#the big one being that i was in a Generally unwell state of mind that had little to do with WH | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

yan-twst · 4 years ago

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hi! could i please request yan azul, kalim, leona and malleus with their darling figuring out abt them,, yknow being yanderes and trys to flat out look and act unappealing and/or just basically be the opposite of what theyd want in a s/o, as an attempt to try and get them off their back??

warnings: general yandere themes, mentions of physical violence

azul ashengrotto

the problem with azul’s attraction is that it comes from his own insecurities rather than him attaching to some aspect of his darling

perhaps they somehow reassured him when he was feeling low, perhaps they accidentally said something that soothed his insecurities- maybe it was something as simple as them always being nice to him without him ever having done anything for them; once he first gets an inkling of interest, it snowballs into an obsession and a desire to have them reassure him and keep him company

his darling starts to notice something is off when azul suddenly seems to be almost always pestering them to form a contract with him, when they can feel the tweel’s eyes on them throughout the day. it- it feels wrong to say he’s stalking them, but fuck, it sure feels like it

every day it seems to increase a little- the stalking, the pressuring, the way he’s trying to force himself closer to them, and it feels like a ticking time bomb. it’s as if every day they put off a contract or avoid him, the pressure’s building up, but they don’t know to what. but they can tell that if this goes on for longer, something is going to happen

azul notices when they stop taking as much care of themselves. they’re disheveled, hair messy and uniform wrinkled; not something bad enough that they’d get in trouble, but just so enough that it seems they’re actively trying to appear “unappealing”. too bad for them, though; in his love-addled mind, he dreams of them holding him, caressing him and telling him he’s loved, he’s good- the fact they’re not put together doesn’t affect him that much

of course, if they realize that what azul is fixated on is how they treated him and try to do the opposite of that- being rude to him, then that’s just making things go worse. azul was obsessed with them before, yes, but once they start acting rudely to him it just makes him snap

no more waiting. he was trying to get them tied up in a contract, lure them in until they were too far in and couldn’t leave him; but once they burst his little bubble by being rude to him, once they snap the fantasy version of them in his head (the fantasy version of them that’s always at his beck and call, always reassuring them and telling him how great he is, that adores all he does with no questions)- he’s suddenly craving their kindness again, and he doesn’t care how he has to get it

that really might be a fast route to getting dragged by floyd into a dorm room- azul’s room- and be confronted with a desperate azul

suddenly bombarded with questions- why did they do this? is he not enough? did they find someone else? it’s that bastard who sits next to them, isn’t it? what does he have that azul doesn’t? he can take it from him- he can be better than that guy, he promises! why isn’t he enough? why don’t they love him? why why why why-

it’s dizzying, and they realize just a bit too late the door is locked- and it’s going to stay that way. azul might regain his composure, but going back to his usual self from his little crybaby side doesn’t mean he’s suddenly letting them go; no matter in what state he’s in, making them his is all he has on his mind

kalim al-asim

the problem with kalim is that it’s so hard to tell his love is something far worse, far more dangerous, bordering into obsession until it’s too late

he’s just so naturally loving and affectionate; it’s not weird for him to always invite the same person over, not weird for him to be hugging them, it just doesn’t raise any alarms for him to shower them in expensive gifts that they didn’t ask for, it’s just not unusual for him to compliment them so sweetly every time he sees them

after all, he’s just known for being adorable and sweet and nice. if anything, onlookers might think he has a puppy crush and find the whole thing adorable

hell, outside of the discomfort of receiving so many expensive gifts, the target of his obsession probably also thinks it’s just some passing fancy, just another demonstration of his big heart and his boundless kindness

but it’s just a little too much. the hugs last a second too long, it’s just too many gifts- where the hell do they safely put all this gold? it’s too much time spent in scarabia’s common room being hugged and pet and coddled by kalim

perhaps the kindest way to make him back off is to just not appeal to him, right? to be just a little bit cold, to look a bit worse for wear than the average student- surely that’ll be enough to dissuade him, to make him lose interest and maybe focus his attention on something else

but it doesn’t really work. trying to even give a cold shoulder to his affections makes kalim so visibly sad it hurts them (even though they’re the ones trying to make distance between him and them), their disheveled appearance makes him fuss and worry and pay even more attention to them

if the plan was to get kalim off their back, then it backfires completely. he’s suddenly just that much more attached to them; he doesn’t seem to take their cold treatment as a dissuasion, and he gifts care products and clothes and jewelry saying that perhaps they need a little pick-me-up

it just culminates in him “worrying too much” and “taking the decision to care for them, since they’re clearly unwell!”- which translates to being put in a private room in the scarabia dorm for kalim to pamper

he seems to chalk up their distress and their absolute anger at his actions as them “being unwell”. is it the school stress, or something else...? well, it’s ok! he’s taking care of them now; they’re not gonna have to work a day in their life or stress over anything at all, because he’s going to stay with them forever. that’s what love is, after all!

leona kingscholar

what a ridiculous little herbivore

do they truly think he can’t tell what they’re doing? leona knows he isn’t subtle about his little crush, as ruggie calls it- he isn’t stupid enough to deny the obsession that swirls in his heart and raises all his animalistic instincts when he’s in the presence of his darling. he knows they’re worried about how he’s monopolizing their time, that they’re keenly aware he’s trying to keep them for himself

but do they really think that they can somehow drive him away by switching up the way they act? that if they try to put on a brave stance, try to act as if though they aren’t a little weak herbivore for the big mean lion to hunt down for dinner, that he’s just going to shrug and move on?

if his obsession was something so minor, he wouldn’t be putting in the effort to secure his prey. really, how dumb do they have to be to think it’d be that easy? they know him- they know he wouldn’t be putting energy into this whole thing if he didn’t truly want to

leona isn’t stupid. he can see right through them; he’s had his eye on them for a while now, and all of a sudden they’re trying to change up the way they are? he can easily figure out what they’re trying to do

in fact, he might bring it up to their face- looking down at them with a smirk arms crossed

just because the prey tries to act brave doesn’t make it any less of a prey animal. he can sniff them out without trying.

really, it’s about then leona just says ‘fuck it’ and pounces. it’s as easy as saying that if they don’t nicely follow him back to savanaclaw he’ll gladly turn them to sand, with his hand pressed against their back- and that’s all it takes for the brave act to crumble and for the lion to force the rabbit into his den

even if once held captive they keep trying to act unappealing, leona sees it as amusing and perhaps as a bother he can quickly get rid of with a bit of force or punishment. cats like to play with their food, after all: he might let them try to keep up the act for a while, just for his amusement, but once he says they’re done and to drop it, they better drop it, because he isn’t above letting them learn through pain that they aren’t in charge of themselves here

malleus draconia

catching on that malleus draconia might be a bit too interested in them is a bit of an unnerving discovery- because what does one do when the most powerful student in nrc and the heir to the throne of the valley of thorns is a bit too into one?

it doesn’t help that malleus is just not very socially adept, and it feels... cruel to tell him off. maybe it’s just the way he makes friends- perhaps showing up to their dorm unannounced is just him being friendly, perhaps him just staring at them is how he thinks friendship goes, maybe the extended physical contact is just him being touch starved

it’s just tricky, because what can they do? malleus is powerful and he’s very, very much attached to them. perhaps it’s their fault for letting it get to this level, but they just thought the guy needed a friend; they were trying to be nice, to offer him companionship, and now they’ve got a fae watching them sleep, talking about how they’d be a perfect co-ruler for the valley of thorns, glaring at their friends when they spend time together; it’s a problem

and yet what to do? trying to make malleus “not attracted to them” is easier said than done. after all, what seems to have gotten him so attached is the fact they treat him nicely, that they weren’t scared of him- and they’ve seen malleus spit fire and use magic so powerful they can only dream of it. they don’t want to just go ahead and upset him by suddenly being mean.

and trying to put him off with their appearance just doesn’t seem to work either. if anything, it just makes him that more overbearing; as if he’s worried about their behaviour

there’s no way to win, really. they can try to keep going this way, as his obsession grows more and more each day and he starts to take more and more from them, eventually declaring his “love”, eventually placing them in a tower, trapped with him- no amount of messy hair and poorly ironed clothes can make the lovesick obsession leave malleus; and the alternative is to potentially anger him, to make the move from their dorm to a cold, stone room somewhere in the dorm for malleus to unleash his anger and the worse parts of his obsession onto them

#yandere twst #yandere twisted wonderland #azul ashengrotto #leona kingscholar #kalim al-asim #malleus draconia #Anonymous

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traumasurvivorshelpingsurvivors · 2 years ago

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TW: religious delusions/demons, manic episodes, verbal abuse. Continuation of two previous asks I've sent in about similar topics.

Not too long ago I sent in an ask about a problem I was currently having with my mom. I mentioned that she has manic episodes where she forces me awake by coming up with random tasks for me to do in the middle of the night, and yells at me/insults me the whole time. I'm pretty sure this is one I sent in after the inbox got emptied so if you still have it, I'm the same anon. The other ask, I don't think you have anymore.

Before sending in that ask, I had previously sent in another ask during April that I'm pretty sure you wouldn't have anymore since it was before the inbox was empty. If you answered it I might have missed it but I don't think it got answered. It still had to do with my mom's manic episodes and verbal abuse, but at the time, her main issue was religious delusions (saying I was inviting demons into the house, and finding things about me supposedly demonic like the symbol on a video game T-shirt I was wearing). My mind was going through a lot of extreme chaos at the time so I might not have correctly expressed myself in that ask and it's understandable if it was difficult to answer, sorry.

Anyway, for a while, my mom was just back to getting upset over things in general during her episodes like what I mentioned before about how she walks around, mainly finds things to get upset about in the kitchen, and then decides we need to start cleaning the whole kitchen or cooking something extravagant.

Now, she's back to the religious delusions about demons being in our house. She says I have the devil in me, does things that are unsettling like going around the house carrying a cross, and genuinely thinks that our house is being targeted by demons or that someone has sent demons to attack her.

My friend is familiar with the topic and sent me some resources with information on religious delusions and hyperreligiosity. I read up on it and yes I know my mom is unwell and many people have these delusions but I feel like the things she says and does to me are just so outrageous, I can't just sit there listening to her verbally and psychologically abuse me, and stay completely calm and cheerful thinking "Awww it's okay, Mom doesn't really mean it!" Because whether she means it or not, she is really screwing up my mental state. I'm hurt and in the moment, I'll be angry at myself, and angry at my mom. I can't think straight while panicking. She is constantly gaslighting me, insulting me, name-calling me, turning me into her scapegoat, and honestly I would just rather sleep my life away than have to deal with her.

Today for example, I very gently told her that her words about demons and similar topics were making me feel on the verge of having a panic attack. And what she did was mock me and say "You sound just like a little baby complaining about not getting a toy from the store so you threaten to have a tantrum." And her disorders are valid because she gets to use them as excuses but when it comes to my own health she says everything I do is just me lying and faking. She's threatening to stop paying for any of my medical treatments anymore.

Just overall she makes me feel like such a shitty person. I try so hard to help her and everything I do just backfires. If I give her space, she gets mad at me for supposedly leaving her alone, or for not offering to help her enough because she says I'm selfish and I don't care about her enough to help. But then what set off the last argument we had was that I was offering to help her with stuff and she felt like I was "interrogating" her or something (persecutory delusions are another big thing that comes up a lot between us). When she told the story back to me she made it sound like I had been questioning her over and over about the same thing for several minutes when all I did was ask maybe 2-3 questions just to make sure I could help her out, but she was exaggerating everything. And it still got her extremely upset, she's been mad over this same damn issue I just mentioned, it's been going on for several days in a row already, first giving me the silent treatment and then finally snapping and screaming at me like I'm the worst person to ever exist, and I fucked everything up as usual. And she is always threatening me and telling me I should be afraid of the future because all the supposedly bad things I do to her are going to come back and get me, God is going to punish me both on earth and in hell because I was such a horrible child to my mother, I'm going to be alone in life, nobody can stand to be around me, I'm demonic... all sorts of lovely stuff. Yet I'm supposed to put up with it, because "Oh but she's your mom, she's sick, she's just in a bad mood!" and so on. And even she says things like that herself, like "I'm your mom, I carried you, I gave birth to you, I'm the one who changed your shitty diapers as a baby." As if I even asked to be born in the first place.

I can't get away from my house. And I just hate it. I'm not even saying everything she says/does, it feels a lot worse than what I've described here, but honestly when she's saying and doing these things everything feels so chaotic in the moment and like I said a lot of times I will be on the verge of a panic attack, or even in the middle of a panic attack, so not everything she says will be sinking in and I get the details all blurry when trying to retell them. But hopefully what I typed gives you some idea of the nature of how it usually goes.

I'm just finding it extremely hard to cope. My situation isn't getting any better because I'm her caregiver and my life has been set up in a way where I'm not really independent. I don't have enough money to live on my own, I don't have other family I could go live with. It feels like this stuff gets worse every day and I'm just trapped having to put up with it.

I just need someone right now to help me feel less upset and less unstable than I currently am feeling, just whatever validating words you think would be helpful for someone in my position to hear. I know there is no getting out of this situation anytime soon so I just want to hear something nice since I've been suffering so damn much and honestly just feel like I need some kindness and gentle words more than anything else at the moment. And maybe some tips on how to deal with my mom when I physically can't get away from her since like I said a big issue will be her coming into my space and waking me up, or her forcing me to stay with her in areas like the kitchen or in her bedroom.

Hi anon,

Firstly I'm so sorry about your mom and what she's putting you through.

I agree that you shouldn't have to feel obligated to forgive her, because despite how someone may be psychologically impaired and thus unaware of their actions or their repercussions, it doesn't erase the damage they do. You are valid for being upset or even traumatized by all of this, even if she isn't aware of it. You have every right to feel hurt and angry at her - those are natural trauma responses.

You do not deserve to feel like a demon or anything similar. My heart breaks for the way your mom treats you, as well as how stuck you may be in this situation. While I'm not sure what advice to give (and commenters are absolutely welcome to provide some), please remember that you are not a demon, you are trustworthy, you are kind, and you are trying your best. I wish the absolute best for you. I hope I could help at least a little bit. We're here for you if you ever need to talk.

-Bun

#mod bun #trauma talks #trauma details #abuse #emotional abuse #child abuse #religious abuse

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juniorgman187 · 4 years ago

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Never Enough (Spencer Reid Drabble)

Summary: Ever wondered what Garcia wrote on that sticky note in the series finale? Read here to find out. When Reader, the new technical analyst, feels out of place at a party, Penelope’s sticky note and Reid’s kind words do just the trick.

A/N: This is a comfort piece for me, someone very introverted who never seems to do well in social gatherings. So this is dedicated to anyone who’s ever felt like they didn’t belong. You are loved. Couple: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid Category: Fluff, Drabble Content Warning: Fear of exclusion, loneliness Word Count: 2.4k

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

All my life, all I’d ever wanted was to be a social butterfly. Their lives seemed so easy. People would naturally flock to them, what with their charisma, their confidence, their natural gift of being conversational.

I envied them for the sole reason that I was nothing like them, not in the slightest.

It wasn’t easy for me to keep a conversation going, even if I was trying my very hardest, which was often the case. I could never seem to commandeer the room in the way that someone extroverted could, and it was especially hard sometimes to feel a part of everyone.

It would be too easy to say I was invisible. Instead, I felt painfully visible, and entirely ignored.

Everyone could see my shyness peeking through, everyone could see how alienated I’d become, everyone could see my despondence, and yet no one bothered to change it.

No one cared.

My excruciating awkwardness had reached an all-time high at Krystall’s birthday party.

Agent Rossi was so keen on inviting me, and I was honored to go since it’d be my first bonding experience with the team outside of work. I couldn’t turn down the opportunity to grow closer to them, otherwise, I’d run the risk of isolating myself even more. As if being brought in as the BAU’s new technical analyst to replace Penelope Garcia wasn’t enough of a reason for them to doubt, despise, and disrespect me, I was the introvert who had a hard time making friends - unlike my predecessor, who’ve I heard could make friends like nobody’s business. I knew I could never fill her shoes, much less fill the glaring void she created when she left, but still, I maintained my bright-eyes in hopes that I’d be enough for them, anyway. I was all too eager to get to know everyone as more than just my coworkers, with one exception.

Dr. Reid maintained an arm’s length distance from me at all times, and at first, I understood. I even empathized with him.

Besides SSA Morgan and SSA Hotchner, the only other person that he’d work the longest with was Penelope, and now she was gone, too, but the longer his rejection of me lasted, the more I was curious what he truly had against me, and the more I was less interested in changing that. Why would I work tirelessly at mending this broken friendship, if he wasn’t willing to meet me halfway?

I was more shocked that he, of all people, would be the most displeased with my arrival. When Agent Rossi replaced Agent Gideon, from what I heard, the transition wasn’t as rocky as mine. Dr. Reid was overjoyed to be working with him and to discuss all his books. When Jordan Todd, and eventually Ashley Seaver, took Agent Jareau’s place momentarily, he was happy to be working with them. When Alex Blake and Kate Callahan came in after Emily Prentiss, he welcomed them with open arms. So what was it about me that was so abhorrent to him?

I never outright asked, mainly because I feared confrontation and I also had no way of knowing if my curiosity would make the situation worse or better. But I should’ve. I should’ve marched right up to him and asked, “What’s your problem?”

Somehow, though, I finally got up the courage to do so tonight.

I watched as the team laughed at one of Rossi’s anecdotes, meanwhile, the inside jokes flew over my head, hindering that bonding experience I was so sure I’d get by coming here. So I stepped inside the house, wandering into a spare room, knowing I wouldn’t be missed.

I thought I’d only be there for a moment to get some “fresh air” even though I’d actually migrated from the outside to the inside, where there’d arguably be less fresh air, but that’d be my excuse if anyone came in. But I was forced to stay longer in the office when it finally happened.

I finally reached my breaking point.

It was building up all night. It started when I first stepped into the house. My confidence faltered almost immediately when I accidentally stepped on Rossi’s Italian leather dress shoe as I went to greet him. He told me not to worry, but of course, I did just the opposite. It was a minor bump in the road, something so minute, but still, it weighed on me thinking about how embarrassing it was that I dirtied something of his that everyone recognized as valuable.

My shame didn’t stop there. As I was talking with Krystall, there were many periods of awkward silence that I couldn’t manage to fill with words, so we each sipped at our wine until one of us would try to pick up the conversation. What’s worse was that we each knew the silence was suffocating, and I could tell we were both thinking of things to say to keep the conversation going, and yet, nothing worth saying came to mind.

And worst of all was when Penelope Garcia finally arrived at the party. Don’t misunderstand me - it wasn’t the worst part of all because she was bad - no, she was lovely. She gave me a welcome present - a Beanie Baby to put on my desk, evocative of her own style of decor, and I loved her for it, which made me hate her all the more.

Rossi’s house livened up when she came. Everyone flocked to greet her, laughter erupted and ricocheted off Rossi’s high ceilings. They were positively elated by her presence, truly happy. Which was the first time I’d ever seen them that way because frankly, they were never that happy with me.

It was a painful reminder that I could never bring what she brought to the team, and I could never be as good as her. And the general consensus I reached, sitting in Rossi’s office all alone with my glass of wine, was the same one I’d known for years now - I’m not enough.

And I will never be enough.

I hadn’t realized I was crying until a tear cascaded down my cheek, dripping right under my nose, forcing me to audibly sniffle it away. Using the sleeve of my cardigan, I desperately tried to wipe away the tears faster than they were spilling out, but it just wasn’t possible. In fact, the coarse fabric of my cardigan rubbing against my cheeks only made them redder, making the fact that I was unwell that much more obvious.

The sound of the doorknob turning sent me into overdrive, automatically engaging me into turning around and facing the wall so that whoever was coming in wouldn’t find me in the state that I was in. I sniffled a great big sniffle and fanned my face to dry it of any moisture that my silent sobs could’ve left.

“Sorry, Rossi, I was just getting some fresh air and I thought I’d check out your book collectio-”

When I turned around, Rossi wasn’t standing there as I’d assumed.

In fact, the person standing there was the last person I thought it’d be.

“Dr. Reid?”

He was lingering in the doorway, studying my face, to which I instantly preventing from continuing on any further by cowering my head and looking away.

“What are you doing here?” My voice had taken a tone of anger that I didn’t anticipate to be there originally.

“Are you okay?”

To my surprise, his question seemed sincere, but I couldn’t truly believe it was.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just allergies from being outside for so long. The pollen and stuff, you know?” I rambled nervously.

“Oh, really? Are you allergic to the grass?” He asked in a joking manner, knowing I was lying but still asking so that he’d have the satisfaction of getting to see me try and work my way out of the situation.

“Yes, I am actually. The most common outdoor allergy triggers are trees, grass, weed pollen, mold spores, dust mites, cockroaches, and cat, dog, and rodent dander. Don’t you know this? After all, you’re the one with the IQ of 187 here, not me.” I tried to joke to lighten up the room’s heaviness, but clearly, it didn’t work.

By this time, I’d already turned back to face the wall, so Reid surely couldn’t see me, but I heard the door click shut behind me, and a wave of anxiety permeated my soul.

“What’s wrong, Y/N?”

I scoffed at his question, almost hitting him back with an “As if you care.” But I decided against it in an effort to preserve what little repose we had left between us.

“Will you please tell me what’s wrong?” He sounded like he was begging - like he was practically willing to go on his hands and knees to get me to answer, but all I could focus on was the feeling of his hot breath ghosting over my neck.

Goosebumps rose on my skins once he put his warm hand on my cold shoulder, which was bare from the absence of my cardigan and where it had slipped down to my elbow.

I flinched at the sensation, causing him to recoil.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that.” He quickly apologized, regret filling his eyes. “Um, you look nice by the way. I like the way you did your hair. A-and your dress. It looks nice.”

Not even giving a chance to respond to his compliment, I asked again, “Why are you here?” Pressing him to get the point faster before I had a chance to react at another one of his physical advances.

“I saw you leave the backyard and I thought I should check on you.”

“Well, you’ve checked on me, so you can go back now.” I didn’t miss a beat when responding, fooling him into thinking that I didn’t catch his words and their intentions.

“I just want to talk.” He replied, finally answering my question from before.

“Okay. Let’s talk.”

He took a seat on a chaise lounge sofa while I stayed standing by the bookcase in preparation for a quick escape if need be.

“I’m sorry I’ve been pushing you away. That wasn’t fair of me.”

Although I hadn’t expected him to apologize, I wasn’t going to be misled and naively accept his apology with no reservations.

“Why did you do it? And for so long?”

“I was angry. I didn’t want another person in my life that I cared about to walk away, so I thought maybe if I made you feel unwelcome, you wouldn’t want to stay. And she’d come back.”

It hurt to say, but at least I knew he was being honest.

“I accept your apology, but it’s not okay.”

“I know that.”

“Okay, are we good now? We’ve talked, so,” My hand gestured toward the door, suggesting he should leave, but he didn’t comply.

“I’m not leaving.”

“And why not?” The wine glass in my hand nearly shattered at the way my hand wrapped around it since its presence hindered me from being able to actually clench my fists.

“I didn’t come here to apologize, even though I should’ve sooner. But I came here because I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Like you care.” I chuckled mirthlessly.

“I do care.”

I gave in, not wanting to fight him any longer, otherwise, I might cry some more from the altercation.

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not,” He shook his head. “I know you’re not fine. What’s really wrong, Y/N?”

I looked away immediately from his gaze, trying to hide the sheen that was inevitably coating my eyes from the presence of tears, but he would’ve known I was crying the minute I used the cuff of my cardigan to wipe under my nose again.

“I just . . . I feel so unconnected,” I whispered, the pain of my words stealing my volume. “I don’t fit in. And I’ve never fit in before, but I actually thought this might be my chance.”

“It still is. Just come back outside.”

“You don’t get it!”

“What don’t I get?”

“I just needed to take a moment to compose myself so I wouldn’t ruin the energy of the room. And I’d really like to do that alone, okay?”

“I know you don’t want me to go.”

“What?”

“You’re testing me to see if I’ll stay.”

“No, I’m not.”

“So you’re saying that if I left right now, you wouldn’t regret letting me walk away?”

“Yeah, that’s right.”

“I know you’re lying to me.”

“I’m not lying.”

“Yes, you are. I know what it looks like when you lie. Wanna know how I know?”

I entertained his question out of pure frustration “How?”

“Because I pay attention to you. I see your mannerisms. I notice everything. Do you think I haven’t picked up on how you crack your knuckles when you’re nervous? Or how your stutter goes away when you talk about technology? Or how your fists clench, like how you’re doing right now?”

My eyes flickered to my fist that was wrapped so tightly around the glass, my knuckles were white. Out of shame, I loosened my grip.

“I pay attention because I care. And I’m sorry that I made you ever believe that I didn’t. What you do, and say, and think - it’s important. So no, I’m not leaving. I’m staying right here to give you the attention you deserve.” He sighed with a breath of relief. “I care more about you than whatever’s happening out there.”

And slowly, then all at once, that barrier between us broke down.

“I care about you. We all do. And when you’re ready, we can walk back out there together so that you can see for yourself just how much we care.”

. . . That night, I made nine more friends.

And the day we came back to work, with my Beanie Baby in hand, I rearranged my desk.

A folded up sticky note fell out from between two tables. I picked it up, recognizing the handwriting instantly.

Penelope Garcia.

Even when the laughter always seems to come from the other room and the world seems busy as it carries on without you, may you know this to be true. No matter who or what made you feel invisible, unworthy, unloved, or unseen, in this ever-moving world, there is still a place for you. And you are exactly in the place where you are meant to be.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

quote by morgan harper nichols

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yumgrapejuice · 4 years ago

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An analysis on Ranboo’s lore playlist

okay y’all first of all, ranboo has a killer taste, i love him, and second, i couldn’t resist. i’m an analyst by nature. am i looking too deep into some things? did ranboo maybe choose some songs purely for the vibe? perhaps. do i care? no. let me have my fun.

I’m gonna drop my own analysis/interpretation based on these songs but feel free do use this yourself if you want!! And also feel free to disagree/correct me on anything!! I’m not a professional musical analyst lol and I did take some inspiration from already existing interpretations for the more lyrical songs.

here’s the playlist btw

“Introduction to the Snow”—introduction to the album. Fitting for the playlist’s beginning, seeing the tone. It’s mostly referencing (self-imposed) isolation.

“Dream Sweet in Sea Major”—this Miracle Music’s whole album is about dreams and reality, how they clash, loneliness and the wish to be close to someone, yet still remaining isolated. Very whimsical, metaphorical, melodic, and it has this vibe as if on the edge of consciousness. I’d say it fits quite well with c!Ranboo’s general vibe. This song in particular deals with sleepwalking(ha)/being in a dreamlike state, the line between what’s real and what’s not blurred.

“The Mind Electric”—oh this one fits Ranboo extremely well. First part is in reverse, the second in normal (mirroring), and it can get quite unsettling. Like you’re not sure what’s happening with the instrumentals, many different voices. Again, very metaphorical, but to put it shortly, the protagonist is being judged for a crime they’ve committed and, in their defence, they say: “Father, your honor, may I explain, my brain has claimed its glory over me; I’ve a good heart albeit insane”. They get “condemned to the infirmary” for that, where electric shock is used on them as a form of “therapy”. As a result, the protagonist loses grip on reality and themselves and truly does go insane. They beg for mercy and sympathy, but there’s no one to help them. “Someone help me; Understand what's going on inside my mind; Doctor I can't tell if I'm not me”—need I say more, really?

“Live and Let Die”—the phrase “live and let die” means to live your life how you wish and let others live how they wish without interfering. At first, you live by the phrase “live and let live”, meaning you have your ideals and you try to change the lives of others according to them, but as life progresses, you stop caring as much/try to distance yourself from others’ business.

“Turn the Lights Off”—dreams and nightmares. Mildly foreboding yet energetic. The actual meaning is about growing up (transition from childhood to adulthood), but we can take some other interpretations that’d fit with Ranboo’s character better. This Tally Hall’s album deals with differences, black and white, and how there shouldn’t be a divide between them. In this song, there are some noteworthy lines that I’d like to mention:

- “Bend the nightmare, you control it; Artful dodger, easy does it”—lucid dreaming, you have to be careful with it so as to not lose control.

- “Shut the closet, get under the covers”—you’re afraid of something and instead of facing it and seeing whether there even is something to be afraid of, you hide.

- “Turn the lights off”—confront your fears. It can also mean that in the dark, there’s no differences between people, going back to the album’s meaning.

- “And everybody wants to get evil tonight; But all good devils masquerade under the light”—this could mean that everyone has a darker part of themselves but those who actually indulge in their dark tendencies do so in plain sight by pretending to be someone else.

“Ruler of Everything”—the main theme here is time and how it’s the “ruler of everything”; time doesn’t matter about where it goes, and it will never stop. The second verse is most interesting to me—there are two singers, man and time, but for the sake of interpretation let’s just see it as two voices. One is obsessed about being liked, fitting in, constantly asking for reaffirmation (“Do you like how I walk? Do you like how I talk?”), while the second criticizes the first (“You practice your mannerisms into the wall”). They argue—”I’ve been you, I know you, your facade is scam; You know you’re making me cry, this is the way that I am”. The second is calling out the first for not being honest to himself. Tone is lighthearted but with an edge of unease.

“Merry-Go-Round of Life”—from Howl’s Moving Castle soundtrack. The title’s self-explanatory, I’d say.

“Killer Queen”—this one’s a harder one to interpret in regards to Ranboo lol. The song is about, based on an interview with Mercury, a high class woman that likes to indulge in her various desires (mostly sexual). I would doubt that’s what Ranboo was going for, so! Perhaps about a person that has no regards for their reputation and instead does whatever they feel like it? They have a certain image but still act however they like. Yeah, not too sure about this one :’) But that’s what I’ll go with for my later analysis.

“Ain’t No Rest for the Wicked”—quite straightforward. A person that performs bad deeds has reasons for them. Not excuses, but explanations, and you can sympathize with it. We all do “bad” things for one reason or the other, and, in the end, we’re all just trying to get by. Once again, plays into the theme of there not being a clear distinction between good and bad.

“The Bidding”—another harder one to interpret. On the surface, it’s about an auction where men are trying to sell themselves to women. They all present themselves in different images, and it’s remarked that the women care less about the date and more about the prospect of it, the pretty words. The date, actually, ends up being disappointing. Could be about expectations. Some men outright admit they’re assholes so whoever chooses them should know that. People can tell you what their intentions are from the start so if you end up hurt, you have no one else to blame but yourself.

“A Mask of My Own Face”—another interesting one! Unusual instruments, strong beat. They’re singing about how they have a desire to pretend to be someone else while secretly still being themselves. “I’d rob my own apartment and I wouldn’t give a damn; I’d blame it on the person that nobody knows I am”—implying they have no regard for their own livelihood and are just out to have some fun. Plus, that no one would be aware it’s all an act. “I'd wear it on Thanksgiving and I'd laugh in the parade; At all the people hissing, knowing I'm the one they hate”—they take delight in the idea of upsetting others and them not knowing it’s actually the singer that they should be hissing. “And at the big finale I would tear my face away; And smile as they grip their own and try to do the same”—everyone wears masks, and this person implies that their mask and their true self is not different from each other while others’ are.

“Stardust Crusaders”—soundtrack from Jojo. Action-packed? idk never seen it sorry lol

“I Can’t Decide”—oh, this one’s a doozy! One of the ones that do not fit c!Ranboo at all, but that’s what makes it interesting. A classic, the singer is out to have fun, very lighthearted and yet they’re singing about murder. The protagonist here is clearly mentally unwell and they’re indecisive whether they should let their enemy/toy/(up to interpretation) live or not. Some curious lines:

- “It’s not easy having yourself a good time”—in the context of the song, that “good time” implies something wicked.

- “I’m not a gangster tonight, don’t wanna be the bad guy, I’m just a loner, baby, and now you’ve got in my way”—they don’t view themselves as “bad”, however, the next two lines are paradoxal—the singer says they’re alone and yet decide to “mess around” with whoever comes up in their life.

- “No wonder why my heart feels dead inside, it’s hard and cold and petrified”—signifying lack of empathy.

- “It’s a bitch convincing people to like you”—they don’t actually want to do that and see it as a bother.

“Stranded Lullaby”—back to Miracle Musical, back to the theme of isolation. Super lyrical, super musical. They talk about how their memories float around aimlessly in their head, a sea, and may sometimes get lost. The protagonist, a sailor, is losing touch with reality and can’t tell apart what’s a dream anymore and what’s not. They question what they’re going through and why.

“Hidden In The Sand”—a song about longing, in my eyes. The protagonist sings about how “you” love things and how he wishes to love the same things, in the end admitting that “all I’ve wanted was you”. They don’t wish to be separated, they wish to have someone in their life that they could love.

“Now I’m Here”—euphoric. They sing about how they’re alive again, thanks to one specific person. I’m not gonna go too much into this one (partly because it’s a more difficult one for me again, partly because it’s Queen and I don’t wanna uhh talk nonsense on accident lol), but what I got from it is that when one one else saw them, someone did, and they made them “live again”, and now as a result the protagonist is devoted to them.

“&”—really highlights Tally Hall’s album’s theme of black and white and that there shouldn’t be a divide. The repetition of comparing opposites is present throughout the entire song (Weak & Strong & Wet & Dry…) and it’s heavily implied we should “say goodnight” to this mindset. But people love to choose sides, put things into good or bad categories. By the line “They took a lesson from their fathers” it’s implied that people don’t develop this mindset by themselves and are rather influenced by others around them. The whole album is titled “Good & Evil” and Tally Hall examines and criticizes this idea. If we keep dividing people into good and bad, eventually, we’ll all destroy ourselves.

“I’m Gonna Win”—a song about someone who’s struggling to get by. “Sometimes it can seem like a merciless dream”—life can get really hard and the protagonist wonders “what’s really worthwhile”. In the chorus, whoever, they declare that they’re “gonna win” no matter what. They might get “bloody and bruised” but they won’t give up until they “won’t be abused” and until they’re “laughing alone”. No matter how hard life/others kick them down, they’ll keep going. By the lines “It’s hard to be charming and smart and disarming; It’s hard to pretend you’re the best; It’s hard to fulfill everyone’s expectations; It’s hard to keep up with the rest” it’s implied that they find it tiresome to keep up appearances and be liked. It’s challenging to always fit everyone’s expectations, but they’ll continue doing whatever they have to to “win”.

if ranboo ever adds more songs to his playlist, i may add them here too :)

#dsmp #ranboo #dream smp analysis #ranboo analysis #song analysis #my analysis #ranboo ily ur taste is amazing brrr #this was a lot of fun but took so long rip #i knew like 90% of these lol

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sledgefuweek · 3 years ago

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Each year we take a close look at the prompts for Sledgefu Week, for those who may be stuck for ideas or not quite sure about what the prompts could entail. Below the readmore are all seven prompts, as well as a short write-up exploring what they mean and some ideas to help get the creative juices going. Enjoy!!

Sickfic

This is a really popular and well-known fanfic trope that I feel probably needs little explanation, but I’ll write a little bit about it anyway! It essentially covers fic where one character is ill and the other cares for them -- it could encompass any kind of illness at all, (including chronic illnesses) and there’s a lot of room to get creative with it. You can go for angst, hurt/comfort, or fluff: it’s just a really good general prompt that I think works nicely to kick the week off!

It suits for Sledgefu pretty well, considering Snafu’s canon mild hypochondria, as well as the fact that Eugene’s dad is a doctor. It could be fun to lean into it: make Eugene play doctor for an actually-sick Snafu, and it could be just as fun to subvert it! There’s really endless options for canon fic: shrapnel wounds turned bad, heat-sickness, seasickness, illness from bad food or bad water or any kind of tropical disease you can think of (malaria is a big one!). You could make one of them (or both) a medic; you could genderswap them and write the gay field nurse fic this fandom sorely needs. And of course if you choose to branch out into modern AU you can begin to think of what might afflict them outside of a war setting: has Eugene been working too much and come down with a cold? Are they hungover, and need mutual care (and lots of takeout)? A lot of the time sickfic focuses on one character doing the comforting and the other character feeling unwell, but there’s nothing to say they can’t both be feeling shitty! I think we say this every year but there’s really no rules at all, you do whatever you feel inspired to do. With Sickfic, just be mindful to tag anything that others might be affected by eg. vomiting, blood, needles, etc.

Tarot

I feel like Tarot is pretty well-known to the Sledgefu fandom, or at least to those who like to write Snafu or his family a little witchy. In case you just have a vague idea of what Tarot actually is and what its purpose or origins are, I’ll explain it as concisely as I can! Tarot decks started life in Europe as playing cards, but eventually began to be used for divination. It’s made up of four suits, or the Minor Arcana, (Wands, Cups, Swords, and Pentacles) as well as a twenty-two card Major Arcana (the imagery of which you’re probably very familiar with). Commonly, tarot decks and tarot reading is used as a means of communicating with the higher self, deities, or with the universe. They can be used as a way to see the future, answer questions, or to give/receive advice. There are different ways of reading them too, depending on how one lays out the cards: I don’t want to make this too wordy, but if you’re curious I encourage you to check out this site to learn more!

For writers, there’s a lot of places this prompt could take you! Probably the most obvious will be fortune teller fic; a classic. Lean into Snafu’s Louisiana roots and have him telling fortunes in the depths of the French Quarter, or go against the grain and have Eugene reading cards and palms and tea leaves as a practice passed down through his family. Or maybe more casual: modern AU Sledgefu flirting through amateur tarot readings with a deck picked up from a junk shop. If you read Tarot and have a connection to it, you can express that through writing! It’s a pretty open-ended prompt, especially if you consider some of the meanings of the cards; you could even write a story inspired by that! The Hermit: Snafu withdrawing, leaving Eugene on the train to spend the next few months in solitude, working through things. The Moon: Snafu and Eugene hitting a rough patch, hiding things from each other. The opportunities really become endless once you start taking the readings of the cards into account! And for visual artists, this must be such a fun prompt: I feel like it’s so a visually rich, whether you’re re-drawing the cards to encompass Snafu and Eugene within them, or making a collage based around some of the things mentioned above: fortune tellers shops, witches cottages, etc.

Trinket

Every Sledgefu Week we tend to have a couple prompts that are a little more open to interpretation, and this year’s ‘Trinket’ is one of those. It might be difficult to try and think of something to base a whole fic or piece of art around, but we really encourage you to let your imagination run wild! There’s already some great trinkets in the show itself: Eugene’s ring, the lighter that Gunny Haney gave him, Snafu’s stolen gold teeth, or their dog tags. Think of small, special objects that you might have: what imbues them with comfort or meaning? What makes you love them? You could have Eugene giving Snafu his ring, or have Eugene musing over war and death and loss while smoking a cigarette lit by his lighter. If you’re into Modern AUs, how could these objects carry through to modern day? Once you start thinking about it, the ideas start rolling in. Feel free to invent special trinkets for them: or maybe trinkets that they hate and want to get rid of, trinkets that remind them of bad times. Trinkets that remind them of each other, or family, or war. So much meaning can be held in the things we own, and I think it’s such a lovely concept to explore!

Crossover

So this prompt was born from the sheer number of suggestions we had for various movie, TV, and book AUs. We didn’t want to put them all to the poll and risk a lot of you feeling disappointed over the one you wanted not being selected, so thought it’d work best to condense them into a ‘Crossover’ prompt so everyone could do whatever they liked. So this is a very very broad one! It would be impossible for me to really go through the prompt and highlight some things that you could do for it, because you can really do anything you want to! Anything! It encompasses movies, video games, TV, books, musicals... if something tells a story, you can do a crossover. So if there’s ever been a film/book/etc. AU you wanted to do for Sledgefu Week but couldn’t quite get it to match the prompts, now is the time!

Vacation

A pretty self explanatory prompt, and one that I think can appeal to people who prefer canonverse and those who like modern AU too! Do you want to send Snafu and Eugene on the holiday of their dreams, or are they gonna be bickering in a gas station over who gets control of the map? Is Snafu gonna drive across a couple states to surprise Eugene by visiting? Is Eugene gonna do the same? There’s a lot of scenarios you can apply to the backdrop of them vacationing, and a lot of emotional journeys you can take them through! And for the canonverse crowd, you have the extra addition of letting them go have fun on an R&R, or taking a road trip post-war, visiting 1950s Paris... you can really do whatever you like!

Historical

This was another prompt like ‘Crossover’ that came from a lot of various suggestions that all boiled down to a similar thing: different historical events or periods. So like Crossover, I won’t linger too long on it (this post is long enough already) except just to say again: do whatever you’re inspired to do! There’s no rules here, you could even take everyone out of the Pacific and put them over in Germany: give them a different experience of war. In fact, you can do that with any war if you wanted to! Wanna do a M*A*S*H AU but made something else for Crossover? You could do it here! Want to put them in the 1920s? You got it. In the 1850s? Yeehaw, they’re cowboys now. 1969, Summer of Love? 1600s, make Snafu a prince? Literally the world is your oyster!

Horror

Past Sledgefu Week prompts have included things that could come under the horror umbrella (Supernatural, for example) but didn’t necessarily have to be made 'horrific’. For the ‘Horror’ prompt this year, we want to see frightening! Disquieting, uncomfortable; creations that either cross over with existing horror franchises, or lean on horrific things you come up with yourself. Horror movies, or TV shows, or books or podcasts or pieces of art all seek to elicit a sense of fear: this can be done by tapping into common phobias, or nightmares, those things which are universally and almost instinctively scary. We want to see things which lean into that, in whatever way you want to do it!

I’m no horror media expert (not by a long shot) but the opportunities for this prompt are really vast simply because horror has so many subgenres to work with. You could go gothic horror; Dracula, Frankenstein, Wuthering Heights (a personal favourite AU -- Eugene soaked out on the moors, searching for Heathcliff-Snafu? Divine). Or you could go to the opposite end of the spectrum: Jennifer’s Body AU, Final Girl AU -- there’s no set way to do horror, in fact you could even bring horror into canonverse if you don’t like AUs. Think the Terror: some unknown beast lurking beyond the borders of their camp on Pavuvu, or Okinawa. Or you could even take the prompt entirely literally and explore the horrors of war and the toll it takes on them both. Please don’t feel stuck into needing to do Scary: horror is about fear and revulsion and dread, and these feelings don’t necessarily need to come from a haunting! (This is also a prompt ripe for monsterfucking, just FYI).

- - - - - - - - - -

So that’s the prompts for this year! They’re all really really great, and have a lot of potential to make some fantastic stuff :~) And to reiterate something I said right at the start, there are no rules here! I think every year we normally get at least one person unsure whether their idea will be okay for the prompt they’d like to make it for, so I just wanna say here: don’t second-guess yourself! As long as it can be linked back to the prompt in some way or another (can literally be the vaguest way possible) you’ll be absolutely fine. We don’t vet submissions at all, especially not for their content relating to the prompts. All we ask is that you remember to stay respectful in what you’re writing, and when the time comes to post it, you tag and warn appropriately :~)

On the subject of writing respectfully, we’d like to just take a moment to link the document on mindful writing re: race and gender that was made last year. Please take a look at it, even if you read it last year! It’s always good to keep these things at the front of your mind, as fandom is a community sport and we want to keep it fun and safe for everyone involved! So thank you if you’ve made it this far through this whole post, check out the doc, and enjoy the rest of the run-up to Sledgefu Week!

#sledgefu #sledgefu week #mod talk #info #if you saw this post before yes you did no you didn't <3 it has the horror prompt on it now lmao

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a-lil-perspective · 5 years ago

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The Bad Batch X Sick Reader

A/N: This is my very first posted fic on here, I hope you all enjoy. Please feel free to provide feedback, it’s much appreciated!

Although you didn’t bolt upright in dramatic fashion upon returning from a deep slumber, you nevertheless awoke with a start, eyes fluttering open and feeling vaguely aware of the dampness of a cold sweat permeating your hairline. Disorientation takes over as you lie rigid in the bed, only being able to process the physicality of how utterly terrible you feel- you didn’t think you could move in such quick succession if you tried- Every joint feels stiff and your muscles are resistant to comply, attempting to encompass and entrap your body deep within the mattress, refusing to give way to your motions.

Swiping at the remnants of sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand, you become uncomfortably conscious of the fact that your face is burning up, despite the rest of your extremities freezing in stark contrast.

This was no good. Your heart rate quickens as panic rises in your throat, gripping tightly as your breath hitches. Your mind begins racing, conjuring up every angle of the current situation in an attempt to make some light of it. You eventually force the lump down, giving into the overwhelming realization.

You were sick. Big time.

Fearing you looked as bad as you felt, you promptly thrust yourself out of bed with great effort and a groan of pain before stumbling into the ‘fresher, examining your entirety and fervently hoping your initial concerns were just an exaggerated oversight.

One glance at your trembling, pale, and achy form confirmed your worst suspicions.

“Kriff,” is all you can manage, further worsening matters by the realization of your curse rolling out only as a mere croak. Gritting your teeth, you roll your puffy, exhausted eyes and shake your head in disappointment. Great. Sick AND losing your voice. This can’t get much worse, you think to yourself bitterly as you level your gaze back at the mirror.

With great effort you manage you pull yourself together enough to make it out to the common area of the ship, bracing yourself to face the others. You remain self-conscious of your movements, attempting to exert your stance, stride, and demeanor with purpose as to not draw unwanted attention to yourself and your condition.

Hunter, Wrecker, Tech, Crosshair- they were no fools. Hunter especially, what with his enhanced senses and innate perceptions, will pick up on your illness lighting fast.

Realizing you’re up and starting your day much later than usual, it’s no surprise the guys are already up and in their respective places- although Hunter is nowhere to be found upon entering the common room.

Tech, lounging in a seat with his nose buried in his datapad, eyebrows furrowed in concentration, looks up to greet you first, his expression turning into that of perplexity.

“Good morning, Y/N. I am surprised you slept in. Stayed up late last night, I presume?”

You clear your throat in an attempt to forcefully exact your normal, chipper level of voice. “Hey, Tech. Yeah, something like that.”

He nods, returning sights to his work, facial expression evident that his curiosity is momentarily satiated. It’s clear that he didn’t pick up on the fact that your voice, despite your best attempts, came out in just above a whisper. For that, you were thankful.

You head over to the cupboard to pour yourself some caf, hoping a warm drink would do you some good.

“You look like hell.”

A terse statement from the jaded appearance of Crosshair standing in the corner, arms folded across his chest and eyes boring into you, caused you to jump and your already trembling fingers to drop the empty cup you had grabbed, clanging to the ground and reverberating with purpose as if some cruelly overly-dramatized joke.

Feeling frustration bubble to the surface, you sigh deeply and level a thinly-veiled unimpressed look in his direction, unable to muster the willpower to put up with his attitude today.

“Thanks.” You sneer. Before you even manage a step over in his direction to where the cup had predictably rolled, Crosshair moved in the blink of an eye to pick it up and appear alongside you, placing the now unusable cup to the side and in one solid motion, reaching up to grab a new one down for you.

You look at Crosshair quizzically. Out of all the other members on this ship with whom you’ve fallen into methodical and sequential step with, you two have still got some steps to learn to your dance, with you having never quite fully figured out the enigmatic sniper and all of his expressive layers.

“Thanks,” you mutter in just above a strained whisper, though pushing more sincerity and less of a sarcastic quip this time. Turning to pour the caf, you’re taken by mild surprise when Crosshair engages with you once again.

“You sick or somethin’?” His eyes narrow questioningly as he searches your face before reaching out tentatively to thumb at your cheek, gently cupping it.

You’re taken aback by the touch, distantly aware of your heart rate quickening it’s pace. You avoid his questioning gaze, instead focusing on the sensation of his cool fingertips meeting the increasing warmth radiating from your skin with ease. Despite the fact that the action further solidifies your current state of being fever-ridden. It’s oddly comforting.

You hesitantly turn away, but not before slightly leaning into his touch.

“I’m fine,” you manage weakly.

Crosshair’s not convinced in the slightest. But before he can voice his trepidation, Wrecker comes bounding into the room, his voice boisterous and projecting. Not exactly the sound volume you want to hear right now but, you can’t help but smile inwardly at his puppy-like energy. He means well.

“Hiya, Y/N!” Wrecker greets you with a less-than-gentle pat on the back, making you almost spill the cup of hot caf you had laced your cold fingers around just moments before.

You weren’t sure what facial expression you were wearing, but Wrecker falters nonetheless. “You okay?” He asks, voice coated with concern.

Kriff. You wish everyone would kindly stop asking you that. You just wanted to enjoy your kriffing cup of caf and TRY to recoup before your briefing in two standard rotations, with which you’d been tasked with compiling numerous works together in preparation for a large-scale mission forthcoming. The fact that you were in this state, so close to the arrival date of the meeting and your work not AT ALL in a state of completion, was seriously stressing.

“Yeah, Wrecker.” You once again smile up at the gentle giant looming over you. “All good.”

As if on cue in an effort for the universe to illuminate your lying streak with full bravado, your body is racked with increasing pain and you tremble, feeling a shiver go up your spine.

Nobody gets a word out before Hunter comes around. He looks as if he’s just awoke, blinking rapidly and rubbing at his temples. You consider him for a moment then, realization hitting you like a ton of bricks.

OH.

THAT’S why he hasn’t been around this morning.

Guilt suddenly pangs at your chest as you revert back to yesterday, recalling how Hunter had to turn in after the last mission due to a headache caused from a sensory overload. He had explained to you how it plagued him from time to time, and reassured you not to worry, but you couldn’t forget how much pain he was in- eyes glazed over, body doubled over, beads of sweat enveloping his face. It made you feel helpless.

Helpless, and embarrassed at your perceived selfishness.

Here you were, out here dropping cups from the cupboard and making general racket, all the while wallowing in your own self-misery today- having not even previously processed how Hunter could’ve been in the other room feeling just as miserable.

Now he stood before you, addressing everyone about something, something you couldn’t even hear over the sound of your own thoughts simultaneously drowning everyone out.

“-Feels like I heard commotion or somethin’ out here, just thought I’d check on y’all.” He grinned in amusement, feeling a spark of playfulness. “Wanted to make sure Y/N wasn’t acting up in here.”

Everyone cracked a grin but you, who all but blurted out your guilty admission, much to your chagrin. It’s your own guilt, coupled with illness, sporadic emotions due to the fact, and lack of coherent thoughts nagging at you all at once.

“Hunter... I’m sorry,” you croaked. All eyes were on you, each differing degrees of quizzical expressions.

“I-I’m the one who dropped the cup and made the racket. I didn’t consider that you could’ve still been feeling unwell. Sorry.” You sheepishly confess, before spilling into a coughing fit.

Kriff. Shouldn’t have said so much in one setting. Way to make your condition obvious.

Hunter, who holds the most mixed expressions you’ve ever seen- amusement, discomfort, confusion, laced with compassion- comes striding over to you.

“Y/N. You’re rambling. That’s not like you,” he chuckles. “I’m fine, don’t worry about me, okay? You look like you could use a lot more help right now.” He reaches a hand to splay out across your forehead to check for a fever that you both already know is becoming, to which you gracefully duck and sidestep him, all while gripping your cup of caf.

Crosshair chuckles at your motion and Hunter just looks to you. He’s diving fully into empathetic, sensible parent mode- you can tell- as he sighs exasperatedly at your innate ability to prove difficult.

“Y/N... ya gotta let us figure out what’s going on with you, so that we can get ya well.”

You look down into the cup, weighing those words and considering what to say next. You’ve never been one to freely and openly allow someone to care for you, nor have you fully possessed the ability to convey your feelings in a refined way- especially when you’re unwell. Your tenacity, though admirable, doesn’t always make it easy for someone else to know how to help you. Likewise, deeming it challenging for you to even know how one can help you. It’s a tedious cycle that plagues you when you immerse yourself too deep.

“I... I think I’m just tired.” you manage weakly. “Besides,” you croak, “I’ve got to get all my works completed before the briefing.”

With that, collective silence falls as you stumble back towards your room, thankful for the closed doors that keep your vulnerabilities and current physical ailments tightly locked away.

You were thankful for the brief quiet time, and managed to clear your head just enough to work for what you estimated to be about a half hour that came and went. With your work sprawled on the floor, you alongside it, the caf mug well empty now and off to the side, there’s a wheezing that now accompanies your breaths and, it worries you. As you lie flat on the floor, fear swells in your chest and you wish you had the courage to call the guys in here to you. You wish you weren’t so conflicted.

As you finish that train of thought, there’s a loud bang on the door.

“Y/N?” It’s Wrecker, the realization coming unsurprisingly to you judging by the obvious choice gesture of greeting at the door.

“Come in,” you strain your voice to project.

In the doorframe you find all four members of The Bad Batch, all weighing mixed levels of concern at your small, sick frame curled up on the floor. They all collectively rush in, though in a way as to not alarm you. In the moment, you’re thankful for their company.

“Hey,” Hunter soothes as he kneels down beside you, running a hand through your hair. “You’re gonna be okay. Let us take care of you, like you take care of us.”

You nod weakly, coming to your senses and surrendering all complaining rights in that moment.

Hunter orders Tech to go and grab the small medkit kept on the ship, though they’re all well aware of the fact that it’s not on par with medical facilities. Being several parsecs away from the nearest, they want to at least get the ball rolling here onboard for now. They decide not to move you until you’re stable.

Wrecker comes behind you and sits down, straddling you back into his lap and letting you use him as a body pillow. He doesn’t mind, he loves your small frame in contrast with his own, much larger one. You love how warm he is in the moment. It’s a mutual feeling between you two of safety and security.

Tech promptly returns with the medkit and although Crosshair is the only one appearing rigid and most hesitant to be hands-on with you, The Bad Batch get to work, communicating amongst themselves with the same efficiency they project amidst all things. They give you some anti-inflammatories to take the edge off, and you vaguely remember a stimulant- an overwhelmingly pleasant aroma of something very herbal-like. You initially thought it to be reminiscent of Bacta, but it wasn’t.. What was that?

Almost instantly, your chest felt clear. Your breathing became even and despite still being in pain, you were no longer wheezing. You attempted to make a mental note to ask later what the miracle worker was, but you weren’t able to give it much more thought as you felt your eyes suddenly became heavy-lidded, succumbing to rest you know your body desperately needed.

You awoke much later, feeling immensely better, and no longer needing the medical facility services that were finally available to you. Four pairs of eyes were studying you and, upon seeing you wake, the expressions attached collectively sighed in relief. You couldn’t help but feel something soft swirl in your chest upon lovingly fixing your gaze on the crew of the Havoc Marauder. They truly were something special. They knew you the best, and were able to have the most profound effect on you, no matter how adamantly complex you could be. They deeply cared for you. It’s moments like these, you realize how intertwined and inseparable you are.

You hope it always stays that way.

#star wars #the clone wars #star wars the clone wars #The Bad Batch #Clone Force 99 #Hunter #Wrecker #Tech #Crosshair #my writing #first writing oneshot I’ve ever posted here #let me know what you think!#enjoy luvs #it’s a Lil thing

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vaguelyrotten · 3 years ago

Text

Like a Lily In a Flood

Title: Like a Lily in a Flood Artist: @myulalie Beta: @another-random-stranger Pairings: Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood, mentions of Jimon and Reyhill Word Count: 70k Warnings: Mild Gore, Beheading, Nearly being eaten alive and burned at the stake, Discrimination, Sickness Summary: Alec returns home to find his town plagued by a mysterious illness. Unable to find a cure, he ventures into the woods to seek help from an unlikely source. We must not look at goblin men... This fic was created for the Shadowhunters Mini Bang 2021: Presented by the @malecdiscordserver

Chapter One

It was raining.

Then again, it was always raining in Idris when it seemed to matter most.

Alec dipped out of the carriage with a sigh and made a beeline for the manor’s front door, knowing that he was going to get wet regardless.

“Alec,” his mother said coldly as she opened the door. “It was nice of you to take time out of your busy schedule and join us in our time of need.” He sighed, following his mother into the house and stripping off his soaked jacket.

He stood, dripping wet, in the foyer as Maryse looked him over with a hard eye. “It doesn’t look like the city nor the additional training you are supposed to be receiving are doing you any good. Honestly, what was even the point of sending you? You should have stayed here. You could have taken over the household when your father fell ill.”

He knew that his mother meant for her words to hurt him, and there was a time only a few years ago when they would have, but no longer. Getting out from under his parents’ thumb had done wonders for his mental health. He knew who he was now and that he had the ability to choose his own path.

So right now? Standing in the foyer of the house he hadn’t set foot in for two years, soaked to the bone and under his mother’s scrutiny? He felt nothing...and it felt good. “You have Jace,” he replied after a moment, accepting the towel that their butler Hodge was offering him.

She scoffed, crossing her arms in that way which meant an argument was coming. “Jace has his duties and you had yours. You were supposed to be head of this house, and this town, after your father retired.”

He’d first left for the city under the pretense of studying law but he’d fallen out of love with that and discovered that his true passion was architecture. He, of course, hadn’t informed his parents of his decision to switch his field of study. They’d be disappointed and there would be words, and while their opinions no longer mattered to him, he needed to be in the right frame of mind for that conversation. He didn’t foresee himself wanting to take that dive any time soon. “I left for the family’s best interest. We need to get out of here. This town is killing all of us.”

Before his father had fallen ill, he’d meant that metaphorically. Generations of Lightwoods had lived in Idris for nearly two-hundred years and had held the position of mayor for most of that. In that time, his family had grown crueler and colder. Once, they’d been a light in the darkness for the people in this town, rescuing them from disaster and leading them through. Today, the Lightwoods still led… but they definitely no longer did it with Idris’ best interest at heart.

No, it was all about power. Alec hated that and all the politics that came with it. That’s what he had hoped to avoid by moving to the city. One day, he was hoping he could have his siblings join him.

His mother chose to say nothing more. He draped the towel over his shoulders with a sigh. “Let me see him. I’m here now, at least.” Alec had tried to get there sooner but the spring rain made getting across the river treacherous. He had to wait a couple of days for the water to get back to normal levels. His mother started up the stairs and he followed her without further comment.

“I have the house and the town to attend to. Someone has to run this place while Robert is indisposed. I’ll leave you to it but come find me when you’re done, Alec. We have issues to discuss.” She closed the door behind her, leaving Alec alone in the room with his very ill and unconscious father.

Alec had seen his father in a lot of ways — some good, some bad, but he’d never seen him like this. The older man was pale and clammy and yet somehow looked peaceful. This illness was like nothing the town had ever seen before. Their doctors had been completely stumped...the first few symptoms had appeared — loss of appetite, attention, and other cognitive abilities that soon gave way to fever. The fever never broke and eventually, the patient lost consciousness. They were slowly wasting away into nothing.

Except not quite. They’d realized that the first few patients never got worse in that way that they did when their ancestors had the wasting disease caused by bad fruit. Instead, their body almost seemed to be turning to stone. And that was frighteningly new and uncharted waters.

“I’m sorry that I couldn’t come sooner,” he whispered as he touched the back of his hand gently to his father’s head. The fever was still there and his skin felt all too brittle. “But I promise I will do whatever is in my power to find a way to fix this.”

“We’re glad you’re finally here, Alec,” a voice said, pulling him from his reverie to turn to the door. “We tried to do the best that we could but...neither Izzy nor I are you, and Maryse just wants to keep doing that thing where she insists there’s no problem at all and it’s business as usual.” Jace closed the door quietly behind him and pulled his brother into a hug.

“Do you guys know anything? Mom’s letter was…” His voice trailed off as he searched for more polite words.

“Entirely lacking?” Jace supplied for him. “Unfortunately, nothing solid. They all seem to have fallen ill at around the same time. There are eleven total and they were all fairly recently on a patrol of the borders. We’ve hired sorcerers from the city, hedge witches, even a psychic or two, but no one can find anything wrong with them. They’re just...asleep. Asleep but slowly turning to stone it seems. We’ve got people digging through old books in the archives but no one has turned up anything even remotely similar to whatever this is.”

Alec wasn’t a doctor — he was, in fact, the farthest thing from one. Isabelle knew infinitely more than he did when it came to medicine. What he lacked in knowledge, he made up for in stubborn determination and his ability to think around a situation. If he wanted to find a possible cure for whatever was ailing the townspeople, he’d have to think outside of the proverbial box. “I’ll do what I can,” he said after a moment, giving his father’s unconscious form one last look before stepping into the hallway with Jace at his heels. “I’m not a miracle worker.” But he’d be damned sure he’d try to be one.

“I’ve got to get back. I just wanted to see you before you passed out or Maryse got to you first,” Jace replied, squeezing his shoulder and heading down the stairs towards the front door. “Good luck in there — she’s been… particularly Maryse since Robert took ill.” That fact didn’t surprise Alec at all. His mother had never dealt with change very well.

She was waiting for him in his father’s office, exactly where he had expected her to be. “Close the door behind you, Alec. What I’ve got to say need not fall on nosy ears.” He knew she was referring to Isabelle and her endless curiosity. While he didn’t necessarily agree with his mother’s request, he did oblige. “Take a seat.” She gestured towards a chair in front of the desk — one that Alec had distinct memories of sitting in any time he’d gotten in trouble when he’d been younger and had been called in front of his father. Alec chose the farther seat instead, ignoring the judgemental look that he received.

“As no cure has been found nor diagnosis made and your father’s condition is only getting worse, we need to prepare for the worst.” She pushed a yellowed document across the desk and Alec took it, scanning the page quickly before realizing what he was holding in his hand.

“This is his will,” he stated simply, his fingers glossing over the page as he quickly read through it. It didn’t look like it had been written recently. His mother nodded her head in confirmation.

“He’s been preparing for the worst. He’s already a few years older than your grandfather and your great-grandfather were when they died… and there have been stirrings on the borders. He was afraid that the men would be called to war any day now.” Alec frowned at that. He hadn’t heard of anything going on that would signal the start of a war. Sure, Idris wasn’t a big town but if war was truly coming, he assumed someone in his family would have told him.

“Oh, don’t give me that. There hasn’t been anything truly substantial. Some whispers, some unrest, but nothing more than that. Robert has been...unwell for a while now. He’s grown...paranoid. He had his will drawn up shortly after you left.” Her stoic facade had broken now and Alec could count on one hand the number of times that he’d seen his mother look truly lost.

“It was his idea to say yes when you asked to go to college in the city,” she continued, holding out her hand for him to return the will. “He thought getting out of here would keep you safe and if you were safe there would be someone to take over when he was gone. That’s what he really wanted and I’m sorry Alec, I know you’re enjoying your time at The Institute studying law but the family needs you here now.”

He wanted to argue. Angel, how he wanted to argue with her. He had had to fight tooth and claw to get them to even consider letting him into the city to further his studies. The Lightwoods had been here for generations and not a single one of them had ever left. This was home or at least it should be. Alec had always felt more alienated than most for reasons he tried to keep to himself.

So while yes, he knew that he should fight and argue and insist that he deserved to go back to the city because he had fought so damn hard for it in the first place, he knew that right here, right now… his argument would fall flat. The very best thing he could do was study and beg and plead and crawl through whatever hell he needed to to find a cure for this illness. When his father was well again and his father wanted him safe, he’d have a better chance of getting out of here once more. “Of course, mother, anything for the family,” he replied, trying to keep his voice level. “I’ll get to work at once.”

She sighed, obviously expecting more of a fight out of him and now not really sure how the rest of the conversation was going to go. “No, not at once. You’ve only just arrived and I’m sure you are exhausted. Besides, you’re still dripping on the mahogany floors. Go change before you ruin the antique wood, and say hello to your sister. She’s been waiting for you to get here.”

Alec didn’t bother with a response, simply turning on his heel and heading towards the stables — where he knew his sister would inevitably be hiding. The rain was starting to slow but Alec didn’t want to get even wetter if he could avoid it so he jogged across the cobblestones and pushed open the barn door.

Isabelle was, as expected, at the end of the aisle, illuminated by the grey hues of the rainy weather outside. She raised her whip above her head and snapped it towards a lone bottle on the rail with a loud crack. Alec continued to watch in silence for a few more moments as she set the bottle back up and went again. Finally, he let out a slow clap and watched as she tensed, relaxing once again when she realized who had interrupted her practice session.

“Good job,” he said, opening his arms to allow her to dash across the room to give him a hug. “You’re getting better at that. I dare say you might even be an expert.”

She snorted, her face buried in his shoulder as the two continued to hug. “Try telling that to mom. She still thinks it isn’t proper and that I should focus on finding myself a husband from a nice family. ‘Leave the weapons to your brothers, Isabelle. Men don’t want a wife who can beat them in a sword fight,” she mocked in a very good imitation of Maryse Lightwood.

“Ignore her. Any man you find would be lucky to have you. Besides, if you stopped, who would be my competition?” Alec asked, taking a step back so that he could look down into her eyes. “I’d have to practice with Jace and you know how he is...he—”

“Cheats,” she interrupted with a sniffle. “Yeah, I know. He hasn’t gotten any better, either. Still just as cocky, still a bad liar, and still telegraphs his moves.” She put the bottles back on the shelf and began to coil her whip back up. “He missed you, you know. I do too...and Max. It’s just not the same without you here.”

Alec knew that Isabelle knew exactly why he’d needed to leave. He also knew that she didn’t blame him, but the Lightwood siblings had always been close. He missed not being able to see them more than once a year.

“Mom’s been...harder since Dad got sick. She’s worried, we can tell, but she’s trying to continue as if it’s business as usual and you know how she is when she gets stressed,” Isabelle sighed. Alec knew all too well. Maryse tended to meddle in her children’s lives far more than was necessary.

That had, in fact, been the final straw for Alec. His mother had been dealing with some Idris politics and had decided to kill two birds with one stone. She’d set Alec up with a nice young girl from the village to strengthen the Lightwood family name and had given herself something to take her mind off the stress from work.

Alec had nearly ended up married.

Nearly. Luckily, Jace and Isabelle had stepped up to argue about Alec’s choice and happiness. The wedding had descended into chaos and Alec had set out for the city the next day under the guise of studying law.

“Come on,” he said after a moment, throwing his arm around her shoulder and pulling her back in for a quick hug. “Let’s head back inside. I want to change into something dry and I’ve yet to see Max. I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to see me.”

----------

Dinner was a quieter affair than Alec expected from a Lightwood family dinner. Without Robert there to judge them, his conversation with his siblings was light and easy. Jace and Isabelle caught him up on town gossip. Max tried to add his two cents when he could but the conversation strayed towards more adult topics like who was marrying who and what the Council had recently decreed.

“Mom says she’s going to send me to boarding school in the fall,” Max stated when there was a break in conversation. “I don’t want to go. I’ll have to wear a scratchy uniform and get up early and it’ll be so far away. I want to be like Jace and fight monsters!”

“Max, don’t talk with your mouth full,” Maryse replied with a glare. “The Carstairs Academy is a lovely school. They’ll teach you manners, for one thing. You’ll learn math, science, and history. You’ll be going to a proper school — like Alec. Doesn’t that sound fun?”

The little boy grimaced. “I don’t want to be like Alec...no offense. I want to kill dragons and fight trolls like Jace.”

“It’s less dragons and trolls and more about upset fathers and a fast horse, little man,” Jace replied, getting a smack on the back of the head from Isabelle. “What? It’s true.”

“That’s enough — apparently, none of my children have manners. Max, it’s past your bedtime. It’s time to let the adults talk.” Max looked about to argue but one look from Maryse had him pushing in his chair and shuffling out of the room. Once they heard the door upstairs shut with an audible thud, she turned her attention back towards her other children. “I’ll be leaving before the sun rises. I’m heading to Alicante tomorrow to seek help from the king. I’ll start in town, we’ll leave two days after that. I’ll be gone as long as it takes to make our case.”

Alec’s fork clattered to his plate. “What? You’re just leaving? Dad’s already indisposed and you’re just going to leave the town without any sort of leadership? You’re going to leave us here alone?” He was well aware that his parents had made some stupid decisions in the past but this had to be one of the stupidest that he’d heard.

“The rest of the Council is still in town, Alec, and in case you have forgotten, I brought you back. We’ve tried everything to cure this and nothing is working. We’re losing more people to this cursed disease each day. We’ve got to try something. Pleading our case to the king and hoping for assistance is all we’ve got left.”

Alec picked up his fork and said nothing in response. He was sure the anger was coming off him in visible waves. “I’m not going alone, Alec,” his mother said after a moment, choosing not to start an argument and stating the facts instead. “Two of your father’s men will be going with me. We’ll only be gone a couple of weeks. With luck, we return with a cure.”

----------

Much later that evening, well after dinner had finished and his mother and siblings had gone off to bed and he’d had time to cool off, Alec found himself in the library staring at shelf after shelf of books that his family had collected over the years. His mother was certain that they’d already exhausted every possible option they had for a cure here, but Alec had never been one to give up that easily.

There had to be something in the thousands of books that they had here — even if it was just a footnote in some ancient text.

Angel, where would he even start?

He walked past the first shelf and ran his fingers gently over the spines of the books, taking in the titles as he did.

A Brief History of Idris, Recipes From the Coast, Nursery Rhymes and Other Tales, The Art of Breaking a Horse…

There was no rhyme nor reason to how anything here was shelved and he wished he was back in Alicante where he had a card catalog to reference at the very least. This could be a futile effort… but he had promised that he’d try, so try he shall.

He pulled the first book off the shelf — A Brief History of Idris —- and flipped to the first page. It was written by one of his ancestors; a Lightwood whose name he didn’t recognize. Maybe, with luck, that Lightwood had stumbled across something — anything — all those years ago that could help him now.

He could hope, at least.

Two hours later, he’d scanned quickly through the book and found it to be completely useless. He’d learned exactly nothing. The ‘brief history’ had been exactly what every child in Idris learned in school. He pushed himself off the chair he’d settled in and placed the book on the shelf. He could skip the cookbook — the likelihood of him finding a cure in that wasn’t high — before he moved on to the next one. Nursery Rhymes.

He meant to skip that one too but as his hand hovered over it, he realized that many myths and legends were often based in fact. It couldn’t hurt to give it a try. At the very least it wouldn’t take him long to read.

Most of the rhymes and stories were useless — schoolyard songs or bedtime stories — but tucked away at the end of the book was one that seemed a bit out of place. This was a longer poem with far more complicated words than the rest of the book. He frowned and glanced at the title.

The Goblin Market.

What?

Alec of course knew of the goblins who lived in the woods — all children in Idris were taught about them. The goblins were dangerous and would kidnap and eat children if they strayed too far into the woods. They used to be friendly with the townspeople but a war broke out and that relationship had ended. The goblins had secluded themselves in the woods — keeping their magic to themselves — and the people of Idris stayed in town and imported anything they needed from the neighboring cities.

It wasn’t an ideal situation but it was the one that they’d come up with quickly, and no one had ever seen fit to try and fix it.

The poem followed the story of two sisters who had heard the goblins crying in the middle of the night as they were trying to sell their fruits. One of the sisters tried what they were offering and fell ill when they returned home. She became listless and began to fade away. Her sister tried to save her and returned to the goblin market to obtain another fruit which she brought home and fed to her sister. The sister was cured and both girls lived happily ever after.

Alec frowned. That was similar to what the town was experiencing now… but the poem mentioned nothing about the sister turning to stone. After all the warnings about venturing into the woods that were drilled into them when they were little, surely none of the men who had fallen sick had been stupid enough to go to the goblins to try and trade.

He sighed and glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner of the room to find that three hours had passed since he’d been in here and it was now well after 2 in the morning. He should retire to his room to get a few hours of sleep before he had to wake up but...perhaps he had time for one more book.

Instead of putting the nursery rhyme book back on the shelf, he pushed it off to the corner of the table. Worst case he’d put it back later. There was no harm in leaving it out for now.

He walked back to the shelf and skipped over the book on horse training. The very next one was titled Herbal Remedies of Our Ancestors.

Finally. That was more like it.

----------

When his sister pushed open the door to the library the next morning, Alec jumped. He glanced at the clock and found that nearly five hours had passed since he’d pulled the book of herbal remedies off the shelf and began reading.

A few pages in, he’d pulled a sheet of paper out from the desk and had begun taking notes. One sheet had turned into two, which had quickly turned into far more than that.

There were so many plants that had been used to treat common illnesses when people weren’t so reliant on modern medicine or the magic from the sorcerers found in the cities.

Catnip for recovery from colds. St. John’s Wort for inflammation. Marigold for skin diseases.

It was a start.

Isabelle came up behind him and glanced over his shoulder with a frown. “That’s a lot of plants you’ve written down. I’m sure the hedge witch tried at least some of them. It’s not like we have a stock of these. Where do you expect to find Elderberry without a day’s ride out of Idris and a day’s ride back? We don’t really have that sort of time.”

He hadn’t considered that.

But perhaps there was a solution.

He glanced out of the window and a plan began to form in the back of his mind.

“I’ll have to visit the woods,” he said after a moment, grabbing the two books and his stack of papers and heading back to his room. He needed to prepare if he was venturing into the unknown.

“Alec! You can’t go into the woods. You know that we’ve all been banned from there. It isn’t safe!”

“I know, Izzy. Trust me, I know, but right now this is the only idea we’ve got to try to save our father and the rest of the people who have fallen sick; unless you’ve got a better idea that you’d like to share?” She remained silent and Alec shook his head. “I’ve got to get ready. Tell Jace to find me if he hasn’t left already and can you saddle Flame?”

She looked like she wanted to say more but eventually relented with a shake of her head. Alec watched her go with a sigh. He knew she was right — heading into the woods was a stupid and reckless idea at best...but it was one he had to try.

He quickly got dressed and grabbed a satchel from his closet. He’d leave the books here, just in case, but he needed a way to carry the list of plants he wanted to collect...as well as any plants he may actually find.

What else did he need to take?

He dashed down the stairs and into his father’s office, thanking the small miracle of his mother heading into town early this morning. Map...he probably needed a map. He rifled through the desk and found one tucked away at the back of a drawer. It was old but it would have to do. After all, no one had been in the woods in years. This was probably the most recent map they had.

Alec looked around, trying to figure out if there was anything else in here he’d need as Jace knocked on the door. His brother frowned at Alec’s frantic state. “Isabelle says you're going into the woods to pick some flowers? Come on, Alec, that’s a stupid idea. We can’t risk losing you too.”

“I know, Jace. I’ll be safe and I’ll be back by nightfall. I won’t push myself unnecessarily today but you know that everything that has been tried hasn’t worked. I came back to try and help with finding a cure, and I’m willing to give this a shot.”

Jace sighed, “What can I help with? Izzy said you needed to see me.”

“I need you to stay here… and I need some weapons. Have you seen my bow recently?” He hadn’t taken it with him when he’d moved to Alicante — he only hoped that his siblings had hidden it and that his parents hadn’t done the unthinkable.

“You’re sure about this?” Jace asked as Alec nodded. “Alright...then I’ll get it and meet you outside.”

Isabelle was waiting with Flame’s reins in her hand. The chestnut thoroughbred stamped his feet impatiently, unhappy to be standing still as long as he had been. Jace joined them with Alec’s bow and a small collection of knives a few moments later.

“I still don’t think this is a good idea,” the blond muttered, handing Alec’s weapons to him one by one before holding the horse steady so that Alec could mount. “Reckless is my style, not yours.”

“I’ll stay close to home. I’ll be on my guard. You’ve crossed through the woods a time or two and lived to tell the tail. I may have moved to the city, Jace, but I’m not inept. Remember who taught you.”

“Oh, trust me, you never let me forget it. Just be careful, alright? There are supposed to be some things in those woods that would frighten even me.” Alec tilted his head in response and spurred his horse on towards the woods. He’d stick to the trail as long as he could, but instead of veering left and heading into town, he’d take the worn deer trail through the trees.

He reminded himself that he would take any chance at saving his people and his family — even if it meant venturing into the deep woods and confronting the dangerous creatures that were said to live inside.

When he said he’d try anything — he meant it in every sense of the word. He still didn’t entirely believe the myths and legends of the goblin men that were said to inhabit Edom Forest but the town’s elders seemed to believe they did truly exist and Alec was certain no one had thought to go to the monsters for a solution.

He’d told Jace and Isabelle of his intentions, but instead told his mother that he was heading into town. It wasn’t entirely a lie. He’d had to cross the bridge that would lead him to Idris before he’d reach the path that would take him off the road and into the forest. When the cobblestones ended, he was faced with an overgrown dirt path that seemingly led to nowhere. He pulled Flame to a brief halt and quickly glanced over his shoulder to make sure he wasn’t being followed before clicking him on and making his way into the woods.

His first impression of Edom Forest was that it wasn’t anything spectacular. He rode for two hours and noticed that the trees were like any other trees, the birds like any other birds, and there were certainly no trace of goblins in sight. He was beginning to think he’d been tricked by children’s tales when a scrap of color flapping in the wind caught his attention. He brought his horse to a halt.

It was a scrap of purple cloth with texture that Alec had never seen before. He’d never seen anyone in the town wearing anything this color either, as purple dyes tended to be expensive. If they were in the city, sure, but not here in Edom Forest. He left it fluttering where it was tied on the branch as he noticed another piece a little further down the path. If he strained his eyes, he could see a third splash of purple past that.

He had no way of knowing who had left these markers here or for what reason, but right now this was his best lead to finding the goblins in the woods. And like he kept telling himself, he was willing to try anything.

He could be met with swords,traps or wild animals. The goblins themselves might make an appearance. His people had no knowledge of what existed this deep into the woods outside of old wives’ tales and cautionary tales for children. Who knew what he would come across?

He took a deep breath and nudged his horse forward. The gelding hesitated for a moment — feeding off Alec’s own growing unease — before taking a few slow steps in the direction he’d been pointed towards, his head high and eyes wide the entire time.

Alec had certainly been expecting to find something after following the trail of purple scraps. What he hadn’t been expecting to find was a stray horse who was calmly grazing under a tall, oddly shaped Ash tree without a human in sight.

The stallion was solid black and soaking wet, like he’d been ridden hard despite the lack of tack or rider around him. Alec gently jumped from his horse’s back and took a few slow steps forward hoping that he didn’t spook the animal. “Whoa, boy. It’s alright.” He held his hand out gently and let the horse take a cautious sniff. “Surely, you aren’t out here alone.”

The horse’s nose touched the back of Alec’s hand gently. Alec took a moment to look him over. He was small...around 14 hands if he had to guess, and not much bigger than Max’s pony. There wasn’t a lick of white on him, and while his mane and tail were wet and slightly tangled, the rest of him was in good condition. The pony didn’t look like he’d been living rough — so he’d either just escaped or had dumped his rider and somehow escaped his tack. “Where’s your person? I can’t leave you out here like this.”

The horse huffed and nosed at Alec’s pockets. “Hey now, that’s enough. I didn’t exactly come out here prepared to take in a stray. I was looking for something else. I don’t suppose you’ve seen any goblins have you?”

“He likes you.” The voice that came from above startled Alec, and he took a step back from the mysterious horse to glance upwards. There was a man sitting on a thick branch about halfway up. With the sun behind him, Alec couldn’t see little more than that. The voice sounded amused though, and Alec had to wonder what the mystery man was doing this deep into the woods.

“How can you tell?” It was a stupid question, he knew that, but he couldn’t stop himself before the words had passed his lips. He should be asking for a name or providing his, not asking why the horse liked him. Not the smartest thing, he thought to himself.

“He hasn’t eaten you yet,” The man jumped gracefully to a lower branch before performing an elaborate flip for a dismount and landing steadily on his feet. “Kelpies have unusually sharp teeth, a taste for flesh and blood, and an attitude that would give even the haughtiest of lords a run for their money.”

Alec instinctively took a step back, which didn’t seem to phase the horse — kelpie, apparently — who continued to search Alec’s pockets for some sort of snack. “He doesn’t look like a kelpie.” As far as he was aware, kelpies weren’t real. Even if they were, the books said they were supposed to have seaweed in their manes and tales, backward hooves, and razor sharp teeth. This looked like a small, lightly built riding pony.

“And how many kelpies have you actually seen? They wouldn’t be very effective hunters if you could see what they are before they strike.” The other man replied, patting the horse on the shoulder affectionately. “I’m Magnus Bane. And who are you, handsome stranger?”

“Alec.” Now that the sun wasn’t casting a silhouette behind him, Alec could get a better look at the man. He was shorter than Alec, though his heeled boots gave him some height. His skin was the color of honey, his hair was dark with a streak of blue through it, and his eyes…

Alec lost himself in Magnus’ eyes. They were golden with slit pupils...quite like the cats that hung around the barn. And they were enough to tell Alec that the man wasn’t human — no human would have eyes like that.

“You’re a goblin,” Alec stuttered. The books hadn’t really said what the goblins looked like. He vaguely recalled something about a cat’s face and a rat’s tail...or was it furry and like a snail? Humans didn’t have cat’s eyes, though. Even if Magnus weren’t a goblin, he was certainly something different; and that was maybe, just maybe, another avenue that Alec could try for a possible cure.

It was only after he had these thoughts that he wondered if he should worry about his own safety. His hand went to the knife on his belt before he’d realized it.

Magnus hummed, watching the realization cross Alec’s face before he laughed. “Not quite. I’m only half. My father is but my mother was a mere human. Nothing goblin about her. In fact, if I had to guess she was from your town. Idris, am I right? Though, this was quite some time ago, well before you were ever around, pup.”

“How did that happen? And my name is Alec, not pup.” As far as Alec was aware, the goblins stayed deep inside the forest and the people of Idris were told to avoid them. They hadn’t actually been seen in years. Many of the younger people thought they were nothing more than a myth. Alec certainly hadn’t believed in them. Until now, that was. It was hard not to believe when reality was staring you in the face with cat’s eyes, a wisp of blue hair, and a sharp look.

“How do you think?” Magnus replied, fishing around in his bag for an apple. “‘We must not look at goblin men, we must not buy their fruits, who knows upon what soil they fed, their hungry thirsty roots.’ That’s how it went...I think. It’s been a while since I’ve read it. Books aren’t exactly easy to come by out here.” He took a bite and held the rest out towards the kelpie.

“I’m sorry, that was a stupid question.” Alec knew which poem Magnus was referencing. He had run across the poem during his research but he’d passed it over as nothing more than a cautionary tale for children. Maybe he should have paid more attention.

“It’s fine, I’m used to it...and you didn’t know any better. How many dashing half-goblins have you ever met in your life?” Magnus winked and Alec felt a blush rise across his face.

“You’d be the first.”

“And what are you doing out in the middle of the woods looking for goblins, my lord? Aren’t you humans warned of the dangers you could find? I’m pretty sure that poem specifically mentioned all the terrible things that could happen to a fair maiden.”

Alec snorted, and continued to rub his hand down the kelpie’s nose. “Well, for one I’m not a fair maiden, nor am I a lord actually, and to answer your question: I was hoping to hunt down a lead on the illness that’s currently plaguing the village.”

“And you think the goblins are to blame?” Magnus’ voice had been playful before, but now his words took a cutting tone.

“No, of course not,” Alec replied hastily, holding up his hands in surrender. “We’ve co-existed, sort of, for a while now. As far as I know, nothing has changed in that regard. I’m just…” he sighed and glanced back towards the direction he knew his parents’ house to be. “I’m hoping for answers, I’m willing to try anything at this point. They’ve called physicians from the city, a psychic or two, a hedge witch...the people who have fallen ill are good people. They don’t deserve what’s befallen them. I found a book in our collection last night. It’s got some herbs in it...so I made a list. I’m no expert but it can’t hurt to try.”

He chose to leave out that some of those people were only mostly good — his father certainly wasn’t the best man, but there was no reason Magnus needed to know that. Not yet.

“I haven’t heard of a disease in the village, but I wouldn’t go looking towards the goblins for a cure. They aren’t the most helpful of people — they’re more liable to cause you harm than anything close to help.” Magnus tapped his finger against his chin in thought. “An illness you say? You humans are susceptible to so many things. There was a plague about a hundred years ago if I recall. What makes you think it isn’t something like that?”

“Well, for one thing no one has actually died,” Alec replied as Magnus circled him slowly, feeling every bit like a deer cornered by a leopard. “It starts with a fever. Eventually, confusion. Finally, they fall into a deep sleep. And…” His voice trailed off. That did make it seem like a normal illness but Alec knew there was more.

“And?” Magnus had stopped circling him to lean against the tree with his arms crossed.

“Their skin gets hard. It feels almost like stone? I know that probably sounds stupid. I just don’t know how else to explain it.”

“It’s not stupid at all,” the half-goblin replied. “Magical illnesses can have all sorts of weird side effects. A friend of mine once turned prickly.” There was a pause as he looked Alec over once more.“You said you had a list?” Magnus asked finally, pulling on a purple tailcoat that had been discarded haphazardly behind the tree. “Can I see?”

Alec pulled it out of his bag and handed it over to him. “You’d help me find these? You think this might be caused by magic?”

“Magic, a curse, anything is possible but if you’ve tried as many cures as you say you have then it’s probably safe to assume that it’s something your people haven’t seen before. Ergo, magic.” Magnus read over the piece of parchment with a frown. “Some of them are out of season and others aren’t in this part of the woods but I can show you where to find the majority.” He glanced around before a smile crossed his face that had Alec’s heart flipping. The half-goblin bent down and plucked a small purple and yellow flower from the ground in front of Alec. “Heartsease. Kiss-Me-Quick. Banewort...also known as a wild pansy. It’s good for skin conditions and colds. I believe that’s on your list.”

Alec felt a blush rise in his cheeks as he took the flower. Why on earth was being handed a single flower by a strange (but beautiful) man he just met affecting him this way? “Thanks,” he managed to stammer after a moment. He gently wrapped the flower in a cloth and placed it in his bag.

Magnus’ eyes twinkled as he grabbed a lock of the kelpie’s mane and hoisted himself on it’s back. “I saw some Meadowsweet earlier this morning. It isn’t far and I wouldn’t mind collecting some myself. It’s good for pain.” He glanced back at Alec with a raised eyebrow. “Are you coming?”

Alec had never mounted a horse faster in his life.

----------

“Do you even know what you plan on doing with these?” Magnus asked as they wove their way through a dense and varied forest.

“The book had some suggestions,” Alec started, frowning as they passed by a group of trees with large, bell-shaped yellow flowers. “Though I’m by no means an expert. I went to school for architecture, not herbalism.” He pulled his horse to a halt and reached out to touch one of the flowers that was now hanging eye-level with him. “I’m sorry — is this Angel’s trumpet? I thought it only grew in the tropics.”

Magnus laughed. “Or Devil’s trumpet, depending on who you ask, and I wouldn’t mess with it. It’s not exactly safe. Well, it’s not necessarily poisonous to touch but I still wouldn’t mess with it. It's hallucinogenic, among other things...and I don't think a bad trip was really what you had in mind when you came out here today.”

“And how’s it growing in the middle of Edom Forest? If it’s that dangerous I would feel much better if it grew far, far away where the weather is much more suited to it?” He nudged Flame until he was level with the kelpie.

Magnus merely laughed. “That’s the beauty of magic, my dear Alexander. There’s no rhyme nor reason to it. Anything can happen.” He raised his hand as blue sparks danced around his fingertips. “Haven’t you ever noticed that it never snows in the woods? You’ll have three feet out there and yet, not a flake falls here. It’s warm and sunny year round.”

As he said that, Alec realized that he hadn't noticed. He’d never paid much attention to the woods since they were forbidden to go there, but it wouldn’t take a genius to see that the weather was entirely different a few feet away.

“Don’t look too distressed,” Magnus chuckled upon seeing the face that Alec was making. “There’s all sorts of spells and old magic around. Spells that grew into the very trees, wards set by goblins past and re-set by goblins present...other magical creatures whose very existence spells safety to those who live around them. You wouldn’t have noticed if you hadn’t been purposefully trying to look through the magic. The Look-Not spells surrounding the woods are strong.”

Wait, Alec thought as he kicked his horse into a trot to catch up with Magnus and the kelpie. “What other magical creatures? I thought it was just the goblins that lived in the woods? Well, I guess the goblins and the half-goblins.”

“It may have started with the goblins but it certainly didn’t end with them.” Magnus stopped a moment later, sliding off the back of his horse to kneel in front of a grassy plant with yellow flowers. “Toadflax. This was on your list as well, I believe. It’s good for treating rashes and the like. You make it into a compress using milk. I hope the specifics are in your book. This is more my friend’s area of expertise than mine.” He handed the flower to Alec who wrapped it gently in more white cloth and placed it in his bag.

“What’s your area of expertise then? And you still haven’t answered my question. What other creatures?”

“My area of expertise is magic itself, of course. I’m uniquely qualified to be good at magic,” Magnus replied as butterflies made of blue energy danced around them.

“And what makes you qualified?” Alec asked, crossing his arms. “Are all goblins this cryptic?”

Magnus laughed, “I’m not being cryptic, I’m being coy...and I can’t tell you all my secrets on the first date — no matter how pretty you are.”

Alec huffed as another blush rose on his cheeks. “This isn’t a date...but fine, how about you elaborate on the other magical creatures thing then? I don’t like finding out that everything I’ve ever known about a place is false.”

The goblin studied him for a moment before he nodded. “Very well. Once we put the spells and the wards up to stop the needless death that was happening at the time, humans were driven to stay away. It was the only thing that we could do to keep ourselves safe without being driven out of our home. Because we were now safe from humans, the other creatures that were hunted for merely being creatures of magic began to take refuge here as well.”

Magnus chose not to mount back up so Alec slid from his horse’s back as well. They walked in silence for a moment before the half-goblin turned around. “Actually, it’s quite curious that you got through. You should have wanted to turn tail as soon as you got too close.”

“I was uncomfortable,” Alec said after a moment, recalling the sense of dread that had washed over him before he’d guided his horse off the path. “But I’d do anything to help my family...even if that means taking a risk I’m not necessarily meant to take.”

Magnus had stopped again, this time in front of a fluffy, white, flowering weed. “The promised Meadowsweet. It’s typically made into a tea or an elixir. Pick your poison. Well, not poison but I’m sure you catch my meaning.”

Alec collected a few of the flowers as Magnus did the same. “I’m not sure that tea is going to do much good when the patients are unconscious.”

“You’ll have to try one thing at a time. Maybe treat the symptoms first until you have a better idea of the root cause...perhaps you’ll get lucky and by treating one you’ll learn more about another. Medicine, like magic, is a lot of trial and error.”

“Well, I’m certainly willing to try,” Alec said after a moment. He threw his bag over his horse’s withers and pulled himself into the saddle once more. “I seem to be the only one left willing to try. Everyone else seems to have given up. They’re getting ready to petition the king for some kind of miracle.”

Magnus hummed as he pulled himself onto the back of his own horse. “Well then, I suppose we better find a few more for you to try. It sounds like you don’t have any time to lose.”

Alec followed the half-goblin dutifully all afternoon, trying to remember each and every instruction he was given as he was handed plant after plant. Finally, the sun began to duck behind the treetops and Alec grimaced. “I best be getting back. If I don’t return before dark, my brother will send a search party. Trust me, we don’t want the kind of mess he tends to bring with him.”

“Fair enough,” Magnus replied with a smile. “I figured that would be the case. Your trail awaits, my lord.” He swept his arms towards the dirt path that Alec had taken when he’d first entered the woods this morning. He hadn’t even realized that they had circled back.

“Thank you for all your help today. I’m not certain I could have found any of these without you.” He probably wouldn’t have even managed to find one if Magnus hadn’t helped.

“It was no trouble at all — definitely an interesting way to spend an afternoon. The sight sure didn’t hurt either.” Alec blushed and Magnus plucked a single blue flower with a yellow star center off the ground and held it out to him.

“What’s this one supposed to do?” Alec asked as he took the flower and twirled it gently in his fingers.

“Absolutely nothing. I just think it’s pretty. Good luck playing doctor, Alexander.” With that, he turned his horse and trotted back into the woods, leaving Alec standing in the trail alone.

----------

My Dearest Cabbage,

I’ll preface this by saying that yes, I do know exactly what you’re going to say after reading my letter so I will save you the hassle of a fire message in response.

Yes, what I did was incredibly stupid and reckless. Trust me, I’m well aware but you know how I do so love a good enigma.

It seems some sort of mysterious and possibly magical illness is plaguing the citizens of Idris. They’ve apparently tried all sorts of methods to heal their sick to no avail.

No, I haven’t been taking a risky trip into the city. Trust me, I’ve learned my lesson there. One of their people somehow managed to get through the protections and spells in the forest and came looking for plants that could potentially be used to treat the disease.

I have my doubts that any will work for him, but I sent him home with some regardless.

Could our wards be fading? No mere human should be able to pass over the border. We should meet sometime soon to check that the spells still hold strong. They are all that are standing between us and the people of Idris.

I’ll keep you advised if I receive any more information.

Delightfully yours,

M.B.

#shmb2021 #malec #magnus bane #alec lightwood #fanfic #like a lily in a flood

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missbugaboo · 5 years ago

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Soulmate Scam (1)

Adrien knew who his soulmate was. Period. Ever since he'd first met her, ever since his heart had made that cheerful dance of recognition in hist chest, he'd had no doubt that she was the one – the only one – destined for him. If only said destiny didn't have other plans for him.

All sides of the love-square, though mostly Adrienette, SOULMATE AU.

fanfiction.net / AO3

Next chapter

Chapter 1: No One but Her

Adrien Agreste first dreamt of his soulmate on the very night of his sixteen birthday.

It wasn't anything too extraordinary – it was commonly known that the vision of one's significant other half was bound to appear in one's sleep sometime during the last week preceding or the first week following their birthday. The fact that it was also universally acknowledged that it rarely happened on the night of said birthday (and that the probability of it actually happening was lower that once in fourteen times, as a simple calculus might suggest) made no difference. It wasn't irregular, it wasn't surprising. It wasn't unnatural, either.

It was a little unusual, that's all.

Now, Adrien knew all that. He'd heard various theories about soulmates as he grew up, even though the topic surely wasn't a favourite in his own household. Still, he had friends, and ones that were all eager to discuss the matter with him. Whether it was a four year old Chloe or a fourteen year old Nino (or Chloe again, as her interest in the subject had never quite seemed to cease) didn't matter much. The subject was intriguing, exciting, mysterious; it sparked interest in everyone he knew, even if they were not at all willing to admit it to their classmates like Alix or Max or even Chloe at some point.

How come Chloe was a representative for all the examples his mind brought on?

Well, that didn't really matter, either. The facts were: he was very much into the idea of soulmates. His friends were into the idea of soulmates, too.

And that was not unusual at all.

Of course, the romantic in Adrien clung to the idea, imagining the moment when he would finally learn his significant half's identity. Even as a kid – or maybe especially then? - he found the idea of this half-magical bond alluring, both because of its supposed power over people's life and the mystery that it was still wrapped in. He was probably the only child on Earth who could successfully beat little Chloe in regard of enthusiasm, and one of a very few who did not lose their drive as they stepped into adolescence.

Where others faked indifference, he showed that he was thrilled; while they gave in to fear and anxiety, he spoke about his faith. He wouldn't let the anxiety take over him and extort the joy of wait, and he certainly had no intention of allowing the fear to dictate him his steps.

Which, considering the talk he'd had with his father at the wee age of eight, was a miracle of its own.

And yet, it would be a lie to say that his view on the subject did not change during the years. Not in terms of excitement – that part was a constant, even if the outer indications of it had at some point became more low-key (and well, this time it was Gabriel Agreste's advice at work). The change had nothing to do with age or his classmates' view on the topic and certainly not with the teasing (or cynical) remarks he'd heard from those older and supposedly more mature than him.

Like the ones given by Audrey Burgeois whenever Chloe asked her about it.

No, the real alteration lay somewhere else and though his friends couldn't have said where if they tried to, Adrien had no problem determining it.

He knew.

He knew who his soulmate was. Period. Ever since he'd first met her, ever since his heart had made that cheerful dance of recognition in hist chest, he'd had no doubt that she was the one – the only one – destined for him. No matter how many times she rejected him, he kept believing that it was only a matter of time before she understood the connection and realised what he'd known since day one. He hoped with all his being that she would not need an actual dream to tell her that, but if worse came to worst, he would accept that scenario as well.

As long as she chose him in the end.

That didn't mean he hadn't spent the two weeks preceding his birthday being giddy with excitement, so much that even his father had taken notice of that. Gabriel didn't say much on the subject, obviously, except the casual question of whether Adrien was feeling fine or if maybe his flushed cheeks and starry gaze were in fact an indication of a nearing fever. The boy denied quickly; and yet, he didn't dare go as far as to summon the real reasons for the change in his appearance, even though that meant being sent to bed early in a way of precaution.

He knew all too well how his father reacted to the mere mentions of soulmates.

So he had nodded and followed suit. He'd made sure he acted calmly, both in and out of the house, just to make sure he wouldn't provoke any more questions of the sort. He'd almost started to hope that his father had once again forgotten when his birthday actually was.

And so it had gone on for six long days, during which he'd unconsciously ensured that his behaviour at school was just as indifferent as it was at home. Since he had never made a big deal of sharing any details about his hopes with his classmates, the change was not as noticeable as it might have appeared to be. Nino was surprised but said nothing; Alya teased him with a few comments, but did nothing but that. And as for Marinette...

Well, Marinette had seemed to be a bundle of nerves since the beginning of the week, going from pensive to excited to combative in a matter of minutes sometimes.

He really hoped she was alright.

Still, no matter how much he cared for her, how much he valued her friendship and wanted to prove himself worthy of it, he couldn't bring himself to focus on her state more than on the event he was nearing. Had he had any reasons to believe she was unwell, he would have looked into it no doubt. However, he'd known her for too long not to be able to distinguish real trouble and hurt from what was nothing but confusion on her part.

It was clearly the latter that was happening this time, and Alya's words only confirmed that.

It was fine.

So it seemed to him, anyway. On the night before his birthday he was as agitated as ever, or – since it was the first time when he allowed himself to open up a little about it – even more so. He was eager, he was enthusiastic, he was ready to take on the world. He did feel a little nervous, which was also a first (and probably the reason why it came as such a surprise to him, as predictable as it was) and which was quickly reflected in the way he moved and spoke.

There was edginess in his step as he paced around his room; there was a frown on his forehead and a trembling of his hands.

And yet, none of these could compete with the hope and happiness that filled his soul and fuelled his heart, radiating from his whole silhouette regardless of the anxiousness mentioned above.

It was truly miraculous that he was not glowing in a literal sense yet.

"Oh, will you just go to bed already?" Plagg whined loudly as he munched on his piece of cheese and grimaced at the boy before him. "Seriously kid, you don't even know that you will dream of her tonight. Nobody said it would be on your birthday, and even if, I'd say tomorrow still counts as your birthday night. So calm down, will you?"

"You know that I can't" Adrien answered, with mixture of joy and apprehension ringing in his voice. "It's too great to just push it aside. It's too much and too soon and yet, not nearly soon enough..."

"I swear to Fu, Adrien, you say one more word and I'll throw up all the cheese I've had today," the kwami retorted. "You really are taking it too far."

"I am not," Adrien denied. "Oh, come on, it's the most important night of my life! You could be at least a little more understanding for once."

"I've been more than understanding for the past two weeks. We both know that this fake indifference you displayed in front of Nathalie only worked because you felt you could take it out on me twofold as soon as she was gone. I haven't stopped you, I haven't complained – no more than I usually do, anyway. Still, even my patience has boundaries and no amount of cheese can move them any further."

"Now that's new. I thought your love of cheese conquered all."

"Somehow, it fails to help with a teenage-love-caused nausea."

To that Adrien only laughed, before throwing himself down on the coach and reaching up to scratch Plagg behind the ear fondly. The little creature bristled and wiggled, pretending not to be moved by the affectionate gesture... and then gave in to it completely, purring contentedly in the same way he always did.

Adrien's grin widened at the sight.

"Come on now, I'm not that annoying, am I?" he asked cheerfully as he continued to stroke Plagg's ears and chin. "Also, I bet I'm not the only Chat Noir who fell in love with Ladybug."

"As if that made it any better," Plagg muttered in response. "Seriously, I don't know what it is about that spotted costume that makes you boys lose your minds before you even have a chance to have a proper talk with her. It's unhealthy."

"Oh?" Adrien hummed, amused. "So not only am I not the first to fall for her in general, it's also an all-cats tendency for it to happen soon. Somehow, I feel relieved."

"Before it gets to your head, you should know that your was still a record time. As I said: unhealthy."

"Or maybe simply romantic?" Adrien let out a long, dreamy sigh. He kicked off his shoes and stretched on the coach comfortably, before continuing. "Also, how could I not have fallen in love with her? It's not because she has made some great entrance and swept me off my feet all at once. In fact, she was the opposite of that: clumsy and insecure, a little awkward and surely lacking faith in her own skill. Hell, she was practically drowning in all that self-doubt.... And yet, that didn't stop her from trying hard."

"You mean, she delayed her great entrance for a day and then impressed you twice as much as she would have otherwise."

"You can laugh all you want, I know what I felt," once again, Adrien contradicted him. "And that 'delay', as you call it, wasn't something she'd planned – it was a natural reaction on her part but then it only showed how deep her courage truly ran. How much she had to struggle, how difficult it was to accept that new, crazy path Master Fu had chosen for us... And still, she did accept that. Now, if that's not impressive, I really don't know what is."

This time, Plagg only sighed.

"There really is no talking you out of this one, is there?" he asked wearily, even though his tiny lips were curved in a small smile. "Gosh, you really are hopeless."

"I do care for her, Plagg," the boy lying next to him responded, his own voice having a new seriousness to it. "I know it seems silly. It probably was at first: a shallow crush, derived directly from my being amazed by what she did that day, contradicting Hawkmoth despite her own fears. But even if it was... It's been almost three years now. We became friends, and partners, and... so much more, even if still refuses to see it in a romantic light. She is my soulmate, Plagg. There's no one else that could take that role but her."

"And what if you're wrong?" Plagg suggested quietly.

Adrien shook his head. "I can't be. It's just not an option, not when even the Guardian of the Miraculous called us one another's yin and yang."

"Except in this case the yin and the yang may remain platonic and still work just fine."

For the first time in week's Adrien felt the kind of anxiety that was not accompanied by the usual enthusiasm and faith. His brow furrowed as he gazed up at his friend, his heart speeding up while his blood ran cold; his jaw tightening unconsciously as he thought it over in his mind.

"You can't really mean that."

Once again, Plagg sighed, and flew closer to the boy's side.

"Look, I don't want to scare you here," he explained evenly. "I'm not saying that you should give up on her, or that you should lose all faith and resign yourself to a life with some random girl who will surely take her place. I don't know if she'll appear in your dreams today – heck, we can't even be sure if it really will be today. But that's what this whole thing is about, Adrien: no one can be certain about this thing until it's actually happened. I know how you feel about her; I know you want your special dream to confirm what you've believed so far. And you know that I want you to be happy."

"So where's the hatch?" Adrien asked.

"No hatch. I just... I just want you to make room for a possibility where it's not Ladybug who turns out to be your other half. So that you're at least in some way prepared if that's the case. Can you promise me to try that?"

Adrien's reply wasn't an immediate one. Quite the opposite: the boy seemed to be taking full advantage of the time he had, staying silent for as long as appeared proper to him – and then a little longer than that. Motionless, he lay like he did before, with only his eyes shifting; and even they remained fixed on one spot on the ceiling, after he'd looked away from Plagg's solemn face.

Because that was no light matter.

Adrien was well aware of that, of course. It wasn't that his buoyant demeanour was an act, or that it was his way of fighting the fears that had somehow found way to the very core of his vulnerable heart. He wasn't hiding behind it – simply because he had already faced those fears a long time ago.

How could he not have, with Ladybug rejecting him so many times so far? He might have been naive to some, but he wasn't stupid for sure. He wasn't selfish, either, and for that reason he simply had to consider a situation in which his Lady did not respond to his affection, no matter how many dreams of one another they'd shared.

She meant everything to him – he wasn't going to throw himself at her if she was certain she couldn't love him back.

No matter how much the mere thought of it hurt him.

"I just can't imagine it being anyone but her," he said softly (a little longingly) at last. "I know it still might be. Someone I've never thought of before or maybe even someone I haven't even met yet. But it's like... it's something the logical part of me realises, while the more emotional side screams to forget it as something completely absurd. My brain tells me to keep my options open; my heart calls me a traitor for even considering that."

He rolled over to his stomach and rested his chin on his folded arms. "So yes, I do have room for such a possibility. And if my soulmate turns out to be someone who isn't Ladybug, I promise you to do my best to know her and to love her, even if it's in a very different way. I just -"

He stopped abruptly; then he pressed his face against his arms and muttered, "I just pray to God that I don't have to."

Again, silence fell on the room, with nothing but the sound of the two of them breathing to disturb it. It was Plagg's turn to caress his Chosen, with a gentle touch of his little paw brushing the cheek of the boy he was supposed to protect. Adrien smiled weakly at the display and turned his head a bit, just enough to be able to see the kwami with more than his mind's eye.

"You really should just go to bed, you know," Plagg murmured with his usual fatigue. "Otherwise you'll fall asleep right here and then wake up from discomfort in the middle of your most important night. And you wouldn't want to do that halfway through that soulmate dream, would you?"

"I sure would not," Adrien agreed readily. He lifted himself up and jumped off the coach in one swift movement, yawning and stretching as he stood up. "I still need a shower though – which is all the more annoying if I think it may actually chase my sleepiness away. And not being able to fall asleep, tonight of all nights... Now, that would be far worse than the disrupted sleep you mentioned before."

"Well, I'd say the amount of sleep you've been getting lately is the best guarantee of good rest tonight," Plagg offered derisively. "You hardly slept at all because of your excitement, it should have been enough to wear you out."

Adrien couldn't help but yawn again.

"You're right. It has," he admitted. "Alright, shower it is. Then I'm gonna go straight to bed, tuck myself in and just relax. That should be an invitation enough for my body and mind to feel the sleepiness as well, right?"

And then he was off, determined not to lose another minute of this very precious time. He was back in no time, calm and warmed up, more than ready to face the destiny that – he was sure of it – was finally going to show its face to him that night.

It was a few minutes past ten when he reached his bed at last; it was half past when he finally fell asleep. His dream came to him at three, at the darkest hour and the most trying time.

And when the sun showed itself some time around five...

...it found him sitting up abruptly, with a cold sweat flowing down his neck and his big green eyes wide with shock and fright.

Because he hadn't dreamt of Ladybug that night.

#my writing #miraculous ladybug #soulmate au #adrienette #ladynoir #ladrien #marichat #it's your regular soulmate au except nothing is regular #i didn't want to post it but you guys asked #so you better have fun reading

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cinaja · 4 years ago

Text

Before the Wall part 39

Masterlist

----

“Stop running like this,” Andromache says, even though she easily keeps pace with him.

Jurian doesn’t slow down. He can’t believe Andromache took the time to have a calm breakfast with him while Miryam might be dying. He needs to see her immediately, needs to know that she will be alright. Guilt and worry twist his guts and he already regrets eating anything for breakfast.

He storms up to the main entrance of Drakon’s camp, only stopping when the guards don’t move to allow him through.

“Where is she?” Jurian asks.

The guards exchange glances. “General – “ One of them begins, but Jurian cuts him off.

“I want to see Miryam. Now.”

The guards exchange another glance, and Andromache puts a hand on his arm, shaking her head. The look she gives him clearly says stop, but Jurian ignores her. He hates that Miryam is here, in this camp, and not with him. Hates that it was Drakon who was there to help her when she needed it. It should have been him. Why wasn’t he there? Did he truly think Amarantha was more important?

To make it worse, the ambush wasn’t even a success. Quite the contrary. He lost all these soldiers, and then, he nearly lost Miryam. And he spent the night drinking himself into oblivion instead of checking up on Miryam. He didn’t even consider that something might have happened.

“Come along, please,” one of the soldiers tells him and starts walking back into the camp.

Andromache links her arm with Jurian’s as they follow him and leans in to whisper, “Stop being rude to the soldiers. They aren’t to blame for what happened.”

Jurian scowls, but he can’t disagree. It’s hardly the soldiers’ fault that he has quarrel with their Prince, and being rude to people whose rank is so much lower than his that they can’t even be rude back is low. He silently promises himself to stop it.

The soldier who is leading them stops in front of a tent towards the centre of the camp. It isn’t the biggest one around, but still finely made and clearly meant for an important person. Guards are posted at the entrance.

“We need to announce you,” one of them says, but Jurian doesn’t have any patience for that.

He needs to go in there now, or he will lose courage. But when he steps forward, the guards lower their spears. Jurian blinks at them. They are truly pointing their weapons at him.

“I’m sorry, General, Majesty.” The soldier looks nervously between them. “We have strict orders not to let anyone enter.”

Jurian wants to ignore the order and push past them – see if they dare to hold him back – but Andromache grips his arm. A moment later, Jurian gets a grip on himself. He can’t start a fight, of course not. What was he thinking?

So he patiently waits for one of the soldiers to announce them to the people inside the camp. It takes only just over a minute, then the soldiers step aside and the door opens. Jurian stands frozen in place. Now that he can go inside, he is suddenly afraid. What if Miryam hasn’t recovered? What if she’s still in the state Andromache described to him, or, worse, dying? Will she blame him for not having been there for her?

Andromache gives him a shove that makes him stumble towards the door. He catches himself, straightens and walks into the tent.

His eyes go straight to Miryam. She is lying in bed, blanket drawn up to her chest, head plopped up by two pillows. She looks tiny in the too-big bed, and tiny and scarily fragile. She looks like she’s dying, Jurian thinks, then quickly brushes the thought away, but it is true. He’s seen her tired and sick and unwell, but not once has she looked this drained.

Jurian opens his mouth to say something, but no words come out. He can only stare at her.

Andromache pushes past him and sits down on the edge of Miryam’s bed. Only then does Jurian notice Drakon, who is sitting on the sole chair in the tent, fiddling around with his sword. Drakon nods at him and Jurian quickly looks away, returning his attention to Miryam and Andromache.

“You look terrible,” Andromache says, “But you are, you know, here?”

Miryam nods. “There have been no further problems since I woke up.”

She looks over to Jurian. He should say something. Now.

Drakon clears his throat and gets up. “Let’s go outside for a moment,” he says to Andromache. He’s playing around with his sword again as he leads Andromache out of the tent, leaving Jurian alone with Miryam.

He remains standing by the entrance, awkwardly stepping from one foot to the other. Miryam pushes herself into a sitting position and draws her knees up to her chest, still watching him in silence. Clearly, she expects him to say something. Damnit, he needs to say something. But what? His mind is completely blank, he can’t come up with a single thing to say.

“Don’t you want to sit down?” Miryam finally asks, breaking the silence.

Jurian nods and stiffly sits down on the chair Drakon occupied until a moment ago. He feels like he somehow failed by waiting for Miryam to take the first step. But now, he has to say something, before things get any worse.

“How are you?” He asks. The question is so inadequate that he has to wince.

Miryam shrugs. “I’ve got a headache. And I can’t get up. But I think it’s getting a bit better already.”

“That’s good news,” Jurian says, but can’t help the doubt creeping through him.

Andromache told him what happened, offering details that made Jurian’s stomach churn and he knows that Miryam is likely downplaying it now to make him feel better. He hates that she almost died and still tries to protect him from it. And he hates that he wasn’t there when it happened.

“I should have been there,” he says. Shame shoots through him like a burning knife. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Miryam says, “It’s not like you could have changed anything.”

She’s so distant. Jurian knows that he messed up, knows that it’s on him to do something to fix this, but words escape him. He is caught between shame and sheer terror at the thought that he almost lost her, unable to find the words to make everything better. Maybe he can let actions speak? He walks over to Miryam and carefully wraps his arms around her.

He doesn’t know what he was hoping for in the hug. Maybe comfort, or some long-lost sense of mutual understanding. But whatever it was, he doesn’t find it. Miryam feels so fragile in his arms that he doesn’t even dare hold her too tightly and when they let go of each other, Jurian feels like he only succeeded in making things more awkward. Miryam looks down at her hands, avoiding his gaze.

Jurian so badly wants to be able to offer her words of comfort, but all that comes out is, “I don’t know what’s happening to us.”

They are drifting further and further apart and it has never been more apparent then now. Miryam almost died and he is just standing here, unable to even say anything to comfort her.

Miryam takes his hands as if she, too, senses the rift between them and is somehow trying to bridge it. Wordlessly, she squeezes his hands. Jurian squeezes back, hoping that she will find reassuring words for him, only to realize that he is the one who should do the reassuring.

“But we’ll be fine,” he says. “I’m this close to defeating Amarantha and then, I can get rid of Clythia, too. This Is almost over. And once they are dead, everything will go back to normal, you’ll see. We will be fine.”

Miryam turns her head away. “Of course,” she says.

She doesn’t sound happy, but she will see. Once Amarantha and Clythia are dead, the tide will turn. Everything will be well again. He just knows it.

“Then let’s go back to our camp,” he says. He doesn’t like staying in Drakon’s camp. Why did they even bring Miryam here in the first place? She should have stayed. Then he would have heard about what happened sooner, too, and would never have gotten drunk.

But Miryam shakes her head. “I need to stay here for a bit longer,” she says. “The healers are trying out a treatment.”

Jurian makes a face. “We have healers, too,” he says and thinks of Clythia saying that Drakon will get Miryam killed. He badly wants to tell her about his concerns, but the last time he mentioned the prophecy to Miryam, that didn’t go over well, so he keeps silent.

“They aren’t trained in dealing with magical illnesses,” Miryam explains and Jurian nods, because that’s all he can really do.

After that, conversation comes to a halt. Jurian allows the silence between them to stretch on until it becomes far too awkward. For want of other ideas, he starts telling Miryam about the ambush, how Amarantha seems to have anticipated it and how he lost well over a hundred soldiers.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Miryam says. “From how it sounds, you couldn’t have done anything and I don’t see how you could have seen it coming either.”

It doesn’t entirely ease the guilt, but at least Jurian feels a little better.

They sit around in silence again for a while, until Miryam says, “We probably should tell the others that they can come back in.”

Jurian jumps to his feet. “I’ll tell Andromache she can come inside,” he says. “And maybe I should wait outside while you talk? To give you some privacy.”

It’s a coward’s suggestion. The truth is that he can’t look at Miryam without feeling a stab of guilt. He should have been there. Somehow, he should have prevented what happened. He thinks Miryam notices, can almost feel her disappointment, but she doesn’t stop him as he rushes out of the tent.

Jurian steps out of the tent, only to nearly run into Drakon, who is sitting on an upturned barrel outside. Jurian suppresses a groan. The last thing he wants right now is to talk to the Prince.

“You want to go inside now?” He asks Andromache, who nods and walks into the tent. Jurian remains standing, arms crossed and pointedly not looking at Drakon.

Unfortunately, Drakon ignores Jurian’s obvious signals. “How are you?” He asks.

“Not interested in talking to you,” Jurian replies and hopes that this will be enough to put an end to this conversation before it can truly begin.

Drakon is fingering around with his weapons belt again. He touches the sword, then quickly withdraws his hand and looks up again.

“Aren’t we even able to have a civil conversation, now?” He asks. “We were best friends once.”

Jurian has a sharp reply on the tip of his tongue – And whose fault is it that we aren’t friends anymore?, comes to mind – but he forces himself to remain silent. Miryam hates when he is mean to Drakon.

“Just leave me alone,” Jurian says. And stay away from Miryam, while you are at it. He turns away, not particularly caring that Drakon looks hurt.

----

Andromache sits down on the bed next to Miryam. “How are you?” She asks.

Miryam shrugs. “Better than yesterday,” she says with a wry smile. It’s too early to tell if Ghost will be able to help her. They’ve only been talking for half an hour when Jurian arrived, forcing Ghost to go back into the sword (if that is where he goes when he isn’t visible). “Thanks for looking after me when… you know.” Her memories of what happened aren’t exactly clear, but from what she remembers, trying to help her can’t have been pleasant.

“Just get better again,” Andromache says, “That would be thanks enough.”

How Miryam would like to be able to fulfil that request. She just isn’t sure if it will be possible. She’s so tired.

“I’m not sure if Jurian told you,” Andromache says, “but there was some kind of trouble during his ambush. He only heard about what had happened this morning, so that’s why he wasn’t here earlier.”

Miryam nods. She doesn’t know how else to react, how to put her feelings into words. She doesn’t know why she is so disappointed, or what it is she expected from Jurian. Rationally, she knows that him being there during the spell and afterwards would not have changed anything. Just like she knows that it is out of his power to fix her problems for her. She can’t even expect him to understand, not when he never experienced anything similar and she isn’t capable of explaining it to him.

All this, she knows. And still, the disappointment is crushing.

Because stupidly, irrationally, she had hoped that Jurian would be able to ease her pain, soothe her fears. She had wanted to have him there with her and she wanted that alone to be enough to make everything more bearable. But it didn’t. When he told her it would be okay, she didn’t believe a word, and when they hugged, it didn’t make her feel save. It was just awkward. The entire time, she was waiting for him to say or do something that would comfort her, but he never did, and in the end, she had to be the one to comfort him.

“Is there anything left at all between the two of you?” Andromache asks softly.

Miryam squeezes her eyes shut to keep the tears at bay and takes a deep breath. How she wishes there was nothing left. Then it might be easier. But there is so much still between them. Over six years together, countless obstacles they faced and overcame, all the times they saved each other. Countless shared moments, whispered reassurances and quiet hours. A common cause, a mutual understanding. So much love and anger and disappointment that Miryam sometimes feels like she might choke on it.

Andromache puts an arm around her shoulders and now, Miryam does cry. She cries for Jurian, and for herself – for the children they were when they first met, and the people war and suffering and loss has made them into. When did the gap between them become so wide, so impossible to overcome?

She bites her lower lip so hard she almost draws blood and forces the tears to stop. “I don’t know what to do,” she whispers. “It’s simply too much, I can’t…” She shakes her head. “I just can’t.”

“You know you’re always welcome in Telique,” Andromache says.

Miryam knows she should thank her, but thinking of Telique just makes the tears return. The Alliance. Another thing she can’t do.

Andromache seems to sense her thoughts, because she says, “No one could blame you if you said you want out, you know? You’ve done more than anyone could possibly have demanded already for this war. You could always step down as head of the Alliance.”

The idea is appealing, so very, very appealing. Let someone else lead, hand the weight over. She never wanted this, anyways. But Miryam shakes her head.

“And who would replace me?”

“If you truly can’t do this anymore, we’d find someone,” Andromache says, but she sounds doubtful.

Miryam simply shakes her head. The Fae, eternally arrogant and valuing their rules above all else, would never follow a human. Nor would any of them be willing to give the honour of leading the Alliance to another Fae – not that the humans would ever accept a Fae leading a war that is about their freedom. Not to mention that Miryam can count the amount of Fae nobles who genuinely care about human freedom on one hand.

“There’s no one else,” she says. “It has to be me.” So she better find a way to stay alive.

The following days pass in a haze. Miryam remains in Drakon’s camp, slowly recovering from the wall spell. Jurian visits twice and Drakon comes by as often as his duties as Prince will allow, but most of the time, Miryam sits with Ghost in her tent, trying to get a grip on her powers.

The first day is mostly useless. Ghost makes Miryam describe every little detail of her powers, but when he asks her to call it, it won’t come and so he spends most of the time trying to explain magical concepts to her. But she is too tired, still too much in pain, to truly understand what he is saying, and more then once, she simply lacks the basic knowledge necessary to follow his explanations.

“Are you partially human as well?” Miryam asks at one point. He certainly looks more human than Fae, even more human than Miryam does.

But Ghost shakes his head. “I can choose my form at will.”

Ignoring the stab of disappointment, Miryam asks, “Then why would you choose a human form?”

“I generally prefer humans to Fae.”

The sentiment is unusual enough that Miryam wants to keep asking, but Ghost returns to his explanations without giving her the chance.

The second day goes better. The pain has mostly receded by then, and when Miryam tries to summon her power, it answers her. From there, the real work begins. Ghost makes her complete tasks, smaller ones at first, but they quickly get harder. Miryam doesn’t understand the purpose, but Ghost seems to draw conclusions from what she is doing. Even though he is rarely satisfied.

“Don’t pull on it that hard,” he tells her, annoyed. “By all the worlds, please stop trying to force the strings like this. It’s painful to watch.”

“How else am I to get them to move?”

“Gently. With feeling.” Ghost snorts. “You have an inherent connection to the world – the universe, even. And you bash your power against the Strings like you’re trying to hammer them into position. You aren’t a smith hammering around on a slab of metal, you are working with the fabric of this world.”

The talk of a connection to the universe sounds a bit too much like what she read in her first spellbook for her liking. The witches are oh so special, gifted by the Mother, the only ones with a connection to the universe. Which, in their mind, gives them the right to do anything they want. It doesn’t exactly make Miryam inclined to put much faith in the approach.

She sighs and tries again. Midway through the spell, Ghost appears right in front of her, startling her into letting go of her power.

“Stop it,” he snaps. “You don’t even use your power correctly. From the way you act, you’d think it was some wild beast that you need to beat into submission if you don’t want it to swallow you whole.”

Miryam doesn’t have a reply to that. Her power is wild and scary and dangerous, she’s never known it as anything else. But Ghost wants her to see it as a friend. He wants her to let it flow freely, to gently move the strings into position instead of forcing them. He talks of connections, of rules she never heard of.

He sees her power as something beautiful. She only ever sees it as terrible. When she calls it and is standing next to Ravenia’s throne again, watching Artax draw that circle around the human Sacrifices. She sees him smirking at her terror. And that makes it extremely difficult to see the power as a friend.

But Ghost is persistent. He starts small, explaining again and again how he wants her to use her powers, correcting her technique with a surprising patience. On the third day, the shadows return. Miryam spends two hours curled up under her blanket, pillow over her head, waiting for them to disappear. When she returns from under the blanket, Ghost simply tells her that she probably ought to start using a certain amount of power daily to keep it from building up. Then, he goes back to his explanations.

On the fifth day, he decides to have Miryam let her power flow through her freely. He explains she is supposed to feel a connection to it, learn to let go.

Miryam fails catastrophically. She can’t seem to go three seconds without clamping down on her power. No matter how much Ghost assures her that she will be fine, no matter how often he tells her that she really should be able to do this, as soon as she feels that her power is unchecked, she shuts down.

“This doesn’t make sense,” Ghost says softly, more to himself than to Miryam.

She frowns at him. “Well, if that isn’t reassuring…” The truth is, she is tired. Tired of this task, tired of being told to be nicer to the power that is currently killing her. She had hoped he would tell her a few simple tricks and everything would be fine.

Ghost turns around to her. “You should be able to do this. Easily. So far, you’ve managed to do what’s the equivalent of draining a lake with your bare hands. I give you a bucket, and you’re suddenly overwhelmed?”

Miryam frowns down at her hands. “I’m tired,” she says, “Maybe tomorrow – “

“Your problem isn’t that you’re tired, it’s that you are scared,” Ghost cuts her off. “Which in itself is hardly extraordinary for you mortals. You get scared of your own power, it senses that fear and tries to protect you, which only scares you more, so you lose control. But you – “ He glares at Miryam. “You are far too advanced for that. You should know by now that your power won’t harm you if you follow a basic set of rules.”

Her power does harm her, though. It hurts her and drives her insane and at one point, it will kill her. But somehow, she knows that this isn’t the root of her problems, not really. She isn’t so scared of her power hurting her that she accidentally causes it to do just that, it hurts her because she can’t control it.

“Maybe it’s because I’m half human,” she says. “Maybe I’m just not made for that kind of power.”

“An interesting thought.” Ghost watches her with an intensity that makes her fidget. It’s like he’s trying to see straight through her. “I do believe that your being human influences your abilities in some ways – both positive and negative – but I doubt it is the reason for your current problems.”

Miryam shakes her head and draws her knees up to her chest. She should probably be relieved. If the problem was her being human, that would have been as good as a death sentence since she can’t very well change species.

“Did you know that emotion has a tendency to influence power?” Ghost asks. “Especially fear, anger and other negative emotions. You wouldn’t have any of those, would you? Particularly in relation to your powers.”

Miryam stares at him. She can’t believe that an allegedly millennia-old ghost is trying to talk to her about her feelings. “I’m not having trouble with my emotions,” she says, “I’m perfectly in control of those. It’s my power that’s being a problem.”

Ghost reappears sitting on her bed. (Or rather pretending to be sitting, since he doesn’t actually have a body.) “Tell me about your childhood,” he says.

Miryam freezes. “Why are you asking about that?” Her voice sounds flat in her own ears.

“You were born a slave. You hate witches. And somehow, you have trouble with your power.” He cocks his head to the side. “The math isn’t exactly hard to do. Do you want to tell me about it?”

“No.”

Her power whispers to life, making the strings move around even more quickly. She takes a deep breath, trying to calm herself and imagines the power dying down, whirlwind turning to soft breeze, but it won’t help. She thinks she sees a shadow moving at the edge of her vision.

“Thank you,” Ghost says sarcastically, “For proving me right.”

Miryam jumps to her feet. Her head begins to spin at the sudden movement and she has to grab the edge of the bed for support. She needs to get out of here, away from this conversation and the memories it stirs.

“I need some fresh air,” she says. “You’ll excuse me.”

“You’re still proving me right!” Ghost calls after her as she stalks out of the tent.

And damn him, maybe she is. But she can’t get herself to stop walking, to turn around and talk to him. She can’t face this. She can’t. She locked that part of herself away, and if she opens that door, allows the memories out… It’s simply too much. Too much for her to ever deal with. If this is what it takes to control her power, then she might as well start arranging her own funeral.

She wanders through the camp aimlessly, watching the soldiers go about their work. Two of them are sparring in the ring, and a huge group of spectators has formed around them. Miryam lingers for a moment to watch, then continues on. Two younger boys, probably working in the kitchen, run past her, laughing breathlessly. Miryam feels strangely detached from the scene, like she is watching from far away.

Eventually, she reaches the edge of the camp. The guards stare at her and whisper among themselves, but they don’t stop her as she walks past them. She doesn’t go far, just far enough to get out of sight from the camp. Then, she sits down on a tree stump and stares down into the grass. A sparrow lands on her knee. Smiling softly, she holds out a hand and allows it to hop on.

“Want to trade places?” She asks. The sparrow cocks its head to the side, watching her out of dark eyes. She shakes her head. “No, why would you. Your life is probably better than mine.” She gently runs a finger over its head. “You can fly around freely. No wars, no slavery or magical powers to worry about.”

The bird rocks its head as if to say that it agrees. Although it is likely that she is reading too much into the motion.

Leaves crunch behind her. Miryam doesn’t have to look up to know who it is. On her hand, the sparrow rustles its feathers and makes a small, chirping sound. Without a word, Drakon sits down in the grass facing her.

Miryam sighs. “Go,” she whispers to the sparrow. It spreads its wings and takes off. Miryam looks after it as it flies away.

“When I was a child,” she says softly, thinking that she can’t quite remember when she last considered herself a child, “I sometimes dreamt I would grow wings and fly away.” She shakes her head. “I thought if only I flew high enough, I could leave it all behind below me. I wanted to fly higher than anyone before me, right up to the sun, where no one has ever heard of the Black Land. I thought that would be true freedom.”

She stares down at her hands. Her sleeves cover the scars at her wrists and the brand on her left forearm, but she can imagine them there, forever marking her as property.

“I fled through the entire Continent,” she says, “Ran and ran, but still, I could never get away.” She traces the outline of the brand with her finger. “I only ever wanted to be free,” she says, “But I can’t manage to leave it behind. I’m still there, every day, every second. I tried to lock that part of myself away, but…” She rubs her eyes. “It doesn’t matter what I do, or how far I run. I can’t ever escape, not truly.”

She is eternally caught in the same moments, unable to escape. And the girl she once was, the girl who survived Ravenia’s court for three years, might have been able to deal with it. She might have endured the endless cruelties and seen her scars as lessons learned. But the woman Miryam has grown into, the woman she chose to be, cannot. Because Miryam – the person she made herself into all these years ago – believes in kindness. She dreams of a better world and fights to make it real. But the girl she was didn’t dream or believe in kindness. The things she had seen and survived, the things that lurk in Miryam’s memories, had taught her that kindness was an illusion and the only dreams that ever came real were nightmares.

Something wet drips on her hand and with a start, Miryam realizes that she is crying. She doesn’t even know when she started, but suddenly, the tears won’t stop. Her entire body is shaking.

“Are you okay with being touched?” Drakon asks softly. He is still sitting on the grass, completely still like he doesn’t dare to move.

Miryam nods shakily. She can’t manage to stop sobbing long enough to get a coherent reply out. She doesn’t notice Drakon getting to his feet, but then he is there, wrapping his arms around her. She clings to his coat and presses her face into his chest.

She cries and cries, until Drakon’s jacket is wet against her cheek and she has to stop because there seem to be no tears left. She realizes that somehow, she ended up almost lying on top of Drakon. She blushes and tries to get up, but she’s still shaky and nearly steps on Drakon’s wing in the process.

“Sorry,” she mutters, blush deepening and finally manages to get herself into an upright position.

They sit side by side in the grass, Drakon’s left wing wrapped around Miryam’s back, her head leaning against his shoulder.

“Ghost told me,” Drakon says, “About what he said to you.”

Miryam suspiciously eyes the sword at Drakon’s side, but Ghost is nowhere to be seen. She hopes he isn’t lurking about while invisible, listening to their conversation.

“We’ll figure something out,” Drakon says.

Miryam looks away. “Sure,” she mutters.

Once, just this once, she had hoped things would be easy. That Ghost would teach her a few simple magic tricks, she would spend a while practicing, and then, everything would be alright. But of course, nothing is ever that easy. She should have known.

“Miryam,” Drakon says slowly, “Please tell me that you are going to try to solve this. If you just push it away again, that’s it. There won’t be another try for you, you know this.”

Miryam doesn’t reply. She doesn’t see a point in trying. She won’t be able to do it. It’s just too much, she can’t face this. Not now, not ever. But how could Drakon ever understand this?

“I know you’re scared – “ Drakon begins, but Miryam cuts him off.

“So what if I am?” She asks. “You think I’m just pushing all of this away for fun? I can’t face this. Because if I give these memories just one inch of room, they will swallow me whole. There’s only so much a person can endure, and this is too fucking much!” She snorts. “Maybe I should just ask Rhysand to remove all my memories of what happened.”

Drakon goes entirely still. “You don’t mean that,” he says in a too-quiet voice.

Miryam crosses her arms, but she really doesn’t mean it. Removing memories at this scale is impossible without doing irreparable damage to the person who gives up the memories. Whatever she is going through now, it will be nothing compared to what cutting out years of her life would do to her.

She’s just desperate and coming up with crazy ideas to hide the fact that she doesn’t know what to do.

“It’s just too much,” she whispers. “It’s all falling apart, and there are a million things… I don’t know how to do it. I don’t know how to do any of this.”

Drakon reaches for her hand. “You don’t have to get through this alone,” he says, “There are lots of people who love you and who are willing to help if only you’ll let them.” He squeezes her hand. “And you don’t have to do it all at once, either. No one expects you to somehow face all your trauma at once and then magically be okay – I don’t think that’s even possible. It’s going to be a slow process, and I’m not saying that it will be easy, but I do think that you can do it if you allow people to help you and start being a little kinder with yourself.”

Miryam bites her lower lip. “I only have a month, though.”

“I’m sure the tricks Ghost taught you will buy you some additional time,” Drakon says, “And in theory, handling your power should get easier the better you get at dealing with the other things.”

Miryam nods, even though she isn’t sure if this will be enough. None of this will remove the all-around stress of the war, the countless responsibilities she is trying to juggle. No matter how hard she tries to face her past, she doubts she will succeed while she is wearing herself down trying to fulfil all these duties.

But now that her feelings have calmed down a little, she knows that she still has to try. If only because there is no one else to replace her in the Alliance. And if she is out of the equation, who will be left to save her people?

“I’ll try,” she says, “but – “

With a soft pop, Ghost appears right in front of them, startling both Miryam and Drakon, who immediately reaches for the sword. Miryam wraps her arms around herself, hoping that Ghost didn’t listen to their conversation.

“Sorry to interrupt your moment,” Ghost says. “But there’s something going on with the strings that might concern you.”

Miryam looks up, frowning as she surveys the strings. Nothing seems out of the ordinary, but between Ghost and the sword, it is hard to tell. Half a thought has additional, smaller strings appear, but still, their movement doesn’t seem extraordinary.

“I don’t see anything,” she says, frowning.

“There,” Ghost says, pointing. “It’s an anti-winnowing ward, can’t you see? Although I have to admit that whoever is setting it is very clever about it.”

Now, Miryam does notice some of the strings moving far too deliberately for it to be natural. Whoever is causing this is a witch. And one of the better ones, if Miryam isn’t mistaken. Her mind immediately goes to Artax.

Her power has gotten far better, but if she has to go up against another witch now, the outcome will be clear. She won’t win a fight today.

Drakon is already on his feet. “Can I still winnow?” He asks, panic colouring his voice.

“Yes,” Ghost says, “For about one more minute.”

Drakon whirls around to Miryam. “Please go back to the camp and warn Sinna. I need to – “ His hand shoots to the sword at his side. He looks back to the camp. “If it is Ravenia I have to – “

“I know,” Miryam cuts him off. “Go!”

Ghost disappears and reappears standing in front of Miryam. “Emotions fuel magic and yours are currently tearing you apart,” he says, “Find a way to live with them, or all the magical training in the world won’t be able to help you.”

With a start, Miryam realizes that they likely won’t see each other again. If it is truly Ravenia behind those wards, and if she is after the sword, then Drakon probably won’t be able to bring it again. (Looking at the power it exhibits, he shouldn’t have brought it at all.)

“Thank you,” Miryam says. She wants to say more, but Drakon winnows before she gets the chance.

Above, the strings suddenly begin to move around quickly. The commotion makes Miryam dizzy. Her own power rises, as if to answer the general frenzy, but before she has the chance, the strings fall back into place, forming a net over the camp. Even at the height of her power, Miryam doubts she could have stopped those wards. It’s Artax’s work, she is sure of it.

She jumps to her feet and runs back towards the camp.

----

Drakon leans his back against the cave wall, trying to calm his breathing. “That,” he says, “was close.”

Too damn close. He can’t believe he was this callous with taking the sword away from Cretea. He knew that Ravenia was after the sword, knew that she would stop at nothing to get it. Why didn’t he spent more time considering this? He should have taken more precautions, brought both Miryam and the sword to Erithia where it would have been safer.

“But everything turned out just fine,” Ghost says, “You got the sword out in time, and I’m back where I belong.”

There is a bitterness in his voice and Drakon realizes the tremendous unfairness of this situation. It was Ghost who helped them, and as thanks, he gets locked up back in his cave. It must be terribly lonely and boring, eternally trapped in the same place.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, looking over at the sword that’s back in its usual place in the centre of the cave.

He could take it up and free Ghost. But he can’t, really. It’s not just about whether or not to trust Ghost – although there’s still part of Drakon that worries all of this might have been some big manipulation. The bigger problems are the general issues of using the sword. Ghost may assure him that he will survive, but Drakon highly doubts that he will survive unscathed. For all he knows, the sword might Besides, he is explicitly forbidden from using the sword or freeing Ghost, by both his family’s millennia old traditions and the will of a goddess.

No, he can’t free Ghost.

“Thank you,” Drakon says, “Truly.” Hesitates. “I’ll talk to Miryam. When she has control of her power again, that is. Maybe she knows a way to alter the spell that binds you so that you can at least leave move around freely on Cretea.”

Ghost remains completely motionless for a moment. “I doubt that will work,” he finally says, “But I am still grateful for your attempt.” He disappears without giving Drakon the chance to reply.

Drakon hurries on his way out of the cave and winnows as soon as possible. Miraculously, his camp is still undisturbed when he returns. An annoyed Sinna informs him that their patrols caught sight of a battalion of Black Land Soldiers only a mile south of their camp, but almost as soon as the wards were up, they vanished.

“I have no idea what they are planning,” she finishes, frowning deeply.

“Their plan failed already,” Drakon says, “I assume they left.”

“Miryam told me the same thing,” Sinna mutters. Then, she arches an eyebrow at Drakon and shakes her head. “She’s with the healers, since I assume that was to be your next question.”

Drakon smiles. “Thank you.” He says to walk off, but Sinna takes him by the arm.

“I know you love her,” she says, “and I won’t tell you not to. But please, Drakon, be careful how much closer you come to her.”

Drakon frowns at her. “What do you mean?”

“Should we win, there will surely be some kind of power struggle in the Alliance. And if that happens, being its leader will be a very unfortunate position to be in, especially for a young human woman with no army or lands of her own.”

Drakon slowly shakes his head. He doesn’t understand why the Alliance members would be stupid enough to get into a fight with each other, or what role Miryam, who has absolutely no ambitions to gain power, should take in such a struggle. But he does understand that Miryam might be in danger from yet another side, which is simply unfair. Doesn’t she have enough to deal with already?

“Thank you for the warning,” he manages.

He finds Miryam in the healers’ tent. She has her back turned to him and is talking to the camp’s head healer, excitedly pointing to some of the medications standing on display on one of the shelves. For once, she looks almost happy. Drakon watches for a moment, then turns around and leaves quietly, not wanting to disturb her. They can talk later.

----

Miryam knows what has to come next. Maybe she has known for a while, deep down, even though she wasn’t brave enough to admit it.

The truth is this: Miryam can’t do it. Her power tearing her to shreds, nightmares chasing her from her sleep, a past she never learned to deal with. The entire Alliance her responsibility, the weight of millions of lives dragging her down. And Jurian, eternally caught in a downward spiral she doesn’t know how to stop, pulling her down with him. It is simply too much. She can’t carry all this weight, she simply isn’t strong enough.

If she doesn’t want to shatter into a million pieces, or die choking on her own power, part of the weight needs to go.

She could still help Jurian. Save him from himself somehow. But she can’t save him and run this Alliance, help them win this war. If she keeps trying, she will break and she will die and then, she will be no use to anyone. So it’s either Jurian or the Alliance. Her people or the man she loves. It’s the cruellest choice.

It’s no choice at all.

Still, Miryam can barely keep her nervousness at bay when she walks into their camp. Soon, it will be just Jurian’s camp, she realizes. The soldiers greet her happily, some ask where she was, and she feels a stab of shame at the thought that she is about to abandon them.

How will things work if Jurian has to run the camp alone? These days, large parts of the day-to-day work in the camp fall to Miryam, Jurian mainly focusing on the military aspect. And what will happen when he once again wants to ignore orders to chase after Amarantha and she isn’t there to stop him? The easiest solution would be for her to stay in the camp, but if she breaks up with him and still stays, nothing would really change.

If Miryam were just a little more responsible, a little braver, she would petition with the council to have Jurian replaced as camp leader. After all, that was the decision she made after the disaster between Jurian and Drakon – Jurian would keep his position, and she would make sure that nothing bad happened. Now that she cannot do that anymore, she should have him replaced. But she knows that she will never be able to do that to him. She can’t leave him and then go behind his back to get him stripped of his position, it would be far too cruel.

Jurian isn’t in his tent, and for a moment, Miryam is almost glad of it. It at least offers her a small reprieve before the inevitable confrontation. She takes her time searching for him, pausing to chat with soldiers several times. It helps that Jurian makes it hard to find him. He isn’t in the sparring ring, nor talking with his captains and one of them assures her that he is not out on a patrol, either. Finally, Miryam finds him in the stables, brushing his stallion’s fur.

She pauses in the door, simply watching him for a moment. He looks so tired, face tense. Looking at him, no one would ever believe that he is not even thirty yet. Miryam desperately, hopelessly wants to turn back the time to the beginning of the war. They weren’t fine back then either, but at least they were happy.

“Hello,” she says softly.

Jurian spins around to her, hand immediately going to his sword. When he recognizes her, he relaxes a bit and gives her a tense smile. “You’re back.”

Back for a moment. Back only to leave again, but this time permanently. Cauldron damn her, she doesn’t want to do this.

“Did everything go well while I was gone?” She asks. A coward’s attempt to delay what she has come here to say.

“Yes. I’ve been trying to figure out new ambush strategies – the last one was a mistake, but that won’t happen again. The next time, I’ll be prepared.”

Miryam nods. She pulls the stable door close behind her and sits down on a ball of hay. “We need to talk,” she says.

Jurian frowns and lowers his brush. “Sounds serious.”

“It is,” Miryam says. She tugs a strand of hair behind her hair, desperately wishing to be anywhere but here. “I don’t think…” She breaks off, then starts again. “I can’t go on like this, Jur.”

His frown deepens. “What do you mean?”

“I just…” She makes a vague hand gesture. “Do you feel like things between us have been going particularly well lately?”

“Are you still angry that I wasn’t there for the spell?” Jurian asks. “Look, I’m sorry about that. It won’t happen again, and –“

“It’s not about the spell,” Miryam interrupts. “It’s about us. Or me, rather. I just…” She shakes her head, can’t get herself to say the words. “I think it would be best if I went to stay in Telique for the time being,” she whispers.

“Does the council require this?” Jurian asks.

“No. But I think it would be for the best – for me – to leave.”

Now, Jurian does turn around to her, eyes narrowed. “Leave the camp?” He asks softly. “Or leave me?”

Miryam lowers her head. “Both,” she whispers.

Jurian stares at her for a few heartbeats, face hard. “Then you ought to go pack,” he finally says and returns to brushing his horse’s fur.

On her hay ball, Miryam freezes. She didn’t know what kind of reaction to expect – from tears over bargaining to anger, all seemed possible. But she would never have expected such a cold dismissal. He might as well have slapped her.

Slowly, Miryam gets to her feet. Tears sting in her eyes, but she forces them down. She refuses to cry. Back straight, she walks out of the stable and quietly closes the door behind herself.

----

Slowly, mechanically, Jurian keeps brushing the horse’s auburn fur. Miryam has left, and he is now alone in the stable. She’s probably packing her things. Maybe she’s already done. Maybe she left already, off to Telique, leaving him behind.

She just left. And he didn’t say anything to stop her. Maybe he should have. He could have begged her to stay, asked for an explanation, offered to change. But if she wanted to talk, she could have said so. Instead, she just chose to leave.

He doesn’t understand. If she had a problem, why didn’t she just say something? Or did she? He tries to remember, but can’t quite manage. Looking back, there might have been a few instances, but… Well, damnit, she should have been clearer. He isn’t a seer or a daemati! How can she expect him to just know what is going on with her at all times?

But maybe he would have seen, if only he had paid less attention to Amarantha and more to her. Amarantha, always Amarantha. She ruins everything. And Miryam… can’t she see what he is trying to do? That he must keep meeting with Clythia, must destroy both her and Amarantha? Only then will things become right again.

Miryam just doesn’t understand. She never did. From the very beginning, she disliked his plan for using Clythia. Time and again, she tried to keep him from fighting against Amarantha. Without her keeping him back, he might have defeated Amarantha already. But Miryam just couldn’t understand, could she?

And still, he loves her.

He’ll make this right. Let her go to Telique for now. While she is gone, he will deal with Amarantha and Clythia. And then, everything will be alright again. She will see.

----

The sunset finds Miryam sitting on a stone outside Drakon’s camp. She lets her feet dangle in the air and watches as the setting sun colours the sky first orange, then red and finally dark violet. The full moon is already in the sky, casting a pale light down on the earth.

The temperatures drop quickly and Miryam shivers in her thin linen clothes. She should probably get up and get back to the camp, but she doesn’t want to move. For the moment, she is content to sit out here and simply watch the sky.

It must be close to midnight when Drakon sits down next to her.

“I brought you a cloak,” he says and hands her a grey wool cloak. Miryam gratefully wraps it around herself, immediately warm.

“Thank you,” she says. “Not just for the cloak. For everything.” Drakon makes to reply, but Miryam quickly adds, “And I haven’t apologized yet, for lying about what was happening with me.”

“I understand why you did it,” Drakon says, which is not quite the same as it’s okay.

“It was still shitty.” More than that.

“Then can we agree that we don’t lie to each other?” Drakon asks. “It doesn’t mean we have to tell each other everything. But I don’t want to always have to second-guess whatever you tell me, trying to figure out if it was true.”

Miryam winces. Her lies always felt harmless, but maybe they weren’t. No lie is ever truly harmless, and “I’m fine” may just be more of a problem than most. Maybe if she’d ever told Jurian the truth, things between them might have gone differently.

“No more lies,” she says softly. “I promise.” She tilts her head backwards and looks up at the moon. “I broke up with Jurian today.”

“Oh,” Drakon says. He sounds a little helpless. “Are you… I mean…”

Miryam is about to tell him that she’s fine, but then, she remembers their agreement not to lie at each other. “It feels like I’m abandoning him,” she says instead. “But I just couldn’t do it anymore.”

Drakon nods, and doesn’t comment further. Miryam is glad – she doesn’t want to be reassured right now. Instead, he asks, “So where are you going now.”

“Telique, for the moment,” she says, thinking of Andromache’s offer. “From there…” She shrugs. “I’ll see.”

----

Tags: @croissantcitysucks @sjm-things

#part 2 of Everyone Dealing With Their Problems #some better other worse #we're moving in towards the end!#well #it's still a long way to go #but the endgame begins relatively soon #miryam #drakon #jurian #amdromache #before the wall

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thran-duils · 4 years ago

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Devils Look Like Angels (Ch. 10)

Title: Devils Look Like Angels (Chapter 10) Summary: Fem!Reader x Psychotic!Castiel. An unhinged, criminal, supernatural artifact collector extraordinaire… and the reader caught his eye. It will not take her long to realize that beneath the charm and mystique is a crazed killer who will go to great lengths to woo her. Words: 2,014 Warnings (for the fic in entirety): Stalking, angst, death/murder, violence

Chap 9 || Chap 11 || Masterpost || Fanfic masterpost

The next envelope that showed up contained an airline ticket to Hawaii.

I feel the need to make up to you. I sincerely apologize for my miscalculation. Please use this ticket to meet me and I can apologize in person. Inclusive stay and all. Yours truly, Castiel.

You tore the ticket and the note up and put the pieces as far down in the trash can as you could to avoid Sam and Dean spotting them. Slamming the lid closed, you stormed out of the kitchen.

Avoiding being vague on the details of your call with Castiel, you confided with them that you had snapped at him. Your calling him out outright only made this situation all the more unstable, and they needed to be in the loop. Rightfully so, Dean and Sam were not keen on you going out alone for walks anymore. Or out alone at all for that matter and for once during this whole debacle, you agreed. They did not leave you alone at the bunker either and you found yourself biting your nails whenever one of them would leave. Horrible things crossed your mind about what Castiel would do if he kidnapped one of them.

The days passed, your body refusing to fully relax. You were having trouble sleeping again and more than once you found one or both of the boys up and about at an ungodly hour, same as you. Netflix was sure getting its use.

One afternoon, Sam knocked on your door, peeking his head through the crack. You lowered your phone, pausing your dissection of the historical non-fiction you were reading.

“Jody called.”

You began to sit up, concerned, “Is she—”

Quickly, Sam added, “She’s fine. Don’t worry.” You relaxed back onto your elbow, waiting for him to continue. He stepped further into the room. “She’s got what sounds like a case. She doesn’t want to go it alone though. So…”

“So.”

“Are you comfortable going? It was a little awkward I had to tell her I needed to call back. Made up some excuse about your feeling unwell and I needed to check cause the vomiting I was hearing.” He sighed and came another step closer. “I don’t want to force you. But I don’t want to leave you here alone especially with this being states away. If you aren’t comfortable, I can reach out to some others in her area and have them help her out instead of us.”

Too quickly, you said, “That won’t’ be necessary. We can do it.” Sam said nothing, narrowing his eyes ever so slightly. “Really. She’s our friend. The least we can do for all the help she’s given us is go for her. I’d feel pretty selfish if we didn’t.”

Sam took that in, nodding in understanding a few moments later. “I get that. Well, I’ll give her a call back. Tell her yeah we can do it and that you’re just hungover; no need to worry about the vomit.”

You chuckled, “Seems believable enough.”

<> <> <>

Falling back onto the couch, you sighed content. Jody was making dinner in the kitchen, a thank you for the assist on the hunt. You could hear Sam in there helping her out. Freshly showered and wrapping yourself up in a fuzzy blanket, you turned the TV on. Dean would come out shortly after he finished showering.

Coming to a stop on Walking Dead, you put the remote down on the coffee table. Zombies were one thing you never wanted to face down, but it was fun to watch.

Jody poked her head into the room, seeing the TV. “Rerun. I was about to tell you to not spoil it if you had Netflix on. I’m only on season six.”

“Super far behind.”

“What can I say? Not usually a lot of time for TV. You want a drink? I’ve got pretty much everything.”

You nodded, asking her for your go to, and thanked her.

As she turned to leave, your phone lit up.

Great.

Reluctantly, you picked it up, nervous about what you were going to find.

I hope you are not still irritated with me, kitten. Perhaps something lowkey to smooth things over? Dinner? We are overdue.

Snorting annoyed, you tossed your phone back down onto the table, refusing to respond.

<> <> <>

When you returned home a couple of days later, he tried again.

What must I do to get back into your good graces? I am at your mercy.

“You were never in my good graces,” you muttered out loud to no one.

<> <> <>

“Zeek invited us down for his birthday, We didn’t go last year.”

This invitation is how you found yourselves in Hot Springs, AR. Admittedly, you had been going stir crazy after coming home from the hunt with Jody and a bar sounded like a good escape. Especially one with friends and even more so, friends who were all hunters. Surrounded by them made you feel more relaxed. Or it was the alcohol. Or a combination of the two. Regardless, you were having fun.

Reaching across the table, you grasped Sam’s arm. “Alright, it’s been a half hour. Can we have another shot yet?”

“Uh, I said an hour. Not a half hour.”

“Man, fuck this. You aren’t our dad,” Dean declared, slamming his hands down on the table as he got up.

You snorted as Sam shook his head, “You’ll regret it in the morning, Dean.”

Defiantly, Dean pointed at Sam and said, “For that old joke, I’m gonna take two now!”

“You’ve already had four and two beers!”

Zeek came up from behind Sam, slurring his words, “Have as much as you want, Dean. It’s my birthday!”

“Hell yeah, it is! Happy birthday!” Dean returned loudly, causing a chorus around him to shout out happy birthday in agreement in Zeek’s direction.

Again, Sam shook his head, smirking a little. “Not the people you should be taking drinking advice from right now.”

“We’ll get you one too, Sammy. Loosen up that stick that’s in your ass,” Dean told him, clapping him on the shoulder as he went by.

“You’re supposed to help me, Y/N,” Sam jokingly scolded you. “Letting me down big time here.”

To appease him, you took a long drink of water. “Better?”

“The only way you won’t be hung over tomorrow is if you keep that up between shots.”

“Duly noted.” Looking around, you asked, “Wasn’t there supposed to be nachos coming?”

Suddenly remembering as well, Sam followed your gaze to the kitchen. “Yeah…”

“Who’s drunk now?”

“Better off than you,” Sam quipped. “I’ll go check on it. It has been awhile. Don’t take the shots without me.”

“Scouts honor. I might go to the bathroom though, so don’t take them without me!”

Sam promised and left the table. You sat for a few moments, tapping your fingers on the table. You really did have to go to the bathroom. Better do it before they got back. When you stood up, you stumbled a little, quickly correcting yourself.

“Whoops,” you giggled quietly to yourself. You took another long drink of water for good measure and then headed towards the bathroom.

You held back a groan seeing how long the line was. The men’s room was on the other side and you contemplated playing too drunk to notice if anyone said anything about you going in there. Solid enough plan. You backed away from the line and turned to go across to the other hall.

When you entered the hall, you frowned realizing the door said ‘exit’ not bathroom. There were woods outside… or maybe an outhouse.

It was a process to make sure you did not pee on yourself as you squatted in the woods right outside the bar. Proud of yourself, you stumbled back through the sticks and undergrowth to the door, barely avoiding tripping over a spare piece of wood that you hissed a curse at.

The door did not budge when you pulled.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” you groaned. “It should say locks behind you!”

You gave the door a swift kick of annoyance before huffing and turning away from it. You pouted as you began to walk around the building towards the front to go back inside. You were sure Sam and Dean would tease you mercilessly so you thought you should keep it to yourself and say you had just gone outside for air.

Coming around the corner, you startled, letting out a small yelp as you came face to face with Castiel.

“I am beginning to have the suspicion you are actively avoiding me,” he informed you calmly. He was dressed in an all blue, crisp suit, black gloves adorning his hands, completely out of place for this backwoods bar.

Swallowing sharply, you felt the numbness of shock thrumming through you at the fact he was standing there in front of you. Your eyes flicked to the front deck, where no one was standing despite the warm air inside and all the smokers.

“Love, you know I took risk coming here to this hunter’s den all so I could speak with you,” Castiel remarked, moving his head to lock eyes with you to get your attention back. He rose his brows expectantly, “Can you please grant me a few moments considering that?”

Defeated at being cornered, you made to shrug but lost your balance, having to quickly catch yourself on the side of the bar.

Castiel reached out protectively to catch you, his hands holding you tight. “How much have you imbibed? Truly? You know that is terrible for your body.”

Snorting at generally everything he said, you told him, “Really? You’re going to chastise me about drinking?”

Steadying you, Castiel informed you tightly, “Quite so. Nobody else in your life appears to care about your health. I should order my men to teach those Winchesters a lesson, frankly, for allowing you to get so damn drunk. When I told them to watch out for you in my absence, I meant it.”

He had his cell out and you realized he really meant to text his men. This meant they were really inside and despite all the friends, they could seriously injure the guys before they got taken down most likely.

“Don’t!” you exclaimed, reaching for his phone.

He yanked it away from you quickly. “Kitten, it is rude to try to reach for other people’s things without permission.”

“Sorry,” you blurted, recoiling. “Don’t do that please. I’m listening. I swear.”

A fleeting smile, “That is all I wanted.” His cell was slipped neatly back into his jacket. He took a step closer to you, “I was beside myself with loneliness in Hawaii. The beaches lacked luster without you. Being stood up… have you ever been? No, I do not imagine you have. It is not a good feeling to say the least. Especially since it was you that did it. And then refusing to even politely decline dinner?”

Before you could say anything, he pressed on, “Come. Join me at my rental. It is on the lake and I am sure you will find it more than agreeable.”

You looked at him taken aback at this invitation to join him overnight. Castiel had a tough time holding back his frustration, “Y/N, please. Give me more credit than that. I do not think of you as some cheap trollop. On my word as a gentleman, I expect nothing more than your company.”

Mind racing, you weighed your options. If you refused him, his men might hurt Sam and Dean. If you went with… you were at his mercy. All alone.

“Come now,” Castiel held out his hand for you to take. “I am sure by now you are being sought out due to absence. Please do not make me spend the night alone in that big empty house.”

He was elated when you placed your hand in his and he helped you to his car.

Driving away, you remembered your phone was still at the table.

~~~

CASTIEL FOREVER TAGS: @willowing-love @perseusandmedusa @greenappleeyes @afanofmanystuffs @earthtokace @shikaros-blog @marisayouass

#castiel x reader #castiel fic #psycho!cas #supernatural fantasy #spn fanfic #psycho!castiel #supernatural fic #spn fic #castiel fanfic #my shit

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dailynewsprime · 4 years ago

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Why does India have so many COVID instances? | Coronavirus pandemic News

Something has gone horribly flawed in India. Today, the nation has reported 346,786 new instances of COVID-19 for the earlier 24 hours, with 2,624 deaths – the world’s highest daily toll for the reason that pandemic started final yr. Overall, almost 190,000 individuals have died from COVID within the nation, whereas greater than 16.6 million have been contaminated. The new outbreak in India is so extreme that hospitals are working out of oxygen and beds, and many individuals who have been taken unwell are being turned away. New Zealand, Hong Kong, the UK and the US have both banned direct flights to and from India, or have suggested residents towards travelling altogether; and the record could properly get longer. The UK’s prime minister, Boris Johnson, who's eager to safe a post-Brexit commerce cope with the nation, has been pressured to cancel a planned trip to India this coming week and, as an alternative, plans to fulfill with President Narendra Modi just about. For a rustic the place COVID numbers gave the impression to be dropping dramatically just some weeks in the past, what has gone so flawed in India? The Indian variant, generally known as B.1.617, seems to be wreaking havoc within the nation. Since April 15, India has been reporting greater than 200,000 instances of coronavirus on daily basis and its capital, Delhi, just lately introduced a week-long lockdown after an increase in instances there overwhelmed the healthcare system. “If we don’t impose a lockdown now, we might face a bigger calamity,” Delhi Chief Minister Arvind Kejriwal mentioned as he addressed the town on Indian tv on April 19. Worryingly, mattress areas and oxygen supplies in hospitals seem like stretched, with experiences of sick sufferers being turned away from hospitals and social media feeds crammed with distraught relations whose family members can not entry the healthcare they want. On Wednesday this week, because the COVID toll was rising, Delhi’s highest court docket took the bizarre step of publicly criticising the central authorities and its method to managing the nation’s oxygen disaster. The court docket was listening to a petition filed by Max Hospitals looking for pressing assist to tide over the oxygen scarcity it was dealing with in six of its hospitals within the capital. “Human lives are not that important for the State it means. We are shocked and dismayed that government doesn’t seem to be mindful to the extremely urgent need of medical oxygen,” the Bench said. “We direct Centre to provide safe passage…so that such supplies are not obstructed for any reason whatsoever,” it mentioned. “Hell will break loose .” Damning phrases for the federal government in a time of disaster. It shouldn't be completely clear why this surge has occurred in India, however it's prone to be due to crowded occasions organised within the run-up to elections – President Modi himself hit the marketing campaign path addressing election rallies in Kerala, Tamil Nadu and Puducherry on March 30 because the upturn of instances started. Large teams and social gatherings throughout spiritual festivals have additionally performed a component, in addition to the re-opening of public areas and easing of lockdown measures which passed off steadily all through 2020 with the ultimate “unlocking” of restrictions taking place in December 2020. There can also be a lot concern in regards to the emergence of recent variants of the coronavirus in India. It is believed the dominant pressure within the nation now's the variant which was first recognized within the UK, and which has proven to be as much as 60 p.c extra transmissible between people. On March 25, it was additional introduced {that a} new “double mutant” variant had been detected in India, now generally known as the “Indian variant”. This growth is what has different international locations spooked. The Indian authorities don't assume this new variant has but change into the dominant COVID pressure within the nation, however it's prone to be contributing to the growing numbers. Genome sequencing of the brand new variant has proven that it has two vital mutations: 1. The E484Q mutation: This is just like the E484K mutation recognized within the Brazil and South African variants, which have additionally been reported in latest months. The concern is that this mutation can change elements of the coronavirus spike protein. The spike protein types a part of the coronavirus outer layer and is what the virus makes use of to make contact with human cells. Once contact has been made, the coronavirus then makes use of the spike protein to bind to the human cells, enter them and infect them. The immune response that the vaccines stimulate creates antibodies that concentrate on the spike protein of the virus particularly. Therefore, the fear is that if a mutation adjustments the form of the spike protein considerably, then the antibodies could not be capable of recognise and neutralise the virus successfully, even in those that have been vaccinated. Scientists are inspecting whether or not this may increasingly even be the case for the E484Q mutation. 2. The L452R mutation: This has additionally been present in a variant regarded as chargeable for outbreaks in California. This variant is believed to extend the spike protein’s capacity to bind to human host cells, thereby growing its infectivity. A examine of the mutation additionally suggests it could assist the virus to evade the neutralising antibodies that each the vaccine and former an infection can produce, although that is nonetheless being examined. This new wave in India has been devastating for the nation. A coordinated response is required between Indian states and central authorities to handle the provision of oxygen and important medicine if the variety of COVID-related deaths is to be introduced beneath management. There can also be a priority that we do not know the true number of deaths from COVID, as some individuals have died at house earlier than they might get to hospital and many others in India, notably in rural areas, have had issue accessing testing services. Pressure urgently must be lifted off the healthcare system and the one approach to do this is to ramp up the vaccination programme, strengthen social distancing procedures and re-introduce lockdown measures.

In the physician’s surgical procedure: Teaching medical college students throughout a pandemic

One of my passions as a physician is with the ability to move on my information to the docs of tomorrow. I have accomplished it for years and am a senior lecturer at two UK universities. A big a part of the instructing I do includes getting my college students to talk to and study sufferers. This has been a problem within the final 12 months as bringing sufferers into the surgical procedure for them to see college students has been too dangerous, and the sufferers that tended to have the sicknesses the scholars wanted to see have been usually shielding to cut back the probabilities of them catching COVID-19. Medical college students have been lending a serving to hand to COVID-ravaged hospitals everywhere in the world, and their help has been welcomed by many. But we additionally want to arrange them for a world past COVID and, within the restricted time we have with them, to make sure they're ready for a variety of medical circumstances from the bodily to the psychological. But how can we do this in the event that they have been unable to see sufferers as regular? Technology has been the reply. Our surgical procedure, the place I work as a household physician in Bradford, northern England, is fortunate sufficient to have a scientific abilities lab that college students can study in. This is a room that has “model” physique elements that the scholars can use for examination functions. Students can come into the surgical procedure and, initially, maintain phone consultations with sufferers, chatting with actual sufferers who ring in about their illnesses. The college students file a medical historical past by chatting with the sufferers and try to give you a administration plan which they then run previous me or one other physician for approval. Because the scholars can not study the sufferers bodily, we then make a listing of the examinations the scholars would have accomplished and, as soon as their clinic record is full, transfer over to the scientific abilities lab. I then ask them to observe the examination they might have accomplished on the fashions. This may embody a chest examination, a rectal or vaginal examination. The fashions will be adjusted so that every time the scholar makes use of them they may make a distinct examination discovering, equivalent to a brand new lump or irregular respiration sounds. It actually is kind of intelligent. Although it is going to by no means actually exchange the true factor, this methodology has allowed us to maintain medical schooling going all through the pandemic – one thing that has challenged medical colleges the world over.

And now, some excellent news: Exercising can cut back the dangers of COVID

A brand new study by Glasgow Caledonian University in Scotland has proven that common train can cut back the chance of getting infections like COVID-19 by as much as 37 p.c. The researchers carried out a full-scale systematic overview of 16,698 worldwide epidemiological research revealed between January 1980 and April 2020, with world-renowned immunologists and epidemiologists from University College London (UCL) within the UK and Ghent University (UGent) in Belgium, in addition to train and sports activities scientists from Cádiz University in Spain and a public well being marketing consultant from NHS Lanarkshire (NHSL) within the UK. They discovered that doing half-hour of train which will get you out of breath and a bit sweaty 5 instances every week strengthens your immune response to infectious ailments. It is believed that common train will increase the variety of immune cells within the physique appearing on the primary line of defence – the mucosal layer of antibodies. These cells are chargeable for figuring out international brokers or “germs” within the physique with out miserable the remainder of the immune system, so it’s completely protected and protects you towards infectious illness. We have recognized for a while about the advantages train can have for an individual’s general bodily and psychological well being. Now, within the time of COVID, it has been proven to assist enhance your immune system too. So the message is obvious; get open air and train in the event you can or to the health club whether it is in line with your native COVID tips. If neither is feasible, your kitchen or front room is a wonderfully good place to do half-hour of dancing, leaping or no matter floats your boat!

Reader’s query: Is it protected to go to my hospital appointment throughout a pandemic?

Over the previous 12 months, individuals have repeatedly been informed that the most secure place for them is house and that hospitals are busy coping with COVID-19 sufferers. While that's true, it is usually vital to do not forget that different sicknesses have not gone away. I have discovered that many of my sufferers are usually not attending their appointments for different circumstances as a result of they're frightened about catching COVID or assume their sickness shouldn't be as vital as coronavirus. Hospitals and GP surgical procedures everywhere in the world have gone out of their option to make massive elements of their buildings COVID-free. This implies that they can be utilized for non-COVID-related companies and workers working there is not going to be crossing over to cowl COVID wards or clinics. So, in the event you obtain an appointment to attend a clinic or hospital service, it's actually vital that you simply do go. Read the full article

#Asia #Coronaviruspandemic #Doctor'sNote #Features #Health #India

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littlemisssquiggles · 5 years ago

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Whit-ty Headcanons: Whitley Is Punished by Tyrian Callows?

In light of the upcoming Schnee Dinner episode, I find myself concocting more and more headcanons of how things could play out for this event. Particularly when it comes to Jacques and Whitley. It truly makes me wonder just how far Jacques is willing to go just to get his own way.

Not to mention how much it will take for Whitley remove the blindfold from his eyes and realize that his father isn’t the man he pegs him to be. With this thought in mind, I’ve been pondering ways in which the episode might play out for these two men in particular and then a very chilling thought came to mind.

What if…Whitley is caught snooping around Jacques’ office by Tyrian Callows when he’s having another meeting with Watts and as punishment for disobeying him, Jacques just lets Tyrian beat up Whitley as a means of teaching him a firm lesson in discipline?

Before my fellow Whits come at me with pitchforks for having the chaps to even suggest such a heinous thing to happen to our boy, as always, hear this squiggly Whit out. I know the notion of Jacques having Tyrian---a homicidal mass murder from Anima with sadistic tendencies--- punish Whitley---a more or less innocent child; Jacques’ child and current heir--- just for snooping around will be an all-time low even for the likes of Jacques Schnee. But y’know what? Weirdly enough, I can actually see this being a possibility given the kind of malicious man Jacques is shaping up to be.

As RWBY has highlighted many times, Jacques cares very little for anyone but himself and would more than willingly sacrifice his entire family’s happiness if it brought him a crumb of financial fortune. Not to mention that I think Whitley’s super sleuth luck has to run out at some point. Presumably sooner than I think.

We’ve seen Whitley successfully snoop on his father in the past as evidenced by his first appearance back in V4. But as mentioned, that luck will run out. I have a feeling that CH8 could potentially begin with Jacques having another meeting in person with Watts at Schnee Manor; only this time Tyrian joins him. Since the Military are still keeping Tyrian’s identity under wraps from the general public, Tyrian is free to walk into Schnee Manor and not stir any suspicions at all with the staff; particularly the ones incredibly loyal to Jacques.

I’m picturing Tyrian just standing menacingly in the background; waiting patiently for Watts to finish going over the next stage of their plan with Jacques. It is Tyrian who ends up outing Whitley after finding him…I dunno listening in from a hidden space in Jacques office or…listening in at the door when he’s not supposed to be near it?

To Whitley’s horror, Tyrian drags him into the office and kind of stands over Whitley in a sort of preying position. Terrified, Whitley looks to his father to help him. However, instead of telling Watts off or advising him to call off Tyrian from harming his son, Jacques does the unthinkable.

All the Schnee Man says is “Don’t hurt him too much and keep away from his face. I need him to look his best for the dinner tonight.”

So basically, Jacques allows Tyrian to hurt Whitley as a form of punishment. So Whitley ends up being forced to attend the Schnee Dinner anyways in spite of nursing some pretty bad injuries from his encounter with Tyrian inclusive of a few broken bones.

Remember my theory from yesterday about Whit knowing the truth about his father’s plans for Ironwood and his sisters with him behaving funny all night?

Well here’s an alternative version of that concept. Let’s say…Whitley reunites with his sisters for the first time at their father’s celebratory dinner. However Weiss is the one to notice something rather off about her brother’s behaviour. According to Weiss, Whitley was quieter than usual and seemed rather unwell at the party and she even makes a comment to Whit about his rather sickly demeanour to which he denies.

Let’s say…it’s the first time Weiss has ever seen her brother behave so strangely---at least since their time together back in V4 and even then he didn’t act this oddly reserved.

Let’s say…because Whitley was in so much pain from his “earlier punishment”, he even refused to eat anything at the party---not even to enjoy a plate of his favourite crepes dessert. This action especially throws Weiss off as she’d been low-key observing Whit since she and the others got to the party.

Long story short, Weiss ends up pulling Whitley aside so the two siblings could “catch up”. During this time, Weiss grills Whitley for information on their father---asking if he knew anything. Of course, Whitley tries to act all aloof as he did back in V4 but his bravado fails as he kept suspiciously hugging his chest.

Noticing this, Weiss turns her interrogation on questioning Whitley about himself---how he’s been doing since he’s all alone with Jacques.

This question seems to somewhat trigger Whitley as he responds in anger; lambasting Weiss for daring to ask him such a thing since, from Whitley’s perspective, she’s never once cared about him in the sixteen years he’s been alive (I’d like to think that Whit is closer to Ruby’s age than Oscar’s).

Weiss flinches at this accusation. She then switches to a more sympathetic tone of voice. Whitley goes to storm off but Weiss immediately reaches out and grabs his arm, stopping him. Gently, Weiss reveals her suspicions to Whitley about her father being up to something that could result in no-good for everyone; especially Mama Schnee and even Whit who were still with Jacques.

In the end, Weiss expresses her worry for the fate of their family. Her worry for their mother. Her worry for Whitley. Basically it ends in Weiss practically begging Whitley for his help. She knows she hasn’t always been the ‘best big sister’ to him or even the warmest person in general. However Weiss has changed a lot since Whitley last saw her; growing even more into a kind-hearted person.

As I said, in this version of my headcanon, just as how Snow White begged the Huntsmen sent to kill her by the Wicked Queen to spare her life---Weiss asks Whitley to help her with unveiling whatever wicked scheme she feared their father was planning. And just like the Huntsman from the fairy-tale, Whitley does help Weiss. But not before collapsing before her, finally succumbing to her injuries.

Previously, I’ve heard one or two RWBY theorists---inclusive of RWBY Youtuber: EruptionFang theorize that Whitley has secretly been abused by Jacques for years without his sisters’ knowledge. An intriguing theory and while I’m unsure if we’ll see it rationalized into the canon, I’m going to add my own spin on that longstanding Whit theory.

Basically Whitley collapses before Weiss complaining of pain in his chest. Immediately…Weiss reacts to help her brother but as Weiss inspects Whitley, to her dismay, she is stunned to discover several bruises across his chest and abdomen including an open slash across his stomach that was being held together by several sloppily tied bandages which were now soaked in a bit of blood.

Let’s say…Weiss asks Klein to bring Jaune but advises him to be discreet as a means of not attracting the attention of their father. So Klein brings Jaune to Weiss and with her permission, Jaune uses his semblance to heal Whitley.

All the while, Weiss stayed by Whitley’s side, cradling his unconscious body. Even Klein is horrified to see the state of the “young master”. Weiss then questioned Klein if he knew about what happened to Whitley only for Klein to sadly inform Weiss that since her departure, Jacques hasn’t allowed him to set foot near Whitley; designating him to other duties while Jacques himself saw to Whit’s development.

Let’s say…while healing Whitley, Jaune discovers other injuries on his body---ones that weren’t recent and seemed to have been healing for months. Thus indicating to Weiss the truth of what he brother had been going through since she left.

Eventually in a nutshell, Whitley regains consciousness and from here, he proceeds to help Weiss by firstly warning her of what Jacques was truly up to. But…not before one small exchange of dialogue.

Whitley: What… happened to me?

Weiss: You passed out but don’t worry; Jaune is going to take good care of you.

Whitley: …Who…is Jaune?

Weiss: He’s a friend of mine so you’re in great hands.

Whitley: Another…huntsman? A huntsman saved my life? Well…that’s annoying!

Jaune: Wow. He really is your brother.

This doesn’t have to happen but…I think this could’ve been a cute way to show that Whit is more like his sister than she realized. Not to mention, it’s a cheeky call back to both V4 and V5. The irony of Whitley saying huntsmen were “barbaric” and “beneath people like him and his father”; only for his snooty ass to be saved by one. Such poetic satire.

Anyways, if something like this were to somehow happen in the canon for the new episode, I want a few things to come out of it:

Similar to how Weiss finally addressed her team as her family in front of her father, I think it’d be pretty sweet for Weiss to acknowledge Jaune as her friend in front of another family member of hers like Whitley.

As much as I like White Knight as a ship, I don’t necessarily need them to end up together romantically. For now, this squiggle meister is more interested in Weiss and Jaune have a solid friendship built on mutual trust and knowing each other better than they ever did in the past.

After all, we all know how big of a rocky start these two had in the beginning. This is why I’m excited for the Dinner Party setting. To me, RWBY V7CH8 is a chance for the CRWBY to make a parallel to RWBY V2CH7: Dance, Dance Infiltration.

If I recall correctly, Jaune never got the opportunity to tell Weiss what he truly thought about her. Personally I’d like for this small plot point to be revisited. As a matter of fact, since we got May Marigold, I’m kind of banking on Henry Marigold making a comeback too. I know some folks think that May might be a sex-changed Henry and while I myself did ponder that a bit too, I’m more leaning towards the more simpler idea that Henry and May are just related. Probably siblings or cousins.

Speaking of, I have a feeling like CH8 will also harken back to the V4 episode where Henry made his debut. My hunch is that Henry and his family will also be invited to Jacques’ Dinner again. Perhaps the Marigolds are a Council Family with one of Henry and May’s close relatives holding a seat on the Atlesian Council. I like the idea of May coming from a family who help govern the Kingdom of Atlas yet she instead chooses to use her influence to work with the representative of Mantle for the betterment of Mantle. Now that could be a cool detail for May.

Anyways, as I was saying, Henry returns in CH8 and he and Weiss meet again for the first time since V4. However, unlike like last time, Henry isn’t as gentlemanly with Weiss. As a matter of fact, he’s a complete asshat to her.

Let’s say, Henry harasses Weiss at the dinner which then leads into two things:

Firstly, Jaune, to Weiss’ surprise, coming to her defence against Henry and secondly, May showing up to put a lid on her baby brother.

May then makes Henry apologize to Weiss before dragging him off by the ear back to their family table for daring to disrespect a woman (especially when his sister was nearby). Currently there’s a wee bit of tension between our heroes and the Happy Huntresses given how things went down at Robyn’s Watch Party. Not to mention that of all the Huntresses, May has somewhat been the most seemingly aggressive one.

So it’d be kind of sweet if we got a scene where has a gentler side; more understanding side to her that isn’t as hardened. Who knows? Perhaps that’s why she became a huntress in the first place and joined up with Robyn? Maybe May comes from a family where as a woman, she felt disrespected because she often treated as if she wasn’t tough enough to go toe-to-toe with the men of her family. That was part of her motive for becaming a huntress---to prove to all who doubted her strength that they clearly misjudged her…or something like that. Mostly speculating here.

Anyways, after a scene like this, Jaune stays in Weiss’ company and the two actually have a pretty decent chat in which Jaune confesses how he really thinks of Weiss. It’s not meant to be interpreted as romantic but more as a step in the right direction of Jaune and Weiss becoming legit good friends.

Who knows? Maybe we might even get a little nod back to their untold movie lime with Oscar with the two sharing a laugh over that night’s crazy shenanigans with a possible promise to do it again; even if it’s just the two of them this time. As friends, of course.

I dunno. I just really, really would like to see Jaune and Weiss alone together, talking as friends since we’ve honestly never gotten that with the two of them. It could be a wholesome thing but this is just my opinion.

A theory like this can also show Weiss showing concern for Whitley. In the past, the impression I got from Weiss’ interactions with her brother was that Whit seemed more like an annoyance to Weiss…or rather he was someone she clearly didn’t trust most likely due to his similarities to their father in terms of appearance. So basically Weiss believed that Whitley was going to turn out more like Jacques. It wouldn’t surprise me if Weiss and Whit used to be close when they were toddlers until Jacques started grooming Whit to be more like him.

I think CH8 could be a good chance to touch a bit more on Weiss’ relationship with her brother, as well as Mama Schnee.

Again, as much as I like the Schnee-sisters’ dynamic---I’ve frankly seen enough of their interactions to gage their bond. Basically, I get it. Weiss and Winter are close.

The same can be said for Weiss and Jacques. Yes, I get that too! Weiss suffered a very overwrought relationship with her father due to his ways for most of her life.

This has been Weiss’ song and dance since her first character trailer. Basically what I’m trying to say here is that I hope that CH8 highlights Weiss focusing not on her sister and father but on her relationship with her mother and brother for a nice change. Even more interesting if all of that is tied in with the narrative of the episode fleshing out her budding friendship with Jaune. Maybe?

I understand some folks are probably banking on this dinner being all about our young heroes being little fishes out of water attending their first cordial party at Schnee Manor. However for this squiggle meister, I’m more looking forward to the conversations, man.

I think this season has been building up to a few much needed chats between certain characters or certain groups of characters and I’d like to think that a more seemingly “relaxed” atmosphere could be provide the perfect setting to jumpstart some of those longstanding conversations. For CH8, I’m expecting the following interactions to be focal point of the episode:

Ironwood talking to Jacques Weiss talking to Willow (Mama Schnee) Weiss talking to Whitley Weiss talking to Jaune (possibly)

Blake and Yang talking to Robyn (I have a feeling she’s going to be at the dinner too so there’s that follow up from CH7) Ren talking to Nora (because for Pete’s sake, that NEEDS to happen at this point, for REAL)

And last but certainly not least, Oscar talking to Ruby (because that also needs to happen at this point too. I haven’t forgotten V7CH3).

I know that CH8 is only 15:37 mins long. Nevertheless, V2CH7 (the OG dance party episode) was 15:05 mins long and that episode managed to pull off a lot in a surprisingly short space of time.

So you could say I have full faith that we can get a lot of really great character interactions for this upcoming new episode.

But y’know this is only me. Hears to hopefully getting my wish with that. At least for the Weiss and Whitley part of it.

~LittleMissSquiggles (2019)

#rwby #whitley schnee #weiss schnee #jaune arc #oscar pine #rwby theories #rwby volume 7 theories #rwby volume 7 spoilers #whitty headcanons

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