#do it in the first place) she combines your two halves and tells you she would have loved you as you were and then she has to fucking kill

[robitherat]

Centaurworld is intense as fuck what the hell

[tricogarfield]

Zahnfee/Rhun Headcanon post!

Sooo...I will try to put all my current Zahnfee headcanons in here :D if I forget something, I will either add it to the post or, if there is enough to talk about, make another post! Perhaps I'll do one headcanon post for other JCU charas :DD The way I will go about this is, I will first explain general headcanons about Zahnfee xierself, then how I think the whole Dark/White thing works, then headcanons regarding my last piece of fanart and, if I still have some headcanon after that, then I will tell them at the end! Let's-a-go!:D

First up, pronouns headcanons! White: she/her Dark: he/him Grey/Zahnfee/Rhun: xier/xies The reason why they dont all use he/him is because everyone uses she/her pronouns for both, Grey and White. Ju however, in the BTS video, still uses she/her pronouns to reffer to White even when calling her White and not "DIE Zahnfee", so it's not needed from a grammar point of view. Which is why I stay with she/her :D the xier/xies for Grey is simply because I'm in love with that for Zahnfee after reading these pronouns used in a fanfic that I love a lot! Aside from that, I think Zahnfee would probably be Agender and somewhere on the AroAce spec (triple A battery fr) With that out of the way, I headcanon Zahnfee as the youngest of the brothers :DD there are a lot of people that think Fips is the youngest (totally valid and I absolutely see your point), but I love the idea that the creepiest one (who also happens to have a daughter) is the youngest brother NSNSN Additionally, I also think that, back when they were still mortal, Rhun was the only one of the bunch that was afab, but that will make more sense once I get to how Dark and White work! Now, onto Dark and White! I've seen people portray Dark as a add-on, if you will, for Zahnfee that just gives xier more power. However, I think that BOTH, Dark and White, are equally Rhun/Zahnfee and both are needed, to have the full person! The way I imagine it would have gone is that Rhun, back when xier was still one person, would have started to split into halves. One half represents the chaos inside xies, the hunger for teeth, the urge for freedom, the source of xies power, manifesting as something abnormal. A monster even, as the nuns back then would call it. Everything "bad" about Rhun manifested into Dark. Meanwhile the other half represents discipline, Rhun's mortality, xies morals, the need to follow rules and not stand out, manifesting as human looking. The "good" side, the one that needed to be the dominant one as the nuns used to preach. All that is white. Imagine how that must feel with the age of, let's say, 13 years. You can feel yourself splitting, you can hear your thoughts contradicting themselves more and more often, you smile in situations you were taught not to smile, you get pulled apart by the urge to escape and by the need to follow the rules and stay in place. And on top of all that, eventually, your skin starts changing as you feel yourself being split into two halves. Suddenly the entire left side of the skin on your head is transluscent, then your neck, then your torso and even your wrists. And one day, you fully split into two different entities. What was one is now two and now, everything the nuns preached you is good and what you have come to hate is one half of you while the other one that the nuns hated you for but what gives you the feeling of actually being alive is the other.

And then these two entities combine into one person again, leaving two minds to share one train of thought, two creatures suddenly sharing one body, the human side and the abnormal side. And to make matters worse, now you have to actively fight to keep both sides combined so that the bad won't run away and leave the good to die.

This is why they are all reffered to differently. Grey is the only time that both sides are complete, White and Dark simply are incomplete without the other. They are vastly different yet quite literally need their other half. Rhun is not White or Dark, Rhun can only ever be Grey. Because White is everything that Rhun hates about xierself and Dark is everything that Rhun was preached was bad about xierself. But Rhun can't just split into two to live as Dark, because that would mean killing a part of xierself and living as the shadow of that part. To truly be alive and follow xies job and collect teeth, Rhun needs both of xies halves.

And in the end, Dark realised that he doesn't want White to die. Dark hates everything White represents, but Dark doesn't necessarily hate White. Just like White hates everything Dark represents but doesnt immediately hate Dark.

So the two entities combine into one, sharing one train of thought and one body, so that both can live on and that they are able to use their power to it's fullest.

PHEWWWW, THAT WAS A LONG RANT, my bad for that! Anyway, I will leave this as is and make another post for my Oskar and Zahnfee headcanons! So stay tuned!:D

[consortthedragonenjoyer]

Personally, I like to write them as two beings who started from the same place and diverged to reach their current states based on the choices that they made and the circumstances they were placed in. They started as the same ultrapowerful blank slate, and they worked together for a time until they started to develop their own opinions until finally they had a disagreement they just couldn't overcome, went to war against each other, and ended up becoming what they are today.

It works well on a lot of levels: everyone is influenced by their environment and everyone has choices to make.

Personally I think the timeline goes something like this: Io gets split in half during the war of creation, the two halves get up after the war is won and go create the First World together. Things are pretty okay, and then going by 5e lore, other deities turn up to the First World to colonize it. If I had to guess why, it's because they also made separate worlds and those worlds collapsed (I infer this based on what happens to the First World), so they needed to evacuate. And that is a problem because while they're doing this as a matter of survival, the First World isn't capable of handling a dozen new races. So that creates a hellish moral dilemma. Do you damn all the other refugee races to save the First World, or do you do your best to find a way to save them knowing that it may come at personal cost? Well, Tiamat chooses to try and exterminate the refugees, and Bahamut chooses to side with them and protect humanity. Cue a world-spanning war. Even if Tiamat's call wasn't something completely devoid of reason; it creates a perfect and terrible spiral for her to get Worse. Nobody could possibly stop her getting Worse. She fights a war across the First World, and war is fucking horrible and messy even when it's not fuelled by a combination of prejudice and fear. She loses the war and everyone hates her. She gets captured and tortured (canon; being tortured is how she get her 5 heads), and then exactly as she predicted the First World implodes on itself and shatters into all alternate timelines, killing Sardior in the process. She takes a contract to escape into hell to dodge the shattering and now she's stuck there until the writers decide to let her out. So was she pure evil from the start? No! But she became the ultimate face of evil as direct result of her choices and she WOULD be unrepentantly evil because as far as she's concerned, evil is basically her entire identity. Anyways this interpretation sets up all sorts of metaphors so I like it, and it allows you to play Tiamat as a self-righteous and self-absorbed queen bitch of hell.

Conversely this also works great for Bahamut because spoilers: Thinking that you are inherently good or are an inherent moral authority on good is how you end up with massively corrupt churches (at best), and playing Bahamut as a Big Good who just popped into existence as the Goodest Guy ever is setting yourself up for failure.

Bahamut achieving the status of the Ultimate Good, that of a warrior, philosopher and saint comes across much more meaningfully when he attained that status because he makes careful choices and thinks them through. He chose to offer compassion to a strange and potentially dangerous race that he didn't understand, and he even decided to stand against his own other half to protect them. He's honest that he has regrets and makes mistakes, but he actively reflects on his decisions and seeks to better himself. Societal standards change over time and he doesn't stand in front of a society and tell them that they should obey HIS standard, he observes those societies and lets them guide his own opinions of good (Which is also why he doesn't like to meddle or show off). "It's not a guiding light. You are guiding the light. Where you go is up to you." -Mateusz Skutnik, Submachine 9 [Or in my worlds, Bahamut]. But anyways yeah I like to play them this way because it turns them into actual characters. It's way easier to make Tiamat absolutely vicious when she's got some formerly understandable but now deeply twisted motivations behind her actions, and Bahamut is just much more consistently likeable when he's capable of being wrong and striving to be good regardless. Whoops that was longer than intended, my bad

I feel like most think Chromatic Dragons are evil because they worship Tiamat instead of Bahumat, Tiamat is a goddess of Chaos which most people generally associate with acts of evil but chaos generally isn't evil it just is. While Bahumat the metallic god of Order is generally seen as good there are times when too much Order is stifling

Well to start, if I were to write Tiamat or Bahamut for whatever reason, I'd wouldn't try to stray too far from their moralities. I mean it's right there in their titles: Tiamat, Queen of the Evil Dragons and Bahamut, King of the Good Dragons. It's practically written in their DNA and concept. So trying to portray Tiamat as some woobie or Bahamut as being secretly evil would defeat the entire purpose of the characters.

I wouldn't even say that Tiamat is a Goddess of Chaos in a traditional sense. Chaos usually means the potential for change and the hope for a better future. Tiamat on the other hand seems to lean more to the "evil" in "chaotic evil". As in she's fully willing to commit to atrocities in order to further her goals. And indulge in her own whims and impulses instead of tearing down an oppressive order. Hell, for a Goddess of Chaos, she keeps a tight leash on her servants and has very problems with dominating them when they get too uppity. Aren't the Blue Dragons (Lawful Evil) amongst her most dedicated followers?

As a whole, I don't think Tiamat represents Chaos as a force for change. But rather as a force for shortsighted impulses and domination. She's the one who would dominate and use her domination as an excuse to indulge in her vices. Think a dragon version of a Skeksis and you get the drill.

Conversely, Bahamut is a bit closer to the "good" in "lawful good". His sphere of influence centers around justice, doing good deeds, and promoting acts of charity. He's not even focused on establishing some kind of societal order or regime since he rarely gets involved with mortals on a societal level. Usually, Bahamut only acts to right some kind of wrong or bring justice (which tends to be against his sister and her followers). In that way, he's more of a knight-errant than a king.

If Tiamat represents domination and living out one's impulses for the self, Bahamut focuses on helping others and holding the self to a higher standard. In that regard, the "lawful" is less societal and more living to a code of honor or strong morality. And their relationship is less "chaos vs order" and more "depravity vs nobility".

So with all this in mind, how would I handle Chromatics as a whole if it's less a societal standard and more a moral standard? Well to start, I sincerely doubt the Chromatics have too much love for Tiamat. Again, she keeps a tight leash on them and expects things like accepting consorts from them or reaping whatever portion of their hoards they have collected. And I did read that some Chromatics will try to keep portions of their hoard secret to keep out of Tiamat's hands. From this, I believe that their devotion to Tiamat is less out of reverence and loyalty and more wanting to stay on her good side. Thus, the idea of leaving her has to be a thought a lot of the Chromatics have.

Thing is, Tiamat is freakishly powerful and I doubt she'd want any of her children to get any ideas of rebelling. Even if somehow a Chromatic could break away from Tiamat and survive, they were still raised with the toxic mindset that their "mother" instilled in them. So it would be a pretty painful changing process if all they know how to be are vicious monsters. Add to that how many mortals rightfully think Chromatics are violent monsters, and you have a stacked deck.

Again, I do believe it is possible. It just won't be easy. If I were to write this sort of story, I would possibly have a young Chromatic who strikes out on their own from their parents who instilled that toxic mindset. Old enough to be self-sufficient, but young enough to still be mentally vulnerable and a bit awkward in terms of actually being vile. Basically enough of a threat to gain adventurers' notice, but not enough of a threat to have a massive bounty on their heads. From then, you could either see them begin to question themselves on what they're doing wrong. Not sure how Bahamut might see such a dragon though. On the one hand, forgiveness and mercy are part of his sphere. On the other, I did read that he was also pretty merciless when it comes to Chromatics (I mean, he's been in conflict with Tiamat and her brood for so long that it's hard to blame him). So it could go either way.

That's how I'd write the dynamic between Tiamat and Bahamut along with the Chromatics. Let me know what you guys think or if I'm missing something.

[simply-ellas-stuff]

I have thoughts.

The thing with Daemon and Rhaenyra is that we know how it ends.

We know where They specifically are going in their storyline.

So I feel like a lot of people are mixing up where they are now in the story for HOT D. Fire and Blood and House of the Dragon are two very different forms of media telling the same story - parallel universes if you will.

In the after-episodes we learnt that Daemon does genuinely love his family. [I still think that Otto's telling of the Heir for A Day brothel scene was skewed and told only from Otto's twisted story] He genuinely cares about Viserys and only wants his love and he does Genuinely love Rhaenyra.

But he's jealous. He's chaotic. He's temperamental. He puts on an act of being careless and giving no fucks. He's desperate for attention even if it's negative.

What he did to Rhaenyra from her perspective is romantic because she's very obviously got a thing for Daemon. But From Daemon's it's manipulative. They say in the after show it is abuse. He knows its wrong. But he's doing it because he wants the attention from Viserys. Its a form of revenge for banishing him in the first place and not helping with the Step Stones war.

He wants to marry Rhaenyra, yes because he does love her but Also because he wants the power of being married to the (future) Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. The two are not mutually exclusive.

And technically, the political play of combining Daemon and Rhaenyra's claims would actually be smart. It'd strengthen Rhaenyra's claim, halve the betting on whose going to sit the throne by removing a claim, and maybe even end the debates for Aegon given that he's a child but Daemon and Rhaenyra are both grown - and have dragons.

Daemon's love for Rhaenyra as of this moment in the show is exceptionally toxic. He loves her, but he uses her. He loves her, but she's his pawn. He loves her, but he's jealous of her. He loves her, but she's his rival. He loves her, but he abuses her.

Daemon is basically the perfect toxic 'Dark Romance' trope wearing Matt Smith's face. But that doesn't make him good and that doesn't make it okay what he did.

Rhaenyra's basically totally uninformed and uneducated when it comes to the freedom of being a woman, having sex, and doing whatever the fuck you want whenever the fuck you want. Sex for her is a duty and a death sentence, as she tells Daemon. and Daemon used that against her.

Do I think he stopped because he realized it was wrong? Yes.

Do I think he stopped because he loves Rhaenyra too much to hurt her like that? Yes.

Do I think that Daemon feels guilty? No.

Do I think Daemon feels remorse? No.

Do I think he'll take this and become a better person? No.

No one in HOTD has morals. Everyone is a grey character. And everyone at some point is going to do something we hate. It's not a good thing.

If you got excited because the scene was really sexy thanks to the way the actors play it and its a look at the chemistry and passion between them, good for you. If you found it disgusting for more than one reason, good for you. This isn't a story where the morally high grounded will end well.

This isn't a story where you can look at it and say "This person is the bad guy, this person is the good guy" however you are allowed to critically think about the story and look at the characters in the abstract. But in doing so, if someone so choses to ignore their morals for an hour long episode and a freak-out-lengths tumblr post, you do not have the right to shit on them for it.

The person Daemon is and the person Rhaenyra is are not the people they will be in the future. Daemon manipulating Rhaenyra in the last episode is absolutely fucked. Rhaenyra's choices in the future are her choices.

We're just starting to watch this unfold, so if you so wish to talk it critically - do it. If you want to abandon your morals and just enjoy that Milly Alcock is hot as fuck - do it.

But they are not at the end of their story yet, they are not the people we know they become.

[the-broken-truth]

Broken-Style Remix: Yandere Mother Talia Al Ghul

Broken: When it comes to Yandere Mothers, Talia Al Ghul is one of my favorites; considering how obsessed she is with her baby daddy. Recently, I came into a Yandere Talia Al Ghul Image made by @anxiousnerdwritings & with their permission, I have been allowed to make this Broken-Style Remix! Now, let the words weave together!!!

@anxiousnerdwritings's version: LINK

SUBTITLE: THE ONE YOU THREW AWAY

Talia Al Ghul wanted things thing and would do anything to obtain those things - Complete Control & Undeniable Power. She was the daughter of Ra's Al Ghul - The Head Demon of the League of Assassin & Immortal Mad-Man, well...not anymore; now Talia was on the Throne as Head of the League of Assassins, but there was a time before everything went to hell. Talia always wanted to have power but she also wanted someone to share it with - that came in the form of the Protector of Gotham - The Masked Savior, Batman. Talia was entranced by his power and skill, he would have been a perfect partner to rule with if he wasn't so hesitant to kill but she could sculpt him to fit her mold one way or another but first she needed to get him on her side. Her father thought of him as the perfect heir but there was no way the protector would join him, so Talia planned and that plan was to give herself and Bruce an heir - the perfect combination of the two of them. However, a wrench was thrown into that plan when inside of one - there were two.

A Son & A Daughter.

A Son that mirrored his father in young as he would in adulthood, with the exception of the emerald eyes that Talia possessed - the eyes of an Al Ghul. He was given the name Damian.

Her daughter was another story: she grew to look just as Talia did in her youth but she had her father's calm blue eyes - the eyes of a protector. The eyes of a Wayne. The eyes of a savior, not a killer - she was flawed with those eyes. She was named Bellatrix - just as her father, she would be expected to be a great warrior.

When it was time to hone their skills, it was clear that they were the perfect combination of the Al Ghul and Wayne Genes - Damian more. He was the perfect killer, merciless and quick; he wouldn't give his enemies time to speak. No, enemies were too kind of a word to describe them - they were his prey while he was the hunter. He didn't care how many he had to cut down; he would never tire until all of them were dead at his feet.

Bellatrix - on the other hand - was a different story. It was clear she had the skills, it was obvious that she had the power, but the main issue was that she wouldn't finish the job; she lacked the most important trait of the Al Ghul Bloodline - she refused to kill. Talia feared this - she was just like her father and she didn't want weakness into the pain; especially since she was the eldest of the two. She either had to fix the problem or completely remove it.

And she would much prefer the latter.

Ra's loved his grandchildren all the same - he didn't care of Bellatrix didn't kill, he was pleased enough that she was able to complete impossible tasks alone and come back unscabbed. He would praise her and he would train with her in his free time - the two of them were fond of meditation to keep themselves centered.

"Remember Granddaughter: If you are completely centered then there is nothing you can't overcome. Knowing your center is knowing your true power." - That is what Ra's would tell her during those times.

As time passed on, Talia noticed that Bellatrix gained in power and knowledge every day while her son showed just how much of an Al Ghul he was every time he went on a mission, but that didn't matter to Talia - that girl...that mistake...was a single dot in the way of her son's rightful place as Head of The League & she had to something about it.

And she did.

One night - Talia told Bellatrix to accompany her to the desert for recon and the girl agreed, thinking it was going to be a mother-daughter experience. The two of them sourced their bounds but found nothing, Bellatrix looked around the dunes to see if there was something hiding in the desert's darkness until her body made her move and she dodged just in the next of time as a blade came in close contact with her throat. She reached for her sword, only for her hand to be grabbed, and turned it to her back. She was then grabbed from other directions before being kicked in the back of her knees and came to her knees in the sand. She struggled and looked at the cloaked figures that held her until she looked at her mother.

"Mother! Help!" She begged for her mother.

"Why would I do that," Talia walked over to her bound daughter as one of the assassins handed her a sword, "When it took me so long to get you here?" Talia looked into her daughter's eyes with emptiness.

"You...You planned this? Mother, why would you do this?" Bellatrix asked.

"This is something I should have done from the start, after all - My Beloved needs an heir, not a burden. You are a stain on the Al Ghul Name, an Al Ghul that refuses to kill is not an Al Ghul; hell, you aren't even an assassin. You're a defect, a flaw, a wrench in my plan to have my beloved rule behind me as King and Queen of the League of Assassins."

Bellatrix's eyes widened at the sight of her mother raising her sword.

"And all defects must be eliminated." Talia growled as her arm thrust forward - Bellatrix's eyes widened and her jaw locked to keep herself from screaming as the blade ripped through her chest and came out on the other side.

Talia lifted her foot - the other assassins released the girl - and kicked her to the dirt and watched her groan in pain before going limp in the cold desert night.

"Dispose of the body. I have to deliver the news that the heir has been killed and watch my one true child take his rightful place." Talia didn't give her daughter's body a second glance as she turned and walked away to her jet that was waiting for her.

She should have checked her vitals.

[Timeskip - Years Later]

Years had gone by but Talia still thinks back to the night she stuck her sword through her daughter's body and left her for dead; she was so certain that was what she wanted by there was something missing and for once in her life, it had nothing to do with her Beloved Bat. She tried to put those thoughts aside for she was on a mission.

After the death of her father, she found some research on a mind-control agent that she could use to have the one she wanted most but the League was too thin and most were doing other tasks while some were rebuilding the complex, thus the Head of the Demon Clan had to deal with it on her own, which she was fine with.

However, something felt different - she wasn't sure what it was...but she knew something was going to happen tonight.

Talia did what she had to do and secured to the agent before making her way back to the roof - only to have two people walking for her.

One was a tall man with a red helmet, a brown leather jacket, a gray Bat-Armor with a Red Bat Insignia on the chest; Talia could see the pistols and ammo belts around his waist.

The second was a feminine figure: She was around the same height as Damian, wearing Bat-Armor that looked a lot like a Ninja's outfit with a sword on her back and a dark blue Bat Insignia on her chest. Her hair was long and black but tied in a ponytail, except some hair that freely fell in her face and covered some of the ribbon eye mask around her eyes.

"I guess my beloved couldn't make it to see me?" Talia asked as she placed the agent in her pocket.

"We were the closest in the area so he sent us to what it was about - didn't think we'd find his batshit crazy baby-momma here." The Red Hood said as he folded his arms.

"Too bad, he might have convinced me to surrender but I don't have an issue with breaking children who stand in my way." Talia said.

"You never had an issue with killing them, why would you have an issue with breaking them?" The female said.

"What did you say?" Talia said as she looked at the female figure.

"You don't remember the child you killed? The blood of the Al Ghul you spilled? The child you detested because she wouldn't kill so you decided to kill her instead?" The female stepped forward and reached for her eye mask, "You don't remember my voice...Mother?" She pulled it off and Talia's eyes widened when they locked with the blue eyes of her late daughter - the one that was supposed to die. The stain in her plan.

"You lived? After all of these years, you dare come to face me again?" Talia narrowed her eyes.

"Rather cold to say to your kid who came back from the dead, Lady." He looked at Bellatrix, "Bat-Fang, you wanna deal with her while I wait on the old man?" He asked.

"You read my mind." Bellatrix stepped forward and pulled her sword out, "Arm yourself."

"I guess some stains are harder to wash out." Talia said as she pulled her sword out, "I'll make sure you don't come back."

Emerald and Sapphire locked with each other before the thunderclap of the coming storm sent them both into attack mode. Their blades clashed against each other as the two women danced in a deadly dance, Talia was focused but at the same time confused - how was Bellatrix this focused when the anger in her eyes was so strong? Talia tried harder and used more power but that was the opening Bellatrix needed.

Talia watched as the girl grabbed the sword with her left hand before delivering a swift but devastating kick to her gut, sending her skipping like a stone against the roof as she released the grip of her sword. Talia picked herself off the ground and glared at her eldest as the girl place her own sword back in its sheath and shatter Talia's into two halves, letting the shards and sword halves fall to her feet before she charged at her mother. Talia's guard went up as the two of them locked in a brawl.

'What is going on here? She was never this fast or ruthless! What is...'

Her thoughts were cut off as Bellatrix grabbed her foot and began to swing her until Bellatrix let her go and got stuck in a window. Talia opened her eyes from the impact just in time to see the glare on her daughter's face as she came soaring and her fist connected with Talia's face, sending them both into the abandoned building. Talia groaned from the pain but more pain was added when she felt her daughter grab her by her hair and pull her to her feet.

"What do you have to say now, Talia? Am I still defective?" Bellatrix asked before she punched the Assassin Leader in the face, making her crash into a crumbling wall.

"Am I still a flaw?" Bellatrix asked as she spartan-kicked Talia through the wall and into the living room, making the woman fall on her back.

"Am I still the wrench in your perfect plan? Am I?!" Bellatrix barked as she grabbed her mother by the next and punched her in the face, making her back hit a window. Talia's version was blurry from the pain but when it came together - her eyes widened at the murderous gaze in her eyes.

"Am I still not an Al Ghul?" Bellatrix punched her in the face again - sending the woman crashing through the window again but this time, she felt on a lower roof of a building just as another thunderclap echoed through the sky and the rain began to fall. Talia grunted at the pain but opened her eyes to watch her daughter jump out the window and walk over to her; glaring down at her with blue eyes.

"How... How did you survive?" She asked.

"You should have checked my vitals before you left me to die; once you were gone, I took care of the assassins that you had hold me. I'm not proud I shed their blood but I knew if I didn't, they were going to make sure I was dead." Bellatrix answered.

"You survived... You killed... And now, you have me helpless." Talia smiled at her, "I'm so proud of you, My Baby Girl." She cooed.

"What?" Bellatrix glared with confusion.

"You are everything I want in a perfect heir: You survived my trap, you killed those who held you captive, and you reduced me - the Leader of the League of Assassins - to this pitiful state. My darling, you are perfect." Talia smiled at her daughter.

"I don't know what you are thinking but I'm nothing like you want me to be and I never will be." Bellatrix reached down and took the mind-control agent from Talia before turning and walking away.

"You can walk away now, My Sweet Child, but know that I am coming for you. I will bring you home and you will be what you were born to me - The Perfect Al Ghul Heir. Run while you can, my dear, Mother is coming for you." Talia laughed at Bellatrix as the girl jumped off the small roof, leaving the woman alone.

Talia looked up at the rain in the sky and smiled before picking herself off the ground, touching the side of her lip, and looked at the blood - her blood - that her daughter spilled.

'It was a mistake to let you go but now that you are back, I shall have you once more and we shall be a family. You can't escape your blood, Bellatrix; you're an Al Ghul...and you belong to me.'

[samwisethewitch]

Pagan Paths: Wicca

Wicca is the big granddaddy of neopagan religions. Most people who are familiar with modern paganism are specifically familiar with Wicca, and will probably assume that you are Wiccan if you tell them you identify as pagan. Thanks to pop culture and a handful of influential authors, Wicca has become the public face of modern paganism, for better or for worse.

Wicca is also one of the most accessible pagan religions, which is why I chose to begin our exploration of individual paths here. Known for its flexibility and openness, Wicca is about as beginner-friendly as it gets. While it definitely isn’t for everyone, it can be an excellent place to begin your pagan journey if you resonate with core Wiccan beliefs.

This post is not meant to be a complete introduction to Wicca. Instead, my goal here is to give you a taste of what Wiccans believe and do, so you can decide for yourself if further research would be worth your time. In that spirit, I provide book recommendations at the end of this post.

History and Background

Wicca was founded by Gerald Gardner, a British civil servant who developed an interest in the esoteric while living and working in Asia. Gardner claimed that, after returning to England, he was initiated into a coven of witches who taught him their craft. Eventually, he would leave this coven and start his own, at which point he began the work of bringing Wicca to the general public. In 1954, Garner published his book Witchcraft Today, which would have a great impact on the formation of Wicca, as would his 1959 book The Meaning of Witchcraft.

Gardner claimed that the rituals and teachings he received from his coven were incomplete — he attempted to fill in the gaps, which resulted in the creation of Wicca. Author Thea Sabin calls Wicca “a New Old Religion,” which is a good way to think about it. When Gardner wrote the first Wiccan Book of Shadows, he combined ancient and medieval folk practices from the British Isles with ceremonial magic dating back to the Renaissance and with Victorian occultism. These influences combined to create a thoroughly modern religion.

Wicca spread to the United States in the 1960s, at which time several new and completely American traditions were born. Some of these traditions are simply variations on Wicca, while others (like Feri and Reclaiming, which we’ll discuss in future posts) became unique, full-fledged spiritual systems in their own right. In America, Wicca collided with the counter-culture movement, and several activist groups began to combine the two. Wicca has continued to evolve through the decades, and is still changing and growing today.

There are two main “types” of Wicca which take very different approaches to the same deities and core concepts.

Traditional Wicca is Wicca that looks more or less like the practices of Gerald Gardner, Doreen Valiente, Alex Sanders, and other early Wiccan pioneers. Traditional Wiccans practice in ritual groups called covens. Rituals are typically highly formal and borrow heavily from ceremonial magic. Traditional Wicca is an initiatory tradition, which means that new members must be trained and formally inducted into the coven by existing members. This means that if you are interested in Traditional Wicca, you must find a coven or a mentor to train and initiate you. However, most covens do not place any limitations on who can join and be initiated, aside from being willing to learn.

Most Traditional Wiccan covens require initiates to swear an oath of secrecy, which keeps the coven’s central practices from being revealed to outsiders. However, there are traditional Wiccans who have gone public with their practice, such as the authors Janet and Stewart Farrar.

Eclectic Wicca is a solitary, non-initiatory form of Wicca, as made popular by author Scott Cunningham in his book Wicca: A Guide for the Solitary Practitioner. Eclectic Wiccans are self-initiated and may practice alone or with a coven, though coven work will likely be less central in their practice. There are very few rules in Eclectic Wicca, and Wiccans who follow this path often incorporate elements from other spiritual traditions, such as historical pagan religions or modern energy healing. Because of this, there are a wide range of practices that fall under the “Eclectic Wicca” umbrella. Really, this label refers to anyone who considers themselves Wiccan, follows the Wiccan Rede (see below), and does not belong to a Traditional Wiccan coven. The majority of people who self-identify as Wiccan fall into this group.

Core Beliefs and Values

Thea Sabin says in her book Wicca For Beginners that Wicca is a religion with a lot of theology (study and discussion of the nature of the divine) and no dogma (rules imposed by religious structures). As a religion, it offers a lot of room for independence and exploration. This can be incredibly empowering to Wiccans, but it does mean that it’s kind of hard to make a list of things all Wiccans believe or do. However, we can look at some basic concepts that show up in some form in most Wiccan practices.

Virtually all Wiccans live by the Wiccan Rede. This moral statement, originally coined by Doreen Valiente, is often summarized with the phrase, “An’ it harm none, do what ye will.”

Different Wiccans interpret the Rede in slightly different ways. Most can agree on the “harm none” part. Wiccans strive not to cause unnecessary harm or discomfort to any living thing, including themselves. Some Wiccans also interpet the word “will” to be connected to our spiritual drive, the part of us that is constantly reaching for our higher purpose. When interpreted this way, the Rede not only encourages us not to cause harm, but also to live in alignment with our own divine Will.

Wiccans experience the divine as polarity. Wiccans believe that the all-encompassing divinity splits itself (or humans split it into) smaller aspects that we can relate to. The first division of deity is into complimentary opposites: positive and negative, light and dark, life and death, etc. These forces are not antagonistic, but are two halves of a harmonious whole. In Wicca, this polarity is usually embodied by the pairing of the God and Goddess (see below).

Wiccans experience the divine as immanent in daily life. In the words of author Deborah Lipp, “the sacredness of the human being is essential to Wicca.” Wiccans see the divine present in all people and all things. The idea that sacred energy infuses everything in existence is a fundamental part of the Wiccan worldview.

Wiccans believe nature is sacred. In the Wiccan worldview, the earth is a physical manifestation of the divine, particularly the Goddess. By attuning with nature and living in harmony with its cycles, Wiccans attune themselves with the divine. This means that taking care of nature is an important spiritual task for many Wiccans.

Wiccans accept that magic is real and can be used as a ritual tool. Not all Wiccans do magic, but all Wiccans accept that magic exists. For many covens and solitary practitioners, magic is an essential part of religious ritual. For others, magic is a practice that can be used not only to connect with the gods, but also to improve our lives and achieve our goals.

Many Wiccans believe in reincarnation, and some may incorporate past life recall into their spiritual practice. Some Wiccans believe that our souls are made of cosmic energy, which is recycled into a new soul after our deaths. Others believe that our soul survives intact from one lifetime to the next. Many famous Wiccan authors have written about their past lives and how reconnecting with those lives informed their practice.

Important Deities and Spirits

The central deities of Wicca are the Goddess and the God. They are two halves of a greater whole, and are only two of countless possible manifestations of the all-encompassing divine. The God and Goddess are lovers, and all things are born from their union.

Though some Wiccan traditions place a greater emphasis on the Goddess than on the God, the balance between these two expressions of the divine plays an important role in all Wiccan practices (remember, polarity is one of the core values of this religion).

The Goddess is the Divine Mother. She is the source of all life and fertility. She gives birth to all things, yet she is also the one who receives us when we die. Although she forms a duality in her relationship with the God, she also contains the duality of life and death within herself. While the God’s nature is ever-changing, the Goddess is constant and eternal.

The Goddess is strongly associated with both the moon and the earth. As the Earth Mother, she is especially associated with fertility, abundance, and nurturing. As the Moon Goddess, she is associated with wisdom, secret knowledge, and the cycle of life and death.

Some Wiccans see the goddess as having three main aspects: the Maiden, the Mother, and the Crone. The Maiden is associated with youth, innocence, and new beginnings; she is the embodiment of both the springtime and the waxing moon. The Mother is associated with parenthood and birth (duh), abundance, and fertility; she is the embodiment of the summer (and sometimes fall) and of the full moon. The Crone is associated with death, endings, and wisdom; she is the embodiment of winter and of the waning moon. Some Wiccans believe this Triple Goddess model is an oversimplification, or complain that it is based on outdated views on womanhood, but for others it is the backbone of their practice.

Symbols that are traditionally used to represent the Goddess include a crescent moon or an image of the triple moon (a full moon situated between a waxing and a waning crescent), a cup or chalice, a cauldron, the color silver, and fresh flowers.

The God is the Goddess’s son, lover, and consort. He is equal parts wise and feral, gentle and fierce. He is associated with sex and by extension with potential (it could be said that while the Goddess rules birth, the God rules conception), as well as with the abundance of the harvest. He is the spark of life, which is shaped by the Goddess into all that is.

The God is strongly associated with animals, and he is often depicted with horns to show his association with all things wild. As the Horned God he is especially wild and fierce.

The God is also strongly associated with the sun. As a solar god he is associated with the agricultural year, from the planting and germination to the harvest. While the Goddess is constant, the God’s nature changes with the seasons.

In some Wiccan traditions, the God is associated with plant growth. He may be honored as the Green Man, a being which represents the growth of spring and summer. This vegetation deity walks the forests and fields, with vines and leaves sprouting from his body.

Symbols that are traditionally used to represent the God include phalluses and phallic objects, knives and swords, the color gold, horns and antlers, and ripened grain.

Many covens, both Traditional and Eclectic, have their own unique lore around the God and the Goddess. Usually, this lore is oathbound, meaning it cannot be shared with those outside the group.

Many Wiccans worship other deities besides the God and Goddess. These deities may come from historical pantheons, such as the Greek or Irish pantheon. A Wiccan may work with the God and Goddess with their coven or on special holy days (see below), but work with other deities that are more closely connected to their life and experiences on a daily basis. Wiccans view all deities from all religions and cultures as extensions of the same all-encompassing divine force.

Wiccan Practice

Most Wiccans use the circle as the basis for their rituals. This ritual structure forms a liminal space between the physical and spiritual worlds, and the Wiccan who created the circle can choose what beings or energies are allowed to enter it. The circle also serves the purpose of keeping the energy raised in ritual contained until the Wiccan is ready to release it. Casting a circle is fairly easy and can be done by anyone — simply walk in a clockwise circle around your ritual space, laying down an energetic barrier. Some Wiccans use the circle in every magical or spiritual working, while others only use it when honoring the gods or performing sacred rites.

While it is on one level a practical ritual tool, the circle is also a representation of the Wiccan worldview. Circles are typically cast by calling the four quarters (the four compass points of the cardinal directions), which are associated with the four classical elements: water, earth, fire, and air. Some (but not all) Wiccans also work with a fifth element, called spirit or aether. The combined presence of the elements makes the circle a microcosm of the universe.

Casting a circle requires the Wiccan to attune themselves to these elements and to honor them in a ritual setting. This is referred to as calling the quarters. When a Wiccan calls the quarters, they will move from one cardinal point to the next (usually starting with east or north), greet the spirits associated with that direction/element, and invite them to participate in the ritual. (If spirit/aether is being called, the direction it is associated with is directly up, towards the heavens.) This is done after casting the circle, but before beginning the ritual.

What happens within a Wiccan ritual varies a lot — it depends on the Wiccan, their preferences, and their goals for that ritual. However, nearly all Wiccan religious rites begin with the casting of the circle and calling of the quarters. (Some would argue that a ritual that doesn’t include these elements cannot be called Wiccan.)

When the ritual is completed, the quarters must be dismissed and the circle taken down. Wiccans typically dismiss the quarters by moving from one cardinal point to the next (often in the reverse of the order used to call the quarters), thanking the spirits of that quarter, and politely letting them know that the ritual is over. The circle is taken down (or “taken up,” as it is called in some traditions) in a similar way, with the person who cast the circle moving around it counterclockwise and removing the energetic barrier they created. This effectively ends the ritual.

There are eight main holy days in Wicca, called the sabbats. These celebrations, based on Germanic and Celtic pagan festivals, mark the turning points on the Wheel of the Year, i.e., the cycle of the seasons. By honoring the sabbats, Wiccans attune themselves with the natural rhythms of the earth and actively participate in the turning of the wheel.

The sabbats include:

Samhain (October 31): Considered by many to be the “witch’s new year,” this Celtic fire festival has historic ties to Halloween. Samhain is primarily dedicated to the dead. During this time of year, the otherworld is close at hand, and Wiccans can easily connect with their loved ones who have passed on. Wiccans might celebrate Samhain by building an ancestor altar or holding a feast with an extra plate for the dead. Samhain is the third of the three Wiccan harvest festivals, and it is a joyous occasion despite its association with death. (By the way, this sabbat’s name is pronounced “SOW-en,” not “Sam-HANE” as it appears in many movies and TV shows.)

Yule/Winter Solstice (December 21): Yule is a celebration of the return of light and life on the longest night of the year. Many Wiccans recognize Yule as the symbolic rebirth of the God, heralding the new plant and animal life soon to follow. Yule celebrations are based on Germanic traditions and have a lot in common with modern Christmas celebrations. Wiccans might celebrate Yule by decorating a Yule tree, lighting lots of candles or a Yule log, or exchanging gifts.

Imbolc (February 1): This sabbat, based on an Irish festival, is a celebration of the first stirrings of life beneath the blanket of winter. The spark of light that returned to the world at Yule is beginning to grow. Imcolc is a fire festival, and is often celebrated with the lighting of candles and lanterns. Wiccans may also perform ritual cleansings at this time of year, as purification is another theme of this festival.

Ostara/Spring Equinox (March 21): Ostara is a joyful celebration of the new life of spring, with ties to the Christian celebration of Easter. Plants are beginning to bloom, baby animals are being born, and the God is growing in power. Wiccans might celebrate Ostara by dying eggs or decorating their homes and altars with fresh flowers. In some covens, Ostara celebrations have a special focus on children, and so may be less solemn than other sabbats.

Beltane (May 1): Beltane is a fertility festival, pure and simple. Many Wiccans celebrate the sexual union of the God and Goddess, and the resulting abundance, at this sabbat. This is also one of the Celtic fire festivals, and is often celebrated with bonfires if the weather permits. The fae are said to be especially active at Beltane. Wiccans might celebrate Beltane by making and dancing around a Maypole, honoring the fae, or celebrating a night of R-rated fun with friends and lovers.

Litha/Midsummer/Summer Solstice (June 21): At the Summer Solstice, the God is at the height of his power and the Goddess is said to be pregnant with the harvest. Like Beltane, Midsummer is sometimes celebrated with bonfires and is said to be a time when the fae are especially active. Many Wiccans celebrate Litha as a solar festival, with a special focus on the God as the Sun.

Lughnasadh/Lammas (August 1): Lughnasadh (pronounced “loo-NAW-suh”) is an Irish harvest festival, named after the god Lugh. In Wicca, Lughnasadh/Lammas is a time to give thanks for the bounty of the earth. Lammas comes from “loaf mass,” and hints at this festival’s association with grain and bread. Wiccans might celebrate Lughnasadh by baking bread or by playing games or competitive sports (activities associated with Lugh).

Mabon/Fall Equinox (September 21): Mabon is the second Wiccan harvest festival, sometimes called “Wiccan Thanksgiving,” which should give you a good idea of what Mabon celebrations look like. This is a celebration of the abundance of the harvest, but tinged with the knowledge that winter is coming. Some Wiccans honor the symbolic death of the God at Mabon (others believe this takes place at Samhain or Lughnasadh). Wiccan Mabon celebrations often include a lot of food, and have a focus on giving thanks for the previous year.

Aside from the sabbats, some Wiccans also celebrate esbats, rituals honoring the full moons. Wiccan authors Janet and Stewart Farrar wrote that, while sabbats are public festivals to be celebrated with the coven, esbats are more private and personal. Because of this, esbat celebrations are typically solitary and vary a lot from one Wiccan to the next.

Further Reading

If you want to investigate Wicca further, there are a few books I recommend depending on which approach to Wicca you feel most drawn to. No matter which approach you are most attracted to, I recommend starting with Wicca For Beginners by Thea Sabin. This is an excellent introduction to Wiccan theology and practice, whether you want to practice alone or with a coven.

If you are interested in Traditional Wicca, I recommend checking out A Witches’ Bible by Janet and Stewart Farrar after you finish Sabin’s book. Full disclosure: I have a lot of issues with this book. Parts of it were written as far back as the 1970s, and it really hasn’t aged well in terms of politics or social issues. However, it is the most detailed guide to Traditional Wicca I have found, so I recommend it for that reason. Afterwards, I recommend reading Casting a Queer Circle by Thista Minai, which presents a system similar to Traditional Wicca with less emphasis on binary gender. After you learn the basics from the Farrars, Minai’s book can help you figure out how to adjust the Traditional Wiccan system to work for you.

If you are interested in Eclectic Wicca, I recommend Wicca: A Guide for the Solitary Practitioner and Living Wicca by Scott Cunningham. Cunningham is the author who popularized Eclectic Wicca, and his work remains some of the best on the subject. Wicca is an introduction to solitary Eclectic Wicca, while Living Wicca is a guide for creating your own personalized Wiccan practice.

Resources:

Wicca For Beginners by Thea Sabin

Wicca: A Guide for the Solitary Practitioner by Scott Cunningham

Living Wicca by Scott Cunningham

A Witches’ Bible by Janet and Stewart Farrar

The Study of Witchcraft by Deborah Lipp

[acapelladitty]

Whole Day Off: Part 4 (The Event)

Pairing: Jonathan Crane/Female Reader

(Warnings in this chapter for: physical assault and attempted sexual assault, neither of which take place at the hands of Crane.)

Summary: After an unprovoked attack forces the Scarecrow to step into an unfamiliar role as a saviour, you find yourself experiencing a new side of Jonathan Crane which you never could have anticipated.

Twisting your keys as you pull them free of the ignition, the engine quickly dies and the chilled air of the night sweeps across your body as you step free of your car. You had not expected to be seeing Crane tonight, but the invitation had been a welcome distraction from the uninteresting pile of work which sat atop your desk at home, awaiting your attention.

As always, the warmth of your long coat keeps most of the cold air out and the only exposed areas of your body are your lower calves as they peek out from the bottom of the coat. The skirt and bra combination, a continued winner in your salacious rendezvous with the infamous Scarecrow, clung to your body beneath the coat and you amuse yourself with his reactions to such an outfit as you hurry along.

A low cough grabs your attention and your head snaps around to take in two nearby figures; their upper bodies leaning against one of the many metal cargo crates which were littered around the dock as their upper halves remained hidden by the evening shadows.

“Hey, baby,” the shorter of the two men piped up, “did you get a little lost?”

Ignoring them, your feet pick up their pace as you move through the dock, treading the familiar path towards your destination.

“Aww, come on now,” the voice continues, “I’m just trying to help you. Why don’t you come over here and tell me your name?”

The vague sound of footsteps in the space behind you forces you to turn your head and you can see that both men have moved off their original position and are now walking behind you at a slight distance. Anxiety grips at your chest as you realise you have no defensive weapons or pepper spray with you and the vulnerability of that knowledge makes your breath catch in your throat.

Moving even faster, you focus on your goal. The warehouse would provide a fantastic cover and there were few who would actively move against the man who resided there once made aware of his presence.

“Why you being so rude, darling?” A new voice, the one of the taller man, joined his friend, “We just want to say hello to the pretty lady.”

Breaking into an open sprint, you briefly appreciate your own foresight as your flat shoes make the task easier than it could have been as your feet pound against the gravel. The warehouse is just up ahead and if you can just get through the doors then there is a lock which will be strong enough to keep both men out.

In the quiet of the dock, the sound of mixed footsteps echoes off the metal containers which litter the area, and your breath comes in short sharp pants as you try to keep a distance. Fear curls against your spine and it is the raw fear of vulnerability, of being the victim of one of the worst types of violence.

A squeal of dismay escapes your throat as a rough hand locks around your upper arm, twisting you in place as you come face-to-face with the shorter of the two men. His mouth is twisted into a cruel smile as his free hand latches on to your other arm.

“Why you running, babe? We just want to talk?”

His face is inches from your own and his breath reeks of cigarettes as it washes over you. To his side, his taller friend wears a similar expression of cruel joy and it makes the anxiety in your stomach roil.

“Maybe you can show my friend and I here how sorry you are for being so rude to us?”

Snatching your hand free in one sharp jolt, you reach out to draw your hand across his jaw as you allow your sharp nails to score a series of lines down his cheek, the redness immediate and raw looking as the blood rushed to the area.

Howling in surprise, the man dropped his grip of your left arm as his hand flew to his face, pressing against the wound with open fingers.

“You fucking bitch!”

His hand drew back for a moment before a searing pain exploded across your lower jaw and you realise that he has struck you. The heat of the blow is stunning, and you can instantly taste copper in your mouth as your lip splits under the force of the hit. Adrenaline spiking, you raise your foot and bring it down sharply; the heel making firm contact with the tips of his toes, and the move catches him so off-guard that he drops his hold of you fully.

Resuming your sprint, the wind whips against your cheek as you move frantically through the dock, the sound of hurried footsteps and garbled obscenities hot on your heels. A wave of relief washes through you as you reach the door of the warehouse, but your hopes are short-lived as a harsh hand makes itself known against your head.

The grip in your hair is painful enough to elicit a short scream from you but it is quickly cut off as your head is thrust forward, colliding against the metal door and causing sparks to fly from behind your eyes as pain flares from the spot. Still a little stunned, you can do little to resist as your body is spun around, back pressing against the door as both men pin you there with firm hands, hard fingers digging in to your soft flesh.

“Stupid bitch.” The taller man speaks with a low growl as his hand settled along your jaw, drawing a grunt from you as his fingers disturb the tenderness there, “You’ll pay for that.”

The sensation of a hand fumbling messily at your coat buttons renews your panicked fury as you struggle in place, attempting to free your body from its pinned position as hot tears prick at your eyes and your chest heaves.

“Stop. Struggling. Cunt.” The words are hissed as a hand once again makes itself known against your scalp, pulling your hair with enough force to make you yelp as the pain blossoms across your head.

You are unable to prevent the inevitable as your coat is pulled open by rough hands, the fabric falling to the sides as a fresh well of shame rises to your cheeks when your almost naked form is exposed to their evil leers.

“Oh, I think we caught ourselves a whore, Don.” The shorter man grins, his eyes roving over your exposed chest as his fingers pluck at the thin lace of your bra strap, “You working tonight, baby?”

Lip trembling, you want nothing more than to cover yourself but with both hands pinned against the door, such a desire is unavailable and so you can do little but whimper as the free hand of the taller man ghosts over your chest.

Slipping his hand within the lace bra, fresh revulsion makes your throat tight as his disgusting fingers knead at your breast for a moment before pulling free.

“Oh, she’s a professional alright,” his words were rough, laced with sadistic joy, “you can smell it on the cunt.”

Fear and rage churn a torrid mixture within your gut and, at his words, you turn to face him fully as you use what little moisture you have left in your mouth to spit in his face.

“Fucking whore!” He recoils as your spit lands on his cheek and his retaliation is immediate as his hands dip within his jacket and pull free a small blade, the metal glinting in the low light, “Disgusting little slut.”

Pressing the blade against your stomach, blind panic seizes at your body as you suck in a sharp breath. The trembling of your fingers against the door is uncontrollable as the lump in your throat makes fresh tears spring into your eyes. Through your fear, a slight pain makes itself known and you know the blade had left a small nick in your skin, enough to serve as a warning.

The blade remains against your skin even as the shorter man drops his hold of your wrist.

“Keep the bitch there,” he grunts, his hands dropping to his slacks, “I’ve got a surprise for her.”

Blinking back the tears which were threatening to escape your eyes, you would not give these men the satisfaction of seeing your distress.

However, just as the tell-tale click of his belt unlatching sounded, a shadow emerged from the darkness behind him and a high grunt of surprise broke free of his chest as a thin arm wrapped itself around his chin and twisted his head to the side. Within seconds, his body had dropped to the floor unmoving as a syringe protruded from his exposed neck; the needle having been slammed in there and its contents deposited in one fell swoop by the man who now stood over the fallen body with a predatory stance.

Despite your fear, a frantic bubble of hope welled within you as you take in the sight of Jonathan Crane.

His usual clothing is all there, shirt and slacks covered by a pristine white lab coat, but his expression is hidden by his infamous Scarecrow mask; the burlap removing any human elements of his person as it concealed his mood and intentions.

It was the first time you had seen him wear any of his costume in person and a low whimper drew free of your throat as the taller man tightened his grip on your arm, the knife still pressed against your stomach.

“What the fuck is this?” Open panic clouded your assailants’ words, and it was clear he knew who he was dealing with from the genuine fear in his expression, “Why are you here?”

“Gotham is my city.” Distorted by the mask, Crane’s voice was almost unrecognisable, and it sent a shiver down your spine as you attempted to match it up with the man you had come to know, “I am everywhere as every shadow and darkness bends to the Scarecrow.”

“St-stay away from me,” his bravado gone, the man pulled you forward to stand between him and Crane, “leave me alone and I’ll give you girl.”

Bastard.

Even unable to see his expression, you could feel Crane’s eyes as they took in your form and a wave of shame and upset rocketed through you at how pathetic you must look in this moment.

“The girl already belongs to me,” the distorted voice spoke once again, devoid of any emotion, “as does everyone in this city. However, I will accept your cowardly bargain. Hand me the girl and we have an accord.”

Open relief flooded the expression of the man holding you as he released you from his grip, shoving at your back roughly as he pushed you towards Crane. Not expecting the shove, you stumble across the uneven ground but find your balance in Crane’s extended arm which presses against your torso almost urgently as he pushes something against you.

Glancing down, you take the simple gas mask into numb fingers as you press it against your mouth and nose. Barley a second passed before a dull thud was followed by loud hissing filling the air as a plume of orange-tinged smoke engulfed the small area and the three individuals caught within it.

A fear grenade.

You had seen his work on them in the basement.

The smoke stung at your eyes and you slammed them shut as you focused on even your breathing through the mask, desperately hoping to avoid the fate which had been decided for the bastard who attacked you. Eyes still closed, the sound of screaming cut through the cold air and you flinched at the sudden noise as loud wails and panicked grunts washed over you.

A firm hand on your shoulder makes you crack one eye open, and you can see that the smoke has dispersed as you turn to face your saviour. His mask is still on and the lack of visibility makes your heart stutter even as adrenaline continues to course through you. You hold his passive gaze for a silent moment before a fresh round of screaming draws your attention to the man on the floor.

Writhing in place as his mind conjured his every fear, the fallen form of your attacker looked very uncomfortable in the hell of his own making as you came to stand by his side. His body curled towards you, almost like instinct, and you draw your foot back to land a harsh kick to his ribs. The kick draws a low keen from his throat as he curls his body up further but the fire of revenge stokes your heart as you land another kick.

“Fucking bastard!” You hiss, teeth baring in rage even as a suspicious wetness once again threatened the corners of your eyes.

Drawing your foot back again, you deliver one final kick and this time you make sure that the target of your violence is his fear-consumed face. The ball of your foot connects harshly with his nose and a sickening crack makes itself known as blood immediately begins to spurt from his nostrils and his screaming ceases into nothing.

Unconscious.

Good.

Fuck him.

Your hands settle on the edges of your coat and your whole body shakes as you run your hands along the torn seam of the lapel. Your lip wobbles dangerously at the damage but you move past it as you fix the straps of your bra, forcing yourself to correct the mess that your attackers had left you in as you swallow down the small trickle of blood which your split lip bled into your mouth.

A loud metallic slam makes you jerk in place and you whirl around at the noise. Behind you, you just catch sight of Crane dragging the prone body of the smaller man through the warehouse door as he begins to move the bodies from the open.

Waiting patiently as he reappears, you want to thank him for his help but the words seem to stick in your throat as your trembling fingers instead move to play with the hem of your skirt.

Perhaps sensing your uncertainty, his voice is low as he speaks and the clarity of it makes you realise that he has turned off the voice modulator within his mask.

“Go inside to the basement,” the words are calm and yet they border no argument, “and wait for me there. I will move our guests indoors and then join you when I have them secured.”

Nodding even as your knees wobble at the effort of movement, you follow his instructions as you slip within the warehouse and carefully avoid the dumped body as you head towards the basement stairs.

Your feet feel heavy below you as you hear him begin to move the second body and you pause at the base of the stairs to survey the basement. It looked as typical as ever with several pages of work strewn across his desk as the shadows in the far corners of the room held what remained of his costume as it clung to the mannequin there.

Moving through the large space, you settle your gaze on the familiar metal gurney which was bolted to the floor at a nearby wall. It was a gurney which you often found yourself pinned to under his strong hands and it was a familiar space which your legs guided you towards.

The canvas across the gurney was soft as you lay your ass on it and pushed yourself up.

Now seated, you press your back against the wall as you drew your knees up to your chin. The heat from your legs is welcome against your chest and you wrap your arms around your knees as you settle into the comforting position. The shaking of your body is undeniable as is the ache across your abused flesh, from your bruised jaw to your throbbing scalp, and you take a moment just to breathe.

The vague knowledge of where you were pressed against your consciousness, and you had to admit to yourself that it was almost sad how much relief being in this familiar environment brought you. You were trapped within the lair of a different monster, but the sense of safety was undeniable.

You have no idea how long you remained in that position, time seeming to move at a questionable pace as your mind raced with the events of the evening, but your attention was soon captured by the reappearance of Crane as his heavy footfalls made their way down the basement stairs.

Watching him as he moved towards his workbench, his mask was clasped within his hands and a sigh escaped you as he dropped the mask on his chair before dipping his hands within one of the nearby drawers. Taking in the messy shock of disarray which the mask had left his hair in, you were thankful that he had neglected to keep the thing on as you took in his welcome appearance.

He approached you at a steady pace and your eyes flicked to his hand, taking in the small med-kit there for a moment before settling against his face. His expression was passive, but the signs of his rage were there, hidden in the tightness of his eyes and the thinned lips as they pressed together harshly.

You did not imagine the rage was directed at you, but the sensitivity of your emotions made you flinch away as his hand reached out for your own, your eyes darting away to look at anything but his face.

Ignoring the flinch, his hands settled on your ankles with a gentle firmness as he pulled them free of the gurney to hang in the air just above the floor. Your hands moved out to press against the canvas as he moved you to an upright position, his gaze piercing as he surveyed the damage to your face.

A small click of the med-kit opening alerted you to his intentions and you remained in place, lacking the energy to truly protest. His hands are clinical and precise as they swipe at your split lip with an antiseptic cloth, cleaning the blood there as he removed any dirt from the wound. Your tongue slips out to brush at the small wound and the sharp taste of the chemicals makes your nose crinkle.

Moving lower, his fingers make themselves known on your stomach and you jerk in position at the unexpected touch.

“You have a cut on your abdomen. It needs cleaned to prevent infection.”

In the chaos of your thoughts, you had forgotten about the knife wound and you give a pathetic nod as you relax your stomach to allow him to wipe off the small nick in the skin.

Having spoken once and broken the awkward air, he was quick to do so again.

“I heard the commotion and assumed I was being targeted,” his voice is low and confidential but there is an odd edge of discomfort to it which catches your full attention, “so I took some time to prepare my toxin and mask. Hence the delay.”

Your brow furrows slightly at the words, not understanding his point until it hits you.

It was his version of an apology.

For not helping sooner.

“I was foolish,” you answer, almost reflexively, “and I didn’t have anything with me to help. They saw a chance and took it; I should have known better. Especially at the docks.”

His hands stilled for a moment as he listened to your words.

“You cannot hope to control rabid dogs,” his tone was measured, not comforting but it had lost some of its earlier steel, “and those men were little more than parasites. No rational being can find pleasure in taking a truly unwilling soul.”

As much as you agreed with the sentiment, there was still a strangeness to hearing him confess to it out loud. Your mind flittered through the various crimes and atrocities which had been ascribed to the man before you and it struck you that for all his monstrosities, that could not be counted among them.

Your eyes met his for a moment and, as though once again sensing your thoughts, a fleeting mixture of irritation and amusement passed through his gaze as he moved from your stomach to lay his hands flat on your hips.

Pinning you with his gaze, his words were heated as his thumbs pressed into your skin.

“Rape is a tool of fear for those who are too weak to do any better. They seek power by inflicting the basest horror on their victims. Such a primal fear has no real power and is better left to the imagination. I would not sully myself to lower my standards in such a way.”

Despite the firmness of his grip, his hands are still gentle against your skin as you lean forward into his space, capturing his lips with your own in a soft kiss. The rush of adrenaline that has been holding you together is dissipating and it its wake you can feel an almost desperate need to please him as you focus on his presence. The familiar taste of him in your mouth is welcome as you latch on to the pleasant feeling, ignoring the prick of tears as they once again threaten the corners of your eyes.

Your hands claw at the lapels of his lab coat as you press your mouth against his, greedily biting at his lips despite the sting in your own as you feel his glasses pressing against the bridge of your nose. His grip is steady on your body as he stands between your spread thighs, and it tightens noticeably as your hands free his coat to dip lower and brush against the bulge of his crotch.

His lips pull full free of your own as his head settles in the crook of your neck, nipping at the sensitive skin there with his sharp teeth as he growls under your ministrations. Blinking, you feel a tickle against your cheek, and you wipe away the fallen tear with the back of your hand as you press your chest against him.

One finger dips below your skirt and teases along the length of your panties as his head lowers itself to your chest; chapped lips pressing along the line of your collarbone as they trailed a pathway towards your breasts.

Your breath stutters for a moment, the noise coming out almost like a sob and, as he pulls his head back up to speak to you, the words die on his lips as he takes in your frantic and borderline distressed state.

The lustful haze in his eyes appears to almost harden as his hand pulls free from its position below your skirt and instead settles below your chin; the analytical frown which often graces his expression returning full force as his gaze pins you in place.

Whatever he finds there makes his lips twist for a moment in clear indecision before his decision comes and he moves away from your body, taking a measured step back even as you lean towards him once again.

“No,” his words are simple and firm, “not right now.”

Shame and disappointment burn at your skin as your lip trembles with the perceived rejection. Your fingers are visibly shaking as they reach out for him carelessly, clawing in the open air as desperation once again bubbles in your chest.

“I want you,” your words are soft but the strength of them is missing, “I want this.”

Stepping back between your thighs, your heaving chest presses out against him but is stopped by his hand between your breasts as his palm lays flat across the latch of your lace bra.

“What you want, I cannot give you and it is clear that you are not in a position to offer me anything I can accept.” His tone has the grace to hold a little regret, but the steel is undeniable as he refuses your advances, “What I can offer you is a mild sedative, the effects of which will last around an hour and will give you time to settle your psyche. Then we can see about our little game.”

Panic settles in your gut as you attempt to decipher any hidden meaning or intentions in his words. A sedative is what he claims to want to give you and you have no reason to doubt his words. But still, he was the wolf and you were little more than his willing prey and that dynamic could not be ignored.

His grip against your jaw, tactfully avoiding the bruised area, loosened slightly as he once again caught your attention.

“I am a patient man, witty girl,” amusement threaded his tone and touched at his gaze as he held your eyes, “and I can enjoy your temptations whenever. Take this time I offer to heal.”

Nodding your consent, you allow him to pull you from the gurney and set you on your feet as your hands make quick work of your coat, dropping it in a messy pile atop the gurney as you shiver in the cool air of the basement.

His presence is quick to disappear from your side as he strode towards his workstation and you instead head in the opposite direction, making a steady path to the old couch which took up residence against one of the far walls near his costume.

The fabric of the couch is soft below your skin and you appreciate the sensation as you patiently await the good doctor to administer your medicine. One hand is tucked within his lab coat as the other holds a syringe aloft as he approaches you, allowing you to see the sedative openly.

Taking a space as he seats himself on the couch by your side, he extends his hand expectantly and you place the back of your wrist within it. His fingers are as steady and clinical as ever as he taps your forearm, searching for a perfect entry point, before depositing the full amount in your system. The needle was so fine you barely felt it and the slight burn of the medicine as it enters your bloodstream forces you to release a sigh while he discards the syringe on the arm of the couch.

As he stands, he pulls his lab coat free of his body and you reach a hand out and wrap it around his wrist to halt him from moving away.

“Stay with me,” you ask, forcing a tone of nonchalance despite your real desire to not be left alone, “just until the sedative kicks in.”

To your surprise, he relents and retakes his seat on the couch.

Feeling bolstered by his apparent generosity, you incline your body to the side as you pull your legs up on the couch and angle your head so that it lay flat against the thin expanse of his thighs.

You feel his muscles tense below you for a moment and you prepare for the rejection, but it never comes as he instead snatches up a nearby psychiatric journal and turns to one of the many ear-marked pages as he balances the journal on his lab coat.

The sedative is doing its job well and you feel your body loosening as it forces your muscles to relax. A low shiver wracks your frame as your bra and skirt do little to fend off the cool air of the basement. Your jacket was still atop the gurney and your legs were in no position to be travelling to collect it.

Your concerns were solved by a sudden movement on his part as he snatched up the lab coat from his lap and dropped it over your prone body, allowing you to hook your fingers along the edges of it and pull it over you like a blanket.

“Thanks,” your words are sincere but drowsy as your thoughts become woozy, “for everything.”

His answer is little more than a grunt.

“What will you do with them?”

Even as you ask it, the question catches you by surprise and his head tilts down, catching your eyes with his sharp gaze.

“Your assailants will not survive the week.” His tone is firm and unflinching, the words holding no apology, “I will use them as test subjects for my new toxin variant and if they do not die under the experimentation then I will dispose of them manually.”

Eyes fluttering shut, you focus on the lull of his voice as he continues to speak.

“Does that bother you?”

Curiosity colours his words and you fight the fog of your mind as you consider your answer. Guilt is the furthest thing from your mind as you imagine both of your attackers screaming under the torments of the Scarecrow; their screams that much different to the screams which he often drew from your own lungs.

A smile tugs at the corners of your lips as you give him an honest answer.

“No.”

And with that confession, you surrender yourself to the becoming darkness as the sedative wins out and lulls you into sleep.

Full fic available on AO3

[recurring-polynya]

[Renji Birthday Content] Renji's tie-dye koi hoodie. Where did it come from and WHY DID IT SPEAK TO HIM. (It speaks to me. In a big way.) What do his friends think about the koi hoodie?? Open to fic, art, meta/HCs, whatever!

Okay, I realize that I was supposed to wait until Renji's birthday, but I cannot, I cannot even wait twenty-four hours, I am going to explode.

Let me back up. So, I knew what you were referring to, but the koi hoodie pic wasn't one I had on hand, so I had to go fistfight Google Images for it. If you've ever tried to find a picture of a Bleach character wearing a very specific outfit on Google images, you will know what a pain this is, and my brain was a little glazed over when I found it:

The koi hoodie is Objectively Good, but my mind was just in such a state that the first thing I noticed was his pants, and as usual, I found myself muttered "Renji what the hell is going on with your goddamn pants?" Why are they brown on the top and teal on the... on the...

No, I said. Surely not. It cannot be. BUT IT IS. The tie dye koi hoodie outfit IS THAT FUCKING OUTFIT FROM OP 4: Tonight Tonight!!!1

LOOK AT IT. It is unquestionably the same outfit! The ombre hood! The black jacket, which is…a blazer, apparently! Same bandana! The pants are drawn a little simpler and the wallet chain is missing, but it's clearly the same idea! I had thought from the visible hem of the hoodie that it was maybe paisley print, but it's definitely just the bottom of this elaborate fish graphic.

In fact, it's very hard to tell because all of these shots combined take up less than 3 seconds, but Byakuya and Toushirou are also wearing their outfits from the above pic (mortician suit with kenseikan for some reason, and suit with pink dip-dyed scarf, respectively)

Back to Renji's outfit! Long-time Polynya readers will know that I have spent TWO YEARS shouting about this outfit. I used a frame-by-frame viewer because I couldn't tell if those were fur-fringed thigh boots, or bootie shorts with tights (I was pretty disappointed when they turned out to be cargo pants, and I habitually refer to them as "my old nemesis, Renji's cargo pants from OP4"). I did, in fact, draw this once. I think I once declared that if I could ask Kubo a single question, it would be "what does Renji's outfit from OP 4 look like from the front?" Not only do I know now, but it's actually even better than I expected.

Chester Whipplefilter, my beloved, I cannot believe we were independently obsessed with two of Renji's outfits that turned out to be the same outfit. You were probably already my favorite new person I met on the internet in 2021, but I hereby proclaim us Two Halves of One Whole Idiot.

Anyway, I promise you I will draw him in this outfit again, although it may take awhile because I want to do a really good job on it and also that fish looks really hard to draw. I have a feeling this hoodie is probably gonna find its way into one of my fanfics too, this always happens.

In the meantime, here is my koi hoodie provenance headcanon:

Obviously, this has to take place during the Bount Arc, because OP4 (Bount Arc haters can move this to the Advance Team Arc if you must). Rukia found it for sale while they were in the Living World. She wanted to get it for her captain, because koi, Renji, koi!, and she made Renji try it on for her, because Renji and Ukitake are built very similarly. (I am not making this up! Ukitake is 1cm shorter than Renji and Renji is a few kg beefier, but they're pretty close). It turned out to be extremely soft and comfy and it gets cold in the World of the Living in the fall and to make a long story short, Renji and Ukitake have matching tie dye fishie hoodies because Rukia loves them both (and has access to Byakuya's credit card, routed through Urahara's currency exchange).

[wondernimbus]

ottery st. catchpole — cedric diggory

pairing: cedric diggory x female!reader

request #1: Hi! Do you mind writing a Cedric x reader fic where y/n loves and is the best baker? She hands him a treat and he finds himself slowly falling for for her (idk smth really cute please!) Thanks :))

request #2:  Can you write Cedric and the reader sharing their first kiss together? 🥺

a/n: decided to combine two requests since i thought they’d work well together! 

The muggle village of Ottery St. Catchpole was a fascinating place.

The first time Cedric had gone there at age eight, he'd thrown on an odd assortment of muggle clothes: a pink strawberry-patterned shirt, overly large bell-bottoms from his father's closet, and a pair of flip-flops. He learned quickly that that was not the kind of attire that would get him unnoticed by the Muggles—rather the opposite, actually, as he earned odd stares everywhere he went. But there were no "ordinary" Muggle clothes in his closet and nor did his father, so the next time he went to the village and came across a clothesline hanging unguarded outside of a Muggle house, he snatched himself two shirts and a pair of jeans and made sure to leave a thank you note under their door.

Free to wander the village without skeptical stares of Muggles following him everywhere, curious, eight-year-old Cedric made sure to explore every inch of it from the park to the chapel to the tavern.

But his most favorite, perhaps, was the bakery.

It was a quaint little place, tucked away in the corner away from the bustling main road. Its battered sign read "Old Corner Bakery", and underneath it there was a window display of the most delicious, succulent-looking pastries Cedric had ever seen in his life. It looked—though he would never let her hear him say it—even better than the ones his mother would make at home.

And so one day, Cedric, oblivious to the workings of the Muggle world and the fact that their currency was very much different from theirs, walked through the door, marched right up to the counter where his tiny head only barely peeked out from, and held up a single golden galleon. "One of those, please," he told the old lady behind the cashier, pointing at a mouth-watering custard tart on display.

The old lady reached out for the galleon, baffled. "What is this?"

"For a custard tart," replied Cedric, handing it to her.

"I've never seen anything like this," she said in wonder, holding the galleon up to the light. "Good grief, is this real gold?"

Cedric frowned, puzzled. "It''s a galleon."

The lady's face fell. Scowling, she handed it back to him. "So it's a toy," she sniffed. "I would tell you to scram, but I've seen you pass by here ogling at my pastries once or twice before. I'll give you one for free. What was it you wanted again?"

Cedric, although a little confused by how she wouldn't take his galleon, beamed in delight. If it was for free, he wasn't going to complain.

And so Cedric walked out of the bakery a few moments later with half a custard tart in his hands and the other half already snug in his stomach. He wondered to himself if all Muggles were like this; if he went to that shop near the town square, would he get more stuff for free?

He tried, and needless to say, failed.

The next day, Cedric came back to the bakery bearing two sickles. As happy as getting free food made him, something about exploiting an old woman's kindness didn't sit right with him. If she didn't want the galleon, maybe she would take a sickle instead.

But when he walked through the bakery doors, he found that the old woman was nowhere to be seen. Instead, in her place behind the cashier, there was a little girl about his age.

"Welcome to Old Corner Bakery!" she beamed, childish face shining brightly. "How may I help you?"

Cedric drew towards her, a pout on his face. "Where's the old lady?"

"The old lady?" she asked. "Oh, you mean grandma!"

He nodded.

"She's in the kitchen—baking, you know. I handle customers like you when she's too busy and I'm not doing homework," the little girl explained, grinning.

"Oh," said Cedric. "In that case, I want a cauldron cake!"

She tilted her head to the side, brows furrowed. "What's that?"

"A cauldron cake," he repeated. "Have you not got those here?"

Bottom lip jutting out in thought, the little girl scratched her head and hopped off of the stool she was apparently standing on to look over the cashier; as soon as she did, she disappeared behind the counter and into the kitchen. "Grandma!"

The familiar voice of the old lady replied, "Yes, dear?"

"Do we have cauldron cakes?"

"What?"

Cedric waited patiently by the counter, hands fiddling with the two sickles he held in his hands. "Cauldron cakes, grandma!" the little girl yelled louder.

"Never heard of 'em!" the old lady replied from the kitchen.

A moment later, the little girl was clambering back onto her stool behind the cashier. "I don't think we have those here," she told Cedric, and then, in a curious tone, "They sound delicious, though! What are they?"

A wide smile stretched across Cedric's round face—he looked as though he'd been waiting to be asked that for centuries. At a rapid pace, he began to gush, "They're chocolate cakes shaped like cauldrons and they've got melted chocolate in them and sometimes my mum uses this spell so that the chocolate doesn't run out and you can keep eating forever. She takes off the spell sometimes, though, because she says if I keep eating I'll get as fat as dad."

The little girl giggled, but then, with her eyes wide, asked, "Did you say spells? Like magic? The kind wizards and witches use?"

Cedric's eyes grew as wide as, if not even wider, than hers. He took a quick step back and cleared his throat, eyes darting around the bakery in panic. He'd forgotten, for a moment, that she was a Muggle—he'd almost revealed the secret of the wizarding world to her and defied his parents' warnings!

"Um," Cedric stammered, stuffing his two sickles back into his pocket. "Nevermind. Sorry!"

And just like that, he dashed out of the bakery, leaving the little girl staring after him, thoroughly intrigued.

—

Cedric did not go back to the village the next day under the irrational fear of accidentally revealing the wizarding world's biggest secret; that magic existed. Obviously, an eight-year-old wizard letting such a thing slip to yet another eight-year-old Muggle would little affect the wizarding world, but Cedric, childish and oblivious as he was, did not want to take any risks.

And so it took him a week before he mustered up the courage to go back into the village. He hadn't been planning to go into the bakery—he only hoped to catch a glimpse of the pastries by the window—but he found that the little girl was sitting outside on the front steps, munching on a piece of bread.

Mere seconds from legging it, the girl looked up and their eyes met. "Hey!" she called out, perking up. "I know you!"

Cedric froze from where he stood several feet away. He thought it'd be rude to bolt when she'd already noticed him, and so he walked forward tentatively, half-expecting her to start badgering him with questions about wizards and witches and magic. But she only patted the empty space next to her and beckoned him to sit down, that same cheery smile on her face that Cedric had seen a week ago.

He sat next to her on the stone steps, crossed arms propped on his knees as he turned his head to look at her. She was tearing the bread she held in her hands into two halves, the other half of which she handed to him.

"Thank you," said Cedric, taking it.

"You're welcome!" the little girl replied, face positively glowing with the warmth of a thousand suns. Taking a bite out of her now considerably smaller chunk of bread, she tilted her head and said, "I don't think I've ever seen you at school before."

He took a bite out of his own, eyes skittering away to look at the pavement. "My parents teach me school stuff at home," he told her. It wasn't a complete lie, although he guessed that the things that she learned in her Muggle school were a stark contrast to the magic he learned from his mum and dad.

"Oh, that sounds fun!" the little girl said, beaming. "Don't you get sad, though? Not having any kids your age to play with? Assuming you don't have siblings."

"I don't," replied Cedric through a mouthful of bread. It was some sort of strawberry crumpet. "I'm an only child. I suppose it does get lonely, sometimes, but that's why I go out here—to the Mugg—I mean, the village."

She nodded, mouth moving to form an o shape. "Neat. So you don't have homework?"

He shook his head. The girl's shoulders slumped and a frown quickly found its way onto her face. "I wish I didn't get homework," she said sullenly. "They give us a whole stack of it over the summer. I hate it."

Cedric bit the inside of his cheek. He didn't quite like the frown on her face; something about it made him feel unsettled, like something had gone wrong in the world. He nudged her shoulder with his. "It can't be that bad," he said, offering her a tiny smile. "There's.. there's worse things than homework. Like—I don't know—losing ekleksiti or whatever you call it.. or unintentionally fumbling with the Quaffle and messing up your team's goal.."

"You mean the football?"

"Yeah.." Whatever that was.

She giggled, turning to smile at him. "You're funny."

There was something about her tone of voice—along with the overall aura that she carried—that awfully reminded Cedric of summer days playing Quidditch outside with his family and warm wind in his face and lying in the grass seeing the clouds drifting above him.

It was that feeling that made it easy for Cedric to forget almost immediately about his illogical fear of exposing the magical world. It was what had him smiling back at her, round face just as bright and filled with the kind of mirthful innocence only children would have.

—

Cedric came back to the bakery the next day. And the day after that. And the day after that. Both the little girl—who he learned was named [Y/N]—and her kind, albeit slightly cranky old grandmother, grew fond of him. The latter would make sure to bake him his favorite custard tarts, and [Y/N] would sit with him by the front steps of the bakery, talking about every tiny thing their brains came up with.

"Have you got a favorite movie?" [Y/N] asked him one day.

"A favorite what?"

"A movie. Don't tell me you've never seen one!"

Cedric scratched the back of his neck, abashed. "I don't think so. Is that a Mu—I mean, what is it?"

Looking utterly astounded, [Y/N] began to ramble on about moving pictures and fairytales and stories.

"I've seen moving pictures—but you're telling me they don't talk to you?" quizzed Cedric dubiously.

Frowning, she nodded. "The pictures talk to each other. Sort of. Although it would be cool if they talked to us, don't you think?"

Still trying to wrap his head around the concept of images that don't talk to you but talk to other images whilst following a story of sorts, Cedric rubbed his forehead. "This is giving me a headache."

[Y/N] giggled, shoving the last of her custard tart into her mouth. "Let's go see one one day! A movie, I mean. It'll be fun!"

Prying his palm away from his face, Cedric nodded and couldn't help but grin right back at her. The excited gleam in her eyes shone with the promise of more than just one day seeing a movie; it glowed with the promise of a friendship that would last for a long, long time. That gleam of promise was reflected in Cedric's own gaze, and rest assured it would stay there in the rest of the years to come.

—

Three years seemed to pass by in a blur of endless chatter, ridiculous inside-jokes, and shared pastries out by the bakery's front steps. The pair grew and their friendship did so along with them. Cedric learned to grow cautious about what he had come to call his "magical secret", although he suspected that [Y/N] had started to grow skeptical along the way despite her never bringing it up.

When his letter from Hogwarts arrived, Cedric knew that he had to tell [Y/N]—that, or make up some excuse. Or perhaps invent something akin to the truth, but not quite.

And so it went like this: "My parents are sending me to school."

[Y/N]'s eyes widened. They were sitting in their usual spot out by the bakery's stone steps, identical biscuits in their hands. Out of nowhere, she smacked Cedric's shoulder; he turned to face her, clutching the spot where she'd hit him. "What was that for?" asked Cedric, eyes as wide as hers.

She smacked him again, bouncing with the excitement of a five-year-old child waking up on Christmas day. "That's great!" she squealed, stuffing her biscuit in her mouth and chewing frantically. "I can introduce you to all my friends and we'll get to see each other everyday and not just on the weekends!"

Cedric's heart sank. "Um.."

"And we can do homework together and I won't have to walk back home alone and—"

"[Y/N], I'm not going to your school."

She paused. Her face fell and drooped into a frown so disappointed that Cedric had to tear his gaze away. "What—where are you going, then?"

He scratched the back of his neck, lips pressed together in a weak grimace. "Somewhere far."

[Y/N]'s brows were furrowed. "Where?"

"I don't know. Somewhere in Scotland, I think. I'll be back home for the summer, though."

Her shoulders had slumped, and so had Cedric's. The disappointment was evident in the sulky lines of her face and it was making Cedric feel all sorts of things he normally wouldn't feel around her; incredibly downcast being one of them. He'd known this day was coming one day or another, and so would the day he'd have to leave and not see her for several months—the day that loomed only a week from then.

"When are you leaving?" asked [Y/N], gaze fixed on the pavement, a pout on her tiny face.

"Next week," replied Cedric.

He couldn't bear it. He poked her side, which immediately led to her jumping up and frowning at him. (He'd discovered over time that it was a big tickle spot of hers.) Once he'd gathered her attention, he said in a quiet voice, "I've got a secret. Do you want to hear it?"

Still looking somewhat sullen, she nodded. [Y/N] would never pass up a chance to discover some big, mysterious secret, no matter her mood.

And just because he wanted to cheer her up, along with the fact that he knew he couldn't keep this from her—his best friend of three years who knew everything about him from his favorite pair of socks to his biggest fears—he leaned in, eyes wide, and whispered in a hushed tone, "I'm going to a school for wizards."

She drew back, brows pulled in together in the middle in pure incredulity as said, "You're joking."

"No," said Cedric, grinning. And then, in that same hushed voice, "You have to promise me you won't tell anyone, okay?"

Still looking utterly bewildered, [Y/N] nodded slowly, gaze locked with his.

"I can show you magic, if you like."

At this, her eyes grew wide and a moment later she was nodding excitedly. "Where? When? How?"

"Right now!" replied Cedric, relieved at the smile that split her face and replaced the disappointed frown from before. "Wait here, okay? I'll be back!" And then he sprang to his feet and dashed off.

Cedric was true to his word; he came back half an hour later bearing a mysterious purple package in his hands. [Y/N] was still sitting patiently where he'd left, and she looked up at him calling her name.

"What is that?" she asked, hands reaching out for the box, which Cedric handed to her. Turning it over in her hands, she saw the words "Chocolate Frog" written across the paper lid in shiny golden letters.

"Open it!" Cedric urged, sitting down next to her.

And so she did. Carefully opening the lid of the octagon-shaped box, she let out a loud shriek as a chocolate-colored pair of squirming frog legs poked out from behind it. Out of surprise, the package fell from her hands and onto the pavement, but Cedric's instincts were quick; he hurriedly hopped off the steps to grab the package, hands firmly clamped around it as he brought it back to her with a wide smile on his snickering face.

"Guess you don't scare easy, huh?" he grinned, teasing. "It can get away if you don't hold onto it as soon as you open the package. See, watch."

Heart still beating rapidly, she leaned over with wide eyes and a curious gaze, watching as Cedric carefully opened the lid. He caught something that, sure enough, looked like chocolate—but it was moving in his clasped fist.

"A chocolate frog," said [Y/N], eyes the size of golf-balls.

"Yep," said Cedric, bringing the still struggling treat to his lips and taking a huge chunk out of it. "Don't worry—it's not an actual frog. Just shaped to look like it."

Gobsmacked, [Y/N] stared as he handed her the bottom half of the chocolate frog, the legs of which was still squirming. "That's—woah," excitement bubbling in the pit of her stomach at having witnessed actual magic (albeit in the form of the so-called chocolate frog), she brought it to her mouth, where it instantly stopped moving and dissolved into a creamy mess of delicious chocolate.

Eyes glinting with the same elation that was in hers, Cedric sat down next to her and pulled a card out of the box. He handed it to her.

[Y/N] stared down at the small card in the palm of her hands. "Woah," she said again, voice a stunned whisper. Imprinted on the card was a photo of an old man whose beard stretched all the way down to his waist. He was wearing sparkling magenta robes and looking straight at her, a gentle twinkle in his wizened, old eyes. An odd name was emblazoned under his picture—"Albus Dumbledore"—but then he reached up to adjust the spectacles on the bridge of his nose, and [Y/N] let out another surprised gasp. "He moved!"

Cedric was grinning. "Magic, I told you!"

Exhilarated, [Y/N] looked back down at the card in her hands. The old man—Dumbledore—winked at her through his half-moon spectacles. "Is he—" she swallowed, trying to calm her rapidly beating heart, "Is he a wizard?"

Cedric nodded, beaming. "And so am I."

For a few seconds, [Y/N] could do no more than open and close her mouth in pure shock. All of this was a lot to take in—but perhaps her being of the mere age eleven helped, because while the ordinary Muggle adult would have downright refused to believe it, an imaginative young girl like her who had yet to discover the world took the news kindly.

"I'd show you more magic," Cedric said bashfully, "But I don't really know how to yet. That's why I'm going to Hogwarts—the school I was talking about, you know—so I can learn how to use magic. Spells and potions and all of that stuff."

At this, [Y/N]'s lips once more drooped with the threat of yet another painful frown, but she picked it back up with a small smile. "Here," she swiveled around to face him on the steps, knees knocking with his. Holding her pinky finger up between them, she said, "You promise me you'll write, okay? And you have to tell me about all the stuff that you learn there and all the other wizards and witches you meet—there are witches, right?"

Cedric nodded, lips pressed together in a tiny smile as he laced his pinky finger through hers. "I promise. Expect there'll be owls knocking on your window every week or so."

Her eyes widened once more. "Owls?"

He grinned. "We use owls to send letters and stuff around."

"Oh. Neat."

They broke out into a fit of giggles. "Okay," said Cedric, pulling his pinky finger away. "But you have to promise me you'll keep it a secret."

[Y/N] nodded earnestly, a look of the utmost seriousness crossing over his face as she pressed her palm to her chest like she was swearing an oath. "I'll take it to the grave with me, Ced," she said, eyes sparkling. "Trust me."

—

And trust her he has done, for the past few years of his life. Cedric would leave on the first of September every year, but not before bidding her farewell and promising to write at least once a week. To make up for the time they've lost, he would spend almost every day of the summer and winter break with her. His parents understand; he has long since told them about the Muggle girl at the bakery who his heart has grown close to. And perhaps it is his parents who first notice when the friendship that he has with her begins to blossom into something else. Something more.

"Out to meet with your friend already?" asks his father upon catching Cedric already on his way out of the front door. It's his first day back home from his fifth year at Hogwarts, and he has barely even finished unpacking his bags.

Cedric grins. He is a young man of age sixteen now, no longer the tiny eight-year-old boy he once was when he first met [Y/N] all those years ago. And yet despite all that has changed—despite his broader stature and the fact that he now towers over his father—he is still the same compassionate boy he has always been; the one who has always had a love for pastries and a certain girl at the bakery, although he doesn't quite know it yet.

"She's waiting for me," says Cedric, oddly exhilarated. His heart beating with the anticipation of seeing her for the first time in several months, he waves a brief goodbye to his father and dashes down the hill leading to the Muggle village of Ottery St. Catchpole.

He goes down the same path he always has; past the small patch of trees at the foot of the hill, through the town square, and finally, in front of the bakery. The door is propped open as though it has been waiting for him to enter, and voices waft out onto the street from the inside.

A smile already having found its way onto his face, Cedric takes the front stone steps two at a time before stepping inside.

"Be careful, grandma—oh, no—no, let me do it."

"It's fine, I can—Cedric, dear boy, you're back!"

A tray of freshly-baked cookies are set aside on the counter before a familiar elderly Muggle woman rushes at him and envelops him in a hug, mitten-covered hands wrapping themselves around his middle—the farthest she can reach him at his tall height and her own short legs. Cedric meets [Y/N]'s gaze over her grandmother's shoulder; she is leaning on the counter, lips pressed together in a barely-suppressed smile as her eyes shine with the kind of light that reminds Cedric of everything good in the world.

It takes a while for [Y/N]'s grandmother to stop fussing over him. When she does, she disappears behind the kitchen with the promise of coming out with a fresh batch of his favorite custard tarts.

And then he and [Y/N] are left alone in the bakery, where Cedric wastes no time and hugs her as close to him as he can. He wants to tell her that he'd missed her—terribly so—but he knows that she knows, and so he just holds her to him and hopes that the words come across alright.

A moment later the two of them are outside of the bakery, sitting on the same stone steps they've perched themselves on so many times before.

"So let me get this straight: you intentionally didn't write about the fact that there was a mass murderer inside your school because you didn't want me to worry?"

"Well, the matter was taken care of—"

"And there were soul-sucking demendoids or whatever you call them roaming the castle and you didn't mention it to me in your letters because you—"

"I didn't want you to worry, yes."

[Y/N] stares at him, deadpan. "And I suppose if you suffer a horrible death you won't care to write to me either because you don't want me worrying."

"Well, if I were dead, I'd hardly be able to write to y—"

"Oh, you get my point!" says [Y/N], rolling her eyes, but she's laughing as she shoves him lightly on the shoulder. Sighing dramatically, she shakes her head. "You learn a few magic tricks and suddenly you cut me out of your life."

Cedric scoffs, but his annoyance is only about as convincing as [Y/N]'s, as he has a smile of his own on his face. "I leave a few details out of my letter and suddenly you want to end our friendship."

"I don't want to end it," protests [Y/N]. "I just don't want you keeping out the bad stuff from your letters just because you don't want me to worry. If anything, I want to hear more about the negatives than the positives so I'll know that I'm not the only one having a hard time."

Cedric raises his brows, the smile on his face drooping as he angles his head to look at her face from where she's leaning on his shoulder. "Why? Tough time at school?"

She shrugs, shifting a little. "Kind of. It's ridiculous, actually. My best friend—well, second-best, since you're first—thinks that her boyfriend," she makes a face, "likes me. She didn't talk to me at all during the last few months of school and I highly expect she'll still be an arse about it when we come back after summer. Rubbish, really." Cedric has fallen silent. When she looks up at him, she finds that there is a frown on his face, so immediately she reassures him by saying, "You don't have to worry, Ced. I've got other friends. Better friends—wizard friends. Or friend. Just the one."

Cedric raises his eyebrows at her. His mood has dampened a little; it shows in the disappearance of the crinkled smile lines around his eyes and the way his lips have tugged down.

"Oh, come on," says [Y/N], sitting up straight. "Don't look so bummed. I've told you it's not a big deal."

He looks away, and then, quietly, "I just don't like the idea of you having a hard time."

A grin slowly stretches across her face. A moment later, she starts laughing. "Always so caring, aren't you?" she teases, reaching out to poke his cheek.

Cedric rolls his eyes, clutching her hand and prying it away from his face. "Whatever," he mutters, making a face at her. She giggles and does one right back, and just like that, they're laughing again.

It's incredibly easy for the innocent, youthful part of Cedric to come to the surface during times like these, when he sits down in front of the bakery with his best friend at his side as they return to their naive, childish shelves and bond over everything and nothing with all sorts of pastries clutched in their chubby hands. Cedric finds that, no matter how much time has passed, [Y/N] still feels the same: warm and comforting and reminiscent of home.

—

Time passes as it has always done, and sooner than both Cedric and [Y/N] would have liked, the day of September comes looming above them a mere week away.

They are on one of the many hills surrounding the village of Ottery St. Catchpole—their favorite one, actually; the one that has a perfect view of the village if they sit at the very top, which is what they are doing. The night sky looms above them as they do as they have always done: talk. And whenever they lapse into silence, they bask in the comfort they have always found in one another.

At present, they are laying on their backs on the grass. Usually, they'd be pointing out random shapes they each notice in the clouds, but it is nighttime and only wisps of smoke from the village chimneys drift across the dark blue canvas. There are only a few stars visible through the pollution hanging in the air; "I could count them all on one hand," says [Y/N], arm stretched upwards as though reaching for the sky. "Bit sad, really. I remember when we were kids there were still a lot of them. Sort of."

Cedric, with his gaze similarly glued to the stretch of sky above them, lets out an exhale. "We can see the stars at Hogwarts," he tells her quietly like they're sharing a secret, which, in a way, they are. "We don't even have to go to the Astronomy Tower to see them—when we look up, they're right there. Right above us. It's.."

He trails off.

"Ethereal?" [Y/N] suggests, tone hushed.

Cedric nods. "I wish I could take you to see them, but. You know."

"I'm a—what was it you guys called us lame, non-magical folks again?" she rolls onto her side to face him, arm tucked underneath her head as her eyes narrowed playfully.

"A Muggle," Cedric says, looking at her out of the corner of his eye. "And that doesn't make you lame. It just makes you.."

"Non-magical," she snorts.

"Doesn't matter," mumbles Cedric, shifting to turn on his side as well. "You've got a different kind of magic." And his tone is teasing, but there's a hint of underlying emotion hidden beneath that he wonders if [Y/N] picks up on.

"And what's that?" [Y/N] asks, feigning a haughty look. "Is it my—let's see—supernatural charms? Or my mystical beauty?"

Cedric laughs. "Something like that."

Facing her, mere centimeters away, Cedric sees that moonshine is dancing across the skin of her face; he sees the very stars they were speaking of gleaming in her eyes, and all of a sudden the atmosphere changes and he can't quite breathe properly.

The look on his face doesn't go amiss. The playful smile on [Y/N]'s face falls and reveals underneath it something more—something that has Cedric's heart beating wildly in his throat and his lungs seizing up in his chest.

Ethereal, Cedric thinks to himself as his gaze locks with hers and he finds himself drowning in the sea of constellations inside her irises. The stars at Hogwarts hold no competition to those which he sees in that moment in [Y/N]'s eyes. He wonders if they have always been there, waiting to be noticed, or if they have only just surfaced now.

And then Cedric finds himself leaning in and somewhere in the middle, she meets his lips with her own.

They pause for a moment, as though giving each other time to pull away if they want to, but neither of them do. And he really can't quite tell who moves first—him or [Y/N]—but they let each other's lips begin to whisper over one another's in gentle, slow carresses. They string up, unhurried and soft, one kiss flowing into the next with endless patience and want, and [Y/N]'s lips are inviting and alive and Cedric almost doesn't want to pull away, but he has to, eventually, and so he draws back, eyes blinking open.

He wonders, for a moment, despite the fact that she'd kissed back, if he had gone too far. If he had crossed the line that had always rested between them that made the difference between friendship and.. whatever this was.

But then familiar crinkles appear around [Y/N]'s eyes as she smiles at him. "I believe I've discovered my magic."

Cedric takes a brief moment to respond. Letting out a quiet exhale, he keeps his gaze fixed on hers as he furrows his eyebrows a little and asks with a tiny smile of his own, "What's that?"

She grins and jokes in a hushed, almost theatrical tone, "Seduction."

Cedric's face relaxes into a proper smile and he leans forward, pressing his mouth against [Y/N]'s for the second time. He feels the happy curve of her lips and feels his own curving up in response until they aren't really kissing anymore; just smiling against each other's mouths.

Ethereal, Cedric thinks to himself again, not for the first time that day. Absolutely bloody magical.

—

The muggle village of Ottery St. Catchpole was a fascinating place, but perhaps the reason why Cedric thought so was not because of the buildings and the bustling streets themselves, but because of the little bakery owned by a Muggle grandma and a girl whose heart Cedric knew even better than his own.

When the first of September comes around and brings with it the inevitable need to say goodbye, a pair of friends bound together by the passing of time sit on the front steps of the Old Corner Bakery, joking and talking and making promises to write. [Y/N]'s grandmother has insisted on Cedric bringing along snacks in case he gets hungry during the train ride, hence the paper bag full of custard tarts he clutches in his hands.

"I think she loves you more than I do," says [Y/N], watching her grandmother disappear back into the bakery, weeping.

Cedric laughs. "Tell me something I don't know."

And then suddenly it is time to say their farewells, and Cedric is hugging her goodbye but it doesn't feel like enough, so he pulls away, places his hand on the back of her head, and presses a kiss to her forehead. He would press their lips together but he knows that will make it harder to say goodbye, so for now, he settles for this.

"You promise me you won't leave the bad stuff out of your letters, okay?"

"You can count on me."

So Cedric waves goodbye to her with the same gleam of promise from all those years ago sparkling in his eyes like stars that have yet to die out. He can't promise to stay, but he can promise that he will come back—and he will. He always will.

a/n: whether or not cedric comes back to ottery st. catchpole next year is entirely up to you (cough triwizard tournament cough)

[yikesharringrove]

Show Pony

Chapter 4: Summertime

Read on ao3

-

“See and this is my girl Patsy. She’s the smallest of the three, but she’s strong as all get out.” 

Steve gestured to the horse, brushing his hand down her long nose. She was a beautiful dark brown, her coat sleek and obviously well-kept. Steve said he washed and brushed his horses each night, keeping them free of flies and dirt. 

Steve’s three horses were together in the little paddock, grazing on the sparse grass. There was a large oil drum filled with water in the paddock for them, and a trough filled with hay and horse feed. 

Steve had brought a bag with them out to the paddock, and he whistled through his teeth, all three horses gathering around him at the fence. June used her nose to bump Steve on the side of the head. 

He smiled at her, one a’ those real sunshiney ones he had, and kissed her between the eyes.

He dug through the bag, pulling out a few apples, a pocket knife, and a Tupperware container filled with various pills. 

Billy simply watched as he cut one of the apples in half, digging out small pockets in the meat of the apple and meticulously inserting the pills. He repeated the exact same procedure with the other half of the apple and offered the first half to June. 

She crunched it happily, the second half of the apple going to Loretta, a beautiful dappled horse with a dark-colored nose. 

Each horse got three apple halves with the correct combination of pills. 

“They each get supplements twice a day. We get the hay locally every place we stop, and depending on where the hay is grown, it can lack nutrition they need. Plus, traveling horses can get digestive problems from working hard and not having a lot of grazing opportunities. I wanna keep my girls healthy, you know?”

Loretta had wandered away after Steve set the bag on the ground, huffing as she realized apple time was over. June stayed with Steve, softly knocking her nose into his head and shoulder, making Steve laugh brightly and pet her neck. 

Patsy stayed in front of Billy, and he felt like she could see into his fucking soul. Her brown eyes were huge as she appraised him, almost as if she was trying to suss out if he was good enough for her Steve. 

“You can pet her, if you like. All my girls have been raised with us since they were foals, so they’re real touchy. Loretta pretends she’s too cool for it.” Loretta, as if hearing Steve say her name, gave another huff from the other side of the paddock. “Yeah! I’m talkin’ ‘bout you, Letty. We all know you’re a softy!” Steve grinned at Billy after calling out towards her, like they were sharing a joke. 

Billy couldn’t stop the corners of his mouth from pulling up. 

He smiled a lot around Steve. 

He looked back towards Patsy and mimicked the way Steve pet June, keeping his hands gentle and soft as he brushed down the length of her nose. 

Her hair was so soft, and she felt like warm velvet underneath his hand. 

“I’ve never been this close to a horse before,” Billy said softly, not taking his eyes off Patsy and the way his hands brushed down her strong neck. 

“I love horses. Always have.” Steve had wrapped his arms around June’s thick neck, his cheek smushed to her as he looked at Billy. It was cute. Everything Steve did was cute. “Not to sound like a horse girl in a Lifetime movie, but they’re just so great. Sometimes it seems like they know everything.”

“Yeah, they’re real human.” Billy thinks it was all in the eyes. The huge, deep brown eyes. 

Billy had really come to appreciate brown eyes in the last two weeks. 

“June was born when I was nearly six. I’ve been riding her since I was seven or so. There weren’t a lot of kids around so she was kinda my best friend. Which. Sounds totally lame.” Steve’s cheeks went pink, and he hugged June tighter. 

“How long have you had the others?”

“I’ve had Patsy for seven years. Loretta’s the newest. I just started training her for the event last summer, although I’ve had her for a while. Horses are considered fully grown when they’re five, so we don’t make them do events before then. It can be bad for their backs if you start riding them too young.” Steve absentmindedly stroked down June’s neck. “I try to keep my girls healthy and safe. If you really take care of them, they can live to be about forty, although they shouldn’t do rodeo events past fifteen-ish.”

Billy did quick math in his head. 

“So, what do you think you’ll do with June when she retires?” 

Steve looked out past June over to Loretta when she was trotting about the paddock. 

“I always kinda had this dream. Like when I get tired of all this, of opening a ranch for old rodeo horses. Ones that are too old or sick to do events. I would take care of them and give them good food and exercise and stuff so they could have a happy retirement. Some rodeo horses are sold to people for, like, personal riding use, but they’re event trained, and usually aren’t great for, like, leisure riding, and people get mad. So, yeah. Retirement village for horses.” He buried his face into June’s neck, and Billy could see the tips of his ears were flaming in embarrassment. 

“I think that’s sweet.” He really did. “Hell, you said a well taken care of horse can live for twenty years past retirement, might as well treat ‘em right.” 

Steve pulled his face out of June’s neck and beamed at Billy. 

Billy’s hand trembled slightly and stuttered over Patsy’s neck. 

“I take each girl out for some exercise every day, you wanna help me? We can just walk ‘em.” He looked so hopeful, like all he really wanted was for Billy to hang out with his horses for the rest of the day. 

And lucky for him, Billy had already called out of work for the evening, and didn’t tell his dad about it. 

“Let’s do it.”

 Billy stood back as Steve got June ready, smoothly slipping a halter over her face, attaching a soft rope lead to the ring on the left side of her nose. 

He opened the paddock, raising one hand towards Patsy to keep her where she stood while he gently led June out, wrapping the rope lead once around his hand and holding it tightly. 

Billy walked next to Steve, June on Steve’s other side as they began making their way to the edge of the fairgrounds, passing the large spread of campers and R.V.s. 

The fairground was out in the boonies, outside of the San Diego city limits, and there was a significant amount of sprawling flatlands and hills, covered in emerald grass. 

June trotted happily along, tossing her head and bumping into Steve’s shoulder, making him giggle and throw Billy gleeful looks at her behavior. 

“Tell me something,” Steve said as they began moving downhill, guiding June on a long walk around the area.

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. Something about you. Something I don’t know.” 

Billy cast around in his brain. 

There’s a lot Steve didn’t know about him. 

And for good reason, too. 

He didn’t want Steve to know about that shit. 

About the way his father hates him for no other reason than who he is. 

The way his mother only calls him twice a year and posts on Facebook every other day about her new husband and their twin toddlers and their perfect life in Oregon. 

“When I was, like, eight or nine, I watched Almost Famous, and I just fucking loved everything about it. It made me wanna be in a band so bad. I mean, they’re like a family, all going on tour. It’s so idyllic to me. That’s, like, my retirement horse dream. Make it in a band. We don’t gotta be that famous, or anything, just, like, make it .”

Steve gave him one of those soft smiles of his, and slipped his hand so naturally into Billy’s.

“I’ve never seen that movie.”

Billy gasped dramatically, swinging their hands between them.

“Oh, Stevie, we gotta see it. I don’t even care, I’m gonna make you fuckin’ love it. You’re just like Penny Lane, actually. Kind of a wanderer. Free spirit.”

Steve’s eyes were bright, and they looked gold in the late afternoon sun. 

“Is that your favorite movie? Almost Famous ?”

“Yeah. Probably.” It definitely was, but he could let himself geek out over it later. He’s resolved to make Steve watch it with him, and he could be a little lame nerd kid over it then. “What’s your favorite movie? And if you say Black Beauty, I’m running away from you.”

Steve looked at him sheepishly.

“It’s not Black Beauty, but, I mean, it’s Spirit.”

“That animated one?” Billy thinks he’s seen it once or twice when he was a kid. He remembers his dad calling it propaganda. 

“Yeah. I mean, I just thought it was really beautifully done. It’s kinda hypocritical, since it’s about, like, freedom and stuff, and a rodeo is totally the opposite of that, but. I don’t know. I just like it.”

“We’ll watch that one, too, then. Favorite movie double feature.”

“I would like that,” Steve said softly, taking his gaze from Billy back over to June. Steve never made much eye contact, and constantly dragged his sight somewhere else when he was embarrassed. 

“Maybe I could come to your place. Hang out with you.”

Billy’s whole body went cold. 

It was like the temperature had dropped forty degrees, freezing and shattering the perfect warm bubble around them. Like the soft winds stopped making the grass and sparse trees whisper in its wake. Like Billy was trapped in a freezing block of his own panic. 

“No.” 

Steve stopped in his tracks, and Billy clutched his hand to stop him from slipping it out of his grip. 

“Sorry, I, that was really rude.” He stared at June’s front left hoof. “My dad. He doesn’t like. He hates that I. He’s a homophobe. If I-if he even thought that you, that we were, he would-”

“Hey, Bill, it’s okay. I’m, I understand.” Steve pulled their hands up to press them against his chest, brushing his thumb over Billy’s hand. “You don’t have to explain, if you don’t want. I’m sorry for suggesting it.”

“You didn’t know,” Billy said gruffly.

“And I’m not upset. Promise.”

Billy chanced a look up at Steve’s face. 

He was giving him a tiny smile, his chin tilted slightly down to give Billy the most sincere look he could possibly manage with those big earnest horse eyes of his. 

Billy leaned forward, pressing the softest of little kisses to that tiny smile. It was the only way he could think to let Steve know he was alright. No hard feelings. 

They kept walking June mostly in silence, bringing her on a big loop of the lush field. 

“My dad doesn’t really like that I’m bi,” Steve spoke unprompted, but it was clear he meant it as a response to their last conversation. “He told me when I came out to him that I’m just young and trying to be rebellious and acting out sexually and I’ll settle down with a nice girl once I’ve gotten it out of my system. I got so mad. I was fourteen. I once heard him and my mom talking about therapy. Like, you know. Therapy .”

Conversion therapy. 

Fuck. 

“Did they ever go through with it?”

“Nah. My mom told him that was fucked up and that whatever’s going on with me will work itself out. Now we just don’t talk about it.”

“She kinda had your back, that’s pretty cool.”

Billy told his mom he liked guys about two months before she left. She just told him not to tell his dad. 

“Yeah. Ignoring it is better than the alternative, I guess.”

Billy chewed on the inside of his cheek. 

They were still holding hands, despite their palms getting sweaty from being pressed together in this heat.

It was kinda gross. 

Billy never wanted to let go.

“I never even told my dad. He’s so clear about his feelings about. Stuff like that. He’s ex-military, and all that comes with it. Super conservative. Religious conservative, even. So he’s pretty much against everything.”

“So, that’s why you wanna move out so soon? Not to pry, or whatever.”

“Yeah. It sucks having to hide fundamental pieces of who you are from your family. The people that are supposed to love you, but instead tell you to change your shirt before you leave the house because you look like a queer.”

He left out the parts about the backhand slap and the much more aggressive wording that actually spelled out that interaction a few days ago. 

Billy had left his house feeling all kindsa cut up and pissed off and fucked Steve as hard as he could on the small table in the airstream, making the whole trailer shake and creak, just barely covering the sounds of Steve’s moans and cries. 

It was a good way to work out all that rage. 

There was something nice about stickin’ it to his dad by stickin’ it in Steve. 

They began the climb up the slight hill back to the paddock. 

“I’m sorry, Bill. I know I don’t get it, but I’m just. I’m sorry.”

“Me too.”

He wasn’t sorry for his father’s behavior. 

He was sorry for how his father has shaped him. 

How sometimes he was selfish and angry and closed-off. 

How he could get mean and snarl and attack before asking questions. 

But most of all, he was sorry that he was scared. 

Too scared to follow Steve to the ends of the Earth, like he was absolutely fuckin’ dying to. To live in these perfect few weeks together forever. 

Too scared to let go of their time together. So terrified that when their moments are finished, he’ll miss this happiness and peace so much he’ll wither into nothing. 

So terrified that this is the last time he’ll ever feel like this. Feel like there’s something good and worthwhile and beautiful inside of him. 

So terrified that the rage will eat away at that beautiful thing until there’s nothing left. 

Steve pulled his hands out of Billy’s when they reached the paddock, and he gave Billy a gentle smile, his eyes catching the sun in a way that made every warm summer afternoon wiggle its way into Billy’s heart. The cascade of fearful thoughts stopped in Billy’s brain, and he let himself watch as Steve pet June softly, removing her halter when she was safely in the paddock once again.

Steve placed a different one on Loretta, bringing her out of the paddock next. 

Loretta kept them walking a little faster, kicking her hooves up and making Billy laugh in the way she seemed to prance through the grass. 

She took off in a gallop, Steve jogging along next to her, the lead wrapped once around his hand again, and Billy could hear his laughter on the summer air. 

Loretta was full of energy, whinnying and braying all the time as she and Steve looped around the soft grasses. 

Billy cut up the hill, moving closer towards the fairgrounds and taking a seat on the ground. He crossed his legs in front of him, leaning to rest his elbows on his thighs, propping his chin up with his hand.

The grass was impossibly soft underneath him, and Steve was smiling so wide, pretending to swing dance with Loretta, using the lead as if it was the arm of his partner, spinning himself underneath it. 

There was a fat bumblebee buzzing around near Billy’s knee, landing on the tiny wildflowers sprinkled in the grass, wiggling itself in the pollen. 

It was fucking. 

Idyllic. 

Like something from one a’ those horse girl movies Steve no doubt loved more than anything. 

The sun was moving slowly through the sky.

He could just barely hear the announcer’s voice, echoing from the speakers in the event arena. 

And he wished, for some time, that this was his life. Traveling with Steve. Spending warm summer days sitting in the grass while Steve exercised his beloved horses. Nothing weighing on him but what they should do for dinner that night. Whether or not Max and her little rodeo friend Elle needed some extra cash for food. 

He let himself flop back in the grass, spreading his arms and legs out and watching the clouds roll by, sparse as they were. 

He hates to say it. He really does. But this is the happiest he thinks he’s ever been. 

Which is just. Sad. And dangerous. And not what he needs in this time-stamped little fling with someone he barely knows, despite how much he feels like their souls may be connected, or other shit the old poetry books stashed under his bed might wax and wane about. 

He tried to memorize everything about this moment. How Steve squinted in the bright light, the corners of his eyes crinkling just like they did when he smiled. The way the sun warmed his skin, almost as much as Steve’s touch warmed him up. 

Everything about these two weeks has been so perfect, it’s genuinely heartbreaking. 

All Billy wants is to cling onto Steve, and cling onto the month for-fucking-ever. 

He barely noticed the sound of hooves approaching him, and he grinned at Steve when he dropped to his knees next to Billy’s chest, his face tinged red, his brow slightly sweaty. 

Loretta leaned her head down to sniff at Billy’s forehead, and Billy made Steve laugh when he went cross-eyed to watch her dark nose twitch.

His laugh made something inside Billy keel over and die. 

Time is ticking down on how long he’ll get to hear that perfect sound. That lovely music of Steve’s happiness. 

“You ready for Patsy?” 

Loretta bumped Billy once on the head and moved to graze some of the grass next to Steve’s hip. 

“Yeah,” he said. 

He meant I’ll miss this too much when it’s gone.

[themonotonysyndrome]

Successors to the Future

I like to get lost on Tumblr when work becomes frustrating and I was immediately inspired by the Second Wive AU from @tri3tri! 

If you’re a TW’s fan and enjoy reading yandere content, you just gotta check @tri3tri out. They’re one of the best yandere content creator for the TW fandom!

And since I’ve been playing Blazblue Centralfiction a lot lately and love badass girls, this plot bunny won’t leave me alone and so I want to add a little something to their amazing AU. 

FD/N = First daughter’s name/Renata Draconia (half-human, half dark Fae Princess. Malleus & MC’s eldest child)

SD/N = Second daughter’s name/Sherrie or Cherry Draconia (half-human, half-dark Fae Princess. Malleus & MC’s middle child)

S/S = Son’s name/Lucien Draconia (half-human, half-dark Fae Prince and the heir to the throne. Malleus & MC’s youngest child).

MC/S = MC’s surname

-

“Oh. My. God. What did you do!?”

“Don’t worry, don’t worry! I got it all under control!”

“Under control - the pasta is on fire! How the - ”

“I can fix this! ...I think?” 

“Move. You’re a human disaster, you know that? I told you to wait for me if you’re planning to cook dinner! Now the kitchen looks like an eldritch god just threw up! Mama is gonna be so sad when she gets home.” 

“I tried yelling for you, but you were too busy livestreaming Among Us to hear me! Now help me scrap the pasta off the pot while I clean the counter before Mama gets - .” 

“Sweethearts?” 

Both teenage girls yelp at the sudden voice and instantly turn around. The pot of burned pasta clattered on the dirtied floor. MC looks around her kitchen in exasperation. She was wondering why none of her children didn’t greet her as soon as she got home from work. When she heard bickering from the kitchen, she saw her daughters were frantically cleaning up the mess that was Renata attempt at cooking dinner. 

But instead of being upset over it, MC just shakes her head fondly. 

“Did you use your fire magic to cook the pasta, sweetie?” 

Renata sheepishly scratch her cheek in embarrassment. “I thought it might boil the pasta a lot faster...” 

Her younger sister gape at her admittance. MC just smiles as Sherrie proceed to lecture her older sister about using her magic to cook while Renata slowly inch closer to her so she could hide from her sister’s wrath behind their mother. 

MC will never get tired of seeing her children so comfortable and vivacious in their own home. A stark difference when they were all living at that place back then. She could still remember how Renata barely smile, barely interact with anyone that wasn’t her parents and little sister. Her Sherrie weren’t any better. Back then, she was too young to understand why the castle’s servants would whisper that the King’s daughters were imperfect because of their human halves. Why their lingering and judgemental eyes would upset her so. 

MC could bear being a pet bird living in a gilded cage, could bear Sebek’s condescending remarks, Lilia’s cruel smiles, Silver’s guilty passiveness and even Malleus’ lack of empathy. What she couldn’t bear was how her daughters were treated at the castle. They expected their Princesses to be as aloof and noble as their father, but refused to acknowledge that they were children first and foremost. Refused to accept their human side. 

And when the announcement were made public that Malleus would take a second wife to provide him a male heir at the behest of his council, MC decides that it’s time to leave. 

Especially when she saw how the news broke her eldest child. That night, she was frightened at how intense Renata hatred of her father. While she could care less about Malleus taking in another woman into the castle, MC never thought that his second marriage would be an act of betrayal to her daughter. 

At that moment, MC knew that if they were to stay in that place any longer, she would’ve lost her daughter to her own hatred. They needed to go, they needed to escape. 

And so in the dead of the night while the entire Valley of Thorns were celebrating over their king’s second marriage and superior wife, MC and her children scurried away to the only place she could think of. 

Night Raven College. 

She didn’t know when Lilia or anyone else in the castle would realise her and their princesses’ disappearance, so she begged a stunned Dire Crowley who thought she had died when no one could find her after Malleus graduated to send her home. 

The headmaster finally came through for her and her confused, distraught children. Crowley had quietly explained that he already found a way to send her back to her own world years ago. However, she disappeared before he could tell her. A quick glance at the two little girls alongside her and he couldn’t help but grimace with deep guilt.  

As atonement, Crowley hurried to grab a few books and journal that he can find about the fae court (both dark and light) and their magic. He pressed the materials into MC’s arms and explained that after she and her daughters step into the mirror, he will shatter and destroy any remaining fragments so that Malleus and his men could never find them ever again. However, MC must teach her daughters about their Fae side and how to glamour their otherworldly features from humans. 

MC tackled the headmaster in a hug with tearful eyes, grateful that he could help them. They were then ushered into the mirror and finally, finally, her nightmare was over.

Years have passed since that night. With each passing seasons and being able to explore the world without Malleus’ oppressive court, the castle servants and his retainers, her daughters flourish into amazing young girls. 

Their little brother equally so. 

As Renata try to persuade Sherrie to allow her to use her magic to clean the kitchen up, MC asks, “By the way, where’s your brother? I’ll just order some takeaway for dinner. They should arrive soon.” As she said this, she already whips out her phone to order their food. 

“He was napping in his room.” Sherrie reply her as she wipes the stove clean. Renata grumbled under her breath as she was made to mop the floor manually.  

Mc thanked her and left the kitchen to wake her son up. Her son was the unexpected gift that they were blessed with after they crossed to her world. She didn’t expect to be pregnant, but consider how feverishly Malleus made love to her as his way to console her that the other woman and his second marriage would mean nothing to him and that she would still be the only woman he truly loves, MC really should have known.  

It was so difficult to hide her joy that with the presence of a second wife, it would mean that Malleus would focus more on the other woman. Which meant Lilia would also need to make sure that she would learn all the proper court etiquette and Silver and Sebek would need to arrange the proper security for her as Malleus’ concubine. 

The arrival of her son was unexpected, but dearly welcome by her and his older sisters. Although MC was not able to give her daughters the childhood that they should have, she made sure that her son - Lucien - was raised in an environment that allowed him to be a normal child. 

Well, as normal as a half human and half fae could be. 

Shaking the lump underneath the thick duvet, she receives a tired groan. 

“Wake up, dear. Go freshen up. We’re having dinner in a little while.”  

Worming his way out of the duvet, Lucien poke his head out and smile blearily at her. “Welcome home, Mama...” 

MC pressed a quick peck on his forehead before ruffling his dishevelled hair. Her son looks so much like Malleus except he inherited her eyes and soft heart. While her oldest daughter is a carbon copy of Malleus and her second daughter looks exactly like her but with Malleus’ green eyes. 

She’s so happy that she can provide her children that life that they deserve. 

Dinner that night was as lively as usual. Renata was still riding high from her sweet sixteen birthday party that they just had last two days ago. It was quite a celebration and it ended with the revelation of her Unique Magic. Since it was a warm Summer evening, the small family enjoy their meal at the garden outside. 

“ - we should totally play Among Us together! Including you, Mama! I think you’d love it!” Sherrie gushes after she pushes her glass of water away.

Renata gasped as if affronted. “Are you trying to tear this family apart!? The moment we suspect someone is the imposter, it’s anarchy unleash!” 

Sherrie rolled her eyes at her oldest sister need for the dramatics. “Oh please, you live for the anarchy. You’re the one who started the fire when we played last time.” 

Lucien winced as he recalled their last gameplay. “It was a mess. Everyone couldn’t stop accusing one another. My classmates even swore they wouldn’t dare to play with you ever again.” 

MC smiles to herself as her children chatted with one another. It always warms her heart to see how close the siblings are to one another. From the stoic and hateful little girl, Renata had grown to be a playful and brilliant young woman. Brilliant in terms of magic. Even from a young age, Renata could control her elemental magic well. MC still remembered how wide she would smile whenever Malleus praises her during their training. After coming to this world, she continued to mastered her magic with the helps of the materials that Crowley provided them. By the age of 14 years old, MC realised that her creativity had led her to combine her elemental magic into an arsenals of powerful spells. 

They decide to celebrate her newfound skills out to dinner. 

And with the recent discovery of her Unique Magic - Observer - their family is aware that Renata has been experimenting with it almost every day. 

“Oh yeah, uh, Mama?” Renata suddenly broke MC from her train of thought. Beside her, Sherrie and Lucien are comparing their two favourite games.  

“Yes, dear?” 

“Umm... Last night I Observed myself and something came up.” Renata began to explain and she started to fidget in her seat. 

MC grows concern over her daughter’s hesitant expression. 

“What is it dear? Is something wrong with your Unique Magic?” 

“No, no, everything’s fine! It’s just that, well, so you know my Unique Magic give me the ability to observe my possibilities, right? Well, 99% of my possibilities shows that I’m going to participate in Night Raven College’s entrance ceremony soon.” Renata explains. 

“Say what?” Sherrie suddenly intervene, eyes wide in surprise. Their own conversation paused. 

MC could feel her blood froze at her daughter’s words. Suddenly, she no longer has any appetite for dinner. 

“Night Raven College?” Lucien asked, confused at the sudden tension in the air. “I remember Mama said she studied at a place call Night Raven College.” 

MC wanted to spare her son what she and her daughters had been through in Twisted Wonderland. But at the same time, she didn’t want to hide their past from him. So he told her all about Twisted Wonderland and Night Raven College. Of the good friends she made during her time at the school. About all sorts of shenanigans they got themselves into.  

About a dark fae that she could see herself falling in love with at the beginning of their friendship, but that became a distant dream when Malleus let his fear of her mortality and his selfish, draconic desire to hoard her all to himself overwhelmed him. 

No matter how much she tried to pleaded with him, reasoned with him, Malleus refused to yield. He threatened to harm her friends should she ever think of anyone other than him and gave her all the luxury in a world while locking her up in castle full with creatures who believe they’re superior to humans. 

Lucien was stricken when she told him everything. In the end, all MC could do was smile sadly and told him that while Malleus might have love her and his children, in the end, it doesn’t mean anything when he allow his own council to dictate that Renata was not suitable to become his heiress just because she’s a girl. 

In the dead of the night when Renata couldn’t sleep after they settled down in this world, she went to MC and with tearful eyes yet resolute face, her daughter informed her that she never wanted to be Malleus’ heiress. Having a taste of freedom, everything that this world has to offer to her and the loving support of her family, Renata knew she could be so, so much more than a mere Queen to a backwater country and its people. 

And so the thought of her going back to Twisted Wonderland - where Malleus would no doubt still be searching for them - scares MC. 

“Is there a way to prevent it?” MC quietly asks, though in her heart, she knows the answer to her own question. 

Renata regretfully shake her head. “I can’t make the 1% where I don’t go back to Twisted Wonderland into a reality.” 

“And why not?” Sherrie demanded. 

“Because in that possibility, I’ll die here from Overblotting.” Renata dryly reply. 

That’s the drawback of her daughter’s Unique Magic. While she could observe her every possibilities and acknowledge one and turn it into a reality, Renata can only see hers and not other people’s. Not only that, she cannot changed the many paths that had been laid in front of her. She can only observe and choose. Not altered.  

Both Sherrie and Lucien flinch. MC shove the image of her daughter dying as a monster into the back of her mind. Renata lowered her head slightly. 

“I... I don’t want to go back there.” Renata whispers. “I want to stay here. All my friends are here.” She raises her head when MC hold her hand and squeeze it comfortingly. 

She needs to be strong for her children. Being a single mother wasn’t easy. They used to live with her parents and they were pillars of endless support to MC and her children. They didn’t turned her away when she appeared out of nowhere after months of disappearance with two horned children in tow. Instead, they helped raised and care for her children when she’s out working under long corporate hours. 

The kids adore their grandparents and were heartbroken when they passed away.      

But by that time, MC was financially secure to move her family into a new house and support her little family all on her own. She understood what it meant to be strong for her children and she will continue to be just as strong. 

So with a sigh, MC narrowed her eyes and said, “If we can’t change the outcome, then we will do out best to prepare for everything that will stand in your way, Renata.” All three of her precious children jerk their heads towards her. She press on, “Each one of you posses your own strength; and I don’t mean magical capabilities. Your oldest sister’s greatest strength is her creativity when it comes to magic, Sherrie possess an intelligent mind for planning and strategising and you, my son, I’ve seen how big your heart is. You understands that compassion isn’t a weakness and that’s something the faes from the Valley of Thorns can never understand.” 

Sherrie interrupt her speech with an abashed expression. “Uh, I don’t think me playing Total War: Rome II counts as a mastermind, Mama.” She sheepishly said. 

Her attempt at the joke lessen the heavy mood a little when Lucien giggle and Renata crack a smile. It’s amazing to see how much her children have grown. 

MC playfully roll her eyes. “Be that as it may, what I’m trying to say was that we can help Renata survive in Twisted Wonderland by doing our damn best to prepare her.” 

Renata nodded eagerly while Sherrie and Lucien cheer. 

And so MC clap her hands once and her children sat straight. “Let’s turn this into a family project. Now, sweetheart, do you know when the Ebony Carriage will pick you up?” 

“Hang on, lemme check again...” Renata’s scleras suddenly tinted black and her green eyes glow brightly as she activates her Unique Magic. While she Observe all her possibilities, SD/N left the table to fetch her tablet while MC explains a bit more what being a student of Night Raven College would mean for Renata. After Sherrie sat back down at the table, Renata blink and her eyes return to normal. “I’ll be at the entrance ceremony two weeks from today. The headmaster is going to be so shocked when he sees me.” 

MC hums. “Two weeks... we can work with two weeks. We need to prepare a countermeasure when it comes to your father. Words will surely spread that someone that looks like him is attending Night Raven College.” 

“I can Observe further ahead what he will do once he realised that I’m there.” Renata said and furrowed her eyebrows, contemplating. “I need to test my magic against other people so I can see if I’m able to fight him or not.” 

“Actually, I think I might have an idea on how to handle that.” Sherrie intervene. She’s holding a stylus pen and is scribbling something furiously on her tablet. Lucien crane his neck to see what his sister is writing, only to tilt his head in confusion. 

As the family continue to brainstorm into late in the evening, MC silently swore to herself that she won’t leave her daughter all alone to defend herself in Twisted Wonderland. She doesn’t know how, but she will be there with her and still keep her children safe. 

And then, the fateful day arrives. 

-

“Next student, please come forth!” 

“State thy name.”

“Renata MC/S...” 

She said nothing when she heard Headmaster Crowley gasped beside her. “You - how!?

The Mirror of Darkness ignores him. “You were born with a different name, but live proudly under your mother’s legacy.” 

“Damn right.” Renata smirks. “I’m my mother’s daughter first and foremost. I’ll continue to live as free as her.” 

“Such conviction. You possess a deep desire to protect your loved ones which is both admirable and ambitious with the power that you were gifted with. Becaue of that, the shape of thy soul is a blazing green fire and towers of thorns that serve as your shield. You belong in Diasomnia.” The Mirror of Darkness declare. 

The headmaster mutter something about fate playing a cruel joke on his once poor prefect. 

And when the current Dorm Leader of Diasomia greeted her, he took a step back when he sees her face and horns. His eyes wide with shocked and words failed him. For every Diasomnia member had seen the tapestries of their previous Dorm Leader and especially one as great and terribly powerful as Malleus Draconia. 

“Nice to meet you, senpai. My name is Renata MC/S.” She said as politely as possible. “I’ll do my best not to cause any trouble to this dorm.” 

Renata tilt her head and pretend to look confused when her Dorm Leader continue to gape at the sight of her. Whispers of her true heritage and family began to circulate among the crowd. 

At that moment, she recalled the advice given to her by her family:

“Don’t show off your spells. Ever. Lay low as much as you can. We can’t really control the rumour mill so let it travel on its own. While you’re there, gather all the intel you can about father and the current affairs in the Valley of Thorns. Anything that can be used against them. Also, you need to watch Bungou Stray Dogs with me. You can learn a thing or two from some of the characters in that anime.” Sherrie had said while showing her tablet and a messy flowchat of her plan. She tapped her stylus pen on the ‘Phase 1’ section with great importance.  

“You need to keep your cool, big sis. You like to set the things that irritate you on fire. Like that girl’s handphone after she copied your test paper.” Lucien reminded her. Renata stucked her tongue out while Sherrie laughs. 

“You need to make good friends, sweetie. Friends that can help you from the sideline. I have a list of people that might be able to help you against your father. I think it’s safe to assumed that their kids would also be attending Night Raven College too. Though some of them need to be offered a reward or be persuaded to help you first. Don’t worry, I’ll write down on how you can win them over.” MC assured her. 

With her family supporting her even from another world, confidence in her magical abilities and a plan already in motion, Renata would not let her other so-called family trapped them ever again.   

“It’s showtime...”

-

Did I really based Renata off Nine the Phantom? Hell yeah! I love her fighting style in the game. I HC that Renata is as badass as her. 

I like to continue part 2 to this oneshot next week if my workload isn’t so crazy. I’m having so much fun writing for this wonderful AU! 

[ashyblondwaves]

Just Ask Her (Part 2)

Part 1 can be found here. Also posted to AO3. 

There were ingredients everywhere. Fresh green beans and artichokes, chicken and lemons. All in disarray. It certainly looked much easier on television, when all the ingredients were already prepared and measured. All the host had to do was dump them in a pan. Vision realized he wasn’t so lucky. He didn’t have a behind the scenes team to prepare his ingredients for him. It was all up to him.

“That should be everything,” Tony said, putting the last of the canvas grocery bags in the kitchen drawer. “Before you ask, candles are already in holders in the dining room. Left you some matches too and I told the team the kitchen and dining room were reserved for you tonight. If they want food they can go out and get it. They should leave you alone.”

Vision stared at Tony, feeling a wave of gratitude wash over him. “Mr. Stark, you’ve done far more than I asked and I don’t know how to thank you for that.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tony said, nonchalantly. “Don’t say I’ve never done anything for you. I gotta go, I’m taking Pepper out to dinner tonight. You got it from here?”

“I hope so,” Vision replied, reaching for the bundle of green beans. He looked at the long stems coming from them. “I guess this is what I trim then?”

Tony nodded, looking at Vision almost sympathetically. “Yeah, just get rid of those stems. I used to do that all the time as a kid. It’s actually really cathartic. Try it, just snap off the end.”

Vision plucked a green bean from the bundle and held it between his fingers, using his other hand to bend the stemmed end. With a satisfying crack, the bean was trimmed.

“Magic,” Tony said, waving his hands through the air. “Alright! I have to go.” He moved around the kitchen quickly, yelling over his shoulder as he left. “Good luck, you’ll be fine. I’d tell you not to do anything I wouldn’t but that wouldn’t be very fun!” With a slam of the door, he was gone.

Vision stared down at the ingredients once more, quickly forming a plan to tackle it all. He didn’t hear Wanda pad into the kitchen.

“Vis?” She asked gently. “I hope I’m not underdressed for the occasion.”

When Vision looked up, all he saw was Wanda standing in front of him. She’d changed out of the clothes she went shopping in and was now wearing a soft, gray sweater that hung off her frame in all the right places. Vision couldn’t help but notice the soft skin of her shoulder peeking out from the lush fabric. With it, she wore a pair of black leggings that hugged her legs so perfectly it almost felt wrong to look at them. Her feet were bare. She looked perfect. Truth be told, according to Vision, she could have worn a potato sack and still looked perfect.

“You look stunning,” Vision said, snapping a green bean and dropping it into a bowl. “Dress codes aren’t implemented in my kitchen.”

“I didn’t realize this was your kitchen now,” Wanda laughed, walking closer to the kitchen island. “Is there anything I could help you with?”

With a sigh, Vision gave in.

“Normally, I wouldn’t dream of asking you to help prepare your own meal,” he said, looking down at everything still in disarray. “But would you be willing to finish trimming these beans so I can work on the artichokes? I’m afraid my knife skills leave a lot to be desired. I can chop ingredients easily, but the finesse required for this part may take awhile.”

“Of course,” Wanda said, hopping up onto a stool at the island and sliding the bowl of trimmed beans in her direction. “I know you want to do this on your own, but it’s ok to ask for help. Besides, I’ve always liked the idea of cooking a meal with my…” she trailed off for just a moment before finishing her sentence. “Friend.”

Vision couldn’t explain it, but the slip in words gave him a jolt of confidence that the night wasn’t going to be a complete disaster. She almost said boyfriend, he thought, smiling to himself as he grabbed a knife from the drawer and set the oven to 425. They were on the same page. They had to be.

They worked in silence for the next few minutes as Vision broke down the first artichoke, peeling away leaf after leaf in search of this so-called heart.

“It seems very wasteful to buy all these artichokes just to use one piece of it,” Vision said, pulling another leaf from the vegetable.

Wanda looked at Vision with sympathetic eyes. “I’m pretty sure they sell cans of artichoke hearts you could’ve used.”

“I certainly wish that chef on the show I watched had mentioned that,” Vision said, looking down at the mess of artichoke parts in front of him. “At least I know now.”

“Wait,” Wanda paused, green bean in hand. “You watched cooking shows for this?”

Vision nodded. “I wanted to be a little more prepared for the task than I was last time. But it appears I’ve hit my first obstacle.”

“This’ll be fine, Vis,” Wanda said, pushing the bowl of finished green beans away. “Give me a few of those artichokes.”

They tackled the artichokes together in companionable silence until each one had been stripped down to the heart.

“Thank you,” Vision said gratefully. As he spoke he tossed some thyme onto a baking sheet with the green beans and started with the seasoning. “That went much faster than if I’d done it all myself.”

The rest of the cooking went surprisingly smooth once the artichokes were on the baking sheet with the green beans and in the oven. Vision moved swiftly through the kitchen, grabbing a skillet for the chicken and quietly seasoning it and browning it.

“Okay,” Vision said with a relaxed sigh. “Lemon, please!”

“Here’s your lemon, sir!” Wanda played along, plucking the lemon from the countertop and handing it to Vision, who cut the lemon in half and placed the halves in the skillet with the chicken. To finish it off, he added the rest of the thyme and put the skillet in the oven.

The finishing touches were easy. It was just a matter of combining everything into one dish. Tossing in a little more parmesan, Vision plated Wanda’s meal and stood in front of it proudly.

“Let’s hope it tastes as good as it looks,” Vision said. “Follow me to the dining room?”

The dining room was dimly lit, the candles arranged on the table in such a way that it gave the illusion that the table was smaller; just enough for two people on a date rather than the large and luxurious piece of furniture it really was.

“Here you go,” Vision said, setting the plate down and pulling out a chair for Wanda. “Dinner is served.”

As Wanda settled in with her meal, Vision lit the candles. They flickered, casting a beautiful dusky glow throughout the room. Vision sat quietly across from Wanda, watching nervously as she took her first bite.

“Mmmm,” she hummed, nodding enthusiastically as she finished her bite. “Vis, this is really good. Really good.”

A swell of pride filled Vision’s senses. “Thank you,” he said, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“I should be thanking you,” Wanda replied, finishing another bite. “I would have been ok with Mac and Cheese out of the box. But this is absolutely delicious. Thank you, Vision.”

They stared at each other for what seemed like days, smiles wide on both of their faces. Now, Vision thought. It was time to ask her.

“Could I get you something to drink?”

No! Wrong question.

“I’m okay for now,” Wanda said, cutting into her chicken. “But a nice glass of chardonnay after this will hit the spot.”

Vision nodded, taking note of Wanda’s request. But now was not the time to discuss an after dinner wine. If he didn’t ask her now, he was afraid he never would and they’d spend the rest of their time together dancing around the idea of being something more.

“Wanda,” Vision started, steeling himself for what he was about to say. “As you know, I regard our friendship very highly. Getting to know you has helped me learn so many things. Happiness, sadness, laughter but most importantly.. love.”

By now, Wanda had stopped eating her meal. She clutched her fork in her right hand, eyes wide and body at attention as Vision continued.

“Please stop me if you think I’m overstepping any boundaries,” he said. “But I get this feeling that there may be more between us that we’ve yet to talk about, let alone explore. Is that something you feel, too?”

Wanda stayed silent and Vision immediately wondered if he’d said something wrong. Had he made her feel obligated to say yes? Maybe a meal wasn’t the right idea after all.

“You can tell me,” Vision assured her, resisting the urge to reach out for her hand, just in case. “No matter the answer.”

With a shaky breath, Wanda finally answered.

“So much that sometimes it almost hurts,” she admitted. “Just being near you brings me so much comfort. But I’ve been wondering what it could be like between us.. as more than friends.”

“I’d really like to find out,” Vision said, finally reaching across the table and taking Wanda’s hand. “This game we’ve been playing..”

Wanda shook her head. “It’s not working anymore. Maybe it never did.”

“I think we were just fooling ourselves,” Vision agreed. “And wasting time where we could have been together.”

“Soo..” Wanda urged, running her thumb over Vison’s hand. “Are we done wasting time?”

“We are done wasting time.”

They shared a quick smile as Wanda picked her fork back up and dug into the rest of her food and continued on in silence back to the kitchen to clean up the cooking aftermath.

“TV in my room when we’re done?” Wanda asked, scrubbing her plate at the sink. It’d become a nightly routine with them, but she still always made sure to ask him and let him know he was welcome to join her.

“I wouldn’t miss it,” Vision said over his shoulder. He tackled the mess of artichokes before joining Wanda at the sink to finish the dishes.

“Hi,” Wanda said coyly, bumping Vision’s side with her shoulder playfully.

There was a sense of relief between them now. One that finally allowed them to do all the little things that they’d been skirting around for months for fear that it would escalate into something they weren’t ready for.

“Oh,” Vision said, pretending he hadn’t seen Wanda next to him. He scooped up some bubbles from the sink and flicked them in Wanda’s direction. “Hello.”

Wanda laughed a genuine, hearty laugh -- one that Vision had never heard before --  and returned the favor, spraying bubbles all over Vision’s sweater before turning the sink’s sprayer on him.

“Unfair advantage!” Vision yelled, trying to shield himself with his arms. “Unfair advantage!”

“Don’t start what you can’t finish,” Wanda teased, releasing the button on the sprayer and setting it back in its place. “You may have to take that sweater off.”

Vision narrowed his eyes at Wanda, a lopsided grin spreading across his face, ready to play along. “You certainly don’t expect me to do that here in the middle of the kitchen, right?”

“Nooo. I wouldn’t dream of it,” Wanda hummed. “You can take it off in my room.”

Wanda grabbed Vision’s hand and pulled him down the hallway with her toward the bedroom. Once inside she closed and locked the door, sending Vision’s thoughts reeling. They always closed the door but never did they lock it. Tonight was going to be different.

“Before I take this off,” Vision said, toying with the hem of the sweater. “Can I kiss you first? I realize I should have kissed you twenty minutes ago in the dining room and I didn’t, which was foolish.”

Wanda took a step forward, nodding her approval.

Vision took Wanda’s hands in his and pulled her close until their bodies were touching. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers, feeling Wanda’s body melt against his. There were no fireworks, no fanfare, but something stirred deep inside Vision that kept him rooted to the spot, lips working against Wanda’s. As far as first kisses go, Vision didn’t think he did half bad.

When they finally parted, Vision pressed his forehead to Wanda’s, whispering his next sentence.

“I’ve wanted to do that for far too long.”

Wanda sighed and closed her eyes, letting her hands wander underneath Vision’s wet sweater. She ran her hands along the unique combination of vibranium and skin, feeling it contract as her hands roamed. Soon, Vision’s hands were at the hem of his sweater again, pulling it up and over his head in one quick motion and without a word, he kissed her again.

They moved toward the bed, movements clunky but effective and climbed in. Vision went to his usual spot at the head of the bed. He sat with his back against the headboard and watched as Wanda hung back just for a moment. In that quick moment, she pulled her own sweater off, leaving her in just a bra and her leggings.

“I wanted to join you,” she said, shrugging at Vision’s surprised look.

Without another word, she crawled across the bed and toward Vision, straddling his hips when she reached him. She took his face in her hands and kissed him, bucking her hips so her middle rubbed against him.

“Can you feel that?” Wanda asked, grinding against him again, lips grazing against his with each word. “Does that do anything for you?”

“Yes,” Vision groaned. “Keep going.”

Wanda didn’t need to be told twice. She continued her movements, smiling against Vision’s lips when she started to feel him even more between her legs. She wasn’t sure if it’d work. If it was something Vision was even capable of, but with each snap of her hips he groaned a little more and grew a little harder underneath her.

They spent their night taking turns on each other. Exploring, teasing, tasting. Learning what combination of hands, fingers and tongues made them come undone the most.

As they lay in bed, naked and sated for the moment Vision remembered something Wanda had said earlier in the night. He propped himself up on his elbow and asked her the question.

“Did you still want that chardonnay?”

[padme-amitabha]

I just watched a video countering a couple of Prequel bashers and, my god, the things the haters said should happen to Jake Lloyd! It's an abhorrent injustice that these disgusting people were catered to by the 2008 CW series. You know, however terrible they are, I'm almost glad for the sequels, because if there's one good thing that came from them, it was watching the Prequel hate coming back to bite these people hard.

Tell me about it. The people who bullied Jake Llyod are despicable. I think the actors in the sequel trilogy sometimes overacted and it came out as too forceful at times and I wasn’t a fan of Daisey Ridley’s wooden acting but that’s no excuse to bully the actors! Jake tried his best and did exactly what George instructed him to do i.e. play a simple good-natured kid. The sequels have been criticized but I think the acting is rarely brought up while prequel actors like Ahmed Best, Hayden Christensen and Natalie Portman had to deal with this nonsense because people didn’t agree with their characters’ actions, how they were written and/or couldn’t handle character flaws.

Still Jake Lloyd showed more emotional range than the adult sequel trilogy actors (I mean is Rey even capable of other expressions than being wide eyed or smiling in inappropriate situations or looking like she’s trying too hard?). I understand getting teased at school because let’s face it kids are immature and they were probably just jealous he got the role in such a highly anticipated movie but what angers me is when grown men picked on him and bullied him like the man-babies they were AND had the nerve to blame it on George (who still defends the prequels and it’s characters). I know it’s hard for them to swallow this but Star Wars is George’s creation and doesn’t exist solely to fulfill their male power fantasies. I have seen their version of “fix-it” videos where they are like Anakin should have been born with the suit and basically making him a psychopathic soulless monster and also a demon child. The atrocious Darth Vader Marvel comics are still trying to please said man-babies but TCW started that trend. These days actors can gain sympathy and support from fans on social media but back then people rarely stood up for little Jake and Ahmed Best. What’s worse is some reporters continued to harass and insult Jake in interviews to the point it permanently damaged his mental health. They even harassed his mom and continued to make those awful podracing jokes after the car-chase incident. He didn’t deserve any of this. And people still continue to ridicule him. I have seen people joke about him being unattractive compared to Hayden Christensen which is just so shallow and mean. Anakin is a fictional character - he can be played by any actor as long as it is convincing. 

You’re right about TCW, that’s one of the reasons why I can never accept it (no matter how much I overlook the other terrible retcons). They were made to “fix” the prequels and even George was forced to change his characters a little because of the intense backlash. TCW caters to those horrible bullies and introducing that Ahsoka character wasn’t the best decision. You know, I once saw a video where fans voted for their favorite Jedi and she came in no. 2 and one of the common reasons they provided was because they found her attractive. Now female characters in a male dominated fandom have always been sexualized but the number of times TCW sexualized a minor is disturbing. And of course, Filoni’s blatant bias for his OC is extremely annoying. TCW caters to the fanboys’ ideals of toxic masculinity and are indirectly supporting these bullies. It started this trend of changing the prequel characters to make them more “acceptable” and “stereotypical” because fans can’t grasp the concept of complex and emotional characters and changing the “cheesy” romance to an abusive/unhealthy one to make it more “realistic”. Star Wars is more like a fairytale, even George said it’s a space opera. It’s meant to be dramatic and have mythical themes. But fanboys absolutely love these changes because now the prequels have been “improved” like this show was made specifically to please them and apologize for the prequels. They complain about how prequels ruined characters like Darth Vader because sometimes you should be able to use your imagination to fill in the gaps but TCW was that gap. The originals left so many valid unanswered questions like who was the Emperor (and how could he use force lightning), what was the clone wars, how exactly did Anakin fall from grace and who was Luke and Leia’s mother? The prequels answered them all and did a fantastic job at world-building. TCW is the unnecessary extension, we didn’t need to see their everyday lives and still if anyone was curious the 2003 CW was there to bridge the gap perfectly while staying true to the characters and keeping the tone consistent.

I agree with you on the sequels. I have never been invested in them in the first place to be outraged. I was bored watching TFA and its unoriginal plot, mildly amused at how ridiculous the TLJ was and just confused at how pointless and messy TROS was. So yeah the trilogy served those people right who thought a shallow unoriginal remake of ANH “revived” Star Wars after its creator “ruined” it and thought a director (whose other films are not very original either) could do better than one of the most creative and intelligent men in Hollywood.

Star Wars is so much more than these pointless action movies with stereotypical action heroes. George had combined elements from mythology, history, literature, science fiction, fantasy to create a beautiful story with symbolism, depth and a great message. The prequel trilogy and the original trilogy are two halves of that story and both are needed to complete the saga. Hollywood and these fans don’t deserve George Lucas. They disrespected him and his work.

[skzsauce01]

In Fair Verona︱Chapter 7

Synopsis: Jisung knows he is the Romeo to your Juliet. He could wax poetry about you all throughout rehearsal and even a little after. Except Hwang Hyunjin is the one playing Romeo in the school play, not him. Jisung is just another tech crew member that you don’t know, but he’s determined to win your heart... by any means necessary.

Warning: violent imagery

Word Count: 2.3k

Pairing: fem!reader x Jisung; fem!reader x Hyunjin

Prepare to be baited. Apologies in advance.

updates every Wednesday and Sunday @ 11 PM PST︱chapter list

Is love a tender thing? It is too rough.

Too rude, too boisterous, and it pricks like thorn.

If there’s one thing he’s good at, it’s brooding. During the curtain call rehearsal, he sits with his arms folded across his chest and a clear “Do not talk to me” on his face. When Changbin asks him what’s wrong, he snarls in response. It’s so bad that he doesn’t even feel like watching you on stage. It’s not your fault at all, but he can’t help feel that it kind of is. You just… forgot about him last night.

A thunderous applause jolts him out of his thoughts. Shouts of “Thank you, tech!” comes from the many actors on stage, though their words are more directed toward the back of the house where sound and lights are. The freshman crew member wonders out loud why the stage crew doesn’t get any mentions, and Jisung resonates with those feelings. Some kind of recognition would be nice.

“We’re going to do a full runthrough today,” the director announces. “Actors, be back in ten minutes.”

The whole crowd stampedes off stage, and a select few head to the dressing room to change for Act I. The main curtain comes down, and Jisung can relax for some time while everyone else prepares. He leans back in his chair and shuts his eyes, dreaming of ways to get you to acknowledge him again. More Pepero? That didn’t work well last night. Flowers on opening night? No, three days is too long to do nothing. Giving you a homemade dosirak? Too over the top. Well, maybe you would like it; you always seemed dissatisfied with your dinners.

“Hey, Ryujin?” calls a faraway voice. Jisung’s eyelids flutter open when he realizes it’s you. “Do you know where the sash is for my first dress? It wasn’t on the dress, and it’s not in the dressing room.”

“Um…” She shuffles through the costumes on the rack, checking to see if any of the dresses for an extra accessory.

“Do you want help?” Jisung offers, his earlier annoyance forgotten. He’s already out of his seat.

“Can you check the stage?” Ryujin asks. She pushes another hanger to the side, scanning its surface. “It might have fallen off during the scene.”

Jisung nods and is about to head out when you say, “I’ll go too.”

You fall into step with him, your footsteps matching perfectly with his. His heart begins thumping in a familiar way, and he’s aware of how close you are to him — it’s nearly shoulder to shoulder.

“I’ll take stage left,” you tell him. When he nods, you continue walking, stopping near the black curtains to see if the sash was kicked underneath them.

Jisung checks near the cyc lights but only finds cables and dust. You don’t have much luck either as you report finding nothing. Your eyebrows knit together, and Jisung can see you biting your lower lip rather hard. The actors for Act I are already in the wings. The two of you go to ask Ryujin if she found it. He can practically feel your worry radiating off you in waves.

“It’s probably with the costumes,” he assures you.

“I hope so,” you anxiously reply. “Thanks for helping.”

“No problem.”

“Did you guys find it?” Ryujin asks.

You shake your head, and Ryujin’s mouth flattens into a line. She checks the costumes over and over again with a fervor Jisung has never seen before. It seems to be mostly fueled by irritation rather than determination. When other actors ask what’s the problem, you inform them, and before he knows it, there’s a small search party for the missing sash in the stage right wings. To none of Jisung’s surprise, Hyunjin is by your side.

The first scene of the play ends before Ryujin snatches the thin ribbon around the waist of a dress belonging to Lady Capulet and triumphantly hands it to you. “Found it! She probably took it by accident last night.”

“Thank goodness,” you breathe. You loop it around your waist and begin tying into a bow. “Is it straight?” you ask no one in particular.

“I’ll fix it,” Hyunjin offers before Ryujin can.

He places a gentle hand on your shoulder, ready to turn you around. Jisung’s eyes go wide, and he reaches his arm out to stop Hyunjin. He’s not going to relive this scenario again. But he’s not fast enough, and you’re already tugging at the loose ends of your sash. Jisung can only watch as Hyunjin delicately reties it into a neat bow, careful to not touch your back.

“Thank you,” you say as you turn to look at him. It’s not a head tilt though; your chin is dipped down, and you peer at him through your dark lashes.

There’s less than a foot in between your bodies.  “I’ll see you later. It’s almost my cue,” he smiles.

“See you,” you reply as he saunters off.

There’s an expression on your face that Jisung unfortunately recognizes because he’s seen it in his bathroom mirror when he’s thinking of you. He feels a tension building in the center of his chest. It travels outward, constricting his air flow, obscuring his vision in a red haze, sending blood pumping into his ears. He needs to break something. His eyes land on you first and then Hyunjin.

He tears off his headset and steps forward, ignoring Changbin’s whisper-shouts of “Where are you going?” He wants to storm across the stage and stain his knuckles with blood, but he can’t. Instead, he stomps to the restroom, knowing it is his only refuge. Colorful posters advertising clubs and sports are taped to the walls, and he angrily rips them off. They flutter to the floor, and he makes sure to leave a dusty footprint on all of them.

There’s no one inside the bathroom, thankfully. As he scans the room around for something to break, he catches a glimpse of his reflection and realizes how crazed he looks — wild eyes, a snarl etched on his face, and the unmistakable aura of murder. The tension transforms into alarm, and he fumbles for the sink faucet. He splashes cold water on his face numerous times, willing it to wash away everything he just saw. He forces himself to take deep breaths. When he looks up, it’s his old self again, only with water dripping down his jaw.

He wipes himself dry and leaves, picking up the fallen papers and pressing them back against the wall. Unfortunately, remnants of his footprint remain, no matter how hard he dusts them off.

By the time he returns back to the auditorium, the next scene has already begun.. While you, Yugyeom, and Ryujin only stare at him on his way back to his previous spot, Changbin glares at him and reports into the comms, “Jisung’s back.”

He puts on his previously discarded headset and weakly says, “Sorry.”

“We’ll talk about this later,” comes the tech director’s voice. It’s calm, but he can hear the irritation underneath it.

Jisung mutes himself, and to Changbin he pleads, “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. I know it was wrong and that I shouldn’t have left and—”

“Don’t it again,” he flatly says. Then his tone softens. “What happened? You looked pissed off when you left.”

I was ready to smash in the lead actor’s face isn’t exactly an appropriate response, and it’s especially not when you’re in hearing range. “Stress,” he shrugs. “I’ve got a lot on my plate this week. I didn’t mean to be gone for so long. It was supposed to be a quick walk to let some energy out. What happened here?”

“Yugyeom filled in for you when we realized you weren’t back, and we messed up. Then we got yelled at, so I told Mr. Gi that Yugyeom had to do your job because you disappeared. Now Gi is mad at you.”

“As expected,” he glumly says. “I’m really sorry about what happened.”

“I know.”

Rehearsal goes on like normal, or as normal as it can be. Jisung forces himself to concentrate on his homework instead of the stage. The numbers and symbols blur together into incomprehensible mush. Nothing makes sense. His frustration combines with some lingering tension from earlier, and he’s so close to snapping again. He latches himself onto his seat and practices breathing exercises, even when the party scene is going on and when you have your costume change. He hopes you’ll initiate a conversation with him when you’re waiting in the wings, but you don’t. His heart sinks, and he has to remind himself to focus on the exercises instead.

It continues like that until dinner. Jisung has nearly lost his mind, and he’s sure it’s evident from the glassy look in his eyes. He tags along with Jeongin and Seungmin to the convenience store even though he brought his usual meal. He doesn’t trust himself to stay calm when Hyunjin’s in the same room as him. The conversation on the walk to the store is inundated with questions of “What happened?” and “Where were you?” He gives them the same answers as before, and they seem to accept it.

At the convenience store, Jisung glances down the snack aisle and spots the distinct pink box. His mind immediately goes back to last night, and anger flares up inside him. He glares at the rack of Pepero for far too long.

“Hey, Jisung?”

“Coming,” he calls. He wrenches his eyes away from his fire-laden fantasy and follows Seungmin out.

They all eat their dosiraks while walking back, and he’s glad that he doesn’t need to talk. He wonders what you’re doing at the moment. Probably chatting with Hyunjin and sharing food and laughing over dumb inside jokes and everything else Jisung wants to do with you. When they arrive back at school, he dumps his empty plastic container into the trash can with more force than necessary. He peeks into the classroom and sees that you’re doing exactly what he predicted. He observes you for a while, and the two halves of his heart begin to crack apart.

He listens to Chan’s mixtapes over the speakers in the auditorium until the second half of the rehearsal begins ten minutes later. It’s like the first half all over again — headset on, eyes on his homework, and breathing exercises. Lots and lots of breathing exercises.

It feels excruciatingly long, but rehearsal eventually ends. He can’t wait to go home and unleash his emotions on something. Tech notes feel longer than normal, and Jisung halfheartedly listens to the tech director talk. He’s looking at him and nodding occasionally, but his words go in one ear and out the other.

“Good night, everyone,” Mr. Gi says. Then he looks directly at Jisung, who still has a vacant expression on his face. “Jisung, we need to talk.”

Jisung mumbles a curse, and Felix goodnaturedly pats him on the back. As everyone else goes their separate ways, whispering to one another, Jisung walks to Mr. Gi and braces himself for a verbal lashing. His words, while controlled, are laced with rage, and Jisung can feel himself shrinking as time passes. He meekly apologizes and promises that it won’t ever happen again. He gets let off with a stern warning, and Jisung slinks away to the green room after.

Like usual, you’re one of the few people still inside. You’re in your usual position — sitting on a table, phone in hand. You look up when he enters the room and wave to him with your free hand. His spirits lift, and he returns the gesture. You hop off your seat, and he notices that you’re wearing the same too-large sweater as yesterday. He tries not to imagine how cute you would look in his favorite hoodie. You would look so cute.

“Hey, are you okay? You left really suddenly during rehearsal,” you say.

He really doesn’t want to talk about it, but he just shrugs. “I’m fine. I was just stressed out and couldn’t take it anymore.”

“Oh, I see. It happens.”

“Yeah.” Gosh, what is he supposed to say now? The awkwardness is starting to build, and you look like you’re ready to leave the conversation. He scans you up and down, trying to find a new topic to discuss. “Isn’t your jacket too big for you?”

He winces at the accusatory tone, but you don’t seem to care. There’s a small smile playing on your lips as you answer, “It’s not mine. Hyunjin let me borrow it yesterday when I was cold in class. I keep meaning to give it back, but it’s really comfortable.” You twirl the hoodie string with your index finger and gaze lovingly at it.

The crack in his heart widens. “So, where is Hyunjin?” he asks as nonchalantly as he can. It still comes out strained.

“He left right after notes with Minho. Why?”

So, I can break his skull. “I was gonna suggest you give it back to him now.” With more composure, he asks you, “I think I already know the answer, but do you need a ride home?”

You laugh. “I’m good, but thanks.” Your phone chimes, and you glance at the lock screen for a second before gathering your belongings. “See you tomorrow.”

“I’ll walk you.”

“It’s alright.” Your phone chimes with another message, and you sigh once you see it. “I gotta go. Bye, Jisung!”

You run out of the room, your open zip up sweater swinging side to side.

On the drive home, he has trouble focusing on the road. He can only see visions of himself running over Hyunjin with his car. Back and forth, back and forth.

~ ad.gray

[of-the-moors]

So I've been thinking about the whole Maleficent movie + sequel = 'feels like a trilogy but may never be because M:MOE was kind of a disappointment' thing.

Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed M:MOE from an entertainment perspective. It had some funny moments, and some touching moments, and Angelina Jolie and Michelle Pfeiffer (which I always want to pronounce 'Per-FIFF-er' for shits and giggles) are an electric combination. Sam Riley, as usual, managed to convey more with eyebrow twitches and eye movements than his lines alone would suggest. Elle Fanning is once again a delight.

But.

BUT.

What the actual fuck was up with that storyline?

News just in: there's nothing wrong with a gentle fairytale. A movie doesn't HAVE to end with an epic MCU-inspired megabattle. Yawn. Been there, seen that.

So the first movie is character-driven. Maleficent is a sweet and innocent little soul, she's betrayed and violated by someone that she has chosen to trust, it fucks her up, she knee-jerk retaliates, feels vindicated, then over the course of the movie comes to realise that she may have gone overboard etc. By the end of the movie, she's not back as she was, but she's a better version of herself that she was sixteen years earlier.

She has agency. She makes her own choices. She is beholden to nobody, except on occasion, the moral questions of her servant (more on Diaval later).

Aurora doesn't really have much of a say in anything, other than her choice to go to the castle, but it could be argued that it wasn't so much her CHOICE as the curse playing out. Either way, it's not really relevant, as she's barely more than a child and doesn't know her arse from her elbow.

The end of the first movie wrapped everything up quite nicely, and a sequel wasn't strictly necessary.

The thing is, if you're going to make a sequel, you owe it to the original movie to not cock it up.

The tone just wasn't the same, for starters. It was very much a Mega Worldbuilding CGI Wank, as compared to the insular and gentler tone of the first film. I mean, Maleficent had a main cast of just seven people, and that includes Phillip who only had a handful of scenes. The cast of M:MOE blew WAY out. It changed the tone, and not for the better.

Why introduce the Dark Fey at all?

Are we seriously to believe that the entire population of Maleficent's race, less herself, have been living a hundred clicks off the coast of Ulstead all of this time, and yet they let Maleficent - who apparently is like their queen or something? - grow up an orphan in the Moors? Um, collecting her and taking her back to be with her own kind would have taken what, an hour?

If you're going to introduce a situation like that, at least have the decency to explain it and close the gaping plot hole. One line would have sufficed. "Your parents chose to leave the sanctuary. By the time we realised that they had been killed, it was too late to bring you back - too late to take you from the only home you had ever known. So we have watched over you instead, ever since."

Wow, and I'm not even a script writer.

And the war. I mean, really? Ingrith is a psychopath - a genocidal maniac, to use Angelina Jolie's words - and she wants to kill off the entire population of the Moors. Um, okay. I get the feeling that the Dark Fey retcon was conceived as a handy plot device to spawn a Big Battle Scene, and the implications of that were ill-considered.

At least they didn't go and pair Maleficent up with one of them. I know that there was implication with both Conall and Borra, but at least it wasn't overt. You can't have one who was burned by love to the degree that Maleficent was suddenly falling in love with a relative stranger in a matter of days; it's beyond out of character. So thanks, folks, for refraining from that particular trope.

Then there's Maleficent's agency. She was very much a reactive protagonist, and made very few decisions of her own will. Is she even still Maleficent?

There was so much wasted potential.

The first movie had a character who, through the actions of another, no longer believed in true love. By the end of the movie, she believed in true love in the sense of filial love. Romantic love, no, that was still tosh, but the love of a mother for a daughter? Oh yes, that existed.

The second movie SHOULD have expanded on this, using the wedding of Aurora and Phillip as the catalyst for further growth and acceptance on the part of Maleficent. The movie we got does, in a way, come to the same place - Maleficent accepts that romantic true love exists, albeit not for her - but it feels entirely secondary to the Great Big Battle. It was messy. So, so messy.

I almost feel as though we're owed a third movie, to right the wrongs of the second. To tie up the gaping plot holes which were introduced but never adequately explained - or even addressed! It's unlikely to happen, unfortunately, but we can only hope.

A third movie would need to complete Maleficent's arc, that's for sure. From not believing in love to believing in filial love, to believing in romantic love for others but not herself, the logical conclusion of that arc is for Maleficent to have a reason to believe in true love for herself again.

In the interests of interesting cinematic conflict and confusing our winged protagonist, two competing love interests would make for an interesting story. A parallel plot could bookend the plot of the first movie by recasting Maleficent in the role of protector - have Aurora's baby taken by an antagonist - ideally a magical one - and centre the story around recovering the child and defeating the evil whilst navigating matters of the heart.

Who would Maleficent be drawn to? A mysterious and volatile man of her own species, now that she knows that she's not the only one? Someone as exciting as herself? One whose wings match her own?

Or is love steadfast and loyal? Kind and devoted and dependable? Of course, I refer to Diaval, who is, in my mind, the only logical love interest for Maleficent, but she'd need some prodding to see that. He'd need to do something incredibly brave and she'd have to realise what losing him would really be like, that old chestnut. But really, he's the one. He's both her conscience and her constant, and his rationality and calm nature are a perfect foil for her impulsive hotheadedness. They're two halves of a whole, even without the romantic undertones.

(Let's not go into how Angelina Jolie and Sam Riley evidently agree with the above assessment of the Maleficent/Diaval relationship, based on interviews and the way in which each plays their character against the other. Or that Sam Riley is the unofficial official captain of the Good Ship Maleval. Someone should tell him. He needs a proper hat for it.)

I like the delicious synchronicity of Maleficent, burned by what she thought was true love, creating her actual true love in that darkest time of her life, and then not realising it for two decades. It has a certain perfection to it.

But hey, it isn't going to happen for much less than a miracle. Thank heavens for fanfiction, eh? Fixing the dodgy shit one fic at a time.

[thebibliomancer]

Song of the Dark Crystal liveblog pt 11

Song of the Dark Crystal by J.M. Lee because Aughra. Because Aughra.

Last times in book: Kylan, Naia, Tavra, and Gurjin have traveled to Aughra’s High Hill to enlist her help in warning all Gelfling that the Skeksis ruling class doesn’t have their best interests at heart. The party meets Aughra who seems hilariously grumpy and unhelpful but at least says she’ll answer some of their questions.

Chapter 11

The meeting with Aughra goes discouragingly but Kylan gets a cool book

Aughra doesn’t offer the Gelfling a place to sit so they passive aggressively stand with the orrery spheres just zooming overhead. Except Tavra who leans against the wall with her arms crossed because she’s the Too Cool Kid.

Aughra rummages around in a box of artifacts and grumbles because she can’t find what she’s looking for. Which is the crystal shard! So I guess Aughra already has the crystal shard at this point!

“Eh! Where are they? Probably buried everywhere. No matter. Not the time yet, no point. No way to know which one it is yet, anyway.”

Because I guess this is taking after the Creation Myths story where after the crystal was cracked, Aughra spent who knows how long collecting crystal shards.

Just waiting for Jen.

(I guess it makes more sense than her losing track of the shard after the Age of Resistance show)

The following conversation is amazing, by the way. Because it contains grumpy Aughra.

“The Skeksis have betrayed the Gelfling,” Naia began. “I’ve seen the Crystal where they’ve darkened it. We need to send a message to all the Gelfling, all at the same time, so everyone knows what the Skeksis have done.”

Aughra stared at Naia with her single eye, flat face unreadable except for a general sense of disdain. Kylan worried suddenly that she would not have an answer - or if she did, that it would be impossible to interpret or understand.

“And what’s the question?” she barked.

Hahah

Kylan asks if there’s a way to send a message to all Gelfling without the Skeksis being able to interpret it.

And Aughra is like ‘hey maybe if all Gelfling could read!’ Gotcha, so our first step should be a literacy program.

“Oh yes, sure there’s a way. There’s always a way. Could be this way. Could be that way over there.”

Hah!

She’s so unhelpful!

She also adds this is something Gelfling will have to figure out if it’s something that only Gelfling can understand. How do you expect Aughra to understand a thing that only Gelfling can understand??

Naia testily says it’d be okay for Aughra to understand since she’s helping but Aughra clarifies that if she can understand it then so can the Skeksis since they’re the ones who taught her how to read. (Or the UrSkeks did but nobody else gets that.)

Gurjin changes topics and asks what Aughra knows about the Skeksis.

“I know they love a good crawly. What do you want to know?”

Naia bit at the end of the question, finishing Gurjin’s thought.

“Everything!”

“Everything!” she exclaimed. “HA! Didn’t you hear what I just said! Everything’s too much! Small questions, Gelfling. Small questions with small answers for your small head!”

HAHAHAH!

Kylan decides to switch topics again, while also having to hold back Naia from probably cursing out Aughra.

He relates meeting urVa and how he had a scar on his hand and how in the encounter with SkekMal later he had that same scar on his hand and how he suspects that the two share one life force. And because of the importance the Skeksis placed on twins, ie capturing both Naia and Gurjin, that Kylan suspects all of the Skeksis are the same with one life forced shared between two bodies.

Aughra confirms Kylan’s theory.

“Skeksis were born at the last Great Conjunction. That’s when the Skeksis appeared, and the Mystics. Can’t have one without the other.”

And when Kylan asks a follow up question about the Mystics:

“Eighteen Skeksis. Eighteen Mystics. That’s one for one, isn’t it? If the numbers are right.” She grumbled, talking to herself more than to the Gelfing in her observatory. “Twins, eh? I can see what they’re thinking, but they’re wrong. Twins are two souls, two lives, two bodies. A close connect, yes! Same blood in your veins, same Gelfling essence! But you and you, you’re two, eh? Skeksis and the Mystics are one, split. What happens to one happens to the other. And the other way around, too.”

Kylan isn’t really satisfied with her answer but it is an answer, or at least a confirmation. And again, props to the Gelfs for figuring out the big Dark Crystal plot twist with nothing but good perceptiveness.

And it gives him a new line of questioning. Maybe the other Mystics can help as urVa did. Maybe the Mystics could stop the Skeksis.

(Ha, sorry Kylan. They’re not that helpful.)

“NO!” Her response boomed over the sound of the machine. “Skeksis can’t destroy Mystics. Mystics can’t destroy Skeksis. What’s one is the other. You know! You saw it! Maybe a Mystic could keep a Skeksis in one place. Stop him from doing the really bad thing. Maybe the other way around, too. Skeksis stops a Mystic from doing the really great thing. But it’s just a wall. Just an impasse, not a defeat, not destruction.”

I don’t know. Harm minimization might be a good idea at this point? I don’t know if the good that the Mystics do is balanced with the evil that the Skeksis do. What with the impending genocide of the Gelfling?

Gurjin suggests that they just kill the Mystics, to get rid of the Skeksis. Less resistance there, probably.

But Naia and Kylan are the ones who protest this time. It just feels wrong to them to kill someone as peaceful and groovy as urVa to get to SkekMal.

Kylan asks Aughra if there’s anything she could tell them that would help, or even some direction on what to do.

“Don’t know,” Aughra said. She gave a big groan, clearing her throat, and spat, right on the floor. “Don’t know.”

She said the movie line!

I don’t know if that’s the movie line and action I would choose to echo but hey, he went for it.

She also has her own plan which is to play out the clock.

“Skeksis, Mystics. Born at the Great Conjunction. Maybe they’ll die at the next. Maybe they’ll go back to wherever they came from. Maybe the whole world will end! No way to know but wait. Nothing to do but wait until the next one. The next Great Conjunction.”

When her words got nothing but a heavy silence, she scoffed.

“See? Told you it might not be what you wanted to hear.”

Kylan is pretty disgruntled and feels foolish for pinning his hopes on magic all-knowing legend lady. Everything she’s given them is interesting but doesn’t offer any concrete ways forward. And everything she’s spoken of is from long ago.

He asks if she even knows that the Skeksis have been draining the essence of Gelfling. And when Aughra seems surprised by that, Kylan realizes she may have gotten so preoccupied with SPACE that she has no idea what’s going on.

So he tells her how the Skeksis steal away Gelfling and how the Scientist binds them in a chair and forces them to stare into the Crystal. How the darkness they’ve put into the Crystal has spread throughout Thra like a sickness. How the Gelfling can’t afford to try to run out the clock because the Skeksis could drink every single one of them before the Great Conjunction.

Aughra had become distracted by the contents of her worktable, sorting through it, though her motions were slower now, as if burdened. Kylan had never wished sorrow upon anyone, but at that moment he hoped the old woman felt at least a little. It might mean she cared.

Kylan urges Aughra to tell him that the battle is worth fighting, that the Skeksis aren’t unstoppable and that the Gelfling shouldn’t just give up.

Aughra tells him that the future is immutable and that the Great Conjunction is more powerful than the Skeksis and the Mystics. But she hasn’t seen enough of the future yet to know whether there is hope. She tells him to be patient.

“I’ve had enough of patience,” Kylan said with a sigh that left him completely deflated. “And I’ve had enough of you.”

He regretted the words as soon as they escaped. Even Tavra looked surprised.

Damn, Kylan. Savage.

Rather than respond to that, Aughra notices that Kylan is holding a book he picked up off the floor and tells him “Take that book. Aughra thinks it was meant for you.”

And then she just shuffles off.

And the conversation was such a bummer that the Gelfling all just decide to leave.

So I guess Aughra’s non-interference has been a combination of being distracted by SPACE, knowing that the Skeksis are bad but being convinced that the Great Conjunction is the only solution, losing the dang crystal shard, and not being too up to date with HOW bad things have gotten.

And like Naia and Kylan, she’s not going to brook ideas that involve killing the Skeksis or Mystics. They’re halves of her old friends who taught her how to read and look at stars.

I don’t think show Aughra had similar reservations. Like she didn’t go out of her way to plan violence but also she exploded the Hunter after convincing the Archer to jump off a tower.

Granted, Aughra in the show was a lot more proactive. Once she figured out what was up she wasted no time in marching over to yell at the Skeksis. Although, it seems that book Aughra is still expecting to have the great Gelfling conference call at some point, since she told Kylan et al that they were early.

Hopefully that’s a super great book she just gave Kylan.

Maybe it hadn’t been all bad. He held out the book she had given him. It bore no markings save for a symbol Kylan didn’t recognize written in black ink on the spine. The worn, dark blue-gray leather that bound it had long ago lost a corner but was otherwise in good shape.

He flipped through the book and found most of the pages filled. The writing within was ink - not dream-etched like Gelfling writing. Some of the words were illegible, and the hand in which it had all been writ did not match the many other scrolls and parchments in Aughra’s orrery. Splatters of black dotted the paper around scrawled sketches, diagrams, and sometimes completely unintelligible shapes that did not fit into any category. Given it was done in ink and not dream-etching, he guessed the author was not Gelfling. Yet in many places, the writing was in Gelfling letters and very fluent for a non-Gelfling. The subjects of the text were unfocused, sometimes geographical, sometimes astronomical. Sometimes they even seemed to be a record or diary, long hand for a few pages. These entries were almost always in a writing Kylan could not read, but they were dense, often accompanied by messy ink splatters and sometimes the remains of torn-out pages.

Intrigue!

So presumably not written by Aughra and not written by Gelfling. And clearly important given how much emphasis the book is getting as the outcome of the trip to Aughra’s.

Hmmmmm.

Naia comments that the message on the spiderweb rock was right and Gurjin asks what the message was.

“It said do not trust her. We didn’t want to put stock in some anonymous warning, but maybe we should have.”

“Do not trust her, eh?” Gurjin echoed. “Strange thing to write about Aughra. It’s not as if she misled us. What was there to trust... or not trust? All she did was tell us nothing.”

Tavra comments that they could have saved a lot of time if they had heeded the warning (even though I’m with Gurjin that it is a weird fit to apply it to Aughra) but Naia insists that trying to warn all Gelfling is still the right thing to do.

You’re still my number one suspect, Tavra. I’m going to assume its a plot relevant message because we’ve spent so much time on it and I believe Gurjin’s logic. So that leaves Naia and Tavra. We were just in Naia’s head last book and there hasn’t been anything that could change her level of trustworthiness. Plus, she’s not a very subtle person. And Tavra has been acting weird since she rejoined the cast. I’m onto you, Tavra who is probably a Tavra.

Since Naia doesn’t have a plan now that the Aughra visit came to not much, Tavra snootily (with a hair flip even, wow) suggests they head towards the Black River.

“By the time we reach it, surely you’ll have come up with something brilliant.”

The sarcasm was so palpable, Tavra might as well have been serving it for supper.

You’re being a dick, hypothetical-Spider-Tavra.

Naia passes the buck and decides that Kylan will find something in the book he just got.

[Kylan] wasn’t sure whether to be annoyed or flattered that Naia had struck him with the pressure of coming up with their next move, and under a time limit, no less.

Tavra shrugged and tossed her cape to the side so she could sheath her sword. She gave Kylan a challenging, dubious snort.

“Better start reading,” she said, then turned and followed Naia down the hill.

Pretty sweet dunk, I have to admit.

Also, I shouldn’t be surprised that everything comes down to Kylan reading a book super good.

He’s trained his whole life for this!