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cdragons · 10 months ago

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Warmth & Stories - Aemond Targaryen x Wildling!Reader

Next Part

Summary: Love can bloom in the most unusual ways. The love between a stoic prince from the South and a wildling storyteller will be written in history as one of the strangest but truest of loves.

Author's Notes: To my very lovely and wonderful friend and beta reader Bel, aka @valeskafics, I hope you had a wonderful Christmas and New Year's! This is the first part of this fic gift I wanted to give you, and I promise the next part will have smut! I hope you like this fic and can feel my love and appreciation for you. Bel, you are one of my favorite writers of all time and a huge reason I began posting fanfics and writing in the first place. I am so grateful that you opened a whole new world for me, and I hope this year gives you lots of happiness.

Warning(s): Slight cursing, Reader's parents were killed, Daemon's an ass, Viserys is a negligent father, Westeros is Westeros, dysfunctional family shenanigans

Prince Aemond Targaryen was known to be many things. Proud. Serious. Studious. All things one should be proud of in a young man’s position. Every single one of his teachers and wet nurses sung praises of the young prince since he began to toddle. And although it might seem cruel to admit it, the second prince was the apple of the Queen’s eye and the clear favorite of her four children.

Her sweet Aemond was a mild, studious young boy who practiced his faith in the Seven despite his blood lineage belonging to the Old Gods of Valryia. Besides Aegon, he had always been respectful to his siblings–especially to his elder sister, Helaena. Aemond would often humor his sister’s strange ramblings and gift her with little creatures he found as he wandered the ancient walls of the Red Keep. Helanea, despite all her reclusiveness, only seemed comfortable enough to be touched with her younger brother and often offered comfort whenever he complained about how unfair it was that he still had no dragon. His sister was as fond of her younger brother as he was of her and would usually humor his requests.

Except now.

“Please?” Aemond had been pleading for over an hour, reaching a point where most would pity him.

“No,” replied his sister sternly, “I’ve already told you my answer won’t change.”

“But why?” he pathetically asked as his voice cracked. It was good that Aegon was still in his room, too drunk to start the day. Aemond would never have lived it down without allowing his brother to see him like this. “I won’t ask for anything else from you, I swear it.”

“No, absolutely not.”

“But why?” demanded Aemond. “I would never harm (Y/N). Name one person in the Seven Kingdoms who would treat her better than I?”

Too upset by his sister’s refusal, the prince stormed out of the room in a near-blind rage.

(Y/N) (Y/L/N) was no noblewoman or someone with any particularly wealthy connections or background. You weren’t even someone born within the Walls in the North.

No, you were from a tribe of wildings that hailed outside the Wall and were brought within the borders after your parents were caught stealing. The Starks decided to spare when they realized their daughter was just a tiny child with an incredible talent for storytelling. Within a year, the tales that Y/N wove with her tongue had reached the ears of Aemond’s father, King Viserys of House Targaryen. The King was fascinated by the young girl beyond the Wall, who spun tales of giants and spirits from the Land of Always Winter. He spared no expense in bringing you to King’s Landing.

Aemond could remember the day so clearly, as you arrived very shortly after his bastard nephew took his eye in Driftmark, and his father did nothing but protect his whore of a half-sister. When brought into the keep, you could hardly present yourself to a room full of nobles, let alone the King. You stood before his father and family barefoot and filthy. Your clothes looked closer to rags and torn cloth, and your (h/c) mane was wild with a few braids and feathers. But that hardly mattered. As soon as you opened your mouth, it was as if everyone in the Great Hall had been transported to another world.

The story you told started with a young princess given a toy soldier named the “Nussknacker.” The young princess loved her little toy soldier so much that her sweet Nussknacker came to life one night. He told the princess a prince to a winter wonderland full of fairies, sugar plums, and magic. His home had been overtaken by a maniacal Rattenkönig, and he turned the prince into his current form. The soldier and princess had to face many trials, but they were successful in defeating the evil Rattenkönig and saving the prince’s kingdom. The Nussknacker turned back into the handsome prince he had always been, and he and the princess married to lead his kingdom into prosperity.

By the time you finished telling your story, the Royal court went ablaze with applause. Your pretty words and skillful tongue enraptured every noble. They longed to hear more of your stories and were starved for entertainment. His father was in an especially jolly mood after hearing your tale. He immediately appointed you as the troubadour of the Royal Court held in protection under the Royal Targaryen House. A proclamation that horrified both the king’s Hand and the Queen, to say the least. It was no secret that Aemond’s mother and grandfather did not look favorably on you. More than once, he heard his mother seethe in anger at the attention her husband gave to you as you sat beside him during his father’s pain flares. In her eyes, you were a savage hellion who likely spread her legs up from the Wall in the North to the Great Hall of the Red Keep in the South.

But in Aemond’s eyes, you were an angel. It was not only his father’s pain you soothed with your stories, but also his own. He tried his best to keep his distance from you, but it wasn’t long until you gained his sister’s favor. From then on, whenever he spotted Helaena, you were by her side. The tall and icy walls he tried to maintain around you came crashing down before he knew it. His mother so loved him because he always did as she instructed, including to remain far away from the new child from beyond the North.

But one night, the scar on his eye had been so painful that he gained a fever that lasted for nearly a week. The maesters weren’t sure if he would survive the sickness, as it was a result of his lost eye being inflamed. His mother had resigned herself to crying by his bedside while his sister would sit with him and talk about her day. But one night, when he was delirious with pain, you somehow managed to sneak in from one of the secret tunnels within the keep’s walls. He couldn’t see you, but he recognized your voice. He wanted to scream for you to leave his room, threatening that he would call over the guards standing outside. But then you spoke, and it seemed as if his world of pain had just washed away. You spoke to him about the history of Old Valyria and the beautiful tales of dragons and knights that were lost in time. This continued on every night during his ailment.

“Do you miss your parents?” Aemond asked you one night. But he immediately regretted his question when he saw how your shoulders tensed.

“Sometimes,” you replied after a few moments of silence, “I understand that they are in a better place, wherever they are. But sometimes I wish they were here so I wouldn’t be alone.”

“But you have Helaena to be with you. Even my father adores your company.”

You only scoffed in response.

“Helaena is wonderful,” you bitterly continued, “I am glad to have a friend as sweet and kind as her in this poisonous hellhole you call home. But your father-” you paused a moment to lick your lips to figure out how to phrase your thoughts – “all he sees me as is a toy. A commodity. A funny little object that he bought to entertain him. He never mistreated me but does not respect me as a person, let alone as a subject.”

The tears in your eyes welled to the point where they almost spilled, and you immediately stopped talking to prevent further incriminating yourself.

“You have no idea what it’s like-” you let out a bitter laugh before continuing to cry – “to have your family taken away from you. To watch your parents be executed before your eyes when you were only a small child. And for what? Stealing a loaf of stale bread? What should that matter to the Starks? They have their pretty castle with warm fires and fur blankets. My mother and father worked for everything they had in order to care for me. Now here I am, away from the silver winter I called home and stuck in the shit-odor that covers precious South.”

“However much you hate your family, at least you still have them. I have no one. No one to share my culture and past with, no one to understand your customs and way of life. Call my parents whatever you want. Savages. Thieves. Scum. But they loved me. However little it was, they taught me to be proud of myself. They were my whole life, and now they’re gone.”

You ran out of his chambers and back into the wall. Aemond didn’t see you for several days, even after his fever broke and the maesters told his mother he would live. Two weeks passed, and Aemond felt as if he were going mad. When he finally spotted you in one of the more secluded areas of the library, he grabbed your arm before you could scurry off.

“Tell me,” he told you. “Tell me everything about your parents, your home. Tell me about how the air was clean and clear. Tell me about how everywhere you looked, you saw white snow and clear ice. Tell me how much you loved your family, pets, friends – if you had any. I don’t care what it is. Tell me everything.”

At first, you only stared. He couldn’t tell if you were furious or in shock. But soon, your eyes lit up as if you had been given five hundred gold dragons.

“Where do you want me to start?” you asked him, eyes wide with joy and a heart finally learning to trust.

Lo and behold, he found his heart beginning to feel the same.

“Wherever you want.”

The smile you gave him was worth more than all the money locked within the Royal Treasury.

So many nights since that day, you would sit by his bedside, speaking so prettily that even the most brutal of their acts and customs fascinated Aemond. You would burn the midnight oil, telling him about the adventures and raids of the Free People beyond the Wall. That’s how you referred to yourself as a “free woman.” While you despised the title “savage,” you did not mind being labeled as “wilding.” You claimed that since you were born outside the Wall, the laws of Westeros did not apply to you. You have been seen as wild, but you knew in your heart that you were born free. And what was more impressive to Aemond was how you honestly and sincerely believed that you were born as a free woman.

He saw it in the way you would make little shadow puppets shows to bring a smile from Daeron after it was announced that he would leave for Oldtown.

He heard it in how you got the cooks to spit on your name after stealing bread from kitchens and then giving it to the small folk children living in impoverished areas of Flea Bottom.

He smelt it in how your hair would always smell like the wind in the Godswood to ride his horse when you were supposed to be learning your letters with the Head Septa.

He tasted it when you let him take a sip of that rotten ale you made in secret when you went through one of your horrible bouts of homesickness.

He felt it in how you raced to his chambers to hug him after he woke up from another nightmare of the memory of that night when he lost his right eye.

You were the strangest mystery Aemond had ever and will ever know. No matter how long he spent searching for answers in his favorite corner of the library, Aemond could never understand how someone with a heart as warm as (Y/N) could come from the frozen wasteland she loved to call home.

With a single but powerful stroke of his blade, Lord Vaemond Velaryon’s upper jaw fell as the rest of his body dropped to the floor. Visenya’s Dark Sister had once more bathed in its victim’s blood. Gasps and shrieks filled the Great Hall at the sight of dark blood oozing from his corpse. The members of the Royal members all had varying reactions. From his mother’s side, Helaena immediately covered her eyes and turned away – utterly horrified by the swift mutilation. Aegon grimaced but was otherwise unaffected. Not surprising. He’d seen similar carnage from the illegal fight rings run in Flea Bottom. Aemond took a slight step back in shock as he gaped at the now-deceased lord in mild admiration.

He had no idea tongues were so long.

Prince Daemon Targaryen stood before his ailing brother, tall and proud. There was not a twinge of remorse or regret on his youthful visage as he towered over the spilled blood soaking his boots. Undoubtedly, this man carried the blood and fire of the proud dragons that graced their house.

“He can keep his tongue.”

Brutish as Daemon was known to be, Aemond respected his uncle’s instinct to remove objects that voiced slander against his wife. However much of a whore his half-sister may be, she was still of royal blood and their father’s firstborn.

However, he wasn’t sure how much that last fact mattered, considering how she spread her legs to swill only to produce bastards as her heirs.

His grandfather ordered the Kingsguards to disarm his uncle, but Daemon only scoffed as he wiped the blood off his ancient blade with an old rag. Moments later, Aemond’s decaying father collapsed on the Iron Throne in exhaustion after over-exerting himself. His mother immediately rushed over to aid him when she heard his pained groans.

“Call the Maesters!” she shouted before reaching him. And when his father fell into her arms, that was the first time Aemond saw you throughout this entire proceeding.

You stood close to the walls, remaining present but unseen. It was not until his father called for you by his side that he removed you from your hiding place. You and an apprentice Maester took Viserys to his chambers, leaving behind his wife, children, grandchildren, and every member of the Royal Court. As Aemond watched you carry his hobbling sire to his chambers – likely to recite to him a passage of the History of Old Valyria or one of the many tales surrounding Queen Visenya’s practice of the dark arts – his blood froze as he noticed Daemon’s gaze was focused not on his brother, but on you.

An hour had passed since Lord Vaemond Velaryon’s unfortunate passing, and Aemond was still no closer to finding you. He felt as if he was going mad in desperation. He checked everywhere. The kitchens, catching you sneak bites of freshly baked honey cakes. The stables, to find you feeding the mares and stallions carrots and apples. Your chambers, spying through the keyhole as you sat at your desk writing new stories. He even went so far as to ride to the dragonpit, hoping that you were reading to Vhagar again. He was close to announcing an order to search for you to the closest Kingsguard when he spotted you standing underneath the Heartstree. When another figure approached you, the one-eyed prince was about to call out your name.

Daemon. And judging by the way his violet eyes leered at your womanly form, it was clear to Aemond that this meeting was no coincidence. Aemond stepped out of view and pressed himself close to the garden’s entrance. The silver-tressed prince cursed himself for not publicly claiming you so everyone knew you were his and his alone. Differences in stations mattered little when you grew up so beautifully.

A fact he was sure that did not go unnoticed by his uncle despite meeting you for the first time.

Not for the first time did Aemond find himself cursing the gods for creating perfection in a single woman. Time had been unkind to many but seemed to spare you of any misfortune. While you were far from the polished and perfect image of a proper lady, you slowly but surely assimilated yourself to life in the South of the Wall. You traded your hides and furs for dresses and trousers. Your wild (h/c) mane became untangled by his sister’s ladies-in-waiting frequent brushings. Regular meals and proper care took a starving child with sharp, bony jabs to a woman with soft, feminine curves and beauty rivaling the Maiden herself.

“How have you found your time so far from the wall, little wilding?”

“I spent every waking second soaked and flushed from sweat and heat. To make it worse, I can’t escape the shit and piss that stains and bathes your pretty keep. Tell me, does that answer your question, my prince?”

Daemon barked a short laugh, amused that his brother took in someone so clearly different from the court’s usual vultures.

“When I heard my brother had taken in a little girl from outside the wall as his little entertainer, I was expecting a hobbled cripple caked in dirt with no sign of grooming. But here you stand, appearing more like a proper lady than a savage wildling.”

“You can take the girl from the North, but you can never take the North from the girl.”

No truer words had ever been spoken.

Aemond smiled at your quick wit and tongue. You were still every bit of the girl dragged before his father when he was only ten name-days old, even if you changed a little bit.

You still styled your hair with the little braids commonly worn in the North, but sometimes, he would catch Helaena tucking feathers in your locks.

You still carried your father’s old hunting knife on your person, but you also kept the Valyrian steel dagger Aemond gave you on Yuletide Eve from three years past.

You still made frequent trips to pass the bread to the small folk in Flea Bottom; you always made sure to help lead Aegon back to his bed after he drank himself stupidly.

It was a challenge, but you’ve adapted and made a life here with the Royal Family, whether you liked it or not.

“Do you ever plan on coming out from behind the wall, my prince? Or do you plan on renouncing your title and becoming Master of Whispers on your father’s small council?”

Realizing that his cover has been blown, Aemond brought himself in view to face the wildling girl who had stolen his heart almost eight years ago. He was relieved that his uncle had left the gardens, probably to inseminate his half-sister once more. It was as if she needed more children to convince all of King’s Landing that her claim on his brother’s throne was legitimate and valid. It did not matter that the evidence of her whorish nature was growing before their eyes.

“Careful, my lady,” replied Aemond, “one might think your words as treason towards the prince.”

“Please,” you scoffed, “the only people who continue to insist on taming my tongue are your mother and grandfather. And we both know my opinions of both parties.” Your cheeks began to flush, and your demeanor grew shy as you whispered your following words. “Besides, why would I need to be afraid of anything when I have you?”

Oh, how his cold, bitter heart grew ten times warmer with your sweet words. He removed his black riding gloves, reached for your hands, and was taken aback by how cold your skin felt against his own.

As if afraid of his voice, he cradled your hands softly as if he were the hunter and you were a little snow rabbit on the edge of running away. Your unblinking observation persisted as you silently watched your silver-haired prince raised both of your hands to his pink lips. He took in a deep breath before exhaling out. The heat of his breath against your fingers sent chills down your back. His mouth was opened just enough for you to see his tongue, bringing a deep sense of shame to wash over you as you dreamed of how good it would feel to have his tongue feast on your cunt.

“What possessed you to come outside without a cloak?” The low timbres of his voice broke you from your lust as you just now realized that you brought yourself into his trap. “It is already winter (Y/n). You could grow sick if you are not careful.”

“You forget yourself, Aemond,” you replied, tearing your hands from his grip. You almost wept at how profoundly you felt the loss of his warmth. When did his hands become so rough and big? “I have the true North in my veins. Such meek and pitiful clouds and winds could never get me ill.”

“Why were you outside at all?” Aemond had hoped to find you in one of the rooms with a fire roaring inside. Even if you were not alone, you would have been warm.

“Thinking about home, I suppose. I was tiny, but I would help gather whatever wood was available and put it in a big pile. We would put on our ceremonial furs and robes, along with masks we painted from the skulls of our kills. After that, the adults would drink themselves stupid on ale and heated yak’s milk as they and the children would gather around the wood pile and then burn it. I remember dancing with my parents around the fire as we sang praises for the old gods and yelled out prayers for the sun. A few boys would probably try to sneak some kisses from the girls with mistletoe.”

The silence that followed only added to the tension.

“I think I would have been stolen by now.”

“Stolen?”

“Your Southerners version of ‘marriage,’ I suppose,” you stated as you lightly shrugged, “at my age, if you weren’t stolen, it meant that something was wrong with you. If I remained with my tribe, some man would have stolen me by now and pumped me full of his babies.”

Aemond saw red. He clenched his fists so hard that his knuckles further paled to an almost translucent view of his veins as he imagined some savage, wildling man forcing himself on you. He wanted to ride Vhaghar beyond the North, if only reaching beyond the Wall and burning it all to the ground. No man other than him was allowed to touch you. He had only touched your hand and already decided that the rest of you belonged to him and him alone.

Taking a few steps closer to you, he removed his leather patch and lifted your chin between his fingers to force your focus on him. His ears caught a slight intake of breath when you saw his sapphire eye as he was so close that he could practically feel your heart racing in anticipation. He preened in satisfaction when he caught your perfect (e/c) irises dart down to his lips before resting his face again. Aemond didn’t need to look down to know that you were clenching your thighs in an attempt to stop your arousal from leaking.

His sister’s approval be damned.

If your traditions dictated that you must be ‘stolen’ to be a wife, then he would be the one to steal you.

“Sweet (Y/n), you’ve grown so cold.”

Do you wish to go back?

His face was so close to yours that you could feel breaths mix with your own. You could smell the fine leather of his tunic, and the fragrance of spices from his silvery locks wrapped you in a blanket of comfort. His violet eye’s gaze showed a vulnerability lost since that night in Driftmark. The night when he gained a dragon at the cost of becoming a cripple. If Aemond was to risk everything he’s worked for, he had to know.

Would you, a Free Woman, let yourself be called as his?

“No, my Aemond” - you took his hands in yours to tenderly kiss his knuckles- “not anymore.”

I am right where I belong.

And he believed you.

Tagging: @valeskafics, @dreaming-for-an-escape, @arcielee, @asa-do-your-thing, @lady-ashfade , @faesspace, @its-actually-minicika, @aphroditesmoon, @bellamys-girl1, @immyowndefender, @xxlovingfandomsxx, @elinedjarin, @meg-egg-blog, @marvelescape, @mandiiblanche, @lokiofasgard12, @boxedpandas, @anewpersonthatexists, @toodlesxcuddles, @leavemeoutofitlay

#aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #aemond x you #aemond targaryen #hotd x reader #got x reader #ewan mitchell #ewan nation #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen fluff #hotd fanfic #hotd fandom

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4dtk · 3 years ago

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pas de deux — gojo satoru

pas de deux [pa•de•de] (french, literally “step of two”), a dance duet.

summary: striving to become a principal dancer, you’re unaware of the curious blue eyes from across the studio, only knowing of his reputation from rumours. when you have to shadow your seniors to learn a principal role and meet the infamous gojo satoru, what happens then?

word count: 11k lmfao

genre: a bit of angst, mostly fluff

a/n: gojo brainrot done. sorry this took so long lol i’m not used to writing long fics but i’m glad i did bc this is acts also as a place for me to dump my passion of ballet aha :”)

playlist here! most of them are classical pieces and a bit of ballet class music, i hope you don’t mind uwu. personally, i’d recommend watching (before or after the fic doesn’t matter hahah) the crazy talented marianela nuñez and vadim muntagirov in the pas de deux that i reference a lot in this fic. they’re my absolute favourite! (´･ᴗ･ ` )

tags: @fiona782

it was unconventional to see a ballerino don white hair during rehearsals, let alone in a company; the familiar head of white whizzes through the studio like an angel of the night, with graceful moves and powerful jumps to match those of a faerie's seamless manoeuvers through her flowers.

that was only expected out of a principal anyway.

gojo satoru, a principal dancer of the six eyes theatre. they were part of the three prominent companies that carried the ballet world and industry. behind all the glimmer and glitz lay hours of endless rehearsals and worn-out pointe shoes, as well as smiles behind kitri's fans or even the emotional miming from giselle.

he was untouchable, a leading face that carried the ballets he starred in with immense skill and an aura admired by everyone. anyone lucky to score a pas de deux with him would be torn between a world of conflict. those soft eyes that looked down at you with love were solely meant to portray siegfried's ardour for odette and nothing else.

you sigh, eyeing the confident man giving his all in the company class, no doubt hyping himself up for tonight's last show. you couldn't fall behind, either, knowing your performance was monitored way more now that you were considered amongst the directors to be promoted to principal.

"next group, pay attention, loves!" the teacher for the morning caught your attention, letting the chattering group in front head out first before the next group of dancers took their turn.

dancing was all you could remember, taking up most of your life even when you were a kid. through competitions and gruelling schedules, you managed to land in the six eyes theatre. sure, it wasn't as popular as the zen'in company or the kamo national ballet but, it still held up a wicked reputation, partially thanks to gojo satoru.

your feet naturally hail your command, placing it behind the other in a curtsey to thank the instructor for the morning class as you stretch your feet in some simple pointe repertoire.

"nervous about your posting, (y/n)?" nobara asks, rolling the arch of her feet back and forth with a tennis ball.

you shrugged, "in a way, yeah. i'm getting observed on mainly every move that i make."

the smile your best friend gives you calms you down, at least. megumi chipped in, "hey, you'll become one of the best principals around, i know it."

"yeah! and we'll go to your shows, no matter wha... oh, right, we're first soloists," itadori trails off.

you laugh, settling down to wipe the sweat from your brow. however, there's an uncharacteristic silence when you start to remove your pointe shoes.

"what if i do become principal? i'll miss you guys like hell." you mutter, rubbing off the skin peeling from your toes. removing the tape and toepads, you sigh again even after nobara lands a hand on your arm.

"stop sighing, you idiot, the company's small. sure, you'll have extended rehearsals, and i will now have to deal with yuji's noisy ass, but i doubt we're going to be separated like oil and water."

you roll your eyes, chuckling a little through glossy eyes, "true. it's just that we've always been together, through the competitions where we met and going up the ranks. hell, i wouldn't even imagine all of us becoming first soloists when we entered six eyes."

megumi raises an eyebrow, "are you underestimating us?"

putting your fingers together, you offer a sheepish smile, "just a little."

"and now you're going to become a principal, (y/n). we all know you put yourself to crazy standards that you always reach, maybe even higher than that. you're going to kill it as a principal, i'm sure."

thankful to nobara for the little speech, you pat her arm gently, easing into a stretch to prevent any tensing up later in an afternoon class.

"(y/n), they're coming over, look sharp," itadori notifies you, turning to the barre to do his own stretching as your friends busy themselves with their phones.

you take another curtsey at your instructor, along with the director of six eyes, masamichi yaga.

why... was he here now?

"(y/n), love, we'll need to talk to you about something. would you mind coming to the office later on? just before the company's afternoon class at 2 would be good."

you were at a loss for words.

was i already raised to principal? no... they wouldn't promote someone who's only danced her first soloist role a couple of times. were they going to remove me for consideration? maybe they found a better dancer to monitor?

"it's nothing terrible, (y/n), i promise." with a smile, masamichi walks away, not before patting your shoulder for reassurance.

the next few hours go by in a flash: eating lunch, lazing around in the studio, filming some tiktoks and then getting ready for another class took up most of your time that you didn't get to ponder over the office visit.

so you were definitely surprised to see gojo satoru himself, a shit-eating grin on his face once he hears you enter. he lays back on both arms to welcome the first soloist, you.

you curtseyed again to ms ieiri and masamichi. before you got to gojo, however, he held a hand up before standing up himself to bow. you let out a small smile as the familiar step led you to curtsey on the other foot.

it left a weird feeling in your bones to greet a principal dancer, but you two weren't all that close, anyway. plus, curtseying was basic courtesy in the company, where actions spoke louder than a "good morning" or a "thank you".

"nice to see you, (y/n). miss nitta, as you know," masamichi gestured to your teacher and then to the white-haired man, whose beauty never fails to amaze you, as cliche as it sounds, "and gojo satoru."

"nice to finally talk to you, miss (y/n)," he nods his head, wearing an attractive smile that had you sucking in a breath. you could only manage a smile at the moment, brought back to reality when masamichi's firm voice resonates in the office.

"you've done a tremendous job these past few months, love. we've been watching your roles this season, hopping from one position to the other with no problem at all. i'm sure you were informed that you were being considered to be principal..." you leaned forward in anticipation, "...although you'd have to let your skill shine through more before we promote you to principal any time soon."

bummer, but it's nothing you can't handle.

"we do have something to ask of you, however. your potential is clearly set in the right place, and your talent and determination are not lost. we want you to shadow and learn the repertoire of shoko ieiri and gojo satoru while they rehearse for the next season's premiere."

nevermind, it might actually be something you can't handle.

"me?"

masamichi only lets out a knowing smile. "are you up for the challenge, (y/n)? you'll get to learn and watch how principals rehearse, act and mime out the story in the hands of ballet masters and mistresses like kiyotaka ijichi and mei mei and even tengen hoshi."

your fingers dug into your thigh at the well-known names, always seeing them in the corridors but never knew how they taught or conducted rehearsals. this was your chance.

"of course, director masamichi. i'd be honoured to observe and shadow the company's principal dancers, let alone miss shoko ieiri and mr gojo satoru here. their chemistry onstage is honestly unmatched!"

okay, shut up, (y/n). you're laying your fangirling thoughts on the actual director of six eyes theatre. a simple yes would've sufficed.

"great! you start tomorrow. skip the afternoon class and come straight to the studio on the ground floor. we'll be expecting you."

you couldn't help the grin that appears on your face this time, passing a bow to everyone in the room before curtseying and almost exclaiming a "thank you!"

once you're out of the professional eye, you have a little celebratory dance outside the office, immediately fishing out your phone to text the trio.

"a...ah! gojo senpai!" you take a step back in instinct, the tall principal looming over you with nothing but an intimidating air around him.

however, nothing screams intimidating on his face, as he shoots you a polite smile and a hand to get introductions out of the way.

all you can think about is his large hand enveloping yours while he tells you his name. you're stuck in a trance, locked on his eyes cut off by the black of his sunglasses.

how would those hands feel on my hips when he's lifting me? or maybe we'd engage in a kiss in romeo and juliet...? are we doing r&j for the next season's shows?

fuck.

"uh- yes, nice to meet you too, senpai! i-"

"call me gojo, (y/n)."

you're at a loss for words, the man knowing he's left you speechless with the way he's smirking off into the other direction. you manage to get the prodigy out of your head, willing yourself to get to the company class as soon as possible. since your distraction was gone and the air cleared of any tension, you were able to hear the voices in the office.

"are you sure about this, nitta? we can't have any more dancers off their game just because they were enamoured with satoru to the point of confessing their love to him. every time we get first soloists and principals to pair with him, something always comes up."

"i'm sure, director. (y/n)'s mettle and focus on her roles are strong, and her skills are off the charts. if anything happens, we'll just pair her with another principal, like kento or something." masamichi sounded unconvinced, grunting as their footsteps increased in volume.

company class! company class!

you slipped into the studio just in time to avoid nitta and masamichi, carrying your things as you looked for the trio.

"(y/n)!" yuji catches your attention, although a little too loudly for your liking. you were left to greet the other dancers on the way to their corner, dumping your bag with much more exasperation than you expected.

"what's wrong?" megumi asks, doing some plies at the bar to warm up his feet and muscles.

"i think i should text y'all instead. let's wait for after the show tonight."

you get three nods from the trio in reply, dropping into some simple stretches as the next instructor takes over. at least gojo wasn't here...

・．━━━━━━━━━━．・

the applause was deafening as you take your bow, thanking the audiences from the balcony and stalls as you gestured to your pas de deux partner, megumi. putting your hand in front of your heart was a big thing to do, giving thanks to one of your best friends and partners for a fun pair such as bluebird and princess florine.

as you walked back to join the other dancers, the principal roles were taking their bows with no doubt roars and cheers from the audience from yet another electrifying performance from the golden pair as princess aurora and prince florimund: gojo and ieiri.

as ieiri led the conductor on stage, he was the last to thank the audience, bringing the heart of the ballet to life with the score of tchaikovsky's sleeping beauty.

with one last bow, the curtain closes, leaving you to let loose from the rigid position you were used to.

"we're done!" you laugh, hugging megumi as nobara and itadori squeeze their way through the many dancers on stage. the two convey their compliments, prompting you to nudge the two on their puss-in-boots and white cat roles. the two then freeze up, staring at something that was approaching from behind.

"miss (y/n)-" gojo bows, interrupted by ieiri as she crashes into you with a hug.

"oh man, (y/n) you were great out there!" you grin, embracing her as tight as she did.

"thank you, senpai," you were practically beaming, thankful she still remembered you after being promoted to principal years ago. it was hard to communicate and talk when she had so much going on, a natural dancer who rose up the ranks fast with her hard work.

ieiri formed herself up into a refined dancer that you wouldn't think she was the young girl at your studio trying on pointe shoes for the first time years ago when you were a kid.

that was if you didn't know her personally, of course.

"here, first position, just like that!" the curious girl interacted with the kids outside a smaller studio, teaching them the various positions that at least a grade two or three class would use.

she picked up pointe work fast, obviously guided by the mentors at the school with nights of rehearsal and decision making whether she wanted to pursue this professionally.

"oh shush, you, you don't have to call me senpai, see you tomorrow (y/n)!"

ieiri bids you goodbye, no doubt to talk to the choreographers and director. gojo follow suit shortly after your exchange, not before taking your hand to plant a kiss on it.

you retract almost immediately after his lips descend on your skin, the area hot from the lighting, your sweat and your feelings.

nobara tsked, "what's his deal?" you let out a shaky sigh and shrug, hooking an arm around megumi's as you went around to mingle with the dancers.

・．━━━━━━━━━━．・

[nobara is typing...]

you're to shadow gojo-senpai and shoko-senpai?! no way???!?!1/!?!?

[itadori is typing...]

no way, that's so cool!

what was he like? was he in the office that day?

[(y/n) is typing...]

yeah, he was. not gonna lie, a bit cocky... kinda overheard that partners throw themselves at him sometimes too, which makes it a bit troublesome, lol.

and yes, kugisaki i'll need to observe them starting tomorrow. i cant come for the company class :(

[megumi is typing...]

Then what about Shoko-senpai?

you shake your head even though no one could see you, the forgotten tv series playing in the background while you text your friends instead.

[(y/n) is typing...]

she's too good for him, i think. they're long time friends too, but i'm not sure if any feelings blossomed since then tho

[nobara is typing...]

you don't like him, do you? i know you dont like guys that are full of themselves, altho that man rlly is that attractive .......

[itadori is typing...]

LMAOO whos the smitten one now

nobara sends a vibe check sticker, the one with both hands outstretched with a threatening stare into the screen.

[nobara is typing...]

i'll kill you tomorrow, yuji itadori.

[itadori is typing...]

you'd have to reach my height first, loser

[nobara is typing...]

you- UFGGHKHH

i'll kick your shins, thats what!!!!!!

you roll your eyes as the two of them get into another friendly banter, leaving the group chat to blow up in messages as you switch off the neglected tv.

there's a silence that feels almost too foreign, contrasting to the fact that you enjoyed silences daily. it felt criminal, almost, to be in such a quiet space with no one to fill in the gaps.

you look to your black and white poster for some clarity, the young boy standing at 16 with a softness in his eyes and a lengthened extension that conveyed his love of ballet to you.

you never knew who was the boy, getting a poster shoved into your hands in a hurry when you and your mom bought tickets to the local ballet competition. you never questioned the poster, nor had you caught the boy in the midst of his variation either, settling for a theory that his performance had already passed the day before.

"how do you think it's going to go down tomorrow?" you mumble to no one in particular, tossing and turning in your sheets that didn't quell your worries no matter how much you thrashed.

the dreamless slumber welcomes you into its arms almost immediately, although the morning after was the opposite.

"shit, shit, shit," was your mantra, jumping from place to place in your small apartment to get the things you needed for class. you manage to catch the bus in time, heading straight to the studio with no cup of tea in your hand as usual.

"(y/n)!" nobara grins, seeing you stumble through the door just as everyone finishes their individual warmups. the instructor greets everyone, eager to get into the class as soon as possible.

the thought of the rehearsal shook you up more than you thought it would, leaving you to let out nervous breaths that got worse by the time that class ended.

ieiri didn't miss the way you'd wipe your hands on your tights in worry, going over the steps more than you usually would. you had a killer memory, but it seemed that today that that ability had melted away at the sight of gojo.

"wish me luck, guys," you muttered, hurriedly packing up your things before heading off yourself. the trio only could give you a small smile, knowing you had wanted time to yourself to calm your nerves.

you had always done this for the many shows you starred in: the music and positions mimicking a recording. it was as clear as day when it replayed in your head, the different orchestral parts and the dynamic changes you apply to your steps to give the best performance, for performing your best was all that mattered. the trio understood instantly, always sending you off on your memory replay with an encouraging smile.

well, almost, for you didn't even know what the rehearsal entailed or what piece they would be dancing to.

"hi," your voice appeared meek in the big studio, the only three people there slowly getting warmed up to each other. your feet carried you into a curtsey.

"ah, mei mei-sensei! miss shoko and mr gojo," you acknowledged their presence, placing your things down right where you stood.

"let's begin then, shall we? for this is a gala event, the pas de deux couple will only be performing the entree and the adagio parts. there might be the possibility you two would have to rehearse your individual variations and the coda. still, the organisers haven't gotten back to us on the duration we'll be on stage for. with the switching in and out of the different repertoire, this year should align with don quixote. before we start, i wish that everyone is honest with each other; that way, we can learn from different views."

don quixote?! you hold in your excitement at the revelation, thinking back to the fiery portrayals of kitri and lively spanish music to pair with it. your excitement was on cloud nine while by fifteen minutes, your feet and body were seemingly screaming at you to take a break.

to say it was tiring was an understatement, at the very least. you were to only shadow ieiri's parts, and the absence of a male partner proved challenging when you were the first soloist mirroring a principal and her partner.

"(y/n) should try too, of course! come, come," mei mei beckons you over from where you went over the steps, fingers fidgeting with the waistband of the sheer skirt you'd just bought a few days ago.

"i trust that you are familiar with the wedding PDD, (y/n)?" mei mei asks.

you nod eagerly, not missing the way ieiri beams at your enthusiasm.

"good. we'll just try this part on your own. remember to keep yourself lifted and trust your partner," mei mei eyes you while gojo was already getting comfortable with a hand on your back, "would you like to try it without the music first?"

you nod cautiously. you take note of the way it burns like fire, the contact of his skin on yours. oh god, you wished you had wiped the sweat from it, although the other didn't seem to mind it due to the many partners he's worked with before.

with a quick glance, you snuck a look at the tall dancer, never much prepared for the striking blue of his eyes. however, this time, the cheeky gojo appeared to be kept under wraps, bringing forth a more solemn and nervous exterior. he did seem different and quiet, even catching the attention of mei mei-sensei and ieiri herself. they opted not to say anything.

nevertheless, the two of you narrate the lifts and steps, mixing in the counts with the french vocabulary that stuck with you throughout the years. you were surprised at how much leeway gojo had provided you, allowing you to move freely while bringing you back effortlessly for the couple work.

a smile formed on your face at the flow of your steps as the music plays seamlessly in your mind with how much you've watched different renditions of the wedding pas de deux.

"with the music now, my dears."

ieiri shoots you a thumbs-up, noticeably more tired than you, as she massages the bottom of her feet with calculated force.

the piano starts as the pas de deux passes by smoothly with minimal mishaps, save for some off balances here and there. as always, your hand tingles when it comes in contact with the principal's, willing the quick heartbeats away by thinking of his cocky smirk the other day. with the easy beginning completed, the lifts were now appearing more often.

"hold your body up during the fish dive (y/n), hold your back and position!" gojo stumbles a bit at your mistake, but for the second time around, you manage to get it, coming up from the tricky step into a beautiful arabesque.

a hasty nod, and you're off, pulling away from gojo a tad bit quicker than how you wanted to initiate it. he's taken by surprise at your change of personality, wondering where the flustered soloist had gone to previously. with the same corrections directed at you, mei mei gives you a "good job" before bringing ieiri back in.

"we'll cap you two's pas de deux at that point before the turns. ieiri, you ready to get back into it?" she hesitantly nods, albeit more relaxed than the earlier exchange.

the music starts again, and this time, you manage to gape at the couple's artistry, weaving over and under to fit the delicate notes of minkus' score. with the many turns and tour en l'airs, it now came to the difficult part of the pas de deux: where the woman will wind their hand around the man's single finger, engaging in two turns connected only by that single contact point.

they complete it easily, leaving ieiri to then balance en pointe with one leg suspended in the air. the two repeat it again with no problem, except for the fatigue seeping through their faces at a few moments in time.

as the music reaches its climax, so does the movements with increasing pirouettes and lifts. their chests heave with exhaustion, but their smiles showed that they were satisfied with the run.

it was hard to believe that gojo and ieiri only started to rehearsed this a few weeks ago, especially since these were leading roles with a reasonably complex pas de deux to pair with. nothing seemed to faze them as they received the feedback from mei mei, nor did they have trouble correcting the lift that had gone wrong earlier or the balance that ieiri fell out of.

so this was what it meant to be a principal.

"(y/n)! any feedback that you'd like to give to the two?"

"h..huh, me? i'm not sure if it'd be helpful to-"

"nonsense, hit us, (y/n). rehearsals are always a place for feedback," ieiri grins, taking your hand to bring you closer to the three of them.

"well, i think... i'll comment on the repeated melody where you'll go from the turns into the attitude balance is where it's a bit difficult. since gojo-senpai is tall, he might've put his hand a little too high. i mean, of course, lifting up is ideal, but ieiri-senpai might have some trouble balancing because of that."

they wordlessly try it out without the music, noting how gojo places his hand at a lower height for ieiri. it might've felt foreign, but it looked a tad bit better to you, with a better centre of gravity and stability.

"yeah! like that!" a smile dons your face, "does it feel better, senpai?"

"tons," gojo simply states, almost too eagerly as blue eyes uncharacteristically boring into yours. opposed to the quick glances he always gave you along the corridor or within classes, this one was a strange, longing one. ieiri's voice snaps you out of the spell, almost not wanting to leave his stare.

"way better, thank you (y/n)," she pats your arm before turning to the sound of mei mei's voice.

"alright, beautiful legs and extensions, but we still have a lot to work on, as well as getting (y/n) accustomed to more pas de deux and principal work. would you like to stay on (y/n)?"

you admired your own determination, but sometimes it was better to take a break. having just attempted the coda, you could already feel blisters forming due to your prolonged use of pointe shoes. with a breath, you let gojo complete his pirouettes, restraining the sigh coming from your lips at the perfect revolutions and momentum he had going.

a little more, and you were close to catching a breath, finishing off a quadruple pirouette and tour en l'air with gojo's help. with a slight stumble, you let out a startled laugh before taking your last step with a knee to the floor. with palm outstretched, the piano does a trill before ending off on a chord.

out of the corner of your eye, you spot gojo smiling down at you, a beam that doesn't come often with how much confidence he carries around the company.

ieiri applauds first, followed by mei mei's impressed smile.

"you execute your fouettes well, (y/n)," you bow your head in thanks, brought up unconsciously with gojo's hand as it stays linked in yours.

"thank you, mei mei-sensei. i'm just glad to have tried it out; the don Q coda is one of my favourites," you gush, "the costumes, the music is just everything."

・．━━━━━━━━━━．・

"to dance with your partner is one thing, but the connection is another. translate the story of the elation of kitri - her father finally gives his blessing for their wedding, and she's excited to the moon. basilio is marrying the girl of his dreams. know what and who you're dancing for." mei mei speaks over the music easily, giving pointers they go over the steps like always.

"i know it's just an empty stage. there's no set, no scene to show the joy all around the cast, but you still are dancing as kitri and basilio," mei mei says after, "let's try again with (y/n)."

rehearsals carried on like this, day after day. some days longer than the other, and on others, you were paired with another first soloist. however, he wasn't tasked with shadowing the couple every day, so the pas de deux was left to you to master.

as you wipe your sweat, ieiri waves her towel in front of you, "wanna have lunch with us?"

"i don't want to intrude-"

"it's gojo's treat," ieiri whispers, "plus he doesn't treat people often."

"is he okay with me coming alo-" she pulls on you, leaving you no choice but to pack your things hurriedly.

"(y/n)'s coming, yea?" ieiri mumbles quickly, hooking her arm around yours in a hassle as you try to keep your things from falling out of your bag.

"i'd like that." gojo says to no one, finally catching up to you two after switching off the studio lights.

"whaaaat, you're leaving so fast?" you pout, eyeing ieiri's neat tray of finished food as gojo lets her pass through in the booth.

"i'm sorry you have to stay here with this dumbass (y/n), but i have a date with the orthopaedic today," ieiri groans.

"like an actual date?" gojo jokes.

"no," she rolls her eyes, "my muscles are acting up a little lately. plus, my arch hurts more often than it usually does. it's best to just check it out, i guess. but yeah, an actual date would be nice, too."

you shrug, "eh, hard to come by when you're a busy ballet dancer in a company. bye, senpai!" you and gojo wave to her as she leaves the diner, now coming to terms with the fact that you were alone with the charming dancer, as much as you hated to admit it.

with his perfect hair and long eyelashes and the enchanting smirk he always seems to wear. not to mention the sheer strength in his leaps in contrast to the delicate grip on your waist-

"thinking about me, love? of course you are."

"what? no!" you stiffen, the blush on your cheeks immediately giving away your thoughts.

"for the record, i've thought of you, too," gojo drops a bomb, leaning over the table to plant a gentle kiss upon your cheek before leaving the booth in a hurry.

you were thankful that he was gone, at least and thankful for the empty diner, leaving you to melt in a puddle of confusion and warmth.

just like the first rehearsal, your cheeks feel hot, as does your body. the place where his lips touched seemed to burn a hole through, your gaping mouth failing to close even after a minute of staring into nothing.

fishing out your phone was the first thing your mind sought out from the endless thoughts in your head.

nobara, nobara, nobara... gotta find her contact..!

[nobara is typing...]

he WHAT???!??@

・．━━━━━━━━━━．・

"ieiri-senpai, what's a pas de deux to you?" you mumble after rehearsals one day, picking at the tape stuck in between your toes.

"it would have to be what mei mei said, definitely. she still says the same exact thing till today: dance and connection are two different things. and it can't go to the point where two different stories are being told by the male and female dancer. you'll need to go into pas de deux work with a mindset that you come in a pair. every correction and every emotion needs to be felt by both parties for it to reach the audiences."

"what about you?" the question catches you by surprise, resorting to humming as you think of the answer.

"it's something along the lines of your answer and mei mei-sensei's definition. you'd have to be on the same wavelength as your partner. every extension that appears or a gentle port de bras is meant to show the character's personality. you'd also have to think of the context of the ballet, i guess," you stop yourself, looking at gojo as he finishes a tour en l'air en passe. three revolutions and you realise that a. you're staring and b. you were talking way too much.

"sorry! i'm rambling again," you splutter, going back to your original task of taking out the tape from your toes.

ieiri giggles, "no, no! ramble all you want. i love listening to my juniors talk about how much they love ballet."

"sleeping beauty, just like the show a week ago, is set in the royal court, so it's hard to show aurora's personality. she's a little playful and young, although it's hard to slip that in when the wedding pas de deux for that is so grand. and then you'll compare it to the black swan in swan lake, where it's also in a royal court, but odile's the one deceiving siegfried, so there's an opportunity to include some side-eyeing in it. i personally love zenaida's version," you trailed off, "i mean, of course, there's also-"

"then what about odette?" gojo shouts across the studio, with his hands on his hips. the white of his hair matched the pureness of odette's tutu, something you always wished to wear and dance and master when you got accepted into six eyes theatre.

"don't mind him-"

your words take precedence without effort, "with the white swan, odette has to show the struggle of her spell with the frantic miming that she has to do. 'i'm the queen of the swans, rothbart the bastard turned me into a swan' and so on and so forth. because she's a swan, she has to imitate the gentle way that swans move, along with the technical challenges of the pas de deux. she's very soft and fragile, and the violin makes it all the better in showing the shyness and fear in odette."

two pairs of eyes stare at you curiously as the male's smirk leaves you to break into a nervous laugh as you fidget with your fingers.

"sorry, i'm talking a lot. too much. do carry on with your jumps," a small apologetic smile appears on your face, failing to note gojo's hesitation to move from his spot and his interest in the way you can talk endlessly about the art.

gojo's smirk merges into a smile even when he accomplishes the many pirouettes demanded of him. he'd want to hear it from your lips next time when you're wrapped up in each other.

・．━━━━━━━━━━．・

"don't you think he's a little bit too confident for his own good?" nobara whispers to you. with rehearsals off for a few days, you were able to see your best friends again, munching up the calories lost from the afternoon class.

"yeah... for all we know, he might be stumbling around in rehearsals and picking up girls," megumi muttered.

you rolled your eyes, "he's... not like that, guys. he is confident in class and seems a bit cocky, but that's because he really does live up to his name."

"we might not know much, either. (y/n) has been in rehearsals with the guy. he's probably more focused when there are lesser people in the room," yuji chats through his food, gaining disgusted looks from the three of you when lettuce and chicken litter the table.

"well... don't go falling for the guy, yeah? i've beaten up too many exes in the past," megumi tsked, devouring the salad bowl in front of him.

"yeah, but i didn't ask you to, plus you'd do it anyway. didn't even have to ask," you grin, leaning back in your chair triumphantly.

"if i beat up gojo-senpai, i'll probably get jailed."

you and yuji stifle a laugh at his comment, but nobara doesn't seem impressed with the joke, instead focused more on you and your reactions.

you weren't actually developing feelings... right?

the memory and kiss linger in your mind like a stubborn stain, not forgetting the intense stare nobara had given you before you said goodbye to the three. a vibration from your phone snaps you out of the daze, opening your chat group to answer your friends.

[nobara is typing...]

how was rehearsal today?!???! we jsut finished class

also it's been so long since we saw u :(

[(y/n) is typing...]

so good as always is that even a question luv xx

theyre both so talented as individuals as they r in a pdd... it was rlly insightful too!

gojo-senpai kept staring at me today for some reason tho. he felt different today, a little more reserved and whatnot

[megumi is typing...]

Maybe he felt intimidated by your skill lol

"i'll take my leave first, (y/n)! i've got an errand to run. mei mei's accompanying me," ieiri grins, bringing you into a sweat-filled hug. she's used to soaked leotards, even if the grimace on your end doesn't go unnoticed by the principal.

she lets out a chuckle, "you'll get used to mixed sweat and whatnot, (y/n). see ya!"

curtseying comes easy, bidding goodbye to the principal and the ballet mistress.

you were ready to go back to the conversation on your phone, although a call of your name distracted you from the conversation.

"yes...? gojo?" you mumbled, the last name feeling foreign on your lips without the honorific at the back. you put your phone away as the studio immediately diminishes in size, seemingly putting the two of you in a tight space with nowhere to go. it certainly felt like it, with the wordless prompt of his hand.

"try the pas de deux with me," gojo proposes, pulling up a piano rendition of the score on spotify. it wasn't hard to spot the mischievous sparkle in his eye, along with the attractive grin plastered on his face.

the studio appeared calmer now that ieiri and mei mei had left, yet the conflict in your mind was loud and unwelcomed. it felt like a battle between the angel and the devil, and you were sure the devil was nobara herself, screeching at you to remind you of the shit-ton amount of conceitedness he had.

"are we allowed to? don't other people need to use the studio?" you mumble, standing up with the help of gojo nevertheless.

you're playing right into his hand, yet you took it anyway.

he waves a hand, "it's fine; you do know the pas de deux, don't you? we didn't go over it together much, but i'm sure the past rehearsals served you well."

the beginning was refined, having done it earlier with mei mei's help. it was mostly the only thing the two of you went over when mei mei was around, leaving the more complicated parts to ieiri. the fish dive comes naturally this time, imagining the glowing lights and the striking wedding tutu that kitri sports in the third act.

there are howls of laughter at the many mishaps after that. knowing you hadn't rehearsed any of it with your partner, nor with the music before, it was only fair that accidents were to happen.

"no, no, if you let me go, i will kill you- ah! gojo!" you threaten, but it's lost in your mouth as he spins you way too many times, letting a loud shriek escape your mouth.

from a failed pirouette to a fish dive where he almost dropped you (he didn't), the laughter spilling from yours and his lips weren't common in a company class with everyone trying to dance their best.

"hey, hey, lay off the hair!" gojo quips, catching your off-balanced pirouette with a secure hand on the waist. you went along with the music, anyway, giving your exaggerated interpretation of kitri just as the music builds up. that earns a laugh from him, skillfully guiding you through even with the light banter in the room

"here it comes," he mutters to you, feeling the support of gojo's hands on yours as he pushes you off the complete the double attitude turn before hearing a loud ‘thwap!’.

"fuck, sorry! oh my god," you apologise, retracting your leg almost immediately after the collision.

"ah, shit," gojo exclaims, rubbing the side of his thigh as he brings you down gently. there's a frown on his face as you take a peek at the place you hit, the only thoughts running through your head being the articles or scandals you might be caught in.

(y/n) attempting to harm six eyes theatre's golden principal dancer? (y/n)'s downfall full of jealousy? (y/n) and the infamous gojo caught in a fight?

a giggle gets you out of the trenches, hands revealed like a finished magician's act.

"i was kidding; that didn't hurt one bit," gojo jokes, hands naturally reaching forward to place them on your hips, "loosen up a bit, (y/n)."

"i am loose!" your mouth falls into a straight line, "shit that sounded bad, didn't it?" bursting into laughter, your head falls onto his shoulder as your hand reaches up to grasp at his forearm before recovering from the unexpected joke.

as the pas de deux fades off into nothing, only your breaths could be heard in the large studio, blending with the cold air of the air-conditioning and the hot breaths coming from your mouths. strings play softly from the phone, but all you can hear is the echo of the familiar melody as if it was being played in an auditorium.

gojo gives you a gentle smile that you reciprocate, stuck in that annoying hypnotisation of his blue eyes and the same soft look he gives you whenever you aren't looking.

you were looking now, though, and you'd like it even better if time stood still for you to savour this moment.

"would you like to go on a date with me (y/n)?"

there it was, the million-dollar question. it wasn't like you imagined this every night before you slept or whether he'd perform a flashy proposal to ask you out.

but even then, you thought back to the smirks he directed at every other dancer, you thought back to the conversation in masamichi's office, you thought back to nobara's advice.

"surely you're not thinking of getting wooed by gojo satoru, are you? it's dangerous, (y/n), i'm sure you know that."

"fuck, i know! but then he kisses my cheek that one time and everything feels right again. he jokes with me in rehearsals and nudges me when mei mei-sensei compliments me. he treats me to lunch and looks at me with so much passion i almost want to believe it. these past weeks of rehearsals have taught me well in dance, but i'm sure it's making my love life miserable with how much he looks at me and then goes back to flirting with the other dancers."

"i'm sorry, i can't, gojo."

you make haste with the way you're scurrying out of the studio, breaking into a jog to make sure he doesn't catch after you.

you should've said yes, right? with how much he's been building up the courage these past few weeks, careful not to let ieiri spot his sneaky glances. even the kiss on your cheek left his heart pumping long after he's left the diner.

all that to leave him in the dust.

gojo lays in bed that day, eyes fully open as he struggles to get some rest, unaware of the similar turmoil you were going through. the dancer managed to sleep after innumerable amounts of overthinking, departing from consciousness with thoughts of you, just like he always has.

・．━━━━━━━━━━．・

there weren't any tears involved on your end, save for some of the glossy looks you've given your black and white poster as you played with your pillowcase in anxiety.

you dreaded the next rehearsal, knowing you had to face gojo sooner or later, especially with how you reacted to his question.

"mei mei-sensei, gojo," his name was muttered instead, embarrassed with the way you rushed out of the studio the previous day. mei mei looks between the two of you, clapping her hands together to get your attention.

"ieiri pulled a nerve around her arch, which was why we've been going to the orthopaedic more often. it's a minor injury, and she's resting right now, so we'll have to work with the two of you first. we'll stop at where we always do but feel free to continue if you feel comfortable."

great. it had to be on a day where i couldn't possibly face gojo.

he says nothing at that, both you and the pianist unsure of whether you were to continue.

gojo was still in his a game, hitting every leap and lifting you without much struggle. you, not so much, as the words you said to him replayed in your head like a broken record.

you fell off your balances, you couldn't portray kitri well, you felt the weight of your body get heavier with each repeated thought of the day before. hell, even your practice tutu felt heavy.

he sighs again for the umpteenth time as the music stops, the two of you receiving the same criticism from the previous run. mei mei tries her best to be polite, although you can tell she's losing her patience as well.

"(y/n)? what's gotten into you? i understand every dancer has their bad days, but today appears terrible with the silent treatment you two are giving each other."

you swallow at the question, taking a shaky breath before opening your mouth. you look to gojo for help, but his eyes evade yours by looking at the floor with arms crossed. his head whips toward you with your following words.

"he asked me... on a date. i rejected him, rushed out the studio," you mutter, tracing the fabric of the tutu hanging on your hips.

"you asked her out on a date?" mei mei states in disbelief, looking at the ballerino with a face full of perplexity.

"yeah, i did, and i would do it again," the last whisper is lost to you, unable to hear because of the distance between you and him.

"wh- why? what's wrong with that?" you ask mei mei-sensei, yet again being pulled in by the sky blue of his eyes before looking to the ballet mistress.

"mei mei-"

"gojo never asks anyone out. ever. i'm sure you're the first one."

you can see gojo deflate at that at the corner of your eye, shoulders sagging forward in defeat while mei mei takes the chance to leave for you to sort things out.

"what...?" was the only thing you could muster, eyes following your instructor as she exits the space.

"you two are dismissed for now. talk to him about it and resolve your problem," she waves a hand at you, the tension growing by the second as she's entirely out of the studio.

"gojo?" you ask cautiously, stepping up to him to pull him from the position he was in.

"you believe the rumours, the articles, don't you?" he says, completely unrelated to the situation at hand. the look he gives you was something you couldn't figure out, snatching his arm out of your grip as he puts some distance between the two of you.

"you think i'm some cocky bitch who's just strutting around the company, free to do my own thing?" the other says it in a quiet tone, but it didn't make it less menacing than if he were to shout it.

"do you think i enjoy the way the female dancers throw themselves at me when i'm trying to focus on my mistakes and corrections? you think i enjoy the annoying ass articles written about me?"

with each question, gojo doesn't fail to intimidate you, taking a step each time until you're cornered against the barre. those questions are left unanswered as gojo's eyes bore into yours, losing its usual spark when he glances at you during the pas de deux or when he's laughing at a joke you made over lunch.

"do you think i enjoy being talked about every. single. time?! when i'm passing in the corridors, in masamichi's office, in the company classes, among the little trio you have going on. when i asked you out, it was because i genuinely felt that i could connect to you: with no wrong assumptions or bad impressions," gojo runs a hand through his sweaty hair, the frustrated emotions he felt seeping through into his speech.

"...everything felt so fake to me while getting to know you were the only real thing i could cherish when i get to hold you during the pas de deux, or when my lips landed on your cheek. it was the only real thing that brought on your blush that i imagine your lips on mine way too much."

you chose to ignore the way your heart flutters at the confession, staring up at him with apparent conflict on your face.

"then why can't you just ignore them? i'd expect someone like you to not give a shit about what people think," you whisper.

"you got to know the wrong gojo, then. just like right now, i can't face what others have to murmur around about me."

"right now...?" you caught onto his words fast, your eyes immediately spotting the curious faces of both your friends and a few other dancers fighting for a spot to watch you two through the studio door's glass.

"c'mon, pack up, let's not talk here," gojo states. within seconds, the two of you were out the door with your hand clasped in his. you were quick on your feet to leave the premises, naturally following gojo's lead to an unknown building.

letting go of his hand, you explore the space, taking note of every tiny little thing that made the apartment his own.

"sorry for the mess. i live alone and hardly clean the apartment." the nervousness from the studio stayed, the other opting to remain at the doorway in worry. the silence in the apartment grows, your eyes now trained to the floor as gojo suddenly speaks up.

"i couldn't ignore them, (y/n). their expectations disguised as gossip and rumours allowed me to perform properly. i was afraid of disappointment, of getting ridiculed if i were to make mistakes on stage. any slip-up was seen by the company's sponsors, critics, everyone. their eyes were always on me, and i could never let myself get eaten up by the articles."

"the industry is filled with competition and talent. anyone can replace anyone at any given time; you'd have to have a mind of steel to not get affected by every little thing!"

his eyes meet the back of your head, the fatigue leaking through the lines of his eyes and face. as you turn around, you meet his exhausted ones, and, step by step, you approach the man.

"i can't say i have that mind of steel that i mentioned. i hardly come close to it, (y/n). i'm happy with the company, i'm content with my place, and i'm terribly in love with ballet, but... i'm so tired, really."

your expression of unsaid pity was all you could offer, bringing gojo into a hug as he wrapped his arms around you. the way he relaxed told you of the safe space you provided, while his tight, squeezing arms showed he hasn't embraced in a long time.

a minute or two passes, relishing in the now comfortable silence as the other collects himself.

"i'm laying everything on you, fuck, i'm sorry."

you shake your head into his chest, "don't apologise, you idiot. i should be the one saying sorry for rushing off like that," pulling away, you were heartbroken to see the shine of his tears waiting to cascade down his cheeks.

"i'm sorry i ran off. i was afraid, for a different reason. my rational side always protects my heart, knowing i've had bad experiences with friends and connections. if i couldn't sustain a friendship, who was i to jump into a relationship?" you hand trails to his nape to mindlessly play with the hair there as a form of habit with your own hair.

"it was brave of you, putting yourself out so vulnerably when i only looked at the surface of what you were. i'm sure it felt like those weeks of getting to know each other meant something to you, and i threw it away in fear that you'd leave me after a few months."

"so please don't apologise, i'm sorry i ever made you feel like shit because i didn't know about the weight on your shoulders."

a smile graces your face, the hand on his nape going back to his cheek.

"and stop crying; it doesn't make your eyes look good," you whisper, wiping the tears before they fall as gojo lets out a chuckle.

"you think my eyes look good?"

you roll your eyes, "god, who wouldn't? it's like looking at the sky and the ocean all at the same time. and when you stare at me? i always have trouble looking away from you because of how striking they are."

"are they now?" distracted from the emotional vomit earlier, he grins at your description of him. you're lucky to have your hands on his cheeks just so you can feel the effect you have on him every time you offer a compliment.

"are you done complimenting me?"

"i've only commented on your eyes, though. would you like me to continue?"

"i think you should kiss me first."

you're taken aback by gojo's boldness, a surprised expression appearing at the question. the way he looks at you beats the gazes through the mirror as he warms up and the look of interest over his bowl of miso soup. it beats the glances at you during the company classes and the short, fleeting glimpses as you move together during the pas de deux. it beats every single one that your head descends back into his chest, shy at the look of adoration he was giving you.

"can i really?" you whisper in his shirt, refusing to look up even when he pulls away from your embarrassment.

as his arms unwind themselves from your middle, he crouches down to reach your eye and bring you back from a world of uneasy firsts.

"is it your first?"

this was when gojo satoru was at his rawest, with his hands cupped around your cheeks in the slowly darkening apartment as he prepares himself to kiss you.

"it is."

gojo says nothing after that, the moment of silence feeling like forever before his lips meet yours. the sunset coming in from his windows hits at the right time, because then you'd be able to point at it and describe the colours you feel when his mouth moves against yours. you'd be able to sense your heart pumping and blood flowing more clearly than when you've just finished a demanding combination of steps when he encircles his arms around you to bring you closer.

without choreographed steps, nothing feels more fitting than a kiss full of passion that isn't in a pas de deux. ironically, it was the ones you enjoyed more, more than the kisses in romeo & juliet or in manon.

oxygen becomes scarce, then, prompting you to break away from gojo just as your heart fills up with joy, way more than you can fathom.

you crash your lips into his again, now catching him off-guard. he melts into it with no problem, a laugh spilling from his lips at your eagerness.

"i like you a lot, tons, (y/n). i don't say this often, but i like you."

"it's too early to say it's love, right? because i think i like you too, a lot, tons."

・．━━━━━━━━━━．・

you agreed to keep it under wraps for now, with you planning to leave half n' hour later to avoid suspicion. the dancer sacrificed his Z's so you could catch them instead, although you continued to lay awake in his bed watching the white-haired man get ready.

"are you sure the floor wasn't uncomfortable? you could've just used your own bed, y'know."

he only shakes his head, "'s okay. my back was acting up, anyway. it was basically free therapy."

you laugh at that, now sitting up fully to admire gojo's physique. with how affectionate and sweet he is behind closed doors, you swore that he was a different man. he shoots you a finger gun and a wink, knowing the way he's got you wrapped around his finger.

"see you later," gojo whispers, landing a peck on you before taking off on his own. it wasn't long before you had to get up, taking in the room and its decorative spaces. he has ballet posters and photos of his friends; he even had a diffuser.

a yawn takes over you as your hands land on the shirt on you.

fuck, you didn't have anything clean to wear. gojo had provided you with a shirt and pants from his wardrobe yesterday, rejecting his briefs with a laugh. with no bra, you decided to just use a spare leotard you keep in your bag, settling for the clothes gojo had lent you the day before.

the theatre felt different when you entered, heading straight for the studio to avoid any more prying eyes from the younger dancers.

"hey," you say, rubbing at your eyes to the trio warming up their feet.

nobara gasps, grasping at your hand immediately to pull you down onto the floor.

"are you good?" she mumbles, staring at your face for any signs of hurt or crying.

"do i need to beat him up?" megumi challenges, flexing his bicep as a joke, "i've been working out more."

"i'll go tell him off for you, (y/n)!" yuji grins, preparing to quite literally stand up to head over to the other corner of the room.

"no! i mean, yes, i'm good. please don't beat him up, and... sit down, yuji." you sigh.

"nothing... happened, guys. i know what it looked like in the studio yesterday but there wasn't any catfights or physical fights," you pause, looking at megumi, your hands instinctively going to the pouch where you kept your shoes, "we figured out our problem and solved it, that's all."

"so why are you wearing his shirt, then?" nobara shoots without hesitation, causing you to halt your movements for a bit. beside you, you can hear yuji choking on his water.

"i... we.. uhm," you trail off, trying to find the right words to fill in the gaps of your explanation. your eyes flit around the room before landing on gojo's, finding that his were already fixed on you.

"uh... yeah... we cleared up our differences and talked a bit," you mutter, lips breaking into a smile before you break eye contact with him. the trio stay dumbfounded at your word vomit, witnessing the exchange with the principal dancer with puzzlement.

"oh my god, did you guys fuck?" nobara whispers.

"what? no!" you laugh, whacking her shoulder as you stood up to loosen up your feet, preparing for the class conducted by masamichi himself today.

"i'll explain everything when i get back home, okay?" you say to the three of them, stuck in a side hug with nobara as her arm stay loosely wrapped around your waist.

they can only offer you their nods, bidding you goodbye with a slight wave.

as you enter the same rehearsal studio, there's only a single lone dancer in it, stretching over in a middle split as he scrolls on his phone mindlessly.

"hey," you call out to gojo, setting your bag of things down while you run up to him. he stands up instantly, pulling you into an embrace that shocks you with the sheer force of it.

"did you already miss me? that's fast."

he mumbles into your hair, "mhmm... shut up, please."

you laugh at that, recovering from the hug despite the other's protests.

"c'mon, i need to warm up, plus we're supposed to keep this a secret, right?"

gojo whines but lets you go anyway, but not before he plants a kiss on your hand as he lets you do your own thing. the next set of footsteps catch you in surprise, eyes widening at her presence when you run up to her in excitement.

"ieiri-senpai! are you feeling better?" you ask, peeking around at her feet, where she limped on earlier.

"yes, i am, (y/n)," she pats your head and realises your choice of clothing. you noticed her smirk, but before you could counter her question, she beats you to it, "and... i've seen that the dumbass finally made a move."

there's no denying the blush that makes its way onto your cheeks, seemingly oblivious to the stares from everyone when in reality, they were curious to know of what happened the day before.

"yeah, i guess he did," you sigh dreamily, giving off your feelings as ieiri could only smile at your situation.

mei mei enters the room with authority, making you perk up at her words as she walks to the centre of the barre with purpose.

"i trust that you've solved everything, yes? because you two have been quite the talk around the studio," mei mei states, braiding her hair into a side braid as ieiri takes a seat.

"i took her hand to get away from the crowd, sensei. if anything, i should be blamed for engaging in contact that might've given off the assumption that we were dating," gojo steps up.

"but you are dating, aren't you?" mei mei grins, putting on her shoes.

"i..." you tried to speak, but gojo interrupts you before then.

"only if she'll have me, then yes, we are."

you fight back a smile, stepping forward to catch his hand in yours. he's shaking, not at all the confident gojo satoru that you've become so accustomed to.

"yes," your single affirmation holds so much weight, looking up at him with as much joy as he did with you in the morning.

"okay, good! i've gone through enough of gojo staring at you from across the room. let's continue," mei mei casually says, "i'm sure (y/n) has heard the news, yes?"

she's quick to pull you out of your thoughts of gojo looking at you during rehearsals with the question of the news that left you texting the trio at 1am.

[nitta-sensei is typing...]

(y/n)? do you have a minute to spare?

[(y/n) is typing...]

yes sensei?

what seems to be the...

you're cut off by the abrupt phone call as gojo brushes his teeth, speaking to you, though incoherently, through the foam and lather in his mouth.

"yes, nitta-sensei? what is it?"

"i'm sorry for conveying this news over the phone, and i was too excited to wait until the next day. you might or might not like it, but... you're to replace ieiri in the gala event for now." by now, gojo had stopped brushing due to your lack in reply.

he peeks his head out of the bathroom as nitta continues, "she has to heed her orthopaedic's advice and take a break for now, but since you've been shadowing the two for a good amount of time, masamichi thinks its best you take up the role of the female part."

your jaw stays dropped even after nitta says her goodbyes, the phone lit up due to your shock.

"(y/n)? what happened?"

"i'm going to be dancing with you, gojo," you say quietly, "i'm dancing the pas de deux with you!"

you bow your head in acknowledgement, "yes, i have."

ieiri sees the hesitation since now the original dancer was seated in front of you. she shoots you a double thumbs-up as motivation while mei mei briefs you on the gala like she did with the couple at the start.

it's short, and within the next moment, you're already flying through the sky with gojo's help. the steps start to become more apparent and distinct to you, letting the pianist lead the way as the lifts and pair work merge together like a seamless thread.

mei mei is firm in her teaching, knowing your weaknesses and strengths by heart with the past rehearsals that she's done. stopping the two of you before letting ieiri take over was routine, but for now, ieiri contributes with her wisdom from the chair instead.

the rehearsal progresses slowly, opting instead to complete it bit by bit as the weeks turn into days and the days turn into hours. you had to take extra care of your feet, icing them and making sure your blisters don't distract you as rehearsals extend longer to ensure your best performance.

when you had your own commitments, your best friends had theirs, fulfilling principal or first soloist roles just for the gala. there was hardly any time for you to see the trio, but you made up with late facetime calls and online dinners with them.

even with the distance in the company class, gojo never fails to make it up to you with kisses under the moonlight as you watch video after video on don quixote, although taking a specific liking to the pairing of nuñez and muntagirov.

・．━━━━━━━━━━．・

"you ready?" gojo lets out a nervous breath, already hearing the chatter of the gala attendees behind the curtains. beside you, other dancers are warming up for their own parts. some were doing a solo while others were doing a pas de deux like you were, but nonetheless, everyone gathered here was to share the love for ballet.

"hell no, i'm shaking," you laugh, playing with the elastic that was to go over your middle finger. a beautiful, white tutu was tailored just for you with minor tweaks from ieiri's tutu while they were in the midst of completing it. to honour and perform the role of kitri gave you immense joy and excitement, even though you were jittery at the responsibility passed on to you.

"how are you doing?" nobara asks, making you jump at the sudden voice. she lets out a giggle, "sorry."

"i'm... very nervous. is that even a question?" you ask her, holding onto her exposed shoulder a little too tightly. she dons a breathtaking, flowy costume with puffy sleeves and intricate detail. at the same time, yuji was suited up as nobara's partner in a pair of yellow tights, completing the couple look in the comedy-filled la fille mal gardée.

"oi, hot pants, come here! my partner's here finally after taming his hair," nobara jokes, pulling yuji over. they lean into each other's sides naturally, posing with peace signs and big smiles that they were asked to convey to the audience.

"good luck out there," megumi catches your attention, awkward as can be, as he pulls you in for a hug. his pas de deux partner is smiling at you beside him, taking your hand in hers.

"your rehearsals with gojo-senpai are incredible, (y/n)-senpai! all the best for your performance later," she bows, clearly relieved at saying the things she wanted to say.

"all the best for your le corsaire, too," you grin, waving them off excitedly before joining your basilio at the hip.

"you'll do great out there, trust me," gojo places a peck on your temple, holding you close by the waist as you warm up together. there's shared laughter between the two of you, exchanging jokes to calm your nerves and keep your mind moving. with the rush hour backstage, it was imminent that the show was starting soon, the many dancers continuing their warmup without trouble.

only you seemed to be on edge, performing as the first couple of the night for a role you've always loved and adored while watching from the balcony of auditoriums.

"i will. we will." you nod, hands twined with the other's as the curtains make their way up.

"breathe. we'll nail this like we always do," gojo kisses your linked hands, staring down at you with those same eyes you fell in love with. a smile replaced what you couldn't say out loud, bumping your head into his chest as an affectionate gesture, "let's go."

among the cheers and blinding lights, you could only focus on gojo's hand on the small of your back as he led you out. with practised steps, nothing could faze you except, maybe, his dazzling smile and the gentle eyes he has on you for the whole pas de deux.

living the life of an innkeeper's daughter was what you had to portray. while your 'father' was hesitant at first, he's finally given you the blessing to marry your lover, basilio. the glimmering tutu and effortless partnership was only half the job done, and for the radiant smile you had on at the moment, you hoped at least ieiri and mei mei would be proud of the story you were telling together with gojo.

the feeling from rehearsals is amplified on stage, with the orchestra's power and the costumes, providing you with a feeling like no other. and as gojo approaches with a flawless tour en l'air, you realise that with how much work you put in behind the scenes, the result always pays off.

as gojo has his hands on your waist, twirling you around like nothing in a quadruple pirouette, you realise that every step was made possible with the help of ieiri and mei mei and your best friends and lastly, gojo satoru.

the golden, treasured prodigy which you somehow managed to develop feelings for. the talented principal who whines when you won't refuse to give him affection and the once-cocky individual who softens just at the sight of you.

and as the music reaches the end, you want nothing more than to stay in this pas de deux with gojo satoru, in a dance of two.

you end off on an incredible note, chest heaving from the demanding technicalities of the pas de deux. nevertheless, your brain shuts out the thunderous applause, with some imparting you with their standing ovations and others who decided to scream 'bravo!' at the stage.

gojo offers a grin, bringing you close with a hand as you thank the audience with endless curtseys. bowing to your partner was next, thanking him for the interminable rehearsals and that hectic day of emotion from the studio right up to his home.

you almost practically run backstage with the adrenaline flowing through your body, the next act already on stage for the gala.

"oh my god, oh my god!" you whisper-shout in pure glee, hugging gojo close the moment you were out of view of the audience.

"you did it."

"we did it," you reassure, pulling from the embrace to smile up at him. you could feel the dancers' eyes around you, not knowing whether they should look to you or to look away.

his voice snaps you out of your thoughts, "'s okay, let them look. i don't mind it when i'm with you."

"just to confirm, we... shouldn't kiss, right?" you mumble, but you inch closer to his lips anyway.

"no... i don't think we should," gojo grins, indulging you in the very kiss you've waited for, knowing that right now, it wasn't the stage lights, nor was it the general heat after completing a difficult pas de deux.

it's as if the world gave you rose-tinted glasses, because that was all you could recognise now as gojo pulls you from backstage with your hand tightly locked onto his. he wasn't the six eyes theatre's prized principal, he was just gojo as you run past the many costumes being hung with the click-clacking of your pointe shoes.

you could compare it, almost, to running across a field with a billowing dress behind you, but alas, you were satisfied with being his kitri. for when she and basilio have a life of marriage ahead of them, you and gojo satoru have nothing but longing glances and shared laughter over your stumbling slip-ups in the studio as you tackle one act after the next.

the pas de deux was a connection and a story, and the both of you were just starting out yours.

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babylooneytoonz · 4 years ago

Text

200 Followers Appreciation Post

I'll be very honest, two months back when I joined Tumblr, I hadn't expected that my writings will be read by many, and the last thing I had expected was to be followed. Now look far we've come, from 0 followers to 200.

A personal thank you and a lot of love to each and every follower of mine.

I think this is the best part of our fandom. We love each other like family.

As a little token of my thank you, I decided to publish two of my requests combined as one today. Hope you like it. 💓

Tommy Shelby x Fem! Reader

Request 1- Prompt "We can’t win. Either I have you and my soul sings but your cries, or we’re apart and your soul rejoices but mine dies."

Request 2- Reader was always in love with Tommy, thinking he can't love her back she starts writing cheap novels as a way to deal with it. Her books become popular and everything is cool until Tommy finds out about her hobby and notices similarities between her writing and real life.

Warnings - Angst

GIF Credits - @thomasshelbyltd thank you. ❤️

A Maid's Diary

You slumped against your desk, letting your head rest against the old wooden table top, your elbows on either side of your face. Your desk was a cluttered mess, with sheets of paper flooded all over. In your hand, you held a pen, as you were just seconds back, scribbling vigorously on a parchment as an idea had just hit you, and just as swiftly, the idea had vanished from your mind.

You couldn't forget and you couldn't forgive your best friend, Linda, for having betrayed you by sharing your diary to a local printing press, who had, without your permission, published your countless feelings that you had penned down in your little diary, without even your consent, although they didn't take the credit for it. You were still the writer, even though the publishers never published your real name on it, just a pen name.

As much as you hated to admit it, the little push made by your friend had worked tremendously and your popularity had grown amongst the lower middle class especially; as that is where you hailed from. They loved your modesty, they loved how humble and down to earth you were, although you were extremely talented.

Little did they know, that the book that had been published, as an act of mistake, was actually based on your life.

"What is it that you are reading?" Tommy pushed his round glasses over his eyes, as he looked through them and fixed his broody stare on his wife.

Grace was sprawled on the couch in his study, shimmering in a beautiful pearl white satin nightgown hanging loosely over her slender frame, her natural blonde hair falling loosely over her shoulders. She seamlessly brought up her ring studded hand to her hair, running her fingers through the locks as her eyes came to rest on her husband.

"Would you look at this Tommy?" She raised a red little book in her hand, showing it to him briefly, before she sat back more comfortably. Their son, Charlie, crawled about on the carpeted floor, playing with a toy train. "I don't know who this woman is, but if you read this book, you would feel like you are a bloody part of it."

"Is it one of those fucking love stories again, Grace?"

"It's much more than that, love. It's complex. It's like reading a person's life, living her memories."

"Right, well, I'm out, I've got a bloody meeting with Arthur at the pub." He stood up, sliding his hand into his waistcoat and pulling out the pocket watch, taking a quick glance at it. He then kissed his wife a goodbye, lifting Charlie up in his arms, "Be good, you cheeky little oaf."

Little did he know, how that would be the last week, that he was spending home with his wife. The next week, Grace Shelby was shot, and she couldn't make it.

As days inched by, Tommy started growing more and more morose. Although he didn't show it, those around him felt it everyday. The snapping and the yelling increased, and Tommy found himself sleeping less and less, and chugging down more and more of that alcohol to keep his mind at rest. There were weeks when Tommy didn't see his son. Although he felt guilty, for neglecting him, as the poor child had lost his mother, just like he had lost his wife, he couldn't bring himself to face him, as he reminded him so much of her.

Soon, weeks turned into months and finally, Tommy's agony subsided to a bit. It wasn't as if it was an overnight process, but somehow, over the course of time, Tommy didn't feel the hurt anymore, as he initially did— or maybe, he learnt to live with it.

One night, when the nightmares crippled him to such an extent that he found himself unable to sleep, he decided to go through Grace's belongings, something he had kept locked up in the attic, afraid to touch them. Holding a lantern in his hand, he walked up the flight of stairs, the old floorboards creaking underneath the weight of his foot as he stepped into the dinghy little room. In a corner, a brown crate was hoarded up, keeping all of Grace's belongings.

Pulling off the the wooden board that was nailed shut, he pried it off and ran his hand through the dust coated silk dresses, his fingers gently brushing against the fabric. He let out a weak, pained exhale, slowly sliding down against the floor, pulling his hand out as he started fumbling around his pockets for a cigarette.

With a lit cigarette in his left hand, he slid his right hand back in, feeling around the box until his palm hit something hard. Pulling it out, he saw a little red book that was now turning a shade of purple at the edges. The book was coated in a sheet of dust, causing Tommy to squint his eyes slightly and scrunch up his nose as he brushed the dust off its cover.

A faint smile, a fond remembrance of Grace reading this book with such enthusiasm brought a weak smile to his lips. He took a drag of his cigarette, pulling himself off the floor and pocketed the book, walking out of the attic.

It was his eyes, eyes that could hold an entire ocean in them, that captivated me. I often found myself looking at him, stealing glances, when no one was looking. A part of me begged for his attention, hoping, yearning that he would atleast give me a glance but he never did.

The more he read through the passages, the more he realized what Grace had meant. This was not just a book, it was someone's life, it was someone's feelings. The words were simple and not at all fancy, the backdrop set was not that of a fine mansion, it was a tiny little house, in a clamoured street, a family of five siblings, four boys and one girl, and the writer, who was just a servant. The writer knew the love she felt for one of the sons of the house was wrong, improper and it was forbidden because she was a servant and they were her employers but she couldn't help how she felt, no matter how hard she tried to forget. Tommy couldn't help but feel drawn— drawn to the writer's pain, her anguish and the feeling of being stuck at the end of a self destructive, one sided love. He knew what it meant to not get to be with the person you loved. He had experienced the pain, although in a different sense but somehow, he could relate. Although Thomas Shelby didn't show any feelings, he had eventually fallen head over heels in love with Grace Burgess and life with her had been a life of roses and poppies, while he was a crown of thorns; that Grace bravely adorned on her head.

It was a cold night, and I was freezing. I could feel my cheeks turning to stone and my hands fervously rubbing against my arms to keep myself warm. I could see them right in front of my eyes; the whole family. They looked happy. They brothers were teasing their sister, who had a look of dismay plastered over her face, and the youngest brother, who was just a toddler, ran about the parlour, sucking on his thumb. I wondered if it was selfishly wrong of me to think of him in this way, to imagine how our little household would have been, had I been bound to him by marriage. I wondered if it was a sin, wondering what I would have named our children if we had a handful of them.

Thomas found himself leaning back comfortably in bed, straining into his glasses, wanting to read more, although his body and his eyes were beyond tired. It was as though he could see a glimpse of his life before the war had been, right through someone else's eyes. He could see little Finn, perched on the carpeted floor, running his toy train all over it, making a weird engine sound with his mouth while John and Arthur teased Ada for something she had probably said. He could picture himself by the window, staring at the dimly lit sky, the illuminating stars, thinking of the moment Greta took her last breath, her frail hand falling limp in his warm one.

How unlucky had he been with women, he had watched the women he loved die, in in his arms.

As I scrubbed the dishes in the kitchen, I could hear the curses in the parlor. He was screaming at himself, bringing the dishes down, breaking them one by one. No one dared stop him, because no one wanted to be slammed against the wall or have to be the one taking a porcelain hit on his face. I wondered if I should step in, maybe give him some tea but I didn't. Maybe, he didn't need it. It was only later that I found out he had lost the love of his life.

He shoved the book aside and sat up straighter, running his palm through his face, his breathing shaky and rushed. He grabbed his cigarette box off the bedside table and lit himself a cigarette. Maybe reading this book had been a mistake, it was opening up all his raw wounds that he had buried away.

He was leaving. I wanted to ask him when he would be back but of course, that would have been such a silly question. And besides, he had a lot more on his plate, why would he want to speak to a servant? I stood behind the kitchen wall, listening to the solemn parting, the shuffling of feet, listening to them leave until finally I could hear them no more— I could hear him no more.

Years after years, I went on with life, with a smile on my face. I did what I always did in the mornings; scrubbing the floors clean, washing the dishes, preparing supper and doing the laundry. At night, though, I thought of him and his blue eyes. I wondered if there was any news, for I hadn't heard anything about him in ages. Maybe my prayers were finally answered, the war ended and they all were back home. Only they weren't themselves. The war had killed a part of them. They were the ghosts of war, left to meander the Earth until they finally died.

"Mr. Shelby?" Tommy sharply looked up, his eyebrows straightened into a visible frown.

"Yes, Mary?"

"Charlie's asleep, the supper's ready. I was wondering if I could get a night off—"

"Mary, you may. You have bloody worked hard enough to earn a night off. Go on then, hurry up, it's pretty dark outside."

He watched her leave, staring at the door before bringing his gaze back to the book, wondering if the writer was out there somewhere. And he wondered, and hoped, that she had finally gotten to be with the man she loved. She deserved it. She deserved all the happiness in the world.

I finally mustered the courage, after what seemed like eternity, to speak my heart out. I was afraid of rejection, but he deserved to know. I deserved to be free of this heavy secret in my heart. I didn't care if he would ask me to leave, stop coming to work from tomorrow but he needed to know I loved him. So, I stepped out into the chilly night, wrapping myself with whatever warm I could find. I walked and walked, until I was at his pub. Of course, he wasn't there. With a heavy heart then, I thought of going back home, through an alley, that was a shorter route. Little did I know, I was never going to get the man I loved for he already had the woman he loved, the woman from the pub; that barmaid. I saw the man I was in love with, from a window, the way I always imagined him to be with me, kissing her and stroking her cheeks. It was as though I heard a devastating sound somewhere close by, but it was nothing but my heart—shattered into two.

Thomas Shelby was many things, but he was not ignorant, or dumb. He slammed the book shut, shoving it on the bedside table. His heart was racing rapidly and he could feel blood rush through his veins. Arching his body forward, placing his elbows on his thighs, he buried his face into his palms. Every single detail in the book, every single piece of writing was something he had experienced before. It couldn't be a mere coincidence, could it? He slid out of bed, stomping through the hallway into his study until he was perched on a stool by the telephone his fingers frivolously moving against it. He knew what he had to do now.

"Pol?" He mumbled into the phone the instant he heard her on the other side.

"Tommy? It's fucking midnight, what's the bloody matter?" Tommy didn't mind he had woken her up. He needed answers.

"Do you remember a maid that worked for us?" He sighed into the receiver.

"Tommy, we have hired a dozen fucking maids, which one are you talking about?"

"She was with us when Greta died, when we went to war—"

On the other side of the telephone, Polly's demeanour softened. She remembered you, she even knew how you loved Thomas, but she could never bring it up to her lips, because she knew that you and Thomas had no future.

"Yes."

"Do you know where she is? And for fucks sake, don't lie."

Your coffee mug lay on the table untouched, smoke bellowing out of it in waves. Outside your window, snow drizzled from the sky, like tiny droplets of fur falling to the ground, your garden sheeted in pristine virgin white.

"Love, you have to bloody see this," your friend Linda's voice echoed through the closed door, loud enough to alert you.

"What is it?" You threw open your window, watching your bestfriend stand at the gate, her eyes fixed to your window, "Just get your bloody arse down here (Y/N), I have to show you something. Come on out, now."

Annoyance.

You practically ran down the flight of stairs, not even stopped to calm your breaths.

"Jesus, Linda, it's fucking snowing, I'm going to freeze to—"

"Sorry love." Linda gave you an apologetic smile, her index finger pointing towards the silhouette of a man leaning by your front gate, slowly sliding out of the periphery of gaze. Neither were you watching her. You were watching a ghost of your past, that stood leaning by the metal gate on your front door, a cap on his head, a long overcoat drawn over his scrawny body. He had gotten weaker than you had last seen him.

"Miss (Y/N)." His voice was curt, yet warm, without a trace of malice in it. After all these years, he was right here, on your doorstep.

"Mr. Shelby? Would you like to come in?"

He shook his head, rather, his eyes and you knew that he didn't want to talk in the confines of your home, under prying eyes. He slowly pulled out a book from his pocket and your eyes widened. Your fingers flew to your lips and you felt a rush of blood in your body, an instant feeling of being in the warmth of a fireplace. You wanted to reply, but you couldn't find the words.

"You read my book, you found me out."

"It wasn't that fucking difficult to figure it out, love."

"Jesus, would you please come in? It's freezing out here, you're going to bloody catch a cold—"

He cut you off as you turned to walk in, grabbing you by your arm, not hard, but firm enough to stop you from walking. He then pulled you towards him, your front hitting his hard chest, to look into his face.

"It was you all along?"

You didn't know what to say anymore. He had found you out. After all these years.

"I don't understand—" You whispered, shaking your head. You couldn't lie, his eyes were making you nervous and all the feelings that had simmered over the course of time were finally lighting up again. "I'm sorry, I didn't know it will get published."

"Do you believe in destiny?" He cut you off.

You narrowed your eyes at him, trying to mentally think where he was going with this, "Perhaps, Mr. Shelby, but you need to be clearer than that."

"I didn't believe in fucking destiny, until this minute. I can't believe I'm fucking saying this—" You could see reluctance in his eyes, an inward fighting. You could see that he was thinking hard, probably having a hard time figuring out what he should say to you. "You remember Greta?"

You were hundred percent sure you weren't smiling, but had you been smiling, it would have withered.

"Yes, Mr. Shelby, the girl that died holding your hand, the girl you loved."

"Good, and what about Grace? The woman you saw at the fucking window."

Your cheeks reddened at the remark with embarassment, making you regret how he had read that part. That was a private thing between Thomas and Grace.

"I didn't mean to pry, I was just passing through the alley and I looked up and I —" You voluntarily bit on your tongue in an attempt to silence yourself because you knew you were babbling and your words were not making much sense. You needed to compose yourself, compose your thoughts.

"I married her, yeah? And do you know what happened then?"

You closed your eyes briefly, hoping he wouldn't see the pain in your eyes. When you blinked your eyes open again, you straightened slightly, almost taking a step away from him. He caught your arm, pulling you back to him.

"We have a lovely boy together, Charlie, he's three almost."

You wondered if Tommy was here to chastise you, to make you apologize, or maybe, your book had caused a rift in their marriage.

"She was shot. Fucking took a bullet that was meant for me. I fucking watched her die. Twice, (Y/N). I think it was my destiny. Will you ask me why?"

"Mr. Shelby—" You hopelessly began, trying to tell him how sorry you were about what had happened. But what could you do? It wasn't as if you had shot Grace.

"Just bloody ask me why."

You stiffened at the harshness of his voice.

"I- Why?"

"Because this fucking destiny had something else in mind for me. Perhaps it was you all along, the one I was maybe meant to be with."

Your eyes widened in surprise at his words, a sudden palpitating feeling in your heart, a sudden throbbing in the back of your mind. You pulled your arm away, wincing slightly at his sudden outburst, instantly moving away.

"Your words make no sense. Will you please stop?"

He parted his lips in an attempt to reply, but all that shot out of his plump lips was foggy winter air and he shut it. His hand flew to the side of your face, but he didn't touch you. He merely took a loose strand of your hair, curling it over his index finger. You could feel the sudden tension, his lips so close to you, you knew if you didn't stop him, he would kiss you. And later regret it.

"Mr. Shelby, this is a mistake. If I was your destiny, I would be the one buried in a grave and not the women you loved. I did love you," you spoke, hopelessly pulling yourself one step away but this time he didn't make an attempt to pull you close, perhaps having sensed your reluctance.

He raised his eyebrow, "Did?"

"I still do, but I don't think we were meant to be."

"I see," he almost stepped closer, reluctantly, fighting for control at the back of his mind. This was a new feeling. He knew he didn't love you yet, but at the same time, he knew he was in love with the woman from the book. The woman who had always loved him.

"Why?"

A single word can hold a vast meaning. A single word can have an answer that you could probably write a book on.

"Because Thomas .. We can’t win. Either I have you and my soul sings but your cries, or we’re apart and your soul rejoices but mine dies," you whispered in a low voice, tears shrouding into your eyes.

"Yet there's a bloody thing that binds us to each other. Something neither you nor I can see," he mumbled under his breath, sliding his hand into his pocket, pulling out a box of cigarettes.

You didn't know what to say to him. Your mind was fervently throbbing through your skull. Your heart leapt with joy but your mind didn't let you be at ease. He waited a few seconds but when he realized you had made up your mind, he decided he will not push you. You had given him the answer. You didn't want him. He nodded softly, letting his eyes wander down to your feet for a bit before giving you a last look as he turned his tail and started walking off, his boots crushing the snow as he started walking away.

And just like that, you realized that history was repeating itself. But this time, it was all your fault. You were letting him walk away when you could finally be happy.

"Thomas stop.." His name flew out of your mouth even before you could clamp your mouth shut. You saw him freeze, but this time, he didn't turn your way, but with his back turned towards you, you missed the hint of a smile that crossed his lips; the way you had stopped him meant that he still had hope.

"I would like to work for you again, does Charlie need a nanny?" You bit your lip.

It was nothing, but yet, it was a start. If destiny really wanted the two of you together then you wanted to try it out from the beginning, maybe make the man fall in love with you and not the woman who wrote the book. You wanted him to love you and not pity you.

"Twenty shillings, you stay at the Arrowe House, no further will be discussed on that, yeah?"

You gave him a weak smile, although you could not see his face.

"I'll see you tomorrow then, Mr. Shelby, first thing in the morning at 9."

He nodded and then, sliding his hands into his pockets, he walked away, his heavy boots crushing the snow underneath, generating a squishing, crunching sound until you could hear him no more. You couldn't wipe that smug smile from your face as you looked up at the sky, scrunching up your nose when you felt something cold; perhaps a snowflake had landed on the tip of your nose. It was a start, a start of a new day and who knew, perhaps a new life for you. Needless to say, you were excited.

#thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby x reader #peaky blinders #tommy shelby #peaky fucking blinders #peaky blinders x reader #200 followers appreciation #thank you for liking my work

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kageyahma-remade · 4 years ago

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Whisper of the Heart and Haikyuu!!, both being feel-good stories about personal growth with a foundation of interpersonal support and self-care, how very special places in my heart. Whisper of the Heart’s storyline of two people inspiring each other to pursue and improve in their crafts and Haikyuu!!’s focus on human connection and relationships, specifically revolving around Hinata and Kageyama’s relationship, led me to realize that there are A LOT of parallels between Shizuku & Hinata, and Seiji & Kageyama.

Shizuku and Hinata are the protagonists of their respective stories and therefore undergo the most growth. Shizuku sets a goal for herself to finish her novel by the time Seiji returns from Italy, and Hinata aspires to be good enough to beat Kageyama, the “King of the Court”, declaring that even if it takes ten or twenty years, he will do it.

Seiji is very good at making violins and has high aspirations that will take him elsewhere on the globe to improve. Kageyama is hailed as being a prodigy setter and has a strong drive to become the best there is. (I think the moment these parallels clicked for me was when I realized that their aspirations brought the both of them to Italy: Seiji to be an apprentice violin maker in Cremona, Kageyama playing for Ali Roma). They have worked hard for what they love and their goals have been set for a long time, in contrast to Shizuku and Hinata. Shizuku and Hinata acknowledge they need to catch up; Shizuku says “it must be nice to know what you want to do with your life. Me, I just go from one day to the next” and Hinata, having started playing volleyball later than Kageyama (and playing in a proper team even later), learns along the way what he wants to do and HOW best to do it

Seiji and Kageyama start farther ahead in their personal progress but give Shizuku and Hinata the inspiration and the means to start theirs. They create a place for them to use their talents -- Kageyama using his precise setting to make use of Hinata’s incredible speed/jump height/overall natural athleticism, Seiji being a part of Shizuku’s connection to Baron and part of her inspiration to write. They open up their viewpoints to a world they could have never seen without them.

And these relationships spark passion and drive and inspiration between every individual. Kageyama makes Hinata promise that he will meet him at the world stage one day. Long before Shizuku even noticed him, Seiji admired her talents and checked out dozens of library books hoping she would see his name on the cards. They excel on their own but with Shizuku and Hinata there, they can become even greater.

These relationships are about having someone around who makes you want to be better, who makes you want to dig deep and learn about yourself and go through the hard work of improving without the glamour and glory. I got into it briefly with this post but there’s a whole lot more i want to talk about (especially after seeing this beautiful piece of fanart by hazwqste !)

i got carried away and this got super long so i’ll be going into this in more depth (and including haikyuu manga spoilers!) under the cut:

First of all, they meet and get off on the wrong foot, and don’t get along very well.

They get to know each other and are soon able to fully express themselves around each other and allow each other to excel at what they love. Seiji shows Shizuku Baron’s eyes twinkling in the light and the violin he made, Shizuku excitedly tells him about things feeling like they came from magic or a storybook and even sings the lyrics she wrote when Seiji plays Take Me Home, Country Roads on the violin. Hinata and Kageyama have a love for volleyball in common and once they figure out how to put their skills and abilities together to make their freak quick attack work, they practically glow with excitement and become almost inseparable.

An event separating these two pairs act as catalysts to their growth (Seiji to Italy and Kageyama to the week-long All-Japan Youth Camp in Tokyo), because Shizuku and Hinata realize how far behind they are and how much they have to work to catch up. They even have similar running sequences that express their fear of being left behind.

Shizuku and Hinata both express the desire throughout their stories to be at an equal level to Seiji and Kageyama. Shizuku tells Yuko, “He wants to find out if he’s talented enough. Well, so will I! ... if he can do it, so can I!”.

One example of this with Hinata is that he wishes to complete the new quick attack during the Tokyo training camp arc so he and Kageyama could be on equal footing: during the Inter-high preliminaries, Hinata an Kageyama’s freak quick attack was something that was uniquely theirs, but it was something that Kageyama controlled. Heck, even Coach Washijo tells Hinata, “Without Kageyama as your setter, I can’t say I see any worth in you.” Hinata expresses a desire to evolve, to be able to pick his shots and stop closing his eyes, to learn from the best in the prefecture and work on everything he needs to improve on.

Shizuku and Hinata set off to go on journeys of their own to improve: Shizuku writing her novel with only Yuko and Nishi knowing, and Hinata in the ball boy arc and Brazil arc. They work hard, but realistically go through periods of doubt.

Here I noticed even more parallels between Shizuku and Hinata: Shizuku ends up skipping dinner, staying up late, and letting her grades slip while she works on her novel. Hinata has a history of not taking the best care of his body -- he practices all the time and needs to be reminded to take a break. He doesn’t start fully paying attention to the food that he’s nourishing himself with until he’s denied food at the Miyagi select rookie training camp. And he has a bad habit of not changing out of sweaty clothing and not wearing a jacket when he should, which leads to -- you know.

They feel discouraged and alone and end up thinking about Seiji and Kageyama’s hard work.

But they learn the importance of balance and self-care and soon feel okay again with wonderful scenes where a mentor figure brings them food to comfort them.

Most of Whisper of the Heart and Haikyuu!! are told from Shizuku’s and Hinata’s perspectives. However, the inspiration taken from Seiji and Kageyama does not go unreciprocated. In fact, even before they met, it’s like Seiji and Kageyama had been waiting for Shizuku and Hinata. Kageyama’s grandfather tells him at a young age that if he gets really good, someone even better will come find him. And it’s not until he gets to high school that Hinata tells him, “I’m here!”. It’s not until 6 years after that that Hinata is able to match/surpass his skill level and they have their fateful rematch to decide who will stay on the court the longest. Seiji hopes Shizuku will notice him a long time before they properly meet, and he waits right by Shizuku’s window right when he returns from Italy. They work hard because of Shizuku and Hinata, too. It’s almost like fate brought them together and keeps them together even when they’re apart.

For as long as they have known each other, these relationships have made them want to work hard in their respective crafts and really think about how to best nurture their growth -- whether the reasons are to become the best of the best, to beat the other at the world stage, to prove their worth in something they choose to pursue, or to follow their aspirations to the other side of the world

until finally,

they meet each other again

after a period of being apart,

ceaselessly waiting for each other and inspiring each other

and becoming better people because of it.

#whisper of the heart #haikyuu!!#kagehina #ghibli #hq!!#hq m #as long as i'm here #mine #janina reads hq!!#there are SO MANY more tiny little similarities that i wanted to include but didnt because this would end up getting way too long #love is stored in the volleyball #food becomes muscle #whisper of the haikyuu

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tuliharja · 4 years ago

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Oh, the otp asks are so interesting! Would you consider for HashiMito answering the following: 3, 9, 12, 21 and 24? I hope it's not too much, but with canonical, and so politically-involved couple those are super interesting.

Thank you so much from the ask @olliya!

Yes, I agree to you! OTP asks are always so interesting~. And I don’t mind at all, since HashiMito is one of my otps, so I was really happy to receive this ask from you! Not to mention the fact you picked very interesting ones. Thank you again from the ask. ^^

(The asks can be found from here.)

Alright, let’s put those shipping goggles on! *Cue for a very long post.*

3. If they complimented each other, what would they say?

Hashirama would probably try to write sonata to Mito and once he would realize it’s much harder than it seems, he would end up asking Tobirama to help. With the help of Tobirama, Hashirama would make most brilliant sonata ever, but once he would present it to Mito…she would be left highly unimpressed.

“Hashirama, did you perhaps ask help from Tobirama?” Mito questioned from her husband, before she sighed. There wasn’t any reason to ask that question when she already knew the answer, yet watching her husband turn into a spluttering mess brought her some sort of amusement. Deciding to be merciful, Mito gently cupped Hashirama’s cheeks, giving him kiss to his forehead. “Hashirama, you don’t have to make me sonatas, poets, or anything that would be too elaborate. As long as it becomes from your heart, I don’t mind even if your compliments would be extremely tacky.”

She watched how her husband slowly turned into a sobbing mess, gently brushing his hair as she merely allowed him to relax in her arms.

After that incident, Hashirama would gift Mito flowers. Being the expert, anything related to plants, he would know each and every flower and those meaning. He probably wouldn’t be best with actual words, but each bouquet would hail Mito’s beauty, kindness, power and how lucky he was when Mito did choose him.

Mito would had mastered the use of words, because she would know how valuable the talent of speaking would be. She could make even most praising comment sound like most wicked insult ever. That’s why, she would rarely compliment Hashirama as she knew her husband already received lots of compliments as he wasn’t any ordinary man. Repeating those same compliments would sound just hollow, empty and she didn’t want that. She would also know repeated words would turn meaningless, so she would rarely use endearing words about Hashirama.

To everybody else she would seem cold as ice, but in those rare moments when she would compliment Hashirama, he would take those into his heart and cherish those. Such occasions would be when Hashirama would manage to genuinely surprise her, show genuine understanding about her feelings and hopes, and take into consideration her wishes. But the most cherished moment would be when Mito would finally admit to Hashirama she was pregnant, while she was a Jinchuuriki. Hashirama would reassure her he wouldn’t leave her and make his best to ensure both she and the child would be safe. After she would calm down, she would spill her heart to Hashirama, telling how blessed she was to have such wonderful husband that would still stand next to her even when she was carrying Tailed-Beast. She would hail his strength, kindness, understanding and way too big heart. Later on, that night they both would compliment each other’s bodies in very sensual manner. ;)

9. Have they made each other cry?

Yes, since what would marriage be without any tears? There have been happy tears, but also sad ones. Happier tears have been in happy occasions, such as when they got married, when their first child did bear and when Mito would tickle the hell out of Hashirama. Who said Mito couldn’t be mischievous when she would want to? They’ve also been crying tears of joy when they got their second born (because it’s kind of their own fault they got a child, now isn’t it? xD)

There has also been tears, when Hashirama has tried to cheer up Mito when she has had extremely bad day when dealing Nine Tails just to see her wife happy. But there has also been tears of sadness as at times Hashirama’s gambling problems would be too much for the stressed-out Mito. She would hide her tears, but Hashirama would know. He would eventually weed out his gambling problem, when they were at the risk of losing their home and the tear-streaked look Mito gave? Yeah, absolute broke Hashirama’s heart. There would also been tears when each of them would get so badly wounded, they would be at the brink of death. One of such was after Mito sealed Kyuubi inside of her. Hashirama was sure Mito would perish as it seemed holding down the beast was too much for her. Hashirama’s eventual death also made Mito cry as she felt like her whole world collapsed at that exact moment, but such is life: many different types of causes which can make one cry.

12. Do they have differing political opinions?

Many people think they would have, but in reality, they don’t have expect in minor businesses. The political field can be extremely messy, especially when considering the fact Hashirama was doing something (building first ninja village) that hadn’t ever been done before.

Before Mito married Hashirama, she understood right to way for things to work she had to do some groundbreaking thinking. She knew if she married Hashirama, she wouldn’t just switch her Uzumaki family to Senju family, like in old times. No, what Hashirama was offering was that, she could still be Uzumaki and Senju. In old times, when one was wed to some more powerful clan, you had automatically become part of that clan. You had to basically throw everything that you had been before, expect your ninja talents. While you could gain a new and possible better family, there was always that fear if your spouse would die. If your spouse would die, you would automatically become an outcast. Just fodder to be used in next fight against some other clan, unless you would marry someone else or become a concubine. The option to go back to your old home wasn’t anymore an option, since you had quite literally been kicked out from there. Of course, some bigger clans treated this possibility much ‘nicer’, but the fact was, your position would still be bad compared to anyone who had born in the clan.

Now this Hashirama was offering something else. A village where you wouldn’t be an outcast, should such a thing occur. Hashirama painted all pretty pictures how they all would be one ‘big happy family’. Of course, Mito knew such thing would take time. But the possibility was tempting and since Mito didn’t want to forget her roots even if she would marry someone, she agreed upon this. She even went so far as convince Uzumaki clan to make their own village, Uzushiogakure, as the Uzumaki clan wasn’t yet ready to be part of some other village. In that way, Mito could keep one leg in her home and one in her new one. It also served as a way to ensure she wouldn’t be treated poorly in her new home, since at times when one would be married to some other clan, the new clan could treat the new spouse extremely badly. Of course, she didn’t have to worry about that (given the fact Hashirama was Hokage).

As time went on, Mito started to see better Hashirama’s views. She liked quite many of those as if those all would become true, there wouldn’t be anymore war, everybody would be treated equally and the children would be taken care of by everybody, even if their parents would die. Of course, she disagreed upon some things her husband suggested, such as sharing Tailed-Beasts between each newly formed village, but to make things work she understood everybody should have equal power at the palm of their hand. She also disagreed when some clans that joined Konoha would get some privileges such as Hyuugas, but since they were newly formed village that was striving for something new, even she understood some sort of bait was needed to get them join them. Things like these made disagreements between her and Hashirama as at times she felt like Hashirama didn’t care or see wrongness that he tried so much to weed out. Times like those, she felt like the village mattered more to her husband than anything else… in those darker times, she would deliver some cold facts to her husband that would make him despair over some of his choices. In those times, Mito would see the man behind the God of Shinobi whom she would comfort as she knew for things to work, they had to stand united together or watch the world burn.

21. How have they changed each other for the better/for the worse?

Hashirama believes his actions toward Madara did drive Mito to seal Nine Tails inside of her which basically did change her in more ways than anyone could had at first believed. While that was true, what Hashirama had hard time to grasp was the fact Mito did it willingly. Hashirama felt incredible guilt about that, because that event made Mito more prone to display her negative emotions. While that might sound like a good thing, because before that Mito tended to hide her negative emotions, it wasn’t at all fun and games when Nine Tails’ negative chakra was leaking out of Mito and she was trashing Hashirama around their house like a ragdoll. In those moments when Mito was very upset or angry, she reminded more a wild animal more than a person.

At first it was very hard, since Hashirama quickly learned Mito had tons of pent-up anger in her. His paperwork being late? Angry kyuubi-Mito. Him forgetting the dishes? Angry kyuubi-Mito. For a while it felt like there were two people inside of Mito, which was true. It took lots of patience, motivational talking and reassurance from Hashirama to make Mito understand not to hide her ire, no matter how small it would be. Eventually Hashirama managed to make Mito embrace her more ‘negative’ self that actually improved their relationship greatly. It also helped Hashirama to understand Mito better.

While Hashirama was already a stunning leader even before Konoha was founded, he was extremely poor what came to social skills. He could give motivational speeches to anyone, but if he had to make deals, small talk, simply listen or anything that would need any kind of ‘fine’ talk, he would more than often ask Tobirama’s help. Yet that behavior wouldn’t anymore cut when he become Hokage. He couldn’t anymore push Tobirama to deal with the stuffy, boring affairs and go train with their students. Which is where Mito stepped in. She put Hashirama through a mini hell to drive into his thick skull at least the bare minimum of social skills. It opened a whole new world to Hashirama. While before his overbearing personality had made some people feel uneasy and even that, he didn’t realize they might actually have brilliant ideas, he would now calm down and listen them. His relationship even with Tobirama did improve, because now he would listen his little brother giving him a speech of his latest invention, that actually made Hashirama understand Tobirama and him weren’t that different. They both were passionate people, yet because he barely before did stop to listen his brother’s ‘odd ideas’ he never knew.

While Mito’s social skills course did bring lot of good things out of Hashirama, it also brought his darker side. Hashirama could now use his ‘happy-go-lucky’ character at times as a façade to gather information and later on use it against Konoha’s enemies as most of his opponents only saw a fool front of them. But Mito teaching how to wear a mask in important meeting? Hashirama was eternally grateful to his wife about that.

24. What is something they have each had to forgive the other for?

When Mito married Hashirama she vowed to herself she would protect Hashirama, no matter what. But to do so, she had to do it while remaining hidden. She would protect Hashirama from the shadows, even going so far as kill someone if they threatened her husband. She would even create secret service, ANBU, just to protect her husband. They were an organization that worked in the shadows, that no-one knew, especially Hashirama. Expect, Hashirama did knew. He knew exactly what his wife was up to, yet he never addressed it as he waited Mito tell him about it. When years went by and Mito still didn’t tell him, Hashirama started to feel uneasy. He would drop intentionally questions or make scenarios that could make a perfect opportunity for Mito to tell about her role in ANBU and the organization itself. But she never did. It started to eat Hashirama in and out. While he knew Mito had her best intentions toward him, it still made Hashirama feel like unworthy of the truth. Didn’t Mito trust him? Did she think he was still that fool that she had met those years ago? Hashirama wanted to trust Mito, but he didn’t want to confront her. It wouldn’t had been same as if she would tell herself the truth.

To numb the pain Hashirama turned into drinking and gambling. With a good buzz he could make his doubts away as it would leave his core thoughts: that which were love. Gambling also brought a thrill to him that he hadn’t felt ever since he had become a Hokage. Maybe Mito wanted simply feel thrill? The adrenaline that would pump to his veins when he would bet everything to win or lose was just exhilarating. Though each time when he would lose and face upset Mito, he would feel a sting of guilt just to remember his wife’s secret. So, another night with gambling it was! Hashirama’s actions were slowly spiraling out of control and he only came into a rude awakening of reality when he faced tear-streaked Mito. She told him they were about to lose their house and everything, if he wouldn’t just stop. It was that moment the two realized they had to change, or they would lose them. Mito was stressed over the fact she tried to keep Hashirama safe, but it was harder than she had first believed, while Hashirama had tried to escape his problems with drinking and gambling. This event was one of those turning points with them as they slowly started to unravel those all. Eventually Mito told Hashirama the truth which lead into his own confession, making both of them to forgive each other and slowly strengthen once again their strained relationship. But even though they had managed to tackle this particular obstacle on their married path, there was still one big obstacle that had been slowly marinating.

While Mito understood in some level Hashirama’s deep friendship with Madara, at times it was extremely hard. In most situations like these, one would pick in a heartbeat their partner. But in Hashirama’s case, it wasn’t ever that simple. While Mito trusted Hashirama, it still made her at times doubt herself and her position as his wife. When she tried to talk about her doubts, most people would dismiss her and tell her how lucky she was. She was married to “God of Shinobi”, so why she was complaining? Wasn’t it beautiful her husband was friends with his childhood friend who had been Senjus mortal enemy? It made Mito hide her doubts and concerns as she all but turned eventually a blind eye her feelings. The worst part was that, Madara was actually nice toward her. But it all came crashing down when she sealed Kyuubi and she realized hiding her negative feelings wasn’t anymore that easy. Her all doubts came flying out of the box that had been hidden deep within her heart. She knew she had to learn to forgive her foolish husband his past ignorance and be more straightforward with Hashirama as Hashirama could be at times very dense. She eventually did forgive Hashirama when he showed her, she was extremely important to him and being friends with Madara didn’t take out or lessen his love toward her.

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ninja-go-to-therapy · 5 years ago

Text

I don’t trust Kat to give you context, so I’ll do it this time.

I decided to write something based on some stuff we were talking about. I don’t have the most confidence and this is more related to her stuff anyways, so while convincing me to post it, she offered to host it here. This has the added bonus of it being HER that hits post, limiting my chance to chicken out.

So enjoy this out of context thing I wrote because Kat is a bad influence.

-grungekitty-77

Eleanor knew she was an artist from a young age. From the moment she took he first picture she knew she’d found her calling. Other girls played dolls, she focused on posing them. She took photos of everything, always looking for something she hadn’t seen before. She got bored often and nothing frustrated her more than having nothing interesting to photograph.

From a young age she was hailed as a prodigy. Her eye was so unique, and she had a knack for finding things and making them interesting, things nobody realized could be that interesting. So, she had no trouble getting a start at a studio.

She hated family portraits. She hated them with a passion. They always wanted the same straight on angle and it was so painfully boring. They were frustrating to work with, they were all the same stiff smiles, one shot no different than the next. No talent or expression. She’d outright refuse them if they weren’t keeping the lights on.

She was ready for another grueling photoshoot that brought no fulfillment and wasted her talents. This family had an unruly kid.

Eleanor never really go the appeal of kids. They were loud and needy and usually a mess. They did provide more interest than their parents though. The boy screamed randomly at one point, much to his parents, aunts, uncles, and grandparents’ dismay.

He laughed at their frowns and Eleanor captured it. The emotions and dynamics were the most interesting thing she’d gotten so far.

The boy got lectured by his mom and pouted. The adults were back to their static smiles, but he displayed his emotions, not looking at the camera or standing straight. Eleanor captured that too, focusing on the boy’s emotional journey.

The adults got frustrated with him as he fidgeted, and their smiles dropped. His mother pulled him aside and screamed at him. He shrunk down and started to cry. She captured it.

Then she hugged him, telling him that she loved him and just needed him to behave. Eleanor captured her favorite shot of the shoot. It was a photo she’d have framed and hung in her house for years to come and would be her favorite for a long time.

This child, crying and filled with shame, clinging to his mother, comforted by the very cause of his tears. The vulnerability, the emotions, the submission, it was all something Eleanor hadn’t seen before.

The rest of the shoot went normally, the kid even having some real fun by the end, but Eleanor never forgot how that mother had the power to control her child’s emotions like that.

Family portraits stopped being so boring after that day. Eleanor stopped focusing on trying to make something worthwhile within the stifling constraints, and instead focused on how much power mothers had over the children. How if Eleanor needed something from them, the mother would provide it. Telling the child directly rarely worked but asking the mother to tell the child always did. It was like they weren’t interacting with the world as their own beings, they could only understand what was filtered through their mothers. Eleanor became obsessed with that power. The power to control another’s reality like that. A mother was her child’s whole world, and she could shape that world as she pleased.

Eventually her artistic work gained enough of a following that she never had to do a family portrait again, much to her relief. She hated working through the mothers. She may’ve been fascinating with their power over their children, but she wanted to have her own and constantly borrowing theirs was getting irksome. She wanted to shape her own worlds, and not have to work around the worlds these women had already shaped.

She still didn’t want a baby though. She wanted the control of her subject being a mother brought, not a child to raise.

Her dilemma sent her on a path to find others like her, a path that led to a private online forum. It was full of people like her, people that were obsessed with controlling, with shaping a world and having total power over it. She finally had people that understood what was going on in her head. Not all of them approached it from the same angle as her, but they all wanted to control a subject. She made good friends.

Itssnowing: have you thought about a pet?

SkullsandRibbons: maybe….

Itssnowing: Get a pretty little thing and train it. I know where you can get a lovely little purebred. It might fill the hole.

Eleanor took her friend up on his suggestion and got Lucy.

At first Eleanor was happy to have a new subject, but quickly she got frustrated. Lucy didn’t listen. She couldn’t get Lucy to do what she wanted, and all of her shots were off center or blurry because Lucy refused to hold a position.

Itssnowing suggested she send her off to get trained and Eleanor again, took his advice.

It worked. Lucy came back ready to obey orders. Eleanor was delighted for about a month and a half.

Then Lucy got boring. She looked the same as any other pure breed. She had the same few emotions and responses; the interest ran out. Eleanor ran out of new things to capture. She hated taking repeats of shots she already had.

Lucy was sold.

Itssnowing: Why? I would love having something so pretty in my house. A living, breathing piece of art that’s just for you.

SkullsandRibbons: Why would I want something I can see anywhere? There’s nothing new about it. Nothing unique. Nothing raw! Nothing new to see. It’s boring!

Itssnowing: I guess I’m just boring then. I’d much rather a quiet afternoon at home with a pretty little thing snuggled on my lap.

SkullsandRibbons: Well you’re an office worker, I’m an artist! I need something fulfilling!

Itssnowing: Suit yourself then.

SkullsandRibbons: I’m gonna go to the shelter tomorrow, see if they had anything interesting.

Itssnowing: You want a MUTT!?

SkullsandRibbons: Absolutely! No two are identical. I might actually capture something unique!

Itssnowing: I don’t understand you… but I suppose I don’t have to understand your tastes.

Eleanor laughed at her friend. She shared almost everything with Snowing. He got all the shots she took of her new rescue. He even admitted that the pictures were marvelous, though he still had his own tastes.

Eleanor got bored too easily. She decided to foster, so that she’d get a different subject every once and a while. She definitely preferred the rescues over Lucy. They all had stories and intrigue and were far more dependent on her attention. She could brighten them right up with a little affection, and then destroy them by ignoring them for a minute. Best was that she could do it all over again and it still worked.

But dogs got boring. She needed something fresh, something entirely unique, something that screamed at her to be captured and focused on.

She was browsing the internet one day and a headline caught her interest. She’d vaguely heard about the ninja, but she hadn’t actually seen any real pictures yet, so she clicked the article just to see what kind of pictures it had.

The green ninja made her eyes roll. Scared boy trying too hard to look strong and important and nothing else. A few candid shots had potential, but he seemed to only be himself when he didn’t know he was being seen, which would be pointless to explore with a camera.

The white ninja made her cringe. He had nothing to give. Well, the interesting anatomy could be worked with, but the ninja himself was a stiff subject that had nothing to see.

The blue ninja was all energy, no form. She could probably get some good shots, but it would get very one note after a short while.

The black ninja at least seemed to know how to hold himself, though he didn’t seem to have any interest in being a good subject. He’d make a decent model for brand work, but he’d be worthless in any artistic projects.

The girl was a brat. She refused to be a subject. It was a non-starter.

It was the red ninja that made her stop breathing. Then she boiled over in rage.

He was…He was perfect. He was gorgeous. He had an effortless look with just enough edge to make you want to know more. He was stunning, and the framing was the worst she’d ever seen!

They focused on the complete wrong place, and the lighting was just….oh it burned her. Here was this boy being the perfect subject, all the stars aligned, and the photographer ruined it!

She searched him up, she had to know what he looked like when he was given the attention he deserved.

Kai Smith.

She found his social media and started to scroll through. He posted his own pictures and he had no training in photography, but at least he wasn’t ruining anything. She poured over each selfie. His eyes burned with mischief and passion, his face had beautiful angles no matter which way he turned, and he seemed to love being observed. He was preforming. Giving pieces of himself for others to see. Eleanor continues to scroll and fantasized about capturing those pieces and propping them up correctly. She could make something magical out of him. His expressions told stories, he wore his emotions like jewels and Eleanor had to know more.

She spent the next week obsessing over everything she could learn about Kai Smith, her new muse. And she found something she hated even more than boring subjects, seeing someone mishandle a beautiful subject like Kai.

They all were too focused on Lloyd, who looked uncomfortable half the time he was on camera.

Nya wasn’t always an awful subject; she seemed a lot more willing to be captured if her brother was there with her.

She was right about Cole. He had the training, but no passion for it.

Jay was an attention hog and she found herself annoyed with him. Too overpowering, he didn’t leave the artist any room to work.

Zane was everything she thought he was. No surprises there.

But Kai…

The pictures where he was angry were the best. He had such a raw emotion. He let everyone see how he felt and let the image have the power of what he felt. He let his soul be seen.

She learned all she could about him.

He had a tragic backstory. Something with teeth, no wonder he had a touch of a wounded look. He had no mother to shape the world for him. This interested Eleanor even more. Kai seemed to have filtered the world for his little sister, and seemingly Lloyd too, but he seemed to lack anyone that could reshape his world as they saw fit.

He was wayward child.

The thought made Eleanor smile. Kai had no mother to compete with. There was no woman she’d have to fight with to take control of his world. He was what she had wanted so desperately. A beautiful and interesting subject she could control.

Oh, how she’d love to have him.

#you are completely right I'm a horrible influence #but u love me anyway #also I love it :D #Ninjago #not my writing #Eleanor #it only gets worse from here #:D #ninjago fanfiction #submission

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darrowsrising · 6 years ago

Note

You know, I will just throw questions back at you if you don't mind because I can finally scream with people! Tell me about your favorite RR characters aswell, please? ♥

I never mind people asking me things about RR. I love this series with my heart and soul and everything in between. Also, stop apologizing to me about long posts regarding RR, I love them and I have lots of long rants to confirm that.(don’t search for them, they are full of spoilers…and my distaste for Dancer and Roque!) Also, I’ll try not to spoil the fun for you…

Darrow:

My absolute favourite. I love him to bits, he’s my precious, murderous baby! I’d start a #DarrowDefendingSquad or a #DarrowPreciousMurderousBabyBoy, but that’s not my style. Or his style for that matter. He can take care of himself, 75% of the time…the other 25% is not really up to him (it’s a combo of his friends and pure luck).

Jokes aside now, Darrow’s feelings and realness always got to me. When I started reading Red Rising I was 17 and I was recovering from a very bad…burnout (I went to see a psychologist and she told me that I was hurting emotionally from many bad things happening at once, but it wasn’t like…depression or anxiety per se). His feelings, whether it was rage or kindness or anything in between, were so valid to me. He reminded me that it’s perfectly alright to have confidence in yourself, to go after what you want, to be proud of yourself, to love again (friends, lovers, whatever) and many other things. I was at my lowest then and he showed me that ambition is not a dirty word, that confidence in yourself isn’t a bad thing and even if these things intimidate the people around you, they are valid and you shouldn’t be ashamed of despicting such things.

That made me relate to him a lot. I still find myself (whenever I revisit the books) being like “mood” or “same” or “that’s my boy” or “my pride and joy” or “Hail Reaper” at many of his thoughts, actions and one liners. I will always love him, although he is very thick headed sometimes and that’s annoying.

Mustang:

She is my favorite female character. I love the fact that despite growing up with Nero au Augustus as a father and Adrius as a twin, she is still kind. She is also fair, open-minded and highly intelligent. And strong in more ways than one. I love that she is multi-faceted (although haters think she is bland and 2D…Pixies, where? Did we read the same books?) and despite her family and the way she was brought up, she finds it hard to pretend and is mostly genuine (unless she has a plan). I love how she doesn’t give (to use Sevro’s terminology) two squirts of piss over the title of heir of House Augustus, although she’s more than capable to fill in the spot. But she’s more concerned with making the world a better place (she is a Reformist and although the story follows Darrow more, that is a big deal giving that she tried to make laws to help other Colors including the banning of the Board of Quality Control). I love how she is a logical person, yet she sacrifices a part of herself for her family, because she is human and bound to do illogical things. I love how, despite loving her family so much, she often goes against them, because it’s the right thing to do. I love how she is underestimated and she just spits (not literally) in their faces. I just love how she is a fighter, a politician, a leader, because we rarely see females like that.

Sevro:

Sevro is a breath of fresh air. He is who he is without warning labels and apologies. He is a survivor, a loyal friend (very rare kind), a badarse. He is amazing. His existence is a defiance and I love it, although that resulted in a lonely childhood. I love him to bits tho, because he also shows how good it is to be yourself and like yourself despite everything. He is very sweet despite being a hard arse and his insults always leave me very impressed. It’s obvious that at the Institute, he just wanted to survive and get a modest job (like Fitchner - thing which Fitchner probably encouraged), but he started to see Darrow and his behavior with the others and he wanted to make friends. And when Darrow became his friend - his only real friend until then - it made him want more, dream for more. And I just love that. I love how Sevro evolved and how he protects his friends - Howlers included. The only thing I’m not a fan of is his hygene…and his pornographic collection of holoFilms.

Victra:

Victra is a warrior, an heiress and a business woman. She kicks arse, takes names and simply slays. I love that there is more to her than meets the eye (although I don’t trust NerdsTM to appreciate her like she deserves). I love how bad arse and loyal she is. I love how she enjoys life and all it entails. I love that she lets herself be vulnerable in public and it makes her courageous. I love how open she is about herself, yet she is still mysterious. I love the fact that she never lies and she loves jade jewelry and displaying her scars like jewelry and the smell of the air before the rain hits the ground.

Fitchner:

I feel like Fitch is way too underrated. He was fairy chosen to be Rage Knight - a position Lorn filled which only makes it legendary and harder to get. He beat Proctor Jupiter and Tactus’ eldest brother - which I hope is Tharsus, because Apollonius is in my graces atm. Not only that, he created the Sons of Ares, he lead them and infiltrated into the Society’s highest ranks to destroy it from the inside and build something better. It was his plan, his sacrifices, his dream. There would be no Rising without Fitchner. Not even Sevro, but hey, it’s not like the guy would say something like “The entire world should thank me for Sevro - he came from my sperm, ok, my swimmers made the little Goblin. You’re welcome!”…when we all know Sevro’s enemies would rather curse Fitchner’s balls for helping create their doom…

Getting back on track, Fitchner was the okay-est Proctor and one of the best characters.

Adrius: (no, it’ not an unpopular opinion, here we love Adrius)

I believe Adrius is the best villain hands down. There are no excuses for his actions, he is a genocidal maniac with daddy issues. He looks at people like they are objects, not human beings, he has no compassion and has no knowledge of empathy. And I love him. I give him sympathy, because he is a monster, but he was made that way. Although he displayed terrifying behavior from a young age, his fall towards evil could have been avoided if his father gave two (2) fucks about him. I love his relationship with Darrow and how they were rivals, then sort of allies, then…you’ll find out. I just love how Adrius was written. He is really great as a villain. I hate what he did to Darrow, tho. When he killed Nero I was happy for him, but no one touches Darrow, so that was his worst move ever. Like…Pixie, you just signed your death warrant, stay away from Mustang’s Bitc- Boo!

The Telemanuses:

All of them are amazing! Much love to all of them! They deserve the world! I include Niobe, Thraxa and Xana, but that’s all I’m going to say, because you need to read for yourself to believe me.

Cassius: (long stoty, because i didn’t really like him at first)

You know what? I disliked Cassius as much as Darrow did first time he saw him…too annoyingly perfect. And after what Darrow endured it felt like a disgrace to see an entitled little Pixie dance his way on marble corridors at the expense of so many Colors. As the story progressed, Cassius’s entitled arse didn’t improved and the most annoying part was him bragging about the death he claimed. I know he did it to make people talk and find out who killed Julian, but that doesn’t make him right. The 49 other people killed in the Passage were just as innocent as Julian. He made the death of the person he killed sound cheap. Even Antonia had more respect towards that. And Titus made it worse, but that gets off tracks. I understand his pain. If someone would have killed my sister in the Passage, it would have sworn revenge too. But the painful thing is that Cassius saw only Julian’s death, Julian didn’t deserve to die. But that is also true for all the other people who got murdered in the Passage. They didn’t deserve to die either, but you don’t see anyone going at Mustang or Sevro with blood oaths to murder them. The whole system is fucked up and must be changed. Killing Darrow might be a thing of honour, but honour doesn’t bring back Julian.

The fact that he lied to everyone that Darrow was killed by Adrius to claim his spot as Primus of Mars wasn’t good publicity either. And then, he got to be even more of a Pixie in Golden Son. But it was Mustang who convinced me to give him a chance. Because she was the one who revealed that Cassius is conflicted, that he regrets losing not one brother, but two. That he suffers, but tries to do his duty to his family and honour them. Bit by bit, I was open to seeing Cassius from this perspective, so I gave him lots of benefits of the doubt. Until he killed Fitchner and all I wanted was to see his head on a spike turned ugly by gore and maggots. Then Morning Star happened and I went from: fuck Cassius (and not in a nice way) to Bloodydamn finally, Pixie, you made me so proud. Then, we got Iron Gold and man, if something happens to him I’ll kill all the Gold families of the Rim and then that bitch of a ward.

I really love his character development. I can see that mine is an unpopular opinion everywhere in this fandom, given that even the author has a soft spot for Cassius (not that that stops him from making Cassius suffer even more), but yeah…that is the story of how I got late to the “We love Cassius” party. I’m being short on the good details, because I don’t want to spoil you, but I hope you understand.

Holiday and Orion:

They are amazing human beings and although they are side characters I love their contribution to the series. I love their personalities and talents and their overall no nonsense attitude.

I’ll stop here, before we go off charts. Here are some honourable mentions in no particular order: Aja au Grimmus, Ragnar Volarus, Theodora, Matteo, Mickey, Tactus au Rath Valii, Lorn au Arcos, Apollonius au Valii Rath, Alexandar au Arcos, Rhonna of Lykos, Diomedes au Raa, Trigg ti Nakamura, Volga Fjordan.

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afleetingimpressixn · 6 years ago

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“I can feel it all wash over me. The heat. The force. The radiation…the fear. It’s the end of the world - all over again.“

An updated bio post for my fallout 4 sole survivor, Abraham.

Alias: Bullseye

Alliance: the Railroad

Sexuality: Bisexual

Height: 6′1″

Age: 210+ years ( physically, in his late thirties )

Backstory:

James Ross was not a remarkable man. His parents were Irish immigrants, and his family had a history of working with their hands. James himself was a mechanic, and worked with both robotics and automobiles.

He married a woman named Adrianne Hayes, a brash defense attorney who hailed from a strict Jewish household. Their marriage was largely impulsive, and Abraham was born not soon after.

Adrianne’s work occupied most of her time, so Abraham spent most of his youth in his father’s shop. He was kept in the waiting room with his toys and coloring books until he was old enough to actually work, and his father started teaching him the trade the moment Abraham was able to hold a wrench.

Abraham had always been better with machinery than he was with schoolwork, but he was by no means unintelligent. He was extremely skilled, but struggled to focus in actual class, and whatever attempts his teachers made at getting him diagnosed with ADHD were either ignored or rejected by his father.

After graduating high school, Abraham spent half a term in college before dropping out and enlisting in the military. That was where his true talents were discovered - not only was he good with machines, but he was good with a gun, and excelled both in his training and on the field.

During the short period of time he spent at school was when he met Laura. Like Abraham, she came from a family of immigrants, this time having come over from South America and the Caribbean. She was a nursing student, and almost scarily intelligent. The two of them dated on and off during Abraham’s detours, before finally getting married after Laura graduated.

Their relationship was not exactly stable, especially not in its earlier stages. They were young, and Abraham’s impulsiveness led to several affairs with other servicemen and women, regardless of whether he and Laura were actually together or not. As he matured, and the Sino-American war escalated, Abraham’s affairs were replaced with drug usage. At one point, Abraham was injured and bedridden for weeks, until a military physician offered him what he described as a performance enhancer. He promised that the substance would not only speed up Abraham’s recovery, but make him a better soldier afterwards, and was safer than any steroid on the market.

It was at least partially true. Abraham recovered, and when he returned to his service, he found that he was much stronger and resilient than he had been before. He was also a lot more reckless, willing to take larger risks for whatever goal needed to be met. There were several occasions where he should have died because of this, but managed to walk away barely scathed.

Abraham didn’t discover his addiction until he no longer had access to his drug. This was right after his wedding, before what was supposed to be his honeymoon. Withdrawal was a disastrous and extremely painful experience, and dragged on for days until someone from the military finally came to resolve the situation.

Abraham retired when he found out that Laura was pregnant, but still sought after his drug, mainly via contacts given to him by the military and dealers on the street. Those dealers called it Psycho, because of the violent, reckless behavior it often caused, and the severity of its addiction.

Shaun was the one good thing during this part of Abraham’s life, but he was only a few months old when the bombs fell. It appeared that they were lucky enough to have been allowed into a Vault - that is, until they were unwittingly put into cryostasis for hundreds of years. Abraham woke up only once during this time, only to watch helplessly as his infant son was stolen and his wife was murdered. Abraham was returned to unconsciousness, but did not forget the murderer’s face.

When Abraham woke up for good, it was to an unfamiliar, dead world. He barely gave himself the time to adjust to this place, immediately starting the search for his son. The handful of settlers he encountered pointed him towards Diamond City, and the journey there only uncovered more horrors. Abraham dealt with them as they came. Violence was no longer something that fazed him.

Diamond City was where Abraham first learned about the Institute, and the identity of his wife’s murderer. Kellogg was a ruthless mercenary, and had likely stolen Shaun and brought him back to the people he worked for. Abraham was instructed to steal his memories - not only would they tell him more about what happened to Shaun, but they had the potential to tell them more about the mysterious Institute that loomed over the Commonwealth.

Abraham was successful, and, using Kellogg’s memories, was able to confirm that the Institute had indeed taken Shaun. His hunt continued, and took him to the Railroad.

Abraham had learned about synths during his journey - one had even helped him track down Kellogg. They were feared, but that fear came from uncertainty. Abraham’s experiences with them had been positive. He didn’t see why he shouldn’t help to change how synths existed - in both the Commonwealth and in the Institute.

Eventually, Abraham made it to the Institute itself. Finally, he found Shaun.

However, more time had passed than he’d thought. Not only was Shaun in his sixties, but he was leader of the Institute. Now, Abraham was torn between two choices - initiating a synth uprising, and the destruction of the Institute, or finally being with his son.

But Shaun was dying. Abraham wondered whether he could wait for nature to take its course, if he could make things better when he inherited Shaun’s position as head of the Institute, but he knew that wasn’t possible. These people did not trust him. Abraham had to act while he still had power in this place.

In the end, he chose selflessness. The synth uprising was set into action. Dozens of synths escaped to freedom, and Abraham left his son to be destroyed along with his life’s work.

The aftermath was devastating in a way that Abraham could not begin to comprehend. He had expected it to be painful, tried to postpone it as much as possible. Inevitably, the world could not wait for him any longer. He had to act.

Nothing could have prepared him for this feeling. The resulting depression he sank into felt like an inescapable hole. Abraham spent weeks like that - either high out of his mind, or with the weight of his actions turning him numb.

It was something he heard on the radio that broke him out of that state. A thank you - enough to remind him what he had done all of this to achieve. People felt safe, because of him. That, alone, made everything worth it.

When Abraham finally got out of bed, it was to continue that work. There were still remnants of the Institute out there, in the Commonwealth. Synths still needed protection - not just from the Institute’s leftovers, but from frightened citizens.

His work is far from finished.

#abraham;;#bio

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slayn5 · 3 years ago

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Week 2 Interview

The Obstacles That The New Place Have Brought

It is not easy to open a small shop to a place that is all new to you. You have to locate your people, figure out who your customers are, and figure out how to access your resources.

“Make something people want" includes making a company that people want to work for.” -Sahil Lavingia

Create a supportive environment for your employees to help you grow your small business. A modest furniture shop from Sagay in an island called Camiguin was completely unexpected and unplanned. The furniture store of the Solis family has had its ups and downs. Mr. Solis, the head of the shop, hails from Davao Del Sur, a province located hundreds of kilometers from the island. Starting a new family with no idea what lays ahead and having parents who aren't fully supportive. There's only one thing they have: a family built on hope. From time to time, they've been observing what people desire and what the current trends are.

“Find a great mentor, someone who has already been through the many challenges of being an entrepreneur.” -Jodi Levine

Mentorship can assist you in navigating the ups and downs of running a business. You can gain valuable lessons from a superb mentor's experiences and ask for helpful recommendations and assistance. It's the advise they've been getting from church friends on how to keep their family afloat and pay for various costs and fees. Indeed, one acquaintance notices Mr. Solis' talent and enthusiasm for furniture-making and suggests that he open a shop to sell the items, to a land brimming with possibilities.

The Piece of Inheritance and How Did it Continue To Survive

An inherited business, like any other family business, faces hurdles. An inherited business is a one-of-a-kind venture. As a result, it must be handled with extreme caution. Furthermore, if you do not effectively manage the firm, it may harm the business as well as the family's confidence. Being a major decision maker in the company entails a great deal of responsibility. You are in charge of running the company, managing your personnel, and ensuring that the company is profitable. You'll need a lot of inspiration and drive to assist you carry out your obligations properly, given your commitments.

The Namit family has been in the agricultural business for many years, growing a variety of crops as well as rice farming. Their agricultural business is inherited from their parents, who have taught them how to handle the land. They've had a lot of issues managing the land throughout the years. High input costs, low palay prices, a lack of capital, a labor shortage, a lack of post-harvest facilities, pests and diseases, and poor irrigation system were among the issues they faced. During the wet season, lack of money, pests, and illnesses have a substantial impact on production, whereas irrigation is a vital element in both seasons.

Despite the difficulties they have encountered, they have continued to manage and learn how to live in their rice farming business. Mr. Namit is now in heaven, but his wife and daughter continue to run the business.

#techno #Entrepreneur

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hiptolazed · 7 years ago

Photo

So you’re new to the Hippo Campus fandom...welcome!! Chances are you’re here because you heard the latest singles “Western Kids” or “Way It Goes”. Maybe you heard “Monsoon” playing in Starbucks or just wanna know who those guys people are posting pictures of are! Either way, you’re here, you like HC, and you wanna know more about them. Here’s way too much information who Hippo Campus is.

(disclaimer: I’m sure this isn’t everything but it’s damn near close and a good start. If you have time, watch all the interviews & Hippo related videos on YouTube and read whatever interviews are just floating around on google!)

Hippo Campus (@/thehalocline / hippocampusband.com) is an alternative/indie/pop/rock band hailing from the Twin Cities in Minnesota comprised of four members...

who all attended the Saint Paul Conservatory for Performing Arts. Hippo has been around since about summer 2013, after the majority of its members (everyone but Zach) graduated high school. Zach & Jake both went on to study at the University of Minnesota for a short period before leaving to tour full-time with the band. The four piece currently (as of fall 2017) has released three EPs and one debut album, with new music already in the works. Here’s more about all of that.

THE MEMBERS:

Whistler Allen aka Beans (Drums, vocals)

Birthday - March 13, 1995 (Pisces)

Height: like 5′7-5′8

Known for his love of donuts which many fans brought to him at a show. Currently is not looking for more donuts, but it doesn’t hurt to tweet him & see!!

Best at replying to fans on twitter.

Can be shy & timid in person, but a total sweetie and easy to talk with.

Really good painter (channeling his namesake?). Check out his stuff on his instagram!!

@/whistler_isaiah on twitter; @/whistlerisaiah on instagram & snapchat.

Jake Luppen aka Turntan (lead vocals, guitar)

Birthday - May 20, 1995 (Taurus)

Height: over 6′0

Lanky sweetheart.

Has a wonderful girlfriend, Katya...

with whom he has two pet rabbits

was classically trained in opera (so yes, there kinda is a reason his voice is that outlandishly good)

@/theturntan on twitter; instagram was deleted in March 2017

Nathan Stocker aka Stitches (Guitar, vocals)

Birthday - July 4, 1994 (Cancer)

Height: like 5′6-5′7

Makes solo music under the name brotherkenzie. Not public as of July 2017.

If you’re lookin’ for someone to talk to about life and all that jazz, catch Nathan after a show.

Behind most of the social media posts on the band accounts

used to be very present on socials, doesn’t like it as much now (actually is quite against it)

@/brotherkenzie on twitter, but very, very, very silent (occasionally likes some tweets about the shows!!)

Zach Sutton aka Espo (Bass, vocals)

Birthday - February 19, 1996 (Pisces)

Height: over 6′0

Can be very sarcastic and sassy, or very sweet and caring. Sometimes both.

Active on twitter: always likes, rarely replies.

Pretty cheeky. Rarely ever answers seriously if you catch him when he’s sarcastic so, like, don’t ask about when new music will be released.

@/espocampus on twitter & instagram.

I’ve had the privilege of meeting & talking to all four of the guys and I touch on that more in depth here!!

Wait. Did you say Beans, Turntan, Stitches, and Espo?

Back in the day the guys went purely by those nicknames. They’ve sort of faded by now, with only Jake & Zach’s still existing in social media handles; as well as Zach being the last one to sign with his nickname.

This interview explains the nicknames!!

Okay, okay the members are all super awesome guys but what about the amazing music they create and, ya know, the reason we like the band?

...

Chronologically:

Tarzan Reject EP (2013)

St. Paul Roofs

I (Oh I)

Sula

South (2013 Version)

Little Grace (2013 Version)

ALL SONGS HERE!!

Tarzan Reject is the first unreleased EP by Hippo Campus, dug up by people on the internet. That’s really all that’s known about it that’s, like, official.

The fandom collectively loves Sula. Hippo rarely plays Sula. But when they do, it goes hard.

Bashful Creatures EP (2014)

(see: this weird, iconic video announcing/promoting it)

Sophie So

Little Grace

Souls

Suicide Saturday

Opportunistic

Bashful Creatures

ALL SONGS HERE!! (& Spotify, iTunes, etc)

Official Music Videos from Bashful:

Little Grace. Simple, yet odd video. First music video, filmed for a friend in a local project. The video which created the fruit motifs, as seen on the Fruit Tee, and again briefly in Souls.

Souls. Second video, where the band really got to explore their own idea and have fun with it.

Suicide Saturday. Just the band running around in paint? I wouldn’t put it past them. They’re fun kids. Suicide is one of the songs that really boosted HC. They performed it on Conan (video no longer available, sadly) after being approached at their first SXSW.

South EP (2015)

Close To Gold

Dollar Bill

South

Violet

The Halocline

ALL SONGS HERE!! (& Spotify, iTunes, etc)

Official Music Videos from South:

South. Interesting, aesthetically pleasing video. Nathan has a solo during “go down south...”!!

Violet. This video is what a lot of people first know of the band. Simple, yet iconic. Violet is generally what they play for an encore. Also goes hard. Whistler has a solo toward the end (”oh violet”)!!

(sidenote: you may notice that the outro of Dollar Bill sounds eerily similar to that of Sula. I don’t know why they did that but I love it.)

Pause. What even is a “halocline” anyway?

Jake explains the meaning of that here!! @/thehalocline is their handle on socials, “The Halocline EPs” is the collective title of both Bashful & South, overall huge symbol for the band, their ideals, their music. A concept that the fans hold dear, as well.

landmark (2017)

(Making of landmark)

(performed in its entirety for Minnesota radio station The Current)

(full acoustic performance for YouTube Space NY; livestream)

Cover is based off their writing space (Zach’s basement) with each song corresponding to an object on it!!

sun veins (the paint can/paint on the wall)

way it goes (doc martens/pavement record)

vines (grapes)

epitaph (record player)

simple season (window & moon seen from it)

tuesday (box of wine)

western kids (phone)

poems (collared shirt & the armchair it’s on)

monsoon (calendar)

vacation (plant)

boyish (apricot tree)

interlude (clock)

buttercup (boxing gloves)

ALL SONGS HERE!! (& Spotify, iTunes, etc)

Official Music Videos from landmark:

way it goes. Features the band and some of their friends just havin’ a good time.

simple season. Official live video!!

western kids. Yeah...even I can’t explain this one. (Kidding. Mainly symbolic for the meaning behind the song, how people get sucked into social media/the internet/technology.)

monsoon. Lyric video. Yes, Nathan wrote it about the passing of his sister, read what he said about that here.

boyish. Boyish is about divorce & family difficulties, so I interpret this video as what seems to be a picture family actually fighting a lot. as simple as that gets.

warm glow EP (2017)

baseball

traveler

warm glow

ALL SONGS HERE!! (& Spotify, iTunes, etc)

warm glow has three songs that were written around the same time as/originally written for landmark. “baseball” has been played live for a while, and a fan favorite. “traveler” was debuted at the August Lolla aftershow in Chicago. a few seconds of “warm glow” can be heard in the aforementioned “making of landmark” video, and debuted at the first MN State Fair show in September.

And there’s a bunch of unreleased songs they’ve played live!!!

check out their Genius page for all the lyrics & more info about the songs!! Exciting and interesting to take some time and dive into.

also watch the ENTIRE concert in Boston on the Landmark Tour!!

What’s a concert like?

The most fun you will ever have (I might be biased). Highly energetic, the lighting design design is gorgeous, the band sounds even better live than in studio (I know it doesn’t seem possible but it really is!!)

They have VIP upgrades for many shows, of which perks will include a lot for their 2017 fall tour. As for their past Landmark Tour, at least a couple of the boys came out to meet fans and talk afterwards. They are the easiest people to talk with. Getting a bit “fangirly” is completely understandable!! Just know that they’re relatively young guys and deserve as much respect and calmness as anyone. As they gain more popularity, sure things will change in that area, but no matter how famous someone is, try your best to not freak out and most importantly: not freak the band out!! They love you so much and love talking to you. Also bringing them little gifts & letters is greatly appreciated!

(see if they’re coming to a city near you!!)

Okay, I get the band now, but who’s x person that I saw post a picture of them?

People associated with Hippo Campus that you will more than likely come across:

DeCarlo Jackson - plays trumpet with HC at some shows!! Friend from high school. Super cool, crazily talented guy. Featured in the way it goes mv.

Julia Kindall - Best friends with the band. Friend from high school. Amazing writer. Wrote a biography to preface a limited edition of the landmark vinyl. Occasionally accompanies the band on tour and helps run merch and the meet & greets. Sweet, sweet soul. Has a podcast with friend, Hanna, called The Pussys, which Whistler & Zach have been featured as guests on! Featured in the way it goes mv.

Katya Vorokhobova - Jake’s girlfriend. Just so ya know who she is.

Madeline Stocker - Nathan’s sister. Total sweetheart. Great singer, too!

Holly Ann Latcham aka Boots - Hippo’s tour manager. Dedicated to her job and making the shows run smoothly. Definitely underappreciated; if you see her after the show chat with her if you can and thank her for all the hard work she does!! She & the band are featured in a documentary on “real life roadies”, it’s a really good piece that gives great insight on this part of the industry (as well as some nice moments of the band).

Evan J Myers - Hippo’s merch manager. Cool, nice dude. Chat with him when you buy some merch!! Fun & easy to talk with, and super helpful at shows (and on social media most of the time!!)

David Kramer - graphic designer who is responsible for the beauties that are Hippo’s cover art. Occasionally travels with the band to photograph/film them.

Connor Siedow - Photographer that frequently hangs with the band and sometimes shoots their shows

Bands associated with Hippo Campus:

Remo Drive - played a few shows w/ HC; opening on the 2017 fall tour. check out “Crash Test Rating”!

The Happy Children - played some shows w/ HC; all went to high school together. check out “Honest Boy” (you might see some...familiar faces)! (Caleb runs Normal Parents, clothing company/movement that Hippo wears a lot!!) (Mitchell is Whistler’s roomate, jsyk)

Early Eyes - played a few shows with HC; cool kids who make groovy music that is somewhat influenced by HC. check out “Take You”!

MISCELLANEOUS

Old Bands:

Blatant Youth - Jake & Zach. Also Sam from Remo.

Whistle Kid - Jake & Zach.

Northern aka Danger Will Robinson - Whistler & Nathan. Also DeCarlo.

Still need more info?

Hippo Updating @hippoupdating does a fantastic job at keeping everyone updated with the latest on the band!!

Here is a new fan tag full of FAQs about the band!!

Okay, but HOW do I really get into this fandom?

Join us on tumblr, talk to me and everyone else on here, make dumb posts about the band like we do!!

Go to twitter!! There’s a lot of Hippo fans over there, follow some, retweet some, tweet the band... Twitter is pretty easy to get into, I think.

Start a fan account on instagram!! Zach likes posts pretty frequently, sometimes the band account does too.

You might come across some drama, sadly, because it exists and is inevitable. It can be pretty easy to avoid. Keep your head right, stay nice & respectful, and everything will go swimmingly!! This fandom is still relatively small, but as it grows, stuff like drama will just grow as well. Again, that’s inevitable. But do whatever you can as a new fan to stay out of it and keep things sane. This community of people who all like Hippo Campus should stay a good place for every fan involved, as much as we can.

Welcome to the fanbase.♥

#hippo campus #whistler allen #jake luppen #nathan stocker #zach sutton #m #i apologize if i messed anything up or missed anything i made this from midnight-4 am #please message me if you catch anything wrong or want me to add something!!

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sailorsaigas · 7 years ago

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“Substitute Guardian” (a Morgan Lives AU) Chapter 2

Author's Note: Chapter is after the Read More, so as not to clutter folks' dashboards.

A year ago, I wrote the first chapter of an AU fic about Morgan surviving the events of Turn Coat. Well, I know it's been a long time in coming, but here is Chapter Two of that AU, the title of which has been settled on. I only hope you will find this entertaining, and that it might help some of you stave off the boredom of having to continue to wait for Jim to finish Peace Talks. Enjoy. ^_^

Being in Chicago again was...odd.

I wasn't entirely certain how I should feel about my return to the states, having spent the better portion of the last year under house arrest in Edinburgh. The early months saw me hospitalized, recovering in an infirmary bed after pushing my already wounded body too hard apprehending the man who'd framed me for murder. A grueling process of rehabilitation eventually began when my mandatory bed rest order was lifted, though after regaining my previous strength, I continued with physical training as a means of self-improvement and killing time. One might be surprised how utterly boring being confined to a centuries-old castle can be. So I trained - trained and studied like a newly minted apprentice one-hundred and fifty years younger. I had no intention of being bested again by my enemies.

Over the course of my time under lock and key, I had a few brief but important conversations with Harry Dresden, who made it a point not to interact with the Council more than absolutely necessary. I understood that mentality far more easily, now, after having my eyes opened during the events of that last year. We discussed where we stood as associates, swallowed what we could of our pride, and made something of a halfhearted but honest attempt at reconciliation. There was a lot of bad blood there, and neither of us could really get over some twenty years of animosity overnight, but it helped that I'd been made aware of the unfortunate truth. The Black Council, a hidden force seeking to tear apart the wizarding community from within, was real...and it was high time somebody did something about it. And so, despite some reluctance from Ebenezar McCoy, I was brought into the fold of the Gray Council, a nearly treasonous body of our own that sought to prevent the enemy from gaining the upper hand in our shadow war.

Stuck as I had been in Edinburgh, I didn't have much to offer of my previous talent as a Council enforcer, but my copious free time gave me opportunity to put my experience to good use in other ways. I was permitted supervised free range of the hallowed halls, and since the only individuals experienced enough to be trusted to watch me were Wardens I'd had a hand in training, they'd rarely challenge me regarding what I did or where I went. Thus I made my primary purpose one of study and documentation, becoming something of a writer for Dresden’s project, the Paranet. The idea of networking the minor talents of the world so that they'd be educated enough to protect one another had been risky in many ways, but had so far been more than worth the risk. However, their information had been limited primarily to what Dresden and a few of his friends were capable of offering, so I made it my goal to expand upon that.

Such was how it became my job to transcribe my personal knowledge, alongside those of Edinburgh's ancient libraries, to create tools for use by the Paranet. To speak plainly, they were mainly pamphlets with a few illustrations, but Dresden and Anastasia said so earnestly that they could prove invaluable to the lesser talents of the world that I started taking pride in the work. It helped that there was little else to do, of course.

Now I stood back on the streets of Chicago, a free man of a sort, though the Doom still hung above my head. These were my old stomping grounds long before they had been Dresden's, and they'd been my area of responsibility as a Warden up until the war with the Red Court of Vampires. I'd hounded Dresden through these streets as I observed his own probation beneath the Doom, and now the shoe was on the other foot. Dresden, if he yet lived, was a Warden of the Council, while I was the one with a single mistake keeping me from summary decapitation. I'm certain there was a lesson in that, and it was one reason I strived to put aside the more petty and miserable aspects of myself.

Shaking off my reminiscences, I examined the building where I'd be staying for the duration of my time as a mentor to Dresden's young apprentice, Molly Carpenter. I knew the building, of course. Only a few blocks away from the ruins of Dresden's own home, the address on my note had directed me to what had once been a boarding house that had been converted into apartments. During our time trying to prove my innocence, a mortal private investigator had set up an observation post in this very building to stake out Dresden. I don't know when the Council had found the time or money to empty the building and remodel it, but they'd done so. It looked pristine, at least from outside, and I knew nobody lived here anymore from a notation on Ana's scrap of paper. The Council didn't want to risk more collateral damage after whatever destroyed Dresden's place nearly killed several mortal bystanders.

I headed into the building and opened the door to the ground floor apartment, though I had keys to all of them. I wondered if they expected me to house Miss Carpenter here while I trained her? That would be practical, but Ana had mentioned the girl would be at her parent's house, and I imagined she'd be more comfortable there. Undoubtedly so, considering what had apparently transpired over the past 48 hours or so.

The apartment was sparsely furnished, though it had necessary amenities like an ice box and a wood-burning stove. There was one bedroom with a bare twin mattress against a wall, connected to a small bathroom with a standing glass-door shower. A single recliner occupied one corner of the living room near the fireplace, and a small dining table that had no accompanying chairs filled space in the kitchen. On it rested a plain white envelope labeled 'Donald.' Inside the envelope was a crisp stack of bills, the first installment of my new monthly stipend. I noted with a small smirk that it was the same monthly amount I'd be making if I were still serving as a Warden. Though I wasn't a Warden anymore, and likely never would be again, I supposed that my time in-service had earned me something. I'd have preferred my blade to the money. Warden or not, Ana made the sword for me. Practically speaking, nobody else would be remotely capable of wielding it effectively. Sentimentally speaking, it was probably my dearest possession.

Placing the envelope of cash in the pocket of the overcoat I wore with today's ensemble of a well-tailored, tan three-piece suit (why couldn't Dresden see the obvious social benefits of not dressing like a hoodlum?), I decided to set aside all other thoughts in favor of the most immediate concern. I couldn't put it off any longer. It was time to pay a visit to my new apprentice. I stepped outside, hailed a cab, and was shortly on my way.

-----

The house I arrived at looked like something out of a Hallmark card, something I wouldn't have thought possible in this part of Chicago. Complete with finely manicured lawn and white picket fence, it was the absolute model of idealized American suburbia. I could feel a kind of power emanating from within the borders of the property, and I knew immediately that this was indeed the correct residence. Michael Carpenter, Molly's father, was the only living retired Knight of the Sword, an ancient group of warriors who served to maintain the balance between Good and Evil on behalf of God. I could only imagine a retirement package from such an occupation would be graced with ample benefits from the Lord.

I was cautious as I approached the front door of the home, being careful not to offend whatever sort of divine bodyguards might watch over the place. I knocked politely, three times, and awaited a response from within. A woman promptly answered, and I could recognize in her face that this must be Molly's mother, Charity. I could also see in her general stance and demeanor, a woman of fierce physical and mental fortitude. I'd hazard to guess she'd once served as the sparring partner for her husband, and Ana had mentioned to me before my departure that the woman was an accomplished smith, likely as a means of indicating someone from whom I could commission a sword. I bowed my head politely, and introduced myself.

"Mrs. Carpenter, I am Donald Morgan," I spoke. "I am a wizard of the White Council. I am here on the Council's behalf to speak with your daughter, Molly, regarding the disappearance of her mentor, Harry Dresden. And, if necessary, continue her training in our arts in his absence."

Mrs. Carpenter looked at me, her right eyebrow arched upward.

"Morgan?" she asked. "The Warden? Harry spoke of you before. Not nicely, either, I should say."

I sighed. I should have known one of Dresden's friends would know my name and my reputation, colored though it might have been by his own perceptions. I could believe she did not think very highly of the man I once was.

"Former Warden," I explained. "I am no longer a Warden of the White Council, Mrs. Carpenter. After a political incident about a year ago, I was removed from my position and consigned to the Doom of Damocles, much like Molly and Dresden before her. That being the case, Dresden has gone missing, and is presumed dead. The Council has but two options regarding your daughter's future: execute her under the order of the Doom, or send me to mentor her in Dresden's stead. I shall see her through to her graduation into a full wizard of the Council, or merely until Dresden returns."

I held my arms out to the side, palms up in a non-threatening gesture of sincerity. I don't do those much, so I doubt it looked very convincing.

"I'm not here to hurt Molly, Mrs. Carpenter," I said, plainly.

Charity continued to stare at me for a moment, sizing me up, gauging my honesty.

Then, her voice firm, she said, "I won't invite you in. Prove to me that you mean no harm."

I understood her meaning immediately. Wizards, and other supernatural entities, cannot pass through a threshold (the magical barrier that separates a home from the outside world) without giving up a significant portion of their power. Certain creatures, like the Vampires of the Red and Black Courts, cannot pass through a threshold at all without first being invited. The threshold of this home was one of enormous potency, and stepping through it would mean leaving nearly all of my magic at the door, making me incredibly vulnerable. It was a common and reliable practice among those who were 'in-the-know' supernaturally, and I applauded her in my mind for thinking ahead. She was clearly a sharp-minded and no-nonsense woman, and having apprenticed under Anastasia Luccio, that was something I could most certainly respect.

"Very well," I replied, and stepped across through the doorway.

It was an odd sensation, leaving my magic behind me. Stepping through the Carpenter threshold was like stepping through a wall of gelatin and coming out the other side disrobed. I felt diminished and exhausted, as if I'd dived into a pool of ice water. I bowed my head politely in her direction after crossing, and she nodded at me. Had I been one of the few harmful supernatural entities that might have crossed a threshold uninvited without trouble, I'd likely have been pulverized by whatever security force watched over the household if I'd intended harm.

Charity motioned to the staircase with a wave of her hand.

"Molly's sleeping upstairs," she explained. "She was wounded when she went to help Harry at Chichen Itza."

I didn't have many of the facts, but if Dresden had been at Chichen Itza, he'd been at one of the most powerful domains of the Red Court. I could only assume it bore some connection to his supposed demise.

"Would it be a problem if I woke her?" I asked. "It's important we get this settled as soon as possible."

"It won't be a problem, but she's not in any condition to talk for very long," Charity stated, matter-of-factly. "She's heavily medicated, patched up on a helicopter and brought here by some of Dresden's associates afterward."

"Field medicine? Why not a hospital?"

"Her wound wasn't severe, she'd mostly overexerted herself after being wounded on the battlefield."

"Well, I am relieved to hear that she is alright, but I will need to speak with her right away so that she understands what is to be done."

"Alright, then. This way."

Inside a room cramped with sewing equipment, Molly slept soundly in a small bed, an IV in her arm.

Charity gently shook her awake as we entered, saying, "Molly, Morgan from the White Council is here to see you."

I didn't miss how Molly's eyes shot open with fear at the mention of my name. Once again, my old reputation preceded me. Swiftly, Mr's. Carpenter calmed her daughter with soft, gentle words explaining that I wasn't there to hurt her, and that I just needed to inform her of some changes regarding her apprenticeship since Harry was missing. Molly was still groggy from sleep and pain medication, but the initial adrenaline rush had cleared her head enough that she acknowledged her mother's words and nodded at me to proceed.

"Hello again, Miss Carpenter," I began. "Your mother is correct that I'm not here to do you any harm. I can only assume the medicine is to blame for you forgetting I'm no longer a Warden."

I tried to smile to show I was being lighthearted, but I was long out of practice, and Molly got a somewhat sour look on her face. I awkwardly tried to recover momentum.

"Ahem, anyway, I have just been released from house arrest. I'm here because Dresden has gone missing, and is presumed dead. Whatever Dresden and the rest of you did at Chichen Itza has thrown the supernatural world into a frenzy. I couldn't begin to tell you even half the things I've heard, and my situation left me fairly out of the loop to begin with. Whatever it is, the Council is preoccupied with damage control, and wasn't sure what to do with you. After much deliberation, rather than have you executed under the Doom, I was chosen to act as your mentor until such a time as you graduate or Dresden returns. I was already under the Doom, myself, so it is no great loss to the Council, and it spares any needless bloodshed."

I paused to let Molly absorb what I had said, and then continued.

"It will only be a temporary arrangement, of course. Under my tutelage, barring Dresden's return, I imagine it would not take longer than a year or two to get you to full wizard status, in which case you would no longer need a mentor. And, of course, should Harry come back, he will be granted the opportunity to once again take over your training. As it stands, however, none of us has any idea what has become of him."

I looked at Molly sternly, though not bluntly intimidating, trying to put a kind of gentle, grandfatherly rebuke into my demeanor.

"What in the world was Dresden doing on the vampire's boat at the time of his presumed death?" I asked.

Molly let out a huff of indignation. "I should have known the first thing you'd do is be suspicious of Thomas."

"Why shouldn't I be? He is a member of the White Court--"

"He's more than just a White Court vampire," she interrupted. "There's a reason Harry was on the boat, and Thomas' offer to let him use it was made in good faith."

"You're the second person today to tell me that," I responded. I tried giving the girl a small smile. "I guess I'll take your word for it, for now."

"Thomas isn't responsible for Harry's murder," Molly said. "I know that for certain."

"You do?" I asked, arching an eyebrow at the remark. "That implies a great deal. If you know for certain that Thomas Raith isn't involved, do you know who is responsible?"

Molly sighed and shook her head. "No. But whoever did it didn't use magic."

"Captain Luccio was able to confirm as much to me before I came out here. Regardless, such discussion has no bearing on my purpose here. I won't trouble you with more questions. Get some rest, and I'll be back tomorrow so we can go over the details of your training."

Molly nodded, and promptly returned to sleep.

Afterward, Charity saw me to the door and wished me luck getting situated in town. She gave me the number for the house, as well as their cell phones, and told me that if I intended to continue investigating Harry's disappearance it would be good to get in touch with Harry's associates in town. A good place to begin would be with their mutual acquaintance Father Forthill at Saint Mary of the Angels, and Karrin Murphy of the Chicago Police Department, in particular. I thanked her, and made my way out the door.

No sooner had I closed the gate to the front yard behind me than I was very nearly run over by an emerald green stretch limousine that sped up to the curb in front of the Carpenter home. Immediately after parking, the driver walked around to passenger side rear door, opened it, and gestured for me to enter. I knew him for what he was the moment I set eyes upon him, and the voice that beckoned to me from within the limo only confirmed my suspicions.

"La! Mortal magi, always so paranoid," called a beautiful singsong from the dark interior of the vehicle. "You have my word of safe passage for the duration of a conversation, Wizard Morgan. On behalf of my Queen, I must needs speak with thee regarding the matter of Harry Dresden."

I looked from the driver holding open the door, and back to the waiting interior of the car. Stepping into the vehicle would be stupid, even with word of safe passage from one of the Fae. Then again, it was about Dresden. Considering that, I thought to myself: what would Harry Dresden do in this situation? The town, after all, needed someone to fill his boots for a time.

I got into the car.

#Dresden Files #Substitute Guardian #Morgan Lives AU #Donald Morgan #It's finally here #Sorry you all had to wait so long

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lauraramargosian · 6 years ago

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Justin Bieber and Hails: Ireland Baldwin opens up about their relationship!

What did Ireland say about Justin Bieber and Hailey?

Justin Bieber and Hailey Bieber have such a connection, simply, they have a lot in common and are truly best friends. And what’s better than marrying your best friend?

Ireland Baldwin opened up about Justin and Hails love for one another in an interview with People Magazine.

“They’re perfect for each other because they’re like the same person,” Ireland, 23, told PEOPLE while attending the opening of On The Record at Park MGM in Las Vegas on Saturday. “They’re both really sweet. They complement each other. They’re both every loving of each other.”

Further, she shared how they seemingly share the same struggles.

“They’re going through the same struggles, I feel like, and they are just helping each other out. As life goes, we all go,” Baldwin shared about the two newlyweds.

Bieber and Baldwin tied the knot in September after dating over the summer.

(burts into song) Summer loving happened so fast I met a girl crazy for me Met a boy cute as can be Summer days drifting away to oh oh the summer nights

Haha, really, that’s what comes to mind when I think of their romance. I wonder if Justin and Hails have watched the movie Grease together yet? Anyway, now we are way off topic.

The ceremony was conducted in secret at the courthouse. But there’s been some speculation that the two are planning a ceremony.

“They’ve been figuring out the perfect time to do it, and they both feel like the sooner, the better,” a PEOPLE insider, close to Bieber said earlier this month. “They’re still figuring it out.”

So, when it comes to their actual day of celebration will occur is unknown. Ireland shared how she’s basically in the dark about most of the information in regards to their ceremony.

Ariana Grande’s actions prove her heart is full of genuine love for the world.

“We’re happy. We’re going to the wedding,” she shared. “We don’t know when it is or where, but we’re happy for them.”

How freakin’ exciting for the amazing couple.

I don’t know about you but I love weddings, they are just so special and it’s such a heartwarming moment when vows are exchanged, seeing everyone celebrating love, regardless of color, religion, political preference, etc.

When do you guys think the ceremony might take place? We know Beliebers might have some guesses and we’d love to hear them in the comments below or on our Facebook page. And while you’re at it, since you love the good vibes, feel free to subscribe to our positive celebrity newsletter!

That way you can stay up-to-date on the latest positive celebrity gossip and entertainment news.

Blessed be!

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Positive Celebrity Gossip - Laurara Monique

Laurara Monique is known by various celebrities as the youngest and kindest celebrity blogger. PCG has been described as a "celebrity safe zone."

Positive Celebrity Gossip - Laurara Monique shared Life Truths's post.

Who else felt this way? LOL!

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Positive Celebrity Gossip - Laurara Monique shared Laura Margosian's post.

"No matter where life takes me, find me with a smile!" Rest in paradise #MacMiller. It's the first birthday many family, friends, and fans are without you. Never think for one second they don't miss you cheesin'

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Positive Celebrity Gossip - Laurara Monique shared Laura Margosian's post.

Healthy "discussions," are important to most relationships, after all, how else do you understand how someone is feeling? Always listen and don't scream at one another, you're in this together, that's how I see it.

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I'm now streaming on Twitch! Playing FINAL FANTASY XV WINDOWS EDITION

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Final Fantasy XV | Sidequests or Comrades |

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The post Justin Bieber and Hails: Ireland Baldwin opens up about their relationship! appeared first on Positive Celebrity News and Gossip.

You are not entitled: What you don’t understand about Justin Bieber and other talent in the industry!

Blast from the past Justin Bieber prank calls a Belieber and more!

Justin and Hailey Bieber adopt a new fur baby named Oscar!

Related posts brought to you by Yet Another Related Posts Plugin.

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#Positive celebrity gossip #celebrity gossip #news #love #positive vibes

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michael-radi-the-glamorous-life · 5 years ago

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The Creative Corner - Guest Blog #3: Shannon Haddock

Happy Quarantine Monday, everyone!

Please enjoy this guest blog post from a dear friend of mine and wonderful actress (and fellow blogger!), the fabulous Shannon Haddock!

Without further ado, The Creative Corner #3: Shannon Haddock - Art In The Time of Coronavirus.

Art In The Time of Coronavirus

Hello friends and faithful followers of Michael Radi, and The Glamorous Life!

Allow me to introduce myself. Shannon Haddock here. I am a friend and colleague of the lovely and talented Michael Radi. We’ve done three shows together, and spent several evenings playing board games. He’s a peach! I’m very happy that life brought us together.

Two weeks ago Michael put out a call on the FaceBook, for guest writers for this blog. I raised my hand because, why not! We weren’t quite to shelter in place, but there wasn’t much else happening. Michael contacted me with the theme of Creating/Making, and I thought, “Oh. I don’t do either of those things.” I’ve spent the last two weeks, trying to think of something inspirational to share with his audience, while at the same time becoming increasingly uninspired, for lack of a better word.

Yesterday, I decided to explore what it means to be considered an artist, when you feel like you’re not.

Before I continue, I don’t want you to think that I am putting myself, or anyone, down. I’m not. I’m just looking for the words that describe how I feel as a performer.

I do not write the music that is played. I do not write the lyrics that are sung. I do not write the stories that are told. I do not create the costumes that are worn. You get the idea.

What do I do?

I often joke that my ability to talk is my only marketable skill. I am, of course, kidding. But a lot of people think that that’s all it takes to be an actor. Even as millions of people are stuck at home, watching television, movies, listening to music, streaming the opera and Broadway shows, taking virtual tours of museums all over the world, the American ambassador to the United Nations, Nikki Haley tweeted this:

“These are the items included in the stimulus bill:

$75 mill for public television/radio

$25 mil for the Kennedy Center

$75 mil for the Natl Endowment for the Arts

$75 mill for the Natl Endowment for the Humanities

How many more people could have been helped with this money?”

I don’t think she realizes what the arts means to people. I don’t think she even realizes what it means to her, personally. I also don’t think that she realizes how many people work for these non-profit organizations. Art is such an integral part of our lives, that a lot of people, like Nikki Haley, don’t even realize what it is.

Art is beauty, hope, tragedy, birth, death, in short, life. Art is Life.

That’s where I come in.

I, as an actor, may not create the story, but I’m the one who has the privilege of telling it. That, my friends, is freaking exciting!

When we’re on stage, we’re living the life of the character we’re portraying. Some times that life is funny, sometimes it’s sad, sometimes it’s incredibly boring (the character’s life, not the act of performing). We don’t think about the audience, well we shouldn’t be thinking about the audience, we’re just living.

When we’re done, we take off our make-up, put on our own clothes, I usually put on a hat because my hair is a mess, we walk out, and the audience is still there! They stayed to tell us that they appreciated our work. They tell us that they recognized themselves, or someone they love in the characters we were playing. They want to discuss what we thought about what the characters think and feel, and what happens next. Sometimes they just hug us, and thank us for bringing them some joy.

That’s magical, my friends.

I don’t know how to write a musical.

I don’t know how to write a play.

I can barely sew on a button.

But.

I can walk out on a stage. I can take all of the pieces that were created by other people, put them together, and create the story.

That, is what I do. And I can’t wait for this moment to pass, so I can do it again.

Thank you to Michael Radi for giving me a moment to reflect on what it means to be creative. I hope you can find some moments of beauty in the coming weeks.

Thanks for reading friends, be well, and remember to Live Your Dream!

Shannon Haddock

Shannon originally hails from the Orlando area. She received a Bachelor's of Music Education from the University of Central Florida, and spent 15 years working at the Walt Disney World resort. For the last 13years she's been in New York City, living the glamorous life!

www.shannonhaddock.wordpress.com

#glamorous life blog #glamorous life #art #artist #coronavirus #the creative corner #creativity #create #creator #interpretive #story #storytelling

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gethealthy18-blog · 5 years ago

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7 Bollywood Actors Who Hit Stardom Only After They Got Married

New Post has been published on http://healingawerness.com/getting-healthy/getting-healthy-women/7-bollywood-actors-who-hit-stardom-only-after-they-got-married/

7 Bollywood Actors Who Hit Stardom Only After They Got Married

7 Bollywood Actors Who Hit Stardom Only After They Got Married Bency Sebastian Hyderabd040-395603080 January 13, 2020

Marriage brings people together. Stars or no stars, when two people are in love, they proclaim their love for each other through the union of marriage. Actors who are a part of the industry usually marry someone within the industry but some of them marry out of the industry. For a long time, actors were evaluated based on not just their talents but also their marital statuses. They were given higher respect and regard if they had partners rather than if they were single. Things have changed over the years and people are now valued for their stardom. While actors have found love in marriage, fame and popularity has followed after their marriage. Here is a list of 9 Bollywood stars who hit stardom after they got married.

1. Aamir Khan

Source: India Today

One of the most dedicated actors of Bollywood, Aamir Khan debuted in acting with the movie Qayamat Se Qayamat Tak in 1988. Long before his Bollywood debut, he gave his heart to Reena Dutta and the two of them tied the knot as soon as they hit the legal age of marriage. They were together for 16 years before calling it quits. Aamir Khan has directed, produced and acted in many brilliant movies since then. He also hosts talk shows which have done exceedingly well. He is now married to Kiran Rao and the two of them have a son together. Mr. Perfectionist has got his life together and it all happened after he found his first love.

2. Saif Ali Khan

Source: India Today

Saif Ali Khan met his ex-wife Amrita Singh at the sets of Rahul Rawail’s film Bekhudi. Their chemistry was too hard to ignore and the two of them hit it off. They had a beautiful wedding in 1991 which lasted for 13 years before they decided to go their separate ways. They have two children, Sarah Ali Khan and Ibrahim. He is now married to the drama queen, Bollywood’s Bebo, Kareena Kapoor. He has excelled in his career and made remarkable films over the years. He is also part of the hit series Sacred Games on Netflix.

3. Shah Rukh Khan

gaurikhan / Instagram

Now known as the King of Bollywood, Shah Rukh was not too keen on acting in films. Initially, he was known for his work in Hindi serials like Circus and Fauji. He married the love of his life, Gauri Khan in 1991 after which he got into movies. He started his Bollywood journey with his first release Deewana in 1992. Gauri and SRK have been married for over three decades. They are one of the most admired couples of Bollywood even after all these years. Gauri has been SRK’s movie producer for a lot of his films including Dear Zindagi, Main Hoon Na and Om Shanti Om. They have three beautiful children, Aryan, Suhana and AbRam Khan. Shah Rukh Khan is known for his wit and humor off stage. He will always be the King of Bollywood and have a huge fan following for eternity.

4. Mallika Sherawat

Source: Bridal box

Did you know her former name was Reema Lamba? Hailing from a small town in Haryana, she started her acting career doing commercials and a small role in Jeena Sirf Merre Liye. She got her big break in the movie Khwahish. Before all this, Mallika (still Reena, then) was working as an air-hostess. She married Captain Karan Singh Gill but their marriage did not last too long and the two of them were divorced. She changed her name to Mallika and reinvented herself to become who she is in Bollywood today. She went on to pursue acting and has done several bold roles since then. She is currently pursuing work in Hollywood.

5. Anil Kapoor

kapoor.sunita / Instagram

Anil Kapoor met Sunita during his days as a struggling actor. They first started talking to each other over the phone (Anil had gotten Sunita’s number from a common friend) and eventually met. They developed a strong liking towards each other. But when the talks of marriage made the rounds, many of his friends from the industry advised him not to leap into marriage as it would tie him down. Against all opinions, believing in himself and his love for Sunita, they decided to tie the knot. He had a gush of success and even went on to do Hollywood movies. The couple is often praised for their devotion towards each other in the industry.

6. Sunny Leone

sunnyleone / Instagram

Sunny Leone is a model and actress and a former adult movie star. She was married to Daniel Weber long before her debut in Bollywood’s Jism 2. She has immense support from her husband and is extremely grateful to have him around. She manages her life like a superhuman. Being a mother of three children, a businesswoman and an actress, she is an inspiration to all of us.

7. Arjun Rampal

cinemabollywoodorginalpage / Instagram

Heartthrob Arjun Rampal married Mehr Jesia in 1998. They were one of the best-looking couples in Bollywood. They were married for a long time before parting ways. They were known for their sophistication and grace with which they carried themselves. They have two children, Myra and Maahika. He made his Bollywood debut in 2001 in Pyaar Ishq Aur Mohabbat and since then has been a part of super hit films like Don, Houseful and Om Shanti Om.

Who says marriage weighs you down? These actors have risen in their careers and become superstars after their marriage. In a way, marriage has boosted their careers and brought out the best in them. They found love along with stardom. What more could someone ask for? Do let us know in the comments below who your favorite all-time couple is.

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argorpg-blog · 6 years ago

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CONGRATULATIONS and welcome to the crew of the Argo II, KAEL! The Gods have spoken: welcome aboard ANASFALEIA, known as VIRGIL VELASCO, with a faceclaim of JAMES REID. Please take a look at our checklist, and send in your account in the next 24 hours.

ADMIN NOTES: Reading your app, Kael, you took us by surprise. Virgil is not how we ever pictured Anasfaleia - and yet, we like it better this way! Your writing is so beautiful, and he is heartbreaking in the best possible way. We were particularly in love with the way you wove temptation into your app, posing Gaea as a very real (and personal) threat. Your extra plot arcs have the potential to bring a lot of depth to this group and our future plot, and we’re excited to see what else Virgil can bring!

NAME/ALIAS: Kael

AGE, TIMEZONE, PRONOUNS: 20, GMT+8:00, He/him/his

ACTIVITY & EXTRAS: Between a thesis and my course, I might post around once to twice a week, as much as possible, but be real active on the Discord chat! Oh, and I’m down for all and any plots so you know,, ,, , , , wig.

IN CHARACTER

DESIRED SKELETON: Anasfaleia

CHARACTER NAME: Virgil Andres Velasco

AGE & GENDER: 22, Cisgender male

FACECLAIM: James Reid, Brandon Perea, Lee Jong-suk (Name subject to change)

BIOGRAPHY:

ACT I: MORTAL.

You are no demigod.

Demigods are cloaked in legend, their fame or infamy written across the night skies as a testament to their greatness. There are songs and hymns of their deeds, written in stone for time to weather and grow. But from the whispers that follow you, it feels like the ichor in your veins was nothing more than water, the godhead in you merely a wilting flower, doomed to die at an early age. ( Hear them: dulled blade, tarnished silver, unwanted son. )

From the moment you were placed at your father’s doorstep, you became a liability, a fissure in the perfect mold of a marriage that he strived to keep—the duct tape and hot glue of his efforts finally breaking as you were brought to your home. He left, not even giving you a second thought, the mistake that he’d made a year ago a sight too harsh to bear. So you lived with your step-mother, who took you in all the same, and a half-brother that loved you as if nothing had ever mattered. Love was all you had known, but you knew you were different, a problem child in the family, only destined to break everything you’d ever known.

You were sent to a private Catholic school, where you’d learned about God and his love for humanity, where you couldn’t understand the words on holy text, where you thought you’d been cursed with stupidity your whole life. It was a disaster, you think, as you sat, making doodles on notebooks and looking at words floating off pages, not even bothering to make an effort anymore. Viciousness was a language you quickly understood, their words cutting you down as you failed quiz after quiz, the doodles on your notebook erased just as fast as they had appeared. You were never picked for anything, not as a date, not as a friend, not as anything but the facade of a boy as a laughingstock. Virgin Mother and Holy Father above, you prayed, as all sinners were wont to do, for guidance with all your heart. The nuns said that the Lord never heard selfish prayers, that he only dabbled in altruism, but you know you had to try and They had to listen—They owed you that much.

Burning passion never worked, so maybe reverence did—you got on your knees and prayed, prayed for blessings, to not be a disappointment, chanted Hail Marys and Our Fathers until your throat went dry. God was supposed to look at all Their creation as if it was good, so maybe he wasn’t part of Their plan, maybe he was a smudge, an unholy stain that would leave if bleached far enough. But you wouldn’t, you won’t. You will shake the heavens, and make God hear him, if you had to.

ACT II: DIVINE.

It was October, you remembered, that you were being followed. You were sure it was a stalker, someone who saw you as an easy mark, ready to stab you and take you wallet. The gaping maw that greeted you told you that you were definitely wrong. Death was a sure thing, with the flurry of claws and fangs greeting you, but you pushed, and you found only yellow dust on the palms of your hands. You told your step-mother, when you came home limping, fear and worry in her eyes. You grinned and laughed it off, the nonchalance on your face standing firm, as if the claw marks on your arm hadn’t faded yet. ( Hear it: godling boy, divine morsel, golden blood. )

The next day, your father came home.

Maybe that wasn’t right. It was another man, with a crisp tie and a purpose when he walked, far from the sullen man and dead eyes that seemed to greet you during visitation. Pack your things, he said, we leave in an hour. You looked to your mother—step-mother, and she only could give you a smile, and a pat on your cheek. Be brave, bunso. You can do this.

It wasn’t long before you had your things: a leather jacket gifted to you on your fifteenth birthday, a pair of boots from your brother, a silver ring from your mother, a picture of your family during Christmas, baubles of no real value to anyone but you. Maybe the place where they’d stick you was going to be comfortable, with a padded cell instead of cold rock. Maybe you could call Dante, your brother, once in a while after you were all better. Maybe it was going to be a surprise family trip, somewhere warm and sunny with lounges and tanning lotion. The world was full of maybes, and it seemed like you were going to find out what they were.

You counted twelve hours, from the flight to the cab ride. You asked where the two of you were going. Long Island. A campgrounds full of people. Somewhere safe. So you thought of the two of you in a tent, living off s’mores and hot dogs, looking up at the stars. It was a childish dream, foolish for someone of your age, but you didn’t have many things left to you but your hope, and you were going to be damned if someone took that away from you.

In your dreams, there is a woman, as beautiful as the day is bright. She looks at you with curiosity, a cracked chalice in her hands. There is an eternity in her eyes that you cannot comprehend; maybe it was weariness, maybe it was sadness. She does not speak to you when you talk, nor can she hear you, her radiant form flickering in and out as you try and reach out to her. You can hear her voice almost, barely above a whisper, but clear. Be safe, Virgil. Be safe.

ACT III: DEMIGOD

You are a demigod. But you’re not so sure.

Greek myths walk the halls, children with divine blood walking down the campgrounds with bows and blades alike. You are nothing like them, with only perfect skin and wounds that knit faster than they open. They are your family, Chiron said, and you will grow to love them. But you walk into the Hermes cabin, with bodies packed into each other, and you can see no love, only desperation. Desperate voices crying out for parents, for a place to stay, for anyone to hear their prayers. ( Hear yourself: I am worth more than this. I am. I am. I am. )

The other campers laugh at you, the way a foot stumbles during practice, or the way arrows miss the mark in front of you, but you wipe your tears in secret and try again. You are born from divine blood, Olympian blood, and you are more than what they say. You learn the art of bravado and biting insults, accompanied by thick skin to defy their insults. For years, you burn your meals, giving reverence to the gods, and begging them to claim you. You talk to Eros, to Aphrodite, to every Charity and Season and Muse that they would choose you first and claim you in front of the camp. Maybe then, you would have the chance to prove yourself for all you’re worth, to prove them wrong with a triumphant smile on your face.

And you got your wish.

It wasn’t long before your mother claimed you, youthbringer to the gods, a flash of a wine-glass above your head and everyone thought they knew who you were. A child of a minor goddess, with no talents or traits to give him any notoriety, given too late when the best of them had fallen to the Titans. He was a Band-aid to a problem that the gods made themselves, only serving to further the interests of a dying goddess, and the immortals around her. He was cannon fodder, a fourteenth wheel. He was going to let them all down. He was a snake, a traitor in waiting for the Earth Mother. He was useless, unwanted, unworthy.

Did Achilles not beat his chest, nor did Atalanta call for men to best her? Demigods were called to rise above, so why shouldn’t you? This was a challenge in wait—your first quest, prophesied to bring greatness to all who partake in it, and you will master yourself and come out on top. The Earth Mother may look down upon you, as the Greek demigods do, but you will prove yourself, you will be better than any of them.

However, a voice creeps into your head as you board the Argo II: ruin, ruined, ruination. The worthless child of a worthless immortal, able to do not even the least of what his companions can do. The bravado you had built begins to give way, as you watch them all, heroes in their own right, embarking on a quest to save the world. A few days in, you turn into a silent observer, dealing with minor things: polishing Celestial bronze when you are wont to do, and leaving food for pegasi that return.

You will be better than any of them, the first of the Greeks, you whisper under your breath, a promise, a prayer.

But the voice whispers back: Perhaps. The first to turn. The first to leave. The first to fall to the Earth Mother.

FATAL FLAW/DEFINING CHARACTERISTIC: ανασφάλεια

The gripping insecurity at the back of his mind never stops, hounding him as he walks the Argo II. Virgil has always felt out of place, almost a beat behind other demigods in terms of his skill and experience, always striving to catch up, but always just a ways behind. Trying hard comes as second nature to him, and so does his hypercritical eye, whenever he fails at something spectacularly, his thoughts growing black as he tries to redo and replay scenes of failure over at his head as he hides behind his well-constructed facade. Perfection is an absolute that he’s learned to love and loathe, never being enough to reach it, but always tasting the slightest drop when he comes close every time.

EXTRAS:

POWER BREAKDOWN

THE GENERAL:

Virgil can alter appearances at will, but he can do it to himself better. For himself, it’s usually a few minutes of concentration to alter minor features, such as add or subtract crow’s feet or a few freckles on his face. It takes longer to alter important things, such as eye and hair color, or even the whole face on himself. For other people, he can do it as long as he focuses really hard, and thinks about it well. It takes around an hour to fully transform someone’s face to the exact specifications, but portraits or references significantly reduce

Changes usually are irreversible, which make it harder for him to maintain a semblance of identity, but are usually helped by using prior pictures of the subject.

Unknown to him, he can change the age of someone he comes into contact with, partially or fully, sapping or retrieving their youth. This is a sort of healing that being a child of Hebe does, but he adds a few hours, or years, depending on the length of contact, while shortening his own. This presents itself as mild to severe exhaustion, depending on the length of time he has with the afflicted.

THE PHYSICAL:

As a child of Hebe, the goddess of youth, Virgil is blessed with a wellspring of youth wherever he goes, being resistant to both sickness and the detriments of age, since his cells are in a state of perpetual health. While he does have the ability to heal faster than the average demigod, enough hits will send him to a state of rapid degeneration, deteriorating quicker than the average demigod. Sufficient ambrosia or nectar will always restart his systems and get him to rapidly heal, after some rest.

Whenever he “heals,” he actively shortens his lifespan, transferring whatever energy he has left into a certain body. This manifests in dark circles and a loss of pallor every time he transfers some of his youth to a patient. Massive transference of youth gives him a few wrinkles, and permanent loss of melanin in the hair, and may result in lasting long-term effects, though he’s never tried it, nor learned to do it before.

HEADCANONS

i. godhead

You have a brother. Mortal, vulnerable, but better than any demigod you’ve come across—Greek or otherwise. You would give your godhead up for him, the endless sheen on your skin, to protect the frayed edges of a grey sweater and the wrinkles on his godawful suit. It is a shame that he wasn’t a demigod, you think, that a flickering flame can have an immortal mother instead of a star burning bright, but there is no use in wondering. You know you will defend him, leave him the last burning vestiges of your godhood so that he will live far longer than you will. It will be your last wish, a final protection. You may prove to be useless to everyone else, but not to him. Not ever.

ii. prayers.

Once, you thought Aphrodite was your mother. It came up, a question during visitation, when you asked your father what your mother looked like. Beautiful, he said, like a model in one of those runways. So you prayed, and prayed, and prayed, until you came across doves that wouldn’t even look at your way and roses that seemed to close whenever you passed by. But you learned, through portents and prayer and a prophecy, that you were not the child of an Olympian, but rather a forgotten goddess, a cupbearer in the corner of the skies. You know your mother now, and you love her as a child does, but you could not help but think of what could have been if she weren’t.

iii. better.

There is an uncertainty in every demigod unclaimed in the Hermes cabin, unknown children and the children of esoteric gods that dot the halls, and you know them all. Children of Nemesis and the weighing of their scales, children of Thanatos and their peaceful eeriness, even the children of Deimos, with their shark grins and pointed teeth. You know their names and their stories, when the twelve cabins stay blind to all of you in the rafters of the Hermes cabin. There is a righteous anger sometimes, whenever shame does not come to visit, burning inside your chest. You hate the gods, your fellow campers, as you watch everyone scoff and laugh at the group—you are demigods too, and you all deserve better than scraps of acknowledgement and backhanded compliments.

TIDBITS: will kill for dark chocolate but has an itchy throat a lot because of it. knows all disney songs up until the new ones because he hasn’t learned them yet. has a pair of boots and a leather jacket as a present from his brother always on hand. knows english, tagalog, fifth grade mexican and some vague ilocano. good with his hands, but better with a shortsword or a dagger. hates long range fighting after being nailed overhead by a water balloon by an apollo camper. loves the word soliloquy, since it looks and sounds ridiculous to him. modeled once for some bulgarian line of clothing, but refuses to talk about it.

AESTHETIC: the greyness of rainy days hidden by lights in the living room. looking at the mirror, seeing only imperfections where there are none. lipstick stains on skin, rubbed off from a mistake you’d made. heat in a leather jacket, and the stubbornness of not taking it off. sweat pooling on your brow, from hard work and exhaustion. louder whispers in the back of your mind. the lingering heat of body warmth and the emptiness that comes with its absence. a promise, a prayer, a proposal. an eternal photograph, never fading.

TRAITS:

(+) thick-skinned, determined, amiable, observant

(-) guarded, deceptive, critical, blunt

CONNECTIONS

i. pthonos — the motivation

You are a lightning rod for their ire, more often than not and you bear it better than most. Perhaps it was the years of insults and mockery that helped you cope with their anger towards you, towards the world, towards Ares. Backing down was never an option back then, not from the way they laughed at you or their vicious tongue, and it sure wasn’t right now. You exchange words like sparring partners, and leave like embittered enemies. Their hate fuels you, and you just know that the first moment you get, you’re going to show them how wrong they are.

ii. amarus — the righteous

The anger that they feel towards the gods strikes true, and has caught your attention—no demigod would ever say it out loud, but you know that they are right. Between petty grievances, blood feuds, and the way that they treat others like pawns in their celestial games, it’s a wonder that the gods haven’t torn themselves asunder. You’re never one to discount a good idea, and you’re keen on hearing what they have to say, Roman or not.

iii. cynici — the question

Children of Aphrodite, or of Venus, always leave you with a copper taste in your mouth. They talk to you about beauty, about manipulation, about bending wills with the bat of an eye, and you could only wish you could have the power that they have. But they’re cut from a different cloth, all hard lines and cold gazes, as if love has done them a personal offense. Maybe it’s because they’re Roman, all about order and structure, but you want to ask them what’s made them so disenchanted.

PLOT POINTS

i. guidance of the earth mother.

I’d like an arc where the Earth Mother tries to wear him down by her whispers, telling him that all of their effort is futile, and to join her in bringing down the gods of Olympus. It would be fun to see, since the Greeks aren’t exactly on the best terms with the Romans, and to solidify the thoughts of him not being enough for this quest. The fallout would be amazing as well, since a fracture between the groups would be an unimaginable wrench in their plans.

ii. legacy of the legion.

Roman demigods put stock in work and dedication, he thinks, not the way your blood is made, not whose god you’re sired from, and to Virgil, that makes him envious of what they have in Camp Jupiter. From the lives they built inside New Rome to the praetors that walk the halls, he feels like there, he would be taken seriously. I’d like to see him try and connect with the Romans, in a way that would at least make him use his grit and dedication. Don’t trust Romans, but he’s sure he can make some exceptions.

PINTEREST BOARD

#accepted

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