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passionate-hedgehog · 4 years

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Impasse pt 2

Impasse is a 3-part series revolving around Reader entering society in Regency-Era London. Completely inspired by me binging the entirety of Bridgerton in less than 24 hours, Impasse will end with either Duke Damien Haas x Reader, or Courtney Miller x Reader.

Pt 2.

Pairings: Eventual Damien Haas x Reader, Eventual Courtney Miller x Reader

Warnings: None

Word: 2187

A/N: I know that my masterlist links arent working. If you try to use it, and things dont go where you want them to take you...well...I warned you. I’m turning this into a 4 part fic. There’s no way I can comfortably fit what I want into 3 separate sections. Part 3 will be out when this hits 15 notes! Thank you to everyone that liked and interacted with the first part. And thank you to the fans of my toher works. I love all of you omg. Enjoy ♥

Chapter Summary: The social Season has officially begun. Deals are being made amongst friends and old flames are fanning. Will there be any sparks igniting as well?

“What do you suspect he wants to talk about?” After the morning activities with Lord Haas in the drawing-room, Y/n and her handmaid found themselves busy with average daily activities.

Caroline’s expression was nonplussed as she stared at the back of Y/n’s head. The women were preparing Y/n for bed. The latter was in her chair as the housemaid brushed through her hair.

“Why must you give me that look every time I open my mouth?”

“Why must such ridiculous things come out of your mouth every time you open it?”

They discovered Shayne in his favorite study, books littering the desk he occupied. Y/n would always ask him when he planned on attending university but the young man tended to reply with something akin to “that’s not for me”. The young woman didn’t understand. She knew how smart her twin was, how clever he could be given the situation. Mayhaps one day he’d see the things he could accomplish.

“To what do I owe this visit?” The fair-haired man asked as his sister sat at the opposite side of his desk. A rather thick tome set open before him while his right hand held a fountain pen to sheets of parchment.

Y/n perched her arms along the length of the armrests and sat comfortably. “I thought I might see what you’re up to. But I find that you’re doing nothing different than normal. When are you going to talk to Father about university?”

Shayne restraint from rolling his eyes visible as he went back to his books, and scratching at the parchment. “When are you going to talk to me about Courtney?”

“What? That has nothing to do with...Shayne. My favorite twin, you could be doing so many more things if you were off to study. Collegiately.”

This caused the young man to sigh. “Y/n-,”

“I’m being serious here, Shayne. You’re in here, every day, reading and writing. It’s almost a different book a week. Sometimes, your nose is in a book about far-off adventures in distant lands and sometimes it’s about the history and tragedies of the lands around us. Look that book right there.” She motioned to the collection of parchment before Shayne. “I gather that one is not Shakespeare. What is it? The history of France?”

Shayne lowered his head back to the pages before putting his pen back on the parchment, not meeting his sister’s eyes. “Spain, as a matter of fact.”

Y/n held a blank countenance.

“I’m trying my hand at the Spanish language. Does that quell your curiosity?”

Y/n smirked. “You’re just proving my point.”

“I’ll make you a deal,” The young man laid his fountain pen on the parchment and clasped his hands together before leaning forward. “I’ll talk to Father about university if you read and respond to Courtney’s letter..”

The young woman grumbled and stood up from her chair. “Suddenly, I have a desire for some poetry. Caroline, I’ll be in the library. I’ll call for you if I need you.”

The handmaid nodded from where she stood by the fireplace, her hands clasped in front of her as Y/n walked to the door. “Of course.”

Y/n turned one last glance to her twin before exiting the room and found Caroline in the chair Y/n’s ownself just left. The handmaid was smiling at Shayne as he talked. The rosy tint to Caroline’s cheeks as the man laughed sparked Y/n’s curiosity yet still managed to make her smile. It was cute if she had to be honest. The handmaid had the tendency, lately, to be quieter than usual. While yes, Caroline was well-mannered and modest, it was different when Shayne was around. Had it just been the two women, Caroline could be witty. Y/n enjoyed that in the handmaid. It was refreshing and reminded her of a long-lost friend.

“For Heaven’s sake, Courtney. You’re not even here but you’re still here.” The young woman fiddled with a woven bracelet made from brightly colored twine.

“Y/n?” A voice called from next to her as her hand was on the doorknob to the library.

“Oh, Lord Haas! I did not realize you were here.” Y/n peered behind her companion and to her own left and right, in case she missed any other person.

“It’s just me. And please, call me Damien. We’ve known each other since we were young, back when we had all of our friends amongst us.” The duke gave a gentle pleading look.

“I was a tad cheeky back then. I wasn’t going to call you by any title.”

Damien cocked an eyebrow and smirked. “You’re still a tad cheeky to this day. Am I wrong?”

Y/n’s matched his smirk before opening the door to the library and making her way inside. A witty remark was caught in her throat when her eyes caught someone standing next to the nearest shelving of books.

“Court-Courtney?” Her hand slipped off of the knob of the door. “What are you doing here?”

The light-haired woman bit her lip. “I wanted to visit. You never responded to any of my letters. I thought...I thought maybe something had happened.”

“You...I can’t...Excuse me.” The young woman turned around in haste and scurried away. She found herself in the empty kitchen trying to breathe through what just happened.

Good going. You’re such a coward.

“I’m such a coward.”

“No, you’re not.” Damien had followed her into the cooking area. He led her to a chair and guided her to sit. “Some refreshment might make it better?”

Y/n watched her old friend as he went about collecting items. She noticed how at ease he seemed going through her icebox and cupboards. How expertly he sliced up fruit. She couldn’t help but notice how handsome he looked in his livery, as well, but there was enough going on inside of her head. Damien approached the table with a modest platter and placed it in the center of the table before he sat himself in a chair across from her.

“I figure that some soft cheese might do some good as well as figs and berries. I hope they comfort you the way they do me.” He had gestured towards the food.

Y/n gave a thankful nod before reaching for a bite. “Thank you, Damien. This means very much to me.”

The man grabbed fig and brie, biting into them. “If you need to talk, I’m all ears. You don’t have to if you don’t want to, of course. But I’m here.”

Y/n fidgeted with a slice of fig fruit. She mentally weighed her options before speaking again. “I haven’t seen Courtney in over a year. We got into an argument...about the things she wanted to do and where she wanted to be in life. I regret it. I regret it every day. I let our relationship ...decay...because I didn’t approve of what she wanted to do.”

“She wanted to work with horses, right? And entertain? That’s where she’s been this whole time?” Damien bit into some brie.

“I was treating her like she was someone like me. Someone that already had their life plans laid out for them. She was able to choose what she wanted in life.”

The young man studied Y/n’s face. “Y/n, were you...jealous that she had such an opportunity to live a dream that you tried burning bridges with her? She was your best friend. That had to be a hard decision to make.”

“It’s about more than that. I’m happy she was able to live how she wanted to...thrilled that she got to work with her passions. But..I wasn’t there with her. She wasn’t with me. It didn’t matter what she was doing...I just wanted it to be with..with me.

“I had this asinine vision that society would be in a different place by now. That two close friends could...be closer. And that I wouldn’t have to feel like I was left alone for the rest of my life. I see so many friendships for what they could be. The feelings that I’ve had over someone that will never be attainable I see in others. All of the time. Especially while I promenade! And it makes me sad for those yearning and it reminds me of what I can never have.”

There was a moment of silence before Y/n’s eyes widened in the realization of what she had just let out. “Oh my. I-You didn’t hear any of what I just said. Promise me!”

Damien laid a soft hand on Y/n’s arm. “I promise. I had no idea that you had harbored such...persuasions. Not that it’s anything you need to feel sorry about. You can’t help it. Your reactions, for sure, but...not for what you feel.”

“You, Lord Haas, will make someone a fine husband someday. Maybe even sometime soon? It is our season, finally, after all.” Y/n tried to hide her watery eyes behind a coy smirk. “Someone is bound to catch your eye.”

Damien breathed out before responding. “Someone already has, if I’m being honest. But maybe I’m far-reaching more than I originally thought.”

His words seemed to spark a sense of excitement through Y/n. She sat up straight and gripped the edges of the table.

“Who is she? Will you point her out to me while we promenade? No. I have an even better idea; can you introduce her to me at one of the balls?” Y/n was nearly on the edge of her seat. “Damien! This is exciting!”

“It’s not quite that intriguing, I promise you. Especially since nothing can come of it.” The man picked at the fruit on the platter. “But I digress. It seems that you’ve got your own sorting out to do. What are you going to do about callers if Courtney plans on joining in on the festivities this season? She may not come from one of the families but she has enough friends.”

“Then I hope she enjoys herself. For all I know, everything I felt could have been my very own thoughts and not hers. If she’s here to find a match, then let her. If she’s here to have fun, then by all means...I hope she has it. I just hope I can keep my heart to myself this time. I don’t want to get hurt again.”

“Y/n,” The man licked his lips before continuing. “Might I suggest trying to find out what exactly it is that your heart wants before you do anything else with it?”

The young woman topped her fig slice with some brie. “I’m going to pretend that you did not just offer such advice. Who would even think about courting a woman trying to figure out whether or not she wants her story to end with another woman? You slay me, Lord Haas.”

“I’m being entirely serious. Y/n, you could…” Damien seemed to pause before paying very close attention to fiddling with a berry. “We could stop your callers from coming around and maybe I could use a distraction. We could work together.”

“What? Like...you and I? Together together?”

The german-born duke hesitated before taking one of Y/n’s hands into both of his. “We could go to promenade as a match. And then to the balls, And the parties. No one would be the wiser. You could use this time to figure out what it is you truly want. And then who.”

The young woman looked down at their hands, hers fitting inside his the way she suspects other women her age dream of, yet, she wasn’t sure what it did to her. What he offered could very much help her, but what if Courtney got the wrong idea? What if everyone got the wrong idea?

“But what if it went right?”

“Hmm?” Damien asked in confusion.

“Nevermind.” Y/n shook the thoughts from her head. “Damien, I think...you may be on to something. You’re right. I...I don’t know how to be a...a wife to anyone. Let alone a man. And I won’t know until I figure myself out a little bit more. And then if this girl is running through your mind and you firmly believe that you can never court her…”

“Trust in me with this. I always thought she was someone I could never hope to marry, far too good for me in so many ways. But...maybe this will help me to see who else is out there. Maybe I’ll find my perfect match. And if we come out as a couple, it’ll provide good reason for the other men to leave you alone.”

“Too bad they just don’t leave me alone as is.”

“I believe Olivia said the same thing after she met Sam.”

“Heavens, that was a riot.” Y/n lifted her pinky to solidify the agreement with her friend. “Lord Damien Haas, I believe we might have ourselves a deal.”

#damien haas x reader #courtney miller x reader #shayne topp #ian hecox #olivia sui #noah grossman #keith leak jr #smosh fan fiction #smosh fanfic #smosh #bridgerton x smosh #bridgerton au

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pestopascal · 4 years

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sorry if it's not too mcuh to ask but are you able to share the endings? ive seen a lot of mixed reviews in regards to them and player choices and i wanted to hear your opinion

uhhh pfft okay spoilers below... but there are like “five″ endings, each with variations and reflections on choices that you go through

devil ending (arasaka)

so assuming you have done nothing game wise (no side missions, no friendships), this is the most basic ending you will get besides one other. this has several differences based on whether you saved takemura or not (yes, you can save him in search and destroy, and he doesn’t like an outcome of this ending if you save him. quite frankly, it’s hilarious).

this ending basically ends the arasaka story of the game, which was the heist section, as well as takemura’s general story direction. you realise along the way that yorinobu wasn’t just the antagonist but an antihero in hating his father’s stance on separating the rich and poor further, as well as attaining immortality via the relic. he wanted to give it to everyone. saburo had uploaded his soul to mikoshi (think along the lines of the stacks in altered carbon), knowing that yorinobu was going to make an attempt. turns out hanako knew all this. there is more backstory with hanako’s connection to alt explained. saburo’s relic is installed in yorinobu’s body.

- variation 1: goro died, hellman takes you to the facility

after the choice, hellman will be the one to escort v to arasaka, having survived conveniently. after some other missions involve a hostile takeover of arasaka, hanako fulfills her promise of removing johnny, but in the process v’s mind is practically destroyed beyond saving. there is a sequence of testing, with the scientists and lots of psychological implications. hellman will arrive to give the choice of whether to upload v’s mind to mikoshi in an attempt to save them in some years time (because, as it turns out, there are stipulations in that cloning is not near the level of science it needs to be, saburo and yorinobu obviously had close enough genetic material it made transfer easier. also johnny’s relic has apparently ‘changed’ v’s dna enough (which is questioned and evaded). that and it is arasaka. they could just be lying, and v knows this). so v can sign a contract to be uploaded to mikoshi, or can return to earth with 6 months to potentially live, although is speculated to have less time than that.

the credits roll with dialogue from those you may have befriended in some capacity discussing either the fact you have signed on to arasaka, or you have disappeared/returned to earth. hanako offers v a job if they had chosen to return to earth to die. your love interest makes reference to not having heard from you/wishes to see you soon.

- variation 2: goro survives, also escorts v to arasaka

takemura fills the roll of hellman, and ultimately proves that he is arasaka until the day he dies, even after the apparent ‘wavering’ dialogue. he didn’t make it this far in life without being able to lie the way he does. he’s a lot more gentle in the approach compared to hellman in asking v to return to mikoshi, there is some reminiscing dialogue, and also promises of visiting in the future if they manage to find v a body.

the biggest difference is should v choose to return to earth, takemura tells v to rot in hell for refusing arasaka’s help.

the sun (rogue)

this ending relies on side missions being completed for rogue (NOT just a good relationship with johnny, that is another ending as well that will be mentioned after). blistering love is the last one for rogue.

what happens is that you give johnny and rogue their last attempt at the assault on arasaka tower. johnny will be in control for the duration of this mission. rogue dies during the assault when adam smasher arrives. at mikoshi, johnny is the point of view character for the decision on who remains in v’s body. alt recognises that the relic has altered v’s body too much for v to remain there, but johnny would survive without problem.

- variation 1: v remains in control

johnny assimilates with alt in cyberspace and v returns to the world as a living legend. your love interest can potentially appear in the suite, but they recognise that v has become incredibly distant as a person (implied only a few months to live, that only they know of), and is taking on one last gig like no other. the love interest may potentially break up with v. ends with v eventually going to attack the crystal palace (casino in space).

- variation 2: johnny remains in control

vastly different, and i recommend playing this ending out at least once. johnny appears some time after the events of arasaka leaving the city, with collecting belongings and also going to visit the columbarium and deposit the bullet in v’s grave. it also gives a lot of insight into other memorials to characters you may have met in other side missions, there is jackie’s, rogue’s (per this ending), etc. johnny leaves night city.

- VARIATION 3: TECHNICALLY THE SECRET ENDING and in some cases considered ending 5

DIFFERENT in that it has a set of requirements that include maintaining a relationship with johnny ABOVE 70% (which can happen in the missions for him). need to wait and not decide on an ending for johnny to personally suggest this, so that no one else will die for them. it goes the same route as the rogue/johnny ending but instead v/johnny assault arasaka tower themselves. this is the HARDEST mission in the game, there is NO save option, you have to complete it in one go. if you die it is treated as an ending, and the end credits will even reference this with other characters talking about this. should you make it through, it plays out similarly following on from the other variations, save for the fact rogue will actually be alive, and the afterlife sequence will reflect her survival.

the star (aldecaldos)

should you befriend panam, including completing all of her lines (queen of the highway being the last), there is the offer to join them. it follows a very similar path in terms of attacking arasaka tower per rogue/johnny, but with the aldecaldos, and saul dies when adam smasher appears for the fight. this is one of the endings where you can choose who stays in v’s body however, but played from v’s point of view.

- variation 1: v remains in control

again, similarly follows the sun route, however v will wake up later with the aldecaldos en route to tucson. judy if romanced will join v, panam will obviously have a continuing romance, but river stays behind due to his family commitments with promises of maybe someday if they return, and kerry i believe at this stage, doesn’t want to give up night city just yet, but again similarly to river, promises.. it ends on a more hopeful note.

- variation 2: johnny remains in control

plays out like the sun ending.

path of least resistance (suicide)

easily the most heartbreaking. depending on how you may have played v, it is the one time they feel the most in control. johnny and v have an incredibly emotional discussion about death and life and rebirth. the credits will roll, and any relationships you have established will have a spoken part. i sobbed during the credits. it is.. yeah. well.

my opinion

the endings are confronting, or hopeful, depending on what is chosen. siding with arasaka goes against your better instincts, especially as a corporat. even after believing that perhaps takemura has changed, v realises that to his heart, that man will never leave. becoming a living legend just like jackie wanted leaves v feeling quite empty, as they have made it to the heights and there’s nothing for them. the aldecaldos are viewed as the best simply because there is that hope that in arizona, someone might be able to help, but potentially at the cost of your own relationship. and then... after seeing how much v has been punched down... the last ending just truly hurts. both in terms of characters understanding and being so angry at themselves and at v. i personally don’t know what specific ending i would choose for my v as i’m still working it out, but they all do punch in some way i personally think, especially if you have... actually played the story, and it does like tie off specific ends here and there. also like... finding out what happens to the peralezes and other people you might’ve met... yeah. i recommend playing through all of them + variations at least once (granted.. if you are comfortable with it. the arasaka ending is very invasive and well, the suicide ending can be incredibly uncomfortable).

#replies #cyberpunk 2077 #cyberpunk 2077 spoilers #suicide mention tw #Anonymous

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roraruu · 4 years

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wip: step into the darkness

Marianne is seven when her parents begin to act strange around. She remembers it all so clearly, as if a sculptor had etched it into her mind with a pick and hammer.

It is just a few days before the Red Wolf Moon’s death, and three days before her birthday. Their little cottage in the woods of a distant part of Leicester begin to grow colder, as if the winds from Faerghus are blowing directly in upon their home.

Her mother, whom her father says is her mirror image, hurries about the small, cold cottage. Not in her usual way that looks hurried, but in reality is quite calm and measured. From her spot in the living room, by the warm fire, she watches as her mother traces the kitchen quickly, her apron wading in the cold air.

She opens her mouth to speak, but she knows much better than to open it. Something inside her—a voice, an instinct perhaps—tells her not to. Her lips shut as she sits on the rug and stares into the fire. The book of fairytales and legends at her feet, which her father had promised to read her when he got back, stares up at her, begging to be read.

He promised that the trip would only be a few days, not much longer than two. He promised that he would come back with game. He promised, with his darkened eyes and deep voice, that he’d carve her a wooden figure of Seiros with his own two hands for her birthday.

She remembers the curl in his lip when he said the goddess’s name. Like it was burning him alive: sear-rows. A child remembers disgust clearly.

It’s been five days. Her father isn’t back, and her mother is beginning to let her worry show.

Marianne has seen this happen before. Back when she was only four. Her father went missing for three days, out into the woods, and when he came back, it was on the arm of a green-haired knight of Seiros. He had slept in bed for days, couldn’t look at anyone or anything; and he was sick.

And when Marianne had the courage to ask her mother what was wrong with her father, she had only said her father had taken ill.

That was always the excuse: Papa is ill. Father is sickly today. It is best not to bother Papa; he is ill.

Always a reason to leave him be. Some days she felt like she was being spectated upon. She would catch that look in his eyes sometimes: like he didn’t recognize Marianne or her mother; or like he was sorry for them.

The cottage feels cold, though it is snug and the fire is burning hot. Her Mother eventually calls her into the kitchen for dinner—Gautier stew. One of the neighbours brought some cheese and fowl. They always do when Papa disappears.

Mother says it’s just what good neighbours do, but Marianne can’t help but feel that they do it out of pity.

***

Another day passes without father. The cock crows for the dawn and Marianne wakes. Snow blankets outside, for their little cottage is incredibly close to Faerghus.

She’s been sleeping in the same bed as her mother since her father left. It happens often. Having another body in the bed brings her Mother a little sense of comfort, a little safety. And while Marianne is young, she knows the look of woe and sadness well, for her mother wears it often.

Her mother is only 28, but she looks as though she’s past middle age sometimes. Usually when her father is missing she looks like that; but when Marianne’s father is about, she looks so young, like a young girl, who is much too young to have a child of seven years.

Her father however, always looks gruff and tired, like an old billy goat. His dark hair spills out over his face, and a beard that grows in around his chin. Dark eyes too, not quite beady like a goat’s, but more like the ocean that they can see from the top of the church hill. The sea always looks black in the winter.

Her mother wakes before her, gently stirs her once, twice, for there is not a cruel bone in that woman’s body. Some around here say that she is a true daughter of Seiros, kind and just. Others say that she is like an angel from another land.

Marianne doesn’t know which to believe.

They say their morning prayers to the Goddess from the side of the straw bed. Holiness, religion, was born right into Marianne. Her Mother was a sister of Seiros, who served at the monastery in the heart of Fódlan. She doesn’t talk much about those days, she doesn’t talk much about herself. But what she does not speak of herself, she makes it up with talk of the Goddess and her saints and Seiros. Before bed, her mother tells her stories of Saint Macuil, Saint Indech, Saint Cichol and his daughter Cethleann, and of course, Saint Seiros. She speaks of them with such passion, such brightness, that her eyes sparkle as she talks.

Sometimes, if the mood is correct, and if her Mother is willing, she will sing to Marianne. She has the sweetness of all the honey in the land and the tone of the finest songbirds in her voice. She could have been a songstress, easily, yet she is a sister of the faith, a humble cleric. And Marianne isn’t sure why, but she is sure that her Mother has the finest voice in all of Fódlan. But she understands why her Mother is called Silque; for her voice is as smooth and as rich as the fabric.

Prayers pass in silence, both praying for the return of Silque’s lover and Marianne’s father.

They dress and Marianne sits still as her mother combs her hair and braids it into a crown about her head. While she works, she hums. Somedays, they’re happy songs. Other days they are mourning songs. Today it is just a melody from a lullaby that she sang to Marianne when she was just a babe.

(She always sings that when her father is missing. It is a comfort to the both of them.)

They share breakfast; day-old bread and cheese, tea for Silque, milk for Marianne. Marianne eats everything while Silque only prods her food. Marianne does not say anything, knowing that any reproach would upset her mother further. Instead, Silque stares out the window, her eyes searching the snowy hillside for the familiar look of her lover and her child’s father.

Before the sun has even risen, they are out the door and walking up the hillside to the church at the top. There, Marianne’s mother works while the little girl watches or sits out back.

As they walk up the hill, they can see the queue of sick that that lines outside the church; Silque’s patients for the day. She breathes a sigh as she enters the church. Marianne sits in the pews, listening to the hacking coughs and sneezes of the sick.

This has been her life for the last few years. When father is around, she will stay with him and sit while he works. He is a carpenter; building many houses in the area, cribs, bassinets, bed frames, tables and chairs, dressers, armoires and desks; most everything is crafted by his rough hands. And when the bandits get bad, he is a military leader.

Marianne remembers seeing the glinting gold of a helmet and armour, the lush reds and blues of a cape long since worn; the silks of a bishop’s gown and the markings of Seiros upon them. She does not know now, but in ten years’ time, she will come to understand that her parents were not just a carpenter and a cleric, but a bishop and a bow knight in former lives, ones long since forgotten.

The orphans of the church don’t speak to her much. She keeps to herself, reading her old book of fairytales or praying like her Mother would. Sometimes she helps with washing clothes and sewing, other days she does not. One of the children asks what she wants for her birthday—her Mother has said she is going to be eight in two days’s time. She lies and says that she wants a new book from town.

In truth, she only wants her father to come home, and her mother to smile without forcing it.

At lunch, Marianne’s mother allows her to go outside and play. “But,” her soft voice rings out with a sense of sternness. “Do not go past the courtyard. I need to be able to see you.”

“Yes Mother.” She promises. She shrugs on her cloak and steps out the back of the church. She paces the little courtyard a few times, watching as birds and squirrels come to visit her.

She sits down in the snow, her blue dress circling about her. As her father taught her, with his old horse, she stays as still as a statue. Her eyelashes don’t even flutter after she’s shut them. To the observer, she looks as though she is a young princess, with an air of regality and serenity that only the bluest of blood can attain.

The sounds of the nearby forest grow louder. She can hear cardinals cry out, some robins who are looking for food. The rattle of an annoyed chipmunk, the crunch of snow.

She stays like that for a while. Then, slowly, she opens her eyes. In the snow before her is a little bird with a soft coat. She doesn’t dare move, but instead flutters her lashes in a hello.

It greets her back. Why are you still here?

My mother is working in the church.

You need to move little miss.

Why so? Marianne asks, slowly moving her eyes up and around the courtyard.

Something is coming. Can you not feel it?

The air has grown colder. It becomes a little harder to breathe. She turns her head and the bird does not move. I can. She tells it.

Is it a wolf?

No, it’s far more sinister. The woods are clear.

The trees rustle. Then as she turns her body, the bird flies away, calling for her to take cover.

From the dark of the woods, Marianne sees a monster stare back at her. Slowly, it moves closer, it’s nose heaving out breaths as she stays stock still.

In her mind she tries to speak to the monster, her hands curling around her winter cloak. She stares at the beast, taking in it’s dark scales and sharp fangs, it’s claws that could cut her to bits.

Quietly, as if the world has gone silent, she hears it speak.

Fear the beast inside of you Marianne.

Her eyes widen in horror and she stops breathing, fainting in the snow. When she wakes, the beast is gone and she is left shaking. She catches her breath, looking wildly around her for the monster who warned her. Then she begins to worry; what is the beast inside? Of her? Is there a monster underneath her skin.

She steadies her wobbly legs and then returns inside the church. Marianne does not tell her mother of the monster in the courtyard. She remains silent, instead watching as her mother takes patient after patient, never once growing angry or tired.

Someone gives them a bit of fish for dinner, as thanks to Silque for her healing. She promises to make two fish stew with it when they get home.

***

There’s a crash outside the cottage. Silque sits up. Then the door opens. Marianne feels her mother move in the bed. She hears the ancient words on her tongue as she begins to recite spells. Marianne pulls the blankets closer to her, up against her willowy frame as she watches her mother etch out of the room and into the main atrium of the house.

Her mother’s shoulders sag, as if relief has finally weighed down upon her shoulders. Her hands drop to her sides as the sounds of boots against wooden floors grows louder.

“I’m home, Silque.”

Marianne knows that voice. She stumbles out of bed, watching as her father stands stock still. Her mother holds him tight, sobbing prayers to the goddess that he has finally returned home.

And when Marianne catches his eyes, she sees the monster from the forest.

***

Marianne is tucked back into her parents’ bed. She knows that she will not sleep in her own bed tonight; nor will her parents use theirs. They will stay up talking like they always do when he comes home after a long time away.

She lays in their bed and hears the bits of their conversation over and over again.

“Was it your...”

“Yeah. I’m sorry.”

“You cannot control it, why should you be?”

“It’s her birthday soon, you two must have been worried.”

“We were not losing sleep... Or that much.”

“Has she... been acting strange?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean Silque.” She can hear his voice loud and clear. Her father has never been a quiet man. “Is she showin’ the signs?”

“Of... Of Maurice?”

“Yeah. Suppose I mean him.”

Marianne sits up in bed, she swings her legs over the side and lets her feet meet the ground. Through the crack of the door, she can see her parents sitting at the hearth. Her mother reaches for his face.

“She carries my blood after all.”

“Do not treat it as a curse. She will not die—“

“You can’t know for sure, Silque.”

“I know Seiros’s gospel like the backs of my hands. She never said that Maurice was damned.

“Only that he is the Beast and hated by everyone.”

Marianne takes a step back. The floorboards creak loudly. She sees her father’s head turn to the door, staring at her through the crack. In his eyes, she sees the beast that stared at her in the woods. Her heart stops and she back barrels into the bed, climbing inside and pulling the quilt to her neck.

She clasps her hands together, and falls asleep praying to Seiros.

***

Silque clings to her lover tightly, as if he will disappear before her very eyes. She would rather die than let that happen again.

She does not see the look of terror in Marianne’s eyes. Instead, she looks up at her lover, who has been gone for upwards of a week. She breathes a prayer to the goddess before he sidesteps past her and kneels before their daughter.

“Have you been good for Ma, kid?” He asks.

Silque cannot think of anything aside from the fact that he is home. Before she knows it, Marianne is tucked back into bed and they sit before the burning hearth. She prepares him a meal and readies hot water to clean him. His face is marked bloody with brushes from the bush and dirt and soot.

It pains her to not know where he has been.

“Was it your...” She cannot finish the word. He doesn’t speak the name of it at all. The Crest of Maurice, the Crest of the Beast.

He nods. “Yeah. Sorry.”

“You cannot control it, why should you be?”

“It’s her birthday soon, you two must have been worried.” He says. He can’t bring himself to look at her.

“We were not losing sleep...” Silque lies, the sin weighing on her stomach. She turns to the little bowl of hot water. “Or that much.”

“Has she been actin’ strange?”

Silque stares at him. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean, Silque.” His eyes meet hers. Suddenly, it’s very clear that there is a beast beneath the surface of his skin. “Is she showin’ the signs?”

“Of... Of Maurice?”

“Yeah. That bastard. She carries my blood after all.”

Silque reaches for his face, her dropping the cloth into the bowl. She holds the frame of his face in her cracked hands. “Do not treat it as a curse. She will not die—“

His gaze sears hers. “You can’t know for sure, Silque.”

“I know Seiros’s gospel like the backs of my hands. She never said that Maurice was damned.” Silque pleads.

“Only that he is the Beast and hated by everyone.”

The creak of floorboards turns his head. Silque ignores it. Their little cottage is old, and the sound of settling is well-known to her. She has heard it so many time when she laid awake in bed, waiting for him to return home.

“He is not hated by me.” Silque assures her lover.

He blinks slowly as she swallows. “Who housed you this time? Was it a do gooder or the woods?” She tries to make a lighthearted joke. “It looks like you made a home in a rosebush, darling.”

“Lukas housed me again, sweetness.”

Her eyes lift to his. There are dark circles below his eyes, bags from a lack of sleep. She turns to get the cloth and dips it into the water and rings it out once, twice before brushing it against his dirty cheek.

“I should ensure to thank him with some kind prayers and fruit preserves.”

“Certain he’d like that.” He says holding his gaze.

“Did he...” The words will not leave her tongue at first. She steels herself, then forces it out like the smiles she’s been forcing since he disappeared. “Did he see you as a beast?”

He scoffs a little bit before dipping his head in a nod. He sighs. “He found me while he was on a hunting trip in his county. Called me out of it with your song.”

Any frustration and anger washes away from Silque with those last three words. She blushes a little, turning her cheek as she dips the cloth into the water. “I am glad it still brings you peace.”

“It’s because it reminds me of you.”

She burns as red as the fire and turns back to him to wash away the dirt and cuts. She could use her white magic on him, but a little selfish part of her likes to use first aid. There’s a tenderness in it. A softness that makes her heart warm and makes her blush; it dulls the ache and sadness that has follow her since he left.

“I should hope so. It is what brought us together after all.”

He shuts his eyes for a second and nods, as if revelling in the memory. She won’t lie to anyone, most of all herself: she thinks of it often. Of when she was only a sister in the monastery, where she stood in the Cathedral light and sang a song of her own composition, her own lyrics and her own heart.

When she heard him call out from the shadows, and when she took her first step into the darkness.

“Lukas’s lands are far north. Near the coast. How did you make it so far?” She finds herself asking as she cleans his face.

The silence between them speaks volumes. He must have blacked out and forgotten until Lukas brought him to with her song. The sweetness in her heart begins to bitter, eating at her core as she looks down to his hands and stares at the cuts and bruises upon them.

“The Beast took over.” He says at last. “Couldn’t stop it.”

“I see.”

“Somedays I think it would be better if I just got the Crest removed. Paid someone in the Empire to take it out of my blood or whatever they do.” He mumbles. “If they can put them in, they should be able to remove them, yeah? It shouldn’t be that—”

“I could not bear to lose you my love.”

He meets her gaze. Her eyes begin to water with tears. She realizes that it has been almost an hour since they began talking, an hour since they sent Marianne to bed with both her parents, an hour since he came home.

“Still. You shouldn’t have to put up with this bullshit.”

“I am not putting up with anything. Your Crest is apart of you, and I would not have you remove it, even if there was no threat at all.” She leans a little closer to him. He reaches out slowly to touch her cheek. She melts into his palm. “You are my only love, Python.”

He lifts his gaze to her. Slowly, Silque draws closer to steal a kiss, pulling herself into his lap. Python’s head meets the crook of her shoulder. His heat begins to warm her cold body.

“You certain she ain’t showin’ anything? No fits, no starts? No anger? Wanderin’?” His voice reverberates throughout her body, shaking to her core.

“Nothing, Python. I swear she isn’t.” She whispers in a solemn promise. “She is the survivour of the curse. She is exempt, saved from it, by Sothis’s grace.”

And for a moment, Python believes his lover’s fallacies, her blind devotion, her bittersweet promises.

#ru writes #fanfiction #3h #marianne #silque #python #marianne forbidden ship kid au #thats the best i got yo im sorry #no editing either sorry #sov

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kyberphilosopher · 4 years

Text

Seven: Chapter Ten

ChaP^ter T3n

It feels really good to watch Cal chew Celeste out.

He’s been doing it for 6 minutes and 38 seconds now. Practically nonstop. Even with the door to the break room closed, you can hear Cal’s muffled yelling through the glass. Not that you’d need to hear the conversation to know he’s upset, but still.

It is currently 9:47 pm. The only people left in the precinct are us and Officer Blackwell, who stands guard near the entrance awkwardly. He cringes every time Cal raises his voice, which makes me even happier. I sit at Cal’s desk, upright and proper while trying to keep my patient smile off my face. My hands ball and unball themselves against my knees anxiously.

Cal is completely furious. You should’ve seen him in the car ride back here. Absolutely fuming, he gave Celeste the dirtiest look I’d ever seen and snapped at her. Fuming, he yelled “Why didn’t you cover the exits?!” while Celeste’s overly glossed lips struggled to form an excuse or words of any kind. The tension in the car after that was so thick, you could’ve cut it with a knife. We all sat in silence though. Celeste had a trembling lip, I had a hidden smile, and Cal had one hand on his head while he neared having a heart attack. He sort of looks like he’s about to have a heart attack now.

“I asked you to do this one thing… Are you a fucking moron? I… The Android even knew what to…” are snippets of his yelling that comes out more clear. Celeste stands silently, still looking like a painted whore and trying not to collapse in on herself or yell back.

It’s 9:53 when the yelling stops. Cal throws the break room door open, storming outside, still fuming. Celeste stays in the room, turned away from me to hide her shame. I stand up as Cal approaches, at the ready for anything he may need.

“Can you believe her?” he says loudly, too angry to realize he’s actually talking to me willingly. “I mean I give her one job and she just blows it off, completely costing us the whole fucking operation!”

“It’s my fault too,” I offer, a little nervous. My hands meet each other behind my back, playing with the others fingers in anticipation. “I should’ve been faster.”

Cal’s piercing gaze meets my eyes crisply. Despite his increased heartrate, I can tell his sharpness is out of intensity instead of rage.

“No, you saved my life,” he says, almost like a promise. “We would’ve caught them if it weren’t for Celeste.”

There’s a silent exchange between us then. A wordless agreement, a quiet thank you. Cal isn’t aggressive towards me because I’m an Android. It’s almost like he’s talking to another person, and he’s grateful that they saved him in peril. Cal walks past me and takes something from his desk. I don’t turn around to look, instead taking the opportunity to run a quick diagnostic. I am in optimal condition.

“You gonna be hear in the morning?” Cal says from behind me.

“I believe so, though there’s always a chance for unlikely things to occur.”

“Like what? An Android snatcher sneaking in?” Cal chuckles to himself quietly. I keep the recording of it in my memories, because it’s the first time I’ve heard Cal chuckle and I like how musical it seems.

“Always a chance,” I repeat.

“Guess so.” Cal closes his door with a muted slam and fumbles with his clanking keychain. “Night Tin Fuck.”

“Goodnight,” I mean to say with a friendly tone. It comes out hoarsely, like someone whose insatiably nervous.

I watch Cal walk away for the night, out the doors and past my field of vision. Then, it is just me and Celeste Amora, who is trying to contain her tears in the break room.

I don’t feel like standing upright while I power myself down. Instead, I go around to my desk and sit down in the chair. I use my arms as a sort of cushion for my head. This is something I’ve seen humans do when they’re very tired. I’ve seen Cal come close to doing so once or twice, but he never does. He just sips his coffee with a zombie-like expression on his face.

I let my led cycle yellow and my vision go black.

“Aleksandra,” she greets coldly. Her outfit is white today, and she’s turned away from me. Of course she is. I still can’t manage to enter into our scape the correct direction.

“Hello, Adelicia.”

She says nothing to me for 37 seconds.

“How would you say your investigation is going?”

“It’s progressing,” I say slowly. I can feel her disapproval, her frustration, her patient demeanor expand with my words. “I’m learning a lot about the Exceptions.”

“Why don’t you tell me what you’ve learned?” Her voice is so cold and sinister. She’s challenging me. Has she seen my memories? No. No she couldn’t have. But… there’s always a chance.

“I’ve learned that many Exception Androids seem to go astray because of an emotional shock. A child model that killed its parents showed signs of PTSD from a history or memory of sexual abuse.”

“What else have you learned?”

“The Exception Androids I’ve encountered have all chosen to hide immediately after their deviation. The child model stayed in a closed shower, and two others squatted in abandoned buildings. It’s like… it’s like they want to avoid confrontation.”

“Merely an emulation of fear,” Adelicia tells me.

“Of course.”

For some reason, I begin to compare Adelicia to a rose. I’ve seen her in every shade a rose can take- white, red, yellow, blue- all of them in the form of a pantsuit or blazer and skirt. She’s pale and prim and proper, with elegant manners and a tone like ice. Her mind, sharp as ever, never stops working. But like a beautiful rose, her thorns jut out and slice open your thumb whether you’re expecting it or not. You may think you’ve said the right thing, over for her disapproval to nick you and make you bleed. Beautiful, but dangerous, Adelicia is all too similar to the overly sweet flower.

“And your relationship with Detective Kennedy?”

“I-he… He seemed grateful I saved his life.”

Adelicia whirls around to face me. “Grateful?” she hisses, like a cat who doesn’t want to be stroked any longer. “I wasn’t aware you had saved his life. When did this happen?”

Don’t answer. Don’t answer. Don’t answer. “Tonight. He was going to fall from a building. I helped him up.”

“I see.” The disappointment oozes from her tone like poison. I’ve been noticing that more and more lately. “Aleksandra, if you don’t make progress in your mission by Christmas, I will consider replacing you.”

Something in my biocomponent sparks. Immediately, the word ‘no!’ pops into my brain in response to her words. It’s almost like… it’s almost like I don’t want to be replaced. I don’t want to be shut down.

But there’s a problem with this line of thinking. I don’t ‘want’ anything. I’m an Android. I am completely replaceable and the idea shouldn’t bother me.

That’s what I decide to tell Adelicia. “For the sake of the mission, that might be best. I am of no importance and the investigation should come first.”

Adelicia’s features soften in their own way. Like a wash of approval finally comes over her at my words. Her pupils dilate slightly, her shoulders wearing down in a type of relaxation. Despite this, her grey eyes are cold and steady, frozen like the rest of her.

“You have until Christmas.”

I open my eyes. This time, it is not a smooth, swift and soft motion. It is startled, almost clumsy as I do so. I’m certain my led runs red with it.

It’s 4:17am. I can see the darkness of the sky outside, and a faint sprinkle of stars dotting above. The moon is still visible up high, like a shiny, vanilla colored crescent. It’s going to rain soon. A dark purple color will fill the sky and replace the midnight blue currently present, and the sun will rise in the east.

I sit up, not taking my arms from their position on my desk. It seems so… calm. Calm and quiet. Even with the occasional airplane overhead, and the distant sound of drills and smoke and party music, it’s a silent night. I can see the space needle, and water and even a faint picture of mountains way in the distance. Skyscrapers and other sleek buildings stand tall in the landscape.

Today is Tuesday, October 19th. The temperature today will be 48 degrees Fahrenheit, with suspected showers in the morning. The day after tomorrow, Cal will turn 27 years old. I wonder if he’s excited about it.

It dawns on me now that I am still wearing my stakeout outfit. My hat had fallen off in my sleep, but my jacket and jeans and shirt are all still present. I put the beanie back easily and turn my attention elsewhere. The leather of my baggy coat is still warm with Cal’s scent. The black turtleneck would’ve gotten itchy against human skin by now, but I don’t mind at all. It’s soft to me.

I watch the sky for a little while. I really, really like it. I like it even more when at 4:28am, drops of rain start hitting the windows outside. It’s not strong, like bullets or hail, but gentle, like flower petals. It’s so lovely, wonderful even.

Somewhere, above the moon and the stars, some humans believe there’s a heaven. Supposedly, the clouds there roll in shades of brilliant, blinding whites, pale oranges and rose pinks. The sun rises in the West and sets in the East, and the moon appears as lilac and periwinkle. You can see the planets and all the planets moons. There are corners with lush greens and trees so tall you’ll never see the tops, and others with white sand beaches with jade waves and jewels buried deep down. The sky changes colors depending on the angle, like an Opal. There is no real end, only serenity and breathing.

I would very much like to see this thing someday, because the humans all describe it so beautifully. But this heaven is only attainable after death, and I doubt there’s a heaven for Androids.

I push myself out of my chair, and shuffle down the way to the elevator. I push the button for the roof and begin up. The sultry elevator voice tells me I’ve arrived and the doors slide open smoothly, revealing the dank hallway I remember. It hasn’t changed since the last time I was here, and all the trash and other effects are still in place. I’m about to step out, but then I press the button to go back down. Cue the voice alerting me of my destination, cue the doors opening. The next time I press the up button, I’m holding a small, dark trash bag in my right hand.

I clean everything in the hallway to the roof. Beer bottles, chip bags, a handful of old light blue pills in the corner. They all disappear down the trash bag, which I tie up and leave by the door. When I emerge outside, the biting air hits my synthetic skin. I don’t react to it in the slightest.

After 43 seconds, I walk to the edge of the building, and sit. My legs dangle over the side, hanging over the pavement below. The rain drops spring and pop on my shoulders. My hat protects my hair from getting damp. Petrichor fills my nose and I’m drowning in the smell of spring. In contrast, the Autumn leaves in the distance are falling in orange, brown, and crimson dots.

And, maybe for the first time ever, the city of Seattle is still. It all reminds me of a painting- perhaps one that Cal Kennedy himself has painted.

I doubt there’s a heaven for Androids.

Software Instability^^

At 10:03am, I move myself from my position. The sun has risen, the rain slowly ceasing out. Several officers and detectives have entered the building, ready to start their day. I even see Captain Ericson share a kiss with his husband while his two children sit with earphones in the backseat.

I rouse myself up and grab the trash bag. When I get back to the main floor and the bullpin, there is a man sitting at Cal’s desk. The man is, in fact, Cal. This takes my by surprise. He’s never been this early before. Still, I put the trash bag in the bin by the break room before making my way over.

A few steps away, I pause. Cal doesn’t have a coffee cup with him today, and his form is more hunched than usual. He must be exhausted. I turn around before he notices me, return to the inside of the glass room and poor him a cup of steaming black coffee. I put a top on so he doesn’t sip it too fast and burn his tongue, and then carry it out to him.

I put the cup on his desk softly, as to not alarm him. The Detective looks up at me, and his eyes are glinting in the light.

“Didn’t I tell you I hated you?” he croaks tiredly. His voice is husky and slightly sleepy, but I don’t mind. It’s low enough for only me to hear it in the commotion of the plaza.

“Multiple times.”

Cal breathes out with a quick smirk. “And you’re still bringing me coffee?” I don’t say anything, because he seems like he has something more to tell me. “For a bunch of freaks who seem to be demanding freedom, you sure do like slavery.”

“I bring you coffee because I want to,” I correct, quickly. Cal’s eyes dance with curiosity at my statement. “At least… I think I do.”

His eyes look me up and down. I like it, I think. “You’re still wearing those old clothes?” he half asks, half observes.

“So are you,” I counter. Though slightly wrinkled, he is still dawning his dark blue shirt and normal brown jacket.

Just like last night, there is a silent exchange between us. We can both pretend that Cal’s hostility towards me doesn’t exist for the moment. His still eyes are nearly kind, and his lips are soft and slightly upturned in a relaxed way. I reciprocate, making note of all the little details on his face. He has a freckle I never noticed before, under the right side of his jaw. His face is slightly more clean shaven today, though not by much. It seems stubble and five o’clock shadow are his signature look. I don’t mind, because it suits him and he looks handsome, just rough.

After 10 seconds, I turn away and walk to the other side, seating myself in my desk.

Throughout the rest of the morning, Cal and I share a few words.

“Did you sleep well last night?” I ask as he sips the coffee.

“Yeah,” he replies. He then gives me a rather unexpected line of dialogue. “You?”

Androids don’t really ‘sleep’, though I suppose what I was doing was the equivalent. Even so, it wasn’t my most friendly encounter. The more I encounter Adelicia in my thoughts or even just in the white room, the more icy she becomes to me.

“Yes,” I lie.

A few minutes later, we have another verbal interaction.

“I have not seen Officer Amora this morning,” I say aloud. I meant it mainly to myself as I glance around the room, but Cal heard.

“Yeah, me either.”

I lean forward on my shoulders, my curiosity taking the best of me. “I don’t mean to impede,” I begin slowly. “But what exactly is your relationship with Officer Amora?”

Cal rubs the back of his neck like he has a crick in it. I can tell he’s thinking of an answer, because maybe he doesn’t even know himself. “Heh,” he chuckles shortly. “Well there certainly is one.”

“I-I just mean..” don’t say it. Don’t you dare say it Aleks. “She seems a little… bitchy.”

Cal freezes in place, watching me. I’m scared for a moment that whatever relation he and I have is ruined, all because I ignored my Social Relations program. But then a smirk smile spreads across his face. His brows ease up and his eyes sparkle with charisma. A quick laugh escapes from his lips.

With that, my own features soften. My shoulders ease as the tension melts away, and a smirk of my own emerges on my lips. “Well, you’re certainly not wrong,” Cal says lightheartedly as he looks back at his computer.

I watch Cal sip his coffee between our short bursts of dialogue. As time goes on, he does seem to come more alive with the caffeine. He types faster, opens his eyes more, takes shorter blinks. The darkness and bags under his eyes don’t just evaporate into thin air, they remain, but I can’t define how I feel about them.

I don’t think I like that they mean he lacks a healthy sleeping schedule. But I do think I like how much character they add to his outward appearance. He looks entirely unique from everyone else here, maybe everyone else I’ve ever seen. He lacks a uniform, a clean image. He doesn’t mind just being. I wouldn’t understand that. It’s far too outside of my programming.

At 12:10, Cal disrupts the air of silence between us.

“Hey,” he mutters. His eyes are averted, stuck to something on his desk nervously. “I uh… I wanted to thank you. About yesterday, I mean.”

I know he really didn’t like saying that. I run my tongue along my lips inside my mouth, nodding my head sincerely. I can’t help the words that fall from my lips after that. “Of course.”

“No I mean you… you didn’t have to do it. You choose me over the… never mind.”

I’ll never forget it. One, because I physically can’t, unless my memory gets corrupted. Two, because I think it’s important for me to remember. Still, the only thing more to that conversation is a quiet “sure” from me.

“Actually, I did want to ask you something.”

Cal looks in my eyes this time. They’re not as relaxed or lighthearted as they were, and his eyebrows are more scrunched down in their usual position. Still pleasant enough to look at according to the golden ratio, though.

“I was going to ask Celeste but, well- you know…”

I dip my head slightly, urging him to continue.

“My birthday’s in a few days and I’m going to see my father.”

“You mentioned that. Your brother too, correct?”

“Yeah,” Cal clears his throat with a cough. “Well, my father’s been bugging me to get a girlfriend and I was wondering it you’d… you know… come along?”

My led flashes red so fast you wouldn’t be able to see it. But then it goes yellow as I try to make sense of the proposition. “You mean as your girlfriend?”

“No- kind of. Like a fake girlfriend. To trick my family for the night.” Cal watches my led as an indication as to my answer. He’s so anxious about this. I can see his heart rate only increase. “You can say no,” he adds quickly.

Registering Request…

Creating Pro and Con List…

Pro and Con List Created.

“I can do that,” I tell him. “It’s no trouble. I will have to research things that girlfriends do, however.”

“Fine, that’s…” Cal waves his hand, leaning back in his chair. His heart rate decreases, slowly but surely. “That’s fine.”

My led stays yellow. I can’t define the feeling in my biocomponents, sparking against my synthetic skin and making the fake hair on my arm stand on end. Anxiety? Anticipation? Anguish? Or just plain Aleks?

“My dad lives in Spokane, so we’ll have to take a half day tomorrow.”

My led swirls green as I confirm my schedule. “I have no issues with that.” A new idea runs into my mechanical brain though. “I don’t have any suitable clothes, however.”

Cal lets out a joking scoff. “Clearly.”

“Hey, this is your jacket,” I retort.

“And it looks better on me,” he quips slyly. I wonder if he’s forgotten I’m an Android when he jokes with me like this, if he’s so focused on the comedic value he doesn’t care who it’s with. Maybe that’s what everyone who hasn’t shown hostility towards me have been like. Shovelman, Tom, even that woman who smiled at me- Sophia. Were they so intent on being themselves and being in the moment that they didn’t register how different we are? Or is it because they were so aware of our differences that it was a sort of mercy to show me a kindness. I know Cal isn’t doing the latter, but maybe the others were.

“That’s your opinion,” I decide to say jokingly, typing something into my computer with a smug look on my face. I didn’t even realize it was there until the memory of Cal making the same expression comes to mind. I must’ve learned it from him without realizing.

“You know, if you’re going to be my girlfriend, you’re going to have to be nicer than that.”

I doubt there’s a heaven for Androids.

Software Instability ^

taglist: @omg-we-really-doo

hope you enjoy, S. happy fourth.

#dbh #dbh fanfiction #detroit become human #detroit: become human #detroit become human fanfiction #detroit: become human fanfiction #story #android #androids #technology

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thegravecartel · 4 years

Note

For Lee =

Hades: Does my muse have a false reputation? What is their relationship with their siblings?

Apollo: Does my muse like poetry? What kind of music do they listen to?

Artemis: Do animals like my muse? Do they like nature?

Selene: Do they have any children? Do they believe in true love?

((Doing this on my laptop, so no icons, sadly. ^^;))

Hades:

((Gonna kill two birds with one stone for this-- Acquaintances who aren’t aware that Lee and Kyung are adoptive siblings, Lee is sometimes mistaken for being her boyfriend. Of course, both of them are very quick to shut that down, and have a good chuckle over the mistake. The sibling bond he shares with Kyung is a bit complicated, but it’s something that they mutually understand. It’s been a consistent pattern that even though they both appear to be distant and aloof to the other’s absence, they’re actually incredibly close. It shows more when the duo are together, and they mutually balance each other out.))

Apollo:

((Lee is a huge fan of books, and no doubt enjoyed poetry back when they were younger. Some of Lee’s coping mechanisms while growing up was to write poetry, and he picked it back up while he spent time locked up in a mental asylum (that story goes way back, so I won’t say anything about that yet). As for music, Lee’s taste in music is very similar to his sister’s. There are technically no specific genres that he favors, he likes a little bit of everything!))

Artemis:

((It’s not really clear whether or not animals like Lee. Being a bit cat-like himself sometimes, cats get along fine with him, even if he’s allergic to them. Despite his appearance, Lee actually does like nature. He hates getting down in the dirt, but he loves a good hike through a forest.))

Selene:

((Lee doesn’t currently have any human children, but has two hypo-allergenic cats, and a female Indian Rock Python. True love is something that Lee really does want to believe in, and he acknowledges that it takes certain things to make it happen. He doesn’t entirely feel like true love is something he can attain just yet, but still hopes to find it someday.))

#((ooc))#[Headcanons]#[Lee]#((This was fun! Thank you for sending this in :D))#koronbain-tenshidere

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fuyonggu · 4 years

Text

Cao Jiong’s “Discourse on the Six Dynasties” (Short Version)

This is a shorter version of this post.

Discourse on the Six Dynasties

By Cao Yuanshou

Among the dynasties of ancient times, Xia, Yin (Shang), and Zhou each lasted for dozens of generations, while Qin perished after only two. Why was this? Because the lords of those three dynasties shared control of the people of the realm, thus the lords of the realm saw the sovereign's concerns as their own concerns, while the kings of Qin monopolized control of the people, thus in times of danger and distress no one was willing to come to their aid. Those with whom you share your joys will likewise sympathize with your sorrows; those you make your peers in peace will be your saviors when danger comes. The ancient kings knew that the sovereign who reigned alone could not ensure an orderly realm for long, thus they shared power with others in order to obtain stability; they knew that the ruler who defended the realm alone could not guard it forever, thus they shared responsibility with others in order to attain security. Both their intimate relatives and their distant kinfolk were employed; both members of their clan and outsiders from other surnames were advanced. Those of more or less power worked together to protect each other; those of the same or different blood acted in concert to shield one another. There were neither instances of "total annexation", nor were "traitorous impulses" allowed to fester.

Even when the Zhou dynasty was in decline, Duke Huan of Qi and Duke Wen of Jin still treated the King with respect and acted on his behalf. When the state of Chu refused to present its tribute of grass and thatch to the King, the state of Qi led an army to punish them; when the state of Song refused to help build walls around the King's capital at Chengzhou (Luoyang), the state of Jin executed their minister. Though the King's laws became lax and loose for a time, they were once again enforced; though the feudal lords become arrogant for a season, they were once more reverent.

It was said that "after the age of these two Hegemons (Dukes Huan and Wen), the feudal lords became boorish and remiss". Indeed, the states of Wu and Chu were defiant, trusting in the Yangzi to be their bulwark and the stout square walls of their cities to be their rampart. Yet though in their hearts they sought to "inquire after the Nine Tripods" (as though they had more right to dominion than the King), even then they feared to go so far as to outright threaten or oppress the royal clan. Wicked feelings scattered in the breast; treasonous plots died on the lips. Was it not because the King had trusted and empowered his kinfolk and relatives and employed and used the worthy and able? Don't the branches and the leaves grow great and luxurious because the roots and the stem depend upon them?

But from that time on, incessant fighting broke out between the states. Wu was taken over by Yue, and Jin split into three; Lu was conquered by Chu, and Zheng was annexed into Hann. Although originally most of the families of the feudal lords had come from the royal Ji family, by the time of the Warring States era, most of these royal relatives were long gone, and only in the states of Yan and Wey did they still rule. What was left of the King's domain was small and pathetic, threatened by powerful Qin to the west and menaced by fearsome Qi and Chu to the south; though they sought deliverance from their destruction, there was no one left to take pity on them. And even after King Nan was deposed to become a commoner, still the branches of the state grasped at each other's power, squabbling over an empty title. For more than forty years, the land within the Seas had no master.

The state of Qin occupied a powerful and influential region and was crafty at the arts of lying and deceit. Thus they were successful in their campaigns against the lords east of the mountains and were able to nibble the Nine States down to nothing. And by the time of the First Emperor, the imperial throne was once again filled. Yet when Qin employed force like this and a lack of virtue like that, how could they expect to last? In what sense did they have deep roots or a thick stem, to prevent themselves from being yanked up?

The Book of Changes states, "Though they cry 'perish, perish', he plants himself firm like a mulberry." Zhou was virtuous, and their longevity was because of it; such a verse could well describe them.

When the First Emperor of Qin considered the decline of Zhou, he felt that it was the weakness of the Zhou kings that had caused them to lose power. Thus he abolished the old system of the Five Noble Titles and organized the realm into commandaries and counties instead, and he threw out the methods of teaching the people through music and ritual behavior in favor of imposing stern and harsh government. His younger relatives received not an inch of land as fief, and his accomplished ministers had not a spade of land to call their own. Within, there were no royal relatives who might assist the state, and without, there were no feudal lords who might shield the realm from harm. He did not show a benevolent heart towards his flesh and blood, nor extend any kindness towards those who might have served as his branches and leaves. He was like a person who cuts off their own arms and legs, content to live as a mere torso; he was like a ship which, before crossing a wide river or a deep ocean, throws away its oars. There were many whose hearts turned cold when considering the danger of such a situation. Yet the First Emperor remained serene, believing that the capital area of Guanzhong was such an impenetrable region, a "bastion of golden walls and a thousand li", that his descendants would rule as sovereigns for ten thousand generations. Wasn't it ridiculous?

At the time, Chunyu Yue tried to remonstrate with him. He told the First Emperor, "I have heard that the Kings of Yin and Zhou granted fiefs to their relatives and their accomplished ministers, and their dynasties lasted for more than a thousand years. Now Your Majesty has become lord of all the realm within the Seas, yet your relatives are no more than commoners. Someday our dynasty might face the same threat of usurpation as happened with Tian Chang in Qi or the Six Ministerial Clans in Jin, yet Your Majesty has not provided for any powerful subjects who might help to guide affairs in the capital; who would step in to save the royal family? I have never once heard of any state which failed to heed the teachings of the ancients in these matters and yet long endured."

But the First Emperor dismissed these principles and heeded the advice of Li Si instead. And thus, on the day of his death, there was no one to whom he could entrust the future of the state. The weighty decisions of the realm were left in the hands of a miscreant, and the power to decide who and who would not inherit the throne was left to the words of a wicked subject. People like Zhao Gao were even able to bring about the slaughter and uprooting of the royal family.

Ying Huhai (the Second Emperor) had been instructed in the teachings of severity and oppression since youth, and he honored the philosophies of violent men as an adult. Rather than change the regulations and alter the laws of his father, he continued the models of Shen Buhai and Shang Yang, he consulted and plotted with Zhao Gao, he isolated himself deep within the palace, and he entrusted the governance of the realm to slanderous bandits. When at the last he met his end at Wangyi Palace, though he begged to be spared to live as a commoner, how could he have expected anyone to show him mercy?

Thus were the commandaries and the states alienated from Qin, and the people deserted and rose against them in rebellion; Chen Sheng and Wu Guang were the first to sound the call against them, and Liu Bang and Xiang Yu buried them in the end. If only the First Emperor has accepted the advice of Chunyu Yue and rejected the words of Li Si, if he had carved up the provinces and fiefs, empowered his younger relatives as Princes, granted domains to the descendants of the three dynasties (Xia, Shang, and Zhou), and repaid the deeds of his subjects by rewarding them with their own domains! Then the regions of the realm would have had settled lords and the people familiar masters. Branches and leaves could support one another; the head and the tail could work in tandem. Even if some of the successors of the Son of Heaven went astray, there were no great heroes in those days like Tang of Shang or King Wu of Zhou; the leader of any wicked plan would have been snuffed out before anything could be done, and how could the rabble of people like Chen Sheng or Xiang Yu have gotten anywhere?

When Gaozu of Han (Liu Bang) drew his three-foot sword and led his flock of crows to war, it only took five years before he had completed his imperial enterprise. In all of history, no one was ever able to achieve such a thing as easily as he did. But it was only natural. To chop down a tree with a thick trunk is a difficult undertaking, while to smash a bunch of rotten wood is easily accomplished.

Gaozu reflected upon Qin's mistakes, and he granted fiefs to his younger relatives. Thus when the clan of Empress Lü Zhi monopolized power in the capital and plotted to seize control from the Liu clan, the reason why the realm did not support them or the common people lose faith in the dynasty was because the feudal lords were great and powerful and the foundation of the dynasty was firm and deep. The Marquis of Dongmou (Liu Xingju) and the Marquis of Zhuxu (Liu Zhang) upheld the dynasty from within the capital, while the Princes of Qi (Liu Xiang), Dai, Wu, and Chu acted as guardians without. If Gaozu had followed in the footsteps of Qin and forgotten the systems of the ancient kings, then the realm would have passed from their hands then and there, and the Liu clan would have been supplanted.

Yet in his granting of fiefs and domains, Gaozu went beyond what the ancient kings had done. The greatest of the Princes had territories that straddled provinces and combined regions, while the lesser ones still controlled dozens of cities. There was no distinction between the Emperor and the Princes, for they wielded power on par with that of the royal family. This was what led to the Rebellion of the Seven Princes, Wu and Chu foremost among them. Jia Yi tried to warn of the impending danger, saying, "The feudal lords have become too strong and prosperous, and if the situation continues, turmoil will arise. For those who wish to ensure peace and order in the realm, there can be no greater policy than to multiply the number of the feudal lords while diminishing the power of each one. For when the spread of power within the Seas is like the relation of the arms to the body, or of the fingers to the arms, only then will those below lack hearts of treason or rebellion and those above lack any need to attack or punish the lords." Yet Emperor Wen did not listen to his advice, and his successor Emperor Jing rashly heeded Chao Cuo's plan to directly strip territory from the feudal lords; this only brought about anger and resentment among the close relatives and fear and trembling among the distant ones, and when the Princes of Wu and Chu sounded their call of rebellion, the other five Princes joined them.

What was sown during the reign of Gaozu reached fruition during the reigns of Emperors Wen and Jing; fiefs and domains were granted more generously than had been the case in ancient times, and the attempted solution was too hasty. When the tip is too large, it breaks off; when the tail is too big, it is difficult to move. Even when the tail is proportional to the body, sometimes it is still difficult to make it move; how much more does this apply when the tail has grown beyond all reason?

Emperor Wu of Han followed the strategy of Zhufu Yan, by implementing a policy of "grace", splitting up the inheritance of the feudal lords by distributing their domains among all their sons. Thus the princely fief of Qi was split into seven parts, Zhao into six, Liang and Dai into five, and Huainan was cut into three. And in later years the feudal lords were bullied and cowed, their descendants becoming ever weaker; they only received sufficient pensions and supplies to provide for themselves, but no longer took any hand in governing their fiefs. Some had their territories reduced on charges of failing to provide sacrificial wine and gold; some had their titles abolished when they died without heirs.

By the time of Emperor Cheng, the Wang clan, imperial relatives by marriage, had taken control of court affairs. Liu Xiang remonstrated with Emperor Cheng for allowing the situation to come to such a state, saying, "I have heard that the imperial clan are the branches and leaves of the state. When the branches and leaves have fallen, then the roots and the stem no longer have any support or shade. By now, your relatives of the Liu clan are all distant and remote, while the partisans of your mother's family monopolize control and keep the royal family from power. To leave the royal clan weak and helpless is no way to preserve the altars of state or ensure the succession of the imperial line." But though Emperor Cheng was moved to grief by this plea, still he was unable to implement Liu Xiang's advice.

Thus it was that in the reigns of Emperors Ai and Ping, the Wang clan's control of the court was absolute; Wang Mang passed himself off as a wise regent like the Duke of Zhou, but in truth he was a usurper like Tian Chang. Though presenting a lofty salute, he had his eyes on the throne; in a single morning, he became master of all within the Four Seas. The princes and nobles of the imperial clan all surrendered their seals and handed over their ribbons of office to him and presented tribute to the altars of state. Yet some of them, still worried that they would not be able to save the lives of themselves and their families, went so far as to invent reports of omens approving of Wang Mang's usurpation and even sang his praises to extol his grace and virtue! Was it not pathetic?

Why did these things happen? Not because the members of the imperial clan were loyal and faithful during the reigns of Emperors Hui and Wen and traitors and opportunists during the era of Emperors Ai and Ping, but simply because their power and influence had grown so weak and useless that they no longer had any hopes of securing their positions.

It was thanks to Emperor Guangwu's peerless character and abilities that he was able to destroy the dynasty that Wang Mang had already put into place and restore the severed lineage of the Han dynasty. How else to explain this feat except that it was the work of a scion of the royal clan? Yet Emperor Guangwu failed to reflect upon the mistaken policies which had brought about Qin's downfall or to return to the old system as practiced by Zhou. Thus he trod the path of a doomed state, and he was fortunate that there was no trouble during his own reign.

But by the time of Emperors Huan and Ling, eunuchs manipulated the levers of authority. In the court, there were no servants willing to risk death for the sake of the state, and in the provinces, there were no subjects who saw the interests of the royal family as their own. Above, the sovereign stood alone, while below, his ministers grasped for power. The roots and the branches were unable to work in conjunction; the body and the hands could not help one another. Thus the realm descended into chaos like a roiling cauldron, and villains and wastrels sprang up on every side; the ancestral temples of the imperial clan were burned to ashes, and the palaces became overgrown with weeds and grasses. In all the Nine Provinces (the whole realm) there was not a single place of peace or safety. Was it not lamentable?

The Grand Progenitor of our Wei dynasty, Emperor Wu (Cao Cao), was a man of wise and sage character and possessed divine martial prowess and cunning. He lamented the fact that the sovereign's laws had sunk to such a pitiful state, and he pitied the dire plight of the Han royal family. Rising like a dragon from Qiao and Pei and soaring like a phoenix from Yanzhou and Yuzhou, he purged and swept away the villains and evildoers of the land, and he cut out and annihilated the behemoths and leviathans of the realm. He welcomed the Emperor's arrival from the western capital (Chang'an) and established a new capital at Yingyi (Xu). His virtue impressed Heaven and Earth, and his righteousness touched the people and the spirits. Thus the Han royal family recognized the will of Heaven and abdicated their position to the Wei dynasty.

It has now been twenty-four years since the founding of Wei. Have we not had ample time to consider the factors which led to the rise and fall of the five dynasties before ours? Yet we do not follow the policies which would ensure our longevity. We have seen the carts in front of ours topple and fall, yet we do nothing to change our course. The younger relatives of the imperial clan hold empty titles and only nominally possess their lands, and in no sense do they preside over their people; the imperial relatives only scurry about the streets and lanes, and they are given no voice in how to govern the state. Their authority is no greater than the commoners, and their influence counts for no more than the average person. Within, the state has no deep roots to fortify it against being pulled up; without, it has no foundation of relatives and friends who could help defend it. This is no policy to preserve the altars of state for ten thousand generations.

Furthermore, the Governors of provinces and the Administrators of commandaries in our times have become the modern equivalents of the Border Lords and the feudal nobles of antiquity. They hold sway over territories of a thousand li, and they wield military as well as civil authority. Some of them control regions comparable in size to princely fiefs, and in some instances brothers from the same family all hold such offices simultaneously. At the same time, not a single one of the imperial kinfolk or the younger relatives of the crown hold any position that might check the power of these local leaders or band together to guard against them. This is no way to strengthen the trunk and weaken the branches, or provide against any emergency.

Of the worthy servants of the dynasty from other families, some have reputations so great that they are household names in the capital, and some are commanders of powerful armies. Meanwhile, even those members of the imperial clan who possess civil talents are limited to positions no greater than supervisors of small counties, while even those with martial abilities lead bands of no greater than a hundred soldiers. These are honest and lofty men, and yet their ambitions can rise no higher than to bear a yoke; they are talented and capable fellows, yet they are shamed by being lumped in with those who are not their peers. This is no way to encourage and promote the worthy and able, or praise and distinguish members of the imperial clan with ceremony.

When the spring runs dry, it is because the groundwater has stopped flowing; when the trunk is rotten, it is because the leaves have withered. When the branches are abundant, they shelter the stem; when the twigs fall away, the trunk is left exposed. Thus it is said, "The centipede has its hundred feet; even in death, it does not collapse, for its numerous legs still keep it up." It is a little saying, but it illustrates a great principle.

Furthermore, the foundation of a stout wall cannot be laid all at once, nor can power and legitimacy be established in a single morning. In both cases, these things can be achieved only gradually and secured only over time. It is like a plant or a tree, which requires a great deal of time to grow before the roots extend deep and the trunk becomes strong, and greater still for its branches and leaves to multiply and flourish. Can someone who casts a seed among stones and thickets or beneath the palace gates expect the plant to grow fruitful and tall? Even if they surround it with blackish and rich soil and warm it by the springtime sun, they will not even be able to save it from withering. And what are the imperial relatives but trees sown by the sovereign, and what are the people but the soil which receives them? Unless the relatives be planted among them for a long time, then there will be obstinate below and disdain above. Even in peaceful times, there would still be the prospect of alienation or rebellion; how much moreso when some emergency arises?

The sage ruler does not relax during times of peace, but is always thinking of future dangers. Though their dynasty seems secure, still they make preparations to guard against threats to its destruction. Only then may they have no fear of being uprooted, though the storms and gales may blow; only then may they be assured the state will not collapse, though the realm be full of turmoil.

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aion-rsa · 4 years

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Over the Moon Review: Lunar Lessons in Grief

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Animated movies for children walk a tricky tightrope between imparting sobering life lessons about coping with loss and confronting societal evils, without also extinguishing all of the magic that guides a child through the world. It’s rare to find a kids’ movie that doesn’t involve the loss of at least one parent, yet this trope is usually more backstory than anything else—a distant event that establishes the emotional stakes but isn’t actively engaged with. Not so in Over the Moon, Pearl Studio’s poignant musical about a Chinese girl who builds a rocket to seek out the Goddess of the Moon. The film, written by the late Audrey Wells (Under the Tuscan Sun, The Hate U Give) and directed by Glen Keane (The Little Mermaid, Beauty and the Beast), gives the stages of grief as much weight and care as the phases of the moon.

For young Fei Fei (Cathy Ang), there is no question about the different magics that stitch her world together: it’s in the mooncakes that her Mother (Ruthie Ann Miles) and Father (John Cho) lovingly bake for the Mid-Autumn Festival, and in her parents’ stories about the tragic love between Moon Goddess Chang’e and human archer Houyi. When a magic potion conferred immortality upon Chang’e, but tore her away from the mortal Houyi, the goddess chose to live on the moon. Even if she could not be with her beloved on Earth, she would still be as close as possible, looking down on him. The myth takes on special significance for Fei Fei, as Mother quickly becomes ill and passes away, all in the span of the movie’s second song.

Four years later, the grief is no less sharp for preteen Fei Fei, who projects onto her widower father the role of Houyi. But when the Mid-Autumn Festival comes around and Father looks to be moving on with a new family in the kind Mrs. Zhong (Sandra Oh) and her hyperactive son Chin (Robert G. Chiu), Fei Fei fears that he has forgotten her mother altogether. Fueled by anger and an unwavering belief in the existence of the lunar goddess a mere 238,900 miles away, Fei Fei bargains with her sorrow by building a rocket and launching it at the moon. If only she can prove that Chang’e exists, then Father won’t stop hoping to be reunited with Mother someday.

But the movie really sparkles with its creativity when she gets there, and Chang’e (Hamilton’s Phillipa Soo) isn’t the ethereal, serene figure of Mother’s stories. Upon her DIY moon landing, Fei Fei discovers that the goddess long ago dropped that mantle in order to become an “extraordinary, ultra-luminary” popstar: lunarpunk by way of Lady Gaga-inspired costumes and K-pop-inspired earworm beats. Centuries of rattling around a neon prison of her own making—literally, created by her tears—has transformed Chang’e into a vain, self-obsessed performer who wants only the validation of her peons’ applause. This Chang’e resembles more a cruel queen than the maternal figure Fei Fei needs

Sony Pictures Imageworks (the company behind Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse) deftly balances the magical with the scientific, the complex with the simple, in animating this movie that can best be described as a space fantasy. On Earth it’s refined by the incredible details, down to the design on the mooncakes, and the photorealistic fireworks acting as rocket boosters. A single spectacular sequence combines crimson-and-golden lion guardians, like something out of an old painting, with the desolate, craggy surface of the moon. Then there’s Chang’e’s entire neon aesthetic, bright and pulsing with life, as if it were something out of The Lego Movie.

Meanwhile the soundtrack is best appreciated not for individual numbers—no single song attains Disney classic status—but rather as the sum of its parts. There is a clear emotional arc to these varied numbers that when experienced as a whole is remarkable. The movie’s first few tracks draw their inspiration from traditional Chinese music, with later numbers layering on the K-pop influence, and then ultimately stripping the songs back down to their purest essence, matching Chang’e’s various phases.

That said, the songs do peak via the goddess’ popstar persona, with the most memorable numbers including her epic introductory performance of “Ultraluminary” and “Hey Boy,” a fun ping-pong/rap battle between Chang’e and Chin. While the team of Christopher Curtis, Marjorie Duffield, and Helen Park worked together on all of the songs, no doubt it was Park’s influence that made these particular numbers soar. (She was behind the 2017 Off-Broadway musical KPOP, in which Ang starred.) Composer Steven Price’s alternately playful and stirring score ties it all together wonderfully.

These sequences are so spectacular that it leaves something to be desired by a late in the movie scavenger hunt where Fei Fei begins pursuing a “gift” to save her family. Unfortunately, it is no more than a lunar MacGuffin: a distraction from the grief that weighs down both Fei Fei and Chang’e herself.

Nevertheless, Over the Moon never loses sight of the fact that this is not a story about gaining something or someone, but rather about learning how to cope with an unimaginable absence. Tragically, Audrey Wells died in 2018 following a long battle with cancer. A prolific screenwriter with a talent for writing across genres (rom-com The Truth About Cats & Dogs, Disney’s The Kid and the live-action George of the Jungle), Wells left behind a tremendous gift in this script. This is a heartfelt, empathetic lesson in moving on, written by someone who must have been considering exactly that ordeal from the other side. (It should be noted that Jennifer Yee McDevitt and Alice Wu contributed additional material to the screenplay.)

Parents may wind up ugly-sobbing while their children dance along to Chang’e’s pop numbers, but hopefully the film will provide the opportunity to talk candidly about embracing grief and memorializing those lost while looking to the future—magic for all viewers, regardless of age.

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Over the Moon is available Oct. 23 on Netflix.

The post Over the Moon Review: Lunar Lessons in Grief appeared first on Den of Geek.

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haila-wetyios · 4 years

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3 characters similar to mine

Lyza and Ozen from Made in Abyss

I had to cheat and add the two as a combo for this one part, because after looking deeper into them again I’ve come to the conclusion that Haila is pretty much the perfect combination of the master and her pupil. Through her earlier years, she had the same vitality and excitement as Lyza. And that is to say, she was a mess and half that still packed a punch, but the events in her life slowly hardened her down to slowly become like Ozen after stepping so many times in the line of sanity and outright losing one’s mind. She learned to be merciless, she started relying on many tools as decades passed, she gained an uncanny strength. There’s a quote from Ozen herself that pretty much fits Haila right to a T. “I have to rely on many things, I’m old after all.” She’s become the mentor that will make decisions questionable to those with more innocent viewpoints. While at the same time harboring deep inside her heart the same drive that Lyza had. Both ironically going through similar experiences such as the loss of a spouse, in Haila’s case more than once, and having to worry about the future of their child. Going through the long process of being distant for their safety, to upright daring any of her old enemies to come close to her and her family. Woe will come to he that dares step between her and her child.

Paparadscha and Rutile from Houseki no Kuni

Ironically here I threw another pair again after starting to write about a single one. We didn’t get a lot of action from Paparadscha during the animated series, but ironically that’s also a bit of Haila too. Her body wasn’t able to keep her up for certain amounts of time after Dalamud. She was literally the slumbering beauty that would go on to spend her time while awake to perfect her craft, to learn more of the effects of aether and her own body. She became a slave of a single task for the sake of her old partner like Rutile. She became a researcher of anything related to allagans, the dreadwyrm, aetherology and constantly tried thousands of options to find a solution to her everlasting sickness. And at the same time, those experiences are what also brought a side of her that became the veteran that, while not present all the time, was aware of the power that certain truths without filter would cause despite her most honest wishes to take the charge she carried away from others and from herself.

Rahab from Ancient Magus Bride

*le gasp* An actual single character at last!

There isn’t a lot of information about Rahab, except for a few facts, she’s Elia’s teacher, and she can be found anywhere and nowhere at all. She exists in a rift between time where she could be 100 years in the past, or the present, even the future. And that’s exactly who the current Haila is. Away from the everyday happenings of a normal life. Of the countless times she ended up stuck in the rift of the sea of aether and the glimpses of another part of herself that is connected to her, she’s attained a way of existence worthy of being a lost magus. And while she still lives content with her family, she knows that someday she will be all alone, passing down her knowledge to the next generations or disciples through centuries, or perhaps the previous eras in the history of the realm? The concept behind Rahab is exactly a part of what she will be for eternity as she slowly transitions into a being cut off from a single world in and of itself.

tagged by: @umbralich

#thanks for tagging!#finally getting to explore Haila again after so long #haila wetyios

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woppy42 · 5 years

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Mothers, be good to your daughters

Fanfic: She-Ra (2018) Rating: G Characters: Catra, Angella, Shadow Weaver (sort of) Category: Angst, family, mother-daughter relationship

Summary: Shadow Weaver is gone. Catra doesn't quite know how she feels about it. (Post-redemption Catra) (alternate summary: sad cat daughter needs a mother, and angella is conveniently available) Update: This now has a second chapter!

Angella walked the silent halls of the castle, her steps illuminated only by moonlight and the faint glow of her wings. In a sense, it really wasn’t fair, she mused. An immortal being who couldn’t sleep? She would give nearly anything for that sweet reprieve, a way to skip over a few scant hours of eternity. But sleep eluded her, as always, and her regrets of the past and fears for the future did not.

So she walked.

A dark figure caught her eye as she passed an open door to one of the castle’s many balconies. She backtracked, approaching the archway. The figure was small, lithe, and topped with an unruly mane of hair, leaning against the wall of the balcony and staring out across the moonlit woods beyond. A familiar figure, these days, but the stillness--that was new.

“Catra?” Angella called quietly, though she suspected Catra had detected her near-silent footsteps long before she spoke. The figure’s head turned, and the thin glow of a thoroughly unsurprised blue eye confirmed her suspicions before turning back to the silent woods.

“Hey.”

(read on AO3)

The corner of Angella’s mouth quirked upward. Catra’s casual disregard for her authority was a far cry from the way Adora had literally and figuratively fallen over herself in her attempts at propriety during her first days at Bright Moon.

Angella found herself not caring in the slightest.

There was a strange tenseness to her stance. A small piece of ragged paper caught Angella’s eye as she approached, held loosely in Catra’s hand where it rested on the balcony wall. The paper appeared to have been crumpled and smoothed repeatedly.

“Long patrol?” Angell asked, conversationally. She would hear Catra’s report in the morning, as usual, but clearly… something… needed to be addressed before then.

“Yes. No,” Catra amended her automatic response. She sighed. “It was typical.”

“Mm.”

Angella waited.

Catra’s hand clenched around the paper, crumpling it further, then relaxed.

“Shadow Weaver is dead.”

Ah.

Angella swallowed against the familiar, cold emptiness those words brought. Shadow Weaver. Light Spinner. Another person from her past she could have helped, perhaps even saved, if only she had been more observant. Another failure. Another loss. She shook her head, collecting her thoughts and carefully pushing them aside.

Right now, her attention was needed elsewhere.

“I see,” she responded. “How far has the news spread?”

“Aside from our spy network? I doubt anyone else knows. It was quiet, apparently. Just Hordak cleaning up another one of his messes.” The paper twisted in her fingers again.

“I will need to share this news in tomorrow’s meeting,” Angella said, carefully. “Does Adora…?”

“I'll tell her in the morning,” Catra said, tiredly. “I don't know how she'll feel about it.” She scoffed. “I don't know how I feel about it.”

Angella stood, silent.

“I can't believe she's actually gone.” The words were delivered in a strange tone, thick with an unnamed emotion.

“It's all right to be sad, Catra.” A laugh interrupted her words.

“Sad? I’m not sad! I should be happy the old witch is gone!” For a moment, Angella wondered if the girl was speaking to her, or to herself. Catra’s words continued to flow, as though a dam had been broken.

“Why should I miss someone who was never once nice to me? She could be nice to Adora, sure, telling her what a great leader she’d be someday, smoothing her hair back all gentle--you know what she did with me?” Her words were punctuated with sweeping gestures, an almost wild look in her eyes. “She threatened to kill me when I was four. Four! Who does that? She used her restraining magic on me all the time, couldn't even bring herself to touch me unless it was to hit me—except for one time,” she was pacing now, index finger upraised to drive her point home, unable to hide the tremor in her voice. “The one, single time when I thought I had finally earned her respect, and she used me.” Her voice broke, and Angella’s heart broke with it. “It was all a lie. She was a terrible person and I should be glad she's gone.”

Catra stood a moment, catching her breath from the emotion of her outburst.

“I don't even know why I'm telling you this,” Catra muttered, dropping her elbows to the wall of the balcony and leaning against it in a way that belied exhaustion beyond the physical.

Another silence, broken only by the distant rustling of wind in the trees.

“You still can't touch Adora's hair when she's half-asleep without her freaking out,” Catra finally said, softer. “Did you know that?”

Angella did not. She added it to the long list of things that she would contemplate later, in the hours she spent not sleeping.

“Even her approval messed us up so much, and yet it's all I ever wanted.” Catra laughed; a short, bitter thing. “I must be an idiot.”

“No,” Angella said firmly. Catra looked up in mild surprise. “No,” she repeated, more gently. “How could you not desire the approval of the only mother you'd ever known?”

Catra’s gaze dropped.

“I shouldn't,” she whispered. “I should be happy she's gone.”

Angella stepped closer. “But you aren’t.” Catra turned away from her, silent, briefly bringing the back of her hand to her face and roughly dragging it across her eyes.

“It's all right to be sad, Catra,” she repeated. “Shadow Weaver did terrible things, things you never deserved--but she was an important part of your life. It's normal to grieve such a loss.”

Silence.

“You were alike in many ways, you know,” Angella said a moment later.

Catra scoffed, and it sounded wet. “I thought you were trying to make me feel better.”

“I said many, not all. She was driven. Intelligent. Determined. As for her other, less desirable qualities, you have accomplished what all good mothers wish for their children: you have grown beyond them. Become the best version of themselves, the one they could never attain.”

“I don't believe you.” Her voice was unsteady in the dark.

“It’s the truth. And truth remains, whether you believe it or not,” Angella said simply.

Catra’s gaze was fixed on the ground, and for a moment all Angella could see was her own daughter standing before her, broken and hurting. Without thinking, she raised a hand and gently pushed back some of Catra’s hair from her face before resting her palm against the side of her face.

Catra froze to stone under her touch. Slowly, mechanically, her head raised.

“What do you want,” she demanded, all traces of her former vulnerability replaced with a cold, hard stare. Angella dropped her hand away, silently cursing herself for not remembering how the only soft touch Catra had known from her parental figure had been a manipulative lie.

“Nothing,” she said, too quickly. “I’m sorry.”

A moment passed as something coalesced in her mind, and she spoke again.

“No, you’re right,” she said firmly. “I do want something.”

Catra’s eyes held a heartbreaking mixture of disappointment, resignation, anger. The look of someone who knew what was coming, but had hoped, however faintly, they would be wrong.

“I want you to know that it was never your fault.” The anger faded from Catra’s face, replaced by confusion. “You were a child, and you never deserved what was done to you.”

Catra’s lips parted, but Angella forged on. “I want you to know that you’re good enough, smart enough, strong enough. That you always have been. That you… you are enough.”

Confusion gave way to shock, then disbelief, and Catra spun her back to Angella too late to hide the tears spilling from her eyes. Her fists reflexively clenched and unclenched at her sides.

“Shut up.” Her voice was cracked, fragile.

Angella thought of how Scorpia and Entrapta deserted with her when Catra left the Horde--not so much because they wanted to leave the Horde, but because they refused to leave her. She thought of Bow and Glimmer and how, despite their near-daily complaints and protestations about Catra’s behavior, they had been practically frantic when she was briefly captured by a Horde patrol a few weeks ago. Thought of Adora, and of the warmth she herself had felt steadily growing for this angry, damaged girl who hid so much and cared so deeply.

Slowly, gently, she reached out and rested her hand on Catra’s shoulder, feeling her tense under the touch.

“I want you to know you are loved.”

There was a long silence while Catra stood, trembling and shaking under Angella’s hand with the force of holding herself together, not even breathing. When she finally drew a breath, it came as a sharp sob wrenching its way out of her throat--followed by another, then another as she sank to the ground. Angella followed, listening to her cries with an aching heart before she finally risked putting an arm across Catra’s shoulders.

“Oh, child,” she whispered.

To her great surprised, Catra suddenly spun in place, wrapping her arms around Angella in a vice-like grip and firmly planting her damp face in her shoulder as she continued to cry. Frozen only momentarily, Angella brought up her arms up to wrap them gently around her shaking frame, cocooning them both in the soft, iridescent glow of her wings. A memory came to her of Glimmer, not long after Micah’s death, as she started to rub slow, gentle circles on Catra’s back.

“Shh,” she murmured. “It’s all right.”

Eventually, her wracking cries faded to hiccuping breaths, and her grip loosened. Angella loosened her grip in return, allowing Catra to pull a short distance away. She wiped her forearm across her face before pulling her knees to her chest.

“Sorry,” she mumbled.

Angella offered her a handkerchief, which she accepted without making eye contact. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

Another silence. Angella knew she didn’t believe her words, but it was all right. She would repeat them as many times as necessary.

Catra looked at the iridescent wing that was still wrapped loosely around her back.

“You know, I used to think you were some enormous, disgusting winged monster?” Catra smiled sheepishly. “The Horde wasn’t exactly flattering with their propaganda.”

Angella laughed softly. “Opinions can change. After all, I wasn’t your biggest fan when you tried to shoot the Moonstone while I was standing under it.”

Catra gave a stuffy, wincing laugh. “Yeah… sorry about that.”

Angella’s wing tightened briefly around Catra, brushing her shoulder. “It’s in the past,” Angella said gently. “I trust you now.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t.”

“Maybe I should.”

Catra’s mouth opened, then closed. Angella saw her brow crease in the dark as her jaw muscles worked, like she was trying to force words out that wouldn’t come. She laid a hand gently on Catra’s arm.

“It’s all right,” she said. “You don’t have to say it. Trust comes when it comes.”

Angella’s wing remained gently curled around Catra’s shoulders, shielding her from the occasional cool breeze. They sat that way for some time, side by side, lost in their own thoughts and a silence that was strangely comfortable.

A sudden thought came to Angella, and she pulled her wing back instinctively. “Do you wish for me to depart? Glimmer often has to remind me that I can sometimes… overstay my welcome.”

Catra looked startled, glancing back with almost a hurt expression at the wing that now hovered a respectful distance behind her.

“What? No, it’s fine, I--” Catra stammered, flushing slightly and averting her gaze at this unfamiliar vulnerability. “...I don’t really want to be alone right now.”

Oh. Of course. Angella gently replaced the wing around Catra’s back, noting the soft sigh the girl gave when she did so.

Angella hummed. In the distance, the deep indigo of the night sky began to fade purple with the barest tinge of morning light.

“Neither do I.”

Daughters will love like you do Girls become lovers who turn into mothers So mothers be good to your daughters, too

Thanks for reading! If you liked it, I’ll love you forever if you drop me a kudos or a comment on AO3!

This now has a second chapter!

#she ra #she ra fanfic #she ra season 2 #catra #angella #spop #spop fanfic #she ra spoilers #fanfic #my fanfic

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costaxserena · 5 years

Photo

Introducing Kobe Leon. He is a Personal Trainer that is staying in the Summer District. He’s 24 years old and strongly resembles Jordan Calloway. He’s open.

Trigger Warning: Death, Gang Violence.

Get to know him…

Kobe may look like someone you definitely do not want to mess with, and up to a point it is true. Because of the way he grew up and all the lessons that were instilled onto him, he’s always ready to get defensive if he feels it’s necessary. This does not, however, necessarily mean approaching him is a bad idea. If you’re kind to him, or simply chill, you will see and energetic and fun young man that is always eager to keep up a conversation and find something fun to do. He truly is a sweetheart that just wants to feel like he finally belongs somewhere, and that those two conflicting sides of him can be accepted and valued so that he can use them for good.

Welcome to the coast…

When Kobe was born, there was no doubt his family rejoiced. But not in the… “normal” way. Having been born into a highly selective gang, “The Outsiders”, Kobe had the bad luck of being the first born that would someday lead them. From a young age he was trained for this, taking lessons from his strict mother and distant father. He had to become a strong, aggressive leader, someone able to instill fear in others with a single look. This was especially unfortunate for him because the boy did not seem to have the temperament necessary to match these expectations. While he was strong and had a lot of energy, he was also soft-spoken and warm towards others. When Kobe was still a kid he was told his father passed away in a violent fight with their new leader, Saul Carmichael. He never got to say goodbye, in fact, not a year after the incident his mom married Saul. He dreamed of getting to know the world and meeting different people around it, learning from their culture. His mom and step-father made sure to squash this dream as quickly as possible, burdening him with lessons and stories of the gang and the idea of all he’d one day do to keep it afloat. And Kobe obliged, working twice as hard as any of the other kids of his generation to earn the respect of all the members and gain the knowledge and attitude necessary to make sure no one would dare mess with him. But at night, when he was alone in his room and the lights were off, he’d read about different places and promise himself one day he’d get to see all of them.

Stay a while…

Kobe’s fantasy seemed harder to attain as his lessons grew more intense and his time to rule came closer. Until one day the teen decided he could not and would not do it. Before he turned eighteen and his “official” duties began, he ran away. The seventeen-year-old moved around America, stealing what he could to subside and finding odd jobs where he could. He took advantage of his past training and athletic abilities to find a job as a high-stakes personal trainer. He settled in Canada for a while, living as a trainer and a construction worker and earning enough to live a fairly comfortable life in a room he rented, but eventually his demons caught up to him (as they usually did) and he felt the need to move again. Except this time wasn’t going to be like other times. This time he was running towards his past instead of away from it. He was not sure he was ready to face Zira or Saul again, but he did know he needed to reconnect with his siblings and the few people he’d loved in his past, at least long enough to know they were okay. And maybe eventually, with their help and anyone who had been hurt by Carmichael, take down the gang that had cost him his childhood, or at the very least take down its leaders.

Connections:

Vitani Leon (Younger Sister): Leaving Vitani behind is Kobe’s biggest regret. His baby sister meant the world to him, she was the one he’d get into adventures with when he could run away from his duties. The one who seemed to love him as he was. Now, he just wants to find her and reach out to her, but he’s unsure of how to do it discreetly.

Shenzi Wallace (Childhood Best Friend): Shenzi was one of the few Kobe was close to as a kid, besides his own siblings. He trusts the girl, although he also knows her situation can make her dangerous for him. Still, she was the one Kobe reached out to when he felt the need to come back to his past. The one who told him about Costa Serena and the only one to know of his arrival in town.

Kiara Lyon and Naveen Maldonia (Acquaintances): He got to know them both soon after he arrived. Naveen seemed like the perfect party boy to befriend, able to help him keep his tourist cover and get him into any event. Kiara, on the other hand, is a weakness Kobe couldn’t help but have. The lively girl was like a beacon to him and befriending her might’ve been irresponsible, but her light was something he needed.

#town rpg #disney rp #jordan calloway #kovu #the lion king #the lion guard #c #summer district #tourist #openm

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haikyuu-imagines-and-others · 6 years

Note

P L EASE MAKE A PART TWO I FEEL LIKE MY HEART HAS BEEN RIPPED INTO SHREDS AND PLEASE MAKE HANAMAKI HAPPY TOO MY POOR CHILDREN

For this request - I’ll do just Matsukawa finding out! :D BUT I will make another part with Makki resurfacing since it has been requested :D Thanks for the support everyone! Sorry for the wait! - Admin Satori

Part 1: Here

Matsukawa Issei

It’d been a month since you’d had Matsukawa in your home. Since his girlfriend had found her soulmate and had dumped him. It’d been a month since you’d found your marking on the curve of your butt. And it’d been a month since Hanamaki had left your house in tears - heartbroken that the fates had chosen his best friend for you, and not him.

Why hadn’t you told Matsukawa that night?

Well, first off, he’d been heartbroken not but an hour or so beforehand with his girlfriend dumping him. Showing him your mark probably wouldn’t have been the most welcomed news since he wasn’t ready to settle down again. He had needed comfort. And you’d sat there on the couch with him all night, rubbing his back soothingly, listening to him sniffle out his grievances.

But try as you might - you weren’t able to get the thought of Hanamaki out of your head. His red rimmed eyes, his swollen bottom lip from his trying to hold back his obvious heartbroken sobs.

How could you have let him walk out of the house like that? Into the cold? How could you have let him go?

Fingers snapped in your field of vision, demanding your attention on a pair of sleepy brown eyes, “Earth to ________, this is MegaBrow, do you copy?”

Your hands pushed his out of your face, an amuse smile cracking your expression the slightest, it didn’t quite reach your eyes, “MegaBrow?”

Matsukawa’s expression remained collected as he shrugged, “I mean… What codename would you give me then?” He thought better of his question and held up his finger at you just as you were going to answer, “Don’t answer that.”

A scoff escaped you, “Aw! Come on! I had a great one lined up!” You whined, and when you went to open your mouth again, his hands reached up to his head and covered his ears - his expression neutral the entire time. “Issei! That’s so mean! I had the best idea for a codename.” You pouted, but ultimately gave up by raising your hands in defeat, “Alright, alright.”

The two of you walked side by side in silence after that, but the air between you was charged - the brushing of your hands while you walked only seemed to send chills down your spine, had you biting on the inside of your cheek.

How would you ever tell him? How would he react? He’d been heartbroken when his girlfriend left him. He’d gone to you for comfort…. Would he think you were somehow tricking him? Would he think you’d gotten a tattoo to match his to manipulate him into loving you? But that’s not how it worked! You’d never do anything like that - yeah there were stories on the news all the time about how individuals would do so, but Matsukawa knew you better than that…. Didn’t he?

You glanced over his way - and you were surprised to see he had been staring at you from the corner of his eye. The only way you knew he had was by how quickly he averted his gaze, turning his head in the opposite direction to go out of his way to show he hadn’t been staring at you. Though he had. A slight blush on his cheeks provided all the evidence you needed. Your face felt warm, your eyes falling from his turned face to watch your walking feet - feeling like a ball of steel was resting in the pit of your stomach. Weighing you down. Making you feel too cool on the inside.

Another brush of his hand against yours, then the stilling of his slightly swinging hand - his long fingers curling around your palm, pressing into the inside of your hand. A violent blush overtook you, feeling how warm his touch was, feeling the shyness in his fingers as he slowly pressed them against your hand - the slide of their length against your fingers as he intwined his with yours.

Was this really happening?

Your hand involuntarily squeezed his, and your heart jumped into your throat when you felt his squeeze back. “…. Why?”

Why was that the thing you asked? Why not ask him if he knew? Why not ask him what he was doing? Why not comment on his warm hand or how nicely your hand fit in his? Because your mouth felt like it was full of cement - and it’d taken all your strength and courage to ask that single worded question alone.

Though he was a very smart young man. He’d known you all your life, and you his…. He knew what you were asking. And he knew what you’d wanted to ask instead.

That didn’t stop his nerves from showing on his face, his eyebrows furrowing to show his slight embarrassment, the quiet red of his cheeks as he felt the softness of your hand give way to his callused one. “Your…..” He cleared his throat, thankful that you hadn’t pulled him to a stop to talk about it. Thankful that you’d kept the two of you moving forward - knowing he’d have much more of a hard time talking about his findings, his feelings, if the two of you were stationary and staring at each other. “Your shirt rose up the other day…..” He all but muttered.

So he had seen. Your shirt had risen up when you’d reached for something on the top shelf in your home. And you’d been wearing your home sweatpants, which, unfortunately, tended to hang a bit low on your hips…. Your tattoo, your soulmate marking, the leaves of your tattoo flittering in the air trailed from the curve of your butt to the outside of your hip and a little higher.

He’d seen.

“How long have you known?”

You bit your bottom lip and stroked your thumb against the back of his hand, feeling the dips and ridges of it, marveling in the strength you knew they possessed holding your hand so softly. “Since Kihoko broke up with you…..”

Matsukawa nodded slowly, his eyes straight ahead of the two of you, remembering that night clearly. He didn’t say anything for a long time, the majority of your walk being surrounded with his silence - and you didn’t know whether to feel ashamed of your secret or to feel relief that he finally knew. His hand didn’t let yours go, though. His fingers still intwined with yours, he was walking much closer to you now - and you could practically feel your mark warming with his proximity.

You wondered if he’d felt it, too?

A slight grimace adorned your face, “I didn’t want to… tell you too soon… I didn’t think you’d like me just popping that information right then, or really any time too soon afterwards…” You let out a humorless huff, “Though, I think I should have just asked you to get the plates down from the cabinet that day…”

Confusion enveloped his entire being, his eyes going from the path in front of you both to look down at you, “Why? …. Didn’t you want me to find out someday?”

Fear bubbled in your throat at his question, not of him or of his actions. Fear for what he’d think of the course you’d taken to get to the present. “Uh…. Well, of course, Issei….” He slowly pulled you to a stop - something he’d just been thankful for the opposite of not but a few minutes ago. You stared up at him with a bright blush, “I just…. I didn’t want you to think I was tricking you or anything…. I didn’t want you to think I wasn’t…. “ You felt emotion rise in your voice, and you cleared your throat to try to keep the reasoning in your mind clear for you to explain.

Matsukawa watched you control your emotions. It was something he’d always admired you for. In the most flustering of circumstances, you always had a level head, a clear goal, and you always pushed your way to reach it - always were able to explain yourself clearly and for everyone to understand without any kind of emotional biases in sight.

Yet… He couldn’t seem to keep that same composure as you. When his emotions got the better of him…. He got impulsive. He got distant. He got stubborn and sometimes, in the worst times, frustrated with his inability to handle his own emotions.

You smiled shyly up at him, reaching up boldly with your other hand to stroke your fingers against his cheek, “I didn’t want to push you into anything you weren’t ready for….. Like a relationship… Or even thinking about anything to do with soul mates….” Your voice trailed off towards the end, finding yourself getting lost in his deep brown eyes; Willingly.

His furrowed eyebrows smoothed at your simple touch, his head cleared of any confusion, of any possible doubt. Matsukawa imitated your movement, his free hand reaching up to stroke his fingertips across your cheekbone, reveling in your soft skin, basking in his allowance to be able to do this with you now.

The nervous gulp he took didn’t go unnoticed by you, and your smile only seemed to grow softer. His heart hammered in his chest as he slowly leaned down, tilting his head as he grew closer to your face.

Now it was your turn to be nervous. Suddenly the steel ball in your stomach seemed to grow spikes, pressing against the lining of your insides, threatening to break whatever peace you seemed to have attained with the one man you’d wanted since the beginning. But your mark burned, begging for this reconciliation for the other part of itself. Your soul yearned for this contact, for his touch, for his kiss.

Your hand spread against his cheek, your fingers finding their way into the hair behind his ear, smiling just as his lips pressed against yours hesitantly.

A warmth spread through your being at his kiss. His hand holding yours released it only to come to cup your face in both his hands. The kiss was chaste, it was soft and shy, gentle and warm, and when he pulled away - he didn’t go far. His nose rubbed with yours as he stayed in your personal bubble, his eyes hooded as they trailed from your lips to your eyes, a soft red coloring his cheeks when he uttered the words you’d only dream of hearing.

“I’m happy it’s you.”

Control tossed to the side, you let out a squeak of joy before tossing your arms around his neck and kissing him again, longer this time, with passion you’d been holding in your heart for a month. Sure, you’d loved him before you knew he was your soul mate - and you’d loved him regardless if he wasn’t - but knowing he felt for you the same you felt for him had you throwing caution to the wind. Shyness around your gentle giant of a soul mate was nonexistent at this point.

He chuckled when you pulled away from the kiss, bright eyes staring up at him in wonder, his own deep brown filled with a relief and happiness you hadn’t seen before.

It was only a matter of seconds before the plague of worry that had been eating you before decided to walk into your moment with Matsukawa. “Hey guys…. Uh… Funny to see you both here…. ” Both you and Matsukawa turned to see who you both knew had accidentally barged into your moment.

Hanamaki… looked horrible. Shaggy pink hair, so long he’d put it in a messy, greasy bun, he’d lost a lot more weight than you knew was healthy for him. His eyes were red rimmed, and his voice sounded a little muffled - Had he not stopped crying? The clothes, you could see, were the same he’d left your house in - Did he not change since then? What had happened to him?

“Hiro…..” His name left your mouth in a shocked, hurt whisper - but confusion muddled your brain at the feeling of longing in your heart to go to him. To comfort him. To hold him close and never let go.

You’d found your soul mate - and Matsukawa had found you…. So why were you longing for your other best friend?

I’ll make another part - no worries - there’s a request for it

#Admin Satori #Haikyuu!!#Haikyuu!! Scenario #Matsukawa Issei #Hanamaki Takahiro #Soulmate AU

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lalcne-blog · 6 years

Text

index: illumia farryn

sunlight. a piano melody. dense forests. new books. glass slippers. fairytales. stepping into the unknown. quiet dinners. band-aids. cafes. grass-stained dresses.

TINY FINGERS DANCE across the piano keys, a distinct melody surrounding the room. illumia closes her eyes, imagining music notes floating through the air, the sunlight from the open window shining across them, perhaps even creating a rainbow without rain. a serene smile makes its way onto her face, an expression that would suit a much older woman, not a five year old like herself.

the music stops and she opens her eyes, looking expectantly at the woman standing beside the piano. her expression is stern.

❝ excellent, illumia. i can tell you’ve been practicing. ❞ despite the apathetic face, illumia is happy. this is high praise from her teacher. ❝ keep at it. you will achieve great things. ❞

illumia beams.

her childhood is full of pretty dresses and silk ribbons and lavish parties. she learns that she’s a noble and that she should act as such, sitting with her back straight and her legs positioned just right so that she appears elegant. she smiles around people she doesn’t know because a young lady must be polite, and her mother does the same thing, so why wouldn’t she ??

most of the time, she is given permission to play with the other children ( providing she doesn’t dirty her dress or stuff her face or let her hair fall out of place ), but as she grows older, she finds her parents requesting her presence during conversations more and more. at first, she sees this as a blessing. she isn’t being treated like a baby anymore.

but that feeling is a fleeting one.

she soon realises that she isn’t part of the conversation, at least not in the way she wishes to be. there is no room for her opinion. instead, she’s the subject of scrutiny. she is introduced to other nobles whose names always escape her the moment the night ends, but according to her mother, they are good friends. no proof is ever given to substantiate that.

the strangers’ responses to her vary, but most are along the lines of ❝ she’s a very polite girl, isn’t she ?? ❞ and ❝ she seems so mature for her age ❞ and ❝ i’m sure she’ll blossom into a fine young woman. ❞ she -- these people know she has a name, right ?? -- doesn’t understand what any of this means, or why it’s so important, or why her parents are so satisfied when the conversation is over.

she’s at the age where her imagination begins to run wild, where she dreams of leaping out her window and exploring the forest at night while the wind blows through her hair. not that she ever would, of course. her parents wouldn’t take too kindly to that.

she’s also been reading her story books lately, presents from when she was younger. they tell her tales of love and happily-ever-afters, and she decides she wants that for herself someday in a future that seems so distant from where she is now. she’s only a child, after all, and she likes to remain as logical as she can despite her active imagination. the chances of her having a whirlwind romance at such a young age are zero to none.

her belief is that everyone deserves a happy ending and that it’s attainable for everyone, but she’s noticed that one relationship in particular doesn’t quite match up to what her stories tell her.

❝ hey, daddy, ❞ she says one night when her father comes in to tuck her into bed, ❝ you and mummy are in love, like in the stories, right ?? and this is your happily ever after ?? ❞

her dad appears surprised at the question, and for a moment, he stares at the butterfly mural on her wall. she follows his gaze, seeing no issue with this. her wall is rather pretty, after all.

❝ i love your mother, of course i do, ❞ he says with a reassuring smile when he turns back to her. ❝ and of course this is our happily ever after, because you’re in it. ❞

he runs his hand through her hair before switching off her lamp and leaving the room. his answer is a comforting one, and it will be several years before she pieces together what’s wrong with it, what he didn’t say. but for now, she’s content.

this isn’t the first time illumia has imagined leaping out her window and flying into the night, but it’s the first time she’s genuinely considering it. she could resume her unfinished homework that lies forgotten on the desk, or better yet, ask her parents what in the world they were talking about when she passed the kitchen earlier, but the night sky is the subject of her focus tonight. or at least it should be. the conversation continues to run through her mind despite never being part of it.

❝ and what about fern’s son ?? he’s a few years older, but once they’re adults, that won’t matter. they’ll get along just fine. ❞

❝ i’m not sure, i’d rather she be with someone closer to her own age. she isn’t even a teenager yet. adoran’s boy might be more suitable. ❞

❝ perhaps, but his father isn’t offering as much as fern is. this is our daughter’s future on the line, you know. my father only accepted the best for me, and that was you. i want the same for her. ❞

illumia hadn’t stayed around to listen after that. she’d heard enough. now she’s crumpled against her window seat with her arms folded across the windowsill, breathing in the night air as she contemplates what her parents meant.

well, she actually already knows. she’s heard the stories of arranged marriages within the noble seelie ranks, and she’s sure one or two of the weddings she’s attended were for arranged couples. it never seemed like something to worry about, never something she might be subjected to some day, and yet here she is, wondering who her life is going to be tied down to for the rest of time the moment she becomes an adult.

as her father said, she isn’t even a teenager yet. she still has a few more years to go before then, but that doesn’t take away from the fact that she’ll never be ready. she wants to fall in love and choose the person she’ll ultimately marry herself. this shouldn’t be about money. her mother says she wants the best for her, and yet doesn’t even ask her opinion.

and then there is the revelation that her parents were also arranged. it may not change the fact that they are legally bound in marriage, but to illumia, it changes everything.

she narrows her eyes at the moon, but immediately feels bad, as the moon doesn’t deserve her wrath. she sighs and is about to look away when she sees something flickering -- zooming ?? flying ?? -- in the distance, a humanoid shape that she can’t seem to tear her eyes away from.

she learns what freedom is.

freedom is diving out your window in the dead of night to fly across the treetops. freedom is not caring if you dirty your nightgown and socks. it’s innocent first kisses and skipping stones across the river, dancing among the fireflies as they tangle themselves in your hair. it’s spending time with people she never would have met otherwise.

it’s these nights with her friends that make the routine of the day bearable. she’s aware of just how much her parents keep from her now, and she suspects that this is her way of retaliating. just because she’s young doesn’t mean she can’t have secrets of her own.

she can tell they’re pleased because her mood has been so much better lately, and there is a certain satisfaction to knowing how much they would hate the truth.

it’s only when she’s home from lucille for the winter holidays that she notices something that was right in front of her all along.

the annual winter ball is nothing new to her, nor is the way her parents stand with their backs straight, side-by-side but never touching. the closest they ever get to affection is linking arms when walking into the room. no, her parents’ lack of chemistry is something she’s been aware of for years now.

it’s the way her father’s eyes seem to follow one man, another noble that illumia has known for years. adoran is the father of one of her potential ❛ suitors ❜, and has therefore always been seen as the enemy -- one of many -- but something is different tonight. or perhaps everything is the same and she is only now noticing.

she recognises the expression on her father’s face. it’s one of longing, of watching something you can’t have, when there is some sort of barricade between you and what ( who ) you want and nothing you do can break it down. a look of helplessness as you find yourself unable to look away despite knowing better.

( she knows this look because she sees it in the mirror all the time. )

her parents have never been in love. she’s known this for a long time and learned to accept it long ago, but she never considered anything beyond that. she never considered that they might have been in love before. that they might still be in love.

she’s going to be a doctor.

it wasn’t some big revelation, nothing in particular that sparked her interest in medicine, but a series of small, almost inconsequential things. tending to the scrapes and wounds of the younger skull bois, researching potions for different ailments, never looking away when the family doctor was conducting his check-ups. it’s always been there in the back of her mind, but it’s her need to assist others that rises above them all.

all she wants to do is help people, so why is she crying ??

she’s standing on one of the highest bridges in lucille, one that connects two turrets together. it’s one of her favourite spots and a place rarely ever visited at night when most people are safe and sound inside the dorms. no one is here to hear her sobs.

that is, until she senses a presence behind her.

❝ are you mad at me, too ?? ❞ she asks.

❝ no, ❞ dusk says, and even without turning around, she can see him shaking his head. ❝ i can’t say i relate, but i’m not mad. to be honest, i couldn’t see you doing anything else. ❞

she manages a brief smile at that. ❝ thanks. ❞

❝ no problem. ❞ he walks forward so he’s standing next to her. ❝ can i ask, though -- why a doctor ?? ❞

at first she shrugs, but after a moment of silence, she answers, ❝ because i think i can make a difference. and because i’m interested in it, of course. making people feel better is something i always want to do. ❞

❝ illumia farryn, always thinking of other people, ❞ dusk says with a grin, but she shakes her head.

❝ i like helping people, but i’m not doing this for anyone else. i’m doing this for me. i knew... i knew what would happen if i stayed here, but... i know it’s the best option for me. i feel like a lot of the decisions i’ve made have been for other people, but... i don’t think i can do that anymore. ❞

she faces forward as she says it, but she can see dusk looking at her from the corner of her eye. he appears thoughtful, and he soon follows her gaze, though she can’t say she’s looking at anything in particular.

❝ as someone who makes decisions for himself and only himself, ❞ illumia scoffs, because that isn’t entirely true, but dusk continues as if he hasn’t heard her, ❝ i can say that making a decision based on what you want alone is a good one. especially one as productive as choosing to be a doctor. ❞

❝ thanks, dusky, ❞ she says, teasing him with the name vista has for him, then says more seriously, ❝ i appreciate it. ❞

over the years, her definition of ❛ freedom ❜ has changed. it used to be about disobeying her parents and running off in the middle of the night, dirtying her clothes and feigning innocence if her mother caught the stains in the morning. now it’s so much more than that. something more powerful.

freedom isn’t necessarily about breaking the rules ( though sometimes they are ). it’s about establishing your own rules and making your own decisions, of choosing your own path in life despite condescension from those around you. it’s having faith in your own decisions and learning to live without regrets.

she still has a long way to go, she thinks, but she’s getting there.

#「♔」illumia farryn #「♔」illumia farryn | isms #「♔」illumia farryn | para #「♔」para #「♔」worldbuilding #i'm just gonna tag all of these as worldbuilding now idk

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garywonghc · 6 years

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Just When You Think You’re Enlightened

by Andrew Holecek

Sooner or later it’s going to happen — it might be the very first time you meditate or only after years of dedicated practice, but someday you’re going to have a spiritual experience. These experiences come in many forms, ranging from simple tranquillity to radiant ecstasy. In their fullest expression, they are spiritual earthquakes that can transform your life. The Tibetan sage Marpa shared one such experience:

I was overwhelmed with joy. The hairs on my body stood on end, and I was moved to tears… My body was intoxicated with undefiled bliss… There dawned an experience beyond words.

— from The Rain of Wisdom, translated by the Nalanda Translation Committee

At more modest levels, they can manifest as the total cessation of thought, an out-of-body experience, or sensations of bliss and clarity. You might have an experience of profound meditation, or of union with the entire cosmos, and say to yourself, “This is it! This is what I’ve been waiting for.” Like the endorphin released in a runner’s high, these experiences are the meditator’s high. And they are addicting.

These events are a time for celebration — and a time for concern. They’re cause for celebration because they can be genuine markers of progress. You’re getting a glimpse into the nature of mind and reality; you’re starting to see things the way they truly are. You’re waking up. But such experiences are also cause for concern precisely because they feel so good. Surprising as it may sound, the spiritual path is not about making you feel good. It’s about making you feel real.

Spiritual experiences can be the sweetest honey covering the sharpest hooks. Because they can be so transformative and blissful, it’s almost impossible not to grasp after them. You want more. That’s the hook. And anytime grasping is involved, even if it’s for a spiritual experience, you’re back in samsara, hooked into the conditioned world of endless dissatisfaction.

Spiritual experiences are by-products of meditation. The problem is that we think they’re the final product of meditation. Traleg Rinpoche said, “The main cause of misperceptions regarding meditation experience is that after the loss of the initial fervour, we may forget to focus on the essence of meditation and its purpose and instead place more and more emphasis on the underlying meditative experience itself.”

Spiritual experiences are called nyam in Tibetan, which means “temporary experience,” and every meditator needs to be aware of them. Nyam is set in contrast to tokpa, which means “realisation.” Nyam is like pleasant vapour. No matter how good it feels, it always evaporates. Tokpa is like a mountain. It stays. A nyam always has a beginning and an end. One day you soar into the most heavenly meditation, but eventually you drop back to Earth. There are no dropouts with authentic realisation.

Tsoknyi Rinpoche refers to nyams as “meditation moods” and says, “Nyam has thickness; tokpa is light and fine. The problem is we like thickness more; it’s more substantive and satisfying.” We like the substance of our moods.

Nyam and tokpa are themselves the last two phases of a three-phase process of complete assimilation or incorporation of dharma: understanding, experience, and realisation. This shows us that experience is indeed a good thing, a necessary but intermediate phase in absorbing the dharma. We start with understanding, which is traditionally referred to as a patch because eventually it falls off. With study and practice, understanding develops into experience, which is like the weather — it always changes. With sustained practice, experience matures into realisation, which like the sky never wavers. This is the three-stage process of full embodiment; it is how we ingest, digest, and metabolise the dharma until it almost literally becomes us.

If you relate to a nyam properly, it blossoms into realisation. If you don’t, it rots and becomes the most subtle and serious of all spiritual traps. Tai Situ Rinpoche said that you can get stuck in a nyam for an entire lifetime. More commonly, people waste precious years thinking that because they had a spiritual experience they’re enlightened, when in fact they’re merely shackled to a nyam. If you’re attached to your grand experience and start to identify with it, you have simply replaced a chain made of lead with one made of gold. Dilgo Khyentse Rinpoche said:

Meditators who run after experiences, like a child running after a beautiful rainbow, will be misled. When you practice intensely, you may have flashes of clairvoyance and various signs of accomplishment, but all they do is foster expectations and pride — they are just devilish tricks and the source of obstacles.

— from Journey to Enlightenment, by Matthieu Ricard

Attachment to anything, no matter how spectacular, is still attachment.

I have a special interest in nyams because I, too, have been hooked. The first nyam to get me was the experience of non thought. This caught me when I was introduced to Transcendental Meditation (TM) nearly forty years ago. As my TM instructor guided me into meditation, I slipped into profound meditative absorption. For the first time in my life, I felt fully awake without a single thought running through my mind. I had never thought such a blissful state was even possible.

What made the experience so striking was the contrast of having arrived for my instruction feeling speedy and anxious, and then within thirty minutes dropping into a state completely free of thought. It was like diving below choppy waves into tranquil deep water. Because the contrast was so dramatic, I thought I had attained some level of enlightenment. It took me years to realise that this is a common experience and that I was far from enlightened.

The good news was that I had tasted an aspect of the awakened mind and wanted more. The experience inspired me to pursue meditation with gusto. I began a daily practice that hasn’t waned in four decades. The bad news was that I tied myself in knots trying to reproduce that experience. I had set a bar that was ridiculously high and caused me all sorts of unnecessary anguish when I couldn’t measure up.

RELATING TO SPIRITUAL EXPERIENCE

Because these exalted states are so delicious, it’s hard not to cling to a nyam. On one level, they’re just spiritual candy; having some of these sweets is okay now and again, but feasting on them will make your meditation sick.

How do we properly relate to a nyam? Let’s say that you have an experience of bliss in your meditation. It’s okay to celebrate it. Give yourself a pat on your back. But then let it go. Reinstate the conditions that brought about the experience in the first place. In other words, most of these experiences arise when the mind is open, spacious, and relaxed. William Blake, in Songs of Innocence and Experience, wrote:

He who binds to himself a joy Doth the winged life destroy But he who kisses the joy as it flies Lives in Eternity’s sunrise.

If you grasp after the event and try to repeat it, that contraction around the experience ironically prevents it. In order to let realisation come, we first have to let experience go.

Another aspect of improper relationship is talking about the experience. It’s very tempting to share, proclaim, or even advertise your awakening, but it’s important to check your motivation. Ask yourself, why do you want to do this? Do you want others to know how realised you are? If so, let your actions speak louder than your words. Live your awakening. Don’t voice it.

Spiritual experiences often arise in the sanctuary of silence, and they should be kept in that sanctuary. There is a reason for secrecy in the traditions. If you remain silent, the experience tends to stabilise and mature. The nyam evolves into tokpa. If you talk about it, the experience trickles away. The nyam degenerates into a distant memory. Don’t be a leaky container and dribble onto others. Keep your experience hermetically sealed so it doesn’t spoil.

It may be okay to share your experience with intimate spiritual friends; after all, it could inspire them. But even here, always check your motivation first. When people talk about their experiences, they usually just want them to be confirmed. The one person you should talk to is your teacher or meditation instructor. An authentic teacher will keep you on track by telling you the experience is neither good nor bad, or by ignoring you, or encouraging you to let it go.

During one long retreat, I had another nyam. When I came out of retreat, I raced to share my “realisation” with my teacher, Khenpo Tsultrim Gyamtso Rinpoche. As I shared my enlightenment experience, he yawned and looked out the window. My so-called “awakening” was putting him to sleep! When I was done, he spoke about a topic that had nothing to do with my experience. I came in all puffed up with my nyam and left punctured and deflated. It wasn’t what I wanted, but it was exactly what I needed.

When you talk about your experience inappropriately, you transform opportunity into obstacle. The blessed event flips into a cursed one. Tulku Urgyen Rinpoche said that talking about spiritual experiences is like being in a dark cave with a candle and then giving your candle away — you’re left in the dark. This is one way to tell the difference between a truly realised master and one stuck in a nyam. True masters never talk about their realisation; those infected with a nyam are happy to talk. As Taoism puts it, “He who speaks does not know. He who knows does not speak.”

The essence of a proper relationship to spiritual experience is silence and release. Keep your mouth closed and your heart open. Use the experience to inspire you to keep going, but go forward without the nyam holding you back. Relate to whatever arises — the good, the bad, and the ugly — with equanimity. That’s how experience matures into realisation.

Since spiritual experiences can be so ecstatic, and the grasping correspondingly extreme, sometimes our fingers need to be pried away from the nyam. Khenpo Rinpoche said that you nurture meditative experience by destroying it. Patrul Rinpoche echoed this advice:

The yogin’s meditation improves through destruction… When experiences of stillness, bliss, and clarity occur and feelings such as joy, delight, or pleasant sensations arise, you should blast this husk of attachment to experience into smithereens.

— from Lion’s Gaze: A Commentary on Tsig Sum Nedek, by Khenchen Palden Sherab Rinpoche and Khenpo Tsewang Dongyal Rinpoche

What’s blasted is not the experience itself but our grasping onto it. Tsoknyi Rinpoche also points out, “Ordinary people don’t get enlightened because they don’t meditate. Yogis don’t get enlightened because they don’t stop meditating.” They can’t get enough of their high.

There is no tyranny as great as the tyranny of success — material or spiritual. Success leads to pride and attachment. Nyams are markers of success, but the tyranny of that triumph can boomerang. When nyams are solidified, they must be defeated. Honest meditators invite that defeat; charlatans shun it.

GURU VS. GURUISM

There’s another reason why it’s dangerous to talk about spiritual experiences. When you talk about your spiritual experience, you reify it and begin to identify with it and believe it. The more you talk, the more you convince yourself that something special really did happen. Worse still, others might start to believe it and feed the reification. Word of your awakening can spread like a virus, and before you know it, everybody may become infected with strains of your nyam.

When this happens, a subtle codependent relationship develops between “master” and disciple. The disciple unwittingly enables the “master” by revering their nyam (and projecting their psychological issues onto the “master”); the “master” then enables the disciple by showering them with attention (and similarly gets tangled in a swarm of their own projections and shadow elements). They think they’re lifting each other up, but they’re actually pulling each other down. Everybody buys into the experience of the “master,” and soon a cult is born. A “guru” has been forcefully delivered into the world.

This is not the beautiful birth of a realised guru but the deformed birth of guruism. Guruism is based on the spiritual experience of the “master,” and the cult is all about spreading that experience like a disease. Everybody catches the fever and wants to have the experience. These “gurus,” in an effort to protect the nyam and their exclusive role as its transmitter, often quarantine their disciples from outside influences. They claim they’re protecting their disciples, but in reality they’re just defending their own egos and empire. The Branch Davidians, Jonestown, and countless other cults have followed this classic formula. It’s another expression of grasping after elite experiences, a natural consequence of a nyam run wild.

The danger in confusing authentic gurus with guruism is that both involve surrender. Surrender has a powerful place in spirituality, if you surrender to the proper authority. When you intelligently surrender to a guru, their pure realisation can pour into your open heart. The result is awakening. If you ignorantly surrender to guruism, that tainted experience can also penetrate your heart, and the result is often catastrophic.

In my years on the spiritual path, I have seen many teachers cemented to their nyam. There’s no doubt that many had genuine spiritual experiences, but there’s also no doubt that they were super-glued to that experience. These “masters” tend to pop up in the West, where spirituality is ruled by convenience and instant gratification, and where the need for disciplined practice is too often supplanted by the desire for rapid results.

Because nyams are desirable, they are marketable and they sell. Who wouldn’t pay for an experience of bliss, clarity, or non-thought, the three most famous nyams? Teachers stuck in a nyam also sell, because they often exude an aura of the nyam itself. They usually extol the extraordinary and ecstatic aspects of meditation and easily snag others just as they’ve been snagged. Their experiences sound so delectable, so “spiritual,” that it’s tempting to follow their bliss. I saw one such “master” who glided toward her throne, draped in white silk and surrounded by her flock of adoring students. She spoke in a seductive voice about the euphoric nature of her awakening. To me, she was clearly stuck in the nyam of bliss.

Teachers stuck in a nyam tend to work alone, and while they may have studied with authentic masters, they either pay lip service to their lineage or jettison it altogether. I know Western “masters” who rejected their own teachers because they didn’t confirm their nyam or otherwise endorse their awakening. The one person who could have put them back on track by destroying their attachment to the experience is dismissed as not understanding their experience.

Once such a “master” gains traction and establishes a following, it’s almost impossible to extract them from their nyam. The enabling is too deep and the success too addictive. It would take tremendous honesty and courage to turn to their adoring students and admit that they’ve all — teacher and students — been seduced into a nyam. It’s much easier to remain stuck in spiritual co-dependence.

WAKING UP FROM NYAM

In the world of dreams, there’s an event called false awakening. This is when someone wakes up from a dream and discovers later that they were still asleep. In other words, they wake up from one level of dreaming into what they think is waking reality, only to then realise that what they’ve woken up to is yet another dream. It’s like in the movie Inception, where there are dreams within dreams, deceptions within deceptions.

As a student of dream yoga, I’ve experienced a number of these false awakenings. It can be shocking when the alarm clock rings and I’m jarred into waking consciousness when I thought I was already awake! It’s equally jolting when someone asleep in a nyam is finally roused from their false awakening. Most prefer to sleep. False awakening is a term that describes what happens when people mistake their nyam for genuine tokpa.

Those stuck in a nyam rarely submit to the discomfort of being jerked away from their heavenly trap. One way to detect if you’re stuck in a nyam, therefore, is to see how you react when your special experience is interrupted or challenged. If you get irritated, defensive, or angry, you’re probably infected with a nyam.

Are you becoming more kind, patient, and generous? Is your heart opening? Are you more understanding and compassionate? Are you learning how to love? That’s where you’ll find the signs of realisation.

There is a place for spiritual highs, but it’s the same place reserved for spiritual lows. Relate to both with equanimity and you will be liberated from them. Left alone, spiritual experiences are wonderful events. They can inspire you to practice more and really lift you up. But if you don’t relate to them properly, they can drag you down.

Chögyam Trungpa Rinpoche said, “Enlightenment is ego’s ultimate disappointment.” From ego’s perspective, enlightenment is a downer. It will let you down — from the heights of inflated spiritual experience to the plateau of ordinary life, which is where true realisation awaits.

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thelionthemousethefoote · 6 years

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Sexuality

Of the three subjects; sexuality, romanticism, and gender, this is the only one that I have a label that I am the most comfortable with.

Over the last few years, sex has progressively become a more prominent part in my life. That is to be expected, for I am a teenager after all, but because of that, the world has pressured me to be put into a box. Straight, or not straight. For nearly all of my life, I had assumed I was straight, because of hetronomity. But things change when the spotlight is on you. I soon realized that I didn't really care for sex the same way that my peers did. I would only think of sex in a scientific manner, while nearly everyone around me thought of it as some attainable dream, or something that they could want in the future (or they had already done). Which lead to some friends asking me some uncomfortable questions about sex, but that's for another story. Over the years I found out that I was not in fact straight, but something else.

I remember this one time, I was talking with my friend, and kids were brought up. A common fact about me is that I cannot stand young children, so of course all my friends try to pick my brain on why, and will make up scenarios to try to get some insight. So, my friend asked me that if I did like kids, would I ever have any. I responded by saying that if I ever did that I would definitely adopt. My friend asked me why, and I said that I could never see myself copulating with another person, it just isn’t something that I could ever want for myself. They then said that I was wrong for thinking that, because I was too young, and that things will change, and that everyone wants sex at some point in their life. I wasn’t in the mood to argue, so I just went back to my work. Their response left me feeling disappointed, distant, off, like I was wrong for not being the same as my friend, but I tried to ignore it. This was the first time that anyone blatantly denied my sexuality, and in turn me. My friend denied that asexuals existed. They denied that I could be an asexual. I am asexual.

At the time I didn’t know that asexuals were a thing, I simply thought that I was weird. I wouldn't even first hear the word until 9 or 10 months ago. Surprisingly enough the person that brought the word to my attention was my mom. I personally don’t like being open with my mom, she is the person that I am the most closed off to in my family. She just tends to not get what I try to tell her, and just can be insensitive when I do try to explain things to her. My mom is probably the most clueless person that I know when it comes to LGBTQ+ related topics. Ok, maybe that is a bit of an exaggeration, but nearly everything that she knows about the LGBTQ+ community my brother and I taught her, and for the most part she still doesn’t get it. So having her introduce me to a word that is a part of me is an odd thing. In the last post I talked about the first time that I had tried to come out. I mentioned that it was “the wrong person”, this person was my mom (I will still dedicate an entire post to this experience, but it is sort of important to this story). Since then, my mom has tried to “prove my gayness” because of my failed coming out. I guess this example was her trying to do just that, but instead of “gayness” it was more “LGBTQ+ness”. One day she just stopped me while I was on my way upstairs, and just said “(insert name here) are you asexual?” I respond with “What does that mean?” “You don’t want sex*.” “Yes.” then I proceeded up the stairs.

When I said yes, it was more of me just trying to get to bed, because it was late. Turns out that I had trouble sleeping that night, so instead, I looked up the definition of ace (ace is short for asexual), and found these definitions - Adj. Without sexual feelings or associations. Noun. A person who has no sexual feelings or desires. After reading the definitions, I had two immediate thoughts. The first was that this was a very bland answer, and that I needed to learn more, and the other was that it “felt right”. Something just fit reading “asexual” and reading it thinking about it for myself. You know how sometimes you just feel like something is true, and it just sits well with you? Well that’s what happened. Because the literal dictionary definition was so cut and dry, as with everything else in life, I needed more information, and proceeded to the rest of the internet.

When I searched the internet, I found that there is some debate over whether asexuals are part of the LGBTQ+ community or not**, but more importantly, I learned a lot about the ace community. There was a lot to take in. I was discovering a new culture. I had new terminology to process, new slang to use, and of course new labels to fall under. Asexuality, like many things this day and age, is a spectrum. I found out that sexuality stretches from zedsexual (having “normal” sexual attraction; the opposite of asexual) to asexual (no sexual attraction), and that everyone falls somewhere in between. Then on top of that there are people who were sex repulsed, and then there are some asexuals who had sex. I instantly felt like I was drowning in too much information too quickly. I persisted, and I kept learning more about asexuality, and overtime, I understood it more and more. I decided that I didn’t need to choose a label that is super in depth and (to someone who knows the label) describes everything about me, but instead I could just stick with asexual. But, I also decided that I would need to define what that means for me (and right now, whoever is reading this).

So what does this mean for me? I will rarely have sex, if ever. The only reason why I would, is if a partner wanted to, but I have a feeling that I would not really enjoy it. I am fine with lots of other intimate interactions though. I can still be a normal partner. I am fine with with some things that other aces wouldn’t do, and possibly consider sexual like cuddling, kissing, hugging, hand holding (you’d be surprised what some people would consider sexual), and more “normal couple things”, I just don’t really want sex. My sexuality will probably have some implications on my life that others might see as drawbacks. One thing that my brother and I always joke about is how we are going to be the end of our bloodline. My brother is not planning on having kids, and I am asexual. Some people might think that this is horrible because we will have no one to carry on our legacy, but I just don’t really care. The only one who would be upset in my family would be my parents. My mom is always pointing out things that she would love to do with her grandkids someday, and I just laugh uncomfortably. But that all aside, what about my (possible) future partner? Well, being ace could really complicate my dating life, because nearly everyone actually wants to have sex. This would make dating harder because I would need to find someone who is fine with that. So, unless I could find an asexual partner that I am happy with, my partner and I would need to set up some rules. Because I would not be a supplier of sex, I would be fine with my partner hooking up with people from time to time, as long as it is just sex and nothing more. There is obviously more than it than that, but look, I’m just trying to give you an overview right now, we don’t need to go into detail.

The one thing that has really surprised me from my experience learning about asexuality, is that I had almost no representation. I kid you not, the first and only time I have ever seen a character on television (or any other major media for that matter) who is asexual has been on the TV show BoJack Horseman (minor spoiler up ahead). The character Todd Chavez, who, in my opinion, one the best characters, is ace. His experiences in the show were something that I could relate to. The show is able to cover some difficult topics really well, and I think that it did amazingly with this. I highly recommend the show to anyone who has not watched it, although, quick disclaimer, it is not suitable for all ages, because it has some (non graphic) sex scenes, strong language, and depressing humor. I was a little disappointed that the only representation that I have found is in a show that is kind of inappropriate and is a Netflix exclusive. One thing that I think that media really needs to do is have a wider, ACCURATE representation of more identities. If it weren't for my mom, then BoJack Horseman would have been the first time that I would have learned about asexuality. I’m not complaining, because it’s a great show, but it would have been nice to learn about it sooner, and lately, my only other source of representation is YouTube. The thing is YouTube has absolutely everything, so it’s no surprise that this is where I can find some relatable content. My one problem is that ace YouTubers are few and far between, and the place where I learned the most about asexuality wasn’t even from a YouTuber who is ace (the YouTuber is Ash Hardell, the channel covers just about everything LGBTQ+ related, and Ash has done so much for the ace community that I just had to mention them)!

Even with so little representation, we aces do exist, and although our community is somewhat small, it is there. Being able to find out that more people like me do exist is really nice. It truly is refreshing to know that you aren't just some strange creature for not feeling a need to partake in something that is such a normal part of life for the majority of life. Sex is such a core part of human life, no scratch that, most life, that not ever having the same drive can make someone feel a bit alone. Especially when some people deny your existence, or exclude you from communities. I am glad that I have found that there are more people like me, and thanks to those others, I can confidently call myself ace.

Signed,

The Foote

*This is a quite the oversimplification of what asexual means.

**I wrote a paragraph which I was originally going to put in, but it seemed out of place, and I already write too much as it is, so I will /hopefully/ post that snippet some time between this and the next post.

#I know its too long Im sorry #About time that I posted this #I should have posted sooner #LGBTQ+#Pride month #Sexuality #Asexual #Ace #Not straight #BoJack Horseman #Todd chavez #Representation

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