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HIIII I LITERALLY JUST BINGED THE WHOLE LIAR LIAR SERIES IN 7 HOURS I DON'T REGRET IT AT ALLLLL YOUR WRITING IS RLY GOOD AND I HOPE YOU GAIN MORE POPULARITY!! anyways just wanted to ask, how long does it take to make each chapter? And when is the next gonna release? No pressure of course! Just curious :) AGAIN LOVE YOUR WRITING SMMMM
HEYYY, ANON 😋💞
SEVEN hours? 😟 girl are you OKAY? 😭
also i’m acting as if the story, despite only having 8 chapters so far, isn’t already at 150k+ words, so ofc it would take SEVEN hours to read it in one sitting…
‘your writing is really good and i hope you gain more popularity’ 🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹
thank you sm?? idk how i can put into words my appreciation for that small comment (ironic ik, i’m a writer 💀). i always get flustered and giggly, i forget how to speak and just wisjwisjwiej ugh ty <333 so glad u like my writing so far!
okie now to address ur first question! how long does it take to make each chapter?
😟
the dreaded question…
i think my updating schedule has that answered in a way 😭
for everyone that was here during liar liar’s first release, the making of chapters 1-5 took months each ‘cause the word counts ranged from around 18-33k words 🫢 (ik, wild, like what do you have to say in a single chapter that’d make up an entire book in itself? 😭 idk i just like detail).
chapters 6, 7 & 8 were released in good time intervals, i think, and that’s ‘cause we just got into the main story, no more background was needed. these chapters’ word counts ranged from 7-16k words (still a lot, ik, but considerably and notably less than the first five chapters) so they were easier to get out as they got completed quicker.
so how long does it take to make a chapter? depends on the word count, really. if it’s on the heavier side, it’ll take about a month or two. if it’s more like the ones being released now, less heavy and straight to the point, probably 3-4 weeks? give or take?
second question! when’s the next release? 🙂↕️
(i appreciate the clarification that you don’t intend to rush me <3 ty for that! 💘)
honestly, idk 💀 i haven’t even started writing it yet.
usually when i release a chapter, it’s late into the night (i’ve noticed a running theme here recently, it tends to be towards the end of the week) and then i just stop writing altogether for the next 5 days so i don’t burn myself out and basically invite writer’s block 🫣
i checked my plan and notes for chapter 9, and using an educated estimate, i predict that it’ll probably be around 10k words (without including a bonus scene). taking my school schedule into consideration, it’ll maybe be out in another 4 weeks? maybe less (or more) depending on when the christmas holiday starts!
but again, TY FOR DROPPING IN AND LETTING ME KNOW YOUR THOUGHTS! 💗 I APPRECIATE THE SUPPORT MORE THAN YOU’LL EVER KNOW :D
and i hope i managed to answer ur two questions properly! 😊 i realise how vague they are, but unfortunately giving a clear answer isn’t possible in this case ‘cause it makes it seem like a promise (like ‘the next chapter’ll be out in 4 weeks’ without considering obstacles or school which i take really seriously haha) and if i did give a straight answer, ik for a fact that i wouldn’t be able to be consistent with it :)
#liar liar asks!#became lengthier than i imagined#oh well!#ty for dropping in anon!#your message were really nice :)#i should be studying#but i wanted to treat myself with this#ugh ty again 😭#wish i knew how to convey my feelings into words#i unfortunately don’t#i’m gonna go study for my tort law exam now#wish me luck pls <3 ? 😭#it’s tmr and i’m shaking ‘cause i haven’t studies rylands v fletcher (literally the most important part of land torts)#😔
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I hear the secrets that you keep (series)
chapter five: i missed you
Pedro Pascal x Plus size F!reader
series masterlist
series summary: 24 year old y/n is an insecure and struggling actress in Los Angeles until she finally books a leading role in a big Hollywood movie next to her leading male, Pedro Pascal. A spark of friendship flickers between the two and slowly begins to blossom into something more. As y/n is navigating a new found fame and a new found romance, she fears that a lie she has been sitting on might ruin everything.
Warnings: plus size reader (no specific description of reader, slight descriptions of weight: stomach fat, stretch marks, etc.), hefty age gap (24 years/14 years), female anatomy description, she/her pronouns, use of gendered terms (girl, girly, etc.), y/n used, descriptions of nudity, swearing, use of the word fat, daddy kink (not really, but it’s kinda mentioned), sexual themes. warnings may change as the story progresses.
authors note: Hi everyone. I’ve been spending more time trying to add more detail in my writing, so I hope there’s a small improvement in this chapter. I also want to make the chapters lengthier in the future but we’ll see lol. There’s a tag list to the series now, any information about it is at the bottom of the chapter!
chapter summary: Pedro misses y/n and comes to bother her at work.
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Life moved on so quickly and there was never enough time to savor your favorite moments. Everything around you changed within a blink of an eye and you hadn't had a single second to just sit and think. You wanted nothing more than to be able to stop time for just a few minutes, just to process how dramatically your life had changed within such a short span of time.
The kiss you had shared with Pedro was nothing short of perfect, but after the high seemed to wear off, you became hyper aware of just how fucked this entire situation was. Whatever was brewing between the two of you was exciting, thrilling, and you wanted nothing more than to dive in head first- but you’d be lying if you said it didn’t scare the absolute shit out of you at the same time. Being around Pedro has felt so easy. You were still getting to know him and vice versa, but the attraction was there. He so clearly told you that he thought you were beautiful and enjoyed spending time with you. It kind of freaked you out at first, how fast everything was moving between you, but he was a man. He wasn’t some boy that was just using you to pass time, he was a real man who knew what he wanted and went for it. It ignited a flame in you that you wouldn’t be able to put out even if you tried.
As much as you were enjoying whatever was happening with Pedro, you couldn’t help shake the fact that you were technically lying to him. You tried to tell him the truth, you really had, but you got interrupted, and everything else happened so fast. You knew you would have to tell him the truth at some point, but you were terrified of how he would react to the news. You could only imagine what would happen when he finds out that the woman he had been flirting with and even kissed wasn’t actually 14 years younger but instead a whopping 24 years younger.. It wasn’t like you lied to him on purpose. It wasn’t even a lie you had started in the first place, it was a lie Angie constructed to get your career up and moving. People in the industry lie about their age all time, right?
It’s been an entire week since the kiss. The day after the kiss, Pedro had texted you, and the two of you had been texting consistently ever since. Three days after the kiss, you saw Pedro in person again. You had filmed the roller skating scene and went to get tacos after in celebration of filming your first ever professional movie scene. Neither of you had mentioned the kiss at all. Everything was normal between you guys. He was flirty, you were awkward, and life moved on.
You were pulled out of your thoughts when a makeup artist came to do some touch ups. Today you were on set to film a few solo shots, meaning Pedro wasn’t here. It was kind of weird, him not being here, everything you had done in this process had involved him somehow and you missed his presence. The makeup artist, Elizabeth, removed your previous eyeshadow and replaced it with a light orange color with a dramatic wing set in white eyeliner that matched your current costume perfectly. You were called to the studio at four in the morning and it was creeping up on five in the afternoon. You were exhausted. You didn’t have a lot to film, with most of the time being taken by costume and makeup changes between yourself and any extras in the scenes. Once Elizabeth was done, you made your way from the makeshift vanity over to the next set to film your final shots of the day.
You were released from set almost two hours later. You practically ran to the small trailer that sat just outside on the studio lot with your name plastered across the door. If you weren’t so tired, you probably would have shed a few tears at the sight of it. As soon as you walk in, you plop down in the ‘directors’ style chair that sits in front of a lighted mirror.
“Hey there hot stuff”
You almost jump out of the chair and let out a startled scream. You looked over to the right to see Pedro lounging on a small sofa that was connected to the wall of the trailer. He was wearing a pair of black lounge shorts, paired with a Los Angeles Lakers shirt that was their signature gold color. He wore a small smirk and you noticed that he was sporting a funky looking mustache instead of the full facial hair you had become accustomed to.
“Oh my fucking god P, you scared the shit out of me.” Both of your hands were gripping either side of the chair and you tried to slow your heart rate down. “How’d you even get in here dude, jesus christ.”
He lets out a small laugh. “I have my ways sweetheart. How did filming go?”
“It was fine. I’m fucking drained though.” Your hands finally relax and you lean back into the chair in a casual manner.
“Yea it can be that way sometimes. Just wait until you're back on set with me. I’ll make sure you aren’t bored.” He winks. Your mind wanders for a moment before changing the subject.
“When did you get the porn stache?” You laugh and point to his upper lip.
“Oh this old thing? They shaved it a few days ago when I started filming more.” He runs one hand across his slightly stubbled jaw.
“It suits you.” You say with a hum.
He stays quiet for a moment and you look at him. He sits up straight on the couch, spreading his legs apart slightly. “Come here sweetheart.” He says while reaching out for you. You take a few steps towards him and he's grabbing your hands.
“I missed you.” He whispers while pulling you to stand in between the gap of his thighs. You weren’t entirely sure what he meant by that. Did he miss being around you? Did he miss kissing you? It really didn’t matter, because you missed him too, so you told him.
“I missed you too.” you admit outloud.
His hands let go of yours and instead make their way to your waist. He pulls you forward gently.
“I want you to sit on my lap, can you do that for me baby?”
Baby.
What you had with Pedro was unique. There wasn’t any discussion on what either of you had felt, but the night he kissed you, it created an unspoken agreement of sorts- there was a spark and you both weren’t afraid to explore it.
“P, I can’t. I’ll crush you.” He gives you a look of disapprovement. You were always too aware of your weight in intimacy. Knowing that you were heavier than what most guys were used to, made you avoid any situation that involved any weight being placed on another person.
“Just come straddle me baby, use your knees for support if you’re that worried about it okay? I just wanna feel you sweetheart, we can stop if you ever feel uncomfortable. Does that sound okay?” He’s rubbing from your waist, down to your haps, and back up again. It’s comforting and you know that you can trust him- you know that he isn’t going to make fun of you.
You give him a nod and slowly lower yourself to straddle him, knees touching the couch on either side of his legs, holding yourself up slightly.. He places one hand on each of your thighs, slightly digging into them.
“Atta girl.” he says, his voice slightly deeper. A shiver runs down your spine and the gravel of his voice gives you the confidence to slide yourself down further and apply more weight onto his lap.
“You know, I've been aching to kiss you again.” He looks up and trains his eyes to yours.
“Then do it.” You say, your voice small.
He puts his hands around your waist, positioning his hands right above your ass and pulls you forward. He leans up towards you and you lean down meeting his lips halfway. Your lips start moving against him in a comfortable rhythm. The kiss starts off slow and innocent, both of you savoring the feeling that you both had been craving. His grunts and his hands fall lower fully cupping each ass cheek, giving them both a tight squeeze. You let out a small gasp to which he takes as an invitation to sneak his tongue into your mouth. This snaps you into reality and you pull back for a moment.
“Taylor, my uh hairstylist, is coming by soon to take the wig off.” You said in a breathy voice.
“She’ll knock.” He says pulling you back into him, his tongue immediately darting into your mouth.
Your tongues are dancing together, neither one of you trying to control the other. Pedro uses his grip on your ass to roll your hips forward and you can feel that he’s hard underneath his criminally thin shorts. You could feel his full length graze across your pussy, causing you to break the kiss and jolt your head back in a surprised moan. He keeps rolling your hips onto him and reaches forward to attach his lips to your neck, leaving sloppy wet kisses.
A knock on the door makes both of you freeze. You jump out of Pedro’s lap and rush back to the makeup chair. You fix the wig slightly and look over at Pedro as he adjusts himself before going back into the same lounging position he held when you had first noticed him. The door opens slightly and Taylor announces herself before entering. “Sorry it took so long. There was a change in how they want your hair for your sex scene coming up.” You face flushes and she begins to take the wig off. Ignoring Pedro’s presence, the two of you hold a small conversation until she finishes up and excuses herself.
─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──
“I need to get this costume off. Can you turn around or something while I change real quick?” You say as you grab the black and white plaid pajama pants and black hoodie you showed up in. He turns around and you get dressed quickly, letting him know when he could look again. You walk across the trailer and bend over to search your tote bag for your micellar water and cotton pads to remove your makeup.
“You look so good in these pants baby.” Pedro grabs both sides of your hips and presses himself against your ass. You stand up and he’s leaning to whisper in your ear, “You wanna come over to my place?” You can’t help but laugh.
“Are you always this fuckboyish when you’re horny?” You say, finally being able to be the one who teased him and not the other way around.
“Only for you baby.” He winks and lets out a laugh.
The car ride to his place was quiet. When you agreed to come over, he insisted that he could drive you to his place and would drive you home. You didn’t fight back much, not even thinking about your car that still sat in the studio parking lot. You had your arm propped up on the center console with your hand supporting your chin, staring at Pedro. His hand was placed on your thigh, his thumb moving up and down slightly tickling you.
You couldn’t help but admire him. Pedro was truly one of the most handsome men you had ever come across. He was so…beefy. His legs looks so good in those shorts and the way his shirt stretched around the top of his arm was torture. You were so fucking horny it was crazy. You wanted nothing more than to feel the warmth of Pedro and feel his length graze against you again. You weren’t sure exactly what Pedro had planned when he asked you to come over but you were hoping it involved more kissing. You really liked kissing him.
The car comes to a stop and you notice that he’s pulling into a garage. When you asked him where he lived before, he had mentioned that he had a small place but this house was far from small. It wasn’t a huge mansion but it was a respectable size, way bigger than your own apartment. When you open your car door, Pedro is already walking over to your side and offering his hand, which you take happily. He closes the garage door, locks the car, and leads you into a small mudroom. He removes his shoes, you follow, and the two of you walk down a small hallway into a living room.
The room was pretty normal. There was a brown ‘L’ shaped couch along the back wall accompanied by a matching brown recliner to the right of the room. On the opposite wall of the couch, there was a giant flat screen attached to the wall with a dark wooden entertainment stand underneath that was littered with random items. He had a few pictures scattered across the walls and a small display case of awards he had won.
He sits on the couch and he pulls you down to straddle his lap again. This time it was much more innocent than the first. He has his arms lazily wrapped around you and you have your arms around his neck, resting your head on the right one.
“Your house is so nice P. It’s so you.” You say into his cheek.
He lets out a light chuckle and you feel the vibration from his chest on yours. “Thank you sweetheart.” You hum in response.
“Are you ready for our intimacy coaching?” He asks genuinely.
“Uh, yea I think so. I’m a little nervous though.” You take a moment to think about just how much sex Pedro’s character is having in this movie. He has to have intimacy training and intimacy scenes with eleven other women. You know it’s just his job, but you can’t help the tinge of jealousy that you feel in your chest. “Have you started any of your other ones yet?” You're hoping he couldn’t hear the slight irritation in your voice.
“Yea. I finished all the training and started filming with some of the girls already.” He says nonchalantly.
“Oh…that’s cool.” You know for sure he could hear the staggering in your voice this time. You’re trying really hard to keep a professional, but what both of you have done behind closed doors is far from professional. He turns his head to look down at you.
“What’s wrong baby?” He asks with concern and you realize from the tension in your lips that you have a very noticeable pout on your face.
“It’s nothing.. ‘s stupid.” You lower your head to hide your face.
“‘s not stupid if it’s got you all pouty like that sweet girl.” He’s rubbing the back of your head so gently, it could put you right to sleep.
“It’s really stupid P…” You raise your head to look at him. “.. just the thought of you being that close and intimate with other women makes me feel a little jealous . Like I know it’s your job and all but I’m starting to really like you and I don’t-”
“You like me?” He’s smiling from ear to ear and you could feel the heat rising to your face, not realizing you had said it outloud.
“I mean yea P. You’re a total catch, what’s not to like…” You trail off, trying your best not to shy away from this moment, from him.
“I like you too Y/n.” His smile is still big. You can feel your tummy erupt.
“I need you to really promise me that you like me, okay? I really don’t want to get hurt by you.” You’re holding your pinky up, just like the day you had met him.
“I promise baby.” He locks his pinky with yours and gives your hand a tender kiss.
You lay your head back down and you both accept the silence around you, living in the moment of the confessions made. Last time you checked the clock, it was ten at night. It was late and Pedro’s lap was far too comfy for you to care about going home tonight. Your head was feeling heavy and you were slipping into a delirious state due to your lack of sleep after a long day of working.
“You know, when my agent first told me that you were the lead when I auditioned, I had no idea who you were.” Your voice comes out barely above a whisper.
“Thanks baby, that really knocks a few notches off my ego.” He laughs and that slight rumble from his chest is intoxicating. You could see the rise of his left cheek from where your head still laid on your arm that was still draped over his shoulders. You liked making him smile. He had such a nice smile.
“Hm, maybe that’s why the universe brought me to you, to humble you.” Another soft chuckle leaves his mouth. You also loved making him laugh- it was a sound you were glad to have the pleasure of hearing.
“Anyways, that’s not the point. After I met you at the audition, I may or may not have looked you up.” You don’t know why you’re telling him this.
“Did you find anything interesting?” He turns his head to look down at you, his eyebrow slightly raised, a cocky smirk present. His right hand starts to caress your back slowly.
“Eh not really… I did watch your vanity fair lie detector test though.” You purposely leave out how many times you rewatched the first 20 seconds of the video, just to hear his laugh.
“Oh yea? What did you think?” He’s still looking at you but there's a different look on his face this time, one you haven’t seen before.
“You look really good in pink.” Your lips turn up to give him a small smile as you think about your next words. “So, uh, daddy’s a state of mind huh?” His hand stops rubbing your back and he turns his head abruptly, looking in the other direction. You burst into laughter at his reaction. “I’m just teasing, come here.” You tug on his right shoulder trying to get him to look at you again but he doesn’t budge. Setting your hands on his shoulders for support, you move yourself to sit straight up, still straddling his lap. Pedro turns his head to look at you and your hands grab his face- you can feel a slight warmth from the blush that was there just moments before.
“I forgot all about that, it’s so embarrassing…” He leans his head down slightly causing his cheeks to squish in your hands.
“‘s not embarrassing, it was really fucking funny, but not embarrassing.” He doesn’t budge. “You can be my daddy.” You say in a teasing matter. His head jolts up causing you to drop your hands back down to his shoulder. His eyes were wide and you could’ve sworn you felt movement near the inner corner of your thigh that just so happens to be right next to his-
“Do you want me to drive you home baby, it’s..” He trails off to grab his phone to check the time. “Shit.. it’s almost 3am.” He sits his phone back down
“Why’d you change the subject? You don’t wanna be my daddy?” You really wanted to get a reaction out of him. You’re staring deep into his eyes and you feel that slight press against your thigh again.
“You can’t just say stuff like that sweet girl…” His hands trail down your back, past your ass, and he wiggles them just under your thighs. Before you even realize what’s happening, Pedro is standing up, arms hooked under your legs. You throw your arms around his neck.
“Pedro put me down please.” You were starting to panic. You’d never had someone even attempt to pick you up and the thought of how heavy you might be in his arms right now is stressing you the fuck out. He starts walking but you can’t see where, nothing but the fading living room in your sight. “P, please. I’m too heavy, please just put me down.” He ignores your pleas. Pedro stops walking for a moment and you hear what you assume is a door clicking open before he continues to walk again.
“Here sweet girl.” He’s setting you down on the edge of a king sized bed. “I’m not really up to date on any of the new dating rules or anything but um if you wanted, you could stay here tonight.” He’s rubbing the back of his neck and he seems nervous. Your heart burst into flames.
Dating
“We’re dating?” You’re looking at him with a big smile.
“Uh yea, I mean uh, only if you want to. I’d love to take you out sometime, on a proper date and everything.” He’s looking at the floor.
You hop off the bed and wrap your arms around him in a big hug, to which he returns, leaving light kisses on your head.
“I’d love to stay tonight.”
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Thank you for reading <3
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I'm sorry someone bombarded you with bitchy comments 😭. While my To Read list is lengthy and continually lengthier (actually I think something of yours with her is on it), I'd like to hear more about Ianneth-Fingon-Maedhros if you want to talk about them.
@polutrope
It wasn't really upsetting, just annoying and honestly a little bit funny. This guy left comments on all six chapters of By Love or at Least Free Will, every time I updated the story, just objecting to the entire premise of the story and ranting about how Elves have incorruptible pure souls and are immune to lust. I was sorely tempted to respond with this quote from "Laws & Customs Among the Eldar":
Even when in after days, as the histories reveal, many of the Eldar in Middle-earth became corrupted, and their hearts darkened by the shadow that lies upon Arda, seldom is any tale told of deeds of lust among them.
'Seldom' is not the same thing as 'never', and furthermore, I don't think lust is even a major theme of my story. It's more about conflicting obligations and unruly hearts.
In the end I deleted the comments without responding, because I have a personal policy of not engaging with people who are acting in bad faith. But I have to assume that this guy has no actual hobbies if he spends his time hate-reading entire stories instead of just...closing the window and moving on with his life. Maybe take up crochet, bro? Or volunteer at a soup kitchen? Watch a TV show that you like? Grow some tomatoes? Do something that will be more fulfilling than typing long screeds on AO3. I promise it will make you a happier person.
Anyway. On to the actual topic of your ask! As you've probably noticed, I am very fond of Russingon. However, I am also very fond of Fingon as Gil-galad's father. At first I balanced these two ideas by keeping my Russingon ideas and my Fingon-father-of-Gil-galad ideas in two separate universes, but then I started really fleshing out Gil-galad's mother, and it made me think some thoughts. To repeat something I said to @cuarthol in a comment on AO3:
...half the genesis of Ianneth was seeing so many stories (in multiple fandoms, not just Tolkien) where the woman is written out of a canon or semi-canon couple to make room for a popular M/M ship instead, without the female character being treated with any respect. I decided that the female perspective on that situation would be a nice change of pace and interesting to write.
I'm not trying to point fingers -- I'll readily admit that I have my male faves just like the next gal and that it's fun to make them kiss -- but the wives and girlfriends don't get a lot of love in fandom, do they? And it doesn't help that the legendarium in general tends to be a bit of a sausage fest. So I decided that Fingon would have a wife and be in love with Maedhros. But instead of focusing just on the forbidden love, I was going to focus on the wife's feelings, too.
Ianneth ("bridge-woman") is one of the Northern Sindar, from the community that lives around Lake Mithrim. She's the daughter of Annael (yes, that Annael), whom I've imagined to be one of the more influential leaders among the Northern Sindar, and particularly among the Elves of Mithrim.
Her betrothal to Fingon starts as a political arrangement. Fingolfin loves Fingon dearly, of course, but he's also been hinting for a while now that Fingon really needs to settle down and start having kids so that there will be a strong line of heirs should Fingolfin die. After all, Argon's dead, and Turgon and Aredhel abruptly fucked off to god-knows-where some three hundred years ago and haven't been seen nor heard from since. Your dad needs some grandsons, Fingon, and this also seems like a ripe opportunity to strengthen the Noldor's alliance with the Northern Sindar.
I don't think political marriage is unknown among the Elves of Beleriand. (For one example in the text, see Celegorm trying to marry Luthien to force Doriath into an alliance.) And the quote I drew the title of the aforementioned Fingon/Ianneth story from, also found in "Laws and Customs Among the Eldar," is:
The Eldar wedded only once in life, and for love or at the least by free will upon either part.
Free will could easily mean, "Are we in love? No. But I'll still marry you, for the good of our peoples, and I'll bring some of Dad's soldiers along with me." That sort of thing happened all the time among real-world nobility, so I see no reason why it can't happen among Elven nobility in Beleriand, too.
At any rate, Fingolfin arranges for Fingon to meet the daughters of some of the more powerful leaders of the Northern Sindar, and he's hint-hint-hinting that Fingon really needs to pick one of them to be his wife. Fingon, having been in love with Maedhros since they were young in Valinor, is not exactly keen on this plan. But he goes along with it anyway because he is a dutiful son, he knows that his father is right about needing to strengthen the line of succession, and he also knows that revealing his (quite taboo!) relationship with Maedhros to his father would probably break Fingolfin's heart.
It takes Fingon a while to decide who to court, but he picks Ianneth because he likes her sense of humor; she has the guts to gently tease him at their first meeting, which he finds quite charming. He doesn't think he can love anyone besides Maedhros, but he does look at Ianneth and think, "This is a woman I could grow to care for and whose companionship I think could enjoy."
The trouble begins when, over the course of their courtship, Fingon starts falling in love with Ianneth without falling out of love with Maedhros. And he doesn't know what to do about this. He can't call off the marriage, and he doesn't want to break things off with Maedhros, so he decides to just...keep the whole thing with Maedhros a secret and marry Ianneth anyway. It's not a good decision, but really, are there any options here that won't end with someone getting hurt? I don't think so.
So we have Ianneth, blissfully ignorant of her husband's infidelity (for now); Fingon, in love with two people at once and feeling horribly guilty about it, but unwilling to pick one partner over the other; and Maedhros, resigned to the situation but still hurting because Fingon is no longer his alone.
Maedhros' feelings are complicated by the fact that, once he meets her, he finds that likes Ianneth. It would be easier, he thinks, if he could write her off as just a political necessity for Fingon, but it turns out that she's charming and intelligent and kind, and he can understand why Fingon loves her. His feelings soften further once Ereiniel is born, because Fingon is so happy being a father, and he loves Fingon, so how can he begrudge him that? There's a line from "Famous Blue Raincoat" by Leonard Cohen that I always think of when I'm getting into Maedhros' head at this point:
And thanks for the trouble you took from [his] eyes. I thought it was there for good, so I never tried.
Things tick along about as smoothly as they can for thirteen years, until, in the aftermath of Fingolfin's death during the Dagor Bragollach, as Fingon prepares to send Ianneth and Ereiniel to the Falas for their safety, Ianneth learns his secret. This is understandably devastating for her, and leaves her wondering if Fingon ever really loved her as she loved him, or if his marriage to her was simply a politically expedient sham.
Add to that the fact that she leaves for the Falas less than ten hours after this revelation and spends most of that ten hours either crying or asleep, as she's too upset to really talk to Fingon about what she's discovered, and it leaves her with this horrible knowledge and all the worst thoughts that come from it gnawing at her nearly a full year until Fingon next comes to Eglarest -- time that she spends as the sole caregiver for her young daughter, among strangers in a foreign city, without her mother or her sister or any of her friends who might have theoretically been able to offer her some emotional support.
Theoretically is a key word there, though, because even if, say, her sister had come to Eglarest, Ianneth isn't sure she'd even be able to tell her. For one thing, she can't help feeling ashamed, because infidelity is very rare among Elves, and she can't help thinking that maybe she failed as a wife somehow, and if she'd done something different, Fingon wouldn't have strayed. Then there's the fact that he's the High King of the Noldor, and if this gets out it could cause a crisis in the Noldorin government and possibly tank the alliance between the House of Fingolfin and the Northern Sindar. Ianneth is a practical woman, and she's of the Northern Sindar -- the people who have been living practically on Morgoth's doorstep for centuries, with no Maia queen's magic girdle to protect them. Their alliance with the Noldor is vital, and she would never want to jeopardize it.
So Ianneth is just...completely alone with this pain. She has no one to turn to, no one who can comfort her. And that pain is central to her story, and a not insignificant part of Ereiniel's story, too.
#polutrope#turns out when you ask me about my ocs i turn into treebeard#ianneth#fingon's wife#fingon#maedhros#gil galad#woman king au#my ocs
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The Discourse of Character
Earlier this year, I was struck by a tiny particle of inspiration which, after landing in my mind, exploded, producing some of the fastest conceptualization and writing I have ever done. A host of characters came to me in a flash of creation, and the novels-long story of their lives began to grow within my mind like a climbing vine on high-speed film. Short weeks later, the novel’s characters already feel like old friends. With them, the discourse of characterization has been swift and exhilarating, and the similarities between myself and the people populating this would-be novel, Stained Glass Windows, have already begun to become apparent.
Every character in creation shares at least one trait with his or her creator. This trait can be something as small as a habit of twirling one’s hair or something so significant as an undefeatable personal demon. Whatever the characteristic may be, it becomes an access point from which the creator can “converse” with his or her creation. Such dialogue is key to the development of a character. Though fictional, characters are people; to be able to write of them, an author must first speak with them, learn of them, and discover precisely who these people are. Developing a character is less a matter of construction and more one of sitting down in a café for a chat over pricey cappuccinos. Generally, a writer must dedicate a great deal of time to the conversations in these mental cafés. Discovering which trait character and creator have in common is usually an even lengthier process, if the discovery is made at all. However, the discourse of character reached an unprecedented speed in the case of Stained Glass Windows’ main character, Pupcat Riley. This could be attributed to the fact that there was a character, Minato Arisato, before Riley who acted as a stage in his evolution.
The video game Persona 3 provides a nameless main character, commonly referred to as Minato Arisato by fans, whose personality is largely determined by the player via multiple choice prompts within the game’s dialogue. While playing through Persona 3, I developed a rough sketch of a character which, though influenced by what the game itself indicated of Minato’s personality, was primarily my own interjection. I imagined him near to mute and extremely introverted. His concern for others was passing, and his concern for his own fate was equally absent. As the game progressed, however, he grew. He became more eager to help and protect others and generally more interested in their lives. His world view expanded beyond himself, and, rather than simply succumb to destiny, he began to make choices which would determine his future. Indeed, the game ends with Minato’s demise; he sacrifices himself in order to protect the world as a whole. That is where I began with Pupcat Riley.
Riley has proven to be more ambitious than his predecessor. He is a far cry from Minato’s introversion, though he is pensive and, by consequence, often silent. Unlike Minato, he has had an eye to the betterment of his world right from the outset. Indeed, world improvement has proven to be the driving force of his life. It gives him cause to set out on a years-long journey to gain the tools necessary for recasting his world’s shape, revealing, in the process, his indefatigably adventurous spirit and irrepressible, cocky grin. What can be said of him but that he is an eager revolutionary with enough intellect to back up his larger-than-life goals? He has become utterly different from the character I began with, having only a few modified physical characteristics in common with his predecessor.
And yet, both characters contain a portion of myself. Minato, who was partially my own invention and partially predetermined, held the quiet, introverted perspective that has marked most of my life. Further, I bestowed my values upon Minato. A polite manner was key to success, I felt, and so I often selected the most polite responses to prompts within the game’s dialogue. Thus, I existed within Minato, guiding him with the tethers of my own personality.
The later Riley broke free from many of these bonds. His morals did not always reflect my own, and the nature of our silences differed greatly. Minato and I had been quiet with self-reflection; Riley was silent with elaborate plans for rebuilding his world. What I shared with Riley was a certain degree of self-belief which bordered on cockiness. That is to say, we both believe in ourselves and feel that we can, through sheer force of will, accomplish our goals. Further, I gave Riley the same sense of duty that I hold; all of my work, even the work I loathe, receives its due care. In addition, we both find that most tasks come to us easily, and, therefore, tend to know at least a little bit about a great many subjects.
Thus, Pupcat Riley of my would-be novel gained my playful impudence and my ability to absorb information while Minato of Persona 3 inherited my meeker qualities. They both, however, gained my pattern of growth. In both cases the characters begin as extremes – an extreme of silent introversion and an extreme of cocky self-assurance – and grow toward a more moderate, favorable state. Minato remains pensive and thoughtful but becomes more extroverted. Riley remains confident and capable but obtains humility. Thus, both myself and the characters become more moderate thereby improving ourselves as people.
Of course, the case of Riley and Minato is merely one example of how the similarities between characters and their creators manifest. This example is further accentuated by the fact that Minato is a stage in the evolution of Riley. The traits of the one are, thus, embedded within the hidden structure of the other. The roots of Riley’s character spread out, crossing the borders not only between tales, but also between our reality and his. The seed of myself that I planted within Riley has clearly grown. Although obfuscated by the tangled mass of Riley’s experiences, our shared traits act as the infrastructure of his characterization, linking us and allowing us to engage in the discourse of character.
This is archival work from my teen years, specifically from my college applications. You can find my current work @tryskits and @tryskits-art
#writing archive#TrysKits work#prose#nonfiction#assignments#college applications#oc writing#old writing#original characters#Khra-nicles#Kriamiss Orientere#Pupcat Riley#process#me#Persona 3#Minato Arisato#00s#2008#Age 17
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A Promise | Dream x Reader
Pairing: smp!dream x gn!reader
Word Count: 6k
Summary: the smp is in shambles. tensions are high in the wake of tommy's death. y/n is still struggling with everything that happened with dream and wishes life could go back to what it used to be before everyone was hungry for power. y/n thinks of the promise dream made to them, and is oblivious to the fact dream intends on keeping it
Warnings: swearing, mentions of character deaths
Masterlist | Ask/Tell/Request
A/N: hello everyone! this is my first smp!dream x reader and I tried my best to keep it as lore accurate as possible. I changed some things up and obviously included things that have NOT happened in actual dsmp lore. I thought of this idea and really wanted to write it even though I'm not too familiar with writing in-game character imagines for the dsmp. I hope you still enjoy and lmk what you think! :) Edit: i started writing this months ago with no idea what was gonna happen within the dsmp storylines, but apparently this fic is no longer that far off actual lore lmao. also this became much longer than originally anticipated so I hope you enjoy this lengthier piece! lastly, sorry for scattered updates, I kind of just write when I'm feeling inspired and write for who i'm feeling inspired by. thanks for sticking around if you have <3
The night outside was still. Only faint sounds of trees rustling in the wind and wild animals scurrying past could be heard if you listened close enough. The smp was filled with sorrow after news broke out of Tommy's death. You weren't close with the boy, but you sympathized with him and felt horrible about what happened. What broke you even more was the fact the man who killed him was the man you were in love with.
When Sam had told you what happened, you were in disbelief. You thought it was a misunderstanding, yes Dream had done some horrible things, but surely he wouldn't have killed a child? As if getting Tommy exiled wasn't bad enough, he had to go and kill him too, and for what? Vengeance? Power? Some kind of superiority complex? Whatever it was, it wasn't worth the murder of a kid just trying to find his place in the world.
You shake your head as you stare out into the night, feeling the wind hit your face softly. It's unbelievable the amount of chaos that has occurred in such a short time. Some people were dead, some divided, and some who just plain stayed away from everyone, broken in their own ways.
You head back inside your house, feeling sleep ready to take over. As you enter, you don't even bother locking the door, you never have. When the elections and disagreements first started, you begged Dream to take you somewhere far from the rest of the communities. You could tell Dream was changing and you thought moving away from everyone would help balance him again, sadly it didn't turn out the way you thought. Although the quaint cottage you and Dream had built together created a calm and safe space for the both of you, it wasn't enough to keep the hunger for power within Dream to stop growing.
No one knew where you guys lived, it was a place you and Dream had made your own, far from the chaos that was constantly occurring near spawn. There were animals, flowers, and a pond full of beautifully colored fish that you had come to cherish. You never locked the door, even when things started to get scary and nerve-wracking, because there was nothing to fear. Dream would always be there to protect you and keep you from harm. Having the door unlocked meant Dream would always come home, that there was nothing to be scared of. Even when Dream would be gone for days planning God knows what, the door would stay unlocked.
It had been months since you last saw Dream. You knew where he was of course, in prison, knew there was no way he would ever come walking through that door again, yet it stayed unlocked. Opened and ready for him to come walking in. To come back in your arms, the way it should've always been.
It made you feel horrible that you still loved Dream so much, but somehow no matter what he did, he would always have the key to your heart. Before being in prison, before blowing up L'Manburg, and before exiling Tommy, you knew Dream for who he really was on the inside. No matter what new heinous act covered his heart, you knew there was still one there underneath it all. A heart that loved and cherished his friends. A heart of a man who would lay down his life for the people he loved. You know he's still in there, you would see it in the small acts he would do for you even when he was drunk on power. He was still the Dream you know and love so much.
You wrap yourself up in the blankets on your bed, looking at the space next to you that had been empty for quite some time now. When Dream first got taken to prison, you thought about leaving your cottage and going to live back with everyone else, some of your friends had even offered you stay with them, but you couldn't. This house was the only thing you had left of Dream, the only space that wasn't tainted with destruction, but with good memories. You couldn't bear the thought of leaving it all behind. You were all alone out here, but somehow you found comfort in it.
You sat in the darkness, the only source of light being the moonlight that shone from the windows within your house. The cottage was relatively small, you and Dream never needed much in terms of materialistic things so your house was only two floors, the main one and the basement where you stored gear and other supplies. The bed was in the back corner, giving you a perfect view of everything in the house, especially the front door. Sometimes when you woke up you expected Dream to come walking through it, for an instant forgetting he was far away, locked in a cell with nothing but his thoughts.
Multiple times you tried visiting Dream, even to get just a second of time with him, but each attempt you were met with nothing. Sam had told you Dream wasn't taking any visitors, he didn't want to see you. In reality he didn't want you to see him in that condition. Even with all his confidence he couldn't stand the thought of you seeing him chained and vulnerable. You wished he would get over it, allow you to see him but you understood it wouldn't happen. Dream had too much pride, no matter how much he cared for you.
Thinking about this has your mind going back to the night everything went down. The last time you saw Dream in person. You had heard whispers about what Dream had planned, but refused to believe it was real...
You watched dream as he paced back and forth, mumbling things you couldn't understand. He was frantic, yet somehow had everything in order at the same time. You understood where this was going and tried hard not to start crying. There was absolutely no going back once Dream went through with this.
"Dream," You croaked out, getting up and reaching out towards him, taking his face within your hands, halting his pacing for the moment. "Please don't do this."
There was the tiniest flicker within his emerald eyes, an instance of sincerity and sympathy for the fear within your voice. Moments like these were rare, seeing Dream's full face and being able to stare into his eyes, looking past the darkness that seemed to follow him lately. Dream always seemed to be wearing that mask, especially whenever he left the house. He was so adamant about instilling the smile within people's heads he often forgot to take it off around you, leading you to constantly see the same smile behind your closed eyelids.
"Y/N, you know I have to, it's the only option," He said.
"Only option? Dream this shouldn't even be an option to begin with! What happened to the way things used to be when we first started all of this?"
"That was a long time ago, times have changed," Dream replied sternly, backing away from your grasp. "I have to do this, and I'm sorry you don't see things the way I do." Dream went to start pacing again, but your words brought him back.
"You know what they'll do to you if you go through with this," Your words came out as almost a whisper. "Sam and the others will put you in prison, or worse, Dream. I-I can't lose you."
The tears began to pool in your eyes, one by one slowly slipping down your cheeks. Dream couldn't help the pang he felt within his chest at the sight of you crying. If anyone could get through to him, could turn his menacing demeanor off for even a second, it was you.
Dream walked forward and cupped your face in his hands. He wiped the tears away with his thumbs and tried his best to comfort you.
“Don’t cry, baby,” he said. “Everything is going to be okay, you’ll see. This will be good for us! When I get the power I deserve and we start getting some order around here, everything will be the way it should be. We’ll have everything we want!” Dream thought his words would comfort you, but instead they made you feel worse.
“All I want is to be with you and for you to be safe!” More tears fall down your face as you felt your heart breaking. “I don’t care about power, all I care about is you! Please Dream, please don’t go!” You were gripping onto Dream’s shirt at that point, thinking that maybe if you don’t let go of him, he won’t be able to leave.
“I will be safe. They can’t and won’t do anything to me. I’m too valuable for them to kill me, trust me. I know things they don’t, they would never risk killing me while I have things they need.”
You scoffed and shook your head. There was no getting through to him. When Dream sets his mind on something, there’s no changing it. You tried convincing him a million times to stray from this path, but it seemed he only continued to travel further down it.
You reached up and wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him as close to you as possible. You dug your face into his neck, taking in that all too familiar scent. There was no telling when the next time you would be able to do this would be, if there even was a next time. Dream wrapped his arms tightly around you, holding you in place.
Even though he would never admit it, there were countless times he thought about dropping everything for good and leaving with you. Going somewhere even farther than the cottage and never coming back. Leaving behind everyone and their strive for power. He talked to Sapnap about it during late hours of the night, expressing his concerns he had for you, but in the end his own hunger for power was too strong. He couldn’t leave behind a fight, especially when he was so confident he could win it.
A loud ringing caused you and Dream to break apart. You followed Dream’s gaze to a nearby table and saw a clock jittering rapidly across the wood. He walked over and quickly silenced it, sighing before setting it down.
“It’s time,” He said, before looking back towards you. “I have to go.”
You closed your eyes and let out a breath, feeling defeated. You tried to stop any more tears from falling, but failed helplessly. There was nothing more you could do.
When you opened your eyes, Dream was standing in front of you again.
“Leave the door unlocked for me, okay?” He smiled and you returned it weakly, understanding he was trying to make you feel better.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Dream. What if people come looking for our house? Or for me?”
“Don’t worry, no matter what happens you will still be safe. They’re after me, not you. No one would dare to hurt you, besides they all love you anyways,” Dream smirks and you can’t help but to roll your eyes. He wasn’t wrong, you were close with basically everyone, always having room in your heart for new friendships. “Leave it unlocked, I promise I will come back to you.”
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” You whispered, feeling your chest start to tighten at Dream’s words.
“Hey,” Dream grabbed your attention as he reached out and placed a hand on your cheek. “I never have and never will break a promise to you.”
You stared into his eyes and couldn’t help but to melt as you noticed them soften, just a little. Dream leaned down and captured your lips in a kiss. Your lips molded together effortlessly, you and Dream having fallen instantly in sync.
Dream pulled away and brushed his finger against your jaw. Tracing over every small scar from when you two would practice dueling in the field. He smiled softly as the fond memories flashed through his mind.
“I love you, Y/N,” He said before walking towards the door. He picked up his mask he left laying on the chair and grasped the handle on the door. He opened it, and let the early evening breeze sweep through the house.
He stepped outside before turning back towards you one final time.
“I promise,” he said, before putting on his mask and closing the door behind him, leaving you alone in your shared home...
That night replays through your head more times than you would like, but it’s the last time you had the man you love in your arms, so you couldn’t even think about trying to forget it.
No longer able to keep your eyes open, you adjust comfortably into your bed and let sleep take over, hoping tomorrow will be better.
Dream’s POV
Dream dashed through the forest, tripping over branches and vines, yet not daring to stop and catch a breath. He can’t believe his plan actually worked! Everything was going exactly the way he hoped and wanted it to.
It wouldn’t be long before Sam and the others would be scouring the smp for him, so he had to hurry and be conscious of every move he made, not wanting to lead them right to him.
It took a lot of work and careful planning, but Dream was finally out of that stupid black and purple prison cell. The days were long, and the nights even longer, being stuck in that cell, but he was finally out.
Dream basks in the cool air of the night, feeling the wind blow through his hair and flutter across his skin. It’s been so long since he was out in the real world, he almost forgot what it felt like.
No longer would he be caged like some animal. He was out and would finally be able to continue pursuing his plans. There is much to do, and not much time to do it, but he would get it done.
First thing’s first, though, he had to see you. Unknown to you, Dream also constantly thinks of that night he left. Thinking of the promise he made to you. He always swore to himself that no matter what, the first thing he would do once he got out of prison was to go and see you.
There is nothing but chaos behind Dream, his escape was efficient, but definitely wasn’t discreet. He had to hurry and get far away as soon as possible, he figures by now everyone knew of his escape. Stopping to see you is a risk, but it’s one he’s willing to take. Since no one knows where you guys live, that gave him an advantage on having more time to see you, since no one would know where to go looking first.
As Dream continues on his trek, he begins to see familiar landmarks that you guys memorized in order to remember where exactly your shared home was. It had been so long since he last saw them, it felt refreshing to be traveling this path again, even if he was being hunted down at the same time.
After a little while longer and pushing past more trees and vines, Dream can finally see the cottage you both created together. Quickly, Dream hides behind a tree, getting low to the ground. He steadies his breath as best he can and listens intensely for any following footsteps. He was careful to not leave an obvious trail behind him, but there was still a chance someone could’ve seen him and followed him out there.
After a few minutes of nothing but silence, not even the tiniest crack of a branch, Dream comes out from around the tree and makes his way to the front door.
He’s not sure how much time he’ll have with you. Even though he hates to admit it, he knows it has to be brief. No more than maybe five minutes, and even that is pushing it.
The wooden steps to the door creak under every footstep Dream makes. Dream doesn’t even realize the breath he’s holding as he wraps his hand around the doorknob. He turns the knob, and surprisingly to him, the door opens instantly. Dream can’t help the smile on his face as he realizes after all this time you still left the door unlocked for him. As this thought enters his mind, there’s an instant where his smile falters, thinking of the pain and loneliness you must have endured while he was away.
Dream shakes off the thoughts, he is here now and that’s what he has to focus on. Again, he only has so much time with you. There’s not an instant to waste thinking about the past.
As he steps fully into the house, Dream takes a moment to let his eyes adjust to the darkness surrounding him. From what he can tell, the place is exactly how he left it. Furniture all in the same positions and of course his love there waiting for him.
Being careful as to not make too much noise so he wouldn’t startle you, Dream takes the steps towards your shared bed. As he gets closer, his eyes begin to adjust to the darkness better and he’s able to make out your figure underneath the covers. He watches as the light from the moon illuminates your face and smiles at your peaceful state.
Dream begins to reach out towards you, his mouth opening to call out your name, but jumps back as he hears a distant yell. He waits an instant, praying what he heard was just a wild animal, but feels his heart drop in his stomach as he hears it again followed by others.
Quickly walking over to the window, Dream looks out and tries to see if he can spot any movement. He doesn’t understand how people have followed him all the way out here already, Dream was sure to not leave a trail. There’s no time to waste thinking about it now, if the plan is still to work he has to leave immediately.
Even though Dream wanted to spend at least a few minutes with you, there’s no chance he could do that now. Any minute Sam, Quackity, and the rest of the SMP could discover the house and surround it. Dream moves away from the window and walks back over to you, sighing.
He reaches out and brushes a strand of hair away from your cheek. He isn’t sure when the next time he’d be able to see you is, so he soaks up every inch of your appearance as quickly as he can. No matter what you had always been there for him, had always loved him even when he was at his lowest. A part of him regrets not allowing Sam to let you in the prison to visit him, but he’s also grateful you didn’t have to witness the life he had been living these past months. He hopes you’ll hold on to all the good memories you created together, and find a way to move on. Dream can’t bear the thought of letting you sit around and suffer any longer, waiting for him when even he doesn’t know when he’ll return.
Dream leans down and kisses your cheek, letting his lips linger for a moment as the warmth of your skin seeps into them. Even though he’ll never admit it, Dream can feel his heart breaking at this very moment. He’d do anything to be by your side day and night again, but that just isn’t an option anymore.
“I love you,” Dream whispers in your ear before standing back up. He walks back towards the door, dreading the thought of leaving you behind once again.
Y/N ’s POV
“I love you,” a voice all too familiar whispers into your ear. Sleep is fighting you as you try to wake up fully. You had dreamed of hearing his voice again, and it seems that the mere sound of it could awaken you.
Sitting up, you rub your eyes and blink a few times, wondering if it was just your mind playing tricks on you. You look up after the blurriness has faded and gasp as you notice a figure by the door. You’d recognize that blonde hair and tall stature anywhere.
“Dream?” You rip the covers off and stand, not believing the sight in front of you. He turns around and tears immediately spring to your eyes as you realize this isn’t a figment of your imagination, Dream was right here in front of you. He came back just like he promised.
“Baby,” he opens his arms and walks towards you, a smile forming on his face, a look you missed more than anything.
You meet him halfway and jump into his arms, the tears falling down your face as you’re reunited with the man you loved more than anything.
Dream rubs his hands up and down your back as you keep your arms wrapped around his neck and your legs wrapped around his torso.
“Damn you, Dream! Do you know how awful it’s been without you!? How scared I was for you?” You sobbed into his neck, pulling away slightly to look into those big green eyes. “How much I missed you?”
You notice the glossy look in his eyes and can tell how badly Dream feels about everything he’s done to you, everything he’s left you with.
“I can’t even imagine, Y/N. I’m so sorry,” He whispers. Dream removes one hand from your back and reaches up to brush away the tears on your cheek. Even though he’s been stuck in a cell for a while, you’re surprised at the strength Dream still has in order to be able to hold you up with one arm. Even with the time that has passed, he’s still the same man he was before he left. If anything, he looks stronger, more determined than before even. You don’t know whether to be glad or terrified.
There’s something in the way he’s looking at you that you instantly understand Dream isn’t home for good. This isn’t permanent and you know for a fact Sam didn’t let him out of that prison on purpose.
“How much time do we have?” You remove your legs from around Dreams waist and you can hear the small sigh he exhales as he sets you down. He knows you know what’s happening, you were always way smarter than anyone ever gave you credit for.
“Minutes, if that. I thought I did a good job at covering my trail but I heard people yelling, I feel they’re not far off from finding this place. I need to be long gone before they reach us,” He says, not quite meeting your eye. Dream can’t stand the sight of you being disappointed, of being disappointed in him.
“I see,” You can’t help the small crack in your voice as the thought of him leaving once again floods your mind. You’ll wake up tomorrow and it will be just like it was a dream.
“Hey,” Dream says as he steps forward and cups your face in his hands. “I’m so sorry that I have to leave again. If there was anything I could do differently to allow me to stay here with you, I would. I love you so much.” You want to tell him if he never left in the first place none of this would’ve happened. That you wouldn’t be in this situation right now, but you refrain yourself. The last thing you want right now is to waste what little time you have left arguing with the man who owns your heart.
“I love you too,” You exhale as you lean your cheek into his palm, trying to soak up every second of his skin on yours. Dream gives you a soft smile, but it seems to fade almost instantly, a look of determination and strain taking it’s place instead.
“When I leave this time, I don’t want you sitting around waiting for me. You don’t deserve that. You deserve someone who will be here for you every night, someone who can make you feel safe and not leave you feeling scared or worried,” You reach up and grab onto his arms, already shaking your head at what he’s saying. “I- I want you to move on, Y/N.”
“No! No I will not move on! You don’t get to do that, you don’t get to decide when it’s time for me to give up on you!” Dream rubs his thumbs back and forth on your cheeks as you continue to hold onto his arms.
“I can’t promise you the future you deserve, I don’t know when I'll be back. I don’t want you putting the rest of your life on hold while I try to figure everything out.” Sure his escape plan worked as smoothly as possible, but there is still much to do, and although Dream believes he can accomplish what he wants, there’s still a chance it wont happen. Members of the SMP are stronger now, more prepared than Dream thought. If he gets caught or his plan fails, he’ll be right back in that box, and there’s no shot he’ll get out a second time. “How can you love someone who can never be the man you truly deserve?”
Even with the minimal light coming in, you can see a tear fall down Dream’s face and your heart breaks at the sight. Although he’d never admit it, you can tell he’s scared. You can’t even begin to imagine what he endured while locked away. Just from the cuts and bruises on his face you can tell it’s not anything good.
Dream begins to say something else, but before he can get a word out you push yourself closer to him, removing your grasp from his arms to around his neck. You lean up and smash your lips against his, wanting nothing more than to be close to him, to let him know there’s no one you’d rather be with. Dream responds immediately as his lips fall into sync with yours. He removes one of his hands from your cheeks and places it on your lower back, pushing you even closer to him.
You break apart from him and rub the nape of his neck with your fingers, wanting to do anything you can to help soothe him.
“I will never love anyone as much as I love you, Dream,” You say as you look into his eyes. Even if you tried, you know you’ll never be able to move on from him. No matter what he does, he’ll always be that guy you fell in love with, that you are in love with.
As Dream looks down at you, and into your eyes he can tell you mean it. He doesn’t understand how he got so lucky to have you, doesn’t understand why you’d still want him after everything. He knows he doesn’t deserve you, but he’s so happy you still love him just as much as he loves you.
Knowing there’s nothing he can do to change your mind, and yet also having still so much he wants to tell you, he does the only thing he knows he can with the minimal time he has left. Dream leans down and connects your lips once more. Hoping you can feel every ounce of love he has for you within it.
Dream moves the hand he still has on your cheek and places it by his other one, on the lower half of your back. You let your hands trail from the base of his neck up into his golden locks, letting your fingers get twisted in the soft hair your missed running your hands through.
Though the situation is far from perfect, it’s the best thing you could possibly have considering the circumstances. There’s probably only moments left until Dream has to leave, but right now all you care about is using everything in you to kiss this man and hold him close.
Dream grabs at the bottom of your shirt and slips his hands underneath it, running them up and down your back. You can’t help the shiver that runs down your spine as he presses the pads of his fingers into your skin, warmth instantly shooting throughout your body.
You feel Dream smirk against your lips as he feels you shiver. He always loved the way he could control your body, always knowing just how to make you feel good.
In return, you pull on the golden locks between your fingers, knowing it always drives Dream crazy. It’s your turn to smirk as you hear him let out a satisfied hum at the feeling.
Dream lightly bites down on your bottom lip before pulling back. No matter how much it feels like you have all the time in the world together right now, he knows all too well that isn’t true. It’s time for him to leave, the others could be right outside the door any second now.
Pressing his forehead against yours, Dream lets out a small sigh. You don’t want to open your eyes, don’t want to see the look Dream is going to give you, a look you’ve seen only once before. So instead you remove your hands from his hair and wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him impossibly closer to you and shoving your head into his neck. Holding him tighter than ever before. You don’t even know what else to say, so you just hold him as he wraps his arms around your waist, not wanting to let go for even a second.
The both of you spring apart instantly as you hear a yell. Dream knows this time it is much closer than the one before. He has to leave now if he wants even a chance at reaching the next step in his plan. It’s now or never.
“There’s a million things I wish I could say to you right now,” Dream says as he looks from you to the door. You nod your head and quickly reach out, giving Dream one last hug and a kiss on his cheek.
“I know, it’s okay. I understand,” You reply while brushing away a piece of Dreams hair that fell over his eyes. You push on his shoulders lightly, towards the door. “Now go, before they get here.”
Dream nods his head before reaching for your hand, he lifts it to his lips and plants a kiss on your knuckles. A move so sweet and delicate, you can’t even imagine it came from a man capable of so many destructive things.
“I love you, Y/N,” he whispers, still holding on to your hand. You look into his eyes and give him a small smile, knowing it’s probably the last one you’ll be able to give him for a while.
“I love you too, Dream,” you reply. Dream walks backwards to the door, your hand slowly leaving his until it’s slipped from his grasp completely, falling down to your side.
Dream turns around and grabs the handle of the door. You feel your breath catch in your throat as you watch the man you care so much for walk out yet again. You want to tell yourself it’ll be different this time, it won’t be as hard to deal with. You know in your heart it won’t be.
“Y/N?” You snap out of your thoughts as you realize Dream is still standing by the door, still has his hand wrapped around the doorknob.
“Yeah?” Your heart beats a little quicker, the anxiety of Dream getting caught if he doesn’t leave now, and the thought of the things he has planned all wrapped up together, taking over.
Dream turns his head and looks at you, his eyes not quite meeting yours. He looks timid, almost as if he’s afraid of what he’s about to say next.
“I know I said I couldn’t promise you the future you want and deserve, but can you promise me something?” His eyes find yours and you can see the sincerity and vulnerability within them even from your position.
“What is it?” It comes out as a whisper, your own voice failing you as you anticipate what Dream is going to say next.
“Promise you’ll still keep the door unlocked for me?” There’s the tiniest pull of a smile at the corner of Dream’s mouth. He’s trying to make light of everything, trying to give you at least something. Although Dream knows you deserve better, and that he told you he wants you to move forward in life, that couldn’t be further from what he really wants. Him asking this of you is basically him saying he’ll be back eventually, or at least he’ll try to be. You know he can’t outright promise you he’ll return like he did last time, this time it’s different. This time he’s a criminal on the run with only one shot to accomplish his goal.
As you stand there staring at the man you love most, no matter what you both go through, you know he’s being heartfelt. You know he wishes things can be different. No matter how badly he still craves power, he’d still do anything for you. You know he wants to be close to you again, to go back to the days of late nights and early mornings. Back to tending to the flowers around your house and dueling in the field not far from here. Back to seeing you every time he closed his eyes and every time he opened them.
You feel your body deflate thinking back on these things, thinking of how much you’re going to miss him, how much you already do. There’s nothing you can do, even if you could convince him to stay he’d just get taken away as soon as Sam tracked him down. The damage is already done, with so much more to come.
So, with nothing more to be done, with no time left or any way to change what’s already set in place, you allow yourself to give in.
“I promise,” you say.
Dream’s small smile is hidden from view as he pulls on his mask. You hadn’t even realized it was with him. It’s cracked in different places, looks much different from the time you last saw it, and you try not to think about how the damage came to be.
This feeling and scenario is all too familiar to you and you hate the fact you seem to keep reliving it. You feel more scared this time, still uncertain of what’s going to happen. Of what’s going to happen to Dream. As you watch Dream open the door and walk out, closing it behind him, your nerves settle in deeper than you ever thought they could. You can hear his rapid footsteps as he flees the area, off to wherever it is he believes will hide him from the others. You know it wont be long before Sam, Quackity, and whoever else stumble upon your home, upon your safe space. You just hope Dream is long gone before then.
You take in everything that just happened, and you feel the need to reassure yourself. To reassure yourself of your strength and commitment, of your love and how special you know it is, of the idea he will come back. So as you crawl back into bed and stare at the front door, something you’ve come to memorize every inch of, you whisper to yourself,
“I promise.”
#dream x reader#dreamwastaken x reader#dream imagines#dream imagine#dream smp#dream x y/n#dream team x reader#dream#dreamwastaken#mcyt x y/n#mcyt x reader#dream team#dreamwastaken x you
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I feel another fanon debunk session coming over me, and this one’s a BIG one.
Let’s talk about the DickKory breakup, and why it happened.
Yup, we’re going there.
Before we get going though, I want to make one thing abundantly clear: this is NOT an invitation to bash on Kory. There will be no bashing of Kory on this post if I have anything to say about it, and its my post, so I do. So nyah nyah. But seriously like, don’t get my reasons for making this post wrong. I LOVE Kory. I SHIP Dick/Kory. And I don’t actually blame Kory for any of this, no matter how the page I’m about to show makes it appear, for reasons that I will get into later in this post, but like. I really truly don’t. I don’t think the Dick/Kory breakup ultimately was either of their fault. I think it was the painful end result of them both hitting rock bottom due to endless external fuckery with their lives and their minds during the tail end of their relationship, making it all but impossible for them to be there for each other the way they truly needed and WANTED to be....ultimately forcing them to break off and BOTH try and reorder their lives on their own. But IMO, this NEVER actually marked a dissolution of their feelings for each other, no matter what either (particularly Dick) eventually claimed in order to rationalize things to themselves.
I do however think some of the other Titans bear some culpability for not seeing things as they truly were here. I can understand given what they all went through during this time period like, how maybe it became easier to just blame Dick especially as he has a tendency to be so willing to accept blame? And so I think a lot of conclusions were jumped to that at other times they WOULD have spent more time thinking through. But here and now they didn’t simply because they were so relieved to HAVE an easy, simple explanation for things going wrong and someone to blame, someone who ACCEPTED blame. And thus more easily allowing them to speed through to the portion of events where they worked on ‘forgiving him’ for what he’d done so they could all move past it.
Okay, so let me stop talking in code for those of you who have only the faintest idea of what I’m talking about.
Traditional fanon states - and most wiki summaries I’ve seen actually CORROBORATE this, which drives me COMPLETELY up the wall because I would like to have WORDS with whomever wrote each of these wiki summaries - that ultimately, Dick and Kory broke up because they rushed into things with the wedding and both realized they weren’t actually ready to get married.
Let me be clear: this is totally and completely 100% true.
Fanon and wikis go ON however, to conclude that the ‘fault’ lies with Dick, because he was the one who jumped the gun in proposing, and that he only DID so, because he thought getting married would ‘help him finally grow up’ and ‘hit one of the milestones he thought he was missing while everyone else his age that he’d known in high school and stuff were graduating college and getting married and having kids right about now.’ And also that he eventually concluded that he didn’t actually love Kory the way he thought he did and needed to let her go for her sake.
Now let me also be clear: this is also MOSTLY true in the sense that he did eventually THINK these thoughts, some ten or fifteen issues after their crashed wedding, when he was off on his own and thinking through everything that was going on in his life and trying to make sense of the decisions he’d been making lately, most of which he was unhappy with.
The one part that ISN’T true is that last bit, which a lot of people extrapolate from and use as their basis for saying Dick ‘fell out of love with Kory’ and ‘realized that he no longer loved her the way he once had,’ with this leading into why they never got back together after Kory returned to Earth in the Titans revival series in the late 90s.
HOWEVER.
There’s a tiiiiiiiiiny little correction I must make to that last part, which might seem insignificant, but becomes ABUNDANTLY important when added to some other much needed - and much ignored overlooked - context:
Dick never ACTUALLY said or thought that he didn’t love Kory anymore, full stop. What he actually said, in its entirety, was that he realized “he never really loved Kory the way she deserved to be loved.”
Why is this distinction so important? Hang on just a sec, we’re almost there.
Now I would like to share with you, for those who have never seen this page or those who perhaps have forgotten it or its significance, the EXACT page where Dick proposes to Kory, from The New Titans #99, one issue before their wedding special in issue #100. (What’s that? You’re surprised that they got married the very issue after the proposal? You thought that they were engaged for a lengthier period of time? Ohhhh don’t worry, fair readers. We’ll get there. Ohhhh we’ll get there).
But first, those of you who have never actually read this page before, I would like you to take a look at it, and see if you can Where’s Waldo what it is about this page that makes my blood reach a boiling point in excess of 2000 degrees Fahrenheit every time someone utters the words “Dick rushed into marriage because he thought it would make him grow up or hit some important life milestone.”
Take a gander, what do you see:
See it? Get what I’m talking about?
Any talk of Dick and Kory breaking up because they weren’t ready to get married, and Dick having been the one to rush them into it before they were ready, COMPLETELY fails at accurately representing the events of that time if it fails to mention the fact that:
DICK ONLY PROPOSED WHEN HE DID BECAUSE HE WAS DESPERATE TO CONVINCE KORY, HIMSELF AND EVERYONE ELSE THAT HE LOVED HER AND ONLY HER AND SLEEPING WITH MIRAGE HAD MEANT NOTHING!
(Since, y’know, he didn’t actually sleep with her so much as he was raped by her).
I mean, your mileage may vary, but me, I happen to think that bit there is pretty CRITICAL FUCKING INTEL when it comes to this whole matter.
Claiming Dick is to blame because he rushed into marriage because he was looking to grow up or hit some milestone utterly FAILS as an analytical conclusion in EVERY POSSIBLE WAY....
When there is both ZERO indication from him BEFORE the proposal, that those are reasons or thoughts he has that has him leaning towards proposing.....
As well as ZERO reflection AFTER the failed wedding, that being desperate to convince everyone who thought he’d cheated on Kory that he really did love her, was at all a key motivating factor in him proposing when and how he did.
Like it or not, Mirage and the storyline surrounding that is utterly CRUCIAL to the DickKory breakup, because EVERY mention of that describes the cause of that breakup being rushing into marriage, and if you take away that storyline - and every character’s reaction to it - there is absolutely NO reason to even THINK Dick would still have proposed when he did.
And thus, leaving the Mirage story ENTIRELY out of all talk of the end of Dick and Kory’s relationship, is just....blatantly not indicative of what the story actually was.
Now, in addition, I know we tend to talk about this story as though DC sucks for never calling the rape what it was, and say that if DC’s not willing to treat these things as what they really are, they shouldn’t be using them as story points. First order of business: Yes DC sucks a lot and their handling of all this sucked.
BUT.
It is also not entirely accurate to say that they never TREATED this story as what it was.
Because while everyone else may have been fixated on it as Dick cheating on Kory....initially, at pretty much every point UNTIL the wedding....Dick at least was STEADFAST in not considering HIMSELF having cheated. I mean, look at his language in just the page above. He talks about being “repulsed” by what Mirage did. The writers might have never actually called what happened to Dick ‘rape,’ but initially they were VERY consistent in nevertheless writing him as someone who at least to some degree felt victimized by what happened, rather than culpable. He was trying to convince everyone ELSE to see it that way - until eventually he kinda gave up, and started to see it THEIR way.
You can literally see him already starting to make the pivot towards rationalizing that POV to himself in the above page....he talks about ‘thinking with his hormones’ and that leading him to make a mistake, even though his hormones had nothing to do with whether what happened was wrong or not.....it was always entirely about: would he have consented to sex with Mirage IF he knew she wasn’t really Kory. Thinking with his hormones in no way addresses the fact that its completely unreasonable to expect anyone to be so on guard 24/7, even in the privacy of their own bedroom with their own girlfriend, that they have their eyes peeled for an impostor even there.
In fact, imagine what the others would have all said if Dick hadn’t slept with Mirage that night, or else had confided in them later that it felt not right, that something was wrong, at some point BEFORE Mirage entered and told Dick in front of everyone that it had actually been her. How likely do you think it would have been that instead of taking Dick at face value, many of them would have instead viewed this as just another time Dick was exercising “Bat-paranoia” rather than allowing himself to be intimate with a loved one the way normal, non-Batfolk do, y’know? Do you think they would have automatically agreed with him that there was something up and he had reason to feel that ‘something wasn’t right about Kory’ when Dick probably still would have had no idea what for sure he felt was off, let alone that it wasn’t ACTUALLY her? Or would they have gotten on his case about how this is just him self-sabotaging again and letting his issues come between him and someone he cared about?
Tbh, one of the things that was greatest about Dick and Kory’s relationship IMO was that she was one of the best at getting him out of his own head. With Kory, when they weren’t both being jerked around by brainwashing plots and the like, Dick was better at just....letting go and just being himself around her. He didn’t feel like he had to constantly be on his guard or waiting for the other shoe to drop. Ironically, IMO, Dick DOES have a tendency to self-sabotage at times and let paranoia or other issues keep him from totally dropping his defenses and letting himself be vulnerable with other people.....meaning he probably would have been MORE likely to cue into something being off, if it had been anyone BUT Kory he’d been dating when Mirage replaced them.
So bottom line is, you can’t actually fully blame the writing for the others’ reactions to this story. Because whether they ever actually acknowledged it or not, for a good ten to fifteen issues up to the wedding, the writers pretty consistently depicted Dick as someone who was and felt victimized, even if he didn’t consciously realize it yet himself, let alone why. There were repeated moments between Kory initially breaking up with him after it happened through this proposal above, where it basically reads like Dick yelling “Ask me how violated I feel! Go on, ask me!” Except he never really got the chance because he was too busy replying to everyone around him that he hadn’t cheated on Kory, he thought he was WITH Kory, and that was the ONLY reason he had sex that night.
Slight tangent - this btw, is why I can never even get worked up enough about Nightwing Annual #2 to be like, defensive about it. That was the flashback issue written YEARS after all these events, where retroactively Andreyko inserted at some point between this proposal and the wedding - without changing anything else or the events he wrote ever being brought up or acknowledged again - a story where Dick went to visit Babs to personally deliver her wedding invitation....but only AFTER they slept together. And then when he gave her the invitation and she got furious about what had just happened, he just blithely said oh Kory won’t mind, and Babs was like yeah well I MIND!
Which was a totally valid reaction for Babs to have to those events as depicted, its just....I can’t remotely take them seriously, not when I’ve actually READ the events that by Andreyko’s own admission are meant to bookend that story. So you’re telling me, that right after Dick proposes to his longtime girlfriend SPECIFICALLY because he’s desperate to convince her he loves only her and would never willingly sleep with anyone else......he would go and sleep with someone else between then and the wedding? And then just without a hint of remorse say oh what’s the problem, Kory would be fine with it - when literally everything else about the wedding even HAPPENING was based on the fact that he knew for a fact that Kory would NOT in fact, be fine with that? Umm, make it make sense, except you can’t, because that story and the point where it makes sense are in two entirely different galactic quadrants. Green Lanterns couldn’t make it from Point A to Point B. So lol, sorry not sorry, I’m gonna stay not taking that story or claims that Dick is ACTUALLY a cheater, like, remotely seriously. I mean, your mileage may vary, but I especially don’t think anyone who can make excuses for Bruce’s many transgressions being OOC like, has any business trying to pass this particular story off as in character, but WHATEVS. Like, you CAN do it if you really want to, but I mean, I’m just gonna think that’s silly. I’ll be like OMG you’re so silly. Why are you so silly, can we just stop with all the silliness. And then like, I’ll go do something else or whatever.
(Oh and for the record, the wedding was the issue after Dick proposed, but it wasn’t meant to be like, the day after or anything. BUT we do know it was still pretty damn soon after, like at most a week or two....because the concurrent storyline was Roy being upset because the government was trying to shut down the Titans and said they would unless Roy took leadership from Dick and ousted him, which Roy understandably was NOT keen to do, even and especially with everything going on as the Titans were a family first and foremost and he was stuck between trying to preserve them and keep them going and betraying everything they stood for by basically instigating a vote of no confidence in Dick’s leadership.....but point being, Roy kept stalling the government agent asking for his answer......when said agent was very impatient, and asked repeatedly both in issue #99 AND issue #100. So you’re never going to convince me Roy managed to stall said agent for months or whatever, or any longer than a couple weeks at most, to allow for Dick and everyone else to put together a shotgun wedding for him and Kory. Which just further adds to the make it make sense aspect of the above mentioned Annual, but I absofuckinglutely digress).
Anyway.
NOW, let’s bring it back around to when I said like, don’t do the thing, don’t actually blame Kory for any of this, don’t you do it? /paraphrase
Yeah. So we’re there at that point now, and I reiterate once more for the court, like, hey, what if you just don’t? Y’know? Even if you’re looking at her dialogue in the above page I posted and are like, I’m feeling the urge, the urge to.....idk something that rhymes with urge but is bad I guess? Whatever. Just like. Don’t do it. Say nasty things about Kory because of this story three times in front of your computer and I will totally like, be conjured by that and crawl out of your screen all creepy girl from The Ring style. It will NOT be pretty. I am NOT meant to fit through there. I can NOT make it look good. You have been warned.
Okay so like, the reason I say none of this is on Kory even though I don’t make the same distinctions for the other Titans is threefold. No, lbr, its probably more on account of I can’t count and I’m always wrong about this shit. But let’s start with three.
1) The first thing we need to address is the fact that Dick WAS acting erratically and out of character through all of this time, even before what happened with Mirage. This was still in the near aftermath of Titans Hunt, and he was still reeling from that, and holding himself totally accountable. People who’ve followed me for awhile have probably seen me fixate on Titans Hunt before, but I honestly don’t think anyone who hasn’t read the full extent of comics from that storyline all the way through like....The New Titans #115 or so, like.....truly grasps the extent of just HOW much that single storyline affected Dick. He was at rock bottom because of it in a way that is probably only truly comparable with the Blockbuster storyline, but for even LONGER. Like the span of comics I referenced just now covers probably like....almost fifty issues.
That’s fifty issues where Dick consistently brings up his failure to stop that and how much Joey and Charlie and Arella and everyone else’s deaths during that like, just weighs on him, and fucks with his confidence and just.....his overall sense of purpose and self. He WAS lost and aimless for a lot of that time. And he DID absolutely even recognize HIMSELF that it was affecting him. Like ten issues or so after the crashed wedding, when he’s on his own journey of self-discovery while looking for Kory in the Amazon (uh yeah, that’s a thing. I’ll get to that)....like, he acknowledges to himself that ever since the Titans Hunt he’s been getting crazier and more demanding (his words) and he doesn’t even recognize himself anymore...and he attributes all of that to not having come to terms with their deaths and his inability to prevent them.
Now, notably, he DOESN’T ever at this time acknowledge that his behavior took an INCREASINGLY downward spiral ever since Mirage and specifically due to everyone blaming him for what he deep down felt wasn’t actually his fault but was losing conviction in. And quite frankly, even though he SAYS at this point he’s ready to move on from their losses, I don’t think that actually happened, but I’ll get back to both those things. First, the important point here, in terms of Kory, is that from her perspective, Dick had been increasingly unpredictable and not himself ever since the losses during Titans Hunt. Actually, given that she was the one who went with him to the Manor after Jason’s death and the only one who saw him come in and out and who thus knows the full extent of what transpired there - with this all happening not long before Titans Hunt - you could additionally say her awareness of that also has her almost prepared to expect the totally unexpected from Dick at this point.
Does that mean its right? No. But it does mean that its there.
2) Next. Kory was not actually offered the chance by the storyline to internalize what happened between Mirage and Dick from a stable, grounded headspace. Mirage KIDNAPPED Kory and replaced her before she slept with Dick. In the grand scheme of things, what happened to Kory specifically here is probably far from the worst thing that’s ever happened to her, but it couldn’t have been pleasant and I’m the first to yell NO TRAUMA OLYMPICS so in that spirit, fuck whether it was as bad as it COULD have been, and again, just acknowledge that it happened, and its reasonable and expected that it would have a negative effect on Kory. She was targeted and victimized by Mirage too. Not in the same way as Dick, but add that to the fact that unlike the other Titans, she was the one IN the relationship with Dick and thus the only one besides him that had a stake in what Mirage’s actions served as a catalyst for in that regard, like....she was not an impartial bystander to all this, and that needs to be considered. She was PART of it. It was her life that was hijacked by all this too.
3) Third.....it is extremely extremely EXTREMELY important here to acknowledge that Kory is herself a rape survivor. She has extensive trauma from her childhood in the Citadel, and that is bound to color her perceptions of what happened here, at least initially. I am 174% soooooo not here for vilifying another rape survivor in defense of a different rape survivor. Like, I’m just saying.....do not throw Kory under the bus for not acknowledging Dick’s trauma and trauma responses as a rape survivor in this story if you’re not also YOURSELF acknowledging Kory’s OWN trauma as a rape survivor.
This is key not because it says any opinions she had at this time don’t count, but rather that they simply don’t come from the same place as the VICTIM-BLAMING that is the central issue with others holding Dick accountable for his own rape. In Kory’s case, we have to consider the issue of projection. The ways in which her own experiences and how they’ve informed her DEFAULT perception of something that deeply affected her, might skew her initial reaction to experiences which share a LABEL, but not specific ELEMENTS.
What I mean here is both Kory and Dick, as of this point in time, are rape survivors. But they survived very very VERY different kinds of rape. Both were abundantly clear that they DID NOT WANT what happened to them, that they were not willing parties to what actually transpired....but what springs to Kory’s mind when someone says “I didn’t want the sex that happened” is understandably going to look VERY different from what Dick was describing when he said “I didn’t want the sex that happened.” So its not really all that unreasonable for Kory to hold those two things up in her head and say these are not the same, and from there jump to the unfortunate conclusion that Dick HAD wanted it on some level, else it would have looked more like her own experiences...especially because others around them were already voicing and affirming this opinion in various ways.
Again, is this fair, or deserved? No. But I talk all the time with other characters and with Dick himself about how its just not reasonable to expect characters - especially ones with highly CHARGED emotions related to their own parallel experiences - to act from an unbiased state or POV and thus leap to the most ideal conclusion without at least first stumbling through some other ones. So with Kory, her own context with rape simply CAN NOT be divorced from the fact that recognizing the central issue of this later moment in time was that it was a rape. Her own experiences and the likely projection of them onto the moment at hand add a degree of context to conclusions she arrived at that other characters simply do not have....and thus, again, its not okay to paint her with the same brush as all those characters. And unless you’re already somehow making a distinction as to why her reaction is different from others despite superficially appearing the same......then like. You need to be. LOL.
4) The other factor that’s important to consider here is that just like Kory was never offered the chance to RECEIVE information of what happened from a relatively grounded place and headspace....the stories never gave her any real time to think things through, process over time, and arrive at different conclusions from her earlier ones. Again, I talk all the time about how Dick’s experiences with the Titans pre-his time in Bludhaven were colored by multiple instances of brainwashing and his head being fucked with and being personally targeted and jerked around in a ton of ways? The same is true of Kory, and it needs to be given equal weight.
Their wedding was crashed by ‘the dark soul self’ of Raven - who they thought was dead - as she infected Kory with what she called a demon seed that was going to grow a new demon inside of her. Due to her possession, Kory spent weeks in a mental institutition, trying to overcome the entity inside her (with Dick sitting by her side and holding her hand through all of it, just FYI). When she finally did purge the entity from her, Kory took off and ended up in a village in the Amazon, with the ordeal having given her amnesia. Dick went after her, but he’d only just tracked her down when she took off again to foil an alien invasion using radio waves that she was uniquely suited to recognize due to being familiar with their tactics, but which pitted her against most of the rest of the world in like, the Ultimate Gaslighting Showdown as everyone kept telling her she was crazy (she was wearing a tinfoil hat to protect herself from the transmissions, the writers were deliberately not doing her any favors).
Only after that was foiled did she regain her memories, and while off the page she agreed to meet with Dick to talk about their failed wedding and everything that happened afterward, as he’d returned from the Amazon by now, where he’d ultimately come to his own self-realizations about everything (or what we were told to accept were his realizations)....in the end she took off for Tamaran without meeting him, leaving him waiting where they’d agreed to rendezvous. Again, I say this not to vilify Kory, because I absolutely think she made the best choice for herself at the time, and should have, and I don’t think Dick has ever blamed her for that and tbh they both separately came to the same decisions about needing to be apart to recollect themselves and figure out who they were and where to go from here, like, without having to actually talk it out to arrive at the same point. I DO raise this point simply to put out there that in contrast to many other things I’ve seen said about the break up......they....never technically broke up?
Like I mean, don’t get me wrong. They DID. They both considered themselves broken up and eventually moved on with other people, Dick with Babs, and Kory with a general who she married back on New Tamaran before it was destroyed by the Sun Eater (again, Kory went through some SHIT after their break up. Dick wasn’t the only one.) But I just mean like.....it was LITERALLY the most mutual break-up that is possible for a break-up to be, because neither one of them ever actually communicated their intent to the other in order for them to both CLEARLY be on the same page. There was no “Dick called off the wedding” - that never actually happened, it was just....never revisited. There was no “Dick told her he no longer had feelings for her” - that was something that happened later, and yes, I’ll get to that too. OMG shut up me. But also shh I’m talking.
But yeah like.....their break-up, despite being almost universally claimed as Dick’s choice and responsibility, with zero mention of Mirage’s role in it in any official accounting of it I’VE ever seen, and with Kory painted as being the victim of Dick’s wandering ways and not knowing what he wanted in the distant aftermath of their break-up, as it was said that due to being Tamaranean, she loved for life and thus would always be in love with Dick even though he after her return claimed he no longer loved her (like, I don’t blame Kory but I also don’t like takes that act like Dick DID all this to Kory somehow. Like that’s literally the entire point here, neither of them needs to be to blame or each other’s victim according to how the story ACTUALLY went).....
But yeah, despite all that.....it really was the most mutually arrived at decision ever, because neither one of them actually EVER EVEN SAID ‘WE NEED TO BREAK UP’ to the other. They both just....ended up there on their own.
(And also because DC wanted them there in order to secure the rest of their push to put Nightwing solely back in the Batbooks for the next several years. With, don’t forget, this all coinciding with the government forcing him out of the Titans and putting Roy in charge and with this all culminating in Dick having his initial adventure in Bludhaven at Bruce’s ask, and then deciding to make that his new base of operations and kinda reinvent himself there, at the start of his solo title. Again, shout out to the myth of “Dick Grayson always runs from things because commitment issues” - not only did he NOT flee to Bludhaven because he just changed his mind about the wedding and said whoops sorry Kory, it wasn’t even his CHOICE to leave the Titans, even if eventually he agreed it was for the best right now. His ex went back to her home planet and he was asked to leave his team. Why the fuck WOULDN’T he go somewhere else?)
NEXT. (jfc he mumbled to himself under his breath. what the fuck did I start here).
Circling back around AGAIN, this time back to Dick’s STATED reasons for deciding things were over.
Two...umm, fuck it, ‘a number that is more than one’ things that need to be kept in mind HERE:
1) The most crucial bit of context when examining Dick’s journey of self-exploration in the Amazon while searching for Kory and what he comes to say and think about everything that’s happened and his own behavior....
Is that he is an EXTREMELY unreliable narrator at this point in time. Y’know how we talk about Dick having that tendency to take on more accountability than is actually earned and is way quicker to view himself as in need of apologizing than he is to view others needing to do that for him?
Yeah I mean, that’s a thing, I definitely have like a billion citations ready to go on a moment’s notice, but point is, being aware of that tendency means absolutely nothing if you don’t actively APPLY that awareness to Dick’s periods of self-reflection and like....compare and contrast what he THINKS about things he’s said or done with like....what he’s ACTUALLY said or done.
For instance, on the way to his so-called epiphanies about all this, he makes the claim that the entire time Kory was dealing with the demon entity inside of her, he was being so selfish because all he was doing was wishing she would wake up or be free of it so that she could help him with his problems instead. (And just for the record, I can provide actual panels for everything I reference in this post, I’m just limiting myself to a couple because I’m just trying to NOT beat War and Peace’s pagecount as it is. Will I succeed? No. Did I try? Yes.)
Now, Dick spending his time at his possessed fianceé’s side doing nothing but wishing she would snap out of it and focus on his problems instead.....is that selfish of him?
Well, yeah.
But is it TRUE?
I mean, you tell me:
This is right smack dab in the middle of that whole storyline, set only a few issues after the crashed wedding, and before Kory successfully evicts the demon entity and loses her memories. This is literally what Dick was ACTUALLY like the entire time. At the TIME, every single thing he said and did was focused on her.....the CLOSEST he came even in his internal monologue, to making it all about him, was him thinking about how this has shown him just how much he needs her.
Do people helping a loved one through something traumatic occasionally have selfish thoughts where their awareness of their own troubles momentarily supersedes their focus on their loved one? Yeah. Does this actually make them selfish if their ACTUAL focus and actions and words are aimed entirely at their loved ones the whole time, with no single actual detour to “hey, while you’re up, can we talk about me for a sec”?
Mmmmm....I feel like no, but I am open to you drawing other conclusions as long as you are aware that they are wrong and mine is right, kay. I mean okay, fine. You can disagree with me here but I’m still gonna disagree about your disagreement there and its just gonna be this whole big thing and its like, ugh, whatever, y’know?
But hey, you do you.
ANYWAY, point is, unless you draw the wrong conclusion here in which case PTTTHB!, like, I think its safe to say Dick thinking in the midst of his self-awareness deep dive that he was being nothing but selfish during that whole story and thus didn’t deserve Kory, like....whether or not the writers are actually AWARE of it or not, I mean......that’s still a pretty good context clue that his internal monologues at this point in time are maybe a little bit skewed towards being more about accepting blame than reflecting reality, right? Yes, no, maybe so?
Well then again, if you agree with me, then add to that awareness the added bit of trivia that every single other one of Dick’s ‘ultimate realizations’ (he just wanted to get married because he thought it would bring stability to his life, it would help him grow up, hit one of those aforementioned milestones, etc)....like every single one of them.....was an opinion that was FIRST offered by one of the other Titans.
Every. Single. One.
(Wanted to get married for the stability was something Donna said she thought was his reasoning, to the other original Titans. The bit about thinking it would help him grow up was unfortunately ALSO Donna, but said to Kory before the wedding when Kory asked if she thought this was a mistake and if she thought Dick had proposed for the right reasons. The milestones thing was said by either Roy, Garth or Wally, I honestly forget which, but it was when the three of them went out to discuss the pending government takeover of the team and how to break this to Dick with everything else going on).
And with not a SINGLE one of these opinions present in ANY of Dick’s internal monologues BEFORE the proposal, hinting that they were anywhere near being on his radar at THAT point.
So....which makes more narrative sense? That Dick ultimately just realized that everything he THOUGHT was motivating him when he proposed was NOT true and that it was only his friends that clued into his actual reasons, which he must have overheard at some point and internalized in order to have replicated said opinions in his thoughts so exactly? Again with ZERO mention alongside any of this, that peoples’ views of what happened with Mirage was at ALL a factor in his thinking?
Or.....does it maybe better track, that over the course of Dick repeatedly expressing that he didn’t know it wasn’t Kory, that he never wanted to cheat on her, that he loved her and only her and would never knowingly do that....with NO ONE budging and everyone from Kory to all of his best friends acting like his adulterous guilt was an over and done with conclusion and they’d already long since moved on to the point of how willing or not they were to forgive him, based on everything else he’d been going through.....and with Dick thinking that how remorseful he appeared to be and how willing to ACCEPT accountability was likely to play a part in how much people were willing to look past all his recent fuck-ups here.......
Does it maaaaaaaybe actually make a little bit more sense that Dick’s total 180 into taking full responsibility and coming up with all these rationalizations for his actions that essentially just mimic theories everyone else had for his behavior has more to do with his deeply internalized acceptance that nobody was listening to his side of the story or what he was actually trying to say (without even real SELF awareness at the time that what he was feeling wasn’t just ‘I’m innocent of what you’re accusing me of’ but ‘I was violated and used’)?
That it was more about him finding ways to justify to himself getting on the same page everyone else ALREADY seemed to be on in regards to him and his recent behavior, as that seemed to be the only way to move forward, that he was tired of fighting everybody and feeling like he was in the wrong for it so honestly, maybe they were right?
Because from there.....
Its only a veeeeeery short hop, skip and a jump from “well I guess I DID do what they say and I SHOULD have known it wasn’t Kory”.....to.....”since the only thing I kept clinging to for how I couldn’t know was my insistence that I truly loved Kory, and it turns out that I still SHOULD have known anyway......doesn’t that mean that I didn’t really love Kory the way I thought I did? Or as much as I thought I did?”
“Did I never really love Kory as much as she deserved?”
Cuz uh, remember earlier when I talked about it being significant that Dick never ACTUALLY claimed during this time that he didn’t love Kory anymore or fell out of love with her or anything like that, but rather that his precise claim was “I didn’t love her AS MUCH AS SHE DESERVED”?
Aka.....”enough that I would have known it wasn’t actually Kory that I was with?”
Yeah. Uh, that. That’s the significance there. Yeah. So....
2) Now as to something else to keep in mind in regards to Dick’s eventual ‘self-realizations’ - this calls back to when I said earlier that Dick WAS acting erratically during this time, stemming all the way back to the Titans Hunt aftermath. He was overly aggressive, he was ready to fight anyone at a moment’s notice, he was tunnel-visioned.....in short, he was actually quite a lot how the fanon interpretations of his temper I rage about usually depict him. But the key thing here, and the reason why I wouldn’t have a problem with people drawing references from THIS time when talking about him behaving this way.....
Is that much like when Dick was behaving erratically during the Brother Blood storyline, it was with NARRATIVE INTENT.
There, Dick’s behavior led to the reveal that he was lashing out because he was fighting the Church of Blood’s mental conditioning. Here, Dick’s behavior is directly tied to his downward spiral resulting from the trauma of Titans Hunt and his guilt from that.
In both cases, I’d have zero issue with people referencing specific instances of this behavior....
As long as they ALSO reference and acknowledge the specific narrative context that was directly CONNECTED to that behavior. Its not about whether or not it excuses any specific thing he does, its about the fact that while these behaviors did happen, they shouldn’t be depicted as indicative of his OVERALL characterization, because they were specifically and deliberately written into his actions WITH INTENT by the writers, who were trying to use his DELIBERATELY out of the ordinary behavior to arrive at some narrative point or conclusion.
And here, for Dick, that was the eventual realization that he’d never fully dealt with his feelings about the losses during the Titans Hunt.
I don’t like how he acts in a lot of the issues around this time. Its ugly. But its MEANT to be ugly. I don’t like Dick’s fight with Roy when he tells him about taking over leadership because of the government’s interference. I don’t like it AT ALL.
But what I DO like is how the very next page after the fight, after Donna follows Dick out of the room, Dick turns around and acknowledges how out of control he’d just been and said he felt it proved that everyone was right, things HAD gotten to him more than he’d realized or admitted to himself, and it probably was a sign he needed to take a step back, and besides, Kory needed him more than the team did right now anyway.
THAT’S one of the core things I like about Dick Grayson, that almost without exception, his worst actions or behaviors are almost immediately followed by his realization of this and a tangible action or change in his actions to address it. That’s not something every character can claim - in fact, its unfortunately pretty damn rare.
But here’s the problem with that, in this specific scenario:
Dick WAS spiraling, he DID act out in ways he was right to be called out on and to feel guilt about, and there WAS basis for him acknowledging that there was stuff he needed to address in his life and his head, and to take responsibility for.
Thing is though, nobody else at any point ever stood up to point to where in his willingness to hold himself accountable for his mistakes and try and do better in regards to his friends and teammates and overall relationships....
He additionally took on guilt that WASN’T deserved. Because the other Titans were the ones who in their overall rush to judgment about his behavior and the reasons why.....still erroneously lumped in with the rest, their conclusion as to how the situation with Mirage should be viewed.
And frankly, though this doesn’t make them look good, there’s plenty of places you can go with that which don’t make them heartless monsters either. They were wrong, not to listen to him about Mirage, and I maintain that this tangibly WORSENED his already existing downward spiral from Titans Hunt, because that was already stuff he really could have benefited from support for the others from....and then this other thing happened that he additionally really needed support about, rather than blame.
Problem is, the overall impression given off by the other Titans was that they thought they already WERE doing their best to be supportive, by being so willing to look PAST ‘what Dick had done with Mirage’ and FORGIVE Dick for that, make allowances for why it and other decisions they didn’t agree with, like his rush to marriage, might make sense based on what they were attributing as the reason for his out of character behavior....the fallout from Titans Hunt...but ONLY that.
Like to be clear, I’m aware that there is a flip side of things in fanon, where some stans overcorrect on Dick’s behalf and act like the Titans all universally slut-shamed Dick and were terrible to him. No. That’s not what happened either. There was ONE slut-shaming Titan and ONLY one....and that was Pantha, who to be frank, like.....she was literally written to be the button pusher in regards to everyone. She likely would have said the same thing no matter who was in that situation, because she honestly didn’t care, she was just interested in making the cheap jokes at their expense.
The other Titans though did not adopt a slut-shaming stance against Dick...just a victim-blaming one. Which makes some things better, but some things worse IMO.
Its easier to understand how they could have all fallen into this trap despite all being seasoned heroes who should have known better than to view these specific events the way they did....if you consider that their fatal flaw here was ironically that they were SO quick to try and find a reason that Dick might have done this that they felt they could forgive....that they never actually thought things through long enough to recognize how quick on the draw they’d been in their reactions. And then they failed to listen to Dick’s side of things because they’d kinda convinced themselves that they were ALREADY doing him a favor and hearing him out by having decided to look past what he’d done and make allowances for it....and so they kinda filtered everything he was saying through a lens of like...waiting for him to catch up to what they’d already decided had happened and onto the part where he did the Dick Grayson thing and apologized and accepted responsibility for it....at which point they, as his friends, would be honestly able to say “already forgiven, dude.”
You could additionally factor in the idea that their very respect for his capabilities and high opinion of his overall ‘on the ball-ness’ made what had happened easy to view as something that’d just slipped past his radar, a rare oversight that again, he could be forgiven for, rather than what it was....again, something that he should never have been expected to ‘catch’ in the first place, any more than they would have been.
Either way, the real problem was always just that they failed to support him in the ways he actually needed, because they were already busy forgiving him for things he didn’t actually need forgiveness for because they were never his to accept blame for in the first place. But then BECAUSE Dick was already primed to accept the blame for what he WAS right to accept responsibility for, he overextended and took on everything that was held against him, rather than first differentiating between where a mea culpa both was and WAS NOT due.
No matter how you slice it, the Titans WERE wrong on this front, and Dick absolutely DOES have canon grounds to nurse some bitterness and resentment about, towards them. Again, with a lot of ways that can be approached. Personally, when I think about fics tackling this subject, my big want is always gonna be like.....confrontation fics? Like that’s what I’ve always really wanted to see here....like there’s a lot of obviously valid catharsis to be had in fics that have someone walk Dick through what a more objective view of what happened back then and let him finally unburden himself of all that unearned guilt there...BUT all the focus there is typically on that realization of the truth for DICK, that like....there’s almost never any follow-up where that realization is further pursued and extended to the relevant Titans? And tbh, I’ve always viewed that as the far greater ‘crime’ this story executed in regards to Dick’s character....not an overall obliviousness to his own victimization, period, but the fact that he was basically pushed into ACCEPTING a culpable view of events when actually, he’d always KNOWN on some level that it wasn’t really his fault and he had every reason to feel repulsed and angry and violated.
Like, I do obviously view Dick as someone with a large degree of self-awareness, in no small part due to how often he DOES do these introspective deep dives and reflect on events and actions and behaviors, and even though I understand the viewpoint that things look different when applied to yourself than to others, I do think its perfectly likely that Dick would at some point come to his own realization about what had actually happened with Mirage and why he’d initially felt the way he did about it. Maybe not before the events with Tarantula, but in the aftermath? I think he absolutely would connect certain things then, even if just because of how FAMILIAR everything felt to that earlier time post-Titans Hunt. The Blockbuster arc was like, the most rock bottom Dick had ever been SINCE that point, and various similarities could have definitely been pinging all over for him....the losses he suffered reminding him of his guilt for the fallen Titans, the end of Dick and Babs’ relationship, while based on more reasons than just Tarantula kissing Dick, like, still including that as a reason and so thus bearing an uncomfortable similarity to the last time he was held accountable for his rapist and now eventual rapist’s actions, etc.
And I do think that Dick having some realizations of his own post-Blockbuster could explain a LOT about his later interactions with the Titans, who I honestly don’t think he was ever quite as close to again?
Which makes a ton of sense if you view the 1999 series, and how difficult it was for them to get Dick to join up, and how he was plenty ready to leave at any point...like, that makes a TON of sense if you consider that Dick might have at this point been quietly nursing hurt of his own that everyone was so eager and willing to let bygones be bygones and ‘forgive’ his mistakes of the past, that nobody still had ever realized what he’d had to realize all on his own....that THEY all had a perception of events and like, their friendships, that included forgiving Dick for a betrayal that Dick NEVER ACTUALLY ENACTED. Where its like, thanks, but I didn’t actually need that, what I needed was someone to listen to me. But at the same time its totally understandable why he wouldn’t ever want to bring that up himself....because he’d already TRIED expressing himself on this matter years before, and been shot down, and its totally reasonable that he worried history would just repeat there rather than bring him the closure he WANTED on that front. But again....the distance he keeps a lot of the Titans at after his return to the team pairs pretty damn well with him being both quietly resentful of forgiveness he never needed and wondering when it was everyone else’s turn to accept the accountability for wrongs done that everyone was always so quick to demand from him....as well as why the last thing in the world he’d want to do is bring this all up again himself.
Similarly, this is why I think he always expressed to Kory, ever since her return to Earth, that he wasn’t in love with her anymore.....I don’t think its necessarily true that his feelings ever fully went away, and I also don’t think he’d bear the same resentments towards her that he did the others, even though Kory too ‘forgave’ him for something he never needed absolution for. Because I think at the same time, he’s more aware than most of Kory’s own history, and he has too much empathy for what all that likely stirred up for her at the time as well as his awareness that she really did love him and always had and that she’d mourned their relationship just as much as he had.
So I truly don’t think Dick blames her, in ways that can’t be said of the others, and I don’t think it was truly that he didn’t love her anymore, or that there was no longer anything there....I think he always just said that in order to protect himself, because he was still hurting from everything that had happened back then and how everyone had always painted it as his fault ever since, and his own traumas had only compounded those very specific feelings with later events like Tarantula and her impact on his life, and its just like......I think if it ever came out via someone else re-raising the issue, Dick would be like okay, yes, absolutely let’s finally talk about this....but I totally understand why Dick would never want to re-raise it himself because....he definitely did TRY to express his violation way back when. Why should he be the one to have to essentially.....retry his own case with his friends in order to finally get the verdict he should have had all along, y’know?
Its one thing to get that its probably never going to happen without initiating it himself, but its another thing for that to get you past the hump of just not wanting to relive some of your worst moments when your best friends not believing in you or being so willing to believe something about you in some ways did just as much damage to you as the actual initial violation.
But again, all that said, I would absolutely like, rob the Louvre (Okay I’d also rob the Louvre just for money but like. You get it) for stories where one of the Titans has an ‘oh shit’ realization about everything with Mirage years later. And they tentatively try and bring it up with Dick in the hopes of ‘fixing things’ by correcting the damage they’d done when making him feel it was his to accept blame on.....and for Dick to just be like. “Yeah, uh, I was there. I figured all that out a long time ago, I just didn’t see the point in trying to convince everybody twice.” And them like....being like oh crap we have to figure out a way to make things right, like all this time we’ve thought things were kinda broken between us because of what Dick did but actually it was the other way around and about Dick’s feelings about what WE did.
Okay now like....don’t laugh but I’m literally still not done, because I had this whole other thing about how now we needed to finally talk about the Zitka in the room, which is that IMO its always been kinda backwards to view Tarantula as the focal point of Dick’s traumas here and what happened with Mirage as some kind of footnote kinda....personally I think it should be the other way around. That its Mirage that weighs on Dick the most because what she did was premeditated where with Catalina it was a crime of opportunity. With Miriam though, it was always going to happen no matter what, because it only happened because she MADE it happen. She like....stalked Dick pretty much from the time of her arrival in this timeline (or at least how that initially was viewed - the timeline thing, not the stalking thing. Forget it. Weird story is weird. Doesn’t matter). But like....Mirage went after Dick with intent. She knew exactly what she was doing, and she was willing to do whatever to make it happen, up to and including kidnapping Dick’s actual girlfriend and taking her place.
With Tarantula, like, she was more than quick to seize on the first opportunity to make it happen, but like...that’s still a different thing IMO from like...KNOWING that someone literally plotted out and premeditated one of the most disruptive traumas of your life without any care for what it would DO to your life, and you later carrying all the blame for that in everyone else’s eyes without anyone ever acknowledging what it did to YOU....even though MULTIPLE people know and its even affected your overall reputation. With Tarantula....I think that trauma absolutely compounded everything else that happened with Blockbuster but it was hardly limited to just that, but again with Mirage....that one specific act pretty much derailed the entire course of Dick’s life at the time. Because again....while you could absolutely claim that there are other issues Dick and Kory might have broken up because of later, even without Mirage’s actions, like....you have to MAKE the case for those reasons. You can’t just attribute their breakup to rushing into marriage, when again....Mirage was the literal catalyst for Dick proposing when he did.
Which again, to bring it all back to the start.....that’s why it will forever make me channel Gar Logan and turn into a green-hued screeching howler monkey every time people are like I absolutely agree that its not okay to blame Dick for his own rape at Mirage’s hands....but then turn around and be like okay, but Dick and Kory did break up because Dick rushed them into marriage before they were ready.
Cuz.
Like.
THEY’RE THE EXACT SAME THING!
The one is just the other but described from a different vantage point.
faslkfhaklfhaklfhkalfha
I get if people didn’t know that before now, but please please please can we like....push back against the misinformation on this particular topic because omggggg is it unpleasant to repeatedly hear people contradict themselves in the same paragraphs half the time because they literally don’t know that they’re talking about the same events in both cases.
Believe it or not, I actually had a lot more about Mirage and about other ways things could have gone differently for Dick and Kory if he’d had even just a little more support from someone else at the time, whether from Bruce or even just one of the Titans, like all it would have taken was just ONE person to try and view things from Dick’s perspective and be like okay everyone hold up, some bad fucking conclusions have been arrived at here.
BUT I am tired and this is long and literally just...whatever. I’ll do that some other time. LOL. And I bounce.
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-ˏˋ THINGS YOU SAID WITH NO SPACE BTWN US ˊˎ-
♡ gn!reader x various hq characters
characters: tsukishima kei, oikawa tooru, miya osamu
cw: fluff, comfort, maybe angst if u squint, slice of life, a bit of cussin
synopsis: the shit he said when there was no space btwn u both<3
wc: 850+
notes from mei!
omg hello first post,,, lmk what u think !!! it slowly gets lengthier with each hc...
tsukishima kei
“why are you awake?” honestly, it sounded like more of a statement than a question.
your head tilted to meet his tired eyes. “i’m literally laying still as fuck,” you breathed a quiet laugh, “how’d you wake up?”
“answer the damn question.”
you laughed a little louder this time, turning on your side. he was laying on his stomach, cheek stuffed into his pillow. briefly, you saw the corners of his lips twitch upwards.
“i think i had too much caffeine.”
kei rolled his eyes. “liar.” you didn’t have any today, he wanted to add, but decided it was hassle to speak the extra syllables.
turning on his side, he raised the blanket, beckoning you to move closer to him. you complied, snuggling into his side, legs involuntary tangling with his.
with your head on his chest, his fingers mindlessly played with your hair; massaging your scalp as his warmth seeped to you.
quietly, he spoke. so quiet you debated if whether or not his words were a figment of your imagination.
“just sleep already... you’re safe here.” uncharacteristic of him, yes, but somehow, with the moonlight spilt all over his cream ceilings and walls, the sound of his heart thumping a bit faster than it did before in your ears—it all felt right. it was right.
you nodded, trying to sink even closer to him, seeking comfort in him. “i know.” you replied quietly, hand instinctively fisting at the front of his shirt.
the last thing you felt before you drifted off, was his lips pressing gingerly to your head.
tooru oikawa
“you’re beautiful.”
heat rushed to your cheeks as you smiled at the man standing in front of you.
the dim glow of the fireplace illuminated you both as he sunk into the empty space beside you; him leaning over you to pull the blanket over both your guys’ lap.
you scooched closer to him, his arm draping over your shoulder as he grabbed your hand, pressing his lips to your palm.
your chest felt full. full with all the love and happiness in the world.
“what’s so funny?” he questioned, a smile dancing on his lips.
you met his eyes. “i love you.”
tooru quirked a brow playfully, “and that’s funny?”
“shut up.” you breathed, grinning so wide your cheeks hurt. tooru chuckled low, pulling you into his lap. chest to chest, your head in the crook of his neck and your arms wrapped around his waist.
i love you.
i love you.
i love you.
mentally, you said it again and again, because even if you said it a thousand times over, it would never feel like it was enough to express what you were feeling internally.
“i could never love any one more than i love you. you know that, right?”
you smiled, looking up at him and kissing his cheek. “yeah. i love you more than that, though.”
he breathed a chuckle, a noticeable blush crawling onto his cheeks.
if there was any insecurity that instilled itself within you, it dissipated the moment his eyes met yours. the flames of the fireplace danced in the deep colour of his irises; “i love you.” he said.
it seemed that even with him, the words i love you could fall from his lips a thousand and one times, but it would never satisfy whatever was bubbling in his chest when his eyes met yours.
miya osamu
the sound of volleyballs and shouts became mere white noise as you zoned out, looking at nowhere in particular.
another day. the same routine.
not that you minded, you’d come realize you like this you better than the old you.
however, it was bland. your life, that was once full teenage rebellion under the stars, was gone. and it wasn’t terrible, sacrifice was imminent; you had good friends and a great boyfriend now.
but it all just felt bland—it was too routinely for your liking. you liked spontaneous, wild, whatever.. because it was fun. life was never dull.
and it made you wonder a lot. it made you wonder if you were actually happy with who you were today.
“what’re you thinkin about?”
head jerking up, you met osamu’s eyes. you smiled. “nothing.”
“my ass.” he replied, eyes pointing to your blank paper. “there ain’t anythin’ on that and we’ve been here for a half-hour.”
osamu looked at you, waiting for a response. when didn’t get one, he sighed, beckoning you over to his side of the table. “let’s have a break.”
crawling into his lap, he pecked a kiss on your lips. “what’s up with you? you been outta it since this mornin’.”
your gaze averted from his. “i hate routine.”
“elaborate?” for some reason, you could hear his eyebrow quirk up.
“i never had a routine i followed to a t. i hate it. life gets so... bland and boring.” although ridged, you sunk into his warmth. “i just.. miss being out of routine—i miss being spontaneous—”
“then let’s do somethin’ out of routine.” he said matter-of-factly. “we can play hooky.. i could ditch practice, find a trampoline so ya can jump out of yer window—”
you sat up, looking at him with furrowed brows. it was a mere crumb of breaking pattern. but you’d take it anyway. “you mean that?”
“yeah.” he affirmed with a nod, slowly moving to lay down with you on his chest. “anythin’ your heart desires, darlin’.”
#haikyuu#haikyuu!!#haikyū!!#haikyuu fluff#haikyuu imagines#haikyuu scenarios#haikyuu x reader#haikyuu tsukishima#haikyuu osamu#haikyuu oikawa#tsukishima x reader#tsukishima#tsukishima kei#osamu x reader#osamu miya x reader#osamu miya#oikawa x reader#oikawa tooru#oikawa tooru x reader#karasuno#seijoh#aoba johsai#inarizaki
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reiner braun x reader; at least for now.
NOTE: Hello! I want to deliver my thanks to whoever reads my stuff and shows love! It makes me really happy. Thank you for sticking around. Also, I finally wrote something about Reiner. This drabble is a bit lengthier than the usual. It takes place somewhere in season 1 or early season 2, as Reiner was still part of the Scout Regiment.
pairing: reiner braun x gn!reader;
content warnings: mostly angst, little to no fluff, mentions of sensitive topics (malnutrition, health issues), possible spelling errors;
content synopsis: reiner’s destructive behavior takes a tool not only on him, but on you as well. he will come to realize he’s put you through more concern than he imagined.
word count: 1,032.
currently playing: vangelis — infinitude.
more of my works...
Reiner slumped over, grasping the final of his strength to lean on the wooden sword that barely stabbed into the ground. His harsh breathing cut deeply into the clear air of the training field, you could nearly hear it on the other side; the sparring had began barely ten minutes ago, and Reiner was already over with it.
‘Repress. Repress. Repress…’ is all Reiner repeated to himself, like a mantra.
The least he could do was attempt to subdue his physical pain that was battling his body alongside his lack of sleep and rest of pretty much any sort for the past week.
“Reiner… I told you, we can lay it to rest if you’re not feeling well.” You attentively comment upon seeing Reiner’s struggle that has been going on even before the training began. On the other hand, Reiner’s teeth were gritting inside his mouth. Your lenience and kind manners were not at all an unusual sight to him. However, he couldn’t help but grievously ignore your request. “I will never go back home at this rate,” Reiner spits out, drops of his sweat descending different regions of his body as huffed breaths sneaked between his words, “Get a grip, [Name]. I’ll charge at you.” He frowns authoritatively, as if he had full control of the situation; which he didn’t. That can’t be good. "Right..." a concerned whisper escapes your lips before you stabilize your weight on your feet.
You didn’t dig into the ground too much, though; your body was somewhere in-between dodging a superficial attack and embracing Reiner if his body were to give out, which was most likely the case, given his condition. Pushing forward bare-handed, Reiner absent-mindedly hears the wooden sword touching the ground after the weight of his body abandoned it. He casted the thought to the back of his head, but he still couldn’t avoid the loss of balance which that puny sword had granted him. ‘…Shit.’ The charging didn't go quite as planned. Feeling sick to his stomach, Reiner stopped midway from reaching you. You watched him from a reasonable distance with worry draping over your expression. He involuntarily wraps his hands around his aching stomach before an unpleasant grunt of pain leaves his mouth as the grim reminder of not having had a proper meal in days clouds his mind; there isn’t even anything that he could puke out.
“Reiner! Hang in there, I got you!” Your voice, followed by quick steps in Reiner’s direction, cuts through the thoughts he became lost into. Even so; engulfed by pain, Reiner seems to have entirely forgotten about your presence. Dropping his nearly limp body onto the ground, Reiner squeezed his eyes shut, afraid of the fuzzy and unclear vision that might welcome him, had he opened them. His mouth had already gone dry and his head was spinning, all of it accompanied by his sense of hearing gradually declining. ‘Shit… I think I’m dying.’
"Am I... dead?"
Reiner’s chapped lips leave out a confused whisper as his eyes try to process the wooden brown color of the old and dusty ceiling. Laying down on a bed in an unknown location, he grips the sheets that his tired body was covered with; a confirmation that cadet Braun was very much alive, just deathly exhausted. “Not quite. But almost.” Locked in this strange room, your voice filled with vitality was the only recognizable factor to Reiner. And for that, he was grateful; he preferred hearing your voice over anything. “You passed out back there. It’s been half a day since then. As you might’ve guessed, it was pretty bad.” Sitting on the edge of the bed, you explain after ensuring that Reiner has fully come to. He sighs, looking up at you with his head resting on the warm pillow, “Yeah, I’ve definitely had better days. It’s just…” “Now tell me, why the hell don’t you sleep? Why the hell don’t you eat?” You cut him off relentlessly and abruptly, but you still maintained a somewhat calm tone, “You’ve been dragging yourself around like a slug these days. You dismissed it every time I brought it up. What is, Reiner?” Your question was welcomed with silence. No further words spoken; not by you, nor Reiner. His body seems to have sunk under the perfectly white bed covers, his eyes darting anywhere other than on your silhouette. You sighed quietly, disappointment tearing at your heart.
“Is it something you can’t tell me?” You didn’t expect an answer to this question, either. But the silence engraved by your significant other in the air was definitely a factor of unease. After battling his thoughts and vocal chords, Reiner responds, “Yeah. At least for now.” When faced with his answer, you decided not to push it further. It won’t get you anywhere. At least for now. “I’m sorry,” Reiner continues apologetically; his usually expressive face showed no emotion whatsoever. “It’s okay,” you follow with a dull tone. “It’s not.” Your exchange of words clawed at your throat, pushing you further into the gloomy atmosphere by requiring a few silent tears. “It is.” You speak gently, having your dexterous fingers trace over the design of the nearby nightstand to distract yourself from getting your eyes clouded with those teardrops. Your eyebrows furrowed, and you couldn’t tell if it was the annoyance caused by Reiner not taking your word, or your ambushing emotions that wouldn’t leave you alone even this once. Just this once. Breathing out, you feel your eyebrows quivering at your inhumane attempts to hold your tears back. Succumbing to tears in the presence of somebody had nothing to do with you. However, your overwhelming thoughts seem to have been put at ease once your waist meets warm, strong hands surrounding them in a safe grip. You reacted with a quiet gasp, but did not protest; you knew Reiner was at work. Burying his face in the crook of your neck, Reiner spoke with a sleepy tone, “Just some more time.” You capture his warm yet calloused hands into your much softer ones, allowing yourself to be driven by his convincing words once again. “That’s all I ask of you, [Name].”
#attack on titan#shingeki no kyojin#reiner braun#reiner x reader#aot x reader#snk x reader#reader insert#fan fiction#reiner braun x reader#attack on titan reiner#❲⌕❳ loading maze...
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Home
(gif by @ithinkwehitametaphor )
Paring:Javier Pena x gn!Reader
Warnings: Brief mentions of canon violence and topics surrounding PTSD. Mentions of fighting within a relationship, alcohol, and smoking. Potentially a little out of character.
a/n: Once again there is no dialogue in this because I can’t write that apparently.
I took an unplanned break from writing and then this came to me when yearning in @mitchi-c ‘s inbox. Thank you for all of the continued love on my fic’s and sticking with me as I worked through a rough few weeks month.
Word Count: 1.3k
Summary: Javier is away for a week and is anxious to get home.
-
The pillow next to you was cold. The couch unoccupied by a tired body. The cup in the bathroom held one less tooth brush. The kitchen table was free of cigarette butts and miscellaneous stolen manila files folders. Javier had been gone for a week and fuck. The sudden radio silence was driving you crazy.
It wasn’t the longest he had been gone, nor the longest you had been gone. Time away from each other was common and ingrained in your lifestyle. Mix matched schedules and late nights or early mornings contributed to savoring every lingering moment. The night before a lengthier trip normally consisted of take out and a few beers before retreating to each other’s arms under the covers. This trip was different. The day before he left had ended in bitter words swimming in whiskey and a slammed door. Leaving both parties on opposite ends of the door and red with anger and guilt.
The drags on his cigarette became longer and longer as Javier tried to ease his mind when he turned the corner to your apartment building. Remaining guilt lingered with the anticipation of being in your arms again, making him feel sick from something other than the nicotine in his system. Pulling to a stop in the designated parking spot for your building, his eyes wandered up to your window. Memories of watching the sunset through them or seeing your head peak through the linen curtains to see if he had arrived yet flooded his brain. His heart stalled and quickened to a hammering pace as he saw your lights off. Without better judgment, his mind jumped to the worst possible conclusions before centering himself on the fact that it was an unspeakable hour in the early morning. He knew you had to work in just a few hours and never expected you to wait up for him. Yet he couldn’t shake the fear that momentarily paralyzed him in the driver's seat. He wouldn’t blame you if you had left, he just wanted to make sure nothing happened to you.
Sighing and carding a hand through his sweaty hair he took gentle steps and tried his best to close the door quietly as he came in. The apartment was clean, cleaner than he had left it and his heart sank a little with knowing he had left an unorganized mess for you to clean up after him. The need to check on you before he could let go of the long week behind him had become a habit. His heart constricted as he peered into the dark bedroom, the hallway light illuminating the outline of your figure under the sheets through the slightly cracked door. The next breath felt like clean air in his lungs, no longer polluted by fear. Not ready to sleep just yet, and not wanting to disturb you, he turned back to the kitchen. A wave of exhaustion crashed through him as he walked down the hallway flicking off the light to let you sleep as he went.
Back in the kitchen, his eyes scanned the shelves within the fridge, before deciding he wasn’t hungry. Containers of leftovers and a half drunk bottle of wine sat next to an untouched new case of his favorite beer.
He sighed and grabbed a beer. Leaning against the counter, Javier trusted it to hold his weight as he took a sip. He closed his eyes and the relief of being home finally washed through him, fighting the wave of exhaustion dragging him down.
His mind wandered as the alcohol flowed through his system, temporarily numbing the loud intrusive thoughts in the back of his brain. No matter how unsuccessful it was, the week was behind him and you were safe. That’s all that mattered now. The blood staining his hands had not reached you this week.
Lost in lethargic thought, he didn’t hear you sleepily pad into the kitchen. A blanket wrapped around your shoulders, draping off you like a cape. He stiffened at your sudden appearance in his arms. Blinking, all of his worries eased that moment. His brain swarmed with thoughts of you instead of images of the harsh reality he lived in (like how cute you looked in his shirt and the blanket wrapped around your shoulders). Nothing plagued his brain more than you, and here you stood in between his arms, looking up at him with wide and sleep filled eyes. A comforting sight for sore eyes.
He placed a kiss on your head, running a thumb on your cheek before wrapping his arms around you tightly. Holding onto your frame for dear life mumbling about how you needed your sleep. . Even after a week of cold sheets, empty arms and out of grasp conversations. With every possible exit point wide open. You remained. Guilt ate through his stomach and to his throat. After all he had put you through, the late nights, bitter words, everything, why had you stayed? He couldn’t be more thankful that you did. It was a confessed moment of selfishness. You were his home. His everything. And here you were in his arms, not a figment of his imagination teasing and calling him back to reality. Man did it feel good to be home. A soft smile formed to his lips as your hands cupped his face and the blanket fell.
Coaxing him into bed with a kiss and a promise to hold him close. To make up for lost time and harsh words with nothing more than just taking comfort within your arms. Contact was kept as he carefully stepped over the blanket, beer forgotten on the counter as the bedroom door closed behind him with a kick of his foot. Laying beneath the covers, his hands found the small of your back. Gently kneading out any tension that you held there. Your head pressed into the crook of his neck, breathing in every scent you missed. Harsh words forgotten and forgiven for the time being. Vulnerable moments like these were unfamiliar to Javier. He couldn’t help but feel tension rise on the bridge of his nose, his eyes withholding the bubbling rawness that arose as you mumbled the three words he said out loud too little. I love you. He only responded with a gentle kiss and a whisper of a promise that the both of you were safe. At least for now. He waited until he heard a soft snore come through your lips before he echoed his response. Mumbling it back like a broken record skipping into your hair. Silently questioning how he deserved to have such a home to return to after all that he has done. It was something you would scold him for later, but he allowed the peaceful air to create a moment of vulnerability, one of pure admiration for you as he pulled you closer than imaginable and stared at the ceiling. Listening to your even and steady breaths, feeling your heartbeat against his ribcage. He would always come back to you, the guilt of leaving you waiting was too much. The thought of you in his arms comforted him as much as his arms comforted you.
Sleep never came easy to him, but with the knowledge of you being safe in his arms, he could quiet his mind for at least a little bit. Enough to get through the hours until dawn when you would wake up for work and he would return to his coping mechanism of cigarettes and liquor. Until your arms opened again and the the cover of night allowed for him to relax into the bed mumbling,
I love you.
-
Thanks for reading/commenting/reblogging <3
Taglist: @forever-rogue @callmehopeless @dinthisisthe-wayson @intu-witch-tion @magicrowiswritingstuff @mitchi-c @xjustmenobodyelse @freeshavocadoooo @oloreaa (please let me know if you want to be added or removed <3 I appreciate you all! )
#javier pena x reader#javier pena imagine#javier pena x gn!reader#javier pena one shot#narcos imagine#pedro pascal character#pedro pascal character x reader#pedro pascal imagine#han writes
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The Leash (Part 9)
Summary: Your rescue was supposed to be as smooth as these missions can be. However very quickly, Tobirama faces off against an enemy that has no form, color or smell - and time is running short, very fast. Unless he figures out what truly holds you hostage, your life will be lost. Warnings (for the finished work): Blood, illness, descriptions of heavy injuries and graphic violence, torture (both depicted and implied), needles, morally grey territory, human experimentation, panic attacks, character death, angst with a happy ending ~6000 words (this chapter, finished work: 80.000) Previous: Part 1; Part 2; Part 3; Part 4; Part 5; Part 6; Part 7; Part 8 Read on AO3! Disclaimer below the cut! more updates. is it really a disclaimer still, i wonder lmao
DISCLAIMER! we are nearing the grand finale of this fic!! please stick until the very end okay?! i know this chapter might be a little bit of a drag - it’ll get better, promise. <3 Other than that: enjoy my very self indulgent work, filled with my own headcanons and angst galore. Let me know what you think and thank you so much for reading!!!! ________ Leaving you had been a real test of will. Not only were you in such a deplorable state overall, but also your request - it was quite obvious you were putting on a brave face, but the truth of the matter was you weren’t faring well, at all. It was the little signs that gave you away - the slight tremor in your voice sometimes. The gallows humour. He didn’t want to think about what the withdrawal had been like for you. But he could well imagine. And as per usual, he was helpless except to unravel how to produce more of this damned leash. He couldn’t even heal you or alleviate some of your exhaustion at this point.
By the time he had reached the laboratory he was frustrated beyond measure, sick from guilt and his heart was aching that if he didn’t know better, he might as well think he was sick. He wasn’t, of course. But eliciting such bodily responses due to his emotional state was something entirely foreign to Tobirama. He was - always had been - subject to his moods, sure. And the people around him would know his sour moods, especially. But would he carelessly act on them, or physically feel them like this? No. Luckily it was the middle of the night and there had been nobody around to witness the somber scowl he was wearing. Not that he cared, anyway.
In the grand scheme of things, that was the least of his concerns.
He had contemplated testing his newest result on another prisoner, but ultimately decided against it. The best he could hope for was a prolonged time of muting the victim’s chakra. What he really needed to start working on now was to weave the second component in, the disruption. And since he had four vials available, that offered a variety of options. He’d leave one untouched, to be safe - and work on one for now to start with that.
The first problem was to imagine how he’d want the disruption to kick in. He knew from examining your blood and also the reaction you’ve shown that it took some time for the disruption to kick in. He had deduced it must be because of the chakra muting component - it covered the disruption up to leave a timeframe in which a victim was not threatened by it. When it faded, only the disruption remained, the lethal withdrawal kicked in. Therefore, the chakra needed for this would need to last longer, adhere to the victim almost like a brand and be intense enough to cause these effects. He did have a vague idea how to achieve this - but to compress it into such a small vial was… daunting.
What’s new, he somberly figured to himself.
And just as he imagined, this proved to be even more complicated than weaving the first component in. Not only did he have to treat delicately, but also be extremely careful to not destroy the structures he had worked so hard to get into that vial in the first place. He didn’t quite succeed in that - partly, the muting component took damage. The whole process felt as though he needed to weave chakra inbetween what was already in the vial - as if he was transplanting it onto the already delicate structure he had created. It was endlessly frustrating. Frankly everything about this was so demanding, at times he wondered if there really was no other option to get a cure.
Like torturing the prisoners to a maximum.
The more time he spent threading the more he became convinced there must be some trick to it. That, or it required an intense amount of training. If it was the latter, then he’d be facing a new problem.
He’d deal with that when it came to it. His plate was full as it was.
Once he got a hang of how to weave it in without wrecking the delicate structure of the first pattern, his gaze swept to the clock. It was long past midnight. Time for a small break. As much as he hated it, he didn’t want to use his clones yet again - he needed to figure this out more, firstly. If he had no real idea where to truly go with this, his clones’ works would just ramp up more exhaustion. More he needed to sleep off. Besides, this would not be so much of a break - though you were stable, he simply didn’t like the thought of leaving you alone. Not after your request - not after seeing you in your frightfully weak state. He had to check on you, as he promised.
He teleported back into your dimly lit room. Briefly, he gazed out of the window - the sky was clear, the moon shone bright and there were a million stars alongside it. It was beautiful. Silently, he walked to your bedside again to find you had your eyes closed. Finally - finally your face seemed peaceful. Gaunt, for sure, but not in pain. Tobirama settled down into his chair and laid his hand on yours, as lightly as he could to not wake you up. Very slowly he let his chakra skim over your network to find it dormant as well, pleased you still were asleep. Equally slow, he increased the connection to examine you as softly as possible. As usual, the injuries, microscopic tears, tissue damages and healing bits were too numerous to count. And there also was the general lack of reserves overall - a result from the strain put on you by the stretching of the interval no doubt. Even so, your cardiovascular situation was superior and no organ showed any sign of dysfunction. A pleasant surprise - compared to before, you were doing even better. Seems that aside from the exhaustion you had recovered well from their first stunt. He withdrew quickly before you could notice his presence and leaned back in his chair.
Had they gone by their normal schedule, you’d be left with four and a half days now. And Tobirama hadn’t even yet produced something that was anywhere near the leash. For all the grief it had put you through, it was a small victory. Admitting this felt wrong, though - despicable. It was the method. And he wasn’t sure how much time they’d gain from this, overall. His medical expertise wasn’t comparable to his brother’s, but he didn’t think you’d keep up lengthier intervals. Maybe if you’d been in peak physical condition.
He groaned slowly, rubbing a hand over his face.
Part of him didn't want to think anymore, now. He felt stretched out, thin. Spent. But of course, his mind wouldn't stop.
He vividly remembered the first time you went into withdrawal. The torment you had been going through. Just because you hadn’t been writhing or screaming now didn’t mean it was more bearable - no. You had been sedated this time. Tobirama was quite sure the whole procedure was hell for you, nonetheless, and all that kept you together was your unbreakable will to live.
If that ever faltered…
An ice-cold shiver ran down his spine. He closed his eyes. Already his heart pumped painfully against his ribcage, he had expected it. The all too familiar ache, the grief. The guilt.
I’ll take care of you. I’ll protect you.
It was all he could do. Though he caustically surmised, so far he had done a less than stellar job.
He returned to the lab as soon as his concentration felt up to the maddening task yet again. Having seen you again quite possibly helped a great deal to spur him on again despite the hour and how daunting it all felt - he just had to produce some kind of breakthrough now. He knew it. He could feel it. This is the way. He didn’t allow himself another break from the delicate weaving process until finally he inspected a vial containing both components now. Using his sensory skills he sent a weak, short-range chakra pulse through it.
The substance was not like the leash, no. If the leash was shining like a beacon, his copy was a torch, at least. It was progress, compared to the last time. He silently wondered if adding the second component had done this. Then came the next test - examining it directly. Again, the result was that his vial seemed inferior: while the chakra swirled in it in a quite complicated pattern, finely woven, he did distinguish the two different components after a little bit. The liquid made it difficult as it stayed ever in motion, but it was as though he was seeing two different colors.
It was a step forward, at least. He’d be testing this soon. Based on that - and the test subject’s blood work - he’d draw new conclusions. Still, there was more time to work on this vial further. The weaving itself was becoming something of a craft - with each moment he’d learn new tricks to it. A taxing one that seemed entirely focused on details, tiniest nudges and using small amounts of chakra at a time, but a craft nonetheless.
Had he not been so pressed for time, he might’ve actually found it interesting. But right now, all he felt was your torment breathing down his neck, wrenching his heart around and stealing his breath.
He wanted this over with.
It was early morning when he finished his work - not that he’d call it that, but he decided there was more merit to testing it out now. Even so, he’d check up on you again first. The world lurched with the use of his hiraishin seal, and a moment later he was in your room.
The first rays of dawn filtered in already, drenching the wooden hospital furniture in red hues once more. Low rustles were coming from your bed. Tobirama stepped over swiftly to find you stirring under the sheet irregularly, your head tilting from side to side. Briefly, he wondered if you were having a nightmare - but your eyes were open.
And recognizing him. “Tobirama,” you breathed, surprised.
“What’s wrong, Y/n?”, he inquired, wasting no time to step closer even, the worry already growing.
“Just … trying to get more comfortable,” you whispered, attempting a weak smile. “Looks like my strength returned a little bit more.”
He frowned slightly. “Don’t force it.” He couldn’t have prevented the sternness from seeping into his voice if he wanted to.
You sighed. “No,” a light shake of your head, “Just help me get on my side. Please?”, you extended your left hand for him to take, which he did with a small sigh. At least that way you wouldn’t try to do it yourself. And while he was extremely adamant, as Hashirama had eloquently put it, about your rest, it still tormented him to see you lacked the strength to turn on your side by yourself. Of course he knew it was common for patients in your condition - but this was you. He placed his right hand around where your hip and the small of your back would be under the blanket after his left had grasped your hand and pulled you towards him very slowly and gently so you tilted onto your side. You groaned a little, but sighed once you had adjusted to your new position.
“Thank you,” you hushed, meekly almost. The lack of strength was just as obvious to you. Tobirama took his seat at your side again and shook his head dismissively.
“Of course.” He still frowned, though. “How are you feeling?”
You closed your eyes and sighed again. “It’s… starting again. I can feel it. I’m feeling dizzy and… weaker.” Your voice shook from a slight tremble. Fear, Tobirama concluded.
He clenched his teeth and breathed through the tight feeling in his chest. “Y/n, we don’t need to stretch the interval as much-,”
“No,” you interjected firmly, eyes snapping open, giving him a sharp look. “We do. You know it. I know it.”
Now was Tobirama’s turn to close his eyes. “I don’t want you to suffer,” he whispered, his baritone voice near breaking again just from uttering these words and yet firm all the same. The tight feeling became worse
“I know,” you replied, haunted. “I know.” Your gaze was sorrowful. Knowing. Tobirama leaned forward to grasp your hand again and enclose it in his, letting his chakra coat your networks in the familiar, warm way. He didn’t know what else to do for your comfort. “Thank you,” you muttered again, forming yet another weak smile.
His head hung low as he simply basked in feeling you like this. The small nudge you were giving his sensitive network made him gasp slightly.
The moment was interrupted by the door swinging open. Tobirama’s head shot up to find his brother standing in the doorway. Looking more rested than he himself did, most likely. When he had reapplied his face paint after washing himself, there definitely had been dark rings under his eyes.
“Good morning,” Hashirama announced warmly, rounding the bed to stand beside Tobirama when he realised you were on your right side. “How are you?”
As you explained your condition to him, Tobirama gently grazed over your chakra network once more before drawing back slowly to free your hand. He’d be on his way soon, anyway.
Hashirama nodded. “Very well. I singled out a few medications that should help us stabilize you, as I mentioned. It’d be best to take them while you’re still, ah, responsive.”
“You mean when I’m not spitting it back at you?”, you deadpanned. Tobirama near froze at the image. All he could think of was how his hand had forced your mouth open, then poured the torture drug in and forcefully constricted your airway to make you swallow it.
Hashirama cleared his throat. “Well, you haven’t managed that so far.” Tobirama snorted in quite a cynical way then, earning him an arched eyebrow from you. Hashirama shot each of you a meaningful glance before continuing slowly. “Still..., it might be necessary to draw additional seals to release the medications transdermally.”
Tobirama’s head whipped to the side to stare at his brother. “That will aggravate the overload.”
Hashirama held up his hands defensively already. “The seals I have in mind for this purpose only add very, very little of the user’s chakra to the patient.” Tobirama wasn’t quite convinced yet as his scowl indicated. But then forcing things down your throat wasn’t gentle, either.
“And we’re also going to modify your nutrition, accommodating for the duress you find yourself in,” he added softly, but no less serious.
That made you snort now, but in a disgusted way. “Oh, I know what that’s going to taste like.” Every shinobi in the field on long missions knew that, in fact.
Tobirama wasn’t having any of it though. Already, he became riled up. “Y/n, we're not going to discuss-”
“I know, I know,” you already deflected exasperatedly, waving your free hand to calm him down. He leaned back in his chair then and crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow.
“Alright. Now that that’s out of the way,” Hashirama sighed, stepping closer to you. “May I?”, he extended his hand to take yours.
That was Tobirama’s clue. He wasn’t of any use here right now. He leaned closer to you yet again, expression mellowing. “I’ll be back soon, Y/n,” he promised for the lack of a better phrase. Anything else - anything mundane like ‘take care’ - just seemed wrong at this point. You nodded, trying another brave smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. Tobirama hoped his did.
He left the hospital to head straight for the interrogation and information headquarters, then, after having picked up his latest experiment with him.
It was already bustling with activity despite the early hour. Perhaps another mission finished. He didn’t dwell on it, really. Instead he headed to where he knew to find Ikuro; nodding towards the few familiar faces he made out. Apparently news about his task had made the round since nobody stopped him on his was through the small corridors past various offices. For a group that was euphemistically described as ‘interrogators’, everything seemed awfully quiet here. The walls must be thick.
Ikuro indeed was behind the desk in the sparsely decorated office that adjourned the cell block holding the six prisoners. He greeted Tobirama with the oddly warm smile and a nod. “Back again,” his voice was quiet, deceptively soft.
“Back again.” Tobirama repeated, raising an eyebrow. Exchanging pleasantries was something he really had no time for - given his - your - predicament. Any waste of time felt like a crime at this point. And then again, he never liked chitchat much. “Any news?”
Ikuro shook his head. “Not regarding your problem, I’m afraid, given we know Zenji is the only one to interrogate about that. I take it you made progress, however.”
That was unsurprising. Despite all that happened, it had only been a day. A single day. “Something to test out, yes.”
Ikuro’s smile spread slightly. Tobirama wasn’t sure how to feel about that, but quickly decided he didn’t care enough to form an opinion just yet. “There is one question though,” his smile faded. Tobirama frowned. “Now that we know Zenji is the only one who knows how to make the leash, do you want to use it on him again? I know we did the last time, however, if we permanently injure him…” He trailed off, but Tobirama well caught the implication.
He crossed his arms then. A fair point that he hadn’t considered yet. Since there were six prisoners in total, he had more than enough test subjects to choose from. But picking Zenji had the additional possible merit of gleaning more information about the leash during the interrogation, at the cost of, well, risking him. It all boiled down to whether Tobirama was confident enough in his work to not harm a person permanently, or not.
He hated it. But, “The substance I brought with me today will be more aggressive than the one I used last time. So, no. Let’s pick someone else. If it works well, we’ll focus on him again.” He was set on giving that man hell until he gave up his secrets. Or Tobirama had figured it out himself. Either way.
Ikuro nodded then. “Alright. We’ll pay a visit to Kimi.” The smile was back again.
Tobirama instead scowled, his tone was dripping with sarcasm. “Why do I get the fleeting notion that is the loony one from the far end?”
Ikuro bellowed a sudden laugh that startled him, both eyebrows rising. He wouldn’t figure this man’s humour out, really. “You are as perceptive as they say, Tobirama.” Then he rose to full size and Tobirama followed with a sigh and a roll of his eyes. The walk down the cell block was accompanied by the well-known feeling of eyes on him. Not that Tobirama cared for those, either. Except for one pair.
Zenji’s. His scarlet eyes darted to the side when they passed the middle cell. Tobirama was satisfied to find his black-bruised jaw was swollen. The look the man gave him was nothing short of hateful. He never broke his stride and followed Ikuro, surprised Zenji didn’t holler anything after him. Perhaps the jaw just hurt too much, hm.
Finally they reached Kimi’s cell. Like all the others, she also was chained up and sealed away. Her gaze seemed empty, staring a hole into the ceiling. That would soon change, Tobirama knew. Ikuro unlocked the cell. “Kimi,” he greeted warmly, like she was a friend.
“Go fuck yourself,” she shot back instantly but perfectly nonchalant. Tobirama’s eyebrows shot up. So much for friends. Her blue eyes locked with Tobirama’s. “Oh,” suddenly, her tone was infused with a shrill kind of adoration. “A high visitor!” Tobirama had to refuse the urge to cover his ears. “Tell me, tell me,” she chanted, swinging back and forth in the chains that held her. “How’s Y/n, how is she? Mhm?”, she exposed surprisingly bright teeth in a grotesque smile.
Tobirama didn’t even find her worth talking to; he could only roll his eyes and sigh exasperatedly. Enemies like this he knew to take serious - erratic behaviour covered up some of the most impressive techniques. But this wasn’t a fight. And he wasn’t about to try and converse with the likes of her. Not even in a cynical banter. He gazed at Ikuro. “Shall we?”
Kimi moaned loudly. “Awh, come on!”, it was an obscenely wanton sound. “Gimme a shred, please, please, please? I’m missing Y/n so, so much!”
Tobirama started to wonder if he had to break another jaw here. The ire that started to burn in his veins again surely provided enough fuel. His head tilted forward slightly as his stare narrowed, darkening.
Ikuro was already next to Kimi, shaking his head. He must’ve guessed at Tobirama’s thoughts - not that his body language wasn't enough of a giveaway.
Kimi wasn’t helping her situation. “Tobirama Senju doesn’t find me worth talking tooo!”, she screamed then in a most offended way, loud enough for probably everyone in this building to hear. Not that she was wrong in any way. This woman would be better off without her vocal chords.
“Kimi,” Ikuro began, still sugary sweet. “You’re going to help us a little.” His hand seized the back of her head already, grasping her brown hair firmly.
She stiffened immediately, but the smile that spread over her lips now was nothing short of malicious. Typical, Tobirama figured - completely mad behaviour, but far from idiotic. “Oh.” It was a sharp sound. “My turn to get your itty-bitty-wannabe-leash?”
Tobirama’s mien remained completely impassive. “Are you going to open your mouth or are we going to have to force you, like your compatriot?”, entirely unfazed by threatening her with violence.
Not that she was fazed, either. And smart enough to know better than to put up a fight now. “I always wanted to taste the stuff, mhm,” she tried to nod her head, but Ikuro’s grip was iron already. “No need to break my jaw like dumb Zenji’s. Show me what y’got, Tobirama Senju, show me,” she then moaned again, lasciviously almost.
Tobirama’s lips drew into a disgusted scowl. “Good grief, how do you work with these people,” he scoffed. Ikuro was grinning widely. “I should’ve picked Zenji,” he added almost inaudibly. Kimi opened her mouth wide and stuck her tongue out, licking over her lower lip in distasteful ways. Still, he didn’t trust her for one second. And the contents of this vial were too precious for this maniac to spit back at him, which he was sure she would. His free hand seized her jaw tightly so that if she bit down, she’d seriously injure her cheeks. Kimi already spluttered. The moment Tobirama felt she wanted to speak more, he simply applied more pressure. He had enough of this nutcase.
Swiftly, he poured the contents of his vial into her mouth and in a well practiced move pressed down harshly on her nose and mouth to force her to swallow. Her eyes became glassy - luckily, he had been wise enough to keep her mouth shut, because he was perfectly sure she’d have licked his hand or done something equally disgusting had he not.
Not that much was needed. Obediently, she swallowed.
Followed by a shrill scream. Tobirama’s patience was a candle that burned on both ends at this point. He didn’t even put it past Kimi that this was precisely what she was aiming for but by all that he believed in, it worked. The woman let out a heavy tirade of sexually loaded metaphors about what she was seeing and feeling that might have turned a more innocent person bright red on the spot.
It elicited nothing but fast growing annoyance out of Tobirama, however. And Ikuro was grinning as he closed his eyes. He gave him a dark glare. The man had known, for sure. This better yielded good results. When he reached for her throat to examine her, his hand grasped so tightly Kimi’s voice got stuck in its tracks and all that remained was a small rivulet of obscenities at Ikuro, who had begun to invade her mind again. Squeaks, no more.
Much more bearable.
Now to examine her. He made no effort to be gentle about this whatsoever. Ikuro’s work was marvellous as before. Unsurprisingly, Kimi’s mental defense was nothing short of impressive. Perhaps Tobirama was imagining it, but Ikuro’s methods seemed different here - more brutal. More smothering. Akin to what he had done to Akio - less thought to the risk he was running. Was Ikuro himself fed up with her? The thought darkly amused Tobirama.
Kimi stayed completely stable throughout the whole procedure. Her chakra flow was almost as muted as yours was after indigestion of the leash, however it picked up again during the session. Tobirama had expected it, but with the additional experience in the whole weaving process, it gave him clues on how to improve on that. Briefly he stopped monitoring her to take a blood sample. Not an easy task as there was no patch of skin exposed save for her neck and head, so he had to go for the jugular artery as the veins would be collapsed. It bore a slight risk - but none that Tobirama even cared about. Unceremoniously he stabbed the needle in where he felt the pulse after having released his choke hold on her throat - an opportunity she used to gargle out profanities at both him and Ikuro, but the mental assault heavily impaired her ability to form coherent sentences. What was coherent by her standards anyway, Tobirama figured. After he had gotten what he needed from her neck, he continued to monitor her. The half-frozen state of her chakra remained steady for a while before it dropped more.
Ikuro began to retreat then, slowly.
“Wait,” Tobirama instructed. His presence lingered then, still keeping Kimi in a mental choking hold.
As her chakra became less and less mute, the disruption kicked in more. And with it, for the first time there seemed to be genuine distress in the prisoner, indicated not by crude insults, but a genuine groan of pain.
“Interesting,” Tobirama muttered, smugly, almost. Kimi whimpered while Tobirama took time to thoroughly investigate how her chakra tried to repel his disruption, over and over again - and each time, the reaction became worse for it, accompanied by a never ending stream of pained expressions. Watching the agony unfolding inside of her.
He felt no satisfaction, no. But he was pleased. A success, finally.
After a while of monitoring, he took another blood example. Ikuro was frowning now. “I’m not sure how much more she’ll take, mentally,” he announced.
“Well, physically, she’s well off. I won't say anything about her mental state, that has been debatable to begin with," Tobirama grunted. This was nothing compared to what you went through. The plight they ultimately had put you in.
Ikuro withdrew then, but Tobirama had to stay. After all, the disruption first had to fade at some point. He knew it would - this wasn’t the leash, yet . But it was the right way. Slowly, Kimi’s body started to clear out the disruptive components alongside her chakra - another fascinating realisation that was different to when he had examined you. In you, the leash stuck - no matter how much your unmuted chakra and body battled it, it just kept on disruption and repelling it, thus causing the detrimental health effects. But Kimi’s cleared Tobirama’s out.
He withdrew then. Ikuro raised an expectant eyebrow. “She will be fine,” Tobirama announced, turning on his heels to leave the cell. He had new material to work with.
Ikuro followed swiftly after locking the cell containing the now limp Kimi.
The glare Zenji gave Tobirama now was decidedly murderous. Tobirama grinned back, darkly. Arrogantly. Zenji might as well know he was on their heels. His threats have not been empty. He almost had passed the cell, when Zenji’s strained voice echoed through the cell block: “Four more days, Tobirama fucking Senju,” the pain was obvious. Good. Nobody had healed the fracture, then. “Don’t think for a second you’re anywhere near perfection yet! Y/n’s gonna die so fucking miserably!”
Tobirama kept on walking, ignoring the new flare of ire in his veins. The urge to turn on his heels and break his jaw in new ways. Hell, rearrange his damned face. No, Zenji was beneath him he kept telling himself as he ground his teeth so hard his own jaws hurt. Back in the office, Ikuro closed the door. “I’m impressed, Tobirama.” His gaze was appreciative. For a split second, he believed this to be about reigning his temper in and was about to reply in a most impolite way to such a condescending remark, but he quickly realised this was not the case.
“Thanks.” Try as he might, he couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of his voice. The praise for his work was hollow when he reminded himself why he was doing this - and that it was far from perfect yet. “I’ll be back soon. I trust you didn’t learn anything pertaining to my task?”, not that he thought so, but he had to ask anyway.
“Sadly, no. It was a fruitful session, especially considering it was Kimi, but it seems Zenji’s slip up was not a false lead. She really does not seem to know about the leash’s creation.” Then, he frowned. “But, she adamantly guarded anything relating to the leash. Perhaps there is more to glean from her.
Tobirama’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Well, then we know to build up more pressure.”
Ikuro nodded, surprisingly somber now. “Indeed. I’ll inform you if anything from the other prisoners might come up.”
Tobirama bowed slightly. “Thank you.” Ikuro was a good man to work with.
A second later, the world lurched and the hiraishin seal transported him back to your room, where the little victory he celebrated dissipated swiftly.
The mood was dreary - and the innate hum he felt due to his sensory skills had picked up from the last time. It could only mean one thing. By now it was high noon and the sun’s light reflected off of the room’s pale furniture. Hashirama’s back was turned to him but the blanket was pushed aside - revealing your marred legs. On them, more seals, which he couldn’t make out precisely at this distance. Instantly, Tobirama rounded your bed swiftly, to find Hashirama working on the heart seal. Still, he couldn’t help but gasp when he saw your whole form revealed like this: a shadow of your former self and almost no part of you that didn’t bear a barely healing mark of torture. It didn’t deter him from analysing the situation, but it’d never fail to drive a proverbial blade through his heart.
Your breaths were quick and shallow again and Tobirama was sure to hear a rumble in there. Not good. Your lung was affected. Combined with the fact your body definitely was paler than before and the sheen of sweat that covered your skin, the situation was obvious. You didn’t move - and in your face, the grimace of pain was etched into your skin.
It was worse than before. And they hadn’t stretched the interval as much as before, yet.
Hashirama’s gaze swept up to him when he had finished what Tobirama guessed was strengthening the seal that supported your heart. His mien was grave. “We can’t wait much longer.” He gave Tobirama a quick rundown of what had happened: the withdrawal had kicked in again as before, but the symptoms developed faster, and more severe. As he had guessed, your lung was starting to suffer damage not just on the slight, microscopic level Tobirama had witnessed during the first stretch but in a greater margin. Your cardiovascular system required more support as your heart struggled, too. He still hadn’t intervened directly, yet.
Tobirama swallowed finally and nodded and nodded. Then, he looked down on your legs. Each bore another seal meant for transdermal release of the agents the seal in the middle was soaked in. “You drew more seals?” he inquired, terse again.
“We had to,” Hashirama explained, his hand back on your arm and his eyes closed. “Her lucid intervals are too short to ensure her taking the medication by herself. This is more effective and safer.”
“Safer?”, Tobirama shot back, sternly. “There are six seals on her now. Which means we barely have any room for additional chakra based options, if any, without overloading her.”
Hashirama clicked his tongue. “I am well aware, Tobirama,” a slight hint of strain had snuck into his voice now. But instead of angering him, it did the opposite - Tobirama realised how serious your condition was for his brother to even let a sliver of exasperation slip into his tone. And besides. He didn’t say any more.
All they were doing here - it was all dangerous. Too dangerous. They were running into dead ends, either way - be it the leash or the withdrawal of it. And to make you suffer, for a few precious hours? Tobirama swallowed hard against the shortness of breath that gripped this thorax tightly suddenly. “Anjia, I don’t think we should continue. Y/n is suffering and I -,” he swallowed again as his scarlet gaze swept to your face and the hurt in his heart was near unbearable again, “I cannot condone this.”
Hashirama’s eyes flew open and he gave Tobirama a deep frown. “She doesn’t want us to stop. So don’t.”
His gaze wandered to his brother, frowning himself now. “If she dies from the withdrawal, then it was pointless,” he nearly growled, voice stern again, if just to cover up for the gaping hole that the ache was boring into his chest in a most agonizing way.
“She’s not dying. Have more faith in me, Tobirama - and most importantly, her,” he gazed back at you then, voice becoming softer, fonder. Tobirama would never fail to be amazed by his brother’s optimism.
In a very sarcastic way.
“I’m not doubting you or her, anija,” and the sheer notion of him doing so did well enough to distract him from the terrible heartache simply for how furious it made him, “What I am doubting is what we’re up against - effects of something I haven’t fully understood yet or been able to recreate!”
Hashirama took a sharp breath. “On the other hand, we can evaluate her condition, react accordingly and adjust the figurative sails. We will not run a risk. You said so yourself. That, we do know.”
Tobirama looked back on your tormented form. Then he closed his eyes slowly. He hated it - he hated all of this - but he knew, deep down, he knew it - they’d need to continue down the path they had chosen. All of this - it would end soon. Either way. All he could do was to ensure it ended favourably, swiftly. And for as long as it lasted he’d need to remind himself of the promise he had made to you. No matter what. If Hashirama found your condition stable enough to continue - he’d trust him. He had no other choice but to.
“How much longer until the next dose?”, Tobirama asked then, the numb feeling spreading again. He welcomed it. The numbness muted all of the grief, of the ache. His focus returned.
“Not much. Might as well prepare it.” Hashirama instructed, politely refraining from commenting on Tobirama’s falter further.
He nodded and made for doing just that. Not twenty minutes later, they administered it - again, you were stirring from the force with which Tobirama had to pry your mouth open to pour the hated liquid in. The pained way in which you groaned echoed quietly in the sparsely furnitured room as he focused on not spilling a drop while gripping your jaw with vice strength again and holding it open. Uttering apologies he knew you couldn’t hear but he made nonetheless. After he made you swallow it you stilled again.
It had whatever brief respite - if it could’ve been called that - they had gained by stretching the intervals and thus making for more time null. Impressively, it had been shown you paid the price in proverbial blood and if it continued, literal blood might follow.
Tobirama’s only rest would be when he literally crashed, now.
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New Short Story: “Athleticism”
(Female to male bodyswap, race change)
Sora watched with disappointment as all of her friends were accepted to universities on prestigious sports scholarships. She hadn’t received even one letter of admission and time was nearly up — all of her girlfriends had already decided on where they were going. They were all off to schools in Seoul and Busan and a few were even going overseas to study. Meanwhile, Sora had failed so far to get into even her own community college. She was humiliated.
Her grades had never been so good. Throughout senior high school, she had been preoccupied with boys, mostly — shopping to find more attractive dresses, studying makeup tips on Youtube and going on as many dates as she could. She never had the energy to study with the amount of time she spent running out to cafes and practicing her eyeliner in the mirror. It resulted in a boyfriend at least, but even he had kicked her to the curb one he got his admission letter. She was utterly dejected.
If only she had tried a little harder at volleyball, she thought. It wasn’t that difficult. And her friends going to university on athletic scholarships weren’t even that much better than she was. If she had just applied herself, practiced a little more, her grades wouldn’t have mattered and she would be off to university with her boyfriend in tow. But that dream was over: she hadn’t been good enough at volleyball, she hadn’t been smart enough and all she had gotten from her high school career was an expensive wardrobe and some makeup skills.
Maybe she’d end up being an esthetician, she thought. That wouldn’t be so bad… But she felt tears welling up as she longed for the life her friends had. “I wish I was more athletic,” she moaned.
She hadn’t imagined that some cosmic force might have been listening. That fate was ready to intervene. She hadn’t even thought of what she was saying when things started to change.
Sora was lying on her bed and attempting to stifle her tears when she felt a sudden heat swill through her skin. It was like a fever had suddenly loosed from her bones and submerged her whole body. And the sensation began to grow hotter from the base of her slender, white feet.
They were getting bigger. She hadn’t noticed at first, her eyes welled with the residue of her crying, but as she sat up straight and wiped at her face, she saw her toes beginning to expand inside her little pink socks, decorated with flowers and cherry blossoms.
The feeling began to quickly rush up from her feet and over her calves and lower legs. They were expanding, pushing out into lengthier, sturdier limbs as they enlarged over the end of her bed. Soon her new, meaty soles would touch the floor of her room. A sharp pricking revealed the emergence of dark, brown hair slowly beginning to line her entire legs before a set of rough, burly toes ripped from her pink floral socks.
“What’s— what’s happening to… me,” she asked in fear. But the words were hard to remember. It was like her native Korean was becoming more of a second language. “What… this is?”
She clapped a hand to her mouth. The voice didn’t sound like hers. And why was she speaking as if she only knew as much Korean as a foreigner? The fear coursing through her only became more dramatic as she felt the the width of her fingers inflate one by one as they grew thicker and burlier covering the entire width of her face, little knots of hair sprouting around her knuckles and the back of her wrists.
She needed to get up. She needed help, she thought. Something was seriously wrong. She stumbled up from her bed, finding her legs so clumsily long and thick with new muscle she could not operate them properly. She stumbled like a lost bird before toppling to the ground where she watched her legs grow into two overlong hunks of flesh. Even her calves had become radically pronounced and bulbous as if spheres of sheer muscle had been planted inside them, and her thighs were suddenly ripped with wedges and valleys of defined bulk. And they were so wide — they seemed almost double the size of her waist. With a final push out, they desecrated the last of her skirt, leaving her lace panties exposed while hair began to crawl further up her thighs.
Sora could only scream like a little girl, but she found that the voice erupting from her throat was low and gravel-like. Rocky and deep. It was no longer her voice, it was that of a man’s and one that did not belong to her. She covered her round lips with her strapping, wide palms, just to discover even her forearms were growing blocky with muscle. She didn’t even know muscles like that existed. And as it rose around the bones in her arms, stretching and pulling in new directions, she saw her skin was taking on a decidedly lighter tone. It spread from her fingernails and into her plump fingers before racing up her arms: becoming white.
Watching the changes take her body, she was overwhelmed with the tremendous weight possessing her upper arms. Her biceps pushed up so quickly they ripped through her school uniform, shredding the fabric and leaving her embarrassingly exposed. Despite being alone in the room, she sheepishly tried to cover herself up somehow, hide herself from the humiliation of how much of her body was visible. But her arms were such an absurd and lewd size at this point, it was no use; no matter how she adjusted her swelling arms, they revealed a wild thickness and muscle.
Her chest, too, was expanding. She had nice sized breasts — it was always what she received compliments on from boys — but the weight accumulating in her upper body was different from before. It popped the last buttons of her uniform and revealed her pink bra beneath where she found the bouncy flesh of her chest replaced with broad sinews of strength. Her nipples shrank and centered into a symmetrical face.
And across her new broad chest came a quickly encroaching layer of light hair. She cried out again, her voice even more masculine than before, as she desperately tried to swipe away at the new hair. It only grew thicker as she itched at it in place.
Her neck grew wider as her spine readjusted to fit her strange new height. Her countenance was changing too, she could feel her mouth getting wider and her lips thickening into a straighter, more square shape. Her petite, button like nose became broad and demanding as the nasal tissue stiffened, and her brow dropped and dug toward the lower half of her face. In her closet mirror, she watched as her jaw became rectangular and cut with the appearance of facial hair that immediately sickened her with disgust. Her small and delicate face was gone: staring back at her was a freakish foreigner bodybuilder. Finally, her long black haircut shriveled up into a tight brown crop as her eyelids unfolded and the muscles across her face realigned. She tried to think of how to say help in Korean — the word was totally vanished from her mind. Instead was a different word which echoed around with a startling familiarity. “Hilfe!” she sobbed. Tears bobbed down her big, boyish face. “Hilf mir!”
Cowering and beginning to cry in horror at what had happened to her, she awkwardly stood and walked in her usual dainty fashion toward the mirror. She had trained herself to walk with her hips, one foot in front of the other, which looked horribly ridiculous in the six foot four frame of this man she had come to inhabit. She’d been a whole foot shorter before.
“Ew…” she muttered, examining the hair stricken across her handsome face. And that was before she noticed the sudden musky smell of sweat move up from her exposed armpits. When she looked down to examine them, she nearly jumped in horror at the amount of wiry hair springing from them.
“This can’t be me…” she said, “this can’t be happening.” It wasn’t until she had finished speaking in her dumb, bro-like voice that she realized none of the words parting her lips were in Korean. What language was it? The words were masculine and brutish -- and she realized, she was speaking German. She panicked as she tried to find any Korean words in her brain and only a horrendously pronounced “annyeonghaseyo” spittled out.
As she was pulling on the features of her face, cringing at the horrible scent of man spiraling up from her, she felt a sudden transformation in the heat in her body. It began to concentrate all at one point, just beneath her stomach, punctuated with a stiff valley of abdominal muscles. The feeling was just beneath it, hotter than before, as if she was incinerating right there. At the crotch.
She stared into the mirror and watched as her lace panties quickly began to fill with the round head of a tremendous white cock. She nearly screamed again, except for that as she opened har mouth to, the sensation was flushed with extraordinary pleasure. She felt all of her sexual organs push into a new shape as they seemed to exit her body and manifest in the sensitive rod of her new genitals. And they kept expanding until the lace panties were so stretched with flesh she thought they would rip too. Balls descended from her, also scattered with hair, and she felt an entirely new sensation as blood rushed into this strange, massive thing between her thick highs which shot up straight. She was hard as fuck. Her dick finally popped up from the base as an intimidating 10 inch monster against her obliques.
Sora looked into the mirror with shock. She had become truly athletic. She thought: I got what I wanted. The feeling of accepting this truth was unlike anything she had ever felt as her two slabs of pectoral muscle overworked her little pink bra and her new cock throbbed against the bottom of her panties. She moaned: her voice still inflected with a feminine tone as her cry of pleasure came out more like a woman’s whine. She was overwhelmed, but she knew she had to do something with all of this pleasure.
She threw herself on her bed and desperately began to work her cock. It was intuitive: up and down with her hand. She fingered her nipples with her free hand and pressed her pecs together as if they were still made from the breast tissue she had possessed before. She had loved having her breasts played with during sex: this was altogether a different feeling, but the sensitivity radiating in her nipples was enough to make her buck in place. It was a strange feeling, she thought, the pleasure was so much stronger and stranger. As she moaned and squirmed on the bed, her sprawling back and thick, firm ass slicked with sweat, an incredible intensity seized her unlike anything she had ever felt before. For a moment, she was horrified, she thought she might die as her cock suddenly exploded with semen. She was coated in it: with no idea how to control her ejaculation, her cute pink sheets and her
Weeping in a bizarre guilt and terror, she found the only thing in her closet that would fit her: a baggy dress she had thought was once stylishly oversized. The dress that had been large on her small body now bunched up at her huge chest, so tight her new arms split a seem. Her enormous dick and balls gorged on the material and were totally visible through the white clothes as she marched downstairs for help.
Her family was preparing for dinner. They gasped and screamed as a lumbering German man appeared, crying in a feminine tone at odds with its bovine pitch: “Was ist mit mir passiert? Was ist mit mir passiert?!”
Her family had been shocked by the transformation, but not entirely surprised. Once they had worked out what had ahppened, they said this kind of thing had occurred in their family before, ancestors previously randomly taken by the power of a misplaced wish. Accepting their daughter’s fate, they began to help Sora adjust to her new life. It was extraordinarily difficult with the new language barrier — Sora had to relearn Korean from the ground up and could only express the most basic of desires. Her father had to teach her how to properly wash beneath her balls after she had showed up to breakfast one morning disgusting with musk. Shaving had been a nightmare. She could hardly figure it out, and after not too long she gave up on getting rid of her body hair. She surrendered to the tangle of pit hair and curls across her chest and groin, though she continued to try and lop at the patches of masculine hair on her face. And though it had taken her a great deal of practice, at least she no longer had to sit to piss on the toilet anymore, she had figured out how to pee standing up. She was slowly figuring out how to adapt to this new world.
Wrecked with shame and embarrassment at her ridiculous new form, she was most disgusted to discover how often her new body needed release. Every morning she woke up in the too-small girly pajamas she insisted on wearing with her titanic dick raging and desperate to cum. Her attempts to ignore her new sex drive were in vain: if she neglected her dick for too long, it began getting hard at any moment and leaking with pre-cum. She couldn’t believe this is what men had to put up with, and twice daily she woefully turned her attention to masturbating, clumsily whacking her dick around until it finally came and surrendered for a time being.
But the one thing that hadn’t changed was her desire for men. Now, only she had to cater to a different crowd. She had wondered at first if the change might make her into a straight man, but she found she was now even more desperate for male attention. She was wildly lonely, only having her teddy-bear for company. The same bear she’d had since she was a child.
Her desire for a man only increased as time went on. She could hardly take the shocked stares she received from other Koreans when she went out in public -- she wanted to scream “I’m the same as you!” despite knowing she was not at all -- but she desperately needed to find someone to give her what she needed. Occasionally, she’d notice other men ogling her body, watching her closely as her girly walk shook her hips and ass as she awkwardly tried to move.
When she couldn’t take it anymore, she looked up the closest gay bar. She went by herself, sneaking out after her parents went to sleep, and wandered in with her feminine canter and shyness as she blushed and kept her head down. But all eyes were on her. When finally a handsome foreigner came up to her and asked her if she wanted to go home with him, she realized at last why she had wanted to become athletic. As he sucked her dick in his dirty, tiny apartment, she felt an unbelievable pleasure for the first time. She thought, this is why I wanted to be athletic.
She came with an obscene geyser of cum into the foreigner’s mouth, and she thought that maybe this had been a blessing all along.
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Victor Delgado Headcanons - Part Two
So... after what turned out to be a far lengthier break than I imagined, I’m back with another headcanon post.
I confess, I’m not sure of how fair it is to qualify it as canon post, for one simple reason.
Due to the fact I wrote many of these headcanons with the series of fics I’m developing in mind, they have become canon-incompatible over time... so now there is a distinction between those which could still be canon compatible and those which specifically apply to my fic universe, which I’ve recently named ‘Tales of the Ever Realm’.
As such, there are many specific differences from canon, especially in the relationship between Victor and Ash, and the way they got separated, and the way she became a malvaga.
More details on the reasons behind my choice are here:
https://ograndebatata.tumblr.com/post/185329200654/fair-warning-to-my-followers-from-the-elena-of
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Note: In part one of my Victor headcanons, I described Mrs. Delgado’s/Ash’s/Pluma’s eyes as purple. I describe them as blue here simply because I realized how my initial description was a mistake.
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Note #2: My sincerest thanks once more to @lostbutterflyutau for her help with her suggestions and feedback regarding many of these, particularly the points that relate to Carla.
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Note #3: This post deals with a lot of sensitive subjects, such as attempted murder (up to and including attempted murder of a child) and actual successful murder attempts (which granted are in self-defense, but I still thought should make a warning. As such, reader discretion is advised.
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So... to anyone still reading this, I hope you enjoy reading these headcanons, even though they’re technically full ‘fanfiction headcanons’ by now, so to speak.
Click below the cut if you’re interested to read what the first part of Victor’s life was like in my fic universe, from the point he was banished by Shuriki to the point he and his wife got separated.
Victor Delgado - Part Two - Flexures of fortune
Solo criminal
At first, despite being actually alone for the first time in his life (though he had been metaphorically so for years) Victor was hopeful when it came to his future, and even started dreaming remarkably big for his situation. Granted, his last attempt at a big scheme to gain power, wealth and respect might have gone wrong, but he was still young, and he considered himself a creative sort. Surely if he worked hard enough and was on the lookout for the right chances, something would come up. And once he had a kingdom, he would finally have respect, and more, he would be able to give Pluma much more than he could have if he’d had to share Avalor with Esteban, assuming that Pluma still wanted to be with him.
It would be hard to fault him for lack of optimism, but as he would learn all too soon, optimism by itself is not enough to make plans come to fruition.
Despite his determination upon being forced to strike out on his own, Victor quickly realized that life as a solo criminal wasn’t everything it was cracked up to be. After all, he now was alone, and as mean as his father and aunt had been to him, they still had at least given him clothes to wear and food to eat, both of which were harder to come by now that he didn’t have anyone to help him along. Also, he was now too old to pull off most of the acts that had enabled him to be so successful when he was younger, which meant that he had to change strategies.
But he was nothing if not adaptable, and after a few months of adjustment, during which he mostly supported himself by working honest jobs that admittedly didn’t pay well but still gave him enough to eat, he managed to find new ways of stealing that still enabled him to both make use of his old skills and properly use his new attributes rather than those he had outgrown.
Unfortunately, a side effect of his new life of stealing was that he could never stay at any place for too long, and he couldn’t afford to do something that amassed too much wealth at once either, lest he have so much money that he wouldn’t be able to keep it when he tried to escape law enforcement or bother someone important enough to be able to send a crack unit after him.
At first, Victor told himself it was meant to be a temporary measure. He would only be a thief until he managed to have a kingdom to call his own. But as years went by without any change in his situation, he started to have a few doubts on whether there was actually any hope of him being more than what he had become - a petty thief forced to rely on lowly schemes just to have food in his mouth.
But the constant lack of desired success wasn’t the worst part about his new life.
The worst part was having lost all touch with Pluma.
No matter how many women he was with during his years on the road, or whatever were his reasons to be with them, he could never stop thinking about her. And the worst part, he could not ever get in touch with her either.
While he had managed to keep the journal she had given him, he had gotten no response from her since the day she wrote to him that she was hunting down her mother’s murderers, still before Shuriki’s takeover. He wrote to her as regularly as he could, but no matter how often he looked for an answer, or how much he tried to wait long enough for her to finish whatever she might be busy with (he imagined tracking down people powerful enough to murder a malvaga would not be easy), she never replied to him.
In the end, Victor had to accept the fact that either she had somehow lost the journal or that she somehow had failed in her attempts at getting revenge and hadn’t been given a second chance.
In either case, it seemed all too unlikely he would ever get to see her again before he left for the afterlife - assuming he would even be given access to wherever she went. He only hoped that she was alright, that she had achieved her goal, and also that her father was alright as well and the two of them had gotten to make amends after their disagreement over revenge.
Much to his amazement, however, life seemed willing to grant him a blessing.
Reunion with paramour
It all started when he was thirty, on a dark night like so many others in his life, at a dank tavern at Rudistan equal to so many others throughout the Ever Realm. Like so many other patrons, Victor had gone there for a reason, but for a different one from most of those who went there. He had a new target in his sights, one of the sort that frequented such places, and one that he would target with a coup that, should it turn out to be successful enough, would enable him to amass enough portable wealth that he would be able to infiltrate a royal court and hopefully start to work his way up to ruling.
Unfortunately, there didn’t seem to be any free tables by the time he got there, and he couldn’t afford to sit at the counter because it would make him too exposed for someone meant to be spying on a target. So he looked for the least busy table he got, and to his surprise, he found one which only had one person - someone who looked like a woman and, more interestingly, seemed to be watching the same man that Victor had his sights set on.
As he had sometimes worked with partners over his twelve years as a thief, Victor decided to seize this chance for a new partnership, got himself a drink, walked over to the table to sit down. The woman at the table turned to him, and told him the table was taken. Victor said it was big enough for both of them, and he had seen what she was doing, and he was open to offering her a partnership, as he was also interested in her mark. Without even bothering to look at him, the woman told him she didn’t need his help - and the sound of her voice caused Victor to gasp. Suddenly alarmed, the woman turned to him, and let out at gasp of her own as Victor recognized her eyes, even with the hood casting a shadow on them. But the moment she pulled her hood back just an edge, as if to make sure her own eyes were not deceiving her, Victor got all the confirmation he needed.
It was Pluma.
Any thoughts about watching his mark or proposing partnerships were instantly forgotten. The first thought both had after getting over their shock was sharing an ecstatic hug, which they barely managed to keep discreet enough not to draw the attention of the whole tavern. Then, after throwing a few coins on the table to pay for their drinks, the two of them walked out and, once they were at Victor’s hiding place, resumed their ecstatic hug free of any restraints, holding each other so tight they would later deem it a wonder that neither of them broke in half.
Victor could scarcely believe it. After not seeing her for twelve years, he had finally found Pluma again, and against his wildest dreams, she was just as happy to see him as he was to see her.
At first, their reunion was nothing but a whirlwind of euphoria. But after it faded, and the two of them started catching up on what they had been up to in the twelve years since they had seen each other, things quickly turned sour.
Pluma was the first, by telling him how she had ended up getting the notebook she had use to write to him destroyed during a magic duel in her hideout that lead to most of her possessions being torched, how she had been trying to get her revenge on the people who had killed her mother, and how she had ended up becoming a malvaga out of the belief it would help her to succeed with her revenge.
For a moment, she seemed afraid that Victor would think poorly of her over such a thing, but Victor reassured her that he wasn’t. Even if she was a malvaga, he was just as happy to be back with her as he would be if she wasn’t.
Victor, in turn, told her how his family had kicked him out, and how he had been living on the road and stealing, and how he was trying to have a kingdom of his own so he could prove to the world that he was more than the idiot his father had always calling him. Despite the sordid details, Pluma was sympathetic to him and did not seem thrown off, but she did ask him what had happened to his family and why they had kicked him out. And when Victor started by saying that they had been kicked out of Avalor by Shuriki, Pluma’s face darkened so much that, for the first time, he saw just how scary an angry and powerful malvago could be.
All the same, he pointed out how he noticed there was something wrong over the reference to Shuriki, and asked if she wanted to talk about it.
Pluma wasn’t shy about doing so. Her eyes already moist, she told him how, a year after she had ran away from home, she had gone back to apologize to her father and make amends with him, only to find the house destroyed and most of their possessions wrecked or gone. Worse than that, she had found that Avalor was now ruled by Shuriki - who was what she called a daemonfirma - who had banished or killed all other magic practitioners in the kingdom.
One of those Shuriki had killed was her father. Worse than that, she had him horribly tortured after she managed to overpower him, to the point he had died from the actual torture rather than from being struck down in a duel. Pluma knew so from the images Shuriki had shown her before trying to kill her too. While Pluma had quickly responded in kind, Shuriki was too powerful for her, and she had only managed to escape because, in her words, her best friend had sacrificed himself for her and bought her just enough time to escape.
It had been one of her motivations to become a malvaga - she wanted to kill Shuriki just as much as she wanted to kill the bastards who had killed her mother. And while her second attempt (which she made right after she had gone as far as she could on her malvaga training) had failed as well, she was determined to do so someday.
Victor was horrified. In his euphoria over seeing Pluma again, he had completely forgotten about her father and his fear he could have been one of those Shuriki had killed. And now, he realized the man had drawn the shortest straw, as he had not only been killed but had been tortured first. Victor briefly thought that he didn’t remember Shuriki killing any wizard who looked like he could have been Pluma’s father, much less Shuriki singling out any wizard or malvago to torture to death, but he guessed she must have found a few stray ones after banishing him and had made a further example of at least one of those just to really prove that she wasn’t to be messed with.
And he simply couldn’t keep his emotions off of his face at the realization.
As she noticed that, it was Pluma’s turn to press for details, and while ordinarily Victor’s first impulse in such a situation would be to lie, he found out that he simply couldn’t. No matter what happened from them on, he simply couldn’t lie to her. He wanted to have a real relationship with her, not one based on lies.
So he told her the truth.
At first, Pluma did nothing but stare at him in shock. Then she growled at him to go away. He tried to say he was sorry, but she only growled at him to go away once more, her icy blue eyes so chilling that her gaze alone looked like it could kill.
Victor relented, completely heartbroken, and went into a nearby tavern to drown his sorrows. But he couldn’t touch his drink. He could only think about the role he had played in what had happened to Pluma’s father and to her best friend. Being partially responsible for King Raul’s and Queen Lucia’s death had been bad enough, and the added guilt over all the magic practitioners Shuriki had killed was far from easy either (though he had been able to live with both) but this was a hundred times worse. To know he had unwittingly hurt Pluma to such a degree was nothing short of horrible.
And, he realized, this meant the end for any relationship they could have had. He would have to tell her goodbye again just as soon as he’d been able to say hello.
By the end of the night, Victor had not even touched his drink, but he had come to a decision - he had to apologize to Pluma. She might not take his apologies, and she might want to never see him again, but he had to apologize to her, and let her know that, despite everything else, he was genuinely sorry for what had happened to her father and her best friend.
But just as he left the tavern, he had a gag wrapped around his mouth from behind and then a bag was shoved over his eyes and then ropes were tied around his body, before he was hoisted off the floor.
He was too confused to catch everything that happened next, but after what felt like an eternity, he was at last thrown onto a wooden floor, the bag removed from his head and the gag torn away from his mouth. He saw himself face to face with two men in strange black robes with very unusual head covers, and froze in fear. Pluma had told him enough about her mother’s murderers for him to recognize two members of their group when he saw them.
Despite himself, he tried to put on a brave front, claiming that whatever it was they wanted from him, they wouldn’t get it. But one of them told him that he was wrong. They would get what they wanted from him, namely for “Ash” - who he guessed must be how they thought Pluma was called, or even her real name - to come looking for him so that they could kill her - for good this time, they said. Victor taunted them about their lack of intelligence if they had done such a poor job on the first time, but the second man told him that this time would be different. This time, they would be ready for her.
Victor tried as well as he could to keep taunting them back, determined to go down fighting in that way if it was the only option available to him, but the two men kept taunting him back.
After what felt like an eternity, something within the two men shifted, one of them drew knife, and asked Victor “Any last words?”
Before Victor could reply, a familiar voice shouted a spell, and the two men were knocked away from him. As they did, he saw Pluma standing behind them with her tamborita thrust out, a look of cold anger on her face. Then, she tapped her tamborita again, and Victor’s bindings snapped loose, but Pluma didn’t have time to direct him more than a relieved glance before she focused on the two dazed men. Then, before Victor’s eyes, she used her magic to slam one of them headfirst into the ground so hard that she caved his skull in, and then draw the other’s knife and sink it into his chest.
Only then, did she ask Victor if he was alright. Victor replied that he was, even as he was overwhelmed by the whirlwind of contradictory emotions. On one hand, Pluma had just killed people, something that Victor, despite his own living as a criminal, had never done. More than that, even though she didn’t seem proud of it, she didn’t seem to be particularly affected by it either. But at the same time, she had done so because they meant to kill him, and what was more, for her to be here, it meant that she had been looking for him. And if she had saved him, that meant - he hoped - that she didn’t hate him.
As if reading everything he was feeling in his eyes, Pluma told him that they could talk later, but for now they needed to cover their tracks. Almost with too much ease for his own likes, Victor set about arranging the scene to look like everything had been the result of a robbery gone wrong, directing Pluma to use her magic in certain ways on the spots that required an ‘extra touch’ that couldn’t be easily applied through regular means.
Once they had left the scene, packed their stuff, and gotten a safe distance away, Pluma looked him in the eye and asked, “Why did you do it?”
Victor told her the truth. About how Shuriki had approached him with her offer. About how he had wanted so much to prove to his family that he could be more than the idiot who’d never amount to anything. About how he had wanted to give her more than what he would have been able to give her if he had just stayed as he was. About how, after he had learned about her mother’s murder, he had thought that taking over Avalor would give him the means he needed to help her catch her mother’s murderers. And how he had believed Shuriki when she promised him that no one would get hurt.
It was a very much fumbled explanation, where he put his foot in his mouth more than once and where he stammered at every five or six sentences. But when he was done, Pluma told him the sweetest words she had ever told him.
“I forgive you.”
At his continuing amazement, she told him how she understood where he had been coming from, and believed him when he said that he had never actually meant to hurt, much less kill anyone, and was even kind of touched he had been keeping her in mind. Granted, she didn’t think takeovers should be the go-to option, but she had considered going there herself if that was what it took to avenge her parents (though she intended to only take over a kingdom ruled by a tyrant). And more than everything, she was touched that he had been honest to her from the get-go rather than try to hide it and only let the truth out once she confronted him with it.
All the same, she told him that he’d better learn from the experience and think very well before getting up to such nonsense again.
Victor told her, “I promise you, Pluma.” before adding, “Or should I call you Ash?”
At her puzzled frown, he explained that those men had called her Ash, and he assumed how that was her real name. She replied that it was the name she had given herself once she started walking down her path of revenge.
Victor felt it might be pushing his luck… but all the same, he asked if he could know her real name. She answered him that it was Seentahna.
He thanked her for it, and then they headed off to a different kingdom until things settled down.
Later, Victor’s ironic side would remark what a waste his stay there had been as far as achieving personal goals went, but Victor ignored it. He had reunited with Pluma - which she said he could keep calling her, as she liked him calling her that - they were together without any kind of secret getting in the way of their relationship, and they were making plans for a shared future.
And for Victor, that was worth more than having all of the Ever Realm to himself.
Love, marriage, and the baby in a baby carriage
Despite the admittedly rocky beginning, Victor and Pluma barely had any problem learning to work together as a team. Before either knew it, they were working together as easily as if they had done nothing else before. They plotted their heists together, shared the profits equally, and made equal plans for them both. And together, the two of them could achieve considerably more success than either had ever been able to on their own. Pluma could bring literal new tricks to the table that enabled Victor to go places that he hadn’t thought possible before, and Victor himself had enough knowledge on the workings of the dark side of society and kingdoms in general that he could give Seentahna a few helpful tips on where to go and what to do and how to hide their tracks better.
Nevertheless, their increase in success eventually came to a standstill, and their plan to take over a kingdom and avenge Pluma’s parents stopped progressing.
In an effort to give them more of an edge, Pluma tried to teach Victor magic, but while he had no problem with the theory, the practical side turned out to be impossible. Apparently, dark magic of the malvago variety was very difficult to learn from scratch, and while Pluma hadn’t been born a malvaga (even though both her parents were malvagos) she had become a malvaga since Victor had last seen her. She did try to teach Victor the ‘good brand’ of magic, but she had even less results there. Perhaps it had to do with being unable to teach it on a practical level - she could recall both her parents having a bit of the same problem when they taught her magic. Or perhaps Victor’s character just wasn’t the ‘right one’ to be able to learn the ‘good brand’ of magic, even if he wasn’t a wholly bad person. Worse, while she was very powerful and very competent at magic, she was just a smidge below the level of power and competence required to perform the advanced malvago spell of turning another person into a malvago, which could give Victor a much helpful headstart when it came to magic.
Both were upset at that, but Victor never held it against Pluma. Surely she would be powerful enough to master that spell eventually. And even if she didn’t, at least they were still together. That would always be the most important thing.
And they still managed to have a happy relationship. In between their criminal heists and their trips from place to place, they did more than simply talk about planning crimes or travelling between kingdoms. They would practice their skills, they would go out on dates, and they would talk about what to do once their goals were achieved and they could settle down. And while neither of them was willing to settle down just yet, and they knew it would be dangerous for them to have children with the kind of life they were living, they both did want to actually get married, and perhaps even have children once they managed to achieve their goals.
Eventually, their relationship progressed to the stage where they both wanted to do that, and about three years after their reunion, they became Victor and Seentahna Delgado, at an actual wedding ceremony with an actual priest. In an incredible display of how fate seemed to be granting them a reprieve, Victor found an old friend - one of the pirates he’d travelled with more than twenty years before, who had since gone straight - to serve as his witness, while Pluma asked one of her old school friends to be her witness.
Besides them actually being married, hardly anything changed. They kept travelling, they kept trying to find ways of achieving their goals, and they remained at the same point they had stopped that. Yes, they still had plenty of happiness, and yes, their relationship was surviving, but still, it was hard to be the two of them against the world, even with all of Pluma’s magic.
Unil one day, when things did change.
As careful as they were regarding their decision to not have children - and regardless of the fact their caution paid off for a long time - the day came when Pluma found out she was pregnant, about ten years after they got married.
Victor felt nothing short of horrified at the prospect. For one, knowing he had been responsible for his mother’s death made him worried sick he might just as easily be responsible for Pluma’s by having a child with her. For another, having no good actual parental examples to draw from left him no frame of reference to be a good father. What if he turned out to be as much of a bastard to his future child as his father and aunt and stepmother had been to him?
It was his wife who, in the end, soothed those fears. No matter what would happen, she reassured him that the decision to have this child was as much hers as it was his’, and that despite whatever his lack of capacity to learn ‘good magic’ could mean, she knew he had enough good qualities to be a good father to their child.
As her pregnancy, Victor tried his best to make sure her words would come true. After they both ‘semi retired’ from their life of crime and settled into a cottage at Cordoba, Victor started growing a garden for them, while doing his best to earn money for them through working honest odd jobs (if sometimes engaging in a bit of small crime when he just had to), and also doing his best to be there for Pluma, sometimes to overbearing levels. If she let out the tiniest sigh, he’d bring a chair to her or get down on all fours if there was nothing for her to sit on. If she let out the tiniest whimper, he’d immediately stand behind her to support her even as he tried to keep the touch feather light. They ended up having more than a few minor arguments over it, and it took time for them to find the right balance. But even at their worst, they never had a truly nasty spat, and by the time Pluma was in her sixth month of pregnancy, they managed to settle into a rhythm.
What Victor couldn’t settle was his fears, neither the one that Pluma would die or that he would be a horrible father to their son or daughter.
When the time arrived, despite those fears, Victor insisted on being there with Pluma, to the mild amazement of the midwife, as in Cordoba it was not usual for husbands to be there when their wives gave birth, although it was not totally unheard of. But Pluma wanted him there, and Victor wanted to be there. If the worst came to pass, he didn’t want her to die with only a stranger for company. And if the bastards who were after them decided to choose that time to strike, he’d need to defend her when she was in a vulnerable position.
To Victor’s immeasurable relief, the birth went by just about as smoothly and quickly as a childbirth could go. There was no imminent risk to Pluma’s life, no imminent risk to the child, and more important, no bastards stormed the place to get revenge. And Victor knew when he held their newborn daughter after having cleaned her up himself that he had never seen any sight more awe-inspiring.
If he had to pick any kind of downside, it was how at one point Pluma started crying after Victor handed her their newly cleaned newborn daughter, which made him think he had done something wrong. But even that one was fleeting, because when he asked what was the matter, Pluma simply replied in a whisper, “She has my mother’s eyes.”
Not knowing what to say to that, Victor simply put one arm over his wife’s shoulders and his free hand to the blanket their daughter was wrapped in. And that moment became their first memory as a family.
The end of happiness
Although they had both read about the troubles of adjusting to having a baby in their lives, and Victor remembered some of it first hand from when his half-sister had been a baby, actually living out the experience of being parents to their daughter, who they named Carla, was still a great deal different.
Victor, despite his vows not to become such, couldn’t help but be deathly afraid that, no matter how hard he tried, he would be doomed to ending up like his father, who had never been anything like a father to him as far as actual emotional ties went. And whenever Carla started crying if he was the one holding her, he couldn’t help but be afraid she was sensing some kind of ‘darker instinct’ within him and responding to it by wanting to get away from him. More than once, Pluma had to reassure him that no, Carla did not hate him, and no, he wasn’t being anything like his bastard of a father was.
Despite his awkwardness, Victor never tried to run away from being a father or to delegate any task to Pluma out of sheer laziness or unwillingness to handle things… and over time, they managed to figure things out on their own.
But a somewhat hectic period returned when Carla became two, and suddenly started trying to get her hands on her mother’s tamborita at every half chance she got, because she liked watching it glow when it was tapped and the magic it made. It was not an easy problem to solve, but Pluma managed to work around that by eventually crafting a toy tamborita that glowed and made sparks whenever Carla tapped it, thus leaving her ‘satisfied enough’, for the time being.
As he slowly got into the rhythm of being a father, Victor became able to tell that, for the first time in years, he was by and large happy and at peace with what he had. And he could tell Pluma felt the same way.
Unfortunately, the period of peace came to an end.
It ended on a spring day, when the two of them were one of several families going for a picnic at a park in Cordoba. Victor and Pluma were having a great time enjoying the food and the sun as they watched Carla playing with her toys. But all of a sudden, out of nowhere, a bad feeling came over both of them… and as they looked around the park, they noticed here and there that some isolated hikers or people having picnics seemed to be moving into all-too-strategic positions.
Just as suddenly, one of them moved, and Victor barely managed to pull Carla out of the path of a knife that had been thrown at her as Pluma fired a magic blast at the man who had thrown it, sending him flying like a ragdoll until he landed with his limbs and neck at unnatural angles. Victor immediately understood what this meant - the people who had been after Pluma were still trying to catch her and kill her, and were all too willing to drag him and Carla down as well.
That was all he had time to think before at least ten men converged onto them. Three of them drew magical wands of various types and turned to Pluma, while the others turned to Victor and tried to get him and Carla. Victor and Pluma fought them both off as well as they could, but there were just too many of them, and the royal guards of Cordoba were not arriving, even though the fact everyone else had fled the park should be a sign that something was wrong.
Eventually, Pluma told him that she would hold them off while he escaped with Carla. Victor tried to refuse - he simply couldn’t leave her alone to face them, especially when she would likely die, but she told him he had to keep their daughter safe. As Pluma again got a trio of men away from them, she told him to take Carla and run, while she held off the bastards. Victor tried to inquire about her well being, but she only told him she’d catch up to them if she could… and if she couldn’t, she was glad for all the happiness they had both given her.
Victor tried to refuse to leave her, but barely managed to dodge an arrow fire at him from a crossbow as Pluma again shouted at him to run.
Heartbroken beyond measure, Victor could only nod, even as he tearfully told her, “I love you.”
The only reply he got was a roar of “Run!”
So he did.
He got on one of the horses they had used to come to the park and rode away as fast as he could, already coming up with a plan to get rid of any of their pursuers who got past Pluma. He rode off toward the nearest cliff, hid the horse, and made it seem like he and Carla had thrown themselves off the nearest cliff, while waiting nearby to see who would come for them, and doing his best to keep Carla quiet, which was no easy feat given how scared she was. The only reason she probably wasn’t bursting into tears was because she was still clutching her toy tamborita to her chest.
Less than a minute after he had finished rigging things, two men came for them, one of them clearly a wizard, the other not. As they looked at the cliff and tried to work out what to do, Victor gathered himself, raised a stone, and threw it at the wizard’s head. The chunk of rock hit his head with the sound of a cracking nut, and the man fell over, dead. Meanwhile, the other man turned on Victor, and the two of them started a fight, which only ended when Victor managed to steal the other man’s knife and sink it into the man’s stomach.
As the man let out his last breath, Victor barely managed to control his churning stomach. He had just killed people. Yes, they had been nasty, especially given their willingness to kill a toddler, but still… they had been human beings, and he just sent them to the only place no one could come back from.
But at the same time, he wasn’t sorry he’d managed to protect his daughter, and, somewhat disturbingly, he knew he’d do it again if that was what it took to keep her safe.
As he got himself together, Victor organized things to make it seem like the two men had killed one another during a scuffle. As unlikely as it would be for the trick to work a second time, it was the only thing Victor could think of.
Once he was done there, he tried to go back to their home, keeping under the radar as much as possible, in the hopes Pluma would go there. Their house was mostly intact, but it was absolutely ransacked, with most of their belongings taken. Thankfully, the hideouts where Pluma kept her most important files on magic had not been touched, so Victor took the most important of those out, while leaving just one page behind so she could use it for a tracking spell, gathered what little was in the home was still salvageable, and then set off with his daughter on the horse, hoping with all his heart that Pluma was alright and she would catch up to them as soon as possible.
On a logical level, that seemed as unlikely as the sky turning yellow. But in his heart, he just knew Pluma was alright, and hoped that someday, they would be together again.
#elena of avalor#headcanons#tales of the ever realm headcanons#tales of the ever realm au#victor delgado#ash delgado#carla delgado
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13 Envelopes
pairing: reader x lin summary: After graduating from UCLA, you would find any way to escape having to go back home. Lucky for you, your Aunt Jasmine Cephas Jones had organized a way for you to have the adventure you’d never gotten to have before. You’re ready to take her up on the offer. warnings: rpf (naturally), mentions of teen pregnancy
tagged: @defenestrate-yourself-please @andschuyler@linslovelylocks @elithepeali @sarahgurl09 @fancy-fighting-name a/n: I actually debated against posting this today. But the thing is that I feel weird about having more than two weeks between updates. And it’ll probably take another one to two weeks to take part eight where it needs to be taken to move the story forward because I’m trying to avoid stall outs in the story. Also they’re getting lengthier as time progresses because of the nature of the fact we’re starting to build to all the plot twists and stuff that I actually knew would happen in part one. I hope you guys like it and I’m sorry that I’m sporadic in updates and have no real activity to speak of in between updates.
(part one) (part two) (part three) (part four) (part five) (part six)
Envelope #7
The train ride back was quiet yet again but this time not because you had nothing to say. You had so much to say and not enough brain power to process everything you wanted to say. You wanted to talk about how your father had cheated but it somehow felt like just because you knew didn’t mean you had the right to breach that subject further. It seemed like you knew something you weren’t supposed to know. Parents were supposed to have the perfect relationship and yet… knowing your father had betrayed your mother’s trust cut too deep. You had this idea of your parents’ relationship. The idea was that it was rocky, but they had stuck together through everything. You thought about it in terms of before you knew and after you knew. You wondered how many arguments had the cheating at the root of it.
You’d learned how arguing worked at a young age. It started with something small, some sort of uttered frustration regarding the dishes, to the electric bill, to forgetting the exit on the highway. And then the other person digged back and eventually the minor reason the fight started blew up until the train ran off its tracks. Until neither could remember what either of them was fighting for and was yelling just to yell. Or maybe… it was screaming to be heard. Maybe your mother had always been screaming because no one could notice how hurt she was. It seemed to make more sense.
The last fight you’d witnessed between your parents, you saw your mother cry and your father stormed out. It was easy to decide you didn’t want to be around them anymore after that. You packed your bags the next day and went off to college without so much as a goodbye. Now that you knew the full story, you felt just a tad bit guilty. Perhaps you should’ve been there for your mother, perhaps you should’ve know. You wondered when it even happened – you couldn’t recall the obvious shift.
Midway through the trip, Jasmine gently reminded you could open envelope seven and you pulled it out your bag. She looked surprised you had it with you. You were surprised at the drawing – it was the perfect capture of you at fifteen in your homecoming dress. You didn’t think she’d cared enough to remember that.
Honey Bun,
I barely remember your mother in any way other than a mom. Anya had you at seventeen and I was barely two when you were born. The huge age difference between us already worked against us as sisters and it didn't help that Anya didn't like my mother. In a way, it was easy to view her as an aunt or something to that effect. It's why I grew up closer to you, honestly. It's easier to view you as more of a sister than my own sister which sucks a lot. It hurts to think that I should relate to her, understand her but I can’t. It’s this massive barrier between us.
What’s really upsetting is that there’s a distance between the two of us now. We grew up as sisters and now… it’s my fault, really. I’m the older one, I’m supposed to be the one who takes care of things. I’m supposed to be the one who’s always there for you and to advise you. It’s on me. And I’m sorry. I suppose that’s what this envelope is… an apology. Accepting responsibility for the wedge between us that exists now. I run away when it gets hard and that’s on me.
I don’t stop to think what my actions can affect other people. I know that I’ve been hard on your father, harder than I should be. I hope by now I’ve told you what happened with your father and your mother. It’s the real root of everything. And I’ll be honest: when my only relationship models have been Anya’s and the ones my dad has had… it’s no wonder that I’ve had difficulty managing any of my relationships. And I know that sounds like an excuse but I promise that it isn’t.
I feel like it’s really hard to come up with tasks for these envelopes so I think this will be another wild card. You’ve probably been in New York City for weeks by now. Do something you loved again – you’d be surprised how different something can feel when it’s in a different context. When you’ve completed that, you may open envelope eight. I hope by now… we’ve started to rebuild our relationship.
All my love, Aunt Jas
There were no answers. Nothing in it seemed to give a way to move forward and only suggested that you look back instead. You felt your heart thud and then you couldn’t feel it in your chest anymore. You were vaguely aware of existing as a person but it was like something disconnected, snipping you away from the reality of the moment. You could blame a lot of things but the truth was… feeling disconnected from the moment was something that happened a lot. Out of body experiences like this were surprising common. It was just getting swept up into thought as some vague idea was forming in the back of your mind. You couldn’t articulate it quite yet, but you just started vaguely drawing something on your thigh. You were pulled out when you heard Jasmine say your name and the bubble broke. You blinked before looking up and realized the stunned look on her face. “Sorry,” you said, the apology instinctive. “Just… got distracted.”
A pause before she said softly, “I didn’t know you knew how to draw.”
“I didn’t know you knew how to draw either,” you said as you awkwardly put your pen away, a flush on your face. “Suppose we’re both artists, then.”
It was such an awkward pause. There were a lot of unspoken things in the air. You supposed the more that you thought about it, the more you could’ve reached out. You could’ve tried to stay in touch with Jasmine. But you hadn’t. Neither of you made the effort. You could understand the effort behind this whole trip. And you found yourself grateful for the slow pace you were moving at. Once it was over, you couldn’t go back to this moment. Savoring the moment seemed like the obvious thing to do but it was rather hard to do. The more you try to hold onto to a moment, the more it vanished like sand between your fingertips.
You couldn’t figure out how you ended up back at the apartment you were sharing with Pippa. It was empty, as it had been for the past few weeks around this time. You’d gotten used to the emptiness the way one got used to an unpleasant smell. You’d never really been alone before. In Los Angeles, you shared your apartment with two other roommates and usually at least one of them was home. You supposed at least it was better than coming home to your parents screaming at each other and threatening to leave… or damage property, at the very least. When comparing the alone time to that, it wasn’t so bad. You supposed it was all about context.
The bed beckoned and you ended up changing into pajamas, wiping your makeup off and pulling your thick curls back into a high ponytail to keep the hair off your neck. It was still warm but you noticed Pippa had set up a fan in your room in your absence. It was a sweet gesture and you overthought what it meant – just something that your mind tended to do. You got lost in a first draft, words spilling out easier than they ever had.
You barely noticed the hours flying by as you wrote, captive in your own world. It became easier to float away. The city enveloped you like magic, holding you captive and creating an entire world around you. When the front door slammed, you jumped half a foot into the air and glanced at the clock. It was midnight. Suddenly the exhaustion set in and you set aside the laptop as you stretched out on the bed. If you didn’t go greet Pippa, you wouldn’t see her again until Monday. “Pip,” you said, a bright grin on your face. “It’s so good to see you again.”
She was clearly just as bleary eyed as you but grinned at you regardless, pulling you into a tight hug. Her earthy scent filled your senses. “It’s getting insane at previews,” she said. “Almost every seat is filled. It’s getting nerve wracking. I don’t know how I’m going to do when I know you’re in the audience at the premiere.”
You flushed. “I’m sure you’re going to be amazing,” you said with a grin. “I can’t imagine you being anything other than amazing. Plus we get to go home together after the show.”
Pippa smirked. “You may have to let me get to second base,” she teased. “After all, I could end up going home with a hot date instead of you.”
“Please,” you said with a bright grin as you pulled away. “We both know I’m going to be the hottest date to have at the premiere. You might have to fight for my hand.”
“In that case, I might have to fight Lin for the right to take you home,” she said with a grin, bumping against you as she headed off to the kitchen. “How far have you two even gotten, anyway? There’s a pool going on. I’ve got ten bucks on second base.”
You made a face. “Sorry, you’re betting on my love life?”
“Sure,” she says with a bright grin as she gets herself some of the cashews from the cabinet and a sparkling water out of the fridge. “Why? Don’t tell me I’m losing ten bucks.”
“Erm, kinda,” you said, your cheeks feeling like they were on fire. “I mean, I sorta… listen, when your mom was a teen mom… and just… okay?”
Pippa’s jaw dropped and she looked oddly delighted. “You’re a virgin!”
“I did not say that,” you said, your eyes wide. “But yeah, kinda. I just… didn’t want to end up making a mistake. Like, I grew up watching my parents argue and fight over money and they didn’t exactly have a stable life. I just… didn’t want that to me. And the easiest way was… well, to not… do anything that could lead to having a kid.”
“No, it’s okay,” she said with a grin. “You just… should tell Lin. Cause I mean… it’s better that he knows that you wanna wait before things get hot and heavy, you know what I mean?”
“What if he dumps me? I mean… other guys…”
“Lin’s not other guys,” Pippa said with a roll of her eyes as she takes a swig of her water. “He’ll be cool about it. And if it he isn’t… Jas and I will beat his ass. But don’t worry. Lin won’t dump you just cause you don’t want to fuck like… right off the bat. And he’s a massive romantic anyway. Dumping you cause you wanna wait is like… so unromantic.”
Before you could even comment on the last part, Pippa walked off and left you with a mix of confusing thoughts.
The next day, you decided that the best way to deal with this was to talk with Jasmine. It was the last thing you wanted to do, but you felt that Jasmine would give the best advice on this. You had texted Jasmine that you wanted to talk to her about what to do and she gave you the address of some café near the Richard Rogers. You were kind of were surprised by how busy it was and how difficult it was to find Jasmine in the tiny café. “Sorry,” she said with a bright grin. “A lot of the people here are trying to track down the cast. Try not to draw attention to us.”
“So… this musical… it’s a bit of a bigger deal than you, Pip, and Lin lead on, huh,” you asked as you noticed that Jasmine remembered how you liked your coffee from years ago. You didn’t take your coffee like that anymore, but you were touched that she remembered. “Can’t believe I now have a famous grandfather anda famous aunt. You better hype my book when I finish writing it.”
Jasmine grinned. “You probably won’t even need us to hype it,” she teases with a bright grin. “I’ve read some of your early essays – you’ve got the talent. So what did you want to meet about?”
It was a strange feeling that you took a moment to bask in – the feeling of knowing Jasmine but also not really knowing her. Knowing that she knew you but didn’t really know you. You wondered how you would describe the feeling. And it also felt nice that she remembered reading your essays before she disappeared from your life. “I just… Look, don’t freak out about this but like… I sort of… need to tell Lin something kind of important. Sort of… sex life related?”
She made a face. “Ew,” she said. “So not the kind of thing I wanna hear my niece talk about.”
You didn’t blame her for that. You didn’t want to discuss this with your aunt either but desperate times and everything. “Er, does it help that the thing I need to tell him is that I’m a virgin?”
“Sort of,” she grumbles as she takes a bite out of the sandwich she’d ordered for herself. “So why are you telling him this? Also… is there any reason you decided to not have sex by now? Like… religious pact with God? Oh, are you like… that thing where you don’t feel sexual attraction? Asexual!”
You felt your cheeks get hot again. “No to either of those things,” you hurried out. “Like… I mean, I’m not exactly straight but… I just didn’t want to get distracted from my studies. And after growing up with mom and dad… you saw how it was. I didn’t want…. a kid growing up feeling like a mistake.”
“Makes sense,” she said with a shrug. “Doesn’t explain why you didn’t just lose your v card to a girl but whatever. More power to you.”
“Jas,” you hissed, nearly tipping over your coffee cup in shock. You didn’t often dwell on this – it was just something that was a fact of your life. Telling people seemed strange – normally it was something that came up on the third date and then you never saw the guy again. “I just… I’d rather not stay on this topic like that. I just… want to know how you think I should tell Lin. Like, I don’t want him to think it’s because I’m a prude or something. Or that I never want to have sex, just that… I don’t want to rush into it.”
She snorts. “Tell him on a fancy date,” she said simply. “Like… opera or something. No one’s allowed to make a scene on a fancy date. It’s like… social convention. That way you can get it out the way and hey, you could do it at the MET. Get the seventh envelope done while you’re at it.”
“What if he dumps me?”
This time she rolled her eyes. “If he dumps you over this, tell me and I’ll personally beat his ass. But I doubt he’s going to dump you. He’s too much of a nice guy.”
You had experience with nice guys before. Nice guys took you on a pity date and decided that it wasn’t worth waiting around for you to be ready to have sex. Still, you decided it would be worth telling him if only so he wasn’t surprised when you decided to stop when things got hot and heavy. So you called him, grinning the whole conversation as you asked him if he’d like to go to the opera with you. He mentioned having a night off and you agreed to see him Tuesday.
By the time Tuesday rolled around, you were regretting agreeing to going out with Lin again at all. You were scared and worried. It seemed like everything that could go wrong had played out in your head. You woke up from dreams where Lin just ditches you for someone else… thinner and blonder. Or someone who was less of a stick in the mud. Or someone more adventurous. Your first thought was that he can’t break up with you if he never sees you again. How the logistics of it would work didn’t make sense, of course, but you were on anxiety brain.
The brochure for something going on later in New York City (you hadn’t paid attention to what it said) ended up in a small shredded pile in your lap as you tried to remember the exact steps that Google Maps had told you to take to get from Pippa’s apartment to the MET. You wondered if it would be so bad if you called Lin and told him oh no, you got lost and couldn’t make it. You nervously ran your hands through your curls, putting your hair up and taking it down repeatedly until you transferred trains.
It didn’t seem like this long of a trip the last time you went but it seemed like it stretched on forever. You picked at the skin of your thumb, wondering how you bring up this subject in the first place. It didn’t seem like a casual enough subject to just randomly blurt out. You sighed deeply when you realized you were already there – how had it felt like ages yet like nothing at all? You were out of time to think of how to delicately approach the subject. Your heart was pounding and you smoothed the skirt out on your dress as you got off at your stop – Lincoln Center. Lin had suggested the two of you meet at that stop and you hadn’t stop to think about how it didn’t offer you the chance to mentally prepare at seeing him.
He was devastatingly handsome. Of course he was – that hadn’t changed. He never stopped looking so handsome and it drove you crazy. “Hi,” was all you managed to breathe out. Nerves were getting to you.
He didn’t seem to mind that at all. He had that typical easy-going grin that you were starting to associate with him. You noted that he seemed to look a little more tired than last time. You imagined he wasn’t getting much sleep and you had an overwhelming urge to tuck him in for a nap. It was irrational. He was a grown adult. If he wanted a nap, he would’ve had a nap. “Hi,” he replied as he took your arm, leading the way. Which was good because if you were honest, you were prone to getting lost in the city. “It’s pretty hot that you took initiative.”
Of course he was teasing. That didn’t stop the heat rising to your cheeks or the forced laughter coming out and you cringed internally at it. You swore up and down it sounded like a horse’s laugh but Lin was clearly charmed. He’d say that it was beautiful. “I mean, my aunt was pretty specific in her letters about what I need to do,” you rambled. “Kind of still owe her a thank you, I mean…”
He cut you off with a kiss and you melted into it. It was easy to melt into his kisses, you were discovering. And you craved them the way one craved sweets. When he pulled away, you were grinning as his hand moved to grasp yours. “That reminds me that I still haven’t thanked her for setting you up on this adventure that led to me getting to meet you.”
“If it helps, I haven’t thanked her yet either,” you said with a grin as he led the way to the MET. “I felt like… I’d thank her when I make it to the end of the adventure. I don’t know where it’s going… but it seems like it’s important.”
“Sometimes it’s more about the journey than where you’re going. Have you considered that maybe it’s just a journey and the outcome doesn’t mean that much?”
You considered that. A journey in which the path you took mattered more than the outcome seemed like a strange idea to process. The path you took from the very start of life seemed to have a very clear outcome. You went to school with the intent of passing, getting every good grade you possibly could to go to college. College was an escape from the fighting at home. You chose English because you fancied yourself a good teacher or even a novelist. You decided it was a good solid degree plan because the degree mattered more than what it was in. “Outcome always means something, though. If you don’t want to end up somewhere, you wouldn’t take a certain path.”
He seemed surprised by this. “You’ve never done anything for the sake of doing something? Never went out just because it seems like it’s a fun thing to do?”
“That was always Jas’s territory,” you said slowly as he squeezes your hand. “I’ve always been the boring one. She was the one who encouraged me to go out, who made the plans and cared more about the journey. I’ve… always thought about where it goes. Getting on a plane because aunt Jas told me to do it is more of… an example of the way our dynamic always worked.”
The thing you’d discovered with Lin is that he was relatively easy going and rarely suggested that the way you and Jas interacted was odd. Even after discovering Jas’s niece was closer to her in age than he expected, he simply rolled with it and never once made it weird. You liked that about him. You also liked how he seemed to be willing to bounce ideas back and forth, not once acting like anything you said might be stupid. And even now as you talked over the philosophical question of if the path matters more than the outcome, he never once belittled you despite disagreeing with you.
And somehow, he managed to get you to see his side of things. It wasn’t that he changed your mind (you still felt the outcome mattered when picking a path to journey on), but rather he helped you see what the point of a journey was. You’d almost forgotten the important part of what you wanted to do on this date until things started to get steamy with Lin. His lips felt so good against yours and then his hand was on your chest, his other firm on your hip and pulling you to him.
You didn’t know how you ended up in the back of the Uber pressed to him and you couldn’t recall what the opera was even about. All you could think about was how easy it would be let him take you home. It was easy to get wrapped up in the feeling of his lips against your neck, the feeling of his facial hair scruffing against your jawline. And then you realized what going home with Lin would entail, you pulled away. “Sorry,” you half yelped. “I just… I kind of… never done this before?”
He paused and you prepared for the break up. “You’re… a virgin?”
It took a minute before you found your voice again. “Yes.” You wished the earth would swallow you up so you could escape the look he was giving you. You wondered what he was thinking. And before you could stop yourself, you found yourself giving a word vomit. “Not because I… don’t want to or anything like that. I mean, I don’t know if I want to I’ve never even tried it before. Just that… it’s a huge deal and I don���t want to end up having kids by accident with the wrong person. Not that I think that you wouldn’t use protection or anything, I mean, I’m on the pill but that’s because I have these awful… you know what, that’s not romantic or anything sexy –”
Before you knew it, he cut you off and cupped you cheek. The minute you looked into his eyes, you knew he wasn’t going to dump you. “So did you want to go home with me still or did you want to continue to wait?”
“I… wait,” you admitted. “I just… I’m not a fast kind of person. Not to say that girls who are fast aren’t… you know what I mean?”
He laughs and nods. “I know what you mean, don’t worry,” he said before kissing your cheek and telling the taxi driver Pippa’s address. “I’ll call you later.”
You were worried that the “I’ll call you” was the start of being ghosted but when the taxi left, your phone lit up. It was Lin texting you good night.
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Shards of Life: Prologue
Rating: T
Summary: There is magic in the world - perhaps there always has been. But the world is changing. The wielding of magic is changing.
There are those who seek to control it. Those who seek to destroy it. And those who seek to understand it… whatever the cost.
From seasons born, time of winter Eternity as a sword (shard?) in a woman’s hands It will find all, and many from one Festering and dead lands, a cankered heart Draw forth from the wound and purge decay Only in her death can seasons change From winter is born new life, world anew
~A.G., c. 1835, trans. from Old Norse
It felt afterward as if the whole day had been awash in shadow, doom hanging like a fog, no matter how outwardly innocent events. He knew it wasn’t true. But truth, in the end, was irrelevant. The emotions ruled all, the entirety of his existence, as they had for as long as he could remember. And that day, more than any other, truly showed the strength that they might wield. He walked into town immediately after breakfast, that day. They had fish, he remembered that, and there was bread and butter and jam, and he tucked his letter into his shirt pocket so he would get nothing on it. He had rewritten it for the third time the night before, and his father said one of his ships was going to Oslo and could take it along, see that it was delivered. "Do you need a ride in?" his father asked, but he shook his head and said no, he would walk - he liked walking, the freedom of keeping his own pace, his own schedule. He sometimes wondered what would happen if he never stopped, just kept going with the shoes on his feet and the clothes on his back, following the road wherever it might lead. How far would he have to go to escape? His brother was looking at him, stealing glances from beneath the curls that hung stubbornly over his eyes. His brother, he knew, did not want him to go - to town, to Oslo, to anywhere - but at nine years old, he knew that he was unhappy, but not how to prevent the loss, not how to keep his family here, where he wanted them. He was the youngest, he had known nothing else. And for now, he accepted it silently, glancing but saying nothing. "You’re sure this is what you want?" his mother asked. It was. "Be certain," she said - no pride or hope in her voice, but also no argument. Perhaps they had already, in some way, let him go. "I’m certain," he said. He saw his brother watching from the window as he set out. He waved, but his brother did not wave back. The day was cool and overcast, but not uncomfortably so; it felt good to be out of the house, outside, late spring awash in budding trees and blooming wildflowers and the smell of turned earth in fields newly planted. He wondered if there would be anything like this in Oslo, a big city – would there be trees and flowers and fields, narrow dirt lanes and quiet sounds and all the pleasure of solitude in an hour’s walk to town? He had never lived anywhere but here; had never seen anything like he imagined Oslo to be except in pictures, in books or in the journals to which his father subscribed. He patted the pocket of his shirt, reassuring himself that the letter was still there - and, peripherally, attempting to reassure himself of the decision he had made. He had claimed he was certain. He wanted to be certain. And certain or not - the further he got from home, as always, the more clear became the knowledge of the necessity of leaving. He had begun to fear that if he didn’t leave soon, he would never be allowed to go at all. Reaching the fork where the narrow path home met the wider coast road, the two merging towards the smoky blur of the town walls, he hitched a ride in the back of a wagon delivering what smelled suspiciously like crates of onions. That was alright - up until that day, it was not a smell he particularly minded. Town was bustling, as it always was at the changing of seasons. The old medieval roads might be paved now with stone, but they were still narrow and quickly congested, wagons and carts slowing to a placid crawl of grumbling drivers and resigned horses. He paid the driver of the onion crates a few skillings for his time, then set out once more on foot, ducking down the alleyways of the oldest streets. The buildings here were looming and crumbling, ancient structures dating almost as far back as whichever of his half-mythical ancestors had decided to abandon foreign pillaging in exchange for a perhaps less adventurous, but certainly lengthier, life of farming. Now, the tiny heart of the town that had built up around his sons and grandsons was squalid and make-do, stinking of damp wood and rotting food and the effluvia of too many people crammed into rooms built for half as many. There was talk every year of tearing it all down, but his father didn’t want to pay for it, and who else was going to do so? But it wasn’t his problem to solve. He was going to Oslo. He wasn’t equipped to be a leader - something everyone would always make sure he understood, had always made sure he understood. He went down to the docks, which were marginally less crowded than the center of town - there wasn’t a whole lot of trade in and out, this time of year, water still too rough for safe travel. The wealth of his family came from here: north and south met at these shores, where kingdom and continent negotiated and the mediator reaped the spoils. He had once come here with his father, sometimes his brother too, and as his father talked trade agreements and negotiated pay disputes, he played along the shoreline, searching for treasure: bottles and broken crates and fraying coils of rope. He watched ships laboriously making their way to port, cumbersome and heavy-bodied. He listened to sailors shouting in a hundred tongues; marveled at the accents of the captains and commanders who spoke to his father. Once, this had been a wondrous place. His father’s master of trade was in his cluttered little shed of an office, muttering over ledgers, the grunt-work of actual negotiation left to his underlings. “Oslo, eh?” He took the folded paper, ran a finger over the seal. “Sure you’re ready for that, young thing like you?” "I hope so." "Well, your mama will miss you. They always do." She wouldn’t. It wouldn’t be allowed. But he said nothing. "I’ll see to it it goes on Haraldssen’s boat, all right? Should be no more than a few days. And tell your papa that the Uppsala shipment is expected before the end of the week, if he wants it expedited onward." "I will." "Good boy." He left before he could ask for the letter back. He walked quickly and along the main roads this time, dodging and weaving through crowded streets, keeping his mind occupied. No rides now; he wanted to keep moving. The wind was picking up as he turned again homewards, whipping through the trees, sending the long grasses bending across the path, lashing at his legs. The clouds were restless, boiling and rolling and darkening, and the promise of rain hung heavy in the air. But there was something more. Not just anxiety about the letter - this was something else, something darker, and the closer he grew to home, the more oppressive it felt, a weight on his chest, settling around his lungs, his heart. He walked faster. Then he started to run. He reached the house breathless and terrified. The sky was black, rain beginning to fall, leaving dark, muddy splotches on the round pathway that led to the front door; he ran across the grass. The letter. The letter, he should never have told them, he could have gone, disappeared. He shouldn’t have been a coward. He had known. He had always known. And he had done it anyway. Good boy. Fear and rage and a manic glee - they hung heavier than the clouds around the dark house. He felt his breath hitching painfully, the weight on his lungs now a clamp. His hands fumbled and shook, struggling with the door, his arms weak, flaccid. Inside, all was dark and silent, the pattering of rain against the window the only imperfection in the stillness. The servants would have gone away, of course - probably no explanation nor orders given, but not a single one of them would ever question it. They might not come back at all; it had happened before. His heart was pounding; he felt lightheaded and weak, shaky, his feet too heavy. But he forced himself to search - methodical, down the halls, room by room. He had fought these feelings so often, in the past. He would do it again. They were in the library. The blood was already congealing on the rug, hardly visible against the dark weave, the heavy shadows: the curtains had not been drawn, nor the lamps lit. They were seated next to one another, as if discussing a matter in private. Their son moving to Oslo, perhaps. His mother had been run through repeatedly, her midsection a torn, bloody mess; her head had fallen back against the couch, sightless eyes fixed on the criss-crossing beams high above. His father was slumped forward, his hands still wrapped tightly around the sword with which he had run himself through. For a long, breathless moment, he could only stare - and in that moment, he felt nothing at all. Then it hit again, a wave of terror and grief and anger, and he stumbled backward, clutching the doorframe, his hand sliding sickeningly along it, the skin of his palm shredding against the rough wood, his knees giving out. He collapsed onto them, hissing at the pain when his torn hand found the cold floor. He threw up: fish and bread and butter and jam. Then he wiped his mouth on his sleeve. He stood on shaky legs. He walked back down the hall and up the stairs, clutching the banister with his uninjured hand. His head was throbbing, resisting. He ignored it. His brother at the window. At the breakfast table, eyes beneath that fringe of hair, morose and hopeless - and so young. His brother’s room, now - a small figure, huddled in the corner, knees pulled to his chest, face hidden. He went to him, crouched before him. And he said, “I’m still here.”
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Voice Content and Usability
We’ve been having conversations for thousands of years. Whether to convey information, conduct transactions, or simply to check in on one another, people have yammered away, chattering and gesticulating, through spoken conversation for countless generations. Only in the last few millennia have we begun to commit our conversations to writing, and only in the last few decades have we begun to outsource them to the computer, a machine that shows much more affinity for written correspondence than for the slangy vagaries of spoken language.
Computers have trouble because between spoken and written language, speech is more primordial. To have successful conversations with us, machines must grapple with the messiness of human speech: the disfluencies and pauses, the gestures and body language, and the variations in word choice and spoken dialect that can stymie even the most carefully crafted human-computer interaction. In the human-to-human scenario, spoken language also has the privilege of face-to-face contact, where we can readily interpret nonverbal social cues.
In contrast, written language immediately concretizes as we commit it to record and retains usages long after they become obsolete in spoken communication (the salutation “To whom it may concern,” for example), generating its own fossil record of outdated terms and phrases. Because it tends to be more consistent, polished, and formal, written text is fundamentally much easier for machines to parse and understand.
Spoken language has no such luxury. Besides the nonverbal cues that decorate conversations with emphasis and emotional context, there are also verbal cues and vocal behaviors that modulate conversation in nuanced ways: how something is said, not what. Whether rapid-fire, low-pitched, or high-decibel, whether sarcastic, stilted, or sighing, our spoken language conveys much more than the written word could ever muster. So when it comes to voice interfaces—the machines we conduct spoken conversations with—we face exciting challenges as designers and content strategists.
Voice Interactions
We interact with voice interfaces for a variety of reasons, but according to Michael McTear, Zoraida Callejas, and David Griol in The Conversational Interface, those motivations by and large mirror the reasons we initiate conversations with other people, too (http://bkaprt.com/vcu36/01-01). Generally, we start up a conversation because:
we need something done (such as a transaction),
we want to know something (information of some sort), or
we are social beings and want someone to talk to (conversation for conversation’s sake).
These three categories—which I call transactional, informational, and prosocial—also characterize essentially every voice interaction: a single conversation from beginning to end that realizes some outcome for the user, starting with the voice interface’s first greeting and ending with the user exiting the interface. Note here that a conversation in our human sense—a chat between people that leads to some result and lasts an arbitrary length of time—could encompass multiple transactional, informational, and prosocial voice interactions in succession. In other words, a voice interaction is a conversation, but a conversation is not necessarily a single voice interaction.
Purely prosocial conversations are more gimmicky than captivating in most voice interfaces, because machines don’t yet have the capacity to really want to know how we’re doing and to do the sort of glad-handing humans crave. There’s also ongoing debate as to whether users actually prefer the sort of organic human conversation that begins with a prosocial voice interaction and shifts seamlessly into other types. In fact, in Voice User Interface Design, Michael Cohen, James Giangola, and Jennifer Balogh recommend sticking to users’ expectations by mimicking how they interact with other voice interfaces rather than trying too hard to be human—potentially alienating them in the process (http://bkaprt.com/vcu36/01-01).
That leaves two genres of conversations we can have with one another that a voice interface can easily have with us, too: a transactional voice interaction realizing some outcome (“buy iced tea”) and an informational voice interaction teaching us something new (“discuss a musical”).
Transactional voice interactions
Unless you’re tapping buttons on a food delivery app, you’re generally having a conversation—and therefore a voice interaction—when you order a Hawaiian pizza with extra pineapple. Even when we walk up to the counter and place an order, the conversation quickly pivots from an initial smattering of neighborly small talk to the real mission at hand: ordering a pizza (generously topped with pineapple, as it should be).
Alison: Hey, how’s it going?
Burhan: Hi, welcome to Crust Deluxe! It’s cold out there. How can I help you?
Alison: Can I get a Hawaiian pizza with extra pineapple?
Burhan: Sure, what size?
Alison: Large.
Burhan: Anything else?
Alison: No thanks, that’s it.
Burhan: Something to drink?
Alison: I’ll have a bottle of Coke.
Burhan: You got it. That’ll be $13.55 and about fifteen minutes.
Each progressive disclosure in this transactional conversation reveals more and more of the desired outcome of the transaction: a service rendered or a product delivered. Transactional conversations have certain key traits: they’re direct, to the point, and economical. They quickly dispense with pleasantries.
Informational voice interactions
Meanwhile, some conversations are primarily about obtaining information. Though Alison might visit Crust Deluxe with the sole purpose of placing an order, she might not actually want to walk out with a pizza at all. She might be just as interested in whether they serve halal or kosher dishes, gluten-free options, or something else. Here, though we again have a prosocial mini-conversation at the beginning to establish politeness, we’re after much more.
Alison: Hey, how’s it going?
Burhan: Hi, welcome to Crust Deluxe! It’s cold out there. How can I help you?
Alison: Can I ask a few questions?
Burhan: Of course! Go right ahead.
Alison: Do you have any halal options on the menu?
Burhan: Absolutely! We can make any pie halal by request. We also have lots of vegetarian, ovo-lacto, and vegan options. Are you thinking about any other dietary restrictions?
Alison: What about gluten-free pizzas?
Burhan: We can definitely do a gluten-free crust for you, no problem, for both our deep-dish and thin-crust pizzas. Anything else I can answer for you?
Alison: That’s it for now. Good to know. Thanks!
Burhan: Anytime, come back soon!
This is a very different dialogue. Here, the goal is to get a certain set of facts. Informational conversations are investigative quests for the truth—research expeditions to gather data, news, or facts. Voice interactions that are informational might be more long-winded than transactional conversations by necessity. Responses tend to be lengthier, more informative, and carefully communicated so the customer understands the key takeaways.
Voice Interfaces
At their core, voice interfaces employ speech to support users in reaching their goals. But simply because an interface has a voice component doesn’t mean that every user interaction with it is mediated through voice. Because multimodal voice interfaces can lean on visual components like screens as crutches, we’re most concerned in this book with pure voice interfaces, which depend entirely on spoken conversation, lack any visual component whatsoever, and are therefore much more nuanced and challenging to tackle.
Though voice interfaces have long been integral to the imagined future of humanity in science fiction, only recently have those lofty visions become fully realized in genuine voice interfaces.
Interactive voice response (IVR) systems
Though written conversational interfaces have been fixtures of computing for many decades, voice interfaces first emerged in the early 1990s with text-to-speech (TTS) dictation programs that recited written text aloud, as well as speech-enabled in-car systems that gave directions to a user-provided address. With the advent of interactive voice response (IVR) systems, intended as an alternative to overburdened customer service representatives, we became acquainted with the first true voice interfaces that engaged in authentic conversation.
IVR systems allowed organizations to reduce their reliance on call centers but soon became notorious for their clunkiness. Commonplace in the corporate world, these systems were primarily designed as metaphorical switchboards to guide customers to a real phone agent (“Say Reservations to book a flight or check an itinerary”); chances are you will enter a conversation with one when you call an airline or hotel conglomerate. Despite their functional issues and users’ frustration with their inability to speak to an actual human right away, IVR systems proliferated in the early 1990s across a variety of industries (http://bkaprt.com/vcu36/01-02, PDF).
While IVR systems are great for highly repetitive, monotonous conversations that generally don’t veer from a single format, they have a reputation for less scintillating conversation than we’re used to in real life (or even in science fiction).
Screen readers
Parallel to the evolution of IVR systems was the invention of the screen reader, a tool that transcribes visual content into synthesized speech. For Blind or visually impaired website users, it’s the predominant method of interacting with text, multimedia, or form elements. Screen readers represent perhaps the closest equivalent we have today to an out-of-the-box implementation of content delivered through voice.
Among the first screen readers known by that moniker was the Screen Reader for the BBC Micro and NEEC Portable developed by the Research Centre for the Education of the Visually Handicapped (RCEVH) at the University of Birmingham in 1986 (http://bkaprt.com/vcu36/01-03). That same year, Jim Thatcher created the first IBM Screen Reader for text-based computers, later recreated for computers with graphical user interfaces (GUIs) (http://bkaprt.com/vcu36/01-04).
With the rapid growth of the web in the 1990s, the demand for accessible tools for websites exploded. Thanks to the introduction of semantic HTML and especially ARIA roles beginning in 2008, screen readers started facilitating speedy interactions with web pages that ostensibly allow disabled users to traverse the page as an aural and temporal space rather than a visual and physical one. In other words, screen readers for the web “provide mechanisms that translate visual design constructs—proximity, proportion, etc.—into useful information,” writes Aaron Gustafson in A List Apart. “At least they do when documents are authored thoughtfully” (http://bkaprt.com/vcu36/01-05).
Though deeply instructive for voice interface designers, there’s one significant problem with screen readers: they’re difficult to use and unremittingly verbose. The visual structures of websites and web navigation don’t translate well to screen readers, sometimes resulting in unwieldy pronouncements that name every manipulable HTML element and announce every formatting change. For many screen reader users, working with web-based interfaces exacts a cognitive toll.
In Wired, accessibility advocate and voice engineer Chris Maury considers why the screen reader experience is ill-suited to users relying on voice:
From the beginning, I hated the way that Screen Readers work. Why are they designed the way they are? It makes no sense to present information visually and then, and only then, translate that into audio. All of the time and energy that goes into creating the perfect user experience for an app is wasted, or even worse, adversely impacting the experience for blind users. (http://bkaprt.com/vcu36/01-06)
In many cases, well-designed voice interfaces can speed users to their destination better than long-winded screen reader monologues. After all, visual interface users have the benefit of darting around the viewport freely to find information, ignoring areas irrelevant to them. Blind users, meanwhile, are obligated to listen to every utterance synthesized into speech and therefore prize brevity and efficiency. Disabled users who have long had no choice but to employ clunky screen readers may find that voice interfaces, particularly more modern voice assistants, offer a more streamlined experience.
Voice assistants
When we think of voice assistants (the subset of voice interfaces now commonplace in living rooms, smart homes, and offices), many of us immediately picture HAL from 2001: A Space Odyssey or hear Majel Barrett’s voice as the omniscient computer in Star Trek. Voice assistants are akin to personal concierges that can answer questions, schedule appointments, conduct searches, and perform other common day-to-day tasks. And they’re rapidly gaining more attention from accessibility advocates for their assistive potential.
Before the earliest IVR systems found success in the enterprise, Apple published a demonstration video in 1987 depicting the Knowledge Navigator, a voice assistant that could transcribe spoken words and recognize human speech to a great degree of accuracy. Then, in 2001, Tim Berners-Lee and others formulated their vision for a Semantic Web “agent” that would perform typical errands like “checking calendars, making appointments, and finding locations” (http://bkaprt.com/vcu36/01-07, behind paywall). It wasn’t until 2011 that Apple’s Siri finally entered the picture, making voice assistants a tangible reality for consumers.
Thanks to the plethora of voice assistants available today, there is considerable variation in how programmable and customizable certain voice assistants are over others (Fig 1.1). At one extreme, everything except vendor-provided features is locked down; for example, at the time of their release, the core functionality of Apple’s Siri and Microsoft’s Cortana couldn’t be extended beyond their existing capabilities. Even today, it isn’t possible to program Siri to perform arbitrary functions, because there’s no means by which developers can interact with Siri at a low level, apart from predefined categories of tasks like sending messages, hailing rideshares, making restaurant reservations, and certain others.
At the opposite end of the spectrum, voice assistants like Amazon Alexa and Google Home offer a core foundation on which developers can build custom voice interfaces. For this reason, programmable voice assistants that lend themselves to customization and extensibility are becoming increasingly popular for developers who feel stifled by the limitations of Siri and Cortana. Amazon offers the Alexa Skills Kit, a developer framework for building custom voice interfaces for Amazon Alexa, while Google Home offers the ability to program arbitrary Google Assistant skills. Today, users can choose from among thousands of custom-built skills within both the Amazon Alexa and Google Assistant ecosystems.
Fig 1.1: Voice assistants like Amazon Alexa and Google Home tend to be more programmable, and thus more flexible, than their counterpart Apple Siri.
As corporations like Amazon, Apple, Microsoft, and Google continue to stake their territory, they’re also selling and open-sourcing an unprecedented array of tools and frameworks for designers and developers that aim to make building voice interfaces as easy as possible, even without code.
Often by necessity, voice assistants like Amazon Alexa tend to be monochannel—they’re tightly coupled to a device and can’t be accessed on a computer or smartphone instead. By contrast, many development platforms like Google’s Dialogflow have introduced omnichannel capabilities so users can build a single conversational interface that then manifests as a voice interface, textual chatbot, and IVR system upon deployment. I don’t prescribe any specific implementation approaches in this design-focused book, but in Chapter 4 we’ll get into some of the implications these variables might have on the way you build out your design artifacts.
Voice Content
Simply put, voice content is content delivered through voice. To preserve what makes human conversation so compelling in the first place, voice content needs to be free-flowing and organic, contextless and concise—everything written content isn’t.
Our world is replete with voice content in various forms: screen readers reciting website content, voice assistants rattling off a weather forecast, and automated phone hotline responses governed by IVR systems. In this book, we’re most concerned with content delivered auditorily—not as an option, but as a necessity.
For many of us, our first foray into informational voice interfaces will be to deliver content to users. There’s only one problem: any content we already have isn’t in any way ready for this new habitat. So how do we make the content trapped on our websites more conversational? And how do we write new copy that lends itself to voice interactions?
Lately, we’ve begun slicing and dicing our content in unprecedented ways. Websites are, in many respects, colossal vaults of what I call macrocontent: lengthy prose that can extend for infinitely scrollable miles in a browser window, like microfilm viewers of newspaper archives. Back in 2002, well before the present-day ubiquity of voice assistants, technologist Anil Dash defined microcontent as permalinked pieces of content that stay legible regardless of environment, such as email or text messages:
A day’s weather forcast [sic], the arrival and departure times for an airplane flight, an abstract from a long publication, or a single instant message can all be examples of microcontent. (http://bkaprt.com/vcu36/01-08)
I’d update Dash’s definition of microcontent to include all examples of bite-sized content that go well beyond written communiqués. After all, today we encounter microcontent in interfaces where a small snippet of copy is displayed alone, unmoored from the browser, like a textbot confirmation of a restaurant reservation. Microcontent offers the best opportunity to gauge how your content can be stretched to the very edges of its capabilities, informing delivery channels both established and novel.
As microcontent, voice content is unique because it’s an example of how content is experienced in time rather than in space. We can glance at a digital sign underground for an instant and know when the next train is arriving, but voice interfaces hold our attention captive for periods of time that we can’t easily escape or skip, something screen reader users are all too familiar with.
Because microcontent is fundamentally made up of isolated blobs with no relation to the channels where they’ll eventually end up, we need to ensure that our microcontent truly performs well as voice content—and that means focusing on the two most important traits of robust voice content: voice content legibility and voice content discoverability.
Fundamentally, the legibility and discoverability of our voice content both have to do with how voice content manifests in perceived time and space.
Voice Content and Usability published first on https://deskbysnafu.tumblr.com/
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❂ Wild Card - Do you have any advice on para rp? I noticed I have trouble with long replies. My rp partner will usually have 3 paragraphs, and I always find myself at just 1, or 2 when I feel like I wrote a lot. Thanks!!
Well...one usually does para roleplay to further elaborate on the scene at hand. It might seem a bit silly, but if you want to write more than you currently are, I’d try to find something to describe in the RP. This could be a number of things, ranging from the scenery and atmosphere to character thoughts and reactions.
For instance, I often like starting out my Shu’halo threads by describing the world around them. I try to imagine their surroundings as though I were there. After that, it’s a matter of what details are most pressing and how I can convey them. Where An’she or Mu’sha are (depending on the time), if there is anything interesting about the weather (if they are walking through snow, there are clouds overhead, rain falling on them, etc.), and what side characters are doing can be helpful in figuring out what to write. Even little things like how the air smells and what sort of wildlife there is (and possibly how they interact with it!) can bring in a lengthier response. For instance, I may want to begin a thread with Winoa walking through the Barrens on her way to Orgrimmar.
“The clear sky above stretched across the heavens, an ever-expansive horizon above tall weeds. Only An’she graced the heavens, her warmth radiating onto the water walker’s face. The glaring heat took a toll on the other creatures, as few roamed the savanna. Only the occasional bristle of grass gave away one’s location, short and unremarkable movements in the vast sway of grass.”
Great! I now have an introduction paragraph for a thread! After continuing to write my roleplay response though, I decide that I want to further lengthen my post. One way I could do this is to add in how Winoa feels and thinks about the scene.
“For that, Winoa thanked the spirits for that gentle breeze. Though it carried the warmth of her surroundings, the heat of the afternoon day was becoming nearly unbearable. Her breath was rugged, uneven as the heavy satchel became all the more difficult to carry.
“The water walker peered across the heavens, debating whether to slow down. Although she still had ample road to travel, stopping for a drink and picking the thistles from her fur was all too tempting. With her mind made up, she carefully sat herself atop an old stone marker, setting her hooves by her side as her tail rested itself above the itching weeds. From her bag, she brought out a large canteen, popping the lid off swift and sure before taking a long sip.”
Of course, there are many ways one could expand upon their para roleplay. The advice given above could be used as an introduction like I used, or as the RP goes on. A baker might walk by with fresh bread, the aura of which enticing a character or a fire lit to garner their attention. A character could move their hands or taste something, making for some fun sensory descriptions.
In any case, I personally like having some combination of these. In the example, I added in a brief thought from Winoa, which while adding insight into the character, doesn’t give much for another character to react to on its own. However, the extra details offer characters more pieces to work a response on.
For instance, if Kiefeon just so happened to walk by, she might be able to tell by Winoa’s breathing and the general heat that she’s not doing too hot (hehe, puns...). Elaborating a response to that might include the druid making some comments, describing her previous experience before seeing Winoa (”Eh, the heat may have been burning, but it wasn’t anything Kiefeon hadn’t seen before. After roaming, this land for so long, she had become accustomed to the infamous harsh summer days.” for instance), her internal thoughts, body positions, and other items I haven’t mentioned.
Utilizing the environment and character reactions (as well in any changes to them) can be extremely helpful in not only figuring out to make long para responses, but also keep them up. In summary, adding sensory input and expanding on a character’s interactions with them can add more length into your RP, as well as depth to make it more interesting or further detail in later responses.
Okay, this feels like a rant, but I’m going to just leave this here...thank you for the ask @potionmaster-kiefeon!
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