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borkthemork · 3 years ago

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think you can do a drabble based around maddie and marcy? maybe set after season 3 with the two just bonding over sorcery in peace afterall that tragedy. i mainly just wanna see more of the former in fanfiction 'cause she's way too interesting a character not ti have a ton of wriitng based around her.

"We need a cup of grounded Baphomet root."

"You got it!"

"And don't forget to grind it very well," Maddie instructed, tapping her chin as she looked through the book’s contents. “If we don’t do this correctly then we’ll bewitch the entire forest and I really don't want to be grounded for the rest of my life."

Taking the mortar and pestle Marcy smiled, letting out a light scoff. "I think we'll be fine. We've been doing this for months, and you're talking to a guaranteed perfectionist over here.”

That was true, but Maddie still ogled the ingredients in front of her. Everything looked in place. There was a distiller, jars of various contents they scrounged up from the forest, and the whiff of sulfur from the newly-churned pot reassured Maddie enough that yes, they should be on the right track.

The only worry came to exact measurements, or that aforementioned bewitching if they messed up. With the amount of potions and hexes she made during the Battle of Newtopia, Maddie could say that she leveled up enough to handle this rank of magic, but best to be prepared regardless.

Especially now that Marcy was back in one piece...and it would be awful if she had to endure another stressful situation just from a simple mistake in the calculations.

“Hey, Teach.” Marcy walked toward her. Looking down, Maddie was pleased to see that the roots had been grounded to a fine powder. A fine powder full of death and bad choices. “If we grind all of this together, do you think we have enough time for a potion? I was thinking...something spicy.”

“Spicy?” Maddie arched an eyebrow. “If you’re talking about fire potions, we don’t got any ingredients to—”

“No, no. Not like that.”

Okay, so no fire potions. But Marcy wasn’t making any sense at the moment, or at least giving Maddie a straight answer. “Then what are you implying? We’ve done protective seals, bond material, and cursed nutritional dirt. Potions take longer.” Not to mention that they spent an entire day with dark magic. They were practically going to be out past her curfew, which was a massive no in her book. “So what’s the rush?”

“Weelll,” Marcy pursed her lips. She was skipping around the subject again, but before Maddie could say anything else, Marcy grabbed the book and started flipping through. “I took a gander at your book a few hours ago, and I recalled seeing this chapter that talked about advanced healing.”

“Uhuh.”

“And I wanted to see if there’s a way to heal deep scarring, 'cause trying to get treatment back home isn’t uhh—” Marcy rubbed the back of her neck. “—working so good.”

Oh.

Maddie fumbled with her hands for a moment. “Right, Earth doesn’t have magic.”

“We know how to remove scars, but yeah can’t do much with big pharma these days. Well, I can go to Finland, but that’s long-term planning.” Marcy shrugged. “Doesn’t matter anyway. Since I’m here I wanted to research the idea. Doesn’t hurt to try.”

With that, Marcy turned the book. The page she was on displayed numerous pictures and lists about growth and skin development, and sounded like something that could transition Maddie to a Level Four Witch if she and Marcy had the time to fulfill it.

“Okay, I can definitely work with this,” Maddie mumbled. “I’ve never healed scarring before, so I wouldn’t mind practicing if you’re up for that.”

“Totally!” Marcy tapped a finger at her shirt’s center. “Test away. After all, it’s the only way to check out a hypothesis.”

Maddie understood that well, but that wasn’t what she was worried about.

Few nights would pass as the two started their newest project. Advanced healing needed a lot of ethereal products; thankfully, Joe Sparrow and a few messages to-and-from Newtopia had allowed them to gather the materials from the farthest corners of the continent.

Some pinches of obsidian rock salt. Jugs of spider milk. A cache of ticks, axolotl slime, and a whole load of bio-luminescent mushrooms. Everything they gathered were at their purest form, but what surprised the two most of all was that when the book ‘needed ethereal products’ they didn’t expect it to take practically a full month to cover their bases.

Or that Marcy would grow more and more tense with the oncoming passing of days.

Marcy had been chipper about the whole concept — enthusiastic too because who wouldn’t want to be enthusiastic about cheating the natural cycle of body decay? But still, actually hearing mention of what happened months prior was still awkward to partake in.

Maddie wasn’t dense. Observation was a key skill for a witch to have. If one didn’t watch simmered milk then that milk would eventually froth and explode. If one didn’t check the accuracy in volume then consider yourself cursed for all eternity. Observing ingredients was akin to observing people, of how their facial expressions twitched and stretched even when it was hard to see inside their thick skulls.

For Marcy, they were friends. It wasn’t that hard to know when she had something on her mind. Being the enthusiastic assistant she was, any stress that piled on to the work led to the typical signs: Marcy’s voice would get strained in higher pitch, less focused with the work at hand, and trying to get a forward answer from her became straight-up impossible.

So on a day like this, where the blood moon peeked through the canopies and bathed them in light, Maddie had to ask the question:

“Are you alright?”

Marcy glanced at her. Her arms were occupied, stripping the last of the conifer leaves into the bowl below her. “I’m good. Pretty fine if I do say so myself.”

“I think you’re lying.”

Her assistant widened her eyes, but when Maddie stared more Marcy didn’t seem to be that surprised. She just laughed. “Aw c’mon, Maddie. Give me a good reason as to why I’d be lying right now.”

“Well, you’re an inch away from putting the conifers into the Bunsen burner.”

“Wait, I am?”

“And now they’re on fire.” For the fifth time.

Marcy shoved the tinder into the water pot beside her, mumbling a string of ‘Ow’s under her breath. When the smoke fizzled out, Marcy’s shoulders slumped. “Okay, you've got a point. I am pretty out of it today.”

“You want to talk about it?”

"Well," Marcy set her instruments down, and bore wearily at the table's surface. "I just really want this to work. Back on Earth there's a potential guarantee that the scar will heal, but there's still that pesky margin of error, regardless. And even if I get the treatment I need, it'll never remove it.”

"In Amphibia, I've witnessed the miracle of revival and resuscitation,” she continued, starting to gesticulate. “These are things unexplainable to my world's current rules, anything’s possible. So...I just want to make sure this potion doesn’t fail.”

Maddie furrowed her eyebrows. "Why though?"

"Huh?"

"I get it. You want to heal your scar, but what's so bad about having one?" Maddie asked. "It shows you survived, and surviving isn't a bad thing."

Marcy's expression grew illegible.

Maddie stopped. "If it's really personal, I'll just get back to making the—"

"No, no, it's okay." Marcy's lips twitched. She looked exhausted now, and Maddie wondered if she crossed some line in their friendship that should never be crossed. But before she could say anything, Marcy continued. "I'm gonna be honest for a second. Is it okay to spill something dark? Are you okay with that?"

"We're all about dark things here."

Marcy giggled. She stared more into the pot, brewing the concoction to a creamy mush. They both remained like that for a while, until the mush coagulated into clots.

"I don't want to see the mistakes I made."

Maddie glanced at her. The jade pot glow held the outline of her face, accentuating the curve of her brow, the grimace on her lips.

“I don’t want to think it’s selfish, but I have to look at that scar in the mirror everyday,” she said. “It drives me nuts sometimes, can you believe it?” She chuckled. “I wake up everyday and think ‘wow, I cannot believe this happened, and that I trusted a jerk like him’.”

Marcy sprinkled something into the gunk.

“And sometimes, even when I’m trying to be mindful of my causes, then the scar’s association switches from guilt of betraying everyone I love to the guilt of being duped so easily. I can’t win. Pretty dang weird.”

For a moment, Maddie remained silent, not knowing what to say. She had never seen Marcy so downtrodden before. During the Battle of Newtopia, she had only seen a few glimpses of her face during the rescue, and when they returned to Wartwood, any appearance of Marcy grew lesser so due to the stress of oncoming war.

But now, Marcy was showing vulnerability, and it was the first time Maddie grew stunned to no response.

Before Maddie could say anything else, Marcy laughed. She lifted her spoon from the pot contents, and showed off the goop melded to its surface, shiny in the eery light. “Look at that! You know we’re almost finished when it smells like rotten oatmeal! We just need to let it ferment for a while and then the potion should be ready.”

“Hey, Marcy.”

Her assistant paused, a quizzical look on her feature. “Yeah?”

“You know I respect you.” Maddie held her scrutiny. “And the fact you’re very much into dark stuff as much as me.”

“Of course, who doesn’t love eldritch concepts?”

“A lot of people,” Maddie said. The words were stuck in her throat. After all, what was the correct way to say condolences? Either way, she went for it. Marcy needed the support. “Anyway, what I’m trying to say is that if this potion is really important to you, I’m going to make sure it works. No mess-ups. No unneeded side-effects. As long as it makes daily life easier for you, then I’ll take the chances. And even if it doesn’t work, perhaps there’s another way. Whatever happens, my book’s always open.”

Maddie recognized the beaming expression on Marcy’s face. It practically lit the entire forest. “Hey, has anyone told you that you’re the best teacher an assistant can ever have?”

Nope. But it was great to be told the first time.

#amphibia #amphibia spoilers #Marcy Wu #asks #Anonymous #Here you go anon #fanfic #Maddie Flour

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jattendschaton · 4 years ago

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lost in you

My piece for the @mlwriterzine. Thank you to the mods for creating such an incredible project!

And thank you so much for reading and providing feedback @the-picayune and @kryallaorchid, your ideas and encouragement were essential and I cannot be more grateful!

AO3

Ladybug and Chat Noir have always communicated in unthinking touches. An arm wrapped around a waist to launch them through the sky, a hand squeezing a shoulder in reassurance and shared strength, a flick on the nose to satiate that magnetic pull, that irresistible tug which binds them together. It’s comfortable—natural. As true to the earth as the moon pulling on the sea. It’s not until after the curtain drops and the masks fade away that Marinette realizes she never believed those easy touches would stop. With an honest heart, she thought leaving their identities behind would only open the door for more casual affection, for fingerpads to glide like silk before tightening around an elbow and playful shoves of shoulders under the chaos of video game fire.

But sometimes, she’s afraid to look at him. She’s terrified to see the emotion when their eyes connect and even more afraid to have to watch them snap away. The air between them is always thick and heavy, a shroud of unsaid words blocking them from making contact. It makes Marinette’s heart ache in a way she isn’t entirely comfortable acknowledging.

It does not take long for everyone around them to notice. She agrees to spend lunch with Alya and Nino, but she never sits beside Adrien. The four will partner up for class assignments, but when she breaks her pencil, Adrien barely glances up as he passes her a new one. They’re so careful not to touch, so careful not to look, so careful not to hope.

It’s almost three weeks after their biggest secrets were torn from unyielding lips that Adrien and Marinette are forced together.

Bathed in the yellow light of an autumn sun, Marinette pretends it’s only a trick of light that gives Adrien an angelic glow as his hand tugs at the hair on the nape of his neck uncomfortably. His shoulders are shrugged and his smile sheepish. She wishes he’d make eye contact with her. She wishes he won’t.

“It’s okay, Alya,” Adrien says. “I don’t need to go into the maze. I was just curious.”

“You have to go!” Alya’s eyes are fiery and ready to fight. Even Marinette worries for Adrien’s safety when she sees their unwavering determination. “This is one of the best mazes in France, nay, the world! You can’t deprive yourself of the opportunity.”

“But if no one else wants to go—” “Marinette wants to go!” Whipping her head around so fast her glasses start to slip down her nose, Alya smiles victoriously. “Don’t you, Marinette? You were just telling me how much you adore going through mazes once the weather is right. Now’s the perfect time.”

“How thoughtful of you, Alya,” Marinette says through gritted teeth. “You have the best ideas. Can I talk to you for a sec about that incredible brain of yours over there?” She jabs her thumb over her shoulder but doesn’t wait for Alya to agree before she grasps her hand and drags her to an empty spot.

“What are you doing?” Alya asks, peaking over her shoulder at the group of friends they just left behind. “This is going to be fantastic! You’ll get to have some alone time with Adrien, finally work out whatever tension is going on between you two, and be disgustingly in love by the end of the night.” Marinette leans her head in to whisper, but the passion behind her words is unmistakable. “We can barely even look at each other!”

“Trust me, we’ve all noticed. You two have been uneasy and restless around each other for weeks now. You’re wound so tight, any more and you’ll snap.” “All?” “The entire class has noticed at this point. You practically jump out of your seat every time Adrien so much as glances at you, and he’s so hyperaware of you at all times I’m half-convinced he’s psychic ‘cause he’s already handing you a tissue before you’ve even sneezed. You two may not be synchronized, but you’re definitely in sync.” “That doesn’t even make sense!” Marinette wraps her arms around herself, pulling her cardigan tight to her chest. She wants to pretend it’s to fight off the chilling breeze, but Alya knows her better than that. Clothing has always been Marinette’s armor. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Alya gives her a long look, gaze piercing and inscrutable. “You two shift together constantly,” she explains slowly, like she’s talking to a child. “It’s not that you’re moving in the exact same way, but it’s like you’re dancing or something. He takes a step forward, you take a step back. You raise your arm, his lowers. It’s like you’re magnets, perfectly opposing so your every move complements the other.”

Marinette is speechless for a moment, but as her brain starts functioning again, she has enough presence of mind to shake her head. “That doesn’t—that’s not—we barely even talk—” “Look, you don’t have to believe me, but I know you. And I know how you feel about him. And anyone with eyes can see how he feels about you, so why are you trying so hard to avoid spending time with him?” “Feelings can change,” she says with a helpless shrug. “But have they?” Marinette avoids Alya’s eyes. The absence of an answer is enough. “It’s just a maze,” Alya reminds her, brushing a hand down her arm comfortingly. “You’re not going to be locked with him forever.”

“I wouldn’t put it past you. We already had to hand our phones in at the start of the trip, this sounds like the beginning of a classic Alya-scheme.”

A hand flies to Alya’s chest dramatically. “The audacity!” she gasps.

Marinette raises an eyebrow and Alya breaks, laughing as she wraps an arm around her friend’s shoulders.

“As if Nino would let me.”

***

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” Adrien walks with his hands in his pockets, head down. He barely glances in Marinette’s direction until the sound of her feet crunching over the tangled plants and dirt stops and he realizes she isn’t by his side anymore. “You know I like you, right?” Marinette asks without warning and he trips over his own feet.

She looks as though she’s going to reach out a hand to steady him, but more words are tumbling out of her mouth in a flurrying storm and he can barely brace himself for the emotional onslaught. “Not-not like that, I mean, I would never just stop and say that to you, of course that would be so lame and not what I meant, I was trying to say that I still like being your friend, and I know things have been weird but I don’t want you to think I would ever take your friendship for granted, you mean so much to me—all my friends mean so much to me, not just you—not that you don’t mean more to me than everyone else—” “I like you, too.” He doesn’t even register the words as they puff out of his mouth, swirling between them like the dead leaves picked up by the wind.

“Oh. Good. Th-that’s, that’s good.”

“Are we okay?” He takes a step towards her. “It sort of seems like we haven’t been.”

She stares at him for a moment and it’s like she can see through him. His skin is glass and she’s too jagged to keep him from shattering.

“Of course we are,” Marinette says on an exhale. “Of course.”

***

It isn’t until they’ve crossed the same forked path for the fourth time that Marinette finally accepts the reality of their situation.

They’re completely lost.

The sun is no longer high over their heads and a strong breeze curls around their bodies. She watches the bushes surrounding her shiver and tries to hold herself still, lest she suffer through the same dance. “Does this look … a little familiar?” Marinette’s face scrunches in embarrassment at Adrien’s question but she quickly forces a smile as she turns to face him. “I think so.” She rocks back on her heels, nails digging into her palms to prevent her nerves from showing on her face as she takes a deep breath. “We’ve passed this spot before.” He rubs the back of his neck apprehensively. “You don’t happen to remember which direction we turned last time, do you?” She starts to shake her head but when his shoulders immediately droop she tries, “I think we went to the right last time?” “Left it is, then.” He pauses for a moment as if internally battling something before offering his arm. It’s an invitation for yet another unnecessary touch and she blushes profusely as her hand gently rests in the crook of his elbow. “Wouldn’t want us getting separated,” he justifies with a small smile, but neither one of them is blind to the truth. “I’d never get out of here without your guidance.”

“I doubt that,” she laughs but tugs him to the left as they continue onwards. For a moment, the only sound is the snaps of leaves and sticks beneath their feet and the merriment of a crowd far outside their high-walled confines. They don’t travel in distance, but in time, and the longer they’re gone, the more it feels like their friends exist in another world entirely. She’s so lost in remembering to breathe and keeping her balance, Marinette almost misses the soft voice cutting through the ambient noise. “If it weren’t for me, we wouldn’t even be lost here in the first place.” She stops in her tracks so suddenly Adrien trips over his feet and she has to catch him around his waist to keep him upright. “You’re not serious, are you?” He stares at his shoes. “Adrien, it isn’t your fault we’re lost.” She unwraps her arm from his middle and grabs his hand instead, giving it a light squeeze. “It’s a maze! That’s what’s supposed to happen.” “Not this badly, though. We’ve been in here for hours, the sun is setting, our friends are probably annoyed we’re taking so long and—look! You’re shaking!” He whips off his jacket to drape over her shoulders and she’s too stunned to protest. “You only came in here because I wanted to do this.” His arms fall to his side, smacking against his thighs. “The silly homeschooled kid who’s never gotten the chance to really celebrate the season wants to run through the maze, of course. I had no idea what it would be like—no idea how long it would take. I should have known it was a dumb idea when no one else wanted to do it.” Dropping down to the ground with no mind for the dirt surely coating his pants, Adrien closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, tilting his face up towards the sky. Welcoming any last bits of derision the universe can send him. “I’m really sorry, Marinette. You shouldn’t have had to come in here with me just because no one else wanted to.” Marinette looks at him for a moment, really looks at him. She takes in the bags under his eyes and the small downturn of his lips. The way his shoulders sag and his legs stretch out in front of him, hair blown crazy from the wind and wisping against his forehead. He looks defeated. She won’t have that. Crouching down beside him, she nudges his shoulder with her own until he finally opens an eye and squints at her. “Today has been the most unbelievable day,” she tells him, “because not only have I had an incredible time getting lost in a beautiful maze with one of my friends, but I also just witnessed one of the most intelligent people I know say the absolute dumbest thing I have ever heard.” His laugh is loud and almost desperate and it startles them both. “Adrien, I’m glad we got to spend this time together. Even if it means getting lost for several hours and freezing to death.” She squeezes his jacket tighter around her shoulders, closing her eyes to soak in its comfort. “It has been nice,” Adrien agrees, reaching out a hand to fix the jacket’s collar. A fingertip brushes against Marinette’s neck and she shivers. “Oh no, you really are freezing out here, aren’t you?” “I’m f-fine.” Her stutter is completely unrelated to the breeze cutting through to her bones. Adrien frowns. “No, you’re not. We really need to get out of here.” He stands and sweeps his hands down the back of his pants to rid them of dirt before offering a hand out to Marinette and helping her to her feet, almost tugging her into his chest with its intensity. “Have any suggestions?” “Well, there’s one surefire way to get us out of here eventually.” When she doesn’t elaborate, Adrien nudges her lightly. “Gonna keep me in suspense?” It’s playful and sweet, but even innocently platonic touches send sparks over her skin and she struggles to remember her train of thought. “We pick a wall and follow it around completely. It’s not the most efficient solution, but it’ll definitely work.” She scrunches her nose. “But I don’t know if we have that kind of time left. It’s getting pretty dark and we have people waiting for us.” “We could try and find someone to ask for help?” “I haven’t seen anyone in here in ages. Do you think we’re the only ones left?” He shudders. “That’s kind of a terrifying thought. I’m not sure I like the idea of being all alone.” She captures his attention with a gentle hand on his arm. “Not all alone, silly. With me.” His smile is brilliant and she has to look away or she’ll be blinded by the sun. “We’ve got each other. We’ll make it out together.” “Okay,” he agrees, nodding slowly. “I believe you.” She doesn’t intend to respond, comfortable to let his trust hang between them, bridging the chasm. But when she has a thought and it pops from her lips unable to be contained, she isn’t surprised. “And I believe in you.”

Adrien’s eyes widen, and his smile drops. It doesn’t fall like an empire, quick and violent, but as a leaf swept away from its tree and fluttering to the ground. She can see the emotions flit across his face, indecipherable but haunting.

“Let’s get out of here,” she finally cuts through the strained silence. “Right. Of course.”

They don’t touch as they walk, but charge builds up between them, finally released as a shock of skin against skin when Adrien grabs her hand. He doesn’t look at her, doesn’t acknowledge his clammy palm pressed tightly to her own, but it only accentuates how arduously he clings to a façade of composure.

She’s the one who interlaces their fingers.

It’s heaven and it’s hell, the distracting pattern his thumb draws too gently on her own and the rhythmic swing of the arms linked between their bodies. Her hand is frozen solid and yet she feels like there are flames licking at her fingertips every time he squeezes her tighter. They’ll never get out of this labyrinth without concentrating and they don’t even recognize where they are anymore. She can’t focus and she doesn’t want to. She wants to curl into this moment forever and for once experience the freedom of choosing with her heart, consequences be damned.

But that isn’t going to get them out of the maze. And it isn’t what superheroes do.

“This isn’t working,” Marinette says.

He sighs, “I know,” dropping her hand and looking towards the sky, as if pleading with the universe. His muscles tighten, ready for the pain, ready to run, and the distance between them grows without them moving a centimeter apart.

“Wait.”

Adrien stops, motionless. Marinette reaches forward to hold his hand in both of hers.

“I don’t want to be a distraction,” he whispers. “We have a responsibility.”

It’s clear he isn’t talking about the maze.

“I know.”

“But I can’t stop, Marinette.” He doesn’t face her when he speaks and she isn’t sure if she should be grateful. “I can’t—I don’t know how to stop loving you.”

“Ladybug and Chat Noir—they can’t.”

Adrien pulls out of her grip and she lets him go, but it feels like ripping off her own arm.

“But maybe …” she continues, “maybe in here, right now, we don’t have to be Ladybug and Chat Noir.”

He stops walking.

“Maybe we’re just two teenagers. Lost in a maze.” The words are drawn from her mouth, slow-moving and over-enunciated. “Lost in each other.”

Adrien turns sharply on his heel and he’s in front of her in an instant, eyes searching for something. She doesn’t know what he’s looking for, but she’s too tired to hide. He knows everything already.

He speaks after a small eternity and Marinette has never been more grateful to hear his voice. “How could I ever be lost with you?” His eyes flick down to her lips and back up again and she’s losing her composure one breath at a time. The air between them sparks with electricity, a magnetic kind of energy drawing them nearer. It isn’t fear that swirls in the pit of Marinette’s stomach, but a restless anxiety. It’s the moments before landing after she leaps off a building, the seconds leading up to a love confession. There’s an unmistakable vulnerability in his eyes—a yearning he can’t mask—and hers flutter shut without warning. When their lips finally meet, it’s the collision of desire and fulfilment, a volcano meeting the sun. Unrestrained tension releases like the snap of a rubber band and then it’s over all too quickly. His nose barely grazes the side of her own as they share breaths, chests rising and falling rapidly. They don’t pull away from each other, the light tracing of fingertips on cheeks and jaws bringing their lips together once again.

The touches are so addicting—so all-consuming—Marinette almost misses the words whispered against her mouth.

“Wherever you are is where I’m meant to be.”

#miraculous ladybug #adrinette #adrienette #adrien agreste #marinette dupain-cheng #ml fanfiction #prpr #post-reveal pre-relationship #mlb #my writing #mlwriterzine #lost in you

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selfwriting-sugarquills · 4 years ago

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70 Fred Weasley headcanons in celebration of 700 followers:

(plus an extra one, for the heck of it lmao)

You guys, thank you so much for 700 followers! I appreciate every single one of you and writing for the twins has been such a blast so far, much to the thanks of all of you <3

Find the 70 George Headcanons: Here

Fred has always been really good at sleight of hand stuff, as a kid, he could do card tricks with ease, steal baked goods from his mother’s kitchen and later on since his allowance wasn’t exactly anything to brag about, he’d steal sweets from honeydukes' on Hogsmeade trips, with the help of George, he’s not proud of it but in his defence, he was a stupid teenage boy at the time.

Fred is incredibly competitive and will hold onto anything you challenge him to for way longer than you might think. He’s definitely the type to “race you” anytime you’re headed to herbology, care against magical creatures or Hogsmeade together.

As the man himself said in the deathly hallows, Fred doesn’t like the idea of a big grandiose wedding ceremony, he’d prefer something more low-key and simple, where the focus is more on having fun and celebrating instead of neat seating plans and meticulously chosen decorations. Some flowers and booze will do, he’ll provide the fireworks - In essence, he only needs his S/O and the rest he couldn’t care less about.

George may be better at cooking, but Fred makes a damn good pancake and he will forever pride himself on that.

Fred is the more jealous, overprotective twin. He’s aware of this and tries his best not to let it go to his head but he can’t help it.

Fred snores, I’m pretty sure it’s canon that both twins snore, but Fred is louder and, as mentioned in my last headcanon post, a very heavy sleeper meaning it’s more difficult to get him to wake up so he can stop, your best shot is trying (and probably failing) to turn him over.

Fred is also a very restless sleeper, he’ll toss and turn, and occasionally dream about quidditch. I’m saying you might want to be aware that he might confuse you for a bludger in his sleep, don’t worry though, he’ll always apologise profusely and make it up to you with a lot of kisses (and maybe a bit more than that, if you’re keen ;))

Fred has an extensive caffeine addiction, which is unfortunate cause he’s quite hyper already but he can’t function properly until he gets his coffee in the morning, and then again in between lessons/at lunch and then again late in the afternoon. Sometimes, if he needed to write an essay that was due, he’d drink coffee at like nine pm. He knows he won’t be able to sleep because of it, please, Y/n, he’s accepted his fate.

I personally always imagined the twins as having ADHD, idk why it just fits their characters. Fred is for sure the more outwardly fidgety and intrusive, this gets less and less with age, as it does for a lot of ADHD people, his inability to focus remains the same though.

Fred loves being outside, he’s the first of the Weasley siblings to suggest a game of quidditch or just going outside for walks, hide and seek in the woods near their house. He absolutely loves taking his dates on walks in parks or at the beach and when he has kids he plays with them in their yard, building snowmen etc.

Fred probably suggests at some point that the whole family should go camping, and he’s actually really fun to camp with. He’ll tell the best scary stories by the campfire.

In regards to children, Fred wants a lot of kids. Like at least three but would be willing to have more if his s/o wants to. He just really likes the dynamic of a large family since that’s what he’s used to.

Fred’s favourite flavour of sweets is anything sour, the sourer the better, because of this he can handle it really well and he loves handing people some of his ridiculously sour candy and watching them squirm.

He also really likes spicy food, he’s a bit of a daredevil so don’t challenge him to eat anything because he will eat a whole chilli and nearly die.

You know he’d be really casual about it too, lol, like sweating and crying but just leaning on the counter like “*pant* what? hot? no not at all *deeeeep breath* I can ha-aw-rdly taste it!”

One thing about Fred is that he’s oddly squeamish, like seeing his brother’s ear blown off isn’t so bad (if you don’t take into account the emotional trauma that is), but a needle for a blood sample or a vaccine? oooh, he’s gonna need a big juice box and a cookie and his s/o’s hand to hold if he’s gonna make it through. He also has a thing about leeches. One time at Hogwarts they were mentioned in a lesson and he thought he was going to faint the entire time.

Fred’s broken five bones over the years, four are from quidditch: his left arm and two ribs, and then the other arm from trying to do an elaborate stunt on the stairs in the burrow and falling down two flights.

Fred loves to sing karaoke (because I cannot get that damn clip of James singing karaoke out of my head) though he particularly enjoys doing a very poor job on purpose.

Fred is such a good liar that on several occasions he’s given presentations in school and gotten good marks for them despite having bullshat his way through the entire thing.

Like seriously, he’s that guy in the group project who only looks at the slides like five minutes before the presentation and then just turns on a full charming newscaster voice on the professor to the point of them being genuinely convinced (albeit a little confused) that what Fred’s saying is true.

This is also why Fred loves playing card games like poker: he’s really good at bluffing.

Speaking of poker-face, he’s really quite good at teasing in public (if you’re into that sort of thing *wink*) because no matter the dirty deeds he might get up to under a table, his face remains as regular as always (safe for a little smirk to his lover every now and then)

Fred always wanted to learn an instrument, he thought it’d make him cooler when he was a teenager, as an adult, he just really wants to recreate that clip of the trombone-playing dad with the sunglasses, or maybe serenade some cows with jazz or something.

Fred was never a big fan of the uniform thing, so he always tried to make it his own, whether that be tying the tie differently, or having his sleeves rolled up; it’s not much but you gotta take what you can get when you’re literally dressed the same as everyone else.

Fred might make fun of his dad’s interest in muggle things but secretly he loves it too. He has spent a lot of hours in the shed with Arthur, assuring everyone that it was just to have some quality time with his dad but he would still pay close attention when Arthur explained things to him.

Fred had a whole business of selling candy from Honeydukes’ and joke products from Zonko’s to second and first years before he and George started dabbling with their own products, he could get you a butterbeer too but it’ll cost you an extra three galleons.

Fred really likes glitter, George has a thing for lace, anything that glitters on his s/o makes Fred weak. If you want to get your way just put on some glittery eyeshadow or lipgloss and watch him spin.

Since he loves things that glitter and gleam he loves buying his s/o jewellery, he loves seeing them wearing them as little tokens of their relationship.

Did someone say slight possession kink? oops not me

Fred is incredible with numbers, this is pretty much canon and has been explored but I’m just amazed at this boy’s wit AND intellect. I have a slight headcanon that if he ever goes on a proper first date with someone where a bill is involved, he impresses his date by calculating the tip after just a glance.

Even if Fred has a longstanding reputation of not caring about school, when he has kids he does want to help them with any coursework over the summer and Christmas breaks, he’ll even study up on his old books just to be able to help out in any classes he didn’t take/didn’t pay attention in.

Fred would, in general, be an amazing father. He’s goofy and playful most of the time, though he’s serious and incredibly caring whenever his kids are in a bad mood or have problems. He knows that he’s not the most outwardly emotional of the twins but he makes sure his kids know they can always talk to him about anything.

Fred is incredibly messy. His room is usually a cry for help and he only cleans it when it gets to the point where it distracts him from focusing on work.

No worries though, his S/O doesn’t have to do all the housework for him, he’ll do it. He just needs to be reminded that he needs to every once in a while.

Fred has a really bad temper, he doesn’t know where he gets it from but he tends to get angry easier than George, though Fred is better at letting it out so it doesn’t continue to bother him.

His bad temper does mean that he used to brawl more with siblings as a kid, and it wasn’t unusual to see him with scrapes and bruises as a kid, much to Molly’s dismay. Fred didn’t mind though, he thought it made him look tough.

Fred is more likely to get caught sneaking around because of his brash nature, he tends to forget just how quiet you have to be to avoid Mrs Norris in the corridors.

Fred is certainly not an early bird but his favourite time of day is, in fact, the morning when the sun’s coming up. He only knows this because of Wood’s ridiculously early quidditch practices but there’s something about the way the world looks when it’s bathed in soft golden light that just hits different to Fred.

Fred is a great team player, as much as he seems like he’s more selfish than George, if it’s regarding a team activity (like quidditch or a battle of sorts) he’ll completely lose all focus on himself and only try to ensure other’s safety and victory. This is also why he plays as a beater, he’s not afraid of getting hit at all when he’s focused on getting the bludgers away from his teammates.

So if his s/o ever needs it, he’ll be there to help with anything: Needs to take a day off from work to take care of his sick s/o? no problem. Needs to stay up with his small child because his s/o is exhausted and needs rest? On it. Something as small as carrying groceries or books, making a cup of tea when the other is busy or doing the dishes is all on the list of things that Fred will happily do for his s/o, and often without having to be asked, he’ll just do it.

Fred’s boggart is seeing his family members and/or his s/o hurt beyond what he can save. Essentially his worst fear is being helpless when he needs it most.

One of those times was when George lost his ear. The first night when George was lying practically unconscious on the couch with blood everywhere was the worst night of Fred’s life, he truly felt so anxious and helpless and angry that he vomited and ended up passing out next to the couch after staying up till sunrise watching his brother like a hawk.

He didn’t just sleepwalk when he was younger, he also often experienced nightmares, it’s only George, Molly and Arthur who remembers anything about this.

They got less and less the older he got and he assumed that he’d never be bothered by them again until after the second wizarding war and the battle of Hogwarts.

I don’t like to headcanon that he dies cause he didn’t and that’s final lol. I do, however, headcanon that Fred still gets hurt, since everyone in the explosion beside him seemed to sustain minor injuries, I just think that to even out with George losing his ear, he hurts his leg and needs a lot of retraining/a walking stick. I think that’d be a more fair/unfair ending for Fred who’s always full of energy having to have to adjust to living slowly for a little while (not permanently, I couldn’t do that to my boy).

The boy has anxiety sometimes, ok. (just let me project for a second)

He didn’t know how much tension he usually holds in his body until he drank alcohol for the first time and felt his entire body loosen up and was like “huh this is new.”

He doesn’t use alcohol to deal with it though, he prefers just talking to George about whenever he feels is stressing him out and that helps. A massage from his s/o to loosen him up doesn’t hurt either.

Fred prefers to talk to his dad about his problems more than he prefers to talk to Molly, generally.

His favourite body parts on his s/o: Shoulders, hips, hands.

He loves to kiss, just in general, but he also loves kissing his s/o’s nose, forehead, neck, shoulder, etc. as little gestures of affection.

He def. has a bit of a size kink, he loves being taller than his s/o.

If Fred could have any pet he wanted, he’d probably want a dog, the bigger the better. He doesn’t think he has the time for a pet though.

It was his idea to start breeding pygmy puffs, it’s the closest he’ll get to having a pet.

I don’t know why but I feel like when Fred and his s/o are expecting and his s/o goes into labour he just panics. loses it, drops the binkie as we say in Denmark: Freaks the fuck out, if you will. He’s definitely the pacing and wringing his hands together type, though he probably tries his best to keep himself composed and chill during the whole thing whilst simultaneously hyperventilating.

Fred doesn’t cry often but he sure as hell wept with pride when he held all his kids for the first time.

Despite the notion that the twins often slip in a joke version of a sweet treat or something similar amongst the snacks at parties, Fred is strongly against tampering with drinks. He knows the connotations it holds and he doesn’t want anyone to be afraid they’d put something in it. If he wants you to test out their truth serum or a love potion, he’ll just ask you flat out and if you don’t want to, he’s not going to continue asking.

Most of the detentions Fred has gotten from Snape come from times he’s spoken back to him when Snape’s been giving another student a rough time. He doesn’t regret it one bit.

If you ask Fred what his proudest accomplishment is, he’ll probably say that it’s having had enough restraint to not punch Umbridge in the face every time he saw her.

On the note of Umbridge. It wasn’t her detentions with him that got his blood boiling, it was when she punished little kids (a la Nigel) for doing practically nothing, he understands that to an extent and by comparison, setting off a bunch of fireworks inside a building would harbour a harsher punishment, but making twelve-year-olds bleed for running in the halls or playing music or just doing things that twelve-year-olds will inevitably do, is something Fred doesn’t understand. That year pretty much any kid younger than him, or anyone who was too afraid to stand up for themselves, became Fred and George’s little siblings, and they’re very protective older brothers. Umbridge can vouch for that.

He struggles with a lot of insecurity in his relationships, he always puts on a front of being extra funny and outgoing when he’s in a new relationship because he’s secretly afraid that the way he is isn’t good enough and that eventually, his s/o will see through him and leave because they don’t like the softer, more serious side of him.

Fred is the godfather of all of George’s kids but is also the godparent of Hugo, Lily and Lucy.

Fred loves business meetings, he sees them as a good challenge to practice his smooth talk.

Fred spent his first salary from the shop on the most expensive bottle of champagne he could find and a new suit.

Fred tried to get into whiskey, feeling like it’d make him a cool business owner type of man, so, with his second salary, he went out and bought a fancy-schmancy bottle of whiskey and the whole getup with a bottle and some cool glasses, and then invited Lee over to try it with him and George.

They did not like it. Fred thought it tasted like what he imagined gasoline tastes like so they mostly used it as decorations, not having the heart to mix it with something.

Fred doesn’t necessarily like PDA, it depends on what you mean. He likes being secretive. Pulling his s/o into an empty classroom, nook, hallway, secret pathway etc where anyone could wander in at any time and snogging her senseless is one of his favourite things to do.

Fred knows how good he looks in his quidditch uniform and will absolutely use it against his s/o. (they’re gonna get spicy from here on so read with caution if you're in public)

Fred prefers giving more than receiving oral.

He has a lot of energy, did you not think that would rub off (no pun intended) on his sex drive? He can go pretty much any time and place, and typically last at least two rounds.

Also, his favourite position is having you on top. Okay, I'm gonna stop now.

#selfwriting-sugarquills 700 follower celebration #fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley headcanons #fred weasley fanfiction #weasley twins #weasley twins headcanons #hp headcanon #harry potter headcanon

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dealwithwarlords · 4 years ago

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Ikemen Vampire and their Godly parents

Inspired by Percy Jackson.

Mozart: Apollo

Son of the God of light, of sun, of music, of truth, of poetry, and arts. May not be a leader but set trends. I will start with the most obvious fact and that is Mozart’s talent for music, as all of us know Apollo’s children are exceptional for the arts in general. Mozart is not someone that tends to laugh frequently but as a good children of Apollo, you can hear the sound of what it could be beautiful Bells when he does, and a smile as warm as the sun. Because of his prolonged time on practicing he sometimes has little to none sunlight, that makes him really moody (more than he already is) so taking some walks or playing with Schelm in the garden are necessary for his health even if he claims to not need it.

Not all of Apollo’s children are blond, some of them have physical traits that are related to the sun such as freckles, warm skin subtones, and even if their hair is black if you see it in the sun light you can see a golden or brownish reflection on their hair, in Mozart’s case if we see carefully there’s also warm subtones such as beige, and pink :

While other white haired characters have cold undertones like blue:

Because of Mozart’s incredible fair skin it’s easy for him to get freckles. Apollo’s children are lie detectors, as they say, you cannot cover the sun with your thumb, Mozart knows from miles away when someone is lying.

Apollo’s children are scary when they get mad, be aware of what they could do when they lose control, just like Mozart, it may seem like he’s always angry but he actually isn’t, when he’s angry you will know.

Apollo’s kids are naturally over dramatic, they turn everything into inspiration for music, plays, etc. remember that time when Mozart said that dry things like cookies are his “worst enemy”? Just because Marie Antoinette gave him a bunch of them, he didn’t know what to do and decided it was a good idea to stuff everything in his mouth...

To what MC finished laughing because ... bruh 😂

Isaac: Athena

Goddess of wisdom, handicraft, knowledge and warfare. Children of Athena are gifted with a sharp and brilliant mind. Do I have to say more ? Isaac is a genius, he has an incredible hunger for knowledge, and curiosity that makes him discover the most incredible things in this world. Children of Athena enjoy reading a good book and most of the time you can see them lost in their thoughts.

We know that Athena’s children can be street smart and book smart, the majority likes to be street smart since they already have a facility to keep info from books, but in the case of our apple boy he’s chosen to be book smart, this kind of children tend to have difficulties to relate to others and create deep bonds since their brilliant minds make them feel detached from the world that surrounds them.

Napoleon : Zeus

Charismatic

Natural leaders

Children of Zeus are the leaders struggling with the pressure of being leaders. Since they are such a reliable people, their friends usually seek for them when they need help, maybe they are not as wise as a child of Athena, but their empathy makes them good advisers too. They’re strong and resilient.

Serious but yet humorous

Assertive

Children of Zeus are prideful, they like to tease others but when the tables turn they don’t really know how to react (not like they are doormats but more like in a teasing way something like pikachu face: “you ... you just teased the son of the lightening.. right in front of my salad” that kind of reaction. It’s actually kind of cute 😂

They can be flighty or warm, depends of the person they are dealing with and their mood.

Physically traits could be grey, blue or in some cases green eyes. Children of Zeus usually have gray hairs since a young age.

Arthur: Dionysus

God of wine, madness, ecstasy and theatre

Children of Dionysus are sociable, charismatic and the life of the party. The ones with all the connections. They’re the friend that everyone references when they say ‘I know a guy’ and we all know that Arthur knows or at least recognizes a lot of faces in Paris.

Children of Dionysus are not only party people, they are really clever too, people usually don’t give them credit for how smart they really are, but they prefer to keep that intelligence hidden ‘cause they don’t want to intimidate anyone, after all the party needs to continue !

They are the ones you can always count on to have a good time. The best telling jokes and reading the atmosphere of a room. they are the ones you call when you’re upset and just want to forget about reality for a night.

Stubborn, determined and chaotic nature.

Most of Dionysus children are empaths, that’s how they can feel the mood so well and make everyone have a good time, nevertheless if they don’t have a control over this ability it can be bad for their health, appropriating other people's problems or feeling guilty if they cannot help their friends as a good “host” would do.

Another thing, Arthur really seems to enjoy alcoholic beverages such as beer, wine, etc. besides coffee.

Talking about physical traits Dionysus children rock semi long hair, this chill and laid back appearance is the signature of the god of party and wine. Even when they wear formal clothes you can see this relaxed look on them.

I remember one time I read a post where it said that Dionysus children often have the nicest shoes in the room (idk why? 😂) BUT DUDE that’s true, there was also other post where you guys were talking about who had the best taste in shoes and guess who was one of the best fashionistas 👌👌😂

Also, olive undertones, in hair, skin, etc. if we see Arthur’s hair for example, sometimes it doesn’t appear to be entirely blue, it also has olive undertones:

Jean: Hades

God of the underworld

Talking about children of hades we can see that they are not only the “quiet ones” but also people with a sharp intuition. They observe everything and everyone, quietly. Tend to hold grudges and feel out of place, they stay a lot of time inside their heads and because of this children of hades usually have a hard time finding their “meaning in life” or “their place in this world”. Since they are deep they have a difficult time relating to others, meanwhile everyone is talking about the trends of the year, children of Hades are in other Chanel .

They like to be by their own, or maybe with someone that actually understands them.

I think most of the time people only focus on their “dark personality” and forget to appreciate other traits like the incredible willpower that they have to achieve anything that attracts their attention.

Physically talking, as we all know, children of Hades have dark tones in their hair, eyes and skin tone. There’s something cold in their appearance that makes them look intimidating and mysterious

Vincent : Apollo

Do I really need to explain this one ? 😂😂

I will just cover some facts that relate to Apollo’s children since Vincent is like the PERFECT example of what is being an Apollo’s child.

I think Vincent has a BIG potential to learn any instrument that he likes, also archery but I doubt it since he wouldn’t like to hurt anyone.

Is easy for Children of Apollo to tan, just imagine our angel with a beautiful sexy tan 🙌🏻😫✨

EMBODIMENT OF LIGHT

also, Apollo’s children are healers, and Vincent wants not only to help but if possible heal everyone’s suffer, as we can see in his route, he wants to help MC with her anxiety to return to her time nevertheless he’s never too pushy and waits until MC feels prepared to open up to him.

Apollo’s children are people pleasers, in a mini drama, Vicent tells Leonardo that if there was a girl in the mansion he wouldn’t know how to behave, since he only wants to give a good impression.

Leonardo : Hephaestus

Children of Hephaestus , Their minds are constantly working on something and their ideas running wild.

They have SO many ideas that they have dozens of project running AT THE SAME TIME, they can even compete with children of Athena.

Some of this children may not be geniuses but out of their curiosity and hunger for knowledge is because they can become worthy opponents to the other god or goddesses children.

Masters on none, but master of many.

They also got that freaking cheeky smile of their father.

Intelligent, good looking and good jokes.

Physically talking children of Hephaestus have strength in their upper body, just like their father, they have enough strength in their hands, arms and back to carry or forge any metal and turn it into a weapon (or any creation but you get me) what usually makes them have (on males) big shoulders or backs and in females, they have shorter but stronger fingers.

Comte : Aphrodite

Who was the one that fell in love in the middle of war ????

YUP this guy ☝️

Children of Aphrodite are hopeless romantic, they find beauty and love in the darkest places and times. They are the ones that you go for advice (not the kind of advice you would go to Athena, but one that helps your heart to find a solution).

They like luxury and aesthetic stuff, Comte with all the money that he has could be living his life like Leo, relaxing, giving little attention to appearances, etc. BUT NO

DADDY COMTE NEEDS TO WEAR HIS DIOR PAJAMAS AND RELAX IN A ROMAN BATH THANK YOU. It’s not like he’s superficial, but he just likes to pamper himself.

Children of Aphrodite have charm speak, Idk you but every time Comte speaks is like velvet for my ears. Most of the time people only see Aphrodite’s children as superficial, not so intelligent and unnecessary at battle but they are dead wrong, actually they are really observant and can be manipulative since they understand and almost feel others people emotions and intentions.

Even though their mother is the Goddess of Love, they can hide their emotions pretty well

It is known that Aphrodite’s children can speak fluently French and Oh look at that Comte is French, coincidence ? I DONT THINK SO.

Theo: Ares

God of war

Children of Ares are topically seen as this really short-tempered guy /girl but there’s more about them. I’m gonna start with the basic personality traits, Children of Ares are stubborn as hell, does it reminds you of Theo ? 😅 they are also really protective of those they love, it may not appear like it but they don’t like injustice, so when they see someone that’s being a jerk they fight with everything they got, sometimes they exaggerate tho.

HATES GOSSIP they like to say thing straight to the point and don’t have filter, sometimes they may seem rude but they are just saying the truth

Doesn’t take shit from anyone

Determinant and never gives up, they also give (its rare but they do) advices when they see you really struggling with something, an example of this could be when (in Leo’s route) MC had a hard time deciding what to choose between staying in 19th century France or coming back to her time with Leo, to what Theo noticed her struggling and gave her a brief but nice advice.

HARD ON THE OUTSIDE SOFT ON THE INSIDE

Children of Ares are aware that they intimidate their siblings, that’s why they become silent and prefer to stay in their cabin, but if you want them to open up to you, a nice smile and kind personality would be a great combo to go with them.

Children of Ares are really intelligent, after all their father is also a strategist.

Shakespeare: Hades

Again ... do I have to explain this one ? 😂

Shakespeare is deep af. Children of Hades see the deepest and darkest things in life, that’s why they tend to feel depressed, but because of that they also can see the brightest parts. This contrast usually is embodied in an artistic way, it may be in plays, dancing, singing, stories, etc.

The goth friend

Children of Hades are one of the kindest siblings among all God and Goddesses out there since they know what loneliness feels like.

guess who feels like that ? YUP Will does

they like to be alone but not lonely.

Dazai: Dionysus

Dionysus was known to be a Reckless, crazy god that resembled freedom and fun. Children of Dionysus are usually found smiling for ... no specific reason, some could say is even scary or suspicious, like if they were drunk 😅.

Dionysus has parties where everyone dances and can fall into madness and ecstasy. Dazai is a sensual man, he has this aura that is just so appealing and comfortable to be with, but he is still a mystery, just like his father. Dyonisus was a god that usually doesn’t get in other’s people problems but it is known that he has a lot of powers, and the majority remains a mystery to humans.

Dazai is someone that craves to feel and be loved, but is scared to be rejected for who he really is, instead of that he prefers to show the “clown facade” that everyone likes, after all is easier to have “company” in a party full of people that you don’t know but they don’t really care about you than opening up to someone and being vulnerable.

People usually describe children of Dionysus as “crazy”

They are normally underestimated, but they have an incredible ability for the arts, they create the most crazy yet deep monologues.

These people tend to get obsessed over things they like, this is somewhat bad for them since they can get addicted to things like alcohol, tobacco, etc.

Talking about physical traits, Dazai is like the perfect definition of a Dionysus child, chill appearance, medium long hair, PURPLE HAIR, likes (maybe a little too much) alcohol, smooth voice.

Sebastian : Demeter

Goddess of agriculture, fertility, nature, and seasons.

Children of Deméter have this motherly figure in their group of friends.

Natural protectors.

Great cooks

They can be really strict at scolding their friends, family etc. but they just want the best for their loved ones.

Children of Deméter aren’t really aggressive, but don’t get in their wrong side which would be trying to hurt their family, because they go havoc.

They have an amazing intuition, just like a good mother.

Their personalities are calm and collected, they may panic on the inside when something bad happens but never let it show.

Deméter children are so aware of the details they are the ones that give the best gifts since they know deeply their loved ones, what they like and what they don’t, again, like a good mother.

Faust: Hecate

Goddess of magic, witchcraft, ghosts, necromancy and crossroads.

Children of Hecate are really intelligent and have an amazing memory, after all they have to memorize dozens of spells.

They usually have lots of books, since they have to know the functionality and sources of the magic they are using.

CU RI O US

They may appear frightening since they face and aesthetic aren’t really welcoming sometimes, but they are actually pretty nice.

SNAKE PERSONALITY

cunning and ambitious

Children of Hecate know how to handle necromancy, which makes them closer to death, that’s why talking about this kind of topics doesn’t scare them.

Children of Hecate can be obsessive, they can stay all day and all night practicing their witchcraft, PLS SOMEONE TAKE THEM OUT OF THEIR ROOM.

They have a different type of aesthetic, maybe is not totally GOTH but there’s something religious or spiritual there, they believe that there is a superior power in the world.

Incredibly good teachers. They may not be as charismatic as Apollo kids, but they are patient and good listeners.

Calm but can be sadists too so be careful.

Vlad : Nemesis

Children of Nemesis, as their mother, tend to hold grudges and is really difficult for them to forget those who wrong them.

They can go ExTrEMe lengths in their revenge, elaborate plans that doesn’t matter how much time they take, they will do it.

Maybe scarier than Children of Ares.

Yandere personality who ?

They are really observant and intelligent, they have the ability to find Achilles ankle of any of their enemies.

Manipulative, that gives them the ability to awake rage on the ones they want like allies.

Curiously children of Nemesis have a strong sense of justice and balance, and they will do anything to carry on with their ideals, even if that means taking extreme measures.

Physically talking there’s always red on them, and I’m talking about red hair, liking for red color, and oh ! Look at that, who has red eyes ??

Charles : Tyche

Goddess of chance, fate and fortune.

I really had a hard time deciding for this one, and I don’t know a lot about him but from what I’ve seen I can say he’s a Tyche’s child.

Children of Tyche are extremely friendly and enthusiastic.

J O K E S

very hyperactive

Smarter than they look, observant and empaths, also they like to prank people like a pixie would do.

Pretty smiles, and they giggle like a lot.

Usually green eyes.

Obviously they like to gamble or if the other participants doesn’t like to, Children of Tyche conform with just playing

They love nature and animals.

A kid in an adult body

Don’t let their cute smiles, dimples or freckles fool you, they can be manipulative.

Idk why but I imagine Tyche kids with fairy like features, maybe that’s why lots of them have a short height.

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp #otome #otome games #ikevamp mozart #ikevamp isaac #ikevamp dazai #ikevamp napoleon #ikevamp comte #ikevamp leonardo #ikevamp sebastian #ikevamp arthur #ikevamp vincent #ikevamp theo #ikevamp shakespeare #ikevamp vlad #ikevamp faust #ikevamp charles #ikevamp jean

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a-cluttered-gordon-freeman · 3 years ago

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Unclouded Days, because I'm not an idiot and I definitely remembered this story exists, part 3.

Part 1 | Part 2

"If I wanted to have a family... I'd have it with Alyx... Or Barney... But for right now...."

Gordon looked up from his journal. Taking a glance at his clock, he noted the date and time. 6:37 a.m. on a cold Thursday, April 13.

It had been a whole 2 months since he last visited Alyx and Barney. Gordon could remember the chill of the incoming blizzard as he trudged through the snow, and he remembered the chill coming back home afterwards.

His cabin was a safe haven away from the chaos of the society he helped create. Gordon wanted nothing to do there. He wanted to be by himself, for all too long he had been surrounded by people and he couldn't stand it. He thoroughly enjoyed the moments spent being away from everyone, where he was on his own, doing whatever. Nobody would boss him about. He wouldn't have to fight.

Barney had brought up a good point, but by accident. Gordon had mocked Barney by making such claims as having a family. And with Barney asking if he had one, Gordon spent long nights thinking about it.

No, he didn't have one, but Gordon couldn't deny that he had thought about having one, and having some kids of his own. He was still young enough to, but with whom? Barney would say yes, he and Gordon were always intimate with each other and would be asked constantly at Black Mesa when they'd marry. But it'd rule out children, as niether of them could reproduce with each other. Alyx would be uncertain about getting married, probably, mostly because she didn't know to the fullest what it meant. And niether of them felt a strong attraction towards each other, so would it even be considered a real loving relationship?

Gordon took another look at the clock. 7:15 a.m.. Temperature dropped a few degrees in the cabin. He sighed.

Another night wasted.

Closing the journal, Gordon stood up and stretched before opening the window to let it the sun and some fresh air. He stared outside, some animals crossing in and out of his vision, the leaves from last fall stuck down under the remaining snow. It was cold out, but the kind of cold one craved for in the spring. A nice and peaceful morning with a slight chill, the forestry just now waking up with snow melting around, providing nutrients to the life nearby.

He felt tired. Not unusual, as he lost quite a bit of sleep since that week in February. But Gordon couldn't fall asleep.

It was the entire point of that journal. To write his thoughts until he felt as though he could sleep. Some nights he considered heading back over to Eli and Kliener, maybe chat a bit. But being 40-something miles away would mean he'd arrive there sometime by noon. Other nights he considered working on some projects he laid out. But that would mean Gordon would have to turn on the other lights- all that artificial light would keep him up more than the red-light alarm he used to write in his journal. More often than not Gordon would just sit at his desk, writing away from 8 in the evening to 7 in the morning. The rare nights were when he didn't write in his journal, but instead bathed in the pitch black darkness.

Writing in the journal helped though. Gordon wouldn't have to worry about making sense to anyone, as long as it made enough sense to him. No need to appropriate a sentence, give it structure. It was a place where he could write what he was feeling, with no worry of harming anyone else.

Though sometimes Gordon wished he could actually tell someone, get advice or some help. It would have been useful as hell for him.

To ask for help gave Gordon the feeling of uselessness, a feeling he had been trying to avoid hard. To be told to do a thing gave him a purpose. So he did things that made him feel useful- took care of alien enemies for those that couldn't, provided backup to those who could, saved humanity, rebuilt society. Gordon did it all. There was no way he was going to ask anyone for help. He'd feel guilty as hell.

Gordon decided that he was done thinking such thoughts. And he had also decided that he would relax with a nice, warm shower, taking some time to ease off some stress.

Silence had been filling the lab. It was as if quiet things could become quieter, if it didn't make sound then it would start making other things stop making sound.

Alyx and Barney found it uncomfortable. The silence was deafening, and they could hear their thoughts much too clearly. It also provided a sort of laziness, a feeling of boredom, to the lab. A place once bustling with life and loud noises now only inhabited by two people with nothing better to do that they hadn't done forty times before.

"What if we went out of town for a bit?" Barney broke the silence, startling Alyx, who had been slowly falling asleep.

"What do you mean? To where?" She stretched.

"To Gordon's."

"I don't know, would he even like visitors right now? We have no way of asking him."

"Surprise visit?"

"We can't ask him, Barney! We've got no way to talk to him." Alyx rested her head on the table, letting out a drowsy sigh.

"I know where he lives." Barney said, causing Alyx to look over at him. "He had told me an approximation, he lives east near the giant trees."

"In the shack?"

"Yeah."

"Barney, thats forty miles away. We'd have to start early morning to arrive at his house with some daylight left. And besides, there is no way we'd be able to spend the night there, it has four rooms- a bathroom, a tiny bedroom, a kitchen and a main room."

Silence filled the lab once more. Alyx had a point, it was already too small for one person, much more with three. And there would be no way of confirming with Gordon if they could even get there- if anyone else saw them leave, and it would be a given that many people would see them leave, then Gordon's privacy would be violated by everyone else knowing where he lived.

It'd be rude to arrive uninvited, and unpleasant if he wasn't there or was too busy to let them in.

"Can't you talk to him?" Barney stared at Alyx, who sat up with exhaustion.

"How do you think I would be capable of that?"

"With that weird vort-connection-thingy you two have."

She took a moment to think. "I'm... Not entirely sure. I don't think I can."

"Should we ask a vortigaunt?"

Gordon finished dressing and took a seat on his bed. He was disappointed. His bath hadn't helped to relieve any stress whatsoever, instead he was convinced it added more and made it worse.

Which... Isn't good when you are a sleep-deprived physicist who has just been to a version of hell and back at one moment and wiping the enemy off the face of the planet.

His clock now read 9:00 a.m. exact. He could take a walk around the forest, or maybe cook up something.

Or, instead, he could lay in bed, the window open, the covers over him. Which is what Gordon did.

It made the annoying sleeplessness much worse but one could not deny the relaxing comfort it brought. And slowly, just so slowly, Gordon began to drift off to sleep.

"You can communicate feelings and pain without words, but you cannot talk to the Freeman directly." The vorts had answered, causing a sigh from Alyx and Barney.

"Well, then, fuck how are we supposed to get him now?" Barney huffed.

"We wait until he decides to come over." Alyx replied, getting up to go back to the lab.

"Have either of you decides to meet the Freeman yourselves?" A vort inquired, walking up to Alyx and Barney.

"No." The both of them responded.

"It'd be rude to walk up to his house uninvited, seeing as others could follow us." Alyx look over at the vortigaunts, who gave the appearance of understanding.

The two left the vortigaunts and returned to their eerily quiet lab, where boredom struck again.

Gordon shot up, panting hard. Beads of sweat trailed down his face, his heart and mind racing. He glanced at the clock.

5:21 p.m. on a now warm April 13.

Gordon took a second to calm down. He couldn't remember what had caused him to be so hyped up. Was it a nightmare? Bad memory?

What ever it was, it was gone now. Gordon could be thankful for that at least.

Chest still pounding, Gordon took a second to gain his bearings and calm down. He found it extremely difficult to do such on his own. As a result, he went out on a walk. He found it best to take in the nature, listen to the trees and wildlife.

As much as Gordon would have liked to hunt, a gun would raise back past feelings of fear, anger and pain that the Resonance Cascade and the Uprising caused. He couldn't stand to hold such a weapon nowadays, the only reason he'd have one anymore is for safety purposes. But even then, Gordon would much rather fight with a knife.

Bored with his little house and, unfortunately, the forestry around him, Gordon set out to the lab. It was best for an escape, as he wasn't feeling all that great by himself.

It was daybreak by the time Gordon arrived at White Forest. He had taken some time to visit Eli and Kleiner, and had also gone for a bit of shopping in the main town. Once done with that,he made his way to the lab.

"Hey Barney."

Barney turned around and was greeted by Gordon.

"Gordon?"

"Yeah, I'd hope so. How have things been?"

Barney smiled. "Its been good. And you?"

"...not good." Gordon sighed and looked down a bit. "Haven't been getting good rest."

"Would you like to spend a few more nights here? At the lab with Alyx and I?"

"Yeah... I'd appreciate that thanks..."

Barney took Gordon's hand and led him to the lab, where Alyx greeted them both with an excited smile.

Gordon got set up in his old room again. Sitting upon his bed, he stared at the ceiling in silent contemplation. Closing his eyes, he began to silently cry, for no reason he could find.

When Alyx stepped into the room, she caught a glance of the tired and teary-eyed man. She took that as a moment to sit next to him and offer weak support.

Gordon glanced over to her and wiped off his eyes. "S-sorry..." he muttered weakly, his voice shaky as hell.

Alyx smiled. "No need to be sorry. Just let it all out."

END OF PART 3

---------

Heyo! Its yours true. I need help to try to make it towards the end by offerring your support for the story and reblogging/asking more about it/ messaging me! Rb>likes, and the reblogs offer me more motivation to continue writing the stories, and same would go for my ravenholm comics, that you can read at @returntoravenholm-awgag ! I'd appreciate all the support I can get from anyone! Thank you!

-marc

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obeymefictionwriting · 4 years ago

Text

How Strong Do Angels Love?

This morning was unusually busy and loud since all the Purgatory Hall residents decided to come over for breakfast. I was silently giggling as I watched Luke getting amused by Beel’s appetite and how Asmo was trying to feed Solomon some sweet pastry. Mammon was even louder than ever, Satan was becoming more and more frustrated, and Belphegor was simply napping on the table corner. I stole a glance at Lucifer and saw a tired look on his face. His brothers were really putting past his patience today.

He caught my eye and I blushed. He smiled a bit as if approving of me showing interest and then he got back to his coffee. Ugh. Why does he have to be so reserved all the time?

Suddenly, Simeon said something that made everyone go quiet:

“Oh, I completely forgot - Jolie was saying hi!”

This innocent retort caused a storm of different feelings across the table. Mammon screamed “Don’t you say it’s THAT Jolie!”. Levi dropped his game and just stared at Simeon, eyes wide open. Satan frowned and then raised his eyebrows, eyeing Lucifer with a hard stare. Beel didn’t seem to notice but Belphie opened an eye, smiled in a sneaky manner and got back to napping. But Asmo was the loudest and most excited:

“Ohhh, Lucifer’s ex-girlfriend was saying hi? Tell us more, Simeon! Does she miss him? Is she planning to come over? Is she…”

“ENOUGH”.

Lucifer stood up and I could feel his rage radiating. I could swear I saw a black diamond sparkling on his forehead and it seems that he’d spread his demonic wings any time.

“Ah, Lucifer, dear, why do you react like this? Isn’t it nice to hear from an old friend?” Simeon didn’t even seem to notice.

“Simeon, can you please join me in the study? Others - finish your food and go to school. NOW”.

He and Simeon left and an unusual silence fell on the room.

“Why did Lucifer become so angry?” Luke squealed. “Jolie is a really lovely angel and he certainly does not have to get so angry about her…”

Asmo was piercing Luke with a weird stare as if trying to tell him something. But then, seeing that Luke cannot take a hint, Asmo sighed and blurted:

“Lucifer did not want to talk about Jolie in front of MC!”

Everyone suddenly got really occupied. Levi was hitting the buttons on his gamepad as if his life depended on it, Satan got up and simply left, and Mammon looked at his watch, whistled and stormed out of the dining room.

“No way am I letting this happen!” I thought to myself, ran into the hall and managed to catch Mammon’s jacket right before he left the House of Lamentation.

“Oh no”, he moaned, seeing me. “Pleeeease don’t ask anything about that gal, okay? It’s Lucifer’s business and he’d kill me if I say a word. Just remember that it was in the past and it happened a super long time ago. Are we good?”

But then he saw the expression on my face, sighed again and hugged me.

“Hey, I swear you don’t have to worry. But he gotta tell you everything himself. I can’t imagine what this sick jerk would do if I said a word about…”

“Hey guys!” Simeon was right behind us. “Mind if I steal MC, Mammon?”

Mammon looked so relived as if he found a wallet with the neverending cash.

“See ya guys!” he shouted, speeding towards the school building.

I sighed and looked at Simeon. Luckily, he knew what I was thinking about.

“I need to apologize”, he said softly. “I should have thought before mentioning Jolie in front of Lucifer and you. But I was so eager to deliver the news I simply didn’t think about it.”

“So… what’s the deal with her?” I tried to sound like I didn’t care but oh boy was I worried.

Simeon studied me with his eyes, as if considering whether I should be informed and then he made a decision. We started walking slowly towards the school.

“Lucifer met Jolie when he was in the Celestial Realm. Are you surprised?” He saw the look on my face. “The beautiful Morning Star and the astonishing Evangeline. It was Lucifer who started calling her Jolie - it means “beautiful” in French. They were the most beautiful couple a Celestial Realm ever saw - but then Lucifer was sent to the Devildom. He chose his family over his love.”

“Did he really love her?”

“Yes he did.” Simeon did not intend to hide anything from me. “He loved her more than anything - or so I thought. But then he left. She was heart-broken, of course. At first, she wanted to follow him to the Devildom but Michael did not allow her. She then tried to contact Lucifer but he did not respond. And eventually, time healed her wounds.”

“But did time heal HIS wounds?” I thought but didn’t say a word.

The day passed by really quickly. The brothers tried to distract me from my thoughts and were doing their best to cheer me up. Beel brought a huge sundae to the cafeteria and made me finish it. Satan volunteered to be my project partnet and did most of the work by himself. Even Levi approached me with a shy smile and handed a manga that was supposed to brighten my mood.

Despite their attempts, I felt like the storm was coming. I knew I’d see Lucifer in the evening and to admit it, I was pretty damn nervous about that.

It’s been only a few weeks since we were officially dating and it was still wild to call him my boyfriend. When he gave me his usual cold glare I still felt like an unwanted exchange student on their first day in RAD. And even though he was growing warmer towards me, there was still one hell of a distance between us. And now I was scared it became even bigger.

Finally, the classes were over. I rushed to the House of Lamentation with an intent to take a bath and wash my troubles off but hard and strong knock on the door ruined my plans.

Lucifer entered my room and stared at me with a strange expression on his face. I wasn’t sure what it meant and I was standing in the middle of the room, half-naked, with a pile of clothes in my hands. He sighed and sit on the bed.

“Could you please sit down next to me?” He asked softly, still eyeing me. “I’d like to talk with you”.

I nodded and pulled my sweater on. This gave me some confidence. Lucifer giggled.

“You could have thrown it on the floor instead”, he suggested but then his smile faded. “Now, let’s get to our issue. Simeon told you about Jolie. Am I right?”

I nodded.

“Would you like to ask me anything?”

I hesitated. I couldn’t formulate my question - I was just feeling weird. But how can I say it to him?

“You can just tell me how you feel”, he suddenly said in a much softer manner. “I want to know what’s going through your mind right now. It’s important to me”.

“I feel worried and sad”, I admitted, trying not to look at him. He sighed and took my hands in his. This encouraged me to continue. “I am not sure how you really feel about me because you are always so reserved and so distant - and how can your feelings to me possible compare with your feelings to an angel? I just worry that I am not enough for you…”

That’s it. I admitted what has been on my mind since long time. I closed my eyes because I was scared I’d cry right in front of him.

Suddenly I felt his lips pressing gently against mine. He kissed me with such care and tenderness that I’d never expect from him. Then he took my chin and made me face him.

“Listen, you beautiful human being,” he started, wiping my tears off with his fingers and stroking my cheeks. “I did love Evangeline and it was easy to love her while being an angel. I didn’t hesitate though when choosing between her and my family. And…” he paused for a second, took a deep breath and blurted out “And I love you. Yes, I do love you. And do you know how hard it is to love someone so genuinely when you are a demon? My love for you is much deeper and stronger than it was for her. And I was a fool for not letting you know about it. Will you accept my apology?”

I looked into his eyes and was taken aback by how warm and tender his look was. For a second, it seemed to me that I was looking at Lucifer in his angelic form - but then I blinked, and there he was in front of me: strong, tall, confident, devilish.

And hundred percent mine.

#obeymelucifer #obey me shall we date #obey me! x reader #lucifer x reader

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bloody-bee-tea · 4 years ago

Text

Not dead, just forgotten

This is somewhat of a sequel to Worthy of a god. Please do not ask me about the plot/backstory here, cause I’m just the author. I don’t know.

Edit: It turns out I do in fact know, because you can find what happens before this in my BeeTober Day 3 fic.

Jiang Cheng wakes up with a hole in his chest. He feels empty—like something that is vital to him has been carved out—and he definitely didn’t feel that way when he went to bed.

But it’s still the middle of the night, and Jiang Cheng is not completely awake, so he puts it off as the remnant of a dream.

It’s still harder than it should be to fall back asleep again.

~*~*~

A few nights later Jiang Cheng wakes up with tears streaming down his face.

He doesn’t quite remember what he was dreaming of, only that there was a man, bathed in light, but whenever he tries to remember more, his memory fails him.

This time, he’s almost eager to go back to sleep, if simply so he can find out what this is all about.

~*~*~

It doesn’t get better.

The hole in his chest threatens to consume him whole some days and Jiang Cheng doesn’t even know what’s happening.

He just knows he’s missing something—someone—but he can’t put his finger on it.

“You look like shit,” Wei Wuxian tells him when he comes home one day and Jiang Cheng glares at him.

“You have nightmares like this every night and we’ll see how you look,” Jiang Cheng gives back, but he cringes at the word nightmare.

It’s not right. It’s not what this is.

“Nightmares? What do you dream about?” Wei Wuxian wants to know but Jiang Cheng shakes his head.

“I already have to dream about it, do you really think I want to talk about it, too?” Jiang Cheng tells him, but that isn’t true either.

It just—it doesn’t feel right, to tell Wei Wuxian about his dreams.

They are his. They are not to share.

Wei Wuxian thankfully doesn’t mention the frown on Jiang Cheng’s face at his own strange thoughts.

~*~*~

Jiang Cheng doesn’t know why he suddenly knows this, but the person he’s dreaming about—he’s a god.

It doesn’t make sense, not at all, but he is, Jiang Cheng is sure about that.

He doesn’t know which god or why he’s dreaming about him, but Jiang Cheng is more than certain that he’s also the reason for this hollow feeling in his chest.

“What do you know about gods?” Jiang Cheng asks Wei Wuxian one evening when they are both more paying attention to their phones than what’s running on the TV and Wei Wuxian looks at him as if he lost his mind.

“You mean the old ones?” Wei Wuxian asks and then shrugs. “They are dead.”

“The old ones,” Jiang Cheng repeats slowly and then frowns. “Why are there no new ones?” he wants to know. “Did you ever wonder about that?”

“What is there to wonder about? The old ones died and no one took their place. We don’t need any gods.”

It’s what Jiang Cheng learned in school too, it’s what they all learn in school; the old gods are dead, long live the freedom to believe what you want.

It doesn’t sit right with Jiang Cheng, not anymore.

~*~*~

Jiang Cheng still wakes up crying more nights than not. The dream doesn’t get any clearer; he can barely see the man in front of him. He’s still bathed in light, more radiant than anything Jiang Cheng has ever seen, but by now Jiang Cheng also knows that he’s lonely, so lonely.

Jiang Cheng doesn’t know if he’s crying after these dreams because the man is so sad, or because Jiang Cheng wants to soothe him him so bad it physically hurts him that he can’t.

He’s not sure he wants to find out.

~*~*~

By the time another month rolls around, Jiang Cheng dreams about the man every night. It’s exhausting and Jiang Cheng is sick of feeling sad.

He wants to scream at the man to leave him alone, but he finds he can’t muster the necessary anger for that. In the end, all he really wants to do is hug him and tell him it will be alright.

It doesn’t make any sense.

So in order to have it make some sense, Jiang Cheng starts to research. There is not much to find about religion and gods in the local library, nor in the university's library, but Jiang Cheng takes every book home with him that talks about the gods, even if it’s just in passing.

He piles his room with them, and it isn’t long before they migrate to the living-room as well.

Jiang Cheng is almost reading non-stop now. He needs answers.

But that also means that Wei Wuxian takes notice of his little project.

“What are you doing?” he asks, as he suspiciously eyes the nearest book. “Is this for a report?”

Jiang Cheng is tempted to lie to him—again—but in the end, he can’t bring himself to do it. He can’t lie about his god.

“No,” he admits. “I’m looking for someone.”

“Someone,” Wei Wuxian slowly repeats, his eyes still on the books. “And you’re reading these books because—?”

“I think that someone is a god,” Jiang Cheng says out loud, for the first time since the dreams started, and he’s surprised to find how right it feels.

“Do you have a fever?” Wei Wuxian asks and comes closer to put his hands to Jiang Cheng’s forehead. “Are you feeling okay?”

“Stop that,” Jiang Cheng grumbles and smacks his hand away. “I am. Do you remember the nightmares I told you about?”

“Are you still having them? Jiang Cheng, it’s been months since then.”

“And they are not nightmares,” Jiang Cheng says. “They are not even dreams, I think. But I need to find the man I’m dreaming about.”

“You’re dreaming about a man,” Wei Wuxian repeats and just by the tone of his voice Jiang Cheng can tell that he’s not going to like what’s coming next. “Did it ever occur to you that you might have a crush you’re dreaming about?”

“Shut up,” Jiang Cheng hisses but Wei Wuxian only laughs.

“I know it’s unlikely but it would certainly be more believable than you dreaming about a god. There are no gods, Jiang Cheng. They all died in the war.”

“But that’s just it,” Jiang Cheng starts and points at the books. “All these books, they talk about ‘the war’. None of them specify. None tell us what happened, who fought or why. A war leaves traces, bodies, ruins. And yet there is nothing.”

“It’s a war of the gods. Of course there would be no traces one earth.”

“And especially because of that there should be traces on earth. If the gods are as powerful as the world makes us believe then there should be traces all around. And even if not; who survived the war? There must have been a winner. Why did no one move to the heavens afterwards?”

“They probably got destroyed. Jiang Cheng, you’re talking non-sense. I don’t know what has gotten into you.”

Jiang Cheng opens his mouth to tell him exactly what has gotten into him, but he can’t find the words.

He doesn’t know how to describe the feeling he gets every time he dreams about the god. About the hole in his chest, about the feeling of missing someone so badly it leaves Jiang Cheng breathless and yearning and in pain from the simple absence of that someone.

Jiang Cheng doesn’t know how to make Wei Wuxian understand, so he doesn’t say anything.

“You should go back to concentrating on your studies,” Wei Wuxian advises him and Jiang Cheng simply nods.

If he agrees, Wei Wuxian will leave him alone and Jiang Cheng will have more time to further research the topic.

~*~*~

The books are no help. They are vague and generic in their descriptions, almost repetitive as if someone had copy/pasted the same paragraph into every book: there used to be gods. There was a war. The old gods are dead.

Jiang Cheng is losing his mind, the hole in his chest getting bigger almost every day, and he knows—he knows—it’s because he’s missing his god just as much as his god is missing him.

He needs more resources, that much is clear. Just as clear as it is that he won’t find them here.

Jiang Cheng already did some research, he knows there are other libraries out there he could consult, but none of them are willing to send their books halfway across the world, so his only option is to go to them.

And he will.

Jiang Cheng is just packing his back when Wei Wuxian comes into his room.

“What are you doing?” he asks, stuck in the doorway by his surprise and Jiang Cheng doesn’t even spare a glance for him.

“Packing,” he gives back, even though it should be more than obvious what he’s doing.

“Where are you going?” Wei Wuxian asks next and Jiang Cheng knows he won’t understand, he didn’t understand the last times and he certainly won’t now, but he still tries to explain.

“I have to find other sources, other books. These,” he says and points at the disappointing stack on his desk, “are not enough. They don’t have the answers I need.”

There’s a beat of silence where Wei Wuxian simply stares at him as if he lost his marbles but then he finds his voice again.

“There are no answers, Jiang Cheng! The old gods are dead!” Wei Wuxian almost yells at him as if that will make him understand, and Jiang Cheng has had enough.

“They are forgotten!” he yells back, because of that he is sure by now.

They cannot be dead, because if they are dead then Jiang Cheng is stuck with this feeling for forever and he’s not sure he can survive it. He can barely breathe with the simple thought of him being dead. It cannot be. It’s not true.

He needs to find his god.

“They are not dead, they can’t be,” Jiang Cheng repeats, much quieter this time, almost breathless with the pain in his chest. “I know it, right here,” he says and puts his hand over his heart.

“Jiang Cheng, this is insane,” Wei Wuxian tries again. “What are you going to do? You can’t just leave.”

“But I am,” Jiang Cheng gives back, because he is.

Nothing else matters.

“What?” Wei Wuxian asks, clearly surprised by Jiang Cheng’s answer, but Jiang Cheng barely pays him attention, until Wei Wuxian wraps his hand around his wrist.

“Jiang Cheng, be serious. You can’t just sacrifice everything you worked for. The university is going to kick you out. What are your parents going to say?”

“I don’t care,” Jiang Cheng tells him, looking straight at him to let him know he means it. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t like business anyway, you know that,” he tries to make light of the situation, but Wei Wuxian doesn’t even react to that.

“You don’t know what it’s like,” Jiang Cheng tries next and then the words just tumble out of his mouth. “I miss him, I miss him so much, and I don’t even know him. He’s my god, he is, I know it, but I’m also his and I have to find him.”

“Jiang Cheng, he’s not real,” Wei Wuxian whispers, but Jiang Cheng furiously shakes his head, tears pricking at his eyes.

“He is. He is just forgotten. And I will remember him. I will,” he decidedly says, because someone has to.

“Jiang Cheng, you can’t do this,” Wei Wuxian says again, but Jiang Cheng doesn’t listen to him anymore.

The need to find his god is burning him, is urging him to move, and so Jiang Cheng does.

It isn’t until Jiang Cheng turns around, his bag on his back, that he sees Jiang Yanli in the door.

He throws a glare at Wei Wuxian, because of course he called her, but Wei Wuxian simply holds his gaze.

“Shijie, he’s going to leave. He’s going to sacrifice everything for something that isn’t even real.”

Jiang Cheng works his jaw, because his god is real, he knows it, and Jiang Yanli smiles at him.

“A-Cheng, what are you doing?” she asks, voice as reasonable as ever, and Jiang Cheng has to fight the urge to cry.

“I have to find him, A-jie. I’m his. I’m his and I need to get back to him, I need to remember him, I can’t live with this—this hollow feeling inside of me. It’s going to eat me alive.”

“Shijie,” Wei Wuxian starts again, but Jiang Yanli puts a hand on his arm.

“A-Xian, be quiet,” she orders him and then steps closer to Jiang Cheng. “A-Cheng, the old gods are dead,” she tells him and Jiang Cheng fears his desperation will drown him.

“They are forgotten,” he says past the lump in his throat and he furiously wipes away the tears that stream down his face but he lacks the energy to repeat everything he said to Wei Wuxian earlier.

“Please, A-jie,” Jiang Cheng begs instead and he feels like he can’t breathe until Jiang Yanli nods.

“Alright,” she says, just as Wei Wuxian makes a startled noise.

“Shijie, you can’t let him ruin his life like this!”

“A-Xian, we’re going to let him go. He needs to do this,” Jiang Yanli tells him and Jiang Cheng is so thankful for her, he wants to cry again.

“Thank you,” he whispers and Jiang Yanli turns back around to him.

“How long will you be gone?” she asks him and Jiang Cheng straightens up.

“As long as I need to find him,” he gives back, because he will not stop.

Not before he knows his god.

“I pulled my money from my bank account, so I can survive for a while,” he says and they all know he means a very long while.

“Stay in contact with us. If you need anything else, you let us know,” Jiang Yanli decides and then pulls him into a hug.

“I hope you find him,” she mumbles and Jiang Cheng knows she doesn’t understand—how could she, without feeling like he does—so this is the best he can hope for.

He squeezes her tight, before he turns to Wei Wuxian.

“I still think you’re being stupid,” Wei Wuxian declares, but he pulls him into a hug too. “Be safe,” he asks of him and Jiang Cheng nods.

“I will be,” he gives back and then he leaves his old life behind.

~*~*~

Jiang Cheng travels the world. He starts with the bigger libraries, with those that already told him they have books on the matter, but he barely finds any new information. All of the book repeat what he already knows, so after a few weeks Jiang Cheng starts looks for obscure libraries and bookstores.

He runs out of money very soon, because especially the bookstores are expensive, but his siblings keep sending him money so he manages somehow.

He follows every lead he gets, every little hint he finds, and it brings him to the most remote places, but even after a year, there is nothing.

He learned nothing new. He still doesn’t have a name for his god; he still doesn’t have a clue what happened to him or where he could find him.

And yet Jiang Cheng dreams about his god every night and every night the hole in his chest gets bigger and bigger.

His god is lonely and Jiang Cheng needs to find him.

So he goes on and on, always alone, always plagued by the knowledge that he is failing his god, but he persists.

Jiang Cheng’s newest lead brings him to another remote village—and by now they all look the same to him—but something about this feels differently.

There is a small library in this village, almost dusted over, and it takes Jiang Cheng the better part of a week to sift through everything.

There are more books that mention the old gods than in any other library he has found so far, but they are still vague.

Vague enough to make Jiang Cheng almost tear them apart.

“Kid, what are you even looking for?” the librarian asks him on his fourth day and Jiang Cheng closes his eyes.

He can’t explain this again. Every time it does the urgency in him grows and it hurts—it hurts—to talk about his elusive god but then he straightens up.

“I’m looking for the old gods,” he finally tells the librarian.

“They are—”

“Dead, yes, I fucking know,” Jiang Cheng spits out, and the words turn to ash on his tongue, threaten to choke him.

They cannot be dead.

“You know, kid, there’s a temple somewhere on his mountain,” a frail voice suddenly says from the doorway and when Jiang Cheng whirls around he finds the oldest human being he has ever laid eyes on.

“Grandma, don’t feed those ridiculous tales to an impressionable young man,” the librarian chides her, but Jiang Cheng isn’t listening to him anymore.

“A temple?” he asks and he follows the grandma without hesitation when she leaves the library.

“No one has found it yet, and no one knows what the people in there would be doing.”

“But,” Jiang Cheng prompts her, because he senses that there is more.

“But every month this donkey comes out of its shed to be burdened with enough supplies to last for a month before it walks up the mountain by itself. And every month it comes back a day later, without the supplies.”

Jiang Cheng eyes the donkey in surprise.

“This donkey? It doesn’t look like much,” he mutters and the grandma gives him a toothless smile.

“It never comes out during any other time in the month. And yet here it is,” she says and Jiang Cheng freezes.

The donkey looks at him and Jiang Cheng suddenly knows that it’s here for him.

“Kid, don’t listen to her. She’s senile,” the librarian tries again, but Jiang Cheng is already bowing to the grandma.

“Thank you so much,” he chokes out, because he knows this is it.

He can feel it.

He’s going to find his god.

“I hope you find what you’re looking for,” the grandma tells him with a kind smile and then hobbles away.

“Don’t do this, kid. People die on this mountain all the time.”

“But not me,” Jiang Cheng says with conviction. “Someone is waiting for me, I can’t die,” he decides and then steps closer to the donkey.

The donkey looks at him for a long moment, but finally it starts to walk, and Jiang Cheng follows it without hesitation.

He’s so close already.

~*~*~

The donkey is a little bastard, Jiang Cheng decides as he bandages his still bleeding hand, but it also lead him right to the entrance of the temple, so really, Jiang Cheng can’t complain.

His feet are glued to the ground for the longest moment, because this is the best lead Jiang Cheng has gotten in the past year and something in his gut tells him that if this doesn’t pan out, he can go back home.

If this doesn’t pan out then there is nothing more for him to do.

Jiang Cheng takes one last deep breath before he enters the temple.

There are people milling around, some just standing like they forgot how to move, and Jiang Cheng quickly moves past them, never looking too long at them, only making sure they are not who he is looking for.

It’s only when he turns around the second corner that he notices that all of them are pointing in the same direction.

Jiang Cheng blinks a few times, but then his feet start to carry him along faster and faster, until he is running through the temple, always following the pointed fingers down streets and alleyways, deeper and deeper into it.

He comes to a sudden stop in front of a corner but he knows—he feels—that this is it.

Jiang Cheng just has to round that last corner and he will find what he was looking for all this time.

A very small part of him calls him stupid for believing that, but he’s burning with certainty, he knows it deep in his bones, and it’s that what finally allows him to move again.

He turns around the corner and stops dead in his tracks when he sees a man—his god—walking down the street.

He’s wearing his familiar white mourning robes, adorned with blue, and his forehead ribbon is pristine as usual.

Jiang Cheng distantly wonders how he suddenly knows that, but then his god turns around and sees him, the flute he’s carrying dropping to the ground, and every thought flees Jiang Cheng’s mind.

“Jiang Cheng,” his god says and Jiang Cheng feels alive for the first time since the dreams started. “Jiang Cheng,” his god repeats and Jiang Cheng walks up to him, for once in his life calm and at ease.

His god doesn’t take his eyes off him, tracks every step he takes, and soon enough Jiang Cheng is stranding right in front of him.

“Jiang Cheng,” his god says again and Jiang Cheng is surprised to see that the hand he’s raising is trembling.

His god cups his cheek in his hand and Jiang Cheng leans into the contact like a starving man. He allows his god to guide their foreheads together and he feels it more than he hears it when his god mumbles “You’re here.”

And suddenly it all comes back to Jiang Cheng; how Lan Xichen chose him, how they spend years, decades, centuries together and Jiang Cheng loves him so much it takes his breath away.

“Lan Xichen,” he whispers when he finds his voice again. “I found you.”

And the old gods are no longer forgotten.

Last part

{Buy me a kofi}

#bt writes #the untamed #mdzs #xicheng #god!lxc #there's a distinct lack of lxc in this #but jc goes through all the feels #hurt/comfort #angst #no backstory #we die like wwx #jiang cheng #lan xichen #Wei wuxian #jiang yanli

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jhoudiey · 4 years ago

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#ChickenChallengeComplete

Jumping back in time a bit here, wrote a fic to go along with the Halloween story cause a half a bird and magicamonsters makes for some angsty shit. Warnings I guess for bullying/humiliation (of the same vein Malleus was hit with in the event story), but tried to work in some wholesome bird dad at the very least.

Word Count: 2850

***************

“Yoru, I can’t talk now, I’m doing intense research!” Idia motioned for her to hush when she walked into his room unannounced. He was sitting on his bed, attention fixed on a screen that was seemingly in the middle of some awful student made film.

“Looks to me like you’re watching a movie” She said dryly, sitting on his bed next to him and glancing toward the screen. On it, a person with a pumpkin for a head gestured wildly. Idia paused it and glared at her. “How dare you suggest that my intense concentration on this film isn’t research! Look! Witness the details of the costumes! The backdrop! The tense mood the music has set! It is Pumpkin Hollow! Truly a masterpiece!” He stared at her, as if daring her to contradict his ramblings. She blinked slowly at him, still not seeing anything he had mentioned. To her, the movie looked grainy and poorly made, but maybe that was it’s charm? Idia had always been peculiar about certain things.

“Okay, what’s the research for then?” She asked, knowing Idia was about to launch into one of his never ending rants. “Halloween! I am on the planning committee this year, and as such it’s my responsibility to decorate the Library in a way to please the guests that will be coming to NRC! And what would be more exciting than getting to experience the beauty that is PUMPKIN HOLLOW in person!? I’m gathering info so that the projection mapping I have been working on is flawless! No detail will go astray, it would be an insult to the film! Look! See the Pumpkin Knight!? That will be Ignihydes costumes! Ahaha! I cannot wait! Soon everyone will understand the mastery of the greatest B horror movie of all time.” Yoru patted him on the shoulder, smiling slightly “I will leave it to you, then” She got up to leave and heard a muttered “I wouldn’t expect a normie to understand…” from Idia. His attention glued to the screen again before she’d left the room.

****

“Whoa Idia, this is impressive!” Yoru exclaimed, eyes wide as she gazed around the library the first day of the stamp rally. It had transformed completely, the shelves and pillars transformed into trees and pumpkins. “This is going to be great! All of the visitors are going to love this! Do you mind if I stay in the upper area and watch reactions? This is so cool!” Idia beamed, he knew his work was a flawless replica of the film, and was glad that even a normie like Yoru was able to appreciate it. The hours ticked by, Yoru amazed at the details every time the projection show started, she had thought that the film looked cheesy and contrite, but being in the middle of it was something else entirely. She went home that night feeling as if she had just spent the whole day in the forest.

Yoru found herself visiting the library every day during the event. She’d gone to the other dorms earlier to check out what they had set up, but with the amount of people that had started to pour in, she wasn’t comfortable being so exposed everywhere else. She’d managed to get rid of her wings and the talons on her hands, but her feet were still that of a bird, stubborn as ever. From the upper decks in the library she felt as if she was able to participate, while still keeping herself hidden, people outside of the school were always rude about her bird features so the less she was seen the better. All was progressing well, though she’d noticed Idia getting more frustrated with the crowds as the days wore on. The visitors weren’t listening, they were eating and drinking in the library and had started trying to feed Ortho, getting some books destroyed in the process. Still, despite the disturbances she kept to her shadowy corner, enjoying the projections and low chattering of the crowd. So long as she was hiding, everything would work out

“Oh hey! Check it out! That chick has got bird feet!” Yoru wheeled around to find a couple that had ignored all the signs posted about not entering the upper levels of the library. “Oh! We should get a picture! I bet it’ll be huge on magicam! I wonder if she’ll let us touch them like the Draconia Challenge!” the girl of the pair giggled, stepping towards Yoru with her phone held in her hand. “Haha yea! Hurry! We’ll call it the Chicken Challenge!” The pair roared with laughter as Yoru tried to back away from them. Crowley had made sure to tell her that the guests were not to be harmed, even if she couldn’t use magic he knew she was able to deal a heavy amount of damage in a short amount of time. Dead guests were hard to explain away, so Yoru had promised to leave everyone alone, no matter what.

“What the hell are you doing up here?” She snapped at them, trying to find an escape route between the shelves. For the first time in almost a year, she wished she’d had her wings back so she could simply fly away to escape them. As it were, there was nothing she could do about the advancing teens taking selfies as they approached her, trying to get her feet in the shot. The couple looked at each other and nodded, suddenly jumping forward to either side of her. They grabbed her around the shoulders, raised their phones up, “Everyone say CHICKEN CHALLENGE COMPLETE!” The flash from their phones flared, laughter ringing in Yoru’s ears. “Hey, check my hashtags, do you think this will get us trending!?” the girl giggled as the boy checked her phone. #ChickenChallengeComplete #secretchicken #chickeninthetrees #comefindit He howled with fresh laughter. “Secret chicken! That’s too good! Should we say where we are so more people can find it?” “No! Lets keep it more of a secret, it’s more fun if it’s harder to find right?!” They couple walked away talking as if Yoru only existed as a means to entertain them. The hot feeling of inadequacy and shame flooded into her stomach, she hadn’t been this humiliated since her elementary school days before she had learned to fight.

She looked down at the crowd of people below, knowing there was no way for her to make it back to her bedroom without being spotted. She swallowed the bile that had crept up her throat and ventured deeper into the library hoping that no one else would stumble across her to complete whatever the so called “chicken challenge” was. She had barely made it out from between the original shelves of books when another group of people were rushing at her shouting that they’d found her, taking pictures and touching her legs as she pushed through them searching desperately for privacy. She hoped the darkness of the back wall would give her some respite from the plague of visitors as she climbed the stairs towards the upper levels of the library. She knew that the higher she went the less routes of escape she had, but she couldn’t face the crowd below, not in a way that would leave everyone uninjured, that is. She found herself in the farthest reach of the library, saddened to see that it wasn’t bathed in complete darkness, the light from the projections was too strong. She climbed the shelf to sit on the very top of it, at least this way if the visitors found her, they could only get a picture of her shadowed body. Yoru hugged her knees to her chest, looking out across the library, watching the people mill around and climb the stairs in the dark looking for her. She hoped that ten o’clock would come soon, but she hadn’t thought to check the time when she first arrived, it was likely hours until she would be able to make it home. Cameras continued to flash as guests found her, the tallest of them braving to jump and touch her feet from where she sat, her muttered mantra of “don’t hurt them, don’t hurt them” the only thing keeping her from lashing out.

What seemed to be hours later, she heard a single pair of footsteps coming towards her. She’d shut her eyes long ago not wanting to see the gleeful faces of those who had found their elusive chicken. “Y-Yoru?” Idia asked quietly “I thought it might be you up here. I kept seeing cameras flash in this corner, it kept throwing off the projections. Ortho said you were trending on magicam…” She refused to look at him and nodded, worried that somehow he’d be able to see how red the skin around her eyes had become. “Umm… there’s only an hour left, I-I brought a pumpkin for you… if you wanna at least hide your face…” He handed her a hollowed out green pumpkin prop, the same that he was wearing. “It’s….it’s easier if they can’t see your face…all these normies..ruining everything...” He muttered, not knowing how to help his friend. She reached down and grabbed the pumpkin, firmly pressing it onto her head “Thanks Idia… I hate this…” Her voice caught in her throat with her last words, and she curled herself tighter around her legs. “I’ll try and adjust the projection so no light gets up here… It’ll be done soon…” He shuffled away, back into the thick of the crowd, and true to his word, the upper floors became a little darker. She suspected Ortho had stationed himself at the foot of the stairs as there were no more visitors for the rest of the evening.

She jumped from her perch as the lights came on, hurrying as quickly as her chicken legs would carry her towards the safety of home. She ignored the cries from the other Ignihyde students shouting that they needed their prop back and she couldn’t just steal it. Yoru had never really considered the campus to be especially large, though today it seemed as if the library and the sanctity of her bedroom were leagues apart. The ghosts of laughter ringing in her ears drowned out the conversations of the lingering students talking about the successes and failures of the day. Mentions of the word chicken seemed to cut through the air as swiftly as the flashes of the cameras had cut through the projections. Even on campus she wasn’t free from the questioning looks, she stared at the ground hurrying her pace to make it home. She felt herself bump into someone and muttered “shit” before realizing she’d been walking staring into the pumpkin, not even seeing the outside world.

“Ahh Yoru-san, you must be more careful, if you’d knocked into me any harder I may have been injured!” Azul teased “It seems you’ve stolen one of Ignihydes props, is that why you are in such a hurry? Hand it over, and I’ll return it to Idia-san before we head back to Octavinelle” He reached towards the pumpkin but she slapped his hand away, as far as she was concerned the pumpkin wasn’t coming off until she was alone, she wouldn’t let anyone see her face in the state it was in. Jade stepped up behind her and put a firm hand on the small of her back, holding her in place until they were finished with her “Fufufu, Azul, it seems Yoru-san would rather like to keep her pumpkin hat, perhaps it was a gift from Idia-san for the success of the Chicken Challenge that seems to be trending on magicam”. Yoru’s stomach dropped again fresh tears springing to her eyes, it seemed everyone was aware of her newfound notoriety. “Huuuuh? Chicken challenge? That’s stupid” Floyd complained, trying to pull the pumpkin off her head again. She stepped free of Jades hand and slapped Floyds away continuing her race for home. “Fugu-chan isn’t even a chicken. Find the Fugu-chan sounds way more fun...” She made it out of earshot as fast as possible. It was one thing to hear all the unknown visitors calling her a chicken, but she wouldn’t be able to get Jades delighted voice praising the successful chicken challenge out of her head.

Her bed came as a welcome refuge, she pulled the blankets up over her head and completely cocooned herself within them. She hadn’t felt so small since she was a child. Yoru had always looked forward to Halloween, even in elementary school all the children would give her a day of freedom and focus on all the other ghosts and ghouls and forgot to make fun of her. Halloween was supposed to be the day where she felt most normal, instead she’d been turned into a sideshow freak act. She crawled out of bed to dig through her desk to find her phone. She wanted to see how far it had gotten, dreading that there may be a repeat tomorrow. She didn’t have to look far on magicam to find the endless stream of #ChickenChallenge posts. Most curiously, there was often a second hashtag of #DraconiaChallenge with a picture of the guest touching Malleus in some way. This must have been what the first couple to find her was talking about. Yoru had only ever briefly talked to him when he interrupted her late night rooftop brooding, but she felt a certain solidarity with the horned prince she’d never experienced before. Turns out all freaks were fair game on campus this halloween, it wasn’t just her.

A gentle knock on her door indicated that Crowley had arrived home. “Yoru, you in here?” he asked before quietly pushing his way into her room before waiting for an answer. He looked at the lump of blankets in the center of her bed and sighed. “I... heard about the magicam challenge” he said faintly, frowning when the lump seemed to sink further into the mattress. He sat on the edge of the bed and placed a hand on where he thought her head would be. ‘Are you okay, Nugget?” he asked, mad at himself for using her nickname in such circumstances. He felt her shake her head, it had been years since he’d seen her like this; a blanket-ball of Yoru meant that she had been crying, and he didn’t know how to fix it. He sat with her in silence for a moment, not knowing what to say but not wanting to leave in case she wanted him to stay. “All of that attention and no one lost an arm… I’m so proud of you!” He heard her sniffle from her blanket cavern “Thanks to your hard work the police weren’t called and we’re free to live another day!” He joked, hearing the faintest snort of laughter from her. “You hungry?” He asked, hoping that his attempt at humor had cheered her up a little bit. He felt her nod and hurried to make her some sort of dinner, wondering if he could convince one of the school ghosts to make them something good. As he was banging around in the kitchen he heard a faint clicking of talons on the floor, he turned to look at her and saw her completely wrapped in blankets with only her feet and the tiniest sliver of her face visible.

“I came to investigate to make sure you weren’t going to burn the house down” She muttered peering over his shoulder to look into the frying pan. Crowley let out a dramatic sigh “you wound me! I so kindly offer to make you dinner and you come down to bully me!” He let out a longer, more dramatic sigh to prove his point. She smiled a little and nudged him away from the frying pan, if left to his own devices he would burn the house down for real, and she was too hungry to watch a house fire. “If they come busting in here for that stupid challenge tomorrow can I rip their arms off?” she muttered quietly, poking at the sausages in the pan. He looked at her inquisitively “you know the rules, Yoru! We can’t have the police called on us!” he said shaking his head. “But… they would be breaking into our home, perhaps a sort of deterrent to chase them away… it would be self-defense after all... ?” He muttered, more to himself than to Yoru. “I can string up the corpse of the first person to come in outside the door to ward off anyone else…” Yoru suggested. Crowley jumped back in a show of fake shock “No no! We couldn’t do that!” He crossed his arms and shook his head furiously. “On campus? Absolutely not! How could we explain that! You're forgetting one of the first rules I taught you!” He looked at her and smiled, she laughed a little, still poking at the sausages. “Yeah yeah” she sighed. “No body, no crime” they said together, both hoping they’d one day be able to forget today.

#twst oc #yoru crowley #twisted wonderland oc #twisute oc #dire crowley #idia shroud #azul ashengrotto #floyd leech #jade leech #twst fic

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damienthepious · 4 years ago

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time 2 be emotionally fraught baybeeeeee happy LKT!

Going Through Changes, Ripping Out Pages (chapter 10)

[ch 1] [ch 2] [ch 3] [ch 4] [ch 5] [ch 6] [ch 7] [ch 8] [ch 9] [ao3] [???]

Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast

Relationship: Lord Arum/Sir Damien/Rilla

Characters: Lord Arum, Sir Damien, Rilla, The Keep

Additional Tags: Second Citadel, Lizard Kissin’ Tuesday, Established Relationship, (uhhhhh sorta), Amnesia, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, (WE WILL GET THERE…… EVENTUALLY)

Summary: Lord Arum wakes to discover that some things have changed while he slept. Namely, there is a human in his bed.

Chapter Summary: Damien tests his theory.

Chapter Notes: inconsistent chapter length be damned!!! i do what i want! [kicks desk] anyway happy LKT, i love youu

They make poor progress with their research, that morning. Arum is-

He is clearly acting grumpier than he feels, a defensive layer of prickliness that Rilla really isn't surprised by, but she suspects that the lizard slept far less than he implied, too. He looks shadowed and tense in a way that reminds her distinctly and unpleasantly of how he looked the first time she stayed here in the Keep, and she doesn't think that's just because that's basically the mindset that he's in. She knows how his tail coils when he's far too tired, by now.

A lot of the problem with their research is that monsters seem to keep their methods of creating curses pretty damn close to the chest, and Arum himself isn't really in the business. His creations have always been a lot more physical. "Practical," in his words, though Rilla quietly disagrees that a decent chunk of his nonsense projects are practical.

Arum knows a few ways to get rid of hexes and jinxes- ritual words, ceremonies of cleansing, magic potions, the sorts of things that usually frustrate Rilla out of her mind with their inconsistency. Rilla's frustration doesn't much matter, though, because Arum is convinced that none of the above would be effective against a curse like this anyway. A magical-herb-infused bath might knock out some minor blight, but this? It's too deep.

... They do test a few smaller ideas anyway, if only to see if they might weaken whatever it is that's locking Arum's memories away (none of them say, out loud, the possibility that the memories are gone, not just inaccessible), but after each minor test Arum only sags further and shakes his head.

By midday they're all... disheartened, to use a Damien word. Arum more than her and Damien, if Rilla's read is correct. Again- it really doesn't help that he's so obviously exhausted. Damien meets Rilla's eyes over the small lunch the Keep brings for them (it's been picking out meals that it knows are each of their favorites, Rilla is sure that it's deliberate- she thinks she oughta take an aside with the Keep later today, thank it a bit more directly, check in to make sure it's doing alright, considering-), and Rilla knows he's thinking of their conversation this morning. Rilla still isn't enthusiastic about the idea, it seems dangerous, for a number of reasons, but-

Arum pulled Damien back to them with a duel, didn't he?

And, frankly, it's not like Rilla has any better ideas. None that don't involve a near-impossible infiltration and- well. Murder, theoretically.

She catches Damien's eye again as they clean up their bowls, and she gives him a nod, and as much of a smile as she can manage.

Damien nods in return, his expression nervous but steady, and then he takes a deep breath.

"I may have an idea," Damien says, and Rilla's heart thuds at the way Arum's face flashes with hope before he buries it in a frown. "Would you mind," he continues, "if we were to retreat to the greenhouse, to discuss it?"

Arum's frown deepens, clearly unhappy not to just out with it right now, but he turns and gestures with a hand for the Keep to open the way.

"A duel," Arum drawls, and the little knight does a poor job of hiding the way Arum's tone makes him wince. Or, perhaps he did not intend to hide it at all. "So you wish to do precisely what the Senate wanted us to, then?"

"By no means," the knight says, jerking his head sharply. "It may be a foolish idea-"

"The reasoning is sound," Amaryllis interrupts, firm, and the knight glances towards her with a grateful smile.

"Well- I hope so. I thought, perhaps- we duel often, you see, to keep our skills sharp, to settle inconsequential matters, to-" he cuts himself off, his cheeks darkening, and then he shakes his head. "So- so I thought, perhaps, that if we cannot strike upon a magical means of weakening this affliction, then maybe there could be a more physical method. If your body remembers- remembers warmth enough to trouble your sleep when you are lacking, then... perhaps your body may remember the strain of our physical activities together as well."

Arum frowns, both grateful and furious with the poet for avoiding the mention of what precise heat his body remembers. It is embarrassing in the extreme, of course, but it is almost more embarrassing that Damien seems to know to avoid specificity in the matter. "So you believe that we may... knock some sense into me, as it were."

Amaryllis chokes a laugh, which is oddly gratifying. Damien, for his part, looks mournful again, wide-eyed and worried.

"I have no desire to hurt you," he insists.

"And yet you wish to fight."

"To duel," Damien says. "To spar, if that phrasing is more... acceptable."

"We do this often?" Arum says, doing nothing to hide his skepticism, and then he eyes Damien, unarmed as he is. Arum, on the other hand, is armed. Excepting his time in their room the night before, his knives have been carefully strapped to his person since the Keep allowed Damien to leave, the first morning they woke together. He... believes that they are earnest, now, yes, but he is not so foolish as to leave himself without defense.

"Like, kind of annoyingly often," Amaryllis says, leaning against a thick tree trunk and crossing her arms over her chest, and the poet's lips press together in something of a pout. "I don't really get it, but yeah."

"It-" Damien furrows his brow, and then he sighs. "If you think the idea ridiculous, or if- if you do not trust that I will not hurt you- if you do not agree, Arum, then obviously we will not try it. We can find another thread to pull, for the afternoon. I only thought-"

"I am unconcerned that you will harm me, little poet," Arum says, halfway to a snarl, and Damien stills, his lips pressing together in an expression that Arum cannot quite read. "And I do think the idea is ridiculous. However..." he growls, looking away for a moment. However. The story they and the Keep have told him piecemeal over the last day-and-half still spins uncertainly in Arum's mind, the idea that he and this slight, soft-eyed little human have clashed steel before and matched evenly-

Arum still cannot quite accept it. He believes them, trusts the pain in their eyes if nothing else, but the idea that he would have lost to so gentle a creature- it simply does not make sense. A duel, a contest of skill, now- Arum cannot say if he is at all convinced it may do anything to loosen the grip of this curse, but nevertheless Arum is tempted. If only, he thinks, for the chance to prove himself.

"However?" Sir Damien echoes, softly, and Arum snaps back to himself.

"If the both of you think it may have a chance..." he shrugs, feigning nonchalance. "It is worth exploring, I suppose."

"Again," Amaryllis says, lifting a pointed hand, "it makes sense, but I don't think we should-"

"Get our hopes up," Arum finishes. "Obviously."

Amaryllis' lip curls up, not quite a smile, and then she shoots a look towards Damien. "Be careful, remember," she says sternly, and the poet presses a hand over his heart.

"I swear," he says. "Always."

The look on Amaryllis' face at that leads Arum to suspect that the poet is not, in fact, always careful. Arum frowns.

"How shall we begin, then? I imagine you suggested that we come to the greenhouse because it will give us ample space, correct?"

"Yes." Damien gives a small sort of smile. "The game is to try to pin each other. Despite Rilla's- frequent suggestions, we have... not yet transitioned to sparring with practice weaponry. Bladed combat is your preferred, and I am rather flexible, so typically we duel with knives." He pauses. "Yours, if you would be willing to allow me the use of one. Otherwise- well, I could ask the Keep to allow me to step into Rilla's hut for a moment to retrieve-"

"We may as well do this properly," Arum says, shrugging, and then he draws one of his knives and, on a strange sort of whim, whips it out to sink into the bark of the tree beside Damien's head. The knight does not flinch, surprisingly, though he does blink as the Keep warbles a chastising note. "Oh be quiet," Arum mutters. "The bark is thick, it will be fine."

Damien turns, carefully pulling the blade back out, his fingers curling around the hilt with a reverent sort of delicacy.

Arum unstraps one set of hilts, hanging them from another tree nearby, then draws his remaining blade, holding it unthreateningly at his side as he spares a look towards Amaryllis.

"Your priorities fascinate me, just so you are aware," he mutters. "Though you did not deign to ask, I will assure you as well that I will exercise caution. I will not cause the poet any undue harm."

Amaryllis presses her lips together, nearly smiling. "Appreciate that," she says after a moment, her tone very strange, and then she shoots Damien a look.

The poet shakes his head. "Keep, if you would?"

Arum blinks, but the Keep sings a note of acknowledgment and shutters the skylights slightly, dimming the greenhouse to a more muted palette.

"So no one may claim that the sun were in his eyes," Damien explains with a wry smile, and Arum wonders briefly which of them that particular amendment were made in deference to. "Is there anything else you need? A moment to collect yourself, or-"

"I am fully prepared to best you," Arum snaps, unsettled by the gentle concern in the poet's voice. "Are you ready?"

The poet inhales very slowly, exhales tranquility, my Saint in a breath, and then his lips tilt into a crooked smile.

"I am," he says.

"You are remarkably amenable to the situation," Arum says slowly, stalking closer, "considering that I did, in fact, nearly kill you yesterday morning. I feel I should give you another guarantee, for the sake of your comfort. I will not hurt you beyond what is necessary to beat you. You need not fear for your life."

"You sound so utterly certain," Damien says, a grin flashing across his face despite the pain in his eyes. "So confident that you will be the one of us who needs show mercy."

"I've never lost, little poet," Arum growls, stiff, and Damien glances for half a moment towards Rilla, and then he laughs.

"Ah, I am terribly sorry to disabuse you of that notion," he says, and Arum's scales prickle at the indulgent tone in his voice, "but that is no longer quite true, I should say."

Arum pauses, stewing in that assertion for a moment before he retorts. "He may have," he rumbles, attempting to smooth over his discomfort with cool, patient anger. "I have not."

"Hm," Damien says. "Yes, not to your memory, I suppose. I am sorry as well that we shall be so unevenly matched in this endeavor, friend monster."

"I will not tie two hands behind my back if you think that will make us more even, littl-"

"Oh," Damien laughs, "no, rather the opposite, in fact. It might be rather more fair if we gave you all the rest of your knives to match my one, I think, but I imagine that may injure your pride rather more than you would allow."

Arum pulls his head back, his lip curling over his teeth in a shocked sort of fury. "What?"

"I've a rather distinct advantage, I'm afraid."

Arum's eyes scrape down Damien's body, his lithe frame, his loose, unprepared stance, the knife held so casually in one delicate hand, and then raise up again to his smug smile. Arrogant thing, he thinks, hissing disdainfully. In need of a lesson. Arum should end this foolish little duel before it begins.

Arum darts forward, faster than a human should be able to see, but-

But Damien moves, a breath before Arum does, backstepping around Arum's lunge without even raising his knife.

"Ah," he says calmly as Arum exhales in shock. "So, we have begun, then? Very well, Lord Arum."

In the heartbeat it takes for Arum to regain his senses, the knight shifts his stance and raises his arm, scraping the length of his blade along Arum's own in a fluid motion, and as Arum flinches back Damien takes a calmer step away and assumes a stance-

A stance that tickles familiar in the back of Arum's mind.

A distraction, whether intentional or not, and Arum raises his blade again just in time to block Damien's first quick, testing strike. Arum growls instinctively, and the knight's mouth curves into a small, strange smile as he swings his knife again, an elegant practiced arc, and Arum blocks, catching the blades together.

"I've had quite a bit of practice," Damien says evenly, over the light scraping of metal on metal, "dueling with you, friend lizard." He angles his body, moving his wrist in such a way that he uses their clashing blades to draw Arum's face closer to his own, a molten heat in his eyes that Arum cannot seem to look away from. "Perhaps I should go easy on you, let you warm up a little."

Damien disengages, spinning as he steps away again, his footwork light as the wind, and it is not until he is no longer so close, until he is no longer invading Arum's space with his heat and his musical voice, it is not until he is out of reach that Arum realizes what the poet actually said. He snarls, sputtering as he brandishes his knife between them.

"Go easy on me? Arrogant- absurd, I do not need such practice to simply skewer such a foolish creature-"

"Go on and prove it, then," Damien says, his voice warm and unbothered.

Arum snarls again, crouching lower and watching the human step carefully, edging in an arc around Arum, and then Arum spins, whipping with his tail-

Sir Damien jumps over the tail with ample time, and he does not pause in the descent, swinging his arm down, the blade flashing, and Arum barely deflects the blow, and he needs to roll away to avoid Damien's next two quick strikes.

"Ah, yes," Damien grins wide as he continues to flash his wrist out, relentless as Arum blocks and parries and skips back, trying to get out of range. "It took some time to learn to anticipate that one, I will admit. You've certainly put me on my back more than once with that trick- though you've since needed to find means a bit more clever-"

"Must you-" Arum hisses, ducking, spinning, this little knight is quick, not as fast as Arum in technicality but with each movement Arum makes, Damien aims a blow towards whatever new opening Arum makes. "Must you chatter so, even-" another gasp, and then Arum leaps aside, putting enough space between Sir Damien and himself that he can catch his breath, can manage a sneer. "Not even in this do you cease prattling?"

"If I have breath enough to speak," Damien says, twirling Arum's knife absently between his fingers, "why should I not? I'm quite enjoying my time."

The knight's cheeks are flushed, just barely dark, but his aforementioned breath is even and easy and Arum hisses to hide his own gasping. "Are you?" Arum growls, and something in his stomach twists at Damien's warm smile.

"I always do," he says with a shrug, and then he darts forward, his next set of strikes less swift, but more forceful, more precise. "The exhilaration, the adrenaline of combat, but with the assurance of safety, the knowledge that it will end in laughter, rather than blood- oh, yes, I always take a rather great deal of pleasure in our time together, Lord Arum."

Arum tries to focus on his movements, on holding his ground enough that Damien cannot begin to crowd him backwards again. His words are- distracting, however.

"Is this- your tactic, then? Chattering away, sapping focus-"

"If you cannot focus on your blade and my words at the same time, Lord Arum-"

Arum swings his knife out viciously at that, and Damien grins hard as he spins out of the way. "Ah, there you are-"

His words are distracting- Arum steps back, steps back again, knows that he is losing ground. Damien lashes out, a strike Arum realizes he will not be able to counter, and the lizard throws himself backwards instead, unaware enough of his surroundings that he does not notice the tree behind him until his shoulder collides with it painfully.

"Ah-"

"Oh," Damien pauses, his eyes widening in concern, "oh- are you alright? I didn't mean-"

"Don't patronize me," Arum snaps, ignoring the bruising sting and darting forward. He swings his arm, their blades ringing against each other once, twice, and then on the third blow Damien pushes back enough that they are pressed close, their metal meeting between them with the edges of their blades scraping in a discordant song.

Damien twists his blade oddly against Arum's own, catching the hilts together and wrenching Arum's wrist at an odd enough angle that the lizard needs to lean his body forward to avoid dropping the hilt in pain.

Damien is too close, suddenly, pressing forward at the same time that Arum does, and then he maneuvers his leg just as Arum tries to step away, hooking his ankle behind Arum's and simply allowing Arum's own attempted movement to unsteady him, making his tail swing in a wild arc as he raises his arms to attempt to rebalance, but then-

Damien places his free hand, palm open, directly over Arum's heart, and pushes.

Arum's back hits the dirt before he fully knows what happened, breath escaping in a rush and his knife flying aside with a dull bouncing thud against the ground, and then Damien drops over him, knees on either side of his waist, pinning his lower arms against him as the knight presses his free arm over Arum's sternum like the trunk of a tree, holding him down.

Arum can hardly breathe, not from the pressure but from the surprise, from the rush, from the heat of Sir Damien crowding so exquisitely close, and the knight's eyes are bright and focused and intense. Then, Sir Damien raises his other hand.

The one with which he holds Lord Arum's knife.

Damien swings the blade down, and Arum remembers with self-loathing viciousness the burnt letter from the Senate, remembers the hateful whispery certainty of the hand which wrote the human infection will destroy you-

Arum closes his eyes.

He feels the rush of air on the scales of his face, hears a dull thunk, but-

No pain. No bloom of heat, no pulse of awareness of the blade plunging into his shoulder, his chest, his neck, and his eyes flutter back open in confusion to see how in the name of the Universe the human managed to miss-

The knife is planted in the dirt beside Arum's head; he can see the reflection of his own wide eye in the sheen of the blade. Damien is much closer now- necessary, of course, considering his grip on the hilt, but- but Arum can feel the way his chest moves with his panting breaths, can taste the adrenaline and sweat on the air, can hear Damien's heart, pounding steady, a sturdier beat than the frantic race of his own. The poet stares down at him, his eyes hot and hypnotic, and whatever biting comment Arum intended to make about Damien's aim dies on his tongue before he manages to open his mouth.

"Well, well," the poet says, and his voice is a low, sonorous, strange drawl as he leans heavy over Arum, one hand planted palm-flat to the dirt next to his face, the other (the hand that planted the knife on the other side) trailing up his shoulder, towards his neck. "It looks like the smallest trap is the one you finally fell for."

"I-" Arum blinks. "What?"

"And now," Damien continues, his sharp eyes flicking between Arum's own, "here you are, pinned beneath my claws..."

Damien's hand trails up his neck, his expression far more focused, now, than it had been during the fight, and then he grips Arum's throat, firm and possessive but not hard, not impeding his breath, and Arum- Arum's heart rushes prey-quick even as he understands what Damien is doing.

The words- the nonsense words, not nonsense at all- they must be what Arum himself had said, during one of their duels. Coming from this fierce, surprisingly skillful little creature, they make Arum feel flushed with heat that seems to pulse out from every single inch of his body where Damien touches him.

"A-ah," Arum manages, but not much besides. He cannot even convince himself to struggle against Damien's weight, Damien's hands.

Damien's expression shifts when he realizes that Arum has caught on. He leans closer, his grip on Arum's throat pressing gently to tilt his head to the side, letting him lean closer to murmur in Arum's ear.

"I love to make you panic," he breathes, and Arum flexes all his claws at once. "The sound of your pounding heart makes my stomach growl."

Arum-

Laughs. He cannot quite help himself, despite the fact that his heart is, in fact, pounding, and Damien blinks in surprise.

"Did I- did I really- I said that to you?" he manages, still feeling too hot, too crowded. Sir Damien is... very close.

The poet manages something like a smile, then, though he does not look happy. Arum imagines that he had been hoping... well, hoping that his words would trigger what the physicality of their duel did not. "You did," he says quietly, and his grip on Arum's neck softens, his thumb brushing along Arum's jaw in a way that makes his scales tingle with electricity. "Before you decided not to kill me."

Arum... is not quite certain, about that. Arum knows himself- likes to think he knows himself, at the very least, knows the layers of his lies, and if Damien's words are truly an echo of Arum's in the past, then Arum does not think he could have more obviously begged the knight to acknowledge him, to banter back, if he had outright said so. Could not have said that he preferred Damien alive more blatantly if he had presented his own neck for the blade instead. Perhaps he had not admitted it even to himself, yet, but-

"Ridiculous," he mutters, low and less biting than he would prefer.

Damien leans back, just slightly, his tawny eyes flicking between Arum's own, and his expression softens from his strained smile, going earnest and mournful and strange. He hesitates, biting his lip, and then he lifts his hand from Arum's jaw, drifting his fingers up the scales of Arum's cheek. His touch still feels- hot, sparking, as if the contact were prompting a small fissure of magic at the point they meet, and Arum holds his breath so that he does not gasp, instead.

Damien swallows, his heart beating a little faster, and then his lips part.

"Do you want... to try this?" Damien murmurs, his voice thick with sorrow and desire. "To try... us?"

Arum's breath catches in his throat, and he cannot seem to tear his eyes from Damien's-

He realizes, after a heartbeat, that he does not want to.

"I..." Arum swallows, tries to feel anything besides desperate and wanting. He tries, but- but their eyes, their voices and their tears and their hands- the sound of their hearts- the way the keep reaching for him- "I- I do. I do, Damien, I-"

Arum leans up. He feels- cracked through, his defenses tattered beyond salvage, if they want him- if they truly want him- Arum wants to try, to see if he is capable of earning the loyalty and affection these creatures continue to offer, again and again despite how viciously Arum pushes their hands aside. He wants to. He leans up, because he wants Damien to lean down.

Damien's eyes widen, his breath hitching, his muscles tensing, and Arum realizes with a sensation akin to his stomach falling through the floor that Damien's words were not the true question he assumed they were, not now, not in this moment, they were only-

Another echo. Another attempt to trigger a memory that Arum simply does not have. He was not asking- he does not want-

He does not want me, Arum thinks. He wants back only what he once had.

Arum drops his head, his horns pressing indents into the dirt beneath him, and he closes his eyes. Foolishness- foolishness he cannot even deny, now, and for what? For Damien to flinch away from him, to furrow his brow and pull back-

"Off," Arum manages through his teeth. "You've won."

"Arum, I'm-"

"Get off," he snarls, and when he feels Damien flinch above him he adds, quietly, "please."

The knight pulls away. Arum feels cold, and he hears Damien's feet scuffing in the dirt as he moves to stand again, and Arum forces himself to open his eyes again. He curls up, rolling to sit so he can rub at his shoulder for a moment, pretending to test the bruise to give himself a moment to breathe. His eyes flick up despite himself, just as Amaryllis reaches to grip Damien's wrist, squeezing with her lip twitching in a small, comforting smile, and some of the churning despair on Damien's face eases, and then they both look towards him, and Arum drops his eyes back to the dirt with his insides burning, and he hates-

He wants-

He digs his claws into the dirt and then shoves himself to stand. He brushes off his cape, and reaches down to retrieve his blades to slip back into their sheaths.

"Well," Arum says. "I suppose we should be grateful that none of us got our hopes up."

[End Notes: I really don't know very much about How Fighting Works, forgive me <3 ]

#elle's fanfic #the penumbra podcast #second citadel #rad bouquet #lizard kissin' tuesday #lord arum #sir damien #amaryllis of exile #going through changes ripping out pages #aaaaaAAAaaaAAAA DUEL TIME

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gingermcl · 3 years ago

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Raising personal frequency and why it matters.

I am not a love and light person. As in we must be positive all the time and negative feelings can’t exist. No. As someone who can literally feel a persons energy, I will say that negatively charged energy has a heavier feel to it. You literally can feel the density in the air in a room shift when an extremely negative person walks in. There is some truth in all programming. Even in psychological operations like the new age movement. The new cage movement. Earth is a realm of duality; good and bad exist here. In a realm of duality, the goal is balance. One must innerstand darkness does exist in all of us and that is ok! Too many people want to pretend darkness doesn’t exist and by ignoring evil, it grows. Don’t let the darkness control you. Anyone pushing that we have to make the darkness go completely away or that it shouldn’t exist is misinformed and I would be cautious listening to advice from said person. I would be leery of anyone attempting to tell another how to live. Pushing your will on another is the definition of black magic. With anything I ever discuss, if you don’t agree that’s cool. I’m always open to hearing new ideas and perspectives; please don’t approach me in a nasty manner. I won’t engage someone unable to have an calm conversation. Engaging and regularly interacting with negativity or negative people is a good way to lower your own frequency. We often tend to carry a frequency similar to our friends, this is why so many outgrow friends after having a spiritual awakening. We literally outgrow people on an energetic level.

Raising personal frequency is important. Lower vibrational energies literally cannot affect folks on a higher frequency. I made a conscious effort 7 years ago to change who I was. A girl in a rehab therapy group told me about myself and I did not like what I heard. She said I was one of the most negative people she had ever met and as I began to examine my behaviors and my words, I realized she was right. It took a couple years of conscious effort to change my mindset from negative to positive. I can say today the results have been priceless. I am very appreciative of her giving me a wake up call.

If what we are told is correct and atoms are in fact what compose matter; everything in this universe is sound. Atoms are said to be made of waves and vibrations. At the molecular level atoms don’t actually touch. Atoms get extremely close to one another but they never fully touch. They’re independent energy fields and when densely packed together atoms form matter. Matter is dense....which goes along with my observation of negatively charged energy being heavier. Higher dimensions are said to be heavenly and they also do not have dense physical matter. I’m not entirely certain that physical existence isn’t a prison for the spirit. Our bodies are made of cells, prisoners are put in cells. It is blatantly obvious that those in control of this realm would like humanity on the lowest frequency possible. One intention of mind control programming is to lower the frequency of mankind, keep man in a angry, fearful, depressed, lower vibrational state. It is highly likely there are malevolent beings harvesting humanity’s soul energy. This energy is called loosh. All emotions create loosh; for some reason negative emotions generate more or more desirable energy.

The negative humans and other unseen beings/energies who have been in control of this realm for thousands of years now feed on what is known as loosh. Loosh is the life force energy created by humans when they experience emotions. Low vibrational emotions such as anger, sadness, depression, and even apathy are preferred by these negative energies than the loosh generated by positive emotions. Feeding these malevolent energies is why so much programming is done to divide the people, to make us hate our lives and ourselves, to blame mankind for the evil here, and many other trauma based mind control tactics are in place to keep humanity in a lowered state of existence. There are individuals who feel a deep seeded guilt in the heart just for being born due to this programming! The moon is thought to be emitting a low frequency in order to mind control humanity. Hence why when at full power a.k.a. a full moon humans act crazier and even violent. A full moon is when the Saturn moon matrix broadcasts the strongest signal.

If you are a person who has discovered that evil is running this realm, the best thing you can do is to do the exact opposite of what the controllers want; work on making your life peaceful, exposing the evil, healing your trauma and reprogramming yourself, disengage from the “matrix” every way you can. Be mindful of where you spend money, try not to use money, watch your words, push out negative thoughts, and love yourself. Anyone “awake” should absolutely strive for a higher frequency, honestly everyone should strive for a higher frequency. Existence is much more enjoyable and calmer when you are on a higher frequency. The law of attraction is legitimate. We attract back to us exactly what we put out into this world. Putting out positivity attracts pleasant situations and focusing on negativity creates unpleasantries.

Extremely high and extremely low vibrations do not mix, they tend to separate themselves from one another instead. Society is currently being divided. Those who are fearful are going one way and those of us who want unity are going another. How this ultimately will play out, time will tell.

Sleep paralysis is potentially based solely on frequency. Sleep paralysis occurs when your frequency is too low. I’ve heard folks say sleep paralysis is necessary for astral projection; that is not true. Sleep paralysis is unnatural and caused by a weapon of some kind. A frequency weapon. Those on a too high frequency cannot be manipulated by such technology.

In my opinion being on a higher frequency is better is because you have access to more spiritual information and any metaphysical ability you possess functions exponentially better on a higher frequency. When my frequency goes too low, certain abilities vanish. Frequency fluctuates regularly. It typically stays in a a range normal for you, but extraordinary events like a crisis or confrontation can dramatically drop one’s frequency; it can take days, weeks, or even months to recover from some circumstances. Recognizing how important frequency is and learning how to raise your frequency are important to spiritual development. When on a higher frequency you have a better connection with your intuition, are less susceptible to mind control programming, and psychic attack.

How to raise frequency.

Meditate regularly - at least three times a week for 15 minutes to start

Spend as much time as possible outside in nature

Daily Grounding/Earthing. Walking barefoot on the earth for 15 minutes every day. Weather permitting.

Positive thoughts, actions, words, and deeds. Developing positive mantras to repeat throughout the day is helpful.

Breath work

Engage in as little conflict and negativity as you can.

Avoid alcohol and prescription drugs.

Don’t be too serious or have too many expectations for this will create resentments. Events will never unfold as we expect them to, people are much better served by going with the flow and observing how events unfold as they happen; don’t anticipate events ahead of them occurring.

Work on conquering fears. Especially the fear of death.

Practice compassion, empathy, and kindness towards everyone. Humans are equal; one isn’t better than another. Our life choices and luck is often the only thing that separates us.

Laugh

Exercise. Make sure you do something you find fun, not something you dread. Any kind of physical activity where one is having fun will raise his vibe. Dancing is a personal favorite.

Take a break from technology

Be mindful of how much time you spend on technology. Put the phone down during dinner or when you should be engaging with the people literally in front of you.

Wear and decorate with crystals. Black tourmaline and obsidian are good for negativity.

Decorate with high vibrational plants jasmine, aloe vera, or a snake plant

Be mindful of what information you watch and listen to. Movies, TV, music, social media, etc. It is best to just turn off the TV for good. Television is a weapon. Be very conscious of what information you allow to enter your mind.

Minimize interaction with toxic people. Keep conversations short, topics shallow, and have an exit plan if at an event where the environment may get unpleasant. For example drive your own car, have a friend or the babysitter call and oops I have to go….boundaries to protect your energy aren’t bad.😉

Thank your food for its life and sustenance prior to consuming it (plant or animal.) Doing this changes the food into higher vibrational intake.

Regularly cleanse negative energy from your personal spaces. Energy cleansing methods are decluttering, letting fresh air and light in, clapping loudly in the corners of a room to move stagnant energy, smudging, epsom salt baths.

Aura cleansing, visualization, cord cutting meditations

The above tips will have a positive effect on your frequency. Remember your thoughts create your reality and you get back what you put out into the universe. If your thoughts are consistently negative be prepared to have negative experiences. If you are hopeful, have faith in your ability to manifest & the universe’s ability to make things happen for you, have generally positive and laid-back nature, you will reap great rewards and experience feelings of happiness, contentment, and abundance.

I feel it is obvious by the state of the world today that humanity has been in a very negative state of mind for quite some time. There are millions of us (if not billions) that are here to change this reality, not to adapt to it. We have been called Starseeds, indigo children, and light workers; regardless of label the intent is the same - to create a positive reality on earth, to rid this place of evil, to liberate humanity from enslavement, and teach them a new way to think. We are here to help humanity realize humans are powerful creator beings and these powers have been stripped away by literal genetic manipulation. It is time for the devolution of mankind to end and for humanity to begin ascending back to the higher dimensional consciousness we once were.

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thelittlesttimelord · 5 years ago

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The Littlest Timelord: Cracks in Time Chapter 10

TITLE: The Littlest Timelord: Cracks in Time Chapter 10 PAIRING: No Pairing RATING: T CHAPTER: 10/? SUMMARY: A little girl escapes the Time War when the Timelord’s return in “End of Time Part 2″. The newly regenerated Doctor must now raise the little girl while trying to find out why cracks in time keep following them around.

[A/N - We are back in business! This isn’t one of my favorite episodes, but in each one I’m trying to build Elise’s personality a little more. This chapter is only two chapters, but I’ve started on “Time of Angels/Flesh and Stone”.]

The Doctor stepped out of the TARDIS to find several men pointing guns at him.

They stepped aside and Winston Churchill stepped forward.

Amy and Elise hesitantly stepped out of the TARDIS.

“Amy, Elise? Winston Churchill”, the Doctor introduced. Elise hid behind the Doctor’s legs and grabbed onto one of his hands.

“Doctor. Is it you?” Churchill asked.

“Oh, Winston, my old friend”.

Churchill held out his hand.

The Doctor laughed. “Ah, every time”.

“What's he after?” Amy asked.

“TARDIS, of course”, the Doctor told her.

“Think of what I could achieve with your remarkable machine, Doctor. The lives that could be saved”, Churchill said.

“Ah, doesn't work like that”.

“Must I take it by force?”

“I'd like to see you try”.

“At ease”.

The soldiers lowered their guns.

“You rang?” the Doctor asked. He picked Elise up and set her on his shoulders. He was working on a better way to carry her, but this would have to do for now.

They followed Churchill as he explained why they were there.

“So you've changed your face again”, Churchill said, “And you’ve got a little one now”.

“Um, yeah. Had a bit of work done”, the Doctor told him.

“Got it, got it, got it. Cabinet War Rooms, right?” Amy asked.

“Yep. Top secret heart of the War Office, right under London”.

“You're late, by the way”, Churchill told the Doctor.

A woman came to up them and handed Churchill a clipboard. Churchill handed his walking stick to the Doctor.

“Requisitions, sir”, she said.

“Excellent”.

“Late?” the Doctor asked.

“I rang you a month ago”.

“Really? Sorry, sorry. It's a Type Forty TARDIS, it's…I'm just running her in”.

Type Forty TARDIS? Is that why she made a wheezing sound while flying?

“Something the matter, Breen?” Churchill asked the woman, “You look a little down in the dumps”.

“No, sir. Fine, sir”, Breen told him.

“Action this day, Breen. Action this day”.

“Yes, sir”.

A man walked up as Breen walked away. “Excuse me, sir. Got another formation coming in, Prime Minister. Stukas, by the look of them”.

“We shall go up top then, Group Captain. We'll give them what for. Coming, Doctor?” Churchill asked.

“Why?”

He took his walking stick back. “I have something to show you”.

The four of them got into an elevator and it started rising.

“We stand at a crossroads, Doctor, quite alone, with our backs to the wall. Invasion is expected daily. So I will grasp with both hands anything that will give us an advantage over the Nazi menace”, Churchill said.

“Such as?” the Doctor asked.

“Follow me”.

They stepped out onto the roof.

Churchill gestured to a man surrounded by sandbags with binoculars in his hands. “Doctor, this is Professor Edwin Bracewell. Head of our Ironsides Project”.

The Doctor threw up a V for Victory sign.

“How do you do?” Bracewell said.

A bomb landed nearby and Elise screamed.

The Doctor pulled down off his shoulders and held her to his chest. He rubbed her back in an attempt to comfort her.

“Oh, Doctor. Doctor, it's…” Amy said, looking at all the barrage balloons.

“History”.

“Ready, Bracewell?” Churchill asked.

“Aye aye, sir. On my order, fire!”

A bolt of energy shot out from some sandbags.

“What was that?” Amy asked.

“That wasn't human. That was never human technology. That sounded like…Show me. Show me. Show me what that was!” the Doctor said, handing Elise off to Amy.

She held the little girl on her hip as the Doctor climbed a ladder.

“Advance”, Bracewell said.

“Our new secret weapon. Ha!” Churchill told him.

A Dalek came rolling forward.

Elise saw the Dalek and immediately started screaming again.

Amy tried to comfort her, but the little girl was shaking in her arms.

“What do you think? Quite something, eh?” Churchill asked.

“What are you doing here?” the Doctor asked the Dalek.

“I am your soldier”.

“What?”

“I am your soldier”.

“Stop this. Stop now. Now, you know who I am. You always know”.

“Your identity is unknown”.

“Perhaps I can clarify things here. This is one of my Ironsides”, Bracewell said.

“Your what?” the Doctor asked.

“You will help the Allied cause in any way that you can?” Bracewell asked the Dalek.

“Yes”.

“Until the Germans have been utterly smashed”.

“Yes”.

“And what is your ultimate aim?”

“To win the war”.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

They went back to Churchill’s office after stopping off at the TARDIS.

Elise was now wrapped in a blanket and had a stuffed bear in her arms.

Amy held her as the Doctor argued with Churchill.

“They're Daleks. They're called Daleks”, the Doctor told him.

“They are Bracewell's Ironsides, Doctor. Look. Blueprints, statistics, field tests, photographs. He invented them”.

“Invented them? Oh, no, no, no”.

“Yes. He approached one of our brass hats a few months ago. Fellow's a genius”.

“A Scottish genius, too. Maybe you should listen to…” Amy said.

The Doctor hushed her sharply and Amy backed off. “He didn't invent them. They're alien”, the Doctor told Churchill.

“Alien?”

One of the Daleks rolled past the door way.

Elise whined and hid her face in Amy’s neck.

“And totally hostile”, the Doctor said.

“Precisely. They will win me the war”, Churchill argued. Churchill was called to one of the war rooms and they followed.

“Why won't you listen to me? Why did you call me in if you won't listen to me?” the Doctor asked.

“When I rang you a month ago, I must admit I had my doubts. The Ironsides seemed too good to be true”.

“Yes. Right. So destroy them. Exterminate them”.

“But imagine what I could do with a hundred. A thousand”.

“I am imagining”.

A Dalek rolled past them and Elise once again hid her face in Amy’s neck.

“Amy, tell him”, the Doctor told her.

“Tell him what?”

“About the Daleks”.

“What would I know about the Daleks?”

“Everything. They invaded your world, remember? Planets in the sky. You don't forget that. Amy, tell me you remember the Daleks”.

“No, sorry”.

“That's not possible”.

Amy, the Doctor, and Elise entered the map room and Amy set Elise on the floor. Her arms were getting tired of carrying the Timelord child. Now she knew why the Doctor kept handing her off or putting her on his shoulders.

“So, they're up to something. But what is it? What are they after?” the Doctor asked.

“Well, let's just ask, shall we?” Amy said walking over to one.

“Amy. Amelia!”

Amy tapped on the Dalek’s shell and its eyestalk turned towards her.

“A…A…” Elise squeaked.

“Can I be of assistance?” the Dalek asked.

“Oh. Yes, yes. See, my friend reckons you're dangerous. That you're an alien. Is it true?” Amy asked it.

“I am your soldier”.

“Yeah. Got that bit. Love a squaddie. What else, though?”

“Please excuse me. I have duties to perform”.

The Dalek rolled away and Elise ran over to Amy.

“Hey, hey. I’m okay”, Amy said, petting her hair.

The Doctor walked over to Churchill and grabbed the cigar out of his mouth. “Winston. Winston, please”.

“We are waging total war, Doctor. Day after day the Luftwaffe pound this great city like an iron fist”.

“Wait till the Daleks get started”.

“Men, women and children slaughtered. Families torn apart. Wren's churches in flame”.

“Yeah. Try the Earth in flames”. The Doctor said the last statement quietly, not wanting to upset Elise.

“I weep for my country. I weep for my empire. It is breaking my heart”.

“You're resisting, Winston. The whole world knows you're resisting. You're a beacon of hope”.

“But for how long? Millions of innocent lives will be saved if I use these Ironsides now”.

“Can I be of assistance?” the Dalek asked, interrupting the conversation.

“Shut it”, the Doctor snapped at it. He turned back to Churchill. “Listen to me. Just listen. The Daleks have no conscience, no mercy, no pity. They are my oldest and deadliest enemy. You cannot trust them”.

“If Hitler invaded hell, I would give a favorable reference to the Devil. These machines are our salvation”.

A siren went off.

“Oh, the All Clear. We are safe, for now”, Churchill said, leaving with the Dalek following.

Amy and Elise came over to the Doctor.

“Doctor, it's the All Clear. You okay?” Amy asked him.

“What does hate look like, Amy?”

“Hate?”

“It looks like a Dalek. And I'm going to prove it”.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Amy and Elise followed the Doctor to Bracewell’s laboratory.

“All right, Prof. Now, the PM's been filling me in. Amazing things, these Ironsides of yours. Amazing. You must be very proud of them”, the Doctor said.

“Just doing my bit”, Bracewell told him.

“Not bad for a Paisley boy”, Amy commented.

“Yes, I thought I detected a familiar cadence, my dear”.

“How did you do it? Come up with the idea?” the Doctor asked him.

“How does the muse of invention come to anyone?”

“But you get a lot of these clever notions, do you?”

“Well, ideas just seem to teem from my head. Wonderful things, like. Let me show you. Some musings on the potential of hyper-sonic flight. Gravity bubbles that can sustain life outside of the terrestrial atmosphere. Came to me in the bath”.

As Bracewell held up the files, the Doctor looked them over before tossing them aside. “And are these your ideas or theirs?” he asked.

“Oh no, no, no. These robots are entirely under my control, Doctor”.

A Dalek rolled up to them with a cup of tea balanced on a tray.

Bracewell took the tea. “They are the perfect servant, and the perfect warrior”. “I don't know what you're up to, Professor, but whatever they've promised, you cannot trust them. Call them what you like, the Daleks are death”.

“Yes, Doctor. Death to our enemies. Death to the forces of darkness, and death to the Third Reich”, Churchill said entering the room.

“Yes, Winston, and death to everyone else too”, the Doctor said.

“Would you care for some tea?” the Dalek asked.

The Doctor knocked the tray from his sucker and snapped. “Stop this!”

Amy pushed Elise behind her as the Doctor started questioning the Dalek.

“What are you doing here? What do you want?”

“We seek only to help you”.

“To do what?”

“To win the war”.

“Really? Which war?”

“I do not understand”.

“This war, against the Nazis, or your war? The war against the rest of the Universe? The war against all life forms that are not Dalek?”

“I do not understand. I am your soldier”.

“Oh, yeah? Okay. Okay, soldier, defend yourself”. The Doctor picked up a large spanner and started to hit the Dalek.

Amy picked Elise up and carried her outside the room as she started screaming.

“Doctor, what the devil?!” Churchill yelled.

“You do not require tea?” the Dalek asked him.

“Stop him! Prime Minister, please!” Bracewell begged as the Doctor continued to hit the Dalek.

“Doctor, what the devil? Please, these machines are precious”, Churchill told him.

“Come on. Fight back. You want to, don't you? You know you do”.

“I must protest!” Bracewell said.

“What are you waiting for? Look, you hate me. You want to kill me. Well, go on. Kill me. Kill me!” the Doctor yelled.

“Please desist from striking me. I am your soldier”, the Dalek said.

“You are my enemy! And I am yours. You are everything I despise. The worst thing in all creation. I've defeated you time and time again. I've defeated you. I sent you back into the Void. I saved the whole of reality from you. I am the Doctor. And you are the Daleks!” He kicked the Dalek and it went rolling backwards.

“Correct. Review testimony”, the Dalek said.

A recording of the Doctor played. “I am the Doctor. And you are the Daleks”.

“Testimony. What are you talking about, testimony?” the Doctor asked.

“Transmitting testimony now”.

“Transmit what, where?”

“Testimony accepted”.

“Get back, all of you”, the Doctor told them.

“Marines! Marines, get in here!” Churchill yelled.

Amy rushed into the room holding Elise and ran for the Doctor.

The Marines who followed were exterminated.

“Stop it, stop it, please. What are you doing? You are my Ironsides”, Bracewell said.

“We are the Daleks”.

“But I created you”.

“No”. The Dalek blasted off Bracewell’s hand. “We created you. Victory. Victory. Victory”. The Daleks teleported and they were gone.

“What just happened, Doctor?” Amy asked.

“I wanted to know what they wanted. What their plan was. I was their plan”. He ran out of the room.

“Hey!” Amy called. She groaned and followed after him, the tiny Timelord still in her arms.

#eleventh doctor #eleventh doctor fanfiction #eleventh doctor imagine #doctor who #Doctor Who fanfiction #amy pond #amy pond imagine #the littlest timelord #the littlest timelord: cracks in time

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flaine1996 · 5 years ago

Text

Reassignment

Sooo lol! Update on project timeline: slow but progressing

to the point I have actually written a bit of a story that will be most likely implemented in the timeline with small photoesque pictures on it xD so here goes more under the cut :)

–June of 2183–

Shepard had found herself in an alliance outpost in one of the colonies inside the Attican Traverse. She hated it.

Not that there were places she liked but more so, it felt way too close to home. Causing her hands to clench and unclench repeatedly. She would never admit to being nervous but the feeling of being in rough terrain without a full set of armor and a full arsenal of weaponry made her feel naked and exposed just like before. Her blood boiled as the air around her started to shimmer a comforting soft blue hue.

She took a deep breath. Fortunately enough though for the colony she landed in, it became apparent that the Alliance had not spared an expense in making sure they were fully equipped for any sort of attack or raid by any species. And by any Shepard truly meant the batarians. No one wanted a repeat of Mindoir. No one. She’d make sure of that.

The colony had a firm presence of Alliance soldiers patrolling the areas of the colony in the latest M35 Mako and small bunks of alliance outpost itself lining the outer edges of the colony making sure that any entry or exit would be checked thoroughly and carefully by the Alliance Soldiers. In the center of the town itself was the central hub of alliance personnel. Considering how this was the latest expansion of the Alliance to the Attican Traverse they would do anything to protect it. If only they’d do the same for the rest. But considering Shepard’s status in the Alliance her words amount to the dirt on a soldier’s boot. Not that she ever shared her thoughts. Not that anything mattered to her regarding Alliance affairs.

She took another swig of colonial homebrewed beer. The one benefit of these outposts was that the colony felt safe enough to focus on their own development. Small houses to big buildings lined the area that was not occupied by the Alliance. The effects of it were noticeable from agriculture to infrastructure. Considering how much time would’ve been spent on security now that the Alliance was here people could focus on the important things. Like alcohol. One good thing then.

Shepard knew she had to meet her contact in the central hub of the alliance but honest to god seeing the faces of any Alliance high ranking officials may as well end up with a blood bath. Especially the fact that none of them were ever able to hide the disdain they had for her. Even the Alliance Soldiers would not stop there constant whispering in her presence. Dumb fucks don’t know how to shut up. She’d do them all a favor and sew their mouth shut but apparently System Alliance Regulations do not condone such acts to civilians nor peers. Hypocrites. Which is why she sent her location to the private line given to her by her contact.

Shepard closed her eyes and forced herself to focus on her breathing. The silence of the makeshift pub was comforting if not foreboding. She had taken a seat in the far end closed off to the other patrons. Though patrons is a too generous of a word, after all she was the only one here. That didn’t stop her from drinking though. Though the only sensation she felt was of the metallic floor underneath her which was in an odd sense grounding as if the metal had swallowed her boots and refused to let her float away to the unknown darkness above them. She felt the ends of her mouth twitch, the alcohol must truly be getting to her. As she turned her head to the side she noticed she was on the eleventh bottle by now. “Where in hell was her goddamn contact”, she thought to herself bitterly.

Though it did give her time to appreciate more of the décor of the place with the lights dim enough not to be disturbing and small windows at the side filtering the rays of the sun from getting inside considering it was 8 in the goddamn morning. The owner or atleast bartender was standing in his makeshift bar with a metallic table to isolate himself from his customers and a full closet behind him stacked with common labels to their special homebrewed beer that apparently they had yet to name. Work in progress, he said. She was never the type to refuse a drink. Though in this case a particular strong one with a hint of herbs? One in particular was one her mother often used mugwort was the name. The rest she couldn’t even name, deciding then to might as well talk to the barkeep about the ingredients so as to not go directly to the alliance central hub, find her contact and kick their ass from here and then back to the earth.

She opened her mouth from her seat when a familiar rough but comfortably warm voice rang out, “It’s good to see you enjoying yourself.”

Shepard could not have shot to her feet quicker and her spine straightened as her right hand was raised near her forehead, “Good morning, Captain Anderson, Sir!”

Anderson hadn’t changed a bit his hair still shaved and cropped closely to his head, his stature still fit and combat ready as ever, and his expression still weary and guarded but she can see a small smirk playing at his lips and his eyes exuding warmth from its natural brown color though a few more extra lines could be seen underneath them.

“At ease, soldier,” he replied without missing a beat and his lips still holding on to that smirk, “Though I seem to recall that soldiers usually raise their right hand rather than their left.”

Shepard had to do a double take to see whether Anderson was lying when she heard a soft chuckle from him, “I also remember you being more guarded than to fall for these kinds of tricks.”

Shepard rolled her eyes as she dropped her stance immediately, “If you have time to joke around then I suppose this isn’t as serious as I thought. You wouldn’t have been using another name to call me here unless…”

Shepard’s eyes turned to slits as her stance changed into one of a prey trapped to the wall. Anderson knew it well especially when he would bring up a conversation, she wanted no part of.

This time it was Anderson’s turn to straighten his spine, after all dealing with Shepard required him to use his full authority and to strong arm especially when she was ready to bolt. “Take a seat. We have a lot to discuss.”

“To hell with that, I am not ha—”

“Ezner Mason Shepard, Take. A. Seat.”

Shepard shut her mouth hard that the grinding of her teeth could be heard but she did as she was told and sat down.

Anderson couldn’t help feeling a bit proud of the little victory as his smirk grew a bit wider even as Shepard sat there foot tapping at the metal floor quite harshly, he continued as he sat down and leaned in with a much softer tone to hopefully coax her to being more honest to him and to herself, “This is a great opportunity for you, Ezner. I really cannot understand why you are adamant to not be transferred to the frigate.” the last words were spoken a bit more quietly in case there were ears on the walls, “If this is about what happened in—”

Shepard did not hesitate as she stared Anderson down, “Then there is nothing further to discuss, Captain.” Despite her cold harsh words she still hadn’t moved from her seat.

Anderson then sat straighter deflated but not defeated, “Shepard I will not stand by and watch you ruin your own career by your own sheer stubbornness. The Alliance are already trying to make an official case against you to have you dishonorably discharged. Fortunately all they have is your misconducts not enough to build a case on.” Shepard barely budged from her chair as her posture slackened and her expression remained absolutely neutral, “Let me guess you also vouched for my attitude but the higher ups don’t give a shit for grunts like me and the only reasons the council wont let me go,” a disruption could be felt in the air as a blue hue engulfed the beer bottle lifting it precisely to Shephard’s lips, “Let me guess it was Hackett again? This what i get for fucking his grandau–”

“Shepard.” Anderson’s voice was devoid of its usual warmth that it even made Shepard noticeably sit straighter to the trained eye, “I know you have disagreements with Admiral Hackett but show him the respect he deserves. He helped you on torfan.”

“More like tossed me out of the Alliance as fast as he can,” Shepard muttered.

“Wasn’t that by your request? And then what did you proceed to do? Piss off all your commanding officers to the point you’ve been sent from one ship to the next.” Anderson replied as a matter-of-factly, “And yet here I am, willing to offer you the best second chance you can ever get and you still deny it. What will it take, Shepard, to get you on my ship?”

“Wait… Your ship? Last I heard…”

“Things have changed back in the Alliance. They gave me the ship and allowed me to hand pick my crew personally.”

“No wonder you’ve been hounding me more incessantly. Using another name too, not bad. Wouldn’t have come if it wasn’t for him.”

“Javier knows I borrowed his contact. Only way to get you to meet me face to face.”

“He has information on Balak. That’s more important than any damn ship,” Shepard said her face contorting with anger as her hands grip the edge of her metallic chair creating a dent.

“Not just a ship, Ezner, The ship. The best that the alliance will ever have. And I want you onboard,” Anderson’s voice was filled with conviction once more and a fire burning bright.

Only to be snuffed out by Shepards words, “No. I am content with where I am.”

Anderson leaned back and examined Shepard carefully. Her rusty orange hair cut short to the base of her neck, her scar on top of her right eye spanning down onto her left cheek much less pronounced than five years ago, and her built was still as muscular as you would expect a vanguard soldier to be. She was still in better shape than before and her expression still was as cold as stone but the fire alight in those grey eyes was still there ever since he first found her under the rubble in mindoir.

“I see but that does beg the question where is your team now,” Anderson asked as he searched the perimeter for any that looked like an official alliance soldier and found none - aside from a wandering local whose face had met the table after three local drinks in - “As far as I can tell there aren’t any here unless you soldiers have been recruiting civilians in and per regulations i will have to suspend your operations. Making you as they say legally free.”

“Funny, but no we don’t do that. Ever,” if looks could kill Shepards stare would incinerate a man, “There… Somewhere.”

“In this colony?”

“…..”

“In this planet?”

“Not exactly,” Shepard replied slightly adjusting from her seat trying to hide any body language that could give her away.

“There not here are they,” Anderson quickly caught on. The fact that Shepard was no longer looking him straight in the eye means she had done something. Quite possibly illegal.

“I left them on Anhur. One of Balaks men was stationed there apparently were gonna be getting more information,” Shepard admitted, knowing for a fact if she didn’t answer him now he’d find a way to get the information and it would be more of a pain in the ass having the team of soldiers she was with believing she was being favored by the amazing wonderful Captain Anderson.

“And you left all of that to come to me? I’m touched,” Anderson replied with a soft smile despite the sarcasm in his words, “Im guessing they do not know you are here?”

“Says the man using a fake name,” She replied brutally honest but a small smile played on her lips as she looked at him, “And no, they don’t.”

“And how did you get here,” Anderson was curious now afterall she had illegally come here of her own free will for the information how did she plan to go back?

“I may have procured a shuttle and a pilot.” Shepard replied cleaning what looked to be dirt on the table.

“Procured,” Anderson suspiciously asked as he raised his eyebrow that hadn’t sounded like shepard at all.

She looked him straight in the eye then, “Fine, I threatened him that id take off his legs and beat him to death with it if he didn’t take me to and from the area I needed to go. And yes, he resisted and yes i broke his toes just 4 of them in one foot. Okay, five one in the other as a warning. Happy?”

Anderson shook his head, “Violence Ezner does not always work out the way you want it too, even if you think it leads to the results you want.”

Shepard let out a huff but said nothing, letting the silence fill the air.

Her shoulders slumped, “Look Anderson, I get what your trying but I really am fine where I am. I don’t need your handouts. I’m doing much better on the frontlines than I am stationed at some decorative ship.”

“It’s not decorative, Shepard. It’s a state of the line frigate war ship co-created by the Tu–”

“Save your lines for the media. I know what it is, You’ve been sending me those damn reports how could I not have known it by now.”

“Then do you know you’ll be working for me as my Executive Officer, You will be on the field when I can’t and lead the crew and advise me when necessary” Anderson said with pride in his tone, “Alongside with the best damn crew you will ever get to know.”

There was a long pause as Shepard stared directly at Anderson’s eyes. This was always Shepards habit everytime she weighed judgement she would always stare down someone’s eyes. Anderson was sure that this time Shepard had finally seen what he could see. Her greatness.

“No,” Shepard replied resolutely as she stood up.

Anderson then heaved a long sigh, “Whatever you think your punishment or redemption or whatever you think your out there looking for, I really hope you find it soon, Shepard. Before it eats you whole.”

Shepard only gave him a glance before leaving the makeshift bar. Shepard breathed the fresh air of the colonial planet looking at it with one more glance and strengthening her resolve as she thinks to herself, “Because she would no longer drag anyone down to the depths of hell she would create and she would keep everyone safe, no matter the cost.”

Anderson sat there for a few minutes both tired and frankly disappointed. He already knew how this talk would go considering her determined and constant disapproval of transferring anywhere near his command. She had completely closed off after torfan much less when the Alliance not only denounced her and shipped her off - per her request- out into the traverse right after finishing her N7 training. The Alliance wanted to wash their hands clean off of her and yet Anderson wouldn’t let them. Shepard was the only soldier he met that could stand their ground against anything and anyone. More than that, the would survive and thrive in any conditions. The perfect soldier just needed a guiding hand and he was more than willing to reach out no matter what it takes. He stood up and walked briskly back to the ship that had brought him here and as he reached his quarters he opened his omnitool to contact the one man who could help him get her under his command and to greater heights.

Anderson then recorded a voicemail to a private line, “Spectre Nihlus, You may not remember me but we have met during the council meeting of allowing a human spectre into the Special Tactics and Reconnaissance. I am Captain David Anderson of the System Alliance Military. I have handpicked personally a potential recruit and would like your affirmation. Attached to this file will be personal data, biography, and achievements they have done. Hoping to hear from you soon. Captain Anderson out.”

#pre mass effect 1 #mass effect 1 #mass effect #Commander Anderson #Commander Shepard #Ezner Shepard #my oc #my writing #Project Timeline #Javier

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littlemisssquiggles · 5 years ago

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Pinehead Headcanons: Oscar versus Ruby

A Squiggle Meister’s Response to @miki-13:

“That is indeed a plot detail from the book, Squiggles.

(Cracks knuckles and adjusts glasses)

Anyhow the reason Dorothy is made into a servant by the Wicked Witch of the West is because at the beginning of the Wizard of Oz book (Specifically the second chapter), the Good Witch of the North (Sometimes named Locasta or Tattypoo, who is NOT Glinda, because Glinda is the Good Witch of the South) bestows upon Dorothy a spell of protection via a kiss on the forehead: this protection makes it so no one within Oz can directly harm her. When the Flying Monkeys find her (After capturing the Cowardly Lion, denting the Tin Man and ripping apart the Scarecrow), they cannot harm her because of the spell and instead carry her very gently and carefully to the WWOW.

When WWOW sees this protection, she knows she can’t directly hurt Dorothy so she instead makes her her servant. Meanwhile, WWOW tries to break the Cowardly Lion in so he can act as her beast of burden; when he makes it clear he would bite her head off if anyone got too close, WWOW starves him in retaliation so he’d become more compliant. Luckily, Dorothy is able to bring him food during the night and the two try and comfort each other during this trying time… basically what you summed up with Oscar and Ruby, with Oscar in Dorothy’s position and Ruby in the Cowardly Lion’s position.

This would be an especially difficult time for them both: we both agree this abduction would take place in the Fall of Atlas. So Ruby and Oscar+ Ozpin have no idea of the WBY and JNR are alive as the last they saw of them all was them falling along with the city. So these three are operating under the belief that they are the only ones alive of their group.

I also really like your headcannon of Oscar using this time to train his magic via meditation. It wouldn’t just help him feel calmer, but it would also help Ozpin in mentoring him, since he loved being a teacher. It would be a safe place for them both. During this, Oscar would unlock his semblance/magic and actually find a way to communicate with Ruby via a sort of Astral Projection. Feeling Oscar there would comfort Ruby and being able to comfort Ruby would comfort Oscar and Ozpin during this trying time.

As for how Hazel, Mercury and Emerald would play into this, you have actually summed up how they would interact with Oscar as his wardens, albeit with different motivations.

For what would make them doubt themselves and start to ask questions… it’d be Oscar sympathizing with their situation; his kindness and empathy towards them, even though they’re enemies, touches all three. Hazel is especially affected; he tried to kill this boy and yet he didn’t hate them Emerald and Mercury are all but starved from positive human interaction, and have probably never had someone actually show them empathy like this. As for Oscar, I can see him telling them of what he learned from the relic and how Salem was the instigator in all of this; not to make them let him go, but so they could see that Salem was going to hurt them… or better yet, he suggests they use the relic to see the truth and deprive Salem of the last question!

Now continuing on from my theory of Salem trying to learn about the Silver Eyes and tying into more lore of the original book, WWOW tries REALLY hard to get the Silver Slippers from Dorothy. But Dorothy is careful: she never takes the shoes off( even when sleeping) unless she’s bathing and as we know, water melts the WWOW (She’s also scared/ weak to the dark for some reason). So she soon hits upon a plan: she magics a pole (or brick) invisible and places it in Dorothy’s path while cleaning. She trips and loses one of the slippers, which WWOW immediately pounces on.

This is basically the last straw for Dorothy; she is a meek and gentle girl who doesn’t want to harm anyone. But the Silver Slippers are precious to her and she promised to protect them and she’s been used as a slave while one of her friends is held captive and the other two could be dead for all she knows, and now the one who’s done all this just grabbed one of her shoes while cackling that it was only a matter of time until she got the other one.

So Dorothy grabs the bucket of mop water and throws it at WWOW… and it melts her.

Now Salem is trying to learn of the Silver Eyes and uses Oscar’s life to threaten Ruby into her experiments and death fights. Ruby does her damnedest to stay alive and use the Silver Eyes, but she can’t use them as efficiently as she can anymore with the belief that her friends and family are dead. Eventually, either Salem gets the information she needs or concludes she can’t learn anything useful from Ruby.

Either way, it ends with Salem throwing Ruby into the grimm pool (while still making Ozpin and Oscar watch) and corrupting her, turning her silver eyes ruby red (like the Ruby Slippers in The Wizard Of Oz Movie) and taking away the power to “laser-beam monsters with her eyeballs”.for good.

This would be the ultimate blow to Ozpin. His descendant, his smaller more honest soul, one of the only magic users left in Remnant… was corrupted by his greatest enemy. Even Oscar is demoralized at seeing Ruby in such despair, now desperately battling the desire to destroy everything around her as Salem begins to mold her into a soldier for her uses, further twisting the knife. (Currently working on her outfit and I can’t wait to see your sketches)

Meanwhile, MEH were able to get the relic during this and ask Jinn for the truth about Salem. Here, they get confirmation of what Oscar said and what really happened. All three are floored in realizing just how huge the situation really was but are still too afraid to act. Things change when they see what happened to Ruby and Oscar: Ruby being made into Salem’s personal reaper and Oscar/Ozpin completely despondent over what was happening to Ruby.

As for Cinder, she is loving every minute of this: she’s seeing the girl who wounded her, who put her through such humiliation, be broken and humiliated. But she still wants Ruby dead, or wants to humiliate her herself, recalling Tyrian’s “Eye for an eye” back in Volume 4. So when she gets the chance, Cinder corners Ruby into a fight and ends up slashing apart one of her eyes beyond repair. For Ruby, who’s been corrupted and used like a tool and slave this whole time, this makes her snap. She completely rips Cinder apart, relishing in the pain she’s causing her, before Salem stops her. She scolds them both: Ruby for losing her composure and Cinder for daring to damage what was hers.

As for how Ruby and Oscar escape… it’s thanks to MEH. After seeing the truth, and seeing the state Ruby and Oscar/Ozpin are in, they finally rethink their priorities and decide to get the hell out of dodge while bringing Ruby and Ocar/Ozpin out of Salem’s grasp. They are caught however and Salem sends her grimm after them. Hazel, Mercury, Emerald, Oscar and Ruby try to fight them off, but are being overwhelmed. Ruby despairs over this and her inability to use the Silver Eyes and is terrified of falling back into Salem’s clutches and what she would do to punish them (the time in the Dark Domain really messed her up)

And… it would be then that in the midst of all this despair and fear that Oscar’s magic would truly blossom… and it wouldn’t just hep Mercury activate his semblance (Wings of the Feet that would help him help them get away faster) but would bring forth the magic of the Silver Eyes that was snuffed out by the grimm pool. While Ruby would be despairing over not being able to hold onto the memories of the others (since she thinks they’re dead), Oscar reminds her that she is not alone. She had him, he had her and they had MEH and Ozpin; they weren’t alone.

“I’ve got you. We’ve got this. We’ve both got each other!”

That gives Ruby the hope she needs, and together with Oscar’s magic, her remaining Silver Eye blasts apart every single grimm chasing after them, even reaching Salem, and allows the five of them to escape.

So, what do you think Squiggles?”

Squiggles Answers:

Thanks for once again giving me the run down of the events of the Wizards of Oz Miki-chan! You’re making wish I could read all the Oz books now. I’ve only read all the info I can find on wikipedia.

Because of that, this is making me think of this new Pinehead headcanon right now:

What if...Salem forced Ruby and Oscar to fight each other while they’re her prisoners in her Dark Domain?

I’d imagine that Salem would want Ruby and Oscar to end up destroying themselves; perfectly paralleling Salem and Ozma’s fated duel in their original castle with similar destructive consequences. I figured that Salem would possibly take pleasure in watching Ruby, a Silver Eyed Warrior that she corrupted into her pawn defeat her greatest lifelong foe or watching Oscar, the current reincarnate of her former lover and long time foe, kill his proclaimed spark of hope that he and predecessor claimed would be the key to stopping her.

The cherry on top would be if Oscar and Ruby do ultimately become lovers, similar to Ozma and Salem, who were pinned against each other by a greater power plotting to manipulate them. You ever wondered if this is how Salem saw Ozma’s betrayal? As a sign of him siding with the Gods to plot against her.

I mean let’s look at it as this---Salem’s beef isn’t so much with Ozma (or the Wizards of Light) but mainly the Brother Gods. They’re the ones who put her in this predicament. They’re the ones who cursed her to be immortal. They’re the ones who resurrected her former lover to be a pawn to salvage what was left by a creation that was destroyed due to her doings. It was the Gods who basically turned Ozma---originally Salem’s Ozma--- to their side, in a sense.

I just like the satire of Salem forcing Oscar into a similar position. Turning his beloved Ruby against him. Making her one of her pawns and then forcing the two to duke it out in a battle to the death. Turning lovers into enemies. Just like the Brother Gods.

One of my reasons for backing the Oscar becoming Salem’s prisoner theory and being locked away in a tower is for the irony of Salem becoming the type of individual that moulded her into the type of individual she was. This all started because Salem was once a lonely girl locked away in a tower by her cruel father. She longed for freedom and when she finally got that freedom---a life where she got to make her own rules and live outside of the sovereignty of a power higher than hers---a life where she was in full control of. When she finally had that, nothing, not even the love of the man she had originally challenged the Gods for could stand in her way of that freedom.

You know the quote from the Dark Knight---you either die a hero or you live long enough to see yourself become the villain. I like the idea of Salem originally being oppressed by her father only to eventually become just like him. She’d become the oppressor who imprison her foes and what would make this even more remarkable is if Salem ended up imprisoning the very person who freed her from her captivity in another life.

This is why I like the idea of Salem imprisoning Oscar in a tower much like her own. It could be a fascinating way for Oscar---as the current incarnate of Ozma to experience first-hand what Salem went through during that time she was trapped in isolation. It could be a way for Oscar to even empathize with Salem in a sense. Provide a sense of understanding as to how and why she became the person she is or at least, have one of the main heroes look at her under that type of lens, y’know what I mean?

This is also why I will join you in backing up the Corrupted Ruby Rose--- Dominion of Darkness theory. I think I’ll code name this headcanon as ‘Black Rose’. I support this theory because:

It can lead into another parallel from the Lost Fable. My idea is that, after Salem corrupts Ruby in her Grimm Pool, she would then force Ruby to fight Oscar. So she places both Rosebuds in a death battle of some kind where for another lifetime---Ozma, in his life as Oscar is forced to fend himself against a love interest who was corrupted by the Grimm Pools of Darkness.

Oscar vs Black Rose Ruby can mirror Salem vs Ozma. This could also provide another reason to why I think it would be cool for Oscar to be revealed to be the true Ozma---his true reincarnation as he represents his original body he never got back revived in Modern Remnant as a fourteen-year-old boy. Do I even need to explain how twistingly fascinating it would be for Ozma to end up duelling his corrupted lover in both his first reincarnated life and his current?

So Ruby and Oscar fight similar to Ozma and Salem and this is done as part of Salem’s ploy. Instead of killing Oscar herself, she figured making him fight Ruby instead would be all the more satisfying.

Salem kept Oscar separated from Ruby so that she could torment her---push the girl to her breaking point. Snuff out that unquantifiable spark and taint that smaller, more honest soul.

Salem wouldn’t want to kill Ruby. She’d probably take much more pleasure in breaking Ruby’s indomitable spirit and then observing carefully as Ozma as Oscar is forced to kill Ruby himself in order to survive.

Salem would pit Ruby and Oscar against each other because that’s what the Gods did to her and Ozma. That parallel would be so freaking perfect! I mean, it’s only a theory but it could be so cool. I do love me some parallels.

While I really dig your idea Miki especially the bit where Mercury, Emerald and Hazel help Ruby and Oscar escape the Dark Domain (since it could serve as a good way to redeem all three of these characters), what do you think of this idea Miki?

~LittleMissSquiggles (2019)

#squiggles answers: rwby #oscar pine #ruby rose #oscar and ruby #rwby rosegarden #rwby theories #pinehead headcanons #squiggles pinehead headcanons #rwby

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stedes-black-bonnet · 6 years ago

Text

My Baby Does Me: Chapter 27

POV: John Deacon x reader

Notes: We update weekly, have a masterlist, and a tag list.

Warnings: Swearing?

Abstract: don’t shun it fun it

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John Deacon saw himself in the mirror looping his necktie into a perfect full Windsor knot. It was a fancy knot, entirely sophisticated and completely ironic regarding the rest of his carefully chosen ensemble. Clothes could be used to intimidate, to beguile, and to disarm. Deacy knew more about this than most people. Clothes could repel and repulse others or compel them through charm and sex appeal. Deacy might not have the obvious raw beauty of Roger Taylor, but he was attractive in a different way: his style was his own and he committed to it with every inch of his gigantic heart. His style was a reflection of his paradoxical personality, and he was proud of that. He always wanted to simultaneously bring people close and push them away. It was unexpected and always a success. If you wanted to fight for him, fight with him, play with him and join the chase, well, he’d be down; he usually didn’t find someone who was able to do this, to understand him and his innate shyness and his unflappable confidence. He was more handsome than pretty and more lupine in the lines of his face than cherubic. His shy, almost reserved confidence was tempered by his natural wit and sharp tongue; he liked the power he had in knowing he could destroy anyone with a few chosen words. The power wasn’t from being able to do this, but from not doing it. From his holding back, from his benign sparing of one person to his ruthless random attack on another; this meant people were always kept guessing and paralyzed in a glorious suspense entirely controlled by Deacy. They never knew when he would strike. And his fashion was a reflection of this chaotic energy, and every piece of clothing he was wearing tonight was a play, a game, just like everything else in his carefully controlled life. Deacy kept looping the tie, smiling to himself.

Brian dragged an unhinged Roger into the bathroom; his arms were looping through the air, trying to get at Brian’s hair, trying to get away; Brian’s arms were so unnaturally long, and Roger knew it was a fool’s errand to try and wrench himself away. He shoved Roger into the shower, fully clothed, and turned on the water. Cold sheets of moisture cascaded onto Roger’s shaking frame. Brain saw Roger’s perfect blond hair fold into lackluster browns under the water’s transformative powers. He growled, wiping water from his long eyelashes. His white shirt was soaked through in a matter of seconds and his tuxedo pants immediately weighed him down. Despite this, he tried to heave himself out of the shower. He gripped the once azure marble frame around the sliding glass door, and used his slippery leverage to regain his footing. Brain, in the mood to suffer no fools, immediately pushed Roger back into the shower and onto its cerise and cerulean tiles; those tiles, a daring choice from Roger, now only looked grey to him. Everything was grey. He felt more stable and less panicked since being forcibly emerged into the water; he had been hoping this shock to the system would reboot his sense. But it hadn’t. He was still as blind to the colors of world as he was to the whispering of his own heart.

You knew what your heart was saying, however. You didn’t want to ignore it or deny it. If anything, you wanted to tell everyone about your budding feelings. You couldn’t wait for Lydia to get home; though considering the timing of the dinner, you might miss her altogether; you hadn’t seen each other all day, and whereas this wasn’t uncommon, it was unfortunate as you were as curious about her night as she might be about yours. You couldn’t even begin to imagine what a night with Roger Taylor would look like or feel like, but you were intrigued to hear from your best friend what the details of that experience were like. You rather thought it would be different from your night with John Deacon; they were two very different kinds of people. Roger was a clear choice, meaning that he was overtly attractive, charmingly abrasive, and mostly harmless. His depth was hidden, carefully so; yet Deacy kept everything, or so you thought, mostly transparent and out in the open. You had felt if you asked him any question he’d give you an honest answer. You had told each other you didn’t want to hide things from each other, no matter what; and yet, and yet, he hadn’t told you about his dead wife. You didn’t want to push him into talking about her; you couldn’t imagine how hard it would be for him to do so, and what his relationship with you made him feel regarding her; you didn't want to speculate; you’d rather hear the truth from him. So you had decided to wait for him to bring her up, and then as kindly as you could let him know you already knew and why, and that you weren’t hurt by her or his keeping the story of them back, but that you did deserve to know what you were getting into, and not to hear it from someone else, but from Deacy personally; you hoped this wouldn’t come to ahead anytime soon.

You were trying to brush out your hair; you had just had a bath, and the entire time, you only thought of Deacy, and how excited you were to see him tonight. You had a black towel wrapped around your body as you slid a comb through your hectic dark hair. With your glasses off your olive eyes shined in the light of the black and white bathroom. Lydia was obsessed with this bathroom; it was her design; she had, more or less, financed the entire decoration process of your shared apartment; childhood friends, you knew everything about each other. She had money. Lots of money. Her family was embarrassingly well-off, and even at university she lived off a generous trust fund that would, to your understanding, triple upon her graduation. What she loved most about this bathroom was the color scheme. She was a large scale artist. Her bedroom was covered in her original artworks; she also had a painting studio in the apartment full of ongoing projects. Her obsession had always been painting in black and white. You had never seen anything like her pieces. No matter what she painted, no matter what style she was using, landscape, abstract, or portrait, she would paint only using blacks and greys and whites. And her scale was terrifyingly large, so these pieces that should be in color were shockingly powerful when all the color was sucked out of them, and the feeling upon looking at one of her creations was powerfully confusing and thought-provoking. The absence of color did not render the feelings or the mind inept. Rather, the mind did what it did best: it filled in the subtext into glorious juxtaposition creating a sense of dissonance so delicate it was exactly was Lydia wanted the viewer to feel. Sickened and awe-inspired, in short. So the black and white baroque bathroom caused Lydia nothing short of divine ecstasy when she conceived of it, with your help. You pulled the towel up and put the comb down. You needed to pick out the perfect outfit to feel good in and to impress Deacy; you wanted to render him speechless.

Freddie Mercury was speechless. Jim had just come clean about his entire afternoon with you.

“Jim…” Freddie said, frowning into the runway mirrors. He was taking off his sweatshirt and picking out an outfit for tonight. He turned to the mirror so he could see Jim’s face better. Jim always came clean to Freddie; it was just what they did, especially if they felt guilty about something. They were each other’s confidants, each other’s shoulders to cry on, each other’s shelter from the storm. It was a guiding principle in their marriage: full disclosure, compassion, and caring understanding no matter what. It was a promise they made to each other since the day of the Jim’s white pants: if they couldn’t be transparent with their feelings, be truly vulnerable, then they needed to end it; if you don’t have vulnerability, you don’t have honesty, and if you don’t have honesty, you cannot have trust. They’ve never found it easier to keep a promise before in their lives. This was compatibility and reciprocity at its finest.

“I don’t regret it.” Jim’s Irish lilt was always more pronounced when he was angry.

Removing his undershirt, Freddie said, “I’m not asking you to regret it, darling.”

“She needed to know; I won’t be made to feel bad for protecting Johnny.”

“You’re right; I’m sorry, my love.” Freddie stopped undressing and walked over to Jim, who was sitting on one of the white patterned elaborate sofas. He took his husband’s hand. “You need to tell Deacy you told her.”

“I know.” Jim was no longer angrily defensive; he was resigned to having to make a fuzzy situation less complicated somehow.

“That’s all I’m asking; they deserve an equal playing field. And it is unfair,” he said, kissing Jim to make sure he was listening, “to ask her to bring it up to him, when it is privileged information she shouldn’t already have. I can’t even imagine the courage that would take.”

“Nor I.”

“And you don’t want to set them up to fail or distrust each other or doubt what they have, especially since you hold them both in such high esteem.”

Jim nodded, resting his head on his husband’s shoulder.

“Nice pants, by the way; exceptionally snug.” Freddie’s eyebrows bopped up and down suggestively.

“Oh, there will be none of that Mr. Mercury.” Jim said standing up and making his way towards the exit of this closet and towards his own. The teal satin pants were a tight statement piece Freddie was proud to see his love wearing.

“We don’t have the time.” Jim reasoned.

“There’s always time, darling.”

“Not for what I have planned there isn’t.” Jim winked at Freddie.

Freddie beamed up at his husband. “I guess I’ll just have to be patient, then.”

“Indeed.”

“One of the white ones, maybe?” Freddie suggested, starting to sift for the perfect ensemble himself.

“I think you’d like that a bit too much, Fred.”

“But that’s the point, love.”

Jim laughed.

Miami Beach pulled up to the restaurant in his cream Rolls-Royce.

Deacy ran a hand through his bouncy hair, checking his reflection one more time. The black and orange spoon-patterned tie clashed brilliantly with his fitted forest green button-down. The shirt was covered in mauve and sandy-colored bird silhouettes. He wore a baggy grey blazer over it, and a simple pair of tailored ivory-colored trousers. It was a twofold curiosity he felt: 1) what on earth would you think and say about his ungodly attire tonight 2) how angry would Roger be when he saw him, since it would be clear to them all, though especially Rog, that something was meant by this beyond just the typical utility clothing served. Roger would know it was a game crafted to make them furious. He slipped on a pair of grey loafers, and headed for the front door.

Brian had closed the shower’s glass door and was doing his best to hold it closed. Roger was taking turns switching between banging on it and tugging on the handle. His hands were slippery and he couldn’t get enough traction to open it.

“Open the door, you sod.” Roger yelled. “I’m soaked through to the bone. I’m dying. Let me out.”

“You’re not dying; you’re drunk and you need to sober up for this meeting.”

“I’m not drunk.”

“Come off it! You can’t lie to me, Rog; we’ve known each other too long.”

“I’m not drunk.”

“Yeah, and a sober person vomits all over their treasured sunglasses collection. Please; give me some credit here.”

Roger gave up fighting then. He knew what this looked like. He understood why Bri thought he was drunk. He also knew he’d sound like a lunatic if he tried to explain to his friend what was really wrong with him. This bizarre water torture wasn’t helping him calm down, however; sure, he wasn’t having a panic attack any longer, but he was growing angrier and angrier wet second by wet second. He was angry at himself, angry at Brian, and angry at Lydia. Angry at Lydia for fucking up his life, angry at Lydia whom he loved. Whom he loved. No, Roger thought, stop that; you don’t love her. You don’t know her. She’s not important. It isn’t like she’s thinking of you, wanting you; you’re nothing. She’s better off without you, mate. Roger let the water hit him, and he breathed in and out, trying to slow his breath, trying to mask his anger and self-loathing. If he ever wanted to get out of his shower, he’d had to make Brian believe he was fine. To do that, he’d have to conceal his rage and sorrow, and put on a happy face, or at least an apologetic one; in short, he’d have to lie.

“You’re right.” Roger sounded contrite, but wasn’t.

“I’m sorry! I can’t hear you.” Brian was deliberately plugging his ears.

“You can hear me, you bugger.”

“Try again, then.”

“You’re right, Bri. I had a drink to steady myself before the meeting and over did it.” Roger had his lips up against the glass door, dramatically screaming into it.

“And you’re a bit too drunk now to see you could have turned the water off on your own, hey?”

Roger spun around and growled at full volume in his shower before turning off the faucets. He had been distracted, yes, but not drunk. All the same, he hadn’t noticed when Brian locked him in here he had full control over the water. If he didn’t get out of here soon, he was going to break the glass door with his fists.

Brian, perhaps sensing this, opened the door. He reached a hand in and turned off the faucets for Rog.

“I hate you,” Roger said.

“I hate you, too.” Brian said.

It was how they said I love you, and always had been. They laughed together, and Brian felt his concern melt away and become a thing of the past.

“Pass me a towel, mate?” Roger was shaking. Brian thought it was from the cold, but it was from Roger’s barely controlled fury.

Brian passed Roger a canary yellow towel; Roger took the grey towel and began patting himself down.

“I’ll get you something to put on.” Brian left the bathroom.

Roger’s tears were mixing with the moisture on his face. His grey eyes sparkled back at him. He wanted to die. And since he couldn’t die, he settle for hurting someone or something.

You were in your bedroom, throwing clothing options on your bed, and rejects to the floor.

You found yourself unable to settle on one style over another, maybe it was leftovers from the impromptu costume party you and Jim had, but for the life of you, you had never had so many problems picking out what to wear. Lydia would say it was because you suddenly cared so much about what you had on because it would be taken off of you by someone else. And whereas she might not have been wrong, there was also the direct notion someone else you liked very much would be at a dinner with you, and his closest friends, and you’d have the opportunity to stare at each other all night. It had very little to do with touching for you. You felt compelled to have a visual impact that would draw attention.

Lydia was so much better at this than you; you wished she was home. You had a few outstanding pieces chosen, and even though Deacy had said it was a casual event, you had suspicions these men never dressed to not kill. You put on the top first. It was a golden brocade long-sleeved peplum. The raised pattern was adorned with pastel flowers, very small, very delicate. You paired the spectacular top with a pair of sky blue fitted velvet pants. You knew the shoes you needed, but they were Lydia’s. You both had an open door for fashion policy. You squeaked out of your bedroom and headed for Lydia’s room. You knocked on the door again, just to be sure, just to be polite--you knew she wasn’t home though. You opened the red crystal door knob and entered your best friend’s room.

The skylight was hexagonal and raised as if to kiss the sun itself. The bed was four poster with gauzy black hangings that did little much to obscure the view of whatever would happen in her bed. Unlike your room, where the walls were visible at certain points, Lydia’s walls were entirely covered by her artworks. Her black and white art screamed softly and sang loudly to you as you went for her closet. The canvases were all types of sizes, tetris-ed into perfect fits on her large walls (she had the largest bedroom). Though most of her pieces were at least four feet tall and wider when possible; she liked everything to be larger than life in all aspects of her life. In her closet you found them fast. You had your heart set on a pair of bright orange patent leather pumps. You threw them on, and ran to the bathroom to check your hair quick. Large and fluffy was as close to taming it as you could get. It would have to do. You put your large black plastic frames on, but still felt your outfit was missing something. Earrings, maybe? You went back into Lydia’s room and took her extra large golden hoop earrings and put them on; instinctually, you reached for her emerald bird-shaped ring, and slipped it on your finger. You looked at yourself in the mirror again, breathed in and out, and felt right. There was a knock at the door. You picked up the balloon string, you had removed it to shower, and went to answer the door.

Freddie and Jim were examining themselves in the runway mirror. Jim had on a pair of his white trousers with a bright red basic tee shirt tucked into them. He was combing his mustache and considering the white derbys Freddie had insisted he wear. This fashion stuff meant more to his husband than it did to him; he wasn’t used to it. He would never get used to having money; he just didn’t know what to do with it, and felt guilty every time he spent money on something nice for himself. It was perhaps nonsensical, but the principles we are taught as children never really leave us, and Jim was raised to be frugal and not spend money on himself--not that he ever really had any extra to spend on himself anyway.

“You look wonderful,” Freddie said, sensing Jim’s discomfort. “You are allowed to look wonderful, and to not feel like you’re neglecting anyone because of it.”

“I know.” Jim said sheepishly. “Learned behavior is hard to ignore.”

“Wait--what is that?” Freddie said dramatically, as if straining to hear an invisible caller, “It’s your mother’s siren call, darling!”

“Oh, give it a rest, angel.” Jim said, a laugh in his heart.

“You first.” Freddie had his hands on Jim’s shoulders, smiling at him, willing him to relax about money; when you grew up always worrying about money, it was impossible to never worry about it, even when you had it, it was always in the back of your mind like itch you couldn’t scratch, or a breath on the back of your neck you can’t find the source for, or the feeling when your shoes always come untied: it is the perpetual feeling of never being able to do enough to take care of yourself. And Freddie, since the white pants incident, had taken care of Jim, without even asking; it was like breathing for him, meaning, it was just what he did to live: he looked after others because he could.

Jim exhaled, “I love you.”

“I love you.” Freddie kissed Jim, then examined himself in the mirror. “What do you think?”

Freddie had on a yellow muscle shirt, tight acid-washed jeans, and a pair of red adidas boxing shoes: in few words, his current favorite look.

“Very sporty,” Jim said, smiling.

“Sporty?” Freddie said, mock-insulted, “This is fashion, darling!”

“I don’t understand why you get to wear that and I’m stuck wearing this.”

“Well, because all night, whenever I see you in those white trousers, I’ll get the immense pleasure of reliving the most important night of my life.”

Jim looked at Freddie, then. And what he saw was love.

“Reservation?” The maitre d’ asked.

“The reservation is under Beach.”

“For seven of you?”

“Yes; one chair for each of their massive egos.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Yes, seven.”

You opened the door and saw John Deacon. And you were rendered momentarily speechless, though not for the usual reason he had that effect on you.

“Wonderful!” He said excitedly leaning in for a kiss. “That’s exactly the reaction I was hoping for.”

“Were you robbed?” You asked, returning the kiss.

“Not one bit.” John saw you then, really saw you, and a bewildered smile grew large on his face. He took in your outfit, the bird-shaped ring, almost the same color as his bird-patterned shirt, and breathed slowly. You were glorious, and you both were gloriously synchronized.

“Ah, that’s exactly the reaction I was hoping for.” You said, copying his exact delivery.

“Do you usually dress like this?” He was searching for something in your face, keenly; the gears in his mind were working fast.

“I think I was just insulted.” You muttered to yourself.

“Not at all.” Deacy said, taking your hand. “Honest answer?”

“I don’t, no. But I followed my intuition--which is never wrong.”

“Ditto; it is why I asked.” Deacy started leading you down the stairs. “You see, this is all for a specific purpose.”

“To make your friends vomit at the table when they see you?”

“In a sense, yes.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I want them to be off their game.” He said, trying to explain years of psychology only he could know about his friends. “It is the only way to win.”

“This is that kind of dinner, then?”

“Yes, and I’ll make it up to you forever if you’ll let me?”

You stopped on the stairs thinking of Veronica. You understood why he was able to make promises like this, even last night so close after meeting. It all suddenly and loudly made sense. Now you understood perfectly why those kinds of vainglorious-seeming vows could escape his lips and sound believable and were believable because they were the honest truth, his honest truth: he could say them and mean them because he had before; he had made those promises before to someone before, and he had meant them entirely, and was able to keep them. You steadied your breath before he could notice your epiphany, and said, “I will let you, Deacy.”

He smiled up at you, and noticed your wrist. A small frown appeared on his face.

“Oh! I removed it to shower.” You said, fast. “I was hoping you’d help me tie back on.” You held out the string to him. “Lydia wasn’t here to help.”

He took the string from you, and tied it perfectly on your wrist once more. It wasn’t full of diamonds or even anything remotely valuable conventionally, but its intrinsic worth was more than anything else you owned.

On the street, he led you to a different car than before.

“I thought your Mercedes was green?”

“Didn’t I mention the blue one, too?” He couldn’t recall completely.

“I thought you were joking.” You said.

And you realized this was her car.

It was a light blue Mercedes-Benz.

You didn’t know how you knew it, but it was what your gut was telling you, and you always trusted your gut, because it was always right.

“Roger fixed this one for me.”

“Fixed it for you?” You questioned. You felt bad, because you had a very good idea why it had to be fixed, but you didn’t want to pressure him before he was ready to tell you, or hint that you knew more than you should.

“It was out of commission for a spell.” Deacy said hesitantly. “Technically, this one is my car. My main car, I mean.”

“It’s beautiful.”

“It is.” There was something sad in Deacy’s voice, and you wanted more than anything to take that sadness away. He opened the door for you, and closed it once you had gotten inside.

He walked around to the driver’s side and entered.

“Thank you for coming to this dinner with me.” He said, suddenly very serious.

You took his hand, hoping he’d hear you. You made sure he was looking you in the eyes. Your olive eyes shone and his grey ones were slightly cold. “It is my pleasure to help in anyway I can.”

He smiled at you, and nodded. He put the key in the ignition and began heading towards the restaurant.

Roger Taylor��s hair was dry. He was in a white and grey fitted plaid blazer, at least that’s what he saw. It’s actual colors, because he knew his wardrobe, were a pale blue and grey. But color wasn’t a thing anymore, and all he saw was the grey. He was wearing a grey tee shirt, which should have been the same pale blue, but wasn’t. He was in a pair of actual dark grey trousers with a full break, and a pair of purple-colored oxfords that looked only black to him. Brian had handed him his baby blue aviators, which looked only light grey to him, and turned him to the mirror.

“It’s not as good as anything you could put together, but it’ll suffice.” Brian sounded impatient; he was in no mood to humor Roger anymore tonight.

“You’re right on both accounts.” Roger said, trying to lighten the mood. He felt like vomiting again; he missed color. He missed it dearly.

“Can we please go now?”

“Ready when you are, Bri.” Roger tried to smile enough to fool his lifelong friend.

“Let’s motor.”

Freddie and Jim arrived at the restaurant, surprised to find they had beaten everyone else when they were led to a table in the back and only saw their manager sitting there waiting alone.

“Miami, darling!” Freddie embraced Beach with a full-on hug compete with loud cheek air kisses that made everyone in the dining room turn and stare. This is what the public expected, and it was what Freddie would deliver with panache.

“Hello, Freddie. Jim! How are you?” Miami shook Jim’s hand, happy to see someone normal here for the night’s entertainment.

“Hello, Jim.” Jim Hutton said, smiling widely at his same-named friend.

“Listen, I’ll be at the head of the table for mediation, and I was thinking the band would be here in these four chairs, and the guests at the end.”

“Thank god,” Hutton said, happily sitting at the other end of the table; he knew what was coming. At least he thought he did. They all thought they did.

Roger was trying to shake Brian off him. “Stop fixing my lapel; leave me alone!” His mood had not improved during the ride to the restaurant. He was seething. He could make ice boil just by looking at it. They were walking up to the maitre d’, who wasn’t pleased at Roger’s outburst.

“Reservation?”

“Beach, please.” Brian responded as congenial as possible; next to him Roger kept taking off his sunglasses and polishing them compulsively. “Would you please stop it.” Brain said opening his mouth as little as possible and attempting to still smile at the host.

“Me stop it? You stop it!” Roger said way too loudly to be considered even the neighbor to polite behavior.

“Right this way, please.” The maitre d’ was doing his best to ignore Roger Meddows Taylor. The hard thing about that was, he was so gorgeous, especially when angry, that it was hard to look away. That unique charm Roger had to stop people in their tracks occurred the entire way to the table. People turned to look at the Blond God, and they loved every second of it. Roger, who usually loved the attention, just found himself getting more viciously furious by the second. What kind of black and white film hell had he stepped into? He enjoyed a good film noir like the rest of everyone else, but this was too fucking much; he didn't want to live in one.

Hutton was hugging Brian and Freddie came over to embrace Roger, who distractedly hugged him back.

“Hello, Miami. How’s the family?” Brian asked.

“Wonderful, thank you. Wife is pregnant again, actually.”

“Congratulations!” Brian smiled warmly. “That calls for champagne, I think.”

“Absolutely!” Freddie agreed.

Roger and Brian sat across from Freddie.

Shortly thereafter, you and Deacy arrived at the restaurant.

“Miami Beach, please.” Deacy said to the flustered-looking maitre d’.

“Miami?” You asked bemusedly.

“It’s a long story.” Deacy said, “I’ll tell you later.”

The maitre d’, whose night was about to get a million times worse than he could ever have imagined, led you and Deacy to a table in the back. You had never been to a place this fancy before. It was the kind of place with more than one type of fork and spoon.

“Here is your table, Mr. Deacon.”

Deacy hadn’t given his name, and blushed instantly; he’d never get used to be recognized in public. “Thank you.” He said graciously.

The table was full, except for two sets, belonging to you and Deacy. You saw they were apart from each other, but that was okay, and, if anything, facilitated the odds of being able to steal glances at each other, which was all part of the game.

You both stood at the back of the table near what would be your chair, when Roger looked up and noticed you both.

The look on his face shifted from casual, un-targeted annoyance to a direct venomous glare of absolute detestation.

Looking at you, he shouted loud enough for the entire restaurant to hear, “What in bloody hell is she doing here?!”

---------------------------

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