#someday but i feel as if i may need to live a long life beforehand

[girlspecimen]

my romantic soul wants for company or perhaps just heavy sleep

[petersasteria]

Someday We’ll Know - Haz Osterfield

Pairing: Haz x Singer!Reader

Part 1:  Still Into You || Haz Osterfield Masterlist

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Hurt. When love is present, hurt would be just around the corner; lurking around to find the perfect time to strike. It's the storm after the calm. No one ever talks about what we should do after we get hurt. You see, hurt is inevitable. No one knows when or how we'll get hurt, but it's inevitable and it just happens. Everyone wishes they could have known beforehand, so that they could be prepared. Well, no one's ever prepared.

Love is a battlefield; it's war. Love is a war and we are love's soldiers. Before we go into war, we tell ourselves what we should and what we should not do. But when we're at war itself, we lose all control and we're clueless. We tell ourselves to prepare, but when it's actually happening, we forget all the things we prepared for; we forget why we prepared in the first place.

Maybe that's why we get hurt. We forget to secure ourselves. Unlike love, hurt only has a few questions. They say love is the most complicated thing, but let's not forget that hurt is complicated too. Sometimes, we hurt first before we love. An example of this would be if you get hurt that your friend started dating. Only to realize that you were hurt, because you actually love them and it was kind of late to realize it.

Is hurt a good thing? Or is hurt a bad thing? Are pain and hurt one and the same? Why do we get hurt? Do we hurt when we hurt other people? Is hurt a form of love?

There are a lot more questions. Like love, answers about hurt may vary depending on who you ask. Everyone's hurt levels are different and everyone hurts differently.

Hurt is both a good thing and a bad thing. It feels bad, but because it feels bad, it becomes a good thing. You're probably asking, 'how come it becomes a good thing?'. It becomes a good thing, because now, you're fully aware that whatever environment you're in is bad. It's a warning.

Hurt is a form of warning before a heartbreak. The moment you feel hurt, spare yourself from heartbreak and just leave. Or you could fix it with love. But not all problems should be solved with love. See? It's complicated. There are so many should's and shouldn't's.

Love and hurt get along, because they're both complicated. And because they're both complicated and they get along, it's the perfect concoction for what makes us human. Loving is not wrong. Hurting is not wrong, either. Love and hurt makes us wiser and stronger that's why it's the perfect concoction for making us human.

Like love, hurt is inevitable. They go together, after all. If they go together, was love supposed to hurt? Was love all about hurting? Was it possible to love someone who hurt you? Was it possible to hurt someone you love? If all the answers are 'yes', then we've finally answered one question about love. We partly figured out what love is. Last time, we learned that:

Love is complicated. Some people say that love wasn't supposed to hurt. If we get hurt, it wasn't love.

If love was all about hurting, let's debunk that and answer the questions instead.

Was it possible to love someone who hurt you? Yes, because at some point in life, we loved them with our whole being before they hurt us.

Was it possible to hurt someone you love? Absolutely. Whether you intended it or not, it's still possible to hurt someone you love.

It's been two years since Y/N and Harrison broke up. The two twenty-five year olds would have been dating for twelve years. They would've been engaged. Harrison had a ring prepared, after all. He bought it after Y/N's visit all those years ago. He didn't propose because he wanted to wait.

Waiting. True love waits until you regret not shooting your shot in the first place. If Harrison knew that they'd break up years later, he would have proposed then and there. If he did that, Y/N would've said yes and they would've been happily married. They would've started a family.

But if he did that, Y/N wouldn't have been a singer. He knew that she'd decide to settle with him rather than focus on a singing career. He didn't want that. So he guessed that he made the right decision to not propose.

Both Harrison and Y/N didn't know what to do. They've literally been in a committed and serious relationship for ten years and now they didn't know what it was like to be single. The last time they were both single was when they were twelve and they couldn't exactly do what their single twelve year old selves did.

As each day passed by, both of them were unknowingly thinking of each other. Y/N would write songs about him, she'd record it, but she'd never release it. It would remain in her vault of songs dedicated for Harrison. She was updated with everything he was doing and Harrison was updated about her too. The fans were hurt that their power couple wasn't together anymore. But from time to time, they'd fit the other on the other's post.

Like when Y/N posted a picture of her reflection on the glass window. It was just a simple picture and the caption was: baby, not a day goes by that i'm not into you.

The fans freaked out and saw. They knew it was for Harrison. They shamelessly mentioned him in their comments and Harrison saw it. He would've seen it anyway without all the mentions. He asked himself why she'd put a lyric from their theme song as a caption. He wanted to ask her the same thing, but he knew that Y/N would answer, "why not?"

Harrison didn't know why she did that. Y/N didn't know either. Maybe, subconsciously, she knew that Harrison would see her post and maybe her subconscious was sending a message to Harrison that she was still in love with him and that she still thought of him as the love of her life and that she thought of him in general. If that were the case, Harrison felt it too. Because he, too, posted a picture with the caption: some things just, some things just makes sense and one of those is you and I.

The fans noticed and they practically begged for them to get back together. Y/N saw the picture and she finally did something she's never done in two years: she liked the picture. Again, the fans saw and they freaked out. In return, Harrison liked her picture too.

Rumors started circulating as fans speculated that they're getting back together soon. They prayed and hoped that they would.

Harrison's mother knew that everything will turn out in the end. She said that when he was twenty; when he broke down, because he was miles away from Y/N. She also said that when he called her to tell her that he and Y/N called it quits. She said it again when the rumors started. She was a wise woman. In fact, all mothers are wise women.

Y/N and Harrison thought differently about the break up. Y/N thought that maybe they actually weren't meant to be; they weren't soulmates. Harrison thought that they were meant for each other, no matter what. He thought of that thanks to his mother.

Y/N was utterly confused.

Does love always play like that? After being with someone for years, it suddenly wasn't meant? What the fuck was that? All those years were wasted. After being together with someone for a long time, it suddenly didn't work out? That's bullshit, but it happens. It unfortunately and sadly happens. Sometimes, we were just destined to meet someone. Just because we were destined to meet someone, doesn't mean that we were meant to be with that person. Someday, we'll all know an answer as to why that happens. But for now, we'll just have to accept that, that's life and that's love.

Y/N decided it would be nice to do an Instagram live stream at home, because she had a day off. She thought it would be nice to just have a chill day and maybe do some karaoke. Her tv had a YouTube feature anyway; she could search up some instrumentals of songs she wanted to sing.

An hour into her live stream, Harrison decided to watch. He didn't want people to cause a stir if he used his account, so he asked Tom if they could watch on his phone instead. Tom agreed with no hesitation. The fans saw that Tom was watching and pointed out that if Tom was there, Harrison was there somewhere. Y/N didn't notice it, because she just kept singing and randomly dancing.

It was entertaining.

After singing and dancing to "We're All In This Together", she decided to take a breather and talk to some fans. She saw that Tom left a comment here and there and she smiled and said, "Hi Tom! I hope I see you soon."

Tom smiled and commented, "See you soon!"

The fans went wild.

"Soon?? Are haz and y/n back together??"

"is she dating tom? sksks"

"lol no she isn't dating tom wtf tom wouldn't do that to harrison"

"lowkey kinda ship"

"haz and y/n are endgame PERIODT"

She chose to ignore the comments, because she didn't want to stir something up especially when they were all not true.

"This next song is called 'Someday We'll Know' and it's one of my favorite songs at the moment." She smiled and she played the song.

Ninety miles outside Chicago

Can't stop driving, I don't know why

So many questions, I need an answer

Two years later you're still on my mind

Upon hearing that line, Tom nudged Harrison and smiled at him. It was Tom's subtle way of telling him that Y/N dedicated that song for him. Tom knew that and he felt that. In some way, he felt that Y/N knew that Harrison was watching with him.

And Tom was right.

Y/N knew that Harrison was watching that's why she chose that song. If she were to sing 'Still Into You', it would be obvious. So, she did a smart move and picked the song she thought was perfect for them at the moment. Y/N didn't give Harrison closure. After all, she was the reason for the break up as much as she hated to admit it. This was Y/N's way of expressing her hurt and pain and heartbreak and sadness. Y/N thought that if she and Harrison were really meant for each other, he would feel how sorry she was.

And he did feel it. He just didn't know how to express it. He was still hurt, though. He was scared too. He was scared to be with her again. He was scared to love her too much again. He feared that if he loved her too much again, history would repeat itself and they'd let go of each other once more. Harrison was too fragile go to through that again.

Letting go. Two words that are easy to say, but hard to do. Part of letting go is moving on. The first step is to let go, because we can't move on if we're still holding on to the past. The past will always be our past as much as we hate it. But if we learn to let go of all of our past woes, we would be able to move on and live free from the past that used to cage us.

Letting go is a part of love. You see, love is a journey. It's like a life within a life. Notice how our love lives are different from our normal lives. When we're with the person we love, everything feels like a scene from a movie. But when we aren't with them, everything's so mundane.

Y/N loved Harrison enough to let him go. That was part of the journey. After all, we all have to let go at some point, right?

But Y/N was responsible for hurting Harrison. How come she had to let him go and not the other way around? Just because Harrison got hurt, doesn't mean that he's the one who should let go. Y/N had a reason: she let go of him, because she didn't want to hurt him anymore. She set him free and sometimes that's how you can show your love for someone.

Neither of them wanted it to happen, but they knew one of them had to do something. Y/N settled on letting him go instead, because he would be free from hurt.

"I'll ask Tom to get my stuff. You should stay here."

"But we bought it together after I graduated." Y/N frowned.

"Yeah, but your studio is here and if you moved out, it'll be hard to move those too. I'll stay with Tom, it's alright." Harrison gave her a small smile before leaving.

Even when they said goodbye, Harrison still cared. He never really stopped.

Caring is another form of love. When someone once had meaning in your life, you still end up caring for them. It's just the way it is. However, that only happens when you truly loved them, though. It only happens when it only ended on good terms.

"Mate, you still care about her, don't you?" Tom asked one night. Harrison glanced at him before looking back at his hands, "I never said I stopped caring. I still do."

"So, you still love her?" Tom added.

"I never stopped loving her either." Harrison replied.

"I don't get it." Tom said. "I know both of you still love and care for each other. So why aren't you together?"

"Love is complicated, Tom. I want to get back together, but I'm not sure if I should; I'm not sure if she wants to. I want to get back together, but I'm scared to get hurt again. Is that okay for me to feel that way?" Harrison looked at his best friend in worry.

Tom gave him a small smile and nodded, "That's totally valid."

Love is scary. Love is scary, because we don't know what will happen if we fall in love. Falling in love is a leap of faith. If you trust the person you love to catch you, falling for that person would be easy. If you don't, immediately let go and work on yourself first. Don't have second thoughts asking yourself if loving this person is right, because love shouldn't have second thoughts. Love should be built with trust.

Jasmine trusted Aladdin from the first time they met when they were running away from the palace guards. Before they went on a carpet ride Aladdin, or Prince Ali, asked her if she trusted him. She hesitantly said yes. She could've said no, but she didn't. But maybe she said yes, because Prince Ali was familiar to her. Sure, she was hesitant, but she still said yes. She had a feeling that Aladdin and Prince Ali were one and the same and she was right. That's why it worked out in the end. Jasmine and Aladdin were each other's soulmate.

What comes in your mind when you hear or see the word 'soulmate'?

People are divided into two when it comes to soulmates. People who believe in them and people who don't. Like hurt and love, most people have different answers regarding the question on whether they believe in soulmates and if soulmates are real.

Some people don't believe in soulmates. They believe that if a person was compatible with another person, those are because of their goals and personalities.

According to some people who said that soulmates are people who were meant to be with us. Some people also say that soulmates aren't necessarily people who we're romantically involved with, because soulmates can be friends.

From those, we can conclude that soulmates are people who we're meant to be with. Soulmates are people who are perfect for us. If so, how can we know if a person is our soulmate? Well, that's the thing. You'll just know. If you're still confused, you probably haven't found yours. It'll only make sense when you have a soulmate. One cannot simply explain on how to know if a person was written in the stars for you, because you'll know. It's a feeling and it's hard to explain.

Soulmates usually come after the storm. That's based from observation. No one talks about it, though. They only mention the calm before the storm, but they don't mention the storm itself and what comes after it. You see, after the storm, there's the sun. Calm is the love that makes us live in pure bliss and content, the storm is the hurt that unknowingly strikes and the impact of it is the inevitable heartbreak, and the sun is the peace that comes and swoops in to save us from the ruins of heartbreak's impact. That's what a soulmate is. Because after all the mistakes we've made and after everything we've been through, the sun will always be there to shine at the end of it.

One of Y/N's friends threw a party and Y/N took a day off just to go. It was her friend's birthday, after all. She wouldn't miss it for the world. What she didn't know was that Harrison would be there. Harrison didn't know Y/N was coming either. So it came as a surprise to them when they saw each other at the party.

"Fancy seeing you here." Y/N said with a smile.

"Likewise." Harrison smiled back.

"So, um how've you been?" Y/N asked. "It's been two years."

"I'm, I'm good. You?"

"Same here."

Silence fell upon them. It felt like they were thirteen again when they met up at the mall for their first date. Y/N chuckled at the thought and Harrison did the same. They looked at each other and asked at the same time, "Did you think about our first date at the mall?"

Harrison laughed, "Oh god, you did!"

"How could I not? We were so awkward!" Y/N laughed.

Once both of them calmed down, Harrison gave her a smile, "This feels nice. I really missed you."

"I really missed you too." Y/N said lovingly. "Look, I'm sorry for what happened two years ago. I was really busy and-"

"Don't worry about it, Y/N."

"I just want to say so-"

"I said don't worry about it." Harrison pushed.

"Why? I hurt you. I hurt the person I love and I want to apologize for it." Y/N frowned. Harrison held both of her hands and said, "You shouldn't worry about it, because I forgive you. I forgave you a long time ago. I forgave you before I left the house."

It now makes sense on why we care about who hurt us. We only care about them if we forgive them. If caring is another form of love, forgiveness is the same thing. An example of this would be Eliza forgiving Alexander Hamilton. But if we love the person who hurt us greatly, sometimes, we still care about them during the in between.

From that moment, Y/N and Harrison knew that they'd be okay. This moment was their sun. Harrison's mother was right once more.

Someday we'll know

Why Samson loved Delilah

One day I'll go

Dancing on the moon

Someday you'll know

That I was the one for you

The song played loudly through the speakers. Harrison and Y/N lightly chuckled. He asked, "Is this our new song?"

"I guess so, but not quite. It's complicated." Y/N replied.

"Then let's not complicate ourselves." Harrison smiled sweetly. "I love you and I haven't stopped. I'd love for us to be together again, if you'll allow it?"

"Haz, of course I want to be with you again." Y/N smiled.

Just like that, they were together again. They trusted each other enough to try again and they loved each other enough to fall back into love.

What is love? Love is a lot of things. Love is complicated. Love is nothing without trust. Love is the calm before the storm. Love is a soothing and cool feeling. Love is about balance; the give and takes. Love has a shit ton of meanings and a shit ton of perceptions. Love is real. Love is fickle. Love is everywhere.

There are no rules in love, because no one wrote such rules. We love who we want to love. We love when we want to love. Love knows no limits or boundaries. Love is different, because we write our own love stories, we create our own love stories, we have our own love stories, and we are our own love stories.  Love is a journey that everyone takes whether we like it or not. We keep loving despite knowing the storm will come, because love is natural.

Love is not rehearsed.

Love is a battlefield; it's war. Love is scary. Love is beautifully terrifying.

Is hurt a good thing? Yes.

Is hurt a bad thing? Yes.

Are pain and hurt one and the same? No. Hurt is a feeling when we're in pain.

Does love always play like that? After being with someone for years, it suddenly wasn't meant? Yes, because no one ever said that love was fair.

Love is a leap of faith.

Love is forgiveness.

The calm can happen for years. The storm can come multiple times. But the sun; the sun can only come once. We may never know what stage we're in right now. We can be at the state of calmness or we could be in the middle of a storm, but one day all the skies, our woes, will clear up and the sun will come to save us.

"There are all kinds of love in this world, but never the same love twice." - F. Scott Fitzgerald

* * * *

Sorry if it’s shit lmao

𝐇𝐀𝐙 𝐎𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐅𝐈𝐄𝐋𝐃 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: @abrielleholland @silencetheslaves @peachmaybnx @imeanlifesabitshit @joyleenl @marshxx​ @hjoficrecs

𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐋 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: @marvelousell @justasmisunderstoodasloki @rubberducky-jrr @petersholland @osterfieldnholland @miraclesoflove

𝐒𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐬𝐤 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐇𝐚𝐳 𝐎𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐢𝐞𝐥𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐟𝐟

[mtygalvatron]

The Girl and the Lost City

The city around him was stagnant, covered in a layer of snow. Still, silent, dead. It had been like that for what has felt like centuries since the plague came and took his friends, his family. It took them all one by one until he was the only one left and only thanks to his knowledge of the necromantic arts that he learned in his vain attempt to stop the plague has he alone survived. He looked at the skeletal hand that he possessed. Was this really surviving?

           He made a fist with that hand and directed his will into it. In a flash of light, the dead snow-covered city transformed. The cobblestone streets were no longer in disrepair, the ruined crumbled buildings were brought back to their former glory and the sun shined with a bright light. The people came back as well, merchants selling their goods in carts, the brave knights clad in shining armor mounted on their equally well-armored horses traveled down the roads making a show of power.

Most importantly, she was there. With her amber skin and hair as gold as honey. At her waist, a child was clinging to her watching the knights and horses ride by with bright eyes and hope of becoming a knight himself one day instead of becoming a mage like his father before him. It would have been fine, as long as he was still alive that would have been fine for him. He tried to run his dead hand through the child’s hair, but it was only met with air. He knew better that none of this was real, that it was an illusion. Yet time and time again, for a moment, he would forget that and try to cling on to something tangible.

Moments later, the illusion would disappear, the world returned to its cold dead state. Leaving the undead man on his knees alone once again in his lonely frozen hell. He would play out these illusions every day trying to keep this city’s memory alive, his family’s memory alive in the only ways he knows how.

Then something shifted in the corner of the man’s eye. Something was here? How? Nothing should have gotten through the walls and wards placed to keep the plague away from the outside world. Questions were flooding his mind, but the foremost one was who or what that was, and he intended to find out. He got back on his feet with a vigor not seen since his living days and dashed where he saw movement. The small figure moved away with great haste and speed, darting into a nearby alleyway but the man gave chase. He needed to know, he hadn't spoken to anyone in ages, he has been cut off from the outside world for so long.

He turned into the alleyway, but there was no sign of the figure. Had he imagined the whole thing? Was his sanity starting to leave him after so long? Before he could ponder any further, he felt something tear into his robes and go in between his ribs on his right. For most mortal men, this would have been a painful experience full of screaming and blood. Being undead had its perks, however, and the man felt nothing but the mild annoyance of his clothes being torn as there was no flesh to cut through. He turned his head towards his would-be assailant and much to his shock discovered it was a small child, a girl, dressed in dirty, tattered rags with eyes full of fear, trembling at the sight of the animated skeleton before them.

He pulled the blade out from what was left of his body and handed it back to the child. “I believe this is yours.” He was shocked by the sound of his own voice and how it sounded so aged, so tired. He never fully realized how the weight of ages had affected him. The child took the knife back.

“Sorry,” the child said while the knife trembled in her hands.

"My name is Magnus. Do you have a name?" He decided to go slow, he was sure it wasn't every day she met skeletons that could talk.

“It’s Merlene.” She replied.

"I know, I'm scary. I wake up every day and scare myself when I look into the mirror,” he said making the best look of shock a skull can do. Laughter ensued from the two. It had been so long since Magnus laughed about anything, there was a feeling of warmth in his core that filled him.

“But why are you here? And where are your parents?” He asked.

“They told me to run away and keep running to a village where the sun sets and find the innkeeper there. But I came here because I heard about the stories of the brave knights and wizards here that could stop any evil,” she said.

“So, you came here for help? Well, I'm sorry, but this city has been gone for a long time now. No one should have even been able to get through the barrier, although I guess there are exceptions to that,” he said as he gestured towards Merlene. “How did you get in here anyway?”

“Oh, there was a hole in the wall at the edge of town, I just squeezed myself through that,” she said as she pointed towards the direction of the walls.

As absurd as it sounded, it made sense. The way the barrier was set up was that it would supplement the walls that were already built beforehand so that the mages didn't have to exert anymore of their power than they had to. The barrier was supposed to be taken down once the plague was cured, but a cure didn’t come fast enough, and the city withered and died as a result. With Magnus as the only mage left, he wasn’t powerful enough to take it down himself. And he never had the strength to tear down a wall on his own, or least that’s what he told himself.

"But you can help, right? You were a knight or a wizard, right?" Merlene asked, filled with hope.

“I… don’t think I can go out there,” Magnus said. “If your initial reaction is any indication, I fear I would not last too long among the people out there, they would see a monster and destroy me.”

“Huh, well we could get you a mask, or a helmet!” She said. “Then they can’t see your face.” Merlene darted out of the alleyway and towards where the old blacksmith was. Magnus barely had time to leave the alley before a helmet was unceremoniously thrust into his arms.  

“See, Magnus, now no one is going to know!”

“I’m supposed to wear a helmet at all times?”

“We can worry about that when it comes up, c’mon!” Merlene grabs his hand and begins pulling him towards the exit.

Magnus had to stop the child. “Just give me one moment, there’s something I need to do first before I leave,” he said as he removed his hand from Merlene’s grip and walked further into the town and towards the castle. Some supplies needed to be gathered on this trip and Magnus was not one to go on journeys unprepared. An old map of the world from what used to be the cartographer's house, a leather water pouch, and a sack to hold these items in. The only perk about living in this empty city was that he didn't need to ask permission to take anything. In his own house, Magnus took a single sword still sheathed in a fine leather sheath. With those items gathered, Magnus took what could be thought of as a deep breath and headed towards the cemetery on the hill.

Magnus kneeled in front of two gravestones and softly spoke to them. “I just wanted to say that I’m taking a trip. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone for, but I promise I’ll return to you two. One way or another.” He picked up a sheathed sword and unsheathed it, shining the muted light of this stagnant city. “Jeralt, this was going to be yours someday, when you were older, but it seems I may need use of it before the journey is through. I hope you can forgive me, son.” He got up, sheathed his sword and walked. Taking one look back before he carried on.

The wall indeed had a crack in it and time had seen to it that it would be wide enough that a body could squeeze through it with enough effort. The first thing Magnus noticed was how bright everything was, without the filter of the barrier the sun shined through brighter than he thought was possible. The wind flowed and the trees, the trees were green and flowing with life. The feeling and sounds of life surrounded the two and Magnus had to stop for a moment to soak it all in.

“Are you okay?” Merlene asked with a look of concern as Magnus stood silent.

"Yes, I'm fine. I'm just getting my bearings. It's just been so long since I've left the city." Magnus looked around. "There used to be a path nearby, but it looks like it's been overgrown." He pulled out a dusty map, yellowed with age. “The only village in this area where the sun sets is here," he says pointing at a small village by the ocean. “Is this the place your parents were talking about?”

"Yep, that's it. Wow, that's an old map, Magnus. You think it’s still up to date?”

"Up to date enough to suit our needs, let's get going before darkness falls," Magnus said as he walked off west towards their destination. Merlene trailing behind.

Traveling the countryside brought an invisible smile to Magnus’ face. He remembered the times he walked about with his wife outside of the city. Katya loved nature and the walks gave the precious time he needed away from the hustle and bustle of the castle, the nobles’ constant mandates and the general noisiness of life itself. It was amazing to Magnus that these were the little things that he missed, the sounds and sights of a world that was alive were beauty compared to the cold stagnant world that he was lost to for so long. As the duo passed a lake Magnus remarks "I remember this place, it's where I proposed to my wife. The water was so clear that day. Oh, how I missed all of this.”

The sun began to get low so the two decided to make camp for the night. Around the warm flickering fire, Magnus watched through his helmet as Merlene ate a loaf of bread. Merlene must have noticed because she asked, “Did you want some?”

"Oh no thank you, I don't have the stomach for it," Magnus replied laughing to himself slightly.

“Oh, because of the whole skeleton thing, right?” Merlene said stuffing her face.

“Yes,” Magnus said, peeved that his joke fell flat on its face.

The duo enjoyed a comfortable silence through the night. Only the chirps of crickets, the occasional hoots of an owl and the crackling of the wood in the campfire filled the sound in the air.

“Hey, can I ask you a question,” Merlene asked breaking the silence. “How come you’re a skeleton, what happened?”

"That's because… I got sick one day. A plague came around and a lot of people got sick back then, in fact, the whole city caught it eventually. My colleagues and I tried to find a way to cure it, but then we all got sick too. I knew it was a matter of time before the plague took me and our only chance of curing it, so I turned to my knowledge of the magical arts to keep myself alive. As you can see now,” Magnus said as he gestured towards himself, “that solution is not without its costs.”

“But if you were in a group, what happened to them why couldn’t you use your. “Merlene was cut short by the sound of a stick snapping in the darkness surrounding them. “Did you hear that?”

Magnus was already on his feet and kicking dust into the fire to put it out. Maybe it was a predator, or perhaps it was this ‘evil’ that Merlene spoke of back in the city. Either way, his sword was out and ready. “Stay here child, I’ll be right back,” he said as he walked away from the makeshift camp and toward the noise in the distance.

It wasn’t long until Magnus could make out the light of a torch and two voices in the dark of the woods.

“You sure the girl ran off this way?”

“Of course, I’m sure you fool, where else could she have gone?”

“What about that weird walled city over yonder?”

“You’re kidding, that place is cursed. No one can get in there, you’d have to be insane to try. Now quit your whining and find her so we can get paid.”

It wasn't long until the two ragged-looking men had caught notice of Magnus in his helmet with his sword out.

"And who might you be, eh? Little late to go out for a walk isn't it?" The man said, the wrinkles in his face betraying an older, possibly more experienced man. His hand was on the hilt of his sword around his waist.

“Why are you two searching for a girl in this neck of the woods?” Magnus replied under his helmet.

“That ain’t none of your business lad, just move along before you get hurt,” the younger fellow said while visibly shaken, either by excitement or fear. Sword already in hand.

“Well I plan to make it my business,” Magnus said as he readied his sword with both his bony hands.

The younger one rushed forward with great haste and Magnus met the lad's fury with his steel. The sound of metal clashing against each other reverberated throughout the forest. Magnus went in for a strike, but the young one dodged swiftly and left Magnus open for a strike as a sword plunged into his chest and ran through the other side. Magnus was cursing to himself that he’d let himself become lax in his sword training.

At first, the man’s face had a sense of satisfaction at such an impact, but that look slowly twisted into one of horror as Magnus remained standing, unfazed at the situation. The young man didn't even notice that he let of go his sword, leaving it embedded in Magnus' torso.

“You’ve ruined my clothes,” Magnus said while pulling the sword out dropping it to the ground below, feeling more disappointed over the loss of his shirt than feeling anything about the attack on his life. The young man was already fleeing at that point, but there was still the older man to contend with who had brandished a very ornate looking dagger.

“I know how to deal with freaks like you,” the older man said as he plunged the dagger towards Magnus, who managed to dodge out the way, but not quickly enough to avoid the blade nicking his arm. At that moment, a sensation Magnus thought he had lost had come rushing back to him so suddenly and surely that made him tumble to the ground. What is this feeling? Pain! How? Magnus hadn’t even realized he’d been screaming while his foe casually walked over ready to give the killing blow.

“Back to the hells for you, freak,” the man said before he plummeted the dagger towards Magnus.

A scream was let out as Merlene's knife sank between the ribs of the man. At that moment Magnus concentrated his will into his fist and launched his hand in the man’s general direction and with it enough force to send him flying into a nearby tree. Knocking him unconscious and perhaps breaking some bones in the process.

Magnus stumbled to his feet. “I thought I told you to stay at the camp.”

“Pretty sure you would be dead right now if I did stay. You’re welcome,” Merlene retorted.

“I would have been fine, “Magnus said while pulling a sword out of his chest. “I appreciate the effort, however.” The sword clanged on a small rock as it fell.

“Why were they after you?” Magnus was still reeling from the attack, feeling woozy What did he hit me with? He walked over to the dagger that was now on the ground. Examining it, the blade looked to be of bright silver and the golden handle had the crest of a red dragon on it.  The silver blade had to mean that there was an enchantment placed on it as only the metal silver could hold magical properties that were given by enchanters. Only magic could disrupt the magical forces that kept Magnus alive. “Why did he have an enchanted blade? With the way he dressed he couldn’t have had the money to afford daggers such as this one. And what is this symbol here with the dragon?” Magnus said showing the blade to Merlene.

Merlene looked at the blade for a moment and with a flash of inspiration in her eyes she shouted, “Oh that’s the crest of my family, the Dragonscales.”

Magnus never heard of the Dragonscales in his years of studies, but he figured that due to his time in isolation from the rest of the world new, powerful families have arisen in the absence of the old kingdom and have filled the vacuum of power that was left behind. “You have a crest? That’s pressed onto weapons?”

“Yeah, doesn’t your family have one?”

“No! Only royal families have crests like this. What did your father do for a living?”

“Oh, he was the king.”

“No wonder why you’re being chased,” Magnus said laughing a bit to himself. “You’re a princess. Everyone in the land is out looking for you. You’re worth a lot of money and favor to everyone. I wish you had told me sooner.”

"Well, you never asked," Merlene replied plainly.

"No, no I guess I never did, "Magnus said, "but we should start getting a move on to that town. Nowhere is going to be safe for long with your status." Magnus pocketed the knife in his sack and the two-headed off.

The two traveled for miles on end to the town where the sun had set, there was no time for pause or rest for Magnus, who didn’t need to sleep or eat anyway. When Merlene needed to rest, however, Magnus offered to carry her on his back for at least a little while. They had to stick to the lesser-known paths and off the main trail to avoid anyone who may have known the identity of the princess.

In what felt like no time at all for Magnus, but an eternity for Merlene, they finally arrived at a town called Sunset.

"This has to be the place; the name is too on the nose not to be," Magnus said looking at the wooden sign in front of him along with the map in his hand; matching the landmarks to the old map with the ones he could see around town. A waterwheel, the oddly shaped rock. The entire ocean that was by the coast was a large indicator as well. “What were you supposed to do once you got here, Merlene?”

Before Merlene could get a word out of her mouth. A crowd had gathered around the two. Someone started speaking "You're the princess, yes, and this is your bodyguard? We can help you, just follow us.” The two weren’t given much of a choice as the crowd directed their movements toward an old lighthouse near the outskirts of town.

The two were placed in a room within the lighthouse. In one of the chairs sat an elderly woman with greyish-red hair. “I’m Rose, and you must be Merlene,” she said looking at her, paying no attention to Magnus, “Come have a seat, there is much to discuss.”  

The two took a seat as instructed and listened to Rose. “It is a very unfortunate thing that has happened to your family, Merlene with how your uncle rose to power and has taken your father’s place as king. Of course, you still have your supporters as you are the rightful heir to the throne but currently, we feel that the time for you to reclaim your rightful place is not right.”

“What are you saying then?” Merlene finally spoke.

“Well, the council feels that it would be better for everyone that you sit and bide your time and hide away from the mainland until you're ready to rule," Rose replied.

“I don’t get it, I thought you people would help me save Mom and Dad," Merlene said as tears welled up in her eyes. She tried her best not to let her face betray her emotions but in the end, her face contorted, and the tears fell from her eyes.

“I thought we were here to help liberate this child's land from tyranny and corruption," Magnus said. "Why are we running away to gods know where to ‘bide our time'? There are contingencies for these kinds of situations, a reserve army, a cabal of secret guardians. What it sounds like is that you want to send her away where she won't be in the way."  

“Now that’s not what’s happening at all… who are you again?” Rose said.

“I am Magnus of the Old Kingdom and I am not letting you send her away so that you may grow fat from her situation.” There was a fire in his voice, one that he hasn’t felt in many lifetimes. “Merlene get up, we’re leaving. We’ll reclaim your throne in our own way.”

"We can't let you just leave you know. There's too much at stake to lose because you don't want to fall in line with the new order.” As Rose said this a group of armed men came barreling into the room. Swords drawn and ready for action.

But Magnus was ready too. "Merlene, close your eyes." Ready or not, Magnus released a flash of light from his hands it was as if the sun had been birthed in that very room. Magnus grabbed Merlene and made a bolt for the exit while the guards were blinded by the light.

Outside of town, far away from any other people. Magnus and Merlene sat in a clearing in the nearby forest.

"So, it seems your uncle has overthrown the rule of your family. It's little wonder why they were sending men after you. He wanted to be sure that no loose ends were running around and becoming a potential problem for him later." Magnus said mostly to himself. Merlene sat in shock at the current events.

“I’m not going to let them exile you, Merlene. No one should be put into isolation, away from the people they love.” Magnus said, speaking from his own experience. “We’re going to your kingdom, we’re going to find your parents and we’re going to bring your uncle to justice.”

“But how, Magnus? No one will help us.” Marlene spoke.

"There's nothing to fear. I have a plan, but we need to move we haste and for that, we're going to need to borrow horses.” Magnus said.

Out on the road, there were men on horseback moving at a pace that indicated that they were searching for something. Magnus and Merlene were hidden away in nearby bushes, listening in on their conversation.

“Gotta be careful with her bodyguard, they say he’s got magics.” One voice said.

“Ain’t no such thing as magics. Don’t let ‘em get in your head.” Another voice replied.

Magnus clinched his skeletal fist and walked out into plain view in front of the men. The two saw him immediately and called out to him. “Hey! Where’s the girl? Make this easy for us and maybe you’ll get to keep your life, eh?”

Magnus remained silent. Unmoving from the center of the road. The men got off their horses, swords in hand already and moved in on Magnus.

“Let’s see you keep up the silent treatment after this then.” The man slashed with his sword at Magnus but met with only air. The figure of Magnus soon disappeared into thin air as well. Before the two realized in a horse ran between them and into the surrounding forest. By the time they turned around the other horse, carrying two, was running off into the distance.

"You sure do know a lot of magic, Magnus," Merelene said, wind flowing through her hair, holding tight to Magnus as they rode on horseback.

“Well yes. I studied a lot of magic back in my time and my people were known for having the best mages and sorcerers in the land.” Magnus said, fondly remembering the years he spent pouring over old texts and ancient tomes and seeing the results of his research become manifest through new spells.

“Do you think you could teach me magic after all this is over?” Merelene asked.

Magnus thought over it for a moment. His son was never interested in magic despite how hard he pushed it on him. “Yes, I think I could teach you a few things. Help you avoid burning your eyebrows off and learning practical spells.” Magnus said, remembering the time he lost all his hair in a magical mishap.

The trip to The Dragonscale Kingdom was long but shortened due to the use of horses. Magnus wondered why he didn’t use them at the start. Magnus pulled back on the reins and brought the horse to a stop. They were still a good distance away from the entrance gates.

"You know, in my day this place was just a small village and a bit of farmland," Magnus said looking surveying over the land in his helmet.

“Yeah, my great grandfather fought a dragon, defeated it and sold the scales to make enough money to build a castle and name himself king," Marlene answered.

“Most people can’t just name themselves king, but who would argue with a man that fought a dragon and lived?” Magnus said. “Well enough stalling, time to get this plan in motion.”

“What is this plan?” Marelene asked.

"It's almost the same thing we did to get these horses, but on a larger scale," Magnus said, clenching both of his fists. He took what could have been considered a deep breath and outstretched his hands. Suddenly, numerous knights clad in shining armor on top of golden steads began to appear out of thin air and began to march down toward the castle with the sound of rhythmic thumping of hooves on the ground. "Hopefully that will keep them distracted enough for us to slip into the castle from the back," Magnus said giving the horse a light kick and riding off to the back entrance.

As predicted a group of soldiers came to meet the slowly approaching knights. Numerous archers began lining up and reading their arrows waiting to hear the command to fire. Magnus and Merlene were already slipping in through the back when the archers began to ineffectively loose arrows against the illusory knights. Unfazed by the arrows the knights continued onwards.

The city streets were empty, the townsfolk were likely held up in their houses looking to avoid the conflict. “Merelene do you know where the dungeons are? I expect that’s where we’ll find your parents.”

“I think it’s under the castle. I wasn’t allowed down there, so I don’t know that place so well.” Merelene said.

“That’s quite alright,” Magnus said, “I don’t expect a child to play much in the dungeons.”

The castle was nearly as empty as the city streets. High ceilings and banners hung on the castle walls. Most interestingly was the large skeletal dragon hanging high from the ceiling. The lack of life in the castle signified to Magnus that the recent coup has left the castle so short-staffed that they couldn't manage to form some sort of defense against people sneaking in. It was an advantage that Magnus didn’t mind exploiting. The two made their way down the stairs and found row upon row of prison cells filled with people.

"I know these guys, these are the castle workers," Merlene said.

“Looks like those who didn’t join in the rebellion were locked up here.” Said Magnus.

Requests and pleading for freedom began to fill the hallways. Magnus, with a simple use of magic, broke the locks on the cells. Soon the hallway was crowded with the bodies of prisoners; dirty and disheveled from their imprisonment. “Arm yourselves however you can.” Magnus said over the crowd. “the rebels shall be upon us soon I feel.” Many of the people began rushing up the stairs out of the dungeons.

Magnus stopped one of the former prisoners, “Have you seen the king and queen?” He asked.

“I heard that they were locked in the highest tower in the castle, sir.” The prisoner replied before running off with the rest.

A commotion could be heard upstairs, the clanging of metal against metal mingling with screaming and yells. The sound of combat was afoot as the rebel army had begun to pour back into the castle. Magnus turned to Merlene, “I need to get to the top of the castle to free your parents, but it sounds like the fighting has started outside, so I need you to stick close to me, ok?”

“Yeah, I got it, don't worry," Merlene said.

Magnus handed her the ornate blade he picked up from the brigand. “Just in case.” He said. Moving forward with sword in hand.

Stepping out of the dungeon the world was chaos, combatants swinging swords, clubs and improvised weapons. Some of the prisoners must have been soldiers as they were holding their own very well against the better-armored rebels. Magnus and Marlene weaved though the storm of blades toward the upper stairs only to be stopped by a large man in ornate armor covered in shining silver scales, carrying an oversized and cruel-looking morning star.

"That's my uncle," Merlene said, close behind Magnus.

"Yeah, that figures," Magnus responded.

“You don’t look like one of the rabble I had locked away, who are you?” The false king asked.

“I am Magnus, friend to the true king. And you are?” Magnus responded.

"You come to my castle asking who I am? Do you even know what you're doing here? I am Erik Dragonscale, king of this land that you have stumbled on." Erik's grip on his weapon grew tighter.

“I know exactly why I am here. To free this land of your grip.” Magnus said his free hand gripping into a fist.

“The commoners don’t even care about who’s in charge. Enough talk out of you.” Erik swung his spiked club down towards Magnus who quickly threw up an invisible barrier with his free hand. The force of the blow, however, was too much for Magnus and his skeletal arm shattered into splinters as he flew into a crowd in the center courtyard. There was no pain from the blow, but the attack left Magnus at a considerable disadvantage. At some point, the blow had knocked off Magnus’ helmet revealing his skull for all to see.

“Ah, I see you're not only a rabble-rouser but an abomination as well. How many souls have you stolen to achieve this pitiful form?" Erik said gesturing towards Magnus who was struggling to stand up with only one arm. Magnus had to rest upon his sword has he climbed to his knees. On is ascent he caught a glimpse of the dragon bones hanging above him.

By this point, the fighting had stopped. All eyes were on the king and the animated skeleton in the room. Merlene tried to run over to Magnus, but somehow gave her a look that told her to stay back. She used this opportunity instead to run up the flight upstairs leading to the towers above.

“I have not stolen a single soul, each one was given to me by my friends and comrades for a greater good. Each of those souls still live on through me.” Magnus said, mostly to himself as he focused his will into his remaining hand.

"Enough of your blabbering," Erik shouted. "No good can come from dabbling in those magics." He started pacing towards Magnus.

"Well, let me show you what good can come from it then," Magnus said and raised his arm into the air. A bellowing, glass shattering, roar could be heard from above that stopped Erik in his tracks. Looking up he saw the dragon, once a trophy, now animated and rushing toward him with incredible speed. Erik swung his morning star at the large mass of bones in front of him, but it was to no avail as the sheer force and weight of the dragon crushed him and sent dust and debris flying in all directions.

As the dust was still settling, Magnus, who now found himself against a wall, could hear Merlene shouting for him amongst the confusion. The court was covered in dragon bones and ash slowly descended from on high like snow to the ground. In the dust, Magnus could see two tall figures and one smaller figure in front of him. It reminded Magnus of his wife and child who were still waiting for him at his snow-covered home.

“Merlene, is that you? Did you find your parents?” Magnus asked.

"Yeah, Magnus, I did," Merlene said.

“Ah, that’s great. I’m happy for you.” Magnus said, struggling to rise to his feet. One of his legs seemed to have been bent in the wrong direction. “I think, I’m going to need to rest for a bit after this.”

It had been some time since Magnus made his journey and he was now back in his home of the lost city. The barrier was still covering the sky, but with great effort, the hole in the wall was widened so that people could come and go as they pleased. Mostly it was for Merlene to come and go as she pleased as the outside world tended to leave him alone. Merlene came to the snowy town every month for her magic lessons. And right on time as always, Merlene was waiting for him outside of his house.

“You ready for your next lesson?” Magnus asked.

"I wouldn't be here if I wasn't," Merlene replied. Hair still growing in from the last lesson.

“Well then let’s get to work.” Said Magnus.

[shinglescat]

This is the end, yay.

Previous or  all stories at once. 

The voice of the Prince still lingered in her head. The bizarre time in his custody – something she could’ve never imagined to happen; not a single lesson from her grandmother ever prepared her for this. The Prince… was rather gentle towards her, caring even, as far as you can call a Daedra caring; she even thought this isn’t him, someone else, someone but Molag Bal, but the longer she spent her time keeping him company, the more she saw behind the friendly façade. He noticed, but never acknowledged it, sticking with this game of sheer politeness and kindness, still.

He never forced her into anything, always provided her with new things to do and discover. Upon her arrival, the Prince delivered her of the wicked illness of his own creation – she almost lost herself to the thirst for blood that she sworn to never sate. She must’ve been pathetic enough for him to take pity on her. A benevolent ruler of his own dark kingdom, treating her like the most esteemed guest.

She would lie to herself if she said this wasn’t an important time in her life, that she regrets it. Molag Bal taught her lots of things, most of which were so surreal even her psijic grandmother had no idea about. In between the lessons, they used to have normal conversations, and the man would usually tell her a story of a kind and give her his insight into various events that ever happened. The things he said – the really disturbing things – she had a hard time believing him, yet he made it all sound so right, so logical…  

She looked at the house down the street – the family’s that took her cousin in, their house. It was so tiny and so humble; she’s never seen them like that – too used to the comfort of the Sorano estate, too used to its hearth, its smells, its looks and the atmosphere of luxury; the cold and harsh climate made her look back at what she’s given up – the warm and ever sunny Isles. Will she ever see her home again?

“You are the only one I can trust with this,” the Prince would to tell her, “He needs you now the most he ever needed you, he needs your guidance”. What made him think so, she wondered, of all people to entrust this to her – to a scared and a broken girl. He saw the looks she gave him, the mistrust in her eyes, yet still… Livaen sighed, stopping in front of the door, pressing her forehead into the dried out wood. What makes her obey his… plea? request? order? She could’ve just stopped, abandoned it all and instead followed her heart on this one. Was she scared of him? Or was she scared of what may happen? It was so easier back home – she had servants to take care of everything, and Esmir herself would decide upon urgent and important matters. Now – it’s just her, her and her dearest cousin, both all grown up. 

She pressed the palm of her hand into the handle, pushing the door forward. A wave of smells rushed into her face, the sweet and meaty tones, warm and homey – so different from what she’s used to. It made her nauseous with nostalgia – it felt like home, but… it was an alien home, someone else’s but hers.

- ...They only have fifty years of time to do everything they want. They don't have a promise of a millennia like you, – Aspen argued, leaning against the wall. This quarrel again, Livaen sighed, they’ve been on it since they’ve returned from the Void a few days ago; it seemed like her cousin got bit in the ass about the dumbest thing in the world. He’s been quite vocal in his discontent about the girls’ departure in the nearest future, even with his strong dislike towards Visenya’s attitude. The girl used to say he just envied her and was jealous of them, the ashen haired man on the other hand was sure Mark was just afraid to lose them, yet it was only her that saw through it, Livaen thought. His usual phlegmatic nature, his temperament all of a sudden shifted towards that of a more choleric nature, making the elf unusually snappy and angry, reactive and irrational; almost a polar opposite of himself. And as another addition to that – the gold of his skin has completely faded, replaced with porcelain instead – it didn’t go unnoticed by anyone this time: the parents were concerned about his wellbeing, believing he might’ve contracted a disease of sorts that made him look and behave like this, yet… – Both Meltem and Visenya have their own lives now, they can't be forever at your side, – he moved closer to the elf, his palm touching Mark’s forehead. The kid flinched at that barely noticeable, but remained still, – You have a fever, – the man concluded, making Livaen cringe at that – the man was so over the top sometimes, it made the girl want to vomit.

- And will you stay with me for a millennia? – Mark asked, anger and poison leaking from his voice, tired of everything – he’s been so restless lately, – Of course you won't, – he smirked, – I don't even know how old you are, might just fucking leave me as well before you die too, – he threw his arm into the air as if to make a statement, turning around himself, his voice faltering – the last part of the sentence ended up being silent. The elf went straight for the door, only now noticing the witness to the argument, and the girl instantly felt bad about it – for not interrupting them beforehand. Mark stopped for a moment, as if deciding what to do next, and stormed out of the house as he made his mind.

Livaen looked behind her, the door closed with a loud thud.

- What was this all about this time? – she asked, going to the kitchen table with a small basket full of foodstuffs she got for herself at the market. The man loudly sighed and covered his eyes.

- He’s sick, – he replied, taking a sit on the ladder, – He’s sick, and he doesn’t want to do anything about it.

- He’s always been like that, – she nodded, sitting down on the bench. Meltem had told them that they – she, her now wife Visenya and half-sister Jacqueline – were leaving for Chorrol in a few days. The sisters had a house left from their shared father, no one’s been living in there for quite a few years since his passing, making it stay abandoned for just as long, – I wonder how much their marriage is going to last, – she said quietly to herself, but that didn’t go unheard by the man. He looked at her with a wordless question on his face, – Did he meet him? – she asked instead. Livaen knew the answer herself – the elf did meet the Prince and even had the talk with him, otherwise he wouldn’t have just… changed so much asudden. She asked about it nonetheless – to divert the attention and to avoid any more of the unnecessary drama her question might cause later. Aspen glanced at her, still puzzled, – You are always with him. Did he meet the father? – she repeated the question again, a little bit annoyed. He must have met him, he’s just a coward to do what he’s been told.

- Yes. Yes, he did, but we didn’t tell anyone…?

The girl brushed her hair.

- He.., – she started, trying to explain the thing, gesturing vaguely in front of her, – His blood… it’s acting up. It’s like… if you hold bad emotions locked inside, they will find a way out someday. And he’s got daedric blood in him. He’s… he’s just so confused. I don’t really know, he, – she implied the Prince, – didn’t warn me about the mood swings, – Livaen sighed, getting up from the bench. He did warn her though that she must guide him along this path and be there when he needs her; she must help him understand and reconcile with himself, – We need to find him before it gets worse. Wouldn’t want a psycho on the loose..

They’ve found him under the giant tree, sitting on the bench, facing the old statue of Talos. He buried his face into the palms of his hands, breathing heavily. This was the worst period in his life: the uncertainty, the separation, the revelation – it all hit him at the same time, making his existence insufferable. He had no idea what awaits him in future, he’ll probably have to carry on alone later, for all his loved ones are humans with a lifespan of a burning match… And him being a demi-prince didn’t ease the burden. It all just snowballed and like an avalanche buried him underneath, no way for him to escape this.

Livaen stopped in her tracks near him, observing: he was miserable, she’s never seen him so crushed, so depressed; it seemed like he was about to break apart. And there was nothing she could do on her own to help him, to ease the suffering.

Aspen came close to him, letting his hands into the jet black hair of her cousin. The girl grimaced, for the hundredth time today, it seemed: all these idle touches, glances – it was so disgustingly sweet, mawkish even; her cousin was so in love with the man – it’s going to hurt to bring him back on track later. Maybe she just was jealous, envied him – it was hard for her to think about it: she would banish the thought just before it surfaces in her mind – over and over again, and she didn’t want to admit, too pathetic to own up to her flaws. She never had a feeling just as strong as her cousin’s to this man – this thought about it made her anxious – she never had a chance to experience something like this – to fall in love and be loved in return. Yet her dearest cousin had it all, it seemed, from a caring bride-to-be to some… random hookup. It wasn’t fair; her entire life was planned out for her by their own grandmother – some Alinor nobleman already waiting to get his hands on her fragile frame. She had no say in this, but she just accepted her fate and patiently waited for when it’s time. Livaen snorted at her own thoughts inelegantly: after what she’s been through even arranged marriage would be impossible – who needs a wife that cannot bear children anymore in a society where succession matters most? She suddenly felt disgusted and repulsed: her cousin was so irresponsible to throw himself into someone’s arms like that, especially those of a man; it was selfish. Now that she herself won’t be able to bring a child into this world, he’s the only one who could continue the line, but he instead preferred lust and debauchery… it was her envy speaking – she couldn’t help but turn bitter at what her cousin had and what she’ll never have; it was easy to hate on him, easy to disregard the story behind them both.

- Shit, – she heard Mark swear. He shook his head a little to make the bothering thoughts go away, remaining silent for a moment and allowing himself to enjoy the gentle hands in his hair – a universal medicine for calming down, – I’m so sorry, I don’t know what’s gotten into me, – Livaen rounded the bench to sit near the cousin. He was shaking slightly, as if having a fever, face pale and sick, – I’m just… It’s all so fucking overwhelming, I can’t handle it all, – he grabbed the hands in his hair and pulled onto himself, throwing Aspen’s arms around his neck in an embrace, – It feels like I’m drowning, suffocating, and those cunts don’t help it a bit, – Mark hid his face in the man’s upper arm, letting out a strangled wobbling sigh, – I’m… so sorry, I can’t really control myself at the moment. I’m such an angsty asshole lately, – he laughed hysterically, squeezing Aspen’s hand. He pulled it closer to his face, placing his lips on man’s knuckles, – I’m so fucking sorry for making you see this shit.

This gesture – it almost made the girl gag.

- You need to return to the Void, – Livaen told him, fighting with herself to keep the face straight. She reached his hand, holding it softly but firmly in hers, – Bal told me, it’s going to… make it easier for you, – Mark snorted sarcastically and shook his head. Behind the sarcasm though was pure dread, – I know you are afraid of it. But we can always do it together, right? – she addressed the ashen haired man, and he nodded in agreement. Livaen smiled at her cousin, – You sure do love company.

...

They made their way up to the infinite pillars that were rising from below the water and stretching far into the sky, disappearing somewhere above in the impenetrable veil of mist. It welcomed them with a lone boat bobbing at the end of the platform – no walkway for them to get to the Heart.

The Void was the same today, same as before, yet different: a couple of plants managed to break through the stone and bloom under the ethereal sun: a field blossom and a tiny shrub of rowan. It was something new, but not unheard of – the Void brought leviathans into this world on a whim; it decorated everything with the violet silks… yet flowers? They didn’t look out of place, they looked like they belonged together with the obsidian of stone and the sapphire of waters; it was a strange time to have a spring here though; however, the plants brought hope with them, and thus – some inner peace for a change.

The boat set sail as soon as they got themselves comfortable – Mark sat at the very bow with Aspen just behind him in the middle, Livaen having her place at the stern – it took them farther away from the usual places they’ve been to, maneuvering in between the giant monolithic towers. From a distance a light breeze brought some rogue petals and flowers, making the girl wonder what was so exciting for the Void to start blooming all of a sudden.

It was curious for Livaen: as it turned out the Void is a plane of Oblivion, the girl thought, and the realms always reflect their masters, their emotions and feelings, their state of mind. Would it be possible for them to reflect something else, something the masters hold dear? She will never get to test this theory, but if it was true – something must be influencing the Void to change.

The veil ahead of them started to clear out, leaving patches of white clouds here and there, revealing a lone island in this sea of nothing. Stone thorns swirled all around it, cradling the Heart, creating an impenetrable shell to protect the insides; from behind the stone – a faint glistering – something flowed behind like a silk in the wind. This is the core of the Void – it was blooming in full, its blossom slowly spreading away from the Heart far beyond the thick shroud of mist.

As the boat docked with the island, the only entrance of the Heart opened the way, welcoming the guests with a complete darkness seeping from the inside. Within – the same dark stone with cerulean waters glowing from behind them, illuminating the place softly; in the middle – a basin with ornate smoke circling under the water; above them all – a myriad of suspended in the air crystals reflecting in the stone and lone silks hanging from the thorns. And all around them – flowers’ bloom.

Mark sat near the basin, the others beside him, holding him by his hands. He looked into the water, watching a black swirl of mist emerge from below, enveloping the people with darkness and silence…

...

A woman’s shriek, the one that could tear a soul apart; a pained cry of a baby – it was all covered with a cloud of obscurity – nothing could be seen but felt. “Get it away from me!” – the woman cried, her anger and fear leaking through her voice directed at the newborn soul. She asked for it, begged on her knees; she knew the price she had to pay. She thought it would make her stronger, thought it would open new prospects. She got what she wanted; now – she does not want it anymore, too scared of it. “Get rid of it!” – could be heard echoing in the darkness, voice decaying quickly.

A bright flash, and a white light engulfed it all, slowly fading to reveal a snowy forest in the middle of winter: bright setting sun lighting the snowdrifts, reds and oranges scattering through clear frozen crystals. Under a tree – a roll of fabric lied, tiny golden hands showing from under the thin blanket. The baby cried, loud at first, calling for its impending doom: if it’s not the frost to take its live, then wolves; its bright and cold umber eyes red from the tears. As the sun went lower – the cries turned silent. The gold of the skin faded, now sick and blueish, cold quickly creeping to clench its grasp around the tiny heart and claim it. “Here we go”, someone came over to rescue the child as if they knew it would be here at the mercy of the fate. A man held the child in his arms, gently stroking the frozen face until the red of blood started flowing again, bringing back the fading life into the newborn. “It is decided then”, a cold and quiet voice of a woman spoke, as she appeared before the man. She looked at the child with a genuine smile, stroking its forehead with her finger – the child already opened the eyes, beaming at its saviors – the man smiled in return too, too hard to resist, hiding the smile behind a frown the next moment. “Name the boy”, the woman commanded. “Markus”, the man said, “Now let’s get you home”, he finished, as the memory was enveloped into a dark cloud only to reveal another one.

There wasn’t a flash this time, just careful fade from black to the warm orange of a fireplace, candles that lit up the room, that lit up the two figures standing near a wall. One was the man from before, the other – an unknown woman… the mother, the cowardly mother. A strong grip on her neck prevented her from moving, as the man was looming over her like a menacing shadow, sparks crackling dangerously between the fingers of his other hand. “Try this again,” he said, the memory of the abandoned child in the snows too vivid to forget, “and you will suffer a worse fate”, he warned her. It wasn’t the first time the woman did this, and it won’t be the last – she hates the child, she dreads it with an unreasonable fear. The demonic child, as she called him to justify her actions; she never listens to the warnings, always does what she wants only to be severely punished in the end. “Do not forget, my darling, your soul belongs to me”, he said for the hundredth time already, as the mother couldn’t understand that there was no deliverance from this anymore. “The worse you make his life – the worse yours is going to become”, the man had to let go, as the boy creeped up to him, starving for attention. “Why don’t you take your damned spawn with you?” the woman spat, watching the father caress the son in his hands. “My spawn?” the man laughed wickedly, the child echoing him lightly – the complete opposite of his father, the innocence – kissing the boy’s head. “You begged me for it, and now the least you can do is to be a decent mother”, he finished, letting the memory drift away.

The next memory burst open, black mist leaking out of it, bringing the feel of dread and desperation, filling the place to the brim with pain and misery. The sharp smell of blood, the dampness of endless tears, a silent cry still lingering in the air. And there he was, still infant, lying on the cold stone floor alone and unmoving. It was the mother again – too much of a coward to put an end to his miserable life, to end the agony and torment of her own son; she hated the way he looked at her. He wanted to cry, but no sound escaped him, no tear left his eyes – there were none left, all wasted already to the never-ending woe. A gentle breeze, and from somewhere above a moonlight shone through, serving as the only beacon of light as the jet black shadows crawled towards the child only to be broken by the man appearing from the darkness. The boy couldn’t see anymore but feel, reaching out to the gloom man with his tiny golden arms; the father nestling him up into an embrace to soothe the pain. He stroked son’s face softly, lightly touching the fluff of the lashes – the kid would have probably giggled at the touch, yet not a sound came from him. The boy opened his eyes, slowly, revealing the wounds inflicted upon – no more the noble of umber, only crimson of blood. The man cradled the child, soothing the sore eyes; a moment later – and the moonlight replaced the gore, shining bright silver in the sea of darkness, gleaming still through the thickening mist.

“And what is it that you want, Stone-Fire?” a female voice spoke – the grandmother, sounding through the clearing memories. It was a surprise for her – to see such a guest in her home. “I could tell where your daughter is, and in return you would owe me a favor”, the man replied, holding the details a secret. He wasn’t desperate, just… considerate. What he had seen was the last straw for him – the mother would never change; it was the right time to change the players before something regrettable happens. “I’m listening…” Soldiers in black and gold armors dragged out a woman out of her house, throwing her in the middle of town’s plaza for everyone to see. The golden skin, pointy ears – it looked like a spectacle, a warning for any other that would want to become a renegade, a message to their own kin of the dangers of betrayal. A tall woman with a skin of bronze commanded the parade – it was her daughter lying there, trashing around and spitting out curses. Near the commander another man stood, wide in his shoulders, skin of copper, holding the child found in the basement – his bright silver eyes looking at the mother with dread and sorrow. “Mother! Please!” the woman plead, as the grandmother approached her, slapping her across the face. “You should have thought about your life before you made a run”, she told her daughter, holding her by her hair. The woman was scared, afraid for her own life; she didn’t want to die, not yet. She franticly looked around only to find her dearest husband making his escape with their firstborn; he didn’t even tried to free her, to help her, just left her at the mercy of these people. “Orlan!” the grandmother commanded to the copper-skinned man, “He doesn’t need to see this, turn around”. The man did as told, only tiny golden arms reaching out to the mother as he turned around – the last thing the woman saw, before the grandmother slit her throat, slowly. The blood rushed from her neck and onto the ground like tsunami flooding the land, painting it crimson.

The crimson mist swirled, forming the blood red poppies on a field of gold. Two girls ran around a tree: one with a skin of finest porcelain, hair of raven wing, the other with a skin of gold, hair dark as night. Under the tree the boy dreamed, blessed smile on his face. “Markus!” the raven-haired girl stopped by, taking his hands in hers, tugging the boy onto herself, “Join us!” she said, grabbing the other girl by hand, locking them into a circle and spinning as fast as they could go, red petals flying around softly, taken up into the air by the whirlwind of fun. They broke the circle then, falling on the ground – golden grass was their carpet, their joyous laughter ever so loud. A golden cloud descended from above, forming a male figure – the father; the kids squeaked, cheerful, rushing to the man. He caught the boy in his arms, raising him high into the air, cradling him up into an embrace.

“Markus!” the grandmother shouted – the memory flaring up to let another one in its place – running towards the boy. The kid, covered in bruises and scratches, was kneeling in the middle of a street. It was a mess: once a street full of children looked like a warzone now, destroyed completely by their own stupidity. She warned their parents, she warned them countless times to restrain their children, yet no one listened; now they paid for it, paid for their ignorance and arrogance, hopefully not with their children’s lives.

The grandson was burning, but the flames didn’t damage his body or his clothes. He was scared. It all happened so quickly he had no time to react. He just exploded, releasing it all that’s been held inside. The anger burst open with fires, sweeping away everything that stood in their way; flames burning flesh and stone, drawing the cries from the now victims. He was afraid of this; he didn’t want it to happen – he didn’t know it could happen; he thought he had no magic in him, yet…

The grandmother run to him, pulling him up into her hands. She wasn’t scared of the flames, she didn’t care about them. She could get hurt, but in the end it didn’t matter. What mattered the most was the child in her arms, and she would do everything for him to not get hurt again.

“I’ve… reconsidered”, – the grandmother’s voice was heard, erasing the scene and bringing another, “This... arrangement we had”, she addressed her general, “it’s not going to take us anywhere, I’m afraid. I do not desire to give away the boy, he is my blood after all, my grandson. We should do something about it”. She… got attached to the kid, acknowledged him as her offspring – her late daughter’s legal child. The kid was clever; it would be a shame to give him back to his father later. His blood, the heritage – it all made him even more interesting for her, and with the proper education he would benefit her cause. “Sire”, the general said, “Do you have an idea?” he looked outside of the window, there, where the laughter came from. “Indeed I do, Orlan”, the grandmother nodded, “It’s… quite ambitious, if I can say so myself”, she wickedly smiled, “These two fighting one another for as long as the world exists – they are going to help us. The Princes – they are so vain they will do whatever it takes to destroy each other”, the woman sighed, excited, “And they will have to obey me to get what they desire”. “Sire?” the man asked, her loyal henchman, the right hand. “Why bother with mere racial superiority”, she explained, “when we could bring down Gods and Princes? We could destroy the masters themselves. No gods or kings, only man”…

“He didn’t come, again”, the raven-haired girl complained lightly, as the previous reminiscence faded into a red sunset, girl’s emerald eyes shining softly in the setting sun. The father hasn’t visited the boy yet again, for another week straight. “Grandmother said he had to sail somewhere”, the boy replied, fidgeting with a poppy flower in his hands, “He’s going to be back soon, I’m sure”, he smiled at her. The girl smiled in return, leaning against the boy, her head resting on his shoulder. “Markus?” she called him, to which he grunted in acknowledgement, “Do you love me?” The kid cringed, “EW. No, you are gross”, he replied, which made her giggle. “But you have to!” she jokingly complained, poking him into his sides, “Ouchies”, the boy rubbed his skin, totally unimpressed. “You have to love me, we’re going to get married when we grow up”, the girl closed her eyes, envisioning the future. The other kid wasn’t really thrilled about it. “What if I don’t want it?” he asked, something unpleasantly twisting in his stomach, “You are my friend, and I don’t want to marry my friend. It’s… wrong”, he declared, still fidgeting with the flower between his fingers, “People marry who they love, not friends. I’m going to marry a girl I love”. “But I am a girl!” the young lady pouted. “You’re not a girl, you’re my friend. Gross”, the kid shivered, and they both laughed at that, careless about anything in the world.

A gray fog enveloped it all, fading out quickly to reveal a dark and shiny stone. Cold. Lone. Empty. It hanged up in the air above the obsidian of the water waving with the soft breeze like a black silk. The kids have never seen this place, but it seemed hospitable enough for them to stay. It… it was young, just like them, starving for contact, for living souls. It felt lonely and sad, but now – now it was in delight of finally meeting someone, of finally not being alone anymore, of having… friends. They’ve brought light and happiness to it, their laughter echoing from the stone, going up above into the air. Like a wave the glee washed all over the place, turning the desolation into peace.

“Do you remember those creatures we saw the other day in the sea?” the boy asked his friend one day. The mighty monsters, the behemoths of the oceans – they were so majestic, so noble, he thought, if only he could see them again… It heard the boy, it felt his emotions; as if from his memory the leviathans, gently flowing in the air above the stone, appeared from the thick mist; the lullaby they sang resounded in the very hearts and souls, so dreamy.

No boy was around this time, only the girl. Her raven locks fluttered in the breeze, as she herself eyed a regal woman standing on the other side of the walkway. The woman from before. She waved at the girl as if offering her to make her company, to which the girl did not refuse. They had a talk, a pleasant one at first – the woman seemingly wanting to befriend the young lady; then it shifted to something darker, until the woman took the girl by her arm and vanished. The raven-haired girl returned only after a while; her eyes glowed with gold, happy as never before.

The little noble elven girl cried, as the ship with her friend and her family sailed away. Her cousin on the contrary kept himself collected and serious, a lone tear sparkling on his cheek. They had no idea why the family of the emerald-eyed girl had to leave, but their grandmother knew. The old lady would never tell the children the whole story, maybe some mock up later. Oh, this lying Breton family – she had enough with their deceit. The shady market practice is one thing – it could be forgiven, but an attempt at kidnapping – it is something else. The grandmother was furious to know about this treachery – they already had this marriage agreement, but the breton lord decided to do it his way and kidnap woman’s only grandson. It was a miracle her right hand discovered it, preventing the disaster before it could happen. She should have beheaded them all, but the ruined reputation is worse than any death.

Warm hands awoke the boy – it was an old man, the grandmother’s old flame; silver moon shining through a window lit his dark gray hair tied into a high ponytail, his deep green eyes sparkling in the night. “Get up, get the things you need”, he told the kid, leaving him to look out of the window. It was now or never; the only chance he had to leave this place for good. “Where are we going?” the boy asked, rubbing his sleepy eyes. He did not want to leave, but it was of importance to get him out from the Isles, away from his ambitious grandmother. The man knew what she planned to do, her grandeur plans with the kid playing the main role. “Mark”, the old man crouched in front of him, “We have to leave. Now”. “But how about the grandmother, uncle Nar?” The old elf returned a year ago, pledged himself to serve the grandmother once again, loyal and obedient. It was hard to gain her trust yet again, but eventually – she opened up to him once more. It was all part of his plan – to deceive her and to thrust a knife in her back just like she did herself to him before; this wound, however, would hurt much more. “Uncle, I don’t want to go”, the kid said shaking his head. Right, the man thought, he didn’t have any reason to wish to leave this place, even after all the fairy tales of the north he told him. “Markus”, the old man started, smiling at how concentrated the kid got once he used this name, “There is no time for this. We’ve decided. The boat is setting sail in a few”, he had to take the boy away – for the sake of the future, for the sake of this kid’s life; he’d be damned if he’d let the woman use the child in her wicked schemes, “If you don’t like it there – I will bring you back, alright?” The kid nodded, sad and solemn asudden. The man felt sorry for taking him away, but a better and safe life awaits him once they make it from the Isles…

He didn't know the price he had have to pay – to be branded as a traitor by the one he once loved.

“Mom”, the boy said, suddenly shutting himself, eyes wide open as if he said something bad. The surrounding air filled with silence in an instant, and the awkwardness filled the kid to the top. He never had anyone to call a mom or a dad, and this one just… slipped. He felt ashamed; he didn’t want to look in the eyes of this woman anymore, face red from embarrassment. Instead of saying anything though, the woman just moved from her place, locking the kid into a loving and caring embrace. There was nothing wrong that he said; he finally felt safe.

The same girl – raven black locks, emerald eyes, almost a woman now – yet there was something different about her, something… not right. She seemed restless walking around the stone, like if she couldn’t find a place to stay. She brought a lot of things with her this time: many ancient books in a dead language; artifacts of a long gone race. The young lady always strived for knowledge, and the lessons she had along with her friends – it wasn’t enough, she always wanted more. Some of the things that she brought with her – they’ve been lost to the world, and some – hidden so deep inside the other realms it was impossible to recover them; where did she get them remained unknown. The lady would study them thoroughly, always returning to the beginnings to check the things she had learned. And this carried on for ages, it seemed, time stretching so much it fit hundreds of years into a single day. Yet she wanted more…

The woman from before came to her one day as if was called – their speech muffled, obscured by a primordial magic on purpose, impossible for anything to be heard. The girl bowed before the woman in the end, knelt, eyes close shut and brows furrowed. A fear lingered in the air surrounding her, but she was committed like never before – she would do whatever it takes to save the one she cares about even if the words the woman spoke scared her too much. A touch – and it all went ablaze with a brightness of thousands of suns. Regret, remorse, and anguish – all washed over the girl as she realized – she was deceived. It was too late to turn back now, no way for her to save her very self: her soul would be destroyed and absorbed, her body would become a living corpse following commands a few moments later. It reached out to the girl as her shadow imprinted on the place; it reached out and snatched a piece of her soul before the woman would consume it. It hid it in the deepest recesses no one would ever venture to. The girl is the part of it now, fused together into a single entity.

“Look!” a girl with chestnut hair and crystal blue eyes, skin of a cream – now the boy’s sister – pointed at something in the distance. A noble looking young woman, hair of the finest rye, skin of light gold, eyes of bronze; she moved with such a grace it seemed she didn’t walk but flied through air. He’s never seen anyone more angelic than her; she was the embodiment of everything beautiful in the world he has seen and he has yet to see. The woman glanced at him, half smile on her face, and it was enough to make his heart beat faster, blood rushing to his face, his lashes fluttering. “Why don’t you talk to her?” the sister asked, and that was enough for filling the embarrassment quota for today, making him retreat home.

“Aren’t you the one looking for a companion?” the kid came up to an ashen haired man sitting in the corner. He wasn’t a fan of approaching strangers – this one looked weird, sick and creepy, flower tattoo on his neck and a laurel around his ear – but there was no one else in this place who had the same route as him. The silver greatsword shifted on his back uncomfortably – damn be the day he listened to these old men saying he must wield a sword just as big as him. “Where are you heading?” the man asked not even bothered to look up. “Same as you”, it was dangerous to tell the destination aloud, but luckily, there were not many people around to overhear him. It was really careless of him to tell the bartender this, though, one never knows if they’re honest or not, but there was no other way around this: this area was too difficult to traverse on his own, alone, with each turn hiding behind a witch or a berserk ready to skin people alive. “Are you sure you can wield that paddle on your back?” the man smirked at him, getting up on his feet, and the kid sighed in frustration – this is going to be an adventure.

It barely made it in time, barely awoke the outsider the master brought here with him. The vestige, following commands from beyond, layered magic upon magic on the kid, binding him to the image of his long lost friend; he listened to the every honeyed word the vessel said, too enthralled to notice the deceit.

The outsider was right in time to disrupt it – it felt forever grateful to the odd looking man; and now that the effigy was gone, the kid is finally free from harm safe for the mournful melancholy and tears or relief.

It won’t allow this to happen again.

The last memory slowly faded, echoing in the darkness still. The veil of remembrance gradually lifted, sense by sense returning to the unmoving bodies, waking them from their slumber. Too exhausted…

- Shit, – Mark hissed, covering his eyes with his arm. The memories left an unpleasant feeling in his guts along with annoying anxiety playing in the background of his head, – Shit, imagine hating someone but being a fucking coward to do something radical about it, – he tried to stand up, but his own weight anchored him to the stone. So tired.

Livaen shifted on the floor, rising from the cold stone: her body was just as sore, so she just sat there modestly, watching her cousin gasp for air, squirming in his desire to get up.

- Mark, – she called quietly, afraid to scare him. He hummed in response, – I’m so sorry. Your mother, the aunt, I…, – she couldn’t finish the sentence, as he interrupted her with a gesture of his arm.

- Don’t. She got what she deserved, – the kid exhaled loudly, the arm falling limp on the stone. That woman – he wouldn’t even call her a mother; someone else but. His mother, the real mother that loved him and cared for him, waited for him in his new home.

- Do you… Do you need to talk?

The elf cringed painfully.

- Fuck no, I’ve seen enough, – he pushed himself off of the stone, sitting on the floor, – Fuck. Fuck me, – Mark shook his head, hiding the face in the palms of his hands for a moment. It was all so messed up, so twisted; how little idea he had about anything at all, and everything that he knew about his past – it was all lies, a pain inflicted upon him and his loved ones by the creatures more powerful than any mortal. He sighed, removing the hands from his face, looking up into the stone, – Cath? – he called, and the Void responded with a light breeze, strands of his hair waving gently as if someone combed through, – Shit, – he snickered, shaking his head: she’s always been here at his side, and he didn’t even know it, – imagine if I haven’t met you, – the elf addressed the ashen haired man this time that was already standing on his feet.

The soft breeze inside the Heart changed a little, sounds travelling differently.

- You’d be dead, – someone from behind announced, – She would have murdered you first – you would become a threat to her, – the Prince walked inside as if on cue – he must have listened in on everything, but then again – the Void was once a part of his realm, – Then she would have destroyed me. After – she would have claimed both your realm and mine, and for the final – she would have hunted down everyone who has or had any connection to me, good or bad. But, – he offered his hand to the elf. Mark looked at it with mistrust, but soon grabbed it, and the Prince pulled him on his feet, – she was too late, – he looked at Aspen, – Have you thought about that favor I owe you by the way?

Mark walked up to the basin, throwing one last glance into it. The whirlwind under the water calmed down, and smoke just leisurely floated inside.

- What happens now?

- You tell me, – the Prince replied, unmoving, – You could end this right here and now, or you could continue living on with this burden, being hunted by Meridia.

The girl moved from her spot.

- Mark, – she grabbed his arm firmly, reaching around him to look him into the eyes, – Please, don’t rush it. Let us think this through, – she lowered her voice, whispering, almost hissing at him, – He is the Schemer Prince, he may be lying about all of this. Even the memories – they might be untrue!

The kid stopped her with a gesture of his hand. He was so tired of everything. Mark moved past the Prince and through the exit, paying no attention to the three behind him. The air outside was so crisp and clean, like if a thunderstorm washed all over the place – the smell of electricity so prominent and liberating. He inhaled lungs full of air till they started aching, alleviating his mind and soul of the worries. Livaen was right, indeed, it was necessary to think this all through before deciding anything, yet he couldn’t wait anymore.

Was he the one to blame here? If it wasn’t for him, Catherine would be alive, Esmir’s daughter too, and Livaen wouldn’t’ve endured the horrible pain; Narandil would have his face intact – the scar serving him a reminder of the betrayal, and Visenya would have never known the grip of death. Was it his fault of endangering all of these people? Maybe he just shouldn’t’ve been born at all, maybe he was just a someone’s mistake. Right… A mistake. He was a mistake – the mistake of his mother and his grandmother; the payment for their ambitions; a scapegoat. If only they could have quenched their hunger.

The kid stopped at the crossroads, the entire walk absorbed in his thoughts, following the paths the Void laid down before him. He looked around: they followed him closely, not speaking a word, giving him space to breathe. It was now or never; with a heavy sigh he turned around, facing the Prince.

- I’ve decided, – he told him, the words coming off easier than he anticipated, – You have my favor.

The man only nodded in acknowledgement, and nothing else happened. So anticlimactic; he wouldn’t lie to himself, he expected a storm, a battle, an army of Meridia’s Aurorians – anything at all, but not this – just a nod of the head. But come whatever may, it just must end.

- Show yourself, – the Prince commanded to someone, voice like a thunder roaring through the air. The vestige appeared – the Catherine, her hair of pure gold this time, – Using the vessel still, I see? – the man smirked, drawing a low hostile groan from the woman.

- Just do what you have to do, Stone-Fire, – she replied, the look on the face solemn. She possessed the body herself, unwilling to come in person unlike numerous times she did in the memories, afraid of what’s about to happen. Was she trying to buy herself some time? Or was she trying to save herself using the image of the long lost girl?

- I was about to, – he told her, bowing slightly before her as a courtesy, – But I have something to ask first. Mark? – the Prince addressed the kid – he looked fatigued, eyes weary and sleepy, – What are you going to do about Esmir now that you know everything? She almost sacrificed her own child for her ambitions; murdered her daughter; wanted, most likely still wants to use you in her own devices; indirectly caused Catherine’s untimely demise; melted Narandil’s face; tortured your friends and almost killed Visenya… She was and is one of those behind Thalmor; she still bears the idea of bringing down the masters. What are you going to do about her?

Mark frowned, looking at the Daedra. A strange timing to this question, yet so weirdly right, he thought, as he forgot about the grandmother completely. It had nothing to do with the situation at hand, though still he decided upon indulging the man in this matter.

- Well, – he started, calculating every possible outcome for her and for them, – Esmir has to go, – Mark said, voice stern and confident. Livaen looked at him, a wordless question in her eyes, yet said nothing, – Livaen will replace her as the head of the house, – the decision earned an interested look from the Prince, but he didn’t interrupt the elf: he expected him to say he will seize the power for himself, like a child of his should, yet he didn’t. The kid took a deep breath, thinking: there was no denying of the crimes the woman has committed, and she would have to pay eventually for everything. But at the same time…, – She is also very valuable to dispose of, if that’s what you were waiting from me to comment upon, – Mark glanced at the Daedra. The man nodded in response, – She might be vile and cruel, but she’s one of the most brilliant people that ever lived. It would be a shame to lose her. So – she will stay by Livaen’s side as an advisor, nothing else, – a twisted glee flashed on the Prince’s face, and he applauded. It wasn’t what the man expected: he expected the son to give the woman to him to torture her endlessly for every broken deal they had; but this decision was… very prudent, to say the least, practical, and it made him feel really proud of the child. He would make sure himself the woman stays on track and serves the children properly.

- Now tell me, – the Prince asked in a curious tone, too excited with the previous answer. He moved closer to the kid, throwing an arm around his shoulders, – I’ll let you decide her fate, – the man gestured at the vessel, implying the person behind it. A fury crossed the vessel’s face, but died out quickly, – What should I do with her?

- Let her live, – the elf answered confidently, the answer final and definite. The woman looked at him, bewildered, not saying a word; the father just smiled wickedly – oh, the practicality of this kid: the woman was too… dear for him to get rid of, his very existence would become boring without his nemesis, and now that she’s defeated – she’ll try to avenge this embarrassment sometime later in future. It’s a fun game, a tug of war of sorts, and the man definitely enjoys it despite the lesser failures along the way. She must love it too… The Prince used the confusion of the woman and made a leap forward all of a sudden, getting close to the vessel in one big step and cutting its throat. The body went limp in an instant, no blood pouring from the wound; the man caught the finally dead Catherine in his arms, gently laying her down onto the stone. His finger stroked her face softly, closing her eyes forever now. After – he rose up, turning around to see the son one more time.

- She wouldn’t do the same for you. I hope she appreciates it, – and with this the Prince disappeared into thin air.

It was anticlimactic.

Later that day they placed her body onto a boat – the bed of roses – its material very similar to that of a wood. Mark set the float on fire, her body catching flames quickly – the blaze so hot and bright; the Void’s tide taking her away into the mists beyond. The breeze carried her ashes away as she burned, turning them into the finest crystals. It was sad, but he was also happy she finally has her peace – she finally reconnected with herself, he felt it in the air; she was gleeful about it, she’s been waiting for so long to become whole again. It was snowing after for a few days, snowing with sparkling in the invisible sun crystals.

...

- Hurry! – the elf girl commanded to a servant, – Please, don’t break it! – she looked all over the crates they’re going to ship back to Alinor – all filled to the brim with Skyrim’s treasures.

It was the end; they were boarding the ship to set sail back home – to Summerset. Esmir and her loyal bodyguard were already aboard, yet Livaen still lingered ashore for someone to finally show up and say farewells. She wanted him to leave with her, to join her and return home; she was dreading the time she’ll have to step in in her full rights as the head of the house with little friends by her side, she wanted him to share this power and ease the burden; he was adamant about staying up here in the North though.

- Livaen, – someone gently touched her elbow, soft and low female voice getting her attention, – Relax, don’t want you start spitting diamonds here, – Meltem smirked at her, making a remark about the tension in the girl’s whole body, pointing at two riders in the distance. Here they are, the girl smiled shifting her gaze onto the woman – she followed their path with her eyes before meeting Livaen’s. She’s bound to leave Skyrim with her, in so many years finally changing the place; it was heartbreaking to see her go, but hopefully it’s for the best. Everything happened so quickly; it happened just as quickly as they got married: just like Livaen anticipated their marriage didn’t last long, and they had to put a stop to it. Visenya – the girl’s head is full of wind, careless and childish still; their relationship was like a game to her, something unimportant and something she could disregard with ease. At least she doesn’t have an ache in her heart – she married the jarl’s brother the next day after the divorce. Maybe it was for the better… Meltem wanted to leave in the end, to leave Skyrim behind, wanted to go with her sister to Chorrol as they planned, but she couldn’t see herself as a housewife or anything like that. She is a warrior, and she will die with swords in her hands doing something that is worth dying for. She would’ve left, but Mark stopped her, suggesting she stays by his cousin’s side, being her shield and most importantly a friend for her.

- Hey! – the voice of her cousin returned her back to senses: he dismounted his horse, his companion following him closely behind, as always. They came closer, the elf locking the girl into an embrace – it was finally all over for him and for her, and she can safely return home as the new lady of the house, – You’re all ready? – he asked, firmly holding her by her shoulders.

- Yes, – she nodded, smiling, watching as he switched over to Meltem, their embrace so warm and everlasting; it was hard for both to let go. The ashen haired man followed the elf as he pulled away from the woman facing Livaen yet again. She sighed, a bit sad, – Are you sure you don’t want to leave with us? – the same old question, but it didn’t hurt asking.

- No, – Mark laughed lightly, shaking his head. He’s so different now from what he was a month ago – finally bright and full of life, – but I’ll visit you someday, – he leaned forward, kissing Livaen’s forehead, – I’m going to miss you both, so expect me, – the kid told both women, as an annoyed captain urged them to leave the docks and finally go aboard the ship. They hugged one more time saying their farewells and left the two behind ashore. Mark waved his hand, watching them set sail for the South – it was bittersweet to say goodbye, but this was life, and it’s unfair; he still has Aspen by his side, his parents in Whiterun too, and they’re going to visit the Isles sooner or later. With this thought, he smiled brighter than ever after them, his hand blindly finding the other man’s hand and squeezing in tightly.

[irrrationalfangirl]

The reader is Mena’s wife but it’s a secret. They were supposed to tell the press but you got pregnant and the two of you decided that stress would not be good for the baby. Will knows because he is the would-be godfather of the child. One day, Mena is in a press conference in your hometown when your mom texts him and Will that you’re in labor. Mena and Will leaves leaving the press and cast confused.Next day the announcement of your baby girl and you is made and the world loves it.Thanks, love!

(not my gif)

You bounced your leg up and down as you sat on the toliet seat in your bathroom. You held a pregnancy stick in your hand. Positive. The test was positive. You had just assumed you were sick for the past couple days, but the stick in your hand said otherwise. You couldn’t believe it. You had only been married to the love of your life, Mena, for a year and a half. Maybe you two had fooled around too much. You paced back and forth in the bathroom. How were you going to tell Mena? Sure, you wanted kids, but not this early in your marriage. You placed your hand on your stomach and leaned against the toilet as your mind wandered. This continued on until you heard the door to your house open and close. He was home.

“Y/n? I’m home!,” your husband said as he walked upstairs. You exited the bathroom and waited for him. Once he saw you, his face lit up. “Hey. Guess what? I’m getting to work on ADR for Aladdin tomorrow with Will!,” he exclaimed. “I’m so excited. I’ve never done this ADR thing before!,”he said with a huge smile on his face. You smiled,but it was obvious you weren’t paying much attention. His smile dropped and he noticed you were outside the bathroom. “Oh, I’m sorry. Are you feeling better? I hope you haven’t stayed in the bathroom all day,” he said as he went to embrace you. “I’m fine...I think, but I’m sure I don’t have the flu or anything,” you replied. “That’s great. Maybe it’s just a stomach bug. It’ll pass,” he said, smiling at you. You leaned your head down and stared at the floor. “It’s going to last longer than that,” you said, cracking a smile. “Don’t be ridiculous. It’ll go away,” he said. “I mean. It’s not like you’re pregnant,” he said, laughing. Your eyes shot open and he noticed it. “Honey...you’re not pregnant, right?,” he asked. You looked up at him and nodded. He opened to bathroom door to find the positive pregnancy stick lying on the sink. “I’m going to be a dad?,” he whispered to himself. He held it in his hands as he looked back at you. “You’re pregnant!,” he exclaimed, running at you and picking you up, spinning you around in the air. “Hey. Be careful. Current fetus forming in here,” you told him, as you started to laugh. He sat you back on the ground. “Sorry, I’m just so excited!,” he told you. “Me too...actually. I was scared you weren’t going to like having kids this early, especially since that movie keeps you so busy,” you admitted. “Hey, it may have happened earlier than we expected, but we were always going to have kids someday. In our case, that someday just happens to be today,” he said, taking your hand in his and planting a kiss on your lips. You smiled. He was right. Maybe it was a good thing this happened already.

That night, as you both layed in bed, Mena pulled up your shirt and started tracing around your bare stomach. “When do you think this happened?,” he asked you. “Well, it couldn’t be from the wedding night. That was too long ago,” you replied. He immediately looked up at you. “The kitchen,” he said. You were confused for a second, but then you understood what he meant. Mena was making dinner in the kitchen a few weeks ago when you decided to “distract” him which led to you two fooling around in the kitchen. “Oh my goodness. I can’t believe that is where our first child was potentially created,” you said, starting to laugh. “Well I’m not the one who started us fooling around,” he said, sticking his tongue out at you. “Oh, shut up,” you replied. He placed a kiss on your stomach and then your cheek. He wrapped an arm around you, pulling you close and you both fell asleep like that.

The next day, Mena was in the studio working on recording ADR with his costar and good friend, Will Smith. As the hours went on, Will noticed a difference in Mena’s demeanor.He was more quiet, but didn’t seem sad. When the executives were reviewing the recordings in the booth, they told them to just take a small break. Will took this opportunity to lean over to Mena and talk to him. “Hey,man. You good?,” he asked. “Oh, yeah. My wife’s having a baby so I’m still dumbfounded about it you know,” Mena replied. “You and y/n are having a kid?! And you’re just now telling me this,” he said, pushing his shoulder. “Sorry, we are keeping it a secret for press reasons to not stress y/n and the baby out. So, I’m trying not to bring it up,” Mena replied. “Oh. That’s amazing though, man. Congratulations,” Will told him. “Thanks,man,” Mena replied. A few seconds passed before Will spoke up again. “Can I ask you a serious question?,” he asked Mena. “Sure,” Mena replied.

“You did what now?!,” you yelled at Mena as he stood in the bedroom doorway. He dropped his head and clasped his hands together. “I told Will he could be the godfather...” “Of our child!,” you finished for him. He walked over to the bed and sat next to you. “Yes, but what could it hurt?,” he asked. You scoffed. “Just promise me you won’t go out assigning any more parental figures to our baby without letting me know beforehand,” you told him. He placed his hand on yours and pressed a kiss on your forehead. “I promise,” he replied. You rolled your eyes at him. “I can’t believe Will Smith is the godfather of my child,” you said, almost laughing. Mena laughed before kissing your tummy and getting up to get ready for bed.

About 8 1/2 months later:

Aladdin had finished post-production and press was starting. During one week of press, Mena received news the cast would be getting interviewed about 10 minutes from where you and him lived. Gosh, he hadn’t seen you in weeks because he had stayed busy promoting the film, he missed you and the baby so much. It was only in the past month that he had finally felt the baby kick when he caressed your stomach, but of course you had felt the baby kick much earlier. Your belly was the size of a large watermelon and Mena wondered if it hadn’t gotten any bigger. As soon as he saw the ultrasound of his future child, he wouldn’t stop talking to the baby through your stomach. You both decided to let the gender be a surprise. The night before the press conference near your house, he got home late, but still made time to talk to you and the baby. “Hey, sweetie,” he said, placing a kiss on your head as you woke up from your sleepy state. “Has the baby been keeping you up?,” he asked. “He/she’s been extra annoying this week. I only got to sleep around an hour ago,” you replied. He laid in bed next to you. “I’m sorry, honey. Just a little bit longer,” he said, placing a hand on your stomach. He moved to where your stomach was and pulled up your shirt. “You have to stop annoying mommy now. Be patient baby Massoud,” he said to your stomach. You laughed at him and pulled at his shirt. “Let’s go to sleep. You need to be well rested for tomorrow,” you told him. “Alright,” he said, moving under the covers.

The next morning, Mena kissed you goodbye as he left for the conference. “I’ll be back later today. I love you,” he said. “I love you too. Good luck,” you told him. As the front door closed behind him, you leaned over and winced in pain. The baby was causing you so much pain that you nearly fell over. You called your mom and asked for her to come over for comfort. You were so ready to have this baby. A few minutes passed before your mom entered the house. She walked through the door to find you sitting on the kitchen floor in a puddle of water. She immediately picked you up and rushed you to her car.

“I have a question for Mena. What was it like filming the scenes with Abu?,” an interviewer asked. Mena felt a vibration in his back pocket,but ignored it. “It was interesting. They had this animatronic they would place on my shoulder for his scenes and honestly it’s amazing how the people in production brought him to life. He looks like a real monkey!,” he exclaimed, making the audience laugh. Mena heard the vibration again, but this time it came from Will’s phone. Mena noticed Will read the notification on his phone and immediately pop up from his seat. “Ah!,” Will exclaimed. He tapped Mena on the back and told him to get up. “What is it?,” Mena asked. “Y/n’s water broke. We have to go now,” Will whispered to him. Mena felt like he was going to pass out. The baby was coming already? He stood there silent for a few seconds. “Is everything alright?,” Naomi whispered to the two. “It’s y/n,” Will replied. Naomi shook Mena’s arm, bringing him back to reality and he stared at the crowd. “I’m sorry, everyone. Family emergency,” he told them. They rushed out of the room with Will practically pulling a dazed Mena through the doors.

“Ok,man. We’re here,” Will said, pulling up to the hospital. Mena and Will practically ran into the hospital. “My wife’s in labor! Uh..y/n Massoud!!,” Mena told the person at the desk. “She’s level 2 in room 107,” the person replied. “Ok. Thank you,” Mena replied. He looked at Will and smiled. “Come on, man. I’m having a kid!,” Mena exclaimed, running towards the elevator. As they reached the second level, Mena heard your screams. He raced to your room. “Honey, I’m here,” he said, coming to your bedside. “You’re the father?,” a nurse asked, stopping him. “Yes!,” he replied. “Here. Put on these scrubs,” the nurse told him. They had told Will to stay outside since he wasn’t a relative. When Mena finished getting dressed, he grasped your hand in his and squeezed it. “It’s going to be ok,” Mena said, calmly. “Mena!!,” you said, in between screams. “Why did you do this to me?! You’re awful. Why?! Why?!!!!,” you screamed. “I know. I’m sorry, but it’ll be over soon,” he said to you. The nurses kept telling you to push and you did. You pushed and pushed so hard that if you had been any stronger you probably would’ve broken Mena’s right hand. “You’re doing great,” Mena reassured you. You couldn’t stand the sound of his voice right now. “The baby’s crowning. Push harder, y/n,” the doctor told you. You screamed even louder and Mena leaned over you to see the baby. He saw a head, a neck, and the shoulders. “The baby’s almost here. Just push!,” Mena told you. You screamed bloody murder and felt like you had no more energy. That was when the doctor had finally told you that the baby was here. “It’s a girl!,” the doctor told you. The small baby was placed on your chest and you smiled in relief. You looked at Mena and he looked at you. “She’s finally here,” you told him. He smiled and leaned down to the baby. “We’ve been waiting for you forever,” he said in a baby voice. You laughed and started caressing the baby’s head. “Will’s here. I’m going to tell him the news,” Mena said. As Mena entered the waiting room, your mom and Will stood up from their chairs. “It’s a girl!,” he exclaimed. Will embraced Mena in a hug. “Congratulations, man!,” Will told him. He shook Mena’s shoulders. “You’re a dad!,” he continued. They all walked back in the room to find you smiling at every movement the baby made. “Look at my godchild!,” Will yelled, making you roll your eyes. “She has your smile, babe,” you told your husband. Mena looked glanced down at the baby. “And your pretty eyes,” he replied. “She’s beautiful, you guys,” Will said, calmly. Later that night, after the nurses examined the baby girl, they gave her back to Mena as you slept. He craddled her in his arms and hummed to her. “You’re daddy’s little girl. Yes, you are,” he said leaning down to nuzzle her nose with his. “I’m so happy you’re here,” he told the sleeping child.

Weeks later, as you three rested at home, the press learned of the baby news. Mena noticed an article in almost every magazine. It was insane.

“ALADDIN’S MENA MASSOUD HAS BABY GIRL WITH SECRET WIFE!!”

“MENA MASSOUD OF ALADDIN HAS HIS OWN JASMINE?!!”

“ALADDIN ACTOR HAS A SURPRISE BABY!! PICTURES INSIDE ARTICLE!!”

[japanstopbrawler1992]

READ ME

ZERO TOLERANCE FOR RACIST CHASERS/GAY-FOR-STRAIGHT-CONSUMPTION/OOC TRANSPHOBIA/ANY RACISM WHATSOEVER UNLESS SHOWN AS BAD BY NARRATIVE AND CONFINED TO AGREED UPON PLOTTING

I set Savers in its airing year, so Masaru was born in '92. Can take place anytime after episode 49. However, there just won't be any explicit sexual content regardless of when the thread takes place. I also don't auto-ship: I'm here to walk a character through things, so ships will all be more slow-burn. Also, while Masaru's just pan, I'm actually asexual, so don't even expect me to present beyond a textbook understanding of sexual attraction

Masaru's kind of a jerk. My other two muses are generally at least kind unless the other person isn't, but Masaru's kind of abrasive and gleefully violent. If we're playing, I'll probably warn you beforehand, but Masaru may snap at your muse if your muse isn't a little kid. If your muse didn't deserve it, he'll probably apologise at some point, but yeah, this muse is even less like me than 02's Ken (Bleach's Ichigo is my muse most like me)

I'm on mobile. Period. I can't cut threads. I usually just tag "long post." Can't cut threads.

Seen JP ver only. Haven't seen any others, and I have no reason to bother--the original's in my native. Why would I bother with "orange juice bomb"?

Masaru is mixed race here. In a planned project that's a sister project to my Bleach project I already got a bit of stuff up for, Masaru's mum is Japanese and Russian, and related to Junpei of Frontier, and Masaru's dad was Japanese and Afghani. Masaru actually does speak Japanese, Russian, and Persian.

Masaru's also trans here. He never got puberty blockers, but he finally got testosterone at 13. So his voice changed at a pretty normal age. But he does need a binder and all that. (He loved that black tank top he wears after the memory wipe because it was just the right cut to cover the binder while showing off his arm muscles!) He does someday want kids, and Japanese law, like most US states or most places, requires sterilisation to recognise gender change. His papers also say a different first name. Of course, this probably came up with Satuma. Satuma and payroll at DATS probably know all about it. But being trans isn't *as* hard in Japan as the Anglophonic world. Especially thanks to Kamikawa Aya advocating on outlets like NHK radio since '95, which Masaru would be three then.

I toss the epilogue. Don't like the losing their digimon, and Masaru ditching his family he feels so responsible for and his dad he just got back?

Actually, in my project, ep 48 never happens. Suguru is dead, DATS remains, and Sayuri gets BanchouLeomon as her digimon partner.

Oh, another rule--poor spelling and grammar is acceptable if you are not a native speaker. It infuriates me to no end that I'm supposed to be an idiot for being fluent in three just because English is not my first, but native speakers get to run around spelling "bins" "ben's" and congratulating themselves for "kohnichuwa" but I get beaten/decried for actually knowing the language... And also, ,ZERO TOLERANCE for "garnish my human default English with exotic Japanese uwu" See "zero tolerance for chasers and racism"

Totally available to play in Japanese or Spanish, but you must be fluent.

Masaru lives in Tobechou, Yokohama. I went to the Chinatown in Yokohama once with my dad, but I lived in Koube. And we didn't leave Hanshin region all that much. My knowledge of much outside there being a Chinatown in the '80s (obviously still there, as it was the setting for the Savers movie) and big landmarks like Minatomirai is minimal. I also haven't been back to Japan period since '94. My relatives there are all deceased since the '90s, and flights alone are 1,000$, which, until recently, was definitely over a month of rent. Two for a studio, one plus a couple hundred for a 1 or 2LDK, depending. Might even have had 1.5 baths. By the time Savers was airing in Japan, I was able to keep up with Japanese news via now-gone Japanese-language broadcasts in California, as well as the Web, which is also how I saw Savers. But my knowledge of Japanese things may run the risk of being almost 30 years out of date. Or it might be completely current because I still read Asahi News, the most left-leaning paper I can find. Unsure if related to Hanshin region channel 6, but channel 6 was the best when I was there.

The Daimon family didn't move when Masaru came out, but he came out pretty young. It's just difficult to get trans care for minors. That being said, most peers don't know he's trans. They do know he's mixed, though. That being said, it's not like it's *only* him fighting racist bullies. It's only partially that. Like I said, I fully acknowledge he's pretty abrasive. So he's not completely blameless for all the fights. He could easily someday be the kind of parent who gets arrested for punching a rival dad. Violence is not a last resort for him. It's the best resort.

I do multi-para and don't use icons. But I'm not asking for an exact word count match. All I ask is give me stuff to go off of in replies and for Heaven's sake, do *not* format like House of Leaves when you play with me. Format button abuse looks like a visual panic attack, and is just too chaotic for me to read.

I may go spotty on replies with you. I'll still chat with you via the messenger thingy, and I don't play with people I've never spoken to, even if I've started the interaction, because I need to filter for my sanity, so I need to know the people I play with aren't gonna pull racism or something on me, but when my replies slow, it's because I work on-call at a shelter for seriously physically ill people, I'm also disabled myself, and I don't have the ability to put enough energy for the high-quality replies I strive to give in at the moment. I'm stalling because I want to give you my best. If I want to drop a thread, which is admittedly rare, I'll let you know. I won't leave you guessing.

Some h/cs just for fun

Masaru loves metal. The metal I know is 70s prog and 80s glam metal and stuff. I don't really like much music past about '94, and exactly two albums after 2000 (neither are metal)

Masaru has always had the same kind of attention span I have now even though I completely didn't when I was younger. He's running commentary if you watch an movie with him, his biggest problem with school is the whole sitting and passively listening to a lecture part, he thinks he doesn't like reading because others always talk about sitting there and reading for hours on end (if he's older, he may have realised it's OK to read for 20-minute bursts, something I eventually realised, too). He only really learns by doing. That being said, depending on age, he may not have had the chance to *realise* that yet.

He wouldn't become a sumo wrestler, but he totally watches it. Honestly, any fighting sport, and he's there.

He's very Japanese as far as religion. Sort of takes part and believes in a lot of them at the same time, but none are a overly influential part of his life. This is a thing.

Crossovers with any season preceding Savers are pretty easy with this blog considering my project. The project will eventually merge with the Bleach project, toi, so I also have a thing for that. Overall, I welcome crossovers with most animated media. Live action, I'll consider if you don't use icons with me (it ends up looking like Who Framed Roger Rabbit in my head) I don't do any real person stuff beyond, say, having Masaru listen to real bands or know of other public figures.

There is also a flexibility in playing Masaru in other countries. He could visit family in Russia or Afghanistan, he can be sent over from DATS to help with digimon appearances in countries allied with Japan (coughcontroloverjapanliketheuscough) or I totally ship him with Touma, so he could be in whatever that country is (obviously a Germanic nation in Western Europe)

He's definitely leftist, but his tactics aren't really common among the left. Typically, it's the fascists that will throw the first punch. Except Masaru will, as well. Unfortunately, this means he can take *away* from, say, antifa efforts to counter demo anti-Korean rioters.

He looks down on most weapon use, but probably none more so than guns and other weapons that remove the user from the target. To him, anyone who hides safely behind a weapon and makes the fight so one-sided is a coward. To this extent, he thinks war should be done away with and the leaders of the countries should duel instead of America just wiping out thousands of Japanese (WWII) or Afghani (during his lifetime) civilians (well, in that war, it was definitely not the Afghani government's fault, as that was a radical rebel sect powered initially by Regean, but it was most certainly civilian deaths en masse)

Masaru cannot meditate at all. He's also very reactive. To that extent, he's never really done well with martial arts. There's a lot less focus on self-discipline in boxing and wrestling than in Aikido or karate or what have you. He'd probably love the intensity of Krav Maga or CQC. I just don't know if Krav Maga has a self-discipline component. CQC almost certainly doesn't--it's American.

More when I think of it.

[karri570]

You made my life worth living again

I keep getting a strong feeling that we have met before, and it was so easy for me to let you be a part of my life and I'm glad that i am in yours.

Even though the distance between us is huge, I don't regret being in a relationship with you. The distance is only temporary until we are older.

I apologise for the amount of times that I have fallen asleep mid way in a conversation. I fall asleep instantly sometimes, and I really wish I could talk to you for much longer.

I wont ever give up on our relationship because you are worth it. Even when we have our first fight together, I would still want to be with you regardless.

No guy will ever be

It sounds cheesy but I've heard many love stories, and our love story is my favourite. It's everything that I could have imagined of what a relationship should be like. I love how we tease each other, including our height difference, and when we can have our romantic moments of expressing our love for one another. I also love our erotic times too, you have made me feel horny, which no other guy has done before. I love that I don't need to question our relationship and that I don't need to have doubts about us. You are such a perfect boyfriend. Back when I was about 4 or 5 years old and still believed in love, I decided that whoever is my first love is the person that I will marry. I want to marry you someday in the future. I want to be with you for the rest of my life and have children together.

Even though we are over 5000 miles apart, I will wait till the day we can have a home together and no longer have to be away from each other for so long.

It's as if our love was destiny. We are half way across the world from each other and yet despite everything, we fell in love with each other. Normally, I would never have agreed to talk to someone over the phone without knowing them very well beforehand. Honestly, I was very close to not commenting anything under your post because I was nervous about it. There were other people who had commented too that agreed to help. I thought maybe they could help you but in the end, I realised that you might have needed some help to practice speaking English and that I would help you the best that I can, since my first language is English. I still remember hearing your voice for the first time, honestly it sounded so soothing and nice to listen to. However, it made me nervous and it was the first time in so long where I've been nervous about talking to a guy. I was talking way too much and way too fast, I felt really bad about it and genuinely thought you might have seen me as a weirdo. Luckily for me, you still stuck around and when I decided to comment on your post, it changed my life.

I find pieces of you in all the love songs that I listen to

I never thought that i was capable of loving someone so much. I fall deeper in love with you all the time.

My missing puzzle piece. Before you was in my life, I was in a repetitive routine where I wasn't enjoying my life. A lot of people around me seemed like they were living life to the fullest apart from me until I met you in October. You are the best surprise of my life. I kept thinking that you would only talk to me for a few weeks and then stop, which is why I didn't allow myself to accept my feelings.

I promised myself that i would always tell you everyday that i love you

I had my heart broken multiple times

I found a guy who made me believe in love again. In my once dark and grey world changed to vivid bright colours. No other guy has made me believe in love. It may sound strange, but I always thought of love as a rose. The rose looks pretty and nice from afar but once you get close to it, you would get hurt from the thorns. Love isn't a fairytale, sometimes there aren't any happily ever afters. However, the right kind of love is for eternity and will make

Love is beautiful.

My sweet angel

All i want is to be yours forever

It ignited a spark inside me that will last for all of eternity

[leo-lucid]

Chapter 12: The Werewolf

My next date that was listed on the schedule was with Beowulf. I wondered what the date was going to consist of since I didn’t really know his personality well except what was on the surface. With Cassi and Danton, I could at least guess what was going to happen. Cassi did outright admit his date plans. The reading date with Danton was agreed on beforehand as well. However, I haven’t spoken to Beo since the levitation accident. 

Without much knowledge as to what we would be doing, I dressed in something nice yet comfortable. A lilac sweater dress with black leggings should be nice enough for any kind of date, right?

I eventually heard a knock on the door and I took a deep breath. An equally nice yet kind of casually dressed Beo beamed at me once I opened the door, his tail wagging with joy. He wore jeans and a white button down, a green baseball style jacket over his shoulder. His usually shaggy hair was fixed to be nice and neat as well.

He gave an exaggerated bow and held out his hand for me to take. “Hello, Anise! Are you ready for our first date?”

I gave a small smile back and hesitantly took his hand. “As ready as I’ll ever be. Am I dressed appropriately for our date?”

He looked back up at me with those dark green eyes of his and paid me a compliment. “Yeah, and you look lovely too. I planned to just have a simple stroll with you to the park in town. It’s a bit of a ways, but I don’t mind carrying you if I have to. So, what do you think?”

“I think that sounds nice. It is a bit chilly outside though. Let me grab my jacket and then-”

Before I could finish my sentence, Beo took off the jacket that hung on his shoulder and put it around my own shoulders. I noticed a faint pink creep along his cheeks as he did this, the smile he had just making the blush more noticable. “Here. You can have my jacket for the day. I’m usually pretty warm, so I won’t need it.”

I felt my own cheeks grow a little warm and I pulled the jacket closer around me. A short laugh escaped from my lips as I replied. “Don’t you think this gesture is a little early into the date?”

“Is it? I’ve never been on a date before, but I’ve seen romance movies. The guy is always supposed to give his girl his jacket if she gets cold. Does it matter when exactly that happens?”

I blushed even harder as he said “his girl,” implying that I was already his. It was true that I was supposed to be his girl for however long the date would last, but it made me feel weird thinking about it. It was the fuzzy kind of weird feeling. “I-I suppose it doesn’t. Sh-Shall we get going then?”

Beo began to wag his tail once again and he took my hand back in his. “Yeah! Let’s go!”

His hand was big and warm, filling me with more of that fuzzy feeling. I followed him out of my room and out of the house, nearing the dirt road that led to the town. While we walked hand in hand, I began to think about some questions to ask Beo to get to know him better. “So, Beo. how well did you know my grandparents?”

“Oh, Rosemary and Joel? I watched her practice magic and I watched movies with Joel. I would also escort Rosemary into the town whenever she needed something. I would say that I knew them pretty well, but not as well as I would’ve liked. They taught me some pretty good life lessons while I helped them with some basic chores around the house too. Always be kind, show respect, and take some time to appreciate the beauty around me. I tend to think and move pretty fast unless I’m seriously focused on something, so that last piece of advice is hard for me to follow sometimes.” He explained to me.

Once again, I was surprised at how much of an impact my grandparents seemed to have on everyone. It was nice to know that my grandmother had a companion to walk her into town other than my grandfather. Beo seemed to be a good boy. “I see. Thank you for telling me this.”

“What about you, Anise? Did they tell you anything valuable?” Beo inquired, his head tilting along with his wolf ears. It was actually really cute how they tilted. It made me want to pet his head.

“Well, I learned a lot about magic and my family tree from my grandmother. Meanwhile, my grandfather taught me more natural magic such as garden-keeping and cooking. I also remember watching some documentaries with him when I was younger. As for advice, I was taught the same things you did. Treat others the way you want to be treated, learn to stop and smell the roses every once in a while, and don’t be afraid to ask for help when you need it.” I answered thoughtfully. Beo looked at me with amazement, his eyes sparkling like I just told him an impressive secret.

“Wow, it sounds like you were close with your grandparents.” 

I then gave a sad smile. “Not as much as I would’ve liked to be. I wish I got to know them better, especially near the end of their years.”

“Speaking about the end of their years, I am curious about something. They both passed away at the same time. Was it just a coincidence that it happened? Or was there some sort of magic involved? I may not be that smart, but I did notice the timing of their passings. And I don’t think it’s common for couples to pass away at the same time together.” He suddenly asked.

I wasn’t too surprised by his question. Beo seemed like the type to ask any question he was curious about without hesitation. It was in his nature to be curious. That much I have gathered from our encounters. I also gathered that losing my grandparents was somewhat like losing his masters for him. Of course he would notice the timing. “When a powerful witch falls in love and marries someone, then their souls become connected. To a certain extent, they can feel what the other is feeling at all times. When one of them passes away, then the other will as well within the same time. It’s a natural spell and bond that occurs that we call ‘Eternal Soulmates’ which every powerful witch can experience. My mothers are under this spell.”

“That actually sounds kind of nice. Both of the souls don’t have to experience heartache in the end and they pass on together. Will you be under that spell as well once you find your soulmate?” Beo continued to ask.

I nodded. “Someday, yes. I come from a family of powerful witches and I would say that I hold quite a bit of power to be influenced by the natural spell as well. That is, if I ever find my soulmate.”

“You could always marry me if you don’t find one.” He beamed, obviously not thinking much about it at first. I grew a little wide-eyed and blushed at his offer.

“Y-Yeah. Thank you, Beo. . .” 

“No problem! I like you a lot, Anise. I want to be someone you can count on. If you’ll have me, of course.” He revealed quite casually. I took his offer to be friendly above romantic though. Beo seemed a little naive, naive enough to not know that his words may be taken in a romantic way. It did make my heart flutter a bit, but I was pretty sure that that wasn’t his goal.

I gave a shy smile as well as a nod. “Right. Thank you again, Beo. I really do appreciate the offer. I’ll be sure to come to you whenever I need your help.”

We continued to walk, getting to know each other. Beo was actually quite funny and easy to talk to. His curious nature was contagious, allowing me to feel free to ask any question I felt like. Eventually we entered the town and walked along the sidewalk leading to the park. There were a few people on the street, enjoying their day strolling around just like we were. Before being noticed by anyone, Beo reached behind him and pulled a hat off of one of his belt loops, something I didn’t notice until now. He then put it on his head to cover his wolf ears. 

Soon enough, we approached a small park surrounded by maple trees that displayed the most vivid fall colors I’ve ever seen. Reds, yellows, and oranges graced their large leaves, some falling silently to the ground. My breath was absolutely taken away. I always loved the fall foliage. Beo was just as taken by the scene from the way he stared up at the branches.

“Beautiful, isn’t it? Makes me wanna rake up all the leaves that fall and jump in the pile though.” He laughed, squeezing my hand in the process. I gave a little giggle of my own as we continued to walk under the branches.

“Hey, Beo? I have another question. How did you get cursed to stay in this town?” I finally asked. He held his chin with his free hand as he tried to remember. 

“I remember encountering a woman when I was pretty young. I would say that I was ten at the time. I wandered into this town. I didn’t have any parents or guardians at the time. I had to hide in alleys and steal food from the garbage. That’s just how it was. One day, I ended up at a diner and saw this woman order a large amount of food. I was hungry and I figured that one sandwich out of everything she ordered wouldn’t hurt. As long as I was faster than her, I wouldn’t be caught. That’s what I thought anyways.”

“I was caught immediately. I would have never guessed that the old lady could be so fast. She called me a thieving poor puppy and said I needed to be punished. I then felt like there was a chain around my waste. Not fastened to anything in particular, but it weighed me down to this town. The feeling is still present. I never tried to leave the town. I just know that I can’t. The woman also explained to me how I could never leave. That was when she turned me into a werewolf too.”

“After wandering around some more, I came across your grandmother who took me in. I’ve lived in that house with her and Joel for ten years now. They saved me from being stuck on the streets. I owed them my life.”

I listened carefully to his story, wondering once again if this was the same woman that cursed Danton and Cassius. It was also surprising how long he’s been with my grandparents. How did my grandparents manage to keep him a secret from me all this time? He was only a year older than me after all.

“I remember visiting the house a few times after I turned nine. Where were you hiding within the house? And did you know about me back then?” I continued to question.

He gave me another toothy grin along with a nod. “Of course! I was instructed to hide in the attic at the time with Danton, but I could hear you play and interact with your grandparents. It sounded like so much fun, but I wasn’t allowed to meet you yet. To this day, I don’t know why. But I knew you somewhat.”

I took this information in, unsure of what to do with it. Why did my grandparents hide all the monsters from me? That was something I would probably never get the answer to.

A hand suddenly landed on my head to begin to pet me. I looked up at Beowulf to see a comforting smile and soft eyes. “Hey, as long as we know each other now, right? While I would’ve been nice to see you back then, I’m just happy that I can see you now. Do you feel the same way?”

That familiar heat came over my cheeks as he continued to pet my head. A few onlookers smiled and whispered, no doubt gossiping about us being a cute couple or something like that. That was what I thought at least. “Y-Yes. I-I’m happy that I know you, Beo.”

Our date continued on, walking through the park, admiring the leaves, and talking. I learned that Beo’s favorite color was green, his favorite food was steak, he liked to go on morning runs, but also deeper things like how he’s been an orphan since he was four and he ran away from home when he was eight. Despite the darker past, Beo was bright and cheerful as ever, his tail wagging so hard to the point where he adjusted himself to sit on it.

Before we knew it, the sunset came. Sitting on a park bench, holding hands with him, it made me feel fuzzy again. The way the orange sunset contrasted against the orange leaves in the trees made for a brilliant end to the date. As I looked forward, I commented on the scene before us. “It’s really like something out of a painting. Beautiful.”

“Yeah. Beautiful. . .” Beo repeated. However, I felt his eyes trained on my instead of the sunset. I turned my head and met his gaze, the heat on my cheeks growing for what I hoped was the final time for the day.

“Anise, I think I finally get what Rosemary meant when she told me to stop and appreciate the beauty around me. I don’t think she was talking about nature specifically. I think she was talking about you.” He admitted, pink falling over his own face. 

Instinctively, I turned my eyes away from him to try to hide my blushing face behind my hair. Now, I wasn’t sure if he meant things in a friendly way or in a romantic way. A hand came under my chin and guided me to look back up at him. Slowly, he began to lean forward.

My heart felt like it would beat out of my chest. Was this really going to be my first kiss? I shut my eyes tight as he continued to lean forward. A soft pair of lips touched my forehead gently before pulling away. Now I felt a bit foolish, but also relieved that he didn’t take my first kiss. Not that I didn’t want to kiss him, but because it wouldn’t feel right with all the other dates I have to go on. I couldn’t even say that I loved him yet.

“I could sense your hesitance, Anise. It’s okay. I’ll only kiss you on the lips when you ask me to. I meant what I said earlier too. I really do like you. I wouldn’t mind it if we became soulmates one day. I would actually really like it if we had a strong bond like ‘Eternal Soulmates.’” He promised.

My heart skipped a beat when he confessed this. Just the way the sunlight fell across his features paired with the way he looked at me made him seem less like a cute puppy and more like a handsome man. I gave him a soft smile, squeezed his hand, and got up from the bench. “Thank you, Beo. For being patient and taking me on this wonderful date. Shall we go home now?”

“Yeah, let’s go back before it gets too dark.”

We walked back home, the stars and moon just emerging by the time we reached the front door. Before heading inside, Beo took off his hat and leaned down a bit. “You know, I could use a little pet if that’s okay with you?”

I couldn’t help but giggle at how cute he was at that moment. My hand extended out and gave him a pet between his ears, his hair still soft and fluffy despite being styled with hair product. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he sensed that I wanted to pet his hair earlier. Once I had my fill, I took off his jacket to hand back to him. He gingerly took it from me. His own hand then reached out to pet my own head.

“This was a wonderful date, Anise! Good job! I think I’m going to take one last stroll around the house before heading inside. See you later!” He finally said goodbye before putting on his jacket, leaving me to take his stroll. Of course a werewolf like him wanted to go for another walk.

I headed inside and sighed, happy to have gone on another successful date. From the kitchen I could smell a stew being made for dinner. After composing myself, I headed towards the dining room to enjoy a warm meal. ________________________________________________________________ Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11

[slytherinknowitall]

Potion Fumes and Cauldron Leaks

Chapter 9: Girl Talk

(Click here for chapter 8!)

(Click here to start from the beginning!)

Disclaimer: I don’t own the “Harry Potter” book series. The story of “Harry Potter” is the property of J. K. Rowling, it is not my intellectual property. There is no financial gain made from this nor will any be sought. This is for entertainment purposes only.

“Hermione, would you mind if Ron and I go now? Not to be rude, but we have Quidditch practice and … you know,” Harry said sheepishly.

Hermione couldn’t help but smile. For her birthday, Ginny and the boys had surprised her with a truly lovely evening. They had caught her after Transfiguration class and brought her to her private chambers which had been decorated using a seemingly completely random assortment of silly and rather tacky Muggle party supplies. As a result, the four of them were now sitting in her small bedroom amidst an explosion of colourful balloons, gigantic honeycomb balls made of flimsy tissue paper as well as lots and lots of cheap, glittering plastic streamers.  There was even a cheesy banner hanging on one of the walls that read HAPPY BIRTHDAY HERMIONE! XOXO in big, bold letters. How her friends had orchestrated all of this, she did not know. Even after some intense questioning on her part, they had refused to disclose how exactly they had managed to gain access to the password-protected Head Girl Tower without her knowledge; however, Hermione had the sneaking suspicion that a certain free elf may or may not have had something to do with it.

Naturally, the trio also hadn’t forgotten to shower her in gifts, all of which were now neatly stacked on her dresser, right next to all of the other presents she had already received earlier during the day: a beautiful bouquet of fragrant wildflowers from Neville, a rather peculiar-looking necklace and a handmade card from Luna, and a parcel filled with an abundance of merchandise from the newest Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes product range, courtesy of Fred and George. Needless to say, Hermione wasn’t planning on touching or especially using any of the joke items, but she still greatly appreciated the thought.

The newest additions to this small collection were a small, round bottle of fairly pricey perfume from Ginny, a fluffy scarf made of thick, mulberry-coloured wool with a matching beanie and half-mittens from Ron (though Hermione thought it likely that he hadn’t actually bought them but rather had them made by his warm-hearted mother) as well as an expensive quill set from her favourite stationary store in Diagon Alley and an interesting book about wizarding tattoos – which were permanently charmed upon application and therefore moved across sections of the body similar to the way magical photos or paintings did on canvas – from Harry. The Muggle-born had almost let out a little laugh when realising that it was the exact same volume that she herself had purchased from Tomes and Scrolls only a few months prior and that was now sitting on one of her shelves in this very room. Not that she would ever tell him – it was the gesture that counted, after all!

“No worries,” Hermione said. “Of course you can go! I know how important this last season is for the both of you.”

“And besides,” the youngest Weasley chimed in. “Hermione and I need some time to ourselves for a long overdue girl talk anyway! With all this school work and stressing out about Quidditch, we really haven’t had the chance to chat in like forever. I’m sure you won’t mind me missing out on one training session, right?” she asked, as if they hadn’t already hashed all of this out beforehand.

“Not at all,” Harry answered lovingly before moving in to give her a quick peck on the lips, with Ron demonstratively looking the other way. After having the weight of constant threats and fear for the lives of his loved ones lifted from his shoulders following the end of the war, it seemed as though the young wizard with the famous lightening scar was finally feeling comfortable enough to have a normal and out-in-the-open relationship with his redheaded sweetheart.

The two boys then hugged the birthday girl goodbye before making a swift exit. As soon as the door shut behind them, Ginny turned to Hermione with the biggest grin on her face; it almost made the freckles on her rosy cheeks look like they were dancing.

“We finally did it, Hermione!” she exclaimed excitedly.

Absentmindedly picking at the remaining crumbs of a cake that had once read Sweet Eighteen, the older girl frowned in confusion. “Who did what?” she asked.

“Harry and I! You know …” Her expression turned cheeky.

“Oh … OH!” The nature of the topic instantly made the witch feel awkward. “Um, well, that’s great for you, Gin!”

“Thank you! Oh Hermione, it was absolutely wonderful! We sneaked out late night on Saturday and met up in the Room of Requirements. I don’t know what Harry asked for exactly, but he definitely aced it! The whole room was decorated with rose petals and floating candles; and there was a huge canopy bed and even a fireplace! I can’t even begin to tell you how long I’d been waiting for this moment and it turned out just perfect! Harry was so gentle and …”

Hermione listened to her babble on with only half an ear. She was happy for her best friend, of course; but at the same time, she couldn’t help but feel a little sullen. With the majority of her teenage years having been spent cramming for exams while trying to keep Harry alive and out of trouble, she had never had the time for any romantic escapades. In her juvenile blindness, Gilderoy Lockhart had been her first heartthrob and she had even harboured a small crush on Sirius Black for a while. A quick snog with Viktor Krum underneath the Quidditch Pitch bleachers during the night of the Yule Ball, however, had been the most action she’d ever had. While most people – including Harry, Ginny and probably even Ron himself – still seemed to think that she and the Gryffindor Keeper would someday end up together, Hermione had ruled out that scenario a long time ago. She loved the boy dearly, but he would never be more than a good friend to her; they were just too different. She needed someone more mature – someone who put as much emphasise on intellect and academics as her. But did someone like that even exist in the first place?

“… And I’m just so happy right now! I really feel like our relationship has been taken to a whole new level.” Ginny paused for a second. “Anyway, enough of me. Now tell me what’s been going on in the life of Hogwarts’ smartest smartass.”

“Hey!” Hermione proclaimed exasperatedly, but she did have to giggle when she saw the redhead’s smug expression – her friends had all figured out a long time ago how to rile her up using foul language. “Well, not much really. I’ve just been studying, fulfilling my duties as Head Girl, doing my lessons with Professor Snape and –“

“Galloping gargoyles! I’d totally forgotten about you and that slimy bastard!” the younger girl shouted, ignoring her shocked and appalled look. “You know, I still can’t believe that you chose him as your tutor! I mean, I’m already having a hard time with how strict McGonagall is being with me, and she can’t be even half as bad as that minger. How are you holding up?”

“It’s really not that bad. I mean, yes, he does make me work hard, but I knew that going in. And quite frankly, a big workload is not the worst thing – I do want to improve my brewing skills, after all. Plus, I do think that all of you have a completely wrong impression of Professor Snape. It’s true that he’s quite stern and almost cold sometimes, but he was a true hero during the war; you know that as well as I do. And after allowing me to work in his private lab and giving me that amazing birthday gift, I really don’t believe that –“

“WHAT?” Ginny’s outcry was so intense that her hazel eyes bulged to an abnormal extent. “Private lab? Birthday gift?! What the hell? You haven’t even been working with that plonker for a month and you already seem to be talking about a completely different Snape than me!”

Hermione was more than a little irritated at being interrupted yet again, but she decided to let it slide. “Merlin’s beard, Ginny, calm down! Yes, we are both talking about the same Professor Snape; and yes, he still is the same snarky and spiteful wizard as always. More importantly, however, it wasn’t like he invited me into his laboratory voluntarily. The Hospital Wing was in desperate need of medicine, but the Potions classroom was occupied – so he didn’t really have a choice but to have us use his personal workspace to brew.”

“Hmm, I guess that makes sense. It’s still a bit weird, though.” There was a brief moment of silence. “Wait … Wouldn’t his private lab be inside his personal quarters?”

When she didn’t answer immediately, the ginger-haired adolescent started jumping up and down excitedly on the bed. “By Salazar’s balls, Hermione! I cannot believe you entered the Dungeon Bat’s private chambers and lived to tell the tale! How does it look down there? Is it true that he has every single mirror covered with a piece of cloth so that he doesn’t have to see his own ugliness, just like Charlie used to want me to believe? Oh, you have to tell me everything!”

She rolled her eyes. “Just stop it. It really wasn’t that big of a deal. I had to promise him not to tell a soul anyway. So don’t even try to squeeze any specifics out of me!”

“Oh, come on! You can’t lure me with such a scandalous story and then leave out all the juicy details! You will tell me, even if I have to force you!” And with those words, she dropped to her knees, grabbed one of the bed’s many pillows and started hitting her friend with it ruthlessly.

“OUCH! Hey, Ginny, stop it! AH!” Hermione tried dodging the cushioned weapon, but it was to no avail. “Okay, okay, stop bothering me already! You really are something, Ginevra Weasley – it’s quite mean of you to treat me in such a way on my birthday, you know!” she exclaimed before hastily fixing her now messed-up ponytail. “I will tell you, but not before you promise me not to tell anyone, not even Harry! Professor Snape would kill me if he found out that I dared to blab.”

The redhead was beaming following her victory. “Pinky promise!”

Hermione audibly sighed before proceeding. “Well, his rooms are definitely not what you would expect. I didn’t view them in their entirety, of course; but from what I could see, there wasn’t a speck of Slytherin colours anywhere. It didn’t feel like a dark and gloomy dungeon space either. His sitting room is filled with hundreds upon hundreds of books, some of which I have never even heard of, Gin! Oh, how I wish I could just go back and browse for a few hours! A few of the books seem to be centuries-old originals that were written by hand and –“ She stopped herself when she noticed the annoyed look on the other girl’s face. “Anyway, it’s actually quite cosy down there; he even has a fireplace. And yes, there was a mirror, without any cloth in sight. That’s about it, really. There were some doors leading to other rooms, but he understandably directed me into the laboratory rather quickly. I know that you’re not that into brewing, but let me tell you that even you would be amazed by that place. So much amazing machinery and such rare ingredients! Oh, I could go on forever!”

“Yeah, yeah, please spare me the details. I couldn’t care less about his silly collection –“ Ginny skilfully overlooked her friend’s glare. “The interesting part is that you’ve actually been inside his private chambers. That’s absolutely insane! Just wait until Harry and Ron find out, we’ll be able to play so many awesome pranks on that git! Next time you go –“

“No, Ginny! I told you, you cannot tell anybody!”

“But –“

“NO! No ifs, ands or buts – just stop! You promised me, remember? I don’t think I’ll ever have the chance to go back anyway. Besides, after receiving that terrific gift from him yesterday, I really ought to be thankful rather than play any mean tricks on him.”

To beat her to another overemotional outburst, Hermione quickly recounted Dumbledore’s surprise visit and explained the tradition of giving gifts to one’s apprentice to celebrate them becoming another year older.

“So McGonagall will give me a birthday gift, too?” Ginny asked eagerly. The Head Girl confirmed with a brief bob of her head. “Sweet! But what did the old bugger get you anyhow?”

Hermione furled her eyebrows in distaste before using the Summoning Charm on her new most prized possession and handing it to the girl.

“Huh? It just looks like some old book that’s about to fall apart,” Ginny said, clearly disappointed by the worn object laying on her lap.

“I know that it may not look like much, but it’s the exact opposite. This here,” Hermione lifted the book so that it was on eye-level. “– is one of the most infamous wizarding works ever created. It’s so rare that not even the Ministry possesses a copy of it. Gin, this book is priceless – it’s easily worth more than the net worth of all current and past Quidditch players in the entire world combined!”

Finally understanding the severity of the situation, Ginny gasped. “And Snape still gave it to you?! Why in Merlin’s name would he do something like that?”

“I honestly don’t know. Such a gift would already be considered excessive even if we were friends, so I don’t understand at all why he would give it to me despite his obvious hatred towards me.” She heaved a sigh. “I’ve been racking my brain all day trying to come up with a way to properly thank him, but I don’t think I would even know what to say. I mean, this is the most amazing thing that anyone’s ever done for me!”

(Click here for chapter 10!)

[onwardintolight]

What did you go to college for and what is your current job/career? Any tips for people starting college? How do you decide what to do with your life?

Hi anon! I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to answer your question!

My answer’s going to be complicated, because I have a chronic illness which means that I currently don’t have a career. That being said, I’ll try to answer as best I can!

I got my bachelor’s degree in linguistics. I absolutely LOVED it. I chose it because I loved it; I’ve always been fascinated by languages, and I found linguistics to be equally fascinating, wonderfully challenging, and a whole heck of a lot of fun. I started college declaring a major in letters (a broad degree mostly focused on languages, literature, and classical studies), but as soon as I took Intro to Linguistics fall of my sophomore year, I was hooked for good.

I was never quite sure what I wanted to do with linguistics, but there were many opportunities I could pursue, and I had an idea that maybe I’d eventually go to grad school to farther my options (perhaps studying linguistic anthropology, as I’ve always been really interested in the fight to save endangered languages). But that got put on hold indefinitely because….

Despite my love for linguistics, my main passion was dance, and for years I thought I was destined to be a dance teacher (I tried out teaching a class one year, and it was an incredible experience). You may be wondering, if this was the case, why didn’t I major in dance in college? That was a hard decision, but ultimately, through a lot of prayer and reflection, I felt like continuing to pursue dance with the dance studio I was at at the time was the right place for me to be. I was learning a lot, dancing with a performing troupe, and making some of the best memories, in an environment that was good for my soul.

On the side, during all of this, I was teaching music lessons on the hammered dulcimer, a folk instrument I’ve played since I was eleven, so that was always in the back of my mind as something I could continue to do.

To add another layer to all of this, I got married in college. My husband was studying to be an engineer. Consequently, I didn’t feel a whole lot of pressure to decide on what I was going to do right after college — I would pursue dancing and/or something to do with linguistics, while he would, God-willing, be the main breadwinner.

Naturally, things didn’t go as planned. My husband graduated with his master’s degree right in the middle of the recession, and despite his degree and impressive credentials, he was unable to find employment for a whole year. In the meantime, I picked up a job working in an after-school program, as I’d had experience with kids and teaching. It helped pay the bills, and it was incredibly rewarding, but it wasn’t something I wanted to continue doing as a career. Then my husband got a job in another state, we moved, and I continued my dance training. Eight months later, we moved across the country again after my husband’s job turned out to be a nightmare. I continued dancing in our new home and finally reached a level I was hoping to be at in order to teach again. When we moved back to our home state a year and a half later, I felt ready to jump into teaching dance as a career.

…And then, chronic illness struck. After a long, hard journey, I was eventually diagnosed with Mast Cell Activation Syndrome (MCAS), an immune disease that causes my body to release inordinate amounts of histamine, giving me random allergic reactions that are miserable and debilitating. One of the many triggers, unfortunately, happens to be exercise, particularly certain types of exercise like dance. I found that I was unable to dance anymore without getting sick, and it was devastating. (My illness has also made it impossible for me to keep a steady job.)

So, I’ve had to let go of my dream of being a dance teacher (I’m more glad than ever now that I didn’t major in dance in college, and focused on getting the experiences I wanted through my studio!). However, in letting go, I’ve found other things my heart is calling me towards. Writing is one of them — I probably never would have found I enjoyed writing fiction if it weren’t for being too sick to dance. I may have also found a way I can jump back into linguistics at home — I’m currently looking into what it would take to learn ancient Akkadian and Sumerian so I can join the effort to translate cuneiform tablets (there are thousands in museums that have never been translated). We’ll see how that goes. And in addition to all of that, I’m hoping to be a mother someday — I’m not sure whether I’ll be a full-time stay-at-home mom yet, but I know that’s a valid choice and I may end up deciding that’s where I want to be.

We’ll see.

So that’s my story so far. Here’s what I’ve learned:

- So much depends on things I don’t know, future possibilities and variables I have no way of seeing right now, and I’m okay with that. I’ve had to learn to just take life as it comes. To take the next step that’s lying there clear before me, trusting that God will make it all go somewhere meaningful and worthwhile.

- My dad has often quoted a commencement speech Steve Jobs gave at Stanford, remarking on what good career advice it had. One of the things he’s relayed to us, over and over, is that life is full of zig-zags. We so often plan our lives in a straight line (this will be my major, this will be my career, this is when I want to get married, etc.), and life rarely works out that way. However, the zig-zags you end up going on can all add up to something incredibly worthwhile. And sometimes it’s only through zig-zagging that you can arrive at a place where you feel like you truly belong or a career that calls you by name. My dad’s a prime example of this — he started out in med school, decided he didn’t want to be a doctor on one of the last days of his exams, walked out, ended up studying geology at a different college, became a high school chemistry teacher, went back to grad school to study history of science, and is now a professor and the curator of an incredible old, rare book collection at a university. His career has zig-zagged all over the place, but each zig and zag have been experiences that have made him who he is and, in the end, led him to where he is now. So don’t be afraid to listen to your heart and try different things. Don’t be afraid to zig-zag.

- Another great quote from my dad: “Don’t be afraid to do badly.” Sometimes failure is the only way we grow and learn and, in the end, succeed. You can’t achieve great things if you aren’t willing to accept the possibility of failure. On a more concrete level, you can’t pass your exam very easily if you’re petrified with anxiety about getting everything perfect. Perfectionism is a curse (one my dad knew his daughters struggled with greatly). Ain’t nobody got time for that!

- Money is overrated. Love and experiences and happiness are not. Don’t ignore the latter in favor of the former. If you have a passion for something, it may be difficult and you may have to work hard, but you can (hopefully) find a way to make it work.

- Ultimately? I don’t know how I would manage any of the twists and turns my life has sent me so far without a whole crap-ton of prayer, faith, love and community. That’s kept me going and kept me hoping, even when I’ve been tempted to give up.

Finally, some advice on starting college:

- It’s overwhelming at first, and that’s okay and normal. You’ll settle in and find your place eventually.

- Introduce yourself to someone else in every class you’re in. Strike up conversations. Be active in making friends. This will 1) potentially result in some good friendships, 2) make you feel less lonely, as college can (especially at first) feel like a very lonely place, and 3) give you someone you can reach out to in case you miss a class and need to exchange notes. I know this is difficult sometimes — I’m an introvert, I hate small talk — but as college went on and I did this more and more, I found it to be incredibly worthwhile.

- Explore! It’s okay to not have a major at first. Try out different classes. See what grabs you, what makes you wonder, what gives you joy.

- Apply for ALL the scholarships you can every year (before the scholarship deadlines roll around — make sure you know when they are). It’s a lot of work, but it can potentially save you from a heck of a lot more work and free you up to focus more on your studies!

- Show up. Be diligent. Yes, you can skip classes occasionally in college, and sometimes that’s really nice (especially if you’re having a really bad physical or mental health day). But definitely don’t make a habit of it, because if you do you won’t do well. In college you have to work on being self-motivated and self-disciplined, even when it’s hard. (And I say this as someone who struggled with depression, and some chronic illness, throughout most of my college years. It’s HARD. But just keep putting one foot in front of the other, as long as you’re able. And learn your limits; when you need to skip a class one day or reach out to a teacher for help or drop a class entirely. Sometimes that’s okay! Persevere hard, but extend yourself grace and forgiveness when you can’t.)

- Take ALL the notes. Seriously, don’t skimp on this. (If you miss a class, get the notes from someone else.) Then, when it’s time to prep for an exam, you can study your notes and be pretty sure you have it all covered. Some professors will let you take notes on your computer (which I like because I can type faster than I write); some won’t. It might help to ask your professor beforehand.

- If you’re struggling with a class, take advantage of your professor’s office hours (or if it’s not quite that dire, talk to them after class). Most professors love it when students do this because it shows you care and that you’re motivated. They really want to help you succeed. 

- And remember, no matter how alone you feel, you are not alone — you have people around you who are struggling too, people around you who care about you, and campus resources if you need them. Reach out. 

That’s all I can think of right now! If anyone else has any additional advice, feel free to chime in! I hope this is helpful, anon, even if my “career path” hasn’t exactly been traditional. I wish you all the best in college! 💜

[cutegirlmayra]

Hey I just watched the final boss battle of Sonic Forces and I was thinking what it would be like if Sonic ending up dying because of his wounds shortly after the final fight. The world is taken back, Eggman is defeated and eveything would be the same accept Sonic wouldn't be there afterwards. Could you write a lil fic about this maybe?

Commissions –> Cutegirlmayra.tumblr.com/commissions (read first before purchases ;) )

Prompts are on Shutdown till further notice!

If you see prompts that aren’t reblogged by @idontworkforsega please let him know!

Prompt:

After the final blow to the boss, the world started to fadeback into reality,… all but for Modern Sonic.

Little Sonic and his Partner charged on, before looking backto see Modern Sonic, clutching his side.

“Heh,” he faked a smile through a half closed eye, “Go on.They’re all waiting for you. I’ll catch up.” He breathed the last part outlightly.

Without seeing anything truly wrong, as Sonic waved them on,“Go, go! The portal’s closing!”

The two dashed forward with a homing attack and a jump,shooting forth a grapplehook and darting out.

Sonic felt his feet slowing down… the illusion overtakinghim.

“…Be what I know you can be… partner…” his eyes drooped evenmore, his body finally falling to his knees as the phantom ruby’s worldcrumbled… into nothing but light.

Upon exiting the null space world of the Phantom Ruby, theteam celebrated for a moment until Tails and the Recruit looked back, waitingfor Sonic…

But… there wasn’t anything…

The Recruit’s mouth dropped, turning fully around andlurching forward, his eyes unable to believe what his mind was suggesting…

“Where’s… Where’s our Sonic?” Tails looked to the Recruit,before back to Classic Sonic. “Didn’t he exit with you?”

“He…” the Recruit took a big gulp, “The Death Egg Robot…it’s lasers… but I thought rings could heal anything?” He looked to ClassicSonic. “Didn’t he say he would catch up?”

Classic Sonic looked down, thinking about it…

He shook his head, unsure what to believe.

“I-I’m sure he’s coming!” Amy stepped forward out of thecrowd, “After all, he always was one to surprise us with a flashy entrance!”

The people around her nodded as she encouraged them to notlose hope.

Suddenly, the phantom space circled lights around the bottomof the platform Eggman had created, and where they recently had fought on.

“Look!” Someone called, as Knuckles’s head rose up, having amoment to feel the returning grief that had once plagued him beforehand.

He dashed forward to the edge, “Sonic!” He called,overjoyed…

But Sonic was laying on his stomach… he wasn’t moving.

“Sonic!” Tails flew over the edge, flying down to him.

So did the recruit.

So did Classic Sonic.

Rouge and a few others flew down to help when they didn’treturn back to them.

Knuckles… suddenly realized why.

He looked to Amy, before looking away and holding out a handto her, about-facing to do so.

“W-what are you doing?” Amy felt him lightly pushing herback from the edge, turning his head away as he tried to not show his glossyeyes.

“Alright everyone… fall back.” His voice almost cracked insorrow.

Amy’s eyes suddenly swelled up wide, tears threatening asshe tried to fight against his force. “NOO!! I don’t believe you! Sonic!” shefought him but he kept his arm like a stiff pole, unyielding in her cries tosee the man she loved… and had already lost once.

Her cries rang out to the forces, who looked to each other, murmuring.

“Is… Is he gone?”

“He can’t be gone… we’ve won!”

“No… Not Sonic…”

Sonic was given a tall standing memorial as peoplemourned,.. The war won, they just needed to clean up the mess Eggman left.

Almost in respects, Eggman wasn’t heard of since.

The recruit looked up to the statured monument, as ClassicSonic had returned home, hoping to change fate as he grew up, and not end upthe same.

Tails approached the statue with a heavy heart, taking adeep breath before approaching him.

“…He really wasn’t all that showy.” Tails joked, tilting hishead at the pose the statue had him in.

The Recruit smiled, his eyes still drooped back inadmiration for his hero, before chuckling a minute and looking to Tails. “Yes,he was.”

“You’re right. But would he want people to remember him likethat?” Tails smiled back to him, as the Recruit and him chuckled again.

“Probably.”

“Yeah, probably.”

They stared at the ground for a moment, as the recruitsniffed and wiped his nose, looking away.

“…So, uh… what are you planning to do now?” Tails looked upwith sincere concern in his eyes for his friend.

“…Think I might run off on my own, actually.” He looked backup at the statue. “He left a legacy behind him…”

“One that needs proper shoes to fit.” Tails looked down atthe recruit’s shoes, the spitting image of Sonic’s.

The recruit blushed, “Limited edition.” He looked away,rubbing the back of his head in shy embarrassment. “I was kinda a fan.”

“Kinda?” Tails threw an arm around him, shaking hisshoulder. “I’d say you were a friend.”

“Yeah… you think so?” He looked back at Tails, worried.

“Of course! Sonic praised you ever chance he got!” Tailsremoved the arm, “Kinda got me a little jealous…”

“Liar, he couldn’t shut up about you.”

“I guess we all had crushes on him.”

The two men turned to see Amy Rose, standing as a pillar ofstrength, walking up to the statue with flowers.

“I’m obviously joking.” She gave them a playful look beforeplacing the flowers down, laying on her knees as she looked up at the statue,and tilted her head. “…Makes you wonder if he wanted people to remember himthis way.”

“…The statue does make him look rather… cocky, huh?” Tails once again brought, and the three shared a lightchuckle again.

“…I just can’t believe he’s really gone.” She lightlytouched the stone. “…Little Sonic said… he’d do everything in his power to preventthis future from happening… wouldn’t that mean… that everything would havechanged by now?” she looked worriedly up to Tails.

He shrugged, “I don’t know, Amy. Timelines are kinda a toughmatter to pinpoint with exactness.” He admitted. “We know the existence of dimensions.We just hope Little Sonic’s future is more… well…” he scratched the back of hishead, before the Recruit shook his own.

“No.” He looked to Sonic’s statue. “I think he had a pretty extraordinarylife in this time… in this world… no matter what happens, he was just glad he livedand knew all of us.”

The two of them smiled up to the recruit.

“You sound just like him.” Amy blushed and looked away.

“Yeah… makes a guy wonder.”

The three turned to see Knuckles striding up, smiling with alight wave. “Hi.”

The three nodded in return.

Knuckles fist pumped the recruit, “Looking well.”

“Well enough.” The recruit kindly replied, “We’ve beenworking hard on the south and northern sections, but the east and west needstrengthening.”

“Woah, woah. Hold your horses, kiddo. I’m not here onbusiness.” Knuckles waved out his hand, looking to the statue. “I’ve come topay my respects.” He bowed his head a bit to the statue, before folding hisarms and looking back to him.

“However… I was wondering… as Sonic’s prodigy… you may stillhave a long life of hero’ing ahead of ya.”

This talk suddenly drew the ears of Amy and Tails, as Amyrose up from her offering.

“You mean…” The recruit looked a little stunned.

Knuckles sighed, his eyes growing kinder to him. “Look… No onecan replace all that Sonic is… and was in our hearts but…” he looked to the statue.“People still need hope… they need someone to turn to and believe in. They needa hero.” He nodded, “I know Sonic wanted this. I can feel it. We all knew himwell enough to know he’d want you and Tails to take his place if ever somethingwere to happen.” He looked back to see Tails grow startled, stepping back.

“M…Me?” His eyes began to water, leaning forward and placinga hand on his chest. “You think Sonic would want me to work with him too?”

“Of course! Come on, Tails! You were his righthand man! It’sonly natural that Sonic would want you to watch over his successor.” Knucklesgestured happily to the recruit, who was still flabbergasted by this request, butwas tackled immediately by Amy.

“Oh! I have that same feeling too!”

He looked down with a nervous blush as Amy wrapped her armsaround his neck. “I just know he’ll make a great hero, someday!” she beamed, ashis muzzle grew red and he could only chuckle awkwardly.

“Eh…heh…”

“Yeah, that settles it!” Tails also jumped up to fly in theair a moment, raising his fist high. “I can feel it in my gut too! This isSonic’s last wish! Are you up for it? Partner?” He extended his hand.

Amy moved away, allowing him to reach up… hesitantly… beforetaking it with a nod of certainty.

“I will do my best.” He narrowed his eyes a bit. “Tocontinue all he lived for. And… hopefully, make the world a better place to bein.”

The three nodded, before Amy turned to kiss her hand, and sendthe kiss up to the statue.

“No matter what… I know he’s proud of us.”

The three stared long and hard at his smirking face.

“…Yeah… When all we’ve got left is hope… a real hero never failsus.”

The three looked to the recruit, eyes beaming with pride fora happier future, a sense of duty to fulfill, and an absolute love for his trueinspiration…

“Hey, don’t be scared!This is your moment to shine!”

The recruit closed his eyes… Tails… Amy… Knuckles…everything faded except Sonic’s statue… his words ringing in the confides ofhis mind.

“Keep going. Don’t letyour fear own you!”

With eyes blaring to life as he shot them open, he didexactly as he did back when Infinite stood before him.

He clenched his fist.

Stepped forward.

And fist-bumped the imaginary image of Sonic standing beforehim.

“You got this, buddy.”Sonic nodded.

The recruit nodded, turning in firm resolution.

And thus… the new dimension of a brand new hero was born.With all the values Sonic left behind held tightly to his heart… he took friendship-

Tails smiled as he turned to him, both beside each other asTails flew next to him as he ran along a grassy path.

Heart-

Amy was now with him, smashing up the remaining badniks androbotic goons Eggman left behind, still no one hearing anything from him. Itwas if Eggman didn’t want to fight if it wasn’t against Sonic… so he kept quiet,and no ever really heard too much about him after that, only that he still builtrobots for the forces to destroy at their leisure.

Amy beamed to the Recruit, offering a fist pump as hereturned it, and nodded.

He pulled her close by her waist, surprising her a moment,but making her giggle as he shot out his grapplehook and took off with herholding tightly onto him.

And Soul-

The Recruit sat with Knuckles, who was in a large buildingthat showed the interior was cut to reveal all the working passageways and stairs.This displayed the large organization that still kept the peace, still fought thelong war, and were breeding heroes that joyfully followed the recruit’s lightof hope that radiated from him.

The two looked to each other, laughing hardly, before Knucklespatted him on the back and he flung a little forward, almost falling off theopen platform, mimicking their first encounter before Knuckles pulled him backto stability.

Awkwardly, the recruit scratched the back of his head.

He looked forward, a silent gleam in his eye revealed thelight of hope still alive, and Sonic looking back through his eyes.

[illyrianbeauty]

A Not So Chance Encounter: Chapter 9

Rhys is persuaded to attend a fundraiser by his cousin Mor. He didn’t expect to meet the girl of his dreams.

Fic Masterlist

Writing Masterlist

Chapter 9: The Proposition 

Rhys mulled over his plan the entire drive back to his apartment.  He didn’t think there was any possibility of Feyre saying no.  It was foolproof.  It was a good opportunity for Feyre, and selfishly, it gave him the chance to see her more often.  He entered his apartment and shrugged off his jacket.  Pulling out his phone, he flopped down on the couch.  Rhys pressed the power button on his phone and waited for the device to boot up.  As he expected, there were already several texts from the family group text.  Bracing himself for the onslaught, he opened the text thread.

Amren: Just so you know Rhys, I approve of the girl

The Queen: Just wanted to share this juicy detail- he’s in her contacts as Prince Prick!!!

Pain in the Cass: hahaha! I knew I liked her for a reason!

Az: She’s a keeper, Rhys

Pain in the Cass: Rhys and Feyre sitting in a tree…

Az: Oh shut up, Cass. They’re cute together

Pain in the Cass: He’s in deep shit, Az. He needs our help

The Queen: Oh, hell no!  You two stay out of it!

The Queen: I mean it, Cassian!

Pain in the Cass: Damn!  I’m just trying to help!   

Pain in the Cass: I mean, come on! Was I the only one who saw Rhys and Feyre almost make out tonight??

Rhys buried his head in his hands. By the Cauldron, his family was going to be the death of him!

Prince Prick: What the hell Cass?????

Prince Prick: You have officially lost your mind!

Az: You did say she looked delicious

Pain in the Cass: BEST LINE EVER!!!

Pain in the Cass: I am so going to use that!

The Queen: Never thought I’d say this, but I have to agree with Cass...

The Queen: You and Feyre seemed awfully cozy at one point tonight

Prince Prick: I hate you all!

Amren: Shove it. The truth hurts, boy.

Rhys shook his head and closed the text thread.  He couldn’t deal with his family right now.  He opened up the Three Musketeers group text.  He hadn’t heard from Feyre yet.  Had Mor dropped her off already?   

Prince Prick: Did you lovely ladies make it home alright?

Feyre Darling: Yes, you worrywart.   

Feyre Darling: BTW- thanks again for the ride Mor

The Queen: Welcome! Love you, Fey!

The Queen: Well... I guess I love you too cousin

Prince Prick: I know you do. Who wouldn’t?

Feyre Darling: OMG! You 2 are worse than children

Feyre Darling: Thanks again for dinner Rhys. :)

Prince Prick:  Anytime Darling! I’m glad you came

The Queen: Me too! We should have family dinners more often.

The Queen: Fey, just so you know… we voted

Feyre Darling: ???????

The Queen: You are officially part of the family now!

Feyre Darling: Should I be honored by that... or scared?

The Queen: HAHAHA!!! ;)

Prince Prick: Both. Definitely both

Feyre Darling: Gotta go. Night y'all

Feyre Darling: Happy bday Rhysee Poo!!

Prince Prick: I’ll let you two get your beauty sleep. Cauldron knows Mor is horribly cranky without it!

The Queen: I’m going to let that one slide since we are celebrating your birthday tonight. Good night ass!    

The Queen: Night Fey!

Closing the thread, Rhys picked up his new painting from Feyre.  She really was extremely talented!  He didn’t remember ever mentioning it to Feyre, but he had always felt a strange attraction to the night sky.  There was something about it that made him feel safe.  Though it sounded like a contradiction, it made him feel powerful.  He set the painting down and decided to call it an evening. Monday.  He would put his plan into action Monday.  

***

Rhys reclined in his office chair, drumming his fingers on the top of his desk.  Everything had been set into motion.  He had spoken to Nuala this morning to relay his intentions. She had fallen in love with the painting, just as he had expected.  Now, all that remained was calling Feyre and getting her to agree.  He had stalled long enough.  He picked up his phone and found her number amongst his contacts.  Uttering a quick prayer, he pressed the call button.  While they had texted multiple times a day, he had never actually spoken to her on the phone.  He was so preoccupied with his nervousness, he almost didn’t noticed she had answered.   

“Hey prick!”

Holy gods. She had answered the phone!  He recovered from his surprise quickly with, “Hello darling!  Are you busy right now, or do you have a quick second?”

“I have about 10 minutes before I have to leave for work.  What’s up?”

Taking a deep breath, Rhys explained his idea to Feyre.  And was then met by complete silence.  Fuck. That was not a good sign.   

“Feyre? Are you still there?” he asked with dread. He had messed up. It had sounded like a good idea at the time.  Maybe he hadn’t explained his idea well.  Had it been too much?    

“You’re joking, right?” she asked, her tone somewhat incredulous.  Oh, thank the Cauldron she hadn’t hung up on him.  

“No. Not at all.  We have some authors who are extremely picky about the artwork on the cover.  Even our most seasoned cover designers can’t make them happy.  Nuala, she’s the head of the art department, saw your painting and loved it.  We thought that a talented artist, such as yourself, would be the answer to our problem.”  A half truth.  She didn’t need to know that the order of events, as he explained them, weren’t exactly accurate.  

“You want me to come work for you?” Feyre asked, her every word laced with confusion.  

Rhys stood up and began pacing around his office. “Well, for Velaris… yes.  You’d be able to set your own hours each week, depending on your school schedule.”  He could tell his voice was taking on a somewhat desperate tone.  “You could work from home, if you wanted, and bring the art to the office once you finished. Or you could come to Velaris. We’d set you up a little space in the art department for you to work.”  Please say yes. Please say yes. Please say yes.

“You’re serious,” she stated, seeming to need reassurance.  

“Absolutely.”  Serious about spending more time with you, darling.  

“You are insane, Rhysand!” she chuckled.  Well, she hadn’t said no. That was something, but he still needed an answer.  

“Is that a yes?”

“Of course it’s a yes!  You are offering me a chance to create art and get paid for it.  How in the hell could I say no to that?”

Oh, thank the Cauldron! He felt a big grin worm its way onto his face.

“But…” she paused and Rhys felt as though he had been punched in the gut.

“But?” Why was she hesitating? He wished he knew what she was thinking.  

“Even if you’re my boss, I still get to call you a prick.”

Rhys tipped his head back and barked out a laugh, relief pulsing through him.  Gods, she was perfection!  “Just as long as I still get to call you Feyre Darling. Then you have yourself a deal.”

“Well, then it looks like I’ll need to put in my two week notice when I get to work today.” Feyre’s excitement was palpable, even through the phone.

“Let me know when you’ll have some free time.  You’ll have to come into the office to fill out some paperwork.” Rhys could hardly contain his elation.

“Ok. Sounds good. I gotta get to work now, but I’ll text you later!”

“Alright. Bye, Darling.”

“Bye Prick. And thanks!  This means a lot to me.”

“You’re welcome.  Velaris is lucky to have such an amazing artist.”

Feyre snorted, “Even as my boss, you’re still a huge flirt. Talk to you later.”

Rhys hung up the phone and heaved a sigh of relief.  She had agreed!  Now he had a valid excuse to talk to her, and see her, more often.  He ran a hand through his hair and contemplated his next move.

***

“See, Mor!  I told you he needed our help!” Cass sneered, shaking his head.  “You really messed this up, Rhys.”

Rhys and his inner circle were lounging around his living room, after having enjoyed an enormous Thanksgiving dinner.  He was currently sharing the couch with Az and Amren.  Cass had sprawled out across a recliner off to the left while Mor was holding court from the one to the right.  

Mor raised a brow and demanded, “Oh really? And tell us, oh wise one. How exactly did he mess anything up?”

Cass scoffed, “He gave her a job at Velaris.”

“What’s wrong with that?” Rhys demanded.  He was seriously regretting telling the family anything about his current plans.

“Even if she does eventually break it off with the asshole, Feyre doesn’t seem to strike me as the kind of girl who goes around shagging her boss.”

Rhys had to admit that Cass had a point.  Perhaps he had been a tad short sighted in his desire for an excuse to see Feyre more.  Well, it’s not like she was planning on working for the company forever.  She wanted to open her own art gallery someday. Maybe he could help out with that, somehow.  Wow.  He was getting way ahead of himself.  

Amren interrupted his brooding by vocalizing his thoughts, “She doesn’t have to work for Velaris for the rest of her life.  Just long enough for her to fall for Rhys. And get rid of the extra baggage.”

“That’s one way of describing him!” Az smirked.

Mor said with deliberate care, “What is your plan, Rhys? About Tamlin that is.  We are going to have to tell her eventually.”  

He rested his head on the back of the couch and closed his eyes. “I know.”  He ran a hand over his face and continued, “I’ve thought about it.  A lot. Honestly, I have no idea how to tell her.”

Rhys may live to regret this, but he looked at Cass and asked, “Any suggestions, brother?”

A fiendish grin lit up Cassian’s face.  He glanced at Az and said wickedly, “You could always take her to dinner beforehand. And make sure you call her delicious again!”

The room erupted into loud and boisterous laughter. Rhys just groaned, “I’m never going to live that down, am I?”

This time it was Az who answered with a resounding “No.”

“Seriously though Rhys, you need to tell her the truth. The whole truth. It’ll be a lot better coming from you or Mor than if she hears some version of the truth from Tamlin.”

True. He shuddered to think about what lies he would tell Feyre. He looked to Mor and saw a look that probably mirrored his own- trepidation with a tad bit of resolve.

“I think we can all agree that Mor and I need to talk to her about Tamlin. But how? Can you imagine that conversation?” He rolled his eyes and continued somewhat bitterly, “How was school today Feyre?  By the way, your boyfriend is an evil little cockroach.”

“Well, maybe not quite that dramatic. But essentially, yes.” Amren contributed. With a shrug of her shoulders, she continued, “It doesn’t need to be complicated. You and Mor take her to dinner and tell her everything.”

“I agree. Now, onto more important matters.  How are we going to break up Feyre and Tamlin?” Cassian asked conspiratorially.”

“You’re an idiot.” Rhys bit out.

“Besides, it’s not that simple,” Mor said, biting her bottom lip.

“What do you mean, girl?” Amren asked for him.

His cousin glanced at him nervously before saying, “Well, she lives with him. So, it’s not going to be as easy as him just pissing her off.”

“Ok, so it’s going to take something big to get her to break up with him. And then Rhys can come in and sweep her off her feet.” Az said.

“Alright you guys. That’s enough. We are not going to do anything to break them up. Got it?” Rhys’s declaration was met by incredulous looks.

“Why the hell not? The guy is a total asshole.” Cassian asked.

“Asshole or not, Feyre loves him. It’s not up to us to decide who she should be with. It’s her choice. It should always be her choice.” he said passionately.

“If I didn’t know better, brother, I’d say you were in love.” Az said with a sidelong look in his direction and a smile on his lips.

Rhys couldn’t find it in himself to disagree.

***

After cooking and putting up with his family’s antics all day, Rhys was exhausted.  He threw on an old tshirt and a pair of ragged sweatpants and fell into bed.  The rest of the dishes could wait until tomorrow.  His thoughts inevitably drifted towards Feyre.  He hadn’t heard from her at all today.  Without even intending to, he texted her.  Talking to her was as easy as breathing, and just as necessary.  She had become essential to him, to his life, and she didn't even know it yet.

Prince Prick: How was your day? Did you survive?

Feyre Darling: It was rather interesting.

Feyre Darling: But no casualties that I know of

The Queen: You mean Nesta didn’t kill Elain’s boy?

The Queen: *gasps in shock

Feyre Darling: Graysen seemed… ok.  At least he seemed to make Elain happy.

Prince Prick: I’m sensing a but coming…

Feyre Darling: I’m probably overreacting, but something was just… off.

Feyre Darling: Like I said, it’s probably nothing

The Queen: Trust your instincts girl. If something seems off, then there’s probably a reason

The Queen: At least you didn’t have to kill him. Or Nesta

Prince Prick: We’d hate to have to spend a perfectly good weekend finding a lawyer for you ;)

Feyre Darling: I already have a lawyer picked out for those pesky family murder situations, I’ll have you know.  

The Queen: lol We missed you today, Fey! Next holiday you spend with us!            Prince Prick: Agreed. And no, you don’t get any say in the matter!

Feyre Darling: I think I can agree to those terms. Pricks

Feyre Darling: Before I end up in a food coma and forget- I have free time Monday afternoon. Can I come to Velaris and fill out the paperwork then?

Prince Prick: Of course, Darling! Looking forward to it!

Rhys let out a contented sigh.  Feyre would be working with them soon and he would be able to see her more often. Mor and he had decided that they would take Feyre to dinner after she had settled into her new position in order to broach the subject of Tamlin with her.  What could possibly go wrong?   

[pianosmasher]

I have been watching documentaries lately, about twenty or thirty so far. My brain seems obsessed with the construction of truth (or the appearance of truth) out of a mess of documents and interviews, or else a part of myself beyond my consciousness has simply given up on fiction altogether. I love stories, of course, and I have even been writing again, sketching out novels and characters the way I used to. But in every moment of leisure, my mind finds its way to a new documentary every time. I suppose it’s an alternative to newspaper stories, but other than that, the whole thing has been fairly unprecedented in my life. I’ve never been into true crime and can count all the books written by working journalists I’ve read on one hand. Why this and why now?

Perhaps I am rediscovering my curiosity for people and their ways. Perhaps I'm interested in reevaluating what I know of my life. Or perhaps it’s got something to do with something I read from Dan Harmon studying story structure in college: we eat our stories, and information is made of empty calories. I’ve spent the last year or so working on a full reset of my identity, a topic I rarely have the time or space to address in a meaningful way. It’s as if my fictional immune system has reared up its defenses until my brain receives my heart’s paperwork: “no new stories ‘till we’re done with the old ones!” Only when I know who I am can I test them.

In the meantime, I have seen so many partial sides to human nature in the stories of these documentaries. The one thing they have on fiction is that no matter what happens to them during the plot (or “plot”), its subjects always have to find a way to move on with their lives after the cameras stop rolling. They are the people who, against all the odds of our static society, are occasionally forced to change in the form of rebirth. Some of them talk about their old selves like people that are never coming back, perhaps knowing in truth that the “real” self can neither stay nor leave but is instead a necessary ingredient for the transformation. I know what it means now, in other words, to have things in my life that I may never talk about to someone else. And it isn’t as sad as it sounds, to my great surprise. 

Since high school, I’ve felt nothing but hate when I’ve looked on the person I was even five months beforehand. I don’t feel like that anymore. I’m holding my ground, compromising better, and creating the sense of security I have always wanted to find. This, by the way, was the frustration at being called "gifted” or “smart.” Everyone figures the one with the gifts can take care of himself. And he can, but of course, he will have to be taught, and he will still need his friends and his hobbies to treat him like everyone else. In the absence of this guidance grew contempt for a world that lauded me in theory but cast me aside in practice, and for years, I misdirected this anger at the labels themselves instead of at a society that finds and feeds off those who hide their pain beneath the weight of their achievements. But with the absence of that society comes the absence of such expectations and thus room to breathe. I have enough now to practice letting go of the hate and contempt that used to define my inner life. And I like the effects. I like me so much better these days.

I wish I could put it into words, what I’m going through lately. Someday I’ll give it my best shot. For now, I keep my eyes open around me. There’s a life out there ripe for rediscovery, and I know now that if it held an easy answer for me, I’d have a place in it by now. It doesn’t, and I’m no longer sad to hear the news. I’m ready now, red brick in my hand, to start building my own place however long it takes me.

[swfanficbyjz]

SW Rey Theory - Legacy of Light - Chapter 12

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(15 years after Revenge of the Sith, end of Rebels season 2)

             For weeks following her conversation with her mother about her father, Ashla had been buzzing with questions. No matter how many times she turned it over in her mind, it confused her. One moment, her mom had sounded happy, a soft smile on her lips as she talked about him. The next… she’d gotten sharp and silent. Every time she tried to bring it up afterwards, Ahsoka had quickly shut it down. She’d admitted that it was painful for her to talk about, but Ashla suspected there was more to it than what her mother had said. 

            She had loved him, that much was clear. She found herself hoping that she’d find a love like that someday too. Why bring it up at all if she really didn’t want to talk about it? She’d always wanted to know about her father, but she’d never had the courage to ask. Ever since she’d told her mother about Luke, she’d been distant, distracted and almost cold. She’d specifically said that Luke’s father was also her father, but surely Ahsoka would have admitted if she had another child, right? Then she’d adamantly commanded her to stay away from Luke. You have a brother, but you can’t talk to him ever. Why? That was what she wanted to know. 

            Something about her mom’s surliness when it came to the topic disturbed her. Almost everything she’d said about him had been positive, other than his inability to control his emotions. He’d been a hero, he’d died a hero. That’s what she’d said, but… their conversation had prompted her to ask her uncle Nyx about it. Which had been a terrible idea and she should have known better. He’d been drinking beforehand, which most of the time put him in a relatively easy-going mood. The moment she’d brought it up, he had snapped. Not that there were many times he wasn’t drinking anymore. 

            He’d ranted for at least thirty minutes about how no-good her father was if he abandoned her mother when she was pregnant. Revealing that he knew nothing about him except that his behavior painted him in a very bad light. Then that had led to another rant about how little he’d known about her mother too and ended with him complaining about being stuck with a kid the Empire would give anything to get their hands on; causing him to look over his shoulder everywhere he went. It made business that much harder on him and that he’d never understood what had possessed him to even keep the child after her mother abandoned her. The latter part as though he’d forgotten she was still there and could hear him. 

            His words had stung horribly. She’d always known that he was jumpy about her abilities and seemed to resent being stuck raising her, but otherwise he’d been a good guardian. He wasn’t perfect, but he took good care of her. Which kind of implied that he cared about her more than he liked to let on. He was terribly self-absorbed when it came to his own safety and profit. Surely he’d get reward money if he turned her over to the Empire, yet he never did. Her mother had sometimes told her that Nyx had stronger opinions than he did a backbone, and that pretty much summed it up. 

            Her uncle had acted as though he’d completely forgotten the conversation between them, but Ashla unfortunately, could not. And just a few short weeks after that, they’d landed on what appeared to be an uninhabited planet, but turned out to be a small enclave of refugees hiding from the Empire. If any of them were force sensitive like her, it wasn’t clear. But Nyx had insisted she stay there, it would be safer for her, and him, though he hadn’t said it exactly. 

            It had hurt at first, but then she’d accepted that maybe it was for the better anyways. She didn’t crave the excitement that others did. She hoped he’d be okay by himself. Her mom had been disappointed in him, but seemed to understand what had happened. Though she too had seemed relieved she was somewhere boring and safe. The other refugees had been welcoming and she'd fallen into the daily grind relatively easily. The only excitement was her daily talks with her mother. 

 ---

             She awoke with a start from her restless sleep. Her mom had told her she was going on an important mission and might not be able to talk for a few days. She'd needed to focus on what was in front of her. Ever since, every time Ashla tried to sleep she awoke with cold sweats and a racing heart. Feelings of dread slipped into her brain on a constant basis and only seemed to be getting worse. It was like she knew her mother was in trouble and could do nothing about it. She just kept begging the force to protect her. 

           She staggered out of bed feeling lightheaded and threw on a jacket so she could go get some fresh air. There was a nice meadow with a soothing stream several clicks away and she'd been haunting it like a ghost as she searched for peace the past few days. She'd been at the enclave for about six months now, though it was hard to tell the passage of time when she was so cut off from the rest of the galaxy. She weaved the familiar path there listening to the forest sounds. Her heart still raced and the cool air did nothing to calm her anxiety tonight.

           Without warning, she felt a searing burn across her senses and dropped to her hands and knees clutching at the moss on the forest floor. Did she dare open her senses to find out what was causing the nightmares and dread? Did she want to know? Yeah, she did.

           She reached for her mother, like she'd done every other night of her life. It felt as though she'd entered a storm. It took a few minutes before she was aware of what was swirling around her; aching, heartbreak, determination, repulsion, yet... love? This didn't have anything to do with her father did it? No, he was dead... That’s what her mom had said.

           Then for a split-second, she saw a black cape, a shiny black metal helmet turning to meet her coming assault. A leap, a slash and then exhaustion and fear. Followed by a ragged voice calling her name. No, it wasn't her name... it was her mother's. There was a rush of hope...

           In front of her stood a towering figure, dressed from head to toe in black. Around him was purple and red. Crackling lightning emphasized the sharp lines of a skull shaped helmet. She heard her mother's voice, Anakin? I won't leave you, not this time. She looked up at the face and saw a teasing of skin and one gold eye staring back at her. Yet in her heart there was pain, longing and love. 

           "Then you will die!" the monster breathed venomously and Ashla screamed, writhing on the ground in the damp moss. It took her a long time to catch her breath and find her bearings again. Who was that man? Was it even a man? Why did her mom feel so much love for him? Unless... 

           She stared unblinkingly at the sky as tears burned her eyes. Her father was alive. And he was about to kill her mother. No! She jumped up as though there was something she could do about it. She stopped running after a few minutes and leaned against a tree. "Mom?" she cried in the force. There was no answer. It felt like her heart had exploded. There was nothing but a void there now. She fell to her knees panting. 

           One of the villagers found her in the morning, still curled in a fetal position in the dirt. She felt numb and lost. Exhausted from searching for her mother in the force all night. There was nothing there. She couldn't be dead, she couldn't be. She was always there, as long as she could remember, her mother had always been there. There was just a hole there now. She'd never before felt so scared and unsure. She'd give just about anything for Nyx to be here right now. His presence wouldn't be that comforting, but it would be better than the feeling of loneliness that had overwhelmed her. 

 ---

           “May the force be with you, Ezra Bridger,” Ahsoka said aloud as she turned and headed back towards the temple. She was too tired and numb at the moment, to think about everything that had just happened. She was sorry to hear about Kanan’s death. Or rather, his eventual death. He was just another victim of the changing galaxy, like the rest of them. Ezra had told her to come find him the moment she got back, but she wasn’t ready to face the future yet. Right now, she needed to rest. Right now, she needed to mourn.

          When she reached the bottom step, she sunk down in exhaustion. She closed her eyes and reached out with the force. He was gone. So was Maul. She hung her head as the pain overwhelmed her. The tears fell, she couldn’t hold it in anymore. She was vaguely aware of Morai swooping around above her, but she didn’t have the strength to look up. Her body shook, but she couldn’t allow herself to think right now. She let it all pour out, however unhealthy it was.

          Eventually the tears dried, but the pain of it still stung her soul. She glanced up to see that the convoree had landed on top of a giant stone block and was watching her curiously. Part of her wanted to be alone right now, but she didn’t shoo her away. The underbelly of the temple was dark and cold. In the distance she could make out a ring of light, shining in through the cracked upper levels. She pushed herself to her feet and limped towards it. The light illuminated a pile of stones that must have collapsed when the temple exploded. She noticed pieces of flooring and tile that matched the room they’d been fighting in.

          She looked up through the hole and could see white cracks still glowing from where she’d stabbed her lightsabers into the floor to break it open. This must be where he fell through. At least she wasn’t having to stare at a body; he’d survived the fall. Her final sacrifice hadn’t been in vain. Not that she wanted to think about what the consequences would be of saving him. Or the many more horrible things he could do because she’d helped him live on. She hadn’t been able to do it. He’d trained her to always do what needed to be done. In her mind, this didn’t count. Even if he needed to be stopped, there had to be a better way.

          She chewed her bottom lip and laid down across the stones, curling herself into a ball and tried to imagine him lying with her. Not as this monster, but as he’d once been. The pile of rubble was hardly comfortable, but it was the closest she could get to him for now. She let herself drift into a fitful sleep.

 ---

            Every muscle in her body ached when she awoke. She rolled her shoulders and tried to stretch. Her eyes fell on a crumpled piece of paper she hadn’t noticed before. She reached for it and smoothed it out over her knee, staring at it in disbelief. It was a drawing, a sketch, of her and Anakin. Her chest tightened as she studied it. It was casual, like a candid moment back in the day. Where had this come from? Who would have drawn this? She traced a finger across the image of her. It was so detailed; a perfect representation of what she’d seen in the mirror a million times. She followed her gaze in the picture and saw that she was looking up at him, a smile on her lips, adoration in her eyes. He towered over her, his long, unruly hair seemed to be blowing in the wind. Her breath caught in her throat when she saw the way he’d been drawn looking at her. He was wearing a proud expression, but there was more too it; there was love in his eyes. He had his arm around her shoulders, a goofy grin on his face.

          She swallowed hard as the tears welled up again, threatening to overwhelm her. Had this come from him? Had he been carrying it all this time? Had he been the one that had drawn it? She hadn’t known he could draw. But then again, there were a lot of things about him she didn’t know. Strangely it made sense that he’d be an artist of sorts. He was always working on things with his hands, was drawing that much different? If he had been carrying it, then likely he was also the one that had crumpled it up and discarded it.

          She sat up suddenly, looking around, “Morai.” Ahsoka put out her arm for the convor to land on. “I know what I said to Ezra, but is there really no hope for him?” She’d been trying to swallow her doubts, but they were creeping to the surface. Why was it always easier to tell someone else to do something rather than do it yourself? No matter what anybody said, letting go of him just wasn’t that easy. Especially after seeing that he had carried this piece that still connected them. Morai hooted softly at her and she looked down at her feet. “There has to be something I can do. I know he’s still in there, I saw him! I can’t believe he’s truly gone.”

          The bird took flight off her arm and flew around for a moment and then transformed into her human form; her soft white glow illuminating the darkness of the temple. “When my brother killed you, your master, even in the face of death, truly believed there was hope you could be brought back. He said there was always hope. It was his plea that moved me to give myself to you.” Ahsoka looked up at her in surprise. Her friend never talked about the details of what happened that day. Death was a tiresome topic and yet it occurred around her all the time. Hearing that Anakin had plead for her life made the fact that he’d almost killed her that much worse. But she was being sincere; regardless of whatever had happened that had turned him into this, whatever had turned him against her, she still wanted to help him. She’d sworn in the heat of the moment that she wouldn’t leave him again and yet, she’d been ripped away from him. Which now that she thought about it, seemed to be a reoccurring theme in her life. Even if she wasn’t the one meant to save him, was there a way to protect the good in him? He was delusional in the lies he’d been living. The Emperor and the dark side had ensnared him well.

          “If I could be saved from death, there must be some way I can save his true self,” Ahsoka sighed.

          Morai moved closer and looked her over, “It would come at a great cost to you, but there is a way.”

          She looked up at her hopefully, “Really?”

          “I disagree with the Jedi and their view of attachment, but your love for this man blinds you to your own importance. That boy was led to the nether realm to bring you back because you have a bigger role to play in the galaxy. And yet, you are still willing to sacrifice yourself and your power to save someone that all others have given up on? Is it because you have a child with him?”

          “No… I think it’s more than that. It’s something that’s hard to explain…” she trailed off and played with her hands. Was Ashla the only reason? It couldn’t be. “You claim I have a bigger role to play and yet all the paths I see come back to him. He was the chosen one. I once thought I was not worthy to stand by his side and now… even if that is still true… my instincts tell me this bigger role still involves him. Maybe he still has a role to play. I don’t know how and I don’t know why, only that it does.” She'd left him behind that fateful day all those years ago. She'd left knowing he'd always be there. Like a rock; steady, strong… immovable. That's how she'd always seen him anyways. Others had called him volatile and reckless and maybe he was. But no matter where they were or what they were facing, all she had to do was look up at his face, his jaw set in determination, and she'd feel safe. She'd feel like they would survive another day. She never could've imagined a day she'd see his jaw set against her. 

            The temple bombing, the following trials, Bariss' speech... it had rocked both their faith in the Jedi order, but she was the only one that escaped. She had someone else depending on her leaving. The unborn child that had been both a curse and a blessing that day. She set her hand on her stomach remembering the feeling; the mixture of fear, betrayal, awe and nervous excitement. She'd always wanted to be a mother. The rules of the Jedi order and the oaths she'd sworn had never made that dream waiver. The dream had always been accompanied with a secondary one, however, that the child's father would be there too. Maybe it was all about Ashla.

          “Then I will help you,” Morai said. Ahsoka shook her doubts and looked at the ethereal image of someone who had become a dear friend in the last sixteen years. “Deep inside his subconscious lives the part of himself he wishes to destroy. So far, it has withstood the test of time, but without help, it could be lost forever. The journey there will be treacherous. It will demand much of your power and strength, and it will test your resolve in unimaginable ways. I will lead you there, but once there, you will be on your own. A word of warning however, even if you succeed in saving him, there is a great possibility you will lose yourself in the process. Where you are going there is nothing that can save you. No tricks of the force that can bring you back. You will be trespassing in a place he does not want you to be and he will retaliate. To survive, you must know when to let go.”

          “I am ready.”

          “Then first, you must see the heart of the Sith as a whole.” Morai reached up and touched a finger to her forehead.

          She stood on the ridge looking out across devastation as far as the eye could see. She didn't need a planet wide scan to know she was alone here, she could feel it. The echoes of death. Thousands of lives extinguished in the span of a heartbeat. It tore her very soul apart to try to comprehend that such a weapon could be constructed; even by the Sith. 

            She didn't dare touch the bodies frozen in their poses of death, they'd just turn to ash and blow away with the wind. Their lightsabers littered the battlefield, whispering stories of pain and suffering. She chose not to touch those either. It was like she could see the ghosts of every person she'd ever lost; dancing across the battlefield as though this place were the cemetery of the broken. Malachor, whatever it once had been, was now so steeply rooted in the dark side it was difficult to breathe.

            She let her eyes rest on the shattered peak of the temple weapon. Memories burned across her senses of the pain of her last fight. She hoped the holocron they recovered was worth the sacrifice. The only good thing she could see from all of this, was that this weapon could never be used again. Wouldn't stop them from creating more, so it was merely a small consolation. 

           “Search yourself,” Morai’s voice floated around her in this vision. “This place is but a glimmer of what you’ll be facing inside him. What do you feel?”

           “Anger.” It felt like she was hit with burning coals as the flash seared across her senses. It curled her fingers. “And hatred. The need to destroy…”

           “Deeper.”

           She squeezed her eyes shut, jaw clenched against her burning flesh. It felt as though she was sinking into a pool of molten lava. The pain was excruciating. It made her want to lash out, to throw this pain at someone else. She fell into a dark cavern and looked around; the anger melted into paranoia. Everywhere she looked it felt like something was going to jump out at her at any second. She was on edge reaching for her lightsabers but they weren’t there. Panic rose, there was no way for her to defend herself. She felt vulnerable, exposed… weak… She had to control this, she had to find power. “Fear,” she muttered suddenly, remembering this was just a vision. “Beneath the anger and hatred is fear.”

           She blinked a few times looking around as she came out of it. “You understand now. The heart of the dark side is fear,” Morai whispered. “How to you fight fear?”

           “With love,” Ahsoka breathed. “The opposite of fear isn’t bravery or power, it’s love. When I was afraid, I’d do it anyways. Why? Because he had always shown me love. For him I would walk any path, face any outcome. Had he been cold, had he just told me to be brave, it never would have worked. The fear would have destroyed me. But he didn’t. In every way he showed me love. With love, I could face my fears.”

           “And the absence of love?”

           “Fear turned into suffering… into darkness,” Ahsoka replied thoughtfully. “There is no light side or dark side, only love and the absence of it. Which means that the Jedi were wrong; a person is not lost forever to the dark side unless they are never again shown love.” Which is exactly what Palpatine wanted. He wanted Vader to not seem human. He wanted him to look intimidating and terrifying. That way people would look at the mask and see only a monster. She knew what he had done; it was monstrous. But she also knew who was inside that suit. She knew what he’d once been. That was why she was so threatening to the Emperor; she could see past the monster he’d become. For that… she had to die. Fear was the heart of the Sith. She’d found the knowledge they’d come to Malachor for. To beat the enemy, you had to understand them. Now she did. They were afraid. What had he said to her when she’d claimed she knew who he really was? Skywalker was weak… I destroyed him. They sought power because they were afraid to be vulnerable. Afraid of the light. Afraid of love, believing love made them weak. So they stopped loving.

           “Can your love save him?” Morai asked. It hadn’t been enough when she’d gotten that glimpse of him in the temple. What now felt like just a trick of the light. She wanted to save him, that much was true. She wasn’t sure if she could or not, or if she was enough. All that mattered was that she wouldn’t stop trying, because she loved him. She had no such fear of weakness. He’d once stopped at nothing to find her if she was lost, she would do the same. He was lost, and she would do whatever it took to find him. It wasn’t about Ashla, and it wasn’t about honor or belief that she owed him. It was simply about love. She loved him. She’d always loved him. And she wasn’t ready to let go. She would do it in the moment, if the moment demanded it. But deep down, she never would. It was just like she’d told Master Secura all those years ago; for the greater good she would not sacrifice many lives for the life of one… however… it didn’t mean she couldn’t try to save his too.

            “I don’t know, but I have to try.” If he’d carried a picture he’d drawn of them for sixteen years after turning to the dark side, that had to mean he was still in there. Anakin Skywalker was still alive, and she had to try to release him. The only way to do that was to walk the treacherous path to his soul. She hoped her love was strong enough.  

 ---

             The warm liquid felt like it was burning across his skin. Every part of his broken body screamed in agony; memories of the fire that had seared his flesh. Even after all these years, the wounds felt fresh. He forced himself to ignore the pain and push it aside, using it only as a tool to keep his hatred alive. His eyes stung as the last of his body was submerged in the medicinal liquid. He squeezed them shut. 

            Once the initial shock to his senses had worn off, he allowed himself to sink deep in the darkness of the force that swirled around him like a maelstrom. Everything was red and black. A cold like he'd never known, but there was power in it. Power to push forward, to reach for, to hang on. 

            Inside the maelstrom was ultimate power, and only those brave enough to take it. He let it bathe him in darkness, feeling rejuvenated by purpose and strength. The wounds she'd caused would heal in time. He just had to be patient. 

            She thought she'd won by cutting open his mask, but he would not be deflated so easily. She was weak, like he'd once been. If only she'd accepted his offer. Then he'd show her what true strength really meant. He'd fought for this. All of it. It was his life's work. The Emperor, in all his wisdom, had done exactly as he promised. He'd ended the Clone Wars. He'd brought peace. He'd fixed a floundering failure of a system. The losses and sacrifices, a small price to pay for such potential.

            He wished he'd understood his vision sooner. He'd have stood by his side to help build it. While the Imperials scuttled about building fancy weapons, they failed to realize the power of the force. The few remaining Jedi could not return it to the light. In the clarity of the dark side was there true peace and hope. 

            The weak would meet their due fate in time. Everyone he hurried along to it was another victory. The rebellion they assembled was pathetic. Good was easy to defeat, because it was predictable. It was compassion. It was wasted effort; fighting so hard for so little. If he'd realized that truth sooner, he never would have fought with the Jedi. They were too afraid to do what was necessary for victory, and they paid for it with their lives. Good riddance.

          He burned in anger over their fight. The lingering dissatisfaction of not being able to end years of preparation. It wasn’t that he wanted to destroy her so much as everything she represented. The longer she lived, the more dangerous she was. The fact that she had pulled Skywalker out of him so easily both made him angrier and also terrified. That part of him was dead and gone. After everything he’d done to get here, he could not have it surface like that again. At least she was gone now.

          She’d vanished in front of him as though she’d simply been a vision. He didn’t know how that was possible. He’d had his lightsaber up about to swing the death blow and then she was gone. He’d swung it through nothing. He thought he’d seen something right before she vanished, but he couldn’t recall now. His attention had been on her and only her. She’d stabbed her lightsabers in the floor causing it to break, but it had not worked for her fast enough. He still didn’t understand why she’d done that. She had to have known he’d take advantage of her dropping her guard. He’d trained her better than that.

            He fell deep in meditation, allowing the darkness to refuel his passion. He welcomed it into every corner of his soul. When he’d come to at the bottom of the temple, he’d reached his senses out for her, but she wasn’t there. It was like she’d never been on Malachor at all. He’d searched for her multiple times before leaving, but had felt nothing. Where could she have gone? It didn’t feel as though she was dead, just missing. He wanted to ask the Emperor; he wanted guidance. But he was afraid to tell his master of his weakness. Afraid to admit she had gotten away somehow. And worse, afraid that she still lived out there knowing that Skywalker wasn’t as dead as he should be.

          He tried to lose himself in meditation, but doubts continued to surface around him. He looked around at the world he’d been building in his head. A place as volatile and unpredictable as the planet he now lived on. An accurate representation of his soul. Here there was power, so much power. Here he could harness it and become everything the Emperor believed him capable of being. She may have broken through his conscious walls, but light could not penetrate here.

          He looked up suddenly, what was left of his heart fluttered before he could clamp it down. How had she gotten here? It was impossible! But she was still alive, just as he’d assumed.

            She stood at the edges of his consciousness; like discomfort you could feel but couldn't see. Except he could see her, clearly. Somehow she’d found her way in and he had to do something to get rid of her. Her orange face watching him in sorrow. The lines etched deep enough to distort her distinctive markings. He raged at her. She was foolish to enter here. What she wanted was dead and gone. He'd made sure of it, but nothing he threw at her made her leave. 

            She dropped to her knees as though in meditation. Light radiated from her, burning the darkness and pushing it back. He fought it with double the intensity and hatred; swirling it around her trying to suffocate it. The light she gave off could not be destroyed. He deigned to ignore her instead. He laughed at her efforts, mocking her audacity and persistence. Did she really think that her puny light would save his soul? 

            There was nothing left to be saved. He turned his back, but try as he might, he could not completely ignore her. She'd made herself at home in his consciousness. She came every day. Sitting there, meditating, shining. Most days he could pretend she wasn't there. Most days he could focus on other tasks, but every so often he felt drawn to the light, like a moth to a flame. Sometimes he'd just watch her, anger fuming in him. Other days he'd creep closer, wondering what was on her mind. 

            Why did she come? Why didn't she run away? No matter what he threw at her, night after night, she was there like clockwork. Haunting him, burning him, infuriating him. 

            He refused to acknowledge the longing. The yearning to reach to her. Every time it crept its way in, he'd burn it out with a fresh rush of hatred. Her efforts were futile. In time she would learn that. 

Next Chapter - >

[loquacious-lavender]

it started as a sleep diary. ended in clarity.

A friend bluntly proposed the other day that dreams have no meaning. As someone who was raised religiously, I suppose I’ve always thought they had to. Left and right I was told about the dreams my mother would have of God, or the ones she’d have that were a bad sign, trying to tell her to change something in her life (The next town for us to live in has literally been picked before based on her dreams and what God is “telling” her). This way of thinking has made it so I never stop thinking. When I wake up I keep myself awake analyzing what I dreamt of.

This time a train, a dead wolf, and someone important to me- who was emotionally crushed because they couldn’t save it. I think I saw the same staircase in a nightmare of a basement where I wasn’t alone. Even recalling that disturbs me.

I’d normally assume that this is guilt symbolism, that I need to fix what I’m doing wrong in my life to stop feeling said guilt. But I was over the moon happy before I slept. I wasn’t feeling bad. A few times now I’ve had this experience… being happier than I thought I could ever feel, really, but waking up panicked or confused.

Are dreams nothing more than your head blending its memory bank and stirring the straw?

Some people dream fucked up things that they’d never want to happen. I’m not so certain that there IS some hidden desire, or the subconscious trying to make you aware of something.

Perhaps not always? Trauma will find you there, but other things are at random.

I’ve had a nightmare of my mother crumbling into dust in my hands, and it all being my fault because I messed with forces that weren’t Christian. Nightmares of being hunted down or watched. Nightmares of killing myself (and it being out of my control), which I still suffer from.

I recently heard from a speaker that her dreams of suicidal ideation eventually went away as she healed. It was like I took a breath after holding it for so long. I want them to dissolve, I want that too. I’m fairly stable in my waking hours… I don’t want that reminder anymore.

There’s a recurring nightmare I’ve had since I was little of a large wheel, a scene from Scooby Doo that wasn’t scary, etc. This is one I’d always enter a delusional, half-awake state due to.

I had night terrors as a child, far before I even knew of anything to be that scared of. Apparently locking myself in the washroom and screaming. I would sleep walk, would fall down stairs, would mutter strange things. Once or twice the muttered things were related to things I was worried about, crazed rambling about needing helmets when I was going to be rollerblading the next day.

I couldn’t help but think things were inexplicably linked.

Someone I talked with once had a sexual nightmare about a parent. When you hear things like this, knowing full well that’s not what they want at all, things are finally clearer.

Maybe sometimes food is eaten too close to bed or there’s hunger/dehydration and a physical disturbance turns into horrors in the dream-scape. I think most people have had a nightmare at least once about pissing yourself if you downed glass after glass of water beforehand. It could be less complex psychologically. Certainly less connected to spirituality.

I was told that if I prayed to God, He would keep me safe. He never stopped the nightmares. This isn’t to say I’m angry with God for not taking them away. There might not be God. Thinking there was… kept me paranoid about appeasing being the only way to avoid death. If I ever believed in Him again for some reason, it wouldn’t be to impress or be saved from damnation.

Kinda cool, realizing that my nightmares haven’t been too different between being a person of so-called faith and where I am now. My life is my own. It feels so good to recognize that.

I may still tend to capitalize His name out of ingrained teachings of fearful respect but he does not hold anything over me. Let it be said, he does not.

What realistically keeps me safe is rational security measures and the people I love.

With sexual touch, sometimes it’s harder to sleep. I think it has more to do with feeling physically uncomfortable if I’m focusing on it. Might just need a good shower, not a dose of sexual repression and regret.

Sexual guilt is an oddity in itself. I’ve gone through a few phases of incessantly repeating “I’m sorry” in a fit of tears after touching myself. I don’t know which reason wins out for this. Apologizing to my body for the sensory overload, or feeling grossed out about what I had to think of to feel anything, or feeling bad for thinking about someone that way when they’re not around. Then I also just miss childhood feverishly… masturbation in particular feels like a forceful throw into new territory.

Been trying to figure this out, I’m tired of doing things by habit. Tired of looking to “normal” to base my choices around. I don’t want to cry until my nose bleeds or I nearly puke anymore.

I’d thought the guilt was induced by girls, time after time being allowed to look but not touch-  being an emotional support dog but claiming I wasn’t such. Truth be told, I’ve only liked one girl particularly in a sexual sense, and I don’t think I struggled much to avoid touching the others. 

It USED to be parent induced guilt. I could call it by another name, religious guilt, but that wouldn’t be true. Would it? I’m up and down with this since it’s almost like I never believed personally. The one thing I had faith in was that most of my mother’s expectations or views were correct.

Hm, current sexual guilt could be disguised self hatred actually. “They wouldn’t want someone like ME thinking of them this way.” What’s so wrong with someone like me? With me? After going through a university class that talks about the Westernized therapy approach of figuring out what’s wrong with someone, as opposed to “what happened to you?” I think I’m learning things. Thanks, post-secondary.

When I wake up, I usually hallucinate. This has happened starting this year, and what’s been different? I’ve been sleeping with my bedroom light on, directly above me this time, in this house. If anything that’s messing with my head and my vision. You know when you stare into the sun for some blasted reason? Thinking- I don’t know- that this single time you won’t blind yourself and will be able to see what the sun looks like? Then there’s this sphere of pink or white or something hazey everywhere you look. My visual hallucinations tend to look like that, but with words or unrecognizable script. These aren’t prophetic- sometimes it’s a random username of jumbled letters. Hypnopompic hallucinations, perhaps.

Someday I won’t be so scared of the dark. I’ve been going downstairs with the lights off a few times. “I’m not going to let this obsessive fear get in the way of making a good cup of tea, or putting something away.” I’ve had some success.

I’ve had physical hallucinations a rare few times, someone touching my leg, and the feeling of pressure on my chest. The fingers tracing on my leg felt reminiscent of the time I got groped. I’m not sure what’s going on with the pressure, but it usually goes along with visions of myself drowning or someone trying to suffocate me. Unfortunate at times, but that’s life. Sleep paralysis is pretty common anyhow.

Sleep hygiene is a curious thing.

Learning to save the bed for sleep and little else, to do mind-occupying things outside of it. I find this difficult because my mother owns the main floor, as keeping the TV on all day is usually the only thing to keep her sane. I’ve tried sitting on my bedroom floor. A creature of habit, most days I slink back into bed. I think it’ll get easier with time. It does come with a sense of relief and comfort: easing under the covers after living a day.

And then... there’s him. Beautiful, wonderful him. Sleep comes easy. I don’t know how to write a smile as a word here. “Him” will have to do.

[paper-sounds]

What Is Like To Be A Programmer With Mental Illnesses

For most of my life I've been battling with 2 things: bugs in code and mental illnesses. The former can be fixed given enough time and patience, the latter may never be so.

It is not uncommon being a programmer with mental health issues. Actually, most programmers think are somewhat depressed or that science supports the correlation between spending days of your life coding and mental issues. Albeit some think otherwise, I'm not going to discuss about it. More importantly is to explain to the general public what is exactly like to try to create software while suffering from mental illnesses; in my case, depression and ADHD.

First of all, I constantly feel like I am doing 15% of what I could. Every day. Even in the good days, I can barely do what I consider the minimum for my intelligence and time spent. Perhaps I overestimate either or both but the feeling prevents me to actually enjoy or think as I did enough for the day. Which clearly helps in increasing the depression.

I give up too easily. It's not like I don't try, which is something often observer blame me to, I can't go through the hardiness of learning and applying generous amounts of mental energies which are needed to code and fight off the ADHD. When I don't get immediate, positive results, that's when the depression kicks in and giving up becomes automatic.

Most of my days when I code go like this:

I have an idea to write something or fix a bug

I rush into implementing it. Key word here is rush as otherwise I believe the idea or fix may slip, forever

I find issues in the idea (which is perfectly normal for any developer)

I look for/think about solutions. That means furiously pressing the right keys on the keyboard in order to find the correct solution

If I don't find any within 5 minutes, the desire to look away and try something else or another day grows

Perhaps at this point I found a way to go on with the code but it nonetheless feels like I'm dumb for not having thought of it before or knewn it beforehand

ADHD is attacking me now, luring me into doing something else, anything else, be it kittens videos or browsing for the news or opening Twitter

The fights against ADHD starts and the energies are lessening

Next issue or bug I find is usually when I stop, wonder what am I good at, if anything, getting angry at myself for not being "smart enough" and despairing to ever succeed

Depression ensues and that's, unsurprisingly, the end of the coding session

Simply too much thinking about the code, keeping at bay the thought of wasting time as I'm not seeing any progress and fighting against distractions makes me give up each time. Only a bit later or earlier, depending on how many energies I have or the difficulty of the problems I'm facing that day.

What if I did something else? Perhaps I'd make more progress. That's an ever-occurring thought while coding; I often try to, only finding another block, which restarts the whole process and I look for something else again. Usually after 3-4 times switching objectives, I give up for the day. The thought of trying again makes me irritable and angry at myself until the moment I go to sleep, the ultimate sign of having given up progressing for the day. Next morning I'm usually not in the mood to code, nor I feel encouraged to do so by the previous day failure.

I take frequent breaks. I mean, like every 3 minutes I open a non-coding related website or I get up and have a brief walk. I can't stay focused for longer than 5 minutes, at most. Unless I am making progresses, which is usually only at the beginning of a project when lots of parts are easy to write and issues come up only later. That's the best part, where I stay put for hours, in the very best days, and the only ones when I feel really productive. Any other time, I distract myself to not feel the pain of failure and the stress of avoiding it.

It may be not a failure, I know. Logically I do. Yet the feelings are not logical, clearly. I am sure I would not get these feelings if I hadn't ADHD: without it I would have a sense of having tried hard at least, "giving it all", and albeit failing, it would assuage my regrets. I'd sleep better, as to say.

Therefore, ADHD is the main culprit. Depression is just the ultimate result of failing again and again.

Yes, I do learn things. It's not like my efforts go wasted all the time. I'm intelligent enough, and in this I'm quoting most people who know me and by no means making any self-claimg of greatness, to improve even if I give 15% of my intellect to the task at hand. Yet, it's a waste of time, can't stop feeling like this.

I wish someday to be able to live one week, one week only, as a programmer without ADHD and depression. I would like to know how it is "on the brighter side", how it is like to have the mind of those programmers that crunch code all day long and have a dozen side-project they regularly return to. I would like to experience this just to have a way to tell myself how good I am to keep trying despite my mental limitations. That would make returning to my normal self much more bearable.