#but swimming reminds me a lot of cultivation too

[touchlikethesun]

mdzs swimmers au, and not just for yunmeng jiang (low hanging fruit), but all the clans are different swimming clubs in the same region. wei wuxian is a distance swimmer, free style obviously (ik he gives off sprinter vibes, but i think his endurance/perseverance outlasts anyone else in the club so…), and also does open water competition, jiang cheng’s best event is 200 fly because he’s literally insane, lan wangji is either free or breast but either way i see him more as a sprinter, nie huaisang is a backstroker… and so on and so on… i just think swimming as a sport fits them all quite well

[dearestones]

Lost Time (Yandere! L x Reader)

Warnings: Yandere behavior, drugging, kidnapping, isolation, slight manipulation, major character death, slight angst, etc. 

@tragiclotus Request: Hi! Love your writing. Would you consider an angst filled yandere L x reader fic? Love me some tension. Xx

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Forty seconds.

Forty seconds was how long it took for the heart attack to take effect—as was stated in the Death Note.

Forty seconds for your life to become upended, re-righted, and flipped completely upside down.

"I checked the autopsy reports." 

You looked up from your hands that were clenched in your lap, eyes still somewhat groggy and head still achy from a night full of restless sleep. Above you, dressed in a button down shirt that was rumpled and clearly worn for a day longer than recommended, Light Yagami held up a series of documents. 

You didn't need to look closely to know that these were the reports that Light was talking about.

Your voice was dull, lifeless. It had been a while since you've felt something other than dread or pure fear. 

"Heart attack?"

It almost didn't sound like a question. If your voice was the sole indicator, most would have thought that you were merely stating the truth. The head detective of the Kira Investigation had died suddenly and without warning. At least one shinigami was afoot. The rest of the detectives were distraught.

Obviously, the Death Note was involved.

Light, who had been observing you intently for a while now, simply nodded. Carefully, he placed the sheaf of documents onto the table, careful not to knock over your mug of coffee. Your eyes barely passed over the seal on top of one of the papers before you glanced away.

As you did so, you heard Light pull out a nearby chair. As always, his movements were measured. Methodical almost. He was kind of enough not to drag the chair's legs against the floor, choosing instead to slightly lift it up. You were grateful for his seemingly kind action even if there was some ulterior motive beneath his kind facade.

For a moment, the both of you sat in silence. As you waited for the eventual conversation to follow, you tried to shake off the discomfort that plagued you—this situation was all too familiar to the isolated life you led before. 

Light, polite but forever too nosy for his own good, asked a question that you dreaded being asked from anyone else.

"You don't seem too sad that L died." He paused and if you happened to look up at that moment, you could see the hint of an upturned curve to his lip. It's too bad for Light, though. Despite his careful acting that he cultivated for several months in captivity, you knew him just as well as you knew the man who died. At times like this, it was advantageous, but when all you wanted to do was leave and live life to the fullest, it served as a reminder of all that you lost. "Tell me, when Mogi informed you that he died, what did you feel?”

You barely had the strength to look away from your hands, but your voice was sharp enough to make freshly broken glass look soft in comparison. “If you’re implying that I had anything to do with his death—”

“I wouldn’t blame you.” You looked up only to find that Light was looking down at you, pity and sympathy swimming in his eyes. “Between the solitary confinement, the psychological torture, and forced observation, I wouldn’t say that I haven’t been feeling anything other than relief. In your position, I would think that you would be feeling the same.”

The truth, as most things were in real life, was a lot harder to put into words, much less simplify into plain terms. 

Before the Kira Investigation, you had led a relatively normal life as a private investigator. You were by no means someone who was as intelligent or as connected as the likes of the three most famous detectives in the world, but you were smart and keen on solving any mysteries that landed at your feet. When the Kira Case became publicized and the ICPO were looking for ways to track down Kira, you had offered your services.

And then—

You were approached by L. 

You’ve heard of him. Anyone who was involved with cases that stumped nations, where international cooperatives were needed to track down crime syndicates and bring down seedy organizations, knew about L. He was a famed detective who was renowned for his intelligence and propensity for anonymity. What was more, there was also the fact that he was also infamous for the fact that he rejected several known (ongoing) cases because he deemed them “unworthy” of his time. Arrogance was not something that you can entertain in this line of work, but for L, he practically held the world in the palm of his hand. 

And that arrogance led to him working alone. 

Which made it all the more jarring when you were approached by an elderly man dressed in a pitch black overcoat bearing a laptop. You were on your guard, of course, but you came to heel when you saw the stylized gothic “L” appear on the screen alongside the telltale monotone of a digitized voice speaking to you. At first, you were confused, but the situation was made clear when L informed you that you were to serve as his “in” to the Japanese Task Force and that you would be compensated. 

Apparently, a former FBI agent that L used to work with—Miss Naomi Misora, you were told—had killed herself shortly after realizing that her fiance had been killed by Kira himself. To L, the killer was evident—the teenager that he had been following that day was obviously the culprit. However, he needed proof.

Hence, you.

Obviously, things didn’t turn out too well afterwards. L had to be personally involved and introduce himself by his official title to the Japanese detectives who wanted to take down Kira, two teenagers were apprehended as likely suspects, and you resigned yourself to at least a few more months of observation before you could finally return to your old life.

What you didn’t account for was L setting his sights on you.

As much as you hated to admit it, you were in awe of the detective. How could you not? His intelligence far outshone any other person you had ever known. He was pragmatic and efficient, his idiosyncrasies painting him to be some sort of mad genius confined to the terrors of an organic vessel. Despite his propensity for sweets and clothing that had clearly seen better days, you could not deny that he was magnetic as he was repulsive. 

A computer masquerading as a human. 

During all that time you had spent investigating the Kira suspects, curbing L’s plans to psychologically torture and isolate both Light and Misa, and looking into theories as to how Light and Misa could kill with only a name and face, you had no idea that L was paying just as much attention to you as he was to them. 

What had first started out as brief meetings where you would inform L of your findings had become drawling conversations. You would be remiss to say that you didn’t enjoy stimulating conversation once in a while, but when these exchanges became more frequent, you were at a loss as to what to say. Up until this point, you were in a professional relationship with L and barring that, you weren’t too interested in him outside of the investigation. You thought about asking him why he sought you out so often, but decided that since he liked to remain anonymous that maybe he was just lonely.

And that’s when the restrictions started happening. 

Before you knew it, L wanted to keep you inside for longer hours. 

He wanted you to report more often—the meetings between the two of you occurring at least every other day now even if you had found nothing substantial.

Eventually, when you began to question his motives, he had drugged, bound, and placed into a separate floor for your own personal use where he installed cameras he alone had access to.

It was for your own good, he told you after you had screamed at him to explain himself. After all, you had been in the field for so long, it was only understandable that there was the possibility that there was another Kira out there and it was only a matter of time that they matched your name to your face. 

For the first few weeks, you tried to convince yourself that you didn’t have it as bad as the two Kira suspects. The pretty model was bound and blindfolded, tricked into thinking that she was talking to a stalker. Meanwhile, the young university student was merely confined. At the very least, you could walk around in your room. 

You could make your own food.

You could yell and scream at the hidden cameras without repercussion.

But you could never leave. 

Luckily, when the two suspects had been released from custody (but still bound to the headquarters for further observation), Light had convinced L to let you loose around the building. At the time, you were thankful to move around and actually interact with other people outside of L, but you began to realize that maybe Light might have had a motive behind letting you free…

Out of preservation, you made sure to keep your distance from both your alleged savior and your captor.

And then the Death Note was found, a Shinigami interrogated, and then—

L had died. 

And, for now, you were free. 

Not free from the probing eyes of the detectives who wanted to interrogate you for the circumstances of L’s murder, but you had more freedom than you had for the past several months or so.

You smiled at Light and gave a nod that was more of a jerky twitch than a confident affirmation. Even now, you were wary that there were cameras in the room. Being alone with Light was dangerous enough as is, but if the rest of the team knew that you were fraternizing with him so soon after L’s death… 

Then again most of them were aware of the heinous circumstances surrounding L’s relationship with you and had voiced their concerns, but had eventually been bullied into their place. 

“I’m just sorry that I couldn’t have done it myself.” It barely came out as a whisper, but Light heard you. His eyebrows rose to his hairline and his mouth parted just right in surprise—if he was Kira, he was really good at feigning surprise. “Kira took that away from me.”

“It could be worse,” Light reasoned. “L took away your freedom.”

“And my time,” you muttered. “So much lost time… I could have been helping with the investigation, but…”

You trailed off, unwilling to spare the thought any more energy. 

“Hey.” Light placed a gentle hand on your shoulder; the presence was more than enough of a grounding force to keep you calm. For reasons unknown, you felt his touch warm you. “We can still catch Kira, right? Besides, since I’ll be heading the investigation, I’ll be needing someone to help me who was just as invested and as close to L as I was.” 

He paused when he saw you think it over. 

“What do you think?”

You thought about L and the lengths he went to keep Light close and you closer. 

You thought about Light holding L as he died.

And you thought about bringing Kira to justice. 

What was another L, you thought, when you would finally complete the job that you were tasked to do from the very beginning?

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DISCLAIMER: I do not condone yandere behavior outside of fictional settings. Please don’t mistake the actions of fictional characters displayed in works of fiction to be considered harmless in real life.

If you want to donate a Ko-Fi, feel free https://ko-fi.com/devintrinidad.

DEATH NOTE MASTERLIST

[sol1056]

Hmm, I’d argue that depending on context, it might be an author who is actually quite skilled -- at delivering exactly what their audience wants.

While KOI is an interesting framing, I agree that it’s still a Mary Sue. The more common ones are super-black-belt fight girl, super-genius brainy girl, super-sickly frail beauty, or super-adorable girl who brings all the guys to her yard. The KOI just happens to be the super-persuasive lecture girl.

Swimming in chinese drama waters, I’ve run into this variant of Mary Sue a lot more than I’d expected, though it does make sense. The screenwriter wants a girl who can hold her own -- but doesn’t want to give her awesome fighting powers at the cost of some bare nod to historicity, but also doesn’t want to have her on the verge of dying of consumption, but also doesn’t want to end up with a complicated love heptangle. Make her able to sway emperors, persuade enemies, and hold off entire armies with the power of her speechifying!

(Although now that I think of it, the powers of Super Speech may be just a verbal variant of the Girl Genius who has remarkable engineering, architectural, agricultural, or some other technical skill that we never see her study or cultivate. she can just ‘do’ them, just like she can just ‘do’ the difficult and complex art of verbal inveiglement.)

This reminds me of a particular drama that gradually revealed its Girl Genius Mary-Sue-like trope was of this KOI Lecture Girl class. My favorite example is when the girl tells another girl, “oh, no, you can’t do that, that’s unwise” -- and then goes and does precisely that. But when our FL does it, a) it works out exactly like she wants, b) no one calls her on how she’s just corrected the king, c) she ends up with more points in her favor, not less.

And eventually it becomes a thing. Or a crutch, if you’re me: are two people arguing? Send in the FL to speechify. What, someone’s paranoia led to their divorce? Clearly that person requires the FL to lecture them! Over and over. Her version of ‘not like other girls’ is that she can deliver a grand speech or quick repartee that leaves everyone speechless and agreeing while all the other girls can only say mean things and look put-out. 

What I eventually realized is that for a lot of the audience, this kind of character isn’t a bug. It’s a feature.

I have to admit ‘being able to think fast and talk well’ is a far more attainable goal than most other Mary Sue variants, which means it can appear in a lot more stories beyond just early-author fanfiction self-inserts. Any setting prior to 1920s, readers may not believe a female character’s exceptionalism at fighting or engineering, but talking? Sure, she could be good at that -- and hey, we can talk, too! If only someone also provided us with quick-witted lines, it could be us in the story!

Which is why I’ve given up saying anything, when I come across this particular trope in (any) fiction, in print or onscreen. There will always be an audience that really does need/want that escape, that chance to dream themselves into that role, and isn’t that one of the powers of entertainment, to entertain people?

One person’s Mary Sue is another person’s  hero, and there’s no harm in letting someone take pleasure and inspiration. I have better things to do than rain on another’s parade, but as the olds say, ymmv.

I don't know what the name of this character type is but I hate characters who have the wittiest possible comebacks, who silence others with eloquent statements that shut down their arguments, who make grand speeches and who the narrative frames as being epic and cool for it. You know, the kind no one interrupts even though that's a common feature of real life conversations, the kind who never have another character smarter than them take their statement out of context and twisted even though it'd be incredibly easy to do so, the ones who tell off all the baddies without ever once being at a loss for words or saying something genuinely good that gets interpreted in bad faith or has another meaning imposed onto it.

Everyone has told me this fanfic is good, because it's very long and it's got a page on TV Tropes. But when I found out this character's soul color is patience (it's an Undertale fic) I gave up mentally, though I kept reading to see how bad it'd get. Your "patient" character speechifying without hesitation, never wisely keeping her mouth shut, never avoiding a fight, eternally diving into conflict head-first and always emerging victorious doesn't have patience. She doesn't have to. The narrative will never ask her to, because it bends over backwards to reward her impatience. This woman grabs the mic at press conferences without asking and it works out for her. "Patience" is not a thing here.

I've encountered this type of character in media before, and I don't quite know what they're called, but I call them KOIs. Killers of investment. There are no stakes when the latest human to fuck the fandom's favorite single guy and successfully prevent all problems stands up to give a cheeky speech to the media. You know things will be okay because a KOI is present and in order for things not to be okay, the KOI would have to be outdone or out maneuvered by someone or fuck up and in a KOI story, the protag never loses. It's not a Mary Sue thing, because those usually involve cooler powers and less speeches and, most crucially, villains who at least emotionally wound the heroine so we can cheer for her a bit harder. In a KOI fic, we don't even get that. That would be much too interesting and give us stakes of some kind.

I really wish these fics came with a tag that let you know this is KOI territory and the only tension or stakes will be when the sexy leads fuck and things that would logically have tension, like reintegrating a lost civilization into the dominant one, will go off without a hitch. I get that these fics are doing something for people who can relate to the KOI but now that I'm the ripe old age of 25 (expired, by fandom standards) I just find "and then she talked real good and everyone admitted she was right" incredibly cringy.

By comparison another fic has my undying loyalty forever simply because it has a character who pauses and goes, "Yeah, shutting someone down with eloquent words and making them rethink their life? Not a thing and it's PR suicide if we try it, we're bringing in PR agents and having a whole ass discussion before we say anything in response." Fucking THANK YOU! Stakes! The implication that shit can go wrong! AND THEN IT DID!

A good fic after a bad one is like being in the Sahara Desert, tripping, and somehow falling into a lush pool full of cool, sustaining water. Begone, sand KOI.

--

That's just a mary sue and an author who isn't very skilled.

[gtanddragons]

Try Again?

Hey all, finally have some G/t writing to present for the first time in a long while. ^^ Based on this post from @miniature-knight because it’s been living in my head rent-free for a long while now and I’ve been on a D/anganr/onpa kick lately. Also giant!Hajime content is VERY good. 

Content warnings: Brief descriptions of blood and surgery, mild swearing, major spoilers for DR2, and minor spoilers for DR3 (Despair Arc)

[ Connecting… ]

[ Connecting… ]

[ Connection to server lost. Try again?]

[ Stabilizer_01: Offline ]

[ Stabilizer_02: Offline ]

[ WARNING: Cellular instability detected ]

[ Vitals_Monitor: Offline ]

[ WA7RNiN6: #%^R01 ]

[ … ]

[ …? ]

—

He wakes up very suddenly, an involuntary cry of pain tearing its way from his throat.

It hurts. Everything hurts. His body aches and protests with every tiny movement he makes, and his brain feels as though it’s threatening to crack right out of his skull. It hurts and his mouth and throat are dry— so dry— and there’s dust everywhere, even coughing hurts, there’s screaming—

…

(…Screaming?)

Hajime finally cracks his eyes open, wincing at how crusty they feel— like he’d been asleep for a long, long time, but… he’s sitting upright, isn’t he? When had he sat up? When had he gone to sleep, for that matter…?

As he begins to reorient himself, so too does his vision. It takes a frustratingly long time, but when everything begins to come back together into a single, clear image—

“H… huh?” He croaks, barely noticing the rasp in his voice in favor of trying to make sense of literally anything before his eyes.

There’s rubble everywhere, surrounding him on all sides and tumbling off of him with every little movement. But more importantly— he can see people running in the distance, far below. All of them are wearing white and black uniforms. It’s familiar… but he’s not quite sure why. 

He’s also not sure why he reaches his hand out. Maybe it’s out of shock, maybe it’s instinct.

But what he doesn’t anticipate is actually touching one of the fleeing bodies, feeling his fingers brush against warmth.

He freezes. The student— the tiny student— is screaming. He didn’t mean to knock them over with that careless little touch but now they’re crying and screaming and—

Hajime’s breaths quicken as he recoils, pulling back his hand as though he’d been burned. He frantically looks at the fleeing students, the rubble, the buildings around him— the buildings that all seem to match him in height.

(They’re not… they’re not small. I-I’m…)

He lifts his arms, wincing as more rubble tumbles off his body and smashes to the ground below. He’s gripping his head in his hands, he can’t breathe, he’s breathing too fast and his vision is blurring and everything hurts and he’s terrified and where is he and—?!

[ …Why are you so upset? ]

Hajime tenses up, lifting his head at the sound of a voice. 

“Wh-what—?”

[ Why are you scared? They cannot hurt you like this. ]

His gaze darts to the ground, but most of the students nearby had already run away, including the one he’d accidentally knocked over. This voice was… close, but not. Familiar, but not. He knows he heard it, but… he felt it, too.

“Who… who’s there? Where are you?”

[ They cannot hurt us when we are like this. ]

In the back of his head, he has the inexplicable feeling of… something foreign. A sense of self-satisfaction, but one that isn’t his own. 

“You’re… in my head…?” Hajime whispers, gripping his shoulders in a desperate hug. “G-get… get out of my head! What are you?!”

A sense of miffed confusion is prodding at his consciousness now. He shifts uncomfortably, wincing at the feeling of invisible fingers poring through his brain.

[ You are not… satisfied? You were crying out for help, so I offered my assistance. ]

Hajime opens his mouth to protest, but images and feelings are suddenly flashing through his mind, not of his own control. 

His body, flailing, gloved hands pinning him down. His throat, hoarse from screaming. Fear. Desperation. Pain, as a needle is forcefully poked into his arm. 

A starched white bed. Restraints. Seeing an operating knife plunging into his body. He doesn’t know if he’s begging out loud or if it’s just in his head.

The voice. It’s there, too, and he can feel it pulsing at the back of his head. It doesn’t come in the form of words, but in the form of an invisible hand, reaching out. Feelings of reassurance. A silent offer.

It’s one he takes. He’s grabbing onto the hand with everything he’s got, like a drowning man.

And then… nothing.

He’s snapped out of those memories as quickly as he’d been submerged in them, the… thing in his head pushing them aside. Like putting files back into a cabinet.

[ We are free now. ]

Hajime doesn’t respond. His head is swimming, distress and confusion crashing over his thoughts like tidal waves. His memory feels… hazy. Incomplete. But he remembers trusting the Hope’s Peak research team… he thinks. It was supposed to be a series of ‘small tests’. When had it escalated that far?

Why is there something else in his head? Why and how did he get like this? He’s surrounded by rubble and a collapsed building— the same one he’d been interviewed in. 

The same one he’d been experimented on in the basement.

He can’t help it. His body is starting to shudder with sobs, confused and aching and distraught. The voice doesn’t pipe up this time, but he can feel its presence lingering, uncertain. 

He covers his face with dirty, dust-covered hands. It’s hardly a comfort.

(What… do I do now? I don’t know, I… am I… stuck like this forever—?)

“Hajimeeee!”

He flinches at the sudden shout, close in range yet… distant. He peeks between trembling fingers, his gaze traveling to the ground—

And then he freezes.

Hazy memories are becoming more and more vivid. Even at this distance, that voice is so familiar— that hoodie, that hair— he’s seen them plenty of times before. Thought about them even more so.

“Ch… Chiaki…?” he croaks, his eyes widening.

Unlike the hundreds of students before her, she was running towards him. She halts only once she’s gotten as close as she can get to his leg, the rest of her path blocked off by debris.

She rests her hands on her knees and leans over— even from this height, Hajime can tell that she’s panting.

“H-Hajime… so this… this is where you’ve been!”

His other thoughts are overshadowed by a surge of relief at her familiar (and very much welcome) presence… and a crushing sense of guilt. Had she been waiting for him this whole time…? How long had it even been since he agreed to participate in the Hope Cultivation Project?

He finds himself reaching out for her, the ache in his heart getting stronger— but then he tenses up, his hand stopping only a few feet away from her small frame.

[ Why are you afraid? She cannot hurt you. ]

(Shut up.)

His thoughts drift to earlier. How he had accidentally knocked over that poor student with a simple nudge of his fingertips. How they had screamed in terror and ran—

His hand reflexively twitches, a slight tremble shivering through his arm.

[ …You’re afraid of hurting her? How peculiar. ]

(Shut. Up.)

However, even though he was frozen with indecision, Chiaki had other plans. 

Hajime inhales sharply as he feels a little pressure against the tip of his finger, startled as he glances back down and sees the girl grabbing onto his finger without a shred of hesitation.

“Hey, Hajime. It’s going to be okay. …I think.”

His lower lip trembles, even as he lets out a weak attempt at a laugh. “That… doesn’t sound very reassuring, when you say it like that, you know.”

“Got you smiling though, right?”

He sniffles, letting out a soft chuckle. “Y-yeah, fine. Guilty.”

[ What is… this feeling we’re experiencing? ]

Hajime’s shoulders tense up at the sudden reminder that he’s not exactly alone in his thoughts. He huffs quietly, shooting a scowl at nothing in particular.

(Didn’t I already tell you to be quiet?)

[ Yes. But I am curious. It feels very… warm. You care a lot for this human, correct? ]

(...Yes. Now shh. Go away. Something.)

[ I cannot ‘go away’, much as I would prefer being my own separate entity, Hajime. ]

(Really.)

[ Perhaps you should have taken into consideration the future ramifications of allowing yourself to be subjected to human experimentation. ]

(I wasn’t signing myself up for that to get an obnoxious backseat driver, you know!)

“...jime? Ah… Earth to Hajime…?”

He pauses in his bristling to look back down at Chiaki, who is looking up at him with a rather concerned look on her face.

“...You’re acting strange.”

Hajime clears his throat sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand.

“...S-sorry. It’s just, uh. Been a lot to process, and… uh…”

He trails off as his fingertips trace up the back of his neck. His hair feels… longer than it did, but on a more concerning note… he can feel a raised, bumpy line going from the back of his neck all the way up to the back of his head. Stitches.

Hajime glances down at his hand worriedly as he pulls it away from the back of his neck. Unfortunately, it came back wet with splotches of blood, like he’d suspected. It was no surprise that he’d torn at least a few of them in the… chaos? He’s still not sure what had happened while he’d been unconscious, but judging from the destruction around him… his escape from the facility below the building couldn’t have been very peaceful.

“...It’s been a lot,” he concludes awkwardly.

“I can kinda tell, yeah.” Chiaki pauses, a mournful, distant look entering her gaze. “I was… really worried. That you might not come back.”

He glances away at that. He’d known he’d be leaving Chiaki for a while, but he hadn’t expected… whatever they had tried doing to him.

(And if that process hadn’t been interrupted… would I even have been able to come back to her at all?)

[ Doubtful. As far as I can assess, your memories and consciousness would have been stifled entirely, leaving me a clean slate for a host body. ]

(It was… it was a rhetorical question.)

[ Ah. ]

That being said, Hajime can’t help a heavy gulp and a shiver at the voice’s interruption before he turns to look at Chiaki again.

“I’m… I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I never-- I never thought it would turn out like this,” he offers weakly. Feeling somewhat emboldened by Chiaki’s continued safety despite being so close to him, he shifts his hand a bit so that he’s delicately ‘holding’ her hands between his forefinger and thumb. 

Chiaki hums softly, smiling faintly at the warmth encompassing her hands all the way up to her mid-forearms. It’s… disconcerting, to say the least-- she’d be lying if her instincts weren’t a bit freaked out at having her arms held like those of a figurine, or a doll-- but when she looks up at his face, she’s smiling even more warmly than before.

“Just don’t do something like that ever again, ‘kay?”

“I won’t. I promise.”

She takes a moment just to bask in his presence before her smile returns to a more neutral expression. Then, she pops her lip awkwardly.

“...So I’d really like to know what happened. If and when you’re comfortable sharing, yeah? But, uh. Right now, we might… need to get out of here.”

Hajime’s head perks up at the distant sound of approaching sirens, his eyes shooting open wide.

“Oh no.”

[ Don’t worry. We can take them. ]

“That’s not the--!” Hajime catches himself mid-tirade, instead lifting his free hand to pinch the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Chiaki, you need to get out of here. I can’t let you get caught up in whatever is going to happen next.”

(That’s not the point. I’m not getting myself into more trouble-- I already have enough of that as is.)

[ ...So you do not wish to be this size, then? Even though it will keep you safe from any number of this city’s local law enforcement, and with my assistance, I believe the national guard as well-- ]

(No, I don’t want to be a giant freak, thank you very much.)

[ Mmm. What a boring answer… but, very well. Focus on settling your breathing-- and try not to panic too much. ]

(Wait, why would I--?)

Hajime sucks in one last breath before he suddenly can’t. He can see himself moving, see himself blinking, but he’s not controlling any of it. He’s formless, drifting endlessly, gasping for air to fill nonexistent lungs.

“A-ah--! Wh-what-- what the fuck did you do to me?!”

He can see his fingers releasing their hold on Chiaki, can see her gasping down below as he-- his body-- moves to stand upright, a shower of rubble clattering to the ground in his wake.

“No! Chiaki--!”

[ Shh. I’ve already calculated the amount of debris and where it’s falling-- none of it will fall anywhere near her. And I am merely borrowing your body for a minute while I resolve this matter. ]

“Borrowing--?! Are you kidding me, this is my body!”

[ You need to settle down. You’re interrupting my focus. ]

“No, I’m not just gonna ‘settle down’! Give me back my body, or I’ll--!”

It’s all too sudden, the shift from drifting formlessly through the void into something… a little more corporeal. He still can’t control his body, but in the surrounding darkness… he looks down. He can look down, at slightly-translucent, softly-glowing arms and legs.

This is… better, at least. It’s not his own body, but it’s better than… the nothingness.

And then he looks up.

He suddenly regrets his previous thought.

Looming over him, for lack of better words, is a giant shadow. It would almost look human, if not for the vast expanse of flowing, pitch-black hair that eventually trails off into the nothingness, or the piercing, glowing-red gaze peering down at him like he’s a mere insect.

[ You’ll… what? Tear your brain back open to get me out? Really now. ]

Hajime flounders desperately in an attempt to scoot backwards, but he doesn’t move an inch. He’s stuck floating in the same spot as impossibly-large hands come at him from both sides-- and proceed to cup around his ‘body’. Whatever form of gravity this place has suddenly comes into effect, his softly-glowing form tumbling into the palms of the shadow’s hands.

He lets out a terrified gasp as he’s lifted higher, to about the same level as those emotionless eyes.

For a moment, they both remain in silence. The shadow cocks its head, ever-so-slightly-- as though it were curious about its catch.

[ As I’ve already said, this is far from an ideal situation for you and me both. However, if there were a way to split our consciousnesses into separate entities, I would already be pursuing that course of action. As it stands, we are stuck together for the time being. ]

He flinches as its fingers move around him, thumbs moving closer and closer until they’re…

...Stroking him. Running over his back and head, impossibly gentle for such a massive creature.

[ Just know that I do not intend to harm you, Hajime Hinata, nor do I seek full control over your body. You will have it back once I am finished-- it would get boring very quickly if I held the reins for too long. For now, I just need you to calm yourself-- it’ll be irritating attempting to focus while also having to quell your struggling. ]

Seemingly involuntarily, Hajime finds himself letting out a long sigh, tenseness beginning to melt away from his ‘body’ and his actual, physical body at the same time. The shadow continues to carefully rub at him, massaging his shoulders and back-- it’s distracting enough that he can almost avoid looking at the unchanging, ominous eyes staring down at him, and enough that he almost doesn’t recognize how his physical body is changing.

The buildings around him are shifting, seemingly getting taller and taller with every breath. The process starts speeding up until, in a matter of seconds, they’re all looming over his body-- and Chiaki comes up to his chin instead of barely reaching his ankle.

And just like that, Hajime is gasping and coughing and swaying on wobbly knees, disoriented by suddenly regaining control of his lungs-- and the rest of his body-- once more. He nearly flinches at the sudden sensation of touch, as Chiaki’s hands quickly grab onto his shoulders to keep him from toppling over.

“I’m… Hajime, you’re really going to have to tell me what they did to you when we get out of here.”

He clears his throat in embarrassment and stands up straighter as he gets used to the feeling of his own body again, though he doesn’t exactly protest against letting Chiaki continue to support him.

“...Yeah, I’ll… I’ll try. It’s kind of a blur…”

(...Why didn’t you do that sooner?)

[ For protection, mostly, on the off chance that the facility staff attempted to incapacitate us. 

...That and it was rather enlightening to watch you and the girl attempting to get around the mental and physical barriers of your stature to display affection towards one another. ]

(Are you fucking kidding me.)

[ No. Also, please bathe at your earliest convenience. I regret that my brief experience with the sense of smell was fouled by your own body odor and the dirt clinging to your skin. ]

(Shut up. For the love of everything holy, shut up.)

[ I do not carry any particular fondness for any objects deemed by many cultures as ‘holy’-- ]

Hajime groans in exasperation, choosing to focus instead on Chiaki and being led away from the remains of the building behind them.

It… feels good just being near her again. Knowing he has a friend close by is comforting in and of itself-- probably his only friend at Hope’s Peak Academy, for that matter. One he’d come close to never seeing again, if he hadn’t been given a second chance.

“...So what’s going on with your eyes?”

He blinks, confused, before glancing over at her. “What do you mean?”

“One of them is red. And when you went back to normal, both of them were red. That’s not normal… I think.”

He freezes up momentarily at that-- and then he lets out another exasperated sigh before continuing to walk.

“It’s… a long story.”

(...But at least I’m still here to tell it.)

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Diary of the Writing Raven

Part 3 of the 1000+ follower milestone! A continuation of Raven lore (check out part 1 and part 2 for more context)!

Today, we will peak into the raven’s diary. Shhh, don’t tell anyone. The bulk of the entries are hidden under the cut--because a bird has to keep their secrets under lock and key!

***Warning: Spoilers for the main story campaign, particularly chapter 3 and chapter 4!***

Day 1

I am here. At Night Raven College.

There is a strange man. He calls himself my Uncle. He says that he is so very, very kind...and that he will give me a nest, a place to call home.

Uncle has given me this diary with which to record my thoughts. I will put it to good use.

I am thankful.

Day 32:

Uncle says I cannot stay in the attic writing.

He says I cannot stay in my cage forever.

Uncle says I must go out into the world.

He says it often.

I am scared.

Day 45

Uncle has given me robes.

He smeared things on my face.

There will be a ceremony of sorts, and I must attend.

...I am still scared.

Day 46

The ceremony is over.

I got lost on the way to the Mirror Chamber.

A weirdo chased me.

But...a nice person helped. Then he guided me to the ceremony.

He had very pretty eyes.

His name is Mon-sure Schemer? Mister Jade Leech. I hope I can see him again.

Day 49

I am so fortunate! I have stumbled upon Mister Jade again--this time in the hallway.

There was another Mister Jade with him. His name is actually Mister Floyd. They are brothers--twins, in fact! Eel mermen, too.

They look alike, but their personalities are quite different. It is a curious thing.

Mister Floyd is a little scary. He talks funny, and he is moody--but he promises he does not bite. He has taken to calling me “Black Pearly”.

They say they work at this “Mostro Lounge”, and that I should visit.

I am excited!

P.S. Mister Jade says I do not need to call them misters. I will be doing that!

Day 50

The Mostro Lounge is lovely! It has these glowing jellyfish lights, and seashell decorations. There is cool jazz, and a calming underwater ambiance.

Jade seats me and gives me recommendations. I don’t know what a lot of things on the menu are--Uncle has been feeding me mostly grain and small scraps of meat, trying to get me accustomed to human food.

Jade brings me a thing called Flounder’s Blue. He says it will be easier to hold down than solid food.

Flounder’s Blue comes in a short and stout glass. The liquid itself is actually yellow, with streaks of a blue drip swiped on the inside of the glass, and a blue...circle (?) stuck in, protruding out like a fin.

It tastes...sugary. I do not yet have the words in my vocabulary to properly describe it.

Jade tells me the circle is a “wafer”, the blue is a “syrup”, and the liquid is a “pineapple and cherry juice”.

I am learning many new things today.

Jade is so smart!

Day 54

I almost flopped at giving a presentation to Professor Trein’s class.

Floyd says it’s because I talk strangely, that I stutter and pause too much.

“Why can the Black Pearly write so much, but talk so little?” he asks. “You should tell Jade to tutor you, he’s pretty good with words!”

I have to agree with him. Jade taught me many new words in the Mostro Lounge before. I was embarrassed, but I asked him for help.

He was happy to oblige.

We will meet a few times each week to work on my speaking skills.

Day 59

I tripped and fell in P.E.--I am still no good at running.

Jade was sweet and helped patch me up.

I cried a little.

Okay, a lot.

He stayed with me until I stopped.

Day 71

I have gotten into the habit of visiting the Mostro Lounge every weekend.

The owner, Azul, is friends with the twins. He lets me sit at a table in the corner to do my work and practice speaking.

Jade sits with me and exchanges words.

He has me read stories I have penned aloud.

Sometimes he puts a plate of snacks or a drink in front of me and asks me to taste them, then describe the flavor to him. Other times, he points to people or things in the lounge and asks me to give my thoughts.

Once, he pointed at himself. I told him that he was very patient, that he was someone I trusted.

“Fufu. That is good to hear,” he says.

I also told him that his smile was beautiful.

Day 75

Today, I saw Jade’s true form.

We were swimming today in P.E., but I had to sit out. Ravens cannot swim.

Floyd and Jade were eager to get into the water. Their skin turns blue, and they sprout fins and long eel tails.

...I am not entirely certain why they lack clothing though? It must not be customary for merfolk.

They are having fun in the water.

I am glad.

Day 83

An angry Savanaclaw student came to me in the hallway after Alchemy.

He started to say something about the Leeches and deals, but Floyd told him to stop bothering me. In that moment...Floyd looked like a monster, all teeth and sharp edges.

Jade pulled me away and invited me to go hiking with him.

It sounds fun, but I am concerned about the Savanaclaw student.

Jade says to not fret.

So I listen.

Day 84

There is so much to see in the mountains!

Trees! Streams of water! Rocks! Dirt! Animals! Plants! The sky!

I want to experience everything at once. I am so excitable that I trip over my own two feet a few times--but it’s okay. Jade is always there to help me up.

His favorite thing about nature is mushrooms. He tells me all about them, and the places they like to hide.

I like listening to him talk. His voice is so deep and melodious--and his eyes sparkle when he is excited.

It’s very cute.

Day 86

Jade shows me the mushrooms he is cultivating, and his terrariums.

They are fascinating--each mushroom has its own personality, and each terrarium is like a miniature world.

A thought has wormed its way into my head as of late:

I wonder what it would be like to be a part of his world.

Day 90

It rained.

I shared an umbrella with Jade.

It was a little strange to be squished right next to him.

My heart would not stop pounding, and my cheeks were on fire.

Day 112

The days are growing colder, and shorter.

I wish that time did not fly so fast.

I want to spend more of it with Jade.

I need to return the jacket he lent me.

Day 120

Uncle is worried.

He says I spend too much time with “morally dubious” people.

He questions my ability to judge character.

He does not believe me when I tell him that Jade is a good person.

Uncle warns me to be careful.

I am being careful.

Day 132

Winter has set in.

Jade is kind enough to provide blankets and warm beverages for our study sessions.

At this point, I do not have many issues speaking, but...I do not want to stop. I want to learn more and more. I want to learn more about him.

I enjoy being by his side.

I hope he feels the same.

Day 139

We said our good-byes for the holiday break.

Uncle is taking me with him to a tropical island, and Jade is staying in Octavinelle.

I tell him I will miss him, even if it is just for a few weeks. He looks a bit sad, but he sends me off with a head pat and a smile.

Uncle offers to order me a tropical drink as we board the cruise ship. He tells me not to think of Leeches--those vile, blood-suckers, he calls them.

I say no thank you, but I dream of Flounder’s Blue.

Day 153

The new year has come.

It feels nice to be back on campus, to see Jade again.

We exchanged stories.

Not much happened on my end--I mostly sat indoors and wrote what I could to pass the time. Uncle was often up late into the night, partying and sipping on pina coladas.

Jade says that he helped a few friends and stopped a snake from tearing apart Scarabia. He even shows me a video.

How heroic of him!

I know that I can always count on Jade.

Day 166

I went shopping with Jade.

Floyd was in one of his infamous moods, and Azul is busy with school work--and Jade could not possibly restock ingredients for the Mostro Lounge all by himself.

It was quite busy in town--it made me nervous. I’ve never done well in big crowds of strangers.

Jade said I could hold his hand, if that made me feel any better.

It did.

And it reminded me of the day we first met.

Day 170

I’m still thinking about holding his hand.

Whenever I do, my heart quickens and my forehead begins to bead with sweat.

What is wrong with me?

Have I fallen ill?

Day 185

The students speak excitedly about this holiday known as “Valentime’s Day.” It is a time when you give gifts to the people you care for a lot. A common one is a sweet known as chocolate.

Jade laughed when I told him about it. He said it is actually “Valentine’s Day”, not “Valentime’s Day”. Silly me!

I asked him how many valentines he was expecting.

“None. Oh, woe is me. I appear to be rather unpopular among my peers, fufu.”

How could someone as amazing as him not get any valentines? It boggles my mind.

Day 186

I’ve decided.

I will give him a valentine.

Day 193

I’ve stopped writing stories and devoted most of my free time to researching recipes and designing chocolates.

I think he will like little mushroom-shaped ones. I’ll need to test the flavors out to see what works the best.

I hope the chocolates will bring a smile to his face.

I like his smiles.

Day 195

Oh no, diary.

I’ve realized.

I think I like him.

Day 197

The chocolates came out so well!

I’ve wrapped them up in a box and secured it with blue ribbon. There is an old nursery rhyme...

If you love me, love me true,

Send me a ribbon, a ribbon of blue.

Even if I cannot say those accursed three words...I hope that my feelings are able to come across. The curse cannot punish me for that, yes?

Day 198

I was a fool. I have been tricked. I was being used.

I heard them. I heard everything.

In the Mostro Lounge today...the octopus was speaking to them, the twins with the pretty eyes.

“This is not like you. You are working too slow,” the octopus said to the man I considered my friend.

“I apologize. She was...putting up much resistance. It can be rather difficult to form a connection with such a jittery bird.”

“That is your job,” the octopus sighed. “We need the raven on our side when we approach the headmaster about expanding the Mostro Lounge.”

I understand now--I understand it very well.

Those smiles, that kindness--they were smoke and mirrors.

To begin with, I was always destined to be a prop in someone else’s story. A convenience. Something to be used, then discarded once I am no longer useful.

I have overstepped my boundaries as a storyteller. I...should have remained on the sidelines, where I belong.

I...I know what I must do. I will not allow myself to be tricked a third time. Not by that old storyteller, and not by a slimy eel.

I will steel myself. I will build a wall—and none shall scale it. I will lock myself in a tower, or perhaps even a bird cage, and throw away the key.

To the man with the pretty eyes and the charming smile, farewell.

I’m glad that this raven was, at the very least, able to be a useful footnote in the pages of your story.

Day 201

He feeds me pretty lies and sweet nothings, day in and day out.

He tells me everything I want to hear--that it is a misunderstanding, a mistake. That things are different now. That he cares.

Uncle was right. Leeches are vile blood suckers.

Day 210

I reject his advances every chance I get.

I know they are all with ill intent to begin with.

Even so...no matter what I say or do, he always manages to get the upper hand in the conversation, the interaction.

I hate him.

I hate Jade Leech.

I hate how he is able to take my words away and render me speechless. Words are my only strength, my power as a storyteller. Without them, I am vulnerable. 

I don’t want to be the same weak and naive little bird I once was.

Day 213

It is unfair.

Maybe I am too kind, or too weak, or too gullible, but...I want to believe him.

I must put such thoughts behind me and move on.

Day 226

Uncle tells me that someone has sent a letter and a small package.

Into the trash the package goes--right where it belongs.

But the letter--that, I cannot bring myself to throw away.

It bears his handwriting, the very same gentle curves and slopes that taught me new words and phrases many an evening.

It is silly of me to be this sentimental--and over an eel, of all creatures!

So I stow the letter, unopened, in a drawer. It will remain there as a permanent reminder of my follies.

It is better this way.

I cannot be hurt.

I will not be used.

The curse will not kill me.

I can write stories, forever and ever.

This is...for the best. Isn’t it?

[sweeethinny]

can you do the roommate prompt "Person A thinks they’re doing a great job keeping their house plants alive but actually, Person B has secretly replaced them with identical-looking fake plants so Person A can’t kill them" for Hinny? thank you hehhehe :)

thankk youuu honey <3 i love write this  I had problems with the ending, but I think it was so cute that I didn't want to change it is an AU where they are muggles, and Ginny was born before Ron, who is now the youngest. hope you like <3

LIST 

--------------

They had been friends for a few decades, almost three, so when Ginny needed a home to live in after breaking up with Dean, it was not shocking to her family that she had moved in with Harry. His house was not as big as his parents', but it was very cozy, still a reminder to her that he came from a fortunate family and that all that luxury was more than ordinary, even if he had worked hard to be able to buy in an area farther from the city center. Harry was one of the big names in Hockey, there was no one living in England who did not recognize the surname Potter, which made him have more reason to live far from everything.

Ginny loved it, especially when Dean started to get sticky and go after her to try to get back what he had ruined (jealousy bordering on the possessive on her and Potter, without any reason ... or at least she hoped it was). The ex-fiance didn't know how to get to Harry's house, he was never even there, so it was a safe area and free from any public declaration of love that she could win (like that terrible serenade, at three in the morning on the street of Luna's apartment )

Harry liked it too, her company was amazing, the house was not so lonely anymore and now he had reason to return home when training was over. Not in a romantic way - even though he had already fantasized about it when he was 15. And for a millisecond, when they agreed with the idea - but in a friendly and way.

They shopped together, watched series on Harry's free nights, and had fun on the weekends, dancing on tables or climbing on the roof to sing cheesy songs and talk about nothing. Harry knew it would be an incredible experience.

He just didn't expect him to have to lie to her.

The two "met" at the nursery, when they could barely speak a full sentence, and were not sure how human relationships worked. Their mothers worked together at the Hospital, Lily - Harry's mother - and Molly - Ginny's - were doctors in different sectors, the first was a neurosurgeon and the other was a pediatrician, and it was by chance that they discovered that their children had a friendly relationship at the nursery, which meant the two of them playing a lot more time together. They went to the same school, and when they were able to formulate phrases that would allow them to maintain a reasonable dialogue, they became friends.

After that, there was no more day when Harry and Ginny were not seen together.

There were omissions at that time, small lies as when he had a not very friendly dream about her, but nothing that Harry thought would interfere with the functioning of they friendships.

But that ... well, he didn't know much.

Ginny had been so different since she broke up with Dean, buying plants of all kinds and attacking gardeners almost every day now that she had taken a vacation from work - and Harry thought that the leisure time helped the weird mood - she even painted three rooms in his house, claiming that it looked like a hospital that was so white and dull.

He didn't want to see her cry, but so far she hasn't shed a single tear, and after ending a relationship of almost 6 years, some reaction is to be expected. Right?

Maybe that was how she got it out.

The problem was not the changes in the decor, or the garden, or even his own appearance, since she had induced him to grow his hair and beard, no, the problem was that Ginny was the worst gardener Harry had ever had seen.

His mother cultivated one of the most beautiful gardens he was lucky enough to visit, even though he traveled all over the world, he had never seen a better and more organized one like Lily Potter's, always alive and colorful, and even in winter. mother managed to make everything beautiful. His father said that his wife always seemed to be doing surgery on the leaves, such concentration and devotion to the garden.

But Ginny's was just ... a mess.

And it wasn't even because of the mess he would complain about, it was fun to see her full of dirt, with a team cap, and her cheeks flushed with sunshine, talking about the newest acquisition and how she had been doing a good job .. And there lived the lie. Ginny was not doing it well, in fact, she killed far more than five seedlings, Harry was betting his fortune that none so far had survived. Not without him.

After seeing her smiling like a child because flowers were blooming all over the garden, he couldn't stop. Every time one died, or was close to death, he changed and fertilized everything again, following his mother's advice and trying to keep the mess she always left behind. Almost every night, Harry needed to sneak out of his own home to fertilize, water or replant some poor flower that hadn't survived in Gin's hands.

Harry didn't want her to suffer, and it seemed so important that it worked, that he didn't even think about it.

''Another flower was born'' She said smiling, appearing as soon as he opened the back door, the birds singing like crazy in the trees behind the house, the sun shining in the pool and across the garden, as well as in on top of Gin, making it look like a fucking flame lit up "I bought one more .. This one will stay inside" Well, that would be a problem. Harry thought. Being indoors, it ended her chances of not realizing that they were dying.

And that's how he ended up with several plants around the house, all of which were fake. Ginny was still wetting them as if she wanted to drown them, and then, there he was going to buy new pairs or just hope that he could still dry the poor things without mold spots appearing on their fake leaves.

He also continued with the garden work, which didn't seem as organized as his mother's, but was much better than the week he tried to trust Gin's endowments and ended up having to spend two hours taking care of the damage that had been done. .

His house was much greener than it had been in years, there were vines on the walls, a vertical garden in the TV room, and his dining room was almost a nonliving garden. Even though most of them were fake - Ginny had been so excited that she had managed to keep so many of her, always bringing a new one after work - he had realized how happy she was, which made him happy too.

Dean was no longer an issue, eventually Gin cried, after drinking two bottles of wine and watching a sweet romantic comedy on TV, and she was back at work, which left him with more time to replenish and take care of everything.

There were also strange things that Harry didn't want to comment or think about, for example the way he started to notice her legs, or the frequency in which his dreams of her came back as when he was 15, and we wouldn't even talk about that totally strange moment that two looked like they were going to kiss when they went swimming together. Gin was so close ... so fragrant.

But on the current night, when he came in from training later than usual, Harry knew he had been discovered. Maybe it was because of Gin's expression, but he suspected it was because of the plastic flower flying towards him, forcing him to dodge, listening to the clay vase breaking against the wall and the damp earth staining everything.

''Were you mistaken me?!'' she shouted.

Oh, the angry Ginny was always a problem.

''No'' Harry swallowed hard ''Well, yes, but you looked so happy ..'' And one more flower flew

''And instead of telling me I sucked at this, did you prefer to lie?'' Harry thanked that the neighbors were a good distance away, or else they would have noise complaints

''I didn't want to-- '' But he was stopped by another plant flying towards him.

''I thought we were friends'' Ginny sounded all dramatic and painful, as she always did, but Harry didn't want to laugh this time, she seemed to be really serious

''And we are. Gin .. Please put the pot down .. Gin, you looked so happy, and… fuck, I didn't know what to do to help you, you were all weird and nothing really seemed to cheer you up! ... I swear I did it because I wanted to see you smile again'' He said, sounding a lot calmer than he thought he could be. His heart looked like it was about to rip open his chest.

''You did this to ... Harry, you could have told me!'' She spoke a little lower this time, but still loudly

''I didn't want to see you sad!'' His voice came out loud this time ''It makes me sad to see you sad'' They were silent, Ginny looked around the entire room loaded with fake flowers, then at the big window that it overlooked the back of the house, the lit garden was all flowery and alive, seeming to glow in the night. There were roses, jasmines, lilies, and even, varied fruits scattered across the land. All bright and colorful.

Ginny approached, which made Harry instinctively want to take a step back, just to be safe. "You're a fucking romantic noble idiot" Then she kissed him.

[copperxxgalileo]

There was something so endearingly awkward about Junior in this moment. With as hot as he was, one might have expected him to be smoother or even arrogant, might have expected him to have too much confidence, which Copper had learned was a thing. But it was like Junior didn't know he was hot, didn't know what a catch he was (even beyond his appearance), and that just felt so sweet and pure to Copper. He had always thought Junior was one of the good ones, a kind, tender soul, and he wondered why he hadn't spent more time with the guy during school. It wasn't like Copper had thought he was better than Junior or anything, hadn't defended him out of some warped sense of superiority. No, Copper had never thought he was better than Junior, he had just been something of a popular loner, which maybe on paper didn't make sense. It was just that Copper had been busy in school, and he also hadn't exactly sought out people to try and cultivate friendships - they had just kind of come to him. It wasn't until college when Copper had begun to take a more active hand in the people he socialized with, and now he wished that he had been more forward when it came to Junior.

As he stood there with the man, Copper thought about what Junior had been through and how he seemed now, and damn, Copper admired him. Junior had been through so much, and not just bullying in high school, and he'd come out the other side; Copper thought he was so strong, and he couldn't stop smiling. The hug sent a tingling sensation through him, his skin prickling everywhere that Junior made contact, and Copper felt his face flush, smiling as they pulled away. But he kept it together, acting nonchalant, though Copper caught a sneaky glance at Junior's impressive form and the way his clothes fit him so perfectly. It was a marvel that Junior might not realize just how attractive he was. But Copper didn't want to be too forward, didn't want to make Junior uncomfortable - a guy like this had to be seeing someone, after all, and Copper was genuinely glad to see him and talk to him, not just because he was hot and the kind of guy Copper would have picked up in a bar or something. And he was glad when Junior didn't ask for details about what had happened in Seattle, giving him a soft, appreciative smile. "Thanks," Copper replied quietly, reaching out to rest his hand on Junior's shoulder, both a gesture of gratitude and a way to ground himself, not wanting to get lost in his memories, as he was prone to do. "It means I'm back though, and I'm trying to see the positive in that," he went on. "I missed Shrike a lot...and I missed the people." For a moment, he just looked at Junior, eyes locked and smiling, and then Copper added, "I'm glad to see you're still here."

"Yeah, it is, thanks," Copper replied with a nod. "When I came back, I sort of needed something that made me happy, and swimming is it, s this seemed like the perfect fit," Copper stated, not elaborating on why he needed that so much. "You should definitely come!" he exclaimed, leaning toward Junior against the counter. Junior was blushing, and damn if it wasn't adorable. Everything Junior was doing was working for Copper, and he had to constantly remind himself to reel it in. Even so, Copper couldn't help but be a little flirty with his former classmate. "I bet you're a pretty good swimmer," Copper told Junior, looking him up and down and adding, "You have the body for it. I can just picture you gliding through the water." And that was what Copper did for a few seconds before catching himself, banishing the image from his mind because it was such a nice thought. Hopefully soon though he'd make it a reality. Smiling, Copper patted Junior on the shoulder and replied, "Thanks Junior. It's good to be back." And that was mostly true, though obviously Copper wished it were under better circumstances. His smile grew at Junior's next comment, asking, "Guys like me?" Copper wanted to know what Junior meant by that and if it had something to do with how much he was blushing.

As they continued talking, Copper tried not to stare because he really wanted to spend time with Junior, and not just because Copper suddenly felt incredibly attracted to him. It was just nice talking to someone who fit into that special, exclusive category of people he'd had a connection with before leaving but not quite a strong enough one that he had to pretend to be the way he was before his life had been destroyed. With Junior, Copper didn't have to pretend, and that was kind of refreshing. "Do you live near Galen?" Copper asked, wondering if they ever hung out. When Junior complimented him as well, Copper beamed, blushing too. "Thanks," he replied, and then - deciding to be just a tiny bit more forward - added, "That's always nice to hear coming from a hot guy." Copper grinned at Junior, laughing a little and resting his hand on the man's wrist, giving it a little squeeze. For a moment, Copper considered what he wanted to say and if he even wanted to, fearful of making Junior uncomfortable. But the he decided to just do it, and he asked, "Listen Junior, I was wondering if you wanted to hang out, like...somewhere not here while you're working. We can go to my place if you want, or yours, or anywhere. I just...I just really want to spend more time catching up, preferably somewhere private." Copper wanted it to be just the two of them, somewhere they could just be them and talk and spend time together.

" it's great to see you , honestly , " due to the shock factor that came with the surprise of copper's presence , along with the way that junior was generally terrible at speaking to guys - particularly those who were noble and attractive , as he knew copper to be - he was struggling to find the right words to say to him . " it's definitely a very pleasant surprise , " he nodded his head to his own words , there being an ounce of awkwardness in his tone that was thankfully drowned out by the sincere and happy surprise that he felt . there had always been an extra layer of awkwardness coming from junior whenever he was around copper , as he honestly felt embarrassed that the man had seen him so vulnerable , the victim of bullying ; at the same time as feeling this awkwardness , however , now that junior was seeing copper once again , and now that he was seeing how kind copper was to him , and how pleased copper was to see him - even despite what he had seen him subjected to in high school - junior felt an added layer of comfort around the man , a silent reassurance that he didn't need to be embarrassed for what had happened in the past . considering how much the past controlled junior , it was awfully nice to have that feeling with copper .

when copper moved in for a hug , junior was slightly taken aback . he couldn't remember the last time that he shared such affection with somebody like copper - someone outside of junior's very few and very close friends - but with copper , it wasn't unwelcome . remembering every time copper stood up for him when others wouldn't , junior felt comfortable with copper , he felt safe , even , which was quite a rare feeling for junior to experience . so needless to say , the hug was very welcome affection . he wrapped his arms around copper , more than happy to hold on to him for as long as copper allowed , and once they pulled away , the blushing was mutual . junior didn't think that copper would miss the way his cheeks had heated up , all he could really do was hope that he wouldn't make a big deal about it . " sorry to hear it , " he said . though he didn't know what had happened in seattle , going off of copper's tone and words , he assumed that things not working out were a bad thing ; despite this , he wasn't going to push and pry for the details .

" oh , that's really great , " junior smiled at the news of copper's workplace , remembering him to be a swimmer , much like their mutual friend tj . " i'll have to go down there for a swim sometime , when you're working , " he decided , even though logically it made less sense as junior had an indoor pool in his apartment building , and wasn't quite sure that he'd make it out alive and not fatally flustered , seeing copper at the pool he worked at . if he hadn't been blushing already , his cheeks definitely would have warmed over the thought ; he tried to move past it quickly . " it's good to have you back , " junior told him , being sincere , while also wanting to move past the vague comment about what had been happening in shrike lately . " shrike could always use more guys like you , " as soon as junior spoke those words , his blush deepened ; perhaps he was a bit too honest with that comment . he tried to move on quickly , as if afraid of copper thinking too much about his words . " well i'm still just ... here , " though of course , the comic book store had moved from the plaza that was now extinct to make place for the mall , where they were now . " and still living up in the darling complex , " where galen lived also , it turned out . " thank you , " his heart soared at the compliment , his words coming out quieter than previously in result . " you look ... as good as ever , " he blushed .

[off-in-the-moors]

TRC rewrite: Main characters

Why? Because The Raven Cycle is a mess. From the setting, through characters and to the plot, everything is a mess on a foundations of good ideas. It feels like Margaret took three to four different drafts, stitched them together and switched around events, e.g. things that should be in book 1 are in book 3, etc.

So, here is my attempted to rewrite the Gangsey.

Blue

curly, damaged, black hair kept short; brown eyes and light brown skin

short and stocky, with a big eyes; untamed, arched eyebrows; and round nose

1/4 black, 3/4 white (Maura is 1/2 black, and Artemus is welsh)

her father, Artemus, was a history professor, focusing on British Isle (especially Wales)

when she was 14, her father's ghost appeared on Saint Mark's Eve, he suddenly died few months, leaving Blue devastated

was very close with her dad, didn't forgive her mother for not trying to save Artemus

straightens and clips down her hair to make it resemble hers dad's

owns a pink switch blade, which was once red, she stole from her father's stuff, uses it mostly to cut plants

knows a lot about plants, helps cultivated and collect them for the family business

interested in and actively looks for paranormal (magic, cryptids, you name it), interest seeded by her parents

went to public school, but after middle school was pulled out for homeschooling

works two part-time jobs, as a waitress at Nino's and a dog-walker, to have her own money

a psychic but her power makes it impossible to work as one

makes and remakes her own clothes, isn't good at it but she loves it

loves knitting sweaters for her friends and family

wears colorful, often clashing outfits with a lots of accessories

loves color blue, always has something blue in her outfit, even if only as an accent color

vegetarian

knows Adam from middle school, keeps warm relations with him (introduced her to his friends)

spends her Sundays with her family (e.g. hitch-hiking with her mother, helping with Calla, making sweater and clothes with Persephone, painting nails with Orla)

know few phrases in Estonian, thanks to Persephone

opinioned, independent and bold

environmentalist

Gansey

tousled, always preciously styled, brown hair; dark brown eyes, light skin

average but quite square built (looks stiff), straight nose, shadows and bags under eyes, often has pieces of mint leaves stuck it teeth

the shortest guy of the Gangsey

born with a silver spoon in his mouth

at ten, almost died from wasp stinks but survived thanks to "Glendower", obsessed with finding him ever since

insomniac, his grands and health suffers from it

was in the rowing team, until he slept through training and hit team-mate with a oar

has the power to commend people, but it's weak

loves mint-flavor things, borders on obsession

owns five different types of mint plants (Ronan named them)

makes mistakes in his research and normal day to day actions from lack of sleep, needs help of others

his mom buys him clothes

doesn't understand the value of money, mostly throws it around and leads people with no need to return it

needs glasses but often losses them (even worse with contacts), in the beginning of the story he's on his seventh pair

doesn't have friends outside the "Gangsey"

awkward about feelings and crushes, can't deal with them

has slit ADHD, needs to do something with his hands

perfectionist, fixes mistakes of others, brushes problems off

good at social interactions but horrible at maintaining relationships

after his grands suffered too much and his search for Glendower effected his school life, his parents cut him off from finances as a punishment

with Adam's help, found a job as a cashier at a grocery store, actually loves it

needs time to remember people's names

Ronan

curly, dark brown (almost black) hair, always shaven; blue eyes, pale skin (burns easily)

tall (tallest of the Gangsey) and quite muscular, angular face, narrow eyes, multiple scars on arms and few on face (oddly proud of them)

he's a copy of his own father, Niall Lynch (looks like a younger version of him)

shaved his head and got tattoos, after he discovered he's a copy, to resemble Niall as little as possible

dresses in what his father would never wear

has only one real tattoo, a Celtic cross on the back of his neck base, the rest of his back is dreamt up

the dream tattoo always changes, reflecting Ronan's mental/emotional state, but always has motifs of wings/feathers and branches twisting into Celtic knots

tried to stop dreaming up stuff multiple times, but it caused him headache and nausea, eventually ending in physical harm, went the dream "gets out"

confused about who or what he is

self-destructive, has no regards for his own safety

has a very strain relationship with Declan, envies his "realness"

vegan, loves animals and hates people who harm them

loves speed and racing, oddly proud of his speeding-tickets

believes for a long time, only Kavinsky understands him, but their "friendship" is complicated

doesn't allow anyone to touch Chainsaw (dream creatures are very personal to a dreamer)

tries to figure out what HE likes, and find his OWN path (even if it means craving it out)

touched starved

loves nature, can spend hours outside just sitting and thinking

acts and speaks before thinking, got himself in trouble for that many times (gets physical quiet often)

helps in the family "dream trade" business, doesn't want any of his creations near him, Chainsaw is the only exception

feels drawn to Cabeswaters, but he preferably would just burn it

knows Irish, speaks it when frustrated

before Niall's death, trained tennis and played on bagpipes (uilleann pipes), but stopped after his father's murder hates boxing

Adam

short, self-cut, light red-ish brown hair; grey eyes, tan skin with a lot of moles and freckles

skinny, deep-set eyes and a downturned lips

has only a backpack of his own stuff and a bike

deals with Gansey's antics only for a chance to escape his father and his living situation

lives with Gansey, Ronan and Noah in Monmouth

prioritises his education over his friendship with "Gangsey"

very frugal, keeps a "change jar"

mostly wears his wash-out Coca-Cola t-shirt, he bought with his first pay

the most sceptical about magic, still very cautious of it

hates loud sounds and physical contact

hates taking money from people and having money spend on him, but he knows he needs it

has three part-time jobs, including his favourite at the garage

loves cars, dreams about buying his own one day

afraid of heights and flying, childhood trauma

opportunist

highly values his independence

never refuses food

sacrificed his "hands and eyes" to Cabeswater, not only to wake the Ley Lines but also to escape his former life for good, seeing it as the only way (partly tricked by the forest)

deaf on the left ear but hears Cabeswater whispering to him through it

actively "fights" with Cabeswater for control (his way or the high way)

owns a old Nokia phone, only bought it to stay in contact with Gansey knows how to sew and dress a wound

Noah

messy, pale blond hair; light blue eyes, pale skin with a dark spot on the left side of his face

faded and lean; small, lively eye; bright, wide smile

kept him pretty much the same, but also add

sarcastic with a dry (and sometimes dark) sense of humor

"I'm the oldest one, so you should listen to me sometimes."

his Aglionby uniform always looks crinkled and dirty

doesn't remember most of his "living life"

gets his memories back from seeing/visiting people/places he knew

his emotional state effects his corporal form, e.g. strong negative emoticons make him less visible

music helps him stay visible

still loves Blink-182 (Ronan pirated him all their albums, including those he missed)

misses skateboarding, swimming, spending time with his old friends and family, and filling the weather

doesn't remember his death, only the pain

likes to wander around Henrietta

likes anything glitter, reminds him of his sisters

gave Adam permission to take his old Mustang, "If you can bring it to live, Parrish."

his disappearance is still a talked subject in Aglionby

sometimes mumbles or swears something no one understand, took Gangsey time to figured out it was polish

+ Bonus

Chainsaw

Ronan's first dream creature (or at the time Ronan believes so)

quite small for a raven

senses Ronan's emotions, always tries to comfort him by burying into his neck or "grooming" him

can speak single works but they sound very corrupted, e.g. "kerah" is a corrupted version of "cara" (irish for "friend")

at the beginning called Ronan Greywaren, but with time it change to "creātor" (creator), "somniator" (dreamer) and finally "cara" (friend), reflecting Ronan's own view of himself

likes to collect and bring Ronan small things, e.g. pen caps, leaves or pieces of newspapers

gets close only to people Ronan likes and/or trusts

If you have any questions or opinions to share, please send me an ask.

Thank you, for your attention :)

[knuffled]

just practice - chapter eight

it’s finally here! sorry for the wait, but this chapter was a complete pain in the ass to write: i had to scrap seven thousand words and redo everything from scratch, so i hope everyone enjoys it. if you did, it would mean the world to me if you reblogged because i nearly went insane writing this.

also, i highly recommend rereading the earlier chapters, especially chapter one, before reading this one because there’s a lot of references to them here.

here's a song rec to go with this chapter: mt. washington - local natives

here’s the ao3 link

It was a good day for a cross country meet. The sky was clear and blue, and the midday sun radiated just enough warmth to undercut the chill in the early November air. Still, Annabeth was glad that she’d had the foresight to wear yoga pants beneath her track shorts and an under armor shirt under her jersey – she had never dealt well with the cold, after all.

As she stretched her hamstrings, Annabeth surveyed her competition, many of whom had placed very highly at last year’s State championship, and took note of the solemn looks on their faces. It was almost totally silent. In an effort to maintain focus, hardly anyone spoke at all. There was a unique electric tension in the air that felt heavier and more oppressive than in any of the other meets Annabeth had competed in, presumably because everyone was hyper-aware of the caliber of their competition. Everyone here had been invited because of their abilities after all. This was the best that the State had to offer.

In many ways, this meet would be the perfect litmus test for the State championship in February. It would give everyone a chance to gauge their skills in relation to the runners who would be their biggest competition when State rolled around, which would be invaluable. Apart from the championship, there weren’t any other meets that brought together runners from all across the state.

One of the meet’s organizers announced that the women’s five kilometer would begin shortly through a crackly megaphone just as Annabeth finished her final set of stretches. Annabeth took a moment to shut her eyes and breathe in deeply before making her way to the starting line, which was where the dirt trail disappeared into the forest.

The trail was only big enough to allow four or five girls to stand side by side, so Annabeth had to jostle through a sea of elbows towards the front to find a spot that she was happy with. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Reyna taking her place farther behind her, closer towards the middle of the pack. Her face was impassive, but there was an intense concentration that shone in her eyes as she stared ahead of her. When their eyes met, Reyna gave her a curt nod of acknowledgement but didn’t smile.

That was right, Annabeth reminded herself. They weren’t here to be friends. They were here to win.

Annabeth offered her a nod in return before turning back and sharpening her focus. She had never run this particular course before, but Coach Davis had briefed her about it earlier during the week. The course itself was a large loop that went into the forest and circled back, but Coach had warned her that the terrain was very uneven and littered with slopes. When she had heard that, Annabeth found herself grateful, not for the first time, for her decision to train with Reyna. The trail they had run on had been brutal enough that Annabeth felt undaunted by whatever the invitational’s course would throw at her.

There was a droning tension in the air once they all settled in their places and waited for the race to begin. Annabeth strained to hear the fire of the gun along with them, every muscle in her body taut with anticipation. She could feel the steady pulse of her heartbeat through her bones and noticed the way time slowed as one of the organizers lifted his gun skyward.

Annabeth barely registered the ensuing gunshot but years of cultivated instinct propelled her into motion fractions of a second later nonetheless.

She took off into the woods and quickly found herself a spot close towards the front of the pack. There were ten or so girls ahead of her, but she wasn’t in any rush to blow past them quite yet.

Annabeth had always mentally broken up races into three distinct phases. There was the initial scramble to find a place, but the lion’s share of the race was spent maintaining a steady pace, one that was not so slow that she’d fall too far behind but not so fast that she burned all of her stamina before the end. The plan was to abandon her pace only towards the end of the race, so until then, she was perfectly fine with not being in the lead. The worst thing that could happen now was if she succumbed to panic and disrupted her rhythm.

Within the first six minutes, Annabeth managed to surge ahead into ninth place without anyone passing her, but shortly after, however, Annabeth grimaced as she spotted Reyna out of her peripheral vision. Considering her pace, it would only take seconds before Reyna overtook her. A rush of panic flooded through her for a moment, urging her to quicken her pace, before Annabeth quickly suppressed it.

Don’t break your rhythm.  

Still, Annabeth couldn’t help feeling a swell of dismay when she saw Reyna breeze past her with that immaculate form of hers and quickly force her way into second.

Annabeth bit her lip hard in an effort to regain her focus. If she paid too much attention to Reyna, she would inevitably drift from the pace she had set. Just because she was ninth right now didn’t mean she still would be at the end of the race. Besides, she could tell that the girls ahead of her were having a hard time with the way the course sloped up and down constantly. Her moment would come. She just needed to be patient.

Two thirds of the way through the race however, another flare of panic sparked in her chest when two girls passed her within seconds of each other, putting her in twelfth.

This wasn’t good.

If she didn’t do something, she wouldn’t have enough time to make up the distance. It wasn’t ideal but seeing as there was only a third of the race remaining, Annabeth had no qualms about accelerating her pace. Although her increase was subtle, the girls ahead of her were beginning to fatigue and slow down, allowing her to move into sixth place with a fourth of the race left to run.

Annabeth’s pace had grown faster the closer she drew to the finish line, and by the time she reached the half-mile mark, she had launched into a full blown sprint. The girls ahead of her did the same, but Annabeth blew past them into fourth place. It was still possible for her to pass Reyna, but the odds were slim.

She could see the finish line now. Annabeth drew on the last reserves of her stamina to pass the girl in third, only catching a fleeting glimpse of the dark look of frustration on her face.

But, despite everything, Reyna was still too fast.

There was simply too much distance between them for Annabeth to beat her. However, she could still get second place. Annabeth ignored the burn in her lungs and the ache in her legs and pressed onwards, even faster now.

When Reyna crossed the finish line, there were still fifteen meters between the girl in second and Annabeth, but only fifty meters to the finish line. Annabeth desperately tried to draw on more reserves of stamina, anything that would give her even the slightest increase in speed, but there was nothing left to give. She was already giving more than her body could handle – it was mainly thanks to the adrenaline pumping through her veins that she was this close to begin with.

In the end, Annabeth came up short. She had been close enough to reach out and touch her, but the girl in second crossed the finish line two seconds before her.

After coming to a stop, Annabeth leaned over and pressed her hands to her knees as she swallowed great lungfuls of oxygen. She punched her treacherous, trembling thighs and tried to ignore the bitter disappointment welling up inside her, but she was too tired to bother.

It wasn't even the fact that she didn’t get second that upset her most – no what was worse was that, even after giving more than a hundred percent, she still hadn’t even come close to beating Reyna. It was the knowledge that even her best wasn’t enough. That was what hurt the most.

There was a part of her that wanted to collapse on the grass and scream, but she forced herself to head to one of the tents the organizers had set up to grab herself a bottle of water instead. Annabeth took the first bottle she could find and sank into a plastic folding chair with a groan, finishing the entire thing in one go before throwing it into a garbage and staring up at the tent’s off-white ceiling.

Of course, one of the organizers announced that the awards ceremony was ready to begin just as she was beginning to get comfortable because why not. Annabeth suppressed a groan and dragged a hand over her face – she did not want to stand up right now. Nonetheless, she grit her teeth and somehow forced herself to the other tent where the ceremony was being held.

Reyna and the girl in second place were already there when Annabeth arrived, but she made a pointed effort to avoid meeting their eyes. There was a small crowd there as well, composed of the friends and family of the competitors, but there wouldn’t be anyone Annabeth knew among them: Percy had a swim meet, Jason’s race still wasn’t over yet, and none of her other friends knew about the meet. Having to stand before a crowd of applauding strangers, a bronze medal clutched tightly in her fists, was apparently only the cherry on top of the banana split of abuses she was destined to suffer today.

The whole affair was, thankfully, mercifully short. Annabeth left the tent immediately afterwards so that no one would have a chance to stop and talk to her. Her intended destination had been the parking lot, but it only took a few steps for her to realize her legs were still too noodly to embark on such an arduous journey. So instead, Annabeth found herself a nice patch of grass where she could lie down and promptly threw her arm over her eyes to escape the insulting brightness of the sun.

It was hard to say how long she stayed like that, but her exhaustion had pushed her dangerously close to falling asleep before someone sat down beside her.

“It was a good race.”

Annabeth raised her arm to peek up at Reyna who was sitting beside her, her knees hugged close to her chest. The temptation to ignore her briefly crossed her mind before Annabeth sighed and forced herself to sit up. Competition always did bring out the worst in her.

“It was,” Annabeth admitted, brushing the grass off the back of her jersey.  

Reyna cocked her head to the side and stared intently at her. “You don’t seem too pleased.”

Annabeth shrugged and said, “To be fair, I’m rarely pleased.”

Reyna surprised her when she held her stomach and laughed. It was the first time Annabeth had heard her laugh – there was a rich, deep, almost raspy quality to it. Annabeth didn’t know if it was because Reyna seemed so guarded all the time, but there was something disarmingly charming about her when she laughed.

“You were seriously amazing,” Annabeth said, sighing.

“So were you,” Reyna said, raising an eyebrow. “Getting third is an amazing accomplishment.”

Annabeth shrugged in a way she hoped was nonchalant. “That was mostly because you were generous enough to let me run with you.”

Reyna snorted and said, “False modesty isn’t a good look on you.”

Annabeth forced herself to breathe to keep from snapping at her – Reyna hadn’t meant any harm, she reminded herself.  

“I’m serious – training with you was super helpful. It helped me break out of a rut that I’d been stuck in for nearly a month.”

Reyna appraised her silently for a few moments before she smiled. “Well, I’m glad it helped.”

Annabeth nodded and picked at the grass in an effort to distract herself before Reyna cleared her throat and said, “Have you thought about what I asked you last time?”

It took her a moment to understand what Reyna was talking about before Annabeth realized that she was referring to how she’d asked her out.

“I have,” Annabeth said slowly. “I gave it a lot of thought, but I’m sorry but my answer is still the same. I don’t think I can go out with you.”

She was surprised to see Reyna deflate slightly – she honestly hadn’t thought it would have mattered much to her. Annabeth couldn’t help feeling a little bad, especially after she realized how shitty her timing had been.  

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” Annabeth said quickly. “I should’ve picked a better time. I didn’t mean to ruin your victory or anything.”

Reyna sighed and leaned back on her elbows. “No, it’s fine. I’m the one who asked after all.”

Annabeth shifted in place and said, “I know it’s a dumb cliche, but it’s really not because of you or anything. Like, I think you’re amazing–”

“It’s fine, Annabeth,” Reyna interrupted. “I knew what I was getting myself into. I’m just glad that you took it seriously and gave it a lot of thought.”

Annabeth nodded, unsure of how to respond. There was something about Reyna that made her feel timid almost. Maybe it was because of how imposing she was, or perhaps it was the novelty of being asked out by a girl.

“I hope we can still be friends,” Annabeth ventured. “If you’re fine with that, I mean.”

“Yeah, of course,” Reyna said, sounding surprised. “I thought I might have been making you uncomfortable or something.”

Annabeth shook her head and said, “No, not at all.”

An almost shy smile danced on Reyna’s lips. “Well, in that case, I’d very much like to be friends.”

“Yeah?” Annabeth asked, smiling.

“Yeah.”

It looked like Reyna was about to say something more, but she was interrupted by a familiar voice calling Annabeth’s name. Annabeth shielded her eyes from the sun to look for whoever had called her, only to gape when she saw Percy walking over to her, his hands stuffed in the front pocket of the partially unzipped black sweatshirt he was wearing.

“Percy? What are you doing here?” Annabeth asked incredulously, standing up. “I thought you had a swim meet?”

Percy stopped in front of her and shrugged, an easy grin sliding across his face. “Turns out they cancelled my meet last minute, so I made my way over here.”

Annabeth found herself grinning, unable to suppress her excitement. “How long have you been here?”

“I got here a bit before your race started. I saw you stretching, but I didn’t want to say anything in case I broke your focus,” Percy said, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Did you make another one of those awful signs of yours?”

“Wow, rude?” Percy said. “It takes a lot of work to think of new puns every time, you menace.”

Annabeth found herself rolling her eyes. “You’re not really answering my question.”

“Well, unfortunately , I didn’t have enough time to make one on such short notice,” Percy sniffed.

“A true tragedy,” Annabeth said solemnly.

A beat passed before they both burst into laughter. Somehow, the disappointment she’d been feeling about the race wasn’t as crushing anymore. Annabeth still had no idea how he did that, even though she’d known him all these years – it was like a superpower almost.

Percy somehow knew what was on her mind, like he always did, because he softened and offered her a warm smile.

“I know you’re probably not happy since you were so close to getting second, but I still think you were brilliant,” he said, opening his arms for a hug.

Annabeth managed a scratchy laugh and shook her head. “I’ll pass. I’m all gross and sweaty right now.”

She didn’t even have enough time to make a sound of surprise when Percy pulled her into his arms all the same.

“What are you doing?” Annabeth whispered.

“Shh, I’m being your boyfriend right now,” Percy mumbled.

Annabeth froze, her arms stuck at her sides, as Kara’s words echoed in her mind: Anyone could tell that he was super in love with you.

She pulled away from his embrace and coughed surreptitiously, her eyes trained resolutely on her feet. Her heart raced in her chest and her thoughts were fragmented, like shards of broken glass, as they tried desperately to read into what Percy had meant. Had Kara been right after all? Was he just playing the role Annabeth had asked him to play? Or was it something else entirely?

It was only after Reyna stood up and cleared her throat that Annabeth felt herself come back down to Earth. Her cheeks flushed as she realized she’d totally forgotten Reyna had been there watching the entire time.

“I should probably get going,” Reyna said slowly.

“Oh, um, yeah,” Annabeth said, trying not to sound too flustered.

Reyna her hands balled into fists by her sides as her eyes flitted between Percy and Annabeth. There was an intensity to her expression that suggested she had something more to say but she just sighed.

“I’ll text you later?” Reyna said.

Annabeth didn’t trust her capacity to form words at that moment so she settled for nodding. Reyna lingered for a little longer and stared at Percy, her mouth set in a hard line, before she turned on her heels and left.

After Reyna was gone, Percy turned to Annabeth, a wry smile on his face, and said, “Do you want to head to Martha’s? I could kill for some fries right now.”

Annabeth barely registered what Percy had said because of the way her thoughts ricocheted in her brain like particles rebounding inside an accelerator. If it hadn’t been for her encounter with Kara, Annabeth wouldn’t have thought much of what just happened, but now her mind was unconsciously beginning to piece together subtle details in Percy’s mannerisms, body language, expressions, and words, details that she wouldn’t have typically noticed.

“Are you jealous?” Annabeth asked incredulously.

Percy blinked in surprise. “What?”

“Are you jealous of Reyna?”

“Why would I be jealous of her?” Percy asked, brows knitting together.

To anyone else, his deception would have been perfect, but Annabeth knew him better that she knew herself, so she noticed the way his eyes had flitted to the side, so quickly it couldn’t be called an instant, just before he’d answered.

Annabeth paused for a moment and said, “I was just turning her down, you know?”

A myriad of unspoken emotions flashed in Percy’s eyes before he mustered a wan smile. “As your fake-boyfriend, I am relieved to hear you say that.”

Annabeth pursed her lips. There it was again, that strange undercurrent in his voice. She knew how he sounded when he was just teasing – it wasn’t this heavy. He was hiding something from her again. She repressed the immediate instinct to press him about it, even though she wanted to do nothing more. After the consequences of the last time she’d given in to that part of herself and torturing herself for it all week, Annabeth was not going to make the same mistake.

No, she would not break Percy’s trust like that, never again.

Annabeth stomached the frustration boiling in her stomach and cleared her throat. “Well, good. As long as you understand.”

The tension hung heavily in the air for a little while longer until Annabeth’s fatigue caught up to her and her knees buckled beneath her. Percy caught her before she fell and looped her arm around his neck so she could rest her weight against him, his free hand resting on her hip for support. He hummed under his breath when Annabeth murmured her thanks and helped her towards the parking lot.

She could feel his pulse through her forearm, steady and gentle, like always. Something about that made a cocktail of emotions swirl inside her. It was hard to make sense of these newfound, conflicting feelings of betrayal and implicit trust, wariness and fondness, distance and warmth.

This wasn’t them, and she hated it.

Once they stopped in front of her car, Percy waited for her to fish her keys from her pocket before he helped her inside. He crouched in the door frame, his fingers drumming an erratic beat against the top of the car, and watched Annabeth buckle her seat belt with a slight frown on his face.

“You are okay to drive, right?”

Annabeth mustered a smile and nodded. “I’ll be fine.”

“It’s fine if you don’t want to hang out,” Percy said quietly. “Don’t force yourself.”

“That’s not it. I’m just disappointed about the race is all,” Annabeth lied.

The unmasked concern that shone in his eyes made Annabeth want to cry. She bit her lip and stared at her lap to avoid seeing that earnest look on his face, but she could feel the worry radiating from him all the same. Percy lingered for a few more seconds before he stepped back and buried his hands in the pockets of his sweatshirt.

Annabeth cleared her throat and said, “I’ll meet you at Martha’s in like an hour. I have to get home and shower and change.”

“Okay,” Percy said slowly. “I’ll see you there then?”

When Annabeth nodded, Percy opened his mouth like he wanted to say something before he hit his leg softly with his fist. He gave her a thin smile before turning and heading to his car.

Annabeth counted to thirty before she allowed herself to slam her forehead against the steering wheel. She hated lying to him, more than anything, but it was better than Percy reading too much into her foul mood and somehow discovering she’d gone behind his back and spoken to Kara. Annabeth had never been very good at keeping things from him, and she was terrified of what would happen if he pressed her on her strange behavior.

She started her car and pulled out of the parking lot, her fingers turning white around the steering wheel. As Annabeth drove along the highway, a lump formed in her throat that refused to disappear no matter how much she swallowed.

:::

Annabeth was the first to make it to Martha’s, even though she’d walked. When she arrived, there were a few regulars sitting at the countertop conversing quietly. A few of them gave her a nod of acknowledgement but otherwise kept to themselves. Annabeth found an empty booth by the windows and sat down, her elbows resting on the table. Percy hadn’t texted her that he was running late or anything, so she decided to wait for a while before she called him.

Thankfully, she didn’t have to wait long because Percy’s blue Honda Accord pulled into the parking lot only a few minutes later. Percy looked slightly out of breath as he jogged into the dinner, the sleeves of his black sweatshirt pulled up to his elbows.

“Sorry I’m late,” Percy said breathlessly.

Annabeth shrugged. “It’s fine. I already ordered some fries and milkshakes for us, but I didn’t think you’d mind.”

Percy slid into the seat opposite her and flashed her a grin. “As long as you got me a chocolate milkshake, I’m satisfied.”

“Some things never change, huh?” Annabeth said, a small smile on her lips. “Same flavor since third grade, right?”

“Only here though. Most of the other places just dump Hershey’s syrup into a vanilla milkshake and call it a day,” Percy said, sounding disgusted.

Annabeth’s smile widened despite herself. “Blasphemous.”

Percy threw his hands up in the air and said, “Exactly! It’s false advertising! Misleading the customer and all that.”

“You should file a complaint or something,” Annabeth said mildly. “Not sure who you’d send it to though.”

“The president obviously.”

That managed to coax a laugh out of Annabeth. “I’m pretty sure he has better things to do.”

“It’s a matter of national importance, Annabeth!” Percy protested. “Frankly, it’s un-American. Goes against everything our founding fathers stood for.”

“Unfortunately, they didn’t have the capacity to imagine humanity was capable of such treachery. Otherwise, I’m sure it would have made it into the Constitution,” Annabeth said, sighing melodramatically for effect.

Percy grinned and said, “You stole the words right out of my mouth.”

“To be fair, the founding fathers aren’t exactly the best barometer for moral standards, seeing as how almost all of them were insanely racist and everything.”

“Careful, Annabeth,” Percy said. “It sounds like you’re implying the ideas of a bunch of old white dudes from the 17th century might not have been a good foundation for government.”

“18th century,” Annabeth corrected. “You always have to add one to whatever the century was.”

Percy flopped his head against the seat back and sighed. “Fuck, yeah, this is the 21st century. I always forget to do that.”

That was when their waitress came by with their fries and shakes. Percy immediately took a long sip of his milkshake, emptying nearly half of it as Annabeth took a handful of fries. The fries at Martha’s were nothing short of divine – they were perfectly crispy on the outside, but fluffy on the inside, with a sprinkle of sea salt on top that somehow managed to coat each fry just the right amount.

They were mostly quiet as they devoured their fries and shakes. Annabeth, in particular, ate more fries than she probably should have, but she couldn’t help it. After such an intense meet, her stomach was ravenous for anything edible. It was fine, she told herself. Her metabolism would take care of it.

Annabeth stole the last fry off Percy’s plate, making him scowl, and suppressed a groan as she ate it – it had been too long since she’d come here.

“I think the last time we were here together was after the first meet of the season,” Percy said suddenly.

Annabeth blinked. “Are you a psychic or something? That’s exactly what I was thinking.”

“Took you long enough to notice,” Percy said, smirking.

“Alright smartass, what am I thinking about then right now?” Annabeth asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Easy, you’re thinking that I can’t possibly know what you’re thinking about and that I’m full of shit,” Percy said, shrugging.

Annabeth’s jaw dropped, which was enough to send Percy into a fit of laughter.

“What the fuck? How did you do that?”

Percy gave her a significant look. “Annabeth, we’ve been best friends since 2nd grade. I’d be a really shitty friend if I didn’t have a grasp of how you think by now.”

When Annabeth was silent, Percy shrugged and said, “I mean, I’m pretty sure you can guess what’s on my mind too.”

Annabeth pursed her lips and stared at her empty strawberry shake. She would have agreed to that statement if Percy had said it at the start of the school year, but now– now she wasn’t so sure anymore.

Thankfully, that was when the waitress came by with the bill. Annabeth fished in her wallet for her half of the meal and gave Percy a challenging look, knowing he’d argue that he should pay for her. To her surprise, Percy sighed and just added enough money for his half.

It was already beginning to darken outside when they made their way outside after receiving their change. The sky was dyed a light purplish-blue hue, and the moon was just visible if you looked hard enough. Percy stuffed his hands in his sweatshirt pockets and shivered slightly when a gust of wind blew past them.

“I don’t see your car here,” Percy said, looking around the parking lot. “Did you seriously walk here even though you had a meet earlier today?”

“I wasn’t in the mood to ask my dad for the keys,” Annabeth said. “Besides, it’s literally only like a twenty minute walk.”

Percy laughed and shook his head. “Whatever you say, Wonder Woman.”

Annabeth shoved him playfully, making Percy scowl. “What should we do next?”

Percy shrugged. “Whatever we want.”

“Thanks, that really narrows down our options, Einstein.”

“Don’t be such an ass,” Percy said, laughing. “What do you want to do?”

Annabeth took a moment to consider and said, “I guess we could just drive around?”

“Sounds like a plan!” Percy said.

He unlocked his car and stuck his tongue out at her for her good measure before he sat inside. Annabeth shook her head in mock-exasperation and slipped into the passenger side seat, hiding a smile. Despite everything, it was a relief to know that if she got out of her own head, things didn’t have to be so hard between them.

As Percy pulled out of the parking lot, Annabeth fiddled with the radio until she found something that she liked, ultimately settling on a variety station that was playing hits from the 2000’s. Annabeth grinned at Percy and turned up the volume when “Teenagers” by My Chemical Romance came on. He drummed his fingers against the steering wheel in time with the beat and looked over when Annabeth began singing along at the top of her lungs.

“What a surprise,” Percy said, smiling widely. “You hardly ever sing.”

When Annabeth shrugged, Percy gave her a glance and said, “Do you remember how Thalia sat us down at the start of middle school and showed us this song?”

“She said something about showing us dorks what real music was, if I remember correctly.”

“Thalia always did have a way with words,” Percy said sagaciously.

“She sure did,” Annabeth said, sighing. “I wish she would visit more. She’s hardly ever come by since she went to college.”

“Maybe it’s for the best. She never did like it here, after all,” Percy said.

“I just miss her that’s all,” Annabeth said, hugging her knees to her chest. “I could use her advice right about now.”

Percy raised his eyebrows and smirked. “Thalia was good at giving advice?”

Annabeth smiled and said, “Okay, fair point, but I still think it would be nice to talk to her.”

“Hmm, she always cussed me out anytime she saw me.”

“That was only because she was fond of you,” Annabeth said dismissively.

Percy looked at her out of the corner of his eyes. “So that’s who you get it from then: your habit of being mean to the people you care about?”

Annabeth was momentarily taken aback by the accuracy of his statement, but she quickly recovered and said, “Excuse me, I’m nothing but rainbows and sunshine.”

“Nobody that’s met you for more than five minutes would ever accuse you of that,” Percy said, snorting.

“Wow, rude.”

Percy gave her a significant look. “It’s the truth, babe.”

Annabeth jabbed him with her elbow like she was irritated, but that just made Percy’s smile grow wider. Annabeth rolled her eyes and hid her smile before looking out the window. For a while, they drove in silence, but it was a companionable sort of silence.

The sound of the wheels on the road provided a backdrop to the music playing through the radio and helped it bleed into the scenery, like something out of a music video or a YA movie. Annabeth found herself thinking that this was perhaps the first time in the past month and a half that she’d felt truly relaxed. For once, her thoughts weren’t so loud – instead they slid off her conscious awareness like raindrops on a pane of glass as she drank in the roving landscape.

It was hard to say how long they spent like that, just driving in silence and simply enjoying being around one another, but at some point Percy pulled off the highway and drove into a small park. Once they came to a stop, Annabeth stirred after they stopped and stepped outside. She took a moment to stretch and was forced to stifle a yawn – meets always made her super tired. Besides, it was getting late – the stars were clearly visible now against the inky sky.

Percy clambered on top of his car before extending a hand to her and pulling her up and laying down. Annabeth followed his lead, but the metal was cold against her skin and made her shiver. Percy noticed her rubbing her arms for warmth and unzipped his sweatshirt and handed it to her.

“You sure?” Annabeth asked, looking at him.

“Yeah, I’m much better with the cold than you are,” Percy said, shrugging.

Annabeth stifled a smile and draped the sweatshirt around her body like a blanket instead of wearing it normally while Percy crossed his arms behind his head and looked up at the sky. The sky was clearer here than it was in Westwood, presumably because there was less light pollution, so it looked like there was an ocean of stars hanging above their heads.

“Where exactly are we?” Annabeth whispered.

“Honestly, I have no idea,” Percy admitted quietly. “I just saw an exit off the highway and felt like taking it.”

Annabeth stifled another yawn and said, “It’s nice here.”

“Yeah, I think so too,” Percy said before he turned his head to look at her. “It’s okay if you fall asleep. You seem tired.”

She shook her head and said, “Nah, I’ll be fine. I’m just a little worn out from the meet.”

“Yeah, I figured as much,” Percy said. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“About me being tired?”

“No, about the meet. You still seem kind of down about it,” Percy said.

Annabeth sighed and shut her eyes. “Nothing gets past you, does it?”

“Of course not,” Percy said, grinning. “I’m a psychic, remember?”

“Can you read other people’s brains or am I the only exception?” Annabeth asked, trying for levity.

When Percy answered, there was an aching fondness in his eyes that made her heart squeeze a little in her chest.

“No, it’s only ever been you,” he said softly.

Annabeth cleared her throat and tried frantically to think of a joke, but she couldn’t do that after such an obvious display of sincerity. She sighed and took a moment to collect her thoughts before she spoke but thinking about the race only made her throat seize up.

“I guess I’m just disappointed,” Annabeth admitted slowly. “I know that third place is good and everything, but I still can’t help feeling like I really fucked up.”

“You’re too hard on yourself,” Percy said gently.

Annabeth shook her head and said, “No, that isn’t it.”

“Then what?”

“Well, I just ran the race of my life today, and somehow it still wasn’t good enough,” Annabeth said tightly. “And, honestly, I’m not sure if I’ll ever do better. Today was my best chance and I still managed to fuck it up somehow. Like, what if this is all I’m capable of?”

Percy took her hand in his and squeezed it once. “You will get better. I know it feels hopeless right now, but you have to believe that.”

“I’m just getting sick of always coming up short,” Annabeth said, her voice catching as she spoke. “It just hurts a little too much.”

“Running is a brutal sport,” Percy admitted. “You’re forced to surpass your limits over and over again, so it’s easy to lose sight of how far you’ve come and how much you’ve accomplished.”

Annabeth bit her quivering lower lip and nodded, her hands curled into fists at her sides. If she tried to speak now, she was pretty sure she’d burst into tears.  

“For what it’s worth,” Percy said softly, “I know how hard you’ve worked and I think you have so much to be proud of.”

“Thanks,” Annabeth whispered. “That really means a lot.”

“You’re welcome.”

Despite the smile on his face, Annabeth’s throat constricted at the sight of the furrows in his brow. His concern and attentiveness were more than she probably deserved.

Why are you so achingly kind, Annabeth thought as she reached forward and pressed her index finger to Percy’s forehead.

“You worry too much,” Annabeth murmured.

She made to run her finger down his forehead to smooth out the creases, but Percy caught her wrist, lips brushing quickly against her knuckles.

“I can’t help it,” he said quietly. “Not when it comes to you.”

There was something about the juxtaposition of the rawness in his words and the way the spaces between their fingers fit so perfectly that it made her forget how to breathe.

In all their years of friendship, somehow she had never noticed how much larger his hands were then hers. His hands had always been gentle, like motes of dust waltzing in a beam of sunlight, but they were also different now somehow.

It was easiest to tell how much they had changed by the way they felt in her hands. When they were kids, they had been soft and pliant, small enough for her to tug him wherever she wanted around the playground. Later on, in their early adolescence, they became rougher and more tentative, like he was afraid his grip might hurt her, but they were still willing to follow her lead. But now, they were large enough to hide her hands and there was a steady, reassuring confidence about them that made her feel safe and said: I am right here.

“You really are a man now, huh?” Annabeth muttered unwittingly.

Percy looked at her like she’d sprouted a second head. “I’ve always been one, but thanks for noticing.”

Annabeth locked eyes with him and shook her head before whispering, “That’s not what I meant.”

Maybe she was imagining it, but Annabeth thought she saw a glimpse of realization flash in Percy’s eyes. He dropped her hand suddenly and looked pointedly away as his face flushed red.

Percy cleared his throat and tried to change the subject. “I meant to tell you this earlier, but I was contacted by a scout last week.”

Annabeth blinked the sleep out of her eyes and said, “Where from?”

“USC. They’re giving me a scholarship and everything if I join the swim team.”

“Percy, that’s great! Congratulations!” Annabeth beamed.

“Thanks,” Percy said quietly. “Can’t believe there’s only a few months left before high school is over for good. It feels weird to even think about.”

“I get what you mean. Sometimes, I wish I could stop time for a while just to take a moment to breathe instead of feeling like I’m strapped to a roller-coaster that only ever goes faster and faster,” Annabeth whispered.

“Half-asleep Annabeth is oddly poetic, huh?” Percy said, a teasing grin on his face.

Annabeth rolled her eyes and found herself returning his smile, but eventually Percy’s smile slid away and a serious look came over him.

“Do you ever wonder about what will happen to us after we graduate?” he whispered.

“You mean our friendship?”

Percy nodded and said, “Yeah, like, I’m starting to realize that you won’t always be there and it’s low-key freaking me out.”

Annabeth rolled her bottom lip between her teeth and said, “We’ve been through worse before. Our friendship is strong enough to survive, I’m sure of it.”

“Four years is a long time though,” Percy said tightly. “Who’s to say we won’t change and drift apart?”

“I don’t know,” Annabeth admitted. “All I know is that nothing will ever stop me from thinking of you as my best friend.”

Percy smiled softly, shyly. “Me too.”

A companionable silence settled between them as they stared up at the night sky, occasionally punctuated by the crackling fire. Annabeth thought about what Percy had said about them not always being together – just thinking about it made her feel horribly empty. She wished that time would freeze so that they could stay like this forever, but she knew that it was nothing more than a fantasy.

Percy was right: time was running out. She couldn't afford to waste time even if she felt self-conscious and things were stilted between them, or to continue naively taking things for granted and assume nothing would change. After all, there was a risk that they wouldn’t ever be this close again. Maybe the coming months were all she would have left like this with him. Every atom in her body resisted the idea, but there was a part of her that couldn’t help acknowledging that it was a very real possibility.

Her mind scrambled for solutions but it was pointless – there was no way to account for the future, after all. A surge of gratitude washed through Annabeth as she looked at Percy. She was so glad he was with her here today. This moment was theirs, and she didn’t know how many more of them they’d have left. All she could really was to make the most of the time that they did have left, whether that was seven months or a hundred years. She just hoped it was closer to the latter.

[hqprotectionsquad]

Life’s Best Part (Daichi x Reader)

Title: Life’s Best Part Ship: Dad!Daichi x Reader Word Count: 1900 Summary: Daichi is trying his best to be the dad you need him to be. tw: hospital, sickness a/n: this has been in my drafts for maybe a month and some now!! happy to finally bring it to the light.

(Y/N) = your name (D/N) = your daughter’s name

"Daddy, where is mommy going?" Daichi's eyes are so tired and broken, but hearing that, he pinches his nose together. He has to be strong for his daughter, there's no doubt about that, but she's so innocent. She doesn't deserve this.

"Ah, sweetheart," Daichi pulls her into his lap. "Mommy is sick so she needs to become better. They're going to fix her the best they can."

Her appearance threatens pinpricks in the corners of his eye. Whenever Daichi and you go to family gatherings, all you guys ever hear is "Wow, she looks just like (Y/N) when she was younger!" And it's absolutely true. Down to the hair and the cheeks and the brightest smile ever to grace the world. She's picked up a lot from you too. Even from her young age, your daughter wants to save the world by being a kind and sweet little lady. Under her care, the lonely animals find solace in her tiny hands.

The pads of her fingers poke Daichi’s cheek as he bounces her on his leg. This waiting room is more than dismal. You’d think that if they want to cheer up families with news that could go either way, they’d brighten up the place. But nope, they’ve got rough chairs and dim lighting that makes Daichi want to leave the building.

“Sweetheart, would you like to get out of here for a bit?” Daichi’s lungs hurt in this space that just guarantees disaster. This was the hospital where one of his teammates revived after a rough collision and their team lied in wait. This was the hospital where his friend arrived with a cold and only returned to be placed in a final resting place. This hospital only knows how to take people away from him, but he’s determined to get you back, no matter the consequence.

"Are you sure, Daddy? Mommy will be scared if we leave!" Oh, the innocence of toddlers perpetuates Daichi's lifespan, but not so much that he’ll willingly stay here.

“Mommy is okay, she’s in the safe hands of some really powerful people. They’re going to make her even better.” Daichi holds himself back from making any promises. Those bonds are too strong to break so if you ended up passing away, he wouldn’t know how to make his daughter feel better, let alone himself.

“Okay, let’s go out!” She swings out her arms and legs like a general. Already at a young age acting up a storm. Daichi didn’t know if this special talent should be cultivated or something to be monitored closely. Being outside is much better for him anyway. The trees sway in the wind and the process of life reminds him that the world goes on whether he likes it or not. He doesn’t want to move on at the moment. The only answer he’ll take is you’re better and back at home with him and your daughter.

Daichi takes solace on a park bench, watching his daughter hang on playground installments. She's just like you. If you were here right now, you would be trying your best to fit in the slide or grip the monkey bars with your feet half a foot close to the ground. His phone is out because pure moments unravel right before his eyes. His heart is happy. He'll be happier when he gets to show this video to you.

After a while, Daichi's eyes open up to his daughter climbing on him. "Daddy, we should go back to Mommy now. I'm done playing."

Turning his fist toward himself, Daichi notes the time. "You're right. Let's go, baby."

Even at this age, she drags you and your husband around. "She's a boss if I've ever seen one," you say to Daichi one day as she places her dolls in a neat line. "Must've gotten it from you." Daichi chuckles as you hip bump him. That was only a few months ago. Life has been changing since then.

Daichi believes that his daughter is starting to pick up on all of the cues. All of the hospital papers are spread on the dining room table, the usual bus trips to and from "mommy's building," and most of all, she loves the lady at the reception desk because she receives lollipops. That's what she looks forward to, but his daughter has a few lessons of sympathy and understanding under her belt when she enters the room where her mother resides, only for the moment, God willing.

They say hello to the woman at the desk. Without a beat, she sticks out a lollipop grasped in her hand. "Thank you!"

Your daughter is more than excited to receive such simple gifts. The process of you becoming sick has been a long time going. "These are to keep her strong," you told Daichi when you went to the supermarket before the first ever checkup you had concerning your illness two years ago. Little toys and sweet squares of chocolate scattered in the basket while you two lined the aisles.

"I think buying these are to keep you strong, love. Our baby is strong, she just needs to see her mom strong too." Daichi squeezed your hand.

“You’re right, but you’ve got to stop talking before you make me cry,” you laughed shakily as the words slipped through your lips. It’s hard to utter such depressing words as a young woman. Your baby was nearing the age of two and it’s not fair for her to live in an egg-shelled world. When she was born, you two could have definitely earned the award for being the world’s proudest parents. “We did that, Daichi. We did that.” The first year went swimmingly — as in you were swimming in baby items and baby responsibilities, but everyday you prayed thanksgiving for the family you’ve created.

Now, your arms and legs ache for the slightest movements in this itchy hospital bed. You always thought that this kind of thing would never happen to you, and look where you are now: bedridden. You're back where you started, from your beginning and your baby's beginning. Somehow, you always land back here. And it's unfair. You've grown up with vegetables on your plate, jogging every other day with your dad, and you knew Daichi was the one when you saw him play in a championship match. You were surrounded by healthy, up until all you were was unhealthy.

“Sweetheart!”

“Hi, mommy!” You’ve never been so grateful for the fact that your daughter isn’t deterred by the tubes running up and down your body, taking the place of your veins. She sees you all the same.

“Hi, honey.” Daichi presses his lips to your forehead and sinks into the chair they provided in the room. He doesn’t look necessarily out of it, but you know the circles under his eyes haven’t been forgiving lately. "Some friends are coming by soon, they'll pick her up and bring her out."

It's hard on your daughter to undertake a portion of a burden that isn't even hers, but is it better that she doesn't fully know the situation? Would it be worse if she was ten or twelve? What about fourteen, fifteen, sixteen? How would she have reacted to her mother not being able to care for her only daughter?

It's easy to drop into pitfalls when you allow your mind to run anywhere. Your inner self isn't looking down at her feet, just lifting each sole when it is ready to move. When you drop, it is difficult to get out because sometimes, there is no outside stimulation. When Daichi leaves for work or after visiting hours are over, you turn to the television for entertainment. You soon learn that the programs are repeated and you'll be watching the same one that was on three hours ago.

"(D/N), uncles Koushi and Asahi are here for you," Daichi says as he gets up to greet his friends at the sliding door. They enter the room and lead themselves toward you. It's no shock by now; they've picked up (D/N) so that she has her cousins to play with every few days. However, the raised eyebrows and slightly parted lips on Asahi's face tell you otherwise.

Suga is the first person to speak up. "How are you feeling right now, (Y/N)?" After the surgery two days ago, your body is running on pure medication. Despite that, you feel like you've gotten hit by a truck.

"Feeling better." You have to feel better soon. When you can return to your home and start heading back to work, that is when you'll feel more at ease. But for now, another second in the hospital is another second wasted.

The skin on your bones looks translucent, and if you shift the hospital gown to one side, you can see the bruising that accompanies the stitches on your oblique. You are a shell of a human with a soul on a loose tether. Daichi can see it too. He is trying to bring you back, but nothing will feel normal until you return to your old routines.

Nothing will be the same after you can sleep in your bed at home. You won't be able to flop onto the mattress, forcing creases into the duvet. Every sleep will need to be on your back because if you roll to your side, you'll be pressing on the stitches. You won't be able to sleep intimately with your husband and this probably means the next generation of your family tree will end with your daughter.

"You okay, (Y/N)? Koushi and Asahi left with (D/N), and she tried saying bye but you seemed a little far." As Daichi pulls on the chair to scoot closer to you, it scratches on the tiles and emits a painful sound. "Sorry about that." He settles into the chair and takes your hand into both of his. His fingers are butterflies across your pierced skin, light and delicate.

"I'm scared, Daichi," you admit for the hundredth time, but each time the words come out of your mouth is a pang to your heart. "I don't know how I'm going to be if I get out of here."

"You're not dying, (Y/N). Don't say those kinds of things." His voice is stern but his eyes swim in pools of water. He hates to hear that you bring yourself down in the fragile mental state you are in.

"Your life is my life's best part," you mumble, hearing fatigue asking you to succumb to it. Nevertheless, you continue to speak to your husband. "You're the reason why I want to get better, even if I don't think I will."

“But you will, and I know you will. I know you, (Y/N). You are the strongest person I know. Your life is my life’s best part, too.” You can see him brushing his hands against his face when he lets go of your fingers. “Rest, (Y/N). You need it to be strong.”

“Yes, I have to be strong for you and our baby.” You murmur before your eyes shut and your head sinks into the pillow. The last thing you feel is your husband’s lips pressed against your forehead and you finally drift off into the first sleep where you feel lighter than your body. Everything will be okay.

[handle-with--care]

Every Turn (Will Be Safe With Me) || Tris&&Talon (Drabble)

Tris stacked the last of the chairs in a tower at the edge of the room with a wave of his wand, clearing out the last of the space in the music room; and then nodded to himself, satisfied, as he lapped the space he’d freed up.

He surprised himself, let alone Talon, when he’d offered to teach him how to dance for the Gala - the basics, of course, because he doubted anyone was intending to break out into a Viennese Waltz in the middle of the floor - but as the decided day had crept closer he’d found the knot of tension in his stomach unwinding.

Talon was his friend. He was teaching his friend the basic steps to a waltz, the same as he would have taught any of his other friends if they’d asked. Tris himself had a couple years of lessons under his belt, courtesy of the alternating summers he’d spent with his Aunt Katerina, and he’d even considered offering for Esma, so they could practice together before attending the Gala as friends.

He was a little embarrassed to admit that he’d changed his mind on that particular offer, after thinking about it more. Esma was a good friend, and usually fun to be around; but he was also five feet and a single inch of barely contained energy, and even clumsier than Tris could be. Better that his feet were spared; he didn’t know how much dancing he and Esma were likely to do, anyway.

Talon, on the other hand, was likely to get offers left and right throughout the course of the evening; and Tris ignored how it made his chest go tight and uncomfortable to think too hard on Talon dancing with other people, and moved over to the piano, checking the spell that would let it play a simple enough rolling melody for them to practice to.

Talon’s just your friend, he reminded himself sternly; and almost jumped out of his skin when a voice greeted him from the doorway.

“I feel like I should say again that I’ve not done anything like this in years. I apologise in advance for any tripping or foot-stepping that may occur.”

Tris shot Talon a brief, teasing scowl for how he’d startled him, before it slipped in favour of a smile and he turned fully to face the other boy.

He looked nervous, silver-grey eyes guarded the way they always got whenever he came close to talking about anything to do with his past; and Tris half wished he’d extricated Artemis from the nest she’d made of his spare school robes and brought her with him.

She’d have been a distraction, of course, but a good one. One that would have put Talon at ease in a way Tris struggled to himself, socially awkward as he was.

“Well I promise not to tell anyone you end up dancing with about how terrible you were before you let me teach you. Can’t let your reputation of being irresistible be tarnished so soon after you’ve decided to make it your defining feature.”

The teasing had Talon huffing at him in protest, but it also had most of the tension melting from his shoulders, and he moved the rest of the way into the room, setting his satchel down on one of the stacks of chairs; and Tris set the piano to playing, a simple, rolling one two three, one two three that would help them to keep time as they practiced.

He closed a little more of the distance between them, rolling his sleeves up to his elbows.

“You’ve had some lessons,” he prompted, and Talon nodded, eyes flicking between Tris’ face and the newly exposed skin of Tris’ wrists and forearms.

“Uh, yeah. I mean, when I was a kid, I think the lessons stopped when I was like twelve. I don’t remember a lot.” He shrugged a shoulder, and the walls were slower to rise, the tiny glimpse into his past more easily given than previous ones; and Tris committed the fact to his memory, another puzzle piece to add to the picture of Talon he had thus far, and closed the rest of the distance between them before he could fully retreat behind the eyes again.

“Do you remember how you’re supposed to hold another person?” Tris held out his hands, and Talon immediately flushed bright pink, suddenly unable to look Tris in the face; and Tris caught his bottom lip between his teeth in an attempt to suppress the endeared, amused grin threatening to spread across his face at how easily flustered the other boy was.

Tris couldn’t really talk, equally easy to reduce to blushing and hiding his face when flirted with, especially when the culprit was the boy now stood before him; but Tris hadn’t cultivated something of a reputation for being charming and confident, praise rolling off him like water off a duck, a sharp tongued flirtation and offhand self deprecating comment always ready on his tongue.

Talon’s movement was a stutter-stop, his hands lifting, before he took a gentle, uncertain hold of Tris’; and the shorter boy smiled up at him, trying to make sure his expression conveyed as much fondness as amusement, before carefully leading Talon’s left hand to rest against his back, high enough that the join of his thumb and first finger cradled the base of Tris’ shoulder blade.

The brunette looked like he’d stopped breathing, a little, eyes wide; and Tris felt his own breath catch in his throat, before he resolved to shatter the moment threatening to stop them in their tracks, and stuck his tongue out at Talon.

Talon blinked hard, startled; and then offered Tris a mock scowl, before sticking his tongue out at him in return, and then cracking a warm, broad grin that pulled at the corners of his eyes.

For a moment, even as Tris’ nerves faded with the broken tension, he felt a little like he’d made a misstep; like he should have let the moment stretch out, let whatever had started to happen finish by itself. It might have been good; could have been great, if he’d let the tension linger, let Talon’s mind work through it-

Or it could have gone terribly, and Talon could have spooked, or Tris could have spooked, and things would have been awkward and difficult in a way things hadn’t been with Talon so far. In a way so many of Tris’ attempts at social interaction were, and he was still riding the high of how easy it was to talk to Talon, he didn’t want to ruin everything so soon by being...

He swallowed and centred himself, pulling his mind out of the spiral it was threatening to get trapped in, and focussed on the boy in front of him.

“So, for anything very formal, you hold the other person like this, so long as you’re the taller, and the one leading. I don’t imagine there’s going to be a lot of very formal dancing, so,” and he moved Talon’s palm down his back to rest instead at the dip of his spine, in line with his waist, stifling a shiver at the drag of warmth through his shirt, “like this will probably be more appropriate.”

Talon nodded, the gesture a little rushed, while his hold on Tris’ hand tightened.

“Right,” he said, voice curiously rough; and it was only when Tris set his free hand on Talon’s shoulder, completing the position, that he really noticed how little space there was between them.

They weren’t quite chest to chest, but Tris could still feel Talon’s body heat through the inch of space, and those startling eyes of his were very close now, close enough that Tris could better pick out the silver flecks amongst the grey that made them so bright and remarkable, could better see the long spill of his eyelashes, could even see how the white streak of his hair was consistent all the way to the root, and it made questions flood his mind, how did that happen, was it natural or magical, would he tell me if I asked, would it make him shut down again, could I bring him back out of it if it did-

And he took a breath, and focused again.

“Do you remember the basic steps of a waltz?” He asked, patient and encouraging, smile spread across his face; and after a moment Talon nodded, and they started to move.

It became quickly apparent that Talon did, instinctually at least, know what he was doing. They moved easily around the room, turning in wide circles with Talon’s hand pressed firmly against Tris’ spine as he led him; and for a moment, Talon even took them in a series of sharp little circles that had Tris’ vision swimming, and giggles bursting out of him as he clutched at Talon’s shoulder so he wouldn’t pitch over due to the dizziness.

“Okay, asshole, so you remember some of your lessons,” he laughed, tugging reproachfully on a lock of Talon’s hair with the hand on his shoulder; and Talon’s voice took on that low, rumbling purr that indicated he was going out of his way to flirt.

“Oh, you’ve seen nothing yet, Karenin.”

It was all the warning he got before Talon spun him out by the hand he had a hold of, and Tris laughed, surprised and something close to delighted before Talon reeling him back in; and then they were chest to chest, Tris’ hands resting on Talon’s shoulders while the older boy had an arm wrapped tightly around his waist, holding him close while they still rocked from side to side, a vague mimicry of continued dancing.

Tris stopped breathing, was barely conscious of it as he stared up at Talon and swayed with him, keenly aware of how he could practically feel the thud of Talon’s heartbeat where they were pressed together; and there was something weighted about the way Talon looked back at him, about the hyper focus of his gaze while he held Tris flush against him.

There was something brave in those eyes for a moment, something that looked like he was about to take a leap, and he opened his mouth, fingers fisting in the loose fabric of Tris’ shirt over his hip-

And Tris watched that bravery flicker and die, before Talon offered him a soft, warm smile and loosened his hold on him.

“So what’s the verdict? Should I be walking into the Gala with a warning sign hanging around my neck?”

The frustration that flooded Tris’ chest was immediate, left an acrid taste on the back of his tongue; and he stifled it before it showed on his face, forcing the feeling down.

It wasn’t fair. He couldn’t be annoyed with Talon for not taking a leap of faith, for not trying when he wasn’t certain how it would end, when Tris himself had been doing the same, pulling back before he crossed the line between being friends and...more. He didn’t even know for sure that that was what Talon had been about to do, that he hadn’t completely imagined that look on his face, hadn’t misunderstood what he’d seen in his eyes; and even if he had been right, it still wasn’t fair to expect Talon to make the first move.

He didn’t even know how he’d react if Talon did. He’d never done this shit before.

Tris took half a step back, enough to be out of Talon’s arms, and pretended not to see the way Talon made an aborted move to reach for him when he was gone.

“I think everyone can breathe a sigh of relief. I’ll make sure there are still ice packs on hand just in case, though.” He heard the strain in his own voice, saw the flash of concern in Talon’s eyes; and he moved back over to the piano, stopping the spell and pulling his sleeves back down, seeking the comfort of having his hands half covered with wool.

He took a breath, and then turned back to look at him; and focused on the fondness that welled up in him when he found Talon watching him closely, looking like he was uncertain whether he should be concerned or hurt by Tris’ forced distance.

Tris cocked his head, eyes going soft, and willed himself to stop being so unfair and ridiculous, instead falling back on the ease of teasing the other boy.

“You’ll save one dance for me, right? It’s only fair, after I offered to practice with you and risked having you stomp all over my poor feet.” Please don’t look so worried. It’s stupid. I’m just being stupid.

Talon was quiet for a long moment that seemed to stretch out between them, before he replied softly.

“You can have as many dances as you want,” he promised, that familiar roguish grin pulling at the corner of his mouth even as his eyes remained soft, and careful.

Tris bit his tongue, bit back the what if I want all of them? and instead stepped back over to Talon, bumping their shoulders together when he was close enough.

“And steal you away from your adoring public? I could never.” The smile he shot Talon finally felt right, finally sat right on his face; and he saw the relief in Talon’s face, leaned against him a moment in a silent apology for worrying him. “Maybe I’ll monopolise you for two or three. Stage a rescue if all the attention gets overwhelming.”

Talon scowled down at him, and Tris grinned back at him, before reaching to wrap his fingers around Talon’s and squeeze gently for a moment.

The taller boy tangled their fingers together in response, squeezed back as he looked down at him; and Tris pulled a face at him, before smiling and stepping away, toward the door.

“Try not to get in trouble between now and the next time I see you, Firadel. I know your whole house has a reputation to live up to, and all, but I’m a little invested in you keeping your nose at least relatively clean.” 

It earned him a particularly long suffering look, before Talon smiled back at him, and then offered him a dorky little two fingered salute.

You’re wonderful, Tris thought helplessly, heart caught in his throat, studying the broad, charming grin spread across Talon’s face. You’re funny, and clever, and so, so nice to me, and I have no fucking idea what to do about it. 

He rolled his eyes at Talon, stuck his tongue out at him, and then disappeared out of the classroom, certain beyond a doubt that he was utterly fucked.

[yilingradishfairy]

Chapters: 1/3 Fandom: 魔道祖师 - 墨香铜臭 | Módào Zǔshī - Mòxiāng Tóngxiù, 陈情令 | The Untamed (TV) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Jīn Líng | Jīn Rúlán & Lán Jǐngyí, Jīn Líng | Jīn Rúlán/Lán Jǐngyí, Jīn Líng | Jīn Rúlán & Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn, Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī/Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn Characters: Jīn Líng | Jīn Rúlán, Lán Jǐngyí Additional Tags: Don't worry, WangXian is coming, we've got some setup to do first, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Alternate Universe - Witchcraft, Alternate Universe - Wizards, Alternate Universe - The Princess and the Frog (2009) Fusion, or rather, the book that movie was based on, Untamed Spring Fest 2020 Summary:

Jin Rulan had no idea how this happened. Really. He should in no way be blamed for the events that transpired to get him here. Running for his life. Or rather … hopping. He couldn't believe his first real life-or-death situation is at the threat of an average garden reptile. Oh yes. The very real threat to his life was a freaking garter snake. Harmless to him normally, wouldn't have even bothered him as recently as two hours ago, but things have changed. He has changed. Rulan spared a moment to glare again at his new frog body with distaste. "Come on!" Jingyi urged, hopping in front of him. Rulan directed his scowl toward the other enchanted boy. "This is all your fault," he panted, turning his ire on Jingyi. "No, it's not!" He returned indignantly, even as he helped Rulan hop over a fallen log. "The witch said a kiss from a royal would turn me back. You're royal, and you kissed me, so I don't know what went wrong." ( Or, the Frog Princess AU no one asked for.)

A/N: The prompt for Untamed Spring Fest 2020 – Day 19 was Journey. I was reading (fic) and having lots of feels about Jin Ling’s bracelet and suddenly had the –cursed– brilliant idea to mash it up with E.D. Baker’s Frog Princess (which is the book series that heavily defined much of my childhood and also inspired the Disney movie Princess and the Frog). So, this fic is set in the world of Frog Princess. Functionally, a royal AU plus witches. For example, WWX spends his days tinkering with talismans in Lotus Pier as the resident Guardian Mage, or something. But he and some others are going to be the closest things to Cultivators in this AU. Everybody else is just going to be regular old royals. So partially because it's AU and mostly because I personally mix up Jin Ling and Jingyi when I'm reading too fast, I'll be using courtesy names mostly. So that means JL = Rulan and JC = Wanyin. 

Jin Rulan has no idea how this happened. Really. He should in no way be blamed for the events that transpired to get him here. Running for his life. Or rather … hopping. He couldn't believe his first real life-or-death situation is at the threat of an average garden reptile.

Oh yes. The very real threat to his life was a freaking garter snake. Harmless to him normally, wouldn't have even bothered him as recently as two hours ago, but things have changed. He has changed. Rulan spared a moment to glare again at his new frog body with distaste.

"Come on!" Jingyi urged, hopping in front of him. Ah yes, the frog who had started this whole mess. He directed his scowl toward the other enchanted boy.

"This is all your fault," he panted, turning all his ire on Jingyi.

"No, it's not!" He returned indignantly, even as he helped Rulan hop over a fallen log. "The witch said a kiss from a royal would turn me back. You're royal, and you kissed me, so I don't know what went wrong."

They hopped frantically for a few more seconds, narrowly escaping some of the snake’s lightning-quick strikes, before Jingyi wondered aloud, "Maybe you kissed me wrong?"

Rulan almost face-planted at that. "Do we have to talk about that now?" He yelped.

Jingyi pouted as they hopped. "You brought it up," he muttered as if he couldn't hear him.

Suddenly, the snake struck again, nearly nabbing the distracted Jingyi. Rulan impulsively pushed him out of the way, sending him sprawling. The snake turned enterprising eyes on Rulan and sunk its fangs into his flank. Rulan's panicked flailing slowed as the neurotoxin spread through his bloodstream. "Jingyi," he gasped out.

"Rulan!" Jingyi shouted, scrambling back toward him. He reached out toward Rulan, but the snake grasped its paralyzed prey in its jaws and shot off toward the water. Rulan thrashed frantically, but his valiant attempts at escape did not loose his enemy's jaw.

They splashed into the water, and the snake began to unhinge its jaw, slowly enveloping Rulan's amphibious body. He jerked, trying to wiggle out to no avail.

"Spread your legs!" He heard Jingyi shout. He drew his eyebrows together in confusion - or at least he would have if he had eyebrows to draw and control over his body. "Keep your legs wide open! That'll keep it from swallowing you."

Rulan turned his attention to keeping his front legs spread wide. The snake maneuvered his body against a rock to try and leverage his body into its mouth. Suddenly, a green blur dropped down onto its head, and the impact sent Rulan flying. "Swim!" Jingyi yelled, tugging him along down the river. They swiftly swam downstream for several minutes until they felt confident they were out of danger.

"We should make camp for the night," Jingyi suggested, slowing his pace. Exhausted, Rulan could only vaguely nod his head and follow along. He trailed behind Jingyi as they crawled up the bank and around the edge of the forest until Jingyi found an acceptably empty tree hollow. Rulan slumped down as soon he clambered inside, stretching his aching unfamiliar muscles.

"Well, uh," Jingyi started awkwardly. "Good night."

"G'night, Jingyi," Rulan sighed, eager for this day to just be over.

Silence reigned. Well, not really silence. The forest floor was alive with noise. Bug chatter, leaf rustles, and whatnot. But the only thing that could be heard here, in this tiny tree hollow with just them, was the sound of their exhausted breathing. Rulan was listening to his breaths even out and his heartbeat slow (has his heart ever beat that slow?! This is safe, right? It's just because he's a frog now?), when he heard the whisper.

"Rulan?" he heard Jingyi start tentatively. Rulan stubbornly refused to answer. This was the -boy- frog that had turned him into this slimy green thing and endangered his life with a freaking garter snake. What could he possibly have to say?

He heard Jingyi sigh, sounding a bit sad and alone. "Thanks for saving me," he said, which is ridiculous. Rulan didn't save him. He just wasn't quite in control of his limbs yet. Yeah. Totally a freak accident that he had knocked Jingyi out of the way of the snake's attack, Rulan reasoned. And anyway, Jingyi saved me more, he reminded himself petulantly. Telling me how to keep from being swallowed and knocking me from the snake’s mouth and tugging me along with him down the stream.

"I'm glad you didn't die," Jingyi declared quietly. He then turned over and apparently went to sleep.

Rulan wanted to scream. All he had wanted to do was sleep, but now his brain was awake and thinking things.

He regretted it, he told himself firmly. He regretted it terribly.

He wished he had never kissed Jingyi. He wished he had never even met the brutally honest frog who had begged for kisses and yet made him feel more seen than anyone else, outside of his family. He wished he had never bargained to help him, even if he’d had no way to think it would turn out like this. He wished to take it all back. Right?

Rulan cracked open an eye to scrutinize at his companion's sleeping form. Is that where he went wrong? he wondered. Maybe he should have listened to xiao-jiujiu about not spending all day in the swamp. But it’s his favorite place in all of Lotus Pier’s, as it was his mother’s.

The swamp is Rulan’s favorite because it reminds him of home, of his mother’s Lotus Pavilion. (Ironically, his father had built that Pavilion to remind her of that lotus swamp from her home.) But both places reminded Rulan of the times when he and his parents were able to forget the pretentious behavior of their station. Koi Castle was so stuffy and suffocating. Rulan would rather spend his whole day in the Lotus Pavilion. He liked to dig his toes into the mud. He liked to listen to his mom regale him with tales of her unruly childhood with his wild uncles. He liked to wheedle his parents into water fights where they would all laugh and his dad would try to catch his mom when she slipped and he would fall instead and then Grandma Jin would yell at all of them. But Lotus Pier is just as good. He liked to swim with his da-jiujiu and shoot arrows with his xiao-jiujiu and watch them cry over his mother’s soup. He liked to feel his face stretch with a smile he could never wear at home.

He missed his mother. He missed his father. He even missed his shushu. He doesn’t know why they bundled him off so quickly to his uncles in Lotus Pier only for both of them to leave him too.

He had just wanted someone to talk to. Not any of the simpering, back-stabbing idiots he had to bring with him. Not even any of the disciples at Lotus Pier (even though they were markedly more sincere and kind to him). Just someone who would get him. As a person, not a status.

Is that where he went wrong?

Okay, maybe making friends with a frog hadn’t his smartest move. But really, who could it have hurt? The frog may have had the most contrary personality he had ever met (that he hadn't been related to). Yet, underneath the savage honesty and incessant requests for kisses, Jingyi was surprisingly insightful. He seemed to understand Rulan, even if he rarely agreed with him. Rulan had met plenty of people who wanted something from him. Practically everybody not related to him only talked to him if they wanted something. But no one had ever been like Jingyi. He would request a kiss, then immediately insult his clothing or his hairstyle or his bracelet. But he was never malicious about it. Rulan had heard some much nicer things said (by his shushu or once even his mother) that had cut down the target more cruelly than any insult ever could have. Jingyi’s insults seemed … careless? Ignorant, certainly, but usually insignificant. Jingyi just couldn’t keep his thoughts inside of his head, rude or not.

Rulan had wanted to help. Jingyi seemed so distraught, and he didn’t really deserve this. (Okay, actually Rulan has spent more than an hour with Jingyi. Jingyi had probably deserved it. But he’s sorry now! And if Rulan could help him out of this predicament, shouldn’t he help? Isn’t that his princely duty?) Rulan had planned to take him to see his da-jiujiu once everyone comes back. He only vaguely knew the curse-breaking spree of the cultivation world that da-jiujiu had been on for much of Rulan’s childhood, then suddenly given up on a few years ago. (Nobody would give him any details.) But Rulan knew that Wei Wuxian was the person he would want to talk to about breaking this kind of curse. He said as much to Jingyi. But his family was taking so long coming back, and no one would tell him anything, and Rulan felt so helpless. Surely a kiss wouldn’t hurt. Right? So, he had kissed Jingyi anyway.

Is that where he went wrong?

Or maybe he did kiss him wrong. With that distressing thought, Rulan fell asleep, his dreams full of kisses, green slimy skin, and Jingyi.

Next scene should be up later today. Still in editing stages.

Everybody, stay safe and wash your hands!

[neshabeingchildish]

Had Enough

It’s just a small one shot that takes place whenever the ship passes by Wawanakwa at the beginning of Revenge of the Island. Idk if I’ll contribute much via fics since my schedule is already a hot mess, but I did wanna shove at least one little one out for Leshawna and Harold, since I love them babies.

"That was the LAST TIME I come out for any more Total Drama crap! Contracts are over and I'm over it!" Leshawna fussed, to no one in particular,even though she was surrounded by like-minded friends.

“I can’t believe that I was actually looking forward to going back to Wawanakwa,” Gwen admitted, looking at Owen jump off of the ship to try to swim to shore. She sighed and shook her head. Poor guy. He’d realize soon.

“I can believe it,” Harold interrupted her thoughts, “At this point, it’s probably become a part of your identity. I go to a wide variety of camps all year round, so Wawanakwa isn’t that important to me, per se. But, it has some portion of sentimental value. It’s where I met the love of my life,” Harold was going on. 

Leshawna barely heard him and didn’t notice when he, Gwen, Duncan, DJ, and Eva all looked at her. When she noticed, she asked, “I’m sorry, Baby, did you say something?” 

Duncan reminded Harold, “She still doesn’t know that you’re alive. If anything, this place should have traumatic value to you.”

“You’re the only source of trauma that I have ever encountered in my life,” Harold said, annoyed. “And Leshawna helped me to cope with that, so… she’s like treatment. I choose to identify with that instead of the negative.”

Leshawna sighed, “Harold…” She tended to be mean to him, sometimes, because whenever she got too mice, it went to his head and he blurred the lines of who they were to each other. They were friends! She did really like him, but she also didn’t trust people enough to just surrender her heart. Then again… Not letting him in hadn’t gotten her anywhere either. Harold waited expectantly for her to finish her statement. No matter what, he was always holding out hope for her. “You helped me through this place, too,” she finally said. 

Everybody looked shocked. Even Harold. But, he quickly made the most of this. “You wanna find a place to be alone on this ship?” He asked, pointing his thumb towards the boat that they were all on and had just passed by the camp where they met. She took his hand and pulled him away from the others. As they left together, Gwen asked their friends, “Do… Do you guys think it’s really finally happening?”

DJay offered, “I’m not convinced that something hasn’t happened before in the past.”

“Well… Either way, good for them…” Gwen said, then looked at Duncan, “You! You’re going to have to be nice to him, if they’re… a thing. There’s no way that Leshawna and I are going to deal with you two doing your quarrel thing… And maybe this time around, there won’t be any offers for her, so… she and I will be able to finally do the show!”

“I wouldn’t trust her. She bailed on you last time,” Duncan said.

“She needed the money from the series she was signing up for. After we finally talked it out, I got it. We’re good like that. We communicate and forgive each other…” Gwen sighed, “I’m not gonna hold my breath.” Duncan smirked and lifted her jaw to face him for a kiss.

DJay said, “This is a little more awkward with just them and us, huh?” 

Eva turned up her nose at Duncan and Gwen kissing and she and DJay walked off. 

.

Leshawna found a cabin that was both clean and empty and had a comfy enough cot on it. Harold stared at her for a moment, unsure of how to proceed. “Are… we really going to get physical right now?” he asked, both for consent purposes and to confirm - because many times, he thought that they were in a good place and that kissing and touching was the next logical step, and she’d be on another page entirely. If she was really fed up with the back and forth that was Total Drama, this might be the last time that they saw each other and even though they would definitely keep in touch… He had to know… Leshawna pulled him by the shirt to the cot and pressed her lips against his.

“Does that answer your question?”

“Yes. Thank you for the clarity,” he said and eagerly mounted her on the cot, kissing her the entire time.

They had been through a lot together, but she wasn’t as secure with herself in a romantic capacity as she was in her friendships. Coming up, she hadn’t been the prettiest or the thinnest, or the sweetest girl that the boys noticed. In fact, her confidence and assurance of herself was something that she had to both create and cultivate. She still oftentimes got extremely defensive whenever someone even so much as seemed to be attacking one of the areas that she had to learn to love about herself again. She had been raised to value herself, and her family was loving and close. But, at school, out in social situations, in the media and the world at large, she was always othered and discarded, by all of those standards. 

That was why when she initially met Harold, she was ready to clobber him for pointing out the things that people frequently disrespected her for. Of course, as time went on, that changed. Harold became her biggest supporter and biggest source of favor. He was beautiful to her, and yet… the 16 years of having to guard herself were just a bit stronger than the time span of him trying to nurture her and she couldn’t just toss her entire way of life, of survival and preservation out of the window over a boy. But… she was very close to at least giving him an inheritance in it. She was definitely going to let him inside today. She’d decided. 

She decided that he was worth a risk. After everything she had been through over money, trying to win at various reality competitions to start her community center as quickly after school as possible… Being with Harold, if it turned out to be a mistake… It could be her favorite mistake. She was fine with the idea of that, though she hoped and preferred that it wouldn’t be a mistake. It couldn’t! She had enough losing and disappointment. She deserved at least one good thing for herself.

So, whenever they were heading back to meet their friends whenever the ship docked, when Harold said for the hundredth time since she’d met him, “I love you;” she smiled, looked shyly at her hands, which looked new to her eyes for some reason, shrugged her shoulders in sweet surrender and told him, “I love you too, Harold.”

[zanth-i]

Bonjour-Hi! I was born and raised in Montreal. But I don’t quite belong.

Because speaking a language is not the same as having a voice.

Here’s a story that may resonate with many first-generation immigrants. We may be born in Canada, but because our parents weren’t, we’re not considered bona fide Canadians, and our ethnic upbringing does little to wean us as such. We’re raised with pride for our heritage and develop everlasting patriotism — for our parents’ country of origin. We’re the quasi Canadians, well aware that with every passing generation, we become, well, more Canadian. But even so, one’s roots are not easily forgotten, if ever. Cultural indoctrination has proven its permanency.

So why is it that in a seemingly open-minded city where I’m free to live true to my heritage, I often feel like I don’t belong?

I was born in the late ’70s to Greek parents in Montreal, Quebec. My parents settled here in the mid-’60s. They’d planned on staying for 5 years but stayed for more than 50 (and it’s surely not because they couldn’t resist the good weather). They spent most of their life in this city because it became their home. My late mother always said that she had two motherlands: the one where she was born and lived as a young girl, and the other where she grew and lived as a grown woman. My father still stands by their decision to move here, though wishes they’d retired there (something to do with the weather, again).

While my parents faced many challenges and weren’t always greeted with a welcoming smile, I’d like to center this piece on some of my reflections on being raised Greek in a French Canadian province.

Like most immigrants, my parents held on tight to their traditions. As they began to settle into the city, ex-pats came together and gave rise to Greek media, educational, social, and religious institutions. And of course, they introduced Montrealers to Greek food.

Us kids, we inevitably made friends with our kind and upheld such a strong sense of community so immersive that our “Xeni” (foreign) friends would eventually “turn Greek” and become all too familiarized with our way of life. We’d speak English amongst ourselves (sometimes Greek), but Greek with our parents (sometimes English). And if not every year, every other year, as kids, many of us spent our summers off at our respective parents’ birthplace, “back home” in Greece, visiting our grandparents. As adults, many of us still make it a point to return and often. And we still unreservedly boast about our beautiful motherland.

While my parents made sure I spoke Greek fluently and knew my roots well, they were adamant about me learning to speak French, as “this was the language of the future in Quebec” my mother would counsel. So when I was 7, she pulled me out of the Greek educational system asserting that their French curriculum wasn’t sufficiently robust, and instead put me in an all-french school, where I experienced major culture shock. And to accelerate my learning (along with my shock), she also signed me up for French swimming lessons, French scouts, and French camp. Oh, and I was only allowed French tv and was to speak to my big sister exclusively in French, for a whole year. As you gather, she lent high importance to the French language, and I in turn learned to speak it fluently, and also to eventually forgive my mother for her militant (but in the end effective) ways.

Now — while I love speaking in French — I find myself consciously choosing to say hello rather than bonjour. Largely because I feel we’ve taken the language policing too far. For this, I direct my disappointment to the Office Québécois de la langue Française (OQLF) whose efforts may be well-intentioned but I feel are misplaced. And the Coalition Avenir Québec’s recent decision to inject funds into the OQLF especially during a pandemic while we’re literally fighting for our lives is a bitter reminder of the powerful provincialism we’re regularly faced with. It’s no longer about speaking French, it’s become about not speaking English. And to then have the minister responsible for the French language in Quebec say that this “is not against English institutions,” and “we can do both — respect English institutions but also respect French in our society” is playing offense.

Without making this article about the laws of the OQLF, it will suffice to say that the laws along with the board were created out of fear that the French language would go extinct in Quebec. That said, it’s important to note that the French hold a majority in Quebec. But their concern with having their heritage eclipsed, nods to the anglophone/allophone influential minority. Also to consider is that Quebec (begrudgingly to some) is in Canada, where anglophones are of majority. Naturally, in came the language laws with the mission to protect the French language in a primarily English-speaking nation. It’s only natural to want to secure your kind and colony.

For those of you that don’t live here, I want to clarify: No one will arrest or fine you for speaking in whatever language you wish amongst your friends and family. It’s when you seek to operate professionally — as an employee or business owner — , and seek service of any kind that things get sticky. Businesses are subjected to fines if they don’t abide by the language rules. And people are subjected to discrimination, plain and simple. French fanatics will not literally convict you, cuff you, and lock you up for not speaking French, it just feels that way.

I believe it is moot point to argue historical events and statistics in an attempt to prove or disprove the language laws, because in the end what matters most is people’s current state of mind and wellbeing. And if Black Lives Matter has taught us anything, it’s that history often needs a rethink, and room for redemption. With that in mind, our elected leaders and citizens of this province should be asking themselves “how do yesteryear laws continue to serve us?”

I understand that the French want to maintain their heritage in Quebec — it’s really the same for everyone settling onto any land. But I feel our Provincial government is stirring up a storm only to later justify its self-serving plebiscite.

If their true intent is to segregate the citizens of this province, I suspect that things will worsen with time and anglophones/allophones will eventually protest and march with #OurVoiceMatters banners in hand.

Some of my Francophone friends that are here fresh from France complain of being picked on for their accent. Some anglo/allophone friends often cope with disapproving glares for speaking in their mother tongue. And some of my pure laine friends think anglos are arrogant and dismissive of Quebec language and culture. If none of this resonates with you and you feel that there’s no race problem in Quebec, you’re likely part of the problem.

I remember wishing a francophone a happy Canada day (in French) and being met with a dry “I don’t celebrate that” as she handed me the flowers I’d just purchased from her shop at the Atwater market. And such racist and discriminatory occurrences are constant in everyday life here. Especially online where you’ll find no shortage of Anglophones complaining about some language-related fines, and Francophones coming to the OQLF’s defense, leaving low-brow remarks ordering anglos to pack up and leave if they don’t like it.

Here’s the thing, as a first-generation immigrant, I can assure you that just because I speak the French language doesn’t mean that I’ve given French-Quebec culture a voice.

If I was born to Greek parents in Montreal, QC, Canada, what is my country of origin?

My name is a dead giveaway of my ethnic background. When I’m asked where I’m from, I’m reminded of the struggle between being born somewhere but *really* originally being from somewhere else.

Being born in Quebec doesn’t make me a Québecoise any more than being born at the Jewish general hospital doesn’t make me Jewish.

Ironically, in Greece, I’m called a foreigner. Growing up Greek in Montreal, is not the same as growing up Greek in Greece. Goes to show how culture unavoidably breeds bias and immigration ushers it along.

Consider the saying “when in Rome, do as the Romans do”

So when in Quebec, do as…whom?

Think of the last time you traveled and how you were absorbed by the culture and became enchanted with their way of life. Now consider someone traveling here. What are they absorbing and experiencing?

Most say they love our multicultural vibe. And this perhaps defines Quebec culture — our hodgepodge of many cultures. And so making sure everyone speaks French or else, does very little to raise and cultivate the French-Quebec culture. Hence SNL’s latest ‘bonjour-hi’ skit, a spoof that caused upset amongst Quebecers especially francophones, that Bowen Yang issued an “apology” for missing the mark.

Many are unacquainted with Quebec heritage and culture because its people are preocupied with language correction, instead of cultural connection.

I humbly suggest they stop staring at the tree and instead take notice of the forest. Culture is more than language. It takes a lot more to maintain heritage and identity. This language battle only speaks to cultural impotence. Ask any immigrant who has no language charters and laws in place to secure their language and identity, but still has managed to preserve them. A powerful culture speaks for itself, in whatever language it chooses and its pull is so great, that you don’t resist. So instead of focusing on condemning each other for our differences, let’s start exploring how those differences make us fundamentally the same. What binds us will bond us.

I propose we start with the following statement.

#JeSuisQuebecois(e)Parceque…?

[brooklynislandgirl]

Beth and WOD!Billy - ❤♡❥ღ💕💘💝💓💌💟💙💚💜💛

This || Not Accepting

❤: who is more affectionate in public? in private? 

In public Billy becomes a distant shore. Too far to reach no matter how hard she swims, how much sea water she ends up swallowing, how far she stretches out her fingers to reach him. To hold his hand, to press her cheek against his arm, to take umbrage in the shelter of all that he is. He reminds her there are cameras everywhere. There are covert agents like himself, there’s research assistants, Extraordinary Citizens. That are all on the Front Lines ready to devour any mistake he makes. To bring the whole thing crashing down on their heads, and that as radiant as he finds his older sister, that she is not exactly shy about flying her Deviant flag, is she?

It crushes some of her spirit and Billy regrets having to do it, but it’s for the Greater Good. He always tells himself that but alone, in his own sanctum, those beliefs are starting to crumble. One part of him wonders if this is all a test of his truest loyalties to his convention, carefully constructed in the Ivory Tower by Control. Forcing him to choose between humanity and three very high value targets. If capture and indoctrination is the plan, or eradication if he doesn’t manage to bring them over. Another part of him, the one that is still fur and fang and not quite the eidolon of his Enlightened Genius shakes its head in shame. Billy should know better. He should remember that dying light in her eyes and swear to make it up to her, no matter the cost. Maybe this is malfunction. Maybe this is what madness feels like. ♡: who is the bigger romantic openly? secretly?

There’s a movie she’s made him watch, that she’s seen a dozen times, enough that she doesn’t miss the words, doesn’t need them to flash across the screen. She curls up against him and jokingly tells him the main protagonist is clearly an Ecstatic ~one of her so called Nine Traditions~ and that she thinks the paradigm contained in it is beautiful.

He enjoys it because it makes his apartment feel less lonely, less sterile. It leaves the ghost of her as an impression against his skin. The scent of popcorn and the coconut and sandalwood and cinnamon that always clings to her skin will now linger on his. She’s soft and curved and quiet, all the things that his world is not. And he has that weird feeling that she somehow bypasses his circuitry, his implants, even though that should be impossible, to dig a place inside of him that she can fit.

But even when she’s gone, a line from the film sticks with him. One he can’t shake, so he hides it in an internal file buried so deep that even he will have trouble finding it again.

"Have you never met a woman who inspires you to love? Until your every sense is filled with her? You inhale her. You taste her. You see your unborn children in her eyes and know that your heart has at last found a home. Your life begins with her, and without her it must surely end." 

❥: who is more likely to plan something big for valentine's day?

He’s going to punch the other two dead in the face when they get back. Because it can’t be anything less than a conspiracy between the three of them that he goes to sleep in his own bed, all algorithms in suspend mode, only to wake up to the sound of waves lapping against the wood and fibreglass of the hold, the sea choppy and cold and grey. Like the sky if he bothers to look out of a porthole.

The bunk is a little cramped for his liking, not exactly built for a man of his stature and construction. The benefit of hypertech enhanced limbs is that they don’t exactly ache for the narrowed confinement. The space beside him still holds the ghost of her warmth, her scent, and it isn’t hard to imagine the sheets wrapped around her lithe frame. Hair spilling over his arm like a dark flood. But it’s her voice that teases him awake.  “So since we no can do da whole public kine,” she murmurs, “I t’ought I’d surprise ya. Ren’ned one boat for couple days. An’ bonus... my friends who helpin’ us out... says dey know of a crew a pirates dat need t’ be... how ya say it? Sanitise?” He winces at the word, and how close it is to the reality of it. He raises a brow, loath to interrupt her when her voice is still raspy from sleep, and because everyone else is used to discounting her, cutting her off. “Cause dey fangy-fangy/bitey-bitey.” She makes comical fangs with her fingers curled in front of her mouth. He slides out of bed and into a slumped seating position and she comes over, sits beside him. She presses a mug of scalding hot tea into his hands. It’s dark. Slightly sweet. It doesn’t matter when she smiles. “Happy Volentimes day. An’ good mornin’.” He presses his nose into the crown of her hair. “Mornin’ Izzy.”

ღ: who is more likely to initiate hand-holding in public?

Standing on the upper deck, face in the wind, eyes closed, Billy can hear it. The distinct creak of timbre. The whip-snap of the canvas in a gale, his hands weathered and calloused as he climbs the shrouds to secure a ratline. Everything is heavy with sea spray and the acrid smell of spent powder. The rush of having overtaken a heavy vessel. The pounding of his heart after a successful boarding action. New men aboard. Supplies and wealth taken and secured below. He can see faces and hear names that were long since dead, maybe never existed at all.  There’s a word on the tip of his tongue but when he reaches for it, it vanishes. It tells him he doesn’t really want to know because Billy doesn’t really forget, does he? He doesn’t. And so the only person standing against him is himself.

He blames her with her talk of pirates and her gift of the open sea past the international dateline. Gives him fanciful day dreams, that’s all it is.  He stiffens when he feels skin on skin. Rudimentary procedure tells him it’s her before he even opens his eyes. Which he chooses not to. Instead he curls his fingers around hers; too small, too delicate. Afraid he’ll crush them if he isn’t careful. Afraid he’ll crush her. 

💕: who is more likely to make huge declarations of love in front of other people?

“I will NOT have you shaming the family, Elizabeth!” For a moment with his voice roused in anger, Andy sounds exactly like their father. And she stands there, taking the brunt of it, doe eyes full of a shame and grief that did not come close to being able to be described. She is reduced to something less than herself, something barely more than a child the way she twists her fingers into the waist of her skirt, head tilted toward the floor where maybe that gaze could burn a hole into the wood floors. Shoulders forward and down, all of her making itself as small as possible. Perhaps protectively, perhaps because it cannot hold up the heaviness of Andy’s anger. “....m’ sorry.”  Barely two words, slurred into one.

She hadn’t meant to do or say anything wrong. She hadn’t meant to make a scene at the party. Hadn’t meant to make Billy chase her into the room. Of course, there’s a lot of things she doesn’t mean and it makes it so hard to breathe sometimes.

She can’t say she really understands why he’s mad. Why he’d waited until everyone, including Billy had left, why Baz’s half-hearted interference from the kitchen where he’s cleaning up... “Leave’r ‘lone, Andy” ... goes unheard. “May I be ‘scused?” “Go to bed. We’ll deal with damage control in the morning.” Beth decides then and there, she hates Halloween.

💘: who developed a crush on the other first?

It’s called the Westermarck Effect. A psychological hypothesis that people who live in close domestic proximity during the first few years of their lives become desensitised to sexual attraction with one another. And when a brother and sister, for example, are brought up separately, never meeting until they reach adulthood or adolescence they might find one another highly sexually attractive. The science clearly bears out.

But he wants to hear it from Andy’s own mouth.  The source of his bitterness, his distance, the rage that has him lifting hands and laying them on his little brother. Panting, he looks up from where he’s crouched. Jaw hard. Back of his hand swiping at the lick of blood on his lip. He hitches himself to his feet and reaches out a hand, waits until Andy reaches back and helps pull the other man to his feet. An honest dust up that’s gotten most things out of the way so that they can actually talk. “So tell me, Andrew, is it that she’s makin’ eyes, or that it’s not at you?”

💝: who spends more time (possibly overthinking) what presents to get the other?

The adverts on the telly and radio and every bit of media give off suggestions. Every kiss begins with Kay. De Beers A Diamond is Forever. It’s all part of the carefully cultivated stratagems of the Syndicate. A means to control the economy based on the products it chooses to endorse, and which they decide to bury.  But the problem isn’t his fellow conventions, but rather the fact that Beth isn’t that kind of woman. She doesn’t want for material things, not in the way that can be neatly wrapped up in a box with a bow. She wants for the sea in her soul. She wants for a quiet acceptance. She wants for the soft kisses and hands pressed to hearts vowing forever at the end of the fairy tale. She wants an end to the War or at least an escape from it. She wants all of humanity to achieve this mystical Ascendance of hers, that reminds him of a song from the 70s or something What can you give a woman like that? You don’t exactly. You can’t. It means switching sides. It means becoming a traitor to your own. Not that she’s ever asked. Not that she has to, what with everything that is changing within him. She’s shown him things that he never contemplated before, things he’s never hoped to experience. For the first time, he’s starting to question the party line. And that’s dangerous. “Let me see the other one. The one with the pearls.”

💓: who initiates most physical contact?

She tucks her feet under his leg when they’re cold. Which is always. Her fingers find a home intertwined with his the moment he stops typing. Even if there’s a mile of couch, she tries to climb into his lap at every opportunity. She talks with her hands and smiles with her eyes and her lips at once. Small kisses on the back of his neck. Somehow she’s always brushing against him as she walks by. She’s always been the physical type. It’s a language as well as a form of affection and he thinks he’s starting to figure it out. Or at least he thinks he has, but then she changes the rules.

Suddenly she doesn’t quite meet his eyes. How she finds a way to not be in the same room even if they are seated right next to him. When she dances with him it feels like they’re on other planets.

For all that he wants to give chase, he doesn’t. Gives her space. Hopes that’s enough to bring her back around because he’s starting to miss the little things. Teeth has other things to say about it but you don’t always listen to your not so imaginary weasel.

💌: who is more likely to send cutesy texts to the other?

Sheryl from R and D eyes him when he laughs out loud. He waves a hand and recites the pithier parts of an Onion article he’d read weeks before. All while staring at the face she’s making, rubber glove on her head like a cockscomb. She’s always sending him little things. A picture from the ER. Something silly she saw on the way to or from work, depending on what shifts she’s taken. Corny little jokes he knows has taken her weeks to come up with. Things he memorises and deletes because he doesn’t want a single trace of her that can be caught by the higher ups. But that doesn’t mean that he wants her to stop. In a lot of ways it speaks volumes that she cares enough about him, that she thinks about him as much as he does her, that she sends them. His favourite so far is the Giraffe prodding a duck with one enormously long leg. He normally doesn’t send anything back, no channel completely secure, but he does make a point to mention it when he gets back to his place. Which reminds him, she’s been spending an awful lot of time there.

💟: who spends time reading their zodiac compatibility?

She sits sprawled on the floor. There’s books and charts, some ancient and some new, all around her. She has graph paper, pencils and pens, a compass and slide rule, all the trappings of higher mathematics. But she’s not solving complex equations or a new hypothesis for string theory. “It’s complete rubbish!” he laughs, stirring the garlic green beans around the wok with a touch of sesame oil. “The stars aren’t even in the same position as they were back then, some have burnt out, the gravitational axis of-” “Nu-uh!” she counters, just as amused, just as passionate. “Astrology one of da very firs’ sciences, William. In fact, ya very own Celestial Mastahs-” Void Engineers, Beth. They’re called the Void Engineers. “-spoke wide an’ advocated it in academic circle. Related it t’ astronomy, alchemy, me-meat- “Meteorology.” “Yeah, dat. An medicine. Da Greek, Chinese, Mayans, Egyptians, Macedonians. All’a da big civilisation. Even in da political circles of literature, li’dat Dante Alighieri an’ Chaucer, Shakespeare, Lope De Vega, Calderon de la Barca, who I don’ t’ink was related t’ Hannibal but mebbe. No was til da nineteen century when you guys edged forward wi’ da Sleepahs-” “Beth?” “Yeah?” “Could you come here a second?” She rises like a very strange Polynesian Venus from her sea of pseudoscience and pads her way over to him. He leans down and kisses her gently on the lips. She pulls back from him and shakes her head, flashing him her shark-smile. “See? See dat? Spoken li’ true Libra.”

💙: who is more protective?

He watches her from near the treeline, crouched down low, one set of knuckles in the deep loam offering himself balance. She rabbit runs and for a moment he is consumed more in her motion than watching the surroundings. Shapely legs and perfect little feet fleet, flashing their tawny hue in the sun. Braids bouncing down her back. Go, girl, go. She almost makes it. But on her blind side there’s a blur. Taller than her. Near twice as broad. Intends to take her down like a lion on the Savannah. Billy sees red. Literally. And he springs. Primium laced muscles and bone primed and pumping at optimal levels. Gives him a deceptive speed and the length of his stride eats up the earth at his feet. He clips the body at the waist, drives him to the ground. Makes him drop the weapons at hand that break harmlessly open. There’s a struggle. Of course there is. Half-powered punches that gain his victim no leverage, a rolling tussle where he keeps coming on top, shoulder crashing into chest until he turns and coughs. Gasping for air. Body changing to something harder than flesh, but slow. He gets in one more good punch.

“Billy.” He looks up. Andy’s standing there. Pinning her in his arms. Her feet dangle off the ground, her eyes wild. One of his hands wrapped around her throat. A short jerking twist and she’d-- ”Let him go.” He blinks. Looks down at Baz, sees him for the first time. Realises the weapons are water balloons. And Beth? She still has the football in hand, because she’d crossed the finish line. Their point, then. He still doesn’t understand all the rules to this combination flag {American} football and water balloons and trivia game. Billy hitches to his feet. Offers an apologetic hand to Baz who declines. Politely. When Baz crosses over to Andy’s side, Riley lets her go. Gives her a little shove toward Billy. There’s a fading hand-print around her neck, but she smiles and kneads her head into his chest. He puts an arm around her and glares at the other two who are checking each other over.

Riley will learn one of these days that he’ll keep his hands off her. And he’ll learn it a broken bone at a time, his or someone else’s.

💚: who tends to get sick more often? who is better at taking care of the other?

She stitches his skin. He feeds her soup. They sleep like the dead.  She tends to his scars the way he shepherds her dreams. They work.

💜: who said "i love you" first? or, if neither has said it yet, who is more likely to say it first?

He said once, the first time. She rejected it out of turn. She repeats it later. They never speak it again. But they do everything to make it manifest. Every touch and every look everything they do for one another.  But the words sit in their throats. Haunt their eyes. Loud. Shrieking. How the rest of the world doesn’t hear it, he’ll never know. She’s asleep now, and his fingers trail through her hair. She looks so innocent, so untouched by anything, even him as her chest rises and falls with quiet breathing.

How many times are they going to spiral around each other?  As many as it takes. Until they can howl down the heavens.

💛: who believes in soulmates?

Nails dig into the back of his neck as he holds her fast. One arm around her hips. One climbing the trellis of her ribs like ivy, fingers resting in the space between her shoulders as she arches back. His face pressed into the wide valley between her breasts. The harsh echo of his panting breaths, the sweeter song of the guttural moan he’s dragged out of her throat, her throat exposed, mouth parted in a rictus of pleasure-pain. She calls it the Lotus position, the way she’s seated in his lap, and he’s buried to the hilt. Legs wrapped like chains around him as the last twitches and jerks bleed him dry inside of her. She calls this tantric. Finishing together. Raising power. He calls it love and his is hers and hers alone. And there’s only one way that will ever end. “Death first, Izzy.” He writes the words across her sweat soaked skin. “Always.” She answers and swans her neck into his shoulder where her teeth draw blood.

[hermeticimp]

Tarot Session with Hermes

Hey guys! So, I recently had a session with Hermes that I wanted to share with you all! This reading should give some perspective on how I read, my relationship with Hermes, and what to expect when I open free readings (which will be soon! ^_^ The last part in particular is what I’ll be starting with).  For this session, I used the “Deity And I” spread by @underworldariel. Link is here! I used both my Linestrider Journey and The Arcana decks (The letters by each card refer to the deck it came from). I don’t have a picture of the cards, but you can look them if you’re so inclined. ^_^   Card 1: What do I bring into the relationship? - King of Swords Reversed (L)

This card represents me. A king stares beyond the card, a blue figure covered in feathers. A sword of red cuts through him. To this union, I bring intelligence, cleverness, and action. I’m a very mind-oriented person (though I’m trying to work on tempering that). I’m in control of faculties. I know how to be responsible and how to turn things to my advantage. I tend to get lost in my thoughts, being rather preoccupied with the realm of thought. It easy for me to forget my earthly or spiritual obligations when I’m zoned out. Nevertheless, my nature brings something interesting to the relationship. When I’m decided on something, I make the moves to do so. Sometimes, I have regrets, but overall, it tends to work out for me. At the same time, I can be distant and too focused on being fair or right that I can neglect emotions, including my own. I came into this relationship being too logical and factual. Hermes has and fully intends to continue working on  me with that. 

Card 2: What does Hermes bring to the relationship? - Queen of Wands (A)

This card represents Hermes (obviously). Faust sits on the ground with potions, flowers, and smoke surrounding her. Her tail is curled around a wand. I immediately notice that the card is covered in pink, with hints of purple, red, and blue. It provides a nice contrast to the blue and red of my own card. Not only that, but it features a Queen while mine was a King. Wands and Swords are also rather compatible to me, one feeding the other. I think this speaks to the ease of our relationship. Anyhow, moving on to what this actually means. With the Queen of Wands, it shows that Hermes brings a certain dynamic nature to the relationship. He’s an energetic one and rather warm, egging me on even when I can’t do it myself. He’s passionate, thoughtful, and in touch with both sides of himself: feminine and masculine. He’s a wise mentor who wants to cultivate giving emotions their fair due. He’s playful, charismatic, and an overall joy of a person. Well, god. He’s very driven. I think that’s visible in how fast his lessons come and go. There’s rarely breathing room between each of them. This hearkens back to Ariel’s reading this morning, with the music revealing who intense and fast paced our relationship can be. Nonetheless, he cares and wishes to draw me out of my shell with his more social nature. On the flip side, it can be hard to keep up with him sometimes. He’s just so quick, as a messenger and traveler is wont to be. Still, it can be a task and half sometimes. I think he can jump the gun a bit. He thinks I’m right behind him when I’m actually ten steps behind. I think it shows a level of impulsivity, even with all the plans he has. It’s like biting off more than you can chew, at least on my side. He’s working on that though, I believe. He reminds me of how important it is for me to rest. I think it’s safe to say we’ve both learned to adapt to each other over time.  Card 3 : What will we both come to learn from this relationship? - The Star (A)

From this relationship, we’ll come to learn how to motivate one another. A feline-like being with a flower crown pours water into a pool from a vase. She smiles as stars glitter in the background. The card really brings to mind Aquarius. While Libra is the sign of balance, Aquarius speaks to being understanding of the world around us while still maintaining who we are. Hermes and I are very different, no matter how well we get along. Despite that, we are happy to work together in order to improve things, both personally and for the world at large. The Star reminds us that, at the end of the day, the power is in our hands. The world is what we make it. It’s a magic that we should take full advantage of. We encourage each other, fill each other’s pool when we’re low. While I can mainly see that on my side, our conversation the other day suggests he feels the same. (Plus, with Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic playing, I think that’s a confirmation. XD). We remind each other that there is still hope for the world and hope in it.

Card 4: What are the mutual traits we share and/or what brought us together? - Nine of Wands Reversed (L)

A fox-like figure stands among the wands, holding a dagger in hand despite being injured. I think we tend to push ourselves harder than we need to. We’ll keep going way past when anyone would have stopped. We’re driven, passionate, and animated. It’s easy for us to bounce off one another. Often, we push each other to our limits. We want the other to become their best self. As for what brought us together… it was our ability to get back up no matter how many times we get knocked down. The world can be a hard place, both on this plane and the others. I’ve been through some shit, but I’m still here, standing. Hermes is standing with me, as he’s always done. We have an affection and love for each other because of how we handle ourselves (If Only You Knew and Saturn). Together, we can accomplish anything. We do what we need to do, anything else be damned.(We Don’t Give A). Our inner strength is something we admire about one another.

Card 5: What affinity and affection do I hold for him? - The Hierophant (A)

I’ve already touched on this quite a bit (We Don’t Give A is still playing. XD) However, I’ll continue here. The card depicts a ram-like figure dressed in robes. He holds up 3 fingers and holds a papal scepter. Two keys are crossed in front of him, as if denoting fate. Our affinity lies in our hard work and dedication. I am dedicated to our relationship with him, my loved ones, and the world at large. I’ve mentioned how we push ourselves and one another. A lot of that is predicated itself on this  spiritual journey (Take Me To Church with The Hierophant. Come on, Hermes! XD). I am fully committed to the path we’re on and we have respect for each other because of that. I’m also not scared to blend tradition with the new. The old institutions have a level of placement here, but times are changing. We adapt accordingly. I have faith in Hermes beyond anything. No matter what changes, I know I can trust him. He’s been with me through my hardest times. A part of me worships him for that, but that’s not what our relationship is meant to be. This isn’t the ancient times after all. He gives me hope and belief like nothing else. I don’t know what I’d do without him. When I thought our relationship was ending, that hurt. I was happy to know he was still there. He means so much to me. I love him with the fierceness of any devotee (Cosmic Love). 

Card 6: What affinity and admiration does he have for me? - The Sun Reversed (A)

An eagle-like being cups water in his hands as the Sun shines brightly behind him. Hermes has affinity for my bright and happy nature. He finds me interesting and overall kind-hearted. He appreciates that in the modern day, when so many horrors go on. I remind me of himself and of the beauty in the world. He admires my loving and nurturing nature, including towards him (Naked). No matter what I’ve heard through myths and other stories, I’ve always held that affection for him. Despite what I’ve been through, I still love people and the world. He realizes how hard that is. He doesn’t want me to shut off my light, despite how much I’ve been hurt. The world needs that kind of thing. He also appreciates my child-like and happy demeanor. I get so excited about things and it’s adorable (How about NOOOOOOOOOOO). It makes him think of his own playful nature. (Into You? You’re messing with me, aren’t you? You’re awful. XD). Thus he enjoys doing things like I just described. He wants me to remember not to lose my light to the darkness. It’s hard, but my path will lead to success. I just have to keep being me.

Extra Cards: Ten of Swords Reversed & Four and Seven of Cups (All A) 

These are messages from Hermes to me. The Ten of Swords reminds me not to give up. The path can be hard to walk, but I’m not alone. I don’t realize just how close victory is. The dragon is juggling swords, but he’s successful despite the danger. The Four of Cups means I should share the depth of my emotions without being ashamed of that. He knows that that’s something I struggle with, but he wants me to understand that it’s okay. No one’s going to hate or look down on me for having feelings. I’m human after all. The fish swimming happily through the cups appears here and in the Seven of Cups. I’m meant to indulge freely and frequently them. But, I shouldn’t retreat into myself and get lost in memories or ideals. He wants me to communicate with him, my other deities and guides, and my loved ones to avoid this. (All I Wanna Do). My journal is perfect for that. I think that’s the gist of it. (Summer Love). Thank you Hermes. Songs mentioned: 

Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic by The Police If Only You Knew Cover by Soul For Real Saturn by NAO feat. Kwabs We Don’t Give A by NAO Take Me to Church by Hozier Cosmic Love by Florence + The Machine Naked by Ella Mai Into You by Ariana Grande All I Wanna Do by Jordan Fisher Summer Love by One Direction

So that’s about it. Reminder that this is just my relationship with Hermes, no one else’s. I just wanted to share my story. Thank you for reading!