#i wanted to draw something bigger but ill figure it out later

[zeibei]

dont usually post little doodle sketches but recently read alien 9

[ildivine]

that stuff that nobody will really understand

Said follow-up post is just my personal experience with dysmorphia, but not fully recognizing it, immediately.

As someone that's taken a lot of time and effort into transitioning into transmasculine, full of teenage angst and inferiority, self hatred, insecurities, etc etc, it sort of makes sense. Then I'd gotten older, and opted myself as agender or non-binary. Then I was a woman again for a while. now I go back to genderfluid or genderqueer.

It's all just notions, really, as gender is more complex than society perceives or is willing to believe.

Now that I'm just barely in my 30s, I can have a re-evaluation of myself and my gender.

and my dysphoria. Right-wingers like to call it a Mental Illness, and to some degree, that became true for me. Finally getting the right diagnosis and ADHD meds, I started understanding the subconscious layers of how I identify.

And then I became extremely dysphoric the *other* way as I went off of those meds.

So I thought, I must have transition regret. I want a feminine voice so I can sound better when I sing. Sound less like a boy forever trapped in puberty. Learning I had the childish notion that testosterone would fix the insecurities I have, but wound up just putting a blanket over them. It would not make me taller. It would not give me a more rugged and square jawline. It would not make me bigger so I had more pores on my skin, more, thicker hair, bigger hands, longer legs. Although I've grown to like my hands. "Mom's piano fingers". Most are envious of my natural ability to grow my nails and have rounded nailbeds. It became integral to me, despite my sex or gender. There are a few things like this. Such as the color of my eyes, I also get a lot of compliments on.

You're informed when you sign the form to begin testosterone that you will grow hair in strange places. That your voice will change, and likely crack. A few other things I don't remember. Perhaps effects on the reproductive system so later down the line, you might not be able to have kids or even be susceptible to cancer. But I wanted it so badly, and went so hard on the hormones. I desperately wanted that transition, considered chest surgery, wanted the huge cock I so deeply identified with, but it is probably still mostly hypersexuality, another side-effect of mental illness and trauma. Another escapism.

Morpheus is sort of an ironic experience in a way, yet I still respect Neil Gaiman for the incredible comic he's created and the TV show he's influenced. of course dream and all of his siblings live in all of us. And of course I fell in love with the one that feels the most intimate to me and my ability to fantasize, and create, and world build. Ascending when I do drugs, like the first time he popped in while I was doing LSD with my now-husband. Daydreaming and creativity has also always been means of escapism for me, and I can acknowledge that, too.

But Dream can take me on lucid adventures that usually lead me, a relentless insomniac even without my sedative medication, to drifting off to sleep. Occasionally we cross paths when I'm actually asleep, but, it is few and far-between. He is indeed a busy king in his kingdom. (Yet I am still special to him, but that's another entry, entirely...)

On a most recent adventure we were simply dragons in a world very similar to draconia. Yeah, that video game I played briefly before I got sick.

I've identified with, and as, a dragon since my youth. I'd figured out the essentials of what I looked like then, even if it's just what i want to look like. He wants to draw in the details that I haven't picked up on or seen, and I still think that will be fun. His dragon design for himself is relatively simple, and I respect that, too.

But through this adventure it awoke something to me that was relatively simple.

My dysphoria was moreso dysmorphia. My hatred of my body was not simply my thick hair in strange places, or my genitalia I've learned to loathe since I was young, likely also a byproduct of CSA.

It was one of those things that was obvious, so I didn't see it. I've felt my feathery wings moreso lately, so I related it to the fallen angelic identity. I've felt whims of a tail, which I rarely have in the past, and the tall feet and higher knees, and associated it to being a cat. If anything, ever since someone called me a furry once, all those years ago, and I immediately became embarrassed, I found identification with it as the socially-acceptable alternative to "I am a feline in this awkward upright body." But I can't just use Otherkin in daily conversation.

Both are somewhat true. I am a small fluffy creature, which makes this upright body rather awkward.

I am a large scaly creature that can fly and dig up treasures, which makes this sweaty monkey body rather awkward.

All around I think I will always feel awkward and clumsy, here. I don't know if I will ever be satisfied with it. The body and brain damage certainly hasn't helped with my dissatisfaction all around.

ADHD medication, if I remember correctly, gave me a brief sense of acceptance with it. I guess I'll continue understanding that journey when I can go back on those medications again.

[rt-lots]

Joining in on the Ian and Rammy ask train… 🌂✏️ (and 🍎 specifically for Ian!)

TW for a fair bit of suicide talk!!!

umbrella - i assume this doesnt need an answer for both of them, bcuz they belong 2 the same story. i imagine ian and rammys story being a vidya game, and i guess itd b a psychological horror? which feels like, pretentious to say but the main scaries of the story are how much ians life sucks and he wants 2 die. so... i think itd count. thats all overarching stuff tho... most of ian n rammys time spent together is lightheared, i think. theyre two dudes hanging out and one of them is slowly coming to terms with the fact his suicidal thoughts won. whatever genre that is

pencil - WAHHH it depends a lot of the time... ian and rammy have definitely made a big resurgence in my brain recently (past month) bc im 18 and can post bout em, but also just cuz i love them sooo much and want to chew on them constantly. id say i write abt/draw them pretty frequently tho!! i doodle them on my school work and in notebooks a lot and they have some of the bigger galleries on my toyhouse lawl. i dont write much directly for their universe, but ive typed... many paragraphs to my friends just braindumping the shit i think about them. so, yeah, less often than id like, but theyre up there in my priorities of ocs :3

apple (for ian) - GRAHHHHHHHHHHH u dont know what demons uve unleashed w this. i already twed this post for suicide but im gonna move this part under the cut bc mentioning ians dad specifically ties a lot into the suicide aspect of the story

OKAY SO. ians family consists of his mom, sister, and him. his dad was in the picture when he was a little kid, like early elementary age, but ditched after some time. his relationship with both parents was relatively normal, they definitely couldve done a better job raising him, but they were never intentionally hurtful nor did they scar him at all. (well, correction, his MOM didnt scar him at all)

after ians dad left, though, his side of the family still kept in touch... they gave very flimsy reasonings for his fathers absence, why he couldnt make it to holidays, why he wasnt saying all these things directly, etc. it kept things strained and tense as the family knew things were being kept from them but never got to know why. the last interaction ian ever had w his dads side of the family was on his 18th birthday, where his uncle gifted him a silver handgun with his name carved into the handle. it was a hollow attempt to connect with ian, a display of violent masculinity that ian would later use to try and take his own life.

i dont have it fully figured out what this *means* for ians character, but its something i go insane about. ians only memories of his dad are him doing stereotypical masculine dad things w him, like fishing. maybe he didnt interact w ian ass if he was his child, but if he was his son, and that improper socialization is part of the reason he hates himself- why the gun is what kills him. but... i dunno really. ians social anxiety, addiction, and general collapsing in on himself are cuz of a life time of mental illness that went unchecked until he successfully isolated himself to the point no one *could* care, not just cuz daddy give him gun.

okay! that is NOT what u asked at all but now u know it. hehehe. of course ian and rammys story is a big wip forever so excuse me for any side tangents and/or general plot points w loose ends

but! as for his actual relationships w family (ill include sister since his relationship w mom isnt rlly fleshed out yet):

he and his mom havent spoken in 6 years, nor have he and his sister. he slowly faded out of their lives when he moved away, partly out of a subconscious desire to isolate and partly due to just not having the social confidence or energy to maintain regular communication w his family. his mom is the first person he talks to when he escapes his Puter, and she's his rock in his remaining months of recovery. shes very underdeveloped as a character atm, but what is certain is she tries her hardest to understand her sons struggles and support him, offering to pay for therapy for him. ian loves his mommy lalala

ian and his sister are... dddifferent. ian also had an average relationship w his sister, but shes a lot more upfront with him when it comes to talking about how his 6 year absence effected her than their mom. their mom, while wanting her children to seek help for their respective struggles, doesnt really want to actively talk about those things with them. shes terrified of saying the wrong thing, and it doesnt help that she doesnt even have a clue what *to* say. ians sister, though, isnt afraid to tell him "hey man we fucking missed you. your absence hurt a lot because i didnt have any friends either, and i wish we couldve had eachother. jackass" post main-story they are friendly and hang out. during his time w rammy, ian does talk about his thoughts on his sister before he left, that being that shes a "crazy bitch"... family <3

[obeyme-kaidii-writes]

Sick

Mammon x gn!MC

Words - 3275

Content warnings - fluff, crack, my attempt at humor, adult humor I guess? but no smut

Prompt/Inspiration - Mammon gets sick and MC cares for him

Summary - Mammon gets a very minor case of the sniffles and is determined to milk it for all its worth. But he doesn’t realize you know exactly what he’s up to and have a plan of your own in mind.

AO3

It’s not often demons get sick, you’ve been told. Since their bodies heal quicker and are generally more resilient than humans, they are much better at fighting off disease.

So imagine Mammon’s surprise when he woke up one morning, shivering. Yes, he sleeps au natural, but his body temp runs warm to begin with and he kept plenty of sheets and blankets on his bed to keep him nice and snug. If he bundled up right, he’d create his own little cocoon of warmth that he was always reluctant to leave.

But this morning he was cold. After a few moments of staring at the ceiling he decided he should text you and ask you to bring him something to drink.

Of course he wasn’t really after the drink.

He was after your attention.

It’s not often demons get sick after all...and he was going to milk this for all it was worth.

As you headed towards Mammon’s room with the bottle of water he requested, you were a bit annoyed with him. You couldn’t figure out why your boyfriend couldn’t get it himself, and it was way too early in the morning on a Saturday for you to get out of bed. But you figured if he was going to wake you up, the least he could do was let you climb into bed with him and steal his warmth. It seemed like a pretty fair trade.

Only when you got to his room, he didn’t greet you like normally. Instead, you heard a faint coughing sound coming from his bed. Thinking maybe his throat was just dry and that’s why he begged for the water, you headed over to him and sat down on the edge of his bed. Mammon finally rolled over partway to face you, and you immediately noticed how flushed his cheeks looked.

“Thanks,” he said, weakly.

“Are you ok?” you asked, handing him the water and reaching out to touch his forehead. He seemed a bit warm to your touch, but you had no idea what a demon fever was supposed to feel like so you couldn’t tell if he was running one.

“I’m jus’ tired. And a little sore. Nothin’ The Great Mammon can’t handle,” he replied, coughing again, before taking a sip of his water.

“Maybe I should get Lucifer?”

“No!”, he yelped, with a surprising amount of energy, causing you to raise an eyebrow skeptically.

“I mean...it’s jus’...” more weak coughing, “I’ll be fine if you’re here. Prolly just a cold ya know?” He offered you a weak smile.

“A...cold…?” Do demons even get colds? You hadn’t the faintest idea. You knew it was possible for them to get sick, but you heard it happened so rarely you honestly didn’t think you’d ever get to see it for yourself. You were about to ask if it was ok to talk to Barbatos at least, but a tiny niggling feeling at the back of your mind told you not to say anything out loud for now and just to text him later.

“Can ya just...hold me?” Mammon asked, looking at you with the best puppy dog eyes he could manage.

Ok, something was definitely up, you thought.

“Sure babe, let me just get some stuff from my room and I’ll be right back.” You leaned over and pressed a kiss to his forehead, before standing up and leaving his room. As soon as his door closed behind you, you pulled out your DDD and sent Barbatos a text, hoping he might already be up early. And fortunately for you, he was.

"Hey Barb. Kinda an odd question but can demons get colds?” “Not usually. It would be exceedingly rare. Is one of the brothers sick?” “Mammon says he has a cold. But I don’t know enough to tell how bad it is.” “Can you tell if he’s running a fever?” “He seemed warm and a little flushed. If he was a human I would say he had a low grade fever. Nothing serious.” “Ah. He will be fine in that case. Demonic fevers run very hot to the touch. You would know immediately if there was cause for concern.” “Thanks Barb. You’re a lifesaver.” “It’s not a problem at all. You can message me anytime.”

With a better understanding of Mammon’s ‘condition’ under your belt, you felt relieved to know it wasn’t anything serious. But that still left you to figure out what exactly to do for him. Should you just pretend you were none the wiser and indulge him? Or should you call him out on it?

You continued thinking about this as you gathered up your things - a book, your DDD charger...when a brilliant idea struck you. You knew just what to do to make your poor, sick demon boyfriend feel better.

————

“Hey Mammon, I’m back. Sorry it took so long,” you announced as you entered his room, carrying a large bag. You carefully sat it down on top of Mammon’s pool table and began to unpack.

“What’s all that?”, he asked. Mammon had rolled over on his side to watch you.

“Oh just some human realm cold remedies. I thought I could take care of you like how my family used to take care of me. I’m not sure how effective some of this stuff will be, but at least it’ll make you feel better.”

You turned around and gave Mammon a brilliant smile, and he relaxed into his bed, pulling his blankets snug around him. You were such a good human, looking after him like this. He almost felt guilty for making you work so hard for his sake when he wasn’t all that sick. Almost.

“Where’d ya get all that stuff?”

“Oh Barbatos helped me out. Turns out Lord Diavolo has quite the collection of human things stashed away in his castle. Food too. I guess it was part of his research and preparation for the exchange program,” you said with a shrug.

“Barb?” Mammon tensed up imagining Barbatos talking to Diavolo, who would certainly talk about his “illness” with Lucifer. And he really doubted Lucifer would let him get away with this if he knew.

“Don’t worry, he promised not to mention it to anyone for now. But he wants me to get back to him if you’re not better by the end of the day, because that could mean it’s something much more serious.”

“Oh. Okay. I’m sure I’ll be fine by then. Just need a day ta rest is all.”

Mammon wasn’t sure how he felt about you talking to Barbatos, but it seemed that the butler hadn’t blown his cover, for which he was grateful. Now all he had to do was sit back and enjoy your undivided affection and attention. All. Day. Long.

“Give me your feet,” you said, walking towards the foot of Mammon’s bed.

“Sure babe,” he replied, wiggling his feet free of the covers so you had easier access. You had never given him a foot rub before, and he was getting excited at the thought. This was the life.

His dreams were quickly dashed though, when he felt something cold, wet, and kinda slimy pressed to the bottom of his foot as you tugged some thick, wool socks over them.

“What the hell is that?!” he squeaked, trying his best to keep his voice down and not react too much. He didn’t want to give himself away after all.

“Oh this? It’s a home remedy. You put onions in your socks and it draws out the toxins in your body so you can recover faster,” without batting an eye, you moved on to his next foot.

Mammon really did not like how those socks felt on his feet with the onion slices against his skin. But if this was something you were doing to help him, then he guessed he could let you be. You were being so attentive, he really couldn’t complain.

“Alright, there you go. All wrapped up,” you said, patting the bottoms of Mammon’s feet, laughing inwardly when you noticed him flinch at the sensation, before tucking him back in.

“So can ya cuddle now?”, he asked, making sure to punctuate his sentence with a cough. He really wanted you to hold him and run your fingers through his hair like you always did. Maybe he could even convince you to give him a neck and a shoulder rub too.

“Of course.”

You grabbed a small thermos and your book from the pool table and then returned to his bed, climbing in next to him, “Here, this should help with your throat,” you said as you offered the thermos to Mammon.

He couldn’t help but smile at your thoughtfulness. You really were the best. He wasn’t expecting to get a nice warm drink, but you had gone above and beyond what he had hoped for. Propping himself up in the bed slightly, Mammon opened the thermos and poured himself a small serving.

Yummm, warmed milk, he thought.

But as soon as he took his first sip he realized something was wrong. Very very wrong. Not wanting to insult you after you had tried so hard, he forced himself to swallow, shivering as it went down.

“Err, babe...I think there is something wrong with the milk. It tastes umm...a little funny…?”

“Oh that must be the garlic,” you replied, giving Mammon a warm smile, “It helps with aches and pains, plus it’s supposed to help fight infections.” You returned to your book, careful to position it so that Mammon could not see the stupid grin that had now spread across your face.

“Right...umm...thanks…” Mammon looked down at the portion still left in the lid of the thermos and realized he had to drink at least that much if he was hoping to close the container at all. He gulped, and then decided to just treat it like a shot and tossed it back, trying his best to prevent it from lingering on his tongue any longer than possible.

As soon as he started to put the lid back in place however, you stopped him, “You need to drink all of it or it won’t work.”

“Ha...yeah...of course...makes sense,” Mammon chuckled nervously. The whole thing?! You really expected him to drink this whole thermos?? That had to be at least 4 other servings in there. He almost felt like crying at the thought, but then reminded himself that once he was done, he could get back to his comfort cuddling. If you offered him anything else later, he’d just have to tell you he was still full.

“All...done,” he said, tightening the lid back on the thermos before handing it to you. He was so thankful right now that the thermos wasn’t any bigger. He remembered how you mentioned your family used to do these things to help you when you were sick, and immediately felt bad for your childhood self. Being sick as a human must be awful.

Hands finally free, Mammon turned over and curled up beside you, wrapping his arms around your thighs as he rested his head in your lap. Finally he was going to get to rest and cuddle all he wanted. He let out a sigh of contentment when he felt your fingers start to carefully comb through his hair. Now this was what he had been waiting for.

You peered around your book at the adorable, malingering demon resting so peacefully on your lap. You were honestly surprised he had managed to drink all of that vile milk concoction. You had thought for sure that would be the thing to make him fess up. You however, were prepared for this scenario and had one final trick up your sleeve.

But first, you were going to let your sweet demon of Greed get a bit of rest and some real cuddles in. You did love him after all, and you did enjoy cuddling with him. If he had just asked you to be spoiled for a day, you would have happily obliged him. Instead, he gave you an opportunity to tease him that was simply too good to pass up.

After a couple of hours had passed, you sat your book down and stretched your arms above your head. You had gotten a little bit stiff maintaining your position for so long, but Mammon had fallen asleep and your book was better than you had been expecting, so you hadn’t wanted to move.

As you stretched, Mammon started to stir and hugged your legs closer to himself. You smiled at him and gave him a small pat on the head, which caused him to reposition himself a little so that he could better see you.

“Hey, how are you feeling now?”, you asked.

“About the same,” he coughed a couple times before continuing, “I’m not sure I’ll be able to make it down ta lunch. Ya think you could bring my food up to me?” He gave you another weak cough, then tugged the blanket up to his chest so only his head was exposed.

“Really? You don’t think you can even make it downstairs?” you asked, feigning concern.

“Yeah,” cough cough, “It’s just so far to walk ya know? I’d probably get trapped on the stairs.” Mammon laughed weakly at his own joke, a pleading look in his eye.

“That’s starting to sound serious Mammon. I’m getting kind of worried.”

“Nah it’s fine! I’m sure. I just need ta rest. No big deal.”

“I don’t know Mammon. I'm thinking I should go get Lucifer just in case.”

“Hey, that's really not necessary ya know.”

“Well, I do have one more thing I can try,” you said, sighing, “But if you don’t want to try it then I’ll need to get Lucifer.”

Mammon thought for a moment. So far his luck hadn’t been the best with your home remedies. His feet felt awful, and he could still remember the taste of that milk. But maybe if you didn’t have him eat anything he’d be fine? If it could get him out of talking to Lucifer, then a little bit of discomfort would be worth it.

“A’ight, whatcha got?”

“It’s just medicine. Don’t worry. Nothing you have to eat,” you replied, with a saccharine sweet smile. You really wished you had thought a bit further ahead and set up a video camera, because you were sure his reaction was going to be amazing.

Mammon rolled off your lap, resting on his stomach with his arms crossed under his pillow. He watched you as you went back to your stash of things you had brought with you, and picked up a small green box and began opening the end, removing the products carefully.

“Ok Mammon, I need you to lay on your side, facing the wall.”

“Umm...ok.” Mammon rolled over as instructed, thoroughly confused as to why he had to face away from you to receive medication. Maybe it was some sort of topical cream and you were going to rub it on his back?

“Great, now I want you to pull your top leg up towards your stomach, and keep your bottom leg straight.”

“Alright….” He was starting to get a little anxious now. This position seemed really odd to him, and sorta vulnerable. In fact, it vaguely reminded him of a sex position. Which was silly, he thought, it wasn’t like you were going to try to make a move on him when he was supposed to be ill.

“Perfect,” you said, as you started pulling down the blankets and sheets to get a good view of Mammon’s ass. As soon as the cool air hit his backside though, he became very concerned about what was about to happen next.

“Wh wh wh what are you doing back there?” he asked, trying to crane his neck so he could see you, which was very difficult to do from the position he was in.

“I’m prepping the suppository. I just need to apply a bit…”

“THE WHAT?!” he yelped, slapping his hands over his butt as he scrambled to sit upright in bed.

“The suppository,” you replied. It took all of your concentration to keep a straight face at this point.

“I I I I...really don’t think that’s necessary. In fact! I’m feelin’ better already! See?” Mammon flexed his arms, as some sort of show of strength, “Look, even my cough is gone.”

“I don’t know Mammon, I really don’t want to take any chances. If you’re not comfortable with this, I’ll just go get Lucifer, it’s ok.”

“NO! Uhhh... really, I’m feeling much better now.”

You could hear the panic rising in his voice, and the sadist within you laughed in glee. Oh this precious, precious man. How boring would your days be without him?

“It’s fine. I’ll just get Lucifer,” you said, standing up and heading towards the door.

You barely made it a single step though before you felt Mammon grab your wrist, as his confession started pouring from his lips…

“imnotsickpleasedontgetlucfierpleaseimfineiswearimfinenobuttstuffnoluciferpleasepleasepleaseplease.”

You couldn’t contain your laughter any longer, and just started... cackling . There really was no other word to describe it. Tears fell from the corners of your eyes as you laughed and laughed, completely doubled over.

Mammon blinked in confusion. That was not the reaction he had been expecting. As he stood there watching you struggling to compose yourself, he became aware of the fact that he was still completely naked, and not only that, he was standing in his onion socks and the feeling was...not pleasant.

He couldn’t decide if it was safe to let go of your wrist yet, since he had no idea why you were laughing as hard as you were. Would you make a break for it if he tried to grab some shorts to cover himself? Or should he just pick you up and crawl back into bed so he didn’t have to stand anymore in these disgusting socks?

As he was weighing his options, you finally seemed to be calming down, and after taking a few deep breaths you turned to face him.

“Ok...I’m good...I’m good now...phew…” you wiped the tears from your eyes and continued, “Mammon, I know.”

“What do ya mean ya…?” realization started to dawn on him, and Mammon’s cheeks flushed crimson, “But all th th that stuff?”, he stammered out.

“Just some old wives tales and folk remedies.”

“Why…! You…! I drank THAT! That disgustin’ rotten milk!”

You tried to stifle your laughter with your free hand, but were not very successful.

“And...the socks! These nasty slimy socks! You…!”

It was getting harder to contain yourself again as Mammon kept pointing out all you had put him through. Watching you struggle not to laugh made him blush even harder, which only left him more annoyed.

“That’s it ya brat,” he said, and without any warning, scooped you up in his arms.

“Ack! What are you doing?!” you yelped, as you quickly wrapped your arms around his neck to steady yourself.

“We’re goin’ to take a bath and ya scrubbin’ my feet ‘til the onion is gone.”

“What?! Why do I have to do that? You’re the one who faked ill!”

“Th th that’s besides the point…!” he stuttered out, while walking towards his bathroom, his socks making a sickening squishy sound with each step.

You wrapped your arms a little tighter around his neck, giving him a hug, as you laughed softly to yourself. He really did keep your life interesting.

[my-writings-and-musings]

I have another lovely commission to share! This one is a sequel to the last, with the Brave Police spending more time on the Lost Light to answer questions, and it's just as precious in my opinion!

"Now, now, there's room for everyone. Single file please!"

Ultra Magnus thankfully had ample experience and skill getting his voice to fill the entire classroom, and so the crowd was able to take their seats in a mostly organized fashion at last, filling up the entire room from back to front in short order. Scarcely a single bot on the ship wasn't present for the day's presentation, and one glance at the tightly packed rows of tables made that obvious. No one wanted to miss the long awaited event.

At the head of the classroom, Ultra Magnus murmured about the ill manners being displayed to their guests before nodding at the bots in question. Sitting in their own row at the raised stage, the Brave Police looked like a full representation of all the reactions possible for the center of attention. Some were happy, others flustered, and a few quite casual about all the fuss. Deckerd, ever the responsible leader, held his small collection of notes tightly as he nodded in return to the much bigger bot. Rodimus took that as his cue to hop on stage.

With a single whistle, the captain reduced the fog of chatter to absolute silence, something he took with a proud smile before speaking. 

"Alright, everybot, you know the drill! The Brave Police have been kind enough to agree to this little Q and A panel, so let's show them the proper courtesy while they're up here." he announced happily, looking about the crowd and lingering his optics on a few potentially troublesome bots in particular. Making sure to use his Captain voice, he leveled a serious look at each as he issued his warning. "That means no talking unless you get called, and no hogging the mic when it's your turn."

"Discipline will be administered if anyone breaks these rules." Ultra Magnus said, finalizing the warning with an undeniably serious threat. Beyond a few nervous glances, the room remained frozen in total silence after the big bot went back to his dutiful watch. No one present would dare risk incurring the wrath of Ultra Magnus, not even for the questions that they wanted answered more than anything. 

"Sooo…" Rodimus interjected, taking back the stage briefly to try and bring some life back into the event. Gesturing to the main guests, he gave the best parting warm up he could before stepping off the stage. "Without further ado, I'm going to give the show over to them. All yours, Deckerd!"

Clearing his throat politely, the police cruiser stood up on his spot, briefly taking hold of the rim on his hat-like helm accent as he often did when nervous. Taking hold of his notes, he spoke up with the somewhat ineffectual tone of a practiced but uncom public speaker.

"To start, we would all like to offer our thanks! For everything you've done, and for allowing us this opportunity, you have our deepest gratitude." the well mannered bot said humbly, briefly glancing at Rodimus for a flash of pointed thanks before returning to his notes. The captain couldn't help but puff up a little, quite proud of his suggestion all over again, but he was otherwise still and silent as he watched. 

"Now, I understand you have many questions, and we are happy to answer them as a group or individuals." he explained, looking to his teammates for group confirmation. Each gave some form of assent, ranging from Duke's proper and stiff nod to Gunmax putting his pedes on the table with a vague gesture of agreement. Deckerd merely narrowed his optics for an instant before returning his smile to the crowd. "Through the system, I will begin the process of selection!"

A button on the desk, intended as a method of selecting students to answer questions, was activated. Every bot froze in anticipation that they might be selected first, with each hoping they might be the lucky winner. Magnus had mandated the algorithm select at random to prevent any cries of unfair choice for good reason…

So of course it was quite fitting that Whirl of all bots get the first question.

A group groan was cut off by another Magnus stare, yet the orderly mech was clearly beyond apprehensive at the possible chaos about to unfold. Uncaring of the tension his selection created for the crew, Whirl merely cleared his vents and stood up with obvious purpose, having planned his potential query well in advance of the moment. Looking to the bots on stage, his optic betrayed little emotion as he spoke. "So uh, were you guys actually built by humans? From scratch? Processor and all?"

There was an immediate cringe amongst the entire crew, as the question was immeasurably rude by Cybertronian standards, but the Brave Police didn't flinch. 

"Yes!" Deckerd replied happily, completely unaffected by the cultural faux pas he'd just had directed his way. "Each of us was constructed by the Japanese police force, starting with myself."

"Except for Duke, he was made by the Scotland Yard." McCrane specified, drawing attention to the brightly colored and reserved mech at the end. The attention actually seemed to fluster Duke, who flashed an expression of surprise to be singled out before dropping his gaze and quietly confirming the fact.

"That is correct."

There was a moment of mixed murmuring amongst the crowd, with Whirl looking satisfied to have gotten his answer along with getting the ball rolling, and he sat down to allow the next bot a turn. It took just as little time for the next selection to occur as the first. 

"How recently was that, exactly?" Swerve said, looking confused but happy to be the central figure of the moment. It was a much less disrespectful question by Cybertronian standards than the first, and the bots on stage appeared equally content to answer it.

"As of this date, it has been four years and five months since my activation." Deckerd replied casually, unintentionally sending a wave of disbelief through the entire room. This mature, well rounded bot was barely more than a protoform?! 

"We were constructed seven months later." McCrane said, speaking for the Build Team with a gesture that only deepened the shock in the room. Deckerd was young even by human standards, yet he was still the oldest one on the team? How young was the newest among them?

"Shadow Maru was next, by about a year, then six months later I joined up!" Drill Boy declared loudly, loving the surprise each answer drew from the crowd. Gunmax, equally a fan of stirring things up, smirked confidently as he leaned back in his chair. 

"I haven't even been kicking around for a year." he declared smugly, adding to the shock of the bots several times over. Sure, Cybertronians were ready to go in mere hours, but no one had been born in so long… to be confronted by a mechanical being so young was nearly unfathomable. Not to mention that the oldest among them was still so inexperienced! A fresh wave of hushed gossip washed over those assembled, only to fade out into silent anticipation as the next opportunity for a question presented itself.

"What kind of criminals are you fighting? Most of the time, anyway." a bot in back asked, making the Brave Police perk up as a group. Like anyone, the opportunity to retell their adventures was hardly one they'd ever pass up, and even the humble Deckerd was a little boastful as he set up their panel to reply.

"Our division is uniquely suited to handle threats too powerful for humans to safely combat. The criminals we face have a multitude of motives, and it is not uncommon for us to face creatures designed to cause maximum destruction. I will allow my team to recount some of these events in greater detail." he said, opening up the discussion with a smile and a nod. There was a shift in the classroom as if every being leaned forward at once in anticipation.

"The underground bug people were my first mission!" Drill Boy announced proudly, unintentionally creating far more questions than he could have ever hoped to answer in a single sentence. Gobsmacked expressions were shared all through the crew, even by Ultra Magnus and Rodimus at the front. While they'd figured their new friends got into some wild adventures, like themselves, there was clearly so much more to the group than they'd let on… 

"There was a giant moth one time." Dumpson recalled thoughtfully, only adding fuel to the fire with his calm expression of thoughtful recollection.

"Don't forget the giant panda." McCrane said helpfully, the tiniest hint of a smile hinting that he was perfectly well aware of the reactions they were getting. Rodimus had to admire the skillful stirring of the pot. Some bots were taking notes now, especially as the list continued to grow and the Brave Police grew no less unpredictable in their retellings. Brief tidbits about mind control, ghosts, aliens and cults were undoubtedly going to spawn some incredible conversations at Swerve's later on.

Drill Boy finished the segment with a beaming smile. "Without the Boss, I don't think we'd have been able to catch that brainwashing nun!"

While every single adventure would have probably called for a panel of questions in its own right, that statement alone made for an excellent segway into something every single Lost Light bot had been curious about, and the moment the next bot was selected they said what everyone was thinking. "Who's this "Boss" we keep hearing about? Are they a bot like you?"

"Our Boss Yuuta Tomonaga is a human boy, and the first being I ever met. He became my first and most trusted companion." Deckerd replied, smiling affectionately at the description. It had been clear from the onset he cared deeply for his mysterious "Boss", yet most had assumed them to be something like an Amica, or perhaps an older mentor bot. To hear they were a human, and one that sounded exceptionally young at that…? Deckerd recognized the confusion, and while obviously a little bashful to be so open, he was more than happy to talk about the achievements of his dearest friend. "I owe him my life, several times over."

"Many of us have gained human friendships." Power Joe said helpfully, taking some of the pressure off their leader and bringing the attention to himself. Not missing the opportunity to brag, he gestured proudly to himself. "I've befriended many of Yuuta's classmates, they see me as a superhero!"

"Yuuta's sisters are compatriots of mine." Shadow Maru said in a polite and subtle one up, setting the stage for the others to continue naming their friends. 

"Hmph, I'm the only one besides Deckerd to have called Yuuta by his first name." Drill Boy bragged.

"Colonel Seia has taught me much through our professional relationship." McCrane said calmly, returning the focus to one of individual bonds over boasting. Unfortunately, Dumpson chuckled and quickly took aim at the comment.

"Are you sure it's entirely professional?"

McCrane froze for a second, optics widening and face flushing, before he calmly folded his hands on the table and replied. "I could say the same of you and Ayako."

"I suppose Shunsuke and I get along okay." Gunmax said somewhat dismissively, cutting off Dumpson before he could stammer out something he'd regret. The fact that every bot seemed to have a complex and long standing relationship with humans was quite the surprise to many crewmembers, especially those who only knew the species from second hand accounts. The Brave Police weren't too different from Cybertronians, so if they could find friends amongst Earth's inhabitants, maybe it was possible for everyone? More than a few of those in the audience were considering visiting to see for themselves when the attention turned to the only member who hadn't given an answer. 

Lowering his helm to hide his optics from view, Duke appeared to be blushing as he spoke into his microphone, his volume barely more than a murmur as he did so.

"My Lady, Regina, is very important to me…"

While the statement undoubtedly had plenty to unpack, Deckerd mercifully chose to move on, selecting the next lucky audience member. Tailgate stood up in a flash, getting up on his chair and raising his arm so everyone could see him. Smiling with excitement, he was nevertheless quite polite in his tone when he asked his question. "You can transform, right? What are your altmodes?"

"I transform into a police cruiser." Deckerd said simply, earning some nods of approval from the audience. That was a fairly solid alternate mode, from their perspective, and fit quite well with his appearance and abilities. As the team each volunteered their own altmode, there was little fanfare.

"I'm a dump truck."

"My alternate mode is called a power shovel."

McCrane was the first to smile, though his good humor was shared when he gave his answer. "A crane, fittingly enough."

"I have two; a drill and a jet!" Drill Boy declared with a puffed out chest, and the mood went from calm to shocked all over again. Though he had no concept of a triple changer, the young bot knew that having a plurality of modes was special, and the audible gasps confirmed his guess. Rodimus cast Drift a look of surprise from the stage, speaking without words as they so often did. Not only did this guy have two altmodes, but a drill and a jet? Could you get any more wild? Drift replied with an equally stunned but good natured shrug.

"Like Deckerd, I transform into a police cruiser." Shadow Maru said simply, giving his younger friend a look that drew out a very unhappy pout. Sitting up with a smile, he continued and made very clear why his companion was so upset, and in doing so only made the room erupt once more. "I can also take the form of a tank, a jet, and a canine."

Gasps filled the classroom, and even Ultra Magnus was too shocked to silence them, his jaw dropping in total disbelief at what he'd just heard. Five modes?! Not only that, he was a beastformer to boot?! The ninjabot smiled somewhat smugly at the reactions, getting a few looks from his friends that ranged from jealous to bemused as whispered conversations rushed through the bots. Most had never even heard of such an ability, and yet here he was, a bot from earth with so much talent! Several made a note to ask him for tips as Duke took advantage of the chaos to get his simple reply out of the way.

"I am an ambulance."

The medics of the ship all shared a look at what only they seemed to hear, wondering if perhaps the shy bot knew a few things about human medicine he might share with them later. In the murmurs that followed, however, there came a considerable silence as everyone realized the most anticipated answer had not yet been given.

Gunmax leaned back further in his seat, making a face few could decipher when all the attention zeroed in on him. Pretending to cough, he spoke just loudly enough for his mic to pick up his answer. "Don't have one." 

Somebot made a comment about "Monoformers'' before Deckerd stepped in, reading the emotions of his friend as well as the room to skillfully redirect them. It saved Rodimus the trouble of jumping in to make an example of the bot who'd made the comment. 

"Gunmax typically has a motorbike, one that he can merge with to form a very powerful weapon." he explained, looking at the visor that allowed the mech in question to hide so many of his emotions. A flash of gratitude behind the veneer of apathy allowed him to continue with a smile. "When I combine with J-Decker, I can utilize that weapon for defeating extremely powerful foes."

"We can also combine!" Drill Boy added enthusiastically, pointing to the Build Team and perking up the entire crowd with references to "combining" of all things. Combiners were a precious rarity amongst their own kind, could the humans have truly mastered such technology in addition to multiforming?

"Yes, Dumpson, Power Joe and myself form the Build Tiger." McCrane replied helpfully, gesturing to the group of them and further compounding the confusion. How could they all transform into a single entity, their colors didn't even match! Not only that, but the name absolutely baffled those who had been to earth and those who hadn't. The crane bot only continued his talk and further confounded his audience. "With Drill Boy, our abilities are increased, and we form the Super Build Tiger."

Deckerd, wanting to discuss other things, was granted mercy when he selected Brainstorm via the system.

"What kind of energy do your weapons fire?" he asked, having observed the holsters and folded rifles some of them carried. Being intensely curious as to whether earth had progressed beyond the initial steps of plasma based projectiles, he waited eagerly for a reply.

"Most are based on shells, similar to what humans utilize but on a larger scale." Deckerd said, helpfully taking out his pistol to show what he meant. Metallic bullets fell from the chamber and into his cupped palm, unintentionally shocking the scientist and the more ballistic trained crewmembers. Primitive lead based projectiles, fired by simple chemical reactions?! How were these bots just as intelligent as themselves but defending their lives with the Cybertronian equivalent of stone age technology?!

"Yes, that's what my shotgun fires." McCrane added, patting the sizable weapon on his back as Brainstorm noted a million potential improvements he might offer before they left. 

Shadow Maru, somewhat for the sake of dry comedic effect, unsheathed a blade from his back and shrugged as he held it up. "Personally, I prefer swords." 

Laughter rippled through the audience, though Rodimus caught the clear sight of Drift looking far more like he wanted to applaud the other bot who seemed to gel so well with him. Unable to keep a grin off his face at the friendship forming before his optics, the captain considered setting up a communication line on earth so they could all stay in touch going forward. 

"Where do you all live?" a shy bot said when selected next, bringing to mind how their home planet didn't seem to be built for beings as large as themselves. 

"I stay with Yuuta each night, in the garage. His family has made it my personal home, and I keep them safe." Deckerd replied, describing the situation quite wistfully despite the uncertain expressions that flashed before him. The idea of staying within a single room, like a machine for storage… even bots who didn't mind resting in their altmode couldn't wrap their heads around the idea.

"The rest of us stay at the base, but we're free to go where we please when not on duty." McCrane added, wanting to dispel any ideas that they were at all confined. His words did indeed provide some reassurance, especially considering that a few had been considering "liberating" their new friends if necessary.

"When we travel for work, we live wherever we can." Dumpson said, recalling the many times they'd each had to go across the planet undercover. That notion was quite relatable to the group of travelers, especially those who had gone long periods of time without any home to speak of. Needing to find somewhere suitable while moving undercover had been their existence for years.

Gunmax perked up a little at the topic sitting forward a bit so he could be heard as he extolled the wonders of driving around on his bike. "The roads go on for miles, and some have pretty nice views."

When the next question was called, the Brave Police as a group found it was their turn to be surprised. 

"Do you like earth?"

In another turn of events that no one could have predicted, it was Duke who spoke up first, saying his piece simply but confidently before returning to his usual silence.

"It is the only planet we've ever known, and I would have it no other way."

"Earth has everything dear to us." Deckerd confirmed, a barely contained gleam of pride shining from his optics, both for their home and his friend. Everything about the planet was dear to him, from the life that flourished there to the people who had made him, and he wasn't at all ashamed to say as much. That was something each and every member of the Brave Police could agree on, and in order, they all expressed the same sentiment. 

"Earth has everything we could ever want." McCrane added plainly, looking like he wanted to say more but was held back by his own reservations. The simple smile on his face spoke volumes for him, thankfully. His past mentions of friendship and more with humans resonated deeply with certain bots in the audience. 

"We fight lots of bad guys, but that's to keep all the good humans safe, and they're more than worth it." Dumpson said, sharing a glance with Power Joe, who immediately agreed. The big bots many small friends made his answer and confirmation quite easy.

"Most of the people that live there like us, and we like them too. They have a lot to teach us." he said, recalling his love for martial arts as well as everything else he'd ever been passionate about. The need for patience, the importance of seeing the bright side of life, mentoring the younger beings around oneself… Speaking of the younger, Drill Boy jumped in to reply with his own experiences.

"They've invented all kinds of cool games and sports for us to play!" he said happily, tapping the soccer ball in his chest to emphasize his point. The sport was a genuine passion for him, and without humans he wouldn't have it to enjoy. Slightly more bittersweet thoughts of the many adventures he'd had, and the beings he'd met and lost, but wouldn't trade for anything made him smile far more softly. Tapping his digits together, he added a soft addendum to make his point. "Plus they make lots of other cool things."

"There's not much better than going for a drive on earth, or watching the sunset." Gunmax said in agreement, nodding and closing his optics as he played the memories in his mind. The crew talked plenty about their home of Cybertron, and while it sounded wonderful, he doubted anything could ever surpass his home. One of his first memories was going for a drive on a beautiful day, and he didn't believe any planet could ever offer anything more. Not that he'd be opposed to visiting somewhere else...

"It's our home, and it always will be." Deckerd concluded, unintentionally making the crowd a little emotional with his dedication. A far quieter whisper of conversations briefly passed through them all, this time centered almost entirely on the planet in question. Sure, these bots hadn't ever known another world, but they made their own sound quite wonderful. The many who'd never had a chance to see earth were suddenly feeling quite a bit of longing and curiosity of their own. When the quiet descended once again and Deckerd selected the next bot, the query was hardly a surprise.

"Can we come visit you all sometime?"

The entire team exchanged a look, and Deckerd glanced at Rodimus with the kind of knowing smiles leaders could share when they knew what was happening. While the logistics of such a thing would be a nightmare, there could be no denying the eager faces all around, and any potential benefits were far too great to ignore. Though it would be an impossible amount of work, they both nodded to one another in agreement.

"We would be honored to have you as guests, just as you have taken us into your home."

[legionofpotatoes]

I love your art, it is very detailed in a neat way. Was wondering how you got started making it as a source of income? How did you get your first paid work, I'd love some advice on how to get started, if that's ok

Thank you. Of course it's okay, although I doubt I have enough work experience in art to really delve into this. I only went full freelance this year, and had been juggling art as a side hobby until then. If you're still interested in my somewhat narrow perspective, and are okay with my long-winded rambles, I'll give it a shot:

So to answer your question fully, I'll describe how I started and move into personal advice and learnings later on. As a disclaimer, I am a white cishet dude in my late twenties with a moderate cocktail of mental illnesses, but overall I can pass for a functioning adult so a lot I have to say may come laced with privilege I cannot fully identify.

So uhh I began drawing in around 2012? I think? Maybe halfway through 2011? And I mostly made fanart for things I enjoyed and tried to branch out in communities that felt nourishing to my style and interests (I caught a bug for alt posters and enjoyed mainstream movies so I spent a long time on posterspy early on). There were a handful of opportunities that came from there but I could only accept a couple because of primary workplace commitments. Still, it showed that networking in a focused community was definitely a good place to start; I myself have huge trouble committing to social networks and really staying socially active, but I knew it was an essential ingredient in succeeding so I tried to make myself be involved in challenges and art support trains etc. as much as I could.

In parallel to all that I also ran a few third party online stores (redbubble, teepublic) for disposable income and would sometimes, if rarely, hit around $100-150 a month from those sources combined. It is a sort of thing that requires helper accounts on other social media sites to promote it on, because the stores themselves have a huge volume of content that translates into low organic discoverability. Obviously it was never gonna be the way towards financial independence through art, and with community projects being few and far between, I opened private commissions in around uhhh 2017 I think, focusing on offering a few styles I knew I could do well, and sometimes operating in individual fandoms (it was mostly a bioware thing to be frank). But I had to close them back down after a year or so, again because of work-life conflict and how badly it was burning me out. The reason I kept trying to monetize this hobby is because I honestly hated what I did for my main job and wanted to see a way out in some shape or form in the future.

And then in 2020 I had to quit my main job altogether because of *gestures at pandemic* and deal with a mental breakdown from all the wonderful things it did to us and me specifically. I took a short break and decided to give art a shot full-time, and that was around May this year. I was planning on opening up commissions again (and I still am), but a few sudden opportunities that fell in my lap moved that timetable down and now I'm grateful to even be doing something I am getting adequately paid for.

So, with that somewhat limited perspective, here's what I've learned that I'd tell myself if I was just starting out:

1. Being a fan of something can be a shortcut towards effective networking kickoffs. Which are important evidently. If you love something and enjoy making content for it, join communities, settle into a combination of social media websites that feel right for those interests + your body of work + your inner rhythm, and try to play to content discovery as much as your mental health allows you to. Like I said, I know that I myself am incredibly bad at self-motivating to talk to people, so I found that synergizing common interests into fanart - which I enjoyed making anyway - could be a way to give myself a gentle nudge forward and build those bridges leading to community activities, which then net experience and coverage. Sometimes even freelance projects from official avenues. Again; picking the right spaces for what you're after is key. Companies roam twitter, concept art recruiters scour artstation or linkedin etc, instagram can land you private commissions and collab opportunities, so on and so forth. Find your niche and try to kick up dust. However...

2. I do not believe that any social profile can replace a good portfolio. The thing that made an immediate difference to me this year was building a coherent, simple website with my best work front and center and a contact form on top. Every single opportunity I got came from that form (maybe via twitter or instagram initially, but always sealing the decision after going through the website), so I firmly believe that showcasing your skills and portfolio in a visually arresting and user-friendly way is a big priority. I had some reservations about tackling that task but fortunately I had help from a savvy life partner and we slapped it together via wordpress in less than a day. Twitter/whatever social media is prevalent in your target groups is definitely important to get the right eyes on your shit, yes, but those eyes will then look for a second stop where your work and rates are more clear and concise. Simplicity is key imo, I cannot overstate this. So make a cute, simple portfolio!

3. Your skills and rates will grow and change as you do. Let them. Over the years I built several lasting professional relationships from my obsession over mass effect and kept getting opportunities both from bioware and their partner companies, some small and some a bit bigger. A one-off job earlier this year opened an unexpected door to another much larger commitment, and then the work I did there brought some attention from small businesses looking for commercial commissions. These were all incredibly different projects in terms of scope and budget, and I've been tackling them all on a case-by-case basis and slowly coming into my own irt my needs, rates, and SOW thresholds. It is still a work in progress (and a LOT of literal work as well), and very much a thing I struggle with in publicly marketing, which is why I felt a tad underqualified to answer your question in the first place (obviously I did not let that stop me). But what it means for me now is that I am rapidly developing into whatever my "version" of a functioning freelance artist is, and when the conditions for that guy are met, I need to be able to confidently plant myself and operate from that space despite past precedents. Do not let anyone bully you into downpricing what you yourself perceive as legitimate products of personal growth and development. Speaking of which...

4. The shitty challenge of turning envy into inspiration, and paddling outside your comfort zones in full riot gear. it is hard, but realizing that being a miserable, self-hating artist in my early days got me nothing but more misery back was the first real step I took and what truly blew the hinges off. I was just not pleasant to be around, I would badmouth my work all the time, and it all somehow made sense in my broken mind because the validation I sought was purely external and the way I sought it was through eliciting sympathy via self-victimization (even when I made something objectively nice). It all led fucking nowhere. Except perhaps to my own narcissism that I one day managed to identify and start managing. So I started looking at things that made me seethe with envy and calmly deconstruct and figure out their inner workings instead, do studies, and find nuggets of inspiration or discover new ways to approach rendering or building up specific elements. It was an application of analytical diligence to what I wanted to be a purely emotional, esoteric workflow, but that I deep down knew wasn't. Art is a discipline and a skill, and maybe it isn't a straight line, but you gotta find some line to thread nevertheless. Being self-hating was almost an identity I had to break out of, and despite it still being like, 4-5% there? I realize its cause and effect on me, my work, and those around me, so it is with a conscious choice that I gently set it aside when I work and especially when I learn. It won't always stay quiet, but the effort is the difference. Your doors towards accepting true growth and venturing into uncharted territories, art styles, and networking will really open from there. But there's a huge caveat...

5. Toolsets, accessibility, privilege, and all the good things that enable artistic expression and profitability are not given equal to all. you might do all the mental work I mentioned to be ready to rock and roll and learn and draw your way out of anything, but digital art is a fucking money pit that asks almost too much at times. I don't got a good case study here but identifying and ensuring accessibility to the tools you need to do your best work is, like, super important. The ergonomics can improve as you make money and settle into the job, but the basics have to be made available to you. And some of that might not even be under your direct control. That can be anything from pen tablets to software subscriptions to opportunities in hiring sullied by sexism or what have you. You gotta navigate all that through careful networking and money/time management. I don't do a good job of devoting specific slices of time to work/study, and my primary clutch is iPad software which went from a good deal to a nightmare scenario over the years. So all I can say here is do what I didn't; network, invest in a PC/tablet, and pick a software you'll learn that won't burn a hole in your pocket.

6. Be nice to work with? This one is hard to articulate and has landed my own ass in hot water in my early years because of how socially inept I am, but nothing is more worthwhile than being.. like. a good person to work with. That can be anything like meeting deadlines, or sometimes missing them but eloquently articulating why, being generous in early stages, being communicable and not too wordy in your emails, having a good grasp on abstract artistic concepts and how to describe them in simple terms, having a clear, laid out framework of your working rates in commercial and non-commercial projects and sticking to those guns with grace, understanding when you need to say no and saying it well, the works. Just being nice. Sometimes that might mean going headstrong with something you believe in, or simmering down and sucking up to the big man, all relative and adaptive. Part and parcel of the service provision dance that we all have to do in order to make bank. Know your lines here, obviously, and don't like. work for nazis. or uh.. *shudders* exposure. but be nice and empathetic and communicable and word will travel eventually. Skill may be in abundance these days, but good people are most certainly not, and capitalism has a way of bubbling up scarcity. Grim, but uh, them's the breaks.

I know I'm ultimately telling you to like. Have a body of work, make a portfolio, grow, and network. But that's really how I see it for now. And being nice can be a cherry on top that sets you apart, along with the inherent irreplaceable voice of your artwork. I think I rambled on enough, but if there is something specific you need my help with, even if you want to come off anon and talk in private, please feel free.

[anightflower]

Come and Find Me Chapter 5: The Game

Sorry this chapter is a bit short, I am in the midst of finals and final projects. Thank you for sticking by my side, despite the crazy schedule 

Spencer Reid x Reader 

Masterlist

Warnings: Stalking, Swearing, Violence

Spencer made his way to the counter, a smiling Ava greeted him. 

“Spencer! I’m surprised you’re not with (Y/N), not that I’m not happy to see you of course.” 

Spencer returned her smile with a slightly nervous one, “She’s still in bed, I thought I would bring her some coffee before I head to the office. I also wanted to talk to you about something.” 

“Oh Spencer, if you’re confessing your undying devotion to me now, I’m afraid it’s a bit too late, I have my own sexy superhero boyfriend now.” Ava said, doing her signature eyebrow waggle, causing Spencer to laugh. 

“I do have a confession, but it involves (Y/N).” Spencer said, a smile spreading across his face.

Her expression became more serious. “Wait is (Y/N) pregnant?” 

“I- no, that’s not what-” Spencer stuttered, Ava let out a giggle out Spencer’s flustered face. 

“I want to ask her to move in with me.” Spencer said finally. 

“Oh my gosh Spencer, that’s fantastic! And I’m honored that you’re asking me, as (Y/N) was mine first, so it’s only right you ask me permission.” Ava grinned, pressing a hand to her heart. 

“Do you think she’ll say yes? I don’t want to rush her, I know we’ve been only dating for 8 months, but it just feels right. I love her so much and I want to wake up to her every morning and kiss her goodnight every night. Besides it will be so much easier because she basically lives at my apartment now and I just want to make it official, you know?” Spencer rambled. 

Ava’s face radiated pure joy. “Oh Spence, she’ll definitely say yes! God (Y/N) will be over the moon are you kidding? You two are the cutest fucking thing, oh my god this is so exciting!” She squealed. 

“I’m going to ask her when she gets back from Florida, I know her lease is almost up so that will make things a lot easier too. I’ve been looking at different apartments that are slightly bigger because I know she wants an at home office and I’m sure it will be nice to have her own space-”

“Spencer, I am so glad she has you. You make her so happy and treat her so well. I know she’ll be happy with whatever. But beware, her full interior designer will come out if you guys get your own place.” Ava warned teasingly. 

“I’m looking forward to it.” Spencer grinned. 

________________________________________________________________

His hand shook as he opened the door to his apartment. As he slammed the door shut, he met the worried face of his roommate, who was putting on his jacket to leave.

“You okay man?” His roommate Nick asked, eyes filled with concern. 

“Don’t worry about it dude.” The Boy said with an angry shrug making his way to his room. 

“Uh, okay dude, if you need anything shoot me a text. I’m meeting up with Ava, I’ll probably stay at her place for a couple days.” 

“Cool bro, have fun.” The boy said flatly. 

Nick looked like he was about to say something, but he shut his mouth and shrugged.

“Later.” Nick said quietly, grabbing his bag and fleeing out the door. 

The Boy didn’t respond. He just stomped into his room, red filling his vision. 

The Doctor was going to take you away from him permanently, he could feel it. 

Moving in leads to marriage, then kids. How could he have let it get this far? The Boy should have intervened earlier, opened your eyes to the truth. 

The Boy let out a scream and punched a whole in the wall. It felt good to let his anger out. He pictured the Doctor in place of the wall, the image brought of that man bloodied and pleading sent pleasurable shivers through him. The Boy made his way to his bed and pulled out a box from underneath it. It was an obvious spot to keep it underneath there, but Nick respected his space, so the boy had not been worried. 

He pulled out his pictures of you. Each image lovingly taken of you, images of you getting ready for work, smiling with Ava, and then his favorites, the ones of you sleeping peacefully in your bed. He had to resist reaching out and caressing your face. He knew he couldn’t risk waking you up, it wasn’t time for you to see him yet, but now it was. 

The boy had started to calm down, until an image of you kissing Spencer fell out of the pile. Red filled his vision once again. He had purposely taken this picture to remind himself of his goal; being in the Doctor’s place. 

He ripped the image to shreds, and threw the box of goods causing your pictures, some of your old coffee cups and Drew’s home videos to fly all over his room. His rage filled him as he flipped his desk. He couldn’t stop himself as he ripped his rooms to shreds, breaking things and tossing various items at the wall in rage. 

When his breathing finally returned to normal, the boy grabbed a bag and began packing. He threw in all of his essentials and grabbed the tapes and photos he could of you. He wasn’t coming back here after this. You and him were going to start a new life in Florida, he had already set everything up. He had his own secluded place and sent ahead some of the things he needed ahead. 

He would leave tonight and be down in Florida a day before you. He had planned to arrive a day ahead of you so he could get your home ready. He had even made a little room for you to adjust to everything, knowing how this big of a change would affect you. But he knew you would do it once you realized that you two were meant to be. 

Joy filled the boy as he looked around his mess of a room, he felt relief at the thought of never seeing this place or the Doctor again. Yet in his happy stupor, he failed to see the photos and tape he had missed to pick up.

________________________________________________________________

Present Day

Reid had reached speeds of nearly 110 as he raced back to the precinct with Emily. SHe had not chastised him for his speeds, too worried about the sorrow in Penelope’s voice and what that could mean. 

They raced into the precinct and found Penelope, JJ, and Morgan in the meeting room. 

“Hotch and Rossi are still talking to Curtis, but they should be back in 30.” Morgan explained. 

“There is no time to wait.” Penelope growled. “I can show this to them once they get here.”

“Any luck at Special Delivery?” Emily asked JJ. 

“It shut down 5 weeks ago apparently. So whoever we saw, still had access to a uniform. They probably did it to copy Curtis.” JJ explained, her face solemn. 

“Shit.” Emily said, flopping down into a chair.”

“I received this ten minutes ago.” Penelope explained, drawing everyone’s attention to the screen at the front of the room. “Reid, you aren’t going to like this, I’m so sorry.”

Spencer’s blood ran cold as he prepared himself for the worst. 

The screen was black for a few seconds and then an automated voice rang out from the speakers. “Ring! Ring!”  the deep voice said. “Have you figured it out, Dr. Reid?” 

Spencer’s heart stopped as images of you flooded the screen. Photos of you and Spencer flashed across the screen. None of which either of you had taken yourselves, each of these was taken from afar. He felt ill when he saw the ones from outside of your apartment. He nearly vomited when the screen switched to photos of you inside your apartment, peacefully sleeping, completely unaware that a completely crazed man was inches away from you. 

“I’ve been to your lectures, Dr. Reid.” A voice narrated from the screen. “I know you’ve studied men like me. It’s very fascinating to hear someone talk about you like they’ve known you since birth, when the two of you haven’t even met once. You took one of my dearest friends away from me. But we adapted, your small victory didn’t stop him from guiding me to my love and taking her from you. Do you think with all your knowledge, all of your cases, all of your team, that you can find her in time?” 

A timer appeared on the screen, counting down from a minute. 

“What?” Penelope cried out, “That wasn’t there before, how in the hell is it there?” She rushed to her computer and began messing around on the keyboard. 

Spencer shot out of his chair and raced over to Penelope’s side. “Penelope, what does this countdown mean?” He asked, panicked.

“I don’t know, I don’t know! It didn’t appear before this. The email didn’t even mention a countdown! I tried to track the email, but it was a throwaway.” Penelope looked ready to cry. 

“Spencer, it could mean anything.” Morgan said, trying to calm him down.

“Oh yeah Morgan?” Spencer spat. “Well considering it was showing images of my girlfriend before it, my hopes aren’t too high!”

“Spencer.” JJ snapped, “Yelling isn’t going to solve anything.”

“What if it was Will JJ? Would you be calm?” Spencer growled back at her. 

The timer was quickly reaching its end. 

“Penelope do something, please.” Spencer begged, his voice breaking.

“I’m trying, I don’t know what to do.” Penelope cried out, horrified at her helplessness. 

Tears began to flow down Spencer’s face. The room watched in horrified silence as the timer reached zero. 

It was silent for a moment and then Spencer’s phone rang.

He looked down at it to see it was an unknown number. His heart stopped as he realized “Ring! Ring!”

“(Y/N) promised to call me after her meeting, if she had been there, she would have called me now.”  Spencer said quietly. 

“Spencer, if you answer it, I can try and track the number and centralize the area it could be coming from.” Penelope explained urgently. 

Spencer took a deep breath and answered the phone. They all jumped up in shock as a video feed came on at the same time he pressed answer. 

His heart swelled with relief, you were alive, you seemed unharmed, but god you looked terrified. 

“Penelope, scan the room, see if you can find any recognizable items.” Morgan mumbled quietly.  

As Penelope’s keys began clacking a way, a voice that sounded eerily like the one in the video of you smugly said, “Hello Doctor, so nice to finally talk to you. Or have we talked before? You never know, let’s see if that big brain of yours remembers.” 

“Who are you?” Spencer hissed into the phone.

“Someone who you’ve taken so much from. My mentor, the woman I love- but luckily this ends now.” The voice purred.

“What do you want?” Spencer tried to keep his voice calm. 

“I want to play a game with you Doctor, let’s see if that genius brain of yours is as good as they say. You have 24 hours to find your girl. If you are so smart you’ll be able to find her. But when you don’t, and you won’t, it will prove that you don’t don’t deserve her. That you never deserved her. If you can’t find her in time, you will never see her again.”

______________________________________________________________

TAGLIST

@andiebeaword @haylaansmi @parkastoria @possessedjoker @amronsparty @generaltheoristexpert @sierraraeck @coniumalces @tamedbyafox @anotherr-fine-mess @adoregin @rainsong01 @canyonnmoonn  @mggshoe @boxofsparklingmuses @richardpapensmuse @deanlenaz​ @rainsong01 @goldentournesol @annesauriol @itsametaphorbriansblog @secretpickleprofessordean @shameleswhorehourstm @stepsofthefbi​ @iifloweringnightsii @mggsprettygirl​ @bravegirl221​ @messyhairday-me​ @n1ghtsh4d3-67​ @abbeypaw7​ @findmedontlooseme @hiiwouldlikesomesleepplease @sarcasticsagittarius1998 @ajeff855 @astronomynous

[sidespart]

Sibling Culture

Summary: Younger siblings Patton, Virgil and Roman share some stories about their older siblings Deceit, Logan and Remus. Patton and Virgil’s stories are cute. Roman’s are not.

Warnings: Abuse, Unsympathetic Remus, Non graphic descriptions of abuse, Not great understanding of mental health issues (child POV), authority figures not being very useful, child being exposed to sexual situations (very much not graphic). Ask if you want me to add more. 

Relationships: Gen, but a bit of pre-relationship moxiety snuck in because I love them

“Hey, how’d you get that scar?”

Despite the warm day, Roman felt cold grip his insides, twisting upwards towards his throat and freezing any denial he could think of until he was startled by a laugh from Patton.

“Oh! It was Dee’s fault.”

Wincing, Roman twisted himself so he could see the other two properly. Patton was still sprawled out on the grass next to him, but Virgil had sat up. He was hunched over, peering at Patton’s leg. When he saw Roman carefully sit up to join him he pointed at a faded sliver of a scar, just above Patton’s left knee.

“What did he DO?” Virgil face had shifted into a scowl at the mention his ‘arch enemy’ but that faded quickly as Patton started giggling.

“It was when I was …four? I think? He convinced me the Easter Bunny didn’t come to our house because the Easter Fox lived in our yard. I had to go out and patrol the yard, make sure it was safe, or I wouldn’t get any candy that year.”

-It said something about years of friendship with both Patton and Devin Sanders that neither Roman or Virgil thought to question that logic-

“Anyway he let me stomp around there for ever and then he jumped out in this fox mask to scare me!”

“This kind’ve thing is why he’s a dick” Virgil muttered. His hand, Roman noticed, was still on Patton’s leg, thumb swiping idly over the scar.

“He was nine, Vee” Patton said reprovingly, although he didn’t actually deny the comment, “anyway, he didn’t know I’d snuck a knife from the dishwasher-

“You WHAT?-”

“A KNIFE?-”

“-there was candy AND a bunnys life a stake, guys I was taking it seriously!” Patton’s eyes were sparkling with laughter at the twin looks of horror on his friends faces. “Anyway, he startled me so bad that of course I dropped it right away – sliced my knee up as it fell.”

“oh my God” Virgil groaned finally relinquishing Patton’s leg so he could bury his face in his hands. “That could have been so bad Pat.”

“what did Devin do?” Roman asked quietly.

“oh, he freaked – Virgil will you come out of there I’m fine – yelled so loud both our parents came running. Then, once I was all bandaged up, he tried to convince them I fell off a skateboard.”

That was enough to make Virgil peak through his fingers, a frown on his face “Did you ever even own a skateboard?”

Patton shifted himself so he was sitting up as well, an extremely solemn look on his face.

“We did not.”

There was a brief, pregnant pause before all three of them cracked up, their laughter echoing across Vigil’s yard.

“Older brothers are the worst.” Virgil pronounced. Despite the heat of the day he was still wearing his thick hoodie over a t-shirt and jeans, but now he started pushing up his right sleeve “Did I ever tell you about the time Logan threw me out of the tree house?”

“He what??!” Roman yelped.

“He would NEVER!” Patton gasped.

“He did” Virgil held his right arm up, revealing a long puckered line that ran from his mid forearm across his elbow. “It was before either of you moved here, I had a cast and everything”

All three of them took a moment to admire Virgil’s scar, much more raised and defined than Patton’s, before Roman asked the question they were no doubt all thinking:

“What colour was your cast?”

“Purple.”

“Nice.”

“Did Logan really push you Virgil?” Roman had to do his absolute best not to laugh at the pout that appeared on Virgil’s face when he took in Patton’s heartbroken expression.

Logan McAlister, was four years older than the three friends and Patton had fixated on him the moment they’d met. Roman has spent years watching Patton go from hero worship to puppy love to full blown crush all while Virgil stomped along next to him like a gloomy, jealous, storm cloud.

Not that Virgil would ever admit that it was jealousy making him snap and snarl at his brother whenever his friends came around…but their relationship certainly seemed to become more civil once Patton had gotten over his crush.

Roman couldn’t really blame Patton either. Virgil had never said anything and Logan…Logan was cool.

“He built a plane.” Virgil muttered eventually, shoving his sleeve back into place. “or a glider or…something. A box with a sheet stuck too it anyway. We both sat in it and he pushed us out of there.” He pointed towards the somewhat dilapidated tree house nestled in the tallest tree in the yard.

Roman let out a low whistle. Now that the three of them were quickly approaching seventeen they had physically, if not mentally, started to outgrow the tree house. Which meant it was no longer useful for much beyond lying down almost on top of each other during study sessions or lazy afternoon naps. When Roman had first met Virgil at age ten however it had seemed enormous. And very high up. It would have seemed even higher whenever the Ill-fated glider attempt had happened.

‘Were you scared?” he asked, watching Virgil carefully, but the other boy just shrugged.

“I don’t remember much to be honest. We were both pretty small.” He grinned. “I just remember afterwards. Logan kept coming into my room to sneak me chips and read his Physics text book to me”

“Aww! That so sweet!”

“Such a nerd.”

“Yeah.” Virgil ducked his head a little, apparently agreeing with both statements. He plucked a few strands of grass from the lawn, twisting them between his fingers.

Roman glanced at Patton, concerned. They both knew Virgil missed his brother, away at college and not due for a visit for at least a month. They also knew that asking him directly about it was a guaranteed way to get the emo to tense up.

Just as Roman was debating launching himself into a rendition of Black Parade as a distraction Virgil rolled his shoulders a looked up at him.

“Your turn.”

That cold grip he’d felt when he thought Virgil had noticed one of his scars was suddenly back ten fold.

“Oh…”

That made sense. Patton had shared a dumb sibling story. Then Virgil. Now it was his turn. It was only fair.

“Well…”

Roman was suddenly finding it quite difficult to breath. And to think. What was he supposed to tell them?

“I…”

He sat frozen. While two expectant faces stared at him, he racked his brain for a story to tell.

  -

When they’re seven Roman draws out his first story. Crude renderings of superheroes and scientists and scientist-superheroes in the rainforest. it’s boring Remus complains when he sees it. You’re boring Ro’. Make them fight! No - make ‘em smash that guys head in!

No! Roman shouts and Remus scowls. Grabs at the craft scissors lying on the table and jumps towards Roman; trying to both rip the paper out of his hands and cut it to pieces at the same time whilst Roman screams and screams.

Later, their mother gently cleans the tiny scratches on Romans hand whilst Remus sulks at the table. He started it Remus mutters and Roman feels his mothers arms tighten around him. Protective.

 - 

When they’re nine they get taken on a trip to the public pool in the next town. This pool is bigger than their local one with slides and pool toys and jets. The two of them spend a happy hour chasing each other with pool noodles and racing each other in the water. And then Remus pushes Romans head underwater and holds him down until his lungs are burning so badly he opens his mouth. He spends their last precious minutes of the trip hacking and spluttering. Clinging to the pools edge with his brothers laughter ringing in his ears.

 -

When they’re eleven Remus sneaks into his room at night with their fathers laptop tucked securely under his arm. Wakes Roman up by crashing onto the bed next to him and says look what I found!

Roman isn’t really sure what he’s found at first. The sounds off, presumably to avoid alerting their parents in the room next door, the websites unfamiliar – it takes a few seconds for the pulsing blobs to be recognisable as people and when they do YURGHH! Roman shrikes slams the laptop closed whilst Remus howls with laughter what were they doing to that woman?!

what were they – oh my god your such a pussy Roman don’t you know? Let me show you another one-

NO

Roman kicks and punches and shoves trying to get Remus away from him and Remus is laughing laughing laughing until he isn’t. Until their parents are in the room, shouting, trying to separate them and Remus is using the laptop like a bludgeon, slamming the edge into Romans ribs, each hit punctuated with Why! Do! You! Ruin! Everything!

The next day Virgil asks if he wants to come and play in the tree house and Roman says no. He has to be home early. Visitors. Virgil accepts the lie easily and Roman tries not to breath to deeply.

  -

The thing is you cant blame Remus. You’re not allowed. Not really. 

There’s something wrong with him.

What that something is seems to change often depending on which adult you ask. Every few months their parents bring Remus back from a new therapist with a new diagnosis and a new bottle of pills and big grins because THIS time they’re going to fix him.

  -

When they’re twelve Romans mother smiles at him and says Your such a good boy Roman. You keep me going. Their mother doesn’t smile much these days and the sight of it is almost as good as the praise. I know its hard. It must be so frustrating for you.

Last month Remus had convinced an older boy to gift him a box of cigarettes. That morning he’d  found them again and finally tried to smoke them, recruiting a reluctant Roman to keep watch. When he’d gagged on the taste he’d made exaggerated vomiting noises before stuffing the still burning end into Romans palm.

But we’re all in this together. You know?

Roman knows. He wants to help. He decides that unless the injury is bad enough he can’t fix it himself he simply wont tell his parents. He wants to help keep them going.

  -

When they’re thirteen Remus watches some murder mystery show and decides to burn his fingerprints off on the kitchen stove. We should do yours too! Shoving his mangled thumb under Romans nose. The smell makes Roman gag. Remus’ eyes are fever bright. We could be partners in crime!

 -

When they’re fourteen Remus decides he wants white streaks in his hair. And since they’re twins Roman should too. His attempt to bleach Romans hair as he sleeps leads to ruined sheets and a smattering of chemical burns across his neck and shoulders. He tells Patton it was a cooking accident and invests his saved allowance in jackets with high starched collars.

 -

When they’re fifteen he tells someone.

Their school has an assembly. Some outside company performing a play about abusive relationships. The teachers all have their sombre This Is A Serious Topic Don’t You Dare Laugh faces on as the actors work. Roman watches closely, picking up on all the false steps and poorly delivered lines which he would surely have avoided if he was an actor. The story is about a school girl who gets into a relationship with an older man who turns abusive. All throughout the play she drops increasingly massive hints to her friends and family who blithely ignore her until she dies spectacularly and loudly in the final scene.

On one side of Roman, Patton is fully sobbing. On the other Virgil is quite possibly asleep. The actors come out to a smattering of applause (lead overly enthusiastically by Patton) and launch in to a pre-prepared speech. Remember the signs! Tell a parent or teacher if you’re in trouble! If you suspect your friend is in trouble! Abuse can happen to anyone! Abusers can BE anyone!

Huh. Roman thinks afterwards.

He probably doesn’t count if it’s a sibling though.

Remus isn’t a stranger. Like the man in the play. And they’re the same age.

Still.

The next day he feels like he’s in a trance.

He takes his jacket off in his first class. Art. Pat and Virgil aren’t in this class with him. Better that way.

There are bruises on his forearms. Dark splotches which are so so obviously made by fingers.

He waits. One minute. Two.

Roman! His teacher is in front of him, faster than he anticipated, alarmed look on his face. What happened to your arm?

Stay in the trance. No shaking. M-my brother did it. He wanted the TV remote.

A pause that seems to last and hour and then his teachers’ laughing a shaky laugh. Smiles at him exasperated but fond. Roman aren’t you two a little too old to be roughhousing like that?

Right

It doesn’t count.

You can’t be abused by a sibling. A few cuts, bruises, scars – that’s just sibling culture baby. Virgil and Patton have stories too – you don’t see them freezing up. Complaining

Don’t be a pussy Roman.

He puts his jacket back on and keeps it on for the rest of the day.

 -

When they’re sixteen Remus comes home for the weekend, sits at the kitchen table and asks if Roman wants to hang out.

-Remus goes to a special school for behaviourally challenged students and only comes back every other weekend. Their parents cried when he left. Thought they’d failed. Felt devastated. Roman didn’t feel much of anything and wonders if that makes him a bad person-

Remus is calmer these days but Roman still says no. He has plans with his friends. Oh yes. Remus rolls his eyes Paddington Bore and the Virgin.

Roman glares at him. Don’t call them that. Even though that’s basically affectionate, for Remus. And Remus looks at him for a long moment before nodding. Standing up, shoving the table hard into Roman’s hip leaving him gasping in pain.

By the time he’s limped his way to Virgil’s house the sun is high in the sky. Patton suggests lazy nap time in the tree house and just looking at the ladder makes Roman want to vomit.

It’s such a beautiful day Padre he crys, lets lie amongst the wildflowers like the majestic forest nymphs we are.

Its literally just grass Virgil sighs but Patton laughs and Roman lowers himself stiffly down. Carefully keeps the pain out of his face as his hip makes contact with the ground. Turns away from them whilst he grits his teeth through it, ostensibly napping until Virgil says

Hey, how’d you get that scar?

   -

“Roman?”

Virgil and Patton were both staring at him. Shit Roman thought. How long had he been day-dreaming? Day-reminiscing? Day-

“Earth to Roman.” Patton again, there was crinkle of concern between his eyebrows and that wouldn’t do at all.

“Well-“ Roman boomed in his best dramatic bellow, what Virgil call his ‘Prince Roman’ voice: “I am afraid I will have to disappoint you my friends, twins are not bound by your foolish ‘older sibling’ ‘younger sibling’ stereotypes”

“I mean, technically, one of you is the older sibling” Virgil muttered while Patton laughed “you’re seriously telling me neither of you ever did something dumb and got the other one hurt?”

“Virgil Madelaine McAlister-“

“Not my middle name.”

“-I will have you know that I have never done anything dumb. Ever. In my life!” he punctuated that statement with a dramatic point to the heavens. Patton was now laughing hard enough that Roman was fairly sure he should be offended and Virgil was fighting a smirk.

“You really never fight?”

“We’re a united front.” Drop it, drop it please just drop it he chanted internally.

And then, miracle of miracles, Virgil did. Letting himself flop back to the ground with a soft ‘humph’.

“It must be nice to have a twin” Patton said a little wistfully. Careful he arranged himself back on the ground so his head was cushioned on Virgil’s stomach. “you’re basically born with a ready-made friend!”

“And you get to do everything together” Virgil murmured a faint blush on his face and one hand hovering in the vicinity of Patton’s hair. “No one has to get left behind when one goes off to college.”

Roman glanced down at him, worried, but Virgil just met his gaze softly, one side of his mouth pulling up into one of his rare sweet smiles. “You’re so lucky Roman.”

Roman nodded. Ignored the quick flare of pain in his hip as he laid himself back down in the grass. He let out a contented sigh as the warmth of the ground sunk into his bones, soothing the ache

“Very lucky.” He agreed quietly.

[ginmo]

How do you think the Bran and Jaime’s meeting will go in the books? I’ve read theories guessing he might end up as King Bran’s Hand, meta where the writers want him to become a mentor or father figure to the Starks in a full circle of his redemption arc, while others don’t want or think he should be involved with the Starks long-term either because of his and his family’s sins against the Starks or because they view his arc as reclamation rather than redemption or atonement. 1/2

This is what GRRM said about Bran and exploring time. 

“It's an obscenity to go into somebody's mind. So Bran may be responsible for Hodor's simplicity, due to going into his mind so powerfully that it rippled back through time. The explanation of Bran's powers, the whole questions of time and causality - can we affect the past? Is time a river you can only sail one way or an ocean that can be affected wherever you drop into it? These are issues I want to explore in the book, but it's harder to explain in a show.” - Fire Cannot Kill a Dragon

Hodor’s name reveal is neat and all, but Bran’s power to manipulate the past doesn't exist just so we can randomly learn Hodor’s pointless name origin. That would be ridiculous unless the scene was used to introduce that ability. Hodor’s name reveal is important to the narrative, and I believe its purpose is to set up a much bigger event/reveal involved around Bran interfering with the past, not just observing it. I’m pretty sure GRRM was hint-hinting to D&D about this, which is why he told them about the random ass Hodor scene that was already written, thinking it would be obvious what that means for the overall plot and letting them run with it but………………..

Because of this, I think it’s possible Bran brought himself to where he is. 

IF Bran isn’t involved in The Push, then he could have been involved with Jaime killing the Mad King. I kinda like the idea of Bran playing into Aerys’ madness, causing him to stock up on wildfire around the city, because then the wildfire would be an essential future plot element for a bigger purpose towards the end of the series and it would be a question of time, “a river you can only sail one way, or an ocean that can be affected wherever you drop it,” but for the entire series. (And, as someone with a passion in astrophysics, I’m a sucker for discussions around time. BUTTHAT’SJUSTME) 

Do I totally subscribe to this theory? Eh. I’m still not convinced Bran is King of All of Westeros for reasons, but I’m open-minded. I DO think Jaime is surviving the series, for reasonsssss, so I’m putting that disclaimer out there right now. I will never claim with absolute confidence that he is surviving though because, I mean, nobody fucking knows, and there’s an argument for death. I’m just going off of narrative clues that I perceive to be clues, and taking other character arcs into consideration. After literally drawing up a table because I’m weird, the column for Survive has more evidence and justification than the column for Dies, so that’s why I lean the way I lean. SO with that being said, I think it’s possible he has more of a political future.

IF this is what GRRM is writing, Jaime would still be responsible for pushing him, of course, but future Bran would want to be pushed. He'd be setting everything in motion to create the butterfly effect that makes it happen. 

Even if that isn’t what GRRM had intended with exploring time, it’s highly likely Bran’s character development is taking him down a path of apathy over it, meaning he wouldn’t be needing Jaime to do something for the purpose of redemption for him. 

Speaking of Redemption…

-deep breath-

I’m going to go off on this a bit because it IS relevant, I swear. 

“Limits of redemption” is probably the biggest wtf interpretation fandom has when it comes to what GRRM actually said. I’ll try not to go off on it too much here but -

Interviewer: Both Jaime and Cersei are clearly despicable in those moments. Later, though, we see a more humane side of Jaime when he rescues a woman, who had been an enemy, from rape. All of a sudden we don’t know what to feel about Jaime.

GRRM: One of the things I wanted to explore with Jaime, and with so many of the characters, is the whole issue of redemption. When can we be redeemed? Is redemption even possible? I don’t have an answer. But when do we forgive people? [...]  I want there to be a possibility of redemption for us, because we all do terrible things. We should be able to be forgiven. Because if there is no possibility of redemption, what’s the answer then?  [x]

I bolded “we” from the interviewer, because it gives context to GRRM’s answer with “we” being the readers, not the characters or Jaime himself. (I think there’s another interview where he says “limits of redemption” but it’s in the same context. I could be wrong but I SWEAR I heard it. Anyway…) 

“I kind of tried to ask, ‘do you think he’s changed?’ to get him to talk about Jaime’s redemption arc, so he said something like he wanted to explore the concept of forgiveness and whether it’s possible to be forgiven for doing such horrible things, and that his goal was to ask the question, not give an answer.” [x]

Fandom thinks this is the characters giving Jaime forgiveness, and maybe there will be a small element of that in the books, but the question is for the readers. No, Jaime is not actively seeking redemption from people. His redemption is for himself, through living his best life, by rediscovering the person he used to be. Yes He Will Be Redeemed and No He Will Fail assume redemption is some arbitrary checklist determined by One Big Act, and they’re answers to a question GRRM doesn’t want to give an answer to. 

The purpose of Jaime’s POVs is to ask the readers, and the most obvious moment of this was the bath scene. GRRM smacks us over the head with the Aerys confession, and then as we’re introduced to more and more of his POV chapters, he slowly chips away at the Jaime illusion that was intentionally established the moment he pushed one of the perceived child protagonists out of a window. It’s brilliant, and I’m sorry GRRM that a large chunk of your fandom is too dense to get it. How frustrating lol. I’ll be insulted for him. (I’m legit wondering if his recent angsty tweets about grey and redemption about real life stem from a concern that his fandom won’t understand the point of the series.) 

To give you an idea of where these people are coming from, at least one BNF idiot on Twitter believes redemption hasn’t been explored with Jaime yet. 

But uh… 

GRRM mentioned his intent is to “explore redemption” after delivering Jaime POVs, because... it’s... not a spoiler… he’s already exploring redemption, because the question is being asked TO US. We were supposed to have an “oh shit” moment, realizing this is more complex than the surface level, biased perspective we were delivered at the beginning of the story. “Maybe Westeros and my protagonist have it wrong.” -cough- the people in the village in BatB -cough- 

No matter how much fandom likes to pretend they love GRRM for pushing the boundaries of fantasy, they secretly fucking hate it. They love to be comfortable, dude. That’s why they read this series as if it’s a clear cut Good vs. Evil, because a) ego and b) that’s easy. If GRRM was writing Jaime as doing everything with ill intent then…. his… question isn’t being asked. They think everything he does right now is selfish and Bad, so they’re waiting. They want it spoon fed to them. They want classic fantasy. They want Starks = Good, Lannisters = Bad. 

But… if the author sees Jaime’s actions as grey and complex, enough to ask the question to the readers if he’s redeemed in their eyes or not, then he’s not going to write an endgame that punishes the character for narrative payoff, because he doesn’t see his actions as “sins” or “crimes” in the same way that these people are. Once upon a time, a person on tumblr reblogged one of my posts and said that Jaime will rape Cersei before he kills himself and that will be his endgame. But GRRM doesn’t view Jaime as a rapist, so he’s not going to write Jaime as a rapist. I’m bringing that up, because it’s the same phenomenon. People can ignore authorial intent all they want, but NOT when it comes to predicting narrative trajectory. The general fandom is terrible at that lol. 

The exploration of redemption for Jaime comes in the form of confronting his disillusioned self and everything attached to it. Before someone thinks, “lolllll he isn’t disillusioned” 

 “he actually was a very idealistic young man who was disillusioned by life” [x]

Jaime’s redemption is the path of returning to that idealistic man for himself. It’s by feeling ashamed of the things he’s done to hide his love for Cersei. It’s by gaining independence and detaching from the toxic relationship that caused a mess outside of them. It’s by wanting to be like the knights he admired in his youth, and like the woman warrior that inspired him. 

So when I think about narrative payoff for Jaime, I don’t see it framed as him being “punished” for actions viewed as “crimes,” when GRRM clearly established those “crimes” as complicated and grey with a character already going through some positive development, and especially when the characters judging are written to be flawed as well.

On the other side, having him be “punished” by succumbing to hatred and anger is for sure giving an answer (this just… -sits on hands- don’t even get me started on THIS fucking hot take). That answer would be a clear, solid, “No, no matter how hard he tries to turn his life around, he can’t be redeemed, because he’s a hateful, angry, fucked up person.” I’ve legit seen people think “limits of redemption” is a boundary of redemption drawn in the sand that Jaime is walking towards but he won’t be able to cross it. I-......................... 

And what’s even the point of his handchop if scenario number 2 happens?  

“And Jaime, losing a hand, losing the very thing he defined himself on is crucial to where I think I want to go with the character. And he questions what do you make of yourself if you’ve lost that.” - GRRM [x]

(I’m going to put this quote in every post sorry not sorry) 

So he’s going to take Jaime on this big identity journey just for him to be like “lol nah he isn’t that” …?? That makes the loss of his hand meaningless, not “crucial.” Is it really crucial for him to lose his hand if he’s bringing him back to the beginning? Is it really crucial for him to lose his hand to make himself realize he’s hateful and a failure and murder Cersei and then himself? No. He could have still met Brienne and been inspired by her knightly ways, attempted to live a better life, found out about Cersei’s affairs, etc. He doesn’t need to lose his hand to reach a point of fucking murder/suicide lmao fuck (not saying he’ll do that but I KNOW people are thinking it). 

The loss of his hand is “crucial,” because GRRM has bigger endgame plans for him in the form of politics, and the journey to believably get there requires the forced loss of his warrior identity and everything that the hand symbolized. 

AS FOR THE ACTUAL HAND THEORY...

Even though I’m undecided on it, I CAN see it IF Bran is King. I get it. Jaime’s missing his right Hand, he becomes the Hand to the kid he pushed out the window. Hardy har har. I understand how that would be pleasing.

And we all know GRRM said something about how the best ones for power are the ones who don’t want it…  

And… this suspicious scene at the very beginning of the series… 

“You should be the Hand.” 

“Gods forbid,” a man’s voice replied lazily. “It’s not an honor I’d want. There’s far too much work involved.” 

Bran hung, listening, suddenly afraid to go on. -AGOT

BUT IF that happens, it wouldn’t be there as some sort of #atonement #forredemption. It would be there because of Jaime’s growth as a character after developing into a political player, after asking himself, “what do you make of yourself if you’ve lost [the swordhand]?” He’s no longer the warrior he once was. He dislikes any sort of political position, because he feels most alive with a sword in his hand. But that was Warrior Jaime, and the point of “what do you make of yourself after you’ve lost that” is Jaime going down a different path after discovering that Warrior Jaime has died. I mean, he’d never be actively seeking power and thinking it’s the best career ever, like he’d probably be all -sighhhhhhh- about it, but he’d be doing the responsible thing and what’s necessary. He’d make himself useful in a new way. 

“The Warrior had been Jaime’s god since he was old enough to hold a sword. Other men might be fathers, sons, husbands, but never Jaime Lannister, whose sword was as golden as his hair. He was a warrior, and that was all he would ever be.” - AFFC (Do I really need to make a post about how GRRM foreshadows? Mr. Bran: “I never fall”...?)

Jaime losing his hand was the narrative consequence for The Push, making all of his development post handchop -ALL OF HIS POVS- the redemption theme. It was the hand that pushed Bran, fucked his twin, killed his king, swung the sword against fandom’s Precious Protagonists… 

“You ought to be pleased. I’ve lost the hand I killed the king with. The hand that flung the Stark boy from that tower. The hand I’d slide between my sister’s thighs to make her wet.” - AFFC

So if Jaime becomes his Hand, it would be the two characters meeting in the middle, not Jaime groveling at his feet, begging for forgiveness, framed as a punishment for sins - “sins” that fandom views as “sins” that need narrative payoff, because they don’t understand intent. 

[psycho-slytherin]

Turtledove

Your love of nature pays off... in an unexpected way.

Request: Could you do fae prince!Jungkook who has stolen you away? 

Pairing: Fae Prince!Jungkook x Reader

WC: 1.5k

Genre: fluff, drabble, idk?

A/N I just like bees, ok? Thanks for the request, anonie!

|mlist|

“Let me be your ruler, ruler, you can call me queen bee…” You sing to yourself as you weed your backyard. You’ve got half a dozen lavender bushes waiting to be planted, but first you’ve got to prepare the soil. Just as you’ve finally yanked out a particularly stubborn nettle, you feel a soft tingle on your skin. A bee has apparently made itself comfortable on your wrist.

“Hey, little lady,” you say with a smile. Maybe this is your signal to take a break from the relentless sun. You’ve never been scared of bees. Even as a child, you always seemed to attract insects and animals. Your mom called it magic; you’re of the opinion that good souls can sense each other. “It’s hot today, huh?” You ask the bee, who buzzes contentedly on your hand as you move back into a shady patch beneath the cherry tree. “You’re gonna like the lavender once it’s all grown up, there’ll be plenty of pollen.” It must be your imagination, but it seems like the bee buzzes more happily at your words. “Well, go on,” you say, waving your hand lightly to encourage its flight. “Get back to your queen, honey- ow!”

Almost in slow motion, you watch the bee press its stinger into the flesh of your palm before looking right into your eyes. The world tilts sideways and everything goes black.

Something cold pokes your cheek and you suppress a groan. You feel dirt and leaves beneath your feet, and something softer, wet– moss?

“Mina, you weren’t supposed to kill it,” an airy, male voice says.

“I didn’t mean to,” a girl whines. “I panicked.”

Your head is killing you, and when you at last open your eyes, you blink weakly. “Where…?”

“Ah, good, it’s awake.” And in front of your eyes is the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen– his hair is a soft forest green, his skin inhumanly perfect, his nose tilted up just slightly and his ears pointed, as though he’s wearing prosthetics. He’s draped in shimmering green-blue robes that seem to move despite the stillness of the air. “I’m sorry for Mina.”

“Who…?” Normally you’d be scared, but the ethereal man in front of you practically radiates calm; against your instincts, you feel yourself relaxing. “Who are you?”

The man opens his mouth but before he can respond, a blue-haired girl– this must be Mina– claps her hands excitedly. “This is his royal highness, heir to the forest fae kingdom, the Crown Prince Jungkook!”

“Thank you, Mina,” the… prince? Responds bemusedly. “This is Mina, my aide, and the one who brought you here.”

You stand up groggily. “Where’s here?” You’re in a forest, certainly: tall trees with broad leaves create a dappled pattern of sunlight on the soft floor. You don’t hear even the hint of civilization. No cars, no chatter, just the occasional bird call.

“Oh, this is my kingdom. And you, human, are my guest.” He snaps his fingers and it’s like reality melts away. Where there were nests or messy branches suddenly appear small treehouses. What you thought was an animal’s burrow transforms into a beautifully decorated hut built into the earth. The messy rocks and moss beneath your feet rearrange themselves into neat paths leading throughout the forest. And right behind the prince, an enormous redwood tree simply becomes a magnificent palace, complete with arching doorways and large windows, perfect except for its size.

“Wo-woah…” you take a step backwards in wonder, suddenly feeling dizzy. You’re hallucinating, right? An allergic reaction to the bee sting? Or you’ve been kidnapped by a very handsome and definitely psycho magician?

Although… You know it’s irrational, but you can’t help but sense goodness in him. And Mina too.

“Am I dreaming?” You whisper, suddenly realizing that those pointy-ear prosthetics look very real.

“You’re not dreaming.” Prince Jungkook draws closer. He smells like clover and rain and lavender. “Human, all your life you have been good to us. The butterflies and bees for whom you planted flowers, the hummingbirds and squirrels you kept well-fed, and the very earth beneath your feet, which was always left fertile and healthy. I have watched you save my subjects from ill-meaning humans, from injuries, from cold.” He reaches out a hand and lightly touches a finger to your chest, right above your heart. You can feel it beat faster in response. “And for that, I shall reward you with a glimpse into my world. Will you come?”

His eyes are a deep green, and staring into them, you feel like your every sense has been heightened. If you’re dreaming, it’s the most intensely sensory dream you can remember. And if not… “Yes.”

The prince’s eyes flash. “This may hurt a little.”

From his finger on your chest you feel warmth spreading throughout your body. “Ah!” What began as a pleasant warmth morphs into pain; You feel a sharp, searing ache shoot through you. Your ears, eyes, and back especially feel as though they’re burning. “Stop it!”

As soon as the words leave your lips, the pain stops and you collapse onto the moss, which seems bigger now. Your body feels inexplicably light, and when you look back at the prince and Mina, your jaw drops.

“Holy– you have wings!” Tossing your confusion to the side– it’s a dream anyways, it doesn’t have to make sense– you bound over to Mina, who indeed stands before you with beautiful blue and black wings fluttering lightly in the breeze. Prince Jungkook’s wings are silver, almost transparent, and yet so bright they practically glow. “Can I…” you reach forward cautiously. “Can I touch them?”

“Gently,” the prince replies.

“But, your highness–” Mina says, falling silent as you lightly stroke the prince’s wing. They seem to emerge from between his shoulder blades, and though you thought they’d be light and fragile, you can feel a strength in the material. You notice the prince tensing slightly at your touch.

“This is all so beautiful.” You finally take a step back and look beyond the fae in front of you. “Oh, wow.”

The burrows and treehouses have grown in size. The palace that seemed awkwardly small now looms over you, impossibly large. In fact, everything seems much bigger now. You stare at your hands and finally notice that they look tiny in comparison to the humble blade of grass beside you. Nothing’s grown– you and the faeries have shrunken.

“Do you remember some fifteen years ago? You were just a child when you found a turtledove with a broken wing.” Prince Jungkook says with a soft smile.

You do remember the incident– you’d come into the house crying, asking your parents to help you bring it inside.

“You spent days and sleepless nights nursing it back to health. And for years the turtledove would return, wouldn’t it, to say hello?”

“Y-Yes. It always slept in the fig tree outside my window.” The dove stopped visiting four or five years later; you figured it had died.

“That turtledove, lovely human, was me. And this is my kingdom.” He gestures, and the silent forest suddenly bursts into chatter, movement, noise. Hundreds of faeries appear as though they’d been there all along, walking or flying, dressed in all manner of tunics and robes. Most seem to be going about their business, running errands, or doing work. Some stop and stare at you, or greet the prince with a bow. The doors to the redwood palace swing open, and you hear an unfamiliar kind of music fill the air.

“Will you join me?” Prince Jungkook asks, a brilliant smile lighting up his features.

You grin mischievously. “That depends, do I get wings too?”

“Oh, Y/n. Look behind you.”

“What?” You crane your neck and yelp in surprise; In your peripheral vision you can see the edges of black-and-yellow wings, the pattern resembling a cross between a monarch butterfly’s and a bee’s. You focus intently on your back muscles and for a brief moment, you see the tips of your wings flutter.

“Er… your highness, can I keep them?” You ask the prince, hurrying to keep up with him and Mina as they enter the palace. The interior is beautiful, perfectly blending the decor in with the natural color of the wood. Patterns and symbols you don’t recognize are carved into the walls, and well-dressed faeries turn to eye you from around the foyer.

“Call me Jungkook. The wings are yours within the fae world– and you are welcome to stay as long as you’d like, princess.”

Your heart seems to glow. You’re a faery, a real faery! Even if it is just a dream… you never want to wake up.

“Jungkook!” You say his name like it’s a ray of sunshine, laughing at the pure delight flowing through you. The prince stands next to you, his wings catching the light of the lanterns. “Jungkook, thank you. Your world is so wonderful. Thank you for bringing me here.”

Jungkook takes your hand and draws it to him, pressing his lips to the back of your hand. “No, thank you. You’re all goodness, princess. Now, let me show you around.”

[vvakarians]

Ch. 5 of Wolves Without Teeth is now up!

Beginning | Update | Rating: 18+  

Fic Summary:

Voices born of tragedy are always the loudest, and the blast that destroyed the Conclave at Haven birthed thousands. The only survivor --a seemingly insignificant Dalish elf-- proclaims innocence despite the blood staining their hands. They make a lofty promise to the world, an oaken branch planted for every lost life, and justice for all those affected by the newly created rift in the heavens. Nothing will stop them from leading all of Thedas back into the light, even on wings of death.

Chapter Summary: 

With Calliope mostly healed from the fight with the Pride demon, they think all will be well only to find out that their Mark has changed more than just their mindset, which comes at the worst possible time. But somehow they manage to meet with the advisors without too many ill effects.

V.  It’s still days before Calliope is able to slip from their bed and manage to dredge up enough energy to put their armor on. Artemaeus is on his earlier rounds, though it won’t be long before he walks in. Solas has already done his rounds, he mostly comes by at night when he thinks Calliope is asleep. Not one word is ever uttered between the two of them and he seems content for that to continue, confusing as that is to Calliope. The whispers pick at that concept -- perhaps he is avoiding them somehow. Did they upset him that badly on the trail to the Temple? His behavior is puzzling to say the least. Solas appears to be protective of them --as if he knows them but they can’t ever place him-- but when they try to catch his attention, his interest vanishes. 

They hum to themself as they slip on their tattered cloak, too deep in thought to notice the scurrying in the shadows of their quarters. Not until the sticky, wetness of something latching onto their wrist catches their attention. Pinpricks of terror make their hair stand on end and Calliope freezes, not daring to test the strength of whatever wrapped itself about them. Their heartbeat roars in their ears as they hazard a glance down, everything else forgotten but this. Though there is nothing to suggest anything ever touched them. Not a blemish, not even residue from what certainly was a slimy creature. When they push back the long sleeve of their tunic, there is nothing. Just their bare arm and--

What is that?

Ridges of their pale flesh seem to be jutting up slightly, creating a sort of ripple texture along the inside of their wrist. Welts the size of small coins dot along the back of their hand and palm, irritated and discolored. That terror turns into an icy panic as Calliope checks over the rest of their left hand, thrown from the need to stay frozen in place. A mirror was provided some time in the last several days so they could properly braid their hair back --something they had asked for to retain some form of control while regaining the use of their hand-- and they scramble over to it in a frenzy. There’s more than just the welts and ridges in their flesh; when they look into the glass their eyes are no longer a pale blue, they are a sickly, red rimmed green. Like the Breach. That damned thing that scars the sky and taunts them, speaks to them in their nightmares. 

That sticky sensation returns, creeping up the back of their neck while they raise their left arm up to the mirror. In  horror they watch as three of the innumerable welts slowly peel back the skin on heir hand, revealing demonic eyes that look back at them intelligently. Almost in a question. Throughout, the whispers have been silent; no buzz at the edges of their hearing. Now they rise to a scream that echoes and bounces off the inside of their skull. All nonsense, or perhaps every language on the material plane. Calliope does not know. Only that they feel the rush of being swallowed up by it, entirely consumed by whatever has trapped them here in this moment. Something that they can only later describe as other or eldrtich.

 Minutes or seconds tick by --even hours, for all they can tell-- before the door opens and startles Calliope back from the mirror. They don’t register who enters, glancing wildly at the figure and then back into the glass. Yet the eyes are no longer there. The sickly green of their own irises are however, as are the ridges and welts. Confusion replaces Calliope’s anxiety while they stare and try  hard to comprehend what the hell just happened. 

“Ser Lavellan?” 

Again, Calliope looks to the ill timed guest. There’s a face they recognize; chest length red hair that falls from beneath a deep purple hood, chainmail clinks on the outside of her robes. Leliana. It’s just Leliana. 

“I-- yes? Apologies, I think I must have spooked myself,” they murmur, still distracted but not enough to ignore her presence. 

“Do you need a healer? That arm doesn’t look good.” 

Self conscious, Calliope slips the thick woolen sleeve back over their arm and they shake their head numbly, “No. I--will speak to someone later about it. There’s no pain. It--seems that the Mark has made changes without my permission.” 

There’s a long, heavy silence between the two of them. It’s obvious Leliana is at a loss for words and Calliope is too in shock to say much, not even as they move towards the door. Stiff and unsure of themself. Perhaps Solas or Artemaeus will know more. For now they need  to not think of it and are grateful that the whispers fade to a soft white noise. 

“I came to see if you wanted to meet with the others in the Chantry. Do you think you can manage that?” Leliana asks, stepping to the side briefly for Calliope. 

“I will try. That is all I can do.” 

At least the cold is a welcome distraction this time around. Soothes rather than stabs them, though Calliope is sure that will change if they spend too long outside. The sun is high and bright in the pale blue green sky, the rift sealed but still puffed and raw --like an infected wound. They merely glance at it before narrowing their eyes back down at the muddy ground, careful not to sink too deep into the muck. Suddenly they are very thankful for the boots they were encouraged to take with them. Nice and soft on the inside, perfect to combat the freezing temperatures; wrapped with some cords that jingle with wooden and bone charms. A bit of home to carry with them. The sound comforts Calliope while they follow Leliana off to the large building just beyond the trail.

It’s a short walk, just a few minutes up a long dirt path that winds around a fire pit and various tents. Calliope prepares themself for another round of vitriol, unable to forget the guard who threw that rock. But nothing comes. In fact the people that do gather whisper amongst themselves in awe, or perhaps even reverence. Though that unsettles Calliope as much --if not more-- than the hate spewed days before. Why the change in tone? 

One of the group is another familiar face -- Varric. Laughter lines crease his cheeks as he watches Calliope approach; how he can be so jovial they’re not entirely sure. But it is a comfort to see, and even makes their mouth twitch into a small smile. Or a semblance of one. He doesn’t stop with the others and in fact begins walking in line with two of them; Leliana gives him a nod of recognition as he does so. It quickly crosses Calliope’s mind that he’s wearing a coat that seems much too large for him -- the puffs of dense wool obscures much of his face, and the blocky shape of the leather makes his movements stiff. A complete wonder how he can even walk in it. 

“Spin a story that convinced them?” he asks with a wink. 

“I think so. They found my tales of a nug tripping me and slaying a dragon in the process very compelling,” they respond tiredly, “I managed to slip in a bit about your gorgeous chest hair as well.” 

Varric laughter is a deep, resounding bellow that brightens Calliope’s smile by a fraction. Though they note a slight change when he fully looks them over, his unobscured eyes taking in the changes from when they last saw each other. 

“Kid, are you feeling alright?” 

“That seems to be the question of the day,” Calliope sighs. Their breath comes in clouds before them, “The Mark has made changes. I wish I could say I knew what was happening, but for now I think I’ll be fine.” 

“You should let Chuckles know, if he hasn’t found out already.” 

That gives them pause, it’s a good suggestion and begs the question--does he? Why has he not alerted anyone if he does? 

A frown spreads across Calliope’s face and they give a short nod, “I’ll let him know after the meeting. Though I’m not sure what can be done about it.” 

“Who knows, but for all his oddness he’s pretty good at keeping it in check.” 

Another comment that makes them think too hard. What does Solas know? If the Mark and the Voice are connected, he should know of that but has never said a word about them. Did he...know this would happen as well? Calliope swallows hard and pushes those thoughts out of their mind, thankful that the large doors of the Chantry have finally come into full view. It’s harder to worry about hypotheticals when something so big is looming over you. 

“I’ll keep you posted, how does that sound?” Calliope asks, glancing his way. 

“Yeah, sure. Long as you take care of yourself, kid, that’s all that matters.”

His voice is too soft when he responds, as if a great sadness has settled in his bones-- but Calliope doesn’t draw attention to it. Not yet. Instead they try on a bigger smile for him and gesture to his much too large coat. Throngs of people start to gather around them but Calliope is too busy with Varric, the others --and their growing anxiety-- can wait. He’s been nothing but kind to them. 

“If you promise to find a better coat then I promise to do as you ask. How about that?” 

Another bellowing laugh escapes Varric, so much so there’s a jingle from the golden ringed necklace that rests on his chest. Warmth floods Calliope when they hear that, their anxiety melts away for the moment. Though they can’t help but notice the large group around them in their periphery, ever whispering, looking. 

“Does it really look that bad?” 

“Oh yes, it makes you look like a walking box,” Leliana interjects with a smirk. Calliope startles when she speaks, having forgotten she was there. She’s always so quiet.  

Calliope’s smile widens at her response, however, “Someone had to have given it to him as a joke, right?” 

“I think it was a gift from Cassandra, so something like that.” 

“Ah, that would explain it.” 

“Alright, alright! I’m sure there’s a tailor around here somewhere. You two do your important meeting and I’ll fix this disaster of a coat,” Varric snorts, rolling his eyes with affection. A welcome sight as the throng stares and Calliope’s anxiety spikes to another unimaginable height. Both Leliana and Varric take notice quickly; the one ushering Calliope into the warmer, darker Chantry, while the other bustles through the crowd, breaking some of it up. 

Inside the old, creaking building there’s a sort of calm you only find among places of worship. Though it doesn’t feel nearly as ancient of a peace as Calliope is used to. It makes their chest ache, thinking back to the sprawling temple to Falon’Din that sat deep within the Graves. How much that single ruin felt like home. Here in the torchlight, hundreds of miles from their home, Calliope brushes their fingers along the stone walls of the Chantry and wishes to be back in that flooded sanctuary, surrounded by statues of their gods that have stood against the test of time. 

The once rich but faded golds and reds of Andrastian tapestries feel familiar but foreign at the same time.  Moldy furniture and dusty books surround them, old stained glass still shining brightly in the mid morning sun. Casting rays of colors all across the muddy floor. Their mother once spoke of these places, how they brought her comfort when the world was at its worst. Not because of the religion itself, but how gentle it was in those moments where no one noticed her and she could slip off without alerting anyone. There is a remnant of that here while Leliana and Calliope slowly walk across to another pair of large, ornate doors. Symbols of the religion embossed into the dark wood, a sunburst set into the seam where you would pull them open. Familiar but still foreign. They feel like they shouldn’t be here, even in the momentary peace.

That nasally voice from days before pierces right through the calm the moment the doors swing open and Calliope can’t help but make a face of disgust. This man again? Another shemlen who thinks he knows what is right and what is wrong, Creators forbid you tell him otherwise. Chancellor Roderick stands in his white, gold, and crimson red robes to the side of a large wooden table covered in maps, and what looks like small figurines. Curious, Calliope focuses on what that could possibly mean before looking around to the others flanking the Chantry man. All humans, it seems. Another man and two women, one of which is Cassandra. 

The other man has curly blonde hair, in a slicked back style that interests Calliope --they wonder briefly how he can keep it so neat and tidy in this weather. His armor bears the many sunbursts that can be found through the building, a mix of gold and cold steel. Rich red fabric and dark furs hang around his tall, muscular form. Though his complexion and under eye bags speak of illness, sunken cheeks and a listless gaze. Perhaps he has the Blight? 

“...Roderick, save your breath,” the man murmurs, catching Calliope staring as they enter the room. 

“Why is the prisoner continuously not restrained?” 

Roderick does not waste any time on saving his breath. 

“I’m afraid chains would not do you any good, Chancellor. Has Cassandra not told you I practice magic? I could simply look at you and you’d be a crispy husk,” Calliope rolls their eyes, eliciting a snort from both the new man and the aforementioned Seeker. Though the latter seems to think that much funnier than the ill human. 

“Andaran atish’an, Ser Lavellan,” another voice cuts through the Chancellors rebuttal. 

This time it’s the new woman, dressed in swatches of golden fabric lined with thick, lightly colored and patterned furs. Necklaces hang from her soft, tan neck and glint just as her brilliant smile does. Long, dark hair frames her face in perfectly set curls that are then braided to be kept out of her eyes. Honestly, she seems much too warm and gentle to be in this situation at all, but that is exactly why Calliope assumes she is. Never underestimate the sweet ones. 

They smile back at her when greeted in elven, and bow their head respectively, “Pleased to meet you, even under these circumstances.” 

There is a sound of derision from Roderick that has both Calliope and Cassandra looking his way with annoyance, the former feeling a coil of anger build in their chest. 

“What, do I offend you?” Calliope asks, raising a pale eyebrow at him. 

“These circumstances are of your own doing, of course you have offended me! The Divine is dead and here you stand, still alive.” 

“Shocking as it may seem, Chancellor, I did not kill your Divine. In fact I have been exonerated of all charges. Cassandra told me as much several days ago as I was recovering. While I don’t remember what made her change her mind, I’m inclined to think it was compelling evidence.” 

This time there’s another amused snort from the ill man and he looks up at Calliope, dark eyes sparkling a bit in the lamp light. 

“Careful, you keep prodding him and he might  explode.” 

Roderick once again opens his mouth, but quickly shuts it when Cassandra steps in with a scowl his way and a glance at Calliope. There is a brief moment where her expression turns from irritation to concern when she makes note of the change of Calliope’s eye color, which does make them wonder if they should wander about with their eyes shut from now on. 

“I believe we have some introductions to get out of the way,” the Seeker says, shaking the worry off expertly, “You know Sister Leliana, our Spymaster.” 

Leliana bows her head at the mention, smiling just a touch for Calliope who manages one in return. It’s the least they can do after her friendliness towards them. 

“Our Ambassador, Josephine Montilyet. She is an expert in keeping the peace,” Cassandra gestures to the woman full of warmth, and then finally at the ill seeming man, “This is Commander Cullen Rutherford, you would have met him at the Temple but we know how that went.” 

“I was nearly decapitated, apparently. Which I’m sure Roderick would have been pleased by,” they scoff, glancing away from Cassandra to watch the priest. He does nothing but stare right back, wrinkling his nose. 

“We are lucky you weren’t, otherwise we would not be able to do what we’re doing now,” Cassandra responds, cutting in before Roderick can get a word out. 

Something about that comment unsettles Calliope, makes them seriously consider the Seeker. She had said something about wanting them to stay, that there was danger following them possibly and they didn’t have anything on the Mark yet. Yet this doesn’t seem to be what she’s talking about. 

“I’m assuming we found something when we closed the Breach? What are we doing now?” 

A heavy silence descends upon the room like a thick blanket, extinguishing all sound so much so that the whispers come in loud bursts and Calliope’s pointed ears flutter uncomfortably. They wait for someone to say something, anything at all; nerves standing on end. 

“We saw a vision in the middle of a field of red lyrium that was at the center of the Temple,” Leliana finally speaks, looking from Cassandra to Calliope with a sharp gaze, “Someone or something was there doing a ritual, said that the Divine was meant as a sacrifice. Then you came out of the shadows to ask what was going on. That was when the Rift broke open.” 

A chill runs down Calliope’s spine, that familiar build up of anxious energy. Their eyes dart to the candles flickering just beyond the table, and one of them forms a tall pillar of fire before simmering back down again. No one seems to notice, not even Roderick who is barely paying attention to anything at all. 

“That’s good to know but that doesn’t answer my question. What are we doing now?” Calliope repeats, their gaze hardening. The whispers buzz in anticipation, shadows dancing in their peripheral vision. Once again there’s silence but it’s short lived. 

“The Divine created a writ in case her plan failed to restore peace between the mages and the templars,” Cassandra responds quietly, and taps a book on the table with a gloved hand. It is thick and old, filled with secrets Calliope assumes. 

“What does that mean?” they ask, shifting their weight nervously. 

“We are going to rebuild a group called the Inquisition, to find the Divine’s killer and end the conflict that led to her death. We could also use it to clean up after what happened with the Breach,” the Commander answers for her, and Calliope raises an eyebrow at those gathered around the table. 

“It must be invoked by both of the Divine’s Hands, and will be with or without Chantry approval,” Cassandra says, shooting a withering glance at Roderick who sighs. 

“You know how I feel about this Seeker-” 

“And I don’t care. This is the only way, you know that!” 

“We need to find a replacement for the Divine and quickly! None of this Inquisition nonsense will help us now.” The room descends into arguments and raised voices as everyone attempts to speak over the priest, who in turn raises his whine of a voice to disgustingly new levels. Anxiety and rage make the air thick, too hard to breathe, too hard to move in. From their spot at the other side of the space, Calliope watches that candle flicker once, twice, three times before it erupts into a roaring fire. All of their despair and nervousness centered on one singular wick that burns so brightly it lights up the entire room, banishing the shadows back to where they came. It’s certainly one way to get everyone’s attention. 

Their arguments dwindle into nothing as they scramble to get away from the fire just as it starts to fizzle out and become a smoking ember. Consumed, wax and all, by Calliope’s magical presence. Embarrassment washes over them at the sight but they manage to hold it together while each pair of eyes comes back to settle on them. Calliope finally breaks the silence, that slimy sensation threading through their skin as they say in almost a snarl, pointedly at Roderick --who had decided to argue.

“Create your Inquisition, we replace the Divine and find her Killer. Maybe get answers about what the fuck happened to my hand. Does that sound good?” 

There’s only a beat of silence before Roderick mumbles what could be a ‘yes’, easing Calliope’s volatile mood but not that horrific feeling of otherness wrapped around their wrist. 

“We--should get you in touch with a proper Enchanter, I think,” Cullen comments in shock. A blurting out of words, really. 

“There are mages here I can learn from, if it will soothe your fears, Commander Rutherford.”

“Perhaps we should take a recess? Cool down before we talk about our next steps.” 

It’s Josephine who speaks, light and airy. Unperturbed on the outside by what just happened but the tremble in her hands as she grips her important parchments says otherwise. Calliope doesn’t blame her. 

There’s a note of tiredness and defeat to their tone when they speak again, “I will get my magic under control, it’s been harder since the Mark. I’m sorry for scaring anyone. A recess would be good.” 

[freebooter4ever]

i’ve seen the discussion going back and forth on boundaries and sexual objectification, and i don’t have much to add to the conversation other than to say everyone is allowed to determine their OWN ‘lines’ and just because we don’t vocalize them doesn’t make them any less valid. but here’s the limits i set for my blog if anyone feels it is important for them to know (<3):

personally I consider ‘characters’ fair game for anything goes, with ‘public personas’ a little more iffy. ‘RPF’ isn’t new - it just takes on a new more accessible/visible form nowadays. i remember reading my first fic about a ‘real person’ back in my LOTR fandom days - it was a story in first person perspective about the main character meeting orlando bloom on a plane before he was ‘famous’. like a lot of these types of stories, it wasnt so much about the person as it was about the meet cute. the actor was just a convenient placeholder with a handsome face and some personality quirks thrown in to make the romance/dialogue more specific. i personally dont read much xReader fic nowadays, but mostly only cause i’m an old fart who can’t relate to the ‘you’ format. i miss the good old days when people actually created OC’s and then inserted them into things LOL. but also LOL if you think i’ve gone an entire year of quarantine without some imagined personal fantasies of joe mazzello (or steve aoki in the years before)(ramilicious can attest to this. she can also attest to most of these fantasies ending in friendship rather than anything explicit cause that’s just how i roll these days lol). the line i draw is i would never post these types of fics in a place where the subject could accidentally find them - you have to go looking for this stuff on tumblr, most fics are given explicit ratings and under read-mores. with the blacklist tags it’s pretty easy to filter things out. its even easier to add filters to ao3 searches. i am NOT going to do something like message steve aoki and say ‘yeah i watched that movie Ibiza like five times, here is my 1k fic where you’re the dj and i’m the one night stand’. but obviously people still enjoy imagining scenarios like these otherwise movies like Ibiza wouldn’t exist?

for art, i consider anything already on display up for grabs, we all know a certain person’s ass is all over the place...all you have to do is google ‘need for speed’ and rami’s name. HOWEVER, in the case of actors i personally would not draw anything more explicit than what’s already there. i’m not gonna draw full frontal nudity for rami (unless he gifts us with it in a movie, i suppose) or anyone. this is 100% a personal choice for me. 

i was a sophomore or junior in college when i volunteered as a figure drawing monitor where i’d time the nude model’s poses and help them set up the stage and lighting and such. there was this one guy in his mid forties probably, a regular who came every week, and i always thought of him fondly till one day (the day after i ran into my Hot Programming TA during dinner and later sent him an email begging him to go on a date with me because i was desperate for kissing experience)(and Hot Programming TA emailed me back within minutes saying yes) this artist guy who i saw all the time and thought i knew fairly well, decided to draw me instead of the model. which would have been fine except he drew me naked. i was NOT naked at the time, i was wearing a shirt, and a bra, and a full prairie skirt with alternating calico and floral patterns. he drew what he imagined was underneath all that. he came up to me after the figure drawing session and showed me his drawings and told me i had been ‘glowing’ and my response was to laugh it off awkwardly and get the hell out of there as soon as i gave the model their pay check. but inwardly i was thinking a) i was NOT glowing for this creepy man twice my age and b) i did NOT give him consent to sexualize my body under my clothes and then SHOW me that objectification. i never said anything to him or anything else, i continued to be the monitor, and i continued to field off creepy advances from him including multiple job offers, but when i finally realized i could just...stop..and i passed the student volunteer monitor job on to my friend naeem, i also realized that what that older male artist did was NOT ok in my book. and it was probably not something he would do while naeem was monitoring.

nowadays im working in an industry that regularly objectifies female bodies. in the past year alone i have had to deal with requests to make breasts bigger, i have been given character rigs that in addition to the usual elbow, knee, and spine joints also have ‘nipple’ joints but ONLY for the women (to make them jiggle for animation), every time i send out a female pose i get it back with notes that push it further into the sexy type of body language reserved for women (twist the spine more! sway the back more! give it ‘energy!’), i have been told to erase wrinkles and fat and pores but ONLY for the women (men you ADD pores bc realism! and manliness!) and this is all me working for a company that is actually fairly progressive in terms of sexism compared to OTHER studios.

like it or not, sexual objectification is a huge part of specifically women’s lives and how we react to that is our business. for me, turning the tables and putting men on display feels like fair’s fair. i cant stop the men from doing it, so if i want to enjoy sexualizing male bodies, damn it im gonna! like dang it, boy do i want to send steve aoki a thank you note every time he posts a video of himself doing those ice baths during the sunset golden hour bc holy shit gorgeous or working out in his gym wearing VERY little clothes, but i dont because i know what its like when someone imposes their personal fantasies on the subject. or, god, there was that time i had to unfollow nicole’s insta for a while bc i had a very explicit dream about her and realized, shit, i need to take a break and get my emotions under control before i can refollow. and god some of the stuff i see dudes sending her during her live videos on mental illness/meditation is TOTALLY gross and not something they should be confronting her with. and she’s not even ‘famous’ famous. or how some fans send their idols explicit direct messages without consent. THAT feels inappropriate to me.

a part of me feels like i shouldn’t have to defend this. men don’t. they’re even encouraged in mass media to sexualize women. but i also recognize the importance of talking about consent. the importance of recognizing that a celebrity deserves to have their boundaries respected. these are my lines in fandom. other people have different lines they won’t cross, and that’s okay to me. i block or blacklist any blogs or tags i think go over the top.

heck, even in fandom-only spaces i still try to keep my own more sexual fantasies off this blog and only in private messages with my friends and mutuals, and i feel like that might come across as unintentionally prudish or judgmental sometimes. i’m not ‘horny on main’ very often. but like...every time i reblog that particular ‘washing machine’ gif of joe mazzello am i thinking about him naked and thinking about how he’s got very loooooong feet, and ‘gee i wonder if that means /other/ things are Too Big for my tastes’ but also ‘gosh wouldnt that make a pretty picture to draw’???? hell yeah.

i dont know who is gonna actually read this essay but yolo i guess :)

[justimagineitblog]

“You Used To Love Me” Michael Gray Fan Fiction - Chapter 10

A/N: Alright this one broke and mended my heart all at once while I was writing it - goddamn these characters hahahahaha. 

WARNINGS: Swearing, Violence, Guns, Death, Alcohol - 

I know I’ve used swear words in previous chapters but this one is quite heavily riddled with it, I also thought I’d warn that there are mentions of death in this one my loves - it’s nothing too full on and I don’t go into heavy descriptions but I just felt like this one needed a warning just incase x

As always, please enjoy xx 

As the alarm goes off, Charlie and I both jolt awake in bed. It only takes a few moments to realise that it’s almost half an hour past when we were supposed to be up.

“Fuck!” He shouts as he jumps out of the bed, ripping the sheets back. He’s going on a work trip this weekend with his brother, and if the time on the clock is correct, then the car should be pulling up any moment. 

I tear myself out of the bed after him, frantically running around with him to help him get ready. 

“Charlie your suit case is in here!” I call as I hear him fumbling around my apartment for his luggage. He runs back into the room, tearing through the cupboards for his suit. 

He strips naked right in front of me, and I can’t help but laugh at how much of a mess this is as I try and help him get his suit on. 

“He’s gonna kill me if I’m late” he stresses, his hands desperately trying to do up his buttons but he fails. This is a big weekend for their business. If he’s late or messes his up, I know how horrible he will feel about it for a long time. 

“Hey, just breathe okay, let me do this” I coo, swatting his hands away as I do his buttons up for him. 

He nods, closing his eyes and drawing in a deep breath. Once his shirt is buttoned up he takes off again, scurrying around gathering all his paper work, luggage and some how wriggling his shoes on. We both jump in fright as the beeping of a horn below signals that his car is here. 

Swearing repeatedly, he runs to the door, but freezes right before he walks out. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry” he breathes, turning back to me with a shaking his head.

“Stop, it’s okay” I promise him, my hands on his chest as I straighten his tie and jacket “You’re gonna be amazing” 

With a relieved smile, he presses his lips against mine. I hold his face, trying to soak up as much of him as I can. 

“I’ll miss you, don’t get in any trouble while I’m gone eh?”

“Me?” I furrow my brows “I have no idea what you’re talking about” 

He laughs, pulling me in for another kiss. 

“Okay, okay you have to go” I chuckle as the car horn continues to beep downstairs. He gives me a few last pecks and before I know it he’s gone, running down the hallway, leaving me flustered in his wake. 

I run over to the window, watching as he gets in the car and gives me one last wave. I return the gesture, blowing him a kiss that he pretends to catch as the car pulls away and disappears from my sight. 

Slinking back through my apartment I collapse lazily back into my bed, arms and legs flailed in every direction as I fall back asleep. 

LATER THAT AFTERNOON

“Hello?”

“Hi you” 

I smile as Charlie’s voice speaks like honey through the phone line. 

“Miss me already?” I tease.

“Most definitely” he replies, when suddenly the sound of excitement and hollering fills the phone.

“The deal went well then?” I chuckle at his excitement.  

“The deal went… incredibly,” he begins, trying to speak over the mens in the background “Actually, we made an ever bigger deal than we originally planned on… they want to financially support the entire business, Izzy”

“Oh my god, Charlie, that’s amazing!” I exclaim 

“I was gonna wait to tell you when I got home but… Izzy I think we’re going to move up here” 

My jaw drops as I press the phone closer to my ear to make sure I heard him right. When I don’t reply, he begins to fill in the blanks eagerly. 

“They want us to move up here Izzy, they want to support us and the whole business-“

The weight of what he’s actually saying begins to wash over me as a million questions leap and bound through my mind. 

“Charlie-“ I stutter “You’ve been there for 5 hours” I blurt out, glancing at the clock. 5 hours. That’s barely enough time to decide you want to move 3 hours away. Permanently. 

“I know, I know, but we just made the biggest deal of our lives… I’ve gotta follow this Izzy”

“Oh my god” I breathe, trying to sound excited but doing an absolutely horrid job of hiding my shock. 

“That’s not why I wanted to call you though, I think I have a proposition for you” I hold my breath. So far, I couldn’t have predicted this conversation even if I tried. I have no idea what is about to come out of his mouth.

“Well you see, I told him I wasn’t moving up here unless they set us up with a proper home because…” He takes a deep breath before blurting out his next words “I want you to come with me, Izzy” 

The second the words leave his mouth I freeze. Go with him. Did he just ask me to move away with him? Move three hours away? Away from my home. The place I grew up. Away from my job. Away from the Shelby’s. 

“Izzy? Izzy are you there? What do you think?” I hear his muffled voice asking through the phone as I snap back into reality. Heat rises up my neck and over my face as I fumble for my words. 

“What do I think?” I echo his words. I don’t know what I think. Actually, I’m thinking way to much.

“I know it’s a lot. You don’t have to pack your bags right now. I’ll tell you all about it when I get home” 

Pack my bags?

My breath quickens as do my racing thoughts and heart rate. 

“Okay, I have to go!” he rushes quickly as the shouting and hollering behind him gets louder, urging him to go and join the celebrations. 

And just like that, the phone line goes silent. I stand in the lurch for minute after minute trying to digest what just happened. I fumble for a chair,  trying to steady myself as I sit down. The whole conversation was such a rush and a whirlwind that I feel physically light headed. 

We’ve only been together for a month. 

But if I don’t move away with him, is that the end of us? We would hardly be able to visit one another during the week. And even weekends aren’t always free. Between both of our work schedules, how would we ever make time. Three hours away. That’s no short trip. If anything happened back here, I wouldn’t be able to get back in a hurry. What if Tommy got into trouble? And Arthur? What if Polly needed me? And then the most regretful, dreaded thought crosses my mind. What about Michael? 

I feel physically ill. I can’t move. I can’t do this. The phone that’s rested in my lap begins to ring obnoxiously, frightening me so badly I almost throw it clean across the room. Maybe I should. Maybe I should break the goddamn thing. 

“Shit” I hiss, running a hand through my hair as my heart pounds so hard it feels like it might just jump straight out of my chest. 

I yank the phone towards my ear, completely exhausted and flustered. 

“Izzy? Darling it’s Polly” 

I sigh, trying to calm myself down enough to sound somewhat normal and coherent.

“Hi Poll, what’s up?”

“Look don’t panic, we just need you to come down here okay”

The tight nervousness of her voice snaps me straight out of my cloudy, foggy state.

“Polly what’s going on?” I reply urgently, standing up from my chair in a panic.

“It’s alright. Just come down to the office okay? We’ve got a client here and-” she pauses as voices in the background get louder and I strain desperately to hear who is there “We just need you to go over some things”

“I’m coming now” I hang up the phone immediately. 

Something isn’t right. 

I race out the door without my coat, my hand bag, anything. I don’t even bother trying to be subtle as I run through the streets, tearing my way through people and around corners until I see the office ahead. As I get closer the fear in the pit of my stomach grows bigger and bigger. 

Polly never sounds like that. What the hell is going on. What am I about to find inside. 

The sound of sudden shouting from inside sends a crashing wave of fear and adrenaline through me as I burst into the office through the back door. What I find when I walk in sends my stomach into back flips. I freeze, almost tripping over my own feet from stopping to abruptly. 

All heads shoot towards me. Tommy, Arthur, Polly and Michael. They look terrified, there eyes wide with panic as they’re stood at the edges of the room, their backs practically up against the walls. And it doesn’t take me long to figure out why. My eye’s immediately fall over a man stood in the middle of the room. 

He’s standing amidst the office desks which have been flipped and smashed all over the floor. Paper is thrown everywhere. I would call him a stranger, but he’s not. I know this man. We all know this man. He is a client. Bill Rodgers. 

I have seen him a few times. Met with him. Met his wife and children. He pays donations to us once a month, in return, we look after his family if they ever need anything. A simple agreement. We do that for a lot of families around here. He’s never been overly warm. But friendly enough. And I don’t know him incredibly well. But it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to realise there is something wrong. Besides the fact that the office is a mess. With chairs, desks and tables scattered across the room. Paper work everywhere. Bill stands in the middle of it all. 

His doing I assume. 

And he is completely wasted. I can smell it on him. All the way from the door way, my nose catches the distinct smell of whiskey. It almost fills the room. You have to drink bottles of whiskey, or spend days on end inside of a pub to smell like that. Even the way he stands, head to the floor, grumbling, swaying. Muttering to himself. But that’s not even the most concerning thing. No. The most concerning thing about Mr Rodgers is not his drunken stupor. 

But the pistol that he is clutching in his hand. 

I swallow hard when I see it. I glance to the floor, where I realise they have placed all of their guns. 

He must have demanded them to drop their guns. 

What I cannot figure out, about Bill, is what the hell he wants. He has never caused any trouble. Never gotten in trouble with the law. Never betrayed us. What the hell is doing here in a drunken rage with a gun?

“Bill,” Tommy begins, his arms outstretched to him “This is Isabelle” 

I glance nervously at Tommy as he signals for me to come over to stand beside him. I rush over to his side, and he steps in front of me ever so slightly.  Bill looks up at me gravely, through the disheveled hair falling in his face.  I try to hold his eyes, staying calm and gentle. In his state, anything could set him off. 

“And what is she gonna do about it huh?” He growls “They’re dead Tommy” 

“Bill-“

“No, Tommy” he shouts “I pay you donations every month, yeah, and you look after my family in return. BUT THEY’RE GONE! THEY’RE GONE TOMMY!” His voice grows louder as he waves his arms in the air, and we all take a few steps back as we watch the pistol in his clutch nervously. 

Tommy opens his mouth to speak, but I beat him to it. 

“Bill,” I say gently and he shoots his eyes in my direction “Just tell me what happened, and I can help you. Whatever you need. But I have to know how to help you first”

He stares at me, reluctantly, angrily, before something seems to give. 

“They’re dead” He breathes “Sarah, and my boys. I was out, and the house was robbed. They stole everything and killed my fucking family” 

My heart drops. He lost his family. All of them. This man is hurting. He is in pain.  We are supposed to provide protection. His house being robbed is something none of us could have prevented, or helped, but he has just lost his entire family, and he’s looking for someone to blame. 

I can’t believe my own actions when I find myself walking slowly towards him. I feel everyone in the room tense, as I do. This man may normally be harmless, but right now he is intoxicated and armed. And I’m walking straight into it. 

“Izzy, don’t” I hear Tommy’s voice hiss so silently I almost miss it. But I ignore him. 

“Bill, we can help you okay” I take another slow, weary step towards him treading so lightly I barely make a sound “We can find the men who did this, but I just need you to put your gun down for me”

He sways, seeming to lose his stability. The whiskey coursing through him right now must be making him see double. 

Suddenly he bursts into sobs, and I almost jump out of my skin. He sinks to the floor, falling among the debris in a pile of sobs and cries. 

Keeping my eyes firmly glued on the gun, I lower myself to his level. 

“No one can help me” he whimpers in between cries. 

“We can help you, I promise” I breathe, the stench of whiskey slapping me in the face and burning my nostrils as I shuffle closer and closer. I’m only inches away from him. Close enough to reach out and take the gun from his lose grip. With one head in his hands, and the other hanging by his side, he’s so distraught I don’t even think he would notice. 

I hear feet shuffling around me, as they all begin to reach for their guns just incase. 

I hold my breath, praying over and over again silently to myself as I extend my arm. My hand shaking as I close in on the pistol. 

But the second my skin touches his, my hand brushing the pistol ever so slightly as I almost grab a hold of it, it sets him off like a match igniting a bomb.  His giant stature lurches upwards as he roars with rage. Happening all to fast for me to comprehend, or even try to escape, he shoves me with a brute force that I’ve never felt before. He pummels me, bashing me up against the wall, the back of my head colliding with it so loudly against it that I think I black out momentarily as everything goes white. My ears, are ringing, piercing and loud and I only just begin to comprehend what’s happening when I feel his hands around my throat. 

His forehead is pressed roughly against mine, his thick breath hot and drenched in pungent alcohol as his chest rises and falls heavily. I grab at his hands, clawing desperately to try and pry them off as his grip tightens. He shakes me like a rag doll, shoving me so harshly into the wall that I’m just waiting for it to give way. He stares at me with rage, with ferocity that I have never seen before. Frozen, paralysed in fear, all I can do is stare back into them. 

The sound of gun chambers cocking all around us catches his attention, and suddenly I’m being pulled away from the wall. He spins me around, and the blow to my head as well as lack of oxygen disorients me completely. It’s not until I feel the burning of cold metal against my temple that I come back to my senses. Bill is stood behind me, one arm around my chest to keep me still, my back pressed against him. The other hand, is pressing the barrel of his pistol against the side of my skull. 

I stiffen immediately, not even breathing as he faces me towards the Tommy, Arthur, Polly and Michael, who all have their guns aimed at him. 

“PUT THE FUCKING GUNS DOWN OR I’LL BLOW HER BRAINS OUT ALL OVER THESE WALLS” He screams at them, his booming voice almost defeating me in one ear as he presses the pistol harder against my head. 

Tommy, Polly and Arthur drops their guns to the floor immediately. 

But Michael doesn’t budge. 

Our eyes lock, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so terrified. He is completely pale, all the blood drained from his face as he aims the gun at Bill’s head. 

“Just put the gun down” I whimper, and he shakes his head frantically, refusing to. 

“Let go of her” he growls through clenched teeth, his voice cracking and shaking.

My ears prick as Bill cocks the gun, the chamber clicking.

“An eye for an eye huh,” Bill breathes, beginning to sob again “I fucking kill her and then we’re even for you not protecting my fucking boys”  

“Bill let her go” Tommy warms, holding his arms out to him “We are going to find the men that did this and when we do, they are going to get what they deserve. But this…” she shakes his head “This isn’t the answer”

My eyes dart from Tommy back to Michael, who has not moved an inch, gun still aimed. 

“I TOLD YOU TO PUT THAT FUCKING GUN DOWN” Bill shouts at Michael, completely ignoring Tommy’s words. 

“Michael” I plead desperately, dread washing over me so heavily that I feel ill. I watch as he shakes his head, refusing. His wide open, panic strike eyes have turned glassy, and I can feel tears stinging and biting at my own eyes.  

“It’s okay,” I breathe, giving him the smallest nod I can manage with the pistol against my head “Just put it down” 

His eyes flicker between me and Bill, and I have to fight to not release a harsh exhale of relief as he lowers his gun to the ground. 

“There you go Bill, all the guns are down, now let us talk to you eh?” Tommy negotiates, trying to sound as calm and gentle as he can. But I can see his palpating jaw. His tense body. The veins in his neck bulging from holding his breath. He is the furthest thing from calm. 

For a moment I feel Bill’s grip loosen, and in my peripheral I can see the pistol fall away from my head as his arms falls to his side. 

He’s letting his guard down. 

I shut my eyes, taking a shaky breath in through my nose. 

“You’re going to find them” he growls his orders at Tommy “And when you find them, I’m going to kill them” 

“Bill…” Tommy shakes his head, trying to be as polite as possible “Bill I can’t let you do that. If you kill them, they’ll only send you to jail… just let us take care of it-“

“TAKE CARE OF IT!” He screams, and I can’t help a whimper from escaping my mouth “YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO TAKE CARE OF MY FAMILY. BUT YOU DIDN’T-“

Tommy opens his mouth, to try and say anything that will calm him, appease him. But once bill has been set off, there is no taming the fire that is his rage. I should have known. There is no reasoning with a drunk man. 

With a grieving man. 

“No, no, this is your fault” I feel him nodding his head behind me as he points the gun at all of them “This is your fault, and you’re the ones who are going to fucking pay. YOU’RE ALL GOING TO FUCKING PAY”

His cry is the one of a final war cry, and I know what’s coming next. 

The next moments of my life feel like they are in slow motion. Suddenly the barrel of the gun is pressed straight up against my head again as he shoves it against my temple. The last thing I see is Tommy, Polly, and Arthur lunging forward, all shouting and begging for Bill to stop before it’s to late. 

This is it.  This is the last thing I’m going to hear.  The last thing I’m going to feel is the end of a pistol pressed again my skull, before I feel nothing at all. Please let it be painless. 

A single gun shot fires into the atmosphere. 

I expect nothingness. More black. Maybe heaven. Or hell. Though I’m not ever sure if I believed in God. 

But I feel myself breathing, my chest still rising and falling. I hadn’t even realised I had squeezed my eyes shut when they shoot open to find myself still in the office. 

I’m alive.

The first thing I see is Michael. His gun aimed not at me, but at where Bill had been standing.

It wasn’t Bill’s gun that fired. It was Michael’s. 

Bill is dead.

Everything washes over me all at once. Relief. Horror. Fear. Adrenaline. My head is pounding, and entire body feels like I’m floating. Completely weak and empty. Not strong enough to stand, and having lost all feeling in my body, I feel myself collapsing to the floor. 

Right before I hit the ground, I find myself falling right into a pair of arms. All noise is muffled, and I feel completely numb as I almost completely pass out for a moment. The only thing I can hear is the throbbing and pounding of my head. It’s not until I come back around moments later that I realise whose arms I’m in. 

They’re familiar arms. Strong. Firm. I’ve felt this exact grip before. They way the seem to hold me together. I thought I had forgotten how they felt. But I still know them anywhere. 

Michael. 

He scoops me up with desperation, and I don’t know who is clinging on to who as he holds onto me like its his life that depends on it. The only thing stopping me from crashing to the floor is him. His arms has envelope me completely, engulfing me in like a safety net. Wrapping me up in a way that I’ve only ever experienced with Michael. 

My body and mind still completely disoriented, I find myself only being able to cry. That’s the only thing that comes out. With my face buried in his chest, he holds the back of my head, pressing me so close to him I can barely even breath. But I don’t care. I’m alive. 

“You’re okay, you’re okay, I’ve got you” He chants frantically against my ear, and I can’t tell who he is trying to calm down more. Me or himself. 

Beneath his chest, I can hear his heart racing. It pounds loudly against my ear. His grip on me never lets up, he doesn’t budge whatsoever. He just holds me. Let’s me sob, staining through his shirt. Everything else fades out. Everything seems to go away. Not just Bill’s attack. It’s like the last few months haven’t even happened. Nothing else matters right now except for the fact that I’m in his arms. 

I feel a pair of trembling hands on my face and when I look up I find my eyes opening into Michael’s. His eyes are wide, panic filled and pooling with tears. As we stare at one another, it’s almost like he can’t quite believe I’m in his arms right now. Even though it’s over now, he still has residue terror all over his face. I know he thought that he was about to lose me for good. Forever. 

Up until now I’ve barely been able to take a full breath or even begin to stop hyperventilating. But something about the hold his eyes have on me begins to centre me. I feel myself being grounded. Like I’m coming back to my surroundings. Those serene blue eyes give me something to anchor to as the panic slowly but surely leaves my system. 

Without even meaning to we find our foreheads pressed to each others, his grip on my face still firm. 

“Look at me” his voice is barely a whisper, as it shakes, threatening to break completely “You’re safe”

Pulling me back into a hug, he grips onto me so tightly as if I’m going to disappear if he doesn’t. And I don’t want him to let go, because I feel like I might just break and crumble if I don’t have him holding all my pieces together.

TAGLIST 

@shadow-of-wonder

@marvelismylifffe

@saintd0lce

@haphazardhufflepuff

@peaky-things

@burnitup

@swweett-insanityyy​

@ganjeolhiddaeng​

@thoughtfulfreakalpaca

@infinitelycharmed23

@chloeforde

@ashtronomyyyy

@livingforbarnes

@cleverdreamerhoagiewolf

@elleclairez

@marvelschriss

@carezzesuigraffi

@l0tsofpennies

@siliethkaijuy

@ineedabifriend

@bloodorangemoonlight

@maiabiovillage

@yoheyyosup

@hinagiku0

@beth-winchester21

@soleil-dor

@baker151910

@cherrytop02

[rons-hermiones]

Come Find Me

Come Find Me

by rons-hermiones

Summary: Unplanned, Hermione is forced to spend Christmas at the Burrow due to her grandmother falling very ill. After being ignored by Hermione for weeks, Ron is determined to show her how much she means to him. Just before he gets the chance to tell her, Bellatrix Lestrange shows up with other plans for Hermione. Can Ron get to her before it's too late? (Ron/Hermione Half-Blood Prince AU)

Rating: M for language & dark themes in later chapters.

Chapter Forty One

Narcissa jumps from the cot, the old springs squeaking loudly as she does so. 

She throws her hands up in surrender, eyeing the infamous wizard and his wand carefully. “Please. Let me explain.” 

Harry pushed his wand further so the tip brushed her nose, “Don’t you move!”

Narcissa stepped back and nodded. Not only was she in no place to do anything considering her wand was under the cot, but she also didn’t want any trouble. 

“Ron, get up. Wake up.” He hissed to the ginger, nudging him, but being mindful of Hermione.

In response Weasley groaned and pulled Hermione closer. 

Harry flicked his green eyes between Narcissa and his best mate, sighing at the git’s laziness. Seeming to have no other options, he smacks Ron on the shoulder and thankfully, he bolts right up. 

“What’s wrong? What’s going on?” He asks frantically, drawing his wand from underneath his pillow as his gaze instantly lingered on Hermione to make sure she was okay. 

Seeing that Hermione didn’t seem to be in any sort of pain, he suddenly felt more relaxed, placing his wand back on the mattress. 

“Don’t put it down.” Harry says sharply. 

“What? Why?” Ron asks, confused as he feels Hermione begin to stir next to him. 

“Narcissa Malfoy is in your bedroom that’s why!” The Chosen One exams. 

“Oh.” He says casually, “I know.” Ron clarifies. 

Harry’s brow furrows, “Then why are you not doing anything? I’ll stay here, you go get your Mum!” He says. 

“You know I can hear you?” Narcissa asks from the corner of the room. 

They ignore her. 

“I’m not as daft as you might think. I wouldn’t let her in here if I thought she’d hurt Hermione.” He whispers bitterly, standing from the bed. 

The dark haired boy’s mouth goes agape. “Hurt Hermione? Hurt- do you know who that is! Did she hex you or something?” He asks incredulously. 

“Of course I do Harry.” Ron challenges fiercely. “Narcissa Malfoy isn’t here for-” 

“C-Cissy.” Hermione grumbles sleepily upon hearing the name as her eyes flutter open. 

Harry lowers his wand, looking at Ron with wide eyes. “Cissy?” He questions, finally putting it together. 

“That’s what I was trying to tell you.” Ron mumbles. 

Narcissa rushes to Hermione’s side, grabbing her hand and helping her sit up. “I’m here dear.” The woman says softly. 

Her chin is quivering as she stares into the blue eyes, “R-real?” 

Hermione’s doubts break Ron’s heart. The very same thing she asked him when she first woke up in St. Mungo’s. Clearly her grasp on reality is skewed, whether it’s because of the crucitaus curse, the months of torture leaving it’s mark on her, or the nightmares, no matter the case, it’s not fair to her. 

“Yes, yes. I’m not going anywhere.” She promises, stroking her hair gently. 

Harry looked at Ron, not knowing where to begin. There were so many things he wanted to ask, but knew the information he learned from The Daily Prophet this morning was more important. 

Especially now. 

Especially because of her. 

“I’m guessing you haven’t been reading the papers.” Harry says shaikly, pulling the folded black and white pile from his back pocket. 

He unrolls it and hands it to Ron first. 

Missing, the headline reads. 

Prominent witch Narcissa Malfoy, a part of the Noble House of Black has allegedly been missing from the Malfoy estate, sources say. There is speculation as to what happened. Some believe it to be the work of avid Muggleborn supporters starting a war on Purebloods, while some close to the family believe Narcissa herself may have run away. 

Either way, Mrs. Malfoy has not been seen or heard from for a week. A ministry representative says that many have been working tirelessly to find her. Corban Yaxley, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement stated the following “We will stop at nothing to bring her home to her husband and son. Narcissa is a friend of mine and a very respected woman amongst the wizarding world. For someone to jeopardize her status and safety would be foolish. If we discover this was a deliberate act, then people will surely get the war they’ve been talking about for years.”

If you have any information please owl the ministries emergency post. 

In the middle of the page is a portrait of Narcissa Malfoy. One that seems to have been shot the same day as the picture that helped him find Hermione. 

She looks stoic and cold. Nothing like how she is now, soothing the girl he loves. 

“Shite.” Ron whispers. 

This isn’t good for any of them, most of all Hermione. 

Narcissa and Hermione glance at him curiously. 

“Fuck!” He yells kicking his dresser as he drops the paper. 

Cissy picks it up and scans the contents as Hermione joins from over her shoulder. 

After a moment he hears the woman scoff, “Seriously? ‘Narcissa is a friend of mine’, please!” She sounds scandalized, “Yaxley is nothing but a no good, arse k-” 

“As much as I’d love to discuss our hatred toward Voldemort supporters, we have a bit of a bigger problem on our hands, yeah?” Harry interrupts crossly.

Narcissa shuts her mouth tight, but scowls briefly at Potter’s tone. Ron ignores the pair and focuses his attention on Hermione. 

She looks pale and her eyes are wide, gaze perfectly fixed on the front page of the paper. Ron’s large hand on her shoulder breaks her from the trance, making her jump. 

“You alright love?” He whispers tenderly. 

Her brown eyes are glossed over with tears. 

Hermione is brilliant, Ron has always known as much and he didn’t think the past few months changed that, but in a way, that was sort of the problem. 

If he, daft, brainless Ron Weasley easily deduced the subtext of such an article, he’s sure Hermione’s already come up with loads of theories on all the ways this news could go south for them, for her. 

“Be-” She stops speaking, the name is bitter on her lips, “S-sister” Hermione said quietly to Narcissa, tears finally leaking from her eyes. 

Instantly, she engulfs Hermione in her arms, a look of surprise on Harry’s face as she does so. 

“I know dear.” She hushes her cries, “It’ll be alright, I promise.” 

Harry eyes Ron suspiciously, before speaking, “I know this isn’t great news considering we’re harboring a missing person who happens to married to Voldemort’s more loyal supporter-” 

“Harry.” Ron grumbles at his brashness. 

“-But I don’t quite understand what this has got to do with Bellatrix.” 

The name alone makes the brunette’s skin crawl. 

 “While some close to the family believe Narcissa herself may have run away.” Narcissa quotes. 

“I still don’t-” 

“My sister likes you, doesn’t she pet?” Hermione said before her mind could even comprehend the thought of Bellatrix’s words. 

Harry stumbles back at the sudden change of her tone, at the clear spoken venomous words that leave his best friend's lips. Ron suddenly felt sick again, like he did the first time this happened. The only thing stopping him from running to the toilet is the look of utter fear and disgust across Hermione’s own face. 

Who am I? What have I become? I didn’t even want to say that. I can’t control my own mind. It feels like someone- no, Bellatrix, scrambled every thought inside my head and is somehow still bending it to her own will. Maybe I am crazy, maybe I’m becoming a monster… 

She covers her mouth instantly and begins sobbing into her hand, heaving for air. 

Harry is still in stock, but Ron moves to comfort her, when a hand on his arm stops his movement. 

“Go. Let me handle this.” Cissy whispered. 

“I-” Ron stutters, unsure what to say. 

“Take Harry outside, talk somewhere no one will hear. I know you’ve figured out by now that Bellatrix is bound to figure out what happened. Let me help Hermione. I’ve-” She swallows, “I’ve dealt with this before.” Ron can see the heartbreak in her own blue eyes. 

“Please take care of her.” Ron struggles to get out after a moment. 

“Of course.” Narcissa nods, “you have dreamless sleep?” 

“First drawer on the side table.” He whispers, eyeing Hermione’s shaking form, using all his strength to not walk over there.

The blonde nods and begins to go to work. 

“She has to see the healer in an hour, make sure-”

Harry pulls a reluctant Ron out the door, interrupting his attempts at stalling.  

Molly of course questioned them, to which Harry said Hermione was resting so they were getting some fresh air. The matron didn’t ask anything further, but she did eye Ron longer than necessary as he stood silently. 

Once they make it to the garden, it’s the Chosen One who breaks the silence. 

“That’s happened before?” He whispers sadly as guilt seeps into every fiber of him. 

“Once.” Ron replies, voice strained, “in the hospital. Dunno how many times before that only she would.” His gaze is focused on the ground as he speaks. 

“Are you sure we can trust her?” The dark haired boy asks next, his green eyes trained on Ron’s attic window.

 “Hermione does.” Is all he says back. 

And that’s enough. 

For both of them. 

They fall into a tense silence again. Harry doesn’t push it because he can tell the ginger is trying to find the words to say something. 

“Bellatrix. She knows.” Ron eventually whispers. 

“Where Hermione is?” Harry asks fearfully. 

He shakes his head, “No, but it wouldn’t take a genius to figure out she’s come here. Dumbledore did strengthen the wards, though.” 

“Oh.” 

“She figured out Narcissa is the one who got Hermione out of the Manor. If she finds Narcissa, she’ll find Hermione next. Doesn’t help either that the two of them are in the same place at the moment.” 

“Malfoy’s Mum helped Hermione escape?” Harry questioned doubtfully. 

Ron nodded and rubbed the back of his neck, “That’s why Hermione’s been calling for her. Narcissa kept her sane.” He paused, his blue eyes boring into Harry’s, “I reckon if it wasn’t for her Mione wouldn’t even be herself or she’d be de-” He choked on the word. 

His best mate brought him into a fierce hug as he clapped his back. “That didn’t happen though.” Harry pulled away, catching his eyes, “alright?” 

After a sniffle, Ron nodded, “alright.” he breathed shaikly. 

“We’ll work it out, we always do.” Potter said next. 

“Somehow.” Ron whispered. 

“Ron,” Harry began seriously, “I reckon we need to tell The Order about Narcissa, they can move her to Grimmauld Place or something. They have safe houses, aurour’s, it  may good, she could help us.”

“I know.” he breathes in response, “It’s just Hermione, she needs her right now, I don’t wanna-” 

“We’ll tell Hermione first, see what she thinks, go from there.”

Weasley doesn’t answer, but offers a feeble nod. 

They stand in silence for a few minutes. Nothing but the cool breeze ruffling the trees can be heard as they eye the still landscape of snow covered hills.

“There’s talk at Hogwarts you know.” Harry whispers when he can’t take the silence anymore, his thoughts building up. 

“Talk?” Ron questions anxiously. 

“Yeah I reckon that Lavender isn’t exactly over everything that went down. The rumors are even worse than they were before.” 

He groans. Ron had way more important things to worry about then whatever shite Lavender Brown was spewing to the rest of Gryffindor. He couldn’t focus on that, not when the headline in The Daily Prophet this morning could jeopardize both his and Hermione's safety. 

“What’s she saying now?” Ron asked hesitantly. 

Harry scrubbed a hand down his face, “Rubbish really.” He tried nonchalantly, suddenly regretting bringing this up. However, the glare from the ginger probed him to go on. “It’s all bollocks. Lavender’s saying that you cheated on her and got Hermione pregnant so they kicked her out of Hogwarts. Some shite about how you went to set everything straight, that you didn’t want your pureblood values tarnished by muggle blood.”

And look, any other thoughts Ron had about Hermione being pregnant with his baby were admittedly delightful. Sure, it isn’t something most seventeen year old blokes dream about when they're still in school, not to mention the fact he hasn’t even kissed said woman of his dreams, but it helped him keep some hope on the harder nights. 

That and thinking about the making of a hypothetical baby wasn’t one he’d shy away from… 

However, Lavender Brown spreading these vicious rumors about Hermione, nevermind him, but his Hermione, well that wouldn’t do. 

“Muggleborn blood.” Is all he could say to keep from exploding. 

“What?” Harry asked bewildered. 

“You said muggle blood, it would be Muggleborn blood, she is a witch.” He bit out, though Harry knew the anger wasn’t meant for him. 

“Yeah, I know.” Harry whispered quietly, “That’s part of it, that Hermione was actually getting her magic you know from uh, sleeping with you, so Lavender reckons she’s not actually a witch, or at least not a powerful one.” 

“That’s shite!” Ron boomed, causing a few birds in the nearby trees to fly away in a hurry, even the other boy flinched at the volume. 

“Ginny hexed her pretty badly, has detention for the next two weeks. Says it was worth it though.” 

Ron feels a swell of pride in his chest for his little sister. 

“And what do the others say? What do you say?” He asked next, knowing how one rumor could be spun out of control. 

“Ginny, Neville, and I just tell them Hermione’s had a family emergency, Ginny says you’re helping her out. It’s not the best solution considering it does sort of match Lavender’s story but most of Gryffindor knows she was desperate. The other houses don’t care, not really, even Slytherin’s been rather quiet with Malfoy not in the mood for his usual taunts.” 

Then something dawns on Ron. It’s so sudden, it feels like someone’s flushing his veins with ice cold water and he’s just woken up. It shouldn’t be as shocking as it is, but for some reason it just doesn’t sit right with him. 

Malfoy is still at Hogwarts. 

He’s still attending lessons, going to quidditch matches and eating in the great hall. 

His house, the very one he grew up in, is now the place Hermione dreads most in the world. 

He knew she was there. 

And yet, he’s still at Hogwarts. 

“Ron?” Harry interrupts his thoughts, sensing his unease. 

And no matter how badly he wanted to bring these concerns to light, he knew right now wasn;t the moment. They’d handle Narcissa, then Draco. 

One Malfoy at a time. 

“Yeah sorry, just thinking about how I carried on with Lavender so long. Embarrassing really.” It was half true, it wasn’t on the forefront of his mind, but definitely something he felt. 

Harry wanted to agree with the utmost enthusiasm, but decided to spare Ron seeing his mood was already pretty down, so he settled for a mere nod. 

“Well I reckon I should go get Hermione ready for her appointment. Dad is taking the car since she can’t floo or anything right now. Would you mind staying behind just to be sure my Mum doesn’t poke around? Tell her you have homework or something.” The ginger asks, already knowing Harry would agree. He’d do anything for Hermione. 

“No problem mate.” He answers without hesitation. 

“Thanks Harry.” He replies with a small grin, grateful for his friend now more than ever during times like these. 

Obviously both of them would do anything to take back what happened on Christmas night, but they both knew that this whole thing brought them closer together. 

Seeing as there was nothing else to say, Ron turned to head back into the house and did just as he said, prepare Hermione for the trip to Mungo’s. 

“Ron.” Harry says, making him stop. His voice is soft, almost hesitant. 

Weasley turns, eyes faced on Harry’s back who's staring at the rolling hills in the distance. 

“When are you gonna tell her?” He asks, turning so his green eyes pierce, full of so much hope, peer into Rons. 

Where was this even coming from? What did he mean? 

“Well I thought we’d clear up the Narcissa business when we got-” 

“No I mean-” he sighs, “when are you gonna tell Hermione you love her? That you’re in love with her.” He whispers. 

Ron closes his eyes, “It wouldn’t be right.” He admits sadly. 

Harry’s brow scrunches. 

“Hermione’s nearly lost everything and though she’d never admit it, she needs the two of us right now. I’m not gonna take myself out of that equation because if I tell her and she doesn’t feel the same… well… I doubt she’d be comfortable around me.” Ron’s voice is hoarse and thick with tears he’s trying not to let fall. 

“You’re right about one thing, Hermione would never admit it but she does need us.” 

For a brief moment the two smile. Hermione, just as she was before, would never try and put her well being before the two of them. She would insist she’s fine and resist help. Not exactly a healthy way to cope, but it was so Hermione and it shows she’s still her. 

“But while Hermione may just need me, the difference is she wants you Ron.” 

The words go straight to his heart, making it beat at a rapid pace. 

Harry, the very same Harry who wouldn’t know if someone was interested in him had they written it across their forehead was saying this. 

The same Harry Potter who grew up with both him and Hermione. Who knew the two of them better than anyone else in this world. 

His best mate, the sodding Chosen One, the Boy-Who-Lived, who is absolute rubbish at emotions and feelings thinks that Hermione Granger, Brightest Witch of Their Age, doesn’t only want Ron, but needs him. 

Coming from anyone else, he’d brush it off, take it as pity. 

Coming from someone who knows the both of them as well as he does, it’s different. 

Coming from someone who he knows would rather hex their bollocks off then talk about this, well, it means something. 

“She’s always just wanted you Ron.”

[ghost-in-the-hella]

63. “I need a place to stay.” PriceMarsh

Roughly 1 million years later (in fandom years), here it is. 

CW for homophobia and implied domestic abuse. 

 --- 

When Chloe answers the door at 9pm on Christmas Eve, she isn’t expecting to see her girlfriend. She especially isn’t expecting to see her looking tear-stained and puffy-eyed in her best church clothes, soaked to the skin and carrying a hastily packed backpack. 

“Kate! What’s wrong?” she asks, heart immediately hammering anxiously in her chest. 

Kate barely manages to get the words out. “I need a place to stay.” 

“O-of course, yeah.” Chloe holds the door open and steps back, ushering her inside. It’s too cold and rainy outside for Kate to be standing there without a heavy coat. 

“I’m sorry,” Kate starts babbling as soon as she’s over the threshold. “I didn’t know where else to go; the dorms are closed until after New Years and--” 

“Hey, hey,” Chloe says soothingly, pulling Kate gently into her arms. “I’m glad you came here. I just wasn’t expecting you, that’s all. But I’m glad you’re here. I missed you.” 

Kate hiccups something between a laugh and a sob into Chloe’s shoulder as she hugs her back so hard that Chloe’s ribs ache. “I missed you, too,” she mumbles wetly. 

“What’s going on?” David barks from the living room over the sound of the television. “Shut the damn door, girlie; you’re letting all the heat out!” 

Chloe gives Kate an extra squeeze, feeling the way she tenses at David’s gruff voice. She kicks out one foot, pushing the door loudly shut. 

“Who is it?” Joyce asks, poking her head out of the kitchen, her hands still dripping soap suds. Her eyebrows rise in concern when she sees the state that Kate is in. “Kate, darlin’!” she exclaims, leaving the kitchen and wiping off her hands on a dishcloth. “What’s the matter?” 

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Madsen,” Kate says through a fresh wave of tears. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your family so close to Christmas. I’m sorry I didn’t call ahead; she took my phone.” 

Chloe’s heart sinks down to her toes and her head starts buzzing numbly. Shit. She’s been dreading this moment ever since she and Kate started dating. “Your mom?” 

Kate nods, looking heartbroken. She turns to Chloe. “I didn’t mean to tell her anything,” she says in an agonized rush. “It just slipped out. One of my cousins came out over Thanksgiving, and she was talking all about how he was going to hell and I just meant to defend him and… and… It just slipped out.” Kate’s mouth tightens into a pained snarl. “She was just so convinced that none of her perfect daughters could be ‘like that,’ so convinced it was something his parents did wrong and that he would go to hell, and I couldn’t let her. I couldn’t let her keep saying those things as if she wasn’t talking about her own daughter, too.”

“So she kicked you out,” Chloe says numbly. 

Kate nods again, and Joyce’s frown deepens as she sweeps in to put her own arm around Kate’s shoulders. “Well, you’re welcome to stay here as long as you like, Katie, darlin’. I’m sure your mother will come to her senses--” she glares at Chloe when Chloe snorts angrily “--eventually,” she continues determinedly, “but until then you just stay right here with us. Have you had supper?” 

Kate shakes her head. “Th-thank you, Mrs. Madsen. I’m sorry to impose, I just didn’t know where else to go; the dorms are closed over break.” 

“Never you mind; it’s no imposition. Chloe, would you set up a dinner plate for our guest?” 

“Yeah, ‘course.” Chloe lets go of Kate and looks her up and down. She’s sopping wet and shivering. “You wanna grab a shower and warm up while I’m heating the leftovers? You can borrow some of my pjs if you need a change of clothes.”

“Thank you,” Kate says once again, pressing her cold lips gratefully against Chloe’s cheek as Joyce returns to the kitchen and starts bustling about in the refrigerator. “I managed to grab some things before she locked me out, but I don’t know if I’ve even got a complete outfit apart from what I’m wearing.” 

Chloe scowls. “I can’t believe your dad let her do this. And on Christmas Eve; what the actual fuck.” 

Kate shrugs sadly. “He tried to reason with her, but when she gets like this…” She sighs. “Maybe he’ll be able to talk her around, eventually. At least enough that I can go back and get the rest of my things.”

“He’d fucking better. And if he doesn’t, we’ll break in and take them back,” Chloe promises. 

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.” 

“Parents kicked you out, huh?” David says, suddenly looming in the doorway with a nearly empty beer bottle dangling from one hand. “That’s rough.”

“I… Yes, it is, Mr. Madsen.” 

David nods contemplatively, eyes darting back and forth between Kate and Chloe, and Chloe wants to go over and smack his eyes shut. “Well. Sorry t’hear it. I s’pose we can fix up the couch for you ‘til the dorms reopen.” 

It’s more than Chloe expected from him but less than Kate deserves. “Kate can stay in my room. We’re both adults.” 

David’s expression sours. “Miss Marsh can stay on the couch,” he replies. “Your mother and I already tolerated enough shenanigans when that Amber girl used to stay over. This isn’t a bordello.” 

Chloe’s anger flares and she steps forward to say something well-deserved but ill-advised, halted only by Kate’s gentle hand on her elbow. “I can sleep on the couch,” Kate says. “I don’t mind. I fell asleep on the bus ride here; the couch will be much more comfortable, I’m sure. Thank you, Mr. Madsen.” 

Step-douche nods at that and disappears back into the living room like some vile ghost. Chloe wishes he’d fuck off and find some other house to haunt. Chloe’s distracted from her thoughts by the soft, cool press of Kate’s lips on the corner of her jaw. Kate slips her fingers into Chloe’s and gives them a squeeze. “I’m going to go shower and get changed. Maybe I’ll feel a bit more stable then. We can figure everything else out afterward, okay?” 

“Okay,” Chloe says, turning to kiss Kate back, just a light peck at the edge of her lips. “I’ll heat up some food for you. We can talk it out once you’re warm and dry with a full stomach.”

Kate nods. “I’m probably going to cry a whole lot,” she warns. “I feel sort of numb right now, but I don’t know how long that’s going to last before I break down again.”

“I’ve got two good shoulders,” Chloe tells her. “You can cry on them all you need. I’ve got your back, Angel.”

Kate already looks a bit teary when she pulls Chloe in for a hug. “I should be calling you Angel. You’re the one saving my life here. I don’t know what I would have done tonight if I didn’t have you to run to.”

Kate wouldn’t have to run anywhere if it weren’t for Chloe, but Chloe knows that if she says that out loud Kate will only deny it, so she gives Kate a squeeze and sends her upstairs. Chloe busies herself in the kitchen, trying to focus on setting up the best dinner she can for her girlfriend rather than on the bottomless anger welling up inside of her.

“I just can’t imagine,” Joyce sighs. “And on Christmas Eve, no less! I thought you said they were Christians. What good Christian woman would throw her daughter out on Christmas Eve?”

Chloe shrugs because if she speaks she’ll only shout, and she doesn’t want Kate to hear her yelling and get upset.

Joyce stares at Chloe’s tight shoulders for a moment, her brow furrowed and jaw tensed in contemplation, and she gently takes the plate from Chloe’s hands and puts it into the microwave. “You know that I love you, Chloe. Don’t you?” 

Chloe nods, feeling like she might cry or be sick or very possibly both. It isn’t fair. Kate’s the good one. Kate deserves a family that loves and protects her. She deserves better than her mother’s rejection, her father’s inadequacy, Chloe’s bony shoulders to cry on, David’s barely-there tolerance. She deserves the world, and Chloe doesn’t know how to give it to her.

“Oh, Chloe.” Joyce pulls her into a gentle hug, and Chloe’s upset enough that she lets her, sobbing wetly into her mother’s shoulder before she can stop herself. “Chloe, Chloe. We’ll take good care of that girl. She can stay here as long as it takes.”

“Step--”

“I’ll talk to David. Don’t you worry about anythin’, Darlin’.”

Chloe wants to say something cutting about why hasn’t Joyce ‘talked to David’ about not berating her constantly, not invading her privacy, not smacking her around whenever she talks back to him rather than take his shit. But she can hear the shower turning off upstairs and she doesn’t want to get them both kicked out on Christmas Eve with nowhere to go. “Thanks, mom,” she mumbles, wiping her eyes as she pulls out of the embrace. The microwave beeps and Chloe goes to check on the food.

Kate comes downstairs a few minutes later with damp hair hanging around her shoulders, wearing one of her own sleep shirts paired with a severely oversized pair of Chloe’s pajama pants. She’s rolled the cuffs several times and they still drag on the floor. She looks soft and sweet, and Chloe just wants to wrap her up in the protective warmth of her arms and keep her safe forever, never let her go. Chloe draws back the chair in front of Kate’s steaming dinner plate. “Hope you’re hungry. Joyce always makes enough food to feed the whole town around the holidays.”

Kate sits and picks up her fork, giving Chloe a bigger smile than Chloe would’ve expected considering how traumatizing Kate’s night has been so far. “You know, I wasn’t sure I would have an appetite at all, but I’m actually famished.” She scoops up a big dollop of mashed potatoes and gobbles it down, closing her eyes in bliss. Chloe has to smile. Kate really is just too cute. She reaches over and thumbs away a smudge of gravy at the corner of Kate’s mouth. “Your mom’s a really good cook.”

“When she has time, yeah. I, uh. I’m actually a pretty decent cook, too. Had to pick up some of her skillz when it was just the two of us and she was pulling doubles at the diner all the time, y’know?”

“Hmm, good to know.” Kate slowly sets down her fork. “You know… I keep thinking I should feel worse. I should feel worse, shouldn’t I?”

“Probably hasn’t sunk in yet.”

“Maybe. I keep thinking: I should be breaking down, my mother threw me out of the house, my sisters were crying, she’s going to tell them horrible things about me, my father failed to protect me… Most of my life is in that house. My phone, my computer, Alice. But all I can feel is relieved.”

“Relieved.” 

Kate nods pensively. “Relieved, and grateful.” She shrugs. “My family knows now. There’s no big secrets left to hide from them. I can stop worrying about what’s going to happen when they find out, because it’s already happened. I can just be my complete self now and not have to worry that it’ll get back to them somehow.” She places her hand over Chloe’s and smiles softly at her. “And grateful because I have you. Because I have a place to go and a person to go to. So many people don’t have that, but I do, and I’m so, so grateful that it’s you.”

Chloe sniffs a little even though she’s not crying - she’s not - and shifts her hand to lock her fingers with Kate’s. “I’m the one who’s grateful for you. I… I wish I had a better place for you to go. Without…” She flails her free hand inarticulately. “Fuckin’ family drama. Without having to look over your damn shoulder in case Sergeant Dickhead’s getting his rage on.” 

Kate squeezes Chloe’s hand. “Maybe… Maybe this can be a good thing. Maybe it can be an opportunity for both of us. I was thinking that when I graduate, I’ll want to move out of my parents’ place anyway, find an apartment of my own… I was, um. I was planning to ask if you wanted to join me.” 

Chloe blinks rapidly, struggling to keep up. “Wait, like… Get an apartment together? Like, move in together?” 

Kate nods shyly. “If you wanted. And now… Maybe it makes sense to start looking sooner. I don’t know if they’re going to keep paying for my dorm room now that I’ve been kicked out, and if they don’t… I mean, even if my dad is willing to keep paying for it, it’s probably better for me to get some distance.” She blushes. “If you want to, of course. It’s okay if you don’t; I didn’t mean to spring this on you so suddenly. I was going to work up to it, try to get a sense of what you wanted to do, if you even wanted to live with me--”

Chloe leans over and kisses Kate hard on the cheek to interrupt her spiral. “I’d love to.” 

Kate lights up. “Really?” 

“Really. Seriously. I can’t think of anything I’d like better. Our own place? Just you and me, able to decorate shit the way we want, to not have to lie or hide anything or walk on eggshells to keep from pissing off our parents?? Hella yes, I want that!”

“We probably won’t be able to afford anything too nice, and we’ll have to get jobs, but--” 

“Fuck, I’m game if you are. I’ll wait tables at the fucking Two Whales if I have to.” Chloe shuts up so that Kate can kiss her. “You and me, Katydid.” 

Kate rests her head on Chloe’s shoulder. “You and me. We’re going to make it work.” 

“Hell yeah, we are.” Chloe presses another kiss into Kate’s wet hair, and she sits and holds Kate and, for the first time in years, looks forward to the future.

[carol-thirteen]

soulmate au week - day 2 cont.

drawings appearing on each other’s skin

+++++

you didn’t know all the rules of soulmates. so when you didn’t get anything for the first 25 years of your life, you were saddened. you saw all your friends’ drawings and writing on their arms. they would play tic tac toe in class with this soulmate. you had nothing.

but your soulmate wasn’t ready yet.

your soulmate, natasha, had to go through unimaginable things before she could finally know you.

you tried looking into it, analyzing different soulmate cases you found at the library. some cases said their soulmate still got their drawings, even though they couldn’t send any.

natasha always looked forward to the marks you would leave, grateful they didn’t last very long though. she didn’t want to get into trouble. she tried to leave some of her own for you, when she had a moment to herself. she tried to tell you how long she had been trapped for. she tried to tell you how long it would be until she could meet you.

but you never got anything.

you still had hope but as the years went on, you eventually began to come to terms with the fact that you just would never meet them.

“maybe they’re dead.” you slumped on the couch, sitting opposite tony.

“don’t be so dramatic,” tony took a sip of his drink. “could be though.”

“ugh,” you groaned. “it's not fair. at least you know who yours is. you’re just choosing to hide it from her.”

“not true,” tony retaliated. “i’m waiting for the right time.”

“it’s always the right time for you, she’s your soulmate. it’ll never be-“ you felt a tingling on your wrist and brought it into view. “what is…”

natasha was going straight, she had been recruited by shield and was part of a bigger and better fight. she was doing good. she felt good. she had never felt more ready, her fingers traced letters onto her wrist. hello, she wrote. ill find you soon

if it had been any other form of communication natasha would have worried she would have frightened you.

“what is it?” tony leaned forward.

“i don’t know it’s like…” you tilted your head, your own finger brushing against your tingling skin. trying to decipher the patterns. “it’s just their touch. no ink.”

“that’s interesting. maybe they didn’t have a pen on them.” tony took another sip. “at least they’re not dead.”

you hummed in response, while your mind wandered. you tried to remember the shapes she drew, letters maybe? you stood up and went to your room, saying to tony that you’d see him later.

you laid in bed, a pentip to your arm and started drawing. the stark tower outline.

you were done waiting, you weren’t going to drag this out like tony had been. you wanted to meet your soulmate. all these years without them had already been hard enough.

you left the ink on your skin and went to sleep.

“ah romanoff, you’re here early.” tony said closing the door behind her.

“oh god, it’s not you is it.” natasha whispered.

“what’s not-“ natasha lifted her wrist before he could finish.

“i’m..looking for someone.”

“oh man, that’s just..that’s-“ tony couldn’t stop smiling. “i have a friend, she’s interested in what we do here. aliens and all that jazz. told her shield would want her. which is true, yeno, if they knew about her yet.” tony led natasha into the kitchen.

“so where is she? natasha asked while tony poured two cups of coffee.

“sleeping,” tony checked his watch. “she’ll be up soon. it is only 7am.”

natasha nodded, her fingers tracing the outline on her wrist. “what’s she like then? if shield is interested-“

“oh they’ll be interested.” tony pushed a mug full of coffee over to natasha. “she’s a fighter, i bet she could show you a thing or two.”

natasha let a smirk appear on her face as she looked down at the mug.

“you know, you’d be lucky to have me as your soulmate. but for the record,” he hushed his voice a little. “i’m pepper’s.”

“yeah but he’s not told her yet.” you spoke entering the room, having natasha’s head turn toward you. “i don’t understand it man, why wait. start your life with her.” you headed closer to the counter, past natasha. feeling a sudden pull towards her, you halted in your step for a moment at the same time as you heard the squeak of the bar stool on the ground.

tony watched as the two of you leaned towards each other involuntarily. he grinned.

“coffee?” you asked, stepping forward again.

“yep.” he said while moving over to the couches and picking up a magazine.

“i don’t get it either. i waited long enough.” natasha kept her hands wrapped around the mug in front of her.

you turned around a mug now filled in your hands too. “when did you find yours?”

“fairly recently,”

���i’ll say,” tony coughed. you frowned and turned towards him.

“something to say tony?” natasha quipped.

“not at all,” tony shook his head, “it’s all on you.”

“what does that mean?” you looked back at natasha, who had kept one hand on the mug while the other was stretched out, the back of her hand smooth against the marble counter. “what is he-“ your eyes followed to her wrist. your breathing picked up and you set the coffee mug down, rolling up your own sleeve to reveal the mark you left her.

as you both saw the marks, they faded, no longer needed.

“so you’re..” you whispered.

“i am,” natasha watched you closely, as your eyes began to trail across her face. they fell down to the straps of her shirt that peeked through the leather jacket she was wearing. they fell again to the neckline of her tank top and hovered for a moment before-

“i think i’ll go now,” tony spoke again, breaking the silence.

“that would be great, stark,” natasha replied, still watching you.

“you came fast,” you found her eyes again. “although, you’re still late.”

“i had a lot on,” natasha smiled weakly. she let her eyes wander you too for a moment, admiring how soft your hair looked and how that shirt was just a little bit see though.

“i assumed.” you kept eye contact with her as you stepped closer. the urge to be close to her overwhelming.

“you didn’t give me anything for so long,” you whispered, close to her now. almost in between her legs as she swiveled the bar stool to face you. you watched as her thighs slipped off of the seat and followed her figure back up to her face.

“i tried, i hope you’d get them.” you shook your head slowly. “i'm sorry.” natasha took your hands from your sides. “i know you must have thought i didn’t exist for you.”

“i would be lying if i said the thought never crossed my mind.”

natasha tilted her head at your response, frowning ever so subtly too. her fingers slipped from yours and moved forward to settle on your hips. you felt so drawn to her it was unlike anything you had ever experienced. you wondered how tony could resist such a feeling.

you felt utterly and completely at ease in her grasp, you leaned into her. her body pressed up against yours. you could practically feel the heat radiating off of her. as well as the burning in your cheeks.

“we’ve waited long enough,” her voice low but sent a wave of nerves to your stomach. “don’t you think?”

her nose was almost touching yours when you nodded. you tilted your head and moved closer, your lips pecking hers before moving together. hands finding new places to land.

you felt like you knew her already like everything was falling into place for the first time in your life. you hoped you were worth the wait for her.