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mostlysignssomeportents · 6 months ago

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The new globalism is global labor

For the rest of May, my bestselling solarpunk utopian novel THE LOST CAUSE (2023) is available as a $2.99, DRM-free ebook!

Depending on how you look at it, I either grew up in the periphery of the labor movement, or atop it, or surrounded by it. For a kid, labor issues don't really hold a lot of urgency – in places with mature labor movements, kids don't really have jobs, and the part-time jobs I had as a kid (paper route, cleaning a dance studio) were pretty benign.

Ironically, one of the reasons that labor issues barely registered for me as a kid was that my parents were in great, strong unions: Ontario teachers' unions, which protected teachers from exploitative working conditions and from retaliation when they advocated for their students, striking for better schools as well as better working conditions.

Ontario teachers' unions were strong enough that they could take the lead on workplace organization, to the benefit of teachers at every part of their careers, as well as students and the system as a whole. Back in the early 1980s, Ontario schools faced a demographic crisis. After years of declining enrollment, the number of students entering the system was rapidly increasing.

That meant that each level of the system – primary, junior, secondary – was about to go through a whipsaw, in which low numbers of students would be followed by large numbers. For a unionized education workforce, this presented a crisis: normally, a severe contraction in student numbers would trigger layoffs, on a last-in, first-out basis. That meant that layoffs loomed for junior teachers, who would almost certainly end up retraining for another career. When student numbers picked up again, those teachers wouldn't be in the workforce anymore, and worse, a lot of the senior teachers who got priority during layoffs would be retiring, magnifying the crisis.

The teachers' unions were strong, and they cared about students and teachers, both those at the start of their careers and those who'd given many years of service. They came up with an amazing solution: "self-funded sabbaticals." Teachers with a set number of years of seniority could choose to take four years at 80% salary, and get a fifth year off at 80% salary (actually, they could take their year off any time from the third year on).

This allowed Ontario to increase its workforce by about 20%, for free. Senior teachers got a year off to spend with their families, or on continuing education, or for travel. Junior teachers' jobs were protected. Students coming into the system had adequate classroom staff, in a mix of both senior and junior teachers.

This worked great for everyone, including my family. My parents both took their four-over-five year in 1983/84. They rented out our house for six months, charging enough to cover the mortgage. We flew to London, took a ferry to France, and leased a little sedan. For the next six months, we drove around Europe, visiting fourteen countries while my parents homeschooled us on the long highway stretches and in laundromats. We stayed in youth hostels and took a train to Leningrad to visit my family there. We saw Christmas Midnight Mass at the Vatican and walked around the Parthenon. We saw Guernica at the Prado. We visited a computer lab in Paris and I learned to program Logo in French. We hung out with my parents' teacher pals who were civilian educators at a Canadian Forces Base in Baden-Baden. I bought an amazing hand-carved chess set in Seville with medieval motifs that sung to my D&D playing heart. It was amazing.

No, really, it was amazing. Unions and the social contract they bargained for transformed my family's life chances. My dad came to Canada as a refugee, the son of a teen mother who'd been deeply traumatized by her civil defense service as a child during the Siege of Leningrad. My mother was the eldest child of a man who, at thirteen, had dropped out of school to support his nine brothers and sisters after the death of his father. My parents grew up to not only own a home, but to be able to take their sons on a latter-day version of the Grand Tour that was once the exclusive province of weak-chinned toffs from the uppermost of crusts:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Grand_Tour

My parents were active in labor causes and in their unions, of course, but that was just part of their activist lives. My mother was a leader in the fight for legal abortion rights in Canada:

https://www.flickr.com/photos/doctorow/8882641733

My dad was active in party politics with the New Democratic Party, and both he and my mother were deeply involved with the fight against nuclear arms proliferation, a major issue in Canada, given our role in supplying radioisotopes to the US, building key components for ICBMs, testing cruise missiles over Labrador, and our participation in NORAD.

Abortion rights and nuclear arms proliferation were my own entry into political activism. When I was 13, I organized a large contingent from my school to march on Queen's Park, the seat of the Provincial Parliament, to demand an end to Ontario's active and critical participation in the hastening of global nuclear conflagration:

https://www.flickr.com/photos/doctorow/53616011737/

When I got a little older, I started helping with clinic defense and counterprotests at the Morgentaler Clinic and other sites in Toronto that provided safe access to women's health, including abortions:

https://www.cbc.ca/news/canada/morgentaler-honoured-by-order-of-canada-federal-government-not-involved-1.716775

My teens were a period of deepening involvement in politics. It was hard work, but rewarding and fundamentally hopeful. There, in the shadow of imminent nuclear armageddon, there was a role for me to play, a way to be more than a passive passenger on a runaway train, to participate in the effort to pull the brake lever before we ran over the cliff.

In hindsight, though, I can see that even as my activism intensified, it also got harder. We struggled more to find places to meet, to find phones and computers to use, to find people who could explain how to get a permit for a demonstration or to get legal assistance for comrades in jail after a civil disobedience action.

What I couldn't see at the time was that all of this was provided by organized labor. The labor movement had the halls, the photocopiers, the lawyers, the experience – the infrastructure. Even for campaigns that were directly about labor rights – campaigns for abortion rights, or against nuclear annihilation – the labor movement was the material, tangible base for our activities.

Look, riding a bicycle around all night wheatpasting posters to telephone poles to turn out people for an upcoming demonstration is hard work, but it's much harder if you have to pay for xeroxing at Kinko's rather than getting it for free at the union hall. Worse, the demonstration turnout suffers more because the union phone-trees and newsletters stop bringing out the numbers they once brought out.

This was why the neoliberal project took such savage aim at labor: they understood that a strong labor movement was foundation of antiimperialist, antiracist, antisexist struggles for justice. By dismantling labor, the ruling class kicked the legs out from under all the other fights that mattered.

Every year, it got harder to fight for any kind of better world. We activist kids grew to our twenties and foundered, spending precious hours searching for a room to hold a meeting, leaving us with fewer hours to spend organizing the thing we were meeting for. But gradually, we rebuilt. We started to stand up our own fragile, brittle, nascent structures that stood in for the mature and solid labor foundation that we'd grown up with.

The first time I got an inkling of what was going on came in 1999, with the Battle of Seattle: the mass protests over the WTO. Yes, labor turned out in force for those mass demonstrations, but they weren't its leaders. The militancy, the leadership, and the organization came out of groups that could loosely be called "post-labor" – not in the sense that they no longer believed in labor causes, but in the sense that they were being organized outside of traditional labor.

Labor was in retreat. Five years earlier, organized labor had responded to NAFTA by organizing against Mexican workers, rather than the bosses who wanted to ship jobs to Mexico. It wasn't unusual to see cars in Ontario with CAW bumper stickers alongside xenophobic stickers taking aim at Mexicans, not bosses. Those were the only workers that organized labor saw as competitors for labor rights: this was also the heyday of "two-tier" contracts, which protected benefits for senior workers while leaving their junior comrades exposed to bosses' most sadistic practices, while still expecting junior workers to pay dues to a union that wouldn't protect them:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/11/25/strikesgiving/#shed-a-tier

Two-tier contracts were the opposite of the solidarity that my parents' teachers' union exhibited in the early 1980s; blaming Mexican workers for automakers' offshoring was the opposite of the solidarity that built transracial and international labor power in the early days of the union movement:

https://unionhall.aflcio.org/bloomington-normal-trades-and-labor-assembly/labor-culture/edge-anarchy-first-class-pullman-strike

As labor withered under a sustained, multi-decades-long assault on workers' rights, other movements started to recapitulate the evolution of early labor, shoring up fragile movements that lacked legal protections, weathering setbacks, and building a "progressive" coalition that encompassed numerous issues. And then that movement started to support a new wave of labor organizing, situating labor issues on a continuum of justice questions, from race to gender to predatory college lending.

Young workers from every sector joined ossified unions with corrupt, sellout leaders and helped engineer their ouster, turning these dying old unions into engines of successful labor militancy:

https://theintercept.com/2023/04/07/deconstructed-union-dhl-teamsters-uaw/

In other words, we're in the midst of a reversal of the historic role of labor and other social justice movements. Whereas once labor anchored a large collection of smaller, less unified social movements; today those social movements are helping bring back a weakened and fragmented labor movement.

One of the key organizing questions for today is whether these two movements can continue to co-evolve and, eventually, merge. For example: there can be no successful climate action without climate justice. The least paid workers in America are also the most racially disfavored. The gender pay-gap exists in all labor markets. For labor, integrating social justice questions isn't just morally sound, it's also tactically necessary.

One thing such a fusion can produce is a truly international labor movement. Today, social justice movements are transnational: the successful Irish campaign for abortion rights was closely linked to key abortion rights struggles in Argentina and Poland, and today, abortion rights organizers from all over the world are involved in mailing medication abortion pills to America.

A global labor movement is necessary, and not just to defeat the divide-and-rule tactics of the NAFTA fight. The WTO's legacy is a firmly global capitalism: workers all over the world are fighting the same corporations. The strong unions of one country are threatened by weak labor in other countries where their key corporations seek to shift manufacturing or service delivery. But those same strong unions are able to use their power to help their comrades abroad protect their labor rights, depriving their common adversary of an easily exploited workforce.

A key recent example is Mercedes, part of the Daimler global octopus. Mercedes' home turf is Germany, which boasts some of the strongest autoworker unions in the world. In the USA, Mercedes – like other German auto giants – preferentially manufactures its cars in the South, America's "onshore-offshore" crime havens, where labor laws are both virtually nonexistent and largely unenforced. This allows Mercedes to exploit and endanger a largely Black workforce in a "right to work" territory where unions are nearly impossible to form and sustain.

Mercedes just defeated a hard-fought union drive in Vance, Alabama. In part, this was due to admitted tactical blunders from the UAW, who have recently racked up unprecedented victories in Tennessee and North Carolina:

https://paydayreport.com/uaw-admits-digital-heavy-organizing-committee-light-approach-failed-them-in-alabama-at-mercedes/

But mostly, this was because Mercedes cheated. They flagrantly violated labor law to sabotage the union vote. That's where it gets interesting. German workers have successfully lobbied the German parliament for the Supply Chain Act, an anticorruption law that punishes German companies that violate labor law abroad. That means that even though the UAW just lost their election, they might inflict some serious pain on Mercedes, who face a fine of 2% of their global annual revenue, and a ban on selling cars to the German government:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/10/an-injury-to-one/#is-an-injury-to-all

This is another way reversal of the post-neoliberal era. Whereas once the US exported its most rapacious corporate practices all over the world, today, global labor stands a chance of exporting workers' rights from weak territories to strong ones.

Here's an American analogy: the US's two most populous states are California and Texas. The policies of these states ripple out over the whole country, and even beyond. When Texas requires textbooks that ban evolution, every pupil in the country is at risk of getting a textbook that embraces Young Earth Creationism. When California enacts strict emission standards, every car in the country gets cleaner tailpipes. The WTO was a Texas-style export: a race to the bottom, all around the world. The moment we're living through now, as global social movements fuse with global labor, are a California-style export, a race to the top.

This is a weird upside to global monopoly capitalism. It's how antitrust regulators all over the world are taking on corporations whose power rivals global superpowers like the USA and China: because they're all fighting the same corporations, they can share tactics and even recycle evidence from one-another's antitrust cases:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2024/05/big-tech-eu-drop-dead

Look, the UAW messed up in Alabama. A successful union vote is won before the first ballot is cast. If your ground game isn't strong enough to know the outcome of the vote before the ballot box opens, you need more organizing, not a vote:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/23/a-collective-bargain/

But thanks to global labor – and its enemy, global capitalism – the UAW gets another chance. Global capitalism is rich and powerful, but it has key weaknesses. Its drive to "efficiency" makes it terribly vulnerable, and a disruption anywhere in its supply chain can bring the whole global empire to its knees:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/21/eight-and-skate/#strike-to-rule

American workers – especially swing-state workers who swung for Trump and are leaning his way again – overwhelmingly support a pro-labor agenda. They are furious over "price gouging and outrageous corporate profits…wealthy corporate CEOs and billionaires [not] paying what they should in taxes and the top 1% gaming the system":

https://www.americanfamilyvoices.org/_files/ugd/d4d64f_6c3dff0c3da74098b07ed3f086705af2.pdf

They support universal healthcare, and value Medicare and Social Security, and trust the Democrats to manage both better than Republicans will. They support "abortion rights, affordable child care, and even forgiving student loans":

https://prospect.org/politics/2024-05-20-bidens-working-class-slump/

The problem is that these blue-collar voters are atomized. They no longer meet in union halls – they belong to gun clubs affiliated with the NRA. There are enough people who are a) undecided and b) union members in these swing states to defeat Trump. This is why labor power matters, and why a fusion of American labor and social justice movements matters – and why an international fusion of a labor-social justice coalition is our best hope for a habitable planet and a decent lives for our families.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/05/20/a-common-foe/#the-multinational-playbook

#pluralistic #mercedes #germany #trustbusting #apple #eu #south korea #japan #uk #competition and markets authority #dma #dsa #germany supply chain act #alabama #bafa

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lavendermunson · 1 year ago

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cards - eddie munson

day 3 of leia's christmas tree farm

cw eddie struggles with mental health, eddie's pov. henderson!reader (no physical descriptions). angst. exes to lovers. inspired by a scene from love actually.

Eddie is a mess right now. He sits on the couch of his trailer, his right leg bouncing as his foot taps loudly into the floor. In his head, breaking up with you was the best thing he could ever do to protect you from all his mood swings, tantrums, and anger episodes.

But he fucked up, you haven’t talked to him for a month and it’s killing him. He missed you, he let you go for a stupid, stupid reason and he regrets it every day of his damned existence.

The phone rings so loudly that it makes him flinch. As annoyed as Eddie can get, he picks up the phone and shouts “What do you want” to the person on the end of the line. As good as his luck can get, it’s only your brother, Dustin.

“I’ll be quick, my sister is going out with a weird guy. Well, he is not weird, he is just Drew and he isn't you, Eddie. I know she loves you, I know you love her and this guy isn’t good for her. Please do something! They are watching a movie at his house! GO NOW!”

Dustin hangs up the phone, leaving Eddie speechless. Jealousy crawls over his body, he holds the phone so tight his knuckles turn white. He knows this guy, he has been in his house for a couple of parties and even if Drew is not the worst person ever, he still has something that Eddie loves, something Eddie wants.

He makes a plan and after an hour Eddie gets in his van and turns on his walkie-talkie to talk to Dustin on his way. It has to be perfect.

When Eddie arrives at his destination, he hears the phone ring inside the house. That was his sign to knock on the door, not too hard but with his hand shaking in desperation.

You open the door and Eddie’s heart melts, you look so beautiful. Even more beautiful than he remembers, his memory doesn't do justice to your perfect and beautiful face. He lets out a nervous sigh as his breath comes out in a cloud from the cold. He holds the cue cards in his hands and presses the play button on the boombox to a Christmas song sung by a random caroling group. He begins to pass the cards.

He feels so lucky you didn’t close the door on his face, that was a great sign.

‘I’m sorry, I know I fucked up’

You cross your arms over your chest, wrapping the blanket you had around yourself to warm you up while the cold wind hits the front porch.

‘I love you, since that time in the sandbox’

‘Remember? I found a ladybug and gave it to you’

A voice comes from inside the house, you jump at the sudden scream.

“Hey, who is that?” your date asks while holding the phone in his hand. “I’m getting a huge deal on family video tapes over here!”

Oh, and Steve is going to kill Dustin.

“Great!” you reply, looking over at the guy with the red phone in his ear, excited to hear how a little kid tricks him. Only he is oblivious about it. “Just carol singers, I got it”

And you return your attention to Eddie, who nervously passes to the other cue cards as you read them carefully, while his knees keep shaking. He has been planning this for hours, and it’s not what you deserve but it’s just a start. He thinks he can do better and he is going to.

‘Because we used to believe ladybugs…’

“Are for good luck since one landed on my hand the day we kissed for the first time”

You say, and Eddie nods with the biggest smile on his face. His cheeks hurt with the cold weather. He feels his fingers cramp, his arms are about to give out and he needs a better jacket but that didn’t cross his mind because you are in it. All the time.

‘I’m in love with you, that’s never going to change’

‘You make me better, kind, smarter…’

‘I miss you’

‘My life has no meaning without you’

He sees you crying, tears rolling down your cheeks making Eddie’s heart break like shattered glass because he knows he caused all of this mess. He just wants to fix it because he has lost a million opportunities by running away, this time he is doing the opposite and he is trying, he is trying.

“Are you gonna watch the movie?” Right, you are on a date. With a guy who has never broken your heart, while Eddie begs for forgiveness feeling almost stupid for it.

The final cue card comes, and Eddie has lost all of his hope. But it’s worth a try.

‘You are the love of my life, the only one I want’

The music stops. Both standing in silence, while Eddie holds his bleeding heart on his hands and you keep crying, bottom lip quivering and red cheeks hurting while you try to hold a smile.

“I- I’m sorry Eddie”

You take a step back and close the door. The dungeon master admits his defeat, picking the cue cards from the floor and the boombox from the steps on the porch. Walking to his van before collapsing on the snow.

He had to try. He had hope, he lost it, he lost you and now he will be heartbroken for the rest of his life. No matter how many friends he has, how many metal records he owns, and how many concerts he performs. Life would be nothing without you.

Once he gets in his vehicle his hands grip the steering wheel and he starts crying. He touches his chest, just where his heart is. The cold, his heartbreak, the thought of him losing the only person he loved other than Wayne. It’s too much and he honestly doesn’t know if he can handle it.

His sobs get cut when someone knocks on the window of the passenger seat, Eddie glances at the door ready to scream the loudest ‘FUCK OFF’ of his life with all the anger in his chest.

“You are the love of my life too, Eddie. I love you”

You hop on the van and kiss him. A soft but gentle dance of lips, mixed with tears. It’s so tender, so soft… it erases the what-ifs, the sadness, and the tiny little voice in Eddie’s head that used to torture him. And now, as you hold him. He knows it was worth the risk, he knows he should stop running away from everything. And that Christmas miracles exist, according to Dustin.

reblog to support your creators! comments are appreciated !! ♡ thank you for following my christmas event, remember you can still request a gift!

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sobeautifullyobsessed · 11 months ago

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[excerpt from an upcoming Stephen Strange x Hope Collins fic]

🎄Wrapped Up In Christmas Memories🎄

(Indulge me, if you will? Not sure if I'll be able to complete this story by Christmas, let alone the New Year ~ but the need to write this part is strong upon me, while my loves for Stephen and for Story compell me...)

genre: angst, catharsis, healing...and above all, love ❤️

characters: Stephen Strange, Hope Collins (OFC); established relationship

word count: 1.2k-ish

...Beverly Strange had been a music teacher before she ever became a farmer's wife. And for most of her life--despite how stony her husband grew over the years, grimly implacable in the face of what he found to be frivolous--she had done her best to fill their household with music. It was no fluke that Stephen developed such a great love for music that his prodigious intellect maintained a mental catalog of music trivia encompassing multiple genres.

Beverly had given private piano lessons as much for fulfillment as for the extra money the family had needed in lean years on the farm. Until the birth of Stephen's younger brother Victor, she had volunteered as Choir Director at the community's small Lutheran church. Stephen could remember spending many an afternoon in the weeks leading up to Christmas and Easter in the choir loft, coloring quietly and humming along while Beverly conducted practice. Once her youngest child, Donna, had been old enough to sit in a church pew under Stephen's supervision (for their father rarely attended weekly services) Beverly had resumed a place in the choir and was often featured as a soloist during the holidays. Stephen had been damn proud watching his mother sing her favorite carol, 'Oh, Holy Night'; how straight she had stood, free of his father's angry shadow, and of how flawlessly (to him, anyway) her notes had risen--in his child's mind he had been sure they had reached Heaven itself.

Most of all, though, he had always been proud to see when some parishioner or another was moved to tears by the purity of her rendition. Decades later, he could easily recall that feeling if he allowed himself to remember, could hear her in his mind--but the pain of Donna's death and the toll it wreaked upon his mother usually precluded him from indulging in such sentimental recall. Beverly's music had fallen mute the day his sister had drowned; she had never sung in church again, nor had Stephen ever heard her sing in their own home in the too short years that followed before her grief prematurely aged her into an early grave.

Stephen himself had adopted a stoic mien in the wake of losing Donna, internalizing the blame he felt for failing to save her, and by extension, their mother. Nearly two decades later, it still hurt too damn much to remember the first--and very rare--people who had loved him unconditionally, as both had been lost to him well before their time. And as his most vibrant memories of them included Christmastimes, he had turned his back on all but the most superficial of holiday celebrations.

He kept his painful thoughts and memories buried deep and had only confessed them to Christine (whom he realized in retrospect was the third soul to have loved him unconditionally) one sloppy, drunken night two months after his accident. She had given him what solace she could, gently urging him to not be so hard on himself, reminding him that both Donna and Beverly would wish for him to seek some healing, and staying with him until he drifted into a dreamless sleep. When she returned to check on him the next day, he had closed himself off again, rejecting her concern as unnecessary. Brushing off the incident as impertinent to his current life and goals.

But now...oh now! A wee bit at a time, Hope--who loved him as unconditionally as his past dear ones--had been chipping away at that wall. Reintroducing Christmas into his life by osmosis, without a hint of pressure for him to embrace the season. As she'd promised four weeks ago, she'd gone about her Christmasing without the sort of fuss that might bother him. With each little Yuletide advance she had made in the Sanctum, he had found himself relaxing and accepting, smiling in concession, happy to play witness to her happiness in the season.

Christmas was still a week away, and Stephen had begun contemplating what sort of gift he might manage for his own Who-girl. He hoped to find a gift that spoke his heart clearly, but each idea that came to him fell flat soon after he thought it up.

Settled comfortably in his study this evening, he was delving into a freshly discovered manuscript that appeared to have been penned by The Ancient One when she had been apprenticed to Merlin, during his tenure as the Londinium Sanctum Master. Though it should have been a fascinating read, Stephen found himself distracted by the question of what to give Hope--and by the carols she was playing in the living room portion of his quarters. Celtic Woman, he told himself with no effort to recall the facts; released October 2006, peak chart position number one on Billboard for US Worldwide Albums. The trilling of the all female group was pleasant enough, but not at all conducive to the study he was attempting.

Meaning to simply ask Hope to lower the volume so he could concentrate, Stephen removed his reading glasses, leaving them to rest atop the open manuscript and then headed the short way to the main room of his suite. The fragrances of cranberry and evergreen greeted him as he drew near, for she'd made a substantial investment in candles for the season, and they were clearly alight as she wrapped presents. Hope was deep in her element and happy to be so.

The music paused between tracks, and when it resumed, it stopped Stephen in his. The opening strains of 'O, Holy Night' filled the air, and in a heartbeat they landed upon him, sending him back to his youth, well before he had known loss and heartbreak. To those crisp, cold Nebraska evenings when his heart had swelled with love and pride to see his mother sing. Unprepared as he was for those powerful images and sounds to fill his senses, Stephen backed away, his eyes prickling with tears of mixed grief and recollection. Tears he'd put off for far too long in his quest to avoid the pain. And yet he knew that just several feet around the corner was the very soul who had given him the exact comfort, love, and strength he'd needed to complete the dreadful journey he had undertaken to save this Universe from Thanos--and that she'd be only too glad to learn this part of his past and help him find healing.

By some remarkable coincidence, or as if she'd heard his thoughts, Hope's answer came unbidden, her voice blending in as though it had been meant to be a message for his ears alone.

'Sweet hymns of joy, in grateful chorus raise we..., ' she sang as his heart seemed to crack open in bittersweet relief. 'Fall on your knees, O hear the angels voices...' Stephen wrapped his arms across his chest while he wept to remember the love and warmth that had been his in the little church and in every moment spent in his mother's company. How had he made himself ignore such a miraculous gift? Surely the joy of it far outweighed the sorrow. How foolish to have gone so long without allowing himself such comfort.

The carol now drew swiftly to it's close, and still his Hope sang sweetly, following the notes faithfully, unaware that she had reawakened a dormant part of his heart. 'O night,' she crooned, in happy harmony with those recorded singers, 'O night divine!' He swiped his tears away with both his palms, deciding he must tell her this part of his story. His reasons for divorcing Christmas from his life. And that he understood at last that every day of this beautiful season, she'd been patiently showing him that love was stronger than even grief...

[to be completed - once I finish the beginning as well!]

tagging: @aeterna-auroral-avenger @strangelock221b @stewardofningishzida @icytrickster17 @ben-locked @lorelei-lee @mousedetective @darsynia @bakerstreethound @hithertoundreamtof23 @rmoonstoner @mckiwi @doctorstrangeaskblog

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somacruising · 5 months ago

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TALES OF THE RAYS: VAN'S 2ND SKIT (ENGLISH TRANSLATION)

MASTERPOST

For some reason, I was captivated by everyone's favorite Commandant yesterday. So instead of a story update, I've decided to post a random skit of his that made me feel very soft. btw for people who don't know Rays Lore, this skit is about Van talking to Mercuria, who is the 12-year-old princess of a nation that got obliterated into nothing by a weapon. Her mom died in front of her and all she has left is her older brother. Her goal is that she wants to revive everyone who died using a technology similar to replicas. For completely unknown reasons, Van seems to resonate with this and joins her. Who knows why. It is a mystery.

For Sleepless Nights

Mercuria: *huff, huff* I’m no use to anyone if an arte like this tires me out so much. I have to train more… はぁ……はぁ……。これしきの術で息が切れるようでは役に立てぬ。もっと鍛錬を……。

[ Van enters ]

Van: It’s going to take more than that to improve your accuracy. がむしゃらに続けても精度はあがらぬぞ。

Mercuria: Van…!? Were you watching me? ヴァン……！見ていたのか。

Van: No, I was simply passing by. I apologize for disturbing your practice. Please get to bed soon, Princess, it’s very late now. いや、今しがた通りがかっただけだ。邪魔をした。夜も遅い、皇女殿も早く眠りなさい。

Mercuria: Ah, wait a moment. How exactly does someone improve accuracy? あっ、待ってくれ。精度を上げるとは、どうすればよいのじゃ？

Van: Let’s see… You should start with breathing techniques and martial artes. Even a caster such as yourself needs a solid foundation. そうだな……まずは呼吸法と体術を学ぶといい。術者とはいえ、ある程度の基礎は必要だ。

Mercuria: I see. I need to improve my physical strength. I was only focused on improving my mirristry skills. なるほど。体力も必要か。わらわは魔鏡術を磨くことばかりを考えておった。

Van: If you would like advice on that, you should seek out Legretta. It would benefit you to ask her. 教えを乞うのであればリグレットが適任だろう。頼んでみるといい。

Mercuria: I will. However, the fact that you picked out my shortcomings at just a glance… I think that you would be a wonderful teacher. 承知した。しかし、あれだけでわらわの至らぬ点を見抜くとはのう……。そなたは良き師となること間違いなしじゃ。

Van: Well now… you think so? Putting that aside, why are you training at such an hour? さて……どうだろうな。それよりも、何故このような時間に鍛錬をしている。

Mercuria: I woke up because I had a bad dream… I dreamed that I lost my older brother. 夢見が悪くて目が覚めてしまった。……兄上様を失う夢じゃった。

Mercuria: My brother is with me now, no matter what form he’s in. But so much is changing, I have no idea what might happen to him. My heart hurts when I think about it… どんな形であれ、今、兄上様はそばにいる。しかしこれから先はどうなるかわからぬ。そう考えると胸が苦しくて……。

Van: So you were training to try and dispel your anxiety. あれは不安を打ち消すための鍛錬だったか。

Mercuria: Anxiety… Yes, that’s it. I suppose that I’m anxious right now because I don’t know what will happen to my brother. 不安……、そうじゃな。わらわは不安なのであろう。兄上様の身に何が起こるかわからぬゆえ。

Mercuria: If only we could see the future, my dreams wouldn’t bother me so. 未来が見えればこのような夢に惑わされぬものを。

Van: No, it is precisely because we can’t see what fate has in store that we can have hope. It makes us want to do everything we can. いや、先が見えぬからこそ希望を持つことができる。手を尽くそうとも思えるのだ。

Van: Listen closely, Mercuria. Even if your training doesn’t improve your skill as much as you like, it is still a step forward to gaining the power to help your brother. 聞きなさい、メルクリア。たとえ今夜の鍛錬の成果が微々たるものだとしてもそれはいつか兄を助ける力となるだろう。

Van: Perhaps you had that nightmare in order to encourage you to gain that power. その力を身につけるために悪夢を見たのだ、と思ってはどうだ。

Mercuria: …I think you’re right. I’ll try to start thinking like that. But even so, I don’t know how I’m going to fall back asleep. ……そうじゃな。そのように考えるよう努力する。そうは言うても、簡単には寝つけ��だろうな。

Van: …My sister came to me often when she would have scary dreams and struggled to sleep. She would ask me to sing lullabies for her. ……妹も、よく怖い夢を見て眠れなくなると私のところへ来ていたな。その度に子守歌をせがまれたものだ。

Mercuria: Really, you singing a lullaby? Um…could you sing one for me, too? なんと、ヴァンが子守歌を？あの……よければ聴かせてくれぬか？

Mercuria: No one has sung a lullaby to me since my mother passed away. I’d really like to hear one again… 母上様が亡くなられてからわらわに子守歌を歌ってくれる者など誰一人いなかった。また聴けるものなら……。

Van: I… それは……。

Mercuria: I-I’m sorry… That was selfish of me. I didn’t mean to trouble you… す、すまぬ……。甘えであったな。困らせるつもりはなかったのじゃ……。

Van: ………………。

Van: Now, Princess, I want you to promise me one thing first. Keep it a secret between us that I sang for you. では皇女殿、一つ約束して欲しい。私が歌を歌ったことは私と皇女殿、二人だけの秘密にすると。

Mercuria: O-Okay! I promise! I’m really grateful, Van! わ、わかった！約束する！感謝するぞ、ヴァン！

#tales of the rays #totrays #torays #mercuria #mercuria rays #vandesdelca musto fende #van grants #tales of the abyss #tota #nix translates #as always this is MTL with a kanji dictionary in my other hand

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aemondsbeloved · 2 years ago

Note

hi!! I was wondering your take on aemond/aegon falling for someone with selective mutism/who goes nonverbal? <3

Words Unsaid

pairing: Aemond Targaryen x nonverbal!reader

notes: wasn’t feeling any inspo for Aegon so I just did Aemond for these headcanons, hope that’s okay!

The opposite of his elder brother, Aemond has been an observer of the court. Aegon had loved the attention being a prince brought him but even more the loss of his eye, the children of the court circling around Aemond had unnerved him. Then, he had not understood what it appeared like when the daughters and sons of lords said honeyed words to him in hopes of the privileges that came with the friendship of a Targaryen prince, but still, he could find some distaste in their actions. Aegon might have loved it but Aemond wanted to be left alone than be surrounded by insincere people.

When he lost his eye he grew bitter. Gone was the soft spoken and intelligent, perhaps a little arrogant prince. He was a boy who trusted no one save his mother, the only one who defended him. He focused on other things, training with Ser Criston and studying with a maester in the library when he could. There would be some days where he realized he had not spoken to someone in hours. Surprisingly he did not mind the solitude nor the silence

He had never had interest in the ladies of the court nor did he seek to woo any girls. Courting was out of the question. If it were not for his pride of his heritage, his mother might have suggested becoming a maester himself.

Aemond knew he would have to court a lady eventually but he regarded it as duty, something he must do. He would be respectful towards his lady wife no matter what, but she would not receive warmth from him nor would she be sung songs or read poetry by his lips. His mother and father got on well enough to his eye was Aemond's reasoning to himself. There was no love but his mother cared for his father and his father would take no slight against his mother. He would do the same for whomever he married.

These were the things Aemond told himself, at least, but somewhere deep within himself even he wished for love. He had been able to suppress this wish for long until a young lady had arrived to court along with her father, a new member of his father's court.

He did not notice it at first, truth be told. You held yourself highly and walked about the castle as you belonged there just as any of the other ladies did. But you did not linger near the other ladies. Once or twice he saw you near Helaena but from where you sat with her he could see you writing something in a notepad. Helaena was talking away as she tended to do, though he could not discern what, but he assumed that you were writing as you listened to her. He mused you could have been a writer and were simply enjoying his sister's company.

Aemond assumed wrong. He heard whispers of you near the throne room when he passed a group of ladies. "It matters little how comely she is," a lady said snidely. "No lord would want a wife who cannot speak!" "I hear she is a simpleton," another remarked, sounding sage. "If her house was not as proud they would have sent her away long ago, not walk about the Keep for all to see."

Surprisingly himself, Aemond felt anger. His anger had been uncontrollable in the past but now he could tame it, yet hearing this slight he knew could only be about you sent him seething from where the ladies stood. To feel the need to defend someone who was at best a stranger was not something he was used to feeling.

Days that followed felt like quick sand to Aemond, slow and tedious, where he felt his eye roving wherever he was to catch a glimpse at you. It might have been days or week, maybe even months when he saw you that day in the garden, sitting down on a bench.

You say nothing but look up at him from your notebook and smile. He thinks that gesture might be worth a thousand words. When he sits next to you he says nothing for a time. He watches you as you lift your head and watch the people that walk about. Smiling he says more to himself than you, "You are an observer are you not?"

Maybe it was the way he said it, almost softly and thoughtfully that made the simple sentence sound more profound. Without pausing you pull out your leather bound notebooks and write your reply. You hand the open notebook with the words I did not have any other option but to observe written on the blank page. He hums and you seem to appreciate the reply, as silent as it was. To his surprise, you seem to not mind in the slightest as he thumbs through the pages, conversations on your part to situations just like these as well as conversations you overheard that must have intrigued you.

"I too did not have a choice," he admits quietly and you nod at him in understanding. He gestures to the side of his face covered in his eyepatch and the jagged scar. "When people see this they turn away in disgust and find me most grotesque." He laughs bitterly. The wound of the court's reaction felt terrible even now and Aemond had not been able to let slights go. "I would rather stay by myself and let them cower in fear."

He does not mean the words completely as he enjoys the way you treat him as any other person, and Aemond thinks that you know that. The space between you seems smaller when you place your hand on top of his on the bench for a minute before you take the notebook back. Writing again you show him after a minute you next words. They find me a simpleton because I cannot speak but many forget my ears are in fine condition and I hear the idiocy they often speak. We should not worry about the opinions of people of that sort.

Aemond laughs, actually laughs, because he finds you amusing. His laughter and smile at his action seem to please you as he leans back in the bench.

In the weeks that follow there is one person that notes the change in Aemond. Queen Alicent. Her son, once brooding and lonely, perhaps content in his misery, seemed to find pleasure in activities other than reading by himself and training with Ser Criston. It reaches her ear that he has been spending time with a lord's daughter who came to the court a few months prior.

comments and reblogs is always appreciated and encouraged!

#aemond targaryen x you #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond targaryen x reader #hotd x reader #aemond imagine #pro aemond targaryen #aemond x you #aemond x y/n #aemond targaryen

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rabid-utmv · 2 months ago

Text

drabble of skele!reader x Copper (Horrorfell sans)

Part One

Ugh, this night was dragging on and on. You were so tired, yet your sister had pestered you and pestered you until you caved. She’d dragged you out for a night of drinking, fun and time with her boyfriend and his brothers.

Red Serif was a renowned playboy, yet whenever you saw him with your sister, that title melted away little by little. He was utterly smitten with her. His bright red eyelights going fuzzy and large anytime he looked at her and when wasn’t he? His younger brother, Edge, was loudly complaining about the quality of the food beside him, seemingly unbothered as his brother paid half attention. Absent-mindedly murmuring, “uh huh.” Every few sentences as he watched your sister on stage.

Her sweet voice echoing through the mic as she sung along to the music, she’d tried to drag you into it. Her infectious excitement almost got you on stage.

But when you’d scanned the room just before saying yes to the karaoke contest, you’d clammed up. Instead using the excuse, you still had some of your drink left before she rolled her eyelights and dropped it.

She grinned at Red from her highlighted spot and his fanged maw grinned back.

“You really like her, huh?” Your voice just loud enough to be heard over the music, Red seemed to startle, entranced by your sister.

He looked at you, a friendly smile on his face, small beads of red tinted sweat appeared on his skull. He didn’t know that you knew how desperate he was to impress not only your sister, but you. Confiding in your younger sibling about how important family was to him and as you being the eldest, felt that your ‘approval’ was important.

His clawed fingers clenched around the glass, letting out a small chuckle. You felt your eyebrows pinch and his chuckle died quicker then hot coal dumped into water.

“er- uh! yer, i do, really- i do.” He thumbed at the collar of his shirt, pulling it away from his sternum then smoothing it back down, his jacket was absent; wrapped around the hips of your still singing sister. You could see his eyelights flick over your shoulder to her, incapable of pulling his gaze away for more then a second.

His brothers, cousins- you didn’t know, you’d hardly met them beyond a few encounters with dropping your sister off at Red’s home, all lingered somewhere around the club.

You noticed Noir come up to the bar to converse with Edge, who seemed to realise he’d lost his brothers attention, especially when you caught him scowling down at his elder brother before turning away.

You pulled your gaze away from his and he relaxed a fraction, a flicker of a memory of your sister surfaced.

“Opal- your eye contact is SO intense.”

You hummed, looking over at your sister as your fingers paused the braids you were making with your scarf around your head, your white skull disappearing under the silky gold fabric.

“Y’know monsters and humans get nerves over eye contact, yet you’re pinning them down like a small animal anytime you talk to them.” She leant against your dresser; half dressed for the day out you both had planned. Her phalanges tapped a rhythm against her ilium.

“Well,” guilty you searched for an excuse reason for your intense behaviour and came up short. Instead, you gnawed on your tongue, your fingers resuming the braiding.

She raised her eyebrows, a look of ‘gotcha’ triumphing her expression, “Red especially!” Her white eyelights tracked the movements of your phalanges as you worked on the braid.

That’s where you frowned, pinning your sister with a look, “you know perfectly well why I’m hard on him.” She shot you her own look and you huffed, realising you’d done exactly what she’d just accused you of.

She rolled her eyes, pushing her hip off the dresser to walk behind you, her fingers taking over the work of braiding as you watched her in the mirror. “I know, I know,” she soothed, herself mainly, you guessed, “he is trying! A-and so am I.” She stuttered out.

“Birdy-” you started.

She cut you off, “Opalll.” She near whined out, “give him a chance? He’s so sweet, he got me this necklace I’ve been eyeing the past month.” She shrugged a shoulder, gesturing to the tear drop pearl necklace hanging around her neck, resting beautifully on her sternum.

“Just, the eye contact, its pretty intense.” She added on, you snorted, rolling your eyelights playfully as she finished the first braid.

“I can’t help it.” You replied, your hand curling as you rubbed the underside of your jaw, your hand moving down to adjust the gold chain around your neck. The bright gold glinted in the warm light of your room; the offset of your warm toned jewellery compared by the silver accents your sister wore.

You both enjoyed wearing different coloured scarfs around your heads, styling the long fabric into looks to match your design, you usually chose to braid the fabric. It was trendy, joining in on hairstyling was a tad bit difficult as skeletons.

She hummed as she gathered your scarf into sections, “you don’t have to mask around them, y’know?” Her voice taking a softer tone, one that made your eye twitch uncomfortably.

“Yeah…” You sighed out, looking down at your crossed legs, tucked up and onto your stool.

You’d been shocked, yet comforted, when you’d been diagnosed as autistic. It was weird, out of your teen years and sitting by yourself in the doctor’s office as he went through the diagnoses, what it all meant, what they could do.

Your eye had twitched again when he explained that there wasn’t a ‘cure’ for it.

You weren’t sick. Or ill, or broken or-

“Hey! All done.” Your sisters cheery voice broke through your thoughts, her hands tucking in a few stray flying pieces of fabric as she finished.

You smiled at her in the mirror, fixing your shirt to pull higher up your neck, moving the braids over your shoulders and off your sensitive bones.

“Thanks birdy,” you stood, smiling down at her.

She smiled back, but the little twinkle in her eyelights had you pausing. Her smile morphed into a gremlin smirk, her arms wrapping around your torso before you could dodge her.

“Ugh, okay,” you groaned, your arms awkwardly lifting into the air as she poked her tongue up at you. You tolerated it, for the period she deemed she must ‘hug’ you, showing her love, or whatever, ugh.

Your bones prickled as she let go, “thanks,” she whispered, smoothing down your rumpled clothes as she stepped back out of your bubble.

“Hrm,” you grunted, giving her a side eye as you pulled on your shoes, “you needed it,” was all you said before you ushered her to go and get ready.

Your hand clenched around the sweating glass you were drinking from, you didn’t really like it, whatever it was. Your sister had hailed down the bartender and ordered two of the same, the music rumbling too loudly for you to catch it before he was sauntering off.

Your flat look was met by a giggle from your sister.

The same flat look that now graced your face as Red sweat beside you, looking for words to fill the gap you’d dug.

“she’s real sweet, tha kindest- an’ I mean it, girl i ‘eva met.” He surprised you by placing a hand on your forearm, your bones prickled. But for the sake of your sister, you didn’t flick his hand off.

You glanced at him out the corner of your eye, he wasn’t looking at you, his eyelights fuzzy as he gazed at your sister. “she’s ain’t scared o’ much, darin’ fer someone so small.” You hummed at that, your finger wiping away some of the condensation on the side of the glass. “her laugh is infectious, she cracks jokes better then me! even boss laughs.”

Your lips twitched up as you listened, your soul softening. You didn’t notice how he’d looked back at you, catching something you didn’t hear.

“she’s helpin’ us branch out, discover new things, explorin’ and all that. i ain’t neva met someone so bright as ‘er, she’s like a damn star.” His hand moved to your shoulder, your eyelights flicked to it as he continued, “and i’m real grateful yer given me a chance with ‘er. yer sister, she’s near everythin’ to me.”

Something ached within you, the love that poured freely from his mouth, so openly enthralled with Birdy that you could feel it.

“Red! Opal!” Your sisters voice cut into the lull of silence between you both as you absorbed his words.

She easily hopped into Red’s open arms, his hand leaving your shoulder to catch her much smaller body. His sharp teeth pressed against the top of her head, nuzzling softly.

She smiled up at him, her skull flushed from singing and the alcohol she was slamming down. She’d already made it through a handful of drinks as you nursed your first.

You looked at your sister, her head tilted to glance at you, a silent question present. You softened and slowly nodded.

She squeaked and grappled you into a hug, Red startled as did you, but he was quick to recover, his large arm wrapping around you to pull you in. The two of them embraced you as you froze, an awkward grimace of a smile on your face as you half stood half sat during their hug.

“Ohhh! You big goober!” Birdy’s voice cut over the music, she squeezed her face into yours, having pulled you down to do so. Red pressed another nuzzling kiss to her skull, his fuzzy eyelights looked to you.

You nearly jumped when his hand landed on your head, affectionately rubbing your scarf-wrapped head as Birdy continued to coo into your shared hug.

“BROTHER, WHY ARE YOU SMOTHERING YOUR DATEMATE AND HER SKELETON SIBLING?” Edge’s voice was your ticket out, squawking with embarrassment you prise yourself out of their arms.

Hopping back up onto your stool as you smooth yourself out, the shared loud laughter of Birdy and Red making your embarrassment grow. You shot her a withering glare, causing her to choke on her laugh and look away.

Even Red cowed at the look on your face, Edge merely blinked before his loud voice started again, “WELL, NOIR FOUND A BOOTH FOR AS ALL TO SIT IN, THEY EXPANDED IT SO THE REST OF US COULD ALL JOIN IN THE SAME ONE.”

Birdy clapped her hands, “perfect! Are we able to order from the table?”

Red stood from his stool, his hand loosely placed on her hip as Edge answered, “YES, THEY HAVE THIS WEIRD APP THINGY,” his voice disappeared under the music as he led your sister and Red away, all of them disappearing quickly into the sea of humans and monsters.

Without their voices or the distraction of you watching your sister, the heavy beat of the music filled your ears. The deep bass felt like it was attempting to vibrate the bones of your body away from you.

Your hands clenched around the glass, some small part of you wanted to go after them, but they didn’t ask you to come.

You were left with your dilemma, do you follow? Do you stay? Isn’t it too awkward now, trailing after them like a lost puppy, hanging onto the shirt of your sister like a lifeline in the club?

Nerves crept up on you like a shadow, keeping your rooted to the bar as if your drink was the anchor keeping you there. Watching the figure of your sister disappear into the crowd like the beam of the lighthouse fading in sea fog.

You pulled your gaze from the crowd, the prickle of anxiety dancing over your skin as you stared wide-eyed at your still not finished drink.

No one seemed to bother you for a bit, monsters and humans alike giving you a small berth of space.

Not until a figure shadowed you from the strobing lights of the club, you hadn’t noticed for a moment. Not until you tilted the glass, half considering downing it to get it over with so you could order something else, and the sweat that had gathered on the glass was hardly noticeable.

The bright lights didn’t reach you; something was blocking them. You looked over your shoulder.

Someone.

Probably one of the largest monsters you’d ever seen was standing behind you, you blinked as you recognised him, Copper. Red’s eldest cousin, you’d caught his disappearing form a few times when you’d gone to Red’s huge home. But he’d never stuck around, seemingly just walking around a corner whenever you were there.

You’d summed it up to him maybe not liking humans, or maybe you made him nervous? Your sister had reassured you that maybe he was busy, sharing a secretive look with her boyfriend as you mentioned it.

You’d dropped it after the handful of times happening, really just summing it up that he didn’t like you. His cousins, Edge, Noir, Rus had all been friendly, happy to meet you as the sister of Red’s girlfriend.

Copper stared down at you his one dark red eyelight looked to small as he did, his empty socket half lidded. It gave him a mixed expression, yet it was the first time you’d seen him so up close. The crack that trailed up from his open socket was, to put it plain, nasty. The jagged, aggressive looking hole in the top of his skull was hard to notice from your seated position, but even then, this skeleton towered over everyone in the club.

What mostly caught your gaze was the golden false jaw he had; the pointed shark-like teeth that lined it glinted almost threateningly in the shadowed light he casted.

Both large wounds made you feel sick, but you swallowed passed it, your eyelights dragging away to look him over. His large, huge, maroon jacket was unzipped, revealing the cream sweater underneath. What fascinated you was the black fur lined hoodie that framed his head like a lion’s mane. The dark fabric of his jeans stretched around the swell of his thighs.

Dear stars.

His thigh was mid-level with the bar top. You gulped silently, if you lifted your arms, you could rest your elbows against the bar top whilst you stood. Even with your tad extra height.

He shifted, eyelight breaking away from yours as he sat down in the stool. From the panicked expressions of the bartenders, you all thought the same thing, would that hold him??

The stool creaked as he sat, sinking pathetically under his weight. He blinked, at least he looked a tad embarrassed as he avoided the now grumpy looks of the staff. His arm rested up on the tabletop, his presence added to the berth everyone already gave you, this side of the bar now basically empty.

You didn’t notice, to busy staring and blinking owlishly up at the giant skeleton.

“don’t… like your… drink?”

You flushed, his voice was sinfully deep, a baritone so many octaves below your own that he easily rivalled the bass of the music. It felt inferior to even consider the bass deep now that you had heard Coppers voice.

He quirked an eyebrow and you bit back a squeak when you realised, you’d just been staring at him and letting him watch your face grow hotter and hotter by the moment.

“Not really,” your lips pulled, an awkward smile on your face.

His shoulders seemed to relax a smidge, a tightness you hadn’t noticed in the corners of his sockets reducing slightly as you replied. “so, what… do… you like?” Each of his words seemed carefully picked, as if he was plucking each of them from a book to cut out and glue together.

It was an effort you realised, for him to talk. Something eased in you, there wasn’t a sense of overwhelming dread as you responded, you didn’t realise that the fear of saying something wrong had disappeared.

“Sweeter drinks, this one’s- ehh, a bit to hard for my taste.” He snorted at your response, his huge, clawed hand lifting to gesture the bartender over.

You blinked, “um! Do you-” fuck, you internally thought, attempting to grapple yourself enough to spit out your sentence, “Elderflower and apple!”

The bartender gave you an odd look.

Shit, shit, shit.

“Do you have anything with Elderflower and apple? V-vodka, by chance?”

She perked up as she finally caught what you were poorly attempting to pass along, “yep! Want me to mix that up for you now?”

“Yes- yes please.” You grinded out, your phalanges squeezing the glass you currently had tight.

The bartender turned to Copper, “anything for you, sir?”

He half glanced at her, “same thing.” She nodded, disappearing down the bar to start mixing them for you both.

“Oh- you don’t have to get the same thing as me!” you jumped in, fuck, you hated feeling like this. Swimming into these interactions, unknown monsters, even worse, he was a hot and unknown monster!

He smirked, the metal gold jaw twisting up with the expression, you chalked it up to magic for the solid metal to be able to shift like that, “s’alright treat… i’d like… ta try it.”

#undertale #utmv au #utmv #rabid writes #sans #horrorfell au #Copper #Copper sans #Horrorfell Sans #undertale au #undertale drabble #skeleton reader #skele!reader #i just couldn't get it out of my head #there will totally be a part 2

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ravendruid · 10 months ago

Text

Be In My Eyes - Chapter 27

You can read the previous chapters here or on AO3. Trigger Warnings: Canon typical violence, mentions of abusive relationships, domestic violence toward children, theft, and murder. Rating change: This fanfic will be rated Mature from this point forward. Summary: After Keyleth is taken by Kashaw, Vax starts spiraling. He gets into action to protect Keyleth, and later they exchange heartbreaking stories.

Keyleth was gone. She ran away. Vax had been so sure it would work after she practically poured her heart out with her song. Maybe answering her call had been a mistake. Maybe he had misinterpreted it? No. It couldn’t be. Keyleth had smiled at him when he sang those damn words to her. He saw the fire and wanting in her eyes. Vax couldn’t have been wrong. Keyleth wouldn’t have sung that song if she wasn’t testing him or setting a bait for him to answer, and like a damn sailor lost at sea, Vax had followed her voice and gave himself to her (and in front of everyone, too). And she ran away. Why?

Someone stepped in front of Vax, but his blurred vision did not allow him to see more than yellow, gray and dark colors. “Vax, are you okay?” One of the figures said. Vax recognized that voice. “Vax?” A different voice called him. They were both females, soft, concerned voices, but neither was the voice Vax needed to hear the most at that moment. “Come on,” The first voice said, and Vax felt someone pull him. He didn’t see where they were taking him because his eyes were still glazed with fear that he had done something wrong (again), that he had ruined everything (again), that he had pushed away the person he loved the most (again, again, again).

You’re useless. You’ll never amount to anything. Who would want the son of a seamstress who allowed herself to get knocked up? Stupid. You are stupid and useless, like your mother was, Vax’ildan.

“No,” Vax’s voice was hoarse.

“What?” Vex’ahlia. That’s who it was, the first female voice, the blur of yellow and gray. “Vax, what happened?” Her hands were on his cheeks, warm and calloused from years of labor and archery. His sister. Vax had failed her, too. He had failed her like he failed their mother. He had ruined everything for her, too. “For fucks sake, Vax’ildan,” She was angry at him, as she should be. Did Vex’ahlia know what he had done for her? Did Vex know about the blood that soaked his hands? She couldn’t know. She would never know what Vax had done to save her from that monster.

Vex’ahlia let go of her brother’s face. The warmth of her touch evaporated like a droplet of water falling on hot coals, and then came the sting and a different kind of heat. “What the fuck,” Vax heard someone say behind them. Another hit, another sting. “Vex!” Another voice.

“Snap out of it, brother,” Vex’ahlia yelled above the music. Vax tried to follow the sound of her voice. The sting was vanishing as fast as her warmth had, pulling him with it. They had gone through the motions of this ritual too many times in their lives to count. Day after day, night after night, when Vax’s demons flared and took over his soul. He hated them. He hated their strong grip, dripping black ichor over his heart, coating it with pain and darkness and death. So much death.

Vax’ildan saw his sister’s face when he closed his eyes, then his mother, Elaina, the baby he left behind in the hands of that monster, and lastly Keyleth with a blinding halo of radiant light around her. She had run away. He had come for her, and she had run. Why? He demanded to know. As if the gods had heard him, his sisters’ faces in the darkness vanished, and then his mother, leaving only Keyleth’s visage. Vax reached forward, trying to hold on to her, but she ran away—even in his mind, she ran away—leaving only that blinding light that twisted and turned until it became a golden thread that wrapped around his wrist. Vax raised his hand to examine it and pulled at the string that floated in the ether. It didn’t budge. It was tied around his skin, even though there were no knots. Vax felt another tug—not his—and when he turned his face in its direction, he recognized the woman with long dark hair and a face as pale as the moon that held the other end of the golden thread. She beckoned him silently, crooking a finger, tugging on that golden thread that floated from his wrist. Vax’ildan followed.

“She’s in danger,” A pure crystalline voice said, coming from both the woman and the darkness surrounding them.

“I can’t save her. I couldn’t save them, and I can’t save her.”

A cold hand caressed Vax’s face, “You did your best. You saved them as best as you could, and you will save her.”

“I can’t. Please, you have to understand. I can’t save her.” Vax begged. He would have gotten on his knees if he could.

“Vax’ildan,” The woman’s eyes burned with a raging fire. A slap, a new sting. “Go, now!” She tugged on the string again and Vax felt himself fall, and fall, and fall, and just when he thought he would be falling forever, a fourth slap hit him with the strength of a mighty giant.

Vax opened his eyes. He felt a warm liquid in his mouth that tasted like copper. Grog stared at him worried, hand lifted for another slap if needed. On his left, Vex’ahlia sighed and Vax let his eyes follow as she allowed herself to fall into a seating position on the table. On Grog’s right, Pike groaned in relief. Other faces were surrounding them, all concerned, but no one spoke until a white-haired man stood by Vax’s sister, squeezing her shoulder in reassurance, and said, “I don’t know what the fuck that was or what happened, but Keyleth is gone and we can’t find her, so get your shit together, Vax’ildan.”

“What do you mean?” Vax asked hoarsely. His hands came up to rub at his sore cheeks—the last slap was still stinging—as he looked from face to face. All his friends were wearing their coats, gloves and scarves.

“We looked everywhere,” Scanlan said, next to Pike. “Keyleth is not in the bar anymore, not even in the bathroom.”

Vax’s heart skipped a beat. What had happened to make her run away? What happened after? The same dread from earlier wrapped around his chest, tightening with each second, each word his friends spoke. When Vax thought it couldn’t get worse, Vex’ahlia raised her head from her hands with a panic in her eyes that Vax hadn’t seen since Saundor. “Kash is—” Vax didn’t let his sister finish the sentence before he was on his feet with his leather jacket in his hands.

Vax flew out of the alcove. He ran down the stairs as fast as his legs allowed him, jumping steps and pushing people aside. The jacket was on before he reached the landing, Keyleth’s scent still lingering on the interior of the fake leather jacket. Vax whipped his head to the counter, where he saw Gilmore surrounded by patrons—alone. He didn’t wait for his friends to follow. He didn’t care if they did or not. The woman’s warning rang in his ears, and the image of his knife where he left it on his nightstand flashed in his mind. He was an idiot to have left it behind. The only time he did…he was useless and powerless, just like all those years ago, just like that night.

—

It was raining again. It was the third night in a row that Vax’ildan, Vex’ahlia and their puppy, Trinket, had to sleep huddled together behind a trash can. Vax had made sure to open and adjust the lid to provide them with some shelter from the rain, but even that wasn’t enough to stop them from getting drenched and cold. Vex’ahlia was sound asleep by Vax’s side, holding the puppy to her chest inside her damp shirt in a lousy attempt to keep them both warm. Her breathing was shallow enough that Vax knew she wouldn’t wake up anytime soon. At least one of them was getting some rest.

The pattering of the rain on the alleyway was so loud and annoying, and even though Vax had barely drunk any water that day, it still made him feel like he had to pee every hour. He had been holding for a while, but a burst of pain shot through his bladder, forcing Vax to go relieve himself, so he stepped away from Vex, carefully so he wouldn’t wake her up, and crossed to the walled end of the alley. He was even more drenched by the time he zipped up and buckled his belt, the only thing keeping his loose pants from falling to his ankles.

“One more step and she dies.”

Vax stopped in his tracks. He hadn’t heard them because of the loud rain. He hadn’t felt them lurking in the shadows, watching him and his twin, and now a hooded figure held his sister to his chest with a sharp knife against her neck.

“You don’t want to do that,” Vax threatened. He canvassed his surroundings from the corner of his eyes. Another figure stood at the open end of the alleyway holding a knife. He could probably defeat two of them with his bare hands if it wasn’t for the fact that a dark liquid started dripping on Vex’s neck. Shit.

“Oh yeah? And what are you going to do?” The male voice asked.

Nothing. Vax couldn’t do a single thing to stop them. He had nothing but his hands and he wouldn’t risk fighting hand-to-hand with his sister’s life in danger. So Vax did the only thing he could do. He lifted his hands so the assailants knew he was submitting and took a tentative step back.

“That’s what I thought. Where’s your money?”

“We don’t have any money,” Vax tried to lie. They didn’t buy it. More blood started dripping down Vex’s neck, mixing with the dampness on her shirt. The man asked again, threatening to slit her neck. “That bag over there,” Vax pointed with his chin to his backpack where he had left it by the trash can.

The second figure ran to it and opened it. They turned it upside down, sprawling all Vax’s clothes and belongings on the dirty, muddy ground, until a satchel fell, the clink of coins muffled by the rain, just like the two assailants’ steps had been. They grabbed it and moved back, just as silent as they had been.

“You’re in our city, so if you want to sleep on our streets, you have to pay up. Consider this a warning,” The first figure threatened, releasing Vex’ahlia with a shove that made her fall face-first on the floor. Trinket ran to her and licked her face, barking at the man who was stalking back, still facing them, the bloody knife dripping on the ground as he went. They were gone in the blink of an eye, just as quietly as they had appeared.

—

It didn't take Vax two steps out the door for him to realize that he had no idea which direction Keyleth could have gone—which direction Kashaw took her. Vax would never forgive himself if something happened to Keyleth, and he would surely not let Kash live to see another day if he touched a hair on Keyleth’s head. Vax looked to both sides of the empty, snow-blanketed road and held his breath trying to listen for any signs of life nearby. The only sound he heard was the creak of the door opening behind him and rushed steps coming out.

“Vax?” It was Percy, bundled in a thick jacket and scarf. It was so cold and Keyleth was only wearing his t-shirt. She had to be freezing.

“Percy, I—”

“It’s okay. Go left, I’ll go right. Call me if you find her. The others are staying at the bar in case she returns.”

Vax nodded and they each took a side. For a large city, and for being located so close to the university, the neighborhood was quiet and peaceful. Vax passed by several closed stores—from bookstores to boutiques, and even a butcher—and a handful of dimly-lit windows on the residential buildings above. There were no alleyways between the buildings, at least not until Vax reached the end of the block. He stopped, walking quietly, trying to listen as he approached the dark alley—and good thing he did.

A hushed male voice that Vax’ildan knew belonged to Kashaw was speaking incoherently. Vax couldn’t decipher what he was saying, but he heard sniffles and Keyleth’s shaky voice saying something incomprehensible. Vax ran, his blood boiling with rage. Please don’t let her be hurt. Please, Gods. Please don’t let him hurt her.

Vax’s heart stopped when he turned a corner. Kashaw braced himself with one hand on the brick wall behind Keyleth and the other hand was gripping her jaw on her neck as he kissed her. Kash was kissing Keyleth.

“Get the fuck away from her,” Vax growled. He grasped the neckline of Kash’s ridiculous gladiator outfit, pulled him away from Keyleth, and threw him against the wall on the opposite side of the alley. Vax was on him in a heartbeat, his closed fist meeting Kashaw’s jaw. The man was so stunned that Vax was able to land two punches before Kash pushed Vax away and tried to kick him, but unlucky for him, Vax was too fast and evaded him.

“You get the fuck away, I saw her first,” Kash spit blood on the ground between them. He lunged at Vax, managing to land a punch on his stomach, making him double over in pain and spit on the ground.

“Vax, no!” Keyleth cried. Vax couldn’t afford to look back at her. Any distraction could be his end. He lunged back at Kash, kicking him against the wall. The man’s head hit the brick with a crack and Kash cursed between his teeth. Vax took his rival’s moment of distraction to pin his wrists above his head and leaned in until their breaths mixed. Kash reeked of alcohol.

“She doesn’t want anything to do with you,” Vax spat.

“Then why did she go out with me? Do you really think she would ever love a guy like you? Do you think anyone would?”

Kas was torturing him. He knew Vax had feelings for Keyleth, and he was torturing him since he couldn’t land a physical blow. You’re better than this, Vax told himself, trying to douse the flame of rage.

Who would want the son of a seamstress? You are stupid and useless like your mother was.

Kashaw was right. Vax’s father was right. Vax was no one. He was nothing but vermin. No one could ever love him. He had been delusional if he thought someone like Keyleth would ever look at him. But Kashaw wasn’t much better than him, not after what he did to Keyleth.

“Let him go, Vax,” Keyleth asked. Vax still couldn’t turn his head. He couldn’t bear to look at Keyleth and see whatever damage Kash had done to her. “Please.”

Vax released his grip on Kashaw, but his face was still hovering above the other man’s as he spoke with a deadly voice, “I’m only letting you go because she asked me, but if you so much as look at her again, I will kill you.” Vax took two steps back. Kash must have seen the severity in Vax’s eyes, for his mismatched eyes were filled with fear. He nodded and left, not bothering to glance back at Keyleth.

Only when the sounds of Kash’s steps had subsided did Vax turn around. Keyleth was sitting on the ground, hyperventilating with her knees pulled to her chest. Vax ran and squatted in front of her, but before he could open his mouth, Keyleth looked up at him with tears in her eyes. She had dark streaks from the eyeliner running down her cheeks, and her lip was swollen and bleeding slightly from a small cut, but other than that, she looked untouched. Keyleth grasped Vax by the lapel of his jacket and pulled him. His knees rang with pain as they hit the hard ground on each side of Keyleth’s legs, but then his nose filled with the scent of her shampoo when she crossed her arms around his torso and cried on his chest.

“Okay?” Vax asked, kissing the top of her head and rubbing the hair on her back. Keyleth nodded. She forced her breaths to follow Vax’s heartbeat—Vax almost stopped breathing when he realized Keyleth was doing that—and eventually, Keyleth calmed down, although she was still shaking.

“Here,” Vax took off the jacket. Keyleth broke away just long enough for him to help her put it on and hugged him again. “Everyone’s worried sick about you, Kiki.”

“Sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for, love.”

Keyleth nuzzled further into his chest and released a wet chuckle. Things had been different for a while with Keyleth, but his father and Kashaw were still right. No one would ever love someone like Vax. Whatever was going on between him and Keyleth, it was bound to end, but Vax still tried to enjoy every moment he had until Keyleth saw the truth about him and left like everyone else did.

“I want to go home,” Keyleth asked after a while. Vax nodded. He helped her up, fixed her hair by tucking a few evading strands behind her ear, and held out his hand in invitation. Keyleth took it without a second thought, and they left the alleyway.

“Shit, I should call Percy,” Vax let go of Keyleth’s hand just long enough to dial his roommate’s number and then immediately grabbed it again. He saw the slight curl of her lips as he laced his fingers with hers, ignoring the pain shooting from his split knuckles. Keyleth’s hand was still cold. In fact, she looked like she was still freezing without a scarf and gloves, so Vax slid both their hands inside the pocket of his jacket and nodded at her to do the same with the other hand. It was a bit awkward, but it worked.

“Did you find her?” Percy asked as a way of greeting when he answered the call.

“Yeah, I got her.”

“Is she alright? Please tell me that fucker didn’t hurt her.”

“She’s okay, a bit shaken up. We’re on our way back.”

“I’m outside. I’ll wait.” Percy said.

Vax looked ahead, and just as he had mentioned, Percy was outside the bar, one hand deep inside his jacket and the other holding his phone. He hung up as soon as he saw them and ran towards Keyleth, grabbing her by the shoulders. Percy winced at the sight of her split lip and pulled Keyleth into a hug. Vax stood back to watch, having let go of Keyleth’s hand.

“Are you okay?” Percy asked her.

“Yeah.”

“That fucker. I’m going to kill him.”

“Men,” Keyleth shook her head disapprovingly. “Vax already took care of that.”

Percy looked over to Vax, who shrugged and replied, “I’m pretty sure I broke his nose. Let’s just say he’ll be running with his tail between his legs next time he sees Keyleth.”

Percy nodded, “Thanks.”

“You two are insufferable,” Keyleth complained, rolling her eyes, but Vax still saw the smile.

“What did he do to you?” Percy asked, carefully moving her jaw so he could see her lip better in the light.

“I don’t want to talk about it right now, Percy. I’ll tell you everything tomorrow. Now I just want to go home and get warm.”

“Alright, tomorrow then. Do you want me to walk you home?”

“I got it,” Vax approached, placing a hand between Keyleth’s shoulder blades.

“A word in private, please?” Percy asked his roommate. Vax nodded and they stepped away enough for Keyleth to still be in sight but not be able to hear them.

“I don’t know what the fuck is going on with you two, but I’m trusting you with her life. Make sure she gets home safe, or you’ll be the one with a broken nose, got it?”

For the first time since they met, Percy gave Vax a look that made him want to run for the hills, screaming like a little girl. With a name like his, Vax knew his roommate had to have money and status, which meant he could also probably find someone to kill him if he stepped out of line. However, Vax couldn’t afford to let his friend know he had gotten to him, so he schooled his expression into a bored look and replied, “I would let myself get killed before anyone laid a finger on her.”

Percy’s eyes softened, seemingly happy with Vax’s answer. He moved to turn back to Keyleth, but Vax grabbed his arm. “Oh, and Freddie, I’m trusting you with my sister’s life. You better bring her home in one piece otherwise you’ll get a fate much worse than Kashaw’s. You know what I keep under my pillow, right?”

“Yeah, I know. She’s safe with me.”

“Good. I’d hate to get a new roommate in the middle of the school year.”

“Are you boys done with your pissing contest?” Keyleth asked when they returned.

“You’ve been spending too much time with my sister, Kiki.” Vax teased, grabbing Keyleth’s hand. He wasn’t sure if Percy had seen the gesture because the man was already pulling Keyleth into a hug and kissing her forehead.

“I’ll see you tomorrow. Go take care of that and get some sleep.” Keyleth nodded in response and started leaving, dragging Vax behind.

“Make sure you let everyone know Keyleth is safe,” Vax said above his shoulder. “And tell Shaun I’ll call him tomorrow to let him know what happened.”

—

Vax didn’t let go of Keyleth’s hand for a second. They walked in silence for the most part, only stopping to comment on the few decorations that were starting to pop up on storefronts. Keyleth had noticed the redness from the cuts on Vax’s knuckles from punching Kashaw so hard. She had never been more scared—not for her, but for Vax. Kashaw was drunk and he looked violent enough to hurt Vax really bad. She knew Vax had some knowledge of fighting, but seeing him in action… Vax had been so fast she hadn’t even been able to keep up with his movements and so strong that Keyleth had no doubt Kash would be bleeding from hitting his head on the wall, but, at the same time, it looked like Vax had been pulling back punches, like he could do more—worse.

“Thank you for tonight,” Keyleth said when the first lights of campus appeared around a corner. It was becoming a habit to have Vax come to rescue her. Maybe he was indeed her knight.

“As if…” Vax shrugged dismissively. Keyleth looked at him. “Did you really think I was going to let anything bad happen to you?” Keyleth smiled and bumped against him, chuckling.

Keyleth and Vax were greeted with a wave of warmth once they opened the apartment door, and then a woof and a warm, wet nose poked their hands.

“Hey buddy,” Vax greeted the dog. “I see they finally turned on the heat.”

“It was about time,” Keyleth groaned, taking off Vax’s jacket and hanging it by the door. They removed their shoes and ignored the messy bundle of blankets on the couch. What Vex didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her, and Trinket was usually pretty good about obeying the no-couch rules. One time wasn’t all the time.

“I’m going to change into something more comfortable. I’ll give you your shirt back after washing it, I promise.”

“You can keep it,” Vax said. He was still untying his boots by the door, so he didn’t see the shock on Keyleth’s face.

“It’s your favorite,” She argued. Vax shrugged. “No. I’m not taking it, Vax. I’ll give it back after I wash it.”

“Fine,” He said, shrugging again. “I’m going to change and grab the first aid kit. I’ll meet you in your room to take care of that lip.”

“I’m fi—” Keyleth was about to say, but one look at Vax and she backed away (not scared—never scared of him—but with respect). “Fine, but you have to let me take care of your hand,” She challenged him back.

Vax looked down at his fist and shrugged. “As long as you let me take care of you, I’ll let you take care of me, Kiki,” he said, stopping to kiss Keyleth’s cheek as he walked towards his bedroom.

Keyleth had just finished putting on a t-shirt when Vax knocked on the door. Now that the maintenance had finally turned on the heat, and with Keyleth’s comforter and fuzzy blanket, she didn’t need to bring out her warmest pajama sets. Although she loved them, Keyleth hated sleeping in lots of clothes because sometimes they made her feel trapped and wake up with shortness of breath.

“That looks cute,” Vax smiled at the embroidered rainbow across her chest. Keyleth blushed. “Do you embroider all your clothes?”

“Not all. Most of them. All my clothes are hand-me-downs or thrifted, and I like to alter them to give them more… personality, I guess,” Keyleth explained. They sat on her bed and Vax immediately got to work on bringing out the supplies and cleaning her lip. The swelling had gone down and the cut was barely noticeable, but she still allowed him to take care of it, if anything, to help him feel better.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Vax asked, dabbing her lip with cotton. Keyleth winced at the sting and Vax blew at it with a soft, “sorry.”

“He didn’t do anything… you know…” Vax paused to look at her. “I promise I would have told you.” He nodded and went back to his work. Keyleth waited until he was done to say, “I bumped against him at the bottom of the stairs. He said something about wanting to talk and brought me outside. I was so disoriented I couldn’t answer.”

Vax got up to wash his hands and throw away the used supplies. Keyleth waited until he returned and started cleaning up his knuckles. “I started panicking because none of you knew where I had gone. He was so drunk I don’t think he realized I wasn’t okay. Or maybe he thought I was drunk, too. But he brought me to that alley because he wanted somewhere quiet.”

Vax instinctively closed his hand in a fist. Keyleth saw anger burning in his eyes and slapped his wrist to help him focus. “Sorry,” Vax said, opening his hand. He let it rest on her lap while Keyleth grabbed more supplies.

“He asked why I hadn’t called him to go out again and if it was true that I was on a date tonight, but he didn’t let me answer. Then he started saying I looked really hot and asked if I wanted to go to his place and shit like that, and when I said no, he said fine. I thought he was going to leave, but then he leaned in and kissed me. Next thing I know, he bit my lip when you pulled him off of me,” Keyleth gave Vax a shy smile.

“Sorry about that.”

“It’s fine. It’s no big deal. It was just a kiss,”

“It wasn’t just a kiss, Kiki. He shouldn’t have taken it without your permission.” Vax’s other hand came up to cradle her face. Keyleth leaned into his warm touch. He was always so gentle with her.

“How’s your stomach?” Keyleth asked. Vax let go of her face to poke at where a bruise was already probably forming and shrugged.

“I’ll be fine in a few days. What are you looking for?”

“Bandaids.”

“We don’t have any. Grog used them all the last time he tried to cook. He cut himself five times until Pike took the knife away from him.”

Keyleth snorted and got up. “I think I still have some, but they have flowers,” She said, opening her closet. She dug out a box of bandaids from inside a travel bag and showed it to Vax.

“I don’t need them. I’m fine, I promise.”

“Is it because of the flowers?” Keyleth asked, pouting as she returned the box inside the bag and back into the closet.

“Of course not. You know I’d wear them even if they were shock pink or bright yellow with polka-dots.”

“Fine,” Keyleth stopped in front of Vax. She grabbed his hand, taking one last look. She had done everything she knew. It looked much better than before—at least it wasn’t bleeding anymore. Satisfied with her work, Keyleth cleaned up the trash and headed to the bathroom to wash her hands. She didn’t flinch at seeing Vax leaning against the door jam, his head cocked as he examined her.

“Can I brush your hair? It’s a mess,” Vax asked. It had been a while since someone offered to brush her wild hair, especially when it looked like she had fallen through a bramble of bushes.

“Sure,” Keyleth handed Vax the hairbrush. He grabbed her hand and pulled her with him. It was the same way Kash had grabbed her earlier, but it felt so different with Vax. His hands were more calloused, but it was such a softer and more gentle touch. Keyleth would let him guide her wherever he wanted, which, at the moment, wasn’t far. Vax sat on her bed and patted the blanket in front of him. He carefully removed the elastic that still tied part of Keyleth’s hair and expertly started parting her hair in sections.

“Can I ask you something?” Vax asked, brushing the ends of Keyleth’s hair.

“Anything, Vax.”

“We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. I was wondering…” He hesitated. Keyleth looked above her shoulder, but he turned her head forward with a tut. “I was wondering if you could tell me about your family.”

Oh. That was a sore subject, not just for Keyleth, but also for Vax from what she gathered. “You’ve met my dad. He raised me by himself. He’s a great dad.”

Vax paused his brushing, “How old were you when—”

“I was five,” Keyleth replied before he could finish. More than anticipated the question, Keyleth had a feeling that was the real reason why Vax asked about her family. “My mom went on a business trip and didn’t come back. Boating accident. Her body was never found.”

“Shit, I’m sorry.” Vax leaned forward and rested his head on Keyleth’s shoulder.

“It’s okay. I mean… it’s not… but you know what I mean, right?” She looked back at him. The look of understanding they exchanged was worth more than words. “I have a grandma on my mother’s side. She taught me how to embroider and crochet. She’s really nice. I’m sure she would love you. I know she would put so much food on your plate,” Keyleth giggled so violently that Vax had to pause the brushing again.

“I’d love to meet her. And your dad. I mean actually meet him.”

“You’re welcome in Zephrah anytime,” Keyleth offered. Vax nodded, but then he realized she couldn’t see him and replied, “I’d love to, but I don’t think I can afford it.”

Keyleth felt bad for him. She knew the twins were in a strict financial situation, although she didn’t know how bad it was. Vax often refused to go out with the group, not just because he didn’t like bars but also because most of the time, the twins couldn’t afford to pay for both to drink, so Vax stayed home to let his sister have fun. Keyleth also noticed the exchanged glances between the siblings whenever the group planned to go out for lunches or dinners, how their contribution to the communal food and household goods seemed to grow smaller and smaller every week (not that anyone had ever called them out on that). Keyleth had even heard the twins fight about something Vex’ahlia had bought out of their budget, and from what she gathered from the conversation, Vax was very adamant his sister returned it to the store, but she refused.

“Maybe one day?” Keyleth extended the offer. She wanted to tell him she would buy all the plane tickets he needed, but she knew her friend was too proud to accept.

“Maybe,” Vax replied, but she knew he had no hope.

Keyleth’s mind returned to the look of understanding they had shared moments before. The words he had spoken to her months ago when he found her curled over herself against the kitchen counters. She had opened up to him and told him about her mother, and while he didn’t owe her anything, Keyleth couldn’t stop herself from asking, “How old were you?”

Vax knew what she meant because the hairbrush stopped again, and he took a long breath. Keyleth waited patiently, looking at the massive, shaggy dog curled on her roommate’s bed—Vex’ahlia, who also had lost a mother.

When Vax spoke, there was no ounce of anger or frustration for being asked such a personal question. If anything, Keyleth heard some relief that they were finally brushing up on the subject, as if he had been waiting to share that piece of himself with her. “We were ten.”

“And your dad?”

Vax chuckled, “Long story. He’s an asshole and we’re as good as dead to him, as he is to us.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I can tell you about it one day,” Vax finally set Keyleth’s hair brush aside and started braiding her hair.

“I don’t have anywhere to go tonight.” Keyleth tensed and waited. Vax finished the braid, tied it with the elastic, and dropped it over her shoulder.

“I’ll tell you if you make us some tea while I grab cookies.”

“Deal,” Keyleth replied, looking over her shoulder. Vax looked exhausted. She almost faltered for a moment, but then he raised and headed towards the door, and Keyleth decided to follow him.

Keyleth loved the quietness of the house where the only sounds were the boiling water in the kettle and Vax plating homemade cookies for them. They moved around each other in the kitchen so effortlessly that one would think they were a pair of professional dancers who could lead each other with their eyes closed in perfect synchrony. Trinket raised his head and sniffed the air when they returned to the bedroom with hot mugs of tea and a plateful of cookies, but Keyleth tutted at him, reminding the dog that he was not allowed sweets. She took the side of the bed closest to the wall and held the blanket open for Vax to join her, which he did without hesitation.

“Trinket, come,” Keyleth patted the blanket at the end of her bed. The dog looked up at the pair sitting with their backs against the headboard under the blankets and leaped from his bed to Keyleth’s. He spun three times and curled up at their feet with a sigh. “What a rough life you live,” Keyleth joked. With a plate of assorted homemade cookies on her lap—from where Vax bashfully grabbed a chocolate chip cookie—a steaming mug of honey lavender tea warming her hands, and Vax’s warmth pressed against her side under her blankets, it was the perfect cozy mood for long, deep talks.

“This feels nice,” Vax said, using his half-bitten cookie to point at the string lights around the top of the walls. That had been Keyleth’s doing.

“It’s cozy.”

Vax finished his cookie and looked at the plate on Keyleth’s lap, “I have to warn you, it’s not a pretty story, and you might change your mind about me towards the end.”

“I doubt it,” Keyleth slapped Vax’s hand as he went for a butter cookie. Instead, she handed him a coconut one. “But go on, tell me your deepest and darkest secrets, Vax’ildan,” She half-joked, looking at him.

“You asked,” Vax shrugged. He bit into the cookie and hummed. Keyleth nodded as if to say, see? “It all started when my mom was 18. She lived in a small town in the south called Byroden. My father was passing by on a business trip and stopped for the night, as travelers usually do. He and his buddies went out for a drink and my mother just happened to be the barmaid on service that night.”

“She was so young,” Keyleth interrupted. Vax nodded.

“She had just graduated high school. She grew up poor, so college was not in the plans. My father took a liking to her, it seems. They spent the night together and he left the next morning without so much as a goodbye. My mom only knew his name because she had heard the other men say it. A few months later, she found out she was pregnant. She found my father’s contact to tell him, and the bastard had the audacity to say…” Vax paused. He chewed on his lip for a moment, then finally said with growing rage, “The asshole had the audacity to say he had serious doubts it was true, that my mom was trying to bait him for money, and if she did had gotten herself knocked up—his words exactly—how was she so sure it was his and not some random guy she fucked.”

Hearing that, Keyleth dropped her cookie in her tea. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Yeah,” Vax shrugged. His head was bowed low, avoiding eye contact. “The bastard told me that himself.”

“What a fucking asshole,” Keyleth grumbled, fishing the soggy cookie from her tea with a spoon. “What a fucking, bastard, shit-eating asshole.”

Vax chuckled. “Oh, Kiki,” He shook his head. “Just hold on tightly to that rage. I haven’t gotten anywhere near the worst yet.”

“You don’t have to keep going,” Keyleth bumped Vax’s shoulder with hers. She had known Vax long enough to recognize the signs of withdrawal, and the last thing she wanted was to regress once they had become so comfortable and vulnerable with each other. Keyleth watched Vax silently set the empty plate and mugs on her nightstand. She didn’t balk when he arched an arm behind her shoulders, and Keyleth definitely did not stop Vax from pulling her so close that her legs were practically curled on his thigh. Keyleth counted their synchronous breaths, looking at Vax’s hand on his lap, fumbling with the tassels of her blanket.

One. Vax twisted the green tassel between his index finger and thumb. Two. His hand stopped. Three. Vax turned his head to look at her in the eyes—the pain made Keyleth want to scream. Four. Vax’s arm moved to Keyleth’s lap, where she twisted and turned her hands on the tassels. Five. He grabbed hold of one of her hands and tugged it free. Six. Vax brought their joined hands to his lap and intertwined their fingers. Seven. Both their gazes were fixed on their hands, Vax’s thumb grazing softly against the palm of Keyleth’s hand. Eight. A pause. Nine. Vax opened his mouth.

Ten. “My mother died when we were ten and we were forced to live with him. We ran away when we were fifteen. He almost killed Vex’ahlia.”

Vax was crying. His tears slid down his eyes and onto Keyleth’s cheek. She didn’t speak, didn’t move, barely breathed.

“My mom got sick. The town doctor couldn’t do much, and we couldn’t afford to take her to a big city doctor or pay for treatment. She died within six months of finding out.” Keyleth’s face grew wetter the more Vax spoke about his mother. Vax’ildan paused to look at her, and his face contorted into more pain as he released her hand and cradled her cheek. “I’m sorry, Kiki. I can stop talking about it,” Vax apologized. Only then did Keyleth realize the wetness in her face was not just from Vax’s tears but her own as well.

“I’m okay,” She whispered, sniffling. Keyleth leaned into his touch. Vax was so warm and smelled like tea and cookies. “I’ll listen to as much as you want to share.”

A sigh and a kiss on the forehead had Keyleth melt further into Vax’s warmth. He continued sharing his story in a hushed voice as he leaned his brow against Keyleth.

“We were taken to Syngorn, to our father’s estate, by the authorities because my mom had no other family. Our grandparents had died and she had no siblings, so our father was all we had left, and he earned our full custody. We weren’t allowed to bring more than a backpack of clothes and a few belongings. We arrived in Syngorn the day after we buried our mother but my father refused to take us in. He denied knowing about our existence and informed the officer that he would only take us with a positive paternity test. For a week, Vex’ahlia and I were separated into two different foster families in the city until the results came and our father was forced to take us in. It was the first time Vex and I had been separated since we were born, and it was the hardest week of our lives until that time.

“It’s funny. I always laugh at people who tell me to go to hell because I’ve been there. My father made our lives a living hell. We found out that he was part of a big conservative family, rich as the eyes could see, and having children out of wedlock was highly frowned upon. His family refused to accept us. He refused to accept us. For the first few months, we didn’t see him. My sister and I were assigned a maid each to tend to our needs, and then we were forced to attend etiquette classes. The first time we saw our father since we moved in, he threatened to kick us out onto the street if we didn’t do what he told us. He forced us to attend those etiquette classes to make us more ‘civilized’,” Vax spat the word with disdain, “and we were forced to adopt Syngorn’s customs, including changing our accent and wearing Syngorn’s fashion.”

Vax took another pause. Keyleth gave his hand a quick squeeze in reassurance, just in case he thought she had fallen asleep. Her face was still scrunched against Vax’s shoulder, where a large wet stain formed from her tears. It took a moment for Keyleth’s brain to click with what Vax had said, but when she did, she raised her head, eyes glimmering with curiosity, and asked, “Wait. Did you have a different accent before?” Vax nodded. Keyleth’s face opened in a mischievous smile that was enough for Vax to anticipate what Keyleth was about to ask because he quickly stopped her from saying anything else. “No, I will not use it. I don’t even know if I remember it. It’s been so long, Kiki.”

“Oh. Well… You’re safe with me. I won’t think less of you for it. You know… in case you suddenly remember what it sounded like,” Keyleth batted her eyelashes at Vax in a lousy attempt to flirt with him.

Vax chuckled. The sound was enough to inflate Keyleth’s heart like a balloon. He wiped the tears from her face, then his, and then broke the hold he had on her. Keyleth watched him go into the bathroom and close the door. She blocked out all sounds that came next, brought her knees to her chest, and dropped her head on them, thinking. She had known the twins' story wouldn’t be pleasant. She had seen the few trinkets on Vax’s desk and the emptiness of their wardrobes, but had never considered that it would be this hard. Even though she lived most of her life without her mother, Keyleth still had her father’s love, her grandparents, her village. She hadn’t been alone, not like the twins had. And their father… How could someone be so hateful towards their children? They were so young, barely older than Keyleth when her mother died. They were suffering the loss of everything they knew and were forced to live with someone who not just plainly rejected them but who also did nothing to disguise their hatred for them. What a fucking asshole.

Keyleth was still deep into thought when Vax exited the bathroom. She only noticed him when he stopped by the foot of her bed to ruffle Trinket’s head, and then she followed him as he approached her bed and sat by her side again, where Vax bit his lower lip bashfully, avoiding eye contact with her. “Yes?” Keyleth asked. Vax hemmed and hawed, but finally, with his gaze still firmly set on her blanket, he asked, “Do you want to… can we–” He hesitated.

“You can ask me anything,” Keyleth said, laying a reassuring hand on his knee. Vax nodded and mustered the courage to look at her between his eyelids. His cheeks were flushed red, and his voice wavered as he asked, “Can we cuddle?”

Oh. Keyleth smiled. Please, that’s all I want. “Sure,” She said. Vax scooted closer to the middle of the bed and opened his arms to let Keyleth in. She sat sideways on his lap, legs curled up, and Vax wrapped one arm around her back and brought the other between them, where he intertwined his fingers with Keyleth’s. She finally let her head rest on his shoulder, right on the stupid wet spot of her tears, and Vax lowered his head to hers.

“Do you… do you want to hear the rest?” He asked.

“Of course, if you’re okay with sharing.”

“It might make you hate me,” Vax tensed. Keyleth shook her head as much as she could without bothering Vax and replied, “I doubt it. Nothing would make me hate you, Vax.” Nothing would make me stop loving you, is what she didn’t say.

Vax squeezed her tighter, as if he was trying to hold on to that hope, and continued his story. “I tried, for a while, but nothing I did seemed to be good enough for my father, and then he married. She is a good woman, kind and caring. She was always good to me and my sister, always made sure we were well-fed and cleaned. She wasn’t a mother figure, though, but neither of us was interested in replacing our mom with someone else. After the marriage, my father became worse, even stricter in his rules and assessments of our behavior and learnings. I stopped trying, then. I realized that no matter how many hours I put into studying or how many diction classes I had, I would never be good enough for him because he didn’t expect me to ever reach his unrealistic standards.

“So I started skipping classes, and I refused to change my accent and wear the clothes he wanted me to wear. As a punishment, my father ordered all of our clothes to be burned, so Vex and I were forced to wear what he wanted. I was barely older than eleven the first time he hit me when I refused to use his posh accent at an important dinner with his snob friends. He dragged me by the collar of my shirt to his office in front of everyone and slapped me across the face. He threatened that if I didn’t right myself, he would kick me and my sister out.” Keyleth shuddered hearing how badly Vax’s father treated him. Vax only squeezed her tighter, more for her comfort than his, and he kept talking, “I started sneaking out of the house when I was twelve. If Vex knew, she never said anything… at least not at first. I started hanging out with some shitty people back then and did things I’m not proud of. Vex found out when I came home one night with a black eye from a brawl. She scolded me until my ears bled and made me promise her I wouldn’t return to that place. I kept my promise but I still sneaked out at night, and I never told Vex where I went, in case my father found out. We have a sister, you know?” Vax paused.

Keyleth looked up at him, warmth immediately rising to her cheeks from the proximity of their mouths. It would be so easy to kiss him, but that was not the right moment. “You do?”

“Her name is Velora. She was barely a year old when we left.” Vax’s expression was filled with sorrow and guilt.

“Is that when…” Keyleth asked, remembering what Vax had said earlier, He almost killed Vex’ahlia. Vax nodded.

“It was one of the nights I sneaked out. He went looking for me, surely to punish me for whatever I did that day but found my room empty. He thought Vex knew where I was and was lying to cover my ass, so he–” Vax curled himself, burying his face in Keyleth’s neck. He was shaking so hard that Keyleth wrapped her arms around him and caressed his back affectionately.

“It’s okay. We can stop whenever you want.”

Keyleth’s shoulder became wet through her t-shirt. She kissed the top of Vax’s head with her eyes closed, taking in his scent and the warmth of his wet breath against her skin. She had never been a violent person, had never felt hatred, but at that moment, she knew she could kill the man for all he put his children through if she ever laid eyes on him. She allowed Vax to gather his thoughts, switching from rubbing his back to caressing his head, placing soft kisses to his crown and temple in between.

The weight on Keyleth’s stomach lifted as Vax’s shakes subsided. He took two long breaths, and once he finally calmed enough, Vax uncoiled from her embrace, wiped his tears, and said in a shaky, wet voice, “He called me into his office the next morning. He said a bunch of shit to me that I still repeat in my head today. I decided I was done and wanted out, so I planned our escape while my sister healed, and when she was good to move, we ran away during the night. Vex wanted to bring Velora, but I told her we couldn’t. It was the hardest decision I ever made, to leave my baby sister behind, but she was safe. She was planned and wanted. She’s safe,” Vax repeated as if he was trying to convince himself more than anything.

“So we were two fifteen-year-olds, lost in the woods with nowhere to go. We eventually made it to a town in the middle of nowhere where we worked odd jobs here and there, helping in the farms or whatever we could do to earn money to buy a bus ticket north. We found our way to Emon after a while, but again, we had nowhere to stay and were running out of money, so we lived out in the streets. It was harder to find jobs here. No one trusted a pair of dirty children like us, so we resorted to finding other ways to feed ourselves. Vex used her charming gifts to get us day-old bread and food from the stores, I would sneak in whatever I could. Only whatever was enough to feed us and then him.” Vax nodded at Trinket, who was sleeping peacefully like he had no worries in the world.

“We got robbed one night and lost all our money. I couldn’t do anything to stop it from happening. I failed my sister the night my father—I failed Velora by leaving her behind. And I failed us both the night we got robbed. I made a vow to never fail Vex again, so I started stealing money from passersby until we had enough to get us going again. I only stole small amounts, only whatever I could muster that they wouldn’t realize they had been pickpocketed.” Vax lowered his head in shame, “I’m not proud of it.”

Keyleth cradled Vax’s face in her hands, “Is that why you think I would hate you?” He nodded, but before he could say anything else, Keyleth said, “You did it to ensure your sister’s safety, not for greed, Vax. I would never, ever hate you for taking care of her, of yourself… You did what you had to do to survive.”

“What if I told you I killed someone?”

Keyleth shuddered. Her hands fell from Vax’s face and scrunched up the blanket on her lap. Her voice shook when she spoke, “What?”

“I failed Vex’ahlia a third time, when… when that motherfucker took her. I didn’t see her for almost a year, even though she still called and texted me. She managed to convince him to let me see her one day, and I—What my father did to her… what that man also did to her—I was so angry, so desperate, I wanted to kill him right there and then, but Vex stopped me. And good thing she did. I convinced her to leave him. It took a while, but she did it. Then, one night, he found us and tried to take her again, but I didn’t allow it. I had failed her enough times. So he attacked me, and in the middle of the fight, I stabbed him with my knife and… I killed him.”

“Vax,” Keyleth’s voice wavered. He refused to meet her eyes in fear of what he would see, but she lifted his chin with a strong grip. “That was self-defense, Vax. You—” “I killed someone, Keyleth.” Vax’s shoulders started shaking. Keyleth pulled him into a hug, “No, you saved your sister.” The only response was Vax’s sobs on her shoulder, wetness spreading to match the other side. “You were protecting her. I don’t hate you, Vax. I could never hate you. You know that, right?”

Vax shook his head just enough to say, “Why would someone even want to be with a useless failure like me?”

“You are not a failure, Vax. You had so many hardships in your life, and look where you are now. The top university in the continent, in the most coveted degree. Do you know how hard it is to get into Emon University, not to mention into Medicine? You’re top three in your class, Vax. You work so hard, and you’re such a nice, kind and caring person. You are not a failure. You are not useless.” Keyleth stopped, pushed him away enough to look into his eyes, and said assertively, “Do you really think no one wants you? I’ve seen the way Gilmore looks at you, Vax.” Vax chuckled a smile, “Besides… I’m sure there’s someone else out there who would want you,” Like me.

“You think so?” Vax asked tentatively.

“I know so.” Keyleth wiped his tears away with her thumbs, remaining the hold of his face in her grasp.

“Keeks,” Vax looked bashfully.

“Yes?”

“Do you want to go out with me?” Vax asked, biting his lip nervously. Keyleth was taken aback by the abruptness of the question.

“As in–a date?” Her heart was beating so fast in her chest that Keyleth thought it was going to jump out of her throat. Vax nodded. Keyleth swallowed a nervous squeal.

After everything that had happened that night, Vax still wanted to go out on a date with her, and even more, the fact that he asked her out after he was so vulnerable with her… Keyleth thought she was going to throw up the cookies and tea right on Vax’s lap from how hard her stomach leaped. She wanted this, right? A date… with Vax? She wanted him, and it was obvious he wanted her, for some gods damned reason. Even though she still shuddered at the idea of being in a romantic relationship with someone–of being loved by someone–the image of Vax’s arms around her, the feel of his breath on her lips, and the way he cared for her weren’t dreadful in the slightest. She could do it with him, right? Maybe? One step at a time, Keyleth reminded herself. First, a date, and then… then we’ll see.

“Of course,” Keyleth answered, leaning to kiss Vax’s cheek. He slumped against her, releasing a breath Keyleth hadn’t noticed he was holding, and laughed.

“I thought you were going to say no for a second there, Kiki.”

“Sorry. You caught me off guard,” She apologized. Vax shook his head and squeezed her.

“Thank you for telling me,” Keyleth brushed a hand on Vax’s hair, and when he looked at her confused, Keyleth clarified, “About your life. Everything that happened with your mom and your father.”

“Oh. I–There’s still more, but I’m drained.” Keyleth nodded in understanding. She lowered her hands to her lap and her head to avoid Vax’s gaze and mumbled, “Will you stay tonight?”

“Do you want me to stay?” Keyleth gave a short nod, still not looking at him. “I’ll stay. I hope Pike and Vex don’t kill me.”

“They won’t,” Keyleth said, moving out of Vax’s lap. “I’ll be right back,” She said as she got up and headed into the bathroom. When Keyleth returned, Trinket was back on Vex’s bed, curled against the pillows, and Vax was lying on her bed, under her comforter, with a hand behind his head on her pillow. Keyleth stumbled at the sight, at the smirk on Vax’s face as he opened the covers to let her in—she would have to climb over him to reach the other side—and patted the bed next to him invitingly. Keyleth looked him up and down, from his head to his bare feet, back to his head. She didn’t realize she was biting her lip until she felt the coppery taste of blood from her wound, which she immediately wiped with a tissue from her nightstand.

“Are you okay?” Vax asked, concerned, seeing her dab at her lip. Keyleth nodded and threw the slightly bloodied tissue into the trashcan by her nightstand. She then climbed over Vax’s feet and lay down facing him. Vax covered them and turned to his side, setting one arm on the mattress between him and Keyleth. She looked at it, her eyes drifting from his tanned, strong hands—how she would love to feel them on her skin—to where the tattoo of a raven peeked from the inside of his forearm, to his relaxed bicep. Keyleth’s gaze drifted up to Vax’s shoulder, which tensed as he followed her gaze, to the vein popping on his neck—that Keyleth wished to kiss and bite and feel the rushed beating of his heart there against her lips—to Vax’s jawline, his chiseled cheeks, his uncovered, pierced ears. Keyleth let her eyes linger on every beautiful feature of Vax’s face as if she needed to commit every single detail to memory so she could draw his portrait afterward—never mind the fact she couldn’t draw people even if her life depended on it. She smiled as she finally found his chapped lips that looked so inviting, even more so when Vax, too, smiled as Keyleth’s gaze lingered and as she mindlessly licked her lips.

Keyleth didn’t speak, and neither did Vax. Eventually, their gazes met, drifting ever so slowly to each other. The air turned far too warm under the covers, and they both held their breaths as they saw their own need reflected in the other’s eyes. It wasn’t a physical need as much as an emotional connection, at least to Keyleth. She wouldn’t deny the different desire she had felt the past weeks, but that wasn’t the foremost need that she wanted Vax to fill—that she knew only Vax could fill. Keyleth released her breath slowly as if she was afraid to scare him, like Vax was a skittish cat, and let her hand slide to the bed, a mere hairline from touching Vax’s hand where it still lay on the mattress. To Keyleth’s shock, who hadn’t heard him release the breath from before, Vax inhaled deeply, and even though his eyes never left hers, Keyleth knew he was aware of the distance that separated them and how easy it would be to transcend it.

Keyleth’s body buzzed in anticipation at what the touch would feel like. Would it be warm or cold? Soft or rough from Vax’s calloused hands? Would it be sturdy or shaky from nerves? Would Vax intertwine their fingers, or would he pull away? Would it make his heart skip a beat like hers did in that moment?

There’s only one way to find out, Vax’s eyes all but said. If someone told Keyleth that Vax had read her mind, she would have believed them because it was either that or that the desperation she felt for his touch was plainly written in her eyes, and that would be embarrassing. It was true, nonetheless. There was only one way to find out. So Keyleth moved by lacing her fingers with Vax’s and took in the layers of his reaction: a slight twitch of his fingers as she wrapped her hand around his; the release of tension on Vax’s shoulders; a shuddering breath; the drooping in his eyes as the man finally relaxed. Keyleth smiled lovingly, knowing he couldn’t see her with his eyes closed. She contemplated letting her own eyes shut, but Vax looked so calm and relaxed that Keyleth felt compelled to remain awake, to observe him and drink in all his features.

“You’re staring at me,” Vax spoke, opening one eye.

“Sorry,” Keyleth apologized bashfully. Vax brought their hands to his lips and kissed each one of Keyleth’s knuckles. He didn’t say anything, didn’t return their hands to where they had been between them. Vax merely looked at Keyleth for a while, until she finally returned his words, “You’re staring at me.”

“Because you’re beautiful,” Vax let go of their hands and opened his arms. “Come here,” He called. Like a sailor, Keyleth obeyed his call, shimmying her body until her head was on the crook of Vax’s neck and their arms around each other’s torsos. Vax kissed her forehead softly and nuzzled against her hair.

“I didn’t know you could sing,” Keyleth felt, more than heard Vax say. She nodded against his skin and replied, “I had singing lessons when I was young. I didn’t know you could play guitar.”

“The only good thing my father did besides siring me and my sister was force us to have music lessons. I refused the piano, and since Vex was already taking classes, my father didn’t care what other instrument I picked.”

“I’ve never seen a guitar in your bedroom,” Keyleth pointed out. Vax’s sigh against the top of her head tickled her.

“When we were robbed, even after I started stealing money, it wasn’t enough, so we had to sell a few things, mostly jewels we still had from our father, but even then… Vex’ahlia wanted to sell her bow, and it would have gotten us decent money for a while, but I couldn’t do that to her. She loves archery more than words can describe. So I sold my guitar to buy a knife.”

“The one in your nightstand?” Keyleth asked softly. Vax nodded. She let it sink in, the sacrifice he had made—all the sacrifices Vax had made—to protect his sister. She knew that even though it benefitted both, Vax had done it for his twin more than for himself. His stupid, selfless heart that he still didn’t see.

“I’m sorry you had to sell your guitar. You’re a great brother, Vax.”

“Hmm,” Was all Vax said as he nuzzled further against Keyleth’s hair. Her heart warmed at the feeling of him this close to her, even though it wasn’t the first time they shared a bed.

“It feels different,” Keyleth whispered, voicing out her thoughts.

“Hm?”

“Us. It feels different. Has been for a while.”

“It is different,” Vax mumbled and kissed the top of her head. “I like it.”

“Me too,” was all Keyleth said as she nuzzled against Vax’s neck.

The slow and steady beating of Vax’s heart worked like a metronome setting the cadence for her own heart. The rise and fall of Vax’s chest underneath her hand lulled Keyleth into such a deep sense of relaxation that she didn’t even realize the heavy weight of her eyelids had finally won the battle against wanting to keep observing Vax’s beauty. Keyleth drifted off to sleep with the scent of Vax wrapping around her, calming her. Maybe for the first time in months, Keyleth slept through the entire night, waking up the next morning to the sounds of voices in the house and the smell of cooking creeping from underneath her bedroom door. Maybe for the first time in a while, Keyleth didn’t wake up scared in the middle of the night from a haunting nightmare, but even if she had, Vax would have been there to hold her through it, to kiss her head and whisper sweet, reassuring words in her ear. And perhaps, it was with the knowledge of that being true that Keyleth allowed herself a moment of restfulness and happiness.

#critical role #cr fic #vox machina #vaxleth #modern au #college au #be in my eyes #is this the longest piece of fiction I've written so far? yes.#was it a pain in the ass to review? absolutely #I hereby would like to apologize for breaking all of your hearts into a million pieces.#don't worry it only gets worse from here on :)

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techn0cel · 2 years ago

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The Life of Seung-Hui Cho (1984-2003)

Seung-Hui Cho (who will be referred to as “Cho” from now on) was born in Onyang-dong, (A city in Asan) in Chungcheongnam-do, South Korea. Cho was the second child of Sung-Tae Cho and Hyang Im Cho and the little brother of Sun-Kyung Cho who was 3 years older than him.

When Cho was 9 months old, Cho developed whooping cough and pneumonia, Cho was later hospitalized and doctors told the Cho family that their son had a hole in his heart. Two years later, doctors conducted cardiac tests to better examine the inside of his heart and from that point on, Cho did not like to be touched. According to Mrs.Cho, he cried a lot and was constantly sick. In Korea, Cho had a couple of friends that he would have playdates with. Cho’s family was very concerned about his extremely introverted personality.

In 1992, The Cho family moved to the United States to pursue educational opportunities for Cho and Sun, They were encouraged by Mr.Cho’s sister who came to the US before them.

Many problems occurred when Mrs.Cho began working outside their home for the first time. -Nobody in the family knew English

-Cho and Sun felt very isolated

-Mr and Mrs Cho began a long period of time of hard labour and extended work hours at dry cleaning businesses

Sun said that Cho seemed more isolated and withdrawn than he was back in Korea and at times they would both be “made fun of”, but she ignored it because she thought “It was just a given”.

In 2 years time, Cho and Sun began to understand, read and write English at school and Korean was still spoken at home, but Cho did not write or read Korean. For the first 6 months in the United States, the Chos lived with family members in Mary-Land and lived in a townhouse for 1 year before moving to Virginia where they lived in an apartment.

Cho was 9 years old and the only known friend he had was a boy who lived next door with whom he went swimming with. Sun and her parents thought Cho seemed to be doing better than he was a few months ago.

Cho was enrolled in a Tae Kwon Do program for awhile, watched TV and played games like “Sonic the Hedgehog” (None of the video games were war games or had any violent themes in them). Cho liked Basketball and had a collection of figurines and remote controlled cars.

When Cho attended Poplar Tree Elementary School, He was enrolled in the ESL (English second language) program as soon as he arrived in the middle of 3rd grade. The Cho family was living in a small apartment. School Teachers indicated Cho would not interact, communicate or participate in group activities but Cho did play with one student during recess.

When Cho was in the 6th grade, Mr and Mrs Cho bought a townhouse next to the school, hoping he could easily commute to his classmates. After the school requested a parent-teacher interview due to Cho not answering any questions in class, Mrs. Cho tried to find friends for Cho and encouraged both Cho and Sun to join the church she attended. Both agreed but there were few children so they lost interest and stopped going to church.

Mrs.Cho’s friends told her to look for another church that had a minister who “helped people with issues like Cho’s.” She visited the church sometimes for 6 months but decided to not follow through with the plan. (Some articles that were written after the shooting claimed the pastor from that same church worked with Cho but Mrs.Cho denied all of those reports) While it is true that Mrs.Cho registered Cho for a 1-week summer basketball camp sponsored by that church, she never sought its help on personal matters.

Cho’s mother had numerous attempts to get Cho to participate in activities and socialize more but eventually, Cho’s parents decided to let Cho “be the way he is” and stopped forcing him to interact with others. Cho never mentioned anything of imaginary friends or any fantasy world. Cho was described as a “very gentle, very tender,” and “good person.”

MIDDLE SCHOOL YEARS

In July 1997, Cho’s parents took Cho to the Center for Multi-Cultural Human Services (A mental health services facility that offers treatment and psychological evaluations). They told the specialists of their concern about Cho’s social isolation and lack of willing to talk about his feelings.

Cho’s parents had to take turns leaving work early to drive him to the centre. They started with a Korean counselor but began working with another specialist who had special training in art therapy (which was perfect for Cho because his communication skills were poor). At every session, The specialist offered clay modeling, painting, drawing and a sand table for Cho to choose which one he wanted to do. When Cho chose the clay, He would model houses that had no windows or doors.

When the therapist explained the meaning of Cho’s artwork to him, his eyes would sometimes be filled with tears.

Cho had a psychiatrist who participated in the first meeting with Cho and his parents. Over the next few years, He was diagnosed with SAD (Severe Social Anxiety Disorder). Records sent to Cho’s school (following a release signed by his parents) and the tests administered by mental health professionals evaluated Cho to be a younger person than he was. Cho’s tested IQ was above average.

Cho was still isolating himself in middle school and there was no reported behavioural problems and he was not a violent student at all.

In March 1999 (Cho is now in 8th grade)

His art therapist noticed a change in his behaviour and started becoming more expressive with his artwork. Cho depicted tunnels and caves in his drawings. Cho showed symptoms of depression and his therapist felt the tunnels and caves were concerning and asked him if he had any suicidal or homicidal thoughts. Cho denied having either of those thoughts but his therapist drew up a contract with him spelling out he would never do any harm to himself or to others.

The next month, The Columbine High School shooting occurred and Cho wrote a disturbing paper in English class that said Cho “wanted to repeat Columbine”, which drew quick reaction from his teacher. (Nobody was named in the paper.) The school contacted Cho’s sister b/c she spoke English and told her about what Cho wrote and urged to have Cho evaluated. Sun explained what happened to her parents and Sun joined Cho on his next therapy appointment.

Cho was evaluated in June 1999 by a psychiatrist at the Center for Multicultural Human Services. A doctor diagnosed Cho with “Selective Mutism” and “Major Depression: single episode”. Cho was prescribed “Paroxetine 20 mg” (an antidepressant) that Cho took from June 1999 to July 2000 and it seemed to work since Cho was in a good mood, looked brighter and smiled more. He was off the medication when he improved.

Note: Mr and Mrs Cho were shocked to learn that Cho wrote about violence toward others. They said there were hints at ideas of suicide but nothing about homicide.

CHO AT WESTFIELD HIGH SCHOOL

(Cho began Highschool at Centreville but the following year, Westfield opened and Cho was assigned there for his remaining 3 years)

1 month after classes began at Westfield, one of the teachers that had Cho in their class told the guidance office “Cho’s speech was barely audible and he didn’t respond in complete sentences”. The teacher said he was shy and shut down, there was no communication with teachers or classmates. Cho had high grades, was always on time and submitted well-done homework assignments. His only problem was failure to speak.

The guidance counselors asked him if he ever received mental health or special education beforehand in middle school or in his freshman year, Cho indicated (untruthfully) that he didn’t.

On October 25 2000, Cho’s situation was brought to Westfield’s screening committee for evaluation to determine if he required special education accommodations. Cho was evaluated for the following:

Psychological

Sociological

Educational

Speech/Language

Hearing Screening

Medical

Vision

Cho was encouraged to join a club and stay after school for help from his teachers. He was permitted to eat lunch alone and to provide verbal responses in private sessions rather than infront of the whole class where his accent might be mocked or draw derision from his classmates.

With this change, Cho’s grades improved and had advanced placement and honors classes. Cho’s voice was inaudible in class and would only mumble if pushed. When Cho wrote responses, his thinking seemed confused and his sentence structure wasn’t fluent.

After the shooting, there were some reports that Cho was bullied at Westfield High School. A very specific incident that was reported being Cho’s classmates mocking his accent and telling him “go back to china” which lead Cho to run to the bathroom crying. However Cho’s family said Cho never mentioned bullying (You could argue he never discussed his day to his parents but his guidance counselor had no records of bullying complaints from Cho. It’s very likely he just kept it to himself if the bullying claims are true.)

It’s not unreasonable to believe Cho was subjected to bullying for being different than his classmates but it’s not fully confirmed. The closest things to that is Cho and Sun experiencing harassment to a certain level when they first arrived to the US.

In 11th grade, Cho’s weekly sessions at the mental health center ended because there was a gradual slight improvement as the years went by and he refused to continue and said “There is nothing wrong with me. Why do I have to go?”. Mr and Mrs Cho weren’t happy that he refused to continue treatment, but he was turning 18 the following month and could make his own decisions.

At one point, Cho was asked to write about his hobbies and interests. He wrote:

“I like to listen to talk shows and alternative stations, and I like action movies…My favorite movie is X-Men, favorite actor is Nicolas Cage, favorite book is Night Over Water, favorite band is U2, favorite Team is Portland Trailblazers, favorite food is pizza, and favorite color is green.”

Cho took upper level science and math courses and spent 3-4 hours a day on his homework, Cho received high grades and finished Highschool with a grade point average of 3.52 in an honors program. That GPA with his SAT scores (540 for verbal and 620 for math) were the basis for his acceptance at Virginia Tech university.

Virginia Tech university failed to see the special accommodations that propped up Cho and his excellent grades. The scores showed Cho’s knowledge and intelligence but they didn’t reflect on another component of grades such as class participation.

Cho’s guidance counselor encouraged Cho to attend a small school close to his home where he would have an easier time transitioning to college life. She thought Virginia Tech would be too much for Cho to handle b/c it was too large. Cho was confident in the school he chose and didn’t listen to his counselor so he applied and was accepted.

#Tcc #True Crime #seung hui cho #virginia tech #virginia tech shooting

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litfanatic · 10 months ago

Text

Oh To Be More - Elucien One-shot

Read on Ao3

Summary: She had fit that narrative for so long, content to be conformed to the idea of others. Content to be overlooked. But she never forgot, in the midst of her anguish. In the midst of her mind travelling time. Elain never forgot the question he asked.

Beautiful

Demure

Boring

And the one they never said out loud or at least to her face —weak.

She had fit that narrative for so long, content to be conformed to the idea of others. Content to be overlooked. But she never forgot, in the midst of her anguish. In the midst of her mind travelling time. Elain never forgot the question he asked.

What does she need?

He wanted to hear her thoughts. He had always given her a choice. He knew that she had a voice.

For a while she dismissed the simplicity of the question, categorizing it wrongly because she thought that it was directed towards others. Others who were debating what she was, how to fix her, how to keep and use her.

But though he said the words out loud, she felt them deep within her chest. He was asking her what she needed—what she wanted—and not trying to make decisions for her.

She wasn't ready. Not to answer his question or to even acknowledge him.

Elain didn't want this life—didn't want to be fae. That heavy ring still lay on her finger, a reminder of what she had been, of what she lost. Mostly, she didn't want to be tethered to the sun because the darkness was safer. Because she knew its expectations of her. She knew what the darkness thought of her.

Beautiful

Demure

Boring

And the one they never said out loud —weak.

The darkness would hide her truth.

So for years she dwelt in Night under the cover of it. Under the cover of her sisters and brothers.

Under the heat of hazel eyes because the darkness was so cold—like the cauldron, and Elain longed to feel even the tiniest bit of warmth.

Elain followed the heat of the warrior's gaze—yearning for it, longing for it to warm her bones and her soul.

But it was nothing compared to even being in his presence. To hearing that constant heartbeat that sung of life.

But she was dead. She had died in those waters. So why did she feel so alive

whenever he was near? Why did her soul quicken within her? Why could she See through the darkness?

And oh how she Saw!

Molten hair, adorned with a golden diadem.

Sunlight and sunlight and sunlight. Her body aflush with heat and unburning fire.

The darkness suddenly cast away.

She saw tulip fields traveled.

Sinewy bronze hands plunging into gurgling waters.

Honey gold hair wild and free.

Elain saw more. She felt more.

Gone was the brittle coldness. Gone was the darkness.

Elain saw her laughter regained. Laughter that she thought was left in the past.

She saw tiny, muddied feet running across the greenest grass and copper hair flailing in the wind.

The tinkling sound of joy trailing away, so she threw her hands out to grab that life, but it wasn’t real. It wasn’t hers.

Yet.

Elain awoke with a gasp, her hand outstretched reaching for remnants of that light. Reaching for that sliver of bright hope, but she was still surrounded by Night.

The irony was that a year ago, after Solstice, there was a singular thought consuming her mind.

Mistake.

The delicate metal taunting her from around the priestess’ neck. She had opened her mouth to speak, but stopped. If she couldn’t have joy or hope, then at least someone else could.

But now—

More.

The thoughts vibrated throughout her.

She could be more. She could have more.

Elain was already more. She had driven the dagger into the king's neck. How quickly they forgot that, but she knew who hadn't forgotten. She knew that his mismatched gaze saw even more than her Sight. She knew that Lucien saw who she could be, and it was frightening.

So in the past, she had run. Run from all that she could be.

But perhaps, it was time for her to be as brave as she already knew that she was.

So when Night's emissary returned, she was waiting for him.

It ached her to see him. That ethereal beauty. The scars that told a story, but took nothing away from his beauty. The glow around him that told of his secrets. She wanted to bask in his light—in the warmth of it.

Why had she ever run from the sun?

This was where she was meant to be.

Warmth in her bones and her soul.

"Hello, Lucien."

It was on the tip of her tongue to say "my lord", but they weren't yet at that place where she would tease him openly. They weren't yet at the place where she would pant into his ear as he murmured soft kisses of "my lady" across her jaw, as he trailed those full lips along her body.

But they could get there.

So Elain reached within herself, even as Lucien stood there eyeing her warily. Confusion, longing and hope flickering across his face.

She reached for that thread between their souls—the one that he had found before she did.

Elain felt for it, hidden and starved, but there was a strength to it. She would wager that it was different from other bonds. Quiet, but just as strong.

It was them.

So she pulled with all her might and opened herself to him. She watched as his eyes widened, russet and gold. Watched as his hand flew to his torso—clutching.

Lucien looked at her with wonder, yet at the same time knowing.

He'd always known when others didn't.

The corners of his mouth tilted upwards.

"Elain..." he breathed.

An acknowledgement.

A statement.

He didn't ask if she was sure, because he felt it. The strength of her decision. There was no need for her to second guess or defend herself with him.

They both knew that it wouldn't be an easy journey. Theirs was a journey of healing—together.

But oh, there would be more.

There would be laughter and war,love and adventure.

Then, there would be life, living and light.

Elain would no longer need the darkness, because she would have her light, and she would be his.

Equally.

With his arm held out towards her, Elain reached for her mate, and they both stepped out from the cover of Night, into marvelous light, and later, into Day.

#elucien fanfiction #pro elucien #elucien #lucien vanserra #elain x lucien #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #elucien fic #ao3 fanfic #sjm #elain archeron

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unusual-ly · 1 year ago

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A prompt for Jemima: learning a new song

Another months old prompt finally being filled! Thanks, anon~ I couldn’t think of a story when I first got this ask and only had this idea around mid-August, and worked on it very slowly to post for Halloween season. It takes some time to get to the actual prompt but I enjoyed writing this one ^^

(Note - this does not align with my actual headcanon that living people only hear Jemima sing the one specific song)

Read on FFN

She was sad to hear of Mary’s moving on. Despite the briefness of her interactions with most of the other ghosts, Jemima had been quite fond of Mary; she was kind and motherly, and back when they were all still adjusting to her presence at group events, she would often defend Jemima against some of the crueler comments made, at least after Mary herself had warmed up to her. When Humphrey told her she was gone, she had huddled up in her pantry for days, the first time she’d done so in the last couple of years.

She had come to terms with the loss now, as had the others. And as much as they all missed her, now that they needn’t worry about frightening her, it opened up some new options at Film Club. According to Alison, at least.

Jemima didn’t always join the other ghosts for Film Club; the films they watched often weren’t especially child-friendly, and she wasn’t always interested in the ones that were. However, when October came around, Alison insisted that she come along.

Humphrey came to collect her, along with Pat. Jemima quite liked Pat, if she was honest, and she was glad to see him, even if it didn’t show on her face.

“Jemima!” Humphrey grinned when he saw her, “It seems you’ve been invited to Film Club tonight, Alison’s picked something special seeing as it’s almost Halloween. She’s quite excited about it, actually. Been wanting to show us this one for a while.”

“Why hasn’t she?”

Both men cringed slightly. Pat decided to explain.

“For Mary’s sake, she said. Apparently it’s about witches.”

“Oh,” was all she said in reply before taking Humphrey’s head from Pat and leading the way upstairs.

They joined the others already congregating around the TV. Jemima took her usual place sitting cross-legged on the floor, in front of Kitty this time, briefly handing Humphrey’s head over to Pat so she could get comfortable before taking him back and placing him in her lap. Mike entered then with a bowl of popcorn and Alison directed him to the empty spot beside her. The film began.

Hocus Pocus.

The opening scene - a little girl about her age drained of life by the three sister witches - both intrigued and frightened her, and she pulled Humphrey’s head close to her chest. He gently reassured her it was only a film, and she simply nodded once, and hummed the little song one of the witches had sung to herself.

There was another little girl, named Dani, who Jemima quickly decided was one of her favourite characters, and whenever she teased her brother for his feelings towards the older girl, Allison, Jemima shot Thomas a pointed look. He pretended not to notice, but the way he turned his head, propping his elbow on the arm of the chair and resting his chin in his hand as he crossed his legs, only served to make him look more awkward. Jemima bit back a smile.

Billy, at first, also frightened her, but she soon warmed up to him, especially when he lost his head. She again held her papa closer, her lips brushing his hair.

When Binx the cat was run over, Jemima tensed up, hearing a few gasps behind her; in particular, from Kitty, Pat and Lady Button, but all heaved a sigh of relief when he was revived.

And when the witch called Sarah sang her song once again, Jemima’s eyes were locked, unblinking, on the screen. Humphrey, of course, noticed and chuckled.

“Well, Jem,” he whispered, “I’m afraid you’d be done for if this were real. Lured you right in.”

She only smiled, and sang along as the song continued:

“The time’s come to play, here in my garden of magic…”

Mike suddenly sat up, looking around in confusion, then stared at Alison, who stared right back.

“Was that…” he frowned, “… Jemima?”

“You heard her?”

The ghosts, apart from Humphrey and Jemima herself, all started muttering amongst themselves as Mike and Alison continued.

“… That is what she does, isn’t it?”

“Well, yeah, but I thought it was only with Ring Around The Rosies, wasn’t it?” Alison glanced over to Jemima.

As did everyone else.

Jemima stared back at them, suddenly shy.

“… I never tried any other songs before…” she said in a small voice, “Not around the living.”

Alison relayed this to Mike, and he nodded.

“Huh. Well, that’s a new discovery.”

They all settled down again soon after that, but Jemima’s attention was now divided, as was Alison’s.

——————————

By the time the 31st came around, half of the household was nearly sick of hearing Come Little Children multiple times a day (although only Julian ever dared to complain in Jemima’s presence). Kitty, always up for a sing-along, would often join in.

It gave Alison an idea.

She and Mike decorated the front of the house ready for trick-or-treaters to arrive; Button House was so distanced from the village nearby that they didn’t often get visitors on Halloween but this year, they wanted to give Jemima an audience. Alison made two rustic-looking signs to hang on the front gate: “Trick-or-treaters welcome!” with an arrow pointing towards the house, and “Beware of ghosts!”.

As the first group of children came up the drive, a single adult a few steps behind them, Jemima watched from nearby, clutching Humphrey’s head.

“Ready?” he asked.

There was an anxious pause before she answered, “I don’t want them to be scared of me.”

“Oh, Jem,” Humphrey said softly, “Scaring is what makes Halloween fun, isn’t it? It’s all just pretend, remember. They’re expecting to be scared a little bit. And they’ll probably know the song.”

She took a deep breath and began to move toward the group.

“Come little children-”

The little boy and girl closest to her both jumped and squealed and Jemima stopped, worried.

“Keep going,” Humphrey whispered.

“I’ll take thee away,” she sang, following them as they kept walking, “Into a land of enchantment…”

She heard one of the children saying “It’s Hocus Pocus!” and smiled, growing more confident. She raised her voice ever so slightly, moving around between them now.

“Come little children, the time’s come to play, here in my garden of magic…”

She was leading them towards the door where Alison was waiting in a witch costume with a bowl of sweets and as they approached, she winked at Jemima.

By the end of the night, Humphrey was watching Jemima from his new vantage point on the small table Alison had brought outside as she drifted and danced about in amongst the trick-or-treaters, singing to them all the while, as they continued squealing in both fear and delight.

#bbc ghosts #ghosts bbc #jemima the plague ghost #bbc ghosts jemima #humphrey bone #bbc ghosts humphrey #headless humphrey #Jemima Bone #left a bit #happy Halloween month

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manawari · 1 year ago

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Solo Leveling Highschool AU!

Sung Jin-woo

• transferee in the school.

• gets lost in the middle of the hallway because he doesn't know where his classroom is located until a friendly student helps him and leads the way. The student introduces himself as Min Byung-gyu.

• when Jin-woo gets there, he's seated at the back in the second column. He is used to sitting next to the window a lot, but this time, there is already a student occupying the seat and snoozing.

• is quiet, reserved, and barely raises his hand. But when his name is called, Jin-woo answers correctly.

• has little doodles on his notebook if he's getting bored in lectures.

• signs up for the track and field.

• often gets picked up by two brothers from another class named Hwang Dong-soo and Hwang Dong-suk. Jin-woo chooses to ignore them, but when he has enough, he retaliates in a way that won't end him up at the principal's office or at the teacher's.

• if classes are dismissed early, Jin-woo stops by his little sister's school to pick her up.

• his first friend is a junior named Yoo Jin-ho, but among his classmates, his first friend is probably Byung-gyu (who checks up on him frequently) or Hae-in (since she's in the same sport as him).

• plays games on his phone when he has a vacant time, which got him closer to Byung-gyu, Tae-gyu, Hae-in, and Yoon-ho.

• classmates: Choi Jong-in, Cha Hae-in, Baek Yoon-ho, Min Byung-gyu, and Lim Tae-gyu.

Choi Jong-in

• president of the student council.

• known as the smartest student in school, but the students are divided on that topic since Cha Hae-in occasionally steals his spot.

• a master in essays and solving mathematical equations.

• basically has the trust of every teacher in school. Even the principal.

• doesn't join any sports clubs, only academic ones.

• makes tutoring his business. 100 won per hour, but 70 won if he's feeling magnanimous.

• doesn't like getting his lunch at the cafeteria since he has low patience, especially when he's hungry, so he usually goes out to the nearest convenience store outside school.

• hates it when the vending machines are low on snacks every time he uses them after classes, so Jong-in makes a rule to the students to limit getting snacks. He even has a secret camera attached somewhere.

• frequently scolds Tae-gyu for sleeping in class. Tae-gyu also pays him double when asking for tutoring in a certain subject — solely to stop Jong-in from scolding him in-between lessons.

• also argues with Baek Yoon-ho for several reasons.

• he's strict, yes, but he is kind in his own way and is ready to defend anyone from being bullied. He has the contact number of the principal, so Jong-in uses that to increase his threats.

• classmates: Cha Hae-in, Baek Yoon-ho, Sung Jin-woo, Lim Tae-gyu, and Min Byung-gyu.

Cha Hae-in

• vice president in the student council.

• is second smartest, but steals Jong-in's place, which ends the two in a competition (from Jong-in's perspective) even though they've been friends since elementary.

• is shy and isn't active as well. When called, she answers correctly without having a second to think.

• she and Jong-in often argue about which answer of theirs is correct during maths.

• is a track and field runner, which is a sport she has been passionate about, and has been trusted to teach the newbies.

• has a friendly rivalry with Choi Tae-woong, who is a fellow athlete.

• she's friendly, but only a few people know what she really is like as a person. Cha Hae-in often gets underestimated due to her kind and soft nature, but once she gets mad, she won't hesitate to release her ferocity.

• has the most organized notes ever and almost not a single erasure is seen.

• she listens to classical music when studying.

• has an unhealthy obsession with coffee while studying for a test and Jong-in has to be the one to stop her.

• classmates: Sung Jin-woo, Choi Jong-in, Baek Yoon-ho, Min Byung-gyu, and Lim Tae-gyu.

Baek Yoon-ho

• basketball player.

• is actually good at English and despite being involved with sports, he turns in his assignments at the perfect time.

• doesn't raise his hand on purpose and often looks bored in class, especially when he doesn't like the teacher.

• lives in the same apartment as Byung-gyu and Hee-jin, so they usually go to school together.

• has a close bond with his coach, Ma Dong-wook.

• is one of the few people who has never been bullied due to his intimidating persona and Yoon-ho can and will scare those who try to mess with him.

• helps teachers around. Some say that he does that only to get high grades, but Yoon-ho is naturally helpful and often tells teachers that they don't have to do something in return.

• carries a gym bag around that contains both of his jerseys and school supplies.

• always has a big container of water. It's only for him when training, but that doesn't stop his friends from asking for water.

• spends his lunchtime with his friends.

• his parents own a restaurant in a separate block from his apartment, so Yoon-ho often brings his friends there for a meal or group study.

• classmates: Cha Hae-in, Min Byung-gyu, Choi Jong-in, Lim Tae-gyu, and Sung Jin-woo.

Lim Tae-gyu

• tennis player.

• usually sleeps in class.

• doesn't have a particular subject he excels in unless it's P.E, though he manages to pass anyways.

• exams? Students are anxious and panicking? Tae-gyu thinks they're overreacting and continues minding his business.

• gets under some teachers' nerves sometimes, but as usual, Tae-gyu doesn't care and will still joke around them until they threaten him to fail in class.

• does his homework in school, but if he's around his friends after school, he'll do it already.

• hates being paired with someone he does not know or not close with.

• acts like he doesn't have a lot of money, but he is given 500 won worth of allowance every week.

• used to sit in the front of the class until some students start complaining they cannot see the writings on the board due to his hair.

• supports Jong-in on the snack limit of vending machines rule because he too has experiences of seeing an empty machine.

• despises when he's assigned to clean restrooms. Tae-gyu always has a spare facemask and surgical gloves. It never fails him to receive odd looks from his friends.

• classmates: Min Byung-gyu, Choi Jong-in, Sung Jin-woo, Baek Yoon-ho, and Cha Hae-in.

Min Byung-gyu

• the history nerd in class.

• is weak in maths, so he frequently asks Jong-in or Hae-in for help. But usually, it's Hae-in because he doesn't want to spend his allowance on Jong-in, who doesn't care whether they're friends or not in terms of tutoring.

• knows how to construct essays, not just because he has been taught in school, but due to him reading essays written by historical figures in his free time.

• has known Hee-jin and Yoon-ho since they were young, but hangs out with Yoon-ho the most since Hee-jin used to study in a different location until they finally enrolled into the same school.

• is friends with Eun-seok, who studies in a different school and the son of one of his mother's friends, after tutoring him. Their schedules are different, but Byung-gyu makes sure to include Eun-seok when hanging out during weekends.

• is the reason why the previous history teacher in his class quit because Byung-gyu kept correcting the mistakes in the lessons and even argued with that said teacher.

• reads manga and bonds with Tae-gyu and Jin-woo with it.

• allots some time to watch his friends practice at the gym or field. It's all fun until Hee-jin and Yoon-ho make him choose on whose game he'll attend.

• is also good at science and will help anyone who needs it for free. looking at you, Choi Jong-in!

• frequently stops by at the library, both in school and outside.

• classmates: Sung Jin-woo, Choi Jong-in, Baek Yoon-ho, Cha Hae-in, and Lim Tae-gyu.

Park Hee-jin

• a student from a different class.

• often waits for Yoon-ho and Byung-gyu so they can go home together.

• plays volleyball.

• specializes in science and studies geography in her free time.

• likes eating ice cream before going home.

• takes notes during classes, but when someone asks her if they could burrow, she declines. Last time she lend her notes, the papers returned to her with creases and worse, have traces of ink and other things that ruined her work.

• hates having Kim Chul as one of her group members during a project.

• due to her being a volleyball player, some students try not to make her mad otherwise Hee-jin will leave a red mark on their body. Even when she's laughing, she tends to hit people, so Yoon-ho and Byung-gyu choose to stay away from her as possible.

• classmates: Han Se-mi, Gina, Son Ki-hoon, Lee Min-sung, Kim Chul, and Yoo Soo-young.

Lee Ju-hee

• Jin-woo's friend from a different school. Public school, to be precise.

• an average student who doesn't pressure herself much in studies.

• uses a bicycle when going to school.

• has a cute little cousin who lives with her and whom she also teaches.

• likes studying by herself, but she also likes studying with her closest friends.

• gets easily anxious when speaking in front of class, especially when she has something to present. Ju-hee struggles with public speaking, but in the end, her friends praise her for doing well.

• classmates: Jung Ye-rim, Lee Bora, Eun-seok, and Esil Radiru (an exchange student from Russia and is still learning Korean).

Other characters:

• Go Gun-hee is the school principal.

• Woo Jin-chul is a mathematics teacher.

• Song Chi-yul is a history teacher (the new one).

• Ma Dong-wook is a P.E teacher/basketball coach.

• Ahn Sang-min is a science teacher.

• Norma Selner is an English teacher. (let's just say she got a promotion to become a teacher in Korea. She's still learning the language, but Gun-hee reassures her that her speaking in her original language will help students learn easily.)

#gotta make a masterlist of my solo leveling aus so i would keep track of them #most of them are in the same ages #i already had a sl high school au before but never pursued it lol #will add more details to this au as i extend my brainrot #solo leveling au: highschool #solo leveling #sung jin woo #choi jong in #cha hae in #baek yoon ho #lim tae gyu #min byung gyu #park hee jin #lee ju hee #go gun hee #woo jin chul #ma dong wook

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lisa-russell · 29 days ago

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3. Lost, Lonely, Numb and Broken. Heard, Feel, Warm and Free.

Born different, hearts full of music, thoughts focused on a different beat.

They grew up, watching their world slowly crumble and crack, the lights going out with each breath.

Rigid rules, miltary might, they are taught to only fight. They did not heed what was being taught, their hearts set on a different thought. Class was a drag, a bore, they hated this life that was forced on them.

Outcast and rebel did their brothers and sisters whisper, they where left alone, their role was one many could ignore. But there rose star whose smartness caught attention. Marina Ida many would mention. This gal, was kind and true, she tried her best and ended up befriending them.

Low in rank was they, compared to the genuis of her. They watched with somberness as she rose, going farther and farther from them. Lost and tired they sought shelter in music, a haven from their grey reality.

One day she was just gone, leaving them behind. Their hearts did cry, did you forget me? Alone I am now, my only friend gone with the wind. Their home, that dome, turned darker and colder, they could not stand to stay any longer.

They followed after the rumors passed through the ranks of a place one could the promised land. They crawled and traveled and reached a strange place, where life seemed colder, and what existed was even odder. Riding a train they wondered what was left in life for them?

Lonely they was, hearts heavy with loss, lost in deep and darkening thoughts. They end up at a strange station, and meet a telephone. It spoke and gave them an offer. They accepted not knowing the lie they where sold, that they given up their soul.

Years passed as they do, they made music as promised, but who they once where is lost. Skin now green, emotions numb, thier focus on music that telephone ordered from them. No thoughts to trouble their hearts, no pain to feel or tears to shed.

But as all things do when asleep, they must awaken. So they where by a shout, that shook their entire body. A yell of defiance and sheer force, it awoke them only a little but enough to make them feel.

Time passes trapped in a strange trance, they wake once more..

Finding themselves in a place of bleached coral and no colour in sight. They also find themselves feeling and free, overwhelmed by what they had los so long ago. They steady themsleves and explore entiring the strange spire, unaware of what would transpire.

Creatures of black ink attacked them, injured and scared they ran the only shelter near them. An elevator made of cold steel, they rested tired and thoughts wondering and wandering.

The rest is history as we all know, they reunite with an old friend, experience a strange journey. Helping when they can, once it was over they where free, truely.

They could feel the light, the warmth of the sun. They no longer felt lonely and numb, for their hearts now sung, of warmth and freedom.

(If you didnt realize yet its about Acht, kinda got lazy around the side order stuff lol)

#splatoon #splatoon 3 #splatoon 2 #splatoon fandom #splatoon3 #splat2n #new squidbeak splatoon #octoling #acht dedf1sh #acht #acht mizuta #splatoon acht #acht splatoon #acht side order #octo expansion #octoling soldiers #splatoon poem

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facelessp03t · 11 months ago

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The Dreamer and the Defiant

Before the Doom, before the lady Daenys foretold the destruction destined for her home and fled with her family, before the great topless towers of Valyria were built, before even the ancient magic of Valyria bound dragon to man, there was a song. A song so old, it was sung by those who had not yet written, in a language now lost.

This song, called “The Lovesick One”, was about a young sheepherder girl who loves another, and it brings to her destruction. The protagonist, who is never named, watches her lover, a girl called Aeril, marry and leave her. These doings leave the protagonist in ruin until she can no longer take it; she walks into the pits upon the Fourteen Flames, becoming one with the fires which later bore dragons. The song ends with Aeril herself doing the same, eternally returning to her lost love.

Aegona had always felt a kinship to The Nameless Girl. Felt the sorrow the fires around Valyria held, the hopelessness within the molten rock. She always felt connected with the mountains surrounding her homeland, bound to the fires that birthed her nation’s success. At just seven-and-ten, Aegona Daezgygar was a promising young woman of Valyria. She was the rider of the formidable dragon Pryjagis, a determined stateswoman, and fiercely loyal friend. The second child of the powerful Raeon Daezgygar and his lady-wife Syrax Belaerys, she was highly educated and regarded with pride by her father. That is, until she grew independent and strayed from her Valyrian traditions, from her father's plans for her.

Daenys Targaryen, the youngest child of Aenar Targaryen, had always felt different. The only girl in her household, she had always known what was expected of her. Like wed her brother Gaemon, and to blindly support him and their father no matter what. What she had always wanted, however, was someone to blindly support her. Daenys had been plagued with visions of the future since birth, scaring her into a lonely, simple life. Dragonless, she had spent most of her youth in the ancient and sprawling libraries of Valyria instead of flying over it on dragonback. That is, until she met Aegona. Daenys Targaryen and Aegona Daezgygar became inseparable at three-and-ten, spending all their available time with each other. Aegona would take Daenys all over the Valyrian Freehold on her dragon Pryjagis, and Daenys would recant for hours the hundreds of stories she had ever read to her friend. Then, tragedy struck.

This is where this story begins.

Set in 115 BC, thirteen years before the Doom, comes this imagined story of love between the famous Dragon Dreamer, Daenys, and a long forgotten Valyrian girl, Aegona.

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Chapter 1

“You cannot do this, Father. I will not do this!” Aegona recoiled at her father’s demand. The gall of him. She had already given up her political ambitions at his behest, had stopped riding to preserve his strong image, had relinquished her position on the Council in favor of her weak brother. She refused to wed for him.

“I can and you shall! I will not allow you to bring any more dishonor upon us.”

Sitting in the great hall of Goldstone, the holding of the noble family of Daezgygar in the city of Valyria, Aegona faced her father. Next to her at the dragonstone table, seated amongst the dozens of blood marble chairs in the roofless hall flanked with dragon skulls and made of magnificent purple-and-blue arches, were her brother, Vhaelor, and her sister, Alaesys.

“Father, why may I not be wed to Alaesys alone? We together shall continue our pure and noble line. I do not need Aegona.” Vhaelor was the epitome of Valyrian pride. He was a gorgeous man of three-and-twenty, with flowing white-gold hair, deep purple eyes, and skin so unblemished and pale it was almost translucent. Alaesys, too.

Despite being twins, Aegona and Alaesys looked far from similar. Where Alaesys looked like Vhaelor, like their parents, Aegona boasted shoulder-length silver-gray hair, green eyes, and a surprisingly boring face when compared to her siblings. Vhaelor had always preferred her sister to her, primarily due to Aegona’s lack of Valyrian looks.

“Alaesys is a worthy bride indeed who shall fulfill you, yes. You will continue our line. But you will wed Aegona. What will others say if Aegona remains unbound? If not even her own brother will take her?” Raeon Daezgygar was a ruthless, fearless man of the Lords Freeholder of Valyria, being one of the wealthiest men in the entire Freehold. He owned hundreds of gold mines across the peninsula, deep underneath the Fourteen Flames; he controlled with three other families almost a tenth of Valyria’s wealth, and almost twenty-thousand slaves.

Despite his age of five-and-fifty, Raeon looked to be as young as his children. The noble Daezgygars had practiced sorcery and blood magic since they herded sheep instead of gold, and upon its members it shone brightly.

Aegona stood, pounding her fists on the table. Alaesys and Vhaelor flinched, yet Raeon remained still. He turned his head slowly to his daughter, menacing. She glared at her father. “They shall say nothing. I will take to the skies and prove my worth as a dragonlord. I shall fly upon Pryjagis to war, bring glory to Valyria like Uncle Maeron. I will not be tamed upon a marriage bed. Least of all Vhaelor’s.” She believed Vhaelor to be an arrogant, brainless sot who knew not how to think for himself. Just like their father.

Raeon leapt from his chair, sending a magical gust to his daughter. Flung to the ground, pinned upon the glass floor by an invisible force, Aegona thrashed, screaming in frustration. Raeon walked over to her, kneeling. The golden fire in his eyes was cold. Terrifying.

“I will kill that beast for how you speak to me, then you shall be bound here forever. You will be tamed, and it will be by Vhaelor. You shall sit wed before the year is over. If you flee, so help me gods, I will hunt you down myself.”

Aegona grinned at him, taunting. “Hunt me with what, Father? You shall find me flying above the Narrow Sea while you sit upon, what? A mule?” she spat in his face.

Raeon’s mount, the ancient and monstrous she-dragon Leriod, had recently taken ill and would soon be dead. Raeon had barred the women of his household from riding their dragons, for fear of public opinion. He could not have his daughters and wife riding fearsome beasts while he sat emasculated in his keep, bound to a horse.

He growled, raising his hand to strike.

“Father, do not do this. By giving her your energy, you are giving into her,” Vhaelor said from behind him, his face expressionless.

Raeon turned his head to look at his heir, then back down at his daughter. “You are lucky your brother has sense. Next time, you shall not be so lucky.” Standing, he walked back to his seat at the head of the table. Finally released, Aegona also stood, looking to her siblings. Their hands were clasped together upon the table.

“This is it, then? You shall sit here while he plays you like pawns upon a board?”

It was Alaesys who spoke now, her voice as soft as the snows that fell in the infamous Lands of Always Winter. “That is enough, Aegona. Please do not be difficult about this. Marriage shall not be so bad.”

Aegona scoffed. “‘Difficult’? Is that what we are to call a woman having an opinion in the matters of her own life? Fine. Sit here and take this, but I will not.” She did not wait to hear their responses. Bounding out of the great hall, Aegona sent a gust of hot wind behind her, slamming the carved doors as she exited.

Goldstone was an immense building, a feat of architecture older than Valyria itself. With walls of arches, floors of glass, halls lined with sculptures of the great members of the Daezgygar dynasty, carved from the gold of their mines, it was magnificent. The fires upon the walls, contained within intricate dragonstone cauldrons, were golden and kept alight by the sorcery thick in the air.

There were five towers of Goldstone surrounding the main keep, named after the great founders of the family. To the north, Gael; to the east, Aeragon; to the west, Jahaer; to the south, Vhagar; and to the south-east, across a bleak and sorrowful wooden bridge that was scarcely crossed, stood Laerys, with a roof of dark dragonstone that swallowed even dragonflame that stood stark against the other towers’ golden.

Gael, Aeragon, Jahaer, Vhagar, and Laerys were siblings, children of sheepherders that had discovered dragons only generations before, who lived in poverty amongst the Fourteen Flames. One day, as they were bringing an offering of sheep to their dragons among the smoldering pits, they discovered something. Within the caves where the dragons nested was gold, waiting for someone to discover it, begging to be released from its stone prison.

After chipping all the gold they could from the cave opening, amassing more wealth than anyone in their village, they were hungry still. Aeragon and Jahaer, worrying for the safety of themselves and their sisters Gael and Vhagar, sent their youngest sibling, Laerys, into the hot depths of the cave to find more. Beneath the burning lava of the Mother Mountains, something horrible had happened. Laerys did not return. His siblings waited for weeks at the cave mouth, yet he did not emerge.

Years went by, and with no sign of the young man, they moved on. By this time, the family had mastered the use of indentured servitude to mine their gold. They adopted the name “Daezgygar”, meaning “Those of Golden Wool” in the Old Tongue. They had become kings in their own right, had given their blood to the gods for prosperity and promise.

After twenty years, the holding of Goldstone was built. Each sibling, Gael and Aeragon now wed along with Jahaer and Vhagar, built a tower in their honor. They had discovered gold. They had mastered an efficient way to harvest it. They had curried the favor of the gods. What they had not managed, however, was to tame the dragon. They yet remained unridden, unbound by men. That is, until day five of the eleventh month of year twenty-two of Laerys’s absence.

That morning, as the sun rose above the horizon, a monstrous roar shook the world. The walls of the newly-completed Goldstone rocked with such force that the wooden roofs fell and the towers almost toppled. Gael, Aeragon, Jahaer, and Vhagar fled to the ground from their stories-tall keep, wrought with terror. As they reached the ground, a shadow enveloped them. Looking up, they saw the impossible. Above them, riding a ghastly beast thought untameable, was a man.

Laerys Daezgygar touched down upon hundreds of screaming men, women, and children atop the conglomerate of mines, grinning widely at his siblings. He looked as young as he did the day he vanished-- younger even. He wore naught but the torn cotton robe he had when he entered that cave, but gods did he look ever so different. Gone was his brown hair, his olive skin, his green eyes. He now boasted a head of long white hair, not that of age but of some unnatural power; his skin was a white so bright it seemed he had been poured of liquid sun. His eyes had become a purple of the lavender flowers in the north, with a mystical fire burning within. His face looked the same, but somehow shone with a beauty so radiant it could have stopped even the gods in their tracks.

“Miss me?” His voice had not changed, but somehow it had. The sound was the same, but there was something within. Something magical.

Within the caves, after he could not find his way out, Laerys had lay dying in the intense heat below the volcanoes of his homeland. He was come upon by a nesting she-dragon, who took him into her clutch. He became one with the family, the formidable beast he now rode being his mother. With her own milk she nursed him from the brink, with her magic fire she bathed him. Over the years, he learned their language, the mysterious one later known as High Valyrian. The magic of the caves, the dragons themselves, entered his very cells and became a part of him, turning him from a man. Turning him into something… other.

Aegona’s chambers were in Laerys. Before she became the thorn in her father’s side, she resided in Gael with Alaesys, the biggest tower. But then Gryr happened, and she was shunned to the bleak tower made for the familial outlier. Alas, she had to make room for her brother to take her place at her sister’s side.

She and Alaesys had always been close. From birth, they were inseparable. Riding their dragons together, Bantagon and Pryjagis. Running and laughing amongst the Great Flames of the Gods while they were meant to be praying. Playing in the ancient libraries when meant to be reading. They were the best of friends, and Aegona was happy. Then her sister matured, blossoming into a great beauty while Aegona retained a boyish figure, flat where her twin’s curved. Vhaelor had never cared too much about his sisters, least of all Aegona. He had always proved impartial at best, tending to avoid the laughing girls. Yet when Alaesys became a woman, he made up his mind.

Vhaelor and Alaesys had not left each other’s sides since, begging their father to allow their pairing. Raeon was apprehensive, having always meant the elder Aegona to wed his heir. Then she ruined herself, as he would say, and he gave in to Vhaelor. They were to be wed before the end of the month, and if Raeon had his way, the wedding would have two brides.

Aegona walked hurriedly to her chambers, angry heat radiating from her. If her father would not heed her, she would show him the same courtesy. Coming to the swaying bridge, she stopped midway to her tower. As she grasped the rope railing, she took the horn hanging from her neck in her hands. Aegona would show the great Raeon Daezgygar that she was destined to be greater than he would ever be. Blowing into the ancient dragonhorn, she beckoned her beast.

Pryjagis was a menacing creature of old. He had been old when her grandfather had claimed him, having fought the harpy of the Ghiscari centuries ago. Pryjagis boasted scales of blues of all shades, with horns the black of night. His flame was a magnificent orange with swirls of yellow and red, almost as bright as the sun. Alaesys rode the sister of Pryjagis, born from the same clutch all those years ago. Bantagon had scales of orange, red, and yellow, horns of white what had yellowed with age, and a flame of dark blue with streaks of black. Aegona missed riding with her sister dearly. As children, she dreamt that they would ride alongside one another to war, bringing glory to their homeland. That was before she saw the truth of the world.

Pryjagis landed atop Laerys with a roar, greeting his rider. The sun shone on him, revealing his whole beauty.

“Hello, handsome.” Aegona walked to him, climbing upon his saddle and grabbing the reins. There was only one person she wished to see at this moment, and she knew exactly where she would be. “To the libraries, Pryjagis.” To Daenys Targaryen.

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Thank you for reading! I (stupidly) got into a car accident yesterday and had time to finish this. All artwork belongs to me; I used AI to bring this story to life. Chapter two, which will focus on Daenys, will ideally be up in a week or two, if anyone actually reads this and cares. Have a great day!

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