#we have this 'verse figured out and there are already so many tidbits from the aftermath

[into-the-blorboverse]

some tidbits about this AU

the AU is kind of split off into two time periods, exploring Drew's identity as a teen+how his life differs from the regular oc verse, and the second half, where we come back to him as an adult and reconnecting with people with newfound confidence in himself.

all this to say, alot of the exploration has to do with him and Libra's relationship. as mentioned in the first trans au post, we couldn't let Libra cheat on Drew in this one. while Libra doesn't know about Drew being trans until much later and her infidelity wouldn't have anything to do with him being "inferior" as a man or whatever, Drew would most definitely feel that way. and he goes through enough in this AU so that we didn't have the heart to do that. not to say that there isn't angst about his gender, just not in such a earth shattering way as being cheated on.

anyway they do last a bit longer together, allowing themselves to become very attached. Libra can tell that there's Something going on with Drew that he's not being forthcoming about, so she gets kind of annoying about that sometimes, perhaps projecting that he's not interested in her or something. Drew is like ughhh its not that Libra... and shes left just like okay??? what is it then??? ...luckily Drew doesn't feel compelled to out himself right away, he isn't ready and he certainly would not benefit from that information getting out when he's feeling aggravated. he has no idea how Libra would react and that's why he can't Ever tell her (at least for right now).

they care for each other alot and it makes it really hard when it seems like their relationship is so hot n cold, and they r dumb teens so they don't know how to talk it out jfddsj. eventually Libra presents him with an ultimatum like, if you need time to go figure yourself out and when ur ready to be real with me you can come back and we can be together. she thinks oh im so genius once im gone he'll come running back 😏 but that rly is too much pressure on Drew and he... doesn't take the bait. which frustrates Libra, why doesn't he wanna be with me?? fools, both of them!!! and it doesn't help that Libra moves out, leaves town, due to some family drama. and they just don't reach out, its too hard, too scary, especially on Drew's end there's too many unknowns to reach out. and that was it.....

...unless!! well spoilers they do reconnect years later, Drew's had much more time to build confidence, both in social and medical transitioning. so when they do get to talking he does feel safe to reveal that yeah the reason why he was so cagey n weird in high school is because of being trans and being scared to tell the one person who didn't know already, and be rejected in that way. and Libra, in the kindest way she can manage, grabs his shoulders and shakes him around like are you Serious is that all that was about i thought you hated me!!! i liked you, i wouldn't have cared!!! etc etc and yknow. hindsight is 20/20 and all that. it probably would have been fine but he couldn;t have known and thats valid hsajkh. even if a bit frustrating for all involved, at least he feels good about it now.

funnily enough it takes this AU to have Drew go to therapy earlier on in his life...? not to mention living in the Ramirez household and not being emotionally damaged on a daily basis like in his family home really provides him a more stable foundation. so he can finally have these conversations as an adult and smooth over some unfinished business left untended from his teen life, whew!! Good for him. :)

[lovecanbesostrange]

It started with an ask on konako’s blog, that led to a small scene with Red kneeling before the Evil Queen. (x) That was almost Red Queen fun. But it spun into something very dark, because the Evil Queen did capture Red and torture as punishment followed (this goes into dead-dove territory, you are warned, it’s messed up). Here are 4k words of what happened in the palace dungeon afterwards (spoiler alert, excessive use of silver):

summary: Red made the Evil Queen look foolish and gets utterly destroyed for it (graphic depictions of violence included)

Finally a little triumph. The Evil Queen went down the stairs into the dungeon. Every step of her well-shined heeled boots echoed loudly from the stone steps. Sometimes she wished she had more patience to make good use of the cells down here. But she was bored too easily not getting answers and the prisoners died quickly. Her torturer barely had anything to do. Why did she even pay him anymore? (Did she pay anyone in the palace? They were allowed to live and had nice enough accommodations and food, for sure that was enough.)

But now Regina wanted to take all the time in the world. Her knights had captured that wolf woman! After the bloodbath she had caused weeks ago that made Regina look foolish, she would enjoy their time together now. And it would send Snow White a message in the end.

Two guards were posted outside the cell and two inside. Of course knowing they dealt with a werewolf made handling the prisoner easier. For one the full moon was a couple of nights away. And silver was easy to come by to keep her in line. Regina had also instructed her blacksmith to forge some chains in preparation for when she would be captured. It had been a priority task.

When Regina entered the cell she smiled and took in the sight. Red was chained up in the middle of the room. She was stripped down to her undergarments, her clothes on the floor, except for her cloak that was draped over one of the tables. Her arms were raised above her head, wrists bound by the heavy cuffs each connected to a chain going through a loop in the ceiling and then stretching all the way to a bolt in the wall. Her ankles were cuffed as well, a short heavy chain in between so she couldn’t take any significant steps. Not that she could run away, since her toes barely reached the ground. Red had to carry her weight in her arms, shoulders.

“Well, well, well, so we meet again.” Regina took her time to enter and circled Red, who tried to follow her with her eyes. “You made quite a spectacle the last time.”

“Do you want an apology?” Red’s voice was firm. Too firm for Regina’s taste.

“I don’t think you could muster up an honest one. You’re a deceiver.” Regina stopped in front of her. “Begging for those peasants’ lives and then killing my men.” She grabbed Red’s chin with her thumb and index finger. “You said there was no need for bloodshed and you happily slaid them anyway.”

“I wouldn’t have done that if you hadn’t tried to take me.”

“As if you thought I would let you walk away from there.” Regina looked closely into those green eyes. Was the bravado real or just posturing? “Don’t get me wrong, the way you killed those men without a second thought was impressive. I can admire that. But the humiliation it would have been to return to the village and enact punishment, admitting to being defeated that day - I can’t let that slide.” She slapped Red across the cheek.

Red closed her eyes and didn’t turn her face back up. She was glad the villagers had been spared. Regina didn’t know how long she had stuck around to make sure there was no retaliation. And whatever was about to follow, would have been worth it. Snow had her plans to strike and they were close to luring the Queen into a trap. But every day more innocent people could die and Red could not sit by. She owed it to the victims of the wolf to use her strength for good now.

She heard Regina take a few steps back and looked again. The cloak was in her hands now. “Do you have any other name or should I just call you Red. Not very original, is it? Naming yourself after a bit of fabric.” Her fingers traced the patterns. “I sense magic in this. But I guess asking about it will not bring me answers, right? Just like any of Snow White’s plans won’t leave your lips.”

Statements. The Evil Queen had made up her mind already, questions weren’t part of whatever this encounter was. Red turned her hands around and tried to get a grip on the chain, change her position the slightest bit to take some strain off of her already burning shoulders.

“Do you know there isn’t much to find in books about your kind?” Regina exchanged the cloak for something else from the table. It reflected a bit of the amber light emitted from the fireplace and Red could see it was a simple dagger. “The one thing that is said over and over though is your weakness towards silver. I’m curious. Is it just the metal or wounds inflicted by it?”

Red already clenched her jaw before Regina put the blade against the skin on her upper arm, preparing to get cut. But instead Regina pressed the flat side on her skin first. Definitely silver. Pure. Red felt the effect in a matter of seconds and bit down, grinding her teeth.

Regina stood close again, caught her eyes with her gaze and kept pressing the blade against the tender side of her arm. “Don’t worry, I will write down everything I’m about to do here, so the books can add a chapter about how to break a wolf when in their human form.” And with that she turned the dagger and cut the skin. Red flinched, more from the shock than the actual pain. It was a relief actually to have the silver leave her.

“Are there noteworthy differences between a cut with this,” Regina lifted the dagger, “and a normal blade?” She gestured towards one of the guards and he immediately unsheathed a dagger from his boot. Without hesitation Regina reproduced the cut on the other arm. The blood almost tickled as it ran down. “Oh no, I’m making a mess. Getting blood out of clothes is such a hassle.”

Regina let one of the daggers fall down and with the other cut along the seams of Red’s top half of what she was left wearing. Red closed her eyes again as she felt air hit her exposed body. She knew which weapon Regina held and she could feel the silver being drawn over her skin, over her collarbone, between her breasts, down to her navel. The point barely left a scratch, but the offending metal felt like being brushed with a nettle. Red took in deep, sharp breaths through her nose.

That reaction was exactly what made Regina go slower with her movements. It wasn’t the sharpness that left the light red mark, no, it appeared the longer she held the blade in place. What an interesting sight to watch. Regina brought her free hand up to Red’s chin again, this time squeezing her jaw with her palm, digging her fingers into her cheek. Red looked at her again.

“You know, the longer you resist, the more adamant I will be to make you scream. That is how these things work.” She brought the dagger up to Red’s forehead, this time with the edge to cut into her skin again. It took a few seconds, but then the blood running over her eyebrows made Red blink.

“Can you hold this for me?” With that she wedged the silver dagger between the torn clothes and Red’s hips. Red squirmed trying to get away, but the blade touched her thigh ever so slightly. “I learned a valuable lesson the other day. A blacksmith works with iron. Like those chains holding you. Not used to working with silver. You would have to ask a silversmith about it. I even found one and he is working on special silver cuffs for me. Or rather, for you.”

Regina stood at the table again, her back to Red. When she turned around she held up a necklace. “So for now, I have to settle for delicate jewelry instead of the collar you deserve.” Under any other circumstance Red would have admired the piece. Obviously the star-shaped ornament was meant to hold a gemstone in place, a diamond or a sapphire, but this was stripped down to the silver components for one purpose only. “So you will get used to a leash later,” was all Regina added as she put it around Red’s neck.

Red held on. Her skin was crawling all over, the itch on her thigh burning already, but she tried to stay as still as possible. She couldn’t do anything against the tears forming in her eyes, betraying her brave face though.

Regina stood before her, brows furrowed. “Your healing isn’t as fast. I will need to wait hours to compare those cuts on your arms. There is something I am forgetting.” She rubbed her temples, feigning to think. “Oh, of course, I need a point of reference!” A clap of her hands alerted the guard. “You, get the girl from next door.” Red’s eyes went wide.

“No. Wait. You don’t need to drag anybody else into this.”

Regina stepped closer and slapped her across the cheek again, harder this time. “I don’t remember asking for your opinion and you will stop being so informal around me!”

“Yes, Your Majesty”, Red quickly gathered herself. “But please, there is no need-” But she already saw a frightened young girl being pushed into the cell. About her height and weight, seemingly healthy. For now. The girl fell to the floor and cowered there.

“I caught her stealing, so normally she would already be dead. But she can be of use for me.” Regina put a hand into her hair and yanked her head up, to make her look at Red. “Or do you want her dead right now?”

The terror Red felt was mirrored on the girl’s face. Was there a chance of survival for her? She was ready to beg for her life; to lie on that table where Regina obviously had more silver tools; to take any punishment herself. “No,” Red whispered. Another yank at the girl’s hair. “No, Your Majesty.”

“A fast learner.” She pushed the girl into a chair with cuffs on the armrests. Seating her in front of Red. The girl trembled and looked to the floor. Red tried to pull at her chains, but it only sent a jolt of pain through her shoulders.

Regina paced the room. After a while she came up behind Red. “Your shoulders must really hurt by now. Let me help you with that.” Her fingers played with the necklace and Red hissed. Shifting it around made the pain more noticeable. “The plate.” She said towards the guards. Behind Red a wooden plate leaned against the wall. A thin metal sheet on one side, coated in silver. She knew that before the guards shoved it under her feet. The wood added a few inches so in theory this took some of the weight off her shoulders, but the soles of her feet would soon itch, turn red, swell, hurt and most likely blister. She tried to balance on the outside of her feet only, to not hurt everywhere all at once.

“Do you know what the second thing is that some texts suggest to use against a werewolf?” Silence. “Oh, that was a genuine question directed at you. Do you know?”

“Fire.” Red answered between breaths. Her mouth was open now, it was dry. She didn’t dare to fully fill her lungs, because that made the necklace move. The attack on multiple parts of her body with the silver was starting to overwhelm her.

“That is correct. You know your weaknesses it seems.” Regina conjured a fireball in her hand. “Fire is pure. It doesn’t discriminate. It can be very elegant.” She stepped closer to Red, hand outstretched so she could feel the heat of the flame. “How fast can you heal a burn wound?”

“I don’t k-” Red couldn’t finish that sentence, because Regina held her hand to her side now. A scream was all that escaped her lips. The fireball wasn’t cast, but the flame burned her flesh. Red clenched her fists and tried to step away, the chains around her ankles making a screeching sound dragging over the silver plate. There was no escape, because Regina just followed with her hand. She closed her hand and the fireball vanished. Red went slack, her breathing sped up. The only good thing was that in this commotion, the dagger had gotten loose and fallen to the floor.

Red sorted out her senses, trying to gather her bearings, when she heard the girl scream. Louder, more fearful, indicating the horrible pain she never felt before. Regina had torn her clothes and burned her at the exact same place on her body. For reference. Red couldn’t put the horror of it into words. Would it indeed be better for the girl if she was dead already? She didn’t even know her name.

And Red didn’t learn her name over the next few days, because whatever happened, she would not talk to her. Regina had strictly forbidden it and the rotating guards would hit her at a single word. It was almost comical. Red’s body went numb. Cuts, rashes, bruises, welts, burns, scratches. It came and went. The pain was a constant throbbing, she got repositioned a few times, but it felt like she would never use her arms on her own accord again. But whatever happened to her, the girl looked worse. Red did heal faster from any wound not dealt with silver. But it did take a lot from her regardless. She lost track of time. What was sleep? Any kind of shame about being naked had vanished. Instead of clothes her body was covered in forming scars, marks and blemishes.

Red tried to count the rotations of the guards, to get any kind of feeling for the passing days. It was only days, right? It felt like forever. Silver on her skin somewhere at all times, lashes from a whip, getting burned with a torch, red hot iron, and so many cuts to make her bleed. The worst still a long deep wound on her right cheek, starting at her ear right to the corner of her mouth. When they allowed her some water, it even hurt to swallow.

Later Red found out it had been five days in total. It seemed like a small window of time. But the Evil Queen lived up to her name. Especially on day four, when she left permanent damage. While Red was mostly kept standing up, the girl was strapped to the chair. Not that she had any energy left to walk out of here, even if they’d opened the door for her. Regina stood behind her and pulled her head back.

“Just look at me, I’m sure this won’t hurt you.”

Red looked on as Regina dripped liquid into one of her eyes. The girl flinched, but that was a reflex. None of her sounds of discomfort or pain left her throat. That made Red more nervous than she would admit. And she was right to be.

“Just as I thought. Look at that, barely irritated.” She pushed the girl’s head forward, her eye teared up, maybe a bit reddened.

Regina walked around her and caught Red’s gaze. “Such beautiful green eyes. Quiet unusual. Of course not as remarkable as the wolfish gold, is it?” The way she kept staring was unnerving and Red’s breathing already picked up. Fear. In a short amount of time she had learned what fear truly was.

“Hold her steady.” A guard came and grabbed Red’s head from behind. Panic sunk in and she started to squirm, tried to turn her face away, to wiggle out of his grip. She wasn’t sure what was about to happen, but she knew she wanted out. Right now. No more pain, she couldn’t take anymore. But she had to.

Regina got a few drops out of the vile, into Red’s right eye. “Don’t worry, it’s mostly water. Just a tiny bit of silver dust mixed into it.”

Red pushed her body back as hard as she could, but her mangled feet had no grip, it was more like leaning into the guy. No force to get him off. And then the pain started. It felt like a needle prick. And all of a sudden the colors exploded in Red’s sight. Everything was sharper, the light from the fireplace brighter. She knew her eyes turned golden like before she would transform. It had happened a few times, when highly agitated. Now it was a physical response.

Regina laughed. “I did not expect that.” She met Red’s terror with fascination. More needle pricks in her eye, the urge to rub it away. Red pulled at her chains, she wanted to press the palm of her hand against her eye and get the irritating feeling out. But there was no chance. All Regina saw was the golden color and Red gasping for air, holding back a scream. The hitched breathing was a good enough tell that this hurt.

Worse than the pain that kept sinking in was the way Red started to see white dots, blind specks in her vision. Three, four, five, more and more. She blinked, her tearducts fighting off the intrusion, but the silver too strong an opponent. Red clenched her jaw and groaned. She let out a growl from deep within, filled with frustration and pain. It was more of a bellow than a scream. Regina smiled at that.

While Red’s left eye got back to its human green, the right eye stayed golden, a misty layer clouding the bright hue. It drew Regina’s full attention, while it would be weeks for Red to discover the permanent change. Blinded, only noting a change between light and darkness. Her eyeball feeling like it was rubbed with sandpaper made the rest of the day seem like nothing. Time moved on

And then unthinkable happened. The chains were loosened completely, the cuffs came off. Red tried to curl up on the floor, but she could barely move her joints. Everything hurt too much. But Regina laughed. “Remember that I said I will make you beg for more than mercy? How about you ask me to end her suffering?”

Red looked up. Trying to adjust to the impaired vision. As bad as she felt, the girl looked worse. “Please…”, the girl said and the guard standing behind her, hit her against the head immediately.

It took everything Red had to turn herself upright, to bend her knees and sit on them. To kneel before Regina again. No side eye, no hint of a smirk, no failsafe. The burn marks hurt worst next to the chafed skin around her neck from the necklace that was also gone now. “Your…” Red was shaking, she had to cough trying to speak. “Please, Your Majesty. End her suffering. I beg you. Please. It’s enough… enough…” And with that she fell down again.

“Pathetic.” Regina’s verdict was cold as ice. “And to think I had a gift for you just now. Guards.” They stood next to Red and pulled her to her knees again, held her up. Regina leaned towards her. “My silversmith has arrived.” She produced a silver object and only when the lock clicked around her neck did Red realize this was the collar she had talked about. She felt the burn on her throat and winced. It was a sound she was used to producing by now.

“So?”

“Please… Your Majesty…” Red was panting, she could not finish the plea.

Regina rolled her eyes. “If this is the best you can do, so be it. Ending the suffering now.” And with that her hand shot straight into Red’s chest and pulled out her heart. “Kill her. Rip her throat out like you always do.”

Red wanted to scream. She wanted to jump the Evil Queen. To tear up the men holding her. But what she wanted was irrelevant all of a sudden. The will to do it was overwritten. She looked at the girl, defeated, not even surprised. While Red’s mind fully woke up for the first time in days, all her muscles reacted to something else. The pain all over her body was terrible, but every second she didn’t comply was even more agony.

Red crawled more than she walked to get to the chair. She hovered over her nameless victim, tried to hold back, but those terror-stricken eyes met hers. “Make it quick, please.” Oh, if only she could turn into a wolf, those sharp teeth would take less than a second. Regina had specified how this girl was supposed to die and Red could not opt to cut her throat with a knife, she sunk her still very human teeth into it. The larynx, so easy to wrap fangs around, was hard, the skin and flesh thick. The scream the girl let out was only short, because the pressure suffocated her. It was impossible to make this quick-

Finally Red tasted blood. Tears ran down her face, but she could not stop herself from this horrible act. This slow, agonizing, inhumane death of a nameless chamber maid, who probably hadn’t even stolen a thing. Someone at the wrong place, at the wrong time, who had suffered for days for cruel experiments with no merit. One more victim added to Red’s tally. Not for good. Not in battle. Not in defense. Needless cruelty.

When the girl’s heart stopped, Red finally could let go. She sank on all fours, spat out what she could of the blood and wailed. Her own heart wasn’t even in her chest, but it had never felt heavier.

“Get the smith down here now, he knows what to do.” Regina sent one guard away. Red looked up, warm blood dripping from her chin, she could feel it. Disgusting. If she had any strength left, this would be the time to strike. But all Regina needed to do was a little squeeze. Her heart hurt. No, Red was helpless. Any thought of fighting back an illusion.

“I think it’s best that you lie down on the table for this next part.”

Red wanted to put her head under a guillotine right now. To kill like that was worse than any of the torture methods the Evil Queen had come up with. Regina had won. But Red couldn’t do anything but comply and lied down, waiting for her fate.

It came in the form of a small white haired man, holding a sort of chalice with a long tongue. His hands were shaking and Red couldn’t tell if it was because of what he was doing or just being in Regina’s presence. She couldn’t make sense of what was happening. A guard came and put her wrists into the handcuffs again, strapping her to the table. A chain going over her thighs and under the table fixated her.

Regina squatted down next to her, stroking her hair. “Feel free to scream for me now.”

“The mold.” Wood was pressed against her back. “Careful with your fingers there, wouldn’t want to burn you.”

And then everything was fire. The scream from Red’s throat surprised Regina enough that she stood up. Loud, agonizing, on the brink of collapse. What looked like a chalice was a melting pot, containing a few grams of molten silver. It was poured on Red’s skin and burned her instantly, severely. Water followed mere seconds later to turn the liquid back to solid, but the damage was done. A silver ring fused into her flesh. The pain and the sensory overload from heat to cold send her into shock. She was still screaming with the taste of warm blood in her mouth when the faint claimed her.

[secretpeachtea]

Onigiri Miya Tidbits Ch 5

Title: the graduation celebration

Genre: gen fic, reader insert

Word Count: 5.9k

Summary: Onigiri Miya is now hiring and you just happen to be the right person for the job. The business has been gaining popularity since its grand opening, and many customers travel from different cities just to have a bite of Miya Osamu’s delicious recipes. You did expect some craziness from working in food services, but what you didn’t expect was to be bombarded with frequent tomfoolery from a bunch of attractive volleyball players during your shifts.

disclaimer: manga spoilers

A/N: IM BACK. this literally took me a whole month to write and i hope there aren’t too many mistakes. if there are mistakes, feel free to point them out to me! other than that, hope you enjoy!

Previous///Next

Your back was aching from standing at the register for such a long time, so you decided to take a seat on one of the two chairs set up behind the counter for times like this. There was only a little over an hour left before closing, and there weren’t any customers at the moment, so taking a quick break wouldn’t hurt. It seems like Osamu was thinking the same thing as he plopped himself next to you languidly.

Your boss rests an arm on the back of your chair. “You tired?” 

“A little bit, but it’s nothing I can’t handle,” you reply back with a sigh. “How about you?”

Osamu takes off his cap and runs a hand through his hair before placing it back on his head. “Nah, I’m good. Just feeling a bit dazed. It’s been a pretty slow week, so I guess I’m just lacking some energy boost.”

“Yeah, I guess. We haven’t had any interesting customers come in for a while, huh.” You think back to the time when you had to babysit a certain volleyball team and when you interacted with a specific gamer during work. “Although, I can’t really tell whether that’s a good thing or a bad thing.”

Your conversation was interrupted when you both heard the entrance slide open indicating the arrival of a customer. Or, rather, customers. A group of young men walked into the shop while also engaged in their own chatter. 

“We meet up after such a long time and you decide to come here?” A man with light brown, uneven bangs shoved his hands into his coat while sporting a blank expression. “Although, I can’t really say I’m surprised, Goshiki.”

The one addressed as Goshiki scowled in slight frustration. “I don’t trust any of the other options you all pitched in! I didn’t want to eat spicy ramen from the convenience store when we haven’t met up all together like this in so long! I won rock paper scissors too so it’s my choice, Shirabu-san!”

Another man with a crimson-tinted buzzcut chipped in with a lighthearted tone, “Are you sure you didn’t want to just come here ‘cause you heard about the cute register girl?”

“N-no! That’s not true, Tendou-san!” (yes)

“You’re so easy to read, Tsutomu! Isn’t that right, Wakatoshi-kun?”

Broad shoulders on a tall figure turned towards the redhead. “I suppose it is easy to understand Goshiki as if I were reading the gardening section of the newspaper.”

The fourth person of the group had a guitar strapped to his back with an...interesting outfit that you would not normally see someone wear voluntarily. “You guys sure haven’t changed at all. I can’t really say I expected to come here either.”

The last two people to enter the shop chuckled as they listened to their peers. One had a spiky undercut and slanted eyebrows, while the other had large, defined lips and tan skin. The latter spoke up, “Well, it’s not too bad, Semi. Plus, we’re here to celebrate Shirabu’s graduation and acceptance into medical school.”

You and Osamu are now standing behind the counter but the group of seven had yet to notice you both. You do a double take when you glance at the one who just spoke. Covering your mouth with one hand, you whisper to your boss, “Okay. I see what you meant by Benkei.”

Osamu just quietly chuckles.

It didn’t take long for one specific person to direct his attention at you as he walked to the counter. “Ah, (Surname)-san. How have you been?” 

At the sudden greeting, the rest of the group ceased their conversation.

You just gave the familiar face a small smile. “I’ve been doing well, Shirabu-san.”

“SHIRABU-SAN KNOWS THE PRETTY REGISTER GIRL?!”

You’re a bit taken aback by the loud exclamation by Goshiki, so you just stare at him with wide eyes. A couple people burst out laughing, mainly Tendou, Yamagata, and Semi. The poor boy’s entire body flushes red as he tries to get the guys to stop laughing. Shirabu just lets out a sigh and turns his attention back to you. It seems like the other two who weren’t part of the boisterous bunch also turned their focus to where you were.

“Sorry about that. I told you I would visit soon, but I didn’t expect to come with my former teammates,” Shirabu apologized.

“No, that’s okay. If that’s the case, then these guys must be the Shiratorizawa alumni you mentioned before.” You shook your head in understanding. You turned towards the others. “Nice to meet you guys. I’m (Surname) (Name), Shirabu’s college classmate.”

“Hellooo~ (Name)-chan!” Tendou joyfully greeted after listening in on the conversation. Goshiki was now hidden behind Ushijima’s large stature to avoid any awkward encounters. Yamagata and Semi rejoined since they were also curious as to how you knew their former setter. After some brief introductions, you had learned all of their names before going into detail of your relationship with Shirabu.

“(Surname)-san and I went to the same university and had a couple classes together since our majors were similar. We were both fairly diligent in our studies, so we often grouped up to do assignments.”

“Oh? What did you major in, (Surname)-san?” Ohira asks.

“I majored in Anatomy and Physiology. I plan on going to grad school for Sports medicine.”

You hear a small gasp behind Ushijima and a quiet, subtle statement of “She’s pretty and smart!”, but you pretend like you didn’t hear anything in hopes to spare Goshiki from any more embarrassment. Osamu seems a bit intrigued since he’s never really heard you speak about school but stays silent off to the side.

“Have you decided on where you want to go? I know you once told me you applied to a special Sports medicine program.” Shirabu asks.

You feel a wave of negative emotions at the question but try your best to control your facial expression. “I...um...was waitlisted from the program and was rejected from all the grad schools that I applied to…”

Your former classmate’s eyes widened a bit in surprise and lifted his hand to his chin in thought. “I see.”

You try to brush off any unnecessary thoughts by waving your hands in front of you. “There must have been a reason for that. My resume wasn’t all that great and they probably thought I was lacking in a lot of ways.”

“Nonsense. From the couple of times we’ve worked together, I know that you’re a very well versed and competent person.” Shirabu crosses his arms and looks straight into your eyes.  “I’m sure you’ll be able to come across a good opportunity with your capabilities.”

You were quite touched by Shirabu’s firm words and he’s managed to slightly lift up the corners of your lips despite the heavy weight in your heart. He’s fairly blunt and doesn’t like to sugarcoat words, so you know his words are genuine.

“Oh? How romantic~” Tendou commented. Shirabu just glares at the tall redhead and remains silent.

A sudden low rumble echoes into the air from Semi’s stomach. “Oh, sorry guys. I’ve been composing all day, so I haven’t gotten around to eating yet.”

“We should order now,” Ushijima advises. The rest nod their heads in agreement. As the Shiratorizawa crew puts in their orders, Osamu sets up his workstation to accommodate. The entire order came out to be quite a lot since most of the guys were heavy eaters and some ordered additional side dishes.

“Will this be all in one order or is everyone paying separately?” You ask.

Shirabu opens his mouth to answer but is interrupted by Tendou. “Since we’re here for a celebration, we can’t let the man of the hour pay for anything!”

“Are you suggesting that we split the cost of Shirabu’s meal or have one person pay for it?” Yamagata looked up thoughtfully. 

Tendou raised a finger into the air and wiggled it in denial. “Just one person will pay for all of the food!”

“It’s fine, Tendou-san. Onigiris do not cost that mu-”

“Nuh uh~ That’s not an option!”

“Alright. Then, how would we determine who pays?” Semi looked a bit weary at the suggestion.

Tendou clapped his hands together. “We’ll play some games to determine who the ultimate loser is! The winners from each round will be exempt from the next one! There will be three games in total. Whoever loses every single game and remains as the last person will be the one to pay for all of us!”

“Seems simple enough,” Yamagata comments. The other guys nod their heads in agreement. 

“This is a great idea!” Goshiki in particular seems fired up. “I will defeat you, Ushijima-san!”

“I look forward to your efforts, Goshiki.”

As if there was some kind of telepathic signal between the guys, everyone but Ushijima, Shirabu, and Goshiki look at one another. Sly smiles and pitiful expressions begin to form as they take a quick glance at where Goshiki and Ushijima were standing before turning back to each other in mutual understanding. It seems like the majority has come to the conclusion that one specific person will be walking home with a lighter wallet.

Shirabu, who’s already used to his former team’s antics, doesn’t even try to stop them. Once they start, it’s difficult to halt their chaos unless he wants to hear them complain about it for the next couple weeks. Although, he does make the effort to face you and Osamu. “I know they’re getting ahead of themselves, but is all this okay? I know you haven’t closed yet, so I wouldn’t want to disturb your business.”

Your boss just waves his hand to brush off the concern. “Nah, you’re good. It’s been a slow day and I was planning on closing a bit early anyways. Feel free to hang out and have fun as long as you clean up after yourselves. I’ll be preparing the food in the meantime.”

“Yeah, as long as I’m not mopping up someone’s vomit off the floor, I don’t have any problems with it either,” You reply.

With the final yes from the owner of Onigiri Miya, Tendou sports a wide grin and faces his peers. “I already have some game ideas, so all we need to do is set up everything like I ask!”

You’re just about to return to your previous seat behind the counter before the Shiratorizawa boys entered, but Tendou waved at you to get your attention. “(Name)-chan! Would you mind being the referee for the games?”

Bewilderment is evident on your face as you try to decipher the redhead’s intentions. You’re a bit cautious since the group is so unpredictable. “Oh, um, wouldn’t it be better if Shirabu-san watched over you guys? I think I prefer watching you all have fun from afar.”

“Aw~ That’s a shame.” Tendou pulls out a small box wrapped in a bright blue ribbon from the bag slung over his shoulders. “I was planning on sharing these gourmet chocolates with the person who volunteered to be a referee.”

“Huh?” There was a small glint in your eyes.

The lanky man gently pulled off the ribbon and opened the lid. Inside the box were 5 pieces of chocolate all laid out on top of a plastic mold. Each of the chocolates had intricate designs that hinted at the work of delicate hands and showed the amount of care that went into making them. The surfaces of each piece shined under the fluorescent lights and the delectable, mouthwatering aroma permeated the air. “I gifted some chocolates for our lovely graduating friend but had a couple chocolates leftover, so I made an extra box. It’s too bad that it’ll go to waste since no one will claim them.”

“...”

You stay frozen for a moment as you eye the exquisite sweets in front of you. “...What do you need me to do?”

Tendou lets out a small shout of happiness at your response, and you took one of the chocolates out of the box. You plopped it into your mouth and immediately tasted a burst of flavor. A soft, content sigh leaves your lips as you savor the dessert. There was a soft chuckle next to you and you assumed it was Osamu but decided that you were just going to savor the moment.  After gushing over two more pieces, you decide to save the rest for later and make your way around the counter to where the rest were waiting. 

Tendou briefs you on some of the games and you can’t help but sweatdrop at what he has planned. As you look to the side, you see Shirabu sitting on his own since he’s the only one exempt from participating in the competition. The other guys just seem to be waiting for Tendou to fill them in as well.

Goshiki notices your presence and starts to make his way over to you. “(Surname)-san! W-what are you doing over here?”

“Tendou-san asked me to be a referee for your games, so I’ll be watching over all of you from here,” you reply nonchalantly.

“What?!”

Tendou snickers beside you and places his hands on the younger boy’s shoulder. “Now, now! Let’s get ready for the game, Tsutomu!”

Since all you really had to do was monitor and keep track of the losers of each game, you take a seat next to Shirabu who just has a bored expression on his face and acknowledges you with a short nod. Tendou has now gathered everyone else into one big group and begins to gesture his arms wildly. “The first game is called ‘Pass the Napkin’! There will be two teams of three people, and it’ll be a competition to see which team passes more napkins in one minute.”

The guys just looked at one another with contemplative faces. This game seemed simple enough...or so they thought.

“There’s one special rule!” Tendou’s eyes glinted under the lights. “You can only pass the napkin with your mouths! No hands! No other body parts!”

Many faces grew pale at the “special” rule. Yamagata brings a hand up to his forehead regretfully. “I knew this wouldn’t be easy.”

Ignoring his former teammate’s exasperation, Tendou continues his explanation. “Each team will have two baskets: one full of napkins and one that is empty so that you can place the ones you’ve successfully passed. Team A is gonna be Wakatoshi-kun, Tsutomu, and Reon! The other two including me will be on Team B! Perfect even teams with 6 people!”

Ohira takes a brief moment to think. “Now that you mention it, Kawanishi isn't here.”

“He said he had a date, so he couldn’t make it today,” Semi answers. Although, Kawanishi’s absence seems to be in his favor at the moment.

“Let’s get started!” Tendou passes you his phone with the timer app opened as all of the teams make their way towards their respective napkin baskets. “Please count us off, (Name)-chan!”

All of the guys are staring at you as they wait for your signal, and you let out an inaudible sigh. “3...2...1...Start!”

Ohira and Tendou, who are the first people in their respective teams, begin inhaling a napkin with their mouths. The game has begun.

In Team B, Semi looks mildly uncomfortable, but Tendou spares no time and immediately passes the napkin to the former’s mouth. The redhead doesn’t even give Semi any time to comprehend anything as he goes for another napkin swiftly. As Semi turns to the last person in the group, Yamagata just shrugs his shoulders and takes the napkin quickly before blowing it away into the other basket. The three seem to realize that passing the napkins in rapid succession shortens the time of contact between each other and increase their pace with each napkin.

Team A doesn’t seem to be going as smoothly. Goshiki is the middleman and hesitantly receives each napkin from Ohira with flushed cheeks that only seem to be getting darker as time passes. There is an evident pause every time the youngest team member needs to pass the napkin to Ushijima. For some reason, Goshiki also seems to make frequent eye contact with you as he’s passing the napkin to the older pro athlete before quickly averting his eyes with an even deeper blush. As a result, Goshiki drops the napkins several times.

“S-s-sorry, Ushijima-san! I’ll get the next one!”

Both teams continue transferring napkins from one basket to another for a couple more seconds. Glancing at the timer, you see that there are about 10 seconds left. You open your mouth to start counting down the remaining seconds but a sharp, horrified gasp stops you. As you direct your attention towards the source of the noise, Goshiki’s posture is tense and he’s making a strange face at the opposing team. Shifting your gaze to his line of sight, you understand what had caused the poor boy to be in such a state of shock.

A lone napkin flutters onto the floor as silence creeps through the air. Yamagata is leaning forward in Semi’s direction while the latter has his hands anchored onto his teammate’s shoulders. Their lips are connected with nothing to separate the physical contact, but both males are too shocked to make any motion. Mortified expressions from Yamagata and Semi tell you that this predicament was not intentional.

“Oya?~”

Tendou’s sudden disturbance seems to break everyone out of the trance. The timer goes off at this moment as well and a cacophony of noises fill the room. Semi and Yamagata jump away from each other aggressively. The grey-haired male sprints to the bathroom to scrub down his mouth as Yamagata vigorously rubs a handful of napkins onto his lips. Tendou begins to cackle rather loudly while Ohira just lets out an amused chuckle. Goshiki becomes a sputtering mess, red spreading across his whole body. Ushijima blinks absentmindedly.

You watch the chaos unfold and notice Shirabu closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose in disappointment. It takes a minute for everyone to get their bearings and Semi returns from the bathroom bashfully. He glances at Yamagata briefly. “That never happened?”

“That never happened,” Yamagata firmly agrees.

Tendou seems to have calmed down a bit because, before you know it, he already has both napkin baskets in his arms, one obviously more full than the other. “Team B is the winner!”

Ushijima is the only one to start clapping while everyone else just sweatdrops at the redhead. Tendou puts away the baskets and turns towards the group once again. “All of Team A will be moving onto the next game since they lost! Team B is exempt from paying!”

You watch as the lanky man saunters over to the counter and Osamu hands him a tray with three small rice balls. You make eye contact with your boss and he just gives you a smirk.

Tendou proceeds to explain the next game. “For the next round, there is one rice ball filled with delicious seasoned meat while the other two are filled with wasabi! The three participants must pick one of the rice balls to eat. Whoever chooses the tasty rice ball will be exempt from paying and the other two people will move on to the final game! (Name)-chan will pick a random name from this conveniently premade bag of names to see who will choose a rice ball first! Everyone will eat the rice balls at the same time though for fun!”

Yamagata gestures you to put your hand inside of a small black bag filled with what you assumed were the three names from the losing team written down on pieces of paper. You reach in and grab one of the papers and take it out of the bag before reading out the name. “Ohira Reon.”

Ohira makes his way over to where the tray was and picks up the rice ball in the middle without hesitation. He seemed pretty confident in his decision, but you didn’t really get the chance to question it as Tendou grabs your attention once again. “Please pick the next name!”

You turn back to Yamagata and reach out to grab another name out of the bag. Your hand stops right as your fingers graze the hem. You blink once and realize that the bag looked a bit different from before; it now seemed to be a more navy blue color. Wasn’t the bag black before?

Noticing your reluctance, Yamagata shoves the rest of your hand into the bag and gives you a suspicious yet pleading look. You inwardly sigh and proceed to pick out a name. “Ushijima Wakatoshi.”

The tall volleyball player chooses the rice ball to the far left leaving Goshiki to take the last one left without a choice. Tendou placed the tray down with a satisfied smile. “Now that everyone has a rice ball, it’s time to eat!”

Ushijima, Goshiki, and Ohira all consumed their rice balls in one bite. There were only chewing noises as everyone waited for any reactions. All of a sudden, Goshiki doubled over and threw a hand over his mouth.

You panicked. “Woah! I wasn’t joking about the vomit! You better not throw up on this floor!”

Terrified by your warning, Goshiki immediately ran towards the nearest trash can and practically stuck half of his head into it. Although he was able to control himself enough to avoid regurgitating everything in his stomach, he desperately spit out the entire rice ball with wasabi and tried his best to get rid of as much residue as he could.

You turned your attention back to the other two people who had eaten a rice ball, curious to see the other victim. Ohira wiped his hands on his pants with a content smile as he continued to savor his delicious snack. Ushijima, on the other hand, stood in his usual stoic stance.

“That was quite spicy.”

It truly is a wonder how someone could remain so composed in situations like this.

“The losers are Wakatoshi-kun and Tsutomu! Get ready for the last game to see who will pay for all of the food!” Tendou exclaims excitedly, completely ignoring the younger boy that’s now leaning over the counter in despair. “The final round is called ‘Find the Volleyball’! The two players will both be blindfolded and they will need to search for the volleyball that we will hide in this room. Whoever finds the volleyball first wins the game and the ultimate loser will be the one to pay for everything!”

Tendou takes out two sports towels and a volleyball from Ushijima’s duffel bag. He passes the towels to Ushijima and Goshiki so that they could begin blindfolding themselves. The others are just lounging around and waiting for the next game to begin. You notice that Ushijima is having some trouble keeping the towel over his eyes as he tries to tie it behind his head. Without thinking too much, you walk over to where he’s standing. “Ushijima-san, do you want some help?”

“Ah, yes. I’m having some trouble keeping this in place. Do you mind holding the towel over my eyes?”

“Yeah, sure!” For a moment, you take in his tall stature and smile sheepishly. “But, you might have to bend down a bit for me. You’re quite tall.”

Ushijima complies to your request and slightly bends his back as he places the towel over his eyes once again. You bring up your hands to his face and your fingers gently brush against his as you replace his hands with your own over the towel. The blindfold starts to fall a bit so your hold on the male’s face reflexively tightens a bit, your hands practically cupping Ushijima’s face. You start to lean forward to get a good look at the blindfold to make sure there are no gaps, not realizing how close you truly were to the volleyball player.

On the other side of the room, Goshiki’s eyes widen at the suggestive position you and Ushijima are standing in. He was just about to wear his own blindfold, but was struck by a great idea. “(Surname)-san, can you-”

“Tsutomu! You look like you need some help!” Tendou swiped the towel from Goshiki’s hands and immediately covered his eyes forcefully. “I can help you!”

Goshiki gasped in discomfort. “Ah! Tendou-san, you almost poked my eyes!”

Ushijima was finally able to successfully tie the towel around his head and you took this as your cue to pull away. He straightened his back and nodded his head in your direction. “Thank you, (Surname)-san.”

“No problem,” you reply with a grin.

Since both males were properly blindfolded, the game was ready to commence. However, instead of hiding the volleyball, Semi held onto it. You were a bit confused since you remember that the rule was to find the hidden volleyball, but at this point, you don’t even want to question these guys anymore. Tendou stood off to the side and projected his voice loud and clear, “The game starts…Now!”

Semi immediately passed the ball to Ohira and some of the guys who weren’t participating began to pass the ball amongst each other silently. Ushijima and Goshiki both reach out their arms in front of them cautiously to protect themselves from running into things. Although, their efforts were in vain as Goshiki stubs his foot on one of the chairs with a yelp and crouches to the ground in distress. Ushijima manages to knock over a bottle of soy sauce from the counter, but he doesn’t seem to realize what happened as he turns around and continues his search. Fortunately, the bottle didn’t shatter, but there is now a puddle of soy sauce coating the floor. You sigh as you grab a handful of napkins and make your way towards the mess. 

Goshiki seems to have changed strategies and is now crawling along the floor with one arm in front of him. He bumps into another chair and lifts his arm higher to steady himself. Suddenly, his hand came in contact with a round object that felt firm like a volleyball. “Yes! I found it!”

At his exclamation, everyone in the room shot their gaze to where Goshiki was and paled. Ushijima raised the towel obscuring his vision to see what was going on. Even Shirabu’s jaw dropped substantially. At this moment, Yamagata was in possession of the volleyball that was definitely not anywhere near the younger boy. 

In broad daylight, Goshiki’s right hand was placed on your butt. You felt every one of your nerves kicking into overdrive as soon as your body overcame the initial shock. Spinning around abruptly, you deliver somewhat of a roundhouse kick to the poor, blindfolded boy’s body and he ends up tumbling backwards dramatically. His pained groans snap you out of your exasperation and immediately kneel down to check on him. “Oh, sh-! Are you okay, Goshiki-san?”

With your help, Goshiki is able to take off his blindfold and sit upright. “W-what happened? Where’s the volleyball? Did I beat Ushijima-san?!”

“N-not exactly…” You play with strands of your hair unconsciously out of embarrassment. “Sorry about kicking you so hard.”

“But, I thought I felt the ball just now? Why does Yamagata-san have it? What else could I have been touching? And, why did you kick me? Unless…” Goshiki’s expression suddenly shifts from confusion to absolute horror as he starts to connect all the dots. He begins to shriek at the realization and he almost slams his head onto the floor in order to bow in apology. “I’M SO SORRY, (SURNAME)-SAN! IT WAS A COMPLETE ACCIDENT!”

You try to reassure Goshiki that you’re not angry at him. “I-it’s okay. I know it wasn’t on purpose!”

“Nice kick, (Surname)-san.”

“10/10.”

“Would pay to see that again.”

As voices fill the air, that’s when you realize that you were still in a room full of other people and your cheeks flush pink once again. The rest of the guys were observing the whole interaction between the two of you in amusement. 

Tendou gave you an apologetic smile but still seemed satisfied with how this ‘competition’ went. He cleared his throat to get everyone’s attention. “Alright! Congratulations to Tsutomu for winning the game!”

“Huh? I thought neither of them found the volleyball in the end,” Semi commented.

“Well, Wakatoshi-kun took off his blindfold first before anyone found the volleyball, so he automatically forfeited.” Tendou faced his best friend. “It’s for the best. You make the most money out of all of us, Wakatoshi-kun!”

Ushijima nodded his head in acceptance and proceeded to take out his wallet. “I cannot deny that.”

“WAIT A MINUTE!” Suddenly, Goshiki jumped up from his position and pointed at his peers. “WERE YOU TRYING TO MAKE USHIJIMA-SAN PAY THIS WHOLE TIME?!”

“Yup.” Four males voices all answered at once.

“THEN, WHY DID WE PLAY THE GAMES?!”

“‘Cause it’s fun.”

The four males continue to tease their youngest friend and you sigh for the umpteenth time today. Ushijima walks over to stand next to you and hands you the total payment for the food. “I believe this is enough to cover everyone.”

You spend a couple seconds counting the money before looking back up to the broad shouldered man beside you. “Yup, looks right to me. Thanks.”

Before you could make your way to the register, you feel a light tap on your shoulder. Turning your head, you see Ushijima’s hand inches away from where you felt the sensation and you’re surprised by what he says next. “Are you okay?”

“What do you mean?” You blink in confusion.

“You looked very uncomfortable before.”

It doesn’t take you long to realize that he’s talking about what had conspired during the last game. “Oh, yeah. I’m okay. Thank you for asking, Ushijima-san. You don’t have to worry about it too much. I wouldn’t mind if you or your other friends came by again after today either. I had a good time overall.”

“Ah. Then, I will take your word for it.” Ushijima gives you a small smile and then turns to walk back to his group of friends. The volleyball player doesn’t seem like the type of person to show much concern for other people due to his naturally stoic and aloof demeanor, but you were pleasantly surprised by his caring nature.

“Order’s ready, guys!” Osamu places multiple bags of food onto the counter. “I don’t mean to mess with your outing, but we are about to close, so you won’t be able to stay for too long.”

“No worries. I think we’ve extended our stay here long enough.” Shirabu assured your boss after being quiet for quite some time. “We’ll probably head over to Goshiki’s apartment anyways.”

“What?!”

Everyone ignored the boy’s outburst and started to grab all their food. As the Shiratorizawa alumni started walking out of the door the night air was filled with shouts of byes and thank yous. Shirabu turned to you one last time before following his friends. “We should keep in contact, (Surname)-san. You still have my number, right? I can also let you know if I hear about any other programs for graduate schools during my internships.”

“I do! I really appreciate it. I’ll see you again sometime, Shirabu-san!” You give him a final wave and he leaves through the exit lifting up a hand behind his shoulder in acknowledgement.

Today was definitely not what you expected from what started out as a slow, normal week.

“Still tired?” Your boss questioned you once again.

You smile as you remember him asking the same question a few hours back. “Exhausted, but strangely refreshed. Is that weird?”

“Definitely a contradiction.” He laughed at your answer. “You got yourself roped into an interesting group of people today. Didn’t know you had a sweet tooth though.”

A mild blush spread across your face as you start to stutter. “I-I normally don’t, but…”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Your boss gives you a thoughtful look and subtly smirks at your reaction. 

Recovering from your flushed appearance, you gesture a hand towards a certain box on top of the counter. “Did you want to try one of the chocolates? You’ll understand once you get a taste of it.”

“Why not?”

After quickly washing your hands in the sink, you slide over the box Tendou had given you and open it on the counter space next to Osamu. Your fingers snatch up a star-shaped chocolate and casually bring it up to his mouth. The taller male doesn’t think much of your actions and allows you to feed him as if it was the most natural thing in the world. After everything that happened today, your mind can only briefly sense that your fingers made contact with your boss’ lips. Although, your heart does linger on the fact that Osamu’s lips are much softer than what you expected.

Once the chocolate is fully consumed, Osamu lets out a satisfied hum. “Those Shiratorizawa folks sure know what they’re doing despite the craziness that follows them. Actually, there’s something else I want to ask you. You said you went to the same university as Shirabu-san, right?”

“Yup!”

“When did you graduate?”

You look up to the ceiling as you think. “Um...Maybe around a week ago?”

There’s a slight pause as Osamu takes in what you had just told him. “What?! I had no idea! Did you celebrate with your friends too?”

You shook your head. “Nah, I never really had a lot of friends since I was working so much in college and the ones that I’m close with are all overseas already.”

Osamu nodded his head in understanding. “Well, I got nothing against spending some relaxing alone time, but did you at least treat yourself with a cake or something?”

“I’m not really used to buying things for myself. It’s fine, though. I’m pretty used to pushing aside stuff like this.” You shrug your shoulders to emphasize your carefree attitude. Although, your eyes held a hint of sadness that Osamu would’ve missed if he didn’t have his full attention on you. “Plus, I didn’t even get accepted into grad school, so there’s not much to celebrate there.”

“How come it never came up in any of our conversations?”

“Oh, uh, I didn’t think anyone else cared.”

“...” Osamu stays silent and a slight somber atmosphere permeates the air. He contemplates about something for a moment before suddenly snapping his fingers. You look at him curiously and he just gives you his signature grin without telling you what he just thought of. Instead, he places a hand on your head and begins to pat it gently. “I don’t know how much it means coming from me, but you did well. I’m sure you’ve worked hard, (Name)-san.”

You felt a slight sting in your eyes and lowered your head so that your boss couldn’t see how much of an effect he had on you. “Thanks, Osamu-san.”

A/N: make way for ushiwaka everyone. and yes, osamu loves to just sit back and watch all the chaos unfold

taglist: @dinablossom​

[fauxpromises]

Analysispost: The relationship between Kuja & Luciferian mythos

Hello to my followers! I’ve been mulling over this idea for a while and thought it might be of interest to my followers who follow me because of my work in progress.

As is evident in many Final Fantasy titles, various religious/folklore mythologies form the basis for storylines, characters, themes, locations, and other details. You have VII which draws from Jewish mysticism and Norse mythology, as does XIII for the latter, and elements of Buddhist thought in regards to pain/suffering and the nature of existence across multiple titles such as X and IX.

So, being that I’ve been writing Kuja for a while with my WIP…it occurred to me that there’s a severely underdiscussed/underexamined part of his character’s basis. That being, is he at least partially inspired by the biblical lore of Lucifer?

I think many of the elements of this argument are imminently clear. A brief look into the topic will present you with a lot of differing opinions on the actual nature of Satan within Judeo-Christian mythology, and to understand the analysis that follows, I will clarify that mythology concerning the character of Lucifer is dually referenced as both a king (of Babylon, and of Tyre in separate instances) and the typological angel cast from heaven by God.

Without requiring any kind of implied conclusions at all, the concept of angels is already presented in IX as a feature of the two (technically, three) souled genomes intended to subdue Gaia. Their creator designates them as angels of death, and like the mythological representation of angels, they are sent as representatives of another world to perform a task or communicate a message. Although all three of Zidane, Mikoto, and Kuja ultimately bear this title, the only one of the three who maintains a relationship with it throughout the story would be Kuja by virtue of his actions.

Interestingly, the Desert Palace also heavily contains what I would say looks to be European-style depictions of angels:

Note the presence of what appears to be demons here as well, which reinforces my belief of which mythos these statues are evocative of.

Beyond just the superficial use of the word angel, there are some pretty compelling similarities between Kuja’s backstory and the mythos of Satan. For context, let me clarify that there is some ambiguity in how the character of Satan/Lucifer is presented in various biblical contexts. One of the places this is found is with regards to the king of Tyre:

“Many scholars believe that though there was a human “ruler” of Tyre, the real “king” of Tyre was Satan, for it was he who was ultimately at work in this anti-God city and it was he who worked through the human ruler of the city.

Some have suggested that these verses may actually be dealing with a human king of Tyre who was empowered by Satan. Perhaps the historic king of Tyre was a tool of Satan, possibly even indwelt by him. In describing this king, Ezekiel also gives us glimpses of the superhuman creature, Satan, who was using, if not indwelling, him.”[1]

With regards to Kuja’s role in the story, I find it interesting that this pertains both to Satan manipulating a king into impure actions, and also because Satan could also be said to be acting as the king himself via some form of corruption or possession – interesting given Kuja’s alias of King.

Furthermore, this king is said to be: “…portrayed as having a different nature from man (he is a cherub, verse 14); he had a different position from man (he was blameless and sinless, verse 15); he was in a different realm from man (the holy mount of God, verses 13,14); he received a different judgment from man (he was cast out of the mountain of God and thrown to the earth, verse 16); and the superlatives used to describe him don’t seem to fit that of a normal human being (“full of wisdom,” “perfect in beauty,” and having “the seal of perfection,” verse 12 NASB).[1]

Do these descriptions not also seem appropriate? We are talking about a being that is fundamentally inhuman in nature, of a greater degree of intelligence/beauty than humans, was from a realm different than man, and was cast out of this realm for rebellion.

Additionally, we have the presence of jealousy as an impetus behind betrayal of God:

“Satan was once an honored angel in heaven, next to Christ. . . . But when God said to His Son, "Let us make man in our image," Satan was jealous of Jesus. He wished to be consulted concerning the formation of man, and because he was not, he was filled with envy, jealousy, and hatred. He desired to receive the highest honors in heaven next to God.”[2]

Again, I find this uncanny given the fact that Kuja’s open rebellion against Garland and his goals was ultimately brought to a head by the creation of Zidane.

Another interesting tidbit I noticed was these stained glass depictions in the Desert Palace library:

The image on the left appears to be the only humanoid depiction in the palace that has demonlike wings, whereas the other creatures appear as angels, regular humans, or gargoylesque demons. I would posit this is meant to allude to the fall of Lucifer, particularly this illustration done for Paradise Lost by Gustave Doré:

You can see here the imagery of stars. That would be because Lucifer can be interpreted as lightbringer or morning star. The latter is worth noting given that by the end of IX, Kuja’s primary moveset is pretty clearly alluding to stars and cosmic events.

(I’m less sure what the image on the right is meant to refer to. It looks like it could be an angel conferring with a figure that may be representative of God, but I’d be interested to know if anyone has a theory on that.)

Finally, the inclusion of dragons as Kuja's spirit animal of sorts also bears mentioning. Satan takes the form of a serpent in the earliest reaches of biblical lore, tempting humans with power (which sure sounds familiar), and is often referred to as a dragon. In fact, in Revelation, he takes the form of a large red dragon.

Anyway, just my stream of thoughts on the topic. What do you think? I’ve never once seen it discussed or mentioned but I’d like to know if anyone else has noticed.

(Edit: Someone mentioned in reply to my original posting of this that the righthand mosaic may be alluding to the Annunciation, that is, the announcement by the angel Gabriel that the son of God would be born. I think this appropriately juxtaposes with the fall of Satan pictured to the left - Kuja was basically cast from his creator’s favor with the arrival of Zidane, who in a similar way to Jesus was to be his creator’s chosen one to fulfill an important destiny on Earth).

My post was getting filtered out of tags for linking my citations, so I have to give them to you in text instead.

[1] How Did Lucifer Fall and Become Satan? Rod Rhodes. Christianity.com. 10/27/07. [2] When Did Satan’s Fall Occur? Ministry Magazine Archives. 01/59.

[silentexplorer18]

Frigid (Part 2): A Draco Malfoy Short

Summary:  With winter creeping up and leaving a freezing chill in the air, you’re sure this will be your last winter alive.  That is, until one Draco Malfoy appears with a different plan in mind.

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Reader

Warnings: Homeless and orphan reader, but otherwise a pretty sweet fic!

Part 1   Masterlist

Read it here on AO3.

Draco’s home was not at all what you envisioned it to be.

You’d pictured him in some lavish estate, something akin to the manor, though possibly a bit smaller.  He’d always seemed to prefer it that way; luxury and cleanly poise greeted him at every corner of his youth.  However, the flat was nothing similar to that.

Warm.  It was warm, you realized, as your fingertips stung with the telltale burn of frozen skin meeting hot air.  With a wave of his wand, the lamps were flickering to life, a golden glow settling across your skin as you took in your surroundings.  The space was cramped, cluttered in the clean sort of way an organized person deals with having more important belongings than they know what to do with.

Kindly, he took your coat, hanging it in the closet by the door.  It, too, was cramped, with assorted wintery gear and board games peeking out from shelves and boxes.  Smiling kindly, he pointed you toward his living room, gazing in dismay at the way your old Hogwarts uniform hung from your figure, still ragged and dirty from the battle in May.

He really wanted to help you.

He’d never realized how little you possessed; he never noticed how impoverished you’d become.

Leaving you in the living room, he rushed off toward the kitchen to make some tea.  His absence provided you with ample time to wander around, ogling the novels on his shelves, books in piles on the floor.  Stacks of newspapers, swirled across the coffee table, the moving images flowing in inky loops across the page.  Trinkets galore and mismatched furniture decorated the room, making the whole space seem a little more lively.

Sinking down onto his charcoal colored couch, you felt the tingle of magic against your skin.  He’d charmed it.  Even if the styles couldn’t match, he could at least make the colors of his furniture look somewhat similar.  You let yourself bask in that feeling for a moment, the sensation of magic.  It had been a long time since you’d been able to feel it dancing against your fingertips and swirling against your flesh.  You missed it.

~

The tea had been bitter, a strange variety you’d never encountered before, but it seemed to settle Draco’s nerves to see you sipping it.  On all accounts, he’d been interested, curious, even, about your current living situation, but there was a part of him that seemed distracted, like he was worrying over something he couldn’t bring himself to mention.

In the space of his own home, he’d grown more awkward than anything else, unsure of how to proceed.  It was strange to see Draco awkward.

After tea, he walked you through the flat, showing you the various rooms.  In addition to his living room and kitchen, he had a small dining room and bathroom downstairs and an office filled to the brim with books, a spare bedroom, a bathroom, and his bedroom upstairs.  It was quaint, homey in a way your childhood home had never been.  You suspected the Malfoy manor hadn’t been particularly homey, either.

He offered you clothes and a towel for the shower, and you gratefully accepted them.  The hot water was nice, refreshing, and you relished in the sensation of it skittering across your skin.  It had been months since you were able to feel clean.  His soap was vanilla scented, a smell you now realized seemed to radiate through the house.  It made you smell fresh, alive, and the bubbly soap did a number to improve the look and feel of your skin, perpetually grimey from a life on the streets.

~

Draco was in the living room when you left the bathroom.  His eyes were skittering across the page of a worn book, delicate fingers gripping the bindings.  He seemed content, you thought, without the usual scowl that adorned his face at Hogwarts.  Really, he appears better now, steadier on his feet than he was back then, and that realization brings you relief.  Of all the reasons to hate the Malfoy, his affiliation with Voldemort was something you’d been a little more capable of overlooking; it was expected of him.  Had you been with your family still, you would most likely have experienced the same fate.

“What are you reading?”  Your voice was soft, but it still seemed too loud for the quiet of the room.

He glanced up in surprise before his gaze returned to the dusty pages.  “It’s an old novel, something Mother picked up somewhere.”  With a thunk, the pages fell shut.  “You can charm those clothes, if you’d like,” he offered gently, “make them a size more comfortable.”

You shook your head, smoothing your hands down the soft fabric.  “Even if I could, I wouldn’t want to.  They’re quite comfortable as they are.  Thank you, though.”

He nodded before his brow furrowed.  Confusion washed across his face.  “Why couldn’t you?”

“No wand.”  You held your hands out in front of you, palms open, the gesture surprisingly vulnerable, and he realized then that he hadn’t seen you with a wand all evening.

“Did you leave it in Diagon?  We can go retrieve it-”  He was already making to get up, mind whirling at how dreadful it had been after the war to not have a wand of his own.  Thankfully, Ollivander had been forgiving enough to offer Draco a replacement - with Potter’s prompting, of course.

Your laugh startled him out of his thoughts.  “I can’t leave what I didn’t have.  It was lost in the battle.”

“But that was months ago!”

You were quiet for a moment before you spoke, eyes fluttering with recollection, “Yes, yes it was.”  Moving opposite of him on the couch, your face remained emotionless.

When he spoke again, his words were much more measured.  “Why didn’t you attain a new one?”

“With what money?”

He nodded.  That was that, then.

“So what are you thinking of for your future?”

“Honestly, I haven’t the faintest idea.  I’m just hoping to make it through winter.”

The truth of your situation was brutal, and Draco felt heat creep into his cheeks, the heavy sensation of guilt pooling in his abdomen.  How could he have spent all that time living in the manor, moving on after the war, bettering himself, when you were out living on the streets?  In a Hogwarts uniform, no less.  He wanted better for you.

~

The next morning, he cooked breakfast.  Much to your delight, the meal was hearty and warm, filling you with energy.  You expected him to throw you back to the streets after the meal, but, in fact, he did just the opposite.  After eating, he offered you a cozy coat and took you to a shop.

Despite your arguing he shouldn’t buy you anything, he purchased some clothes, taunting you with the most garish ones until you stepped in and chose something more sensible for yourself.

Then he took you ‘round his work, leaving you to gape at the massive amount of books on the shelves and hidden tidbits of information magic hadn’t left untouched.  There you saw more of Draco’s kindness as he helped customers with orders and provided expert opinion on which novels to choose.  If he didn’t have something the patron wanted, he made sure to make a note to obtain it.

Lunch was sandwiches and novels, where you danced among bookshelves and lavished in the charmed walls that kept the chill out of the air, and Draco found himself having to resist the temptation to smile at your profound wonder for the little shop.

That evening he left you curled up on his couch with a book on dragons while he wrote a secret letter to Harry Potter asking if there was any way Ollivander would be welcome to offering you a wand that Draco would pay for.

He hoped the man would say yes.

~

It only took a few days of you helping in Draco’s shop for him to realize just how bright you were.  Quick witted and well versed in information beyond the standard Hogwarts curriculum (you’d always possessed a fondness for reading), the blond realized you made an excellent partner.

While at first he was merely sympathetic of your situation, just wanting to help you back on your feet, he found himself hoping more and more that you wouldn’t mind staying even after you had stabilized.  Your perspective, though different than his own in many ways, was interesting, challenging, and constantly kept his mind at work.

Even when he couldn’t see you, he could hear you giggling with patrons through the stacks, offering treats to children that came with their parents.  You’d casually mentioned the idea of running a children’s reading program, among others, while shelving with him one evening, and the delight in your eyes when he didn’t turn away the thought made his heart swell.

~

Potter owled back not too long after that.

He offered to pick you up from Draco’s flat and take you to see Ollivander.  Unsurprisingly, the wandmaker wasn’t keen on the notion of seeing a Malfoy again.  Despite his best efforts to not be disheartened, Draco felt rather forlorn he wouldn’t be able to watch a wand choose you.

It always was rather magical.

~

You greeted Potter warmly, though somewhat confused, when he arrived at Draco’s home.  Neither had been close in school, you recalled.

The blond insisted he had things to do around the house, but encouraged you to go out with Harry.  He was kind but send scathing jests in Harry’s direction.  A defense mechanism, you assumed, leaving you even more confused about why Harry had appeared on Draco’s doorstep.

While you retrieved your scarf from your bedroom, Draco slipped a pouch of coins into Harry’s hand.  Enough for your wand.  And despite his grumpiness that Potter of all people was taking you to get your wand, his heart swelled at the fact that you’d been hesitant to go without him.  He liked that you preferred him over Boy Wonder.

You didn’t miss the pointed look Draco sent Harry before the door was shut.  A silent reminder to take care of you.

~

Harry was stiff and somewhat awkward as he walked with you down the street, but he did his best to engage in small talk.  You tried to be polite with the him, but, truthfully, you’d never been close with Harry in school, and you hadn’t the faintest idea why he offered to spend time with you.

Eventually, the two of you arrived in front of Ollivander’s.

“We’re here,” he stated, gazing up at the face of the old building.

Your eyes shot to his.  “What are we doing here?”

“We’re getting you a wand.”

You tried to protest, but Harry wasn’t hearing it.  Instead, he ushered you into the shop and up to Ollivander’s counter.

The man was kind, welcoming, as he pulled out boxes and offered you a few choices.  Your hands slid across the delicate woods, the sensation rippling memories through your muscles.  When the unmistakable surge of magic swept across your skin, both you and the wand just knew.

Ollivander’s smile was a familiar one as he watched the air swirl around you.  He recognized the glow in your face, the light in your eyes.  It wasn’t the same warmth a child would possess, being given a new piece of themselves; he was giving you back a part of yourself that you’d once lost.  

Harry came forward, breaking both of you out of your trances.  He set the bag of money on the counter, coins clinking quietly.  You were already reacting, turning to grab his arm.  “Harry, please, you don’t need to pay for me.”  It came out as more of a plea than anything else, a pesky desire to not inconvenience anyone.

“I’m not.  Draco is.”

And before you could argue another word, he whisked you out of the shop, wand in hand, and took you back to the flat.

~

Inwardly, you sighed in relief at being home.  But it wasn’t home.  It was Draco’s home, you kept reminding yourself.  It was just temporary; you didn’t belong in his space.

He was in his study doing paperwork when you barged in.  “You shouldn’t have paid for me, Draco.”  You weren’t angry, per say, more aggravated that you couldn't pay him back for all he’d done.

His eyes met your own, annoyance leaking into his voice.  “Potter told you?”

“Yes.”

He looked upset, frustrated with Harry, but didn’t make to speak.

Stepping a little further into the room brought his attention back to you.  “Why did you buy me a wand?”

His body stiffened, mind traveling back to another time, and he grew quiet.  “I remember what it was like after the war, not having magic.  A wand.  It- it wasn’t easy,” he paused, “I didn’t want you to continue going through the same experience.”

You nodded in understanding.  “Thank you,” you said, genuinely meaning it.  Turning, you sat in one of his chairs, curled amongst the books, gazing at the caramel colored wood in your palm, grateful for everything he’d done and knowing a simple ‘thank you’ wasn’t even close to portraying just how thankful you were.

“You aren’t mad, are you?”  For the first time in a long time, Draco looked unsure, and the expression softened your heart even more.

Shaking your head, you replied, “No, not at all.  I just really wish there was some way I could repay you.”

“Then stay.”  The words tumbled from his lips before he could even think about what he was doing.

“What?”

His face colored, ruby red streaking up his neck.  “Stay.  Come work in the shop with me.”

“I’m already doing that,” you chuckled.

“But after you save up money, too.”  He looked so nervous, flustered, an emotion that you were sure you reciprocated, but he seemed so genuine that he wanted you around that you knew he wasn’t just offering for your sake.

“Okay.”

~

A year later, you were walking through the familiar cobbled paths of Diagon Alley, wind spiraling the lightweight snow against the walls of shops and across the faces of unsuspecting patrons.

Turning a corner, you came upon the familiar nook you’d once spent your childhood growing in.  Your pile of old blankets was gone, a few dried leaves stuck in the crannies against the bricks here and there.  It seemed more grimey than it had been when you were residing there, but otherwise, it looked the same.  Little traces of your charms lingered against the chilly bricks, remnants of your youth.

Breaking you from your trance, an arm wrapped around your shoulders and Draco’s voice echoed through your ears.  “Are you ready to go home, darling?  I think we’ve done enough holiday shopping for one day.”

You nodded, giving him a faint smile as he pecked your temple.  He offered to carry your bags, leading you away from the dark alleyway with the gentlest of pulls.  And you realized that through all the time you’d been on your own, a little help was all you needed to get back on your feet.  Draco had saved your life, but your kindness, your bright presence and innovate mind, was something he needed in his life, too.  You both needed each other, and you were just lucky Draco had found you in time.

He shivered as the two of you rounded the corner on your way back to the flat, “Thank goodness.  It’s positively frigid out here.”

A/N: Thank you so much for reading!  I hope you enjoyed it!  Please let me know what you think, and happy holidays! :)

[nadiaportia]

Community OC asks! What is some original lore you added to the Arcana-verse with your character? (locations, cultures, magic, etc) Tell us about them!

Thanks for the question! This is gonna be a really long one, so brace yourself, especially because I also start going off about my OCs so thanks for unleashing that lol.

For starters, the OCs I have in The Arcana originally come from another story - one that's sci-fantasy - so there already in a way was a location where the plot went down, and because I liked this so much when I transferred those very beloved and actually quite old OCs (talking 2015 here), I decided to also bring aspects of their world into the Arcanaverse, and because until now so few places besides Vesuvia are actually explored (there's Prakra, Nevivon, the South, Nopal and a whole bunch of places where we only know the name and very few information) that I decided to go further and explore the places beyond the map we got - so the three home countries of my OCs are all my own creation with some real life historic influences.

Oriol, the country where my OC Deirdra Margalit comes from, is a small country further to the east than Nevivon and the Strait of Seals with a temperate to meditterranean climate. I largely based it off Southern France and Catalonia in that it's a country with a large rural population as well as a intellectual elite that amassed wealth living in the cities and its capital. By the time the story is set it's ruled by a queen but there is a succession war in which the Queen's cousin claims the rule under the pretense of wanting to introduce reforms to the benefit of the rural population while the Queen refuses to do so, which spirals into a full-blown civil war with the Queen's loyalists on one side and the nationalists on one side. This civil war basically ends up dividing families and reaches its peak with a battle raging in the capital. Many Oriolians flee the country either into its neighboring regions or by ship and sail to places much further away when the loyalists win the war. That part is very much inspired by the Spanish Civil War from 1936-39 as well as the Troubles in Northern Ireland. The smallfolk of Oriol have magic that's mostly connected to nature, mundane one could say with it being used to make their lives a bit easier, they put great importance on community and family and fight for their principles with tooth and nail. Deirdra's family were on the side of the nationalists, with their parents hiding fellow nationalists during raids and their younger brother joining the partisans in secret. When said brother is killed and his body is brought home, Deirdra joins the partisans to avenge their brother and fights by their side along with their comrade-in-arms and eventual girlfriend Renée. They witness the final loss of the capital and Deirdra is forced to flee via ship along with other nationalists and after several weeks of being on the sea, they end up in Vesuvia.

Bizatena is a city-state similar to Vesuvia and its ruler doesn't have any sovereign to answer to. It's located to the west of the map and lies on a peninsula with the Sea of Persephia to one side and the open vast ocean to the other. The region enjoys a mediterranean to semi-arid climate with mountains at its gates and a vast desert beyond. The Palace is built on a hill and a cliffside, around that inner circle the nobility have their residences and around those, the "normal" people live. Bizatena is named after Byzantium/Constantinople and Athens and run by a council consisting of nobles from old and influential familes that is headed by the Emir of Bizatena. Over the years they have kept themselves atop of their game by making powerful allies and maintaining naval trade with other regions after they were once a great empire with Bizatena being its capital that fell apart and is now only a (nevertheless bright) shadow of its former glory. Magic of any kind is highly regarded and basically has the status of a religion, many of the councilmembers are magicians themselves and orphans usually are raised by magicians in one of the many temples all over the city. Sayelle grows up in one of these temples with the other magicians-in-training who become like siblings to her and her many mentors as parental figures, the most important among those being a magician named Farida who takes her under her wing after recognizing her talent and ambition. She becomes so good that when she reaches adulthood, she and Farida are invited to the Palace where Sayelle becomes a court magician and while she is enjoying her new life, her mentor thinks that she's removing herself too much from the real world and the people's problems. Ultimately Sayelle leaves Bizatena to explore the world and find out about and study the other types of magic practised by people elsewhere.

The homecountry of Ximena is the Calpacian Empire with its capital Cartagenth. It's located in the north of the Southern hemisphere and stretches itself across various climate zones with its capital being by the seaside. The capital and its surroundings are very much inspired by Central America as well as Spain, more specifically Baroque/Renaissance era Spain. It's the military and naval powerhouse of the region and its ruler and is allied to the city state of Bizatena and the city of Karnassos to the East, both once great realms that have long outlived their golden age. The ruler of Calpacia, the Zaan, resides in the Cartagense Palace and is supported by their advisors and the court, with both the Magician's Guild and the War Council having special standing. The Cartagense elite and aristocracy in general is very far removed from the rest of their compatriots to the point where they have a lot of regional pride. They place an incredibly high value on all forms of art, be it theater, architecture, sculpturing, music, paintings and so on to the point where most noble families receive an extensive education in all of these areas and specialize in at least one. Magic takes a sort of second place to them but is still valued but among the non-magician nobles seen as more of a tool or a means to an end than an actual way of life. Ximena is born as the youngest of three daughters of a marquesa and into a highly influential noble family and her intitution, ability to listen and tactfulness is what leads to getting trained as a magician from her childhood onwards and put on the track to one day lead the Magician's Guild (since the matriarch of her family, her aunt Esmé, a general and current leader of the War Council, wields so much power at court, it's practically a given that it'll happen) but finds out that she is merely going to be put into a position of power to abuse said power and the whole time she was wilfully ignorant and thus complicit about being a driving force in a cruel and unjust system. Because going against the family wishes doesn't sit well with her at all, her aunt banishes her and takes away her title so Ximena ends up leaving Cartagenth and Calpacia and spends the next years fueled by paranoia (then again... you're not paranoid if they are out to get you) going from place to place without staying a lot of time at one until one day she meets Asra.

This is at least the stuff surrounding my main OCs directly, there are a lot of other tidbits such as the places they go to on their respective journeys. In the original story all of these characters were based in what in my Arcana!verse became Cartagenth/Calpacia but that‘s really something for another day. 😅

Thanks a lot for asking! 💞

[aelaer]

Suicide TW!!! I live for the Nick/Stephen frenemy relationship, so: AU where Stephen is severely depressed and, instead of crashing his car, he parks in a pull-over and attempts suicide (drugs, alcohol, cutting, up to you) only to then be hit by an oncoming car. As a result, he ends up in hospital to realise that not only is he still alive, but Nick knows what he did. He can't stand the shame and humiliation, until he hears the words "I'm sorry" out of nowhere.

Okay nonny, so a couple things:

By relationship I presume you meant “platonic relationship” as my list of (serious) romance-focused stories in the MCU is a big fat zero and will remain that way probably for some time. If not all time. But I never say never.

I altered the scenario a bit and decided not to use a car crash, but the main elements (depression/suicide, Nick and Stephen interaction, Nick Knowing) remain. This also sort of allows it to potentially be in the “realm of canon” with enough stretching, should one decide to want the headcanon. Though IMO this is an AU-verse.

So I hope that’s all okay and you still find it fulfilling. I’ve never actually written Nick before (though I dabbled with the idea of all the events of Doctor Strange from Nick’s POV like, back when the film first came out) so that was also fun. I really dislike fics that make him look like an idiot (or worse, a pervert for some weird ass reason) so it’s great to get my own view out.

And I also didn’t want to write a book because I’ve got too many WIPs that are books that need to get finished first, so I was going for “short and sweet”. In a manner of speaking. I mean it seems I’m still incapable of doing something under 2000 words but it’s shorter than the last prompt so you know, I’m getting there. 

As the prompt suggests, this fic will go into detail about very serious subjects around mental health, including depression and suicide. Please proceed with caution if these are sensitive subjects for you. 

Please also note that the symptoms and actions taken within the story are not a guide or diagnosis tool and should be interpreted as strictly fictional. Please refer to official literature such as those offered by the National Suicide Prevention Hotline (US) and other verified sources for what you should do if you believe someone you know is suffering from suicidal thoughts.

Written for @stephenstrangebingo square, “It’s Not About You”.

—————–

Every employee at Metro-General took the confidentiality of their patients’ conditions seriously. There was no doctor or nurse on staff that could be bribed to leak any celebrity’s medical information; they were known for having some of the best doctors for a reason. Many of the elite of New York went to that hospital in the middle of Midtown for that famous discretion.

There was, however, one glaring exception to this rule that every nurse and doctor learned early on: if one of their co-workers had something very serious happen to them, their status would eventually leak out to the rest of the staff. There was never anything particularly hostile about the whispers, and while curiosity was the biggest fuel to the information train, news tended to spread out from concern rather than scorn. This trend even applied to staff members that were generally seen as assholes.

Doctor Nicodemus West learned this during his next shift. A couple minutes after entering his office, just as he was getting into his email inbox, a quick knock at the open door broke his concentration. He looked up and smiled. “Morning, Alyssa.”

The nurse offered a brief smile in greeting, but stepped inside and closed the door before speaking. “Did you hear the news?” she asked softly; her smile was gone.

His brow furrowed. “I’m sorry, news?”

“Doctor Strange was admitted to the ER last night.”

His mind came to a screeching halt. “What? Seriously?” He generally avoided the man if he could, though from what was going around the gossip circles the last couple weeks, Strange was still a raging asshole, but in good health. “What happened?”

Alyssa shook her head. “I don’t know all the details, but he had to get his stomach pumped.”

Nick winced in sympathy; that was not a pleasant experience. “Jeez,” he muttered. “Is he doing okay?”

“Last I heard, he’s stable,” she answered. “Apparently Doctor Palmer’s still his emergency contact, though.”

“She would be anyone’s emergency contact; she’s too good of a person,” he replied in return. “Thanks for letting me know, though; I suspect others in the department may need to take some of his patients that can’t wait for him.”

Alyssa nodded. “The administration is already looking through his cases, though I expect he’ll be up and back at work as soon as he can. Doctor Strange is never really one for breaks.”

“I suppose not,” said Nick. The conversation turned to other topics and the neurosurgeon put the matter with Strange in the back of his mind, left as generally unimportant in the grand scheme of his life.

————— 

Strange got back to work and things got back to normal in the neurology department.

Only thing was, Nick started noticing things.

While Doctor West was no prodigy like Doctor Strange, he would not have the ability to become a neurosurgeon without the ability to notice details. It was the details in life— in the human body in particular— that fascinated him and turned him towards medicine in the first place. No, he wasn’t a prodigy, but he was still damn good at his job.

So when Strange came back to the office a few days after his visit to the ER, Nick decided to break his usual policy of avoiding Strange as much as humanly possible and went to his office to welcome him back. It was good for department morale to act mostly cordial to each other, even if most of the effort was on his part.

The door was open and Strange was still in his outer coat, back to him, when Nick knocked on the doorway. The doctor turned to face him and Nick raised a hand in greeting. “Hey. Just wanted to say welcome back.”

Strange’s brow furrowed and he made a rather weird expression. “Oh… uh, thanks.” He turned to the coat rack in the corner of the room and began to remove his outerwear.

“How’re you…” Nick started, but paused as the coat was fully removed, revealing Strange’s dress shirt underneath. It hung rather loosely on his figure; apparently the man had lost some weight recently. Due to Christine Palmer’s honeymoon phase about two years ago, Nick was more aware than he would prefer to be about how ‘fit’ Doctor Stephen Strange was (which really was unfair).

It seemed that wasn’t the case anymore. When had that happened?

Strange didn’t seem to notice his trailing off. “I’m fine. Perfectly alright, thank you. I hope you didn’t botch any of my surgeries while I was gone.”

And there was the asshole he remembered. Nick pressed his lips together. “All your patients are recovering without setback. You can even see them for yourself.” He did his best to cut back the bite of sarcasm in his last sentence.

If Strange heard it, he didn’t comment on it. “I’ll let the nurses handle it. Now if you’ll excuse me, I do have a lot of emails to catch up on. Close the door behind you, if you would.”

Nick rolled his eyes and shut the door as he left the office, but the detail seen settled in the back of his mind to remain quiet, but not forgotten.

And with that one thing noticed, he started to notice more things as the weeks passed on.

According to Alyssa, Strange was rarely seen in the hospital cafeteria anymore— one of the cafeteria staff  members who had an open crush on the doctor was complaining about it, apparently.

Strange was having bouts of insomnia, according to gossiping security personnel. There were times that doctors did not go home for the night, but his were becoming more consistent occurrences.

As Nick ate with members from both his usual surgical team and Strange’s surgical team one lunch time a few weeks after Strange came back to work, the topic somehow went to Strange and his uncanny recollection for music, no matter the genre or decade it was released. It was well known that he liked to have the others on his team try and challenge him with their song choices while he was performing his operations.

“Not anymore,” said Billy, and Alyssa frowned at him.

“What? But that’s his gig! He’s been doing that for years.”

Billy shrugged. “He hasn’t been doing it for a few months now. He’s told us he doesn’t care what we want to play, but he doesn’t guess at songs anymore. Doesn’t give any recommendations, either. It sort of sucks; my music library has barely expanded this year.”

“Maybe you need to find something really challenging, a song so obscure that he’ll be drawn into it again,” she said. “I wonder how well he knows Jamaican music.”

“We tried British and Australian Top Hits of the ‘80s last year, but we haven’t done Jamaica. Do Jamaicans generally speak English? He hasn’t memorized songs from every language in the world.”

She rolled her eyes, and as Alyssa started explaining the history of Jamaica and Jamaican Creole, Nick stored this new bit of information away in the section of his brain that, somehow, had become dedicated to collecting all these tidbits.

And Nick noticed that every time he bumped into the other neurosurgeon in the hall, he appeared exhausted. Nick did not know if anyone else noticed the clear loss of weight and the dark bags around his eyes, but they were blindingly obvious to him. 

Usually Strange moved with an endless amount of energy when off to surgery, and with some of the more challenging surgeries the energy stayed with him no matter how long the procedure took. It was an exuberance that even he admired, though it was never something he planned to admit to Strange. But now the energy was missing. He was still snarky and aloof, but the spark of genuine joy that was once clear to everyone in the department was gone.

If Strange was a friend, he would have acted weeks ago. If Strange was a colleague he got along with, he would have waited no longer than a month, just to make sure. But two months after his short medical hiatus and Nick remained uncertain, because this was Stephen Strange. Surely no one as big-headed and arrogant as he could ever actually be— yes, there were some signs, but it just seemed too far-fetched. Surely not.

A couple weeks later and some of the doctors from neurosurgery, some from cardiology, and some from the ER were having a rare lunch together. Somehow Christine Palmer had managed to drag Strange out of his office to see his coworkers. And somehow he ended up sitting next to Strange, though the man was mostly quiet as he took the occasional bite from his salad. That in itself was very unusual, as Nick was used to Strange enjoying all the attention of the room.

The conversation turned to a sudden, inexplicable death that happened just yesterday that the hospital was still trying to solve. As theories went around the table, Nick heard Strange mutter under his breath, “Maybe she just realized life wasn’t worth living.” None of the others heard it. Nick pretended he didn’t, either.

But the comment resonated in his head for the rest of the day.

———— 

This was not going to be comfortable. This was not going to be easy. Nick hated that he, of all people, had noticed. Had no one else seen it?

It only took another day to push his discomfort aside. “It’s not about you,” he mumbled to himself in the mirror in the early morning. “Strange needs help.” And he was a doctor, first and foremost. And doctors helped people in need.

He wanted to speak with Strange outside the hospital, in a neutral place for them both. The only problem was that he never saw the man outside of work and he had no idea how to approach him.

The opportunity came a few days later when Nick was already performing surgery while on call. Another emergency craniotomy was required and Strange stepped in at Christine’s request while Nick was unavailable. It was as good a reason as any.

“Thank you for taking that patient yesterday,” he said in greeting the next morning.

Strange looked up from his computer, surprise crossing his features. He looked tired. “No surgeon can be in two surgeries at once,” he said with a shrug.

“Still, I appreciate it,” Nick said. “I know you’re not fond of the ER.”

“A butcher shop.”

He ignored the comment. “So I’d like to thank you. You free after work? Dinner’s on me.”

The other man stared at him. “You want to have dinner,” he said flatly.

“As colleagues,” he added, hopefully unnecessarily, because really? “I’m trying to be nice and show my appreciation, Strange. Don’t be an ass about it and just say yes.”

Strange lifted his brows high, but the fuel to his ego did the trick. “Yeah, sure. Got any place in mind?”

Nick shrugged. “There’s a good Italian place three blocks south of us.”

“Italian’s fine.”

“Cool. See you later.” He ignored the expression on Strange’s face and took his leave.

—————

The walk from the hospital to the restaurant was a bit of an uncomfortable one, but Nick wasn’t certain if it was mostly one-sided or not; Strange was more or less expressionless. He only tried to instigate conversation once throughout the walk, but it trailed off to silence before they reached the second block, so Nick decided then to save all attempts at conversation for dinner.

It was going to be hard enough then.

After they arrived and were seated, he also decided to wait until they had finished eating before approaching the topic. Maybe the food would relax the nerves in his gut.

So in the meantime he talked shop. It had been some time since either of them had discussed their cases with each other, so he figured that it was a safe enough conversation topic until the end of the meal.

Unfortunately Strange, bastard that he was, threw him off his planned course. It was just after they ordered food; both had a glass of wine and their waiter had already set down a basket of bread and a saucer of olive oil for dipping. Strange caught Nick as the latter was ripping off a piece of bread to smother in the dipping oil.

“What is this really about?” he asked.

Nick paused mid-dip. “What?”

“All this.” He waved an arm to gesture to the restaurant. “I’ve helped in the ER several times when your hands were full. What is this actually about?”

He set his bread on his plate, frowning. “You can’t wait until after we eat?”

Strange raised a brow. “Consider yourself fortunate I said yes to this at all. I only came because, admittedly, I’m curious; I cannot begin to guess what you could possibly want to talk to me about outside of work.”

“Fine, fine.” Nick sighed and set his elbows on the table. He pressed his lips against his closed fists as he figured out how to start. All the while, Strange stared at him with an odd mix of exasperation and puzzlement. “You…” he started slowly. He trailed off.

“Me,” said Strange.

Fuck it. “You’ve been off lately.”

His brows shot up. “Off?”

“Yeah, off. Not yourself. Different.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means exactly that. You’re acting differently lately. For a while, apparently.”

He bristled in clear irritation. “If you’re just going to waste my time—”

“You don’t enjoy your work anymore.”

That shut him up. Nick continued in the silence. “You used to always enter and exit your operations with this excitement that echoed down the halls. That’s completely gone.”

Strange recovered his voice. “If you’re implying that my work has suffered—”

“No, no,” he interrupted. “Not at all. This isn’t about the quality of your work; this is about you.” Strange didn’t have an immediate retort to that, so Nick continued, “Or maybe it’s not about you but about this man that’s taken over you the last several months. That man is clearly not eating and sleeping well, barely comes out of his office, hasn’t bragged about his newest studies and speeches in months, and mutters about life not being worth living at lunchtime.”

His colleague’s mouth hung slightly open as if he wanted to say something but had forgotten how to speak. Nick couldn’t quite read the emotion in his eyes, either. Before he completely lost his nerve, he said one last observation. “And that man,” he muttered, “had his stomach pumped two months ago, and those circumstances combined with the rest paint a picture of a man who… might be a bit lost.”

Something raw flashed through Strange’s eyes that made him appear more vulnerable than Nick’s ever seen him before. That brought on a strange and discomforting feeling that joined the rest of the jumbled nerves in his stomach.

Quickly he continued, “You don’t need to tell me anything. I’m not demanding anything from you. I just wanted to say that— no matter what differences we have— that if you do need someone for— for anything— that I’m here. Even if it’s just to listen.”

He fell silent, and still Strange didn’t say anything immediately, which was unusual in itself. Nick wasn’t sure if he should continue looking at him or if he should look away, or what.

And thank God, dinner arrived and gave him the perfect reason to look away and leave Strange to his thoughts.

The silence sat for the remainder of the meal. Strange didn’t eat much (though he couldn’t blame him) but also didn’t leave. Nick didn’t know what that meant, or if it meant anything at all.

Still, he had one last thing to say.

After he paid the bill, he pulled a card from his wallet as he stood up. “She came with high recommendations,” he said as he put down the card of a therapist that most certainly did not work at Metro-General. “Think about it.” With that, he took his leave, allowing Strange time alone to dwell on what he said.

————

When they next saw each other at work, neither of them made any indication to each other that they had dinner last night. Their last conversation never crossed the threshold of the hospital. Strange never called him, and Nick never inquired about his well being more than he did any other coworker.

But a few months later, when he got word that Strange was starting his music challenge games in his operations once more, Nick allowed himself a small smile at the news.

[lesserlovedlovelies]

Sasakibe--Meta and Headcanons

So, since I link to the Wikis, essentially the source of truth, for the canon characters, rather than making full pages for them, I’ve decided to just release little tidbits like this for those characters that provide insight to how I’ve plan to play them.  

I had a fascination with Sasakibe from early on in Bleach--if you haven’t noticed by the types of characters I have on this blog, I tend to be easily fascinated by the older, mysterious characters that have so much to their past that just hasn’t been revealed yet.  In the years between me starting Bleach and the TYBW arc, my friend and I explored many, many different storylines for him--some plausible, some less so, like the Quincy verse I have for him.  

Anyways.  To get to the point, if you actually know who Sasakibe is, then you’ll know that canon has very little to say on him.  Unlike most captains and lieutenants that got at least a small arc, Sasakibe was reduced to a few background appearances and one flashback chapter after his death.  

(Read:  I was bitter af about his death xD)

Despite his rather minimal appearances, I do try to stick to what we know about him.  Most of my headcanons are extrapolations of what we saw in canon--admittedly, stretching canon but it’s a necessary issue when it comes to such minor characters.  

With that lengthy introduction aside, allow me to speak a little more about his personality and the various verses I have for him.

Personality/History

When Sasakibe was younger, he was an excitable and energetic youth, and his origins and history are mostly unknown.  Indeed, he doesn’t appear to be a part of any noble family, major or minor, he wasn’t trained by Genryusai, he merely... appeared.  What actually happened is something I honestly have no headcanons on, as it tended to vary from roleplay to roleplay.  Simply put, most roleplays default to him simply being an incredibly eager youth who taught himself.  

As he matured, though, that excess energy was harnessed into power, and he grew into a mostly silent, but strong individual who certainly deserves his place by Genryusai.  

He generally doesn’t talk much, reserving his words for when they are needed and while he commonly appears as the stoic, unfriendly lieutenant of the First Division, he’s a rather friendly, peaceful man who can be quite passionate about the world and emotive about what he’s feeling.  While it’s not exactly uncommon to see this side of him, most people overlook him as nothing more than a paperwork lackey--and he’s content being a force in reserve.  

There’s little he fears in this existence and he’s not afraid to stand up when he believes it needs to be done, even if the one on the other side is his captain.  Though rare, the few times Sasakibe felt the need to say firm words of disagreement to his captain generally forced the aged man to reconsider his stance.  

Perhaps there was a time in his youth that Sasakibe felt the burning desire to fight, but that time has long passed.  Sasakibe in general is not much of a fighter anymore, liable to be easily taken off guard and defeated even despite his numerous spiritual achievements.  He generally avoids conflict when possible, preferring to celebrate peace and life and the various cultures across the world.

Verses  

Sasakibe officially only has two verses--the time when he’s alive, and his strange Quincy verse.

There isn’t much to say about the First Verse.  Sasakibe didn’t change much throughout the entirety of Bleach.

However--the theoretical AU where he survives the initial attack by the Quincy can be interesting.  Did Genryusai still perish?  Did Sasakibe contribute anything to the remaining war effort?  Does he remain the First Division’s lieutenant or does he transfer divisions?  Or does he retire entirely?

These are a lot of questions that rely on a lot of different details, so if anyone would like to interact with this verse, I ask that we discuss these ideas together so we can build a universe to both of our liking :)

Now...

The second verse, which probably makes absolutely no sense to anyone but myself and the close group of friends that wrote in it years ago.

The Quincy verse is admittedly entirely self-indulgent, but I’ve reached a level of wisdom on this site where I’m going to do it anyways, entirely unabashedly.  

Honestly, the idea of hybrids has been a common theme in Bleach--you could even argue that the idea of standing at the crossroads of two different universes has been the overarching theme of Bleach from the very beginning--so much so that in hindsight, it’s entirely mindboggling to me that Quincy-Soul Reaper hybrids have never even been mentioned. 

Essentially, as soon as the Vandenreich made their first appearance, I was expecting and awaiting the revelation of these hybrids.  I honestly can’t tell you what prompted me to make this verse--I have files talking about this since at least 2014--but, honestly, who would have been a better candidate for this than the West loving Lieutenant that we knew nothing about?

Of course, that’s all dead in the water now, but it lives on very passionately in my heart.  LOL.

I’m not going to bore you with the technical details of Quincy-Soul Reaper hybrids, because I’ve already covered that in this post here.

Essentially, this story goes that before Sasakibe met Genyrusai, before he was even a Soul Reaper, he was a Quincy.  And he was tired of this war--he was tired of the fighting, and he felt that there had to be another way.  So, he departed from his Clan.  He learned the art of the Soul Reaper.  He searched, and searched for any potential to end this war.

...

And then thousands of years went by and he never even told his captain who he was before.  

It weighs heavily on him, but he’s never told any Soul Reaper and is unlikely to do so. He could only hope that the war had passed--that the Vandenreich was only a myth and that nothing further would happen.  

This verse is tied heavily into my Bleach Extended Universe, and there’s a running gag that despite his unassuming nature, Sasakibe knows everyone--from members of the Royal Guard, to Futsuku, to Geoferd, other Quincies, other people across the Soul Society.  

Although this verse doesn’t necessarily have to be during or after the TYBW, there is a concept that he escaped Driscoll using a Quincy art that created a duplicate out of spiritual particles to fool both the Vandenreich and the Soul Society into believing he was dead while he tried to figure out a way to handle this war.  Of course, in this timeline, Genryusai didn’t get the warning about the Bankai.  In fact, Sasakibe didn’t say anything, since it was merely a duplicate who’s only purpose was to die.  

--

Now, I’m not going to claim this is everything I have about him.  I invested a lot of time into this background character, but it’s hot, I’m sweating, and I think this is enough or now.

[therealflyingoctopi]

God loves you, He really does

December 30, 2018 I’m an avid coin collector. I have been for years. I remember the first coin I found that sparked my love of collection. I was in the Costco parking lot with my family on a shopping trip and I found this American penny on the ground. But it wasn’t just any penny, it was really warped and it looked like a tiny tank had driven over it because it was jagged on one end and had cuts and divots in it. Looking back now, there’s not much value in a coin that’s been so viciously ruined, but at the time I picked it up and thought “wow this is the coolest thing ever and I’m keeping it”. That was the beginning. Since then, for about a decade, I’ve been collecting coins every time I’ve found them. I always look through my change and always head towards the shiny speck on the ground. Over the years I’ve found some pretty basic commemorative quarters (which there are a lot of, Canadian and American), loonies, toonies, nickels, dimes, and pennies. Some relatively common ones and some more rare ones; such as nickels from the early fifties when they were still made of actual nickel, an actual silver dime from ‘31, a few old pennies from the late 1800′s - early 1900′s, a couple Canadian silver dollars, and a few other fun ones (including the entire 2010 Vancouver Winter Olympic set that I bought in Vancouver in 2010 during the Winter Olympics with my own money, which as a 10 year old and new collector, was a big thing). Not to mention all the foreign coins I’ve found. I’ve now got some from all over the world. England, France, Germany, Ireland, the Netherlands, New Zealand, Bermuda, Uganda, Mexico, China, Poland, Austria, Finland, the Soviet Union (back when that was a thing), and several other places. I could go on and on about my collection, but we’d be here all day. I’ll stop ogling over them now. (Or at least try to restrain myself.) A couple days ago I finally bought those little cardboard squares you put coins in with the see-through plastic coverings, along with binder sheets that those squares go in. (I have yet to get a binder.) I was finally organizing probably a couple hundred coins instead of keeping them stored in an almost overflowing and definitely broken piggy bank. I was looking up online where all these coins were from and going to my Dad to see if he knew some of them. After I showed him a few, he decided to dig out his old collection too. (His is much bigger than mine, but I plan to beat him at some point, probably when I’m really old.) He sifted through a few boxes and found a few doubles he had, so he gave them to me. As he kept looking through his stash he found a very specific coin. He picked it up, held it up to look at it in the light, then finally said, “I have no idea where this came from.” With that, he gave it to me and said “here, you can show this one to your friends at camp.” “This must be a really cool one,” I thought. “Cool enough I should show my friends.” Was it incredibly ancient? Was it an old Nazi coin? (Side note, I don’t condone Nazis. I simply love historical artifacts like these. My sister has a few Nazi coins and I think they’re one of the best finds ever.) Finally, I looked at the coin. I was kind of bummed. It wasn’t incredibly ancient. It wasn’t an old Nazi coin. In fact, it wasn’t even usable currency. On one side it read “GOD LOVES YOU, HE REALLY DOES”, and on the other side it read “NO WEAPON FORMED AGAINST YOU SHALL PROSPER - ISAIAH 54:17″ (Yes it was all in caps, I’m not just shouting at you.) “Ooooh, I get it,” I thought. “Show it to your Bible camp friends because it’s a Bible related coin. Gotcha.” Honestly, this thing looked like it was a token (haha get it) of appreciation from some old 80′s church movement or something. (You know what, because neither my dad or I knew where it was from, that’s probably exactly what it was.) Well sure, it wasn’t something super fancy, but it’s round, made of metal, and something you don’t see every day. Those are pretty much the qualifications for a coin to join my collection. (Unless it’s not round. There are some coins that aren’t round. I don’t have any yet. Unless you count old nickels that are like dodecahedrons or something.) So I took the coin. I kept looking at this unusual piece all day, turning it over, feeling it, and tossing it in the air (and by golly it makes the most perfect coin toss sound when you do it right). I decided to look up the verse written on the coin. Isaiah 54:17. Turns out, only a piece of this verse is on the coin. I guess there wasn’t enough room and tiny print is kind of hard to read. Especially when it keeps glinting in the light. The full verse reads (in the NIV), “no weapon forged against you will prevail, and you will refute every tongue that accuses you. This is the heritage of the servants of the LORD, and this is their vindication from me," declares the LORD.” As great a slogan as the first part is, I think the coin left out the most important part of this verse. “”You will refute every tongue that accuses you. This is the heritage of the servants of the LORD, and this is their vindication from me,” declares the LORD.” When we live as servants of the Lord we gain this heritage. This heritage is that nothing can touch us and we have power over anything that tries to. And to top it all off, we are vindicated by the Lord. Our Father loves us enough to clear us of all blame. Anything we’ve ever done, ever will do, and are even doing right now, we’ve been cleared of it all. Of course this only fully works when we live as servants of the Lord. What does a servant do? They listen to their master and do as they’re told. That’s all we have to do. It’s so simple and we mess it up so badly. In short, when we listen to God and do as He tells us, we’re covered in that protective bubble He puts around us. “No weapon formed against you shall prosper.” Nothing can touch us. Of course there’s another side to this coin. Not so drastic as a flip side normally is, just an addition in this case. Another little tidbit that lit up my mind. That cheesy 80’s church line. “God loves you, He really does.” Most people tend to gag and even revolt when they see or hear something like this. That’s because God and the Church have been easily turned into a cheesy infomercial. Because of this, I usually don’t give churchy slogans like this the time of day. But I felt more compelled to in this case. Maybe because I see all my coins as my children and I love them all, despite their potential flaws. Or maybe I’m not a crazy man who personifies his tiny pieces of metal and the “slogan” was just tugging on me. I probably still am though. (Ok, no I’m not that crazy. I don’t give them names and talk to them. I’m just fascinated by them and like to look at them and take in their rarity. Much like a creator loves their creation, a collector loves their collection. Back on track.) I gave this phrase an extra second to resonate in my mind. “Yeah I know God loves me, nothing new there,” I thought. “Oh wow… He really does. He REALLY does.” The extra affirmation started to kick in. I started to think about my life and all the crazy amazing things I’ve been able to be a part of and experience, in the past year alone. My God really loves me enough to give me all these amazing opportunities and put all these wonderful people in my life. My life can be utterly boring at times, sitting in my room for weeks finishing school. But there are still so many aspects of my life that overwhelm me by how simply good they are. What started as some cheap church propaganda token has turned into an actual revelation for me. Well two, actually. I’m definitely bringing this things back to camp with me. Not so I can start a fake movement and get everyone to raise their hands and get matching tattoos of Isaiah 54:17. That would be wasted efforts. (If they were even efforts at all.) I love physical reminders of things I’ve learned. I have a few already, this is simply the latest. And, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, I love rare coins, so this is one of my favourite physical reminders to date. If this fun story can leave you with anything, let it be this: Give that cheesy slogan the time of day to tell you what it wants to. Just give it an extra second. If it’s nothing, it’s nothing. But if it’s something, you might not want to miss out on it. Also if you’re a collector as well (of coins, stamps, keys, anything really) don’t hesitate to talk to me. I always find it cool to compare collections and see what treasures other people have found. It all fascinates me. I’ll probably start a stamp collection at some point too. Probably other things as well. That’s all for now. Just let me leave you with one last thing. One last thing to hopefully stick around in your head for a while. The slogan. God loves you, He really does. (Note: Here’s what the coin looks like. It’s about the size and colour of a dulled Canadian loonie, though a lot thinner. I can’t figure out how to put pictures in the middle of a post on Tumblr but they can go at the end. So here ya go. If you know where this might be from, let me know!)

[bakechochin]

The Book Ramblings of February and March 2019

In place of book reviews, I will be writing these ‘book ramblings’. A lot of the texts I’ve been reading (or plan to read) in recent times are well-known classics, meaning I can’t really write book reviews as I’m used to. I’m reading books that either have already been read by everyone else (and so any attempt to give novel or insightful criticisms would be a tad pointless), or are so convoluted and odd that they defy being analysed as I would do a simpler text. These ramblings are pretty unorganised and hardly anything revolutionary, but I felt the need to write something review-related. I’ll upload a rambling compiling all my read books on a monthly basis.

Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass, and What Alice Found There - Lewis Carroll I am a jammy fucker, and so when faced with all of the editions of Alice in Wonderland that I could have bought, I had to go with the deluxe edition of The Annotated Alice, because it’s big and fancy and I could get my fill of cheeky secondary reading from it. However, upon purchasing it I realised that there is definitely a line that needs to be established when it comes to analysing books like this, and you’ll have to forgive me for repeating some of my thoughts on Peter Pan in this ramble, because my thoughts are much the same for both texts. Unlike Chesterton, who fought against the scholarly intellectualisation of Carroll’s works, as well as giving us the great quote on the subject, ‘Alice is now not only a schoolgirl but a schoolmistress’, I think that there can be benefits for reading Alice with a scholarly eye, especially when focusing on Carroll’s own life and outside influences of his that may have explicitly affected the writing of the stories. (Brief side note, I’ll stick to referring to the author as Carroll as opposed to Dodgson in this ramble, for simplicity’s sake). Whilst I do think that there are a lot of annotations in this book, which I will consider representative of fields of study done on the subject of Alice, only vaguely relevant and interesting in a detached way from the overall narrative, just additional embellishments to the reading rather than explicitly making the stories better to read, I’ve still got time for them because such extra tidbits of information are interesting in their own right. Of course, sometimes the information tidbits aren’t as interesting as what Carroll did with them - why would I care to read the sensible proper versions of verse extracts that Carroll changed into nonsense verse when it’s the nonsense that’s far more entertaining? - but, again, it has its use. What I do have qualms with are the annotations attempting to over-intellectualise the nonsense aspects of the story with real-life physics or mathematics application, retroactively attributing theories and shit to Carroll’s formulation of his nonsense and judging the nonsense by the sum of its (supposed) parts, and of course it’s awful when the annotations spend paragraphs upon paragraphs comparing the twenty billion different drawings of Alice within the framework of Carroll’s hatred of crinoline fashion. That shit can bugger right off. But let’s actually talk about the stories. These stories are, if not the first, than certainly the definitive examples of literary nonsense, and what proved most interesting to me was how said nonsense specifically manifested itself for comedic effect. Alice’s straightforward thinking and no-nonsense attitude (no pun intended) to all the kooky shit around her is always fun, and this book deserves kudos for its bold strides in the direction of really dark comedy in a children’s book. Similarly to a lot of people, I was familiar with the Alice nonsense before reading it, thanks to the 1951 Disney film and the sheer ubiquitousness of the stories’ content in pop culture, but it didn’t make it any less fun to read. I know that this is far from a novel takeaway, but there’s some things in a written text that a film just can’t capture; the writing has a fantastic way of being able to gloss over Alice’s low moments to firmly cement her as a fearless protagonist who accepts all the challenges thrown her way head-on, whereas the film needs to cover every low point in the story with heartstring-pulling poignancy. This is helped greatly by the fact that we know that everything will turn out alright in the end, either because the tone conveys it or because Alice explicitly tells us; there’s strife and peril along the way, but there’s no real risk of the whimsy giving way to any real danger, and so the story can just revel in its nonsense. Reading how Carroll describes all his fun Wonderland nonsense is, of course, incredibly enriching and fun; going into the story, I was expecting a lot from such well-known characters as the Caterpillar or the Cheshire Cat, and was subsequently surprised to see how little they actually figured into the overall story, but this gave way to the inclusion of scenes and nonsense I hadn’t seen before, like the tart debacle in the Queen’s Court. I was advised by a friend to leave it a while between reading Wonderland and the sequel, Through the Looking Glass, because the novelty of the nonsense would lessen were I to read them one after the other, and whilst I agree with his advice I feel that there is so much overlap of content between the two stories (especially considering how the film adaptations pick and choose story elements from both stories) that the new story wasn’t the completely novel experience I was hoping for. Whilst Wonderland didn’t have much of a story structure, with events unfolding and characters appearing as the story went along, there is more of a structure to Through the Looking Glass, however loose it may seem. This structure is that of a chess game, a fact I am left in little doubt about on account of the annotations giving me a constant fucking running commentary of the game’s progress, a progression which only ties into the story in terms of the characters’ idiosyncrasies in a humorous way once or twice in the whole fucking story. I know very little about chess, so any complex nonsense surrounding that fell way the fuck by the wayside when I was reading this, and therefore I was grateful that the usual Wonderland nonsense persists; my favourite encounters are the ones that reflect Carroll’s academic interests and experimentations, including a really interesting discourse on semantics and nominalism held by by none other than Humpty fucking Dumpty. WOULD I RECOMMEND?: YES

The Third Policeman - Flann O’Brien Nonsense writing is a fun concept to me, but my introduction to the genre, and indeed my full understanding before reading this book, was limited to texts by Carroll, which, don’t get me wrong, are of course great nonsense texts, but are familiar to us on account of how ingrained they are in pop culture, and thus you go into them knowing what to expect. I had no fucking idea what to expect from this book, and what I got was great. The story follows a chap with no name getting embroiled with a station of bizarre policemen, a vague setup into which is slotted in subplots about a league of one-legged men, inter-dimensional maps hidden on the ceilings of innocuous bedrooms, colours that make one go mad, and a conspiracy involving men taking on the attributes of bicycles and vice versa. This is supplemented with our narrator linking the banal sights and sounds around him to the speculations on said subjects by the insane savant writer de Selby, leading to pages upon pages of footnotes talking about de Selby’s ideas on bottled darkness or the world being shaped like a sausage, and all the contrasting and fucking ridiculous critical responses and hypotheses about said de Selby nonsense. I don’t need to tell you that this is all fucking amazing stuff. Not only is it always fun, it is described frankly and without laughing at itself, and while there is a lot to keep one occupied, it never gets overwhelming (or at least, the density of nonsense content in the prose never weighs on one’s brain in an information overload). The story is short, but dense with nonsense as mentioned above, and the fact that the few events that do progress the plot occur without warning nor aplomb is perhaps forgivable, because honestly the plot isn’t really the point as much as it is a vague backdrop for the nonsense at hand. All the way through it we have our nameless narrator, who challenges the farce around him but not incessantly or obnoxiously, and has a great patience for the shit he has to endure, greeting every new slab of ridiculousness with a polite nod and a smile; it’s very easy to align with the narrator without feeling like your interests clash with his. What I will say about this book is that, whilst it is purportedly many different things, from a murder mystery to a love story to an allegorical tale of guilt and despair, the sheer quantity of its bullshit means that it cannot be any of said things effectively. As a murder mystery, the plot hook that sets the pieces in motion for the circumstances of the murder is swiftly forgotten as the story barrels onwards. The love story element, whilst being ridiculous because it’s between our narrator and a stolen bicycle, is just one minor element of our narrator’s journey and is only dwelled upon for as long as it takes for the story to travel onwards to the next wacky plot thread. And as an allegorical tale of guilt, any attempt at inspiring guilt or sadness or whatnot is immediately offset by the knowledge that you’re reading a book with sentient bicycles and robes made of woven wind and policemen who refer to a difficult-to-solve problem as ‘an insoluble pancake’. This point does, however, bring us to the ending, which I will not explicitly spoil, but I will say that a) it does come as a surprise, but b) it pretty much juxtaposes the spirit of the entire work, and as such I thought it was a bit of a cop-out (no policeman-related pun intended). A thought-provoking cop-out that came as a bit of a shock, but a cop-out nonetheless. WOULD I RECOMMEND: HELL YES

Complete Stories - Clarice Lispector I like to review books based on whether I have personally got something out of them, and I am subsequently at something at a loss with this collection; as much as there is to recommend in the short stories of Lispector, they’re really not what I, or indeed those who know me, would consider to be ‘my thing’, and so my recommendations for the book may come across as a wee bit disingenuous. But let’s talk about these stories anyway. Lispector’s thing is incredible prose, almost prose poetry in some stories; it is florid and it is evocative and it is captivating, describing the emotions and thought processes of the narrator characters with such zeal and passion and complexity and verbosity. On this basis alone, I can recommend her stories, and presumably also her novels, to which I understand follow the stories in similar ways. However, I myself am loathe to pick up a novel from Lispector, because I find her short stories draining enough; I don’t mean this in a negative way, please simmer down and let me finish. These are incredibly dense short stories, with pages upon pages breaking down and analysing thoughts and feelings, snapshots of life extrapolated on and made to seem like powerful life-changing moments, the grand momentous prose depicting something as banal as a misinterpreted situation or a moment of embarrassment as cataclysmic disasters or mind-boggling enigmas to be contemplated by the finest philosophers. Only once could I sit back and laugh at this (the story ‘The Chicken and the Egg’, if you’re interested); for the rest of the time, I was fully and unequivocally invested in the strife and troubles described in these stories. But that’s not to say that they don’t take a toll. It took me quite some time to read this anthology because, were I to sit down and read these stories one after the other, I feared that the emphasis, the fucking punch that these stories had would become saturated, and it would just be a weary slog through turgid prose. I asked my friend (i.e. the bloke who gave me this anthology) why he considered the novels of Lispector to be some of the best he’s read, and he said that he loved how Lispector could pack seemingly everything into the world, every issue and matter and question and philosophy, into such small events; I won’t argue that Lispector excels at this, but I will protest having to read an entire novel’s worth of it, because I don’t have the patience nor the willpower. Anything else that I can think to say about the stories pales in comparison to Lispector's major strengths, but I’ll say what I’ve got anyway lest anyone were to accuse me of half-arsing these rambles. Some of the stories are unflinching examinations of the darker side of human nature, whilst others sacrifice this rumination for succinct twist endings and a black comedy tone; whilst I am fond of these stories, it can be a tad misleading or even anticlimactic when some stories set themselves up as examinations of curious human nature only to change course at the last second for the sake of the comedy twist (see ‘A Chicken’ for a good example of this). Though I scoffed at the suggestion of such in the introduction, believing it to be too much like base-level GCSE-tier literary analysis, the focus (and to an extent style) of Lispector’s works do noticeably change as she gets older; her earlier works are often first-person stories about love and confusion and vanity, but by her collection Covert Joy her stories are often framed around nostalgic or formative experiences. I prefer Lispector’s earlier stories; they’re more representative of the amazing storytelling I’ve been gushing about for this entire ramble, whereas her later stories are told like wistful recollections, good in their own right but not what I think of when I think of Lispector. I’ll recommend my favourite stories (in the order that they were printed in my collection), with the caveat that not all of these stories are good because of the reasons outlined above: 'Obsession', ‘Daydream and Drunkenness of a Young Lady’, ‘A Chicken’, ‘Happy Birthday’, ‘The Smallest Woman in the World’, ‘The Dinner’, ‘The Solution’, ‘The Fifth Story’, ‘Covert Joy’, ‘Remnants of Carnival’, and ‘Where Were You At Night’. WOULD I RECOMMEND?: YES

The Warden - Anthony Trollope I was a tad ill at ease as I started this book and started discovering some startling truths, most notably that I had been deceived once more into reading something out of my comfort zone. All I knew about Trollope going into this was his misplaced pride in his disgusting beard, but the introduction to the story cheerfully informed me that Henry James had referred to his ‘complete appreciation of the usual’, whereas Carlyle had more scathingly called him ‘irredeemably embedded in commonplace, and grown fat on it’. I was here for larger-than-life characters embroiled in a grand scandal in a sleepy cathedral town, perhaps some boisterous near-deaf old men or some juicy satire about lascivious priests, but I’d only gone and signed up for a quiet and relatively uneventful novel of everyday folk embroiled in quiet affairs! What a fool I am! However, whilst I worry that by saying this I am resigning myself to walk down the long path of boring realism-centric literary classics that I have long reviled, I’ve got to admit that this book is really rather good. Trying to describe the plot may very well deter any prospective readers in much the same way as it initially repelled me, but the general gist of it is a scandal coming to light (or, more accurately, being somewhat fabricated and blown out of proportion) involving the distribution of charitable funds in an almshouse in the quaint cathedral town of Barchester, and the story follows the main people who become embroiled in the affairs, either because they started it or because they’re under threat by it. You’d be forgiven to gloss over this as a load of old banal quotidian twaddle, but where this book shines is in its storytelling. The narrative voice is warm and affectionate, the characterisation is fucking stellar, and the story getting into the minds of its characters with every encounter and fantastically describing how events unfold for different people is all bloody incredible. It is perhaps the warm and inviting quality of the storytelling which results in this not being the most effective of satirical texts, because satire requires you to step back and think about what you’re reading and why it’s funny, whereas beyond recognising a few real-world allusions (my favourite of which is Mr Popular Sentiment, Trollope’s less-than-complimentary imagining of Charles Dickens), you as the reader think and react along with the characters rather than from a lofty distanced position, and the material that you find funny is funny in-world rather than necessarily because is aptly reflects real-life folly or works in some other meta-textual way. The warmness of the story which, at its heart, is a story of an old man trying to do right by his morals and his friends, doesn’t really allow for the most dramatic of plot resolutions, and indeed this book displays some rather odd choices in its pacing of such plot resolutions. Things are established as relatively chaotic in the storyline, with different characters with different motivations striving away and characters with the same motivations approaching their problems in different ways to overcomplicate the affairs at hand, but ultimately there is little payoff for all these hectic antics. The law suit that sets the plot in motion is established to have been poorly founded and generally worthless from the get go, which isn’t a problem in of itself because the titular warden’s guilt about the matters of the law suit are well-founded even if the law suit is not, but the law suit is dropped without fuss and without any serious consequences around halfway through the book, despite all the elements at play and the goings-on behind the scenes that led to the law suit being dropped. The warden’s story ends without fuss or without anything particularly dramatic happening, save a few heated debates and incredulous blustering figures imploring him to reconsider his choices, and overall just seemed a bit empty because of the lack of any real stakes. The actual ending was at times very poignant (and without any real clue as to how things may be resolved), and at times a tad rushed to tie up its loose ends and get in a bit more quaint narration endearing the characters of the story and speaking regrettably of leaving this story to face times to come; I suppose this somewhat reflects the book’s content, if perhaps losing sight of the life-affirming nature of it, and it is if nothing else bittersweet. By fuck it’s going to make me read the next book in the series to see what happens to these lads next, because hell yeah there’s a series of these. WOULD I RECOMMEND?: HELL YES

Dead Babies - Martin Amis I was cognisant of the preponderance of texts that I’ve been reading recently being all warm and powerful and life-affirming, and therefore I decided to read this and Wilt for a mindless black comedy experience. This was perhaps not the most mind-numbing of reads, being a rather fucked up book, but it’s a bloody good read regardless. Amis’ writing is absolutely incredible; his strengths lie in giving life to abstract scenarios and feelings with evocative metaphors, and characterisation that is complex and beautifully written. With this writing Amis paints a picture of a fucked up urban setting, a setting that I would attempt to succinctly summarise but know in my heart that to try would only be to amateurishly ape Amis’ own fantastic scene-setting descriptions, and so I will instead merely say that it is fucking good. It works because it’s a very grim setting, but it is also curiously sensationalised, while still being grounded in its grim content; there are gangs of cold calculating men who perform elaborate synchronised morbid atrocities, there is a pseudoscientific drug-mixing station with different uppers and downers to chemically alter or emphasise any aspect of a person’s character, and one of the main characters is a grotesque dwarf with nails digging into his feet from shoddily-constructed platform boots and a collection of grotty vintage porn magazines. Everything is primal or gross or part of some sort of beautiful chaos, and it’s an incredible hyperbolic depiction of society’s seedy underbelly, reminding me at times of A Clockwork Orange. The powerful narrative voice lends the grotty and grotesque setting a touch of high-mindedness or high society flare. The characters make up a fun array of misfits, from the pathetic to the neurotic to the braggart to the horrifyingly fucking villainous, and with a small cast of characters we get to learn everyone’s opinions of one another and how they bond, which was surprisingly well done considering how diverse and angsty all of them are, and pleasantly surprising that they don’t all just genuinely hate each other because of how different they are from one another. The narrative voice also helps out here; its direct commentary on the main narrative reminded me of Trollope, but this is not narration to warmly speak of the characters or implore the reader to think upon them positively, but rather to remark with grim resignation the actions of the characters or the shitty direction their lives are taking them. And now we come to the tricky subject of comedy, a tricky subject because some people will no doubt argue that this book is too fucking awful to be considered as such. The setup of the story seems like Trainspotting, a grim world periodically ameliorated with little scenes of light-heartedness and comedy, and at the start of the book it’s easy to laugh at the vileness of of the characters’ actions. As the book goes along, however, the narrative moves from the overall setup of a debauched weekend of dissolute youths to being determined by the dramatic actions of the characters, spurned by simmering emotions (and sometimes catalysed by large quantities of experimental drugs) and often ending very very poorly. It is here that some of the more disgusting plot points of the story occur, and yet interjected into it are elements of farce so ludicrous that you have no recourse but to laugh at them in the face of all the horrors surrounding it. Or maybe that’s just me. WOULD I RECOMMEND?: HELL YES, IF YOU’RE IN THE MOOD FOR SOME FUCKED UP SHIT

Wilt - Tom Sharpe This may well be my shortest book ramble to date, and indeed I deliberated whether or not it was worth writing, simply because it is another example of books that I’ve liked in the past and continue to enjoy. There’ll probably be a bit of a crossover between this ramble and my ramble on Roald Dahl’s short stories, as their black comedy content has much in common. This is a relatively short book that takes you on a pretty wild fucking journey of farce; ridiculous situations and misconstrued motivations abound, and even from the confines of a prison confinement our eponymous protagonist is able to escalate the plot like you wouldn’t fucking believe. The general premise, such as it is, revolves around an uneasy marriage of a domineering wife and a put-about unmotivated husband who humours himself with elaborate dark fantasies of murdering her, and the plans of actualising these fantasies (catalysed in part by some villainous Americans) spirals into all sorts of wacky shenanigans that I shan’t spoil. I went into this book at a friend’s recommendation, and at around one hundred pages in I commented that there are parts of the story that veered too far into plain old cringe, and that overall the story seemed to be shaping up to a rather vengeful story written as the author's attempt to vent frustrations. My friend said that Sharpe was ‘playing [me] like a pipe’, and so I persevered, and can subsequently say that all such thoughts are swiftly quashed by the rest of the book, which is an absolute tour de fucking force of fantastic time-wasting and nonsense that leaves all that real-world cringe or vengeful thoughts of worldly injustice behind. And of course we get a satisfying life-affirming ending, because this is that sort of book; everything’ll be resolved in the end with smiles and ironic twists. This isn’t exactly a book with incredibly florid prose or life-changing writing, but what it is is a book written by an incredibly smart person, which is instrumental in shaping this book’s fucking fantastic (and often dark as fuck) comedy, contributing some phenomenal turns of phrase, and as a source, much like Dahl, of a hundred throwaway references to miscellaneous academic tidbits that Wilt employs in his endlessly hilarious time wasting. WOULD I RECOMMEND?: YES

Other shit that I read that I couldn’t be arsed to ramble about: Shakespeare’s Local by Pete Brown (conspicuously NOT about Shakespeare’s local pub but nonetheless about the long history of my all-time favourite pub (The George in Southwark), funny and informative (if noticeably written by a man who is not a specialist in some of the subjects he talks about, for people who are also not specialists in said subjects), would recommend if you can go down to the George and have a pint there while contemplating the history) and Green Men and White Swans by Jacqueline Simpson (a great and informative book with a subject matter seemingly tailor fucking made for me, greatly enjoyed Simpson’s none-too-subtle asides about peoples’ over-intellectualising of pub names, was mildly disappointed that my own home town has got fuck all in the way of cool folklore-inspired pub names, would absolutely recommend alongside a cheeky bev).

[thclcstgirl]

1-13

Munday Questions || Not accepting because Spencer and Ashley covered them all lol

What makes you the most emotional about your muse?Wasted potential, definitely. Just, writing Fox has been such an experience and trying to take from the little instances we saw of her and trying to build a real, multi-facted person from those little tidbits has been so fun and has opened up so many possibilities between other characters from the show that we’ll never get and I just get so emo thinking about all the wasted potential of my babygirl.

What made you decide to write this muse?I have a type: barely mentioned side characters. I can’t do main characters, there’s too much pressure and too many nuances to keep in mind while I’m playing. I love side characters because they have a story, or shades of personality and they’re already IN the story, they already have a couple connections and it gives me the best of both worlds, the ability to slip easily into canon and the ability to create a character that’s mostly my own design.

If you could change one event in your muse’s life (in their main or canon verse), what would you change?The way she died. I’m upset she died ofc, but I get it. She was a minor character without much to bring to the story. But they could havea. not killed her and given her something to bring to the story, especially since they’d just connected her to Jasper and Bellamy both. b. at least made her death mean something, instead of just “she’s saved yay! … oh and now she’s dead wonder where/how/when that happened” *never not salty* 

If you could tell your muse one thing, what would you tell them?You are more important than you think. 

If you could give your muse one gift, what would you give them?Life ;) 

If you had to take one positive thing away from your muse, what would you take away?Her calmness in crisis. We do see her fretting a lot, but we also see her calm and assessing more than we see her outright panic. When Drew is ninja-starred in the face, she’s calm, waits by the tree and tries to figure out where the grounders are. In WAGpt2 when everyone’s going into the dropship, she’s calm, when Anya enters the dropship, she’s calm, when they exit the dropship, she’s right behind Clarke and she takes in the scene assessingly, not panickedly. In Mt Weather, we see her worried a lot, but we see her comforting Harper, helping with the cameras. I’d argue that even when she’s taken, she’s terrified and slightly panicked, but is still coherent enough to see an opening and take it, shoving her way away from the guards that have her. She’s already calm by the time they reach Maya’s apartment, so much so that she’s able to reason and plead with Maya’s father. And when she, Maya and Miller are freed from their cuffs, she and Miller are waiting at the end of the hall and she’s talking calmly with Miller. She’s nervous, my girl, she worries and she frets. But she doesn’t panic. 

If you could “borrow” one aspect of your muse and apply it to yourself or your own life, what would you borrow?Uhm…. none really? I love her loyalty, but I love it because I’m an innately loyal person, so there’s really no reason to borrow it lol 

Do you genuinely want your muse to be happy? What do you think would make them most happy in life?Yes. And living -_-On a more rp-level where she is alive, I’d say being acknowledged is what she strives for most. She loves being a part of the delinquents, she loves her delinquents, but she’s constantly looking for validation and recognition that she is a part of them in their eyes as well. 

Do you enjoy putting your muse through angst? What do you think would break their heart the most?I LIVE FOR ANGST YOU DON’T EVEN KNOW. I’ve done so much that breaks her heart it’s kind of unfair to my sweet girl. But one thing I haven’t done that would break her heart is having one of her people (again, delinquents, not sky people as a whole) die in her stead and/or because of her. The guilt would kill her. 

What do you love about your muse?Her loyalty. Her compassion. Her capacity to care. Her peacefulness. Her face. 

What do you hate about your muse?Her ability to self-sabatage. The way she follows her heart without thinking of consequences. Her “hero worship” loyalty that verges on stupidly sometimes. Her capacity to forgive, aka even when it may not be deserved. 

What about your muse amuses you?Her cheekiness. It doesn’t come out often, but when it does it makes me giggle. 

What about your muse makes you sad?Idk how about the FACT THEY KILLED HER IN THE MOST POINTLESS AND OFF SCREEN “BY THE WAY’ WAY POSSIBLE. On a more rp-note, her background and how it’s given her a desperate need for love and acceptance no matter who’s offering it. 

[shadowyin-yang]

Saw that you're taking prompts and if you want, what about 22) "Did you just hiss at me?" with Fenris and Anders? ;) (loved the one you wrote for tearsofwinter!)

Send Me Prompts!

First off, THANK YOU!!! Aaah @tearsofwinter was the first to prompt me so I feel like I didn’t do a good enough job on the first drabble. Like I was super rusty??? But I’m glad someone liked it enough to send me a prompt due to it!!! So thank you again!

Usual: “idk if this is what you’re looking for” (b/c I imagined it being funny before it…didn’t turn out funny) + “this is too long for a drabble”

No seriously, I kind of feel I should start posting these to AO3 at this rate. 

Verse: Modern-AU with magic

Misc notes: Pre-fenders to potential fenders; mentions of tranquility (regarding Karl); Anders+insecurity issues/self-loathing/probs other things; Fenris gets beaten up by Pounce a few times (bites and scratches); everyone is an asshole (I’m watching someone play DA2 and I was kinda reminded that…everyone shits on Anders. A lot)

Link to ao3 chapter: here.

“I never hated you.”

All these years and the stupid mage decided to simply announce that tidbit of information (okay it wasn’t that simple but that would be another story)? Fenris found he was not only in disbelief but annoyed. All the wasted time spent hating on someone who did not even hate you in return! “Right, you never hated me.” He made sure to sound extra dry in his response. 

“Believe whatever you wish. I already know the same can’t be said for you towards me.” 

That part Fenris knew he could not argue with. The seething burning sensation he felt every time the mage spoke was proof enough. Except…

Maker, Anders did not seem so bad when you know he wasn’t hating you. Still annoying though. If Anders spoke the truth then everything that came out of his mouth sounded less like a personal attack. 

What followed soon after for Fenris was guilt. 

Why verbally attack someone who does not hate you? It suddenly seemed wrong to talk down to Anders when seeing the mage look away in hurt (along with anger), and retort with his own string of ugly words. Now the elf only felt like the bad guy. Say something mean and someone’s feelings gets hurt. Go figure. But it was how it always was. That’s just what they did. Why change it now? 

Fenris sought comfort from the quips Anders received from the others. A little from Aveline, mostly regarding the amount of work Anders and other mages put on her and other cops with all the meet-ups and protests; and Isabela making light of said-protests. It didn’t make Fenris feel alone when he decided to give Anders a hard time. The guilt didn’t go away though. If anything it got worse and his friends, well, now they just seemed a little…too mean. Sure, Fenris knew no one here was an angel but you’re not supposed think everyone’s suddenly worse either. The look of shame and hurt on the mage’s face became hard not to notice every time someone took a jab at his plight. It was all in good fun wasn’t it? Anders took it too seriously anyway, and it only brought everyone’s mood down so they’re just changing topics…right? So Fenris didn’t stop. He’ll keep hating the mage like always (maybe with a little less intensity). It was better this way, to keep everything the same as it was. 

Anders had confessed his feelings to Hawke. The news tightened something within Fenris, though the elf wasn’t sure what it was. A different tightening feeling occurred right after the first when it became evident Hawke did not return said-feelings. Everyone seemed to have understood that Anders needed some space and didn’t comment of his absence from game night. 

That only seemed to apply for the first few times. 

Now Anders needed to “get over it.” The mage missed so many nights since the whole thing with Hawke. It was only one excuse or another: “sorry, I have a rally to go to,” “sorry, I volunteered at the shelter,” “sorry, I volunteered at the downtown clinic,” “sorry I don’t have a lot of money right now.” 

“I’ll go talk to him.” Hawke was either foolish or the only brave one here. But who could judge when no one opposed the decision? 

Anders showed up to the next game night, and things seemingly went back to normal. Just as it should be, and just how Fenris liked it. 

“My cousin’s in town for about a month,” Hawke announced one day in game night, after Anders left. “Probably won’t be seeing Anders for a bit.” 

“What? And they don’t come to see little ol’ me?” Isabela feigned offense, “But I supposed they have always been fond of Anders. Oh well. I suppose that’s for the best though.”

“Mm? Why’s that, Izzy?” Merrill asked in curiosity. 

“The two have always gotten along. Anders always seemed very happy around them. He seems…very down lately. He could use some cheering up.”  

Fenris concluded there might’ve been some truth to that. He only met this Amell family member once, only for the sake of introductions. They were a mage though. It didn’t take long for them to show an obvious distaste for Fenris the moment he expressed his own strong opinions on mage matters. It was no wonder they got along with Anders. Whatever. It wasn’t his business. If anything, Fenris might feel his own form of distaste. This visit ruined the routine Fenris grew accustomed too. Game nights without Anders felt…different. 

During the month’s stay, Fenris often saw Anders out at night with cousin-Amell in the streets of Hightown from his apartment window. Anders never goes to Hightown without good reason, and especially not doing so at night, while smiling and laughing as he walked. Hawke was never with them and no one seemed to see Anders at all during most of this month (alone at least). It was always a curious sight whenever Fenris caught Anders out and about during the busy night with someone that wasn’t part of their main group, looking as happy as he was. Has Anders never smile or laugh? Well of course he had! But it was…different here somehow. More joyous. More genuine…

The guilt still hasn’t left.The guilt also got worse (again) when Anders resumed his regular attendance to game night again, indicating Hawke’s cousin had left. Fenris never saw Anders smile and laugh like that since the last time he watched the pair pass his apartment window. Now every chuckle and grin Anders displayed only seemed to disconnect Fenris from the reality he was viewing. It seemed wrong. Was Anders not happy? Was he not having fun? After all, why bother coming at all if you’re so damn miserable?

Fenris could not bring himself to say anything when Anders showed up one night with a small cut on his forehead. Fenris knew he usually did say something, mostly along the lines of the mage being his usual foolish self. It wasn’t the first time, nor was it the last, that Anders would show up with minor injuries from his protests and rallies for mage rights, and sometimes even elf rights. Anders never seemed to have enough mana for himself. It seemed silly to ask, not that Fenris ever did, but if one was not healing yourself and you still run out of mana…then how much healing was required? 

“You seem broodier than usual.” 

Fenris sighed. Figured Varric would be the first to notice. At least the dwarf had some decency to bring it up after everyone left for the night. “Am I?” 

“Sure. A bit quieter so it throws off your whole brooding thing a bit. Too depressing, not even charm. Did karma come around to bite you in the ass?” 

Maybe. Perhaps. Fenris wasn’t sure. “It is just the mage. Why must he show up as rugged and disheveled as he is every time? If he is so tired he should just not come at all.” 

“Well, you gotta remember he did not show up at all. You don’t just…not show up when Hawke prefers it.” 

Ah. Right. Hawke dragged Anders back. 

“Right…perhaps I am the tired one. I have had some difficulty sleeping recently.” Guilt apparently made it difficult to rest up well…

“Blondie may help you with that. Well, depends how professional you want of a diagnosis. I can give you sleeping pills if needed. Blondie just…advised I do not offer it as a first resort. But we all know how you are with him, so I just won’t mention this to him and let you get by without him breathing down your back over it. But just say the word and I can get you some!”

“Thank you, Varric. I will think about it.” 

“Take it easy on him if you see him though. Blondie seems to be having it rough lately. Well, rougher, anyway.” 

Fenris vaguely recalled where Anders lived. He never had a reason to really go see him (and that goes for all the places Anders frequented). Maker, it was disgusting. The streets were littered, the buildings looked old and worn, the roads were unfixed, and Fenris could’ve sworn there was a dead animal somewhere with every corner he turned. He had known this man for years and he could never fathom how Anders could stand living in this part of Kirkwall. Last he checked, Anders was a bloody doctor. What kind of doctor earned less money than…literally everyone else in the group? That guilt feeling started coming back again…

Fenris eventually spotted the mage standing next to a bus stop. No time like the present. He swiftly approached and touched Anders’s shoulder for his attention. Fenris swore he barely touched the man, but just from mere brush against the hoodie he heard a terribly threatening hiss, and withdrew his hand immediately. Anders turned slightly and took out an earbud. 

“Did you just hiss at me?” Fenris questioned before Anders could say anything. 

Anders only looked at him in confusion. “Did I what?” Anders looked down before even waiting for Fenris to repeat the question. “Oh Pounce, what’s the matter?” 

As Anders lifted the bottom portion of his hoodie up, Fenris spotted an orange ball of fluff. That hoodie was already ugly when he first saw it, but Fenris wasn’t sure if the little built-in pouch holding a cat made it better or worse…

“Are you scared? It’s alright, I won’t let Fenris hurt you~” Fenris had never heard Anders us such a childish tone to talk. Nor had he ever seen Anders nuzzle and kiss a cat with such love and affection. “There, there. That’s it, Pounce. It’s alright. No need to feel scared.” Maker, this man adored his cat… 

Upon calming the cat down (though Anders still cuddled him), Anders finally paid his attention to Fenris again. “Is there a reason you’re waiting on me?”

“Erm…yes. Varric recommended I go to you for suggestions. I have had some trouble sleeping as of late.”

“Oh, now you seek out a mage’s help? Tch…”

“As I’ve stated before: magic has its uses. Now will you make use of it?”

“Right, right…” Anders muttered without looking at Fenris. He sighed as he gestured down the street they were on. “Come on, my place isn’t that far from here.”

As they walked, Fenris saw the bus pass them. Anders didn’t say anything. 

Anders placed a small jar on the counter that held oddly colored leaves inside. “Take this before you sleep. Stay off your phone though. After a couple of days, tell me how it is and if you have any allergic reactions to them. You don’t need to chew it. Just drink down a leaf with water. It doesn’t have a taste so it shouldn’t be difficult.” 

Fenris looked curiously at the item. “That’s it?” and no magic?

“Yeah. It’s natural. Nothing like those over the counter stuff. Which I guess are fine for the short term, but not if you need to rely on them. Hopefully it’s just a passing thing, but might as well get used to this stuff if it works for you. Just in case.” 

“I see…” Fenris picked up the jar. The leaves looked thin and loose enough to just drink down. “You are not going to ask questions on my change of sleep problems?” 

“I would, but I figured you don’t like telling me anything. So I decided to not waste both of our time and just give you what you wanted.” 

“Right…and what are you charging?”

“Just take it. I can always get more.”

The guilt came back. “I do not wish to owe a mage anything.” Okay, that may have came out wrong. 

“Tch, fine. Just throw in a few sovereigns to the clinic or animal shelter. Or both.”

The guilt got worse. Fenris resisted pointing out the ripping wallpaper, the table with a wobbly leg, the dripping sink, and the too-easily-to-break door. He was afraid to sit down or lean on anything in fear of breaking it. 

“I…shall then…” It was the only response he could think of. 

“Alright. Well if that’s all there is. You can go. Pounce and I are taking a stroll to the grocery store.” 

And what? Buy bread and feed it to the geese? Okay Anders might actually do that…

Anders looked around for the cat. Fenris saw the orange tabby on the floor on his side of the counter licking his paws. He reached down to retrieve him for Anders, just out as an act of being nice. The cat hissed and without warning, the claws came down on the hand that reached for him. Fenris yelped as he pulled his hand back. 

“Pounce! No!” Anders quickly picked up the tabby. “Bad, Pounce! You do not attack people like that!” he used a scolding tone, though it was probably as ineffective as scolding a child. Anders sighed as he readjusted his grip on Pounce while approaching Fenris. “I’m sorry about Pounce. He…doesn’t like most people. Do you need something for that?” 

Fenris could see the claw marks on his fingers. “No. It is nothing.” he tucked his hand into his pocket and resisted the urge to hiss himself as it the pressure stung. “So you are to say that beast is picky with his company?” 

“Well I guess so…I’m not sure what it is. Pounce seems to hate everyone. Except the Amell family. Well, Carver’s the exception. Oh but he adores Hawke.” Anders chuckled as he nuzzled Pounce. It was the first time Fenris recalled seeing such a warm smile since Hawke’s cousin was over. Was a cat always this effective for Anders? 

“Oh yeah, Anders loves his cat,” Hawke said when Fenris approached them the next day. “The cat loves him too from what I can tell of cats. Which isn’t much I guess.”

“I was informed this…Ser Pounce…is rather fond of you.”

“Oh yeah,” Hawke laughed in-between drinks, “It’s really funny. Maybe I’m just good with animals. Pounce likes Bethany too though, and myself of course. And um…my cousin, and their lover. Pounce absolutely hates Carver though…and others I assume. Anders says we’re the only ones he recalled Pounce liked. Us and Karl.” 

“Karl?”

“Oh, you remember. Anders’s old lover. The one who got turned Tranquil despite passing his Harrowing. That big case a few years ago.” The case that the mages lost, and justice was never served. Fenris never really thought much about it, but being reminded of that case only made him feel…bad. 

“…And you are saying you never had to change the cat’s opinion of you?” Fenris asked instead of delving further into the negative feelings. 

“I mean I guess? Well, Pounce didn’t like me right away. Probably because I’m a stranger. But he warmed up to me. Sort of around the same time Anders did.”

Fenris blinked curiously. “Anders was swift to like you though.”

“Yeah, and so was Pounce!” 

There was no way. It can’t be.

“I wish to see your cat.” Fenris announced to Anders as he stood before the man’s apartment door. 

“…Why?” Anders put himself before the door frame, guarding the entrance. 

“I’m interested in cats.“

There was a flicker of interest in Anders’s eyes. “I…suppose you can come see him. I guess it’s not a bad sign if you want to see him even after he attacked you.” 

Anders let Fenris in and the elf searched for the orange tabby. Pounce was laying in the sunlight coming in through the window. Fenris only got a chance to kneel down beside him before Pounce woke and immediately got his claws into Fenris’s jeans. He immediately felt the sting in his knees…

Fenris came by again later that same week. This time he brought a cat treat for Pounce. He offered the food on the floor and tried to push the little treat closer. Pounce sniffed it for a moment but promptly ignored it. 

“Strange. He usually eats anything you give him,” Anders noted out loud, watching from behind the elf. Fenris tried pushing the treat in front of Pounce’s path again but before he could pull his hand away, Pounce, well, pounced. Well…at least he can make up a story to why his knuckles bled…

Fenris came by again by the start of the next week. This time, he handed Anders a box of pizza. “I had some from work. Brought it in case you were interested.” Fenris didn’t say more as he went to scan for the cat. Pounce was on the couch this time and watched the strange exchange between Anders and Fenris. 

“Um…thanks…?” despite the confusion, Anders didn’t want to complain about the free food and happily hummed as he started getting out a plate for himself. Fenris went over and knelt before Pounce who eyed the elf with intent. Carefully, Fenris slipped the treat before the cat. Pounce sniffed it before taking the treat into his mouth. After Pounce finished, Fenris offered his (bandaged up) hand to the cat. Pounce didn’t look aggressive. Taking that as a good sign, Fenris tried to pet the head like how Anders would do it. Before he even touched the fur, Pounce bit his finger. 

Fenris stopped by once again. This time, he handed Anders a new box of bandaids and a new bottle of disinfection. Both acting as a replacement for taking up all the supplies from Anders. Fenris found he was able to pet Pounce’s head today, but only for a moment. Pounce bit him again when he felt he was being pet for too long. 

Another day Fenris came by with nothing. But he did mention the silly cat shirt Anders wore was charmingly funny…in its own way. He caught a small smile from the mage, and Fenris found he was able to pet the cat’s head a bit longer than five seconds before he started hearing a growling sort of noise and he retreated his hand before he got attacked again. 

And that’s how it went. Fenris visited at the rate that it would be considered ‘often’ to a lot people. He would bring over food for himself and Anders sometimes. Anders seemed to always be hungry. One time he brought a movie that he felt Anders might enjoy (he did. It involved cats). Otherwise, he offered some words. Nothing too out there. Just a nice compliment here and there. “Why is your hair not up today? No, it is fine. But perhaps you should wear your hair down more often-if that is something you like,” “You make good cookies. The children would like them,” “No, keep the movie if you like it so much.” 

Slowly, Pounce seemed to accept his presence. Not completely, as even at Pounce’s most patient days, Fenris had walked out with a new scratch on his skin. Anders always apologized for them, even when there was nothing Fenris felt that needed to be apologized for. 

Finally, by the end of the month, Fenris was able to get his hand to start from the top of Pounce’s head and down his back without being attacked. 

“Hmm, wow, I think Pounce is warming up to you. Your effort is pulling through! I’m so happy that Pounce gets a new friend!” Anders sounded proud, as if Pounce was a child…

Fenris stood and went over to the kitchen counter were Anders was pouring tea for the two of them. “Did Hawke have as much trouble?” 

“Not really,” Anders flushed slightly, “Hawke is…Hawke. They’re a bit irresistible…” 

“…why Hawke?” Fenris dared to ask and Anders froze in mid-pouring. He stopped and put down the hot water as he eyed Fenris suspiciously. 

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean. The cause of your temporary absence.”

Anders shrugged and went on to pour into the next cup. “What’s there to say? Hawke’s nice.” 

“Nice…”

“Nice,” Anders stressed. 

“…That’s it?” 

“What else do I need?” Anders put down the water and took out the teabags. 

Compassion, listening skills, supportive, probably at least likes cats, and appreciate each other’s interests, just to list a few. 

“I assumed more than just…nice.” Fenris replied with instead. 

Anders shrugged as he pushed a cup towards Fenris. “I can’t expect my lover to be perfect. No need to be picky. I don’t have much to offer anyway…and I know I’m annoying and such.”

Fenris swallowed, feeling more and more uncomfortable whenever Anders talked down on himself like that. “That is a dangerous mindset, Mage. Anyone can be nice. Many have for the sake of saving face.” 

“Yeah but you can usually tell when they want something in return or not. You eventually start to pick up that stuff. Hawke…Hawke’s kind. They…really listen to me…” 

Fenris felt his brow twitch. “Mage…has no one mentioned to you that you need to raise your standards?” 

“Why would they tell me that?”

Fenris had to resist smacking himself in frustration. “That aside, Mage. If you are so good at telling when someone’s trying to trick you, then what is my purpose for feeding you?”

“You want to see Pounce, what else?” Anders gestured to the cat. 

Fenris stared. “Why do you not assume I wish to see you?”

“Why would you want to see someone you hate?” 

“…Maybe you are not so hatable.” Maker it shouldn’t have come out so easily. But it did become rather difficult to hate someone who eagerly wanted his cat, never mind himself, to make a new friend. 

“Heh, right, sure. I’ll take that as a compliment.” 

“…you do not believe me.” Fenris stated matter of factly. 

Anders raised a brow. “You’re trying to convince me you do not hate me?”

“Should I try harder?”

“See!” Anders pointed with accusation, “You’re never serious with me! It’s always hatred or sarcasm!”

Fenris glanced over at Pounce. The cat looked like he was staring into his soul…

“I…did not mean offense. I apologize.”

“You…apologize…?” Anders looked away in discomfort. “I…that’s…nice of you…I guess…um…thanks…?” 

Fenris just hoped that Anders (possibly) believed him. For now. Mostly because Fenris could not remember why he hated this man anymore. 

Fenris wasn’t sure what to do. He had spent over a month seeing Anders and Pounce, most of that time spent trying to befriend the cat. It was meant to be an experiment, a way to put out the growing curiosity. He didn’t think Pounce would actually respond the way he did. Before he knew it, he got carried away with it. 

But now Anders seemed almost content being in the elf’s presence, excited even, on some days. He expressed a similar shy smile that he used to have when around Hawke. Fenris froze in his thoughts. Oh no…

Fenris ran his hands through his hair. Okay, so maybe there is a possibility he accidentally made Anders have more-than-friendship-based-feelings for him now but…a part of him felt he should still be liked beyond just being nice! Did he even do anything especially nice? Sure he knew he fed Anders on some days. There was also the minor compliments of course. There was the time he brought over a used, but large, jacket for Anders upon noticing Anders’s current one was getting too worn down. Fenris could’ve sworn Anders used the same jacket during winter and he was fairly confident the one he owned was warmer. It got difficult to get Anders to (eventually) accept it.

Okay so that was one nice thing he went out of his way to do. ONE! Or maybe two if one counted the time he shared his wine with Anders one night at the Hanged Man. 

This was trouble, and bad, and…probably something to be expected after all the acts he had done to appease Pounce. Or…appease Pounce for…Anders? Fenris wasn’t sure anymore. 

If there was anything he was sure about now it was that Anders didn’t eat enough. The only time he’s ever caught Anders with food was when he was the one giving Anders the food! He also knew Anders didn’t splurge on many luxuries except for the cat. Pounce was spoiled rotten. It wasn’t hard to notice the soft cat bed looked a bit too new in comparison to Anders’s mattress that looked like it was sagging from the one time Fenris went into the mage’s bedroom. Fenris also knew Anders cared (too much in Fenris’s opinion). There was always someone to help, always something to fight for, and always some poor animal to save from the rain. 

Just thinking about it felt like it was too much…But as Fenris felt his heart ache at the thought of Anders constantly moving through life like this, he knew he too cared a bit too much. Maybe he was more sure than he originally thought. 

Game night came once again, and Fenris waited outside the Hanged Man for Anders to arrive. He almost expected Anders to give a look of suspicion but…not as of late. If Pounce approved a person, it somehow spelled ‘good’ in Anders’s mind. When Anders arrived, he looked surprised, and then looked away with a tint of red on his face. Fenris felt the insides of his chest getting particularly warm as well. Maybe not enough things were said between them, but avoiding it now wouldn’t do. 

“Um…is there a reason you’re out here…?” Anders looked ready to enter, but Fenris didn’t budge from the entrance. 

“I was waiting for you.”

“…oh. Um…I’m here? What’s going on? Am I in trouble for being a big bad mage?” 

Fenris sighed and closed the distance between them. Anders stiffened as the other got closer. Fenris felt his heart pound a bit too loud for his liking, but he had a feeling Anders might be feeling it just as a bad. Or worse. With a shake of his head, Fenris tried to meet with Anders’s gaze. Anders only persisted to not look at him. Not wanting to push his discomfort, Fenris stopped and let a moment’s pause pass before speaking. “…Do you wish to have coffee with me sometime?” 

Anders’s head snapped up. “…What?” 

“Do you wish to have coffee with me sometime?” he repeated patiently. 

He could’ve sworn Anders’s face changed color as he tried to get out a response. “Wh-What?! Wait, a-are you inferring something? Wait, is this a joke? Because if it is, it’s not a very funny one you know!” 

“It is not a joke.”

Anders only folded his arms in disbelief. 

Fenris continued. “I…know I am not the most ideal-”

“What?!” Anders exclaimed, cutting in, “Fenris, you’re like one of the most desirable bachelors in all of Kirkwall!” 

Fenris blinked. This was news to him. Never less… “It does not change my question for you.” 

“…But you can do better than me!”  

“I fail to see how that relates to what you want in regards to my question.” 

Anders fell silent, looking rather torn. 

Fenris sighed again as his heart started to ache once more. “As I said…I know I may not be the most…ideal person. I have treated you badly, and I do not know if I ever truly apologized for it. I would not hold it against you for saying no. I am…prepared for it. You deserve someone who will treat you well.” 

“Not really…” Anders let out an empty laugh as his hand wiped at his eyes. “Heh…wh…what am I supposed to say to that, Fenris? I…I don’t know, I just…”

“Say whatever you fe-”

“It’s not that simple!” Anders suddenly exclaimed. “Of course I want to! I just…don’t want to disappoint you…Heh, I mean, I hear that I’m rather good at that! Disappointment. Being a mage does that you know. I often disappoint people without even having to open my mouth usually.”

“Well whoever suggested such a thing is wrong,” Fenris stated harshly. Anders dropped the forceful smile he just put on. “This is not about everyone else and they will think. It’s about you and your happiness, and whether or not you feel I am capable of helping in providing some of it. This is not about Kirkwall, or Hawke, or mages, or any of whatever you think has to do with who ‘deserves’ what! Just once, can you do that? For yourself?” 

Fenris wasn’t sure what kind of look Anders was giving him. He had never seen it before. The mage looked confused, and something else. Maybe he was in thought as he tried to decipher what was said. Fenris couldn’t blame him. He wasn’t sure if many people expressed such a thing to Anders before this moment. 

Anders fiddled with his hands, and looked away again. “I can…try.” Anders finally replied quietly. 

“That is all I ask from you. Regardless of how you wish to answer me. Just know that there is more to me than just simple acts of kindness. Believe me when I say: I may disappoint you before you could ever disappoint me.”  

“Never,” Anders shook his head. Fenris could see how much the mage genuinely believed that. “I think…one cup of coffee wouldn’t hurt.” And Fenris saw a small smile on the other’s face. 

It was almost a relief to Fenris. He never really saw himself as nice, but it was a rather good trait. And he could always show he had other qualities to like, at least, he had hoped he did. Like Anders, Fenris decided he had to at least try to bring those good qualities out. If not for his own sake, then for Anders’s. 

It was the least Fenris felt he could do for him. 

[daniel-browne]

The Tower of Song Has a Vault

Recently finished Sylvie Simmons’ I’m Your Man: The Life of Leonard Cohen, a book I should have read a long time ago. There are loads of anecdotes I’d never come across before (the Iggy Pop cameo is worth the price of admission), but what surprised me more than anything was how many Leonard Cohen songs have gone unreleased over the years.

My image of Cohen the songwriter—one that he himself reinforced in any number of ways—has been of the anti-Dylan, a perfectionist toiling for years, decades even, to hone a single song, discarding countless verses that failed to meet his standards. Simmons doesn’t contradict this image, but she does dispel the misconception (which, for all I know, was mine alone) that Cohen’s perfectionism meant that the songs we hear on his fourteen studio albums were the only ones he was able to finish.

Of course, I was aware of a few scattered orphans: the two new cuts that appeared on The Best Of Vol. 2, the bonus tracks tacked onto the reissue of Songs of Leonard Cohen, the 17-minute “Blues by the Jews” (a.k.a. “Billy Sunday”), which I encountered on the Rare Songs bootleg. But the fact that there weren’t more out there, even on bootlegs and reissues, seemed to confirm that Cohen had given us all he had.

Simmons’ research makes it clear that isn’t the case. I don’t have the book in front of me, but I believe she names at least a half dozen outtakes from Songs of Leonard Cohen besides the two that made it onto the 2007 reissue. Songwriting became a more torturous undertaking for Cohen in the years following his debut, and the amount of scrapped material shrank accordingly. Nonetheless, Simmons doles out more than a few tantalizing references: the European-only single “Do I Have to Dance All Night”; early, unrecognizable versions of favorites like “Anthem” and “A Thousand Kisses Deep”; an unrealized album project, Songs for Rebecca; even a complete set of recitations of the poems from the Book of Longing.

It’s interesting that Prince’s legendary vault has been the subject of so much speculation, controversy and covetousness in the year since his death, while Cohen’s archives have gone, near as I can tell, almost entirely unremarked on. That probably has at least something to do with the lack of intrigue concerning the status of his estate. You’d think that very lack of intrigue—Cohen did all his recording for a single label and his heirs were closely involved in his creative process in later years—would present an opportunity, but if anyone’s talking about a commercial release of the lost work Simmons documents, they’re doing it very quietly.

One possible hurdle is that Cohen’s vault is more notional than actual, hardly the temperature-controlled sanctum sanctorum Prince installed in Paisley Park. The dogged bloodhounds at the Leonard Cohen Files, which the man himself was known to haunt, report that Cohen lost the Songs for Rebecca tapes, while the Book of Longing recordings have deteriorated past the point of viability. But is this a good enough reason to give up on the idea of a bootleg series for Cohen fans? Surely, someone else (producer John Lissauer?) has a copy of Rebecca. And, as the 2014 restoration of Dylan’s Basement Tapes demonstrates, even the cruddiest sound quality can be conquered these days through a combination of doggedness and digital wizardry.

Perhaps the bigger hang-up is the notion that Cohen, who was notoriously hard on himself, wouldn’t have wanted what amount to pages from his sketchbook to see the light of day. After all, he decided against releasing them during his life, and Simmons writes that he personally put a stop to Sony’s reissue campaign after the first three albums because he felt that the bonus tracks compromised the integrity of his original artistic statement.

This is a tough one. If Cohen specified that he wanted his unreleased songs to stay unreleased, I suppose there’s not much to be done about it, at least in the short term. (Time has a way of rendering these questions academic. If a previously unknown work by Shakespeare or Beethoven came to light, would we let the artist’s wishes stand in the way of its release?) There are a few handy bootlegs out there--thanks to the good folks at Cohencentric--and that would have to do.

Having said that, there’s no evidence Cohen categorically opposed efforts to rifle through his back pages. For one thing, he was familiar not only with The Leonard Cohen Files but Cohencentric, as well, and he apparently voiced no objection to its Other Songs project. Simmons even contributed liner notes to the second volume, something I can’t imagine she would have agreed to absent Cohen’s blessing.

As for his concern about the reissue-with-bonus-tracks approach, there’s a simple solution: rather than treating the unreleased songs as add-ons, collect them into their own box set or series of stand-alone compilations, a la Dylan’s Bootleg Series. (If Cohen had been more prolific, it might make sense to pair each album with a second disc of extras—see Costello, Elvis—but assuming Simmons managed to unearth just about everything there is to find, then a single, comprehensive box might do the trick.)

Cohen’s vault may not be as deep or fascinating as Prince’s, but like Prince, he was one of the most important artists of our time. The way I see it, his output is worth knowing and honoring in its entirety. Not every song met his standard of perfection, but hey, didn’t someone once say, there is a crack in everything?

***

So what would a Leonard Cohen bootleg series look like? I went through this exercise with respect to Prince a while back. Here now is my best-case scenario for Cohen:

--Poetry: Before we get to the music, consider this: Cohen published 11 books of poetry, including the anthologies Selected Poems and Stranger Music, each of which included otherwise uncollected work. Of these, only four are currently in print. This is mind-boggling to me, given that Cohen is one of the most well-known and beloved figures in recent history to make his name as a poet. I’ve been lucky enough to snag vintage copies of many of these books over the years, but the two I’m missing, Flowers for Hitler and Parasites of Heaven, are currently going for anywhere from $75 to $650 on Amazon. I can appreciate a good fetish object as much as the next fan, but I’ve never really approved of artificial scarcity. As a first step in honoring Cohen’s legacy, let’s get all of his written work back on shelves.

--Studio recordings: When it comes to archival releases, I’m generally more interested in songs I’ve never heard before than alternate versions of songs I already know. Cohen’s case is somewhat different because, as I mentioned above, certain songs went through radical transformations over the course of many years. Who knows if there are enough different versions of “Anthem,” say, to fill a whole disc, the way a recent Dylan set included a whole disc of “Like a Rolling Stone” takes? Who knows if such a thing would even make for compelling listening? (I skipped the “LaR” sessions.) We do know that Cohen expressed an interest in letting fans into his creative process, posting poems and songs in draft form to the “Blackening Pages” section of the Leonard Cohen Files and later going back to make revisions. “I want to send, among other things, the first manuscript scratchings for Suzanne and other early songs,” he said. “I'd like to make the process clear, or at least throw some light on the mysterious activity of writing.” Demos and outtakes of finished songs, while not my bag, are at the very least of historical interest and could help round out a box set. Highlights from the David Crosby sessions that first came to light on the Songs from a Room reissue would be an obvious candidate. I’d also be keen to hear early attempts at the songs from Death of a Ladies Man before Phil Spector got his jittery hands on them (I believe at least two were a part of the Songs for Rebecca sessions.)

--Live recordings: If you ask me, there’s more than enough live Cohen product on the market already [UPDATE: This Pitchfork piece, while informative, doesn’t persuade me otherwise]. He could be a great showman, but he wasn’t exactly Dylan, twisting his songs into strange new shapes from night to night. In many instances, the most significant variation is in the between-song patter, which could take on a hypnotic power of its own. There are exceptions, though. A number of bootlegs feature old pop and country chestnuts, socialist hymns, even Yiddish ditties getting the Cohen treatment. It would be nice to have those collected in one volume with the sound cleaned up, a kind of companion to the Basement Tapes. The 1972 Tel Aviv concert, which found Cohen facing down overzealous security guards in a sequel of sorts to his famous Isle of Wight performance, is worth a full commercial release. His revelatory summit meeting with Sonny Rollins—almost certainly the greatest musician he ever played with—on the Night Music TV show makes you wonder if there’s more that didn’t make it to air. Similarly, if another epic improvisation like the delirious “Please Don’t Pass Me By” is sitting on a shelf somewhere, I definitely want to hear it.

--Other artists: Another tidbit I gleaned from Simmons’ book is that there’s a small handful of songs Cohen gave to other artists and never recorded himself (or recorded but never released): “Priests” (Judy Collins), “Summertime” (Diana Ross), “Song for Bernadette” (Jennifer Warnes), “Way Down Deep” (Warnes again), and “It Just Feels” (someone named Sylvie Marechal). There’s also Buffy Sainte-Marie’s “God Is Alive, Magic Is Afoot,” which takes its lyrics from Cohen’s novel Beautiful Losers. There’s even a song Simmons overlooked, “Come Spend the Morning,” which was cut, in different versions, by both Lee Hazlewood and Engelbert Humperdinck! A collection of this stuff would make a fun alternative to the many inessential tribute albums out there and serve a useful purpose since these songs are little known and, in the case of the Hazlewood track, out of print. Throw in some choice bits from the gonzo movie musical Night Magic—a collaboration between Cohen, who wrote the lyrics in Spenserian stanzas, and Lewis Furey, “the Canadian Lou Reed”—and you’ve got yourself a party.