#i wish i had the talent for deep emotional story but ALAS

[purrvaire]

Summary

There you are”, Flint said relieved. “How do you feel?”

“Fine”, Silver said slowly. “I'm terribly sorry… but do we know each other?”

“Are you bloody joking?” Flint said flatly.

Silver gave him an apologetic look. “I'm afraid I'm quite serious. But I wouldn't mind rectifying it”, he added hastily, throwing in his most charming grin.

“Uhm”, Flint said intelligently.

Silver gets injured, details get a little hazy , Flint gets flustered and Howell actually has the patience of a saint.

(or, sometimes true love only needs a little push)

[readingtoinfinity]

Secret Level part 2

The second half is out now, and like before I had completely forgotten to watch them. Well, I'm done now. There were some highs, some lows, but let's take the good with the bad and go through them.

The Outer Worlds: The Company We Keep

Like the game it's based on, this short is very bleak and kinda hard to stomach at times. The anti-capitalist message is front and center and just as horrible as the game wished it to be, but the message becomes muddled when you look at this main character, Amos. Not a smart man by any measure, the ending is ostensibly positive, with Amos working for Auntie Cleo as a gardener, and all of us watching knowing the company is going to hurt a lot of people to help their bottom line. That hidden horrible reality may be the point, in this case, but I feel like this short could've done with a bleaker, harsher ending, to reinforce the message from the rest of the short: it doesn't matter who you are or what you can do, you will be gristle in capitalism's meat grinder eventually. As it stands, it feels weak on the satire and unmemorable as a whole.

Mega Man: Start

Aah! This short was apparently made deep in the uncanny valley. It was here that you could really see the limits of the almost-realistic CGI most of the shorts use, and it would have benefited from either being less realistic (and allowing for a more cartoony, closer-to-the-games look) or more (making the original games an inspiration rather than a direct comparison, like how they designed Bomb Man).

Having said all that, it's quick, powerful and very cool. I didn't play any Mega Man games, and my only connection is the fan music by The Megas, although I love that a lot. Even without that nostalgic connection, I found this short to be a lot of fun.

Exodus: Odyssey

I found this one to be a slight mixed bag. On the one hand: a strong central thesis and conceit, with an emotional connection between the main character and his daughter that pulls you through the rest of the episode.

On the other hand: eh. I can see the narration is necessary to set up some things for later, but even so some of it is unnecessary. Honestly leaving some emotions and plot points more ambiguous would've made this episode a lot more memorable.

Spelunky: Tally

Finally, some stylized fucking animation. I found this short to be amusing, charming, but ultimately shallow. There's an earnest message about trying again and doing your best even in bad circumstances, but with little emotional weight behind it.

Concord: Tale of the Implacable

Why the hell did they try to make this game a $40 hero shooter?! The world is perfect for a single-player experience, something like the more-recent Star Wars games, Outer Wilds or even (a better version of) Starfield. Obviously these deals and animations were made way in advance so this was supposed to come out and grow the player-base for the game, but alas, it is the last gasp of a corporately-ordered failure.

And it's so fucking good. Oh my God why is it so good?!

I recognized the voice talents of Laura Bailey and Darin De Paul, both bringing their at-least B-Game to this short, but recognized nobody else. But the actors featured here were all up to the task and played their part to the hilt, and for that I must give props.

For most of the episode, you're dealing with your standard Han Solo types, only in it for the money and trying to get away with a stash. But there's a turn later in the story, and the fact whoever made this had the utter gall to give it not only an unflinching ending, but somehow managed to wrangle something beautiful and wonderful from that? I teared up watching this. And it's about fucking Concord! What the fuck?!

But let me not say that corporate slop cannot be an inspiration for art. Great art can come from anywhere, spurred by anything. So may it be for this.

Honor of Kings: The Way of All Things

I didn't like the art style very much. There's an inconsistency in the models, from the madman who looks very realistic to the bishounen (or its Chinese equivalent) Yi Xing to the strange-looking Tiangong, none of the characters quite look like they belong on-screen together, and not to the point of something like Kingdom Hearts where that's the point and it becomes its own art style.

It's not distracting for long, however.

I liked this setup, and the themes played with throughout this short. Tiangong claims to be a computer that can calculate and predict everything, calling the actions from one to the other "cause and effect" and comparing itself to the moon pulling water. Yi Xing is a boy who wants revenge, and Tiangong, the computer that is a city, would try to convince him revenge is pointless and his defeat has already been preordained.

This one benefited greatly from being a philosophical game between its two named characters. The interplay between the two, both in their game of Go and over the idea of free will was made extra fascinating to watch by stunning animation and artistic flourishes which fed back into the story. Setup and payoff, cause and effect, past and future, all of these things were wrapped up into this episode.

It also benefits immensely from a final twist ending that I found astonishing and a tough nut to crack for a bit. Even if the ending isn't a chestnut like Inception, It's still a bit of something sticky and tough, like fruit leather, that makes everything seen before take on a different light, and you question the conclusion of both the game and the argument. And I like that; I like that this ending asks you to question everything you saw, from beginning to end. It forced me to go back through and re-watch some scenes so I had a greater context; there's a confidence to this execution that is as underplayed as Tiangong's introduction and character, and I'll be thinking about this one for a long time.

Playtime: Fulfillment

Let me start with the positives. Kevin Hart, though he is still annoying in this short, is supposed to be, and in that respect he does a good job. Heaven Hart, his daughter, does a passable job as the main character, though she could use a little extra practice. And the central message against microtransactions and meager rewards in favor of a more pure competitive gaming experience is one I can respect.

But with God as my witness I will not be tricked into liking any fucking version of Ready Player One!

This episode is the only one in the season that wasn't based on an original video game, instead being about PlayStation's exclusives and IPs and about how fun they are, how better they are. Maybe you can see my disdain? Even Astro Bot got flack from people who didn't like the corporate crossovers in it, and that game had the benefit of being fun and engaging (according to Jacob Geller and the good people at Overly Sarcastic Productions; I don't own a PlayStation). How much more should they righteously hate this short that peddles more of that slop?

I am not against crossovers. I think there's a lot of fun to be had from throwing characters together in an oddball setting. Fortnite, for all its flaws, provides a lot of fun from having recognized characters going at each other in a game that's at least a little fun. So having Kratos from God of War, Gauis from Shadow of the Colossus, Helldivers (from Helldivers 2) and Sackboy from Little Big Planet all crossing over with one another could be fun.

But my annoyance at watching an ad in my free time turns to annoyance when it offers little artistic merit. All of these IPs are only here to remind you to play PlayStation games, and they are thrown in your face to force you to remember the better times you spent with other medias and games. Kratos was a big draw for most audiences and the fact he's on-screen for a couple seconds and Christopher Judge even reprises the role only to yell and then be discarded tells you the priorities of this short.

I hate it. It's not bad, not completely, barely even mediocre, but its core premise is rotted from corporate oversight. All these other shorts were about something, even at their worst they were trying to tell a story or provide a message. This is nothing; it is solely an advertisement to play other, better games, from studios shuttered by the company that bought them. It's Sony congratulating itself for projects it wasn't involved with, and to that I say: fuck 'em. They don't deserve the accolades.

I've taken the liberty of including a tier list of all these episodes. Please note letter grades are only approximations; this order is how much I enjoyed or think these shorts were of quality.

S: something new, something surprising or intriguing. Unreal Tournament: Xan (a surprisingly-powerful origin for the game's main villain) Honor of Kings: The Way of All Things (a strange, compelling argument with a great twist) Concord: Tale of the Implacable (honor among thieves, even in dire straits)

A: something I enjoyed without reinventing the wheel. PAC-MAN: Circle (a delightfully fucked-up reinterpretation) Warhammer 40,000: And They Shall Know No Fear (I mean… come on… I love these space marine guys) Sifu: It Takes a Life (exactly as artistic as I was expecting)

B: it's alright, maybe even fun, but the flaws are stark. Mega Man: Start (quite cool, but that's about it) New World: The Once and Future King (moderately amusing with a good emotional core) Armored Core: Asset Management (a good ending on a bland episode)

C: cracks start to form. Enjoyment lessens. Exodus: Odyssey (forgettable, feelings of wonder fall flat, lack of emotional tether) Dungeons & Dragons: The Queen's Cradle (uncanny at best and punchy-fighty without any emotional stakes) Spelunky: Tally (earnest but clumsy) The Outer Worlds: The Company We Keep (lacks the strong bite that made the games so good, ending fell flat) Crossfire: Good Conflict (things happened, I suppose)

Pure, visceral hatred: lack of artistic qualities drive me to madness. Playtime: Fulfillment (...HOW MUCH I'VE COME TO HATE YOU...)

So, that is Secret Level in total. Despite everything I'm still glad I went through it. It's not something you see too much of, and everyone who worked on the animation gave it their all. Even still I'm almost certainly going to watch season 2, but I've no idea what the final product will look like. And isn't that exciting?

[amaya-writes]

The Healer: A Short Story

Recently I’ve gotten into using writing prompts to create short stories and I came across an account on Insta (@_writing_ideas_) which had an interesting prompt that I really wanted to work on! 

Link to the prompt: https://www.instagram.com/p/CRp62yegCp0/ 

“How dare you cross my threshold, witch?”

Julia narrowed her gaze as she stepped further into the blue and gold chamber, ignoring the numerous guards and their intimidating staffs as she reserved her anger for the figure clad in navy robes and gold threads with a scar across his cheek. 

"Perhaps if you refrained from forcing my soldiers to return to the med bay as soon as they leave, you would have been given prior notice for this confrontation.”

Julius Storman was a lot of things, but daft certainly wasn’t one of them. 

He had examined enough warriors over his years to recognise a ticking bomb when he saw one. The healer before him had crossed treacherous battlefields for this conversation, and she certainly wouldn’t leave without it. 

“Leave us.”

The room of lieutenants and colonels knew their general well enough to not question his intentions and immediately scrambled out of the golden gates without hesitation.

One of the younger soldiers had the curtsey to close the doors behind him; something Julius would come to be thankful for in the near future. 

“This is a war, not a tea party. Soldiers die and get hurt, and if you can’t deal with that, then leave.”

His voice sent shivers down her back and words felt like daggers piercing her heart. Julia was certain she would have been cowering where she stood if it weren’t for the memories of injured boys huddling in a corner of her med bay as they whispered about the corpses of their loved ones.

The general was certainly intimidating, but her empathy was too strong to be forgotten due to one heartless taunt. 

“Of course, that is all a monster like you would think of. For you, war means death and anything except victory don’t matter, right?”

Perspective. That was all it took to flip the switch; to change one’s thoughts, and in turn, their actions. 

Emotion. The one ability the scarred young general had lost due to the war and become a stranger to. 

And Julia. A tall, calculative healer with a tongue as deft as her hand. 

That was all it took for Julius Stroman to unlock the locked doors sealing away a certain teenager with hopes of changing the world for the better. To reconcile the ambitions of an innocent child with dreams of bringing glory and bliss to Retopia. 

But alas, an unlocked door wasn’t nearly enough to have little Lee navigate the dark abyss before him, and resulted in more damage than benefit. Julius’s golden eyes darkened as he glared at the bold woman before him. 

“You know nothing of who I am.”

A sneer developed across his face as the warrior enveloped in gold stepped towards the ragged healer, clutching her arm in disdain as he continued speaking. 

“Or of what I want.”

She laughed. 

It wasn’t the demeaning, cold chuckle followed by mockery that he was used to, no, it was different. 

The emotion was different. 

Julia’s laugh held a disappointment that made the general’s heart clench in pain. The way she shook her head and clenched her fists, the way she sucked in deep bouts of air and exhaled with an airy chortle; it was all too much for the heartless warrior. 

Throughout their encounter, the deft healer had never once abandoned her wit, aware of exactly what Storman was capable of doing to her if she crossed the thin line she was tracing. There was a difference between bravery and stupidity, she knew that. 

But in her moment of confusion and dismay, the tall brunette replaced her rationality and reasoning with rashness and did the only thing she could think of. 

She slapped him. 

The poor, unruly healer slapped Retopia’s golden general. 

The harsh smack echoed across the extravagant chamber even after Julia’s rationality returned to her side with a red palm. 

Horror briefly flashed across her features as she recoiled in shock and let lose a series of slurs. Being rude to him was one thing, but abusing the general on his side of the border was worse than a death wish.  

Julius remained as still as a statue. 

His head was thrown to the side, showcasing a red handprint for Julia and anyone else near his camp’s golden gates. The general’s perfect curls and sneer were amiss as he sucked in a deep breath, finally registering what had just occurred.

An arm clad in blue chiffon slowly rose from his side to briefly trace the red mark covering his scar. 

For a moment they remained that way, with Julia regretting ever crossing the border and Julius wondering just how harsh of a wakeup call he needed to sympathise with the Grimorians. 

"Sorry.”

If the slap had shocked him, the apology appalled Julius beyond measure. 

It was his turn to stagger back as the general quizzically stared at the enigma before him and vocalized his thoughts. 

“Why?”

Julia scoffed as she met his golden gaze, the fire and adrenaline slowly returning to her with each word. 

“It might surprise you to know some people don’t live to hurt others.”

She almost got whiplash from how quickly the general before her switched between innocent confusion and cold ire, but even as Julius towered before her, Julia stood her ground and awaited a response. 

The young mage had stormed through a battlefield for this moment, and she would rather die than return without results. 

“What would you know of war?”

“Just because I’m a healer doesn’t mean I’m weak or soft or a coward. It means that I’m brave enough to get my hands dirty and rebuild everything that you destroy.”

Julia scoffed as she crossed her arms and curled her fists, wondering whether two slaps were too much to get away with. 

“Your only talent is breaking mages into pieces with no regard for their situation. You’re a monstrous weapon and the golden jewel of Retopia, but are you even worth anything if there’s no war?”

Julius had faced a lot of things over the past twenty years. 

He had committed the worst of crimes and stolen numerous lives without question, but somehow a peculiarly enraged healer had evoked emotions and questions that the bloodiest battles couldn’t. 

And that scared him. 

Julius Storman had dedicated his life to his country ever since his father fell prey to the Grimorians. He had vowed to end the age-old war between the countries and forever show the magically gifted mages what Retopia was capable of and promised to never cease or surrender until he had succeeded. 

Julius Storman had promised his country everything he had and never once questioned their intentions. 

So why was he doing so now?

Julia sensed his unease. She saw the way his brows furrowed and shoulders dropped from their guarded stance. She noticed the clench of his jaw and the slight tilt of his head, and somehow, felt just as bad for the clueless general as she did for her comrades. 

“Why are you doing this?”

“Because it is the right thing to do.”

She rolled her eyes and rephrased her question; approaching the situation differently. 

“Why are you so keen on stealing our magic? On killing our queen and massacring our people?”

Steal? Massare? The words were as foreign to him as the mage before him but stoked the same flame of curiosity as she did. 

“What are you on about, witch? The soldiers of Retopia are only saving our people from your magical traps.”

It struck them at the same time. The stupidity of his reasoning, the slight doubt at the back of nearly every Retopian’s mind as they struck their spears through the Grimorian’s hearts, the sheer rage and slight fear radiating from the enemy’s armies as they fought for something the Retopians could never understand. 

“Your king-”

“-It is all a lie?”

A/N: We all love our cliffhangers! Honestly, I’m pretty happy with this story, what do you guys think? 

[lunarthedragon]

Demon!Jaskier Part 2

Part 1: here

+++

He had been so many things in his past. So many iterations and forms. So many bodies and lives.

A boy with bones so fragile he needs braces to walk, but who never dies. Never dies. Never dies. His smile bringing joy to his small village.

A girl, deaf, who is shunned by her family but taken in by the sirens that cannot sway her with their songs. She is vengeance on the tide, her hands louder than her tongue.

A man filled with anger - at the world, people, himself - who sets into motion some of the most gruesome wars known to man.

A woman with thunder in her steps, mighty and heroic, wearing armor forged by poor workers and wielding a damaged sword she found lodged in her father’s ribcage.

An elf who slips along the blood-drenched fields, washed with the screams of his people, delivering mercy upon the suffering and as his tears mix with the blood.

So many lives. So many timelines. So many worlds.

Nothing ever looks the same, feels the same, but it is always him-her-they. Returning and returning, wanting to live and learn and grow in a way his brethren refuse to. 

He will be better.

+++

Sometimes, when people want to get at Geralt, they choose the cowardly method of going after his bard. They believe him to be an easier target and hope for an easy prize.

Geralt always worries, even though he never says it. Jaskier can feel it, wafting off of him as he charges into the temporary prison and sees the dead bandits-mercenaries-fools already strewn across the ground.

Over the years the Witcher has learned and accepted that Jaskier has a profound talent for getting into trouble, but also getting out of it.

Still he worries.

Even when he knows of Jaskier’s true nature.

A group of bandits abscond with him to their camp, set to bribe the Witcher.

The night has barely fallen when Jaskier runs into Geralt on his way out of the bandit camp, blood smeared over his hands and face, yet his clothes miraculously untouched.

“Are you okay?” Geralt still demands, reeking of concern.

“They tore one of the buttons out of my doublet. How do you think I am doing?” Jaskier grumbles, ignoring the concern, even though it makes him feel all warm inside. Like the shadows are stretching with a brighter sun. Like some of the darkness boils back.

It is a good warm.

He does not need worrying, though. He does not need rescuing. He has been a damsel before, but he has never been in distress. 

Still... it can be a little nice... on occasion.

+++

Jaskier tells Geralt some of his own stories.

His words have been prettied and empty for so many years, the occasional story bracketed from when “Jaskier” began and the present. 

Now, he tells Geralt anything and everything. Of worlds far beyond his own. Places hidden away unless you know where to look. History long forgotten.

Geralt pretends not to listen, but his awareness is firmly planted on Jaskier when he talks of these things. It appears these stories can even intrigue a grumpy, old Witcher.

“The monsters in your song,” Geralt suddenly cuts in one night when Jaskier is recounting his life as Damalt, a “Wastelander” from far, far away many years ago, where he hunted monsters not unlike a Witcher. “I said they didn’t exist, but...”

The Witcher looked deep in thought and it takes Jaskier a moment to realize he is talking about when they first met. “You were not incorrect,” he assures, smiling, “They do not exist... in this world. Alas, I occasionally get my histories jumbled up when high on adrenaline. Terrible habit, that.”

“It must happen often, then,” Geralt huffs. His pride is wounded. He is meant to be the monster expert, and yet...

“I often call out the wrong name in bed,” Jaskier replies with a shrug.

“That’s hardly terrible,” Geralt’s lips twist and a brow arches.

Jaskier shrugs. “Sure, unless you say it like, ‘G̸͙̅̀Ŕ̸̠̖ḥ̶̀͋h̸̘́K̸̥̇͒̐͛͋͗̏b̶̥͕̠̪͉͛̆ą̶̘͈̟̼̰̟̓̌̀̐T̶̝̠̙̍̽̈́̄̈́C̶̥̫̝͐̄͋́̏̀ḧ̶͍̟̟̠̫̎́̇̈́h̸̬̅́Á̸̬̱͎̗̓̃͂̇͊͠L̴͕̗͛̀̓̔̾̂̈́ͅ.’”

Geralt has leant back as if smacked, his eyes so wide the whites are visible all around his irises, and his mouth is hanging open.

It makes Jaskier laugh for five minutes straight.

+++

He cannot eat salt. It will not kill him, but it causes the closest thing to an allergic reaction in him that he could ever have.

It burns where it touches tongue or skin or organs or bone. He feels it deeper than the flesh, the body, and he writhes, like a black, foaming slug. It makes him screech but no one hears, air running cold until icicles form but no one shivers, a chittering vibration that sets ears bleeding but no one cares.

He cannot eat salt.

+++

The thing in the mansion is ancient. Almost as ancient as him. He can hear it long before the mansion - dilapidated, abandoned, hopeless, taken back by nature - comes into view.

Geralt doesn’t hear it. He keeps walking, looking out for the monster on the contract.

The monster is gone, if it was ever here to begin with. Dead, dead, dead. Like the air and the earth and the sea. Dead but ancient and crawling without moving.

And Geralt doesn’t hear it.

“We shouldn’t go closer,” Jaskier finally says - voice not-quite-right at the edges, like a burning photo - because Geralt knows. Knows what he is. Accepted what he is. It is fine to speak up and protect that which he holds dear. That which he cares for more than he should.

Geralt is looking at him now, confusion in his eyes, and he wishes he could put into words that they need to stay away from that mansion because the thing inside will be the Witcher’s undoing.

He can move on, find a new body, find a new life, but the flesh bodies with the fleshier souls of mortals do not have that privilege. And he quite likes this particular mortal.

“What’s wrong?” Geralt asks, voice low, stepping towards Jaskier as if to protect.

“E̴v̵e̶r̴y̷t̵h̷i̶n̴g̸,” his voice twitches around something too big and forces it back down. “It will kill you. You need to get away.”

“Is it a spirit of some kind?” Geralt asks, his face set in concern. Jaskier offers a nod. “Is it like you?” Jaskier opens his mouth to reply and it rushes out.

“Me but not - screaming where I whisper - the fly in your soup the fly on a corpse - bear trap on your leg gnaw it off gnaw it off - viscera from an eye split in half - war as bloody as birth - ”

Geralt grabs ahold of his arms and drags him away, sprinting in the opposite direction as the mansion, and Jaskier has never sensed fear on the Witcher like he does in that moment.

They don’t return to the town they came from. They never completed the contract. There was no monster to kill.

Instead, in complete silence, they make camp and Jaskier curls up tight to Geralt’s side under a thick fur. If he shakes a little, drained from a battle that never happened, Geralt doesn’t say a word and only holds him closer.

+++

Djinn are an ancient spirit as much as Jaskier is. Not horrors, but rather entities. Embodiments. Powerful and feared and unable to flee from the imprisonments of man.

They hate the things that Jaskier is. Envious of him and his brethren. They are not as ancient as he, but they possess powers long forgotten.

Jaskier should have stopped things sooner. “I can’t sleep,” Geralt had said as he fished for a djinn. Jaskier had seen the problem, seen the issue, knew the outcome, and he should have just stepped in forced a stop.

Instead, he tried to talk Geralt down. Claim a lovely cup of chamomile tea with honey and whiskey would do the trick! Perhaps a back rub to sweeten the deal? Just please get away from the water. Please.

It doesn’t work and the jug in Geralt’s hands sends Jaskier into a panic, shooting out to grab ahold of it and tugging. Geralt doesn’t let go. Just glares at him.

“Seriously, Geralt, you’re being ridiculous! This isn’t going to help you. They’ll trick you and put you to sleep for good, never to rise again. How can you not see--”

The jug opens with a “pop!” The engraved lid in Geralt’s hand, jug in Jaskier's, and he can FEEL the energies around them shift. Compress. Tug and squeeze until it is hard for him to breathe.

“Nothing happened,” Geralt growls to himself, looking around, growing more and more frustrated, but Jaskier’s attention is glued to the surface of the lake. There is a shadow there that hasn’t taken form. Watching without eyes. Laughing without lips.

A djinn’s aura is not a scream or a cry. It is a vibration. A roll of thunder and the long, belting roar of a giant.

They stare at each other, through eyes beyond this plain. Eyes that see each other for what they truly are. Wind is picking up, actual wind, the sky darkening, and with the first bolt of lightning the djinn attacks.

He screeches, unholy and enraged, as claws-talons-teeth, dig into the parts of him that go unseen. Black veins form on his body, growing and growing and growing, hands and eyes pitch black as he lashes back. A piece of him catches on a piece of them, rendering-cutting-ripping, until lightning flashes above like a scream. Like a scar.

Black oozes from his mouth with the next clash, veins surging along his face, his stomach, his legs, everywhere. His hands are grasping without moving - so many hands, too many hands - and he tears the djinn in two, flinging it away, but a bolt of lightning like a blade severs an arm. A leg. There’s a hole in his chest that bleeds black.

He hears a voice, deep and frantic in a way he isn’t used to. Terrified. He’s not meant to be terrified. Not for Jaskier. He...

“Stop!” Geralt yells out, loud as the storm, and time holds still. The djinn is still there, present, hovering, deliberating, before it pulls back and away with a thin smile despite having no lips.

Ah. Geralt has the wishes.

Isn’t that lovely?

“Jaskier,” Geralt says, sounding desperate and too close and Jaskier looks to his side to find he is laying on his back and Geralt is kneeling beside him. He looks horrified, his emotions apparently so sudden and strong he is unable to hold them in.

“Hi,” he says, black blood gurgling out with the word, smiling in such a way his dark eyes crinkle. He doesn’t think it puts Geralt at ease, though, with the way he seems to flicker. Stutter. Then lurch forward like he wants to hold Jaskier but stops himself short.

“You’re... you...” Geralt isn’t one for words, but when he does talk he doesn’t usually stutter. Jaskier doesn’t like this.

“Djinn and demons like me do not get along,” he offers. He feels tight in his skin, too much wanting to leak out. To crack more of his skin and ooze free. Fill the air. Fill the world. Fill everything.

He holds it in, but he can feel more of his body turning dark with more and more veins. The hole in his chest hurts.

“Could you pass me my arm and leg, please?” he asks kindly and, apparently too shocked to argue or question, the Witcher lurches sideways to scoop up the severed limbs. He hands them over and Jaskier takes them gratefully, before setting his arm to the bleeding stump.

It stinks, like rotten eggs, and Geralt’s nose wrinkles up but he doesn’t move away. Jaskier wonders if he’s in shock.

The limb knits back onto his body, slower than usual, but not unexpected for a wound like this. He does the same to his leg, pleased to have all four limbs back, less of himself wanting to leak out. He is still covered in black veins, though, with dark eyes.

Still, he turns to Geralt, who looks lost. He reaches out to lay a hand against Geralt’s cheek, the Witcher flinching but then pressing back into his palm. “See? I am fine. Death means very little to me,” he assures, his voice still full, like he has too many teeth-tongues-throats, but far more normal than it once was.

“You have a hole in your chest,” Geralt says lowly, seeming unable to speak much higher. Jaskier tries to think about what this must be like from Geralt’s perspective. His only friend, a demon of unknown power, changing horrifically  and having a fight with an invisible force. Then, being torn apart before his very eyes...

Yes, perhaps this response was a bit more understanding...

“It will heal,” he says, but looks down at the hole, black blood gushing from it still, coating his front and back. He hadn’t gotten that from a bolt of lightning. This was a cursed wound.

Not enough to kill something like him, but enough to be a nuisance.

“I may abandon this body,” he considers aloud, “Find a new host. This will take years to heal.”

“No,” Geralt says suddenly, moving forward and grabbing Jaskier’s shoulders. “No. Tell me how to help. This is my doing--”

“This is not your doing,” Jaskier says, head tilting.

“I should have listened.”

“You should have,” he agrees, “But this is still not your doing.”

“Just...” Geralt looks down and away, avoiding eye contact. Jaskier still tries to catch his gaze anyway. “Tell me what I can do...”

“It is a magical wound,” he begins and brings a hand up to run his knuckles over Geralt’s jaw. It is so close and vulnerable, he can’t help it. “It needs magical treatment so that I might do the rest. I sense a sorceress in Rinde, the next town over. Powerful.”

Geralt looks up, listening intently. His face is set again, under control as it usually is, and his eyes are determined. He nods. “To Rinde,” he says as he stands and carefully urges Jaskier up, too.

There is a sense of vertigo upon standing and the black veins flair, spreading then receding. He feels disoriented, deep to the core. Perhaps the cursed wound was doing more to him than he thought.

“I think...” he begins slowly as Geralt leads him towards Roach, who is far enough away not to be spooked by the fight, but close enough to still be within sight. Geralt has a firm hand on his closest arm and the other arm wrapped around Jaskier’s shoulders, trying to support him.

“I think I need to pass out, now.” And he goes down to the sound of Geralt’s worried exclamation, the world blurring until it is void. It is nothing. It is all.

+++

Definitely gonna make a part 3! Also likely to put them all together, eventually, and put them on Ao3 later! Tell me what y’all think!!

Tagged users that commented on part one: @meody90 @zoeyszone @patrycjami-chan @emthegiantnerd @onelonelyforgottenbiscuit 

[beanwritesthings]

Conversation

The room was quiet except for the sound of Gaufrid’s pen scratching out notes on the report he was currently reading. The magelights on the walls had been turned down in the wake of the meeting to preserve their enchantments, leaving the personal one by his elbow as the chief source of illumination. The ball of light bounced in place slightly from where it was suspended in the glass canister, causing his silhouette to dance on the various maps and papers covering the stone walls. He sighed heavily, sitting up and stretching, then running a hand through his hair, casting the already-messy black strands to enter further disarray. He readjusted himself in the chair and was about to lean over again and return to his work when there was a knock at the door. 

“En-enter!” His voice cracked a bit and he cleared his throat before trying once more, “You may enter!”

The heavy wood creaked as the door opened to reveal the cloaked form of Raonull, the Mage looking as tired and barely put-together as always. 

“May we speak? I left in a hurry after the meeting earlier.” His voice was hoarse, as it always seemed to be these days, the roughness of it catching on the edges of his words. 

“Of course, what do you need to address?”

The man stepped further into the room, closing the door behind him then moving so he stood on the other side of the large center table that Gaufrid sat at. 

“I want Lasair to be included in Party meetings.”

Gaufrid sighed, putting his pen down and looking fully up at the other man.

“I know you’re happy that your apprentice survived the fall, but she has no business--”

“Of course she does. You’re including Breonet and he’s not a Party Member, so why not her?”

Gaufrid’s expression tightened and he stood up, pushing away from the table.

“Breonet is being included because he is Ashblood, by his right as the chosen, he needs to be aware of the full situation if we are to bring down Wyrueir.”

“That is not set in stone. He was identified from a young age by the Firebloods, a group both of us know have no real authority nor any right or reason to choose any one mage over another, and you all just decided to honor their choice?”

“He was born on the longest night of the Midnight Year in the Crimson City and carries no family name. Those were the requirements set force by the Prophecy of Ash.”

“You speak as if he were the only one in existence who was eligible. There are plenty more who also are potential children of prophecy. Just because the Firebloods decided to use up their last day before Idorough fell anointing him and then using their resources to get him out of the city does not mean we have to honor their choice.”

“Then where are they?” Gaufrid shouted, throwing his arm out in his anger. “The prophecy states that the Ashblood will be the one to kill Wyrueir and end the seventh age! We have no options left, and as we have no way of knowing who the Creator intended on, we must use what we have been given.”

Raonull remained unflustered from the outburst, his face still sat in neutral indifference, the bags under his eyes appearing bigger in the low light. 

“Alas, we have gotten off-topic.”

Gaufrid closed his eyes for a moment, breathing deeply and allowing his anger to simmer down.

“Yes, shall we continue?”

“Of course.” Raonull looked down, examining the large map of Arrijion that covered the table before continuing. “I believe her talents in both battle-casting and healing would be invaluable to us when we infiltrate the keep.”

“We have several Mages who would be ‘invaluable’ to us when we move to bring him down. What makes Lasair any different?”

The Mage’s shoulders stiffened, the first sign of emotion in his otherwise-professional demeanor. 

“She’s already connected with both Mathiel and Jelren and I believe that they will only become closer as they remain here and fight beside one another. She’s a Spellweaver and is also a talented healer, allowing her to support us in ways that other casters cannot.”

Gaufrid nodded, conceding, then countered, “And why would she not be better off doing just that with the bulk of our forces as they take on the Void’s army? You know as well as I do that the fight against Wyrueir is our fight alone, one that civilians have no place in.”

“But what if she’s not?” Raonull burst out, his tone losing all levelness. 

Gaufrid tightened his expression. “What do you mean?” he asked, voice careful.

“She is also a candidate for Ashblood, Gaufrid.” His voice was harried, seemingly desperate to get the other man to understand. “She was born on the day of the longest night of the Midnight year and her family carries no name.” 

Gaufrid watched him carefully, eyes raking his form top to bottom, watching as he shifted his weight and swallowed, trying to clear his throat, before shaking his head.

“So that’s it, then?”

“What?” Genuine confusion filled the brunet’s face.

“The reason why you’re trying so hard to get her in on all our secrets.”  Gaufrid scoffed and rolled his eyes then pointed at Raonull. “You’re upset that the Firebloods, a group that I agree are more of a joke or an attempt of propaganda that the Aranists allowed to gain autonomy, chose Breonet instead of your apprentice, aren’t you?”

Raonull went still, a blank look taking over his face. Gaufrid let out a short laugh.

“Of course, why would I ever think that it would be something different. I keep forgetting who you are, Raonull, what you’ve done.” He shook his head, sighing. “You like stories, don’t you? Ones where the villain is brought to justice in some delightfully poetic way. And this is all just a narrative to you, isn’t it? Your narrative and the rest of us are just there to push the story alone. That would be poetic, wouldn’t it? For Wyrueir to finally fall to the apprentice of the one who--”

“That’s what you think this is about?” Raonull’s voice was deadly quiet as he cut the other man off, a far cry from his previously professional tone. “Some kind of jealousy fit because my apprentice wasn’t chosen by a group of elders too lazy and dependent on some prophecy to get off their asses to try and save themselves?”

Gaufrid’s eyes widened and he took a step back, realizing his mistake. He raised his arms in a placating motion.

“Raonull, you know that’s not-”

“Then what do you mean, Gaufrid? Please, tell me.”

The man swallowed, trying to clear his throat, and looked away from the seething mage, eyes tracing the maps on the walls before returning to look at his ex-comrade. 

“All I’m saying is that you don’t know Breonet.” He started off speaking slowly and quietly, afraid of poking Roanull’s temper further into dangerous territory. “You know of him from what your apprentice has told you and you only saw him in a professional capacity back in Idorough. He’s a very talented fire mage-”

“That’s all he is,” mumbled Raonull, getting a glare from the other man.

“And,” Gaufrid continued, ignoring the interruption, “Maybe you hold a little resentment that Lasair - who is an incredibly talented mage herself - didn’t get recognized despite her fulfillment of the prophecy and won’t have the glory of the Ashblood title.”

“Glory?” Raonull threw his head back and laughed, the sound grating and containing no joy. “You would do well to remember to whom you speak to, Spochytel. I may not have been present at the reading of the Prophecy of Ash, but I remember the words well, and the fate of the Ashblood, the one chosen by the Creator to finally vanquish Wyrueir, the Great Mistake, is not one of glory. To face him, to obey the pull of destiny, to do what I—“

He broke off suddenly, all bluster gone as he stared down at his right hand, clenching his fist and watching the faint scars and black tattoos shift in response. Gaufrid didn’t dare move, wouldn’t risk the ire of one of the most unpredictable men he knew by interrupting him when he was in the midst of remembering his imprisonment. 

Raonull sighed heavily, his shoulders falling as he slumped forwards and gripped his scarred hand. 

“I wouldn’t wish that kind of fate on anyone, let alone her.” His voice was soft once more, but horse and defeated where it had been full of warning and intent. 

“You really do care for her,” Gaufrid murmured as he watched the other man carefully, eyes sharp with curiosity.

“She is my apprentice, and I, her mentor. Of course, I care for her.”

“No, you care, Raonull. More than I’ve seen you care since… well…” 

He trailed off, contemplative. The two stood in silence for a while, Gaufrid studying the map on the table and the various small objects on it representing the various cells and people of interest while Raonull traces the lines crisscrossing his hand with his eyes, brow furrowed in thought. He opened his mouth to speak, only for the words to get caught in his throat, bringing forth a soft noise that was audible only because of the absolute quiet in the room. Gaufrid looked up in response and waited as the older man coughed and cleared his throat before trying to speak again.

“If, if I had my way, Lasair would be as far away from this as possible. I want her back in Idorough studying and working towards being a healer and instead, she’s here preparing to fight in a war that I’d do anything to keep her out of. If I was able to I’d ensure that she’d never step foot on another battlefield or get captured and tortured again. I’d escort her to Sahshriq myself and get her on a boat to Eibrall as soon as possible if that’s what it took.”

He stopped, took another deep, rattling breath and then continued. 

“But I know that’s not possible. Not, now, not then, and not ever. She’s too headstrong to run now, no matter if I begged.”

Raonull smiled softly, but still looked down at his hands, refusing to meet Gaufrid’s eyes.

“She’s vowed to see this through, to end the suffering that Wyrueir brings to the people of Arrijion. Her natural empathy and devotion to the healer’s creed mean that she cannot stand by and allow anyone to suffer when she can help. And, right now, the best way for her to do so is from right here, whether the prophecy is behind her or not.”

He fell silent, heaving a heavy sigh and finally releasing his right hand before finally lifting his head and meeting Gaufrid’s eyes.

“All I ask is that you give her a chance. She’s already managed to befriend both Mathiel and Jelren and will be a boon to us on the front lines whether she ends up in the keep or not, and, trust me, she’ll try her best to get there and I’d rather her be informed than run in and get herself or someone else hurt because she doesn’t know what’s going on.”

Gaufrid remained silent, merely breaking the eye contact and returning his gaze to the map. Raonull clenched his jaw.

“I shall take my leave then.” The words were tight, his voice back to the pure professional tone he had adopted at the beginning of the conversation. 

He turned around and began striding towards the door, his body a line of tension and repressed anger.

“Adhairt, wait.”

The other man’s voice had him pausing as he reached out to grab the handle. He turned his head slightly, only enough to show that he was listening.

“The Party meets again in two days. By then, the scouts should be back with Domian. We’ll explain everything to the three then, and…” he paused, taking a deep breath, “if you think it best, I shall allow Lasair to attend the meeting.”

Raonull nodded, then opened the door, throwing a “Till next light” over his shoulder before he vanished back into the citadel. Gaufrid let out his breath, deflating, and then sat down heavily in his previously-abandoned chair. He leaned forward, resting his face in his hands and rubbing at his eyes. The magelights flickered a bit, a sign that the enchantment was getting close to failing. He stared at the map, at the one large figure placed on their location and the seven smaller figures surrounding it. He opened a drawer, finding a small carved statue of a bird and placing it in-between the arrow and the bear.

“Creator save us all,” he whispered, the words echoing strangely in the quiet of the room before he picked up his pen once more and pulled his stack of reports back towards him. It would be a long night. 

[modestmuses-a]

5, 6, 11, 18, 21, 23, 26, 30, 34, 35, 43, 50 - ekko

//CAS I ALREADY DON’T SHUT UP ABOUT THIS BOY AS IT IS.  WHY WOULD YOU ENCOURAGE ME AND SUBJECT MY FOLLOWERS TO THIS??  i’m gonna have to fuckin readmore this for length because Christ…

Unusual Headcanons | accepting

5. How many blankets / pillows do they like to have on their bed?

One of each.  When it’s exceptionally warm out, you can nix the blanket.  Although, “blanket” is kind of a strong word for it.  It’s really more of a threadbare rag at this point.  When it gets cold out, he does think, “Hm, I better replace this,” but then he immediately forgets about it upon waking up and getting on with his day.

6. What do they normally dream about?  Nightmares or nonsense?

Thanks to time travel fucking with his circadian rhythm, it’s very rare for Ekko to get any more than three or four hours of sleep at a time.  More on that here.

But his terrible non-existent sleeping patterns, coupled with a whole host of repressed negative emotions that he hasn’t properly worked through because he doesn’t want to burden anyone with his problems, mean his nightmares are frequent and severe.  Usually of the ridiculously gory variety.  His nightmares typically end with him dying in some over-the-top, Final-Destination-esque way.

(Speaking of, my favorite death from those movies is from the third one, where the girl stumbles backwards into a nail gun and takes several nails through the back of her skull right out the front of her face.)

If you were to watch them, like, as a horror movie, some of them might be laughable.  (If you’re into that sort of thing.)  And indeed, he does try to laugh some of them off, although whether it’s genuine laughter or him trying to put on a brave face and again refusing to acknowledge that he’s got Issues is up for debate.

11. Bar soap or liquid?  Do they like loofahs?

Bar soap.  No loofahs.

18. Do they prefer cats or dogs?  Or neither?

Ekko doesn’t really have a preference!  He’ll drop scraps down to stray animals when he has the scraps to spare, and he’s made a number of furry friends of both species this way.  Sometimes, you’ll just see random animals tailing him as he walks through the city, ‘cause they’re hoping to get more food out of him.  He feels guilty when he doesn’t have anything to give them.

21. Did they have any fears growing up that they’ve since conquered?

Ekko used to be afraid of trees when he was younger and would always hold his breath when he walked by the cultivair.  This is because he heard a story about a man who accidentally inhaled a tree seed and ended up growing a tree in his lung.  He now knows that it’s ridiculous to be afraid of trees for that reason since the odds of it happening to him are infinitesimally small, but he’ll still tell people the story of Ol’ Tree Lung whenever they pass the cultivair, regardless of how many times his present company has heard it before.  Most of his friends are sick to death of Ol’ Tree Lung by now.

23. How do they show fear?  Sweating, shaking, blankness, anger, etc?

Ekko shakes something fierce when he gets scared.  He also starts stammering and messing up sentences on account of his brain working much faster than his mouth.  He’ll start a sentence and not finish it.  Tries to restart the sentence slightly different this time and doesn’t finish that one either.  Starts a sentence, cuts it off, starts a different sentence about a completely different thought, loses track of that one, too.

desperately tries not to cry

26. What are they most passionate about?  What could they debate about for hours?

Ekko is passionate about… eating the rich.  When are we bringing back the guillotine again?? kfhdgkdf

No, but seriously, Ekko is pretty adamant about “Capitalism sucks” and believes that the best use of wealth is providing for those less fortunate than you.  He doesn’t have a lot, but he’s always using what he does have to help the Lost Children and his parents first and himself second.  He sees people living these lives of luxury, and it makes him sick ‘cause he’s just like… *gestures @ starving orphans* “Y’all wanna like… maybe do something about this sometime?”

He believes that no one should have that much money for any reason because they should be putting it towards making society a better place instead of just… sitting on it.  There is a reason I associate Billy Talent with him (and why “Man Alive!” is his main verse tag) and it’s because they have a lot of songs that just absolutely shit all over capitalism.  I made a playlist for Ekko, and the first four songs on it are Billy Talent criticizing capitalism for the flawed, soul-sucking system that it is.  (Three of the four are from the Dead Silence album.)

Anyway, Billy Talent tangent aside since I can’t control myself…

On April Fool’s, there were a couple IC posts of rich characters saying, “Rich people don’t have rights!” but then claiming to be exceptions to the rule.  Like, one of them said, “I have rights ‘cause I didn’t choose to be rich.  I was just born into a rich family.”

And let me tell you, I had to physically restrain Ekko ‘cause he was p i s s e d.  He was in time-out that day, haha!  “Oh, I’m so sorry, it must be so hard for you to have been born into a life of privilege,” he fumes to himself in the little corner I’ve trapped him in.  “NONE OF YOU ARE EXCEPTIONS TO THE RULE!  NONE OF YOU HAVE RIGHTS!  AND WHEN THE REVOLUTION COMES, YOU’RE GOING TO THE GUILLOTINE WITH THE REST OF ‘EM!”

Me, desperately trying to calm him down like, “No, no, shh, look at the date!  It’s probably just a joke!”

He’s like, “IT FUCKING BETTER BE.”

Tl;dr: Nothing gets Ekko riled quite like rich people being shitty and annoying.

I was also going to mention that Ekko’s passionate about maintaining hope and will argue the importance of not giving up and not letting bad situations turn you into a bad person, but this answer is already hella long, so here’s a brief passing mention of it lmao

30. Is there something about their personality they want to change?

Ekko is… angry deep down.  Or maybe not even so deep down.  Maybe right there, just under his skin.  And he wishes he wasn’t.

He often questions his own goodness, wondering if he’s not just Fake Nice to conceal the wretched thing he actually is.  If you skim the top layer of sweetness off of him, you’re left with this horrid, bitter, hateful little beast.  Or that’s what he thinks sometimes, anyway.

Whether it’s justified or it isn’t, anger is such an ugly emotion, and he’s worried it’s going to cause him to hurt someone he cares about someday.

I often worry about my portrayal of Ekko and how damn inconsistent it is sometimes ‘cause in one thread, he’s this sweet helpful angel who wants to do his best, and in another thread, he’s more bitter than the blackest coffee, but like.  This be why.  He’s a good person.  Just deep down, he’s angry about A Lot, but even deeper down, he’s an even better person.  He feels like his anger is the thing standing between him and being the best person he can be, and he wishes he could get rid of it, but alas, it seems to be stuck to him.

I mean, maybe it wouldn’t be if he ever bothered to resolve any of his Issues, but y’know.  Helping others comes first, so :’)  He’ll worry about helping himself when he’s dead.

34. Are they the jealous type?  What are they most likely to be jealous of?

Hmm, I wouldn’t say Ekko is much of the jealous type, no.  Like, his anger towards rich folks isn’t because he’s jealous of their lifestyle or wants what they have.  It’s because he wants them to be decent fucking people for once.  It doesn’t make sense to a lot of people, but he’s content stomping around in the gutters.  He does wish things were easier on his parents, but he can’t complain about the life of freedom he’s been allowed to lead up to this point.

He doesn’t really get jealous of other people’s relationships either.  Like, I mentioned in a reply to Draven that in the Academy verse, Ekko has a crush on Ahri.  (But only in the Academy verse.)  But like, he doesn’t really get jealous when she dates other guys.  In fact, he expects it.  He hasn’t said anything about his crush on Ahri (although it’s probably a bit obvious), and he’s never going to because he doesn’t expect anything to come of it.  He lowkey doesn’t want anything to come of it because he feels like it’ll just make the dynamics in their friend group weird.  So, really, he’s got no problem with her dating whoever she wants.

35. Are they possessive over their things?  Or over other people?  Both?

The only thing Ekko is especially possessive of is the Zero Drive, for obvious reasons.  It’d be just… the worst to have that fall into the wrong hands.  Time travel is a huge responsibility, Ekko says as he abuses the shit out of it to skip class and get infinite Halloween candy.  Can you imagine what would happen if any of the shadier characters in LoL had the ability to time travel??

He isn’t particularly possessive over the rest of his things, though, and he’ll frequently give stuff up to people he feels could use it more.

As for people… I wouldn’t call him possessive, so much as protective.  He might seem a bit possessive of his friends at times, but it’s only because he’s trying to keep them out of trouble.  Whenever he tells people, “I don’t want you hanging out with so-and-so,” it’s not because he’s being possessive, it’s because so-and-so has Bad Vibes written all over them.

In the modern/K/DA verse, he’s friends with Akali before she gets famous.  She ran away from the dojo and lived on the streets for a while, and it was there that she met Ekko, and honestly, he probably did a lot more than he realizes to keep her out of trouble.  Who knows what kind of bullshit her dumb ass would have gotten into if she hadn’t been trying to set as good of an example for Ekko as she could?

Anyway, modern verse Ekko despises modern verse Shen.  Akali gets back in touch with Shen, and Ekko is extremely vocal about how terrible he finds this whole idea.

And it’s not that he’s possessive of Akali.  In fact, it’s quite the opposite.  When she needed to leave him to join K/DA, he let her go ‘cause he understood that was her big dream and it wouldn’t have been fair to keep her there.  She was destined for better things, and he wanted to see her get off the streets.

But it’s just that… he’s heard stories about the way she was treated at the dojo, so when she tells him she got back in touch with Shen, he gets pissed and tells her that she can’t expect him to support her ripping open old wounds.  He’s just scared that Shen’s going to hurt her again, so when she tries to introduce the two of them to each other, Ekko’s cold towards Shen at best and openly hostile towards him at worst.  He might be inclined to strangle the guy if Akali didn’t have herself situated between them in a somewhat fruitless effort to ease the tension.

43. Do they like living alone or with another person / other people?

Ahaha, Ekko is a huge people-person, actually!  I think he’d just die if he had to live alone.  A big reason he spends so much time away from home and out on the streets is because his parents are never home, and the house feels too empty without them.  He’ll roll back home in the evening, when his parents are getting off work, to enjoy their company for a bit before they both pass out, but unless somebody else is there, he doesn’t want to be either.

If he had to live alone, there wouldn’t be any point in him having a house or anything ‘cause he’d literally never stay there.  He’d always be out chasing adventure and other people’s company.

50. Where do they see themselves in 2 / 5 / 10 years?

God, this is hard because the thing is that Ekko is terrible at making plans for the future, especially long-term plans.  Thinking about the future causes him major stress, especially when he thinks of possibilities that might involve him relinquishing some of his freedom, which is a lot.  Like, he has no desire to go to school or join the workforce - at least not in any sort of traditional way - or any of that, and the fact that he’s not going to be 16 forever is just something that he prefers not to think about!

Anyway, let’s take a crack at it, nonetheless…

In two years, Ekko hopes to have worked up the courage to tell his parents he doesn’t want to go to the academy in Piltover.  Listen… he’s working on it.  But like, he thinks at least part of the reason they work so hard is because they’re trying to put money back to send him to school, and… he’s really torn about it.  He’d feel guilty if they kept working to send him to school without knowing he doesn’t want to go, but he’d also feel guilty if he told them he doesn’t want to go and crushed all their hopes and dreams.  So, really, it is a lose-lose.

But hey, two years is plenty of time to work up the courage, right?

In five years, Ekko’s unsure of whether he’ll still be living with his parents or not.  He knows that he wants to get them into a nicer house, and as such, he’ll likely have to find some way to make money other than thievery.  So, he might consider commercializing an invention or two.

He knows his parents are fond of Piltover for whatever reason, and he would reluctantly let them go there, if they wanted.  That’s why he isn’t sure if he’ll still be living with them or not because if they do choose to go to Piltover, he’s absolutely staying behind in Zaun.  He wants them to be happy, but he’s not going to abandon Zaun like that.  Plus, he can still come visit sometimes, so it’s like… whatever.

He would also like to make a little more progress on the Z-Drive by this point, maybe getting it to the point where he can go back days instead of only minutes.  Just in case.  You never know when that thing you did three days ago is gonna come back around to bite you in the ass.

In ten years, he’ll be 26 and probably (sadly) a bit old to be running around doing dumb teenager things.  Still, he can’t see himself abandoning the Lost Children.  They’ll still need someone, you know?  A large part of his mission with the Lost Children has become keeping them out of trouble, more or less.  The bad kind of trouble, anyway.  Keeping them away from chem-punks and out of the factories and away from drugs and potentially dangerous augmentations, so on and so forth.

He’d like to keep doing that, keep helping kids stay out of bad situations.  Maybe start some sort of home for them, where they can come get a bed and a warm meal.  Or something like a school, but where they’re allowed to study what they want and hone the skills they think will be most useful to them, instead of some arbitrary curriculum they’re not even interested in.  Maybe a bit ambitious for only ten years, but… he hopes to at least be on his way to that sort of thing by then.

He wants to see Zaun be a better place, and children are the future, and he doesn’t want to see any of them fall through the cracks.  If there’s any hope for Zaun to get better - and he believes there is - it starts with its children being happy and safe.

So, his plans are currently:

Tell his parents he doesn’t want to go to the academy.

Get his parents somewhere nicer ‘cause they deserve it.

Improve time travel maybe.

Find a way to get as many children out of harm’s way as humanly possible.

And that’s basically it.

[mirrored-skies]

Fear Alone

Alair’s party, with the silly little icebreaker games and stories exchanged therein, was the closest any of you had felt to being real, normal teenagers since Iragala’s demand — it was good fun, but came in hand with the stomach-turning facts of the matter that you were all just that: teenagers, most of whom couldn’t even drive, who should have been out doing things like falling in love, taking care of your pets, cheating on tests to get out of the drivel of schoolwork Hope’s Peak was ought to be.

And yet, here you stood, all too out of place in this ancient artifact that stretched out towards the sky, your shiny talents and worldwide fame only serving as tools to make your sacrifice that much richer: like cattle being purebred for the slaughter — and even as a relatively normal day, whether you participated in the party or just hung out in your room, wound down, Iragala seemed intent on not letting it stay that way.

But the party is fun, if you’re there, and if not the solitude is comforting. While trapped here you are, it is almost a reprieve from the thought of having no escape.

And yet.

If you were not in the library, you would feel a chill run down your spine, as something akin to a jolt of electricity shoots through your body and freezes you in place. It is not that you cannot move your body- rather, your body does not dare move. And soon enough, you would hear a voice, deep and otherworldly yet one you have come to know already- Iragala’s voice.

If you had, however, been in the library, you would have seen the deity appear before you. Its appearance as demon-like as you remember, its face shrouded in shadows. But out of the shadows they would emerge to speak, and you would notice them looking slightly angered.

Never a good sign.

And then, no matter where you were or what you were doing, you would hear the words they spoke.

“A new challenge awaits you fools, though you are not heroes. Whereupon the Mouth of Truth is located, you may now head downwards into the abyss, and in there challenge yourself and Tyruth-ie.”

They relate, though the meaning of their words might still be a bit obscure.

The problem is what comes after.

They give a small laugh then, and speak again.

“I come to you to bring these news, and yet I see you foolish lambs gathered here in celebration- and without a sacrifice, nor an offering to the gods! Truly, this is unforgivable. Were I not bound by a contract of my own, I would smite you worthless souls where you stand, but alas, it is not my discretion to do so.”

They take a step forward, and declare.

“Though... if Tyruth-ie wishes to test you, then it is only right I contribute, is it not? Consider this punishment, for lacking any respect to the gods. In ages past, you would have been lucky to be left alive.” Then, the shadows in the room appear to gather on their body, like a hundred serpents all running towards their hands. They hold them as though water, with cupped hands- and then they thrust their arms forwards, and the dark snakes disperse, running through and on every surface in the library, before returning to the shadows in the room. This otherworldly exhibition of power, if you were there to see it, would be sure to leave with a very strong sense of dread. Even so, you would probably be puzzled, until Iragala spoke again. But perhaps, you’d wish they never had. “Foolish children of men, you are much too weak. Weakness, fear, doubt- these emotions plague your hearts, and corrupt your souls. You shall face yourself here. When you wake, you may run away from them- but when you sleep, you shall have no escape. Your nights, nay, whenever you close your eyes and give in to your drowsiness, you shall see it. You shall see what most haunts you, the fears you hold most deep- you shall see them as though they had come to pass already. You may either bear this burden, and overcome yourself, or... You may offer a sacrifice worthy of my name, as compensation for your earlier insolence.”

[notseriousjustshootingthebreeze]

if i did a ted talk y would they ask me to idk they never would and honestly heres why

Guys hahahaha let’s start this off with an honest moment I’m really scared to be up here like I’m really shaking in fact I wrote this down to say because I knew I would be but to help me can someone please like heckle me right now.

Does anybody here think they’re cool?

Does anybody here think they’re cool for not saying they thought they were cool just then?

Does anybody think they’re cool for completely zoning out and not hearing what I just said?

Does anybody think they’re cool for zoning out but not thinking they’re cool for doing it but actually feeling bad?

Does anybody think they’re cool here because they think they’re not cool?

Hope I covered everybody. Whew. that was exhaustive.

In High School I thought it was cool to wear whatever everybody else wasn’t really wearing, but not to look like I was trying to do that. Because I didn’t think trying was cool.

But then you “graduate” high school, (long story ask me about it later *asterisk winky face*) so it’s not cool to look like you’re in high school anymore, so I dressed like that, but it wasn’t cool to act and care a bunch like an adult, but it was cool to know and do all the adult things, like drugs and sex and paycheques being beautiful all the while whilst melancholy and pretending like you didn't really care about anything.

But not in a way that was obvious but more so like, I care so little that I cannot even care enough to consider how much I care about things so if you were to accuse me of caring about not caring I would simply be unaware of what you were talking about. Boom! I have ascended…. to COOL. the funniest thing is though I’m pretty sure people around me were just like. What is her deal man. Like is she … okay?

At one point in my life, saving all my money to buy one ridiculously priced designer item was cool, but then it wasn’t because I mean cmon man climate change!

So then it was cool to only thrift, but no where anybody else I knew thrifted of course!

but on apps like Depop where people from the UK were selling me old designer clothes they looked for for weeks and overpriced the crap out of.

but then ugh!! here I am again *hold back of hand to forehead dramatically* trying.

I got it! should just MAKE all my own clothes. So now in my never ending quest to be cool I must master the art of tailoring.

I’m pretty extreme in this and the thought processes I just described may be known to some of you as what the docs are calling “social anxiety” or simply… “mental illness”

BUT what you may not know is that… you all have experienced what I have just described in some way shape or form.

The raw aching truth at the bottom of all of this fancy misdirection I was dead set on performing for the rest of my life was that I really, really, REALLY, did not like myself. *a small hush falls over the crowd*

It’s so crazy guys because I would have literally spent the rest of my entire life trying to be cool because I felt so uncool inside.

BUT! sometimes people would say cool things about me like, “Talia, you’re crazy!” or “Talia, you’re so much fun!” or even “Talia, you’re so talented, funny, beautiful, smart.”

I could never equate this to the Talia I saw and felt inside so constantly to be the real Talia.

A Talia I felt no one would be saying those things about, if they really saw.

Guys, I wanna get to know you, so let’s get one thing out of the way real quick here I do have quite a lengthy rap sheet of diagnosed mental illnesses and disorders.

Are these things a part of who I am? No. 100% not. I honestly see them simply as the clinical, worldly, and temporary explanations for the pains and aches and dings and factors of living in the world we do.

and honestly if I had enough time and formal education and attention from each and every one of you I could probably give you all a few diagnoses as well.

But the reason I mention this is because, these mental illnesses very much so perpetuated how I saw the “inner” Talia.

The “inner” Talia in consideration to these, was sick, insane, confused, empty, angry, in need of apparently hundreds of thousands of dollars of therapy, and a list of prescriptions to keep me afloat for the rest of my life.

I am afraid of all of you, as I said at the beginning, I am quite scared. As scared as I would have been a few years ago? no definitely not. But nonetheless I am afraid, of what you’re thinking of me, what you could be thinking of me, how you could be seeing me as I stand before you right here and now. For the most part because I know the worst things we think about people are never the things we say to their face.

Are my perceptions of how you COULD be perceiving me based on my perceptions of you… correct? accurate? Who can know. Alas as much as my feverish imagination could paint a convincingly self informed picture of this moment, I cannot trust it to be true.

This is pretty stupid right? I mean like, in the GRAND SCHEME of things. To be so concerned with this looking glass that isn't even accuracy ensured. I mean! I’m TWENTY TWO years old! Shouldn’t I have a “serious” job or kids or an original Netflix show right now or something? It can’t be that hard. Have you seen most Netflix originals lately?

Ahhhh *large sigh.* I wish I could cast this obsession into a deep sea of forgetfulness.

But! Perhaps! If only….

I might MAKE, nay, SHAPE myself into the person I want you all to perceive me as. I mean theres no way to ensure I would actually fully truthfully be said person, but all I need is a little smoke and mirrors.

You see, I often flip between these two polar opposite Talia’s, the inner, “real” Talia, and the Talia I consciously project to others.

TALIA, *italic, all caps* is gonna live up to all those cool things people said about her. In fact, she’ll SURPASS them.

because it’s not enough to be worthy of a little compliment here and there.

I have to be UNDENIABLY, UNFLINCHINGLY awesome, cool, an “IT GIRL” if you may.

Let’s have a little flashback, to middle school specifically. Ooohhhh did you like the emotion those two words drew out of you?

I did not.

*old person voice* When I,,, was young, I attended a girls school. But this was not satisfying to little Talia (Imagine me but, a lot shorter, like 5”8 or 5”9)

So, I begged mom and pops dearly, shall I not transfer to the public school our neighbours goeth to? Shall I be deprived of such pleasures of going to a boys AND girls school?

They said, so be it! And off I went! and I got bullied! Really bad! Because apparently bringing your ukulele to school to make improv songs about what type of funny monkey every person in your homeroom would be was not cool! But no one told me this!

All of the sudden… people were saying things about me, but like. I couldn’t really understand exactly it was they were saying.

But I knew they were because, in my 12 year old experience, you didn’t look directly at someone and whisper something to the person next to you unless you were saying something about them.

But fortunately! these mysteries did not elude me for long, as people graciously just started saying such things to my face.

I had little detective work to do to find out that in fact, most everyone was starting the say the same things about me.

and if their words did not cement the reality of what they were thinking and saying about me, they were faithful to go the long mile in DOING things to me to make this known.

So as I moved on from these experiences, in my forever coming of age (I’m still 12 on the inside don't get it confused) I had made two fundamental discoveries on my path to being cool

INSERT TWO FUNDAMENTAL DISCOVERIES

INSERT PART ABOUT ME FINDING THE SECRET TO SELF CONFIDENCE

[random-imagines-blog]

Run To You {Margot Robbie One Shot}

Requested by: Anonymous Word Count: 2200

Everything about the party was so right. This was your first big celebrity party, and it was hard to contain your excitement. You spent forever picking out the right outfit, choosing the right look - you had a lot of people that you were going to be meeting and you wanted to blend in. It felt impossible to stand out in a room with Leonardo DiCaprio, Naomi Campbell, Alessandro Ambrosia and Adrien Brody. Such a plethora of beauty and talent, and you were intimidated. You walked into the Vanity Fair Oscar party with your phone nervously in your hand, wondering if you should just call a cab to get you out of here - you knew the names and faces of people but hardly any of them on a personal basis.

But you took a deep breath and decided that you were going to give this a chance. You put on your best smile and walked towards the bar, getting yourself a glass of champagne to celebrate the night with. You may not have won or set foot on the Oscars stage but you still did a damn good job in order to get here. Let loose, live a little.

You sipped on your drink slowly, not wanting it to rush to your head. But it seemed to anyway, for one moment things were a bit dark other than the flash of the cameras, and the next, everything was gold. I took you a few seconds to realize the gold was a dress and that the woman wearing it was standing right in front of you.

“I know I’m not supposed to say this but-” Margot Robbie looked dramatically to the left and to the right as if she truly were frightened that someone would hear her. “-But you should have won that award.”

“Oh - thank you.” You said, laughing. Now you may have entered a dream. A burst of emotions were inside of you, most of them good. You already felt drunk. ���But the winner did deserve it, I have to admit that.”

“A modest person, thank goodness! I was over there by Jared Leto for too long. This is refreshing. Let’s just hang out for the rest of the night.” Margot lifted her own glass of champagne to her lips, drinking it down. You wondered if she was already drunk and was just carrying on the conversation as a joke but you wouldn’t mind even if that were the case.

The two of you chit-chatted about some of the other people at the party. It wasn’t gossip, but more so speaking of your own experiences meeting everyone. You told the story of the time that you met Jessica Biel and less than gracefully fell down the stairs in front of her, and how Justin had come to help you up. Margot told her own share of stories as well, and the night seemed to be a blur of laughing. By now you were starting to realize that the conversation was going on much too long to just be a joke. You were having a good time and she seemed to be as well. You would swear that there was something in your souls that combined, if that didn’t sound creepy. You just got along so well and so fast, and she became a good friend in those couple of hours, but alas - the night was coming to a close.

“They’ll be kicking us out soon.” You frowned, seeing the bartender start to clean up and pack away the bottles of alcohol. Most of the celebrities had left. It was well into the night, far past the time that you would have stayed without making a new friend with Margot Robbie.

“Yeah, I should probably get going. I have to pack, flying back to Australia in the evening.” Margot said, pouting. She took her phone out of her bag and handed it to you. “Put your number in! We’ll have to keep in touch and keep the conversation going until we see each other next.”

“I’d be happy to!” You said gleefully. You inputted your number and even went through the selfies that you had taken with her throughout the course of the night and set it as your photo. “Have fun back in Australia.”

“Thanks, I’m sure I will!” The blonde in gold gave you a tight squeeze and then headed out to her driver while you went out to find yours.

Margot texted you the next day before getting on her airplane. She asked you specifically to wish her luck on the flight because it was a long one and seemed to be quite busy. You wished her the best of luck and hoped that the skies would be clear for her journey.

Margot texted you endlessly, calling was too expensive most of the time, when her fiance broke up with her before the wedding plans would even begin. Something about her having too much personality, which is something that you adored about Margot. You texted her day and night, telling her that she was better off without him, that she had the most beautiful soul, her heart would heal and that you were always there for her. That was the night that she called you her best friend for the first time.

Anytime that one of you felt a bit emotional, it was right back to texting. There were the occasionally phone calls when the two of you were in the same country but with traveling so much, it was rare. You texted her photos of funny things that you saw and she would send you back a selfie that would take your breath away. You tried hard to always be there for her, and to answer her texts right away and she seemed to do the same. Sometimes you would forget the time difference, realize that it was three AM where she was and encourage her to get some sleep. She could be talked into it eventually, but would make you promise that you would text her when you woke up. You always promised.

An invitation came in the mail for you. You were invited to go to the Time 100 Gala. It was a red carpet event and you knew that you would have to go. You had been so busy working since the Vanity Fair party where you had met Margot, you haven’t shown your face in ages to the public. It seemed like the perfect occasion. You snapped a photo of it with your phone and sent it to Margot.

She called you within seconds, a girlish squeal on the other side of the line. “I’m going too!” She exclaimed. “It’s going to be great to see you again! Who are you going to go with? What are you going to wear?”

You laughed, growing used to her excitement about things by now. “It’s going to be great to see you.” You agreed. “And I’ll probably just go on my own, and I’ll wear something fashionable I guess.”

“Oh come on, you’ve got to give me more information than that. Maybe we could match somehow.”

“Or maybe .. we could go together? You and I?” You ventured. You bit down on your lip waiting for her answer. You weren’t waiting very long.

“Of course! I don’t know why I didn’t think of it first! I’ll send you a picture of my dress, I ordered one for another event but I think I’ll wear it to this one instead. Let me know if you find something that matches and I’ll see you there!”

“See you there.”  You smiled. You hung up the phone and looked out the window. A shopping trip was imminent but that was the only downside of the event.

You and Margot agreed that you were going to meet at the Red Carpet. She had sent you pictures of her dress, an embellished dress with little multicolored details. You dressed to impress as well, bouncing ideas off of Margot until she helped you decide what to wear to match her best.

You got out of the car and started to walk up. The photographers cameras were close to blinding but it didn’t entirely focus on you. You weren’t as famous as the others standing near you and posing. Chrissy Teigan and Viola Davis were getting a lot of attention and you just blended right into the crowd, despite all of the time that you had spent on your appearance.

But you didn’t need the validation of the photographers. There was only one person you wanted it from.

Excitement broke out and you knew that there was only one beautiful blonde that could get a reaction like that. You felt two arms go around you from behind, and then a little tickle on your sides. “There you are!” Margot said, ignoring the photographers. You turned around so that you could hug her properly and look at her in the dress that she wore so well. She really was a dazzling girl.

Finally, the photographers butted into the moment and so you two started to pose together. Her pinky took hold of yours and you both smiled at the cameras, quite close together. It went without questioning that you two were together at the event.

As for the event itself, you were honored to sit by Margot and watch her be honored as one of the most influential people by Time. She had made the one hundred and you cheered for her enthusiastically. You thought that she deserved it. She was deserving - she would be an amazing role model for the girls growing up who watch her on their movie screens.

After the ceremony, the two of you went to one of the afterparties, but it wasn’t going to last very long. She had a flight out in the wee morning hours and would have to leave rather early. You were disappointed but you understood. Work was always important, and she was very diligent.

With your pinkies hooked again, you two repeated the last event where you had gone to, standing next to each other and telling stories about the people that you had met there, sharing gossip but none of it was bad. These people were here for a reason and deserved every bit of recognition they were getting.

“My car is going to be here in ten minutes.” Margot frowned, looking at her phone. “Want to walk me out? We could give you a ride to your hotel-”

“It’s okay, I don’t want you to have to miss your flight. I’ll take a cab.” You assured. “But of course I’ll walk you out.” The two of you left the party after waving goodbye to some of your friends and acquantances, and out into the April air. It was a little chilly and Margot leaned against you for warmth. You only had ten minutes, ten minutes before the car would come and whisk Margot away and you may not see each other for another year. Text messages and phone calls were nothing compared to seeing her face and hearing her voice so close to you. This would be it. This was your only chance before she would be gone again.

It may hurt more if she responds positively. She was still going to be leaving. But you were going to make this work. You were at this party because of all of the hard work that you did, you never gave up, that wasn’t going to start changing now.

You put your arm around her shoulders, ready to make your big move. A light kiss, one that she would be able to get out of but at least she would know how you felt. You leaned in a little, but before you thought that you were even close to her, you felt lips on yours.

Margot was kissing you.

Margot was making the move on you.

And damn, was it ever inviting.

You kissed her in return, doing what you had been intending to do since you saw her. You didn’t care that there might be stray photographers or that people on the street might see. This was your own secret little kiss and it meant everything to you.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for a while.” Margot admitted, smiling once she backed off. “You don’t mind?”

“I wouldn’t mind doing it again.” You laughed, trying to play it smooth. Margot laughed as well.

“Good. Next break I have from shooting, I’ll come and see you. Even if I have to wait at your apartment for you to be done with your own work, I don’t mind. It’ll be like we’re married.”

“Wow - yeah. That sounds great. I’ll even clean.” You laughed. In your mind, you had been running after Margot since the day that you two went your separate ways at the Vanity Fair party.

And now you finally felt like you caught up.

[maryenette-writes]

Magic [Tim Drake x Reader]

Anonymous requested: “Could you do a Batfamily x reader imagine where the family ( Dick, Jason, Damian, Cass, Duke, Barbs, and Steph) ship you and Tim together (reader is a year younger than Tim), but Tim is kinda still hooked on Steph and of course, reader has a big crush on Tim and this breaks her heart when he tells her he kinda still likes steph, you can choose the ending! Sorry if this is too much, and also, reader is Bruce’s kid and Damian’s half-sibling! :))))))”

A/N: So I changed it a little bit...

Pairing: Tim Drake x Reader x Alfred [Family]

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2054

MASTERLIST

[F/N] [M/N] Pennyworth was a beautiful, intelligent and capable young lady with an incredible array of talents. She had an amazing personality and a loving heart, but she was fiery and not someone to underestimate, much like her grandfather. She was adored by those older than her, idolized by those younger than her, the person every girl wanted to be and every boy wanted to date… but, as if her story was a Shakespearean tragedy, there was one person who didn’t fit into those categories and he happened to be the one boy she was hopelessly in love with.

Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne was a handsome, intellectual and talented young man with the variety of skills. He was a unique person but ultimately had the most selfless heart of anybody, but that didn’t mean he was weak. No, his will was stronger than the very gravity that kept the planets in orbit. He had many enemies, he had many friends, and he was also the one [F/N] had unwillingly given her heart to, but alas, he had not noticed her priceless gift for his eyes were set on the young maiden known as Stephanie Brown.

[F/N] knew of his infatuation with Steph. After all, they had been together for quite a while before the relationship came to an end. It was clear Tim still had feelings for the blonde woman while Steph possessed no such feelings towards him. As for [F/N], our poor, sweet [F/N], she could only watch as the man she loved gaze lovingly at a woman that wasn’t her.

The rest of the family looked at her with sadness and pity for unlike the oblivious Tim, they knew of her feelings. They thought [F/N] and Tim would be a perfect match and there was no doubt in their mind that the pair were meant for each other. They had tried countless times to help young [F/N] but Tim would not budge.

[F/N] had tried to keep her emotions down. She thought that if she ignored them, then perhaps they would disappear, but she thought wrong. In fact, she had never been so wrong in her life. She should know better than to suppress love for love always found a way. The feeling only grew and grew until it was a hurricane inside her consciousness tearing everything she created, all those lessons she learned and the walls she built. Everything was shattered by this one emotion.

For that very reason, the young [F/N] found herself in front of the door of Tim’s room. She had been blessed by Fortune as she spent most winters and summers at the very manor her love lived in. Her grandfather was their faithful butler and a dear friend of the family so when she decided to live in America, of course they would welcome her with open arms. She fiddled with the hem of her exquisite dress, one which she had put on just to make her look even more impressive in Tim’s eyes.

Taking a deep breath in, she raised her hand and knocked the oak door, the sound resonating through the hallway. It may be late but knowing the man who swept her off her feet, [F/N] didn't doubt for a bit that he would still be up, stressing himself over a riddle in a case with a cup of coffee by his side. She was proven right, because moments later the door opened, revealing a sleep-deprived vigilante with unkempt hair and dark bags under his eyes.

Even when she saw him in such an… unflattering state, [F/N]’s heart didn't fail to speed up. A blush bloomed on her cheeks and she glanced down at her feet in embarrassment.

“[F/N]? What are you doing here so late?” he questioned her, staring at her with those perplexing azure eyes of his.

His voice made the hair on her skin stand upright. She made herself look at him in the eyes--after all, her grandfather taught her it was rude to not look at someone properly when being spoken to. She knew she had to answer, not just because his eyes told her he demanded an answer, but because her heart demanded to be spoken. It had won the war inside of her and overpowered her brain, taking control of her actions and words.

So it wasn't her mind that spoke the words she was about to speak, but her heart, her pitifully honest heart. “I'm sorry Tim, there’s something I've been meaning to tell you.” The curiosity in his eyes increased.

“I--I love you.” she uttered, and as if she was under some spell, everything was confessed. “I've loved you for the longest time and--and I don't know how to stop. I've tried and tried and I still can't get rid of this… this… feeling inside me,” she brought her hand up to her chest. “this feeling whenever I see you, hear your voice, see your stupid smile.” She paused for a second before continuing. “You make me… so happy, just by being here. It's uncanny really.”

Tim was staring at her with shock etched on his face. He didn't say anything and for a minute there was nothing but a tense silence, but then he spoke and his words broke [F/N]’s heart. “I--I’m sorry [F/N]... I don't love you that way, I… I still have feelings for… Steph…”

[F/N] nodded in understanding but she couldn't stop the tears from appearing in her eyes. She fought them off and fought to keep her voice steady. “I--I know… I know I would never have your heart but…” a sad smile made it’s way to her face, “no matter who you love, or how much time has passed, I’ll still be that hopeless girl, still in love with the Gotham Prince who stole her heart.”

She took a step back, and as a tear finally escaped, cascading down her cheek, she whispered, “goodbye Tim.”

Little did anyone know Miss [F/N] Pennyworth had grand plans for herself, plans that were not put into motion because of her love. Yet now that she had made her confession and had her heart brutally crushed, she couldn't bear to face Tim anymore and she was sure he felt the same way. So she must be the one to take responsibility--after all, she brewed up this mess.

That was her state of mind as she stepped out of the airport and onto the streets of London.

Back at the manor, Tim was in distress. [F/N] was a person dear to his heart and he had no intentions of breaking hers, but apparently he did just that. It must've hurt her more than he thought possible because he hadn't seen her around in weeks, but perhaps that was because he was avoiding her himself.

Her absence somewhat caused a pain in his chest. He yearned for her silly grin and contagious laugh. In fact just her very presence would be enough to halt this feeling. That was how he ended up searching for her this last few days yet she seemed to have disappeared altogether. In fact, even her room was cleaned. There were no traces of her.

He had avoided asking Alfred. After all, he did break [F/N]’s heart so he didn't expect the old man to be very happy about that, but now he didn't see any other solutions. When he got an answer though, he was thoroughly astonished.

“Cambridge?!” He exclaimed. “She went to Cambridge?!”

“Yes.” Alfred confirmed with a solemn nod. “She had received the offer long ago but she hesitated. It seemed you helped convince her Master Tim.”

Tim’s heart sank at those words. No matter which perspective he viewed the situation from, the conclusion was the same; she left because of him. Knowing her, she must have thought that it was for the better, it would’ve been terribly awkward for the both of them so she chose to leave so that he didn’t have to experience that.

It was almost amusing how much of a blow the fact dealt to him. They say you never know how much you love something, or someone, until they’re gone and Tim could laugh at how true that was. Wasn’t it Steph who he loved? If so, why did [F/N]’s departure give him so much pain? Why did he yearn for her with such intensity?

Could it be....

The weather chose to be kind on our maiden [F/N] and gave her sunshine, contrasting the days of cloudiness. The campus was packed with prodigies all aiming to achieve nothing but greatness, and beyond. She actually discovered a challenge here though none could compare to the obstacles she faced when competing against the Wayne family who were all exceptionally smart.

As she exited the grand corridors of the extravagant university, she came face-to-face with a familiar face, one that made her heart dance inside her chest and her skin tingle with unwanted excitement.

Tim Drake… she didn't know whether to feel happy or upset by his unannounced appearance, but there was one thing she knew she was, and that was unprepared. The poor girl was panicking internally for she knew not how to face him. What would she say? How should she act? Should she greet him like an old friend or brush him off as merely another stranger?

“[F/N].” He called out to her, reached his hand out to her as if he wished to graze her skin. He stepped closer and as if some deity had possessed her to stand still, she allowed him to embrace her. His cologne had a lovely smell that filled her nostrils and had her dizzy. He was warm and comforting and reminded her of home.

“W--What are you doing here Tim?” [F/N] questioned in shock. “Shouldn’t you be in Gotham?”

“I… I wanted to apologize.” He admitted in a hoarse voice, looking at her with sad eyes. She noticed the dark marks under his eyes had intensified and it made her upset to think that she may be the one who caused him such turmoil.

She smiled sadly as she said, “oh Tim, there’s no need to apologize. I should’ve known better.”

Tim, however, shook his head frantically to deny her claims. “No, you don’t understand…” [F/N] arched her eyebrows in confusion and curiosity. “I…” Tim ran his hand through his raven locks to gather his thoughts, “I was wrong. I thought I loved Steph but… that was a mistake. It isn’t Steph.”

[F/N]’s heart pounded rapidly in her chest and her [E/C] eyes were as wide as saucers. “T--Then who…”

“It’s you, [F/N].” Tim smiled, as if mocking his own stupidity, “you’re the one I love. It may have taken me… ages to finally notice. It took you to leave us to make me realize, but I love you [F/N].”

[F/N] began to blink rapidly as she tried to process this new situation at hand. The news hit her like a storm and she was once more at a loss of what to do. Her mouth hung open and she searched in Tim’s eyes for any dishonestly or uncertainty, but all she saw was the opposite; determination, hope and more certainty than anyone she knew.

“I… Tim I…” She didn’t notice she was crying until Tim wiped her tears away with his fingers, his touch gentle and careful. “I don’t know what to say…”

“You don’t have to say anything. You don’t even have to love me back… I’ll understand.” The pain in his voice when he spoke those words were clear and evident. She shook her head in denial.

“No, Tim…” she grasped his hand tightly, “I meant what I said before. I’ll… I’ll always love you.”

“Even after…”

She chuckled and nodded. “Even after you broke my heart.”

The smile on Tim’s face would light up even the darkest hour. It could melt glaciers and outshine the millions of stars in the sky. In a blink of an eye, he brought [F/N] towards him and slammed his lips against hers in a feverish kiss.

And it was absolutely magical.

[unravellinginyourarms]

Technically Wednesday

10.03.18

It’s late but I still wanted to get some thoughts down from earlier today. But before I start that, I wanted to preface by saying that soon I’ll be documenting critical journal entries from September because they’re going to introduce important characters and stories. Until then, let’s focus on the present. So earlier this morning I had an existential crisis regarding school and what I need to do in order to graduate (which is taking place 2 years and 6 months from now but it’s still a scary thought). I didn’t realize that I needed to pass a standardized exam in order to apply to grad school so now I’m way more stressed than before but eventually that feeling will fade away (hopefully). I’ll figure it out, I always do. That aside, I’ve been dealing with some inner turmoil based around my feelings. Every emotion I experience is intense and sometimes that makes it difficult for me to differentiate between what is genuine and what is fleeting since they all feel the same initially. Usually, it takes me anywhere from a few days to weeks to figure out whether it’s serious or not. I wish I was able to make quicker and more accurate judgements, I guess that’s something I need to work on. Alas, I think I have feelings for one of my friends but I don’t think I can classify them as romantic. 

Sidenote: all names have been changed to protect the identity of others & myself

I met Cam a year ago at Boat Cruise, which was taking place during Orientation Week at my University. We didn’t really speak to each other, we just danced within the same vicinity and I complimented him on his moves. It was fleeting, it slipped my mind, I never really thought about him after that. However, I did notice how talented and entertaining he was. This year, I signed up to be a Head Leader and I saw Cam at Orientation Week, he was just a regular leader. At first, he seemed really familiar and then it hit me, he was the good dancer from the year before. I’ll write another specific post that goes into detail about our interactions since then but for now I’m gonna sum it up into one main idea. I think Cam is a fun person to be around. He’s loud, funny, sweet, skilled,  engaging, and intelligent. I really do enjoy spending time with him. He is such a great guy but at the same time there’s something in the way that is not allowing me to feel anything deeper for him. I’m not sure what it is exactly, maybe I think he’s too friendly. Unfortunately, in this day and age, being friendly is commonly misconstrued for flirting and that can harbour room for confusion. I don’t ever want to feel like my man is subconsciously making others think he’s single by being sociable. I don’t know how good he is at creating boundaries between himself and others girls when he’s a relationship. Maybe I have to wait to see what he’s like under that condition. Essentially, Cam is constantly seeking stimuli, he needs action and adventure to sustain himself, which I totally get. At the same time, he’s so nurturing and sweet. He can be quiet at times and deep in thought, he also doesn’t experience emotions and dreams to the degree that I do.At times, he engages in surface level thinking, I can tell his mind is not as extreme as mine. He’s complex yet simple all at once, a walking contradiction. Regardless, I truly want to be his friend for as long as possible. He’s been one of the best additions to my life and I appreciate his energy. I just need to understand what I’m enduring and come to a conclusion soon.

- Isla