#i was like i want someone who supports me like shade supports dandelion

[archangelmacaron]

🥹

[thoughts-of-bear]

1, 11, 25, 26 for the ask reblog! 🩷

Thanks so much for asking, its very fun (albeit challenging) to answer these questions! :)

1. What are 3 things you’d say shaped you into who you are?

First one would probably be reading a lot of books! I used to read so much, even when I was little that I probably learned a lot of my way of thinking and behaviour from that.

Second would be my friends and family of course. Luckily, I grew up in a very supporting and loving home, so I always had (and thankfully still have) someone to talk to and ask for advice <3

Last one is probably dancing! I've done ballet since I was 5 so I practically grew up in my ballet school. We have a very cool teacher and she always looked out for us!

11. What do you consider to be romance?

Oh that's difficult for me to answer because I don't really have experience in that regard. I'm not even sure that I am able to fall in love or if I'm just waiting for the right someone. :)

That being said, what I deem romantic aren't super grand gestures of affection, more the giving your loved one a cool rock or a flower that reminds you of them, or the staring into each others eyes only to burst out laughing after a while, maybe a nice walk or reading together while drinking hot chocolate and the likes.

25. Fave season and why?

Oh that's easy, it's definitely autumn. I love the orange leaves and warm golden days where you can still go out and collect chestnuts, and the stormy days where you can cuddle up with a book and lots of tea, and the smell of the leaves when they're falling, and the sweet quince smell in the air when we make jam from them, and Halloween, and pumpkins, and apples, and crisp, foggy mornings- ah now I want autumn 😔😅

26. Fave colour and why?

Oh that's hard because actually I wanna say colourful, but I really love every shade of green, the dark blue of a mountain lake when the sky is grey, orange of leaves, yellow of dandelions, pale lilac and so many more!

I just love natural colours :)

[yanderenightmare]

Hello, I have been looking at your content and I must say that I really like the way you write and I hope you are doing well.I don't know if your applications are open now but I want to give you an idea, how would the yanders react if their beloved has depressive periods and low self-esteem?It may be a bit of an anguish at first but I would like how they would react, use it on purpose or go soft on their beloved.

yandere ! BNHA headcannons

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goodiebag WARNINGS: depression, self-harm, abuse, manipulation, abuse, profanity, amnesia, anxiety, panic-attacks, arson, bipolar disorder, blood, death threats, eating disorder, guilt, kidnapping, Stockholm syndrome, mental illness, mind control, paranoia, noncon, dubcon, starvation, suicidal ideation, trauma

BAKUGO KATSUKI - KACHAN

MELANCHOLIA –

She’s always biting her tongue, the inside of her cheek, her lip. So much so, he doesn��t even know what her lip normally looks like without it being bloated and swollen and red from having her teeth sink into to it. He’s okay with her chosen silence as long as she answers when she’s spoken to, which she does, lacking the will to refuse, knowing it will only cost her valuable energy, energy she needs in case Bakugo decides he wants to rip the breath from her lungs while he hunches over her, his hips snapping into her again and again, ramming at a pace so rough she both dreads it and welcomes it, for on the one hand it’s exhausting and she always wakes up with aches in the morning, yet on the other hand he makes her appreciate breathing which is always a nice reminder when she often times wonders what tranquility would be found in not breathing whatsoever.

He doesn’t want to confront her about it, sensing how she might not enjoy confrontation all that much, and not really wanting the whole ordeal to result in making her cry at the mere sound of his voice. He won’t alter the volume or the roughness of his tone, no matter how many times she cringes at how loud he’s being, but he does try being gentle, at least with his criticism. He showers her in compliments, which is a huge contrast to how he would usually handle fixing things. But, he finds using softer methods benefit him as well, loving the blush that adorns her face each time he does so, his own confidence probably boosting more so than hers.

He does nice things, not really knowing what or which way to help. He doesn’t make her do any chores, ignoring the nagging feeling that keeping her busy would probably help more so than having her sit and look cute all day, but… he’s afraid of admitting it, but… he quite likes taking care of her. He quite likes hugging her throughout the night, feeling her small tremoring sobs against him while stroking her back. He likes comforting her on those same nights where she wakes abruptly from some nightmare, stroking glossy diamond tears away from her cheeks, loving her bloated lips and that cute red wet irritation flushed on her nose and cheeks.

The only times he gets upset with her is when she refuses to eat. He tries so hard to make things she might like, but it’s scarce he sees her taking more than a few bites, if she makes a move to eat at all. He doesn’t want to make her cry, despite it being a constant hobby of hers, he doesn’t want to be the reason to her crying, but… he can’t have her starving. He finds the fear-tactic surprisingly effective on someone who spends most their time fantasizing about death. A few sparks in his palms has her all but quaking, scared half-way into catatonia or even comatose, so much so he has to pull her into his lap and spoon-feed her. Not that he minds that either, he comes to enjoy it quite a lot actually. How her small frame melts so perfectly against his chest, legs swung over his lap, head on his shoulder, remnants of her fear-stricken cries still evident as small spontaneous jolts run through her, being slowly comforted away with the same hand that caused the trouble in the first place.

DABI - TODORKI TOUYA

ANXIETY –

He couldn’t be happier with his little ball of blue wrapped up in soft-tinted crushed dreams with a heart made of honeycombs and dandelion-fluff. Whereas his misfortunate lack of happiness stems from a place of violence, where violence breeds violence, she’s nothing but a tender trauma. Such a soft despair, such a sweet despair, such perfection found in something so devastating. It’s artwork really. How she can cry herself to sleep, trapped in his arms, feeling as though she’s dying, yet wake up the next morning all velvety and soft in his arms, her heart finding comfort in what her mind rejects, what her mind fears.

He tries being a source of comfort for the most part, but teasing and haunting and poking fun at her is such a delicious past-time he cannot simply just refrain from. He’ll be a real villain about it at times. Having her as a complete blubbering pathetic hiccupping mess, poking fun at her crybaby-face as he licks the tears from her cheeks and gorges himself in her panic, his fingers dancing small patterns on her stomach as she wiggles beneath him.

She used to be so scared of him. So skittish and paralyzed, cold-sweating and eyes constantly leaking he had to imagine what her eyes would look like without being rimmed with red. She used to shiver and shake and quake and reel in on  herself, curl up until her limbs ached from how small she was trying to make herself become, backed up into the corner beneath his shadow, his leather-boots looking like the onset of everything horrific as she coward in front of them. But wild untrusting childlike beings such as her is quick in nature to tether themselves to the first or only source of light. And though the transition was slow, her anxiety soon shifted from being directed at him and soon for him instead.

It was too easy, and it benefitted him so undeservingly as well it was cruel. How he simply took all those fears of hers, all those fears for everything residing in the new foreign room she’d been taken captive in, manipulating them into becoming paranoia for everything found outside the bedroom door instead. He went from being the source of her dread, of her panic, of her misery, of her pitter-patter heart and shattering teeth to her savior. Soothing her in her frenzied quakes as she spluttered on sobs containing what hellish monsters and dangers found outside, begging him to be careful, to come back to her, to stay.

She will hug him close throughout the night, hanging almost like a noose around his neck when he needs to leave in the mornings, tracing his scars with a stream of endless worried thoughts blubbering in her groggy voice. And he’ll humor her worry and tame the oncoming panic-attacks by giving her a little light-show of blue flames in his palm, words of his own coming to assure her how nothing will ever happen to him and how he will never let anything ever happen to her, assuring however many times he has the time for.

She’s too cute it’s unfair. Unfair that small creatures like her exist without anything to protect them from hungry wolves like him. And though he was never the type to fantasize about clingy things, he has to admit… coming home to someone who lunches at him in the most secure yet clumsy and desperate embrace, he feels as though that feeling of coming home is all he’ll ever need in the world, that she’s all he’ll ever need.

SHIGARAKI TOMURA

INSOMNIA –

It’s nice. He knows it shouldn’t be the word he describes it with, but… that’s what it is. It’s nice. It’s nice to stay up with someone who expels the same type of energy as him, and not to mention the same amount of energy as him, or… lack of thereof. It’s nice living off of fumes together. It’s nice slipping to and from consciousness and how it almost turns into a game of who can survive the longest before collapsing, with the other shortly following, too tired to even bask in their victory.

It’s nice irritating over the same sharp sounds that attack their sensitive ears, not at all like the familiar sound of soft clicks of the controller in their hands. It’s nice communicating almost purely through mellow moans and groans and croaks, always understanding what the other is emitting despite it being but shapeless sounds.

It’s nice finding agreement in how the lights should always stay off, how it’s turned into some religious rule never meant to be crossed. It’s nice annoying over the same crisp bright light of the sun that violate their eyes those times they forget to shut the blinds before passing out after having counted stars and eating in the dead silence of night like nocturnal beings ignoring the light of day as though it were the plague. It’s nice how they can both find comfort in the glow of the moonlight or computer screen, leaching off of the energy like flies.

He’s found kinship in her presence, and despite it merely being himself and her in the darkness of his room, with flying specs of dust decorating the air and their computers the only windows to the world beyond their four walls, he feels as though the whole universe is looking at him when the softness of her glinting, beaming, sparkling eyes set their gaze and lock with his. It’s strange, but he always found angel-bright smiles and supersonic eyes to be too intrusive and annoying and scary to stand before, whereas her sunken dark eyes, ringed with shades of lilac contrasting her otherwise pale porcelain skin, kept almost albino in the darkness of his room… she couldn’t be more perfect.

Come to think of it, it’s perfection. Her in all her sleep-deprived glory, all her drowsy silliness, her sloppy harsh movements, tripping and stumbling with her droopy-eyes, in her soft giggling fits, where she’ll catch her stupidity just a moment too late and roll around on the bed, trying to shrug off Tomura’s teasing judgement as he pokes fun at her idiocy. Giving up on forming complete sentences as she almost always ends up toppling over her own words, settling for whining or sighing as she turns her head to bury it in his chest.

Utter perfection. Never bothering to get dressed, walking about like a little tease in only underwear and Tomura’s ill-fitted hoodie, hair pulled up into a messy-bun too messy, always defeating the purpose of keeping her hair from out of her face. Her unstable movements, disconnected to the ground as though she’s floating. Too grabbable and easily defeated in her weariness when being pulled into his lap, simply humming and moaning in response as he plants soft kisses down her neck, his fingers coming to destroy whatever’s in the way of him and her body.

HITOSHI SHINSO

HYPERSOMNIA –

She sleeps so soundly, like a little couch-kitten. All soft and cute, playing in her dreams. She’ll sleep whole entire days, only opening her eyes in small flutters every now and again and moaning ever so softly once he wakes her, though quickly scrunching her nose and twisting to fall asleep again. Her drowsiness rendering her pride invalid, causing her to pull at him to better comfort herself against his body, whining when he shifts, his warm presence leaving the bed when he needs to go to work. Her little unconscious protest making his heart twist in his chest, tempted to stay in bed with her all day long, yet comforting himself with the fact that he’ll probably come home to find her in the exact same position.

She’s so cute. She’ll curl and stretch, resting anywhere she finds comfortable: in bed, in the sofa, in the armchair, on his chest, his shoulder, his lap. Adorable with her little snores, all knotted up, remnants of her dreams spilling out from her sleep and coming to life in her limbs as she kicks and shakes her head, delving further into the pillow and twisting intricately in about the blanket. Eyelashes fluttering, eyes skittering beneath her puffy eyelids, caught up in whatever hurricane her mind has conjured up.

She seemed unfazed once she woke up in his room for the first time, and even then, she only gave him enough time to explain himself before nodding with heavy eyelids, laying her drowsy head back on the pillow. The situation dawning on her gradually over the first month, and if whether she was startled or angry, he couldn’t tell. If anything, sept for sleepy, he’d say she seemed confused, but alongside the confusion was the look that told him she couldn’t find the energy in herself to think too much about it without her fuzzy head hurting. Settling for eating breakfast with him in the mornings, and even thanking him on those occasion where she would forget the circumstances that led her to live there.

She doesn’t struggle when he pulls her limp body close to his own in the dead of night after he’s done for the day. He’s only mildly concerned, but it’s not his affection that shakes her from her sleep. He’s a selfish person, and he’s not one to hide those ugly aspects of himself. He’s selfish, greedy, controlling. He has to use his quirk on her sometimes… often times. Though she’s cute when she’s sleeping, he wants to do more than just watch her. He wants words, conversation, he wants to know what’s going on in that dark dreary head of hers, he wants to know what eerie things she’s been dreaming about, where she escapes to when her eyes slide close.

What more: he wants those eyes on him, those puffy, sleepy beautiful doe-eyes. He wants her to pay attention as he touches her skin and not simply to moan in response to it, he wants her to hang onto every single moment his skin touches hers. Telling her to focus reaches a long way. Those otherwise sleepy doe-eyes widening in such moon-bright curiosity, slaving at the hands of his quirk. Her otherwise limp and soft body shaking under his overwhelming touch, goosebumps springing to the surface under his tongue, a wicked glint evident in his lilac eyes.

TAKAMI KEIGO - HAWKS

BIPOLAR –

She’s fragile on most days. Whether that fragility is in the shape of a daisy or a bomb is impossible to say until she either falls apart or blows up. It’s all rather uncertain, sporadic, spontaneous, where he’s given only a few signs where which he can predict what state of mind she’s in and how stable that structure is.

Most things depend on sleep, and upholding a balanced sleep-pattern has become one of the most important things in Keigo’s life after having taken his little darling. But, she manages to slip past his schedules more times than he would like to admit. When she refuses to go to sleep, his mind drifts to all the fun things they can do if they weren’t sleeping, and when she’s sound asleep and drowsing far beyond what time she should have woken up, he can’t find it in himself to wake her, not when he is the reason as to why she was so spent and sore and exhausted from the events and methods he used to make her fall asleep in the first place.

On little sleep one of two things can happen. She can either have the energy of a hummingbird or be tired to the point she almost looks sickly. On her lack-of-sleep-high she’s confident, cocky more so than Keigo, where she’ll test her luck on how far Keigo’s willing to bend his rules when she misbehaves, calling him all types of names, laughing in his face when he snaps and cackling even harder even madder when he decides to punish her, as though it’s all a game to quench her boredom.

With the absence of sleep causing her exhaustion she becomes irritated, seething with boiling rage, red in annoyance, whatever energy she has left focused on making her discomfort known as she scowls at him each time he smiles too loudly, but being too drained to physically act on her frustration or to even make up a snide comment without evoking a headache, left to simply snarl. He thinks it’s cute, where he knows well enough that if he pushes her limits too far she might just break. Break, and therefore let him gather her up into his arms and hush and tut at her to stop crying while he strokes her back, feeling her tremble with unparalleled frustration weighing down on her shoulders.

Then there are the days she sleeps too much. The same options are present here too. She’s either too energetic or too well rested. Either black or white. No grey. But with too much sleep she isn’t ever hostile, but still wild. Wild and enthusiastic and self-destructive and prop-full of ideas and insane in her passion. She’ll be unable to focus on anything, she’ll forget things seconds after they’ve been said or done, but… she’ll laugh and she’ll smile, and it won’t be one of those haughty nasty smiles she gives him when she’s feeling spiteful, but genuine in its playfulness or even bliss.

Then on other days sleeping half the day only results in her being even more drowsed out, yet accompanying her exhaustion isn’t irritation, but soft-tinted melancholia, where all she does is stay wrapped up in her blanket, quiet and still, silent tears dripping down her cheeks as she focusses on how hollow her chest is, as though caving in on itself, where she’ll fall all limp and snuggly in Keigo’s embrace, humming appreciatively as he wraps her up in his wings. All the while a treacherous smile of satisfaction on his face.

MIDORIYA IZUKU - DEKU

DESPOND –

When Izuku chose his darling it was done without compromise, without fault, it was done with perfection. Meaning, he fell for all of her, invested in all of her, determined to preserve all of her. Even her inexplainable unfounded absurd plethora of self-doubt that make her delirious and hopeless with anxiety and guilt. He let himself fall hungrily in love with her little terror-wide heart. He fell viciously in love with how desperate in need of him to come help ground her she was.

It was as though she’s made for him, he would argue. It was as though he’s made for her. Some breeds of people are just too vulnerable to take proper care of themselves. Some people just aren’t meant to take care of themselves. Whereas others are made to help, other people need to help.

Emotions are abstract fundamental tools meant to be used. Lesser minds might look down on his methods, yet Izuku came to understand quite early in life that things such as morals are chains meant to keep you from achieving your goal. He has no quarrels with using and abusing those tools presented to him, where her irrational feelings of doubt, hopelessness and worthlessness are a delicious opportunity to achieve his goal. Besides, her emotions are too easily abused and give such great unshakable responses, and even though he doesn’t want to tamper too much with her instability… they’re just too in-reach for him to ignore, too tempting for him to stay away.

The feeling of responsibility sits like an extra organ inside him, where his toes curl each time he sees her large doe-eyes look at him as though he were the sun, as though her whole life revolves around him. She’s just so dependent on him, so in need of his guidance and advise and praise, where he’s afraid she might just drown in her own guilt if she senses she’s displeased him. She makes sure she wears what he likes, has her hair the way he likes, letting him play with her like putty in his hands if he asks it of her. How can he be expected to not exploit what is so clearly offered?

Besides, he spoils her as well. He returns the favor so to speak, even though he knows she has given herself no choice but to worship him in her mindset of inadequacy. She’s so sweet he nearly feels undeserving, because she’ll blush so preciously when he compliments her, bashful and adorable and too good to be true, he wonders how such a creature can ever feel like less. He adores her, yet that doesn’t stop him from finding such satisfying bliss in the fact that he’s infinitely stronger and faster and not to mention smarter. Whereas she’s gullible and too eager to please, another attributing factor as to why he loves her, despite it is also being the cause of her demise, or maybe even because of it

The truth is she’s lucky that she belongs to him. Lucky that he won’t ever let anything happen to her, no matter if she’s the source of her own harm. She’s lucky to have him to anchor herself to as so to avoid floating away in her hopelessness. This is safer for her. Despite him sticking his bloodstained inky fingers and twisting her heart in his deadlock of a fist, she’s safe, safer than she could or would ever be on her own.

CHISAKI KAI - OVERHAUL

AMNESIA –

It’s cute. He won’t deny that it’s cute, because it is. It’s adorable and unbelievable and annoying all the same. She’ll forget the rules, she’ll wander too far from her confines, not greeting him at the door, not kissing him on que, leave questions unanswered despite him having told her to always answer him when she’s spoken to, all things he feels he’s made blatantly clear through threats and countless reminders. But, not only will she forget his rules, but basic living necessities, she’ll forget to eat and drink, forget to get dressed, forget where she is.

She’ll say the strangest things sometimes. Mild and mellow passionate thoughts regarding the clouds and stars and moon and gods and how pretty his snake-eyes are, like great big lakes of molten gold. It’s strange but he finds such great comfort in her little philosophical blubbering, her soft voice kissing his ears like gospel. It’s a tender type of relief or resolution found in listening to nonsense as opposed to the serious matters he has to deal with in his position in the underworld, her view of the world somehow painting everything, even the ugly and the dangerous, in beauty.

Sometimes she’ll drift a bit too far away though. She’ll daydream more than sleep, absentminded when he’s speaking to her, unable to focus on him or anything for more than a few minutes at best. All dizzy and fuzzy, as though she’s just woken from some dream or as if she’s always dreaming. Irritation festers in his chest when she doesn’t answer, but as she turns her head, expression all soft and oblivious, his chest caving in at the sight of those doe-eyes, all anger simmering into nothing, rendering his annoyance nonexistent, replaced by a sense of hopeless forgiveness and somehow appreciation.

When it comes to her for once actually remembering what she’s supposed to do she’ll weigh each task as though one wrong decision would cost her life. Greeting him at the door in nothing but underwear, already having failed at picking out an outfit and resorting to wearing the lingerie Kai picked and laid out for her on the bed in the morning. The simple task suddenly becoming a battle where she’ll spend much too much time deciding whether to take his jacket first or give him a kiss or welcome him home. Too many decisions with too faulty statistics and unsure outcomes she ends up merely standing there doing nothing but hold her head in her hands and whimper slightly at all the noise that suddenly crowded her head, tears already threatening to fall as she stands before him, all guilt-ridden and trembling.

He can be patient as long as he knows she isn’t disobeying him on purpose, especially when he sees how guilty and how terribly sorry she is each time she fails on acting out simple tasks such as those he gives her. She’ll cry and apologize for the mere act of breathing on some days where she’s extra fragile, where she seeks nothing but his praise, his comfort, his hand stroking through her hair as she sleeps restlessly in her sobs on his chest, unaware of the mild smile of satisfaction and endearment displayed on his face.

TODOROKI SHOTO

SELF-CONSCIOUS -

She’s always hiding. Like a little mouse, she’s always squeaking and squealing and hiding. Hiding her face, burying it in the pillow when he compliments her gorgeous eyes, begging him to stop, small timid hands pushing ever so slightly at him. Hiding her chest, her nipples, when he admires them, his hands playing with the soft and supple flesh, whimpering as she tries to twist away. Her knees trying their best to wrench shut, to hide and protect what sensitivity find between them from Shoto’s hungry fingers and tongue.

She’s always hiding… but he likes to hunt anyway. If she drapes herself in pitch-black hoodies he’ll gladly rip them off, or scorch them off and expose her delicious artful body. If she refuses to leave the bed he’ll gladly attack her where she’s sleeping. She’s always hiding, but she quickly comes to understand that there will be no hiding from him.

He doesn’t understand why she would ever want to hide divinity, and therefor doesn’t respect the wish. Having made it his mission to expose every little piece of her, licking up long lines of bumpy purple and white scars, sucking and biting at those pointy cherry nipples strutting at the coolness of his breath, kissing those plump lips of hers despite her cringing to cover herself up in thousand layers of clothes, dark clothes, where only the very least of her skin is remaining on display. He won’t have it.

He has to tie her up on most occasions where she’s too difficult and shy to listen and let him play with her beauty. He’ll have to tie her up like a starfish on the bed, limbs spread in each direction, scars running along them, quite like the ones he receives in battle, only precise and matching and purposeful, his hands coming to touch them in reverence, worshipping every little altercation she’s added to her skin, further pushing its ever-changing perfection, watching as she hopelessly struggles to hide herself, yet the both of them knowing how she’s fully his.

He can’t allow her hurting herself anymore though, not with the fear that she one day might slip up and kill herself just a little bit too much, but he’s happy to help her through the tools of fire and ice. Frostbite flowers look even more as though they belong on her body, as well as blotches of burns, his markings, his teeth. He’ll never forget the moan he received on his first indulgence branding her body with his elements, how she purred in gratitude, small blissful squeals and mewls following, further egging him on.

Once she grew more comfortable with his hands and his stare… or rather… once the need for his hands outgrew her discomfort, she became somewhat addicted. And now, she can be wild in her cravings on some days, demanding it of him, threatening him, fighting him. She’ll bite and claw, begging for him to retaliate, longing for him to push her into the bedsheets and teach her what it’s like to feel alive by teasing her with the promise of death.

Without him she’s left to pick at scabs, counting the seconds until his return. She’ll pull at her hair until her scalp is screaming. She’ll ball her fists, creating those blood-red crescent moons in her palms, biting her nails until they bleed and then some. Then bask in relief upon his return.

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[bookwyrminspiration]

Dandelions by Ruth B is such a tiana song. It could also work for Fitz’s pov before sofitz happened. It’s also just a great song :)

Oh I love that comparison between the two! There are several great lyrics that we can pull and relate to their relationship--I'll focus on Tiana so this post doesn't get too long, but if you'd like I can look at Fitz on his own in a different post :)

I mean right off the bat there's "But it's so good, I've never known anybody like you," which neatly sums up their perspective on each other. Tam's never seen someone so high up in elven society be so down to earth and so passionate about the issues Biana is passionate about. She's not snobby and doesn't look down on him for being a twin, doesn't think of him as lesser for being a shade. She's the opposite of who Tam would expect someone like her to be, and it's the same the other way around. Biana wouldn't expect someone banished to Exillium to be so devoted to his sister that he's willing to do anything for her, to be someone constantly rebelling against the same things she would, to be someone so similar to everyone else she knows.

They're introducing each other to assumptions they make of the world and inviting them to challenge them just by being in each other's presence. And it's a good thing! They open each other's minds the more they get to know each other, and it can involve a bit of fascination or observation with the other to draw them closer

There's also "When you're looking at me, I've never felt so alive and free," a line we can relate to the roles that both of them have been prescribed by their world. Tam is a shade and a twin banished to Exillium, destined to be the outcast, the misunderstood. Biana is a Vacker expected to be better than and above the rest, someone always at the top. They're at the opposite ends of this spectrum of the elven world, both trapped. But neither of them expects that anymore from the other, as they've opened each other's eyes. They don't have to be those people in those molds made for them with each other. They're free to be who they want, both entirely supportive of the other casting aside the chains of their world. They can live how they want and finally be alive, finally express themselves. When they look at each other they truly see each other outside of the restrictions placed on them.

Of course I can't forget the lyric the song is named for :"I'm in a field of dandelions / Wishing on every one that you'll be mine, mine," and my first thought upon seeing this in relation to them was how pure it is. There would be a sort of intensity between the two of them, which I believe I've talked about before, but all of that is built on a foundation of genuine care, pure, unadulterated commitment to each other. And the innocent affection the idea of blowing on dandelions and wishing to be with each other feels like a great representation of that. When it comes to the most simple of actions, like wishing on a dandelion, they think of the other. That's the level of care they'd have for each other, both the intense and the innocent. Tam and Biana would incorporate each other into their lives in even the smallest of ways while still maintaining their boundaries and who they are, all of that encompassed in such a mellow line!

Dandelions is an excellent song to view Tiana through. It's got that light air combined with the commitment that fits them so well. This song used to be on my playlists but I got rid of it for some reason, so thank you for bringing it back on my radar!

[mc-lukanette]

"See anything you like?" Luka asked after he was sure that they'd already looked over at least half of the children's books.

Ivan and Mylene's kid looked up at him, then around to the books. They placed their hands to their face, leaning back and letting out a long, drawn-out hum, then finally answered, "Mmm, not yet."

They were always quiet like that, so when they did say something, it was because they'd made sure to think about it. In that particular case, they knew they were being spoiled with whatever books they wanted, but they didn't want to just grab everything either, clearly focusing on what they "needed" rather than just books that looked neat.

Luka shrugged with a smile. "Alright. We'll keep looking."

He scanned the shelves as he walked, letting the child run ahead so long as they stayed within his sight. Ivan and Mylene had loosely suggested that he be on the lookout for any books about body positivity and of course he agreed with them. Thankfully, after spending most of his life on a houseboat that demanded one be an expert at finding things in an instant or risk losing them forever, Luka was able to catch a few good books that fit Ivan and Mylene's description just by the cover.

He'd skimmed them too, just in case.

As his gaze went to follow the kid running past him to restart their quest for perfect books, he was stopped by a brief glimpse of teal, red, and black from a part of the aisle that he hadn't gone to yet. His eyes darted over to it, squinting at the familiarity of the shades, then looked back at the kid once more.

Confirming that they were okay, Luka approached the book that had drawn his attention, having to crouch down to see it properly since it was on the bottom shelf. He'd only taken it in for a split second before he was hit by a wave of pleasant memories and nostalgia.

The Snake and The Ladybug was the book's title, and the cover featured a teal naga boy across from a ladybug-themed girl.

Luka took a breath at the obvious similarities to his role as Viperion from back in the day, as well as Marinette's role as Ladybug. She'd never come out about her identity, but it didn't take him long to figure out, and the book was giving him all sorts of mushy feelings just by its art alone.

He reached out, gently grasping the book without taking it off the shelf. Running his thumb along the cover, he was surprised to realize that it actually had a texture to it that shifted based on where he was stroking, and he couldn't deny that it seemed like Marinette's handiwork.

The naga boy didn't have highlights, but his hair still had a noticeable feature, with the front of it being long enough to cover up the eyes. The boy was lounging against a tree, which went along with the forest setting that took up one side of the book, and his arm was outstretched towards the remaining side, seemingly catching dandelion puffs that were being blown in his direction. Said dandelion puffs were being sent his way by the ladybug girl, who had the dandelion in hand and her eyes closed. She was featured in a more castle-esque place, sitting on the edge of a windowsill, and both she and the naga boy were clearly enjoying themselves.

"Are you gon' buy that?"

Luka was jerked out of his trance by Ivan and Mylene's kid, who had apparently snuck up on him while he was taking in the cover. He looked over at them, surprised that they'd ask a direct question over something that didn't concern them.

He glanced back at the book thoughtfully, considering the question anyway, then sighed with a sad smile.

There was no way. Marinette wasn't an author; she was a fashion designer, living her crazy life somewhere, and they hadn't seen each other for a long time. She'd have no reason to write a children's book.

It was just a coincidence.

"No," he finally answered, pulling his hand away from the book, "It just made me think of some happy memories."

They pursed their lips, brows furrowing as they tilted their head in confusion. "B'shouldn't y'get it then? Mommy keeps some o'those too."

They said it like it was the simplest thing in the world, and Luka supposed that it was. He was just being a dumb adult by denying it, uselessly pining as a result and fantasizing about Marinette leaving him some sort of hidden message in a book. Still, the kid was right; the book made him happy and that should've been enough.

There didn't need to be a deeper meaning, even if it wouldn't stop him from thinking about one.

Reaching out again, Luka plucked the book off the shelf, keeping it separate from the books held in his other arm.

"You're right. Maybe I will."

—————

After having dropped off Ivan and Mylene's kid, along with all the books but the one, Luka headed home and plopped down sideways on his recliner, holding up his chosen book to examine it from all angles. He was tempted to read the summary on the back, but resisted, opting to turn back to the front to look at the author's name.

In hindsight, he should've done that from the beginning.

His face fell at the name Belle Nescire, a far cry from Marinette Dupain-Cheng. Pen names were a thing, certainly, and his inner Viperion - who plotted out Ladybug's Lucky Charm alongside her at times - felt suspicious, but it also didn't sound very Marinette at all.

Mentally shrugging any further thoughts away, he sat up just enough to properly read the book, opening it up to finally take a look at its contents.

The story began with the ladybug girl, saddened and stressed by her daily life. She had friends of all kinds, but sought something deeper than mere companionship: a connection with someone. She didn't know exactly what to look for, only able to hope that she'd know when she found it.

One day, against the advice of her friends, she headed into the forest to pick flowers. She'd been repeatedly warned about the snakes who lived there, suggestions tossed around to chat with the cats on the rooftops instead, but she went to the forest anyway. It was there where she met the snake boy who, yes, had startled her at first with his sudden appearance, but he immediately apologized and merely warned her about the flower she had almost picked, which would've laid a curse on her had she'd picked it.

Snakes, as she'd been told anyway, lived for disorder and were terrifying for their looks alone, what with their fangs, scales, and the like. The ladybug girl, however, wasn't afraid of the snake boy, rather enjoying his company and finding herself wanting to come back and visit him. Eventually, she ended up doing just that, and they became fast friends, meeting frequently to make flower crowns and talk about their lives.

Without noticing at first, the ladybug girl had found her connection, the snake boy becoming a source of calm where she could escape from the emotions that always weighed her down. The moral of the story was about seeking out and cherishing the people who bring out the best in oneself, due to how rare they are to find.

Luka breathed up when he realized that was the end of the book, closing it and turning it over to read the summary as if that would give him more content to read.

The coincidences were stacking now. He had startled her when they first met, and there had been an apology from him even if it'd been for his teasing of her instead. There was also the undeniable mention of cats, though he wasn't sure if things like the cursed flower could've been some sort of metaphor he was missing.

As the thought of the author being Marinette re-entered his head, he began to blush. He'd known that he was her support in many ways - a role he'd always taken pride in - but to be called her connection, as if he were special and stood out above everyone else? That would be news to him.

Reminding himself yet again that it wasn't a guarantee, he sat up and set the book down on the table, mentally scolding himself for over-analyzing when he'd said he'd get the book for the reminder of happy memories instead. Nonetheless, he was picking up his phone not even ten seconds later, searching up the book's title and author to see if he got any results. It turned out that the book he had was the first in a series of books, featuring the same two characters and continuing their story.

Well, he knew how one of his afternoons were going to be spent in the near future.

[hanahaki-neko]

Across Millenia | Venti x Reader

He never once forget about her. Even after so long. But Venti never expected to meet her again,after all this time

note : reincarnation AU. again this is a work from wattpad but i hope y’all enjoy it. this is from my early days so excuse me if the fic is bad lmao

Windwheel aster. That was her favourite flower. Even as a little wind spirit he'd keep a breeze blowing through the field to ensure that they don't wilt. Sure he was just a tiny insignificant being in the world with little to no power over the whirlwind surrounding the city,but at least he made sure the flowers where she would often go was always there to greet her.

Y/N and the bard would make their way through the city. She would smile in delight whenever she sees the little windwheel asters. True that they only grow in places that has gentle breeze. One without or one with too much fierce would kill them. The girl and a few others that had one of these flora on their windows or balcony never really did realize that the tiny spirit was the one who made sure they're still alive.

He cared about both of them so much. They had grown so close and even spend almost every hour together. Talking about the most trivial of things and doing everything together

"You two are just like twins." She laughed when he tried to shift and look like the bard.

"Well maybe he can sing with me by the tavern sometime in the future."

He loved her. He loved her so much. He didn't care if a little wind spirit and a human can't be together,or did he know if this was okay. But he never really had the guts to tell her properly. The bard knew of his feelings and was completely on board. He'd go to where she'd usually be and spend time together,sometime leaving him be with her while he went to get some drinks. He loved the bard for his supportive nature and he loved Y/N for her kind and gentle soul.

Watching the windwheel aster spins gently,and watch the dandelions scatter around when blown. "They're just like you when you float around." Said the girl,and he giggles in response. He loved the look of peace and serenity in the comfort of those flowers,despite the tyrant's rule.

Whatever would made her happy,he would do. Bringing cookies when she's feeling peckish,to visiting her during sleepless nights and keep her company. Comforting her when she feels sad. He would make sure that she keeps smiling everyday.

He would watch over both the bard and Y/N to ensure their safety. He would also support their decision and wishes. So when the bard voiced his objection against the tyrant's control over the city and seeing the girl also agreed,this little wind spirit too decided to join the rebellion. Rallying up the citizens to overthrow the tyrant,the chaos that came over,it was pretty overwhelming.

He did his best with his powers to assist them. Many bloods were drawn,many lives lost. They were separated as he went with the bard. Swords clashed and screams of pain an agony echoed throughout. But for freedom, nothing is too much of a price.

Is it?

He watched in horror,as the arrow pierced his chest. The bard fell to the ground with a thud as others rushed to his aid. The tower crumbled down as the tyrant is no more,but in the fight to obtain freedom, the bard had lost his life. Just as he thought this couldn't get any worse,the little spirit noticed that the girl was nowhere to be seen. He flutter around in panic,already crying his tiny heart out. And it just shatter into a million pieces when he saw her underneath the rubbles of the building. He cried and pleaded for others to save her. But no one could as the damage had been done. Cuts from swords and a stab wound by the spear was the end of her.

"No,no,no,this can't be happening!' He knew he should've told her to stay out of the fight. She shouldn't have grabbed that sword and fight alongside the others. She smiled weakly with grief hidden underneath upon knowing the fate of her friend the bard. She tried to reach out a hand to the spirit,which he could only held a finger with his tiny body.

"Make sure the freedom stays with them,okay?"

He did his best to keep that promise. He knew that both the girl and the bard would be glad to know that their effort weren't in vain. Their funeral was held and weep he did for a period of time unknown to anyone. How long had it been. Almost over three millenia by this point? It's been so,so long and yet it's one of the memories that stuck with him.

Fly fly away

Like the birds in the sky

See the world on my behalf

To the heavens you may fly

The song never once left his memory. The ones sung by the bard and the girl. Whenever he walks the land of Mondstadt and hear the people drink and party,Venti couldn't help but feel just a bit nostalgic. He toured the city and the land that he should've been govern, simply singing and telling tales to those who would listen. Just doing anything other than reigning over the city.

He was taken back to reality when Aether called him. Venti stood beneath the tree in windrise as he looked to the windborne traveller.

"Shouldn't you be on your way to Liyue by now? You're going to miss the rite of descension if you don't hurry." He said.

"Well we should make if it we use the teleport points. It might take only a few days and the rite is probably still a week away." Paimon replied.

"And i kinda want to spend just a bit more time with you before we depart,if you don't mind? And you know maybe take a commission or two." Aether asked.

Venti smiled,"Might as well visit Mondstadt and pick up a few audiences." They all walk back to the city where once again he sings and tells many tales. The tale of how Mondstadt becomes the city of freedom it's known right now. How the people of old times fought the tyrant. The memory of his past clouded his thoughts,and he almost cried during his performance.

Aether treated him to lunch at good hunter afterwards and they had quite the uneventful day,really. The traveller was talking to Katheryne about some commissions when Venti felt someone approaching them. He glanced over to see who it was and he was,how to put it- surprised? Dumbfounded?

The same silhouette and appearance, the h/c hair might have been a different length in the eyes,but everything else was exactly the same. Venti kept starring at her,lost in time gazing into her e/c eyes. She looked back at him and smiled a little greeting them.

"Hi. I'm Y/N,the one who commissioned for the whopperflower hunt?"

"Oh,yeah. What's up with that?" Paimon asked.

Vent completely tuned out the entire conversation. Was it possible? Is it the same person he knew back in old Mondstadt? Just being able to see her brought back the abundance of memory he had. 'Get it together,Venti. At least say something to them.' he thought to himself. He jumped a bit when Aether tapped his shoulder,asking him something he didn't quite catch.

"H-huh? What?" He looked at the traveller.

"I said can you accompany Y/N while me and Paimon check out the horde of whopperflowers and get some nectar?"

"Oh! Oh,yeah,sure."

"Geez,he's been spacing out a lot today. What's wrong with that tone-deaf bard." Paimon sighed before the two of the left the city.

Venti is now left alone with Y/N,with both of them not really knowing what to do or say to each other. "I don't think we've officially been introduced. I'm Y/N,an alchemist." The girl said trying to break the silence.

"I'm Venti. Though you might know me if you've come and listen to my performance before this encounter." He replied to which she smiled and nodded a little.

"Say,you..want to take a walk around Windrise? The weather's nice today." He offered.

"Well,i can't progress my research until i get the materials needed."

She accepted the offer and he took her hand and led her to one if his favourite spot. Holding her hand felt exactly the same as it did all those years back. Her hands felt small against his, though it would've been the opposite in the past. The two sat down under the tree and exchanged stories. Time flies when you're having fun.

"You like flowers?" He spoke after noticing her holding a certain set of them.

"I guess? I like windwheel asters most, though." She smiled in reply.

He couldn't help but think 'just like her' as she went on to tell about how she grew some of these at her house. How they only grow in places with gentle winds blowing through. He of course knew of this fact,but he didn't mind listening to her rambling about them. He'd listen with a small smile plastered to his face the entire time.

"So, you're an alchemist..but what's with all those bandages?" He asked this time after seeing her wrist wrapped in one.

"Oh, it's just some accidents on the lab and some scars i got from foraging for materials." She said,a nervous laugh followed after.

He felt a slight pain in his chest at the thought of her getting hurt. Even back then she would sometimes ger her knee scratched or fell down and trip every now and then. 'Still as fragile as ever', He said to himself. He told her more about what he saw during his travel across the land,but sometimes he noticed that she's blankly starring at him,

"Hey,Y/N. What's wrong?" He asked.

No response.

"Hello? Teyvat to Y/N?" He called again.

That seems to get her out of her little world,she shook her head a bit, regaining focus,"o-oh,what is it?"

"You've starring at me for quite a while now. Were you charmed by my good looks,perhaps?" He said teasingly.

"Wha- no! That's not it." She stuttered back,her hands up in denial and face blushing a deep shade of red.

"It's just...i feel like i know you well before meeting you here."

"I feel like i've known you for a long time."

This time Venti was the one not responding to her words. If he wasn't sure,he sure as heck is now believing she was the same Y/N he knew and loved. Perhaps she didn't have the memory her past self had,but that didn't matter to him,he was overjoyed at this point.

"Well, maybe you've seen me perform before and just didn't remember." He said, looking away and hiding a soft smile.

"Or maybe you've known me from way before." He whispered under his breath.

"Hm? Did you say something?"

"No,i was just thinking about putting on a show tomorrow in front of the statue for others to hear yet another heroic tale." He smiled at her.

"I hope you would come and watch me sing,dear Y/N."

"I won't miss it for the world." She smiled back,chuckling.

His eyes soften as he grabbed her hand which surprised her at first. He leaned in and kissed her lips,earning a gasp in response and a blush as well. He stood up as his smile curved into a grin.

"Then i shall look forward to tomorrow." He said putting the windwheel aster over her ear.

Venti bid farewell and without waiting for a response took his leave while she was still shocked,trying his best not to blush in front of Y/N. When he got far enough he just crouch down and mumbled something incomprehensible to himself. It was bold of him to do something like that in the first place, especially when they just met earlier today. Sure he knew her from like 2600 years ago but she had no recollection of him.

Still,somehow she was once again here before him. He'll protect her and made sure she's safe. He will never let anything bad happen to her. It will take some time for them to get to know each other all over again,but he didn't really mind.

He's really looking forward to her coming to see him perform tomorrow.

Y/N on the other hand was still recovering from the entire information overload. Face still a bit red from the entire oreal. From afar she could hear Aether and Paimon calling out to her. "Heeeyy! We got that nectar you waanted!" "Oh,t-thanks." She pulled herself out of her own little world to take the materials she asked for and paid them for their works. But just as soon as they left looking for the bard,she once again was lost in her own thoughts.

They just met today,but it felt like she had known him forever. Some of his 'old' tales felt all to familiar. And she was beyon surprised when he suddenly kissed her.

But somehow she didn't mind.

The sense of familiarity she had when talking to him put her at ease,and she felt like there's nothing to worry about. She felt safe when she's with him. And a part of her couldn't help but want to know him better.

She put a finger over her lips, still not reall over the fact that he kissed her so suddenly,then to brushing against the flower he put on her. But she smiled, thinking that he's way bolder than he looks.

She can't wait to come and watch him sing tomorrow.

[fablesrose]

Broken Earth, Broken Heart

Description: When someone’s heart breaks so does a piece of our world: this creates fissures, valleys, even cracks in the pavement. Let me tell you about the Grand Canyon.

Word Count: 1,285

Pairing: Loki x unnamed female character

Square filled: Angst

Warnings: fluff, ANGST, there is no happy ending here folks, death

A/n: this is for both @girl-next-door-writes Make Me Feel Bingo and for @kitkatd7‘s 600 follower writing challenge! Congrats hon! That prompt will be in bold.

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

Some of the most beautiful things in our world come from heartbreak. Every break in the Earth, every crack in the sidewalk where dandelions grow, every canyon you’ve ever seen, every single one of them is the result of a broken heart. Many have wondered what caused them, who’s heart was broken, but there’s one love story that very few know. It’s the most speculated story in existence, and it’s one that will never be forgotten by the Earth.

The Grand Canyon.

Who’s love was strong enough to make a scar that deep?

Many thought it never should have happened. But nevertheless, here we are, with a gaping crack in our world.

It all started with a young woman. She picked flowers. She baked bread. She wore plain clothes. She swept her small cabin in the west where her family had all passed on and the dust swirled in their memory.

She didn’t have many visitors, but that was okay, she had her well for water, chickens for eggs, a garden for food, and frankly, that was all she needed.

It all started with a young prince from far far away, who had lived countless lives, but was still looking for his own. There was the life his family told him he belonged, a life that the rest told him, but somewhere in his heart he knew he had to find out for himself.

He had all her ever needed, all her ever wanted, but for once he didn’t want or need any of it. He needed to get away from the pressure, and what better place to go then a lush dessert, where the only one who spoke to you was the wind.

He walked for miles, not to get anywhere, but simply to walk. It must have been centuries since he had done that. He didn’t even realize he had stumbled upon a small house until he was right at the doorstep. It didn’t seem like anyone was home, but it was obvious it was well cared for. There was a chair in the shade that he sat down upon, figuring he could use a break.

“Can I help you stranger?” The young woman walked from the back side of the house with a bucket of water in her arms.

“Not unless you know where I could find myself.”

She placed the bucket on the ground and sat on a stool nearby, “I’m afraid I don’t, but if you have nowhere to go you can stay here until you do, if you like.”

“I would be delighted.”

This is a story of a god who didn’t know who he was until he found a young woman who knew who she was, and showed him the way.

He helped her with chores and talked in between. He found that the best place to find yourself was to not think. You do. He could lay under the stars and try to figure himself out like a puzzle, but what was more effective was him weeding the garden and fixing the door.

He knew he could do all of this with the wave of his hand, but she didn’t know that. And he found he liked the connection. The dirt on his hand grounded him and the sweat on his brow helped him breathe.

The young woman was used to being alone, but his presence was not unwanted. He helped her everywhere she asked, and she would be lying if she said she didn’t mind the company. In fact she had grown rather fond.

He was a little confused sometimes, but always sincere. She wondered if when he found what he was looking for he would leave, just as mysteriously as he had come.

Little did she know that she was looking for something too.

They both found it in each other.

It happened gradually. First they shared a few jokes and laughs, but then it came to the point where they stood close together in the kitchen, shoulders brushing softly together, neither knowing what the other would say, but hoping it was that they cared.

It led to holding hands which led to a tender kiss in the moonlight. The most precious discoveries come when thought is not involved, and what better to stop thought then a kiss?

The prince was still learning who he was, but he knew he loved her. And he knew he liked who he was with her. And that was enough for him.

The young woman didn’t know what she was looking for, but she knew she found it with him.

Neither of them had felt so much before. They had never felt such love.

The prince knew he must go home eventually. To his other worldly place. To announce that he had found himself and he found love. He was the second born, with less then an affect on the throne, but as much as his family had misled him on what he must do, they were well meaning, and he loved them. Though not as much as the young woman.

He explained what he must do and she had faith that he would always come home. For to him this little cabin surrounded by dust had become home.

His family was not as supportive as he would have hoped, but he understood. He was a prince, and her a simple woman in the middle of nowhere. They did tell him that he should live in the way that made him happy, but they all knew with how long they lived it would not be for long.

He knew it was worth it though.

But when he returned. Oh, but when he returned to that rickety cabin in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by dust and chickens.

The door was swung nearly off it’s hinges. Some of the chickens were dead, the rest scattered far from where they should be.

Crows circled over head.

In the sun, lying under the sky, was the young woman, hands covered in blood from the wound on her head and her stomach.

The prince ran to her quickly, holding her face in his hands.

She smiled as she focused on his worried and panicked face, “I knew you would come home.”

“Stay awake, you hear me? Don’t you dare close your eyes! Please!”

And she didn’t. Her face was impossibly pale as she stared at the sun, but she didn’t stay awake.

“It’s for the best son.”

The prince turned to see that his father had followed him.

That’s when the reality that she was truly gone fell upon him.

The Earth beneath him started to shake. He wished for it to swallow him up as his heart shattered inside of him. But it didn’t. Instead he watched as the crack in the earth became a ravine that swallowed up the house and the garden that she loved so dearly and the ravine became a canyon farther than the prince’s eyes could see.

They say that if you walk the bottom of the canyon far enough, for long enough, without a thought in your head of where you’re going, you’ll stumble upon a small, rickety cabin, covered in dust. Inside you’ll find a young man, but eyes say he’s older then the canyon itself.

You could ask him a question. He’ll likely answer, but try not to ask about love. Some have tried to ask him what caused the canyon they sat in. He’s only answered once.

“Only the broken heart of a god with no hope, could break the Earth so tragically.”

Best Buds: @snarky--starky @kitkatd7 @confetti-its-an-imagine-blog @kaogasm

Loki: @whatafuckingdumbass

[madamhatter]

how lucky it was for these two girls to spy sophie in passing! it was as if the universe had heard the two friends speak so highly of the visitor who would occasionally swing by emile’s class for show and tell. it had been a while since they had last seen sophie, so one could imagine their excitement in recognizing the other from a distance, little feet pattering against the ground as they ran towards the woman, a basket of flowers in each girl’s hand. their voices call out to her to get her attention, and almost immediately, two outstretched hands offer sophie a blossom each as gifts. “do you remember us? will you be visiting us again soon?” 

Have I gotten familiar to the floating island above? Inquiries of conformity frequented my mind, a yearning and craving they were, hinged to me as if a shadow. Have I finally anchored myself to such a place? Adaptability was once a trait I believed to possess, yet two years proven me a fool to think positive of myself.  Cries of seagulls above, not one eye needs to glance in that direction to confirm their habits. 2, 3, 4, … ., 10, 11, 12 … . . Circling overhead for opportunity, they salvage for impressionable and giving folks or food - - either of which would be found with both decision. Unfortunately, this place where I meander, in this current time, is not a place where morsels may be handed out. 

My finger waved side-to-side, a metronome to the workings of the world around me. Up to two, it was a scale of my own design that mimicked the original; dexterity may be a particular of mine, but a human I am and matching a metronome isn’t (normally) physically possible. However, what the body may lack is refined by mind; what my body precedes only the possibilities of what happens underneath this unremarkable form. 

Compulsory movement, life regulates itself to streamlined performance and rituals. Contrasting the fluidity and bind of the human spirit, that is what everyday life comes down to. Just like how the backdoor of the bakery behind me swings open at the 6th measure, pitter-pattering of feet and store restocking go on from the 7th to 10th, before the door closes at the 11th, and silence resumes. Sometimes, the the baker’s assistant rushes out earlier, breaking the pattern, but it remains relative – earlier at the 5th or rushed at the 10th.

And, again, the measure restarts, but only for that particular event. Recognizing the numbers that conduct the procedures of mundane living, notwithstanding the strange when it rears itself unceremoniously in, that must’ve been the trait of mine.  Still, a useless one. It never did serve any benefit of others, even in the workshop. All it did was aid me in orchestrating and working with or around others, quick to my feet or hands, or anything that was needed of me, appearing like a summoned ghost to their unspoken or voiced commands. 

Between the valley or above the clouds, tumultuous life continues fixed to the course of the sun and moon, creating a shift that man, who once saw it indescribable and unnamable, to time, which then was domesticated to years, seasons, months, and days. Tumult… Haha. Foolish of me to even determine that I’ve grown accustomed to this place. 

I adjusted my recline, my hand flat against my cheek and my elbow resting on top of a wooden post that belonged to a longer winding rail system. It separated this level of the district at its ledge and from below, the port.

I mindlessly pick at the wicker basket rest at the crux of my other arm. Scarred and calloused tissue brushes and accounts the wintery flowers in my collection. 

A sigh. 

Life goes on, I repeat that to myself so often, as should I. Yet, why do I feel myself hanging with uncertainty with only a line of spider silk around my ankle? Dangling yet expectant of the prey.  “Hm?”

A scratch in the pattern I’ve memorized. A pattering from behind greets my ears. A set of two pattering, to be exact. 

I turn my head, brows raised at the sight.

White dyras, they grew in a place whose name has been recently burnt from history. A collection of snow white single-petaled flowers grouped together, the pistils having honeycomb yellow stems that reach out. At the time of maturity, their pollen spreads into the wind like their perennial cousins that often mistaken as flowers, dandelions. 

Flowers of innocence, it is the first image that comes to mind when you see them. A pair of two young schoolgirls approach with pep in their feet and recognition in their eyes.

Phoebe, ruby eyes and dark brown hair, thick and intricate cornrows worked from the left side to ride, creating an elegant ponytail with teal, orange, and white beads fastened to the end of each of the braids.  Elena, orange eyes and moose hair, her head is covered mostly by a orange beanie that matches the same shade as one of the beads in Phoebe’s hair, and all that can be seen are relaxed fringes.

Two girls from Mister Claire’s class. Goodness, it’s been a while…

“Do you remember us? Will you be visiting us again soon?”  “Of course I do. Good morning, Miss Phoebe and Miss Elena. I promise to visit as soon as I can.” 

My expression softens from its rigid and tensed look, I even felt the muscles of my cheeks and shoulders relaxing at what is the first nonobligatory conversation someone holds with me today.

“How are you both doing today? Isn’t the incoming spring breeze just refreshing? Not as shiver-inducing like the ones that passed a week ago.” 

Expectant eyes, however, now look befuddled, leaving a young woman like myself puzzled over why two young students looked at me in such a way. Had I spoken too vaguely again? Had I dictated myself like an old maid again? Had I spoken too carelessly, making my accent slip out? 

Far too many questions, far too little time. Damn social interactions! 

Something catches my eyes.

“Huh?”

I look down, now to fully perceive the dress of the two young girls. As expected, in their casual wear. Had either been in their uniforms, then this Sunday would’ve been an odd day.

Ah, they carry similar baskets to my own, and just like them, the weight of the baskets had been filled with flowers. Their variety was the typical ones that grow naturally in the city, compared to the others in my clutch, being from the rooftop garden.

And, in their hands were…

“Oh, goodness! How terribly daft of me.” 

Heat coats my cheeks. Immediately I squat to the ground, an ungracious move that was covered by my long skirt. 

They had been holding out the flowers. For inspection, no doubt. That’s why they recall me so well, I was a spectator to their show and tells often. However, the events of these past weeks, and ‘late night’ shifts left me more battered and wearier than what I expected from the work. 

“These look wonderful! Are you planning on sharing this with Mister Claire and the class tomorrow? Your teacher would adore the idea and for all you have, you can even adorn the classroom! How fitting for spring.” 

I hold my closed fists in front of me, nodding my head, drinking in the image of a flower-covered classroom from floor to ceiling, embracing the change of season. I heard countless times from my peers in education that decorations were of the norm, since they had to deal with my blank expression from time-to-time about such customs.  My mind remains wrapped around the idea, but the silence itself is deafening compared to the replies that, at this point, should’ve been exchanged. Should I be worried about the gaze that still hasn’t changed? Phoebe glances to her friend and back at me. Elena remains with her eyes on me Both of them possibly doubting someone of my age and the things I’ve said. Which, still, do not come to me. And, too, which isn’t surprising or even insulting. 

Until one of them stares with such resolve, even pity, at the social barrier, finally addressing the lost elder: 

“These are for you, Miss Hatter.” A courteous inflection but bewildered expression from Elena. 

“Huh?”  The confusion remains thick, but my mind vocalizes it.  “They’re for me…?”

Relieved heads nod at the movement in conversation, silently happy at the wall was overcome.

“My apologies..–” I clear my throat. “Today is ..” Index finger taps the back of my hand, putting together the words. “Valentine’s Day.” 

A supportive nod from Phoebe.

“Ah…”

Polite obligations sets in, despite the hesitation and discomfort growing in my mind, and it is my responsibility that I must uphold. To take these flowers were necessary, no matter how I felt on the exchange. Yet, most importantly, it would make them happy – which I would not deny young children any joys they could feel.

“Both of you are so generous and kind for your ages!” 

Despite the frigidness trailing down my spine, the cold making my hands wanting to curl up, the shudder that comes with taking in this reality, I remain with some dignity in this shambled body I known as myself.

But, its name…… That depends on who needs me, requires me. I am whoever they wish for me to be. And today, I am Miss Hatter. 

“Coral bells and marbled poinsettias, what beautiful spring colors with the blushing pinks and pale whites. Ever fitting the season and the holiday, you two have such a spectacular selection.” 

Carefully, I retrieve each flower, naming any fact from my insignificant lips. I settle them into my basket. 

“Thank you.” I clap my hands together, bowing my head momentarily.

 “As well, excellent timing for I have something that’d interest you as well. ”

Their expressions of curiosity lights an already bright day. Inquisitiveness has them almost on their toes, inching closer without any qualms to how anyone would perceive it; a child’s whimsical mind, always unprejudiced and welcoming on its own.

I search through my basket and I pinch the selection I had in mind that perfectly match both Phoebe and Elena’s color coordination.

“Please have this.”

Tied together by a red ribbon is a bouquet crafted and arranged by my own hands. Sunset orange plumerias and white spider lilies bunched together, the plumerias at the forefront while the spindly spider lilies were in the background, embellishing the size of the bouquet altogether.

Two of beautiful bouquets for two beautiful spirited girls.

“I promise again that I’ll visit Mister Claire’s classroom. Tomorrow is the perfect day to do so and it would be only fair to share something for once.” 

Though softer than a whisper, both girls remain attentive of each word and their eyes wider and now dazzling. What has caught their attention away from the arrangements? 

Perhaps it was the moment of surprise that overtook them. It is a swift change in mood and something unexpected from this interaction. 

I’m not sure why but my face feels a little tired. Ignoring it is the best choice, my body falters in how ‘healthy’ it feels already.

My hand rests above my chest.

This feeling. Like when the sun hits my back whenever I set laundry on the wire for my sisters, and when the rays awaken me from my workshop bench when the shop is idle midday, and when the light grants me sight to read during the terribly rainy days back in the house between the valleys.

My cheeks are warm.

( Most unknown to her, Sophie Hatter smiles.. Had she known, she’d called herself spry in the moment, her body and mind feeling far too aged to consider it normal for her. Yet, for those witnessing,  it was something else. Not delicate like how she performed duties, not crafted as she trained it to be.

Unrestrained, exquisite, a true look of beauty underneath all she found unremarkable and felt apathetic towards. )

“Happy Valentine’s Day.”

( She smiles, genuinely and simply, as Sophie Hatter. Something she should do more. )  

[imfallingdown-icantwakeup]

Fishmonger’s Daughter

Jaskier had a life that he walked away from to become a Bard. He has travelled across the Continent both by himself and with his Companion, Geralt of Rivia. What happens when they happen upon a familiar town and find a familiar face? Slow burn Jaskier/OC

Chapter Two: Devil Like You

Word Count: 3733

The sun streamed in steadily through the bare window, the warm afternoon sun warming my pale skin as I dressed in my finest clothes. I wanted to look good today for myself, for him, to show him that maybe there may be another side to me. A more feminine, womanly side.

Could Jaskier ever look at me the way I did him? I pull the sleeves of my white dress off one of my shoulders, leaving it bare before turning back and forth, seeing if I liked how it looked. The stark whiteness of the dress nicely contrasted the worn brown of the leather corset, making me look thinner and my bust larger than it truly was.

Still not enough.

I pulled the other down halfway and stood staring at my reflection carefully, my somewhat-tamed locks tied at the nape of my neck behind my shoulders while my mother’s silver ring gleamed back at me from around my neck from its perch right above my cleavage and decide that if this didn’t gather his attention, he was blinder than a bat and I have no chance. I was forever stuck to settle into being his friend. A title I had come to detest

“Ely! Elowyn, darling! Hurry along, Jaskier is already on his way!” Mom hollers from below as I struggle to tighten my corset from behind. I suck in a breath of frustration as I hear a small scuffle of feet hit the front door and run to my side of the house. Closing my eyes, I pray that my fingers pull the right ties to tighten from the top not the bottom before this intolerable bard-in-training enters my-

               “If you needed help, you could ‘a just asked, love.” His voice is so smug in that moment, so confident. I scoff as my hands and heart come to a standstill, his fingers softly flicking mine loose from the leather binds as he stands close behind me. Too close. The smell of dandelions, pears and lavender envelop me as I take a deep breath before I reply, not bothering to protest his closeness.

               “Didn’t your mo- “I pull a hand to my chest, eyes opening abruptly as he tugs the laces a bit too tight, the air vanishing from my lungs with my words, “-ther teach you not to walk in on a lady?” When he is done I turn and glare at him, trying desperately not to return the shit-eating grin he has on his face. The way that the light beams in through the window catches his hair in just the right way, making it look three shades lighter than it should. Large blue eyes look lighter as a ray of sun catches the orbs as theu crash with my simple brown ones. He angles his head towards mine, so our foreheads were almost touching as if to tell a secret.

               “It would work if you were a lady, you little devil.” He teases quietly before he turns and bolts away from me. I gasp at him for a moment in shock before I grab my boots and run after him.

               “Jaskier!” I yell at his retreating back as he runs to the tavern. I slip on the boots at the front door, eyes not leaving the path that he had taken. That little shit. I follow him in haste, arms down to try to stop my dress from whipping around me although the corset prevented me from running after him properly, a small giggle emitting its way from me uncontrollably as I race after him.

I could do this forever.

               I crash into the tavern, breathing sporadically from the damn corset being too tight as I collide with my mother. She giggles at my rough entrance, eyes dancing over to the boy leaning against the opposite post, his vibrant blue and purple back purposely to the entrance. I could tell from the rise and fall of his shoulders that he was out of breath as well. Damn him.

               “Sorry, Ma.” I apologize, half panting as I kiss her cheek, accepting the tankard from her aging hand. She waves me off with a small smile before her mossy green eyes narrow slightly at me. She pulls my hair from its spot tied at the nape of my neck, a small ‘tsk’ sent my way in judgement.

               “A woman lets her hair down every once and a while, Elowyn.” She chastises lightly, hand weaving its way through my hair, making my waves bounce back in their natural place. I roll my eyes as I take a drink of the bitter beer, wincing slightly at the taste.

               “Sorry, Ma.” I apologize once again, walking along side her to the table holding the rest of my family.

               “Lookie here, Orson!” Ma calls out to my father as we round the table, arm around my bare shoulders. I smile at him, excited that he finally got a decent few days off to spend with us to celebrate. “Isn’t this dress lovely?” She asks rhetorically, hand skimming down my sleeve, fingering the expensive lace. The corset I’ve had since I turned 16, the dress a gift Father got as a gift for my birthday from a passing traveler, or so he told me.

               “My little girl.” He coos, dark eyes meeting mine. Most say that I looked like my mother, dark red hair and high cheekbones. Smaller eyes than many of the other girls. I, on the other hand, always thought that I looked like the man before me, the man who spent everyday he had selling fish. Stinky, slimy, rancid fish that was barely worth the dirt on the bottom of his shoe by the time it got to our neck-of-the-woods.

               That never stopped him, not ever. Everyday that there was air inside of his lungs, Orson was out there, talking anybody and everybody into buying something from him so he could feed his wife and my brother and me. When Maddox was old enough, he had left. Gone off to be an adventurer, to get a taste of the salty air and the green grass. Mother had done nothing but supported his dreams, feeding that wandering spirit inside of him. Urging him to just go. He seemed to find his way back every now and then, a warm breeze passing through whenever he was able. This was one of those times, the day of celebrating not only my entrance into this world, but my best friend’s.

               “Daddy, please.” I protest, going to drink my beer once more. Not this early tonight, no please.

               “Just-Just let me say one thing? Just one, I promise.” He assures, tears gathering in our eyes. I blink as I chug the rest of my beer, shaking my head at the light-headed feeling it leaves me. He grabs one of my soft hands into both of his rough calloused ones, eyes not leaving mine as he speaks from his heart. “I hope you find someone who is brave enough to enter your storm and respects you enough to love the size of your waves. I hope that you fine someone who will relish the calm you can have, and who is eager to set sail on the expanse of your mind. I hope you find someone that cannot ever escape the love they have for you, because now they have you in their very blood, coursing through their veins always reminding them that you are the only sea worth exploring.” By the time he finishes, he has a stray tear or two running down not only his face, but my own. I hastily wipe them all away, his and mine, wracking my head, trying to find something acceptable to say. What can you say after your father lays his intentions bare to you like that? The man who has always sacrificed everything for you, not laying everything in front of you to see.

               “You said one. That was, at the least, three.” I tease, leaning on my toes to kiss his rough cheek. I turn to go grab some more beer, passing Jaskier on my way. Jas smiles at me in passing, raising his lute in my direction.

               “If I may have your attention, please!” Jaskier speaks loudly, gaining what he wishes. I, however, ignore him as I get some more beverages. I know that I will not survive this night sober. “Lovely ladies and proud gentlemen. If I may.” He stalls, bowing slightly as he catches me eye while I turn. There is a mischievous smile on his face, and I don’t trust it for a moment.

               “Oh fishmonger, oh fishmonger; Come quell your daughter’s hunger,” He sings, rather beautifully may I add. I smile at him, but his smirk only widens. Why does that worry me? “To pull… On my horn… As it rises in the morn’!” He sings gleefully, smile ever broadening on his beautiful face. He did not! “For tis not, but bad luck to FUCK with a puck!” By this time others are clapping in time with him, and I cannot do more than stand there and place a hand over my mouth. What in the name of everything holy… “Lest your grandkid be born a hairy young FAUN! Bleating and baying, all day, hey! Ho!” I drink another tankard of beer before heading over to my parents, face red from embarrassment. “The fishmonger’s daughter, ba! Ba!” His voice trails behind me as I plop beside my father, face red from his incessant singing. He starts over from the beginning, other drunkards joining in this time with a laugh. My father elbows me with a smile of his own nodding towards Jaskier dancing and singing in front of his beloveds. He could keep them then and write embarrassing songs of them too, if he so wished.

               “If he’s going to make a profit from us, you may as well stake your claim, eh?” He teases as I take another greedy drink from my cup. I sputter as I slam the cup down, earning a laugh from the table and catching the eye of a very annoying bard.

               “You’re not making any of this better.” I mutter, ignoring the lot of them. A warm feeling flows through me, and I no longer know if it’s from Jaskier’s song or the alcohol swirling its way through my body. At this point, it may be a mixture of both. And that didn’t bother me in the slightest.

                  “Elowyn, wake up.” Jaskier speaks into my ear, shaking my shoulder softly. “Elowyn, we don’t have time for this. Wake up, Geralt’s going to leave us and it’s going to be your fault.” He whines from above me, shaking me harder. The sun had yet to rise, the small room still dark. The only light that illuminated the room was one that Jaskier had brought with him, a lone candle that was lit and sitting on the dresser by my lonely mirror.

               “You sound like a child.” I groan, pushing him away from me as I stand beside my bed, not bothering to be modest. I was wearing a nightgown. I trudge over to the clothes laid out on the chair, turning my back to the man as I lift my dress over my head. I hear him clear his throat from behind me and I look over my shoulder to see him turned around, hands on his hips. He was pointedly staring at the closed door; his shoulders tense and I could feel the hardened stare he was giving the wall. Maybe Jaskier had turned into a man since his departure.

               “You’re acting like a child, you devil.” He quips, running a hand through his hair, giving a slight tug at the chocolate locks. I laugh as I turn and finish getting dressed, pulling a blouse on before stepping into a corset before my trousers. I hold the offending leather up under my arm as I tie my pants, sighing as I reach behind me to lace the damn thing up. Before I get a chance to fail at fastening myself up, I feel a familiar flicking at my fingers and I drop my hands with a small giggle, shaking my head as a sense of de ja vu floods me. “I guess some things never change.” Jaskier teases as he laces it up rather tight.

               “Have I ever complained about your lacing techniques?” I ask mindlessly, mind still hazy from sleep. He chortles lightly behind me before he loosens the cords slightly, leisurely sliding a finger between my back and the material. I can feel the heat trail from his finger on my spine through the thin material of my shirt pump through my sleepy body making everything feel so damn good.

               “Does the demon feel better now?” Jaskier asks mockingly in my ear as he attentively removes his finger, hot air fanning the outer shell of my ear. I breathe in the scent of dandelions and lavender and close my eyes to relish this moment. To ingrain that smell into my being, to remember how the heat feels as it pumps through his finger to my limbs, if only for a transient moment.

               “Yes, very much so.” I respond, walking away from him and his sinful touch, to grab my boots. I throw some socks and boots over my feet and nod to my small bag sitting by my door. “If you could be so kind and take that down to my gelding. He is tied at the inn, the spotted blue roan. His name is Hamish.” I order, standing as I start opening a side pack, counting coins mindlessly. Space. I needed space to wake up.

               “Am I selling thee my soul as well?” He complains, grabbing the pack on his way out of the door, sending a vaguely shocked look my way at the seemingly weightlessness of the bag. It would almost be believable if I didn’t hear the smile in his voice as he spoke the words.

               “Whose acting like the child now, Jaskier?” I call after him lazily, grabbing only the essentials off the top of my dresser. With my mother’s wedding ring finding its way around my neck, my father’s dagger slipped inside my side pack for protection while carrying Maddox’s gloves I stand and take a last look around the small crowded room I’ve come to call home. I’ve spent five years of my life here, surviving while trying to live. I grab my long cloak from beside my dresser, tying it around my throat as I think of all that I truly am leaving behind, and realize it’s not much. If anything at all.

               I take a deep breath before I place the gloves inside my pack as well, tying my hair at the nape of my neck. Hopefully Jaskier won’t tire of me easily, not even after I become a nuisance. The air doesn’t feel as light without the bard around.

               The steps feel as if they are made of ice as I stumble down them as I step outside, the rain the night before slickening the path to the inn. Now the trick is to get the least amount of mud possible on myself while getting across town. Great. I take a step into the dark sludge and wince internally while sighing, hating the feel of the wet ground beneath my feet. Felt too much like the past.

               “I hear li’le ol’ Ely’s lea’ing us.” I hear Theodora say from behind, a harshness to her shrill voice. I turn on my heel and look her way, a small smile finding its way to my face as I stare at the white blonde woman for a moment. I didn’t know what to say, I hadn’t planned that far ahead.

               “I’m either little or old, I can’t be both.” I retort, trying to avoid the inevitable for as long as I could. Maybe if I didn’t say out loud that I was leaving, she wouldn’t be mad. She rolled her eyes at me as she walked towards yours truly, linking arms as she drags me towards the inn, sighing in defeat.

               “Ya could’ a jus’ tol’ me. Would’ a loved to hear it from ya instea ‘a him.” She exacerbates, giggling softly into my ear.

               “Him?” I question, pulling on her arm, slowing our pace as we come around the corner towards the inn. Too soon, I couldn’t part with her yet. How could I ever part from the kind soul that tried to help me?

               “Your bard.” She enunciates with a smile, her green eyes sparkling in amusement.

               “My-my bard? No, no I do not own him. H-he is his own.” I deny, head high as I continue forward, cheeks reddening as we continue towards our goal. Theo laughs at my expense, getting her fill if you ask me. We come closer with each step, and soon her laughter fades. We both stop and watch as Jaskier ties my bag and his own onto Hamish, sending a small smile our way when he spies us standing there. We smile and wave back, still not moving or making a noise until we both see Geralt exit, causing us to sigh. The silence is comforting, lets me know that she isn’t too mad at me. At least she didn’t think this far ahead either, thinking of a lecture to give me on our way over.

Geralt sees us and starts walking after throwing something to Jaskier, causing Theo to wrap her arms around me, pulling me tightly against her small, frail body. She pushed her face as far as it could into my hair as she stifled a cry, one wrapping itself around even tighter around my middle while the other holds the back of my head steady.

               “Promise me tha you’ll protect yerself. Even from tha Doxie, if ya ‘ave ta.” Theo mutters into my hair softly. I grab her and hold just as tight as I take a sharp breath, feeling as if she just punched me in the gut, a cold feeling seeping from my chest and over my being. “Promise.”

               “I promise.” I whisper, closing my eyes as Geralt gets close. He stands a respectable distance away while we finish our goodbyes and wipe each other’s tears from our faces. When did I start to cry? She turns to him abruptly, head high as she fishes a coin pouch from her bust. I have never seen such a look of feral maternity on anyone and it sent a fresh wave of tears to my eyes when I realize that she feels that way about me.

               “To assure her safety.” She addresses the Witcher, gaze never wavering as she hands him the hefty leather pouch. He regards it carefully while opening the gift, fingering through to count before he glances at Theo, then myself.

               “Let’s get a move on.” Geralt’s voice rumbles, nodding towards Theodora as we pass. I smile a watery smile as I walk by her, not daring to look back as the wet earth squelches beneath my feet. I almost slip as I get to Jas and Hamish, Jaskier’s arm reaching out to help steady me. He smiles warmly at me in comfort and I feel the cold slowly dissipate from my body. If only he knew his effect on me. He mounts Hamish before me, an arm extended to help me up. I roll my eyes before I accept his offer, hoisting myself up before I slip my thighs against his, arms around his middle with my front pressed against his back.

His body is warm and firm against mine, a stark contrast to the cold permeating all around us. I shiver slightly at just how warm he is, arms tightening slightly as I press the side of my face into his shoulder, lungs once again filling with the distinct scent that never leaves him. Dandelions and lavender. The fabric of Jaskier’s outer coat isn’t the softest in the world although the amount of heat that pours from him is well worth the slight itchy feeling it leaves behind. I sigh in comfort, relaxing wholly against him as we follow Geralt on his next venture, and all I can do is smile into Jaskier’s back.

               I could get used to travelling like this.

               “Are you comfortable back there?” Jaskier taunts softly and I could feel his chest rumble through my front. I’m thankful that he can’t see the flush rising to my cheeks as I press my face harder into his shoulder, embarrassed at getting caught.

               “Getting there, thank you for asking.” I retort, squirming to prove my point. I was already comfortable, although he didn’t need to know that little tidbit of information. I can feel the soft rumble of his chuckle through our bodies and it fills me with a new warmth, spreading through my veins like wildfire. “Where are we headed?” I ask him, turning my head towards his neck. Jaskier shrugs slightly as we follow Geralt, nodding up at him.

               “Wherever he is. He wreaks of adventure; can’t you smell it?” Jaskier asks as he turns towards me, eyes bright with a large smile on his face. The joy it brings him, the smile he wears. I can’t help the smile my face mirrors and hope my eyes shine half as bright as his does in that moment as a reply passes my lips before I can even think.

               “No, but I trust you.” I confess honestly, voice almost breathless. Jaskier simply smiles brightly for a moment before he nods at me, turning his attention to the Witcher in front of us, continuing to nod his head.

               “Good, that’s-that’s good.” Jaskier clears his throat as he tightens his grip on the reins and I laugh at his reaction causing Geralt to turn and look back at us.

               “Everything okay back there?” He calls back, giving Jaskier a knowing look. We both nod at him and I place my head back at its comfortable spot on his shoulder, reveling in his warmth once more. We ride for a while more, I’m not sure how much longer, before I close my eyes. It isn’t long before I fall asleep, the warmth and smell emanating from him being to familiar and comforting to resist.

[samsonet]

What matter to me if their star is a world?

No encores. Not songs, not moves, not Pokemon.

But then what does that make her?

Title from Robert Browning's "My Star"

~

When Marnie is five years old, her brother gives her a Pokemon.

It has to be a dark-type, but it looks so bright that the idea is hard to believe. It waddles over, sniffs her ankles, then raises its arms. Marnie knows what that means. It wants to be picked up!

“I thought havin’ a partner might help ya not be scared all the time,” her amazing big brother says.

He hands her its pokeball.

“Thank you! Thank you!”

Next, Piers asks a gym trainer to battle her. Marnie wins her very first time. She runs on the field and hugs Morpeko tight. Everyone says she’s so talented and that they’re proud of her.

(Later, she’ll realize that the older trainer let her win. But back then? She was five. She thought the world belonged to her.)

*

Marnie can’t sing. Can’t pour out her soul. Can’t even yell. Her voice is small and soft, a violin among electric guitars.

Her brother seems to realize that. He finds other ways for her to support him. Help carry the microphone, Marnie. Raise your arms like this to get the audience hyped up. Stand there and look cute, Marnie, people love that.

She jumps to obey the first time, because her brother hates repeating himself.

No encores. Not songs, not moves, not Pokémon.

But when the show is over and they go home, when it’s just him and her in their messy cold apartment, he’ll keep singing the same lullaby until she falls asleep.

*

The trouble with Morpeko is this: it never stays in one mood for long.

It goes from cheerful to angry in the blink of an eye, and it continues to catch her off guard. Every time a trainer yells or Piers’ Pokémon surprise her or there’s another sudden blackout — every time that a younger Marnie would have cried — well, now Morpeko needs her. There’s no time for crying now.

She feeds him berries and hugs him close to her chest. He’s her best friend. (Her only friend.)

It takes a while for her to understand her partner well enough to cope with his moods. She likes to think it made them closer.

*

Piers wants her to take over the gym.

That’s the plan. That’s always been the plan, ever since the day Spikemuth’s last leader croaked and Piers somewhat-accidentally ended up with the gym. He’s been holding on to it, taking care of all the trainers and whatnot, but it’s not his dream.

(It’s not hers, either, but someone has to do it.)

She’s growing like a dandelion, poking her head through a crack in the concrete. She should consider herself lucky to be under the care of someone who thinks she’s worth nurturing.

(She still can’t sing.)

None of it matters.

One day, she’ll grow tall and strong. One day, she’ll master dark-types. One day, she’ll stand on Piers’ stage, wearing his uniform and battling with his style, and all the yells will sound the same.

*

One day, when she and Piers are setting up the stage, Marnie’s world changes forever.

Her brother says, in a casual voice, “I’m thinking of endorsing you for the gym challenge.”

She nods, stuffs some paper under a wobbly leg on the drum set, and then has a double-take.

The gym challenge. A way to get out of this town. A chance to make a name for herself, to be someone other than Piers’ dear little sister. The possibility of battling the champion. The possibility of beating the champion.

She’d never really thought of it before.

It surprises her, how suddenly she wants it.

She meets her brother’s eyes. No amount of makeup disguises the exhaustion, but he puts the effort into smiling for her.

She gives a small smile in return. “So I’d be representin’ you, huh?”

“You don’t have ta worry about representin’ me. You’re my champion no matter what.” It’s corny, but no one is around to hear. “But you’d be representing Spikemuth, Marn. I know it’s not an easy task. Do you feel up to it?”

She looks to Morpeko. Her partner gives a cheeky grin.

“Yeah. We c’n do it.”

*

Of course, her brother doesn’t let her go alone.

“I’m gonna be sendin’ some people with ya, okay? They’re there to protect ya.”

His gym trainers, dressed in the most paper-thin disguises, follow her out of Spikemuth and onto Route 9.

“What are ya doin’, dressed like that?” she asks.

Joshua answers: “We’re Team Yell! We’re gonna support you through the whole challenge!”

The other trainers give yelps and woohoos. “Go Marnie! That’s our Marnie! Yay Marnie!!”

It’s so easy to be talked over and shouted down.

She’s not getting rid of them as long as she stands here, though, so Marnie keeps walking and pretends they aren’t there.

She makes it to Motostoke safe and sound, and that’s what counts, right?

*

Leon’s girl is quiet, even by Marnie’s standards. She looks at everything with wide eyes, like she’s overjoyed and overwhelmed. She’s brown eyes and brown hair and brown skin, plain posture and plain clothes. Either she hasn’t figured out her aesthetic yet, or her aesthetic is to be so normal that one might overlook her.

She’s got a lovely smile, though.

Marnie decides she likes her.

“You’re lookin’ a bit gobsmacked by all this,” she says.

The girl nods, grinning sheepishly.

“You must be from some small country town, is that it? I’m quite the same myself.”

The girl stands awkwardly, like she’s not used to conversation. Then she kneels down and makes faces at Morpeko. For his part, Morpeko seems to love it. Fair enough. Don’t trainers usually connect through their Pokemon? Maybe that’s what this girl is trying to do.

Leon’s brother rushes up. “Gloria, come on! Sorry, everyone, we gotta go!”

He grabs the girl by the hand, and in the blink of an eye, they’re gone.

Marnie will learn later, from magazine profiles and TV interviews, that Gloria is the childhood friend of Leon’s little brother. The pair of them are like peas in a pod, apparently. In the interviews, Hop is always the one talking. He speaks like he’s never heard of an indoor voice. Gloria is almost silent beside him, nodding along, only saying a few words when specifically prompted.

Marnie understands. When everyone around is so loud, sometimes it’s an advantage to be quiet.

She hopes they’ll get the chance to speak properly.

*

At the hotel, Gloria has just battled a group of Team Yell grunts. Inwardly, Marnie groans. Like it or not, Team Yell is her fandom, which means she has some responsibility for what they do.

Does Piers know how much of a pain his trainers will be if they keep acting like this?

They're there to protect you.

Her brother hates repeating himself.

She tells Team Yell to just go home. Piers can send them out again later if he wants.

She turns to the other kids, explains what Team Yell is doing. “Sorry if they caused you any trouble.”

She expects them to look at her with scorn. Look at this girl, with a thick accent and dirty clothes. Look at how she thinks she’s so special, with a team of hooligans following her around.

But then Leon’s little brother speaks.

“So you’re a gym challenger, too?” Hop folds his arms behind his head. He’s got a cute toothy grin; he’s obviously used to being happy. “Team Yell, was it? Pretty impressive that you already have a set of fans to call your own!”

He really doesn’t know.

But Marnie smiles all the same.

*

She’s in a boutique in Motostoke when she sees Hop again.

“Watch out! I’m coming through!”

He pushes blithely past anyone in his way. Of course, no one gives him any trouble. He’s the champion’s little brother. He can do whatever he likes.

It seems that what he wants to do is look at the same rack of snapbacks Marnie is.

He picks up a League Sponsored Normal Type Hat (™). “Hey, Marnie, how does this look on me?”

He says it like they’re not basically strangers.

He says it like he’s entitled to her thoughts.

(Being Leon’s little brother must come with a lot of perks, huh.

But that’s a mean thing to think.)

She decides to humor him. “It looks fine.”

“Aw, come on! Look at me!”

She does.

She’s struck with the strangest sense of deja vu, but in a moment she understands why.

Hop has his brother’s face. Hop has his brother’s smile. Hop has his brother’s eyes.

People say that Marnie and Piers look alike, but a good portion of that is because they’re both punk. Put them in prep clothes, and the resemblance grows less distinct.

(Piers’ eyes always look so tired. If Marnie takes over the gym, will her eyes start to look like that, too?

No encores.

She’s probably a remix.)

“Are you figuring out what you want your image to be?” she asks.

“Mm. Yeah, I guess? You gotta give the audience a way to find you outta all the other challengers.”

Marnie hums. “You’ve already got a good template if ya play up how much ya look like Leon.”

Immediately, she knows that was the wrong thing to say. Hop drops the hat as if burned, and he shoves his hands in his pockets.

Marnie looks at the hat that she’d been considering, a League Sponsored Dark Type (™).

“Y’know, though,” she says, kneeling down to pick a more generic newsie cap, “my big brother is always talkin’ about not doin’ encores. It’s good ta always have somethin’ new, right?”

She hands him the cap. It’s blue, a shade off from the jacket Hop is wearing. He fits his hair under it, then tilts his head to give her a better view.

“It looks good on you,” she says.

He grins, then reaches down and pulls out a bright pink cap. He places it on her head, but her pigtails get in the way, and they both scramble to catch it before it hits the floor.

Hop starts laughing first, because that’s the kind of person he is, and soon Marnie is giggling too.

In this moment, she and Hop don’t represent anyone.

In this moment, they’re simply two kids in a new place, trying out different styles and having fun.

They buy the newsie hats. They buy matching jackets and shirts and trousers, too, because they have money now and no older brothers to stop them.

Hop gives her a cheerful goodbye and promises to meet her in the next town.

Marnie heads into the dressing room. She wants to examine the new clothes.

The inside of the cap and the lining of the jacket’s sleeves are both some silky fabric. The blouse is wooloo wool, soft as Morpeko’s fur. She runs her hands over it, enjoying the sensation, then puts the outfit on and snaps a selfie.

She looks like a princess. Not the ones like Cinderella, who came from poverty and ascended with the help of fairy godmothers. No, Marnie looks like one of the princesses who was born a princess. She looks like she’s used to elegance and influence.

It’s a nice daydream.

She puts on her usual outfit back on, then packs up the new clothes and mails them home at the next postbox.

It’s too late to be changing her style now.

*

“You’re Piers’ sister, right?” Milo asks, moving a hay bundle like he doesn’t realize how much of a flex it is. “I was listening to his stuff the other day. He’s really good.”

“He is.” Marnie holds up a pokeball. “But I’m here to battle you.”

The next TV spot describes her as stoic and emotionless. They say she’s serious, goal-focused. She doesn’t know how to feel about it.

*

It turns out Gloria likes normal-types. Beside her Scorbunny, she’s got a Wooloo and an Eevee. Plain girl, plain clothes, plain Pokemon.

But however plain Gloria is, her smile is genuine. It’s the kind of expression that connects with an audience.

Later that night, Marnie examines herself in her Rotom-phone’s camera. Her natural smile is so small that it’s not much different from her usual flat expression.

She puts on finger on either side of her lips and physically pulls them up.

It’s better, but still not enough.

*

She meets Bede on the outskirts of Stow-on-Side.

He’s got a Copperajah by his side. It’s not the kind of Pokémon she would expect him to have, but if the league was supposed to be about growing as a person…

He almost barrels over her. Lucky for Marnie, she’s got Team Yell behind her. They keep her from falling, and one of them grabs Bede by the back of his coat.

“Get your hands off of me,” Bede growls.

“You gotta apologize to Marnie first!”

“Why would I waste my time —”

(Why doesn’t the Copperajah do anything? Does it not care what happens to its trainer?)

Marnie’s eyes meet Bede’s.

“Well?” he asks, his lip curled into a sneer. “I know you, Challenger Nine-six-zero. You’re the little sister of Spikemuth’s gym leader, right? Your city wants you to become champion so you can bring some glory back. But you’ll never make it to Wyndon.”

“How dare you say that to our Ma—”

Bede’s sneer gets bigger. “You depend too much on your brother’s screaming gang. He’s not going to be able to baby you forever. Can you even speak for yourself? I don’t think you can.”

It’s so easy to be talked over and shouted down.

She turns to her fans. “Let him go.”

“Let him —?”

In the moment of surprise, Bede wrenches himself from the grunt’s hold. He hops back, arms up, hands loosely curled into fists.

“I don’ know what yer problem is,” Marnie says, as loudly as she can, “but it’s not my trouble to deal with! I don’ wanna hear another word from you! Get!”

Bede huffs.

Then he and Copperajah continue on their path.

When they’re out of eyesight, Marnie turns to her fans.

Something must be wrong with her expression, because the grunts look scared.

“Marnie…?”

“Tell Piers that I don’ need ‘im ta baby me anymore!”

She turns on her heel and stomps on, alone.

*

When Marnie sets up camp for the night, she thinks about her rivals.

At the opening ceremony, there had been — what, twenty?

Right now, she can only remember three.

Whatever Bede is getting up to, it can’t be good. (She hopes his Copperajah eats him.)

Hop has been nowhere in sight. It’s unusual and worrying. She hopes the pressure isn’t getting to him.

And Gloria...

Gloria is lucky. Her town is already prospering, because it has already produced a champion.

She has no older siblings to overshadow her; she has never had to feel empty when they’re distant, or smothered when they make their presence known.

Gloria doesn’t even have to worry about representing her sponsor. Everyone’s expectations of Leon are placed squarely on Hop’s shoulders.

Gloria has the privilege of fighting for herself.

Marnie envies her.

She curls up in her sleeping bag and thinks, who am I really fighting for?

*

She fights for Spikemuth.

Her city has fallen into hard times, and it feels like everyone back home is expecting her to bring new life back to it.

(Dirty accent, dirty clothes.)

She fights for Piers.

Her brother wants her to take over the gym. Her brother gave her her first Pokémon and everything he’s done since has always come back to the damn gym.

(“I want to focus on my music.”

Marnie still can’t sing.)

She fights for herself.

...and she fights for Morpeko.

Morpeko needs her. She has caught other Pokémon, yes, and they all depend on each other, but Morpeko is her partner. She understands him the most. She understands his moods, his wants, his thoughts and feelings.

She knows what it’s like to hunger. She’s faced the pain of an empty belly and the anguish of an unrealized goal, and she finds them equal.

Morpeko is a right little brute when he’s hangry, though.

*

Of course, Team Yell is causing trouble. Did Piers tell them to close the gate? It would be consistent.

She shows Gloria the way into Spikemuth. Maybe another challenger would let her competitor struggle (and Marnie does, indeed, let the others struggle), but Gloria is her rival. Rivals help each other, right?

Gloria, of course, passes through the gym without any trouble at all. She powers past all the obstructions, never showing the slightest hint of frustration.

And then she comes to Piers.

Marnie is watching from the sidelines. She studies Gloria’s face, looking for any indication of what she’s thinking.

For some reason, Marnie really wants her brother to make a good impression on Gloria. To represent what’s good about Spikemuth, to make it so Marnie looks good as a result.

(Dirty accent. Dirty city. Dirty, tired man at the center of it all.)

Piers goes all out, giving his best performance.

Gloria hops in joy when she wins.

*

After Gloria leaves, Piers looks to Marnie and asks, “Are ya okay? The trainers told me you’ve been actin’ differently lately.”

“It’s nuthin’. Just getting a bit tired.”

“Do you wanna rest here tonight? You don’t have to continue —”

“No!”

She says it a bit louder than intended. Piers looks at her in surprise.

Marnie clears her throat and tries again: “I need to keep up wi’ my rivals. One of us is goin’ ta be facing Leon. I want it to be me.”

Her brother looks at her with those tired eyes.

(Is she a bad sister, looking for a way to escape his burdens?)

“Well. Kick Leon’s arse for me, ya hear?” Piers kicks up his microphone and tucks it under his arm. “And when you get bored a’ bein’ champion, Spikemuth Stadium will be waiting for ya.”

I don’t want to be your encore, she thinks, but keeps quiet.

She tugs on the pendant connected to her collar. Beside her, Piers does the same.

*

Hammerlocke Stadium is cold.

Gloria had her match here two days ago, Hop the day after that. Bede would probably have gotten here before either of them, but —

Somewhere along the line, Bede got disqualified.

She wonders if the same thing could have happened to her. If the Chairman or the Champion decided that her fans were being too disruptive, could they have her sent away, too?

Her brother is strong, but his power has limits.

“Hey, kid!” Raihan says. His grin is full of sharp teeth. “You ready to battle me?”

She nods.

*

“You’re not like your brother,” Hop says.

They’re in the Wyndon Stadium locker room, waiting for the semifinals to start. Hop and Gloria had walked in together but quickly split apart, going to opposite sides of the room.

Hop decided to sit next to Marnie. She’ll take it as a compliment.

“I mean, your brother’s cool and all!” Hop continues, “But I’ve been watching your battles. Your battle style is totally different from his!”

It is. Piers can’t keep his cool, can’t stop shouting out his strategy in the middle of a match.

And Marnie…

Marnie stays quiet. That’s her advantage.

“Thank you. For what it’s worth… yer style is pretty distinct from Leon’s, too.”

He smiles and leans back. “Thanks.”

The minutes tick by. The anticipation is almost unbearable.

Hop says, “I’ve been thinking… after the cup, what do you think you’re going to do? If you don’t become champion, I mean.”

If you don’t become champion. A nice way of saying if we battle, I’m going to win.

Marnie herself has no intention of losing, but… well, everything’s a possibility.

“Piers wants me ta take over the gym. He wants ta follow his own dreams.”

“Do you want to take over the gym?”

Do you want to be your big brother’s encore?

Marnie thinks about the Spikemuth Stadium. Neon lights. Punk trainers. Dandelions growing through cracks in the concrete.

Despite everything, it’s her home.

If she can’t take Leon’s throne… she wouldn’t mind sharing Piers’ stage.

His songs. Her battles.

I’m not an encore, Marnie decides. Not a replay. Not a remix.

I’m a brand new song.

She says in answer, “I think I’d be happy there.”

*

When it comes time for her semifinal match, Marnie walks out on the pitch to the sound of roaring applause.

Gloria is waiting, plain as always, but she’s smiling that lovely smile.

(Oh, how Marnie wants that smile.)

The commentator announces them, putting them in boxes one last time. There’s Gloria, the trainer endorsed by the champion. There’s Marnie, endorsed by Spikemuth’s gym leader.

Marnie thinks of Piers: his prideful self-loathing, his harsh stage voice, his team of hooligans he’s sent to cheer for her.

She thinks of Spikemuth, the dark dirty town that has pinned all its hopes on her.

She thinks of her rival, standing before her.

She’s come too far to lose here.

[comicreliefmorlock]

Orthopedic Surgeons Like Pink Hair, Apparently

I have always wanted to be a redhead. 

My admiration of fiery locks stretches back to my earliest memories and my absolute adoration of Jessica Rabbit. (Which I mean everyone had that period of adoring Jessica, but...) And cursed with chestnut hair that had, in my mother’s words, “gold and red highlights” did not assuage this desire for flaming red hair in the slightest. 

Naturally, one would assume I began dyeing my hair the moment I realized such a thing was possible, but I wasn’t actually lured into the magic of hair dye until late high school. My sister-in-law--who remains the girliest person I’ve ever met--dyed her hair regularly, heard my profound desire to become a redhead and dutifully set about to fulfill said longing. 

My hair was red and I was astoundingly happy.

Thus began my dedication to the magic of some incredibly stinky chemicals making my scalp itch, my shower looking as if Lars Thorwald was my roommate and an increasing number of shirts with red/dark brown/pink stains on them. 

Now having naturally dark hair meant I was unable to achieve truly red hair. I’m talking flaming. I wanted there to be absolutely no doubt that my hair was RED. For a considerable time, however, I was a coward. I feared what might come if I were to attempt bleaching my hair to get that real red I was eternally chasing. 

Until 2011.

Working in an operating room meant two things specifically: a stringent dress code (mainly for the sake of safety--i.e. no fake nails) and a lot of flexibility in said dress code simply because focus was on patient care and not on making sure everyone followed the hospital code to the letter. 

[One example? I kept my nails black for a month, got acrylics (painted black) and policy changed so personnel who didn’t interact with patients were allowed to have acrylics. HAH. Make me follow rules? I’ll show you what’s what.]

I wasn’t intending on flouting the dress code when I bought a DIY bleach kit and a couple boxes of BRIGHT red hair dye. It was simple math--I’d dyed my hair black a few months back, wanted to go back to red and the only way to effectively do that was to strip off the black and give my red dye a fresh bleached blonde base to settle into. 

Now, you should probably have someone help when you bleach your hair for the first time ever. Preferably someone with actual experience dyeing hair (their own or someone else’s). My second ex had no experience whatsoever, but I blithely submitted my head to him as he slathered on the bleach. 

I hadn’t taken a couple of things into account. One, the bleached areas we started with were going to be saturated for muuuuuuch longer than the rest. Two, I hadn’t chosen a dark red dye. I’d gone for a bright, lovely RED-red, because every time I’d dyed my hair before, I’d always gone up a shade or two in order to get a brighter shade on my naturally dark hair. 

When the bleach was washed out, I was a punk dandelion. 

My hair went from bright yellowish-white at the crown to an amazing orange at the tips. I looked like a Q-tip on fire.

Needless to say, this was not what I’d anticipated happening post-bleach. However, I still had me two boxes of red dye (I always bought two because long, thick hair = needs lots of dye) and I could fix this. The red might be a little brighter than usual, but it’d cover up all the strange tonal areas and be a pleasant red. 

The result?

Pink.

Not just “pink” but neon rose straight through to pale pastel. There was no ‘red,’ that was not a shade that happened. Somehow, through the magic of inexpertly applied chemistry, I ended up with absolutely wild pink hair. 

Having committed this error of judgement, I had two realizations: it was Sunday night and I had less than 24 hours before I had to show up at work. In the conservative hospital. With the stringent dress code. 

Two possibilities presented themselves: run to the nearest store, grab dark red dye and hope for the best or cover up as much hair as possible with a scrub cap and wait out a few days to avoid burning my hair any worse than it’d already suffered. 

I slathered on conditioner like it was going out of style, used every bit of coconut oil I could and made sure I had the hand-sewn cutsey scrub caps available that one of the OR nurses had lovingly given me. 

Once I arrived at work and was faced with the woman who I have eternally proclaimed “Best Supervisor Ever,” I was struck with a guilty conscience. There was no way I couldn’t tell her about the mishap and let her know I was going to remedy this as soon as it was safely possible. 

So with only her in the office, I tugged off my scrub cap, unfastened the clip and revealed the elbow-length rush of sheer pink that my hair had become. Her response was to laugh so hard she nearly cried, all the while trying to gasp that it actually didn’t “look bad.”

As I’m sharing a laugh with her--because if I couldn’t laugh at myself, I’d be absolutely insufferable--the office door opens and one of the orthopedic surgeons walks in. He was one of the nicer doctors in the OR, always pleasant and treated the support staff with respect. 

And all he managed to say was “...it’s so pink!” 

He’d never seen so much pink hair before. He was fascinated. As I’m standing there between the printer and the desk, awkwardly trying not to laugh, he circled me, staring at the flood of pink that was floofing out over my shoulders. And then he nearly killed me by giving me the most Earnest Look and asking “...can I touch it?”

I, of course, said yes and his surgeon-skilled hands were immediately buried in my hair. He floofed it, fluffed it, held it up, turned it over and rubbed it between his fingers, all the while whispering “It’s so pink! ...and soft! ...and pink!”

This went on for a full five minutes. 

With my supervisor’s assurance that I wasn’t going to be fired for a “hair mishap,” I settled back in to work and my only concession to the whole thing was to make sure I wore a full-coverage scrub cap every day for the week or so that I gave my hair to recover. 

Except for what became the evening routine. 

Between five and six in the evening, the surgeon would come into view, peering towards the office from around the corner. He’d always check to make sure I was alone before creeping up to the window--open to let people hand in paperwork without breaking stride--and whisper “Can I?”

I nodded. And he’d dash around to the door, pop into the office and wait with eager anticipation until I’d gotten my scrub cap and hair clip off. 

And then he just went to town. This MD with decades of experience and specialized training, nearly in his early sixties, would stand behind me and act like my hair was a brand-new toy JUST like one he’d always wanted as a kid and now he could damn well have it. 

Floofing, flipping, petting, braiding, unbraiding, petting, smoothing, stroking my hair with an expression of absolutely childlike glee while whispering “...it’s so pink! ...and soft! ...and pink!”

The day I came to work with my hair redyed a more subdued, appropriate red, I saw what true disappointment looked like. He never asked to play with my hair again, but every so often, he’d bring paperwork to the office and say “It was just so pink.”

[ascalonianpicnic]

Maroon, wine, dandelion, laurel, cerulean, lilac, white, sepia, and ink for Aildyn, Rhosill, and Azin :>

I’m giving you a look rn, and I feel you should know that

Maroon - What are you most passionate about?

Aildyn - “I guess I’m pretty passionate about my work with the Pact. And revenge. Kralkatorrik can eat my ass.”

Rhosill - “I’m not really a passionate person, if I’m honest. Maybe the recruits I help Tvelle train? They’re all good kids, and I’d like to see them survive.”

Azin - “My life’s work, and my passion, is the stars and their movements. It’s amazing what you can learn from them, and I intend to learn everything they have to teach!"

Wine - What is your opinion on alcohol? (and does it exist in your world?)

Aildyn - “Good when you want to have less control or want to numb something. It interferes with my work now, though, so I don’t drink.”

Rhosill - “Only thing that makes me safe to be around, so you could say I’m a fan.”

Azin - “A drink now and then is certainly nice to indulge in. I don’t keep it around the house, though. Mint doesn’t react well to alcohol, so I want to make sure they can’t get into it on accident.”

Dandelion - Would you consider yourself stubborn?

Aildyn - “I gotta be to work with my dickhead partner. A pushover wouldn’t last a day as commander with Matthias.”

Rhosill - “When I’m sober, yeah.”

Azin - “I can be, when the situation calls for it, but I try not to be.”

Laurel - Is there a major victory you’ve achieved in your life? if so, what is it?

Aildyn - “Cleansing Orr with Trahearne is the one I’m most proud of, though killing Balthazar and Joko were both pretty fucking good too. The others have all kind of been spoiled.”

Rhosill - “Nope. Just a whole lot of losses.”

Azin - “I’d call saving Mint a major victory. I’m very glad I decided to take the bounty set on those pirates on a whim, and managed to find and help Mint.”

Cerulean- What is your favorite way to cool down in hot weather?

Aildyn - “Fresh fruit, and finding a shady spot with a nice breeze to relax in or a pool of water to dip my feet into. There’s nothing quite like sitting on a dock, barefoot and eating peaches.”

Rhosill - “Heat doesn’t really get to me, but sitting in the shade of a tree is nice.”

Azin - “Sharing ice cream with Mint is my absolute favorite way to cool off on a hot day. It’s a sweet treat, and I love watching their face light up as they eat.”

Lilac - How would someone win you over?

Aildyn - “Not hating me off the bat is a good start, don’t ya think? Respecting me and accepting me and... Fuck, no one is gonna use this information, man! No one likes me enough to try and win me over.”

Rhosill - “They have to really show me I can trust them and can trust myself around them. That if I lose control, they aren’t going to end up badly hurt.”

Azin - “I can be picky about who I spend my time with, but there are a lot of ways to win me over. I have a wide variety of friends for a reason. Give it a try. I’m not too hard to impress.”

White - Do you consider yourself a good person? What’s the best thing you’ve ever done for somebody?

Aildyn - “Absolutely not! But I’ve been doing more and more good recently. I don’t know if this is the best thing I’ve ever done, but I’ve been trying to help Braham with his fear of spiders recently. Scooping them up and putting them outside for him, without using them to scare him or anything.”

Rhosill - “No, but I want to be. Tvelle says helping out with the Pact is a good thing, and I’ve tried to be available for the recruits to talk to when they have issues.”

Azin - “I certainly hope I am, but I don’t want to make any bold claims. I suppose the best thing I’ve ever done for someone would be helping Mint with their recovery, though really it just feels natural to me. Someone has to be there for them, and I love them, so why not be the person who supports them through their tough times.”

Sepia - Do you have any hobbies? If so, what are they?

Aildyn - “I uhhh, I like making those little bead animals. It’s pretty satisfying, and I give my finished ones to random kids I meet. They always get real excited about them. It feels good.”

Rhosill - “I practice shooting, I brawl, and I picked the fiddle back up.”

Azin - “Spending time with Mint, or with my friends, and reading are the biggest ones. I’m also learning more about tea for fun.”

Ink - write your autobiography in one sentence

Aildyn - “Well now, who put this unlovable disaster in charge, and who left the dickhead in here with them?”

Rhosill - “A list of bad choices followed by one long attempt at an apology.”

Azin - “A simple sylvari explores the stars and what it means to love and care for someone.”

[so-langelo]

wishing on a dandelion

woah... it’s been quite a while since I have posted a solangelo fic, but here we are again!

hope you guys like it! 

ari xxx

Summary: 5 times Nico’s wishes didn’t come true and 1 time they did 

i.

“I wish I can fly!” Nico launched himself off of the coach, flailing his limbs and landing with an umph on his butt on the carpet. 

His mother’s delicate laugh rung through their small hotel room. Her worn hands picked him up and pulling her close to her chest. “One day, I promise passerotto.” 

Bianca looked up from the coloring book she had been working on endlessly. “Nico, we’re humans. We can’t fly. We don’t have wings like birds do.”

Nico, his childlike wonder not understanding mortal logic just yet, stuck his tongue out at his sister, and mustered his best glare. “Watch me. I’ll be the first human to fly. I’ll leave you here on the ground and take Mama with me, and we’ll live forever.” 

In the future, Nico would learn to never say things like this. To tempt the Fates so blatantly, for they will quickly strike you down. 

And they did, for while Nico’s mother’s bell chime laugh was interrupted with a thunderous string of knocks on the door. His mother adjusted him, so he would sit on her hip. She opened the door, tentative, but hen she saw the figure outside, the expressions on her face fought between surprise, fondness, and fear. 

“Maria, may I come in?” 

Years later while looking back on this memory, Nico would plead with his mother to not open the door to his father. To not talk to him, to run away with Bianca and him. He wished that his younger self did take his mother and sister away, somewhere where they can never be found and always be safe.  

But that night, Nico tempted the Fates, and for millennia they had never learned to resist.

ii. 

Bianca was dead. Nico prayed that she would come back. He trusted Percy would keep her safe and bring her back. This was his punishment for trusting him. 

Anger boiled like molten rocks in the pit of his stomach. As he ran away from camp, he left a trail of death in his wake. The grass he stepped on wilted and charred. Flowers and trees folded inwards, leaving nothing, but a shell of something that was once alive. 

He didn’t know where he was going. Anywhere away from that camp, away from Percy Jackson. Who saved his friends at the cost of his sister’s life. 

It wasn’t fair. Bianca was all he had, and she let him. To the Hunters and now for forever.

He cursed and screamed, every word that came out of his mouth was guttural and coated in rage. What did he do to deserve this?

He didn’t know how long it’s been. His throat was raw and burned. He didn’t realize when his legs gave out from beneath him and he had been on his knees. The sky was painted gray with storm filled clouds. The first drops had began to fall. Nico looked up and let the cool droplets stream on his face and mix with his tears. 

Oh, Gods, please bring her back. I wish for nothing else, but to have my sister back. 

He waited. The rain fell faster now, and transformed from a sprinkle to the pour. He waited, and nothing happened. The dirt under him melted into mud. The clouds drifted off, pushed away by the winds and the rain calmed down. The sun had retired and stars twinkled above him, mockingly. And still nothing. 

Seconds could have been years and hours could have been eons, it didn’t matter to Nico. If the Gods wouldn’t help him, he would get his sister back on his own. 

iii.

Nico cursed himself. He was being delusional. Of course, Percy Jackson would never love him back. No matter how many times he wished for Percy to smile at him like he smiled at Annabeth. No matter what he did. 

Nico felt himself sinking deeper and deeper down into his hole, and nothing could stop him. For the love of Hades’, he sent this for himself. He deserved this. 

No one can know. This was his burden, and it’s not like he had anyone to tell. 

He was tired. Of everything. Those days he could never sleep. He only drifted in and out of reality. 

Eyes the color of the sea haunted his dreams, leaving him gasping for air. His pulse quickening, and his heart still wishing. 

He doesn’t know how long he could keep going. Maybe it’ll all be over soon. 

iv. 

"I wish you would just shut up, Solace!”, Nico groaned. 

Will painted a sickly sweet smile on his face. “No can do, Death boy. Until you are deemed healthy by me, you are going to stay in the infirmary.”

“You can try, Solace, but I’ll have you know that I’m very hard to catch.” Nico almost slipped into the shadow of a tree to get away, but a hand around his wrist stopped him. 

He met startling blue eyes. He was sure Will could feel how fast his pulse was going. His mouth felt like sand paper. 

“Don’t run away, please.”

Nico kept their little staring contest going, frighteningly aware of how sweaty his palms are becoming. 

“Wasn’t going to. Just testing your reflexes, Solace.” 

He then pulled his wrist out of Will’s hand and sprinted away from him. He looked back at Will, and stuck his tongue out, like a small child. 

He heard Will laugh from behind him and the sound of him begin to chase after him. Nico was beginning to think he made a good choice in staying. 

v.

"I just want a break.”, Nico sighed. A sound that held too many burdens for a fourteen year old. 

Will Solace softly scoffed. “Yup. Tell me about it.” 

They were at a celebration at Camp Half-Blood. The end of the war and the coming together of the two camps. 

“I’ve been wishing for one since I was ten.” Nico watched as the campfire glowed and the people who danced around it, full of relief an joy. 

“Maybe now, we can.” Will looked over to him, and Nico noticed in light of the fire Will’s hair looked golden and how his freckles seemed to stand out. 

His pulse quickened. 

His heart whispered to him, and Nico shushed it. Not wanting to get his hopes up. 

“Don’t forget, three days infirmary with me, starting tomorrow.”, Will tried to send him an intimidating look, which quickly melted into a small smile. 

They sat in a comfortable silence, watching and taking it all in. 

“It’s over now.” Will’s azure eyes trailed up towards the sky.

Nico hummed in response, following Will’s gaze. The stars twinkled, but they seemed kinder tonight. As if they were thankful. For once, he let himself lay back and enjoy the view.

+

It was a familiar sight for the campers. It’s been three months since the end of the war, and almost every night Will walked Nico back to his cabin. The two had grown close over the months.

They walked side by side. Nico having to take larger steps to match Will’s stride. They were talking about something stupid. Nico noted how Will spoke with his hands a lot. How in the moonlight, Will looked like a timeless deity. He seemed to glow. The way he laughed was tantalizing. The way his cheeks darkened whenever Nico smiled at him. 

They approached his cabin, and Nico stood in the doorway facing Will. Their eyes meeting. An unspoken thing hanging between them. 

I wish he would kiss me. 

Nico’s eyes widened when he realized what he just said out loud. Will’s face darkening in at least 20 shades. Before Nico could apologize and take it back, Will leaned in and granted his wish. 

After everything, after all the suffering and all the ups and downs, Nico di Angelo finally got what he deserved.

passerotto- a term of endearment in Italian that means “little sparrow” and it’s an affectionate metaphor for someone who is learning to fly

tHANK YOU FOR READING!!!!! 

I loved writing this and thank you for all those people who leave comments here and on my ao3 fics UGHH I love you guys so damn much thank you! this blog is going to be 1 year old on the 12th and thank you so much for all the growth and all the support from you guys UMM I can’t believe IM ALMOST AT 3K WHAT?????!!!!!!!!! THIS IS ABSOUTELY INSANE FNLDSKJDSNJSJJNCSNSKJCJSKCSJCNSCKSCJSCKJNS

thank you for everything! hope you liked it!

ari xxx

bnha blog @a-mite

ao3 aritza

[kyndaris]

May Your Heart be Your Guiding Key

For almost a week, I stayed cooped up at home and played as much of Kingdom Hearts 3 as I could. The hype was real and I was simply excited to have the game in my hands. Of course, being employed full-time meant that I had to use some of my precious annual leave. To be fair though, I had plenty of it since I hardly used it and my manager actually does not want to see me go and relax because apparently I’m quite necessary to the general business side of things. But because of my obligations, there are times when it can be difficult to keep on top of the latest and greatest titles. Particularly because I do not work as a game journalist or have a dedicated YouTube or Twitch channel with plenty of ad revenue to fund a starving artist. 

And let’s be honest: even if I grabbed a decent streaming or recording device on the cheap, the market has since been so saturated, it’ll be hard to make much of a dent. A singular person can only go so far and editing is no simple task.

But back to the series that sparked my endless joy in video games in general!

The game starts off from the ending of Dream Drop Distance. Sora has lost many of his accumulated abilities and powers after nearly falling becoming a vessel for Xehanort. To find a means of regaining his strength, Sora and his companions: Donald and Goofy head towards Olympus where Hercules suffered his own performance issues in the second numbered installment of the franchise to see if the hero might be able provide any answers. This is jokingly referred to as Kingdom Hearts 2.9 and serves as a rudimentary tutorial to the controls. 

Within the two to three hours of gameplay, players are re-introduced to a more basic flowmotion, shotlocks and attractions. Gone are the reaction commands and drive forms of yesteryear. Instead, Sora is able to tap into keyblade transformations and joint attacks with his companions.

Once the story for the world ends, Sora is no closer to reclaiming the Power of Waking but he has hope for what the future might bring and heads back to Master Yen Sid to report back in. There, he is met by Riku and Mickey who had travelled to the Realm of Darkness to rescue Aqua - only for her to be missing and their own keyblades damaged when they encountered a Demon Tower. 

Plot points are exchanged and Sora is charged with heading to various Disney worlds so that he can find some way to unlock the power slumbering within him. The excuse felt flimsy but I hardly cared - eager as I was to delve into Arendelle, the Toy Box and various others worlds.

Each of the Disney worlds have their own story with only fleeting exchanges with Organization XIII members that provide some more insight into the overall plot. While several followed the plot beats from their respective films, the Pixar worlds as well as San Fransokyo contained their own individuals stories separate from the films. And for a good twenty to thirty hours, I enjoyed interacting with the likes of Woody and Buzz to Hiro to Captain Jack Sparrow.

Then there were the cutscenes with a focus on many of the other characters. Brief snippets of Kairi and Lea as they trained. Riku and Mickey as they gathered more information about the Organization’s plans and uncovered information that the players may have already been familiar with if they played the entries that were scattered on numerous platforms (but which were all collated in the PlayStation 3 and PlayStation 4 collections).

By the end of the all the Disney worlds, however, Sora was no closer to regaining the lost Power of Waking. Plot being plot, though, he was soon diving head-first into danger in order to save Riku and the King when they failed to respond in their second attempt to rescue Aqua. From there, the plot quickens and before long, Aqua is saved and Ventus is woken from his decade long slumber. With the final battle at hand, the Seven Guardians of Light have a day of rest though it is clear that many are eager to save their friends that were still lost: Roxas, Terra and Namine.

As one, they travel to the Keyblade Graveyard only to be met by countless Heartless as the Organization unleashes their plan. And for one brief moment, the Guardians of Light fall. Sora is sent to the Final World and experiences a brief Harry Potter moment. After retrieving his missing pieces, he returns and like the film Groundhog Day, he relives the disaster that befell them until he rescues the hearts of his friends from a Heartless known as the Lich before the power of Light pulls its own Deus Ex Machina by summoning both the Lingering Will to combat Terra-Xehanort and all the players of Union X to defeat the Demon Horde of Heartless.

With these obstacles out of the way, the Guardians race to Master Xehanort. Aided as well by Master Yen Sid, they enter a labyrinth and clash with the Seekers that Xehanort brought to his side: Dark Riku (when he was possessed by Ansem and using a replica), Xigbar, Saix, Luxord, Larxene, Marluxia, Xion, Vanitas, Terra-Xehanort, Young Xehanort, Ansem and Xemnas.

After each is struck down, many reveal their hidden motivations for joining with Master Xehanort. While I found myself sympathetic to quite a few, I could not shake the feeling that some of them were contrived explanations for the villains to exist.

But though it seemed as if victory was close at hand, Master Xehanort reveals Kairi being held hostage. In order to spawn the X-blade, he strikes down the defenseless girl. Enraged, Sora rushes to attack only to be knocked aside. Seeing his plan come to fruition, Master Xehanort summons Kingdom Hearts as the culmination of his plans.

With the aid of his friends, Sora uses a beam of light to trap Master Xehanort and is taken to Scala ad Caelum. For someone who has dabbled with Union X, there were shades of Daybreak Town found within.

Eager to finish, though, I pushed on through and managed to defeat Master Xehanort at last. A slew of cutscenes soon followed but no Kairi was to be found. And as the ending played and many of the other characters managed to gain a happy ending, Sora was still desperate to find his dear friend and set out on a solitary journey. Whether or not he found her - as well as the price he paid was left ambiguous by game’s end. And for someone who has sacrificed so much, it did feel unsatisfying that Sora could not achieve the happily ever after that I so craved.

Even Kairi’s character and service to the plot seemed less than inspired. I could not shake the feeling that she was treated merely as a means to support Sora’s grand story arc. The fact that she was so easily kidnapped by Xemnas and then summarily executed felt like lazy storytelling.

Even Master Xehanort’s reveal that he was only seeking Kingdom Hearts so that he could reset the world felt like a cheap excuse to bring the Dark Seeker saga to a resolution. In fact, Kingdom Hearts 3 also dropped many additional plot points that only added to the mystery. The epilogue revealed that Xigbar was actually Luxu, one of the six apprentices of the Master of Masters. Additionally, Demyx, Luxord, Larxene and Marluxia were all hinted to have ties to the guilds of the Foretellers and the Dandelions, but none of these were properly explored.

Worse was the fact that Isa and Lea had only joined Ansem the Wise in order to help a girl that had become their friend. Who she was remained a mystery though there was a possibility her heart was encountered in the Final World. Even Maleficent and Pete made several cameos only to leave their story dropped half-way through the game.

Kingdom Hearts 3 is not a perfect game by all means. The narrative was one of the weakest out of all the other games in the Dark Seeker Saga. But the combat and the joy that it brought with its focus on Disney worlds was still enough to bring a smile to my face.

As someone who wants to uncover all the secrets to the franchise, this blogger, at least, will be looking forward to the next saga. Whether or not Sora will be the main protagonist is up in the air but I would also be excited to see someone else take the reins. Kingdom Hearts 3 feels like the end of a legacy and while the door to the last seventeen years comes to a close, another one is open.

Let’s just hope it doesn’t take as long for all these remaining mysteries to be answered.

On a side note, the loss of Leonard Nimoy was clearly felt in this entry. The new voice actor brings his own flair to the character but Spock will be missed.

[artificialqueens]

64.2008° N, 149.4937° W (Katlaska) - matryoshka

A/N: This fic is pretty vague and confusing. But i’m leaving it up to you and your interpretation and explanation on the events here.

I know this is not yet the Christmas fic, but it was something that went to my head, and I’ve written in my phone.

Again, it’s all over the place because it’s by me. It is a bit Katya-centric, and she is trans here, the story kind of revolves around baby Brian figuring it out, and throw in some Alaska, so it’s Katlaska.

The title of the fic is actually just the GPS coordinates of Alaska (accdg to google at least, im not a geographer,) and it will make sense once you’ve read it. So, hope you enjoy! 

She doesn’t know when it all started and when it all stopped, but she’s back. Katya’s back and she doesn’t know why, where. All that she was able to recall was that when she was still a tiny little boy, she had this place. She would always want to be tucked early because she had this place, where little boy Brian turns into this princess Katya, and she had Alaska, and everything feels right.

 The first time she’s been in the place there were snowy mountains enclosing a giant field of grass, and there was a lake. She thought that she’s seen this pace before. It was Alaska in photographs from her geography class. But she knew this wasn’t Alaska because it feels too personal, that place was all hers, until someone pulled at the hem of her sleeve.

“My name’s Alaska, what’s yours?” “…Alaska,” she remembers the first time she saw her. She hasn’t seen this Alaska in photograph before. She was actually convinced she ascended to heaven and saw an angel. Alaska was this tiny little blonde girl, with fair porcelain skin so unlike Brian’s bruised ones from playing outside, big doe eyes compared to Brian’s deep dead blues, rose pink lips, wearing all white and smaller than her, and somehow she thought that the name Alaska doesn’t sound fitting for her. She was so awestricken that all she could do was repeat her name. Alaska was the prettiest girl she ever saw, still is, and at that time, little Brian wanted to marry her and also wanted to be her. “Silly, you’re not Alaska, I’m Alaska!” that was the first time she saw her laugh and smile, and her eyes and nose crinkle when she does that, and it’s the best sight and the best sound ever. Since then, she made it so that Alaska always smiles. “I don’t know what my name is, I don’t want to be called Brian here.” “Brian? Why don’t you want to be called Brian?” “Because that’s my boy name, and I don’t want that,”

“why do you have a boy name?”

“because I’m a boy?” “But, are you a boy?” Alaska had asked that question with pure curiosity, looking up at her, and it struck baby Brian that no, she wasn’t a boy. It explains baby Brian’s love for pink, envy for his sister’s dolls and ribbons and shoes, why he wants to grow long hair, and that it was alright, Alaska is fine with her being a girl, then it should be fine, right? “Hmm, never mind. I’ll call you Katya. Because see,” Alaska grew impatient at her silence, and grabs her wrist and grins, pulling up the wrist she’s grabbing to show Katya, “caught ya,” and this place was suddenly her favorite place, containing her favorite person, so she breaks into laughter, feeling genuinely happy. She can be Katya.

When she returned that first time, she remembers being the little Brian who had excitedly told his parents that he’s not a boy only to be slapped by his father. She didn’t understood then why she was slapped, how come back there things were so easy, dresses, dolls, dandelions, daisies, but in here, it was as if dresses, dolls, dandelions, daisies, and she were wrong wrong. Father had hit him, and mother told her to stop talking about it. She obeyed. Pretty soon she got addicted of sleeping because sleeping would mean being there, being herself, being with Alaska. She slept and slept and wished she would not wake up to leave. Wake up in the body of Brian, in the clothes of this boy, go to school, listen to his parents, interact with people, but not Alaska.

“What do you do when I’m not here,” “Nothing, It gets really lonely without you here, so I just lie down and sleep, I guess. The grass is really soft here, and the weather is always nice and perfect.” “You mean, you just lie down here? Don’t you go home or something?” “What do you mean, this is home. Silly Katya,” and there she believes that she is actually just silly Katya, not a trace of the poor boy, Brian. Don’t get her wrong, she loves Brian, but Brian just feels wrong, like a curse, a cage, and she knows she’s not him, but Brian also needs help. By being the cage, the poor boy is also caged, trapped. She feels like Brian was his own mistake, and she doesn’t want him to feel that anymore. And to do that, she needs Brian gone, they both need him gone, at rest. When she’s awake, she feels dead, and when she sleeps, she feels alive and truly herself. She started skipping classes, sleeping, skipping meals, just sleeping. The school warned her of expulsion, she became very skinny, and that was okay, she gets to be at that place, as herself, with Alaska. Years have passed, and they basically grew up together now.  But then her parents decided to intervene. That’s when they forced her into therapies, sessions, school, and the church. They made her drink pills and tablets. Until she just got sick of it. When she sleeps now, she doesn’t always see Alaska, which was weird. She suspected the pills being given to her were the reason. And she can’t take them anymore, so she throw them away, but her father saw it. “Son, we love you, and we worry about you. Please do this for us, but more so for yourself” She wants to laugh at that. It’s funny how they claim to love, care, and support her when they don’t recognize the first thing about her. She decided she’s been “I’m not your son, please. Dad, I’ve told you, I’m your daughter, Katya.” “Brian, we’ve been through this. Listen, son–” “Call me son one more time!”

Her father decided that that was enough. They forced her to forget about the conversation (if you would call slapping your child a conversation) they had when she was younger, took him shopping, strictly making sure she shops in the men’s section, introducing her to their neighbors, giving her strict monthly haircuts. It was suffocating, and she thought that she was doing them a favor by letting them do what they want because at least she still has that place and Alaska, but now, they’re taking her away too, and she can’t have that. Alaska is probably the only person keeping her sane, accepting her, and she can’t lose her. So she lost everything else, but her heart feels light, she feels free. She’s a she. She moved out. And got rid of all of Brian. At that moment, there was only Katya. But then she stopped seeing her, she stopped getting back to their place. She thought she’ll wait for the pills to stop working, then she’ll be able to be with Alaska every time she sleeps. But she felt like life just fucked her over, when it’s already been a month, and she was never able to return. That’s why she started doing drugs. She never understood how she got there, maybe she was just crazy, ill, she doesn’t know, but she thought that it was a magic of her brain, so why not help my brain remember, get there. She did all the jobs she could get, prostitution, stole from the shop she worked at, became an entertainer, well, the funniest jokes usually had the darkest foundations, she got high and very high each day. She was just so desperate to be back. She promised Alaska, she’ll see her tomorrow.

“Hey, Katya, mawma, let me hook you up with this,” a friend from one of a club that she works in approached her one day. “What’s that?” “Oh, it’s strong, mama, okurrr, I heard you’ve been looking for real strong ones, so” “oh, sure, give me, what’s it called,” “Alaskan Thunderfuck”

Katya thinks this is it. Her key to getting back to her. She could finally be pulled out of this chaos, this storm, and be with her. In her calm, warm presence. She probably took too much of it, but fuck it. If death’s the only way back to Alaska, so be it. She’s coming home. She imagines Alaska lying down, for years and years, waiting for her. Alaska’s lonely. Alaska. She thinks of her as she sees how near she is from finishing the pack. Alaska. Where does she live, how did she get there. Did Katya just created her, designed her in her brain, was she just crazy? Were everyone else right? Fuck that, the question Katya wants answered most know is would she still be there, lying down, waiting for her? Katya realizes that the person she’s been obsessed for in so long was a total stranger to her. But at the same time she’s not. Katya knows Alaska’s favorite time, her greatest fears, she knows how she whines when she loses, and so Katya lets her win, most of the time. The other times, she’d just love to tease her. Katya also knows, for a fact that Alaska is the most beautiful being she would ever lay eyes upon. She remembers almost crying at how much she misses Alaska so bad, it’s like losing her own person; Alaska’s actually been a huge part of Katya, just Katya, never Brian, and she needs that. She remembers plunging into her sofa and watching her ceiling melt into goopy colors before she is being pulled into a very nostalgic sensation, and then she’s back. She forgot how long it has been. The place is still the same field of dandelions, the pleasantly warm sun, the single tree, and beneath it, within its shade was Alaska. It was her. Her heart sinks at the thought of Alaska staying there, thinking she’ll never be back, and shit, she missed Alaska. Katya thinks she’s probably been away for a very very long time because gone was the naive little girl, gone was the pretty blonde, this Alaska is gorgeous, probably already taller than Katya, and she looks so peaceful. Katya just stood there watching her until she stirs and opens her eyes. Katya could feel every emotion coming back to her all at once, she felt her knees weaken and buckle, and she’s kneeling now. “Hey, I’m back,” Alaska just watches her as she sits up. Not sure what to do when the person she’d been expecting the most and also the person she’d been expecting least shows up in front of her. There’s so many emotions welling up inside of her right now, emotions she’d tried to calm and diminish, but proved to be stubborn, just like the woman, in front of her. Katya had changed a lot, but she still owns that perfect smile that Alaska loved so much, and the smile that she’s searched for and missed the most. “Are you… just a figment of my imagination, like if I close my eyes, do you disappear, am I the only one who can see you, do you–” Katya grabs her hand and Alaska immediately has her eyes open, not sure when she had it closed because she was overwhelmed. Alaska focused on the girl touching her hand, Katya’s blues, and she was not surprised that it still has that calming effect on her. But she’s not calm. She’s way far from calm. The love of her life has returned after so long. Alaska felt like she’s been saved once again. Thoughts of spending all her time alone as a kid, popped up until Katya had saved her by taking her into adventures, swimming in the lake, treasure hunting, and believing that she exists before, and she is saving her from that same loneliness again. She was real enough for Katya, and that is the only validation that she wants, and all that she needs.

“I’m here, Alaska” Katya says as Alaska looks at their joined hands. Warm, Alaska closes her eyes and Katya squeezes her hand. “Alaska, pl–” ‎ “You’re real, Katya,” Alaska says as she opens her eyes, pure wonder and joy in them and Katya is overwhelmed at how beautiful her name sounds in Alaska’s lips. “You’re actually here, it took you long enough, I–” Katya did what she’s been wanting to do for a long time now. She’s crying now, she thought she’d never be able to taste her lips, hold her. Sure, Alaska’s taller than her now, which was not how she imagined it to be, but she’s reciprocating with as much passion, and it finally sinks in. Katya has Alaska back in her hands, and damn, it’s the sweetest feeling ever. Like all of her hardships and hard work and patience paid off. “Can I do that again?” Katya asks once they’ve break apart. “Depends on when you’ll be back.” “I don’t think I’m going anywhere else,” and as promised, Alaska kisses her then, and Katya feels like she’d finally completed Katya.

**A/N: So it’s kinda vague did Katya die, did Alaska really exist in the first place, was Alaska an imaginary friend of Katya, where did Alaska come from, is Alaska an actual alien, a ghost, was she stuck in the purgatory. See, i have all these questions too, and I didn’t want to establish anything so idk feel free to tell me what you think about it, i hope.

[tomans-darlings-au]

Mason’s Dream

(A Blue Exorcist Writing Piece I Made A Long Time Ago That I Finally Edited.)

A/N: This is a canon thing for my Blue Exorcist OC’s but obviously not canon in the story. It has OC’s interacting with canon characters so fair warning.

Trigger Warnings: Violence, Choking, Detailed Descriptions, Blood, Self-Harm, And Abuse

The sun was setting on a warm summer evening Mason sat in a grassy field among dandelions as he watched his brother playing baseball with some neighborhood kids. Under the shade of a tree he picked flowers from the ground, his thoughts of his visit to Japan with his father freshly running through his mind, oh how he’d enjoyed it. Mason had made a friend when the first time he’d gone with his father and the two still continued to keep in contact. Lost in thought he wondered if said friend had gotten the letter he’d sent days ago he’d been practicing his kanji and hoped his friend would be impressed. As he pondered these thoughts simultaneously weaving a crown he was broken out of his daze when he noticed someone had approached him, looking up the albino boy recognized the familiar face of a different friend.

“Anubis! You scared me, you shouldn’t sneak up on someone like that.” He scolded his old friend feeling startled.

“Sorry but i’ve been dyin to see you again. You’ve been so busy all the time lately, I miss talkin to ya.”

“Quit studyin all the time and come hangout with me again. Besides your mom won't even care she’s like obsessed with your brother so it’s no loss.” The raven haired tan skinned boy insisted with his arms crossed.

Mason gave a look unamusement at his friend’s blunt statement, it’s not like he was wrong but the older Zhu son did not like the constant reminder. Still despite his sharp tongue the boy tapped the ground beside him inviting other to sit with him and Anubis gladly complied.

“I know i’ve been gone a lot lately but papa has been teaching me about his work and I want to work like him too, after all the studying he’s finally letting me take a big trip with him. It’s was a business trip and not just visiting his co-workers but I actually get to see him work.” Mason explained to the other.

“Oh? Well that’s cool. I mean it’s normal to want to be like your parents, I just didn’t expect ya to be preparing for the future already.” Anubis mumbled a bit.

“Why not?  I mean my mother says you should have at least an idea of things you might like to pursue by high school.” Mason said nonchalantly as he finished the flower crown.

“...Guess i’m just a late bloomer. Still yer just in 6th grade it’s not that big a deal.” Anubis responded shrugging with little concern about the future.

“Yeah but the sooner the start the more time to prepare. That’s why I work so hard and now I can go on business trips with Papa I’m going to be able to work with him as equals one day.” Mason explained as his pale blue colored eye peeked out from his bangs.

Anubis smiled at his sickly yet ambitious friend, what kind of sarcastic response could he even make in against that. Instead the boy gave a simple sign of approval, Mason was delighted to have a supportive friend like Anubis even if he was kind of lazy.

“So...Can I finally ask what yer dad’s job is?” Anubis asked.

Anubis had been questioning about it since Mason first admitted to the lessons as a reason why he was gone so often now, he had been intent on keeping it a secret but Anubis was way to curious to not investigate.

“Okay okay I suppose you can know now that i’m gonna be going on official trips but don’t tell.” Mason warned him.

The small boy paused, he waited for Anubis to nod in agreement sealing their promise before he spoke once again.

“Well papa is an Exorcist he fights demons and when he took me with him I got to meet the Paladin Mr. Fujimoto.” Mason finally admitted revealing the kept secret.

Anubis froze he gave no response at first which was concerning to Mason his expression certainly changed. When he finally spoke again it was an icy tone looking away from the other, his tone was intimidatingly fear inducing.

“An exorcist huh...Must be pretty scary seeing demons…” He commented.

Mason felt the strange atmosphere growing heavy and dark it developed around them but he tried to continue. This was Anubis his friend despite the odd reaction he trusted him so he chose to ignore his own instinct.

“I-It is a little fightening but it’s not so bad. I met papa’s old friend Mr. Fujimoto-San who was training his son and talked to papa about training me. We met his son too who told me about his studying, his name is Yukio and he said his dream is to be a doctor. We were training together a little he gave me advice and taught me about the exorcist organization. To be honest I was just a nervous wreck.” Mason continued his words stuttering slightly as he attempted to ease things between him and Anubis by describing his trip as casually as possible.

“My nerves got the best of me for awhile but Yukio was very understanding. While he was showing me some of his training I was a bit of a clutz and my colored contact fell out.”

“Kyo saw my eyes and he wasn’t afraid or disgusted, he didn’t even make fun of me. He said they looked cool, i’m sure he was being polite but still.  To be honest I think I kinda like him, like like him you know...The way Papa “likes” Mama.” He confessed flustered and staring at the ground.

When Mason glanced up again to observe his friends response he saw Anubis standing, he was looming over him with a scowl on his face and an icy glare. Without a warning Anubis swiped at Mason knocking him over and leaving a gash in his face, blood dripped from Anubis’ now revealed claws.

Anubis no longer looked like the human Mason had been so familiar with, the young boy was used to the canine like teeth but now his mouth was almost un human. His whole appearance was that of a monster now piercing eyes, sharp claws, teeth that could probably rip flesh apart, and he’d even grown long ears and a tail.

“I knew you had heightened senses I mean not just anyone can gain the attention of a demon like me. Constant studying, the small of holy water, the chanting from you house I should have figured you were following in your pathetic fathers footsteps.” Anubis said in a playfully intimidating tone.

“A-Anubis you’re a demon?!” Mason was shocked still on the ground from the strike, his blood seeping from his wound.

“W-Wait please we don’t have to fight!” Mason begged his old friend who was approaching again, he rummaged through his pockets but realize he had no magic seals with him.

Before he could think of a defense the young boy felt a brutal kick to his stomach knocking the wind out of him and making him roll away. Mason coughed to struggling to regain air in his lungs even throwing up from the force.

“Man this sucks and I liked you kid… I was supposed to kill you ages ago but I wanted you as a pet instead.” Anubis said in a carefree mocking tone.

“Why do I always get stuck with the icky jobs.”

The demon sighed walking towards the child again, Mason trembled with fear he attempted to crawl away barely able to move in his state. Neither of the two heard the racing footsteps lost in their battle it wasn’t until Marco shouted that they were made aware of his presence. He swung his metal bat with all his strength to try and defend his brother without even understanding the situation.

“LEAVE MY BROTHER ALONE!!”

However losing the element of surprise Anubis was able to catch the bat easily in the hand, even with the boys strength it was nothing more than a small bother, like a fly buzzing around.

“Oh it’s you now? Did you really think a stupid human could hurt me?”

Anubis grinned as he bent the metal bat with little effort, throwing the broken bat away the demon punched Marco making him fall to the ground. Still the stubborn twin would not  stay down for long.

“I won’t let you bully my big brother!” He hissed in defiance despite his inuries and obvious pain.

Anubis sneered at him unamused and growing aggravated with the  pest, once again Marco swung at the demon who easily dodged and backhanded the child leaving a large gash across his face as well.

Marco hissed in pain as the wound bled the blood dripping down his face but he wasn’t given much time to ponder the wound now. Anubis grabbed the boy and kneed him in the stomach making him drop to his knees clutching his stomach and falling to the ground struggling for breath. Anubis kicked him again for good measure beating him to ease some frustrations, he continued the action to keep him down laughing at his pain.

“You think you can save anyone? You humans are so pathetic! You can’t save any- AH!”

The demon was interrupted by Mason who’d jumped him from behind unexpectedly, the two struggled until Anubis slammed himself and by default Mason into the tree making the boy lose his grip and fall to the ground again. Mason huffed struggling to stand again as Anubis was regaining his own breath from the choke hold, this pause gave Mason enough time to use his blood as a seal and summon his familiar Jack to retrieve his father.

“I request the aid of the king of harvest and lord of autumn's nights!”

The young boy’s familiar appeared and it was a bittersweet feeling.

“Jack hurry get papa! Tell him we’re in trouble!” The young page ordered sending the familiar off,  a familiar which Anubis failed to catch as it fled.

Mason smirked despite the situation and spoke to his enemy.

“You may be able to beat us but you’ll never win against our father! And one day i’ll become an exorcist just like him. Me and  Kyo and we’ll protect the world from demons like you!” Mason hissed to stall.

Anubis leered at the boy with cold eye, no emotion not even anger and he walked over to the injured boy. There was nowhere Mason could run he was in too much pain to move away from the tree that was supporting him, he was struggling just to keep up. Anubis grabbed the boy by the neck and picked him up just enough off the ground to make him squirm and struggle for breath.

“You’ve got a smart mouth for someone who can’t even stand up for himself. Do you really think you’ll save this planet?” Anubis laughed.

“You’ll never be able to protect anything you can’t even protect yourself or your brother. You’re useless, a complete waste of breath.”

“I... will... protect th-them.”

Mason still struggling began to speak a sutra he was taught by Fujimoto, even with his lack of air he still managed to keep going. It didn’t last long as Anubis tightened his grip on the boy’s throat which silenced him. The canine grew a malicious grin on his face, a smile that spread menacingly on his face  he had an idea. A way to suffer even further than death.

“Let’s see how you’ll protect them, how you’ll talk so big without a voice to speak of.” He whispered specifically in his ear.

Anubis began chanting something Mason couldn’t even understand as he panicked trying to escape quickly. The human felt his body reacting as the chant continued, he felt a strange sensation as if something was being pulled out from deep inside his body and he could barely hold it back. When Anubis stopped chanting he opened his mouth and unable to hold back any longer Mason’s mouth was forced open, an almost liquid like substance flowed out of Mason and into Anubis’ mouth. Once completely drained Anubis dropped the child who fell to his knees instantaneously coughing, hacking, and even throwing up once again. He opened his mouth to ask what the creature had done to him but the words would not sound, he continued to try and speak trying to say anything, make any sound. Mason screamed in desperation but even that was silent, the boy began to sob clawing at his throat in complete a complete meltdown as he realized what had been done.

The demon just stared in satisfied amusement more than pleased with his work.

“You’ll never use this voice again.”

Anubis told him speaking in the tone of the new voice he’d stolen. Mason was horrified something inside him broke, he continued to scream endlessly, silently, in agony scratching at his neck continuously until finally collapsing on the ground a cold, broken, numb mess. He twitched a bit with tears still streaming and almost dead eyes.

“How pathetically grotesque maybe I will  just put you out of your misery.” Anubis said raising his hand. Mason’s eyes followed the hand as it swung down in one quick motion.

Suddenly Mason jolted awake, cold sweat drenched him and his bed and he was gasping for breath. Trembling and winded he felt around for his glasses putting them on and scanning the darkness around him, he was in his dorm at True Cross Academy a sigh of relief was let out. Sitting up in bed he tried his best to calm his nerves before getting out of bed completely, still trembling he walked into the quiet empty halls of the almost vacant old boys dorm. His only neighbors were the Okumura brothers, the Zhu brothers were place with them both because Mephisto knew of Mason’s “condition” and his defense because of it and because their mother refused to pay for an expensive dorm for Mason.

Mason contemplated talking to Yukio but shook the thought from his head as he turned on the faucet to wash his face, he hadn’t had that dream in so long. Well could it even be called a dream? He was recalling an actual incident with great detail and  it honestly left him frightened and even more stressed usual. A silent sigh escaped as he looked outside the window at the rising sun, Mason couldn’t even really enjoy that it was all bittersweet monochrome to him. Hearing the shuffling in the Okumura dorm he realized Yukio was probably getting up to begin the day early as usual, since he didn’t want to disturb his friend with worries returned to his room quickly. He did catch a glimpse of Yukio coming out of the room, the two barely made eye contact as Mason quickly shut the door before anything was said.

The oldest Zhu twin wanted to begin to get ready for the day instead he just sat on his bed, the sun rays just barely shining light in the room he saw his twin brother smiling in his sleep. He felt his boiling blood of resent towards him, the boy who gets everything he wanted and has no worries in the world, oh how he envied him. Feeling extra frustration Mason decided to take it out on Marco passive aggressively of course, he quietly found Mason’s cram school homework scanning it he scoffed the answers were all right but of course from the perfect fucking child. The boy stuffed it in his pocket crumbled up he’d throw it away later or burn it, with that out of the way and Marco’s bag hidden from him Mason began to prepare for the day. A yes per usual a day filled with silent torment within his own mind, he pushed his dark thoughts away as he left the room for a shower.