“Okay,” he grins, “Okay. That works for me.”

You both slip into a comfortable, friendly silence that’s different -- there’s no malice in the way you nudge his shoulder with yours when you spy Robin juggling two huge containers of popcorn, moving quickly towards you both.

You’re about to make a joke about her taking her sweet time when she blurts out:

“I have to go.”

Both you and Steve blink at her as she shoves the popcorn into your lap and Steve’s.

“What?”

She’s wide-eyed, moving to smush herself between the both of you. You and Steve share a look, leaning around her to connect your gazes. She’s zoned out, face contorted into a look of absolute horror. 

What? he mouths.

I dunno, you shrug.

“Tammy Thompson,” Robin breathes, “Works at the convenience stand --”

You both perk up.

“Rob, that’s good --”

You nudge her, beaming. “Did you say hi?”

“Oh, did I -- I made an ass of myself -- she didn’t even remember me.”

Your face falls. And Robin makes a pained noise into her hands. Steve grits his teeth and winces, silence falling across the three of you -- then he speaks.

“I mean, you’re not missing much,” Steve wiggles the popcorn, “She still sings like a muppet.”

Your jaw drops for, like, the upteenth time tonight. “Steve!”

Robin groans. “He’s right!”

“I know he’s right,” you groan, “But --”

“Oooooh, don’t you want me baybee --” it’s not Steve Harrington singing, it’s Kermit.

And you’re laughing. 

It’s not soon before Robin is too, cracking a pained laugh through her internal suffering as he continues to croon in a muppet-styled serenade, aimed at both of you with the kind of theatrics that would have gotten his a lead in the spring musical.

That seems to remedy the moping as she leans into you and scoops up a handful of popcorn. She shoves it entirely into her mouth.

“It was awkward.”

“Seeing people from high school is always awkward,” you say, trying to ease her worry, “Remember when we saw Farrah Goodman when she worked at Kroger’s?”

Steve pulls a face. “She was mean.”

“Vicious,” you correct, “An absolute bulldog.”

“Yeah,” Robin mumbles, “She tried to give us coupons.”

“Coupons?”

“Yeah, for adult diapers,” you supply, “And we were too scared to say no, so we just smiled and laughed and said, ‘oh we will be using these, for sure’, like assholes.”

“She was scary!” Robin cries as Steve descended into a round of laughter, “Did you ever see her deck girls during soccer games? She lived for bloodsport.”

“I can say,” Steve snorts, “I never went to a soccer game.”

“We know,” you groan, “It was our safe space.”

“Safe space?” Robin cries again, “Says you!”

“It was my safe space,” you offer Steve.

Silence settles between the three of you as you begin to munch on the popcorn, ignoring the fading of Robin’s remorse -- Steve breaks the silence with a quiet string of words that catch you by surprise.

“I really wish I was friends with you both in high school.”

When you look over at him, he’s looking at his hands.

Robin watches the exchange, eyes light with a budding curiosity for how you’ll react. She’s pleasantly surprised when your usual hardened demeanor towards Steve seems to be absent. 

“... Really?”

Steve swallows, nodding a bit. He looks up, catching your eyes. 

“Yeah. I mean, maybe then my Senior year wouldn’t have sucked. I would have had... I dunno, I would have had real friends and --” his words trail off, voice splitting into an emotion like regret, “And I woulda been happy, probably.”

It’s like getting punched in the gut.

In a desperate attempt to move past the feelings his words stir in your chest, you speak quickly. 

“... Does that mean we’re cool?”

It makes Steve laugh, if only a little.

Robin feels like she’s watching from the outside, grinning like an idiot.

“Yeah,” he says, finally, brown eyes glued to your blooming smile, “You’re cool.”

Oh, this is good.

[mordigen]

Wicca is a Sex Cult - you won’t change my mind. Pt 1

I have always had a since of unbelonging and curiosity my entire life. So, I’d like to believe that my ‘path’ in the craft has been eternal. But, if we are scrutinizing - I guess you could say it didn’t really begin until I was about 9-11 years olde. Can’t remember the precise age or year - just how it went, and my friends that started on that path with me. When you are olde enough to start developing your own likes and interests, olde enough to start having questions about anything and everything in the world around you - and young enough to have complete reckless abandon and lack of frontal lobe development to indulge such questions, curiosities, and probably otherwise, not the *smartest* of explorations. But boy, did we make some memories. 

But this was also the time when only the ~rich folk~ had internet in their homes, where the rest of us were reduced to the free 10 minute sessions at the public library which came with the intrusive screaming of dial-up, met with properly humiliating glares of disgust and disapproval that was just too much for a bunch of pre-teens to handle. So what other options could were we possibly left with? Well, if you had guessed the idle corners of book stores’ New Age  sections, you would be correct, friends! And what else could be found on New Age shelves in the early-mid 90s but Wicca in all it’s Llewelyn glory?? Nothing, friends. The answer is nothing, unless you hoped to find a few odd horoscopes, a token copy of the Necronomicon stashed away behind some UFO conspiracies from the O.G. David Childress & Co. But if you were looking for anything spiritual in nature beyond the status quo puritan American heritage? Nothing, friends - except Wicca. 

So, needless to say - this was my only experience at this age with anything magically or pagan inclined whatsoever. Now, I came from an immigrant family, lived in an immigrant neighborhood, went to an international school with friends of immigrant families so we were well versed in stories of other customs and cultures - but always in an intangible way. Just stories, things of fictions or long-dead ancestors which no longer exist. I personally came from a mixed-bag family, Irish Pagan, Southern Methodist, strict Catholic, Native Shamans. So religious discussions were always heated topics of animosity - so people just didn’t  talk about it, either out of spite and grudges, or just to avoid constant fights. So though I had family that participated in pagan rites, they didn’t talk about them - and they certainly weren’t teaching me anything (not yet anyhow, more on that later) So these books we perused, for hours without buying to the chagrin of the bookstore employees, were really the only introduction and information we had to go on with regards to anything spiritually related to the magical or to the pagan - and we took it as gospel, as we didn’t know any better - and I simply thought this was the modern term used today for a whole vast array of pagans and witchcraft followers. I thought it was a modern day term for a very olde religion. That is what I truly believed for years, especially with my Irish background - and the very heavy Irish influence in Gardener’s foundation of his religion, I felt like YES - I had finally found what had been calling to me for all these years. This was right, this is what I was meant to be - as a lot of the tales he recounted I had remembered being told, or reading, in my families books and stories my entire life. I recognized the names. I knew what “feast days” he was referring to - this was my blood, my heritage - and this MUST be what my family and ancestors had been following - and this MUST have been why I felt so out of place for so long : I was meant to find this.

 It was awe inspiring, it was liberating. It was exhilarating.....until it wasn’t. One day, after restocking the shelves with a new shipment, did we stumble across the works of Gardener himself. Wherein book after book, chapter after chapter, detailed the use of ‘Skyclad’ rituals and initiations through the ‘Great Rite’ and meditation through the ‘Great Rite’, and visualization through the ‘Great Rite’, and energy rising through the ‘Great Right’  and just about anything and everything through the use of the ‘Great Rite’ or some incarnation thereof. In the particular books that we read, there were even specific instructions on how to handle ritual situations involving young children and minors, with or without parental involvement, and the importance of secrecy.  

This should be a red flag to anyone with a brain cell. 

But, for some reason, it wasn’t. My friends ate it up - the fact that they were being referred to, and treated, as adults and equals. What is more enticing to a bunch of hormonal preteens/teens who are certain they know everything, than to be treated as the adults they are very certain they absolutely are?  We even had intent debates and discussions with each other where we defended that it was completely respectable and not at all inappropriate. We hung on the language they used as proof that, see, they are not creeps - it is at our discretion, and intimacy level. Using words to be extremely specific about consent, and age, and detailing liaisons between mentors/students and members/High Priest(ess)es to not take place until they are of age and to be very mindful of that at all times. It felt all sorts of wrong to me at the time, but I was in complete denial - it just felt uncomfortable because it was new to me. We made arguments that our very strict, closed-minded Christian influence was why it felt uncomfortable. 

As a now wizened adult, not only is this “language” and position the very same argument pedophiles use to skirt the law and rationalize their actions as simple fantasies and free speech, but there is the bigger issue of the “secrecy”. Officially, on record, they are pillars of responsibility and advocates or legal boundaries and sensitivity -- but behind closed doors, don’t ask, don’t tell. Whilst making a not-so-subtle point to acknowledge all the legal boundaries, in the same breath they advocate the freewill, and consent of the member - regardless of age. Making the not so intuitive leap to assume that age is an afterthought if the member should be a willing participant. Nonevermind to the impressionable mind and intimidation or persuasion a younger member may be susceptible to - if they agree, then whose to stop them? Using the guise of secrecy as an underlying tenet of the faith. They aren’t “hiding” anything if their rites and rituals and teachings are just an understood secret knowledge only bestowed upon the most worthy individuals - or even that they are protecting the sanctity of such important rites by not publicly discussing them all willy-nilly. Nor do they bat an eye on the fact that presenting these rites and secrecy in such a prestigious manner would lead a younger audience even more inclined to actively participate, AND more inclined to also stayed shut-lipped about it -- as why wouldn’t they?? They are special. They are the chosen ones. They aren’t like everyone else - not just ANYONE would be allowed this opportunity. These are classic grooming techniques, that you can find examples of in the cases of sex offenders and sexual predators all over the world, let alone key tenets seen in nearly every other publicly recognized sex cults - so why is Wicca the exception?

What bothers me more looking back at these discussions we had is that they were completely unprovoked -- nobody had challenged us, nobody had warned us that this sounds fucked up - no one had ever tried to stop us or steer us away.  This was just our knee-jerk topic of discussion and reaction to what we CHOSE to follow. We knew from the get-go that there was something shady going on, our gut and our subconscious was screaming at us to not be those dumb little girls....and we were desperately trying to rationalize it to ourselves without realizing that’s exactly what we were doing. And our rationalized denial won - for a while, at least. 

I started straying more and more from that path ever since that day. But, as this was all I had at my disposal to build my world on, I only strayed so far. Other paths still seemed like the works of myth and legend - not “real” beliefs - so I stayed the course, just tended to keep my mouth shut and smiled and nodded when such debates continued on amongst friends. Eventually, several of my friends found local covens to join. They were sweet, and innocent. They opened up certain meetings and classes to new members as a sort of “tiral” phase - to see if it were a right fit. One of my friends in particular went to many of these. She came back with all these fantastic stories and experiences. Learned so many cool new things, and was really growing and developing and learning in the craft. She now had her very own mentor, and I found myself seething in envy. They were all growing and flourishing, and I was left in the dark with my nose stuck in books just dabbling. So I gave in, and went to some meetings with her. They were innocent and informative enough - meditation lessons, a fun Ostara celebration. Sermons on the Summerland and origin stories, God-specific lessons so we could learn all the various pantheon and what they represented. Workshops on creating candle spells, and how to properly sage and cleanse a space. We did yoga. We danced, we played instruments and tries to get into a trance-state. We had potlucks. It was fun.  And so we decided to join.....

(...continued)

[consumingromance]

A Sarlacc Story

She’d kept her eyes down throughout the journey to the Sarlacc. Chiss eyes were NOT well adapted to Tatooine’s twin suns. So it was she got a good look of where she was going when the speeder pulled into position above the creature’s maw.

It would not be a quick death. She’d been promised that. Although the threat of being digested for a thousand years was a bit much. Surely she’d die well before that. Most creatures did not have air in their digestive systems. That would mean minutes before suffocation. Even if she could breathe, she’d die of thirst within days. Still, she knew however long she lasted it would hurt, slowly burning, melting...digesting…

She also knew that it didn’t have to end like this. She was rare...exotic...beautiful. Blue skin and glowing red eyes framed by thick black hair, pronounced cheekbones and fine features. Alien in a way combination not seen in this Galaxy. A rarity from the chaos beyond wild space.

He wanted to keep her, that’s why he was making a show of this. As an example to other slaves of what would happen if you didn’t behave sure, but also a lesson in his mercy. If she begged and submitted, he’d spare her. If that wasn’t the case he’d have killed her quickly, thrown her to his rancor, or had her shot. He didn’t hate her particularly, no reason to give her a particularly brutal death. This was an opportunity, ample time to think this over, and choose to submit to him.

She chose the Sarlacc.

She jumped before she could be pushed. She would die on her own terms. Insomuch as possible.

Her eyes squeezed shut the second after she jumped.

The landing didn’t hurt, the tongue was soft. The slide further in almost gentle. She opened her eyes and watched the light of day disappear as she was pulled further down the tunnel of flesh. The walls quivered slightly as the thing let out a belch.   Her feet hit resistance for a moment but the sphincter shifted to make room for her. The flesh around her pulsed to push her further down into the bowels of the creature. Then came the tentacles, they wrapped around her, pulling her, stinging her, and then numbing her. She couldn’t move. Everywhere they touched shd couldn’t move.

Her heart raced. She didn’t want to be trapped inside her body while she died. She couldn’t even scream then, she tried but no words came out. She was frozen, paralyzed. Around her she heard the squelching of its digestive system along with rhythmic breathing and the beating of multiple hearts. Then a voice.

“Hello, Mitth’rae’sabosen”

Her eyes widened. “Who? How?” Where was the voice coming from. How did it know her name? How could it even speak her language. No...it wasn’t speaking it was in her head. Could she understand it because it was speaking in thoughts or because it understood was it was saying and their minds were linked. It was a weird feeling. She knew it was in her head and she was in its head and that it was hungry. She knew it was going to eat her.

“Do not panic, breathe,” it told her, “the venom will tranquilize you, paralyze you, but only until we have you in position.”

She tried to pull her limbs to move to fight. She was pushed further down, angled to her right, and another pulsing sphincter. She could barely make it out in the darkness, but her eyes were well equipped to use every bit of light that filtered down this far.

“They not it,” the voice corrected, reading her thoughts.

“Position for what?” she asked them. “To digest,” came the voice, not not a voice, a thought communicating directly to her mind. “We have many stomachs and you will be digested slowly.”

“Let me go!” she thought desperately.

“Never,” came the reply. “You will become part of me, of us. Relax, just relax. You don’t have much choice. The venom is working, slowing down everything. Nice, and heavy and relaxed. There you are. Nice and soft. Time to slide down.”

Flesh pulsed around her as the muscles of body and tentacle pushed her along until she spilled into another chamber. She toppled downward landing in a pool of digestive fluid. Immediately her skin began to itch which soon grew to a burn. Still, she couldn’t scream. She felt more tentacles of flesh wrapping around her, holding her in place. “Thraes,” came the voice in her head. “Do not focus on the pain. That body does not matter.”

“It hurts,” there are tears in her eyes. “I’m afraid.”

The voice is no longer her voice now, but a little girl’s voice. The voice she had once. Her caretaker frowned at her.

“Au’rae,” she said patiently, “you’ve been a sky walker for how long now? Aren’t you a bit too old to be afraid.”

But that was just it. The older she got the closer she came to the time when her third sight would fail. She would always be afraid. Afraid of failing, of crashing, and of falling. Everything and everyone counted on her. She was only eleven, she still had time, a couple of years probably, but still.

Not that she had much of a choice. She had to do it. It was her job. It was all that she was - a Chiss sky walker. So special and valued and needed. Her third sight allowed the ship to navigate the chaos. She knew what would happen before it happened so she could adjust coordinates in hyperspace to avoid suns or black holes of planets. She could cut a path sticking to the void by seeing disaster before it struck and avoiding it.

“It’s all right to be afraid,” said the pilot, Mitth’ri’alanov. She was nice. She’d even said it was ok to call her Thria, like they were friends. “You feel what you feel, just try recognizing the feeling as just that a feeling. The thoughts as just thoughts. You’re going to do great. You always do. Show me the way, we’ll go together when you’re ready.”

Throes came back to herself, nestled among coils of flesh. “What did? How did?”

“We see you,” said the voice. “In time we’ll see all of you. Bit by bit like...scanning a file.”

“Who are you? What are you?”

“We are the Sarlacc,” said the voice, “and you are mine, ours and you will be us in time and forever.”

“Us?”

“We are us, the female Sarlacc and the male she absorbed and the minds of those we ate and kept.”

“You keep the minds of your prey?”

“Only the interesting ones,” said the voice. “You are very interesting. You come from beyond this galaxy. We will see so much through your memories.”

Around her, the stomachs still squelched and the hearts still beat, the flesh moved in time with breathing lungs and pulsed in rhythm as she slowly churned. The irritation was less noticeable now. There were other feelings too. Fullness, satisfaction. The Sarlacc’s feelings.

“You are delicious, and nourishing, we appreciate you, and more than that we’re very pleased to have you. We only keep the most stimulating minds.”

“How?”

“We digest slowly, and not the minds. We wrap them as they digest and take a bit at a time. A leg, an arm, bit by bit. The minds become a part of us, the Sarlac, and are fed as we are absorbed.”

“Are you everyone?” she asked. “I am...the oldest, the loudest, I no longer remember my name,” said the voice. “I hear the others and relay things. You are not ready to be overwhelmed with voices. I prefer to give feelings, nice feelings. Transition you into us. There were butterflies on Tython when I was young. They dissolve themselves to transform you know?”

“Butterflies are free,” she responded. “Sarlaccs are not,” said the voice. “Not once they’re rooted. As spores, they can fly and are free, but once we find each other, male and female, we become each other and root and grow. Then we are trapped, except for the memories of minds.”

“So I’m trapped too, like you and all your victims,” she said.

“Guests,” said the voice, “This belly is your new home and its other guests will be your new friends. We keep them all as comfortable as we can under the circumstances. We let them feel our pleasure and hope we can guide their minds away from their pain.”

“I can’t move,” Thraes said again, “I hate it.”

“Don’t worry, the paralytics will wear off very soon,” the voice assured, “but you’ll be easier to digest if you keep still. We’ll hold you and keep you wrapped up snuggly, but lose enough to turn if you’d like. We enjoy some wiggling. There’s a bantha further in. It fell a few weeks ago. Those things go to the other stomach for quick digestion since they lack sapience. However, our acids are weak and its skull is thick so the process will still take some time. That meal is still squirming down there in the pit of my lowest belly. It’s a satisfying feeling, I could share it with you if you’d like.”

“You make it sound like a choice,” she said, “like you’re not overwhelming my mind with yours.”

“I don’t want to force you. I don’t want to upset you. But know the sooner you begin to enjoy becoming part of me the easier it will be for you,” said the Sarlacc. “If you cling to yourself, your body, well...digestion won’t be very pleasant. I will merge with you and you will live thousands of years. If you focus on your body, you’ll feel every moment as you burn and melt away.”

“You’re cruel and manipulative.”

“I’m honest, and hungry and thirsty, I want to live and not alone and trapped but in a matrix of minds. I can not help what I am, but I’d rather those I take be have a more symbiotic relationship rather than simply being my prey.”

“Would you kill me quickly if I asked?”

“I cannot, but I can kill you quicker. If I do not nourish you, your brain will die. But I would hate to lose you,” said the Sarlacc. “You’re mine and I want to keep you. To hold you and protect you, keep your mind cradled and safe and a part of me. You have so many stories to tell and we so much to share with you.”

A memory surrounded her. She was in the sky walkers quarters packing up her belongings. “I hate this,” she said.

“I know,” said Thria, “I was so sad after my last flight as a sky walker. Everything was going to change and there was nothing I could do about it. My whole life I knew what I was and now...that was gone. Change isn’t easy.”

“But you knew what you wanted to be,” Au’rae protested, “I have no idea.”

“I was lucky, I’ll admit,” said Thria. “As a sky walker I met Mitth’thrawn’urodo. He taught me to fly. He recognized it was what I wanted before even I did and I knew that’s the life I wanted.”

“He was Mitth too?” asked Au’rae.

“I requested to be matched with the Mitth because of him. Well, him and my care taker,” said Thria. “As a sky walker every family would be happy to have you as a merit adoptive.” She bent down and tucked a strand of hair behind Au’rae’s ear. “They don’t tell you this, but, you can ask for a specific family.”

“So I guess I have a choice in something,” said Au’rae, comforted at the thought.

“You have a choice in everything, going forward,” said Thria. “Your whole life is ahead of you.”

“It doesn’t feel like that,” Au’rae shrugged, “my whole life there’s never really been choices. I was a sky walker because that’s just how I am and now I’m not anymore and I don’t have any choice about that.”

“As a merit adoptive you’ll have so many opportunities,”  Thria assured her.

“But I don’t even know what I want to be,” she said, “Sky walking was all I was good at and now I’m not good at that anymore and I don’t know what I’ll be good at or if I’ll be good at anything or what I’ll want…I feel trapped, and I hate it.”

“Maybe what you’ll want is whatever makes you feel free,” said Thria.

“Is that why you left the Ascendency?” asked the Sarlacc. The question pulled Thraes back to the present. “Chasing freedom.”

“Sometimes it feels like every choice is a trap,” she said, “you pick one path and all the others close, and the older you get the fewer paths are left. And now…”

The tentacles around squeezed gently and released, almost like a hug. She felt so warm. “You have nothing to fear. We love you. We want you. We will keep you always and there so much you can yet become as you get to know us, so many memories and lives and new friends are waiting.”

“What do you get out of this?” she asked, “willing prey. How does it benefit your survival?”

She heard laughter in her mind and around her the walls shook. “We have never met another Sarlacc, we nest too far apart to touch each other’s minds. So I cannot say if this serves us as a species. But personally, we like feeling emotions, we enjoy sharing joy with our guests and enjoy experiencing their happiness. So I like it if prey joins but you will not be happy if it’s forced. And there’s no rush.”

“It will hurt if I don’t join with you,” she said, “or choose a quicker death. That’s a rush.”

“I will digest you very slowly,” said the Sarlacc, “so slowly that you won’t be damaged for a while. You’ve been here a day and it’s just a slight burn. You can barely notice it already. I’ll keep my stomachs focused on other morsels and give you time. We can take this slow. If you would like I can make introductions to the others who make up me, make up us. Would you like that?”

She felt herself nodding, relaxing in the cradle of tendrils. If she was going to make a choice it was probably better to know how the other meals were enjoying their new home.

[sides-of-demigods]

Arm Yourself, A Storm Is Coming

Word Count: 2,572

Warning(s): Kidnapping/abduction, injuries, snakes (well, snake people), mention of blood, and a lot of crying from both me and the characters,

Author’s Note: Out of nowhere this turned so freaking sappy and I don’t know where it came from. My writing at some parts of the beginning isn’t my best, but push through it, I promise it’s worth it. The title is taken from Phoenix by League of Legends. You should pay attention to the title :)

As soon as the words were out of Dennis’s scarred lips Virgil was walking in the direction of his cabin, for once standing at his full height. He heard hurried footsteps straining to keep up with his long strides, so he assumed it was Patton. He didn’t pause to wait for him though and slammed his cabin door open once he reached it. He didn’t even stop to consider what he might need before he’d grabbed Tempest and strapped his shield to his arm. His brain was stuck on this one-track road of save Roman. He startled when a gloved hand grabbed his arm and spun him around.

He looked down at Patton, who was looking right back at him with some sort of expression that Virgil couldn’t read, almost like Patton himself didn’t know how he was feeling. Virgil could understand that, especially at that moment. He sighed and gently removed Patton’s hand from his arm. He didn’t want to worry the son of Hebe any more, but all he could think about was that the longer it was until they got to Roman, the less likely it was that he...they just had to find him. Fast.

“Look, Pat,” Virgil sighed. “I’m sorry I snapped at Dennis, okay, I really am. But I can’t let you stop me. I am going to get Roman back.”

“I’m not trying to stop you,” Patton scoffed. “Of course we have to get him back.”

“Then what are you doing?”

“You need to slow down. Kiddo you’re completely manic right now, you can’t go into a fight like this.”

“No, we can’t waste any more time Patton!”

“It’s not a waste of time to make sure we all get out of this instead of none of us!”

“‘We’?”

“You didn’t think we were going to let you go by yourself, did you?”

“No, it’s just..”

“You didn’t want us to.”

Virgil was about to contradict him but the glare on Patton’s face stopped any form of protest. The shorter boy crossed his arms and didn’t look away, practically daring Virgil to argue. The worst part was, he was right. Virgil had wanted to go alone or had at least expected to. He just...he didn’t want to risk losing anyone else. Patton had always been a little too good at reading him, as his face quickly softened.

“Virge,” He said. “Let us help you.”

“Fine.” Virgil knew when to admit defeat. “But we can’t take too long Patton, I mean it.”

Patton didn’t respond to that, instead leading the way back to the Big House. Virgil was only half a step behind. They stepped up onto the porch only to find Logan already waiting for them, already equipped with his daggers and holding Patton’s medkit and slingshot in his hands. How did he DO that? Freaking Athena kids. Patton quickly explained that it would just be the three of them, which kind of irritated Virgil but still made sense. Three was the ideal number for a quest anyway. Thomas couldn’t go with them since he had such an important role at camp, Emile wasn’t a demigod, and Remy had to stay with Emile in case the Oracle decided to pay them a visit. They were the only other people he really trusted to have his back so he supposed he would rather it be just the three of them than a bunch of people he didn’t trust.

Logan showed them to one of the Camp vans that was already waiting for them on the road. Logan was the only one with a mortal driver’s license, so he climbed into the driver’s seat with Virgil and Patton in the backseat. The entire drive there Virgil couldn’t stop fidgeting in his seat, his eyes trained on the passing scenery. He just couldn’t stop thinking about ‘what if’. What if they were too late, what if they couldn’t get to Roman, what if Remus didn’t actually have him, what if Dennis had led them into a trap, what if he’d lied to them, what if, what if, what if? Virgil just couldn’t lose Roman, not now, not when this thing was still new and fresh and warm and just so so amazing. He’d realized it earlier, but he was in love with Roman. If you had told his fourteen-year-old self that one day he’d be ready to say ‘I love you’ to Roman Prince of all people, he probably would have punched you in the nose. But here he was.

The address Dennis had given them was a house in the middle of a more-rundown neighborhood, which kind of surprised Virgil. He’d almost been expecting a full-on supervillain lair, complete with an abandoned warehouse. The house didn’t even look deserted.

“Logan, you sure this is the place?” Virgil asked, watching the house through the van window. Logan had parked the van a couple of blocks away to give them the chance to case the property, but the only danger Virgil could spot was a few mortals in the house-wait, those mortals had snake legs. “Nevermind.”

“You see them too?” Patton said.

“Scythian Dracanae,” Logan cursed, running a hand through his hair.

“Dracanae aren’t too bad,” Virgil shrugged. “We can take them.”

“On their own, they are fairly easy,” Logan agreed. “But I can nearly guarantee there is a large number within the house and blocking our way to Roman.”

“Okay,” Virgil said slowly. “So, Mister Strategist, what do we do?”

“Give me a moment,” Logan murmured. He spent a few more minutes watching the house windows, though Virgil wasn’t entirely sure what he was looking for. Whatever it was he apparently found it as he nodded in satisfaction. “Virgil, you have had experience living in a suburban area, correct?”

“Uh, yes?” Virgil answered, though it sounded more like a question. “Why?”

“Would you say it was likely for this type of house to have a cellar or basement?”

“Probably.” Virgil shrugged before it dawned on him. “Oh, you think Roman is down there.”

“I do, and I have a plan.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Virgil crouched in the bushes behind the house, trying to keep track of the Dracanae and their positions. He was also trying to prepare himself for whatever he might find in that basement but quickly shoved the thought into one of the dark and dusty corners of his mind. Fight now, worry later. He stayed low, waiting for Patton’s signal. Well, he didn’t know if he’d call it a signal exactly. Everything was quiet until there was the sound of glass breaking followed by a screech and loud hissing from the front of the house. He forced himself to hold back, to not move until there was a pause in shadows passing the kitchen and the sounds of fighting were prevalent. Logan and Patton’s diversion had started.

Still, Virgil crept forward. As much as he wanted to sprint into the basement and drag Roman out of there, his part of the plan relied on him not being detected. It felt as though it took years and all the self-control he had, but son Virgil was at what he assumed was the basement door. He opened and closed it behind him as quietly as he could, not wanting to alert anymore Dracanae that may be down there. Gods, it was pitch black down there. Virgil didn’t risk turning on a light so as to not alert anyone to his presence. He raised his shield as he slowly descended the stairs, step by step. The silence, as opposed to the battle raging upstairs, was excruciating and Virgil wanted nothing more than to just shout Roman’s name into the darkness. He bit his lip to resist the urge, but he hadn’t heard any sign of anything moving down here, which admittedly worried him a bit.

“Roman?” Virgil called out, his voice barely above a whisper.

He got no response.

“Ro please, this isn’t funny,” Virgil pleaded, desperation in his voice now.

He waited a moment more and after still not getting a response decided screw stealth. Logan and Patton had the monsters upstairs occupied and if a few made their way to the basement Virgil could dispatch them easily. He ran his hand along the closest wall until his hand came across a light switch right about where he thought the stairs ended. He counted to three in his head and flipped the switch, immediately spinning around in a defensive stance with his shield in front of him and sword raised. He didn’t see any snake women but his eyes did fall upon a familiar figure slumped in a chair in the middle of the room.

“Roman,” Virgil breathed, dashing forward.

Roman was slumped in the rickety chair, his chin against his chest. Virgil couldn’t see his face but the auburn hair and freckles up and down his arms gave him away. His ankles were tied to the front legs of the chair with rope but his arms were bound behind him with Celestial Bronze chains, as expected. Virgil moved to the back of the chair and prayed to his father to sharpen his sword before raising it in the air. He really doubted this would work, mostly because it shouldn’t and Phobos very rarely if ever answered his children’s prayers, but Virgil did not have the time or the patience to try to pick the lock. He swung Tempest down, striking the chains and, to his surprise, slicing straight through them like they were nothing. Virgil just stood there blinking for a second. He silently thanked his father before remembering the situation at hand.

His sword clattered onto the concrete floor as Virgil once again rounded the chair. He managed to untie Roman’s ankles despite his shaking hands. He took his shield off so he could cradle Roman’s face in his palms gingerly like he was afraid his touch would shatter him. Now that he got a better look at him, Virgil could tell that Roman was definitely looking worse for wear. His camp shirt was in tatters, blood staining it in one or two spots. There was dried blood on Roman’s face and bruises all over his body, and his breathing was weak but he was alive.

“Roman?” Virgil begged, stroking his cheek with his thumb. “Come on baby, I need you to look at me. Don’t do this to me Roman, don’t do this to me again.”

A strangled half-sob clawed its way out of his throat as Roman still didn’t even stir. He was mostly fine, at least Virgil thought so, but he was no healer. What if he had like, internal bleeding or something Virgil couldn’t see because he didn’t know to look for it? His vision blurred through tears as all of the fear from the last few years slammed into him at once.

“Come on, beautiful.” Virgil’s voice was rough now with barely-contained cries, Roman’s vacant expression swimming before him. “You gotta wake up, I need you to come back to me. You have to be okay Roman, you have to. I still have so much I want to do and say and tell you and I-” Another choked sob escaped. “Please, just wake up!”

Virgil squeezed his eyes shut as hard as he could, as if that would block out everything wrong with this scenario, number one being Roman’s limp body in his arms. He heard a groan and his eyes flew open, watching Roman’s eyelids flutter. Once Roman realized someone was touching him his eyes wrenched themselves open wide and he began pushing away from Virgil in a blind panic. Virgil barely managed to hold on to his boyfriend, refusing to let him go again.

“Roman, baby it’s me, it’s me,” Virgil spoke reassurances over and over until he saw recognition behind Roman’s eyes followed behind a blossoming hope that made Virgil want to start crying all over again.

“W-wait,” Roman rasped, his voice rough and dry. “Virgil? You’re, you’re here?”

“It’s me, sweetheart,” Virgil nodded slowly, a watery smile finally finding its way onto his lips. “I’m here.”

Like the center of gravity had shifted, both boys fell into each other, hands grasping whatever they could find. Roman clung to Virgil like a drowning man would a breath of fresh air and Virgil wasn’t planning on loosening his grip anytime soon. Virgil was kneeling on concrete and Roman was still sitting in that chair, but damn it it was still the greatest hug Virgil had ever had. Virgil felt Roman tuck his face into the crook of Virgil’s neck and tears fall onto his skin and that was all it took for him to fall apart. He buried his face into Roman’s shoulder and just cried, ugly, rough, sobs that made his whole body shake and his hands cling tighter to the remains of Roman’s shirt. Gods, he had been so fucking scared and angry, so sure he was going to lose him. Every single emotion he’d pushed aside since that Iris Message dissipated seemed to hit him all at once and he just couldn’t handle it. Thankfully Roman didn’t push him away, instead reciprocating the tightness of the hug.

“I was so scared, Virgil,” Roman whispered into his neck. Virgil forced his sobbing to subside at least a bit so that he could hear what Roman was saying. “I thought I wasn’t going to see you again.”

“Me too.” Virgil pulled back just enough to remain in Roman’s arms but could still see his face. He lightly brushed away a tear on Roman’s cheek, trying to summon the same smile from earlier. “But I’m here now.”

“There’s something I need to tell you,” Roman practically blurted out. Virgil kept his mouth shut as Roman chewed on his bottom lip, not sure how to proceed. “This whole thing, it, it made me realize that, our lives are so unpredictable and dangerous all the time. I could lose you at any moment or the other way around and I…” Roman took a breath slowly. “I don’t want that to happen before I tell you that...I love you.”

Virgil inhaled sharply and Roman’s eyes fell to his knees, not looking at Virgil as he processed what Roman had just said. He loved him. Roman loved him. He couldn’t help the incredulous that bubbled out of him and made Roman look back up in confusion. Virgil cupped his face again and pulled his lips down to meet his in a passionate, almost desperate kiss but oh so sweet and loving that they both had to pull back because they were grinning too much.

“I love you too, Ro,” Virgil laughed again. Gods, this day was just a rollercoaster of emotions. “I love you so damn much that half the time I don’t know what to do with it. If I can help it, I'm going to say it to you every single day until you get sick of it or I can’t anymore.”

“I will never grow sick of it.” Roman’s hands came up to wrap around Virgil’s, his smile the most beautiful thing Virgil had ever seen. “And I get the feeling that neither will you.”

“I love you, Roman Prince.”

“I love you, Virgil Camden.”

“You’re right, I’ll never get tired of that. Now let’s get you out of the creepy hostage basement, shall we?”

“Please.”