#mother-son panicked antagonism time

[blue-rose-soul]

OBSESSED with your au. It sounds absolutely hilarious. How do you think Alastor would react to finding out first? Or Lucifer?

Cackling, I'm glad you enjoy it! It was just a random semi-cursed thought in my head that I was afraid only I would find funny so I'm glad you enjoy it!

Alastor finds out first: Basically just a crack-ish version of what happens in canon. "Sadly there are times a birth parent is a dud," Alastor says while making direct eye contact with Lucifer. Lucifer doesn't get it. Alastor probably figured it out only after he arrived in Hell, when he realized how much more powerful he was than other Sinners and realized Lucifer's appearance near exactly matched his mother's description of her 'angel.' (The only disguise Lucifer gave himself on Earth were ears and a nose. He even wore the same clothing.) Alastor has zero intention of telling Lucifer. He did just fine growing up without that lowlife dead beat, thank you very much, he's just angry on his dear maman's behalf, since she's the one who had to deal with being a single mother to a mixed-race child in a hostile world.

Lucifer has all the power in the world, but he left Nicaise to fend for herself.

Even when Lucifer moves into the hotel and starts trying to be more involved in Charlie's life, Alastor continues to make subtle jabs about Lucifer being a dead beat husband and parent. Lucifer only starts to put things together when Alastor makes an offhand remark about how many children Lucifer 'must' have running around on Earth given his past behavior. (That early 1900s Mardi Gras wasn't the only time Lucifer's had a wild time on Earth, but the conception rate between humans and angels is very very very low.)

Lucifer finds out first: So canon happens, Alastor's still being a dick to Lucifer, but it's mostly for various other reasons, like Lucifer overshadowing him in power, as well as being 'similar to' Alastor's absentee dad, etc. But Alastor has zero clue that Lucifer actually is his maman's angel, and Lucifer has zero clue that nice lady from that parade a hundred-ish years ago had his kid.

The extermination happens. Adam dies, the hotel's rebuilt, Lucifer moves in. Antagonism happens. One night Alastor volunteers to make dinner and he decides to make his mother's jambalaya recipe. Everyone genuinely enjoys Alastor's cooking so even though he's skeptical, Lucifer tastes it.

Lucifer knows this taste. He's had jambalaya a few times before, he developed a liking for it after that Mardi Gras, but he knows this jambalaya specifically. (Angels have good memories.)

He stares at Alastor.

No.

No, he couldn't be...

Cue Lucifer staring at Alastor whenever he thinks he isn't looking, searching for familiar traits in Alastor's face, asking him not-entirely-subtle questions about his life on Earth, trying to find some evidence that Alastor is NOT the result of a drunken one-night stand he had a hundred years ago. Lucifer is PANICKING at this point because: Did he cheat on his wife? Betray his family? Did he have a son all this time he just abandoned? Did his kid grow up to be a warped, sadistic, serial murderer because he wasn't there? Oh fuck, is he a dud parent!?

Alastor, meanwhile, is very, very confused by Lucifer's increasingly erratic and panicked behavior. He doesn't even have to needle Lucifer for the king of hell to turn into a jittering mess these days and as much as he enjoys watching Lucifer lose his shit, he's also rather annoyed by how irrational it is.

The other hotel residents notice Lucifer's weird behavior around Alastor because obviously. Angel Dust cracks a joke about Lucifer wanting Alastor to call him 'daddy' and Lucifer promptly vomits all over the carpet.

[garden-ghoul]

here read my gertrude fanfiction (also on ao3), includes fraught soul-searching and tarot

After they disembark Gertrude leaves Gerard to his own devices. He takes this to mean that he should secure dinner for them both while Gertrude checks into the hotel. He’s too good at teamwork for what he is, and certainly for what Gertrude is. She rather wishes he’d been able to beat it out of himself. She doesn’t like to think of him running errands for Mary. At least he manages stoicism where none of her assistants ever did; where neither of his parents could.

Gerard is so late finding the hotel that she considers going to a convenience store for food, but at nearly midnight he does knock on the door. “Sorry about this,” he says, a little breathless. “I had a hell of a time finding the place.”

He’s lying. Gertrude isn’t sure why.

They eat in silence, and immediately afterward Gerard disappears into the bathroom for a shower that lasts nearly an hour and ends with a gout of steam that rolls out into the room, waking her from her half-sleep. She gives no sign, but only listens to him tiptoeing around the room and sighing.

She wakes up early to have a miserable ‘continental’ breakfast in the hotel lobby, then leaves for the Institute without bothering to wake Gerard. He knows what his task is, and he’s showed good initiative and decision-making in the past. Gertrude needs to put in an appearance, if only to prove that she is still the Archivist, that she is not yet replaceable. She finds a totally unfamiliar set of assistants who look so shocked to see her that it’s quite possible they’ve only heard of her by reputation. She does not go to see Elias. It would be redundant. Rather, she fills her bag with relevant statements compiled by one or another of the assistants and leaves again for Soho. As she’s walking out the door Rosie asks timidly if she’ll be in to work tomorrow; “Perhaps,” says Gertrude.

At the occult shop off Dean Street she finds a young woman who must be an employee talking animatedly with Gerard about tarot. She barely glances up when Gertrude comes in, but Gerard straightens with a vaguely guilty air. She doesn’t even need to do anything to encourage his guilt—he spent over twenty years trying to understand how to please the impossible Mary Keay, and he was quick to attune himself to Gertrude in the same way. It irritates her for no reason she can fathom, despite how useful it makes him. No—for no reason she wants to fathom. Self-deception is an idiot’s tool, and yet Gertrude sometimes finds herself making use of it for the sake of expediency.

“Dekker’s in the back,” Gerard says. “Didn’t want to start without you. I can go and get him if you want.”

“No need. There’s no reason for you to be there. Continue with your games.”

She can feel his sullen irritation burning on the back of her neck as she opens the door marked EMPLOYEES ONLY and slips through. Good. If only he could bring himself to trust her a little bit less: he still thinks he’s somehow different from the assistants she has sacrificed to the hungry mouth of necessity. It always sickens her a bit to betray trust, but when she has to betray him it’s going to be—worse.

Dekker is taking notes on something he’s reading in the storage room. He looks up and smiles at her, and stands to clasp her hand. “Good to see you made it back in one piece.”

“Yes, well, for however long it lasts.”

His smile turns sardonic as he sits again. “Right. That’s exactly what I wanted to talk about.” He slides a piece of blank paper and a pen across the table toward her. She only has to wonder why for a moment before he picks up his own pen and starts drawing a chaotic fractal (spiraling, angular) with no obvious algorithmic origin. Gertrude follows suit with one of her own. She’s now forgotten the name but the thing itself is strikingly memorable, rising and falling, weaving and unweaving itself until every part of it meets in a hungry plexus. She’s drawn it so many times that she sometimes dreams it making itself step by step, a netting in front of the monstrous eye that always watches her.

“This is what I’ve found so far,” says Dekker, gesturing to an open folder in front of him. “Does the Archive in fact have nothing?”

Gertrude doesn’t yet look up from her drawing, because he has paused. “It does, in fact. I have come to believe that any statements taken on it were destroyed immediately. I myself have only taken two, which may mean that witnesses are systematically eliminated.”

“Systematically, but not completely. I’ll draw, you look.”

She puts her pen down to look over what’s in the folder. Three new statements concerning preparation and one concerning the substance of the Rite of the Watcher’s Crown. She skims them intently and nods. “Thank you, Adelard. I should mark the folder as well, while we’re here. Do you have any other news?”

“Hmm,” says Dekker, as Gertrude begins to draw her fractal web on the folder. “No supernatural news. And I’m sure you don’t want to see pictures of my sister’s kids. Very cute, though. Sometimes she brings them in to visit, Paulina dotes on them. I think Gina’s afraid they’ll grow up into witches, though, if they keep playing with cards and crystals.”

Gertrude doesn’t speak or look up. She has nothing to say on the subject. It’s been decades since she had anything she could call a family. This is intentional.

“So I tell her she doesn’t have to bring them here, but she says they love the shop. Spoiled kids.”

Dekker lapses into silence, idly continuing his sharp spirals. She thinks of warning him not to get comfortable drawing fractals without thinking, but he’s a grown man. And in any case she doesn’t need associates who can’t take care of themselves. Getting rid of Michael was practically a public service—

She stops for a moment, caught between human decency and practiced cruelty. In any reasonable value scheme, Michael was worth nothing as a person, less than nothing as a research assistant, and his only value was his ability to get in the way. But a very long time ago Gertrude was taught a different value scheme. Her parents insisted that humans have some kind of inherent worth, and she has been unlearning it ever since. Sometimes she wonders in her father’s voice why she should bother rescuing humanity from its collective fears if all of them are worthless, and she has never found a satisfactory answer. Only that it is something she needs to do.

She finishes the net and stands up, tucking the folder into her bag. “Thank you,” she says again. “Be careful.”

To her relief he puts his pen down as he smiles wryly up at her. “You need that advice more than me, Gertrude. Get on with you.”

He accompanies her out into the shop and looks over the girl’s shoulder where she’s leaning over one of the display cases. “Making friends, Paulina?”

“Shit!” she says, jumping slightly. “Hey, Mr. Dekker. I was just showing Gerry how to read tarot.”

Gerry?

Gertrude raises one eyebrow at him, but he is industriously tapping the deck on the table to align all the edges of the cards. She does not point out that Gerard has known how to read tarot since he was very young. Heaven forbid she should interfere with his flirting.

“I’d like to do a reading for you,” Gerard says. He looks up and makes eye contact, which seems to indicate that this request is important.

“I won’t stop you,” she says.

He shuffles seven times, flamboyantly, and then holds out the deck. She cuts it and he squares the edges on the table again.

When he draws the first card she realizes that the deck is not the Rider-Waite-Smith deck she was expecting. The angel in the sky of Judgment is not a winged humanoid but a wheel of eyes, an ophan. “This is your major concern,” says Gerard. “I don’t have to tell you what that means, do I.”

“No.”

“Your challenges,” says Gerard, flipping the next card. “Eight of cups. Detachment, abandonment of connections. G-d, this is a lot more embarrassing than I was expecting. Er, also symbolizes escapism. So, moving on. Something you need to know. Four of coins, reversed. Normally that means… huh. Material wealth…” For her the card appears upright, and it’s impossible to deny the subject’s striking resemblance to Elias Bouchard. “The crown is… literal. So maybe look for that. And don’t be shy about spending resources to go after it, I guess.”

Gertrude leans forward intently. “Where is it?” she asks. Although as far as she knows tarot is complete nonsense based in apophenia and confirmation bias, she is willing to believe that if anyone can use it for genuine divination it is Gerard.

“Right, this one’s ‘a thing you need in order to progress’.” He pushes the next card into place. “Hah! Oh, I like this deck. I’m sure you’re aware the Devil is usually a metaphor for imprisonment, but in this case he’s also a person.”

“Elias has the crown?”

“No,” says Paulina. Gerard looks around at her in surprise. “Not yet. It’s going to become his, or become real. That’s why it’s reversed. It doesn’t just show who has it, it shows how he has it. And he’s got to do something first.”

“Oh,” says Gerard. “Right, yeah, that makes sense. Pity, though, that we can’t steal it.” Gertrude gestures for him to continue, and he sighs. “Final card. What you’ve got to do.” He places it below the second card. “Four of cups. Play it safe. Wait.”

“No,” says Gertrude, and she flips the next card off the top of the deck, laying it sideways across the four of cups.

He sighs again, longer. “What you’re going to do anyway. Ace of swords. Reveal secrets at any cost.”

“That is a card for how to fail,” says Paulina.

“I have everything I needed,” says Gertrude. “Good-bye, Adelard.” She strides toward the door. Behind her Gerard hastily says goodbye to Paulina, muttering that she should text him, and hurries after Gertrude. Briefly, and for no reason at all, she hates him for assuming that he is required to leave with her.

Gerard catches up to her quickly, but as he often does he walks half a step behind. “She actually did teach me,” he says. “M… Mary never worked out how to use it for anything, she just liked the look of it. Apparently it gives you awful dreams, though. So, looking forward to that.”

“How unfortunate,” says Gertrude. “Especially as I suspect you’ll be using it a lot in the near future.”

[scully-loves-ruthie]

I posted 382 times in 2021

18 posts created (5%)

364 posts reblogged (95%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 20.2 posts.

I added 57 tags in 2021

#word - 10 posts

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#dope - 6 posts

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Longest Tag: 84 characters

#like don't worry we're all gonna die but here's the aliens you always knew were real

My Top Posts in 2021

#5

YoU'rE NeVeR GoNnA LoVe AnYtHiNg As MuCh As ThE X-FILES

26 notes • Posted 2021-05-13 15:37:04 GMT

#4

Y'all remember when Mulder had a brain disease for like 3 episodes? Shit was wild.

29 notes • Posted 2021-03-27 00:50:09 GMT

#3

And Maggie said, you have to let him go. But I can't she answered, he'll drown...

Drown he did. Everyday releasing his hold on the life raft that was his office desk. Slowly sinking to the bottom of the ocean floor. Looking up, watching the lines collect around her face, only to quickly realize she’d grown a little too used to cracking open his coffin and saying goodnight at the end of the day. He come to notice that small simmer of surprise that slipped into her eyes every morning she’d find him sitting at that desk alive, ravaged from the night before. Another hit of conspiracy, a quick shot of stolen sister, a bump of my father never loved me, one last main line of my mother was a whore. He loved to suffer. Loved to gnaw and chew on the marrow of his tragedy, stick it in his cheeks and save it for later. No, she couldn’t leave him, not when drowning was suddenly feeling so sweet inside of her. She liked plunging into the frozen abyss he left wide open in front of her and yanking him out. Loved watching him hunker down beneath the waves as solitude swirled them around then dropped them on the shore each morning shiny as a shell but just as hollow. It only hurts for a moment when all the air is finally gone. One last breath suffocated and swallowed whole by a fruitless quest and a man who was determined to love a woman to death. Drowning was easy, as long as they did it together.

31 notes • Posted 2021-12-11 22:29:54 GMT

#2

One time he made a bad joke about pms

Hey my dudes (slides back into the fandom like I haven't been MIA for like 2 years, let alone written anything) I've been trying to be more active these days and have even started writing again. I'm answering some very old prompts from my inbox and working on a long bit of something. Anyway, it's good to be back. Hope you like this!

Thump, Thump, Wack!  The pounding on the door growing more intense with each hurtle the beast’s body delivers.  Mulder's back is pressed firmly against the other side of the door, his dress shoes digging for stability in the burnt orange motel carpet.  Scully splayed against him her arms shoving into the door while adding her body weight against his to stop the impending break in.  Their foreheads touch as each breath shimmies out of their lips arduous, biting back panic.

“I told you not to go out there Mulder.  There’s nothing good waiting for us in the woods at 3am!”  She shakes the hair off her brow pressing her body harder against his as the beast on the other side is making haste of the door frame.  “Now we’ve got a rabid animal trying to maul us to death all because you had a hunch!”

“I’m pretty sure my hunch was right Scully!”  His voice growing panicked and somehow confident at the same time.  “I told you there was a werewolf out there, that we just needed to draw him out, and look we did!  We just need to hold on a little longer till the sun rises and we’ll be left with the poor son of a bitch who’s cursed with this beastly affliction!”

Crack! The top of the door is splitting.

“Shit.”  Scully whispers frantic and strained into the buttons of his dress shirt.  “It’s not a werewolf Mulder.  It’s some sort of animal, a wolf perhaps, clearly rapid or going through some sort of psychosis, and you went out there and antagonized it!”  She pressed harder against his body melding her frame into his just so, the hands of a clock coming together.  Sure, this wasn’t the time to be arguing about whether or not it was actually a werewolf, but years of near-death scrapes, and side long glances in the pursuit of greater chaos really afforded them the ability to bicker anywhere.

“You know Scully” He breathes deep pulling loose strands of her hair up from the top of her head with his middle of the night scruff.  “I really thought my biggest problem this week was going to be getting ready to watch you surf the crimson wave, but somehow we managed to one up even that great causality.

Snap! The doorframe is almost broken down now.  Mulder’s feet scrape and slide beneath him as Scully pushes with everything she’s got to hold the interloper at bay.

“Mulder, I told you I don’t like it when you track my cycle.”  Her words spit out through gritted teeth.

Mulder kisses the top of her head as he feels the door shake loose from its hinges.  “You and the moon Scully, my two best girls.”

“Don’t call me a girl Muder!”  The words fall forward the same time as them, landing unceremoniously on top of the now broken door outside their motel just as the sun begins to streak across the morning sky.

“Sorry, my best lady” He whispers as she lets her body go slack succumbing to the rush of adrenaline from the onslaught and now being full press horizontal on top pf Mulder as they both pant from exhaustion.   “My woman.”  He laments as he drags his nose across her cheek and rises to his feet.  He pulls her up, the two surveying their surroundings for their attacker.  Instead, there is no one to be found just the faint sound of howling and crazed laughter on the horizon.

32 notes • Posted 2021-12-07 01:00:41 GMT

#1

Look I'm not gillovny, and I barely go here anymore,but that looks like two people who be fucking.

36 notes • Posted 2021-04-18 21:47:07 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

[seiin-translations]

2.43 S1 Chapter 1.8 - Young Yunichika

8. CONTINUE GAME?

Translation Notes

1. This is just for clarification but Yuni’s just calling this old man “grandpa” as an endearment

Previous || Index || Next

“My my, I see, Itoko-chan…Okay, take care. Ah, Yuni? It’s already time to go? Make sure you don’t forget anything. Today—”

While his mother was on the phone with someone, he run out of the house without saying goodbye and straddled his bike with a force almost like that of a fugitive.

What was she going to say after ‘today’? “Today, do your best as well?” “Today, I’ll go cheer you on as well?” I don’t want to hear either of those sentences.

July 27. Today was the second day of the tournament where four matches, consisting of two semifinals, the playoffs for third place and the finals, would be taking place. The first semifinal match started at nine-thirty. They planned to gather at Monshiro Station and go to Suzumu City together by train to arrive at the venue.

He stood on his bike as he pedaled on the road to the station. However, the further he got away from home, the more his pedaling speed slowed, and he started to wobble left and right before finally zigzagging uselessly across the full width of the road.

A horn sounded. When he looked back, he saw a small tractor approaching from behind.

“Oh, if it isn’t Bon. Be careful!”

An old man wearing a straw hat over the scarf that covered his head stared closely at him with sullen eyes from the driver’s seat and said in a slow, hoarse voice.

“Sorry, grandpa!” (1)

He brought his bike close to the guardrail and the tractor overtook him at a sluggish speed. The paint on the guardrail had mostly peeled off and some spots were obviously bent, as the elderly scraped against them in their agricultural vehicles. It made one nervous about whether or not they were starting to lose their driving skills.

The road that continued straight ahead was surrounded by, as far as the eye could see, paddy fields, paddy fields, paddy fields. The verdant sea of rice swayed in the summer breeze.

How about I ride my bike straight into a paddy and twist my ankle? An injury or something where I can’t walk today because it hurts too bad but it’s completely healed tomorrow, where it’s just the right amount and not exaggerated…He was in such a negative mood that thoughts like those passed through his mind. He quite honestly wished that he could be barred from the game for some unavoidable reason rather than possibly showing such unsightly behavior like yesterday.

Because…if we have Haijima, then we can probably win anyways even if you stand scarecrows in the other positions.

He didn’t speak a word to Haijima after the match yesterday. Other than the advisor, none of the team members attempted to approach Haijima, only glancing at him like they were looking at a grotesque thing disguised as a person. He could see a clear gulf emerging between Haijima and themselves. The differences in their experience and ability as well as their language existed from the beginning, but usually they were hidden like gutters buried in the snow. As soon as they got on top of one by some momentum and put their weight on it, they lost balance and were reminded of its existence along with the pain.

I don’t feel like I can be in a match with him today. I don’t wanna go…That was all he could think about as he meandered around on his bike again. He even felt a slight stomach ache. I haven’t had something I wanted to avoid so badly it made my stomach hurt since early elementary school. Better yet, if I end up having appendicitis, then it’ll be that “unavoidable reason” thing…

Seeing a motorcycle approach from ahead, he let out a “Hmm?” and stopped zigzagging around. The motorcycle seemed to have noticed him as well, and it decelerated to a stop. Kuroba also stopped his bike and put his foot on the ground.

“Oh, it’s been a while since I’ve seen your face.”

It was Yorimichi, looking like a textbook example of a summertime delinquent with his helmet with worn-out paint, Hawaiian shirt, shorts, and flip-flops. In the summer of his third-year of high school, he had completely developed the presence that came with age and experience. With his tanned face, perhaps from going to the sea, and stubble, he didn’t look like a high schooler no matter how you look at it.

“Yori-chan…”

Not knowing what attitude to take, he had a hopelessly half-hearted look on his face. They barely talked since March, and it had been about a month since he saw his face.

“You’re not tanned at all, eh. Ain’t it summer vacation?”

“Ah, yeah, all I’ve been doing is practicing in the gym, so I’ve got no time to tan.”

“Volleyball’s a pasty sport, eh. Oh, I thought you had a game today. Mm? Didn’t they say it was yesterday?”

“The game was, uh, yesterday, but…Anyways, why are you coming from the station?” The fact that he came from the opposite direction of his house was questionable, but it was also unusual for Yorimichi to be active this early in the morning.

“I’ve been staying at a friend’s place, but I got called back in the morning. They said Itoko got hurt yesterday?”

“Huh…I didn’t hear anything about that? You’re kidding, right? She came to cheer us on yesterday too…”

Come to think of it, didn’t his mother mention Itoko’s name on the phone earlier? He didn’t pay attention to it at the time because he wanted to get out of the house before anyone said anything, but was that a call with Itoko’s mother?

“How did she get hurt? Is it bad?”

“Didn’t hear the details, but apparently they didn’t call the ambulance, so it probably wasn’t a big deal. You can come over if you’re worried? Oh, don’t you have practice now?”

“Huh? Aah…”

Making a vague reply, he looked at the enamel bag on his back. He could have said, “We won yesterday, so we have another game today,” but he was at a loss for an answer for some reason.

“What’s wrong? If you’re coming, it’s faster to leave your bike and ride on this.”

Yorimichi gestured to the tandem seat of Komashi-gou with his chin.

He promised to Haijima before spring break that he would refrain from hanging out with Yorimichi.

Riding tandem on a motorcycle would be out of the question for him. It’ll be a problem for the team if we got into an accident—

The bubbles of antagonism floated up from the bog that had accumulated in the bottom of his heart.

In the end, he’s playing volleyball for himself alone. Why do I need to faithfully keep a promise with someone like that?

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆

Yesterday morning, when she was riding her bike to the station, triumphantly holding up that “Spread your wings! Kuroba UNIVERSE!” flag that she had spent all night completing, the flag got caught in the wind and she lost her balance. Of course it would be dangerous to pedal your bike with something like that fluttering around. There was a fool who had already fell yesterday just when Kuroba was thinking “I wanna get stuck in a rice paddy and twist my ankle.” At night, the swelling had gotten worse, and his aunt panicked so much that she called Yorimichi home, but as it turned out, it was just a sprain.

There were literal twists and turns before they heard that whole story.  Because when they went to Yorimichi’s house, they found a note that said, “I’m going to the clinic,” so they immediately rode there on the motorcycle, and when they got to the clinic, they were told that she must be at the orthopedic clinic because she hadn’t come there, and when they went to the orthopedic clinic, they were told that she had just left, so they ended up going back home again and was able to meet up with Itoko and the others. They had pointlessly gone around town.

Itoko was sitting on the tatami chair in the first floor living room, stretching out her bandaged right foot out on the tatami. In the alcove behind her, the “Spread your wings! Kuroba UNIVERSE!” was displayed like a scroll of appreciation. Kuroba’s face stiffened, and he started to take down the flag.

“Ah, what are you doing to my hard work!”

“Are you dumb? If you hadn’t spent your time on this and came to the first round, you wouldn’t have fell, and the game would have been more fun.”

“You’re talking like the second round wasn’t fun.”

“Well, that’s, you know…”

He trailed off weakly and averted his gaze. The phone in the hallway started ringing. “Onii-chan, get the phone!” His aunt’s voice came from the kitchen. A door on the second floor slammed open, and then Yorimichi’s rough footsteps descended. “Don’t push me around, old hag. Going crazy and calling me back just for an ankle sprain.” “It’s your fault for wandering around right after summer vacation and not coming home at all.” In this house, the mother who called the oldest son “Onii-chan” and the little sister called him “Yorimichi” without any honorifics.

He sat in seiza on the edge of the tatami, crammed the flag behind his butt, and clenched his fists on top of his lap.

“…Was it fun? Watching it.”

This was the first time he was asking someone about their thoughts on yesterday’s game. He didn’t want to be talked about at home, so he avoided as much contact with his family as possible last night and this morning.

“You want to talk about Haijima, don’t you, Yuni. I don’t know anything about volleyball, but that kid looked really out of place yesterday. I was having a little trouble cheering you guys on.”

“Right? There’s something wrong with that guy, don’t you think? Volleyball’s something you play with a team. I know he’s super good, but he’s fatally bad at reading the room.”

Feeling as though he got what he wanted, Kuroba subconsciously gathered strength and put his weight on his knees. However, Itoko, with a somewhat indifferent look on her face, tilted her head to the side.

“Read the room, huh… How did you want him to read it? Did you want him to cut corners to suit you guys’ level, then lose the game and laugh like idiots together about what a shame it was?”

“It’s, it’s not like that…”

The Haijima who cut corners to match the level of others as well as the Haijima who laughed like an idiot when they lost were both creatures who he found creepy and didn’t want approaching him in their own right. That’s not what I meant, but there are probably other ways to do it…What other ways? Did I think it was natural for Haijima to come up with something I couldn’t think of? Honestly, was there anything else Haijima, who only has talent in volleyball, could have done in that situation…?

“That’s a girl thing.”

“What?”

He darted her eyes about and asked back. Maybe her foot was aching or something, because Itoko bent forward and languidly rubbed her ankle.

“Girls usually do things like matching to everyone’s pace so they won’t stand out, or being modest by saying they have no confidence in themselves for things they actually are confident in. I do it too. But boys don’t play those kinds of superficial games, it’s just, like, instinct I guess? …I thought you could understand each other, but I guess that was just my own ideals... Yuni, when you’re doing club activities, you look like you’re having so much fun, and I was admiring you guys by myself and getting so excited, thinking that boys are so incredible, and I was so enthusiastic that I even made that flag, but now I’m so embarrassed I wanna die… Thank goodness it’s summer vacation… I wouldn’t be able to go to school…”

Her face, which was turned downwards like she wanted to sink into her knees, was bright red.

If only he had done a good enough job at yesterday’s second round that would let Itoko proudly fly her flag and freely cheer them on, she would not be so embarrassed like she was now. He felt sorry and had no words words to say to her. It wasn’t Haijima’s fault that the atmosphere of the match went off the rails. He was painfully aware that it was his own pathetic predicament that caused Haijima to play like that.

“Hmm? Why do you guys look so down? Something happen?”

Yorimichi’s large frame appeared at the entrance to the living room. If he wasn’t careful, he’d scrape his head against the lintel, so he bent down slightly while holding up the phone handset.

“It’s getting pretty funny. All our relatives cleaning out the ditch right now. Our family phone tree is working pretty well.”

“Cleaning out the ditch? Did something fall in?”

“Yeah, apparently the Bon of the head house fell in,” he said while grinning like a brat who had just thought of a prank. Itoko cheekily pointed at a stunned Kuroba and said, “You’ve been sleep talking since morning. If you want the head house’s Bon, he’s right here.” She was thoroughly cruel to Yorimichi, a complete change from her meek and gentle attitude.

“You abandoned your bike at the paddy fields.”

“I left it…but I didn’t let it fall into the fields. How old do you think I am?” It was a path that only acquaintances took anyways, so there was no chance of a bike thief. And so he left his bike on the roadside where he met Yorimichi, thinking he could go and get it later.

“Your club advisor called you at home. You have a match today? Why didn’t you say anything?”

“…Ah.”

The stories finally connected. Even though he had left home a long time ago, he didn’t show up at the meeting place, his bike was abandoned on the way there, the only witness was his senile but worried relative, and there was nothing but rice paddies around… Though because he wasn’t a kindergartener by any count, they must have thought it was weird for a third year middle school boy to get caught in them.

Looking at the clock on the wall, it was past nine-twenty-five. The match started at—nine-thirty.

“Yuni…”

Itoko’s voice lowered. Her anger-filled gaze stung the side of his face.

“I can’t believe this, but are you skipping your match? No wonder you’re so relaxed…I can’t believe this. You’re the worst.”

Kuroba could only groan. He didn’t fall into a rice paddy or had appendicitis, but luckily, if he didn’t feel like he had an “unavoidable reason,” now he did.

“Please go immediately.”

“You, you say that, but it’s not like I’ll make it in time since it’s in five minutes, and since Haijima’s there…”

Itoko stood up indignantly, startling both him and Yorimichi. “O-oi, your foot.” Without even trying to protect her sprained ankle, she grabbed Kuroba’s bag and lifted it over her head with the look of a demon.

“Men are always making all kinds of excuses…”

“Oi?”

Yorimichi ducked just in time as a bag flew over his head into the hallway.

***

When he approached the spot where he left his bike, he saw minitrucks parked parallel to the shoulder of the road. His relatives, with rakes and sticks in their hands, were standing in the rice paddies, scratching around in the mud with desperate looks on their faces. The mood there was like they had decided that the Bon of the head house was going to rise up as a drowned body. In the shadow of Yorimichi’s back, Kuroba pulled his helmet low over his eyes and shrank his body.

Thanks to the group of trucks forming a shield, they could pass by without being noticed. Right when he breathed a sigh of relief, the Komashi-gou slowed down and his nose bumped into Yorimichi’s back.

“Yo-Yori-chan?”

With Kuroba clinging to his back, Yorimichi turned around and, unbelievably, shouted loudly.

“Everyone, I’m taking Bon’s bike back to the main house!”

“Eh…oh, Bon! You’re okay!”

“What!?”

Their relatives all raised their faces in astonishment. Yorimichi laughed at them mockingly and started taking off at full throttle. Kuroba, who almost got thrown off, clung to Yorimichi’s torso, but didn’t feel like he was alive anyhow.

“W-w-what will we do if they get mad at us!? W-what will happen to me if I go home today…?”

I’m not in a position to complain because I brought it all onto myself with my actions, but…I wanna leave home and escape somewhere…

The Komashi-gou could bring him all the way to the competition venue, but he was just about to catch the train to the city, so he decided to get dropped off at the station. He wasn’t sure if he could make it to the venue at ten-thirty. It had been one hour since the start time for the semifinals—if it got carried over into a third set, then he might be able to make it just in time, but they probably wouldn’t let him get out there without warming up. If they won, they would be in the finals, and even if they lost, there was still a chance he could play in the third-place deciders. I’ll probably have to kneel down on the ground at least. Apologizing to Sensei, and everyone on the team, and Haijima…is aggravating, but…

“…Hey, Yori-chan…do you remember talking about how the guys from Haijima’s old school were bashing him online?”

He asked as his face got hit by Yorimichi’s Hawaiian shirt that was filling with the wind.

“Hmm? Yeah.”

He could hear the indifferent response from between the noisy clattering and thumping sounds that hit his ears. Even Yorimichi himself, who had used that information to rile up Haijima, scorned it as a petty way to do things. Would I be hated if I confessed…? But the feeling of a foreign object being stuck in his throat was agonizing, and he couldn’t help but spit it out.

“I did the same thing last night…”

Last night, he had phone conversations with several of his teammates. Some calls came from them and some came from himself. “That definitely puts me off.” “It feels like you’re playing the match alone when he does that.” There was something comforting about complaining to each other in that way. He felt comforted in being able to confirm that it wasn’t that he was the only one who was intolerant or narrow-minded, and that everyone felt the same. Perhaps the same group psychology that was at work in the people who posted bad things about Haijima online was at the root of it. When everyone shared their frustrations, it made them feel a little better.

It would make Itoko disappointed, but—the invigorating community of men who could “understand each other like it was natural instinct” that she admired only existed in sports manga or battle manga.

The wind was so loud that he didn’t know if Yorimichi responded or not. Maybe he was trying to make himself feel better by thinking that he had repented by telling Yorimichi. That made him feel even more cowardly, and Kuroba couldn’t say it a second time.

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆

When Kuroba came running at ten-twenty-five, the semifinals were over a long time ago. He couldn’t believe it when he heard that they lost the match in straight sets in less than forty minutes of match time.

“But we have Haijima! Like yesterday…”

“Are you an idiot?” His advisor flatly brushed him aside. “It’s true that we’re a team based around Haijima, but it’s not like we can win with him alone. There’s a rule in volleyball that one person can’t touch the ball twice in a row, right? Don’t you know that? Want me to lend you the rulebook?”

Kuroba sullenly hung his head. It was Haijima who did that off-putting play that could have overturned the base premise of volleyball yesterday…

“Didn’t you talk to Haijima yesterday, good grief…Haijima said that yesterday’s high-handed way of doing things was like a surprise attack, and that he knew what he was doing. He said that no matter how you look at it, it won’t work today. He said that as long you could recover, we could win…”

“Haijima did…?”

“A guy like that acts calm and composed, even if you weren’t here, but…it looks like that happened in the middle of the first set. I had a feeling something was wrong, but his face never changed even once…Oh, oh, Haijima, you ready to go?”

He tensed up at the advisor’s voice, a conditioned reflex.

Haijima appeared slowly from the back of the dim hallway. He was dressed in the Monshiro Middle School jersey pants and a white T-shirt, his enamel bag was slung over his shoulder, and he must have just washed his hair, since his bangs were wet. The middle finger of his left hand was lightly pressed against his side with his ring finger supporting it, and there was tape winded around it.

It seemed that he had dislocated his left hand’s middle finger.

Because Monshiro, which had an injured player in the semifinals, didn’t have enough reserve members, they withdrew from the third-place deciders. In spite of getting fourth place in the prefecturals, an outstanding achievement that would be carved into the history of Monshiro Middle School’s athletic clubs, it ended in a way they couldn’t be proud of at all. At the same time Kuroba arrived, the advisor had dismissed the club members on site and was about to accompany Haijima to the hospital.

They could have just waited for Kuroba to arrive until just before the start of the third-place deciders. However, the advisor decided to withdraw from the game as soon as possible, because he concluded that even if Kuroba was able to make it and the team had enough members, they wouldn’t be able to play a game worthy of the third-place deciders with Haijima in a non-functioning state. They could do the semifinals without Kuroba, but the team was fundamentally unsustainable without Haijima.

Haijima raised his gaze that was tending slightly downwards. As soon as he recognized Kuroba, his narrow eyes widened a little. His lips opened thinly as he was about to assemble some words. Kuroba clenched his teeth, wondering if he was going to punch him.

However, Haijima only gave a small sigh, like he was exhausted, and then cast down his eyes again. …His eyes are red? Don’t tell me he was crying?

“…What. So you’re alive…”

He spat out in a low voice. He sounded a bit nasal. Dislocations were an integral part of volleyball, something Kuroba had yet to experience, but he had heard that the pain was enough to make one cry. Or was he frustrated that he lost? He wondered if he had ever cried in frustration before. He didn’t think so. …He felt somewhat guilty that he couldn’t understand a single thing about Haijima’s pain.

“When did I die?”

Even though he should have first apologized for skipping the game, but he couldn’t get the word “Sorry” out. He responded jokingly in spite of himself, but got no reaction. Haijima silently walked past the advisor and ignored his confused voice calling out to his back with “Haijima, that’s not the way to the taxi.” He passed Kuroba without making eye contact with him.

Their shoulders brushed. It was Haijima, not Kuroba, who staggered.

The March incident suddenly flashed across his mind. It vividly reminded him of when Haijima became like a lifeless doll that had its important circuits fried after he was knocked down by Yorimichi—

Oh…

The signs matched up in his head, and he was aghast at himself for making such a stupid joke. For Haijima, the life or death of his teammate wasn’t something he could joke about. It must have been engraved into him as a trauma. He didn’t know the details, but apparently someone on his team attempted suicide because of Haijima.

Don’t tell me he was seriously afraid of that while I was reluctantly tossing around reasons to skip…

“Hai…”

When he suddenly turned back at Haijima’s leaving back, he heard his voice.

“I know what your ‘judgement’ of me is. It’s enough…”

Haijima’s voice was hoarse, so difficult to hear that it was hard to believe it came from him.

He couldn’t come up with anything to say right away. He should have run after him, took his arm and said “You’re wrong,” but his feet were stuck to the ground and he couldn’t move.

Even if he tried to deny it, he actually did them. The mean and cowardly act of calling around and badmouthing him behind his back. The childish act of skipping because he didn’t want to be in a match with him. While coolly declaring that “I’ll make up my own judgement about you,” he ended up making Haijima feel the same way he had in his previous school.

Even though he wasn’t wearing headphones like when he first transferred, there was a hard shell being put around his back, and he couldn’t find a gap to call out to him through. Ah…why am I even recalling this now? Haijima hasn’t brought that bag with his old school’s emblem on it since who-knows-when.

We’re going backwards.

…No way, it’s over? That’s it? It was only then that he realized that there would be no more opportunities to recover. Why hadn’t I thought of that until now? The third-year middle school summer tournament only comes once. It’s our first and last tournament. Why didn’t I value each minute and second and engrave them into my heart? We’re just going to end this with this letdown of an ending where we withdrew from the third-place deciders—.

He felt like time was suddenly zipping by at a dizzying speed, and he stepped on the ground with both feet to keep from falling.

I don’t want it to end here.

I still—still want to play volleyball with Haijima.

Previous || Index || Next

[slashingdisneypasta]

Frason AS Nygmobblebot

Just Ed and Oz thing’s I think correlate rather nicely with Freddy and Jason. For fun.

Jason is Penguin because he’s arguably the most popular Slasher (Who doesn't look at a hockey mask now and think at some level about horror??), was close with his parents / mother (Pamela is a composition of Gertrude and Fish) and is pretty cute some most of the time. Also! Sex appeal doesnt work on either of them (Referring to Ivy's perfume not working on Oz)

And Freddy is Riddler because they’re both bastards who are extra and theatrical. And *cough* they both killed their first romantic partner. I think the same way, too??

As far as Oz being the more experienced killer, F13 did come out 4 years before ANOES, and strictly speaking, Jason was out of 'normal' society a looooong time before Freddy entered the dream realm. (Jason: 11 years old when he started living in the forest. In fact, Oz was so cute and timid in the first season that you could call him a 'Baby' penguin. Or 'child' penguin, like what Jason was // Freddy: 26-7 when he died. You could consider the time Freddy was secrely jilling kids in the basement akin to Ed's season two 'Villain Puberty')

Okay, on to fun stuff! XD

Penguins sassiness: Jason making the 'Talking' hand gesture at Freddy during an interview.

Olga / Roy (Maybe?) *About Jason's relationship with /towards Freddy*: "I dont understand why Jason likes him so much."

Jason befriends a ferral racoon and names it Freddy. (= Oz getting a doggo and calling it Edward)

Jason communicates that Freddy’s hat is stupid and Freddy gets overly defensive. “wHAT?!” 

Penguins / Jason: *When Freddy gets far too close* (Then you know) You're standing too close. (*Or in Jasons language: Flinging Freddy across camp*)

Okay, the part in Gotham when Riddler loses his smarts and 'befriends' (Manipulates) Butch / Solomon Grundy into being his friend and protecting him so he doesnt get killed by criminals in the city because he knows that without his brains, he will be an easy target for people that already hate him and want him dead? In this version, Freddy (Who is stuck in the real world in a mortal form) manipulates Bubba, Jasons non-blood brother, the same way because he's big, 'dumb' and easy to control with some 'kindness' and a smile; Freddy uses Bubba for protection from other Horror Villains LIKE Jason who he antagonised when he was powerful, by telling him that they're friends. Does that make sense? XD Aha

At this time when Freddy is stuck in the real world, he he finds the perfect living for himself by starring an underground, illegal fight club with Bubba as his star fighter. Freddy often dresses up as Jason and mocks him.

Okay moving on completely from that.

Um?? Riddler / Freddy setting up a whole horrible delusion of Penguin / Jason’s parent coming back to life and tormenting him?? Sounds pretty familiar. 

Jason actually believing he’s sane after all the electroshock therapy and stuff in Arkham (Or whatever our Horror Villain equivalent is. Hell?) like ‘Oh I am sane- I have a certificate!!’ and Freddy knows damn well his crazy ass is a pyschopath like ‘I’m... sane? Are you sure about that?’ 

Okay, Freddy actually thinking he suceeded in killing Jason finally, and then proceeding to have a hallucinatory bisexual panic because Jason’s gone and now he has no ‘worthy’ enemies. 

(Alice can be Lucius!) 

-jaSON GETS A LITTLE ADOPTED SON LIKE MARTIN. MAYBE BRAHMS??

Riddler! Making! Oz! The paper! Penguin! What I'm saying is mayyyybe Freddy can repair Jason's machete or something?

Some organisation like the Court of Owls (Maybe a group who are hell bent om destroying all Slashers) put a chip in Freddys brain so they can control him and have him do large-scale terrible things to other Slashers (Instead of the bit where the Riddler is made to bomb the hospital place) because who would believe that Freddy didnt do that on his own accord? He would.

Them working together to get out of Court Of Owls Jail / Hell (Like they were gonna in one of the proposed FVSJ 2 plots with Pinhead involved). They agree on an hour of grace period where they wont try and kill each other, so that they can successfully get out... but of course they both try to skip to the killing bit... multiple times.

Antagonizing each other like literal children in said Court Of Owls Jail / Hell.

Jerome is Michael- the third part of the 3 main Gotham / Horror villains who both Jason and Freddy are both, understandably, a bit concerned about and decide to work together to try and get rid of him.  

(This picture: Swap their positions cuz Jason large and Freddy hands-on about things)

(This picture: Jason / Penguin is of course the sort of more composed one when death comes from above and Freddy / Riddler is prepared to push Jason in front of him like a human shield)

Finding out Barbara / Tiffany (Dont have amothe colour for her unfortunately) is having a baby:

Jason: *Signing* So who's the lucky father??

Freddy: *Silence, thinking: Oh Jesus fucking christ a child*

Jason being around Michael much more then Freddy ever has (In fandom).

This picture: Swap the expressions / Reactions. Jason is panicked, slughtly concerned and terrified and Freddy is disgusted / horrified by Tiffany going into labor.

Omg XD Penguin having Victor freeze Riddler and keeping him in the Ice Lounge: Jason maybe keeping Freddy's head at the end of FVSJ (If you are to assume Jason won that and that Freddy is now just some kinda conscious zombie head now) and using it as like, an annoying paperweight or audible decoration. Out of pure spite. We know Jason has it in him- he might not be as mischievious as Michael is, but he's absolutely got it in him.

[nightwingshero]

Full bingo angst answers for Wren please! 💋💕

Thank you, baby!!! Kinda hitting it where it hurts today, huh?

TW: Mentions of self-harm, alcohol abuse, and child loss...just kinda...it’s angsty. Sorry guys. 

💙 What would your OCs last words be (or if they’ve died what were their last words)? What were their final moments like? How did they die?

Probably...man, knowing Wren, she’s gonna go down fighting and defending a loved one. She...Wren will use her Wrath to draw the attention to herself, even if she knew it was a battle she wouldn’t win--sacrificing herself to give the other person a chance. Her last words...would be deep and meaningful, something that would hit hard. She would either quote something with a deep meaning or something so pure from the heart...I could also see her saying “Free...I’m finally free.” Or maybe being excited to see her mom again. 

💧 What’s the worst pain your OC has ever been in? Mental or physical? What was the cause of this?

That’s a toss up between her father blaming her for her mother’s death/being mentally and emotionally abusive or the car accident and losing the baby. Both had Wren spiraling in very different ways, both still giving her nightmares to the point of insomnia some nights. Then also losing John later in life. It hits her hard to know that her life partner died sacrificing himself for their son, and that he’s just...gone. It’s hard for her to bounce back from it. 

🔷 Has your OC ever had to leave something behind or abandon something they didn’t want to? Have they ever had this happen to them? How has this effected them over the years?

There’s a locket, a gold locket with a tree on it, that her mother used to wear before she died. It was one of the things she held onto dearly after her mom died, because it was pretty much all she had. Her father got rid of most of Lily’s things, including the piano, and so Wren clung to it through her childhood, drawing strength from it. It “mysteriously” disappeared after her father found out about it, just a few days before she left for college. In turn, she stole her mother’s ashes to scatter them, but it still haunts Wren. It had a picture of the two of them together.

🔵 Has your OC lived through any particularly traumatic events? Does this event (or events) still effect them or have they tried to bury it? Is there a reason why this event is so traumatic for them?

JFC, where to even begin? Honestly, the cards are stacked against her in the worst way, I feel for her. The biggest ones would be abusive childhood, losing her mom, unhealthy relationship with college professor, the horrible car accident, the drinking problem that followed...Wren tries her best with it, truly. It still effects her, mostly through panic attacks (triggers) and her nightmares. She will fall into depressive episodes as well. Most of the time, she will bury it though, like, she’s guarded--if you’ve been through some shit, you could probably pick up on it, you know? But with anyone else, you can’t tell. She hides it well. 

❄️ What is (one of) their biggest regrets or biggest mistake they’ve made? Is there anything they can do to fix this or is it so far gone there’s no point anymore? Is this something they dwell on a lot?

Wren...Wren is on the path of learning what she can and can’t control, and it’s...going as well as it can, because she has such a control issue. She tries to tell herself to not dwell on the things she can’t control...but the thing with Wren is that she needs to feel in control. The biggest ones would be the college professor and the path she took after the car accident. Wren hates giving parts of herself for it to be taken for granted or advantage of. She also sees the alcoholic chapter in her life was a little too close to her father than she cares to admit. But well...you can’t fix the past. 

💦 Does your OC have any self destructive habits? Addictions? Urges? What is the cause of these or the reason for them?

Wren used to have a drinking problem, mostly because of an emotional thing versus having to have alcohol. She just used it as an outlet, but most of the time, it just lowered her walls and made her more emotional in a self-destructive manner--depressive, angry, and antagonizing. She would start fights, which is why she got in trouble and got her shit together. Wren internalizes too damn much, overthinking and jumping to conclusions based on her own observations because she’s not one to trust someone else’s intentions or words. While Wren isn’t judgmental, she’s very open minded and accepting--she can be quick to judge in cases where you’ve invoked her wrath. Did some shit when you were young? Who hasn’t, I still care and accept you. You just crossed and betrayed me? I’m going to make it my personal goal to make life hell for you-- She also has a tendency to use her wrath to push people away and then close off, hurting them both in the process. 

🌊 What is your OC like at their most depressive? In the middle of a breakdown? Having a panic attack? What are they like with dealing with anxiety and stress?

Wren during a panic attack starts with her not being able to formulate actual coherent sentences because her mind is going so damn fast, and her hands shake. Her muscles will stiffen, making her super tense and she shuts down mentally. Most of the time, she will curl up on the ground (in the corner of a room, etc) with her legs hugged to her chest, forehead against her knees. Mostly to hide her face and to make herself as small as possible and to provide herself some sort of comfort (sometimes she’ll grip her hair, too). If someone catches it (if they know what to even look for), they can intercept and help kinda deter it. But Wren internalizes, closes herself even more, buys a ton of whiskey or wine, and just sits with her dark feelings. They consume her easily, which is why she usually tries not to drink when she’s down, it makes it too easy to spiral. Wren handles stress the best she can, but she internalizes that too. Anything negative has a chance of coming out in the form of wrath, so she can be a bit...yeah.

☄️ Does your OC struggle with their emotions and trauma? Do they find it easier to open up to strangers or those close to them if at all? Do they tend to hide their pain from everyone?

Wren struggles hard. Like, she has a harder time coming to terms or understanding the why behind everything, and has a constant struggle with her desire to change what happened that her emotions and traumas don’t fully get resolved. She’s so desperate to be free of it, but there are times where she’s holding her own self prisoner for it due to guilt and heartbreak. She will never open up to strangers, she doesn’t trust people easily, you have to have earned your way close to her before she’s confiding in you. She hides her pain (or tries to) from everyone, including herself. You have to actively pursue Wren and be supportive consistently for that to spill from her mouth.  

📘 Write a sad journal entry, an unsent letter or short sad drabble. + bonus, give a theme!

A piece from Wren’s journal while going through therapy:

"I wish...it starts off normal, and it’s inconceivably misleading, but it draws me in anyway. Then...then its sneaking up on me, so before I know it, I’m in the deep-end, drowning in something dark and sticky, feeling as if it will become my second skin and suffocate me in the process. That’s when I start to hyperventilate, desperate and clawing to find the surface, but I can’t. I start crying, my chest constricting in panic. I turn...I turn and I see an open door, the inside is even blacker than what’s around me and I slowly start getting pulled back into it...and he just watches--laughing and taunting. I cry more, because there’s nothing else to do. Until the hand...it grabs me and yanks me back...I wake up then, screaming and panicking before the door slams shut. I take a shower once I wake up, because I can feel the hand, I feel the darkness on my skin. I don’t sleep most nights. Not anymore.”

🔹 Does your OC have any scars? What are the stories behind them? Do they have any mental scars? Talk about the effects of their trauma in general on their day to day life.

*Nervous Laughter* Scars....alright...so, Wren growing up would often resort to self-harm to cope, unfortunately. She avoided her wrists and opted for her inner thighs, aiming to hide the marks better. Once hitting college, she moved on from it, until the car accident. She started again once she spiraled, even using it a bit as she stopped drinking. It didn’t happen too often, just in major low points. She dropped it completely after she started going to therapy, learning to try and find healthier coping mechanisms. Wren’s traumas come out daily in the form of her having to be in control of herself and situation at all time. She’s the one driving, she makes her own choices, she sits on the outside in booths at diners and whatnot, having the option to leave when she wants. Wren hates feeling trapped and is super claustrophobic because her dad would lock her in the basement or her room for hours at a time. She buys a Jeep so she has the option to remove the top and the doors, everything in on her terms. You don’t touch her unless she wants you to, you don’t come visit her space unless she wants you to. Things like that. 

[jasontoddiefor]

Title: Under your wings

Summary: Jason didn’t have black wings as massive as the ones attached to his back. They kind of looked like the wings he’d always wanted to have, but most certainly wouldn’t get.  When Jason got resurrected, his wings weren't red anymore.

AN: For the batfam discord’s @thursday-batfam-prompts Wings

When Jason woke up again, the first thing that disturbed him was the weight on his back. His wings weren’t that heavy. Of course, they had gained some weight with them slowly reaching maturity and their full wingspan. Alfred had said to give it another year before-

Before-

What-

Where was he? What had happened? Where was Bruce, he wanted to go home, he wanted his Dad, why didn’t the laughing stop!?

“Breathe, child.”

Jason could hardly see anything through the haze. Vague figures. A hand.

He couldn’t hear and he was choking on his own thoughts.

“Sleep a little longer, child.”

X

The next time Jason woke up, he didn’t freak out. There was no point to panicking about confusing dreams, was there?

Instead, Jason settled on inspecting his surroundings. To his right, Jason could see a lot of medical equipment. Tubes and measuring of all kinds seemed to take up most of the space. On his left, curtains covered a window. The sound of birds and people running around shouting in Arabic reached his ears. Bruce had gotten him started on lessons and that language came to him much easier than the Russian had learned before it.

Jason had a lot of dreams that were just filled with him waking up somewhere he didn’t know. According to Barbara, they were a sign of wanderlust. It fitted that a kid from Crime Alley wanted to go out and see the world. It was rare though that his dreams were as lucid as they were now.

Curious, he threw off the blanket. Jason wanted out and explore the world around himself. Of all the things to hold him back, from terrifying monsters to whatever weirdness he could dream up, Jason didn’t expect bandaged wings.

His wings were enormous for his size, making him look ridiculous. He knew he’d grow into his wingspan, but a kid that was on the short end of the spectrum with bright red wings? Yeah, needless to say, he had heard the whispers (or shouts) at school and hadn’t been impressed. In between all the rich kids with their perfectly regular and average browns, grays and blacks, red wings stood out like nothing else. His wings weren’t any help on patrol either. Coloring them dark took ages. Bruce never had to color his already pitch-black wings, but Jason hadn’t been as fortunate. And trying to get the dye out again? Even worse. It took hours with water if Jason didn’t have the actual dye remover on hand.

As annoyed as Jason was with his wings though, he took good care of them, which was why the bandages were the first surprise.

Their size the second, and their color the third.

Jason didn’t have black wings as massive as the ones attached to his back. They kind of looked like the wings he’d always wanted to have, but most certainly wouldn’t get.

The door to his room opened. The person he saw step into it wasn’t someone he expected his subconsciousness to dream up.

“Talia?” Jason asked. “Huh, alright.”

Talia mustered him, her dark green wings pressed to her back like she expected someone to leap for them. Bruce did that too when he got too wary, or when he was dosed with Fear Gas. Jason had spent most of his childhood before he had been adopted with his wings close to his body.

You could tell a lot about people from the way they held them.

Then, Talia frowned and her expression shifted to worry and pity.

“Oh, Jason,” she said. She sounded kind. Motherly. “Don’t you remember?”

The Joker laughed. Time froze.

The world kept spinning.

Jason had died and the world had kept moving.

X

Training took ages. First, Jason had to regain muscle mass, then he had to learn how to adjust to his new wings.

And new wings they were indeed. Jason’s own had been too damaged and couldn’t be saved, so Talia had ensured Jason would receive a different pair. Wing transplantations had been done successfully only a handful of times, but access to a Lazarus Pit apparently made it a lot more manageable.

“Whose wings are they?” Jason asked only once.

“Yours,” Talia replied.

Jason stopped with his training exercises to observe her. “I meant before.”

She didn’t even bother to look away from her paperwork. The sheets were strange, covered in colors and neat lines.

“They belong to a strong man, and if not broken, they will always keep you in the sky. They’re yours.”

Jason didn’t speak up again.

X

Above him, the stars of the night sky were hidden away behind clouds while below him, the streets were mostly desolate. Jason adjusted his lenses, focused on his target. Then he jumped down from the building, unfurling his wings completely.

I look like him, Jason would think later when watching and deleting the security tapes. Crashing down on the disgusting excuse of a human being, Jason appeared as a vengeful terror of massive black wings.

Good.

X

“I need one of your feathers,” Talia said. “Preferably the biggest you have.”

Jason stopped polishing his guns to face her. “Why?”

“Because I asked you to, so?”

Jason rolled his eyes. “Fine. Just take whatever.”

He returned to his previous task, but sat op straight for better access, as Talia made her way around him. She mustered the feathers, softly moved her hands over them, before coming to a stop.

“This one,” she said and pulled at it so that Jason could feel which one she would take. “Brace yourself.”

Jason barely felt the pain. Truthfully speaking, he hardly got any kind of feedback from the wings. He could control them just fine, but the connection felt dulled.

“Thank you, Jason.”

“No problem,” he replied. “I’ll be leaving for Gotham tomorrow.”

“I know. I hope you’ll find what you seek there.”

Jason didn’t.

X

The new Robin was small and his wingspan frankly speaking pathetic. Barbara’s wings had been broken and her title had been taken by a small predator. There was another girl with bright wings she would have been better off with covering and Dick’s wings, of course, were obsessively clean and cared for as they had always been.

Bruce’s wings were smaller than he remembered. But then again, Jason wasn’t as short, young and naïve as he had been. Naturally, Batman wasn’t as grand as Jason had recalled.

As he had never been.

X

Talia asked him to come back and Jason refused. It would be too much like admitting defeat. Instead, he carved out his own territory, stayed away from the Bats. This was still his city and nothing short of death could make him leave, and even that hadn’t really stuck the last time.

X

It started with a call. One foolish, irritating call Jason hadn’t wanted to answer. He didn’t particularly hate the rest of the Bats anymore, and if they needed back up, he was there. Gotham wouldn’t suffer because of him or their incompetence.

Besides, it was Tim who had called.

Usually, Robin didn’t interact with him. Whether that was because Dick had told him off or because of their history, Jason didn’t know. He didn’t care either. He most certainly wasn’t curious why Tim had such a problem with Jason’s wings especially. Whenever he saw Jason, his eyes kept flickering to his wings and it didn’t annoy Jason at all.

Whatsoever.

Okay, maybe it did.

Jason had grown fond of his dark feathers. It wasn’t terribly hard when they were precisely what he had always wanted to have.

Either way, Tim calling, sounding seconds away from a panic attack and asking Jason to come to the Cave ASAP wasn’t something he was going to ignore out of anger.

What Jason expected to find was a crisis that would throw all of Gotham into disarrange.

Not a child with Talia’s green eyes and Bruce’s frown, waving a familiar feather in Bruce’s face while Tim sat at the other end of the Cave with Alfred by his side.

“What the hell?”

Bruce stood up straight, his cape concealing his wings.

“Jason,” Bruce said. If Bruce was surprised to see him, he didn’t show. “Did you know?”

Jason bit down on his rage. “Know what?”

“About Damian. Talia’s son.”

“And yours,” the child, Damian, added rather hot-headedly. His black wings twitched. “I have your feather as proof. Mother gave it to me.”

“This is not proof,” Tim hissed. “That’s just a stupid feather and Talia couldn’t have given you any of Bruce’s either way.”

“Stop talking to me, Drake. This is a conversation between father and son-“

“My name is Wayne, you damned brat-“

“Enough.”

Jason was getting a headache and if not for the fact that there was Talia’s son standing just a few meters away from him, he would have turned around on his heels and walked away again.

“Don’t antagonize each other.”

“But-“ Damian protested, only to stop talking when Bruce shot him a look.

“I don’t doubt that you are my son, but Tim is right. This feather isn’t mine.”

“But it looks like yours! I saw the photos of your wings. It’s the right color and shape, it even has the dark gray markings at the end. Mother said your wings were completely gray as a child and that’s the only leftover from it. Don’t call me a liar.”

Fighting crime was exhausting. You didn’t get much sleep, your body ached all over (except those times you were so full of pain killers, you couldn’t even tell when you got a new wound or if you were Jason and in general didn’t feel much of anything anymore) and every time you tried to fall asleep, either your nightmares or another gruesome murder would wake you up.

They all got tired, but Jason couldn’t think of a time Bruce had ever emitted such an aura of defeat.

“I’m not calling you liar, Damian. But the fact is that the feather can’t be mine. It cannot have been plucked from them.”

Damian’s face flushed in anger and desperation, perhaps. Your parents’ feathers, the ones they gave you willingly once you lost your last baby downs were something special. Jason had treasured Catherine’s, his real mother who had loved him until she couldn’t anymore, and Bruce’s like nothing else.

“Why not?”

“I don’t have wings anymore, Damian. I lost them a while ago when Bane took over Gotham.”

Jason felt like throwing up.

“Mother said Bane broke your spine and Lady Shiva trained you afterward to take back the city.”

They belong to a strong man, and if not broken, they will always keep you in the sky.

“That he did too.”

“But I saw your wings!”

“Fake. It would have been too suspicious if Bruce Wayne lost his wings at the same time as Batman.”

Jason liked to flare his wings when he left, make himself look bigger than he actually was, but right now he didn’t dare to move his no, no they weren’t they never them even an inch away from his body as he turned around and stormed outside.

Nobody would follow him.

They had bigger problems.

X

It wasn’t Bruce that tracked him down months later (because Bruce was dead, killed by a monster too big for grounded humans. Maybe, if he had been able to fly-) or Tim, who had disappeared with a bang to go on a never-ending search.

He had expected the little brat, coming to him for answers maybe, or Dick once he realized he wasn’t cut out for this Gotham anymore. Jason hardly knew the new Batgirl and he had never even spoken a word to Cassandra.

Somehow, despite her Big Brother-like presence, Jason had never accounted for Barbara.

“Your safe house isn’t very accessible,” she said and moved inside his apartment.

Of course, it wasn’t accessible. It was a cheap shithole in Crime Alley – what did she expect.

“What do you want?”

Jason used to adore Barbara. When he had first met her, she had been energetic and funny, told Batman off and thought Dick was an idiot. She had been bright and every ‘no’ was a challenge.

He couldn’t claim that he knew this version of her. She had calmed down, or maybe just grown as world-weary as the rest of them.

“We tried to find Bruce’s wings after Bane cut them off,” she said, going straight to business and delving right into Jason’s nightmares.

“I don’t want to hear it.”

Barbara pushed up her glasses. “I think you need to.”

He could stop her if he wanted to. He doubted that any regular thugs could provide a challenge, her wheelchair didn’t look like standard either and he wouldn’t be surprised to learn that she had hidden all kinds of small gadgets in there. The edges of Barbara’s wings were covered in light steel like those of many police officers. A hit from those hurt immensely.

However, Jason had trained to take down the Batman (lifetimes ago it felt like) and Oracle, while undoubtedly smarter, couldn’t fight like him.

“He took them as a trophy and while Tim and Alfred rushed to Bruce’s aid, I kept my eyes on them. I lost them while they were in Gotham still. We assumed that Bane had hidden them, but perhaps had lost them as well instead.”

“I didn’t know.”

His defense sounded weak in his own ears. He had known that the wings sewn to his back hadn’t been the wings of the closest dead body Talia could find. Every action had meaning for her, every cruel gift well-meant wasn’t just efficient but a puzzle to solve.

He should have insisted. He should have kept asking.

“When I woke up, really as myself and not full of rage or catatonic, they were already there. Talia meant well, she only wanted to help.”

Barbara kept silent for a while, let her gaze drift to the blood on the ground, the guns on the table and the take-out food on the mattress. Jason hadn’t been handling things well in the last weeks.

“In winter,” she spoke up suddenly, “when Dick and I were young, Bruce used to cover us with his wings on observation missions because we, young and stupid, refused to put on the ugly winter uniforms. The two of us could fit right beneath one wing with still so much space left over.”

Jason remembered that. Bruce always covered Jason with his wings every time he felt like he had an excuse for it. There was no word to describe the warmth Jason had felt then.

“What do you want, Oracle?”

Barbara crossed her arms, still the perfect picture of resistance.

“I need you to come home and work with us. We’re missing three of our heavy hitters and Dick’s busy trying to reign in Damian half the time they’re on patrol. You feel ashamed of these wings? Then do something worthwhile with them. I need to be able to count on you and I need you to actually cover us. This city’s never been alright when even one of us is gone.”

Alright. Okay.

Jason could understand desperation. You didn’t claw your way out of your coffin simply because you felt like it. He could do this.

He had to.

[lokis-daughter-fic]

Loki’s Daughter Chapter 4: Healing

A heavy feeling of dread began to fall over Loki. He had no idea how he would save Kuna. He had no food for her. He supposed he could melt some snow and ice for water, but he would need a container to put it in. He sat down cross-legged and concentrated his seidr on his pocketverse. He was sure he must have saved a pot or pan or bowl or something over the centuries and tucked it away in there. He imagined a pot in his mind, focusing hard on the thought.

           Before him, a gold-plated but dented pan appeared in his hands. He chuckled as he remembered why he had hidden this Asgardian dish in his pocket. Nearly a thousand years ago, when he and Thor were children themselves, they had been playing around in the palace near the kitchens.

The chefs and servants hated them being down there because they were always causing a ruckus. One particular cook despised Loki. She hated Loki more because he would pinch apple tarts fresh off the trays and Thor would tattle on him. She would chase Loki away, wielding this, her favorite cooking pan, and Thor would get an apple tart as a treat for telling on him.

           He remembered one day, he and Thor were messing around in the kitchens again and being chased by old Igassok – Loki called her ‘Iggy’ and she hated it. She had seen Loki, not Thor, which is why she was following after him, thinking he was down there stealing again.

The brothers both hid in the washroom, behind some barrels holding soap powders and water. Despite her obvious hatred for Loki, they both thought that being chased by her was a fun game. Like being chased by some hulking frost giant with a great club.

She burst into the washroom. The two boys flattened out against the floor behind the barrels. Her heavy footsteps crossed the room. Loki could see her shadow on the floor in the light of the doorway. She walked up to the great washbasin which was filled to the brim with dirty water and dishes.

“Hmm,” she muttered. “Must be seeing things.”

She turned and left the room. They could hear her asking the other servants outside if they’d seen anything. Thor had gotten them all flogged so many times for tattling to father whenever he caught them stealing some of the Palace’s food, that they wouldn’t tell Iggy anything against either of the princes, even if she smacked them upside the head with her pan.

The princes let out their breath and laughed at the old woman as her voice faded away into the next room. Now stuck in the washroom for at least a few minutes while Iggy did a lap around the kitchens, they stared at each other.

“What now?” Loki asked Thor.

He shook his head. “Don’t know.” Looking around, his eyes landed on the pile of dishes above them. Thor smiled at his brother.

“Truth or dare?”

Loki smiled back. “Sure.”

“You first,” Thor said.

Loki was taken aback. His brother never let him go first at anything.

“Truth,” he said, cautiously.

“Why are you so scared of Iggy?”

“That’s easy! She beats me with her pan all the time and father never believes me!”

“You’re just a baby,” Thor teased and quickly followed with, “Okay, my turn. Dare.”

“I am not a baby,” Loki said. “That thing is made of celestial copper! It hurts! She’s already put a dent in it with my head. I still have the bump, look!” He tried to show his brother.

“Whatever,” Thor said, flippantly. “Dare me.”

“Um,” Loki looked around, trying to think of something mean to dare his brother to do to get back at him. He smiled, cunningly. “Fine, then,” he said. “I dare you to steal Iggy’s pan.”

Thor gasped and then smiled dastardly, happily taking up the dare to rob that old hag. Loki grinned. If Thor pulled it off, he would have done something bad and Loki could tell mother on him. That would get him in trouble for sure. On top of it, Iggy wouldn’t have that old pan to beat him with anymore.

“I accept,” Thor said, haughtily.

“Alright, then. Go get it.”

“Fine, I will.”

“Fine, I’ll be in my room.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

They both snuck out of the room. Loki made a beeline for then nearest exit while Thor made his way through the kitchen after Iggy. Loki had no doubt that his brother would get the pan. He had his ways of convincing people to do what he wanted. Loki was going to sit and wait for his plan to take effect.

Half an hour later, Thor returned to their room with the pan.

“See,” he said, showing Loki. “I told you.”

“Well done,” Loki said, taking it from him.

Thor grinned at him and then bolted out the door, flying down the hallway.

“Father! Father! Loki stole Iggasok’s pan from the kitchens!” he screamed as he fled down the hallway.

Loki panicked. He looked around the room for a place to hide the pan. Maybe, if father couldn’t find the evidence, he would abandon any punishment he could think of for his youngest son. Loki scrambled around the room, testing the best hiding spots but found nothing good enough.

Then, he remembered his mother teaching him about pocketverses. She had only shown him once how to do it. He had had trouble accessing the pocket ever since. After becoming frustrated with it, he just abandoned it. But now, he needed it more than ever. No one, not even the Allfather, could access someone else’s pocketverse. This was his answer, but he was running out of time.

It wouldn’t take long for Thor to reach the court chambers and rouse their father from some meeting with dusty, old men to punish Loki. He plopped down on the floor, pan in hand, and thought with all his might for it to disappear. He moved his hands in the circular motion mother had showed him, but it didn’t work.

Panicking, he tried again and again. He could hear footsteps approaching the doorway. He knew telling the truth would not save him. The truth meant telling father they were down in the kitchens where they should not have been, antagonizing Iggy. The truth meant telling father they were playing some silly game instead of studying or sparring in the courtyard. The truth meant telling father that Loki had tried to get Thor in trouble.

He concentrated as hard as he could, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Go away, go away,” he muttered, making the circular gesture over and over again.

“Loki?” Odin called from the doorway.

His eyes opened. The pan was gone. It wasn’t in his lap anymore. He looked up at his father. Thor was standing by his side, beaming.

“Yes, father?” Loki said, trying to act calm.

“Were you down in the kitchens?” he asked, gruffly. “Did you steal Iggasok’s pan?”

“No, father. I’ve been in here all afternoon…” he said, trying to act as innocent as possible. “I’ve been reading.”

“Is that so?” his father asked, raising the brow above his golden eyepatch.

“Yes, sire. I’ve been reading about dragons today. Did you know that thousands of planet systems have dragons?” he stalled. “And - and there are hundreds, if not thousands, of different species on each planet? That has to be billions of types of dragons all over the universe!”

“Mmm, yes, I suppose so,” Odin muttered. He wasn’t listening to him. Loki watched as his icy, blue eye searched the room. He walked in and passed Loki on the floor. He opened the hamper and looked inside but found nothing. “Where’s your book?” he asked, continuing to interrogate Loki.

“Oh, it’s over here,” Loki said. Thankfully, it wasn’t a complete lie. He loved reading The Natural History of Dragons. It was one of his favorites. He picked it up from the bedside table and brought it to his father.

Odin took it from him and flipped through the pages, but he wasn’t looking at them. He was looking for another place Loki could have hidden the stolen pan. Thor was pretending to play with his toy warriors in the corner.

Odin closed the book and shoved it into Loki’s chest, striding over to the box where they put their toys. Thor looked pleased. He caught Loki’s eyes as their father’s back was turned and stuck out his tongue at him. Loki made an ugly face back at him.

“Loki,” his mother said from the doorway. Her sudden appearance made him jump. Odin straightened up from the toybox, letting the lid fall. “Don’t make faces at your brother,” she said. It wasn’t much of a scold as a reminder.

“Sorry, mother,” Loki said, looking down at his feet.

“Did you lose something in the toybox, my love?” she addressed Odin. He turned and looked at her, weighing his own options. Did he risk antagonizing a mother’s wrath for such a minor fault of Loki’s or simply drop the subject?

“Mmm, no,” he grumbled and walked by, striding out the door to return to his business. Thor’s jaw dropped in bewilderment at his father’s quick abandonment of Loki’s juryless trial and sweet punishment.

“Thor, darling, close your mouth. It’s not very princely of you,” Frigga said with smirk at her eldest son. She looked down at Loki and winked at him. He looked back at Thor and grinned. It felt so good to see Thor’s plan be thwarted. And even if Loki’s hadn’t gone exactly as planned, he had still silently won this round against his brother.

Loki chuckled to himself as he stared at the pan in his hands in the diamond cave. The fondness of the memory was quickly overtaken by a hollow feeling in Loki’s chest. Now, his brother and father wanted nothing to do but kill him or lock him away. And he would probably never see his mother again.

He shook his head and stood, pan in hand. He looked down at Kuna. He hoped he could quickly get outside and back again without her waking. He waved his hand at the candlelight above, commanding it to stay put this time as he walked through the passageway. He dipped the pan into the snow that had built up nearest the entrance. He didn’t dare try to go out into the open again, lest those snowmen still be guarding the entrance. Taking a small handful of snow for himself, he tasted it, ensuring that there was a zero percent alcohol content this time.

Satisfied, he returned to Kuna. He sat a few meters away from her and put the pan on the floor. The snow began to melt immediately from the warmth of the floor, but Loki would have preferred to boil it first. He conjured up some old linens and pieces of blank parchment from his pocket and built a small fire, this time without blowing himself up in the process.

Once the fire was crackling, he set the pan over it, careful not to snuff it out. He stared into the flames for a while as he waited for the water to boil. He glanced over at Kuna. Rising to his feet, he carefully picked her up and brought her closer to the fire.

She did not wake this time. He watched her chest. There was no movement for a moment and Loki felt a pang of panic and then guilt. Then, her chest rose in a long but shallow breath. She did not have much time. He concentrated once more and tried to summon any sort of food from his pocket, but his hands came up empty.

He dropped his hands in his lap. How was he going to nurse her back to health without any food? He closed his eyes. He needed something to heal her but he had nothing. He was not trained in healing magic, relying more on potions and ingredients or his healing factor for himself in the past. As he sat there, thinking, he felt something cool fall into his hands and opened his eyes. The bottle of blood he had extracted from the kapka on Torileena glinted in his hands.

“That’s it!” he said and flinched, covering his mouth with his hand and looking at Kuna. She did not stir. He sighed, relieved.

He conjured his alembic, a mortar and pestle, and the kapka claws he had taken as well. Kuna’s moron masters had said they could both be used to create healing potions. Loki just had to make a refined composite of the two.

The water was boiling now. He took it from the fire and set it aside to cool. He poured the blood into the alembic and set it on its stand. Using the mortar and pestle, he ground the claws into a powder. For good measure, he conjured up some hawk feathers he had plucked from a very angry mother hawk and placed them in the mortar to grind in with them. The feathers were well known throughout the Realms for their healing properties.

He added the powder to the alembic with a small amount of water and attached the tube to it, angling it into another small vial to catch the composite. He waited. Slowly, the mixture began to bubble in the green glass base. It turned a rather gross shade of yellow. The vapors traveled up the spout and condensed in the bulb above it. The little droplets traveled down the tube and began to fill the container with the newly distilled mixture.

When the vial was full and all the mixture had been distilled, he took it over to Kuna. Gently propping up her head in his hand, he tried to wake her to drink the potion.

“Kuna,” he spoke softly. “Kuna?” Her eyes opened a little. “Here, I need you to drink this, it will make you feel better. No alcohol this time… I hope,” he added.

He tipped the vial to her lips and she drank from it. She swallowed a bit and made a sour face, pushing the vial away. It tasted awful; like rotten meat.

“I know it doesn’t taste very good, but you have to drink all of it.” Loki coaxed her with it again. She frowned but gave in and drank the rest in one big gulp.

“Agh!” Kuna gagged on the liquid but swallowed hard. Her whole body shuddered at the horrible taste. She tried not to heave. She did not want to get sick again. She closed her eyes and waited for the sensation to pass.

She felt a warmth begin to emanate through her body from her tummy. She closed her eyes and concentrated on this strange feeling. It traveled up from her chest, down her arms to her fingers and down from heart to her legs then toes. It felt good. Really good. Like she was being hugged by golden light.

“Mmm,” she breathed. A smile spread across her face. She did not want the feeling to stop.

“How do you feel, Kuna?” Loki asked her. He had been watching her, studying her for any signs of a negative reaction.

“I feel really, really good,” she said, slowly. Her eyes were still closed. Loki couldn’t help but smile back.

“Good,” he said. He was relieved.

“What was that?” Kuna asked. “It tasted really bad.”

“I’m sorry about the taste,” Loki replied. “Do you remember the kapka blood and claws I took from Torileena?”

Kuna gasped. “Are you a maker?”

“Uh. Um. I don’t know what that is. But I do have some skill as an alchemist. I just mixed up a little potion to heal you. I’m glad it worked so well.”

“Woah,” she said, quietly. No maker had ever paid any mind to her. “Thank you, sir.”

“Kuna, you don’t have to call me ‘sir’, remember? You can call me Loki.”

She smiled and looked down at her hands. Loki moved closer to her. He wanted to see if the bruises and cuts on her arms had healed as well. Out of habit, her body tensed. “May I see?” he asked, softly.

Her eyes darted around, unsure of what he meant. He gently took her arm and looked at the place where the chains had dug into her skin. The potion did seem to heal her wounds. The bruises had turned brown and yellow from the deep purples and blues they had been before. The cuts were scabbed and nearly healed. Even the chafing around her neck and wrists and ankles had diminished. He smiled at his work.

“Do these feel better?” he asked her, still examining them. He saw a small, silver scar peeking out of the top of the back of her shirt. He went to pull it down but she tore away.

“Y- Yes, si--, I mean, Loki. They feel b—better,” she stammered.

He turned his head. “Kuna, are you hurt somewhere else? Can I take off your shirt to see?”

She shook her head hard. “No, no, please, Loki,” she said, hugging herself and pulling her shirt over her knees and legs.

“Alright, alright, I won’t. You’re sure you’re not hurt?”

“No, sir. I’m not. I feel so much better. I’ve never felt this good before.”

“Well, alright, then,” he said. He was concerned about these scars he had seen but he did not want to push her. She was terrified of him still, he could see that. And why shouldn’t she be? She may not have seen it but he had been very close to killing her only a few hours prior.

“Well, why don’t you lie down and sleep for a while. You’ll need rest while that potion takes its full effect.”

“It gets better?” she asked in amazement.

Loki chuckled. “Yes, it does. Now, lay down.”

He conjured up another blanket for her and gave it to her. She made herself comfortable by the fire, curling up like a dog. She was nearly asleep when the wind howled loudly against the outside of the cave, creating horrifying, ghoulish echoes in the cavern. She jumped and ran over to Loki, curling up beside his leg.

He scooted over a little. “It’s fine,” he said, dismissively. “It’s just the wind outside.”

“Not the snowmen?”

“No, not the snowmen. At least, I don’t think so,” he replied.

Kuna was terrified. She looked up at Loki, wondering if he really thought it was the snowmen back to get them. He was no longer blue like he was before. His skin had returned to its normal, pale color.

“Loki?”

“Yes?”

“Why were you blue before?”

Loki’s expression fell flat. He did not wish to answer this question. It had taken him hours to completely shut out the voice in his head. He had built a brick wall around the locked pit in his mind to keep him in and now he could hear the echoes of his laugh once more.

“It’s no business of yours,” he said, gruffly.

“Oh,” Kuna flinched at his tone. “I’m sorry, Loki. I—I,” she trailed off. She didn’t mean to upset him.

She made herself comfortable beside him. He had moved a foot or so away from her but his proximity made her feel safer. She wrapped herself up in the blanket and fell asleep.

 Loki looked down at his hands. He should not have spoken to her that way. It wasn’t her fault. He should have been thanking her. If it weren’t for her, he’d probably been killed by the snowmen.

He was perplexed by her. He could still feel her magic in his own aura. He knew she had magic but she had been quick to dismiss it before. However, the spell she had used to destroy the snowmen was certainly powerful. Her reaction to it was what puzzled him the most. The painful howl that came from her still echoed in his ears.

In young ones her age, magic could manifest itself in strange ways, like making objects move without touching them; finding things you thought you’d lost; making things disappear and reappear without trying; those sorts of things. But what she had exhibited was far more powerful than simple parlor magic.

           His mother had been quick to notice Loki’s aptitude early on and helped him foster his abilities using seidr. Thor had had some aptitude with magic too, but Odin had seen that his abilities would be better concentrated with the use of an enchanted weapon. Thus, he had the dwarves forge Mjölnir for him for when he came of age.

           Loki, on the other hand, trained with his mother and learned to control his abilities and focus them with seidr - a magical system of spells, runes, and incantations - that allowed Loki the ability to have full mastery of his powers. He preferred seidr to weapons-based magic. The weapons were nice and all, but he preferred the flexibility of seidr. He did not have to have some fancy weapon to control his powers. He could use them whenever and wherever he wanted.

           Frigga had tried to teach Thor in seidr, but he had no interest in it. He spent those lessons swinging his enchanted toy hammer around, electrifying the air and making his and his mother’s hair stand up straight. Eventually, Frigga gave up and let Odin teach Thor with the hammer and focused her lessons on Loki. He had loved those lessons. Just him and his mother practicing magic together.

           Loki dozed a little, leaning back against the wall of the cave. He would wake for a moment, ensure Kuna was alright and that they were still alone, before dozing off again. After several hours, Kuna began to stir. She sat up in her blanket and yawned.

           “How do you feel?” Loki asked, half-expecting her to be hungover.

           “I feel good,” she said. She seemed confused and surprised. “I feel really good.”

           “Hmm,” Loki said, impressed by her resilience and his alchemical prowess. “Good,” he added. He made a mental note that kapka blood mixed with its claws and hawk feathers cured hangovers as well as made a decent healing potion.

           Kuna looked around at the diamond cave. She liked how the walls and columns sparkled in the firelight. The shadows of the crystalline stalactites and stalagmites danced on the walls. Loki followed her gaze.

           “Pretty incredible, huh?” he said. She nodded in awe.

           “Does this mean we’re rich?” she asked and then corrected herself, “I – I mean does this mean you’re rich?”

           Loki considered her question. He hadn’t really thought about it. On Asgard, and many of the other Nine Realms, diamonds were so abundant, they were hardly considered valuable. Only the stupidest of Midgardians had fallen for their people’s own ploy of giving them a price beyond their true value.

           “Do you think they’re worth something?” he asked her.

           She stared at him in consternation. Who would think that diamonds weren’t valuable? Was she wrong? Was it a trick question?

           “Well…” she said. “I think they are. Master Machaluci said his was the biggest in the whole universe. He put it in his chest, right here,” – she pointed at a spot below the collar on her neck to show him – “so everyone would see it and know that he was richer than them.”

           Loki chuckled a little. It sounded like her home-system was made up with beings a lot like the Midgardians he had come to despise.

           “Was he wrong?” she asked.

           “Well, I guess it depends on how your world, or worlds, rather, were formed,” he explained. “Where I come from, diamonds are like little pebbles on the street. They’re everywhere. On some of the other realms, they’ve been buried for a few million years but their perfectly discoverable with good equipment. I suppose we could take a few of these and jump to the next world to find out.”

           Kuna felt sick to her stomach at the thought of doing that again. Upon thinking of her stomach, it growled ferociously. The pains of hunger fled through her body. She wanted to fall over. She put her hands on her tummy and groaned.

           “I could get you something to eat there,” Loki said. “It won’t be a big jump, I promise. We can see the planet from outside.”

           “Really?” she asked.

           “Mmm hmm,” he said, nodding.

He stood and walked over to a low hanging stalactite. He inhaled through his nose and blew out hard through his mouth and struck the diamond with the butt of his palm. A crack burst through the diamond and a chunk twice the size of his head fell away with a thud that echoed around the room.

           Kuna was in awe at Loki’s strength. He picked up the chunk of diamond and made it disappear. Kuna’s eyes widened. He had done that magic before. He smirked at her.

           “Come on. Let’s get out of here. I despise snow planets” he said.

She hopped to her feet. She was no longer dizzy or tired. She thought this was the best she had felt in her whole life. Loki picked up the blanket and stored it away. Stamping out the fire, he cast another candlelight into the air, and it followed them as they walked.

“If it turns out the people on the next planet over think this is the most valuable thing in the world, we know where to come back,” he explained. Kuna trotted along beside him. They stopped in the icy room.              

“Look up there,” Loki said, pointing at the hole in the ceiling. “See that planet up there? See the little lights on it? That means there are civilized people there.”

“Oh.”

“Well,” Loki added. “Civilized enough to have harnessed electricity for themselves. The Midgardians have only just done that, and I would hardly call them civilized.”

Kuna had no idea what he was talking about, but he sounded like he knew what he was talking about, so she just nodded. He looked down at her.

“Ready?”

She grabbed his leg and held on tight.

“Good, we’ll do it from in here. I don’t think either of us want to go back outside with those snowmen,” he said. Kuna shook her head. That was the last thing she wanted to do.

Loki concentrated on the tesseract’s energy, “Do what I want this time,” he said, aloud.

Kuna heard him and looked up, confused. Had she not done something right? He didn’t look at her. Clouds of blue vapor swirled around them and they disappeared.

Reappearing on the other side, it was dark there too. Loki looked up at the sky and laughed.

“Ha!” he laughed. “Look at that! See? There’s the snowball planet.” He pointed at a place in the sky. Kuna followed the end of his finger with her eyes. It was hard for her to see it immediately but when her eyes focused, she could just make out a perfectly circular orb hovering in front of the stars. It was completely dark and the only way she knew it was there was from how it blocked out the stars behind it.

She looked back up at Loki. She was still a little disturbed by his comment. “Did—” she hesitated to ask, fearing his reaction. “Did I do something wrong?”

“Hmm?” Loki asked, looking down at her. “Oh! No, no. I wasn’t talking to you. Don’t worry.”

Kuna was a little worried. Who else was he speaking too? She was the only one with him, right?

Loki looked up again. “Ah! Look there,” he pointed. “A city.”

[365daysofsasuhina]

[ 365 Days of SasuHina || Day Thirty-Two: Find the Solution ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Uzumaki Naruto, Hatake Kakashi, Hyūga Hinata ] [ SasuHina, alcohol, vulgarity ] [ Verse: Best Years of Your Life ] [ AO3 Link ]

Having a few spare minutes before class, Sasuke idly goes over his homework for first period, dark eyes half-lidded and trying to catch any last-minute mistakes. So far, it all seems in order.

“Sasuke...Sasuke!”

“What is it, Naruto?”

The blond stumbles to his desk, the one just in front of his best friend, lurching into his seat with a panicked smile. His clothes are wrinkled and hair mussed. It’s like he just got out of bed… “Hey, uh...did you - did you finish last night’s homework?”

...does he really need to ask? Sasuke looks up over the brim of his held-aloft paper. “Of course I did.”

“Well...could I maybe just -?”

“No.”

“But -!”

“There’s not nearly enough time for you to copy the entire assignment...besides, maybe I’m a little tired of you copying me. What does it matter, anyway? If you just copy my work, you won’t actually learn it, and come test time, you’ll fail.” The Uchiha deadpans, squinting slightly. “You think the teacher doesn’t notice that pattern…? Maybe you should spend less time running around with those delinquent friends of yours after curfew and start doing your homework.”

“Hey, my friends aren’t delinquents!”

“Oh? What happened to the graffiti? The property damage? The sneaking into parents’ liquor cabinets? Because I highly doubt that’s all stopped on a dime.”

The tips of Naruto’s ears burn bright red, bristling with a hint of temper.

“Something tells me the son of the superintendent would face some pretty harsh punishments if his father found out…”

“Sasuke…”

“He can only make the troubled youth argument so many times, what with adulthood hurtling at you like a train. And what would your mother think?”

“OI!” Grabbing Sasuke by the shirt collar, Naruto lifts him straight out of his chair, a foot planted in his own. Around them, other students gasp and holler in surprise. “Shut yer trap!”

Sasuke just stares at him, scowling. “If I didn’t just prove my point...you wouldn’t have a reason to get so angry…!”

“I SAID SHUT IT!”

“All right boys, that’s enough.” Walking into the room nonchalantly, their first period teacher waves a hand. “Naruto, put Sasuke down. Sasuke, stop taunting Naruto. Can we have one day where it doesn’t start with a near-brawl?”

Mouth cut in a deep frown, blond brows furrowed sharply, Naruto breathes harshly through his nose. “...fine.” With a small shove, he releases his classmate and sits in one movement.

Resting hands atop his podium, Kakashi glances between them, looking thoughtful. “...actually, you know what? I think we’ve had enough pattern established, we need to do a little something about this.”

“Wait, what -?”

“I’m going to give you both detention.”

Sasuke bristles. “I didn’t -!”

“Ah ah ah, no arguing. I’ll talk to you both after class, and we’ll work something out. But I’m getting a little old to be dealing with your...shenanigans as often as I am. Maybe thinking that over this morning will get it through your heads, hm?”

Naruto doesn’t even answer, arms folded atop his desk and propping up his chin.

“Tch…” Aggravated, but doing his best to swallow his temper for now, Sasuke collapses back into his seat.

“First thing’s first: hand in your assignments, please. We’ll see how well you all did on that essay on chapters ten through fifteen. I’m sure you’ll have plenty of...interesting theories to keep me busy reading them tonight.”

Sasuke passes his up the row, noting that Naruto doesn’t even have a partially completed paper to turn in. Counting the stack he receives, Kakashi gives a brief glance to the blond before just sighing and moving on.

The rest of class passes like any other day - reading, discussion, debate...the usual. Sasuke doesn’t bother attempting to chime in, instead leaning his chin into a palm, elbow propped atop his desk and glaring out the window. Leave it to Naruto and his temper to drag him into trouble…

Once the hour block is over, the rest of their classmates file out, and the pair approach Kakashi’s desk. He leans back in his chair, a leg atop a knee, fingers woven. “...now, I’ll make this brief. Starting tomorrow, I’m moving you two apart. Naruto, you’ll be front and center...it’s clear you need space from Sasuke, and more proximity to your lessons.”

The blond just pouts.

“You’ll be spending some extra time with me for the rest of the week after your last class. Maybe then you’ll have papers to turn in. And you,” he goes on, turning to Sasuke. “It’s clear you need a little...interpersonal skill development. So you’ll also be spending some time here after school...but a little differently. I want you to tutor another student.”

“...what?”

“Any subject you want, but it’s clear you need practice in interacting with your fellow classmates.”

“More like I need practice getting away from him.”

“And you will. But your antagonizing nature isn’t going to get you very far. Stop lording yourself over someone you deem beneath you.”

They both then go to argue, but stop at a raised hand.

“...not that Naruto is - in fact, he’s not. You both have your faults. Best you learn how to deal with them now before we ship you off into the real world, hm? Because I promise you, this punishment is light. And if you two keep heading the way you’re headed...it will only get worse. So, let’s nip it in the bud, shall we? I’ll see you both after classes today. Naruto, prepare for some reading. Sasuke...be thinking about what subject you’ll be helping a fellow student with. Now get going - if you’re late, just have your teacher phone me. I’ll get you off the hook.”

With that, the pair take their leave, shooting each other dirty looks. “Nice going, jackass. Now we’re both suffering because of your temper,” Sasuke growls.

“Yeah? Like it wasn’t your high-and-mighty attitude that set if off in the first place, ya bastard? Shove off…”

Thankfully the rest of their mornings are spent apart in different classes. And Sasuke spends all of his dreading the last bell. Tutoring someone? Is Kakashi serious…? He’s never done that sort of thing, he doesn’t know how! And knowing his luck, he’ll end up with some moron that won’t know anything about anything.

But at least by the end of the day, he’s made up his mind. He’ll do math. Simple math. Surely some algebra will be easy enough to explain to someone, right? While all his subjects are relatively easy for him...he’d rather keep it to something with one set answer. Read the problem, find the solution. A to B, and...well, whatever steps end up in between.

Naruto’s already seated at a desk when he arrives, Kakashi sat atop his own with a foot in a chair. “Ah, there you are. Found a subject?”

“...algebra.”

“Good, good - there’s a study hall in the library every day after class! Go find someone who needs it, and bring them back here. I’ll be supervising.”

Expression anything but elated, Sasuke does as asked. He’d had no idea there was a study hall...he always goes straight home after class. Working his way in, he glances around, seeing various groups and pairs seated at the tables within.

A senior girl glances to him, asking what he needs. “I, uh…” Ugh, how embarrassing… “...I’ve got a temporary detention assignment to tutor someone in algebra. Mr. Hatake wants it in his room, though.”

“Oh, perfect! You know, we’re always looking for more tutors! Let me ask and see who’d like to go with you - wait right here.”

Watching her go, Sasuke sighs. He doesn’t even get to pick them? Great. Leaning against the wall beside the door, there’s about a minute of quiet before she comes back, another girl in tow. “Here we are! This is Hinata Hyūga. She came here looking for algebra help. Think that will work?”

He gives her an appraising look. There’s a vague recognition - they’re in the same year, he remembers. And her body language looks reserved. Quiet. Hopefully she’ll be tolerable. “...sure.”

“All right! Thanks so much for lending a hand.”

Wanting to retort that he doesn’t have any choice, Sasuke swallows down the words and instead mutters, “C’mon” before opening the door.

“...so...where are we going?”

“Mr. Hatake’s literature classroom. Naruto got my ass in trouble, so I have to tutor someone in his room every day for a week.” He doesn’t elaborate any further.

“Oh...so just until Friday?”

“Yup.”

“You won’t - y-you won’t keep going after that?”

“I doubt it. I have my own studies to tend to.”

“Oh...t-that makes sense.”

Dark eyes give her a glance. Sure, she looked quiet, but stuttering, too? Maybe he should have got someone a little less...nervous.

“Well...I still appreciate the help. I had to miss a few weeks of class, so...I’m pretty behind.”

“How come?”

“I...I was sick.”

The reply sounds fabricated, and Sasuke perks a brow...but doesn’t pry. “...well, okay then. We’ll see how far you can get in a week. Then someone else can take over.”

He opens the door for her, earning a look up from Kakashi. “Hello there, Hinata!”

“Hello, Mr. Hatake.”

“Here to help Sasuke learn some manners?”

Her head tilts, clearly confused as said Uchiha just scowls and moves to the opposite corner of the room. “C’mon, let’s get started.”

There’s a brief pause...and then she follows. “What, um...what did he mean by that…?”

“Naruto wanted to copy my homework. I said no, told him to do his own, and to stop being an idiot after school. He got mad, tried to start a fight...and we both got in trouble. Now Kakashi thinks I need some interpersonal practice.”

Large pale eyes blink, clearly not expecting his explanation. “I...I-I see.”

“In short, let’s just...sit and do some math, okay? The sooner we get through this week, the sooner I can get back to my own damn schedule…”

There’s a slight wilt of her brow...but then she sits in the desk beside him. “So...I missed eight whole chapters while I was...sick. I’ve started the first one, but um...I haven’t gotten very far.”

“That’s okay. We’ll just...do what we have to.”

It doesn’t take Sasuke long to realize...he got very lucky with her. She’s quiet, yeah...but attentive, watching his pen and glancing up to listen to his lesson. Her handwriting is neat, if not a little small...and though she asks plenty of questions, they manage to move pretty quickly. It’s clear she’s not dumb...she just fell behind because she was...sick.

He’s really tempted to ask, but...well, that would be showing interest. And he’s not interested. All Sasuke wants is to get through these five hours without any additional stress or lost time.

With their desks put side by side, and the two of them poring over the same book...he can’t help but eventually realize they’re leaned in rather close together. Hinata has to do so in order to see his demonstrations, and he to check her work. More often than not, their shoulders brush.

...and he can smell her shampoo. Something with lavender in it…it’s actually really -

Okay, whoa, hold up.

No. No!

He actually sits up and back as it hits him, taking a deep breath and furrowing his brow. Thankfully she doesn’t notice, in the middle of attempting a problem and hunched over her paper.

Staring at her as though she’s suddenly sprouted a second head, Sasuke blinks. He...he didn’t just think that, right? He doesn’t even really know this girl! Sure, they’ve probably spoken once or twice, but...otherwise they’re practically strangers. And since when did he start smelling people’s hair?

...well, granted, most people can’t get that close to him. He doesn’t let them. But...well, it’s a little unavoidable at the moment. And for some reason it just hadn’t really...come to his attention. He hadn’t noticed. How did he not notice? He’s so particular about his space!

“...uh, Sasuke…?”

Eyes snapping to her face, he sees her looking to him. “...done?”

“Yeah.”

This time, he scoots her paper toward him, maintaining a little distance and glancing over cautiously before looking over her process. Another one done right. “...looks good.” Back over slides the paper.

“All right you three. I think that’s enough for tonight. Same time, same place tomorrow...until Friday. Thank you again, Hinata, for letting Sasuke torture you.”

She gives a sheepish smile. “Oh, t-that’s okay. We’re making good progress!”

“Oh? Good. Hopefully in more than one regard.”

Ignoring the man, Sasuke takes up his bag, moving his desk back into place before abandoning the room at top speed.

Something’s wrong with him.

“Sasuke, w-wait!”

He gives her a glance as she jogs to catch up.

“Um...I know maybe you won’t want to, since this is...temporary. But would it be okay if - if I emailed you when I get stuck? I’ll try not to, but -”

“Yeah, that’d be fine.”

“...o-oh!”

Taking out a pen, he scribbles his address along the corner of her notebook. “I keep my email open when I’m home, anyway.”

“Thank you so much! Hopefully I won’t have to bother you - I-I’ll try not to. Um...see you tomorrow!” Waving, she jogs ahead and out of sight.

...what...did he just do?

Watching her go, he has to restrain himself from slapping a palm to his brow. He didn’t even hesitate! He just...gave it to her! Told her it was fine! It’s not fine!

...is it?

“Better get headed home, Sasuke. Don’t forget: you’ve got five more chapters to read and report on by Friday.”

Startling at Kakashi’s voice beside him, Sasuke dusts pink in reflexive embarrassment at being caught off-guard. “Y-yeah, just...whatever.”

“See you tomorrow!”

Scowling, Sasuke stuffs hands in his pockets and actually turns around to find another exit. He doesn’t want to run into her again. Not today.

….the hell is wrong with you, Sasuke?

     All right, here we go into February! And with a rather longer-than-usual piece, huzzah!      Poor Sasuke, getting dragged into trouble...though to be fair, he WAS the one who started it...even if he had a point. But hey, it seems that maybe he's not as upset about his punishment now as when he started ;3c Maybe this week won't be so bad!      But yeah, that'll do it for today! Thanks for reading!

[pinkettepoet]

In Which Healing Takes Two

Summary: hun, could i request a shadowhunters raphael x reader? in which she's built a wall around herself and keeps from loving others cause she feels she isn't enough and no one will ever truly love her. but raphael has always noticed her and ever little thing about her makes him fall for her even more. when he confesses to her, she rejects him, hurting both of them. but he soon finds out from izzy that she really does love him and when they talk, the reader opens up about her depression and anxiety. but it ends all fluffy when he admits that he truly loves and supports her no matter what. and he genuinely cares for her and they get together

Request: by the lovely, @slowly-but-shurley.

Warnings: Raphael Santiago x Reader, Angst, Fluff Ending.

Note: I came back with a bang! I hope you all enjoyed this and forever know that you are undeniably valid in this world. Anyone who says otherwise can go sashay away.

Why did it hurt to breathe?

It was as if you wanted every breath to be your last one. Every day, the pain led to the numbness spiraling in your soul and there was absolutely nothing you could do except revel in the cruelty of life.

Empty. Broken. Lifeless. It was rather ironic that the only thing you could feel tore you apart. Ironic, but disgustingly painful.

That was life for you; an endless loop of questionable life decisions and pitiful thoughts.

How lovely.

“So, I’m going out for pizza with Raphael tonight.” Isabelle Lightwood was probably the only thing constant in your life. She was a friend as she was a distraction from your messed up life. “Do you want to come?”

“Raphael?” You asked timidly as you watched the scenery outside.

“Raphael Santiago, silly.” Izzy laughed — one of the many endearing qualities of hers. From the corner of your eye, you could see her trying on some leather jackets. “You met him last year.”

“I don’t remember.” You shrugged with a heavy sigh. At the moment, your mind resembled a Stygian forest — dark, hollow, and aimless. You didn’t really want to exert any effort to wander out of the bottomless pit of nothingness.

“Pale, handsome, tall, a bit of a drama queen,” Isabelle listed with a sly smile on her face. “Oh, and a Vampire, too.”

“Okay.”

Then you finally realized who he was. But, of course, you wouldn’t have chosen those words to describe him. You would have said he was unrealistically beautiful despite his bloodthirsty tendencies.

Raph was your friend for a thousand different reasons. One of which you felt comfortable around him. For some reason, both of you became better around each other.

Your thoughts went downhill the moment you considered the end to the aforementioned friendship. And there it was, the son of a bitch you identified as depression.

Funnily enough, you did end up going with Isabelle that night. Dressed in this morning’s sweater and baggy jeans, you were ready to find some closure before the next wave of anxiety hit you.

Like always, you weren’t bothered by the stiff, cold air of the night. It must be because you were used to the freezing chill the emanated from your vacuous body. Ah, agony nurtured you into a pathetic poet.

You reached the remote diner quickly than you thought you would. Since there weren’t many people hanging around, it was quite easy to spot your pearlescent friend.

“Fancy seeing you here, princess.” Raphael engulfed you in a tight hug once you reached him — the familiar sweet scent bringing you a taste of calmness. He dipped his head closer to you, “You look beautiful.”

“Thanks,” You deadpanned, sliding into the booth beside Izzy. “It’s the I just got out of bed look.”

“And somehow you still managed to look breathtaking.” Raphael winked.

The night was filled with subtle flirtatious hints, gigantic slices of pizza, and overused jokes that were kind of hilarious. All of which you were mentally absent for.

You closed the night out with a slow chomp of your pizza. The next moment, you were ahead of the others, already taking your place outside into the moonlight abyss.

Crickets and blaring horns greeted you right away. This was your home, you thought. A cacophony of a darkened city. Coincidentally, that was the exact description of your mind.

“Y/N!”

Looking behind you, you saw Raphael jogging towards you with a hint of a smile playing around on his lips. He furrowed his eyebrows for a second in question, “Aren’t you cold?”

“No, I’m used to it anyways.” You answered promptly. “Where’s Izzy?”

“She went to the girls’ room for a minute.” Raphael fiddled with his fingers for a few moments before taking a deep breath. “Listen, I wanted to ask you something.”

“Go ahead,” You replied. For some reason, you didn’t want to meet his gaze. There was something about his words that sent your heart pounding quicker in nervousness.

“Do you want to go out tomorrow night?” He finally asked, his voice quivering at some words at the end. The real question was the whereabouts of his usual confidence.

“We just went did today,” You acknowledged dismissively with a quizzical raise of your eyebrows.

“No, I-I,” Raphael began to stammer. The pressure levels filling up his entire being. Nonetheless, he soldiered through the upcoming embarrassment with a brave front. “I meant a date. Wi-Will you go on a date with me tomorrow night.”

He was asking you out. It was the very thing you feared most of all: a deep relationship. No. You couldn’t allow it. It was better if you’d go through the pain now then later. The heartbreak would be even antagonizing.

“No, no, no, no, no.” You were panicking. The thought of leaving him broke every inch of your dignity, at the same time you didn’t know what to do. You didn’t want to ruin him but you didn’t want to feel pain again. “I’m sorry. I just can’t.”

Selfishly, you ran away. Leaving the only person who could keep you sane in this horrid life.

“How could you just reject him like that?”

“There was no rejection involved whatsoever.” You replied idly the next day when Isabelle barged into your room, interrupting your session staring at the ceiling.

“You really broke his heart, Y/N.” She said, in a tone similar to the way a mother would scold her child for impish behavior.

“You would know a lot about that, don’t you, Isabelle?” You muttered aimlessly, tragically wanting to be left alone with your malevolent thoughts.

“Excuse me, what?”

“I said,” You sat upright now, heat coursing through your veins. “You seem to know a lot about Raphael’s heartbreak. Speaking from experience?”

Izzy gasped in shock, it was definitely unexpected coming from you. Nonetheless, she kept her composure. “Listen, I don’t know what you’re going through—”

“That’s the thing! Nobody knows and it’s driving me crazy.” You began to shout, not even knowing if you were understandable. “I’m so scared, Izzy. Everyone I love is going to leave me. I just-I just thought that if I kept to myself, it would hurt a lot less. But I’m losing my goddamn mind, and I’m scared.”

All this pent-up feeling, these thoughts finally voiced into words, it made an impact on you. To have finally shared these fears, it felt like an escape. A haven that you wished for since time and time again.

Isabella wasted no time in wrapping you in a tight hug. “Oh, darling, why didn’t you tell me this before?”

“Because I was a coward.”

“Raphael, I am so sorry.”

After the next few hours, you took it upon yourself to get up from the bed and meet up with Raphael at the local park that evening. You stayed in a secluded area, sitting beside him on a bench where not many people could see you. Though it was quite awkward so you broke the silence with an apology.

“No, it’s okay. It’s my fault.” He said, keeping his eyes forward — though it really was hurting him to not look at you.

“No, Raph, I was scared.” You managed hesitantly. You were worried and panicking again at the thought of expressing some of the things that haunted you every day. It was frightening to the point your fingers started to shake.

As you tried to calm your newfound quickened breathing and jittering leg, you spoke with even more croaky words. “Raphael, I–I–”

Suddenly, you were tearing up. The fogginess in your eyes brought you panic. Then you couldn’t feel your fingers. You were trying to breathe but you just couldn’t. Raphael didn’t notice your panic attack until you were sobbing loudly, desperately clawing at your chest to find peace.

His voice was lost in the sea of your vicious thoughts and incoherent cries of help. You were panting, inhaling more air than you should. You closed your eyes, trying to bask in the comfort of anything, but your fear of the darkness betrayed you.

Was this the end?

Or was this the sign that you could never experience happiness or forgiveness?

Either way, you were ready to give up. To shut down. To forever succumb to the inevitability of sorrow and despair, the absolute demon clamoring to take over your mind.

But then you heard his voice. The familiar calming baritone of his that comforted you no matter what. For whatever reason, or decision of fate, you somehow heard Raphael. Just him.

And he was saying, “Come on, princess. Breathe for me. It’s okay. I’m right here. I’m never leaving you. Just breathe for me, please.”

Although it brought you back to the horrid reality in which the pain festered in your chest, his voice was a change from the menacing inside voice that tormented you. Shaking your head violently, “S–s–so p–p–painful. . . I c–c – can't.”

You felt his arms wrap around you. His natural iciness seemed to disappear, and instead, he was actually warming you up. He was stroking your hair, whispering the sweetest of words.

Time began to speed up. Before you knew it, you had calmed down. Only the faint noise of the city sounds and your sniffles could be heard. After hours of just staring at the night sky, laying on Raphael’s chest, you whispered, “Raph, why does it hurt so much to breathe?”

“I wonder the exact same thing,” Raphael replied just as softly, never ceasing to massage your head. “But suddenly, I don’t feel lonely anymore.”

Taking a deep breath, “I’m sorry for everything. This emotional baggage. The mess. Everything. I’m so sorry.”

He paused his hand movements, tenderly placing his head on top of yours. “You don’t have to be sorry for anything. It’s life. I won’t love you any less because of this.”

“You love me?” You asked.

He hugged you a little tighter. “Ever since I met you and every little thing about you.”

“Will you stay with me, Raph?” You burrowed deeper into his hold, happily drowning in his scent. Today was a hell of an emotional rollercoaster, but thank heavens that it ended on a somewhat good note.

“Forever.”

Suddenly, breathing didn’t hurt as much.

(shadowhunters tag list: @slowly-but-shurley)

[matrixaffiliate]

Like the Storybooks

Co-written with @hufflepuffmarlenemckinnon

FFN and AO3

Chapter 3

Marlene tried, in vain, to shake off the prickling feeling at the back of her neck that came with the suspicion she was being followed.

But that morning, as Marlene walked with Lady Emmeline towards breakfast, she was sure someone was trailing them.

She didn't care for this, not in the least bit. Marlene had spent the better part of her life doing exactly as she pleased. Her parents loved her and she was of very little political use growing up. Now she was so politically relevant James brought her here for her safety, and she was keenly aware of what the implications of that were. She made a mental note to carry her mother's knife with her.

Finally, Marlene couldn't take it anymore and she spun around and stood still, staring down the corridor. This was ridiculous! She refused to be toyed with this way.

“My Lady?” Emmeline looked at her curiously. Lady Emmeline, her lady in waiting, was a lovely black haired woman, one of Lily's Ladies originally, and Marlene took to her right away. She was sharp, with a keen eye, and Marlene had already decided the Lady was invaluable.

Marlene tried to think straight, to push away the complicated web of emotion that spun knots around itself and all her present thoughts. She supposed that was the nature of going from a beloved daughter of two healthy parents to an orphan in a matter of days. Then there was the matter of being uprooted from her home and placed at court for the sake of politics. There were more people here than Marlene had ever seen gracing the halls of her childhood home, but still, she felt so alone that sometimes the cracks in the mask she wore felt more like giant cavernous weak spots that anyone, friend or foe, might be able to see.

Breathe.

“I do believe, Lady Emmeline, that I heard footsteps.” Marlene proclaimed loudly and clearly, not bothering to look at Emmeline as she spoke.

Emmeline, bright girl she was, seemed to catch on and turned to speak down the corridor. “Should we go and see if they'd like to accompany us?”

Marlene went to answer when a man nearly as tall as Sir Sirius from the day before casually turned the corner.

“Good morning, Ladies,” he nodded as he walked towards them.

“Good morning, Sir,” Marlene nodded. He had dark brown hair and a tan complexion. He would have looked warm, but there was something about the way he looked at her that made Marlene turn cold.

“I am Bartemius, Viscount Crouch, son and heir to the Earl of Contumelia.” His eyes moved up and down her form and Marlene straightened. Outranking people had never really mattered before, learning the order of precedence was merely a game she played with her mother growing up. At that very moment, however, Marlene felt it necessary to use her rank to her full advantage. She was not required to introduce herself.

“Lord Crouch,” she said his name as if it were a type of pestilence before taking Emmeline's arm. “If you'll excuse us.”

She turned heel, pulling Lady Emmeline along with her, and walked pointedly and quickly away, but she couldn’t shake the skin crawling sensation of Lord Crouch’s stare until they turned the corner.

Unfortunately, they turned right into Lord Lockhart.

“Your Grace!” He bowed deeply before smiling up at her. “You outshine the sun today and every day.”

Marlene huffed, she just wanted breakfast!

“Good morning, Lord Lockhart,” she pulled Emmeline past him and Marlene barely restrained herself from stomping in his foot when he turned the follow her.

“Allow me the pleasure of escorting you to breakfast, your Grace,” he moved to take her arm and Marlene pointedly pulled Emmeline with her as she sidestepped his attempt.

“If you must,” she gritted out through clenched teeth.

“I must,” he nodded as he walked alongside them. Marlene could scream.

He only just opened his mouth to let more unwanted words out into the unsuspecting air, when two men approached them, bringing with them a temporary ceasefire in Lord Lockhart’s frontal assault upon Princess Marlene’s nerves.

“Lord Lockhart,” one of them nodded, “we see you've had a chance to meet her Grace, do introduce us.” He didn't even look at her.

“Of course,” Lockhart smiled the smile Marlene had referred to as the courtiers’ smile as a child. This was an expression that a noble lord or lady might put on when they felt a burning compulsion to be contrary but still had to conduct themselves politely. She'd perfected the art, except no one could tell when she wore it now as it was the only one she wore. The two people who knew the difference were cold in the ground. Marlene steeled her will and buried that thought deeper for the moment, turning her attention to Lockhart as he introduced the pair of idiots.

“Your Grace, may I present Lord Wilhelm and Lord Maybry?” Lord Lockhart’s ill regard for the two gentlemen was immediately apparent, as he'd given her no indication of what titles they held or really who they were at all aside from their surnames.

“Charmed,” Marlene nodded before pulling Emmeline past them. If she could eat she could sort this out in her head instead of losing her composure.

Then the beautiful, wonderful, Lady Emmeline came to her rescue.

“Are you looking forward to breaking your fast with their Majesties this morning, M’Lady?”

Of course! She was granted an audience with the King, but none of these jesters had been invited!

“I quite am,” Marlene gave Emmeline's arm a grateful squeeze. Then they were at the Royal quarters and she turned to the three unwanted courtiers following them.

“If you'll excuse me, I've been given invitation to break fast with their Majesties.” She noticed a flicker of brown hair near the end of the corridor but ignored it as she turned and pulled Emmeline into the room behind her before letting the door slam.

She wrapped Emmeline in a hug. “You are the best and brightest lady and I owe you a great deal for that.”

“It was my pleasure, M’Lady.” Emmeline was stiff and Marlene chuckled at how proper Emmeline was around her cousin and his wife. Marlene had known James when he was still playing fairies in the gardens with her. It would be a real struggle for her to show him the level of respect and deference that he was entitled to as anointed King.

“Still slamming doors?” James groaned. “Marly you've been here less than two days and I'm already sure I'll be replacing every door in this castle.”

Marlene turned to see James and Lily and Sir Sirius seated at the table. “If you'd produce an heir I'd not have reason to slam doors in unwelcome courtiers’ faces. They're multiplying!” She fell into her chair and pressed her palm to her forehead. “Lockhart is bad enough on his own, but I had one trailing along behind me in the shadows first thing, and then two idiots who didn't even bother to look at me when they demanded Lockhart introduce them to me! James this is absolutely ridiculous! Can't you tell them all you're promising me to someone? Preferably someone who doesn’t actually exist? Or someone who's looking for a Lady in appearances only?”

Sir Sirius coughed a laugh at her last comment and Marlene looked up, only to be met by the laughter in his eyes. She'd never seen such eyes before. They were grey like a stormy sky when thunder rolls through it. Grey eyes; like the rain pelting the glass and iron of her window in her childhood bedroom. Those grey eyes pulled her in with such a force that she barely managed to conceal her jump of surprise at James’ voice. She made a show of readjusting in her chair. Her first impression had been right; Sir Sirius was the best looking man she'd ever seen.

“Marly, they'd see right through that, and given the state of things it wouldn't be a wise thing to do politically.”

Marlene turned sharply, “What do you mean, given the state of things?”

James sighed, “It's nothing to alarm you. There are some nobles getting ideas of grandeur. I don't want to promise you to someone and have the Court start panicking or acting rashly in any direction. Now is not the time to make waves.”

“That was vague,” Marlene raised her eyebrows at him. It was hard to adjust to James as her King and not her ten-year-old best friend.

“It doesn't really concern you,” Sir Sirius commented lightly.

Marlene eyed him, “Like it or not, until Her Majesty gives us a healthy prince or princess, I am the only heir this kingdom has. I'd argue that makes it very much my business.”

“Marly, it isn't anything to be worried about.” James cut in. “And Sirius please don't antagonize my cousin, really she's as bad as you.”

Sir Sirius smirked, “Doubtful.”

James looked out the window and sighed. “We'd best be off, Sirius.” He leaned over and kissed Queen Lily, pulling away reluctantly.

“Please don't eat any of the members of Court, Marly.” James chuckled as he and Sirius walked out the door.

Marlene shook her head, “Where does he come off?”

“Well,” the Queen laughed, “you've known James forever so I'd imagine you’re referring to Sir Sirius?”

“I'm sure he's a decent fellow, for James to keep him so close, and all. Remind me, how did he and James meet?”

“Sirius is his cousin on his mother’s side. I understand he is an illegitimate son of the late Queen’s brother.” Lily picked up her goblet and brought it to her lips.

Marlene stared at her. Whoever this man was, he was no cousin to James. Their Majesties had been insistent that she and James have a close relationship. Her father had always been close to his older brother, and even when she was about eleven and Marlene and her mother were no longer allowed to travel because of the robbers, her father came to court consistently to help advise his King and brother. Family was incredibly important to the Royal couple, and she knew them well enough that a simple circumstance of birth would not change that Sirius would have been family. She would have at the least known of his existence. Besides all that, James had often called her his best and only cousin growing up in an attempt to tease her. She was only the best because there was no competition.

All things considered, Marlene thought it highly unlikely that James had another cousin in Sir Sirius.

But that was all unimportant at the moment seeing as Marlene had suitors trailing her in the shadows and suitors who strutted like peacocks and suitors seemingly coming out of the cracks of the castle’s stone walls. She pressed her palm to her forehead, “Lily I don’t know what to do, I just want to be left alone! The quality I appreciate most in my cousin’s most trusted Knight is that he doesn't appear to have the slightest interest in me.”

Lily grabbed Marlene's hand and gave it a squeeze, “Spend today with me. That will help to keep the suitors at bay for the moment.”

“I could kiss you!” Marlene squeezed Lily's hand and took a moment to just appreciate that for today she was safe.

[survivingthejungle]

I Surrender

did i get the title from that one song by hillsong? absolutely. i love my terrible, narcissistic, sociopathic solipsist with a god complex. i also love my mullet wearing evil baby boy. its a problem. here u go enjoy

___

”Aw, shit. I think I’m in love.” Summer was over, school was back in session, and the students of Derry High School were less than ecstatic, to understate it. Same faces, as always; when you live in the same, small New England town your whole life, everyone knows everyone (whether they want to or not). Or, at least, that was the policy until you showed up. It was as if a sudden jolt of energy suddenly surged through the building; everyone seemed to automatically sense that there was a new girl in their midst. The Bowers Gang, situated at their usual place below the steps, watched the students shuffle into school with glaring eyes. When Henry himself set his eyes on you, all sorts of thoughts rushed through his head. “I say we go give our new classmate a proper introduction. Don’t you, boys?” he smirked.

”Oh, this’ll be fun,” Patrick agreed. He never ceased to amaze himself. What fun he’d have figuring out your place in his little world! Like all others, you’d soon learn to bend to his will. Everyone did, why should you be any different? “And where are you headed to this fine morning, little dove?” he asked as they approached you, daring to place his arm around you shoulder.

Oh, no, you thought. Not this early. “Okay, no.” You threw his arm off your shoulders; the others scoffed or “ooooh’d.” “Go bother some other poor soul. I don’t put up with this.” You pushed through the wall of people blocking you; a lanky, bleach blond, a heavier boy with a snapback oh his head, and another tall blond with a mullet.

”Watch how you talk to my friend there, babe,” mullet guy said. He walked up to you, getting in your face, until you were backed into a tree trunk with nowhere to go. The other lanky tall boy, the one with dark hair, got up in your space from the side. Starting to panic, throat closing up, you grabbed your Miraculous Medal handing off of your necklace and drew your closed fists to your chest.

”Well now, what’s this?” the creepy boy to your side asked. Grabbing your hands and trying to pry them open, he smirked even wider when you yanked away from him, desperately searching for a way out. “Oh, come on now, you don’t trust me? I don’t bite… sometimes,” he winked. He was right up in your face now, though the blond was still in front of you. He got closer and closer, forcing his leg between yours so you could barely move.

”You’re pretty. I’m gonna have fun with you,” he whispered, face almost touching yours. You closed your eyes shut and turned your head away from the both of them. “Whatcha think, Pat? I say we keep her,” he smirked.

”Please get away from me.” Your voice was barely audible and you sounded like you were about to cry. the boys got a kick out of that. “I’m not confortable with this. Please just leave me alone.”

”Now why would we wanna do that, dove? You’re just too much fun,” spoke the one now identified as “Pat”. He reached his hand into the bag still resting on your shoulder, and pulled out your beloved Bible; the edges were worn and there were multicolored tabs sticking out all over the place. The only things still perfectly intact were the golden engraving that read “HOLY BIBLE” and the message of spiritual salvation written inside. “Oh no,” he laughed, “Look what we got here boys! God’s little prude!”

Mullet boy grinned and chuckled. “Damn! She’s a Jesus freak? Oh, this just got so much better.”

Pat (which, you assumed, was short for Patrick) got up close to you again. “I can’t wait to show you a good time later, babe. I’ll have you on your knees worshiping me, and your ‘God’ can watch.”

This was the tipping point. You could handle the mockery and the bullying for your faith. You knew that there was a place for you in the Kingdom of God when all was said and done, and what people said to try to hurt you would never be able to take the love of God away from you. But you would not sit idly by and let some bullies disrespect you God, your creator, your father, your infinite love, your savior, and theirs (whether they believed in him or not).

“Don’t ever speak about my Savior like that EVER again. I don’t care if you mock me, I don’t care if you bully me, I don’t care if you antagonize me every day until I leave this town. You do not EVER disrespect my faith. I’ll pray for you through the intercession of ALL the saints and angels, because ‘my God’ is a faithful and forgiving God. But I am not going to let you blaspheme His name to my face. Now leave me alone and give me back my Bible!” you finished, snatching it out of Patrick’s hand before any of them had the chance to come back with a rebuttal.

”Dude…” Vic started, as they watched her quickly pacing toward the front door, “That was kinda hot.”

The day went by for you relatively quickly. You thankfully had no classes with those awful boys who had been harassing you that morning. Other than that and having to introduce yourself/be introduced in every class and then having to be seated in the middle of a bunch of people you’d never met, your day was not bad. Some sophomore in your English class even had the kindness to talk to you and make you feel less out of place. (His name was Bill, he said, and the school had let him skip a level of English because he tested out of it.) When you heard on the afternoon announcements that they were beginning auditions for the fall play (The Crucible, one you’d already done before, and one you enjoyed), you made a mental note to check out the department.

Heading out for the day through the big double doors, your eyes flitted to all of your surroundings, the thought of having to face that terrible group of boys again scaring you like nothing else. You glanced over to the far end of the quad at the same time Bill waved to you, smiling. “Have a good night, (Y/N)!” he yelled, before turning back to his friends.

One boy with dark hair and thick glasses let his jaw drop when you actually waved back and said, “Thanks Bill, you too!”

You were startled by a voice jumping out of nowhere. “Oh, really now, bird? St- st- stuttering Bill? You’d rather spend your precious time with him?” It was Patrick again. You internally cringed, but kept a straight-faced façade. “You know,” he said, circling about you like a vulture, “My offer still stands.” He gave you a wink before backing you into the wall below the steps, hands on either side of your head. He rested one arm above your head and his hand shot down to grab yours. If some random bystander had happened to walk by the two of you, they might’ve even mistaken you for sweethearts.

But the both of you knew this wasn’t so.

His hand clasped around yours, he drew it up to his chest. Leaning down, he whispered in your ear, “I can teach you how to pray.” Faces almost touching, reminiscent of the encounter from that morning, you received a devilish grin. If you weren’t so absolutely mortified, you might’ve even considered his smile to be a lovely one.

”I know how to pray just fine, thank you. Maybe someone ought to teach you.” With that, you kicked him in his right shin. Dropping your hand and bending over to nurse his wounded leg (and ego, no doubt), you ran off across the street and turned the corner to the nearest church. You hurried inside, blessing God that people were currently receiving Reconciliation.

You sat in a pew towards the back, waiting for the rest of the ley people to confess their sins before you did. You prayed and prayed, asking the Trinity to forgive you for your violent outburst. You prayed for the boys who harassed you. You prayed for Bill. And you prayed just a little extra bit more for Patrick. And then you were the only one left to confess to the priest.

”Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It’s been… about 2 weeks since my last confession,” you said as you sat down behind the screen, not quite ready yet to be seen by this priest. “I’ve been especially bitter today. And I held onto a grudge I know I shouldn’t’ve. And I kicked a boy just before I came here. I’ve had a tough day. I know that’s not an excuse, but it is true.”

”Thank you for your confession. We all have tough days. And it’s especially easy for us to sin on those days. But I believe it takes good self discipline and a strong faith in God for you to be so prompt in confessing these sins. Usually, it takes people a couple of weeks, or months, or they never to it at all. So props to you!” he chuckled, and you did too.

”I have a feeling, Father, you might be hearing from me often. Not that I want to sin, but… there’s a boy at school. A mean boy. He and his friends mock me and they harass me for my faith. The boy I kicked? He was being… obscene, and blasphemous and… oh gosh, I must sound so self-righteous. I know that’s not a reason to hurt someone but I… I panicked. So I kicked him and I ran straight here because I just felt so awful about it. The worst part is, I know it will just be worse tomorrow.”

”This boy sounds like he could use some prayers.”

”I pray for him. I prayed for him just now, as I was waiting. And his friends. They think I’m weird, but… if nothing else, it makes me feel better. And I know that God is listening to what I say, even if they don’t.”

”Right you are about that. Look, you are obviously very regretful of what you’ve done. And you sure sound like you’ll try not to do it again. And God loves to see that in people. Go say an Our Father, a Hail Mary, and a Glory Be. I absolve you of your sins in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.”

You returned to your pew in the back corner, quietly finished your penance, gathered up your belongings, and left. Walking out the door to the front steps, you checked your watch. It was about 5 P.M. now. You trekked back to the school parking lot to grab your car and head home; your mother was worried sick by now, you knew.

You were hit by an intrusive thought when your car finally came into view. What if you see those terrible boys again? You prayed that you wouldn’t. You were already so drained and didn’t want to go through the trouble of being harassed by those boys again.

And you were suddenly hit with a passage from a book you once read. “Everything that happens once can never happen again. But what happens twice will surely happen a third time.” And unfortunately, the book was right.

”Oh look! God’s little prude came back to hang with us!” Gross. That blonde mullet boy. Oh well, you thought, the lesser of two evils. He and his posse must’ve been smoking in his car just before you arrived; he smelled thickly of smoke and had a cigarette hanging between his fingers.

He grinned smugly, walking closer and closer to you, the other bleach blond and the larger boy following him a few steps behind. “You gave Patty-boy quite the kick earlier. Had to go home to ice it. It’ll probably be bruised by tomorrow. You’re not as perfect as you pretend to be, huh?”

He was right in front of you now, but you weren’t entirely cornered. You weren’t backed up against your car and there were a few inches between you and him. “I never said I was perfect. I know I’m not perfect. I’m human. I hope your friend feels better. Tell him I said sorry.” You turned and unlocked your car, desperate to get away from this boy who apparently was such a heavy smoker a cloud seemed to be following him around; you could barely breathe.

He grabbed your arm roughly. “Now why would I do that when you can come on and tell him yourself?” He nodded his head over to a blue Trans Am. “Why don’t you come on with us? We’ll have a good time.”

”I don’t think so. I have better things to do than willingly get into a car with a bunch of boys who I barely know, who’ve been harassing me all day. Thanks for the offer, though.”

You opened your door, got in, and closed it, setting your bag and your book in the passenger seat. Pulling out of your spot, you got a quick glance at the three of them walking back to their own car. Hooligans, you thought.

The next day, to your surprise as well as theirs, you sought them out first. You marched right up to Patrick and said, without a hint of hesitation, “Sorry for kicking you in the leg. I hope you’re okay.

He gave you a strange look before grinning down at you. “Nah. I thought it was pretty kinky, actually. Maybe next time we fool around we see what other kinda stuff you’re into,” he suggested, like a creep. Any pleasantness in your expression vanished.

”Okay. Goodbye.” You turned on your heel and went to walk away before, once again, a hand grabbed your arm and pulled you back.

Backing you into the side of the steps, he brushed some stray hairs out of your face before grabbing your chin and forcing you into a rough kiss.

Your first kiss. And you didn’t like it at all.

Making an exasperated noise, you pushed against his chest, urging him to back off. “DUDE! What the heck? That was so not okay! That’s literally sexual assault? Don’t you know how messed up that is?” you outburst. Needless to say, you were not going to deal with this in a calm, civil manner. You were enraged.

Patrick, however, was having a field day. By far, you must’ve been the best creation his brain had ever come up with. If he were any other person, he might’ve even said “She can’t be real,” but he knew that was already the case. At any rate, toying with you was the highlight of his day, without a doubt. “Aw, come on babe, don’t act like you didn’t like it. Don’t you love the rush you get when you know you just committed a sin?”

The smarmy bastard, you thought, quickly apologizing to Jesus for your outburst as well as bad language. “Let’s get one thing straight- I didn’t sin just now. That was you. All you. And I’m leaving now.”

“Better hope your boyfriend Billy don’t hear about this! I’d hate for him to get his little heart broke!” You looked back at him and merely rolled your eyes. “Or your other boyfriend Henry! You know, he hates competition!” But by this time you were up the stairs and ito the building. Today was going to be a long day.

And this was going to be a long year.

______________________

Hola chicas!! I’m not really sure what this is but I mean if y’all want more then I can make more.

And maybe if i do that then it will start to make more sense.

In case you can’t tell, my worst habit is trying to make my fics short, when in all honesty they’re gonna end up being like entire novelas.

Anyways feedback is greatly appreciated!!!

PLEASE reblog if u enjoy dis trash I love validation

AND PLEASE request anything u want i need to write more and i love u all

[fandom-susceptible]

HP Cursed Child

You know something that really sucks?  Many people have experienced feeling like you're the only one in a fandom.  What's worse is being the only one who like a certain part of a fandom.

When you read or watch something in the fandom that was created years later, a show, movie, book, whatever, and you absolutely love it.  There are things you're not particularly a fan of but that was even true of the original.

And then you find out that your entire fandom hates everything about it.

I've been feeling depressed lately and I'm novelizing Harry Potter and the Cursed Child for my family, who don't like to read plays (we're American so it's never been performed here than I know of).  I started feeling drained and bored so I looked it up here on tumblr to see some of the memes and connections that the rest of the fandom might have come up with.

And I find out that so many things I loved about it, everyone else hated.

I'm gonna vent about this for a minute.  I'm not going to cover nearly everything and I do acknowledge that yeah, the play doesn't have nearly the same feel as the books did.  But neither did the movies, okay?  Give them a break, it had been years, JK only had so much say over the actual writing.  The basic story was hers but Jack Thorne's to blame for the iffy writing style - plus, in play format, it's really hard to actually see the expressions and the feelings behind everything the people are saying.  It takes a lot of reading between the lines, and I feel like most people that hate it just took it all at face value.  That said, I'd appreciate it if anyone who disagrees with me would please just make your own posts about it and refrain from contacting me.  I've read enough hate rants.

One big pet peeve: Everyone seems to think that Snape is out of character.  WELL OF COURSE HE'S OUT OF CHARACTER.  IT'S AN ENTIRELY DIFFERENT TIMELINE.  Yes, it's implied that time only changed from Goblet of Fire onward, but Snape even directly *says* "One person.  All it takes is one person.  I couldn't save Harry for Lily.  So now I give my allegiance to the cause she believed in.  And it's possible - that along the way I started believing in it myself." So yes, he's out of character compared to the original books.  BUT IN THE ORIGINAL BOOKS, HARRY DIDN'T DIE (permanently, or before Snape).  This was a life-changing event for him.  And so I really don't think that his basic personality was changed too badly, with that considered.  Yeah he seemed weirdly close to Hermione and Ron, but he's been literally alone with only them to depend on for years at this point.  You just can't continue to hate someone when you're in a situation like that.

Harry's shouting at Albus "I wish you weren't my son".  Now I'm not saying I loved this part - I really didn't.  But, everyone yells about how Harry would NEVER do this because he'd NEVER let his kids feel like he did.  Guys, he lived under Vernon Dursley's roof for sixteen years.  He was already stressed, tired, and upset.  He even explains later that he was having trouble articulating what he really meant and that in his anger those words were all he could manage.  Yes, he made a mistake.  And yeah he screwed up big time and there's no excuse.  But I do NOT think this is evidence of Harry bullying Albus or acting horribly out of character.  Even in the books we saw that Harry could be insensitive sometimes if he was stressed or distracted.

Albus being in Slytherin and how he's treated after that.  Alright - who came up with this crap about him being treated as an outsider or a pariah by his own family?  Yeah, there were cruel kids at his school.  But Harry fully supported him.  His screwup was telling Albus that he'd get to choose his House.  The Hat wasn't sure about Harry - it was sure about Albus, and so he went to Slytherin despite what he wanted.  Still, Harry comforted him, Harry and Ginny never stopped supporting him.  Lily Luna wasn't in the play much so we didn't really see her reaction.  Rose got in her fight with him over SCORPIUS, not his Hogwarts House.  Now James - he was a bully, but honestly, as the third of four kids, both older ones brothers, he's actually a painfully accurate portrayal.  He's honestly way nicer than my brothers would've been - all he did was tease in words and ignore Albus.

There's complaints that they were just trying to make Harry as little like Harry as possible.  Well of course they were.  James was a mix of Harry and his namesakes through and through - of course Albus took after the Weasleys' side.  I do have to admit that making him so spectacularly bad at Quidditch was a bit much, but it wasn't a big plot point, and honestly how else were they to show how different he was in the very little time they had?  Quidditch was unnecessary for the plot and so it was exploited.  I'm not a huge fan of how they handled it, but it wasn't horrible.

I've seen a couple complaints about how Albus doesn't seem like he fits in Slytherin, and how Scorpius' personality seems to be flatly based on breaking the Slytherin mold.  Well ladies and gentlemen I have a harsh reminder for the lot of you.

HOGWARTS HOUSES ARE DETERMINED BY THE TRAITS YOU VALUE NOT THOSE THAT YOU POSSESS.

This is why bookish Hermione who seemed like a Ravenclaw went to Gryffindor - because in reality she valued bravery, chivalry, selflessness over her books. "There are more important things!" This is why gentle, hardworking, loyal Neville went to Gryffindor in favor of Hufflepuff. This is why cunning (if a bit stupid at times), Parseltongue, survivor Harry went to Gryffindor over Slytherin.  Because the Hat was confused by Riddle's presence in him, and Harry's real values rested with Gryffindor, like Ron's.

Albus clearly isn't impressed by his father's bravery and selflessness.  He's grown up hearing stories about how great his dad is and he's just tired of it.  What kid wouldn't be sick of being told oh your dad's so great he's amazing can I meet him.  Being side-glanced and pushed aside when they realize he's not like his dad.  Albus grew up with Harry, he knows how much of a reckless dork that Harry can be, about all Harry's dumb little quirks that endear him to a reader but are so, so different than the stories the wizards tell of his heroism.  So of course Albus is more intrigued by Ginny's intelligence and the way she survived, how resourceful and clever she is - things that are Slytherin traits, not Gryffindor.  And yeah, intelligence and cleverness are Ravenclaw traits too, but really, each House is a mix of other Houses.  The lines aren't perfectly clear.  Slytherin is Ravenclaw and Gryffindor in one.  Hufflepuff is Gryffindor and Ravenclaw.  Gryffindor is Slythern and Hufflepuff.  And Ravenclaw is Hufflepuff and Slytherin.  Long story short, it makes perfect sense that Albus is in Slytherin.

Now let me start on taking apart why Scorpius is actually written very well.  This is a child who grew up knowing his grandfather loathed his existence.  His mother was chronically ill since at least his first year at Hogwarts.  He has a father who was bullied and coerced into becoming a Death Eater like his parents, but who married a Muggle-born and tried his hardest not to be like Lucius.  Draco is shown on numerous occasions to care deeply for Scorpius.  After Harry tries to keep Albus and Scorpius apart - which I'll get to in a minute - Draco comes to him, even still being furious with him, with this line "I'm not here to antagonize you.  But my son is in tears and I am his father and so I am here to ask why you would keep apart two good friends." He didn't hear this from a teacher.  This says to me that Draco sits there and actively listens to Scorpius and is there as a shoulder to cry on.  He will do ANYTHING for Scorpius.  So of COURSE Scorpius isn't as bitter and cynical as the previous Slytherins we're shown.  However, he also did grow up with Astoria and Draco, both of whom were SLYTHERINS (anyone who says there were only pure blood Slytherins can fight me).  He grew up knowing the stigma against his family's usual Hogwarts House and against his family itself.  Draco and Astoria would know that and I feel they would've tried to prepare him for that.  Scorpius is clever, he's resourceful, and no he's not your typical Slytherin, but he knows how well those values will serve him as a Malfoy.

Harry trying to keep them apart.  Okay.  Yeah.  That sucked and the first time I read it I thought it was completely out of character.  But then I read it again.  Harry was stressed, upset, he'd just been told there was a curse around his kid.  He's still prejudiced against the Malfoys because of his childhood rivalry with Draco.  He's frustrated, he knows Scorpius was involved in how and why his son went missing, and Harry, for all his good points, is very impulsive and simultaneously very stubborn.  We saw in how he treated Snape during the original books that he jumps to conclusions about people.  Of the Golden Trio we saw Harry jumping to conclusions, Ron generally having to think a little longer but backing him up, and Hermione holding out until she was sure.  So when Harry panicked over Albus' fate, and Scorpius was there as an easy scapegoat, of course he picked the Malfoy to blame.  It isn't as if he and Draco have patched things up.

This is ridiculously long now and I'm tired and upset and depressed, so I'm gonna end it here.  If anybody wants my thoughts on anything else in the play, or my response to any other opinion, shoot me a polite ask and I'll post it later.

[addyhastens]

Quick Facts

Name: Adeline Avalina Hastens.

Nicknames: Addy, Ad, Princess.

Biological Age: 22.

Real Age: 40.

Birthday: August 14th, 1985.

Star Sign: Leo.

Place of Birth: Falls Church, Virginia.

Current Town: Falls Church, Virginia.

Sexuality: Heterosexual.

Marital Status: Divorced.

Species: Death God.

Occupation: Out of Home Business Owner.

Education: Partial University Education.

Faceclaim: Britt Robertson.

Family

Parents:

Brett Hastens (Father).

Adelya Petrova (Mother).

Landon Sandell (Step-Father).

Siblings:

Phoebe Hazel Hastens (Younger Sister).

Blair Elena Hastens (Younger Sister).

Delilah Aurora Hastens (Younger Sister).

Esmeralda Rae Hastens (Younger Sister).

Jade Zoe Hastens (Younger Sister).

Sophia Gemma Hastens (Younger Sister).

Roxanne Chloe Hastens (Younger Sister).

Kyle Scott Hastens (Younger Brother, †).

Matthew Zander Hastens (Younger Brother).

Gillian Sandell (Half-Sister).

Mark Sandell Half-Brother, Twin of Maia).

Maia Sandell (Half-Sister, Twin of Mark).

Other Relatives:

Zander Hastens (Uncle).

Veronica Claw (Non-Biological Aunt).

Octavia Hastens (Aunt, †).

Emberly Hastens (Aunt).

Nesryn Hastens (Aunt).

Children:

Kahlia Sophia Hastens (Eldest Daughter).

Audrey Mariella Hastens (Youngest Daughter, Twin of Parker).

Parker Brett Hastens (Eldest Son, Twin of Audrey).

Romantic Partners:

Nicholas “Nick” Goulding (Ex-Husband).

Chris Samson (Ex-Fiancé).

Friends: N/A.

Physical Features:

Build: Athletic.

Weight: 115 lbs.

Height: 5’3 ft.

Ethnicity: White.

Skin Tone: Light.

Hair Color: Blonde.

Eye Color: Blue.

Tattoos: Star on right shoulder.

Scars: Triangle-shaped scar on left ankle (Hex Mark).

Species Information:

Main Powers: Since her children were brought back to life, she’s stopped using her powers. The most she does is use a small glamor to make it appear to others as if she’s not a supernatural creature. Naturally, she has regenerative capabilities and though she’s not actively using her powers, these and her enhanced physical traits (speed, strength, agility, dexterity and senses) as well as her immortality function whether or not she’s actively using her powers. Before ceasing her use of powers, Adeline showed no true affinity. Being a death god, she is the embodiment of powers of all supernatural beings, and unlike many of her siblings, her body didn’t favor a particular species or power set, she could access and use them all. Mostly, she simply copied her father. Her only true infinity was shown towards the water element. Though she had control over all elements, she always had a pull to water.

Main Weaknesses: Mort daggers are lethal to all death gods. If struck through the heart with one of these blades, Adeline would die. Mort daggers were five daggers created by Lucifer and hid all over the world meant for the original five death gods that original were born into existence, since Adeline is the child of one of the children of those death gods, she too is vulnerable to them.

Species Features: N/A.

Diet: Before stopping using her powers, she often felt more powerful when drinking blood. Blood can allow her to heal more quickly, and offers a quick recharge when she down. She doesn’t consume a lot, but drinks a tiny bit once a week, just enough to provide some energy to keep glamouring herself.

Personality:

Adeline has always been a caretaker. From the earliest of ages she possessed a strong maternal instinct that drove her to look after others. Even as a small child, she often pretended to be a doctor and would look after her mother while she was pregnant, which was the only real time she ended up being sick, or look after sick animals. Her compassionate side drives her. Even before being put in a big sister type roll, she was driven by her warm and caring nature, the drive to help other beings. It’s lead to her having a more selfless complex. After an entire lifetime of constantly putting others above herself, she doesn’t know how to put herself first. She doesn’t know how to simply do things for her, and the thing that truly drives her is doing things for other people. While it may seem that she has a low self-esteem, she doesn’t often hold the mindset of someone who hates herself. For her it’s more so a fact of not thinking of herself as an option. Though in some factors, she does have an incredibly low self-esteem, such as her belief that she causes death. The initial loss of her children plagued her for years. She is haunted constantly by the idea that she was the reason for losing her child, that something is wrong for her that she couldn’t do the one thing to bring her child into the world safely. Even knowing about the curse has not helped the guilt or the shame, it’s only provided one way for her to not face the guilt. While Adeline was always one for facing problems, both intense emotional and more shallowly calculated problems head on with a clear and more logical mindset, she does tend to use avoidance tactics such as deflection to steer away from people alluding or outright saying that she often uses her caring for other people as a crutch and shield from admitting she never learned how to truly love or care for herself. More than often she’ll shift topics away from anything that grows close to pointing this fact out. In the cases of the previous pregnancy complications, she uses an entirely different tactic, and one that is uncharacteristically harsh for her. She superficially blames magic for the problems she’s experiences, and acts as if it is the reason for all issues within her and her family’s life when in reality, this is simply a way to hold down and bottle her emotions. Adeline doesn’t have a real mean bone in her body. She’s never been malicious, or cruel, she’s always been warm. She is however the most calculating of her sisters. She’s got an incredible intelligence, and tries to force herself as best as she can into a logical way of thinking so she can solve problems, though it’s not always the easiest for her to separate her soft heart from the decisions she makes. She’s naturally got a firm and guiding hand, something that has always had the tendency to put her in a leadership type position. Unlike a lot of her siblings, she has a far more forgiving nature. While she’s capable of holding a grudge or being upset with someone, this usually doesn’t last long and she often forgives them repeatedly, no matter how many mistakes they’ve made in the past – one of the biggest examples of this being her father. She’s not tempered, like the majority of her family, in fact she’s often the one to remain calm and collected in a situation, and while she does go to a panicked state, this often doesn’t result in anger. When she is angry, it is a quiet and icy rage that possesses her. She often is perfectly quiet, and most people only see the calm before the storm until it’s too late.

Biography:

Background & Birth:

Adelya and Brett didn’t start off in the best of ways, but soon antagonism turned into flirtation, allure and curiosity. And from that, a friendship blossomed and that blossoming friendship evolved into love. They were happy, at first, for a time. They wed a few months after being with each other. Everything was often rash and intense with the two of them, their decisions with their marriage and life was no different. About a month after they had gotten married, Adelya discovered she was pregnant with her first child. It came as a shock to both Adelya and Brett, as Adelya was a vampire and it wasn’t expected that she could conceive or carry a child.

Because of this, Brett was always hovering during the pregnancy. Almost every moment, he spent at her bedside, caring for her, checking on the baby to make sure they were both safe. It wasn’t an easy pregnancy, but it wasn’t nearly difficult as some of the other ones Adelya experienced. Finally, after nine months, Adeline was born. She was lucky enough to come into the world at a time where her parents were still very much in love with each other and when they very much loved her. She was greeted with open arms by all her family and the friends of family.

However, her family name turned into a curse. With such great power as her father possessed, and his cruel and hard nature that he’d had before meeting her mother, he’d made many, many enemies. These enemies were all over the world, seething and waiting for a chance at vengeance on him for what he’d done in the past. It was a warlock who decided that Adeline would be the one to pay the cost though. He didn’t think killing Brett or even Adelya would solve his problems, because it would be too quick, too easy. The pain would not be lasting. He knew though, from watching his own family suffer because of Brett’s actions, that the pain of having to watch a loved one in pain would be the only suited punishment for his crimes. And so only a day or two after news reached the warlock that Adeline had been born, he cursed her. The curse was rather simple. He made it so she could bear no child that would not fall to the hands of death. The mark of the curse marred her ankle in a triangular scar. Neither Brett nor Adelya knew what the scar had come from.

Childhood:

Unlike the majority of Brett and Adelya’s children, Adeline was born before the fighting began. When all the intensity and rash nature was turned on one another. She got to see something most of her other siblings didn’t get to see – her parents truly loving each other. Things were never quite like they had been in those first five years. They had been a proper family, they’d had love and light. And it had shown in the way that Adeline was raised in those five years. She was doted on by everyone, cared for, even had a best friend, Chris. But she was especially loved by her father. Even after her other children were born, she was always his soft spot.

She was happy, for those five years. And then the fighting started. It was small things at first, disagreements over furniture and clothing and parties to attend. Then it was her father telling her mother she spent too much time partying and drinking with her friends, and her mother telling her father that maybe if he wasn’t running off all the time, consumed by his job as the embodiment of death. It tore her apart to see her parent’s relationship falling and crumbling before her eyes. She often stayed up at night in her bed, listening to them yelling through the walls. More than often she’d try to do damage control, going out of her way to be well-behaved after their fights, if only so she didn’t agitate it. Even though her mother and father had always encouraged her looking out to her siblings, she’d also have the tendency to look after them and do what she could after the fights to make sure they weren’t scared by the fighting.

It only escalated from there. Love turned to possession, hatred and anger. And Adeline was there to watch it. She was there while her parents sought different things to solve problems that they had, as they had more kids in hopes that might repair their broken relationship. Her mother had become completely dependent on her to look after the kids by the time she was eight. It was a big responsibility for someone so young, but it seemed natural to her. Since she thought it might make things better, she kept doing it – kept trying to look after the others in hopes that their family might stay together. Holding her family’s broken bits into one piece became her mission and purpose.

Teen Years:

Holding her family together was not a mission she abandoned in her teenage years. Her family came first, no matter one. She put it above everything, even above herself. They were always more important to her. Even though her mother had enrolled her into a human school so she could have a normal education to fall back on as opposed to simple money and riches she would inherit from her father, she barely had time to focus on it. Despite the intelligence she had, she never did her best. She maintained good grades, but they were not by a mark what she could have gotten if she hadn’t been so distracted – if she’d been able to apply and immerse herself in her studies. Even though she was well liked in school, people never got the chance to get truly close to her. All those friends she had were human and she knew they couldn’t know the truth anyway, so she used that divide as an excuse to put her family once more above her personal connection. She even grew apart from Chris, her friend since childhood who knew all the details of her family.

In the craziness of her family drama, her only true escape was her books. She’d often get overwhelmed, and while she didn’t let it break a calm exterior that she’d forced herself to learn, she needed an escape to get away from all the stress her family could bring on. So when all of her responsibilities were handled, she’d bury herself in books. She’d always choose books with character who she could relate too, so if she focused hard enough, for just a little while it could almost be like she was somewhere else for a change. It was the closest she ever really got to doing things for herself.

When she was sixteen, her father left for the first time. Through all the fights, all the arguments and screaming, a part of her never really believed he’d leave. She spent so much time holding her family together, she almost believed she could do it forever, that if she kept trying, if she gave it her all, it would work. It was the crushing of this ideal that led to Adeline taking it the hardest when her father left. She tried to hide it, tried not to show how heartbroken she was when she was looking after her little sister’s and brother’s, or comforting her mother, but at night, when she was alone in her room, she cry for him and plead to the crushing silence for him to return.

It became almost normal, and a lot of the time, Adeline was able to forgive her father for leaving. She was too willing to. Every time he’d come back, she’d let him again, hoping it would mean her family might be whole again. It took her a long time to realize that her father and mother weren’t meant to be forever. It took her a long time to really stand up to him even. It wasn’t until she was eighteen and her younger brother, the second oldest of the family died that she truly lost it at her father, when she didn’t forgive him for leaving. She blamed him for her brother’s death because instead of having been there when he died, to defend him, he had been gone.

Adult Years:

Adeline’s duty still lay with her family, even when she’d reached adulthood. She still held a dedication to her siblings, to her mother. Even if her mother was out partying all the time, or messing around with a new boyfriend. She was there. And though she’d tried to be normal, to have something like a college experience, it didn’t work and she only got halfway through her first year. There was one thing that got her away from her family, aside from reading. At least in a way.

Her father had had a vampire friend named Nick Goulding. He’d been around a fair bit growing up, and he was no stranger to her. But a few years before her father had left, there’d been a falling out, so he’d faded away from her family life. When she was eighteen, only a few months after her brother had died, she ended up running into Nick again. He’d left town for a while, but had been coming in for a brief visit. They ended up having dinner and talking. It had been nice, to see the face of someone who didn’t just simply expect her to do something for them.

He left town a week later, but they had spent a few hours together, spread out over that week. That time spent together had been enough for Adeline to be reminded of a small childhood crush she’d had on him, and that it was a lot easier now to fall for his charm in a more serious manner. He returned a few months later, after she’d turned nineteen, this time because he was moving back to town. It gave her a new outlet, one away from her family. He already knew things, knew her father, her mother. She could talk to him or well not talk at all. Sometimes they would just be around each other. Her feelings got serious, and soon it became all too real a fact that she was head over heels in love with him.

It took her two months to gain the courage to tell him, but when she finally did, he admitted he’d been feeling things too, but had been worried it was wrong because of so many things. Despite this, they pursued a relationship. They ended up married rather quickly, just before she turned twenty years old. It was more of a rash decision, but she had been certain that she loved Nick, and he was the one for her at that time. She thought they were soulmates.

Things were okay at first. They were happy. Her attention was still with her family, but he’d become a part of that family, so it was much easier to balance both parts of her life. It started to get more difficult near the end. Things were more complicated. Adeline found out she was pregnant, and Nick realized when she told him he wasn’t ready for the seriousness of the entire thing. It got difficult. Nick started growing distant from her, and Adeline was left to deal with a lot of the pregnancy on her own. She was five months along when Nick told her he’d cheated on her. It broke her heart, but she did what she often did and forgave him. Though what he’d done made her question many things about herself. She only got more depressed and stressed after his confession. At seven months along, she went into early labor. The baby was still born.

Nick ended things with her a week later. She spiraled, falling into a pit of despair. She’d throw herself into anything and everything she could focus on besides the crushing loss of both her husband and child all at once. It was too much for her, and she thought throwing herself into taking care of her family once more was far better than facing the pain of that loss.

A few years passed, and she was obviously facing a serious depression, but still denying it to everyone around her, if they even noticed at all. She ran into Chris once more, her childhood friend. He was just returning from university and he had gotten a job in town. At first, things were stiff. After all she’d been the one who’d built the distance between them at first. But he became the first person she really let herself get close to after losing the baby and Nick. They became friends once more, and he eventually helped her get help, even arranged for her to see a therapist to help her cope with her problems. She got some closure, and even though she didn’t get a complete release from her pain, it was enough for her to start moving on with her life.

A year or two passed, and her friendship with Chris persisted. He was her rock in life, and provided her with a security she hadn’t gotten to experience with many others. She had developed feelings at one point, but had sat on them because of him being in a relationship. Eventually they faded, or she’d pushed them back enough so that they weren’t in the conscious part of her mind. His relationship eventually ended because he and his girlfriend didn’t want the same things – like kids. He talked a lot about having kids, how he thought about seeking out other methods of having a child, such as having a surrogate carry his child. Even though she still mourned for her daughter, she too wanted a child. So she offered to be the mother to his child, for them to raise the child together as friends. He agreed.

After a process of artificial insemination, Adeline found out she was pregnant with not just one child but two. The pregnancy was difficult. She was on constant alert, paranoid and terrified that she might lose her children. Chris was there, for every appointment, every single moment. They grew close, and eventually admitted they had feelings for each other. Even got engaged. However, when she was four months along, she awoke one night bleeding. When she went to the hospital, Chris had her go in the office alone. The doctor informed her she had lost her twins. When she left the office Chris wasn’t there. He’d abandoned her. She called a dozen times, went looking for him over and over. She never found him.

Four years later, her father returned once more after a very long time. Unlike her usual behavior, she was furious with him. He hadn’t been there, hadn’t held her or soothed her when she’d cried her eyes out every night for months after she’d lost her kids, hadn’t been there to help her through her pain. He’d left her alone so many times, and that finally hit her, even more so than it had when her brother had died. In the process of her anger, she told him why she was so angry. And after her anger had faded into sadness, when the emotion had subsided to normal levels, he told her he could bring her children back.

She was in disbelief at first, because she’d tried herself to use her powers to bring her kids back to no avail. However, when he did it, it worked. Only the twins had to be resurrected within her as they had no solid vessel. It was during the resurrection of the twins they he recognized the curse on his daughter. After some research, he learned the details of the curse and who’d done it, and while he tried to get him to break the curse, it wasn’t possible, but he at least now knew there was a way around it. After he told Adeline about the curse, she officially forgave him for leaving, and found some peace in the life she had to look forward to with her kids. Though, to avoid some of the weight of guilt on her, she found herself blaming magic for the problems within her life, and decided her kids would not have magic in their lives.

Years later, Adeline still lived in her home town with her daughter Kahlia and her twins Audrey and Parker. Most of the time, her life is consumed with being a stay at home mom, though she does make teas and perfumes and sells them out of her home as a hobby.

[odium-amare]

Memoirs of a King

(Finrod/Andreth One-shot)

Summary: It was not often elves were nosy and concerned themselves with the race of men, but when they do, you can bet he was a fair golden elf with one of his names being Finrod. 

“Leave. And when you have quenched your thirst after exploring Ennor because Valinor alone was not enough for you, never bother coming back to me, Findaráto.”

Were the final chilling words Amarië said to him when he had announced to her that while he did not partake in the kin-slaying at Alqualondë, he will still set forth to go with his other cousins and friends to explore the new world because his hunger for knowledge would not be suppressed, even for an elleth he loved.

His last memory of Amarië was the sleeping form with her back turned to him to the far side of the bed they had both shared. It was not yet dawn and he had crept quietly out of the room to leave with the boats Fëanor and his seven sons had stolen in blood.

He was never certain if she had really been sleeping or pretending to.

oOoOoOo

Three hundred years had passed. Three hundred years had passed since he set foot upon Middle Earth from Aman. Endless war as Morgoth and his minions continue to inhabit the lands but it was not just war. During those years, he had built the city of Minas Tirith or otherwise known as Beleriand, discovered jewels caves and mountains with the help of his friendship with the dwarves and built Nargothrond.

It was eventful, tiring and worth every minute Finrod spent with his life while his brothers scattered and his sister, Artanis went off to make something of herself on her own.

That day, Fëanor’s two eldest sons had invited him to go on a fun hunt with them. They had hunted for days and didn’t seem to get bored while Finrod was losing enthusiasm for killing prey and was lagging from the group. In the end, none of them had a problem when Maitimo and Makalaurë decided to separate from him so that once again, the oldest of Arafinwë’s son could wander off on his own.

He had remembered his first encounter with the second-born. The light of the fire they had built flaring in the night first caught his attention. Men with beards and a bit shorter than him were sleeping around the campfire and next to the fire, was a harp. Curious and drowned with pure interest, Finrod stood up from his hiding spot in the trees and went over silently to the fire, picked up the harp and played music.

He sang of the intensity of Fëanor and his terrible oath. He sang of the tragic bloodshed at Alqualondë and finally, he hymned the lyrics of the vast lands of the Earth as well as the sun and moon.

Such overwhelming music mortal ears have never heard before, the men and one of them Finrod soon learns to be Bëor woke up, their faces intoxicated by sound and their large eyes glittered with unshed tears.

Finrod remininsced fondly on how cute he thought the second-born were on when he first laid eyes on them. They were so unlike elves in that they were not quite as fair by first-born standards regardless of how shallow the idea might be, they were shorter in stature, their hands were not naturally built to be as prodigiously talented to craft as the eldar were born to be… And most peculiar was that they grew hair on their faces.

Generations passed and there was one distinctive mortal Finrod had always paid attention to and grew to be fond of during his time in Ennor.

Her name was Andreth; daughter of Boromir, a descendant of Bëor.

The elves eventually gave her another name, Saelind, which meant wise-heart for Andreth was as wise and passionate as she was biting of humor.

On their first ever encounter, the little adaneth child was hiding behind her father’s legs when Boromir was gaily introducing his wife and children to Finrod on one of their friendly horse riding trips. His two other offsprings, elder Bregor and youngest Beril were more than happy to show their enthrallment and to befriend the golden elf all save for the middle child.

“Hello there, little one~” The eldest son of Finarfin flashed little Andreth one of his famous, beguiling smiles that charmed many. The little girl looked up at him with her big brown eyes and said nothing. She stared for a few minutes before going back to hiding.

Boromir apologized to Finrod and attempted to prod Andreth out of her ice to no avail. From that day, Andreth seemed to have made it her mission to torture the elf as much as she could. Finrod later learned from Beril that Andreth was jealous of him for taking her papa’s attention constantly ever since the elf arrived to make acquaintance of their family. Finrod had laughed good-naturedly at that and brushed it off calling it one of the many woes of adolescence and growing up. Even so, Andreth’s natural talent for spite could get to alarming straits at time that could even make the elven King of caves and mountains speechless.

One example being during one of their evenings after dinner, the little adaneth had offered to give the Lord Felagund her mother’s delicious tipsy cake for dessert.

“Here you go, lord Finrod,” Her childish voice chirped. “Something nice and fresh for you.”

Finrod blinked, surprised at the sudden courteous gesture from Andreth, he could not hold himself back by refusing. Perhaps the child had decided to make peace and be friends with him after all?

“Why thank you, Andreth.” He took a bite and narrowed his eyes when the little girl scurried away a little too quickly that it looked just a tad bit suspicious. Then Finrod realized his mistake. It was one of the oldest tricks in the books. Fits and fits of coughing followed suit after he swallowed.

Their mother was panicking as she ran out to pat Finrod in the back except the golden elf was laughing to her consternation. “The cake!” He exclaimed still hacking a little. “It’s spicy!”

The face of Boromir’s wife twisted from worry into a furrowed look of annoyance.

“Annndreth!”

They grounded Andreth and assigned her not so nifty chores in the kitchen for a week.

Perhaps it was a change of heart or feelings of guilt but when on one of their horse riding trips, Beril fell off her pony and twisted her ankles, Finrod ended up being the first one to find out sharp as he was and brought the little crying girl in the healing rooms so that he could personally attend to her using one of his many gifts bestowed by Eru.

It wasn’t long before Beril was able to run and laugh again. That afternoon, Finrod heard a knocking on his chamber door. Andreth shuffled in avoiding eye contact but her cheeks had the slightest tint of blush.

“Here. My mum made me pick these strawberries for you,” She mumbled, holding out a basket. “Thank you for saving my lil sister.”

Finrod smiled. He knew that Andreth had picked them herself out of her own free will.

“Let’s see now, would there be any spices in them?” He asked casually picking a berry up. He and Andreth shared a laugh after that incident. The elf and the little mortal girl grew ever closer from that day.

Sometime during Andreth’s years of growing up to become a lovely young woman, Finrod had brought his brothers Angrod and Aegnor to Dorthonion and occupy the lands there. By chance, naturally one of his brothers would soon inevitably meet the mortals that stayed in those lands. Finrod should have known. But the valar always had a plan on their chessboard and there was nothing the children of Eru could do about it but watch it all unfold as their lives were played.

Finrod had knew the moment he saw Andreth by lake Aeluin, bathing, showing the skies herself at her most radiant with another wild blonde emerging from the shadows to her that darkness loomed overhead.

“Aegnor,” The eldest brother spoke as the other elf walked past him taking a bite from an apple.

“Yes brother?” Aegnor asked, his eyebrows raising. Aegnor felt a chill down his back. Had Finrod found out? His older sibling always had a tact for knowing things habitually with his gifts and the younger brother never really could hide anything from him since they were elflings much to Aegnor’s frustrations.

Finrod still leaned easily against the marble table in one of their lodgings, a goblet of wine twirling in one hand.

“War is approaching,” He stated. “You and Angrod had prepared everything?”

Aegnor let out an inaudible sigh of relief.

“Of course. Who do you think I am?” Aegnor huffed, puffing his chest out comically.

“Angrod has taken his troops and they are already half-way to the front lines,” Finrod continued. Aegnor nodded in acknowledgment.

“I am aware.” The two shared a few more words before their talk came to an end.

Before Finrod stepped out the door, he gave his younger brother a backward glance.

“Oh and Aegnor?”

“Yes?”

“You do remember…That she is mortal, yes?” Again was the casual tone. Aegnor jerked his head up at his brother in apprehension but Finrod disappeared. It did not take much convincing for Aegnor to soon reject Andreth as he and his brothers rode off to war never to see her again.

Andreth was left bereft and bewildered. She studied and grew to be a wise-woman but never married.

Finrod would often visit Andreth as she aged. While he was continuously entertained by their stimulating conversations, she would often be repulsed by his insensitivities and possibly him as well as she spared no kind words and he did not sugarcoat as much as before.

“You are utterly antagonizing. You’re impossible,” She often said bluntly as they both sat in front of the warm hearth. Her in her woolen shawl and him windblown and battle weary.  

“Aegnor…?” Andreth cried out when he sought her out in one of his visits. His cloak was gritty and disturbingly bloody.

“Nay, lady,” Finrod held on to the withered old woman’s arms for support.

“Did you tell him all that I told you to do so?” She asked impatiently, but there was clear desperation underneath. Finrod’s voice was as bleak as how he was feeling inside.

“Nay, lady for dearest Aegnor with his hair as wild as fire had passed away not too long ago.” His arm tightened as she grew unstable, her eyes widened in erratically in denial and disbelief. His cloaked was soaked thrice that day. Not in blood and dirt but in tears. He had made sure to not let go of her fragile body once as he watched her smaller and grey head buried into his sturdy chest.

Hours passed and Andreth was back in her seat, her body was not properly straight and her face grew even older. Her once vibrant brown eyes looked soulless. She lost the spirit of the moral woman he once knew.

“It’s not right. He was not supposed to go before me…A human. Ha!” Andreth chuckled mirthlessly.

“It was during a time of war, my lady. Perhaps now you have a glimpse as to why he did not take your hand in marriage as you wanted,” Finrod answered carefully. “You are human Andreth, it was never meant to be for the Eru dictates it to be that way, but rest assured because he always makes everything just and fine in the end. Do you believe in Eru, Andreth?”

She looked at him vaguely.

“Eru? The all mighty creator who favors the fair firstborn to the very end? No. I do not let myself believe in any higher being other than what my eyes can see,” She said firmly. Finrod frowned in concerned at what he was hearing.

“But Eru was what born the Valar who in turn worked together to shape Middle Earth. What you said just now was unwise. Saying that he favored the firstborns is folly. Are you not grateful for what you and men have, lady Andreth? Yes, our people are well taught and raised to create exquisite works of art, craftsmanship, music, literature and the such but whatever men is capable of, I foresee a miracle.”

“Well then why did this God of yours not give us an immortal life too?” The mortal woman demanded harshly. “Oh yes, we have much to be grateful for indeed; fate of darkness and death that we cannot change no matter what we do. No. If Eru were to have existed, he would have made us lived forever too. It is only because of Morgoth’s arrival and ongoing presence that has made us mortal instead!”

It was indignance. Finrod rubbed his chin at Andreth’s word in contemplation.

“Your theory is plausible I will say, but I digress. I believe Morgoth have no play in the fate of men, but Eru really do intend for mortals to live a fleeting life because…” He saw Andreth slump back in irritation not facing him. He continued:

“…Because humans are not tied to Ennor the way elves are. We eldar are bound to Middle Earth until it gets destroyed but the humans’ time in Ennor are only temporary. After your passing, there is a bigger destiny for your people beyond the circles of the world that the firstborn can never hope to enter.”

Andreth was silent and there was an uncomfortable pause as she took in his words.

“I am not sitting here for you to know of my resentment towards the mighty creator, lord Finrod. It is not something I would rather dwell on anyway,” She started in hopes of changing the subject and to not showcase her bitterness too well.

“No, you did not,” Finrod nodded in agreement. “Because there is the true cause to your anger after all is there not?”

When she did not answer, the elf’s lips quirked up.

“Have you really no hope then?” His keen ears heard her breath hitched.

“I would have given him everything. I would have thrown everything away to be with Aegnor even if it was a short amount of time. It was the fact that I was human that he rejected me. He scorns the fact that I will age and no longer have any beauty left,” Her eyes glistened and shined again as the droplets rolled down her wrinkled cheeks. “He didn’t need to worry. I would not have forced him to stay with me for him to see me grow old. I would have left since.”

“That is precisely the problem,” Finrod cut in sternly. “For the Eldar, love and bonding is forever. Did you really think that had he taken you, he would simply just leave after your prime? It was war, Andreth and we do not marry and give birth to children during war. As a human, after you die and pass the circles of the world, what does Aegnor have left?”

She sniffled, “And now I am alone and childless…”

“And as a woman and a human at that, there is a limited time for you to be able to bear offsprings. I understand that,” He nodded. “I know you are upset, but it was for the best. Coupling between the firstborn and the secondborn would…”

His eyes glazed out for a second as his gift had interrupted him with three visions.

“Happen only rarely over the course of history and each one for a specific purpose to continue events that have yet come to pass.”

“What are you talking about?” Andreth snapped him out of his musings. Finrod blinked before chuckling. His much larger and youthful hand went to her smaller ones and rubbed it fondly.

“Fear not, adaneth. I sense that Eru can do no wrong. After your kind pass the circles of the world and Arda is destroyed with the eldar along with it, there will be a new universe. It will be Arda Remade. Wait for Aegnor there. Await him…And I.”

He finished promptly and was confident in his words. Finrod’s stormy grey eyes bore into her deep browns as he smiled in that quirky way of his that he knew always peeved her. She stared at him and for a moment, he saw the child turned beautiful woman that he knew. She was and still is which was a taste he oddly acquired during his time knowing the dearest human woman.

“How do you do that?” Andreth shook her head in exasperation. “You always have this knack for agitating me but make me feel…Good at the same time. It is so manipulative and unfair.”

The words were petulant as he had known her to be, but Finrod knew that they were spoke with sincere love and affection for him.

He grinned. “Hasn’t it always been part of my charm and appeal, lady adaneth?”

Before she could retort, he chimed in again.

“You know…” The elf’s face was scrunched up in an unreadable expression as he gazed pensively at Andreth. Her appearance seemed to be getting younger as the seconds grew. Her grey and wily hair had grown out to be the same rich, dark color and surrounding her slender frame.

“Had it been in another life,” His lips looked to be getting closer to her own. “I might have fallen for you as well.”

Andreth stood unmoving as she processed the weight of his words before taking a few steps backwards. She had no expression other than lost at first but then it grew haughty as she huffed.

“And why would I trust the words of a selfish elf who is irritating, condescending, sickeningly sweet, charming, frivolous and probably the true source of having me jilted in my youth in the first place?” She mocked, but her eyes would always shift back to him with a playful light he observed.

He laughed.

“You would be correct. Unfortunately, there is someone waiting for me in Valinor and so naturally, I cannot take you as a lover even if you should wish it. After all this is done, my people will journey back to the West to reunite with ones that had been lost and those we love and cherish.”

Finrod’s lips still curved, but it did not reach his eyes.

“Andreth; I am not only a selfish elf, I am a selfish man. Grant this irritating King one last parting gift, would you?” He tilted his head. Another sniffle; her face finally let itself free and showed a soft yet enchanting smile.

This time, she let one of his strong arm hold her securely by her thin waist while his lips descended upon her hungrily like a starved man.

oOoOoOo

The last time Finrod asked of the most beloved wise-woman, he had been informed she has already passed away.

oOoOoOo

Finrod laid there on the floor while all his limbs were chained gruesomely inside the cave with Beren. The elf was naked, wounded, dirty and left in the most terrible of ways that no one would have recognized he was once a Noldorin prince turned king. Everyone else, his soldiers who had looked up and devoted themselves to him and Beren scattered around, lifeless.

“Your majesty, what do we do now?” The mortal man groaned out. He struggled to move around but was desperate to get back to the love of his life. Beren had a certain proud and spirited demeanor that was so familiar to Finrod that he found it difficult to not tag along and befriend the younger man as he did with his aunt.

Oh, how the house of Bëor would be the death of him, he thought wryly.

And now did he realized that this was among one of the three his visions had told him. He watched the snarling, foul creature that was neither quite dog nor man enter the cave again in search for a meal of its chained prisoners. Beren tensed up and squinted his eyes shut, waiting for the ugliness of his incoming death.

Finrod chuckled mirthlessly. Well if he was always making Andreth angry before, perhaps he could still do something right for her nephew.

Steadily closing his eyes, he took in a deep breath, and inhaled all that he had seen and love of the cruel and beautiful world around him. With taut muscles and a stubborn will, Finrod wrung free of his bonds.

The werewolf had no time to react and the elf took this chance to tackle the creature to the floor, mauling and clawing it with his nails, hands and teeth alone. Beren could only watch in horror and shock.

“Agh!” Finrod coughed out, blood trickling down his lips. The werewolf laid on the floor, growling in a high-pitched and unpleasant voice weakly. It abruptly stopped deathly still. Finrod looked down at his own person as he felt his own body grow cold. With the last of his strength, he slashed the love-stricken mortal man from his own chains and then collapsed back on the rough ground.

“Your majesty…” Beren spoke distraught. He crawled over to Finrod’s dying form.

“What are you doing, young one?” The golden elf’s voice was down to a raspy whisper. “I did not risk my life for you to stay here and mope and sulk.” The human Finrod had grown to love as a son wept bitterly. “This was not how it was supposed to be! No…”

“Beren son of Barahir, you still have a longer life to live and missions to accomplish. I will soon leave Ennor to see my brothers, mother and father again. Find your beloved, stay alert, be appreciative of all who have died for you and live happily.”

The younger man could only nod helplessly.

Finrod let his eyes to rest, but his expression was peaceful. There was no darkness and the light was shimmering.

Are you looking down at me from up there, dearest lady Andreth? He thought languidly.

Angrod and Aegnor were jumping and cheering once they saw him arriving at the sparkling river across from where they resided. Finrod ran towards them and in a corner, he swore he saw the lithe figure of a distinctive mortal woman smiling at him before disappearing from view.

Finrod Felagund, known as Nóm to men and King of the Noldor was glad to be home.

[preservationandruin]

Words of Radiance Part 2

Viewpoints here are a weirder spread--Shallan, Kaladin, Adolin, and Sadeas. Not sure how long this will take me to get through or how many sub-parts the liveblog is gonna be, so bear with me!

Shallan takes control, Kaladin tries to work with what he has and meets a worldhopper, Renarin jumps off a roof, and people talk way too much about Amaram for either my or Kaladin’s liking. 

Epigraphs here are snippets of the Listener songs, which is probably why we had to get the Eshonai chapters first--so we could tell what they were talking about. In any case, Shallan is travelling with Tvklav’s crew--who I’m pretty sure are coincidentally the slavers who sold Kaladin. Because sometimes I feel like Sanderson’s world operates on the Dickensian premise of “everyone knows each other by coincidence.” Shallan is curious about the Frostlands’ natural vegetation. She also tries having conversation, but it doesn’t really work, in party because (rightly, given the situation) people don’t trust her.

We also learn that Jasnah kept, in her personal trunk, a drawing that Shallan had done of her. Shallan ends up mourning both Jasnah and the fact that all of her sketchpads--something she dismisses, but essentially her life’s work--are gone as well. 

More sketches--this time of various fighting stances. Nazh has written that he had to steal the scroll these were on and that the bottom half was eaten by an axehound. Nazh leads an interesting and fraught life. 

Cut to Adolin talking to his blade, something I still think might be significant. At the very least, I hope that spren can hear him and takes some comfort from having a human talk to them and trust them? We also get the story that nobody took Adolin seriously and that the guy he won the Blade from wanted to duel Adolin to embarrass Dalinar. Didn’t quite work that way. The Plate Adolin got from his mom’s side. Also, Adolin refusing to name his Blade is also important. Also, this: “I appreciate what you’ve done for me. I know you’d do it for anyone who held you, but I still appreciate it. I...I want you to know: I believe in Father. I believe he’s right...” 

Okay, I know I’ve gone on about Edgedancer Adolin before, but one of the things for the Edgedancers definitely seems to be paying attention to the people and things people take for granted. Like, say, the fact that your shardblade fights with you. 

Anyway, immediately after that we get the fact that Adolin can’t fucking read, not even glyphs. Navani voice: please get married so that I stop worrying about you not being able to fucking read. Also, Adolin is worried because they haven’t heard anything from Jasnah’s ship--WITH GOOD REASON. Also, Adolin insists that breaking up with Danlan wasn’t his fault--apparently she’d been saying something to her friends--but given that it’s Adolin it’s kind of hard to tell. 

Also, Renarin and Adolin run through Adolin’s list of good-luck charms for duels---talk to the sword, eat chicken before you duel, wear mother’s chain--and Navani is skeptical and the boys are Highly Indignant that Navani is skeptical. Also also, Adolin likes pissing off the guards because he doesn’t like Kaladin--thinks something is “off” about Kaladin. As always, he’s not wrong. But he is being petty. 

And then Adolin just crushes the other dude because he’s Adolin Kholin. He beats him so badly that the judge tries to stop them, but Adolin points out he didn’t break any rules. On the other hand, this probably didn’t endear Adolin to people--meaning that they were more likely to let slide that fucking 4-on-1 that Sadeas attempts later. Renarin thinks it was awesome, and Adolin gives him the blade. Which, uh, I mean, from Adolin’s point of view it was the best thing to do, but reading this again a) Renarin is notably hesitant to take the blade (Glys talking to him?) and also grimaces when he takes it and holds it (it’s screaming). But, unlike Dalinar or Kaladin later, he keeps holding it. 

Also, Adolin’s brutality here wasn’t planned, it was just something that happened and that he’s confused about later, feeling drained. He did get the Thrill. I’m not sure what’s going on there, but it might not be good. 

Back to Shallan, where she’s using Pattern to spy on the slavers to try to figure out how to deal with them. She also notes that these people don’t treat her like a real person, but instead as a means to an end, much like Kabsal, and she loses a bit of her temper and also mildly terrifies Tvklav. She realizes that Tvklav and the others don’t know she’s a timid rural lighteyes, and she also realizes that she can make them see her in certain ways, not just by copying Jasnah. 

Honestly, this entire trip to the Shattered Plains does a lot more for Shallan’s lightweaving than studying with Jasnah, I think. Nothing like being thrown into a fire to teach you to deal with it? Anyway, the deserters show up, and we cut over to Kaladin. The lighteyes sparring grounds is somewhat disappointing to the bridgemen, who expected something cooler. 

Also, Kaladin is plotting to kill Amaram already, which is THE MOST RELATEABLE but also not good for his oaths i guess. Anyway, Kaladin and the gang with him are supposed to be protecting the Kholin bros while they’re training, they get some backsass from Ardents, Kaladin backsasses back, and it works out. Kaladin is also left standing with Moash, which...okay, knowing where Moash’s character arc goes, I’m just going to be side-eyeing him the whole book, I apologize. We get a note that the numbers are still appearing--honestly Dalinar tell Kaladin it’s probably someone in there already so he stops panicking over intruders--and Kaladin starts getting irritated about Dalinar and Amaram again and Syl makes him admit that he does know that Dalinar, at least, is honorable. Amaram just has him fooled. 

Also, Kaladin is backsassing Adolin, and uses “Brightlord” for him--the title used for people he doesn’t respect as much. Adolin says that the only reason he hasn’t thrown Kaladin through a window is because he owes Kaladin his life. Renarin is just standing there, being awkward, holding his Blade--he had to hold that thing for five days. Yikes. 

Anyway, Syl doesn’t like the brothers, but only because they carry Shards (I hope. They’re good boys Brent). And we run into Vasher--I mean, Zahel, but it’s Vasher. Also, Adolin waited to bring Renarin until he knew Zahel was there so he could pressure Zahel into taking Renarin under his wing, and Syl drops the fact that she’s a tiny piece of a god, although it’s unclear how seriously Kaladin takes that. Back to Shallan, who is covering anxiety about the deserters with scholarship. She also sketches Bluth here--first a more true to life version, and then an idealized one with him in a proper uniform with a good weapon. Pattern asks about why people shit and Shallan does not want to be having that conversation. Pattern also says that Shallan--and presumably this is a Lightweaver thing--lives lies to make herself strong, but must speak truths to progress. 

Back to Kaladin, who’s talking with Lopen. Also, Kaladin uses the word “greenvines” to mean new recruits. And there’s another highstorm coming--meaning Kaladin is paranoid about the numbers again. Also they watch Adolin training, and we get this absolutely amazing exchange: 

“I’ve seen him summon that weapon before.”  “Yeah, gancho, on the battlefield, when we saved his sorry ass from Sadeas.”  I LOVE LOPEN. Also, Renarin’s training is beginning--he hasn’t been trained to fight, so there aren’t any bad habits for him to unlearn. And also this is the part where Zahel just tells Renarin to jump off the roof a bunch of times and also uses idioms that make absolutely no sense translated literally in Rosharan. Example: “I’m old, son. Repeating myself makes me eat the wrong flower.” I’m sorry Zahel that literally just sounds like a shitpost. 

And then Kaladin and Zahel have a conversation while, in the background, Renarin is throwing himself off a building again and again. Fun digression story, this part reminds me of a story from my mom’s family? She had 8 brothers and little to no parental supervision so some hijinks went down including the boys, at one point, deciding to play “who can jump off the highest object” which ended in the youngest jumping off the shed and breaking his leg. Don’t do these things unless you’re in Shardplate, kids. Kaladin discredits how well Renarin will do, but Zahel’s got a better idea of it. 

And also Zahel starts berating Kaladin for some of his nonchalance--like assuming he knows how to fight Shardbearers just because he got lucky against two. It’s turning into Sparring Bantertime. And then Adolin makes the mistake of further antagonizing Kaladin, they get in a fight, and Zahel calls Adolin the fuck out for challenging someone without shardplate when Adolin is in Shardplate because what the actual fuck, you could kill people. Zahel also says that Kaladin reminds him of Adolin, to which Kaladin Is Very Offended, and Zahel starts laughing at him. Kaladin also notes that the stormlight drained from him, and Syl points out that he wasn’t protecting anyone. 

Shallan flashback time--we get the fact that when Shallan thinks about her mother her brain shuts down. She also hasn’t spoken for five months, apparently--since her mother was killed. Helaran gives Shallan a drawing pad and charcoals and says that he needs her to come back because he’s going to be gone for a few years, and he’s worried about the others. And of course what Shallan automatically draws is the murder scene, which worries Helaran as well and he tells her to draw safe things instead of dwelling on the past. Shallan spoke for the first time in months to stop Helaran from killing their father. And Shallan sees her father in a furious rage, but he stops himself before he hurts her. I still wonder--did he just care about her more, or was he scared of her abilities and didn’t want to provoke them? Well, there’s not much way to know now. 

Shallan, again. The listener song quoted here does mention artform as a thing that exists. Anyway, we’ve just run into Shallan taking control of her caravan and leading them down to help another group against the bandits, because we’ve hit another moment where Shallan’s back’s against the wall and she becomes certain--and flat-up offers the deserters redemption if they help her help the other people. The leader doesn’t listen, but the others--including Gaz, everyone runs into everyone else out on the Shattered Plains, huh--do. Another new Listener form is mentioned--meditationform, meant for teaching and consolation, used by the gods for lies and desolation. 

Also, we meet Tyn here. Also, the leader of the deserters--Vathah--attempts to threaten Shallan, and Pattern spooks the living shit out of him by saying “you should let her go” while Shallan pretends to hear nothing. Also, Shallan frees Tvklav’s slaves, including using the line “I saved your life, you oily little man.” And Shallan also sees that the caravan survivors burned a prayer of thanks for the deserters who saved their lives, which is great. 

Back to Kaladin. Also, the listener song mentions stormform here, including the phrases “beware its powers” and “beware its end.” And it also says it “brings the gods their night.” So we’re getting heavy hints that stormform is really bad news. Also, Kaladin sees a red light out in the highstorm and thinks it looks like eyes. Creepy. Adolin is looking at fashions, Renarin is stimming, Elhokar is fretting. Kaladin is trying to unobtrusively be nosy. 

Also, Renarin geeks out about fabrials to Kaladin, and Kaladin wonders why Adolin is looking at fashion and Adolin gets defensive. No numbers appear--probably because Renarin is in a room with other people the whole time. Adolin mentions that the only Shardbearer in Sadeas’ camp other than Sadeas is Amaram, Dalinar jokingly comments that Adolin won’t be dueling him, certainly, while I am in the background yelling “KICK HIS ASS, ADOLIN! KICK HIS MISERABLE ASS!” 

Anyway now they’re talking more about Amaram. Can we stop talking about Amaram. You’re not going to get him to secede from Sadeas’s side. He’s a piece of shit. Kaladin also notices that when people mention Amaram, he gets upset and tense, UNDERSTANDABLY. 

And so Kaladin goes to tell Dalinar about Amaram, and Dalinar points out that Kaladin doesn’t have any proof. Syl is optimistic, saying that Dalinar listened--and she’s actually right in the end, Syl is always right, she’s the best--but Kaladin says that he didn’t. Syl is also very upset at the thought of Kaladin “finding his own justice,” as he puts it, and points out that this is not what he’s supposed to be like as a Windrunner. 

Also, Shen confronts Kaladin--which is an early sign that Shen is not a normal Parshman--and says that he isn’t really treated as Bridge Four, and that he’s basically still a slave, and Kaladin can’t argue with that and hates it. And then one of the palace guards runs in, panicking, and I’m pretty sure this is the Szeth attack. 

Listener song talking about “Nightform” which apparently predicts the future--there is the whole “Voidbringers see the future” thing. In any case, the “attack” was someone sabotaging the railing and balcony where Elhokar stands. Kaladin points out that whoever tried it was an idiot--or, more precisely, a coward, if they’re the same person who was behind the drained stormlight in the Plate. They want to make Elhokar’s death look like an accident, but they tipped their hand here--because the only tool that could have cut away at the balcony like that was a Shardblade. Kaladin also swears, here, that Dalinar can trust him--one half of the conflicting oaths that tear him apart in this book. Dalinar also assumes that bridgemen have no part in warcamp politics, which is...a bit naive. Kaladin does, as does Moash--lighteyes can engender deep antagonism in darkeyes without realizing. 

I’ll cut this here and get the rest of Part Two in another post.