#yet she questions the existence of a written destiny quite a lot of times

[palaceoftears]

Mahidevran Sultan + Belief in fortune and destiny

What is this you call the Sultanate? Wealth and property, land and territory? To have power over the destinies of others? Was it worth it, Süleyman?

for my dear bday girl @mc-critical <3

[herbalinz]

Project Maultifaceted - Relationships

This is a three-part post focusing on three types of relationships Maul has presented in EU and canon contents: (barely) romantic relationship, familial relationship, friendship. I think this character is written in a special case where his familial relationship is tangled up with mentorships, so I will be putting Palpatine’s interactions in with familial.

Links to my other Maul!content collection pjt: "Smile" (x), "Voice" (x).

Part I. Relationships bordering on an ambiguously or metaphorically romantic nature:

Spoilers alert

Kilindi Matako

Maul’s impression of their first encounter. His first impression of Kilindi is of her sparring against two Rodian boys (who decide to pick a bone with Maul for the rest of their short lives), it can be implied that Maul thinks Kilindi as “capable;” or it’s more a omniscient narrator’s commentary.

Then there’s this: the budding desire to establish a positive relationship

As a tween in Orsis Academy, Maul is doing great with training lessons and seems to enjoy being here quite a lot (except for having to suffer the prohibition of using the Force) because 1) he can fight people (def don’t want to be his opponent no sir), 2) he has a mentor who respects him (more later), 3) at least two students show sign of benevolent interest in him. He does not quite play along with others due to either a character trait, if we take it from George Mann’s An Unwilling Apprentice:

Or it’s simply a result of growing up without peers (and having possibly the most dastardly Sith ever plus a droid as caretakers). Maul’s early Sith lessons is seen already taken root, as he distrusts people’s intentions and questions them at every turn. He does not understand why Kilindi seems to be interested in him, and is surprised when she proposes to spend time together. But despite that, and his awful recollection of “swimming” on Myeeto, he makes the decision to go swimming with her.

“Not that he would ever tell her.”

Windham was tasked to write this—who knows why—as a middle-grader book. The language and depth of character exploration fit the demographics. Personally I think we would have a better book if this was written at least as a YA, but for this end-product we got, I say it is nicely done, and I enjoyed little moments like this one and when Maul “suddenly felt irritated” as Kilindi wants to give him some advice on the upcoming hunting (and having her advice written in a way to show she is an observant and capable fighter indeed, also that Maul was not above receiving genuine help; awesome, Windham. I grow to like Kilindi very much).

Young Maul and Kilindi did remind me of my first secret relationship/crush-however you call two kids being affectionate with each other but knew it could never worked and would never say it out loud

IIRC, Maul is arounf thirteen at this chapter. He is brought up to question everyone’s motivation around him (which is just due lesson for a Sith, who are always about to stab each other in the back), to view interpersonal relationships in a utilitarian way, but the brainwashing is not done completely yet. He is unable to simply file away certain feelings, even though he already senses those do not have a place in the destiny he believes he would have.

Then, when Maul is around fifteen: He is not a good teamplayer, a trait unfortunately persisted into adulthood and undermines him eventually, but he collaborates with Kilindi very well. When they are both tested by the Death Watch instructor Meltch Krakko, he is protective of Kilindi

If we take a concept from SW canon, this is when I see shatterpoints of Maul’s destiny have existed that could have pushed him into other directions. If Maul had treated Kilindi aloofly constantly instead of making (the minimum amount of) effort to get to know her; if he was not bullied by the Meltch Krakko, and given in to use the Force not only to save himself but to beat him down; if Krakko did not try to sell him to Mother Talzin; if Krakko did not double-cross Talzin… He might have been brought back to Dathomir as a teen, or grow up having some semblance of a relationship with Kilindi (although I can’t see this end well; Sith and their ideas of “passion” aside, I doubt Palpa wouldn’t teach young Maul a lesson on attachments).

(Windham, Ryder. The Wrath of Darth Maul. 2012)

The Orisis Academy and Maul’s interactions with several students are recurring elements for several writers in his EU content, though each writer has their own take. James Luceno, for example, in his short story “Restraint,” makes it most clear Maul does experience physical attraction towards his two female friends:

As he is dispatched to kill everyone in the academy by Sidious due to the risk of his force-user indentity being leaked, Luceno adds that "Maul decided he would miss Daleen and Kilindi, and Trezza especially. But he accepted that their deaths were essential to Darth Sidious' plan--a Grand Plan, in which Maul was now an accomplice."

He is still capable, and willing to feel emotions other than anger and rage. Which are not forbidden by the Sith philosophy by any means. In fact, we have a prime example of the legendary Darth Malgus, using his grief to enhance his power and connection to the dark side, after killing his lover Eleena Daru. Whether Maul is intended to be a self-aware character at this or not, he holds onto grief and sorrow as much as anger and rage to fuel his connection (likely not; he is one of the least self-aware character I came across. Might be because of Sidious' training on him to focus on the present moment).

(Luceno, James. “Restraint.” Darth Maul: Shadow Hunter. 2011)

Komari Vosa

After the destruction of Orisis and Maul’s positive relationships, we don’t get anything that seem to suggest he’s interested or ever sought out to establish any relationship beside the Master-Apprentice. Until Lockdown.

In this book, Maul is tasked to find a mysterious weapon merchant in the prison colony of Cog Hive Seven, where at the climax, his path crosses with Vosa’s, despite their initial misgiving (which is kinda stupid imo, no reason other than “i want to see them fight”), they fight side by side eventually and Maul completes his mission, with Vosa hinting at a “what if we work together” and of course rejected by Maul.

*An interesting lil something here when Maul is disgusted by certain imaginations regarding a may-or-may-not-be thirsty warden Sadiki Blirr (it is written that “she can’t take her eyes off” Maul as she watches him fight like a beast so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯)

Then we have him and Komari Vosa, who he grows a sense of respect if not something a bit more after witnessing her defiant act against the giant worm

After Maul saves Vosa, Vosa returns the gesture by turning off the micro-denotators inside his hearts with the Force.

Maul is not reacting to physical touch very well as a Sith Lord should we all have seen Pre Viz getting his we-pals-now-hand smacked away

Another shatterpoint perhaps? Likely not, as Maul is already on the Sith path, going with Vosa would be undermining his pursuit for power, as well as getting them both killed by Sidious. I like how Schreiber gives Maul a moment of near-reflection, near-temptation for something else other than the destiny Sidious promised him. But now he is already getting pretty good at putting away thoughts he can't process without destroying his identity😂

The novel ends with a smudge of a shadow of the barely existent tiny snip (you get the point) of longing:

(Schreiber, Joe. Maul: Lockdown. 2014.)

Sinya, a Twi'lek bodyguard of the Black Sun. This encounter happens in EU, directly after Lockdown, the plots are actually connected.

Need I say more xD

Then there’s the 2017 Star Wars: Darth Maul comics. An excellent collection that fills in some gaps between the new canon Maul timelines.

I enjoyed the artwork as well as the writing. However, as I read, I could not shake off this strange suspicion that Maul’s *first* Jedi kill is framed here in a metaphorical way of losing one’s virginity; the rush before and the disillusionment afterwards (due to his misplaced connection)….. Anyone else see it too?

Aight, the other relationships will have to wait until I assemble more braincells. Feel free to dm me your interpretations and HCs or holler in the comments:3

[sunsents]

Empty - F.W (1/2)

Gah daym this was a JOURNEY to write. I swore to myself to never write angst because, well I suck at it. But here we are, I swear this has a good ending because my heart can't bear that. I could've written this much better, so I promise to bring my A GAME for chapter 2. Enjoy, also Lee in this is a hate crime. This is very story telling-esk so I hope it flows well.

I wouldn't have written this chapter without the help of my good friend @mochiixjimin she helped me edit and spice up this whole thing so thank you so much to her! She's an amazing writer, go check out her work and show her some big love right now or else!! her wattpad

Chapter 1 out of 2 (Backstory)

Summary —> Life has always been a cruel joke to you, yet you simply play along. Overshadowed by Eva Burke your whole life, watching from the sidelines while everyone flooded each other with love, it would always feel like a joke.

Pairing: fredweasley x fem!reader

Word count: 6.1k

Warnings: ANGST ANGST ANGST (with a fluffy ending in the second part) / One mature scene (18+) and then it's angst again <3 / Some slander / Offensive language

Rating: 18+

DON’T REPOST MY WORK

You were a bright child.

Beaming bright enough to keep a tight lipped smile during flu-shots, and enough to put on a happy façade when your dad threw away the drawing you had done of your family dog, rather than hang it up on the fridge.

Children have foolish dreams, and that was yours. Your friends in preschool boasted about their pictures being hung like trophies on fridges, with decorative magnets and even bigger pink bow ties.

The fridge in the Y/L/N manor was empty. Always empty, just how Ms. Y/L/N liked it. Empty marble floors with empty rug designs, and empty rooms with even emptier people living in it. They were both empty people. Hollow and void of any emotion, at least towards you.

You were different though. You were filled to the brim with ambition and hope and so many positive emotions that your parents never seemed to reflect on you. You were like those Disney princesses. The princesses always had hope, and when you have hope good things happen.

Right?

Your dad never meant to give you false hope. He just wished you’d keep your mouth shut as he worked until late hours. Using big words and having big aspirations, you shouldn’t have.

Mr and Mrs Y/L/N weren't bad people per say, just busy. They didn't know how to raise a child, this was obvious, because the purpose of even having a child was to fix their marriage. But a temporary fix wouldn't do it, it never did. There was always that hole on the roof, leaking rain of despair into their falsely built home that no bucket big enough could hold back. Because it always found a way to overflow.

They didn't know how to show their love, so they did it with money, clothes, toys and crayons that you would later use to draw pictures of your family, only to have them end up in the dumpster once again.

They spoiled you rotten, bought you gifts you never even dreamed of asking. You just shut up and enjoyed it, what else could you do? Whine and demand attention? Risk losing their favor? There was no favor to lose.

You got yourself a fat A plus on your third grade math test. Star stickers on your chest, you entered through the glass double doors of your house with a crooked smile - two front teeth missing of course - making your joy all the more endearing. Your backpack strapped tightly over your narrow shoulders, hanging low with all the crammed books you pushed before leaving school because you were just so excited to show your parents.

You received a big sloppy kiss from your Nanny, who practically was like a second mom to you, and dashed right into your fathers office to show him your new accomplishment.

"Good job, I'm proud of you."

You froze. You found a way to actually get their attention. The attention you so craved, the recognition you would die for. This was revolutionary. Basically a new era for you.

Nanny made you a star shaped cake that night, and sat with you while gently stroking your hair and listening to you blabber about how easy the math questions were. It felt warm, motherly love. Even if it was false, it would never compare to the love of your own mother, a love you would never get.

You spent all your night studying, your eyes burning under the harsh light of your lamp in the early mornings and your pencil, ebbing away over sheets and sheets of blank paper. Writing away your little hands off until they ached, just to snatch another A and get a good job.

This was good, it worked out very well. You became that student who looked forward to class, just to get a good grade and have the validation of your parents. The sight of your father’s lips quirk up even in the slightest, and how your mother’s eyes shone briefly in appreciation of your hard work, even if it was for a quick second, it was worth it.

Until the new neighbors moved in.

Mr. Burke was a round, cheerful man with an even rounder belly, and a big fat pipe that always hung on his lips. Mrs Burke looked and acted like those fairy godmothers you adored. You couldn’t believe such people existed. Mr Y/L/N invited them over for dinner, for courtesy. He was not happy about said courtesy.

He ended up liking the couple, they had a little daughter called Eva, who was small and adorable with round red cheeks and big doe eyes. Not only Mr and Mrs Burke, but the Y/L/N’s adored Eva as well. She was happy, always smiling, and her teeth weren't nearly as crooked as yours, not to mention she had pretty long hair like a princess.

You liked her a lot, took her to pick flowers, showed her the drawings you had prepared for the empty fridge; in case Mr Y/L/N ever had a change of heart and hung them up, you had been trying for three years and weren't giving up any sooner.

Eva was nice, kind enough to share her M&M's and very used to compliments unlike you. She seemed to get a lot from her parents and yours. The adults were so kind to her, always smothering her with love and kisses. You were happy for Eva, happy that Eva somehow managed to gain the favor of your parents before you did.

Little girls tended to be jealous, you weren’t. You were just glad to have a friend so cool, she didn't blush and stutter under praise and apparently her drawings were pretty enough to go on a fridge.

It was a Thursday afternoon when your mom smiled at you for the first time since your last exam grade. "Look, Eva drew us a picture, isn't it pretty?"

The crayola stash under your bed was no longer needed, they appeared clumsily dumped in the neighborhood trash the next day, most of them stomped under the pressure of your little sneakers. And the bundle of drawings you hid under your pillow, wishing on fairy godmother that one day they would be hung up too, were ripped; clearly a struggle given. You had paper cuts on your hands, and your Nanny thankfully applied ointment before Ms and Mr Y/L/N noticed, or rather, stopped to care.

Though you knew that even if you paraded herself with bloody fingers dripping to your elbows, they wouldn't care.

Nanny did, she was there. There when you were haunted with nightmares when the moon was particularly dark, cooing at you and letting you sleep next to her in that small bed of hers. There when you tripped and fell, small scratch resulting in a screaming tantrum. She was gentle, sweet, paid well.

You decided to go and pick flowers with Eva, and make a pretty flower crown for yourself, months after your drawing incident. Of course, you didn't have such silly dreams anymore. You didn’t wish to have your pictures hung, to have your mother wear the flower crowns you made and frankly you didn’t care for the sight of the sparkle in your parents eyes. Nanny’s was enough.

Eva agreed, dressed in a pink tutu Mrs Y/L/N gifted. You didn't comment, though deep down you gazed at the skirt in sparkling envy. Your mother never bothered to get you such pretty things. The two of you gathered saturated petals and nice ribbons while giggling amongst yourselves. Until, you accidentally caused Eva’s flowers to levitate.

Eva ran home, crying and calling you a witch. Mr and Mrs Y/L/N’s dirty looks made her feel shameful, and even dirtier when a letter addressed to her was dropped by a pretty owl you insisted on petting. It was from a school called Hogwarts, in the faraway land of London, and it seemed, not only you but Eva got the same letter the next day.

Though the Y/L/N’s and Burke’s were proud of Eva’s letter. They weren’t with yours.

— — — —

The ride to Hogwarts was interesting to say the least. You had so many questions unanswered, were you a fairy godmother too? Was that your destiny? Was that the reason you never got any attention, because you were destined to give instead of receive?

Eva was cheerful as always, making fast friends in newly bought uniforms and holding a pretty, long and thin wand, with designs flowing across the premise. Your wand was...functional. You were sad you couldn't choose, and that the wand chose the owner. It didn't make sense, what if you didn't want this wand? What if you wanted something charming like Eva’s? It should have been mutual.

It was while trying to find your way to the bathroom that you met the Weasley twins. Quite handsome, a year older and absolute fucktards. A word you learned from the two. Though you always found yourself laughing more at Fred’s jokes, you liked them both equally.

“Hey George! Look.” Fred had exclaimed, clinging onto his brothers shoulder and dragging him across. “Who's that girl?”

You introduced yourself, happy façade on, gentle words slipping out of your mouth like nectar. They had to like you, you told yourself. Just this once, more than Eva.

When sorted into Gryffindor, Eva, you and the twins became inseparable. Your group grew in second year, when Katie, Lee and Alicia Spinnet joined the bunch. You would make fun of the ghastly Potions Professor Snape, and imitate Dumbledore in the hallways to mess with the older students.

You loved your time at Hogwarts, and the adventures that came every year. Especially when Harry Potter joined.

“Hey Fred.”

Fred, who was fiddling with his bracelet you had bought him hummed in response, not bothering to look up.

You sighed, “Do you think the flowers can feel it when we pluck them?”

Fred turned at that, his bracelet was now tightly secure after his struggles. “I hope not.” he smiled, a faraway look on his face whenever he gazed at you. “You know, some people like pain.” he winked.

You merely looked at him confused, clearly way too young for...whatever that is.

He started laughing loudly, slapping his knee and causing you to scoff and slap him on the shoulder.

Third year was when it bloomed. The slight girly attention you gave Fred grew. Fred was...Fred. A handsome ginger, beater for their house's Quidditch team, always charming and charismatic that somehow oozed out of him whenever he did anything really. It was not unusual, every girl in school had a crush on him. That wasn't the case, Fred was one of your best friends, and you refused to entertain the idea of a possible...relationship.

Yet sometimes, you'd find yourself thinking about hugging and kissing Fred like you’d seen couples in your favorite movies did and you’d fall asleep with reddened cheeks and a boy with even redder hair in your mind.

But feelings couldn’t be controlled, nor easily hidden. Eva found out in your fourth year after hearing you mumble his name in your dreams. Fred Weasley was getting more handsome as years passed, and you found it hard to contain your feelings. You were crushing, hard.

Eva was...Eva about it. Happy, but nothing changed. She didn't tease like George did when he found out, nor did she act any differently towards Fred.

“Hey ____!” Fred had sat next to you, shaking the entire couch because he grew that tall during summer. “Got a new girl after me.” he looked at you, almost expectantly, as if you wouldn’t react the way you always reacted.

“That’s great Fred.” you smiled, gulping whatever lump that was forming in your throat and struggling to come out as vulgar words you wished to yell.

“Yeah,” Fred sighed, “It’s...great.”

Fred Weasley was a ladies man, and he wasn't afraid to show it. It was okay, because you were happy enough to be one of his closest, and that was enough. He often boasted about getting girls, and how successful his jokes were, and you always loved snapping back to him cockily, even more cockily than him. Playful banter was easy, comforting between them and when he turned away you would love to shyly entertain the idea of being one of those girl’s Fred talked about.

Fifth year, you had a sudden growth spurt. That was also the year where you discovered Cosmopolitan, Vogue and of course Witch Weekly. Hair no longer in a ponytail, legs shaved and smooth, short skirts with no nylons, you were a new person. After getting your period in third year, your spurt came late, but sudden. Way too sudden in the time of three months. It was hard to handle the changes occurring to your body. It was all too much that you had to become a lady and the fact that you didn’t have your mother to help was a pain you hid deep within.

It was as if whichever god above decided to squeeze your entire life into a summer and call it a day, because it was simply too busy. How ironic. No one saw your growth except old Nanny Gladys. Not Eva, nor her parents considering they went on a getaway and the Burke's, who had gone to Brazil.

But you were over that, you discovered the great telephone, and the great Hermione Granger, package deal with Ginny Weasley. You guys would talk on the phone for hours upon hours, Ginny obscuring your personality and Hermione altering your view on your parents. And Hermione was right, they were assholes. You didn't give a flying fuck about empty praises anymore.

You had become almost too tall for your older clothes, and your breasts were way too big to fit in the training bra you bought not even a month ago. Your hips, now wide and swaying as you walk became graceful, were decorated with long gem bracelets.

You cursed like a sailor that summer, ran around fields with family - your family being your dog, Jambo - bare feet. You stomped on flowers you used to pick as a little girl, stomping on those silly fairytale dreams you used to nurse, and never felt freer. For the first time ever you felt that maybe being empty could be more freeing than having false hope weighing you down.

Returning to Hogwarts was a big deal to students. Who changed, who glowed up after what happened last year - nothing, it was all childish drama.

Before your parents could even see your new self, your escapade to the Granger household was successful. The Y/L/N's didn't care, nor did they write. You knew it should’ve hurt, but frankly, you didn’t think having the pain in your chest was worth it. Hermione was awestruck, of course, after laying her sights on you for the first time since May and insisted on walking into the Entrance Hall, arm in arm with her and Ginny to show you off like some sort of revelation.

It was a revelation all right, at least to the boys, and some girls. It seemed no one saw you as a girl before. George oogled, and Lee was so shocked to find out that you were actually a girl with a pretty figure and an even prettier smile that he stopped clapping you on the back like he always did. Not a girl, you have become a woman. It was far too sudden, new uniforms and a whole new wardrobe had to be bought.

"____? You were a girl?" Fred joked, ruffling your hair like nothing changed between you. And that's when you realized, no slutty skirt, how much pushup your bra, or no matter how pretty your hair looked, Fred would always see you as ____, the girl with crooked front teeth and who once ate a worm in second year. Your teeth weren't crooked at all anymore - thanks to a few years of braces - and finally clear of uncomfortable metals but you felt as if Fred would always see the ghost of them on your pearly whites when you smiled.

He had this view of you that blinded him, caused him to treat you as he treated Ginny while he flirted and played footsie with other girls, including Eva.

That did not stop Eva from giving you false hope, and you took the bait, naive like always. Hope, that's what ruined it all. "You're beautiful now, of course you have a chance!" she said, rubbing your shoulder reassuringly, as if she had warmth to begin with.

It was all false, yet you still believed. You always had. Like a fool.

Ginny didn't like Eva, and maybe that's why you gravitated towards her. She was the first person who had ever met Eva that wasn't charmed by her kind smile and attractive words. Eva was...displeased. She grew up having the attention of everyone around, so when Ginny Weasley told her straight to her face that she wasn't shit, Eva seethed. The attention of Ginny changed nothing though, because Eva was the main character. Everyone - except Ginny, and secretly Hermione (though she would never say it) - loved her, they followed her around like puppies and praised her on her wonky wand work.

The upcoming Yule Ball brought great upswing to Hogwarts.

You were far too busy with her classes to take interest in the tournament - even though the dragon race was the gnarliest sight you had ever seen. Your goal was set, become a badass Auror and move out as soon as possible, so you didn't have to face your parents (except Holidays, yuck.)

But the Yule Ball was your chance. A chance with Fred Weasley.

You could ask to go as friends and maybe, just maybe a little hope and the night would end much more romantic than you had anticipated.

Plucking up courage was the hardest part, you practiced with your bathroom mirror so long that Ginny had to blast through the door and drag you out of her dormitory.

Fred Weasley agreed, why wouldn't he? You, his closest friend, asking to go as a group and drink all night while gossiping? It was a win win. At least that's what you told herself.

That was a lie, it wasn't a win win.

You gave it your all getting ready, dress silk, makeup and expensive shoes. You took a long shower, scrubbing and shaving yourself to a smooth gliding porcelain, only for it all to be washed down with reddened eyes and a boy with even redder hair.

Fred greeted you the same, danced the same, and you chatted the same; you were reminded again, for the second time, that you stood no chance.

Fred told you that he was going to get drinks, a quick trip to the booth and mumbled I'll be back in a second. He was not back in a second. Several minutes passed, and your worries caused your feet to follow after Fred's footsteps.

You ran, trying to find him in the empty corridors of Hogwarts, tears welling in your eyes because he wouldn't. He wasn't that cruel, life wasn't that cruel.

But it was, and in a distant empty classroom you saw Fred Weasley, on his knees and between Eva's legs, groaning and praising her like a starved man. Worshipping her like everyone else had, burying himself in her and completely forgetting the drink he’d bring back in just a second. He’d left you thirsty and alone in the Great Hall and left you to drink from a cup he hadn’t known to be forbidden. Yet Eva did.

Eva's perfect dainty hands tangled in his ginger hair, thighs clamping shut while her high pitched moans flooded your mind and echoed around your head. They were so loud that she couldn’t even hear the loud echoes of your footsteps and the woeful cries that left your lips as you ran. It wouldn’t be the first time she had ignored your pain for her own selfish reasons.

Your heart shattered, and suddenly you were six again, watching your parents praise Eva, hang her drawing on the fridge. A soft breeze tickling your bare toes, dangling from the small cushioned seat you sat on while you watched Eva braid Mrs Y/L/N’s hair. Emotionless, silent, not asking for anything, knowing that you won't receive in return. Eva's small hands carefully placed the flower crown on Mrs Y/L/N’s pool of hair, and she smiled, heart warming and hopeful. Suddenly you remembered the feel of your own hands tangling in between your locks as you stood on your tiptoes, trying to imitate your mothers braid on yourself in the mirror you couldn't reach. You pretended, only for a moment before it twisted into knots.

What a cruel joke, you thought as you watched Eva receive the world from Fred, from your parents, from your friends and from every damn person you had met.

You cried on a big set of stairs that night, your wails echoing as you asked whoever, whatever what you had done. What you had done to deserve such treatment from the people around you. It was rather cliche - and maybe a bit too dramatic. It was an uncomfortable seat of course, and your body, as well as your heart, ached. Pain, misery, false hope and enough hair spray to melt the ozone.

The princesses always cried on big sets of stairs, uncomfortable stone floors causing them to shiver while they hid away their beautifully animated faces in their perfect hands. This was different, there was no fairy godmother to fix your makeup and clone a gentlemanly Fred Weasley, a perfect prince. You knew, because you cried, and prayed and cried and prayed until your throat was sore. There was no fairy godmother, it was all a lie. There was no happy ending. There would be none.

No one came to find you that night either, and you had to drag yourself back to the Gryffindor common room, feet bare, mascara, blush - anything else you put on in hopes of being able to become like Eva even only for one night - practically nonexistent from the way your tears washed them away.

You didn't sleep that night, and your head was unusually clear, pounding, but clear. You laid awake, eyes blood-shot and stinging while your dress shuffled uncomfortably between your sheets. You were too tired to change, and your dress was far too pretty to be worn so short.

Ginny's words replayed over and over again. "They're not worth it." her voice was so clear, and true. Mr and Mrs Burke weren't worth it. Your parents weren't worth it. Fred Weasley wasn't worth it. Eva wasn't worth it. The midnight chirping of bugs invited themselves in from your open window, and blue moonlight streaks beaming down in lines from the tulle curtain flowed with breeze, it was calming.

You felt calm, for the first time in sixteen years. You felt calm.

Fred and Eva started dating that week. Everyone acted like they expected it, and you realized just how blind you had been. Eva Burke and Fred Weasley, golden couple of Hogwarts.

You watched them, emotionless, as they embraced with love and so much passion that you felt embarrassed. Embarrassed at how you’d blushed and squeal over Fred in front of Eva and George and anyone who had found out because now you knew. Now you knew that their amused smiles were probably pitying grimaces because they knew that you two were never meant to be. It was always Fred and Eva.

Fred was an amazing boyfriend, making sure Eva was taken care of, lovingly staring at her whenever and wherever, arm looped around her waist at all times; you realized they were truly not worth it.

"You disgust me."

You didn't mean the words to escape so carelessly, but when you said them, you realized you didn't want to take them back. The growing pit in your stomach felt weightless. "Excuse me?" said Fred, stopping his nibbling on Eva's neck, who was just as shocked. You scoffed, Eva already had enough purple bruises to parade around so why did Fred have the need to add more?

"You heard me right," George, Lee, Ron, Harry, Katie and whoever sitting in their circle stared at you, wide-eyed, Ginny and Hermione, however, were grinning devilishly. Kind ____, wouldn't hurt a fly, quiet at times and didn't know how to stand up for herself. It was shocking, but you were done pretending. You didn't want to be like that anymore, you wanted to say whatever came to mind and not worry about the consequences. "You guys disgust me, I know I should be supportive but you don't match, at all."

You turned to George. "And you, no you can't talk about Katie like that." George went pink. "You're disgusting for sleeping around carelessly and telling girls you'd write, stop giving people false hope. Grow up. You’re nearly an adult and you can’t even treat a girl right."

"And you Lee," Lee went quiet. "What gives you the right to make fun of me like that. I'll wear whatever the fuck I want, just because you don't have the courage to wear a headband. If you can talk about my breasts, I'll talk about your shrimp."

"Ron, you take advantage of Hermione then lead her on. Open your eyes, asshole."

"Harry, you're not the main character. You're not always going to be the center of attention, nor do you have the right to yell at your friends."

"Alicia, god you're so stupid. I'm sorry, you're great but such an airhead. No, you can't ride a Thestral if you can't see them, and stop eating quill ink they're bad for you."

You stood up, grinning proudly, heart loud in your chest you feared someone might hear. "Frankly, I don't wanna be friends anymore. I'm done with this façade, except you two, 'Gin, Hermione. The rest of you are just so fake." she gestured to them. "Boys," she nodded again. "Don't talk to me anymore, and Lee, give me back the money, think it's about time don't you think? I've been paying for you since third year."

And with that, you left. You left Three Broomsticks, grin wide and chest heaving. Hermione and Ginny ran behind, whooping and cheering you on as they laughed.

The news of your outburst spread fast like wildfire caught in wind. That week was bliss, you no longer had to watch Fred and Eva, nor did you have to act sweet to anyone. You didn't have to laugh along Lee's sexist jokes and look away to wince, it was pure bliss. You realized that the feeling of being free didn’t have to be momentary.

Pansy Parkinson was surprisingly a good friend, she didn't have the same fakeness to her, the one Eva had where her smile was too kind. She spoke her mind, though every Slytherin did, and you liked that. Ginny wasn't happy with your new found friends, but she couldn't separate you. You made your own decisions from now on. It was refreshing.

You told your new friends everything, eager to get it off your chest and breathe, and they listened. For the first time, someone listened. You didn't have to get good grades, nor did you have to act like a sweet angel.

You teared up the first time Pansy said; "It's not your fault,". You knew it wasn't your fault, but hearing someone else say it with such genuine eyes made you believe. Actually believe.

It started off with you watching from the sidelines as Draco and Blaise pranked, insulted and shamed whatever your old friend group did. It wasn't unusual for Draco to act this way, but he got especially irritated after hearing what you told them. Blaise, someone usually quiet, had stepped up and decided to somehow release the pent up anger he had for the Gryffindor students.

The year ended, and you had started to sneak in an insult or two towards Fred and Eva. It felt nice, like finally, step by step you were clearing your years of hidden jealousy. But, there was no one to tell you that this simply wasn't the right way.

That summer, you stayed at the Burrow. Ginny had invited you and you were quick to say yes; obviously a fact forgotten. Fred, George and whoever you had insulted last year stayed in the same house. You simply didn't want to go home, and if this meant seeing Fred Weasley then you had to endure it.

Molly Weasley was the sweetest person you could ever meet, and it was genuine. It felt genuine, you feared your teeth might rot if the woman got another word in. Molly greeted you as if you were her own daughter she hadn't seen in years. You felt valued, seen.

Until Eva was there, Fred invited her. You had to watch the only person you were able to love, introduce the only person he was able to love to his mother. It wasn't you. It would never be you.

And you realized, even after everything, Eva had once again found a way to be more loved than you.

The grin Molly broke out was nothing short of beautiful, and you couldn't help but smile as well. The smile wasn't directed towards you of course, and you sat on that small kitchen chair, celebrating a relationship that caused your ruin.

Eva didn't care that your friendship was over, nothing budged in her life. She still got the same attention, still received the same love from Fred. The same affection, the same attention and the same everything. Or so it seemed.

Though unlike Eva, Fred merely watched you with sad eyes.

You stayed clear of the couple and the rest. You hung out with Ginny and Hermione only, ignoring the dirty looks Ron and Harry gave you. The secret, whispered insults Eva threw your way. George didn't say anything, but he didn't object either. This was enough to show how he felt. At this point you really didn't care. Why would you, when they didn’t either?

You held your head high just like Ginny and Hermione told you to, and you spoke in a loud and clear tone whenever asked something. Eva didn't, she stuttered when you spoke to her directly. Her words scrambled against each other when she tried to voice her insults in louder statements than a whisper. For the first time, you felt relief. You felt intimidating, protected by the barriers you had built around yourself.

Longest day of summer hit, and it boiled. Tanning became a distant dream, you would bake in this weather, and you were thankful to the big AC box you had brought from home. You couldn't sleep that night, sweat beads falling down your forehead that was already covered in a thin sheen. You had decided to get a cold glass of water, not sure how you ended up face to face with Fred Weasley. His wand tip shone with blue light, and his freckles were much darker because of the sun. It seemed the sun decided to be cruel to Fred Weasley back and wash Fred over with it's deathly heat. He was sunburnt, this was an understatement. He was burnt.

You couldn't help but start laughing when you met, ignoring the proximity, ignoring the sleeping house, dead silent and a big leap from the lively Burrow, ignoring Fred's soft breaths he let out every other second. You couldn't live off on false hope anymore.

Suddenly it wasn't so funny anymore, and your face quickly fell. You took a big step back and inhaled, ready to ignore him like you had been doing for the past year. But Fred Weasley was a persistent man, and he gripped your arm and looked at you with determined, doe-like eyes. "Tell me what I did wrong." he said, adamant on fixing this, whatever this was. You both didn't know.

You stood silent.

"Please flower,"

"Don't call me that." you said, stern and gaze sharp. Fred didn't react, he kept on insisting.

"Please, tell me how to fix this. I can fix it," he pleaded, a plethora of empty promises fell out of his lips like nothing. He lied like it was nothing, he was oblivious to everything he and everyone around them had put you through. It was infuriating.

You didn't say anything. You knew he would not fix anything but maybe staying silent would give him the false hope that spinned mockingly in your head for the past eighteen years.

"I'm sorry, just please. I can fix this, I promise, don't be like that." empty tears fell down from his eyes. He looked empty, tired. They lacked the charm they usually shined with and you wondered if it was only you that caused such dullness. Eye bags prominent that you never noticed before. It all felt like a lie, a cruel joke.

Fred Weasley was simply a cruel joke. His presence could only be compared to a shot of whiskey, especially when you down it like how Hagrid nurses a Firewhiskey filled pint glass. You never know how it will hit you. But in the end, you'd always find yourself curled next to the toilet, crying your eyes out because your headache was simply too much.

He was sobbing now, hanging onto your waist like you would simply vanish and you let him. The grip he had on was like steel vice - almost concerning - but you didn't touch him, didn't say anything. You just let him be, like he did to you. Allowed him to hopelessly hang off you before you would eventually leave him alone, like he did to you. "Where did I go wrong? How could we end up like this? What went wrong?"

‘You’, but your voice couldn’t be found.

Questions were useless when the answer was already right in front of his eyes. You didn’t let a single tear fall, you wouldn't forgive yourself if you cried in front of him.

You blinked, and that night was over. Summer continued on like nothing happened, like it didn't leave you heart broken and in such shame yet again. You continued on ignoring Fred as he looked at you with sorrowful eyes. Looked at you more, with more than he did his own girlfriend.

You blinked and the school year started again with another terror looming around the corner. There was simply no need to keep up anymore, because school was easy. You attended classes, got good grades, a few scar here and there from Umbridge's torture chamber, a woman who stood at a whopping five foot three yet still teriffied an entire school.

You blinked and you had already become a proud member of Draco's insult the Gryffindor's club. You didn't even feel bad, being horrible to the people you hated for years felt like a breath of fresh air. You didn't go as far as physically hurting any of your old friends, but coming up with damaging insults was such fun. A lot more fun than sitting around with a fake smile.

You blinked, and you were already moving out from your childhood house. Mr and Mrs Y/L/N were unusually happy, this was a given. They would have a new empty room and make another office, like they didn't have enough already. You feared they would start getting rid of bathrooms once too into their work, and they would have to do their business in bushes or buckets. Scratch that, you didn't fear that, it would be fucking hilarious.

You blinked, and when had time passed too quickly? Where did all those empty childhood years had gone? You were already graduating, on your way to become an Auror. You had lost contact with all your old friends now, regretfully Ginny and Hermione too.

The war had hit too quickly, luckily you survived, so did your friends. Unluckily, it left you with a nasty scar right across your left brow. It looked sick, but the hit wasn't worth it. It hurt like a bitch. You could see, it was a close call but vision wasn't an issue. The trauma though, god did Bellatrix's breath smell bad.

When it was all over, you had seen Fred hugging his family tightly. It seemed the Weasley's all survived, and you gave them each tight lipped smiles while holding a bunched up rag to your head to stop the blood gushing out. This wasn't the reunion you wanted to have with Ginny, but hey, you take what you can get after a revolutionary Wizarding war you barely made out alive.

Before a franticly running Fred could reach you though, you apparated to your flat in Diagon Alley, ignoring the thrumming of your heart, and how you practiced in front of a mirror to congratulate their successful joke shop that morning.

[mornyavie]

Glossary of references in The Bifrost Incident

 It’s Very Long and yet also not really complete. If there are any questions / clarifications I can add, or I’ve messed anything up and need to fix it, let me know!

The tl;dr is that nearly every word in the album draws from either Norse mythology or the Lovecraft / Cthulhu mythos, directly or indirectly.

@moony221b here’s that glossary that I promised forever and a day ago.

Edit: I decided to create this document of annotations (x). Lyrics taken from Genius; I’m not totally sure how accurate they are, but hopefully they help get the point across! Again, questions and complaints both welcome.

Arcomba

I can’t find anything on this, would be interested if someone knows.

Asgard

One of the Nine Worlds, specifically the one where most of the Æsir (the subset of gods most associated with humans, including the well-known ones like Thor and Odin) live.

Thus Asgard is the planet on which the most powerful inhabitants of the Yggdrasil system, and those named after the gods, are found (though the subjugation / colonization relationship does not exist in myth).

Azathoth

This one’s from Lovecraft; Azathoth is the greatest of the Outer Gods, often served and worshiped by other gods themselves. Often described as mad, a demon, a sultan, or putting it all together as the Mad Demon Sultan. Resides at “the center of the universe,” where he appears as some sort of vast, amorphous, bubbling, roiling mass of “nuclear chaos.” (Nuclear probably refers to center, not nuclear power, which didn’t really exist when this was written). Servants about him play drums and flutes.

Mentioned briefly as the train travels through the Bifrost and into his realm, and a lot of the narration in those few verses draws directly from Lovecraft’s descriptions.

Baldur

The god of light and beloved by all, Baldr was killed by Loki in his final betrayal of the gods. After the murder Loki was tracked down and imprisoned, and will escape at the start of Ragnarok. In particular, Loki used a spear made of mistletoe... or, in the album, missile two. And tricked another god into throwing it, which I think is mimicked in the distance and impersonality of the crime. Look up more of his story if you want, it’s interesting and important, but that’s the relevant info here.

Bifrost

The rainbow bridge that the gods use to travel between worlds. 

Which is, of course, directly analogous to the wormhole-ish extradimensional-ish space of “shifting, undulating hues” through which the train travels.

Edda

The Prose Edda and the Poetic Edda are the names given to two pieces of literature that are most people’s main source for Norse mythology. The Prose Edda was written by Snorri Sturluson around 1200 to teach his (mostly Christian) contemporaries about the mythology and mythological references that made up a big chunk of Norse literature. The Poetic Edda is a set of poems that serve as a major source for Norse tales.

This is partially just a way to connect our hero Lyfrassir Edda to the Norse traditions, but also definitely a reference to their (presumed) role as the main “recorder” and source of information to get out of the Yggdrasil system.

Fate

Honestly the way the Mechanisms deal with fate in general is very interesting and arguably sometimes quite Nordic... but in particular, Bifrost Incident references fate or destiny a number of times and features a number of situations where the outcome is fixed and can’t be changed, but you have to fight anyways: “Killing me won’t save your world” “I don’t care” or how Loki and Sigyn can’t stop the train, but can only delay it. A lot of Norse tragedy revolves around people heading into battle knowing that they’re doomed and fighting anyways, or around the cycle of conflict that marked the cultural requirements for avenging insults. And the myth cycle is notable for the fact that the gods know, explicitly, exactly what Ragnarok is, what’s going to happen, and how they’re going to die, but will fight in it anyways. 

Inevitability and helplessness in the face of what you can’t possibly understand, let alone fight, which is a depiction slightly sideways of the Nordic version, are very Lovecraftian themes.

Fenrir

A wolf, child of Loki and father of Skoll and Hati, who was chained by the gods (particularly by Tyr, who placed his hand in the wolf’s mouth as “hostage” to assure him they would unchain him later, and lost the hand). He will break free at Ragnarok to join the battle against them and kill Odin.

With his association with monsters and with Loki, it’s fairly clear why he was aligned with the resistance movement. He’s serving “five life sentences” as a reference to his being chained, and the whole motif of the train’s journey being hijacked for a prison break certainly references the various characters who will be freed or break free as Ragnarok begins.

Frey

The brief reference of Frey being killed by the raging fire of the sun, with “no weapon, no defense,” is a direct translation of the god’s role in Ragnarok, when he will be killed by Surtr. Frey gave away his sword for the opportunity to woo his eventual wife, and so will be armed only with a stag’s antlers in his final combat. Also called Freyr.

Freya (“weeps tears of red-gold”)

Like her brother Frey (and yeah, these names get confusing), Freya is associated with harvest and fertility, though unlike him she also gets battle. In the song she weeps red-gold tears at the death of her husband Odr, which in myth she is said to do when her husband is absent. Also called Freyja.

Garm

Garm is another wolf, who guards Hel’s gates. He also breaks free at Ragnarok, and his howling heralds its coming. As in the album, he will fight and kill Tyr. Also called Garmr.

Hati

There’s a lot of wolves in Norse mythology. This one is a child of Fenrir. He chases the moon across the sky, and will swallow it when Ragnarok comes.

Mentioned briefly only as one of the resistance members on the train.

Heimdall

Heimdall is the watchman of the gods, with keen eyes and foresight, and guards the Bifrost as the entrance to Asgard. He will blow his horn to summon the gods to the final battle during Ragnarok, and he and Loki will kill one another. Also called Heimdallr; you’re probably noticing a pattern. It’s a grammar thing.

Mentioned as guarding the train and “doing his part.” His dying screams initiate the train’s destruction and echo throughout it, which presumably recalls the horn thing.

Hel

Another daughter of Loki, and, as the name will imply to English speakers, a guardian of the dead. She refuses to give Baldur back to the world of the living after Loki kills him. Also the name of the realm in which she resides, and to which go those who die of disease or old age. Doesn’t necessarily have the same bad-punishment connotation as modern Hell. I don’t know whether there’s any indication of what she herself is doing in Ragnarok, but many of her people and associates are certainly fighting against the gods, and I’m fairly certain the ship Naglfar, which carries Loki and his allies to Ragnarok, sets sail from Hel.

Hel as a prison colony clearly references the various characters the gods have chained or otherwise imprisoned (though, in myth, not all within Hel) as well as her alignment with “other side” during Ragnarok, and the jailbreak the resistance members are planning recalls the breaking of all these bonds as Ragnarok begins.

Hoddmimis

The woods in which Líf and Lífþrasir (see Lyfrassir) will shelter to survive Ragnarok and the various disasters accompanying it. 

So, good news! We can be marginally assured of Lyfrassir’s survival after taking shelter at the mining-colony of Hoddmimis.

Jormungandr

The world serpent, which lives in the seas and encircles the earth. Will arise during Ragnarok, causing great floods, and fight Thor; Thor will slay the serpent, but in turn the serpent’s poison will cause his death, after he staggers “nine steps back.”

Thor’s fight with Odin-turned-serpent is pretty clearly analogous to this, especially the taking nine steps to the window before destroying it with his hammer, resulting in both their deaths. I don’t think there’s any mythological basis to Odin turning into the serpent, though

Kvasir (“blood drained out”)

Kvasir was a very wise man/god and the originator of poetry. I’m leaving out a fair amount of his birth and life; the important information here is that two dwarves who were jealous of his knowledge tricked him, killed him, drained his blood, and mixed it with honey to make mead. Any who drank of the mead gained the gift of poetry / scholarship; eventually the gods stole it.

I’m not sure if there’s a reason they decided to specifically describe him as a resistance member, but there’s a clear parallel in Kvasir’s blood being drained and used to power the train, especially with the language of glyphs and sigils providing power.

Loki

Ah, Loki. Male in the general canon, though not without genderbending (he turns into a mare and gives birth to Fenrir, Hel, and Jormungandr, for instance). Inasmuch as the Norse myths we have can be organized into a “chronology,” you could do it (in my opinion) along Loki’s path from a mostly benevolent trickster god whose antics occasionally cause trouble to a genuinely malevolent figure. Associated with wit, magic, and trickery. Despite how modern lore (I suspect influenced by Marvel) often portrays Thor and Loki as brothers and children of Odin, in the myth Loki and Odin are bonded as blood-brothers. But Loki also often appears alongside Thor. As mentioned, parent of three of the main figures of Ragnarok. In the “final” myth, he jealously arranges the death of the god Baldr, who was loved by all; then he appears at a feast, where he exchanges insults with the other gods. This is the last straw; they capture him and chain him to a stone, over which they tie a serpent. Venom drips from the serpent’s fangs, causing him great agony. His wife Sigyn stays by his side, catching the venom in a bowl, but when she is forced to leave for a moment to dump it out his thrashing causes earthquakes. He will break free at the start of Ragnarok and sail to Asgard, where he and Heimdall will kill each other.

Hopefully that’s enough to give you a good background for Loki’s role in the album... it’s pretty clear why she’s framed as the opposition to the gods and the “leader” of the resistance movement, as a call to her role in Ragnarok. Her association with magic and trickery make sense for her being the “expert” in the twisted Lovecraftian “science” that produces the train. It also parallels her role in myth; her actions often get the gods into trouble, but they just as often need her wit and knowledge to get them out of it, as Odin needs her knowledge despite her taking action to destroy the train. And the setup at the end - drip, drip, drip, her face twisted in pain, her wife beside her, her “release” heralding the end of the world - precisely echoes the language of her bondage in myth; though her mind-destroying imprisonment by Odin also invokes this.

Lovecraft(ian)

A highly influential horror writer from the early 20th century. He’s largely credited with the creation of the creation of the “cosmic horror” genre, a type of horror which emphasises a vast, unknowable, uncaring universe against which we cannot hope to even begin to fight. His ideas and the gods / demons / creatures he created form the basis of the “Cthulhu mythos” or even “Lovecraft mythos,” which today is a sort of standard set of assumptions on which writers can build. Lovecraftian themes of apocalypse, inevitability, and powerlessness are highly prevalent in the album. Several of the gods in this mythos are used; in particular, Yog-Sothoth (see below). Also, a lot of the general description (madness, roiling chaos, undulating colors) draws from his distinctive vocabulary that remains staple of the genre. It’s worth noting that Lovecraft was a horrible and very racist person, but the genre today is widely used by people who are not terrible.

Lyfrassir

Líf and Lífþrasir in Norse mythology are the two humans who will survive Ragnarok and rebuild humanity; a hopeful sign for our album’s protagonist!

Midgard

In Norse mythology, the “middle” world where humans live. Earth.

Nagthrod

I don’t know this one.

@acorn-mushroom pointed out that it may be a mis-transcription of Naglfar, the name of the (ocean) ship which will carry Loki and his followers from the shores of Hel to the battlefield at Ragnarok. It’s made of dead men’s nails.

Odin

The king of the gods in Norse mythology. As the god of both wisdom and madness, Odin’s role in the album as a researcher and technological ruler whose discoveries drive her slowly mad is both very Lovecraftian and a reasonable leap. I could say a lot about the figure of Odin, but I think this character is one of the most divergent from the myth, in detail if not in role.

Odr

Óðr is Freya’s husband.

Outer gods

A Lovecraft thing referring to several of the most horrible and powerful gods, including Yog-Sothoth.

Ragnarok

The apocalypse, basically, in Norse mythology. Proceeded by various catastrophes, especially a very long winter, mentioned in the album, culminating in a great battle between the gods and their enemies, and resulting in the death of the majority of gods and other creatures of the world.

Ratatosk

A squirrel who runs up and down Yggdrasil, carrying messages between some of the tree’s other inhabitants and sowing discord. The Ratatosk Express links the worlds of the Yggdrasil System, and causes “discord” in the resistance’s opposition to it.

Sigyn

Loki’s wife. See Loki for her role in his imprisonment.

Skoll

Sköll in Norse mythology is the wolf that chases and will someday eat the sun. Association with Fenrir (another wolf) and other monsters motivates his inclusion in the list of resistance members.

Thor

A Norse god, associated with war, lightning/thunder, strength, and in general sort of... common people, as opposed to Odin’s association with kings and royalty. Prone to anger, which makes sense with his depiction as a volatile military leader in the album. He is heavily associated with his hammer mjölnir, hence jokes about “throwing a hammer in the works” and whatnot. Often associates with Loki, both as friends and as enemies as Loki progresses from a mostly-harmless trickster to actively opposing the other gods; thus how in the album he and Loki were once friends. See above for his death fighting Jormungandr.

Tyr

Another Norse god associated with war. He sacrificed a hand to bind Fenrir, and will be killed by Garmr during Ragnarok, both events referenced in the album.

Yggdrasil

The world-tree of Norse mythology, which supports the nine worlds of the cosmology. 

Yog-Sothoth

An Outer God of Lovecraftian mythos; also called the Gate and Key. It is associated as sort of the substance of time and space, binding together the cosmos. A lot of the description during the Ragnarok sequences draws directly from the “canonical” descriptions of this deity, and the invocation spoken by Lyfrassir in Red Signal draws from a story about this creature, The Case of Charles Dexter Ward.

[storiesforallfandoms]

silence ~ lucifer morningstar;lucifer

word count: 2873

request?: no

description: when a new intern at the lapd with a special power meets the devil himself, they both find that their powers are useless against one another

pairing: lucifer morningstar x female!reader

warnings: swearing

masterlist

this is my 666th post, so i thought it was fitting

In retrospect, becoming an intern at the LAPD seemed like a good idea in my head. I thought it might be like those movies where someone with a power like mine proved herself to be useful in police investigations and rose the ranks quickly until she was like a junior detective or something, going around on cases with the cops and helping to figure them out. It seemed like the right way to use my gift instead of just sitting on it and trying to pretend it didn’t exist.

But boy, was I ever wrong.

First, I was never allowed into the interrogation room to face the criminals being brought in, so I couldn’t even use my gift. The one time that I did use it, I had managed to get into the viewing room while an interrogation was happening to bring something to the police chief. One of the detectives was interrogating a suspect and, even through the one way glass, I was able to hear his thoughts. He had no idea what she was talking about, that he hadn’t been anywhere near the crime scene, he wasn’t even in town, when it happened, but the cops weren’t believing his alibi. I thought this was my chance to finally prove myself.

“He’s innocent,” I said, drawing the attention of the police chief and the other detective in the room with me. “He wasn’t even in town. He has out of town alibis, you should call them, they’ll check out.”

I expected the police chief to ask me how I knew, or to even be impressed that I knew so much. I was so proud of myself, until I looked up at the police chief’s face to see he was glowering at me.

“Go back to getting coffee, intern. This isn’t any of your business.”

Of course, I was right. His alibis checked out and he was sent home that evening. Did the police chief tell me that I was right? Did he apologize for brushing me off and ask me how I could possibly know that the suspect was innocent just from a brief glance? No, of course not. Instead, he barked at me to go get him some file on a different active case.

I was debating on quitting. I had never even wanted to be a police officer, far from it actually. I had no reason to stay if no one was going to take me seriously. I even had my noticed written and ready to give to the chief, I just had to work up the courage to face him first.

I was bringing some case files to Detective Decker when I heard an unfamiliar British voice speaking.

“I’m telling you, it was the pimp. He doesn’t have an alibi to confirm his whereabouts the night of the murder, and the dead hooker’s fiancé said that she told him all sorts of stories about the pimp being violent. He’s basically a textbook killer.”

I came around the corner to find a tall, handsome man stood in front of Chloe’s desk. She was rolling her eyes at him as I approached.

“The pimp has no motive, Lucifer, there’s no reason that he’d kill her,” she told him.

Lucifer? I thought. Like the Devil?

“Of course there is! Besides the fact that he’s a violent pimp, the girl was getting married. She wanted to stop working for him, to get a real job so that she could have a real family, that would make any pimp pissed off.”

Chloe looked past Lucifer and smiled at me. “Hey (Y/N). You got those files for me?”

I nodded and handed them to her. As I did so, a smirk appeared on Lucifer’s face. “Well, well, well, what do we have here?”

“Lucifer, this is the precinct’s intern, (Y/N). (Y/N), this is my partner, Lucifer,” Chloe introduced us. She shot Lucifer a lot upon seeing him looking me up and down. “Please do not scare her away, I like her a lot.”

I smiled brightly at Chloe.

“I’m not going to scare her away,” Lucifer insisted. “I just wanted to get to know her. You’ve been keeping the pretty intern a secret from me, you naughty girl.”

I could hear Chloe’s internal groan as she rolled her eyes yet again. Lucifer put a hand on my shoulder and turned me to face him. He looked deeply into my eyes and I could feel my heart racing.

“Now, little intern (Y/N), you don’t want to just be an intern here, do you?” I shook my head. What kind of question was that? I don’t think anyone wanted to be an intern anywhere. It was just where you started until you could climb the ranks. “No, of course not. There’s something more you want in life, something juicier than bringing coffee to lazy cops. Now, tell me...what is it that you truly desire?”

I looked into Lucifer’s eyes and I could see that he was expecting something from me. I eyed Chloe in confusion. “Is this a joke or something?”

Chloe let out a laugh as Lucifer’s face twisted in confusion.

“Looks like we’ve found someone else who’s immune to your charms, Lucifer,” Chloe laughed.

I broke free from Lucifer’s hold and turned to Chloe. “I wasn’t eavesdropping, but I heard you talking about the murder you two are looking into. Are you still questioning the pimp?”

“We have him in the interrogation room, but he’s not talking,” Chloe sighed. “He keeps saying he was home that night, but he lives alone so no one there can confirm if he was, and his neighbours say they didn’t see him that night but he could possibly have been home.”

“Which he wasn’t, he was out murdering our dead hooker,” Lucifer commented. Chloe glared at him as he spoke.

“If you’re going to talk to him again do you think I could...come with you?” I asked. “I think I could be helpful.”

“Of course!” Chloe said. “You’d be more helpful than Lucifer, that’s for sure.”

In her head, I could see the previous interrogation of their prime suspect; in which Lucifer spent most the time accusing the suspect of being the murderer until the pimp finally said he didn’t want to speak with Chloe anymore unless it was just the two of them.

Chloe nodded for me to join her as she walked towards the interrogation room. I nearly skipped with excitement as I followed her into the room. Sitting on one side of the metal table was a young looking guy, probably in his early 20s, wearing jeans that were at least two sizes too big and a wife beater tank top. When the door to the interrogation room opened, he looked up. His eyes immediately landed on me and a gross smirk spread across his face.

“You brought me some eye candy,” he mused as he looked me up and down. “Hey sweetness, if you ever get tired of being good you should come find me.”

I tried not to gag as Chloe said, “That’s enough. We’re not here for you to stare at us, we’re here to get to the bottom of Destiny’s murder.”

“I told you and your crazy ass partner that I didn’t kill her!” he snapped. “Just because no one saw me at home doesn’t mean I was the one who killed her.”

“I know that,” Chloe said, “and we’re not accusing you of anything. It’s just our jobs, when there’s no alibis to confirm your story we can’t just let you go. Especially not when Destiny has reported you for violence in the past.”

“That’s bullshit!” the pimp snapped. “I have never hit any of my girls! I love them like they was my family. If I ever hit Destiny, it was in self defence. The bitch was crazy!”

I looked into his head to see he was thinking of the last time he saw Destiny. It was when she told him about her engagement, and she was telling him she wanted to quit the prostitution business so she could have a real family. He got angry, lashed out and hit her. It was one punch, but he gave her a black eye. She began to cry and he hit her again, this time a slap, and called her a whore. It took another many restraining him to get him to finally back off of her.

“He’s lying,” I said, causing both Chloe and the pimp to look at me in shock. “The last time he saw Destiny he gave her a black eye.”

“That’s not true,” the pimp said, although the look on his face and the uncertainty in his voice said otherwise.

“Actually, that matches with a report the police got from Destiny just a few days before she died,” Chloe said, pulling a sheet of paper from the file. “It says here that she called the police on you to report an assault. You also claimed self defense then.”

“It was self defense!”

“Then where are the marks that Destiny left on you?” I asked.

He went silent then. Chloe and I smirked, we had him right where we wanted him.

“Now that we’ve gotten that out of you,” Chloe said, “let's try this again; where were you on the night of Destiny’s murder?”

“I was home,” he insisted, although now the cocky tone of his voice was gone. “I worked until like 2am, making sure any of the girls that were out got back and paid what they owed, then I went home. I crashed almost immediately, didn’t wake up until 12pm the next day.”

To my disappointment, the scene playing out in his head showed he was telling the truth. I saw him collecting money from his other call girls, then returning home for the night. The clock on his bedside table read “2:50am” before it went blank and he fell asleep. I looked over at the file on Destiny’s death to see that they placed her murder around 3am.

“He’s telling the truth,” I sighed. “He was at his home at 2:50am, just ten minutes before Destiny was murdered.”

Chloe looked at me in shock again. “How do you know that?”

I gave her a small smile and shrugged a little. “I have a gift.”

I dismissed myself, feeling as though I had nothing else to offer. I was walking with my head a little higher and feeling a little prouder knowing I had finally put my gift to some use, when I felt someone grab me and pull me into a nearby empty office. I was slammed against a wall, knocking the air out of me. I wasn’t ready for a fight, but luckily for me there wasn’t going to be one, as the perpetrator was none other than Lucifer.

“What are you?” he asked.

“Dizzy,” I responded, blinking to try and get my head straight.

“No, I mean what are you? How did you know those things about the pimp?”

I pushed Lucifer off of me, straightening my clothes and finally able to compose myself. “Not that you’d believe me, but I’m able to read minds. I have been ever since I was young. I wanted to put that to good use so I applied to work here to try and help with the investigations, but unfortunately detectives don’t take interns too seriously.”

Lucifer circled me like a shark circling his prey, looking at me with confusion. I felt him beginning to pull up my shirt and I quickly batted his hand away. “What the hell man! Back off!”

“I just wanted to see if you had wings!” he responded.

“What? Why would I have wings?”

“Because no mortal human should be able to do what you do. The gift you have has only ever been held by an angel.”

I rolled my eyes and turned my back to him, pulling up my shirt just enough that he could see my bare lower back. “Well, sorry to disappoint, but I am just a mortal human. No angel wings here.”

As I began to tuck my shirt back into my pants, I realized that the room was silent. Like, actually silent. I couldn’t hear Lucifer thinking, which was strange. No one ever had just a blank mind, everyone was always constantly thinking, whether it was about their friends, family, what they were going to eat later, things stressing them out, relationships or lack thereof. People were always thinking, so there was always a dim hum in my mind of the voices of those around me speaking.

But not Lucifer. I couldn’t hear what he was thinking of me as he eyed my back again in confusion.

“I can’t hear you,” I breathed.

“I’m not speaking,” he told me.

“No, I know you’re not speaking, but I can’t...I can’t hear your thoughts.” I looked at him, curiously. “What are you?”

“The Devil,” he responded, plainly, as if it should be obvious. And maybe it should have, his name was Lucifer after all.

“Wait, like...like the Devil? Satan himself?”

“Oh, don't use that nickname, it’s my least favourite.” He paused a moment before adding, “Wait, do you actually believe me?”

“Of course,” I responded with a shrug. “I mean, I’m a mind reader. Who am I to say that angels and demons don’t exist?”

Lucifer let out a slight laugh, one which I mirrored. I leaned against the wall behind me while Lucifer leaned against the desk. We were both watching each other, intently.

“You’re the first person to believe that I’m actually the Devil,” he told me.

“You can’t blame others for not believing, most people think all that stuff is made up, or it’s impossible for angels and demons to walk among us, even the religious people,” I said. “You’re the first person to believe me without having to get proof.”

“Well, to be fair, I did just watch you interrogating a pimp and cause him to deflate quicker than a popped balloon,” he pointed out. “Have you ever had trouble reading minds before?”

I shook my head. “Never. For as long as I can remember, I’ve always been able to hear people’s thoughts. It’s kind of refreshing to just be in the silence right now, honestly.”

“I can imagine. How many dates were ruined with that little gift of yours?”

I couldn’t help but laugh at that thought. There was definitely more than a few dates ruined because the guy would show up and either think She looks nothing like I thought she would, or, halfway through the date, would stay picturing what I looked like naked and how nice it would be to hear me moan their name.

“Let’s just say I’ve never had a stable relationship,” I responded. “The last guy I managed to be with for longer than a few dates thought about breaking up with me on numerous occasions, but never did. I decided to see how long he would go thinking about how unhappy he was in the relationship until he finally broke up with me. Turns out, as long as it took to sleep with his best girl friend that he always told me not to worry about.”

Lucifer winced. “That’s rough.”

I shook my head. “It was actually satisfying to see the colour drain from his face when I told him I knew every unhappy thought he had, and that I knew he had cheated. I warned him I could read minds, but he never believed me. He did after that.”

The two of us stood in silence for some time. I wondered what you were supposed to say when you found out you had met the actual Devil, if there was anything to say. Had Lucifer told anyone else? Did anyone actually believe that he was the Devil? Judging by his earlier comment, probably not, but there had to be at least one.

I sighed and stood straight again. “I gotta go back to work. If I’m not at the police chief’s every beck and call he loses his mind.”

I rolled my eyes for dramatic effect, then started to leave the office. Before I could, Lucifer quickly stood and reached a hand out to grab my arm.

“Wait! Before you go, I actually own a club, it’s called Lux. You might’ve heard of it.” I nodded because of course I had, who hadn’t heard of Lux? It was like the biggest club in town. “Well, if you don’t have plans tonight, maybe you could stop by. We could get to know each other a bit better. You could tell me the dirty secrets of all my patrons.”

I chuckled. “The Devil doesn’t know the dirty secrets of everyone in the world?”

“Of course not, that’s far too much information for one Devil to handle.”

I smiled and considered his offer. Why not? It could be fun, right? Partying with the Devil for a night? Who could say they had done that, and actually meant it.

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll see you tonight, 9:00 work for you?”

Lucifer smiled. “That sounds lovely to me.”

[angelicmichael]

Hoax - Prologue

Michael Langdon x Mallory

Summary: After failing to kill murder house Michael; Mallory must travel back in time to Sojourn era to try again. However; she finds to her horrific discovery that jumping through time repeatedly does not come without its consequences.

Words: 3.0k+

Warnings: Death, They both almost die (or do die) so.. a lot of describing wounds and nearly dying and that jazz ✌🏻, major wounds, lowkey a dark fic, Mallory discusses wanting to kill Michael and finds celebrates it??, angst, Mallory goes and sees his dead body, blood

A/N: this takes place right after Mallory drives away from Michael in the finale btw!! I literally didnt intend on making it this dark but it just happened LOL. I feel like most of the dark stuff is vague so.. it should still be chill. This is the first time ive written millory/character x character so please go easy on me!! I also tried to follow canon and stay accurate to details the best I could but knowing me I probably fucked up somehow LMAO but enjoy 💖💖 major plot twist is coming in the next chapter btw! Also Mallorys thots are italicized.

As soon as Mallory drove away; she knew nearly immeadietly that it was too good to be true. Things could never be this fucking easy.

She felt a pit in her stomach almost instantaneously once she was in the year 2015; Even though she couldnt decipher if the anxiety was a warning or something else.. She continued on with the dark destiny she was put on this earth to fulfull.. to kill the antichrist.

Even though she was fully aware of this; and had come to terms with what she had to do - she learned the hard way that it didnt seem to make things easier at all; like how she dreamed it would. Although, even now as she continued to speed away from the infamous 'murder house', the drop in her stomach seemed to only grow; along with her self doubt.

Was he really dead??

Did I really do it??

She knew that the answer to both of those questions should be yes; but the longer she remained driving in her car, getting farther and farther away from where the incident had occured.. she knew something was wrong.

Mallory suddenly jolted the steering wheel into a sharp left; continuing to turn it until she was doing U-Turn.. She couldnt help but to feel completly bewildered at her own actions - never doing something so impulsive, like going back to a crime scene let alone commit murder, in her life.

Although Mallory felt a bit disgusted with her recent previous actions; she couldnt help but imagine how disgusted she would feel with herself if she didnt pull this off. She mulled over the previous thoughts she had had about this moment and how dreamed it would feel; she thought she would feel joy, elated, and at peace but.. instead she still felt as if she was being suffocated by his presence.

He wasnt gone. Not yet.

She pressed her foot down on the gas, she knew she hadn't gone too far away from Michael's residence yet it seemed as if it was a millenia away. The task she was supposed to complete was starting to seem more and more increasingly impossible the less distance was put between them.

If running him over with a car three times wasnt enough to kill him, whose to say anything else would? What if Constance had brought him inside?? What if she was still out there with him?? Mourning?

Mallory wasnt a monster; she wasnt going to tear away a dying boy from his grandmother in his (hopefully) final moments, even if he was the antichrist.

She felt as if she was a total loss for what to do; which made her grow sick to her stomach because she knew that was a cruel form of denial. She was destined for this moment; every moment thus far had led up to this.. so why did she feel like such a failure? Her thoughts grew more foggy and distant with panic; her throat became entirely dry as she slowed the car down. The murder house now in view; the first thing she noticed.

The red bricks and stained glass windows shined brightly in the sun. The house, which Mallory was sure typically looked beautiful, radiated a terrifying aura.. even more so this time versus when she was here only a mere minutes ago. The expanse and exterior of the house was intimidating; it held a certain danger to it that she couldnt pinpoint her finger on where the source came from.. it certainly was not Michael. Mallory knew that even if he wasnt dead; his powers would fade out for atleast a few minutes from being so wounded.

Mallory stopped the car once she saw Michael's dead body; which still resided in the middle of the road. Her feelings of panic and nausea only amplified once she saw his body -  her gaze lingering upon it. She approached him with no hesitation; she could nearly feel that he was gone.. his spirit momentarily missing.. somewhere else.

She studied him carefully and nearly pitifully as she crouched down to kneel next to his body. His body was littered and splattered with bright red wounds. His pants looked as if they were dip dyed in red paint; His once pale skin along with the majority of his clothes was covered in a bright red splatter. Long, dark red lacerations decorated his face. His mouth was still agape; his once white teeth were coated in the same shade of red his clothes were.

Even though he looked absolutely horrible; Mallory still felt absolutely no remorse for the antichrist. Knowing what he would become, and his sick ways of manipulation deserved no mercy. However, knowing only seconds ago he was nothing but a mere bloody, suffering child.. she couldnt help but to not fight the tears she felt budding at her eyes; letting one slide down her cheek before quickly wiping it away - she knew it was naive to assume she wasnt being watched.

Mallory wasnt stupid - she knew her powers and what she was capable of, like the back of her hand by now. The past few months practically consisted of her testing and expanding on her limits... She knew that healing Michael in this exact moment wasnt out of the question. In fact, it almost seemed to be more difficult to restrain herself from healing him.. but she knew better.

He deserves to fucking suffer. He deserved to rot in his personal hell; wherever that may be.

She couldnt help but to nearly laugh at the thought that he finally got what was fucking coming to him.

Mallory could feel herself shaking with how close she was to Michael now. She couldnt stand how he made her feel when they were this close - almost touching.

She now was kneeling next to his body on the concrete, her knees aching from the rough surface but she couldnt go just yet. Not when she still had no fucking clue where to go from here.

The world seemed as if it came to stand still; nothing seemed like it existed outside of the small bubble that Mallory felt her and Michael were suddenly trapped in.. The birds stopped singing, no cars happened to drive by.. everything just stopped.

All the spirits and souls that Mallory could feel that were trapped within the grounds of the house, didnt bother to make a appearance either. But she knew they were still there... she could still feel their eyes on her. Watching; waiting.

The sun's warmth, which normally Mallory chose to bask in, was starting to make her itch. She could feel her skin start to moisten with sweat.. Instinctively she knew that her sudden newfound state of being uncomfortable was her cue to leave... To go where though? She wasnt sure.

Why am I still here? If everything had happened correctly; if I really killed him.. then why havent I woken up yet??

Mallory continued to stare at him grimly; not quite brave enough to speak but still managing to maintain the courage to sit by him and look at the damage she caused. The most jarring feature of Michael's current appearance would be his eyes. Mallory couldnt help but to stare at them; and it certainly wasnt because they were beautiful.

His once vibrant, sky blue, irises were now starting to look oddly dull. A faint, milky white color looked as if it were painted over them instead.

His skin was now a bruised white; Mallory shakily extended out her hand - pressing the back of her knuckles softly to his forearm. She wanted to see how cold his body was; and when she made contact - she pulled her hand back so fast as if it had been burned. She hissed, the coolness of his skin stunned her. She stared at his body intensely - shocked that she even dared to touch him, let alone even stick around for this long. 

The sounds Michael started to make is what finally drove Mallory to wake up out her near trance she found herself amidst in and to realize the reality of the situation. After minutes of silence and stillness, and sure death, Michael's chest finally started to move. The amount at which his chest moved was nearly minuscule at first; but he was recovering rather quickly.. too fucking quickly for Mallorys liking.

It was almost sickly ironic how Mallorys chest started to move faster and faster as soon as Michael's did; she couldn't help but to feel entirely panicked. The rest of her emotions; her thoughts; her feelings; everything that used to make up her was now fleeting.. rapidly leaving until as she could focus on was the oxygen briskly escaping her.

She watched the color from his skin start to return; the off putting stark whiteness leaving and a very subtle pink gracing his skin tone. More noticeably; she observed how the color in his lips and eyes returned back.. almost appearing normal.

She unconsciously found herself rising; panic still occupying all of her senses. She quickly unfolded her legs and steadied herself as she stood up.. One thought and one thought only rang through her mind like a sick mantra..

I need to get the fuck out of here.

Mallory tried to gasp as she suddenly felt her throat grow incredibly dry; she let out a desperate dry cough. Her eyes started to tear up unwillingly as she felt a enormous amount of self doubt suddenly surge into the core of her being - the feeling slipping momentarily into her soul.

The world around her began to spin and melt away simultaneously; until she felt her physical body melt away from Michael and the Murder House incredibly rapidly before she could even fully process what was happening.

She felt the harsh coldness of the bath tub water for a split second before she emerged; the black water engulfing her as she stayed partially concealed within the water. Immeadietly she found herself gasping and gagging on her tongue from not being able to breath possibly fast enough... The next thing she felt was otherworldly pain. She felt so much fucking pain.

Mallory gripped the edge of the bathtub until her fingertips turned white and her nails threatened to split. She stayed like that for a moment; spitting and gasping, trying to find a way to consume as much oxygen as possible while managing the nearly unimaginable pain. Her entire body throbbed but her eyes felt a different pain; a sickly stinging.

Keeping her posture and preventing herself from slipping entirely back into the black water was a fucking mission in itself, she quickly learned. She didnt even bother to pretend to be quiet.. Her breaths and groans were far too loud to even begin to ignore.

Is Michael still alive?  Where is Myrtle?

Mallorys lungs seemed to return to normal capacity after a while, her gasping decreased until she was utterly and completely quiet. She arose from the water as quietly as she possibly could, biting her lip to prevent making any additional noise from the sudden cold air she felt against her body.. stinging and torturous..

Her eyes still ached, bringing her hands instinctively to her eyes to stop the pain - she realized ones of her hands was still balled into a fist.. holding onto something.

Was that.. is that MICHAELS hair??

Mallory stared at the once curly, perfectly golden strands of hair that lie in her balled up fist in complete horror - it was now a dark red from the blood that had washed off her skin and into the water.

There was no way this was HIS hair. It had to be someone elses; anyone elses! She refused to believe that she was holding onto anything that belonged or had to do with Michael... complete disgust and delirium rendered her from thinking that.

Her first instinct was to drop the hair; but something told her to keep holding onto the lock, it would only serve her well in the future.

Her vision was inky with blood; dark red clouding her vision and making her feel even more impaired and utterly hopeless then she already felt.. even with the large wound still gaping and bleeding from her stomach. Her stomach wound made her entire body ache, trying to stay conscious was a fight within itself.

It happened again. I failed.

She wasnt sure if she was just being cynical or if her thoughts were even to be trusted anymore when she was in this state.. she only knew she wanted this horrible nightmare to be fucking over with already. She wanted to wake up in Robichauxs and see her sisters; Misty, Madison, Queenie, Zoe and more than anyone.. Cordelia... Oh fuck.

Cordelia... She was still dead.. because of me.

Mallory blinked slowly a few times; taking her free hand and wiping as much blood away from her face and eyes as she could - just enough so she could fully take in her surroundings.

If she could feel her stomach; she was sure she would feel it drop because as much as she looked, she saw no one. Absolutely no one. Tears slipped down her cheeks but they werent bloody anymore. She knew she was completely fucked; he had her cornered.

Well not literally anyways. He still managed to lurk somewhere within the vast empty walls of Outpost Three; most likely looking for her.. but he had to know she was fatally wounded.. right? 

That's when out of the thick silenceness, she heard the first sign of life. Loud; but distant heavy footsteps.

Michael.

She knew she was fucked right away. She could almost feel his spirit itself within Hawthorne; the feeling slowly flowing to her until it forced her to be frozen. Petrified, still sopping wet and with some left over blood dripping off her chin - she knew what she had to do.. and she only had seconds to do it. Mallory knew he was approaching closer and closer the longer she stood docile in the bathtub.. like a idiot.

She took deep, heavy breaths. Fully; for the first time, cherishing the feeling of oxygen in her lungs - knowing that she very well might not make it out alive. Preforming time travel once alone was a enormous feat; but she had already done it twice.. but three times?

The thought simultaneously scared and excited her; she continued take deep breaths before relaxing. Closing her eyes and focusing; searching for a moment in Michael's history to go back too.

There had to be another time Michael was weak besides when he was with Constance at the murder house.. Another time that he felt abandoned.. lost.. confused..

She swallowed as she felt and focused on the soft strands of hair that she held onto; trying to search desperately for the answer that she needed as she took the next step and plunged herself under the water, first barely managing to weakly whisper, "tempus infinituum".

The water tore at her skin as she felt herself letting go from the past reality... slowly yet rapidly her senses seemed to all melt away at once before she was floating- until nothing.

Suddenly Mallory opened her eyes, blinking as she kept calm as she adjusted to her new surroundings.. an open, nearly empty forest was what welcomed her as she slowly spun around.

The smell of pine leaves and the heavy scent of the forest consumed her senses. She first felt calm and at peace; the forest was beautiful. She almost felt tempted to forget about what she came here to do and to lose herself within the sea of greenery but.. something was terribly wrong.

More so; someone was here.

Mallory first stood still; puzzled as to why she was now standing in a vacant forest with pine needles at her feet.

She didnt dare say a word out loud, just in case, but she knew she was waiting for something before she dared to take a step.. she was waiting for a sign. She didnt bat a eye when she felt a soft, warm breeze tousle her hair forward. She felt it continue to crash against her body - almost like soft waves crashing upon rocks. She felt it on her warm skin; her skin getting goosebumps as she knew what this meant. She was getting her sign.

This is it. Is he here?

Mallory giggled at the mere thought; the anticipation and glee of imagining how this nightmare perhaps could be over in the near future was making her experience true euphoria.

She began to walk through the forest; passing several trees as she searched for what she was yearning for. The breeze was far gone by now but she knew to keep going; to keep looking. She looked at the forest landscape that lie ahead of her; a sea of moss and blended greens and blues. The forest didnt have the same magic it typically held though; something was missing.

It was because she was getting closer to him.

Mallory had to suppress a scream as she suddenly felt herself step on something that wasnt the forest floor. She felt a painful shiver run directly down her spine, almost as if someone was running a blade down her back. She was becoming consumed with panic once more; and with the sudden realization what was happening.. What this meant.

It was pure reflex which caused her to take a step back; even before she had the opportunity to look down and confirm her suspicions, she knew exactly what she had stepped on. A body.

She quickly looked down at what she had stepped on - not able to take the anonymity of the individual any longer.. and of course..

I fucking knew it.

She recognized who it was immeadietly, curly blonde hair that was mangled with dirt and a typical black outfit.. it was too easy to guess the identity of the body. He was face down, his body sprawled out unnaturally and in a uncomfortable manner..

It was once again; Michael Langdon.

Taglist: @mina672 @michaellangdonstanaccount @langdonsexual @jimmason @blakewaterxx @dark-mei-rose @9layerdevilfoodcake @prophecy-is-inevitable @matildaofoz @beautyiswithinchaos @frenchlangdon @beyond-repentance @lizzy-claire-fandom

[singingaboutwishingx]

last one for now- what were your favorite parts of writing this amazing series? what were the hardest parts to get through?

ahh!! love this question.

favorite parts:

donna’s birthday scene: when i first came up with the concept for that scene, i was like “oh, that’s evil. this is gonna rock” and it DID. i seriously had so much fun picking out music and writing it in a way that would give it the right ambience. i loved deciding that it would be “oldies night” at the bar, i loved having bram interrupt them, and i love, love, loved writing the bit where josh and donna are slow dancing.

original outline: my very first concept for the fic was “donna moss is thirty-one years old and a media consultant for taylor, kinsey & stone when she receives a phone call from a friend. annabeth schott calls her about toby ziegler, the new press secretary, and girl have you seen him? please help me. so naturally she goes down to dc to help annabeth (who used to work at tk&s— donna was her assistant before she got promoted) and she helps whip toby into shape and meets josh and there’s mild flirty banter and oh yeah, didn’t you tell the press about a secret plan to fight inflation? and anyway they fall in love.” i loved figuring out how donna got to be where she was and how she and josh could work together. the very first things i wrote were a full timeline of what i thought should happen in the story and a timeline for donna from the moment she arrived in nyc to the beginning of the story (which ended up becoming the altered red lights scene).

including canon things: it just absolutely tickled me to have established canon things show up (sometimes in the same way, sometimes not). there’s one particular note in my early outlining that stands out to me because i think it perfectly exemplifies what i was trying to do: “they can kind of both feel that this friendship was destiny”. even though things might be different, josh and donna are still josh and donna. they were bound to fall in love sometime.

hardest parts (under the cut):

the time: as mentioned before, sigue andando... took me nearly eight months to publish, and about seven of those were spent trying to get a first draft. it was mostly because i was very busy and didn’t always have time to sit down and make myself write, but there were so many times when i just wouldn’t be inspired. i would get stuck. there was a long, long time during which i was really afraid i wouldn’t finish it because i couldn’t find the right words or the right scenes or the right way to do something. i’m not going to lie, i was tentatively planning to release an unfinished version (original outlines, some of the scenes, etc) because while i was proud of what i had written and i wanted people to see it, i just didn’t think i had it in me to complete my story. there was a turning point around march where i realized that i did have it in me, and that’s when i started posting about it, partially as a motivator for myself—i knew that if you all heard about it, and at least one of you expressed interest, i would feel more like i could finish it.

the timeline: i went back and forth on the exact months over which sigue andando... would take place. i always knew that it needed to start in june 2005 because of the timing of leo’s heart attack/cj’s promotion, but i switched a couple times between starting donna’s santos campaign involvement in february 2006 or august 2006. a big jump, i know, but i was very worried about justifying donna being there for months before the dnc but not being hired as its communications director. i loved the nine months of slow burn for josh and donna, and it felt like i was cutting that down too much. i thought it felt rushed and cramped. i never loved the idea of starting in august, but at some point, i realized that a) i wasn’t even having josh hire her full-time or as more than a consultant before then, and b) i can imagine what their résumés looked like. donna may have consulted on some political campaigns, but louise has made a career out of specifically political communications and has several years of experience over donna.

eight years: i agonized for an extremely long time over how josh would exist without donna. donna’s timeline was easy to come up with, but how did josh make it this far? rosslyn and its aftermath were particularly difficult, as was figuring out why josh would leave for the santos campaign without donna’s exit to catalyze it. (once i figured it out, though, there was actually one draft of the scene where josh explained why he left where i thought i was having him explain it too well and i was like “okay. josh is not quite self-aware enough to go into this much depth. mans isn’t doing serious psychological evals on himself”, so i had to scale it back lol.)

“i wouldn’t stop for red lights”: this was a particularly hard one. when i wrote that scene originally, i just included the “red lights” line because why wouldn’t i? the more i thought about it, though, the more i realized that they weren’t there yet. there was no rosslyn. they’d known each other less than a year. each had feelings for the other, and they were pretty good friends at that point, but they just weren’t there. once i knew i had to change donna’s line, it took me so long to settle on describing the look on donna’s face and the “if it was you, i wouldn’t stop either.” this is mostly because i refused to let go of the “and donna turns and walks out the door and josh can’t breathe” line, which i’d written when it was still about red lights. i was like “but it has to be DRAMATIC”, and achieving that while still making the line make sense in the context of her character was very hard for me to do.

while in general, it was a joy to write this fic, it was super stressful at times—i think i was putting a lot of pressure on myself because it was so long.

i’m hosting a new york donna q&a in my ask box because i require attention. come ask me things!

[forestwhisper3]

Welcome back to the SI/OC series, where I introduce my various brainchildren. This time around, though, we’re gonna do something a little different. Apart from giving you a couple of pics, I’ll also give you snippets that I’ve written out. This is mostly because I have nothing near resembling an actual fic and have literally just written segments.

It’s kinda long, so click the expand to read on.

So...this SI/OC is one that I’ve had in my head for a while. I mentioned her in one of Klonoadreams’s streams and figured I should probably mention her in this SI/OC series too. She is one of two for the Kingdom Hearts fandom, and when the mood strikes, I try to flesh out her story a little more. Maybe one day I’ll have something publishable. For now, here’s Ignis, a fellow student of Master Eraqus, along with Terra, Aqua, and Ventus:

This is her before everything goes to pot, however. The thing with this SI is that, despite her knowledge of the games, and despite all of her efforts to prevent the events of Birth by Sleep, she still fails. Master Xehanort is not a man easily defeated, after all. So, it is a weary, heartbroken Ignis that finds herself on Destiny Islands after she loses everything yet again...

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'This is...'

I smiled, knowing it was a bit wry in nature. After all, whenever I'd given the thought to being here, I'd never quite pictured it...like this.

"Whoa, you were right! There is another weird person here today!"

I found myself laughing at the comment without meaning to, the reaction startling me and filling me with sorrow all at once. It had felt like ages since I'd laughed so freely...

"Hey...are you okay?"

I looked at the two boys before me, ready to assure them that everything was fine but...the words just didn't want to come out.

"You're crying..."

Fingers touched my cheeks, only to come away wet. How did I not realize...?

I gave a start when I suddenly felt small arms wrap around me, the warmth of the action seeping into the chill that had seemed to settle in me these past days.

"Don't cry," Sora pleaded, his own eyes staring earnestly into my own. "Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?"

If my next laugh was mixed with a sob, I didn't think any of us would tell.

"You already have," I told him once I'd calmed down, making sure my smile was gentle.

"Really?"

"Yes. I think a hug was just what I needed. Thank you."

"Oh! I'm glad! I don't like seeing people sad."

I smiled, the warmth continuing to spread as I studied him. I'd thought...it would be strange to see them as children while not being the same age, but...this felt right.

Suddenly, I knew what I had to do.

"My name is Ignis," I began softly, "and I come from somewhere far from these shores."

"I knew it," Riku piped up. "You're from the outside world! Just like-...uhh..."

I chuckled a bit at his attempts to back up, clearly not wanting to break his promise.

"Going by your comment earlier, I'll have to assume you've met Terra or Aqua?"

"Yeah! Miss Aqua was nice!"

"Terra was too," Riku added.

"And he left you with something special," I finished.

"Err...yeah."

"What?! He gave you a present!? No fair!"

"Hey now, don't get upset. What's your name?"

"Sora!"

"Sora..." I put my hand out, smiling at his gasp when my Keyblade appeared. "Terra entrusted your friend with something very special because he must have seen something in him...just like I see it in you."

It wasn't just because I knew what was to come. Riku's light was...amazing- there was no doubt about that. But Sora-...Sora gave off his own light too. A light so warm, and loving, and kind that it chased away the darkness and made me feel safe. I know the games had always made Sora's light out to be something special, but...Being able to feel it, and knowing that both Aqua and Terra had passed him up for one reason or another made me want to cry all over again at the injustice of it all.

Sora would not be the backup plan. Not if I had anything to say about it.

"In your hand, take this key..."

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"Master!/Master Ignis!"

I groaned, turning over in my cot and doing my best to block out their yells and subsequent pounding at my door.

"Master!"

I yelped when a large weight practically threw itself upon me, sighing at the sound of Sora's giggles and Riku's snickers. Still, it wasn't quite enough to stop the smile that tugged on the edge of my lips.

"Alright, alright, I'm up. What are you two doing here so early anyway?"

Sora propped his chin up on his hands from his position on top of me and grinned. "It's not early. You just slept in!"

"Yeah...I thought adults were supposed to be responsible and stuff."

Riku laughed when I threw a pillow in his direction.

"You're lucky I like you," I said without any real heat.

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"This form was a particular favorite of Master Eraqus," I began, smiling slightly when I saw how much Sora and Riku were struggling to remain in position. "Not so much one of ours."

"I-...I can't feel my legs!"

"Don't tell me you-...you can't handle it, Sora!"

"Your legs are shaking too!"

I felt a laugh bubble up. God, those two really were like-

A sharp pang shot through me, and despite my best efforts, it left me feeling desolate all over again.

'I'll see them again. I know I will...but...twelve years is a long time.'

And I would be the only one to actually age.

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"Kairi, I understand that you don't like fighting like Sora and Riku do. Really. But...Keyblades don't just go to anyone- you have to be chosen. The fact that you have one...will you at least learn the basics? You don't have to use them, but you'll know them. Just in case."

She mulled it over for a while, before nodding.

"Thank you," I sighed out with a relieved smile.

"It...means a lot to you...doesn't it."

Despite my efforts to the contrary, the question made me freeze. By this point, the boys had given up any pretenses of being busy and were watching in unabashed curiosity. With a welling sadness that hadn't really dulled these past years and an ache in my heart, I nodded.

"It does," I confirmed quietly. "But more than that, I just want you three to be safe. To know how to take care of yourselves if-...Anyway, this is the best I can do."

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"Master Ignis, when-...when is Master Terra coming back?"

The question, sudden and unexpected as it was (though I really should have seen it coming), hit hard. All of a sudden, it felt like there was a vice-like grip around my heart, and I flinched so violently that there was no way I could have hidden the reaction.

And Riku- who was so clever and so observant that I was constantly reminded of Aqua -didn't fail to catch on.

"...He's not coming back. And...Master Aqua isn't either."

There was a deep hurt in his eyes, and hints of betrayal. All three of them were aware of how the relationship between Masters and students worked by now, which meant that they knew that despite the fact I was teaching all of them, only Sora was my true apprentice. The rightful heir of my teachings, so to speak.

"Oh, Riku," I breathed out, feeling that all too familiar twist of my heart, though this time, it was accompanied by the sharp sting of tears. "They-...They can't."

Riku blinked, the hurt look being replaced by a questioning one. A few feet back, Sora and Kairi watched on, too hesitant to get closer, but not enough to leave their friend completely.

I sighed, and if there was a breath of a sob mixed in, well, no one would know but me.

"Come on...I think it's time I told you."

They were young yet, but if I didn't tell them now, I didn't think I'd ever work up the strength to do it.

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"...When I finally managed to get back to Radiant Garden, there was no sign of Terra or Aqua- the only hint of their fate being the lingering chill in that courtyard. I-...I can only assume they were dragged into the Realm of Darkness. I spent the next few months searching for a way to get to them, as well as keeping an eye out for Ventus, but..."

"...You didn't find either," Riku finished sadly.

"No. Eventually, I found myself here, on these islands. When I saw you, I-...I knew that I couldn't leave. It would have been the height of negligence and cruelty to move on- to leave you ignorant of the legacy you bear. I knew Terra well enough to say that he had every intention of coming back for you, but since he can't, I will do my best to train you in his stead."

He was silent for a while, mulling it over. Finally, he nodded.

"Thank you for telling me, Master Ignis."

"What about Kairi?" Sora asked, his head tilted. "If Mister Terra chose Riku, and you chose me, who chose Kairi?"

"That would be Aqua," I told them. "Just like I could feel Terra's claim on Riku, I can feel Aqua's on Kairi."

"...I don't remember," Kairi said.

"Perhaps it's one of the things you've forgotten," I told her gently, even though I knew that even if she had remembered her meeting with Aqua, she still wouldn't have known when she was given the power. "But even if the mind forgets, the heart remembers."

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The stars were disappearing.

I looked up at the night sky, unease settling in my stomach as I watched another one blink out of existence. It was the third one this week, and while I now knew that some stars actually were just stars in this universe, I also knew that those weren't what was going out.

Xehanort was on the move again.

I'd been wondering about it for a while- mostly since the finer details of the games had slipped from my memory as the years passed -whether or not his plan had some sort of deadline he needed to meet. It seemed I'd gotten my answer. The question now, however, was how were things going to play out.

I was under no delusions that I hadn't derailed things. I had not only trained Sora, Riku, and Kairi, but I had actively done my best to keep them hidden. My unease mostly stemmed from worry over whether it had been enough. If it hadn't, then odds were that Xehanort was going to be paying a visit to the islands soon.

Just the thought of it made my blood run cold.

Ten years, and it still didn't feel like I'd had enough time. I had known what was going to happen, and I hadn't been able to stop it. It had taken everything Terra, Aqua, Ventus and I had had to fight him, and we'd still lost. This time, I was alone. If he came-...

If he came, I probably wasn't going to make it out alive.

I swallowed, feeling my eyes burn as I continued to stare up at the sky. Years ago, that was all I could have hoped for. Anything to escape the agony brought about by losing everything yet again. Now, however...

"Miss Ignis!"

"Master Ignis!"

"Master!"

I found that...I didn't want to go.

"Master...?"

I sighed, a small, wry smile making its way onto my face at the voice. He would be the one to run into me tonight, wouldn't he?

"You should be asleep, Sora," I scolded, though anyone could tell it was halfhearted at best.

"I can't," he said, settling down next to me.

"You should at least try," I told him. "You've got a big day tomorrow."

His grin was just as bright now as it was when I'd first met him.

"That's exactly why!" he exclaimed, turning his gaze up to the night sky. "We've always heard the stories, but to know that we'll actually get to go out there! To see other worlds! It's amazing!"

I couldn't help the fond smile that slipped onto my face at that. He was so much like them, and yet, the warmth he always seemed to instill was unique to him alone.

I hoped that by nurturing it in him, I'd thrown Xehanort's, and even the mysterious Master of Master's, plans awry.

"But," Sora continued, his much more subdued and hesitant tone instantly drawing my attention, "there's...something I've been meaning to ask."

"What is it?"

"If-...If Riku hadn't been chosen when you first got here...or if Kairi had already been with us and not chosen by Master Aqua...would you have still chosen me?"

I blinked, honestly taken aback at the question. "What?"

He seemed a bit more embarrassed now, but the question still seemed to be weighing him down. "It's just- since you've started teaching us how to sense light and darkness in others, me an' Kairi noticed that Riku's...bright. Like, really bright. Then I noticed later that I couldn't sense any darkness in Kairi, and I just-...I couldn't help but think that-...that I-..."

"That you were chosen only because they were first."

He winced and I felt my heart twist painfully at his small nod.

"Sora, no," I told him, perhaps a bit too vehemently, but maybe that would make him listen more. "No, that's not it at all."

I placed a gentle hand on his shoulder and waited until he was looking back at me to continue. "Sora, even if I'd had the option, I still would have chosen you. Precisely because you are you."

"Because...I'm me?"

I smiled. "Maybe Riku's a bit brighter, and maybe Kairi's a bit purer, but you...You want to know what I see when I look at you?"

He hesitated for a moment, probably afraid of what I might say, but nodded in the end.

"I see a warm light. Soft and gentle, like a sunset on the beach. It was that very light that reached out to me ten years ago, and pulled me back from the abyss I could feel myself starting to slip into. Sora, I wasn't kidding when I said your hug was just what I needed. That warmth- your warmth -kept me from ending up just like the others."

He blinked rapidly, his eyes becoming glassy with tears, and I sighed softly before throwing an arm around his shoulders and pulling him close. Even after all I'd done, Sora had still ended up doubting himself and his place as a Keyblade wielder. Still, at least this had happened now, when I could set him straight, as opposed to later, when I...might not be around.

"...Do you really mean that?" he asked quietly.

"I do," I reassured him. "Never doubt yourself, Sora. If you ever find yourself feeling low just remember this:

I chose, and would always choose, you. Not Riku. Not Kairi. You. Because you are kind, and cheerful, and strong- even if you may not believe it at times. You also have something special that they don't: a warm light that welcomes all. A light that shelters and heals. I know, without a doubt, that you will do great things. Amazing things." I smiled down at him, my heart lightening at the small smile on his face as he looked back. "And you trust your master, don't you? So trust in me now."

"...Okay."

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Sora watched with growing concern as his master paled. His gaze fell onto the figure behind her, his eyes widening when he realized it was the man in the cloak he'd spoken with just yesterday.

"I must admit to some surprise," the man continued, seemingly unaffected by the storm that raged around them. "I thought I'd gotten rid of all of Eraqus's pupils, yet here you are- with students of your own, no less..."

She stiffened, finally whirling around to face him with a glare. "You will get nowhere near them, Xehanort!"

Suddenly the gravity of the danger was clear, and going by how Riku and Kairi seemed to freeze right next to him, they realized it too.

Xehanort. The man who was responsible for all of the bad things that had happened to Master Ignis and her friends. Because of him, Mister Terra couldn't be here to teach Riku, and Miss Aqua and Ventus were lost somewhere.

It was because of him that his master was so sad and lonely.

Even his laugh was sending chills down his spine. "Is that so? You may have ten more years under your belt, girl, but you're still nowhere close to my level."

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...To be continued?

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this! Maybe I’ll post snippets of my other, as of yet, unpublished SI/OC fics if you all like this well enough. I leave you with a picture of how Ignis looks at the end of these snippets, or rather, at the beginning of the events of KH1:

[girlobsessed21]

Thoughts on The 100 7x01

Before I get into the episode, I felt the absence of Bellamy and Octavia, they are my favorites and a very core part of this show. I was worried about the lack of Bellamy in all the promotional material, but Jason explained in an article that he needed some time off and they gave that to him, but he still plays a vital role and we will see him again.  At the end of the day, we don’t know what happened, but the mystery around his disappearance into anomaly is quite intriguing.

For now, I’m holding out hope that he will return to my screen in full force, until proven wrong I’m going to be positive. Despite that, I enjoyed it. It wasn’t my favorite first episode, still a strong start spreading optimism for the rest of the season. Lots of surprises that made it worthwhile.

The anomaly colony

Hope wakes up with memory loss while Gabriel examines her tattoos. She runs away and finds a note to herself that says, ‘Trust Bellamy’. Bellamy, not Octavia, who she clearly knows, which seems like Hope wasn’t aware she would find Octavia in Sanctum.

Now, why would Hope want to trust Bellamy and stab Octavia? Perhaps she needed his help finding her in return for Diyoza? This seems like a logical conclusion given that ‘He’ has her mother. The Blakes certainly hold some key to the anomaly, everything points me in that direction.

I can’t say all that much about Hope, due to the amnesia she has no personality yet, but it’s clear she’s smart and capable.

Gabriel being an anomaly-dork. Gosh, I love him too bits. The acting in the scene where they try to figure out what happened to Octavia and Bellamy is a little cringy, but I turned a blind eye and focused on the dialogue.

I’m getting to the good stuff…

Roan coming back to haunt Echo is probably my favorite part of the episode, I’ve missed the king so damn much. He asks her who she is without Bellamy or her queen. I’m so glad they’re delving into the subject. If you read my previous blogs, you’ll know I asked this question many times. She’s such a bad ass spy, she needs a purpose and story apart from him. Nonetheless, I like Echo and I would love to see her gain some of her own identity and build her own life. Being distanced by time and space could really do that for her. Scroll down for the shipping part of this story…

The more important thing is that there are people who control the anomaly and know exactly who they are. Like Echo predicted because of the bad shots they were sent to capture and not kill them except for Hope. I assume it’s because she knows how the anomaly works. Who are they and what do they want? My guess, Bellamy and Octavia. Perhaps Clarke as well?

Loved the three of them entering together because a few second difference could mean months. That means Diyoza and Octavia could have been months, maybe even years, apart.

Rising from and burning to ashes in one afternoon

This new beautiful house with the dysfunctional family and Madi with Picasso is certainly heart-warming in a show that continues to push the bounds of darkness. How great is that little picnic in the yard? Now I’m curious, they drink to Abby, but have they forgotten Kane?

Also, good to see Raven and Clarke on better terms. They really spoiled her character in season 6 but it seems like she’s back on par. It’s clear that good things happen when they’re working towards the same goal, as family. That dynamic has been broken since season 2 and if there’s one lesson that can be learned from season 1 it’s that they’re outstanding on the same team. 

At first, I wondered why they weren’t questioning Octavia, Bellamy and Echo’s absence but then I realized they probably saved them a room like they did for Jordan and assumed they were exploring the anomaly. It’s still the same day as 6x13 since they were having lunch. Episode 6x13 ended at dawn and 7x01 starts at lunchtime.

I know Murphy did a lot of obscure things in season 6 but he’s not to blame for Abby’s death. Emori’s right, Russel killed her.

Why did Clarke choose the master suite, though? It seems a little out of character for her to do something so selfish.

On to other things, I must point out Indra’s line: “Someone needs to speak for the commander and I’m hungry.” She’s magnificent, hard and sharp, as always. Pair that with Miller being a dutiful, abiding shoulder and you have greatness.

Raven makes a comment about mothers and daughters and Clarke says she’s fine. Later, Madi also asks her to open up about it, and she still claims to be fine. When I heard this the first time, I was instantly worried because they heap one set of PTSD on top of the other and never deal with it. The woman just lost her mother, how the hell can she be fine. The answer: She can’t.

And I’m really glad they expanded on that to show how utterly necessary it is to deal with your grief and trauma. Sure, Clarke is a powerhouse of a woman, but she’s human and clearly hurt, she can’t compartmentalize and continue on like nothing has happened – I hope she finds a way to actually deal with it instead of following in Jasper’s footsteps. She was already suicidal, give the damn woman a break.

Is civility an ability?

Faith is a powerful and dangerous thing. Interesting topic. While I don’t completely believe that faith is dangerous, when it comes to the point of blindly following charlatan’s into harms way, yes it becomes dangerous. My biggest thoughts on this narrative is whether peace can indeed exist in a world where different factions exist with various beliefs and opinions. I’d like to quote John Lennon:

Imagine there's no countries It isn't hard to do Nothing to kill or die for And no religion too Imagine all the people living life in peace, you

Keyword being ‘Imagine’, this song is written about an unattainable Utopia which is still a reality several hundred years into the future.

“Too many people”

“Good thing ALIE’s not around.”

The humor is all around outstanding this episode even Clarke cracks a joke.

We’re introduced to a few new characters and not much too say about them since we didn’t see much of them. I like Nelson, he is firm in his stance, logical and pragmatic. Trey is just annoying with his faith in the divinity of the primes. The only thing I got from Nikki is that she’s compulsive and lethal while Hatch has this Southern charm and charisma. He reminds me of Sawyer from Lost.

Next, Jordan goes to check on Russel. I appreciate the way they build around the morality we saw withing Russel at the beginning of season 6. JR Bourne is a fantastic actor with the depth he plays into the grief and guilt of losing his family.

Also, the softness of Monty and Harper still shining through Jordan. I’m glad he’s not adjusted and simply trying to keep the peace. Not sure if that’ll change. Curious to know why they saw the anomaly in their visions…

I just need to add that Murphy sitting at a bar is perfect!! Another amazing episode for him and Emori. He questions himself with his own varied degrees of morality while Emori continues to grow by reading Kay Lee Prime’s journal. I guess the believers must be blind to continue following their orders, but hey, props to Raven for exploiting the opportunity and Murphy and Emori did an entertaining job with it. Emori has come such a long way and the ‘We are one’ line felt personal in the sense that she had also established herself as part of the family.

Losing my religion

Can you truly lose your religion? What is a fleimkeepa without a flame, what is Sanctum without the primes and what is Echo without Bellamy? Sometimes faith is stronger than truth. Bad thing, no! Because what is the truth really? Interesting subject to explore but I don’t have an answer on this. I’d rather focus on the fact that I’m glad we’ll get to explore these characters on new paths.

Clarke’s composure vanishes. Boy oh boy, Eliza’s acting. When you compare s6 and 7 to s1, it just shows you the value of experience. The way that switch flipped when Russel handed her Abby’s clothes and wedding band. I looked at the fighting and her explosive rage in detail and I cannot help but compliment her on that perfect portrayal of the result of passive aggression.

Now, I don’t understand how Sheidheda uploaded himself into Russel’s mind drive when it was made clear that two consciousness cannot exist in the same mind.  When Clarke killed Josephine in the mind-space, she came back to life within seconds. Will this be another Clarke/Josephine battle and are the other commanders still subdued?

If he is going to be one of the main villains of the season, I would like to get under his skin. I’m not interested in a one-dimensional pure evil villain. I’m hoping JR Bourne will make something remarkable of him.

Shipwreck

There’s a friendship blooming between Clarke and Gaia and I’m all for it. Could they be setting them up romantically? It’s a possibility and I’d take it as a consolation prize for Bellarke if it’s well-built. Focus on the well-built. If Clarke finds out that Bellamy is missing and goes through hell and beyond to save him, I will interpret that as Clarke still loves Bellamy. If they want me to fall in love with Claia, they should make me fall in love with Claia.

Although I’d always prefer Bellarke. From a storytelling or writing viewpoint, all loose ends should be tied with the conclusion. Bellarke is a complete loose shard. If romance is not their destiny, I hope they at least address the topic in full, because it has been building for seven years. If you haven’t read my post on Bellarke, please do so. I explain in the romantic elements of their story in detail.

As for Echo’s vision of Roan. He questions her devotion to Bellamy and says she will even betray the man she now claims to love. I interpreted that as him referring to Mount Weather as well as secrets she’s obviously hidden from Bellamy. For example, her real name.  This could go two ways in my opinion. One, they’re trying to set Echo apart from Bellamy, separating them by time and space to break them up or they are trying to teach her how to be her own person as well as the other half of their relationship.

I’m not quite invested in their relationship, and they would have to rip one bigass hare out of the hat to get my attention. Love their characters individually, but season 6 showed me Bellamy still loves Clarke. If Becho’s relationship was built to last, the writers would have written it that way. When you compare it to Murphy and Emori or Monty and Harper, it’s clearly questionable.

That’s it, let me know if I got something wrong, if you agree or disagree, love to hear your opinions.

[sparrowwritings]

Reporting on Something Unforeseen

So this is based off of a Final Fantasy 14 dual Warrior of Light AU that @thedovahcat and I came up with. The basic idea is that the events of the game are the same but some of the further (spoilerific) implications have drastically changed. Not to mention that the two are about 17 years old, so there’s some more character-based interactions that are slightly different but in a way that we find fun (which is kinda the point of AUs lol).

This takes place early early on in the story quests.

Roger belongs to her, Lara belongs to me, everyone else is from the game itself.

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There is quite a lot of debate surrounding the nature of fate. Does it exist? If so, how much control does it have over the lives of men and beastmen? If not, then are our actions beholden unto the Gods, the mother crystal or something else entirely?

My master is of a mind that it doesn’t matter if fate exists. What truly matters is what one does with the life given to you, and what others remember you by. Most of the time, I’m inclined to agree with her. Yet, there are times when I witness something that has me pause and consider such questions with genuine curiosity. After all, all creatures great and small are connected to the world in various ways--that events should happen that could only happen because of a predetermined path set by said connections wouldn’t be entirely farfetched, at least in the short term.

But since this letter is not to be an essay on the nature of fate, I must describe to you the incident that has most recently caused me to think such things. I believe you will be most interested in this, even to the point of forgiving me for waxing philosophical for so long in this preamble. 

Just this morn, I had returned to Limsa Lominsa after having patrolled and noted the levels of aether near where the beastmen tribes tend to gather. (See the attached report that are included with this letter.) I had been about to write a far more formal letter when I espied the boy that Papalymo and Yda recently introduced to our little group, Roger Briden. It wasn’t hard to notice him--Roger’s eyes were the size of dinner plates as he wandered through the streets of the floating city. He was lucky he wasn’t in Ul’dah, though I suspect that the local pickpockets were disappointed about what little money he had on his person.

Part of me wanted to hail him and see what he was up to, but some instinct held me back. I listened to it and followed the boy. His path was meandering, but the general direction never wavered. It was as if Roger’s feet were following the directive of something his mind wasn’t privy to. 

Soon enough, the destination he was drawn to was evident: the Culinarian Guild and the restaurant that it employs with its members. Again, he stared about the place as if to drink up the sight of something new. I was again inclined to get his attention when a commotion from inside drew the boy and subsequently myself. 

There was some sort of celebration to be had regarding one of the guild’s younger members. I recognized her as someone that I have written about before: Lara Marner. As you may recall, she is predominantly a culinarian by trade. Nonetheless she is a skilled fighter and is known to assist the Yellowjackets with local problems as handily as any adventurer. The girl also has the same knack of being in the area of curious spikes in aetheric resonance that Roger does. 

At this point you might be realizing what direction this tale will go, but I must report what I witnessed with as much accuracy as possible for your consideration.

Having saved the life of another guild member, the master had offered a round of drinks to everyone in the restaurant in Lara’s name. She accepted the praise and adulation with a humility (and awkwardness) I’ve only seen in Roger before. For his part, he seemed to get caught up in the celebration and swept into being seated at a small table. A drink had been placed in his hands, but the boy ignored it in favor of trying to figure out who was being lauded. 

Instinct demanded I stay on the outskirts of the joviality. I now realize that this was so that I could have the perfect seat for what was about to happen.

Lara, after being thoroughly toasted for her heroism, made her way through the crowd to take the orders of awaiting patrons. Roger had gotten tired of waiting to see who was being cheered and stood up to leave just as she was heading in his direction. The greetings she had on her lips died the moment their eyes locked. Were this to have happened in a play, all other activity should have ceased around them. As it stood, only those two were still in the lively room for a prolonged moment.

And then the two pitched forward--each clutching their own heads in a discomfort you will be all too familiar with. Miraculously, they didn’t collide with how much violence the visions seized them with. It was then that I made my way to them at the same time as another--the master of the Culinarian Guild. Together, we made certain that the two were seated at the previously unoccupied table to be certain that any potential fainting spells could be circumvented. 

A brief conversation with him confirmed that Lara had indeed had such moments before, though never with such ferocity. He perfectly described what she must have told him--of the dream of Her voice calling out her name along with “Hear, Feel, Think,” and the visions that came from said dream of events never described but nonetheless known to her. All clear signs that, like Roger and yourself, Lara indeed possessed the Echo. 

Self-flagellation is the primary talent of Thancred, so instead I will apologize for not having discovered her before now and promise to make it up to you in whatever way you so choose at a later date.

Whatever it was that the two had seen while under the Echo’s effects, the moment they returned to this realm it was as if the two had been friends for years despite having only met just moments before. They spoke at length with such speed and enthusiasm that I quickly lost track of the plot of the conversation. The chatter of the children was enough to calm the worries of the master enough for him to leave them to me to handle. 

I have since been chaperoning Lara and Roger as she gives him a grand tour of the city. As I am writing, we have stopped by the marketplace for the two to browse the merchants’ wares. The two of them get distracted easily enough that I knew that a report could be written long before they could wander away once more.

Which brings me back to the topic of fate. How was it that Roger was led to the Culinarian’s Guild at that exact moment? The two have lives about as far apart as could be. He, a carer of chocobos in Gridania. She, a culinarian in Limsa Lominsa. Their lives shouldn’t have had the chance to interact. And yet, his notable deeds in the Black Shroud gave him permission and a task to come to La Noscea. And from there in a moment of whimsy Roger was able to discover another Echo user. One that had also made a name for herself with helping her fellow man in noteworthy ways. Was it chance or destiny that made such a series of events possible?

You need not reply to such musings, for there is a far more important question for all of us to consider.

Should we invite Lara Marner into the Scions? The people I have spoken with about her deeds sing her praises in similar ways that those who spoke well of Roger do. I will of course also attach what I have learned about her to this report for you to pass along to the others. 

I will await your reply in Limsa. Now that she knows my face (and Roger has been adorably gushing about how “amazing” I am) I feel that whatever is decided she will accept the information from me well enough.

Regards,

Y’shtola

[those70scomics]

I’ve never written a story where Jackie and Hyde have any children, and I still haven’t. But I have written partial outlines for a few. Today (as a gift to you on my birthday), I present what I have of a story called Fourteen Autumns.

Animation Tutorial - Falling Leaves by SadfaceRL

Summary: On the fourteenth autumn of her daughter’s life, Jackie is finally ready to be a mother to her -- and reconcile with Hyde. But after many years of disappointments, neither Hyde nor their daughter, Sparrow, are sure they’re ready to accept Jackie fully into their family. Or heart.

Fourteenth Autumn. October 25, 1993.

Jackie, Hyde, and thirteen-year-old Sparrow meet up at the Point Place Harvest Festival with Eric and Donna's family (they have two sons) and Red and Kitty. Jackie and Hyde need to have a serious talk. Eric and Donna take Sparrow away with them to facilitate this talk. Jackie's a soap opera actress in NYC. She pretends to be in love all the time on her show. Her character's been married five times. But her life is unfulfilling. She's emotionally cut-off. Acting in a soap opera means memorizing thirty pages on a good day. But she can be given up to eighty pages if production demands recording four episodes in one day. Soap opera acting is not where she imagined she'd still be by now. She'd hoped to transition to a prime-time show, comedy or drama. It just hasn't happened for her. She's switched soaps a few times and returned to her first one. Her agent keeps encouraging her to audition, but her career is not enough. She misses her connections to her friends and family. Hyde believes Jackie wants to fill her emotional void with Sparrow, and he won't let Jackie use her. Jackie says she still has feelings for Hyde, too. They've slept together on and off over the years. Jackie tried one-night stands and even dated a few people “seriously,” and the sex meant nothing. She needs the emotional connection. Hyde made Sparrow his focus once she was born. He slept around, but he never fell in love. He didn't want any relationship to pull his attention from raising Sparrow. Jackie wants to try dating Hyde again, and she wants to be in Sparrow's life. She'll quit acting. Hyde says she's too ambitious to give up on her passion / career. Jackie says unless she writes something herself, like an independent movie, and gets it funded, she won't be living her passion anyway. Hyde says Sparrow's turning fourteen soon. She'll enter high school next year. Jackie asks if that means Jackie can't be mom to her daughter if her daughter's a teenager. Hyde says Jackie hasn't been a mom to Sparrow for thirteen years. Jackie is hurt by this. Hyde understands why.

First Autumn. Late September, 1979.

Jackie is a month away from giving birth. She and Hyde are in the same park as in 1993. Leaf colors are just barely starting to change. Hyde tells Jackie, “I'm not so sure about this adoption thing.” Jackie tells Hyde that she has to give the baby up for adoption. He says its our baby, not the. Jackie says it won't be. She's already had to defer college a semester. She wants her future. Raising a baby isn't right. She has no parental support with her dad in prison and mom off in Mexico or wherever again. Jackie says keeping the child would be selfish. Hyde's thought about that a lot since learning Jackie was pregnant. And he's tried to convince himself that letting his child be raised by other people is the right thing to do. But he feels connected to their kid. He'll always wonder, “What if?”

He loves Jackie, and he thinks they can handle it. He knows that this all sounds weird coming from him. But they don't need Jackie's parents. Hyde's got two sets of his own: W.B. and the Formans. Money's not going to be a problem, and neither is daycare. Hyde's got Grooves. Jackie can still go to college. She'll just have to put it off for a year instead of months and transfer to one she can commute to. Jackie got into NYU's acting program. She can't—and won't—give that up.

Hyde says but she can give up their kid?

Jackie says, again, it won't be theirs. She's—they're—giving it up for adoption. She's been looking through the portfolios of potential parents, and she's come up with three choices. She wants Hyde to look at them with her. Hyde says he doesn't have to. He already knows who their kid's dad is. Jackie [desperate]: “Steven, please!” Hyde says, “I'm raising our kid, Jackie. With or without you. I want it to be with, but I won't force you, all right? I won't. But I got this--” he presents an engagement ring--“a month ago. That's when I realized I didn't want to give up our kid, but I had no clue how to talk to you about it.” Jackie says he can't use marriage as a trap, just like he used to tell her she couldn’t against him.

Hyde says he doesn't mean it as a trap but as a promise they'll be partners in this, in everything. Jackie: “I need you to be my partner in letting the—our child go.” Hyde: “I can't.” Jackie, devastated, knows she's lost. She can't deny Hyde the right to be their child's father. “Then you'll lose me.” Hyde: “Jackie—” Jackie: “Because I can't be in this child's life. I'm going to be in debt for half my life to pay for school. I don't … I'm not capable of raising a child right now. Maybe if I'd gotten pregnant ten years from now, but not today.” She says his mom always resented his birth, his existence, because it meant the end of all the hopes and dreams she had for her life. His mom was only nineteen. Jackie's only eighteen, and she doesn't want to resent her child.

If she could somehow freeze the baby and thaw it once Jackie was ready to be a mother … but that's not possible, and she's not ready. And no matter how much she might love their child, part of her will probably resent it. And it won't be their child's fault. Just like his mom's resentment wasn't Steven's fault. But she won't be able to help how she feels. She'd rather let two loving people, who are absolutely ready and willing and wanting to raise a baby have their child than risk making their child feel unloved in any way. Hyde is quite emotional over this comparison. He says, “I don't want our kid ever feeling the way I did, either. I'm not exactly ready to be a dad, okay? I get it. But I already...” Jackie takes his hand and places it on her stomach. She understands. Steven loves their child.   Jackie: “You also already have a career you're happy with. Three parents who adore and support you. We were both afraid of the future for different reasons, and in different ways, but you're not anymore because your present is settled. You trust it. But without this baby, my future is full of possibilities. With it, my destiny is written, and it's not the one I want.” Hyde can't argue. Grief is written on his face. She sees it. Jackie: “I know I sound selfish, and maybe I am being selfish. But I truly believe giving this baby up for adoption is the kindest, least selfish option for all of us.” Hyde: “Not for me.”

First Autumn. October 25, 1979.

Hyde and Mrs. Forman are taking a walk on a leaf-strewn path. Hyde's been taking Kitty's baby-care class all month. He's read baby-care books the month before that and asked Kitty all kinds of questions. Kitty asks if Hyde's excited about becoming a father. Jackie's due date is so soon.

Hyde says he's scared but relieved Jackie agreed to let him raise the kid … and that the Formans agreed to help as much as they can. Kitty says this is her first grandchild. She's honored and so happy Hyde decided to raise the child. She's worried about Jackie, though. Kitty tried to convince Jackie to hold the baby after birth, just so she wouldn't have any questions. Just to have a moment of bonding. Jackie is adamant she has no contact with the baby.

This hurts Hyde's heart. Hyde says Jackie's got to do what she's got to do. Kitty questions him and asks if that statement represents how he actually feels.

Hyde: “It’s reality.”

Kitty: “I’m so terribly sorry -- and incredibly sad -- that your baby broke you and Jackie up.”

Hyde: “Me, too.” Kitty changes the subject (for herself and him). She asks if Hyde's thought of a name yet.

Hyde: “If it's a boy, Zeppelin. If it's a girl, Zeppelin.”

Kitty [horrified]: “You can't name your child after a blimp.”

Hyde says Led Zeppelin is his favorite band.

Kitty doesn't care. He has to think of a proper name for his child.

Hyde remembers when Jackie used to talk about boy and girl names she'd want to name their future kids. He used to get so uncomfortable with these conversations that he'd come up with the most ridiculous names to shut her up. But he doesn't want to pick one of the names Jackie wanted since their kid might resent Jackie for choosing not to be in her life. Kitty asks if he looked through the baby name book she gave him.

He says he has, but none of the names stuck out at him. He was named after his stepdad, who was named after his dad. A SPARROW lands near them on a fence. It draws Hyde's focus. In this moment, he emotionally connects to how his life is going to change completely in a few days. He won't be responsible only for himself but another life: physically, mentally, and emotionally. Kitty sees that Hyde is getting emotional. His face is flushing. Kitty hugs him, like she knows what he needs. He doesn't hug her back immediately.

She says, “You won't be doing this alone. I promise, Steven. Red and I consider you our son, and we won't let you do this alone.” Hyde's arms wrap around Kitty in this moment, and he says, “Thanks. ... I--” He takes a deep breath and laughs to release tension. “Fuck it. I love you.” Kitty hugs him tighter. That's the first time he's ever said the words aloud without her prompting him.

Kitty: “I love you, too—and watch your language. You're about to have a baby!” She lets go of Hyde, and they laugh. He wipes his wet eyes, and they continue walking.

First Autumn. October 28, 1979.

Hospital delivery room. Jackie gives one final push, and out comes her and Hyde’s daughter. Hyde has his shirt unbuttoned. He sits in a chair, and the doctor puts the baby in Hyde's arms, against his chest for warmth. The doctor and nurses dry off and clean up the baby while she's in Hyde's arms. They also evaluate baby. She's fine. They cut the umbilical cord. Hyde: “Jackie, you've got to see her—just see her. She's beautiful.” No answer. Nurse says low,  “We've got a room all set up for you down the hall. It's probably best we go.” Hyde: “Jackie's still breathing?” Nurse, “Yes. She's all right, but we need to respect her wishes.” Hyde stands with the baby. The nurse guides Hyde toward the door, but Jackie says, “Wait!” Hyde does. He turns around. Jackie says, “Let me hold her.” Hyde brings the baby to Jackie and places her on Jackie's bare chest. Jackie, with tears in her eyes, has a moment of connection with her child. She kisses the top of the baby's head then lets her go. Hyde, holding the baby against his own bare chest, says, “Do you want to know her name?” Jackie [crying]: “Yes.” Hyde: “Sparrow Katherine.” Jackie doesn't remark on whether or not she likes the name. She just nods weakly, as if she's accepted the baby's not hers to name. She willingly gave up that right.

First Autumn. November 1, 1979.

Hyde's in what used to be Laurie's room. It's now Hyde's room and decorated like it, too. Inside is also Sparrow's crib -- which Red made -- a changing table, and a rocking chair that Mrs. Forman insisted on. Shelves are filled with parenting books as well as books to read to Sparrow. By the crib, on Hyde's nightstand, is a baby monitor; a gift from Angie. Hyde's sitting in the rocking chair. No sunglasses. Sparrow is five-days-old, and Hyde is bottle-feeding her while Eric and Donna visit from Madison college. They wanted to see their goddaughter. Eric and Donna couldn't be there during the week, or birth, because of school. They drove down Friday night, arriving too late to see the baby in the hospital. But now they're talking with Hyde and amazed at Sparrow. Hyde finishes the feeding and burps her. He hopes she keeps down the formula, but Mrs. Forman taught him how to feed her so she doesn't swallow too much air. Eric: “I can't believe you're a dad.” Donna: “I can't believe Sparrow is so quiet. Can I hold her … if she doesn't throw up?” Hyde: “Yeah, I think it's safe. But just in case...”

He indicates a soft towel on the changing station. Eric gets it. Donna places it over her shirt, and Hyde hands her the baby. Donna holds Sparrow properly. Hyde gets nervous when new people hold his kid, but he trusts Donna. Donna is totally enamored with Sparrow. She says, “Her eyes are so blue!” Hyde: “Mrs. Forman says that could change in six months. Maybe she's got Jackie's eyes.” Donna [smiling / close to nuzzling Sparrow's face]: “Well, she doesn't seem to have Jackie's temper.” Eric: “So, Hyde, how are you doing with all this?” Hyde: “Great, man. Red and Mrs. Forman are in love with the kid. Angie's in town, taking care of the store while I'm on paternity leave, but she's been over here every night to get Sparrow-time—and Mrs. Forman's cooking. W.B. was here when Sparrow was born and helped out the first few days, too. Hell, I'm lucky if I get to parent Sparrow at all.” Donna [laughing]: “Come on. That's not true.” It isn't, but his family has really taken to Sparrow. Hyde knows how fortunate he is. He's got all the support he told Jackie they would get. Eric: “What about Jackie? I mean, she's not starting college until next semester. Has she … will she ..?” Hyde gets uncomfortable, and Sparrow starts to fuss in Donna's arms, as if she senses Hyde's discomfort. Donna passes Sparrow back to Hyde, and Hyde feels better with Sparrow in his arms. He sits in the rocking chair again.   Hyde: “Jackie held her in the hospital room. Then she let her go.” Let both of them go. “Not gonna say it doesn't kill me 'cause it does. But I didn't know I could feel like this...” He gazes at Sparrow, who grabs Hyde's finger. “It's freakin' unreal how much I love her.” Donna is touched. She lays her hand on Eric's knee and says, “You almost make me want to have kids.” Eric [nervous]: “You don't want kids?” Donna [who still has Sparrow's towel, which fell to her lap]: “I do. We've talked about that. Just not now.” Eric [relieved]: “Right. Right. Hey, Hyde, think I could hold her sometime?” Hyde: “After her nap, sure.” He begins to rock her in the chair. Donna: “Aw, you're such a softy.” “Should we tell Aunt Donna to get bent?” Hyde says to Sparrow -- with a voice he'd never heard come out of him until she was born. It should disturb him, how sickeningly sweet it is, but it doesn't. He looks up at Donna and says with his normal tone, “Sparrow says I should give you a break.” Donna: “Thanks, Sparrow.”   Eric: “Speaking of Sparrow, how'd you come up with that name? I thought for sure you'd name her Clapton or Hendrix.” Hyde: “A sparrow showed up at the right time.”

So did Forman and his folks. And Donna. W.B. and Angie … and Jackie. All the people he's ever needed in his life showed up when he needed them, and Sparrow's the latest one in that list.

Sparrow yawns, and Hyde kisses Sparrow's forehead. He's going to be there for Sparrow no matter what happens in her life or where she chooses to go. She'll always have him to come back to.

Tenth Autumn. October 5, 1989.

SPARROW'S DIARY. October 5. Jackie sent Sparrow her first diary. It has a purple cover, her favorite, and Jackie glued a picture of a sparrow to the cover. SPARROW writes about this in her first diary entry. October 5, 1989. Hello, diary. How are you? I know you can't answer, but I'm happy Mom bought you for me. You're my favorite color, purple, and Mom glued a pretty picture of a sparrow on the front. She said in her note that you're one of her any-time presents. She sends those to me a lot. I wish she was here. I almost never see her—except on TV. Farmor lets me watch her on Nights of Our Days sometimes. Dad doesn't like it, but I want to know my mom. I mean, Dad's told me a lot about her. He answers all my questions, but it's not the same as talking to her. She doesn't love me. Dad says she does, but he also says presents don't mean love, and I think the same thing. But people who do love me give me presents a lot, too, like Dad and Farmor, Farfar, and Grandpa. But they also spend time with me and take me to places like the zoo and Funland and play games with me, and I know they love me, and I love them. I don't know if I love Mom. Dad says that's okay. He doesn't love his mom, either. His mom hurt him really bad, but he won't tell me how. He says she's like Maleficent from Sleeping Beauty, and that's scary. I've seen that movie about a hundred times. Farmor reminds me of Flora, Fauna, and Merryweather. She's my grandma, and she's so funny. We laugh all the time, but she's also like my mom. Not Mom but an actual mom. I love her so much, and I love my dad more than anything. I wish he was happier. … I mean, he is happy. I'm happy, too, but sometimes we're both sad. He loves Mom, and maybe I should, too? Maybe I do. I'm just so MAD at her. Anyway, diary, I better go. Talk to you again soon!

That’s all I wrote. But had I finished this story, we would’ve gotten glimpses of Hyde, Sparrow, and Jackie's lives throughout autumns two through thirteen -- with Jackie and Hyde’s (and eventually Sparrow’s) conversation during the fourteenth autumn interspersed among the chapters.

The epilogue would’ve been the fifteenth autumn, a year after Jackie asks to be part of Sparrow and Hyde’s lives. We see that the family is together and happy, although still working through things. But everything is moving in the right direction.

[docholligay]

The Time Traveler’s Bullshit

@katrani comissioned me to write out my full review of The Time Traverler’s Wife, my most hated book of the year thus far, and I feel like it won’t be dethroned. nearly 3,000 words and I skipped a whole section I was going to write about, ENJOY

Three dollars and ninety nine cents will buy you a Big Mac. It will buy you four hours of downtown parking in my city. Three dollars and ninety-nine cents will buy you a latte made with burnt coffee at Starbucks. For Three dollars and ninety-nine cents, I can get a can of terrible beer and have a dollar left over for tip. All of which would have been a better choice than what I ultimately spent that three dollars and ninety-nine cents on, which was this book. 

I am careful to read hyped books out of their time, so that I’m not influenced by something that has been so lauded no book could ever hope to reach those heights. So when this first came around, and I saw many women talking about how much they had loved it, I figured I would just read it later. I buy books used, so this is generally what I do even outside of worrying about being affected. 

I finally picked this book up after a reader of mine told me it reminded them of my writing. 

After reading it, several years after all the hype, I have one question: Are women who fuck men okay? 

(“Why not just straight women, Doc?” you may rightly ask me, and I, unfortunately, am forced to answer that I know a number of bisexual women who also enjoyed this book, leading me to believe that the trouble is far worse than previously imagined.)

I found this book to be borderline insulting, and if I didn’t know any better, I would have claimed this book was written by a man. The entire way through I felt the constant assault of the idea that this reminded someone of ME. What have I been doing wrong all my life, I asked? I should probably give up writing. 

Let’s go into the book itself!

The core of the novel hinges around the idea that Henry goes through time without wanting to and with no consious conrol, and so in a sense lives his life out of order. This is a fascinating idea but for the fact that book’s main hinge is the relationship between Clare and Henry. 

Who Henry meets, as an adult out of time, when she is six. 

And proceeds to groom her to be his wife someday. 

Oh, it isn’t put that way, of course, it’s simply that they end up married and so, I suppose the author might say, it’s only natural that Henry interact with her when he comes the “the Meadow” nearby where she lives. But this sort of “things are already decided” that the author is extremely fond of does not remove this intensely squicky framework from their relationship. Henry begins with Clare when she is six years old, and it comes on VERY fast that they are supposed to get married. She is at a sleepover, still as a literal child, ELEVEN YEARS OLD, when the Ouija board spells out his name as the boy who likes her. 

The book takes pains to describe how he won;t have sex with her until she’s 18, but how difficult it is for a thirties to forties man not to have sex with her when she’s 15, 16, 17. I want to say there might be a part where he describes it when she’s 14, but I can’t find it in the book right now, so we’ll pretend it’s not there. “But they’re married in the furute!” one might say, listen if my wife had to resist having sex with sixteen year old me, and didn’t see me as a fucking child, I would think she was gross. It’s gross for a thirty-something to forty -something dde to struggle not to fuck a teenager, period, end of story. 

All of this is wrapped in the book’s idea that this is romantic, instead of the idea that Clare’s “date with destiny” is tragic. She doesn’t ever have a boyfriend, because she is “waiting for Henry”. She sleeps with one of Henry’s friends before he and Clare ever officially “meet” and bursts into tears because she feels as if she has been unfaithful. Meanwhile, Henry is out having girlfriends like no one’s business, and “Well Doc he doesn’t know” why is Clare the one who has to bear this arranged marriage? 

Clare herself even alludes to the way she’s being groomed to be the woman he wants in a way that I DO NOT THINK the author intended, as the author is desperately wrapped up in the idea that this is sexy and romantic and not deeply fucking unsettling. 

Pretentious-ass Henry is dropping German into a casual conversation with a thirteen year old so that you know he is learned and cool, and explain that it’s from Rilke, one of their (note: Not your, but OUR) favorite poets. 

Clare responds: “You’re doing it again!” 

“What?” 

“Telling me what I like.” Clare burrows into my lap with her feet. Without thinking I put my feet on her shoulders, but then that seems too sexual, somehow, and I quickly take Clare’s feet in my hands again and hold them together with one hand in the air as she lies on her back, innocent and angelic with her hair spread nimbus-like around her on the blanket. (Sidebar: I can only fucking imagine that the sort of people that are into this are the sort of people who think nothing at the idea of some Victorian gentleman marrying his attractive young ward, as apparently there’s no problem with having seen someone as a child and then having them marry you! It’s not deeply fucked up at all!)  …..

“Henry?” 

“Yes?”

“You are making me different.” 

“I know.” 

These brief asides are meant to make us feel that Henry has done enough to assuage his guilt, that we are meant to forget that what he is doing is wrong. The book goes so far as to have sixteen year old Clare be the aggressor with a 37 or so year old Henry, as a way of trying to tell us, “Oh look none of this can be Henry’s fault” and an absolutely cringeworthy section where Henry goes and beats up a kid who took Clare on a date and proceeded to assault her. (She dates him to prove she’s not a dyke wow what a great book and thank you for reminding us that Clare never wants to see anyone else for her own sake even as a teenager, very healthy)

All of which would make me a hell of a lot more mad if I managed to like Clare even a little bit. But it’s not at all surprising that I don't--Clare is hardly a character in this story so much as she’s a cardboard cutout that exists for Henry. 

Each of her desires and thoughts revolves around him, from the time she’s a child, save for minor pouting incidents when Henry either won’t tell her something, or disagrees with her. But she always caves, but for the exception of having a child, another horrible thing we’re meant to feel sorry for them in, but I, at least, never really do, as they know the problem, they know how horribly Henry’s life has been affected, and yet they persevere. I find myself asking why in the fuck they don’t use donor sperm, but I suppose that would not fulfill Clare’s real use as being Henry’s vessel. It might have been very touching to write about their experience of infertility if they were likeable at all, or the chapters were anything but flat and emotionless despite dealing with really high-emotion topics. It’s essentially Clare saying “I want a baby inside me” and having a series of miscarriages. I’ve read more compelling narratives on online message boards. 

Not to mention when Henry suggests adopting and Clare says “That would be pretending” bitch fuck ALL THE WAY OFF. I repeat: WE ARE MEANT TO LIKE THIS CHARACTER. NOTHING ABOUT HER IS SHOWN AS A NEGATIVE. 

A fair amount of time in the book is spent describing how hot Clare is, and it’s a bit cringey to read about a super hot redhead with great tits and also rich, who’s a visual artist, and then flip to the back and see a redheaded visual artist as the author. It’s not that I don’t believe that authors are ever allowed to find themselves in a character, quite the contrary, but one hopes that there would be a level of detachment or at least plausible deniability. But no, Clare is nothing but wish fulfillment for the author, but unfortunately cannot fulfill any of ours. I get the sense that these characters are far more complex and layered in Niffenegger’s head, but they fall completely flat on the page, sketches of annoying human beings. 

Clare seems to have been raised in an Austen novel, where the home is noted for its architecture and we ‘dress for dinner’ which could be intensely compelling if they ever went anywhere with it. But we don’t. Because of course Clare’s raising in a straightlaced, extremely wealthy family has no affect on her and she is a very cool girl who is laid back and likes the right music and poetry. (Sidebar: The name dropping in this novel is SO TIRESOME. Every band, artist, poet, etc has to be named and identified so your are aware of how absolutely well-read and smart and cool Niffenegger is) 

The we’re meant to feel for Henry when her family finds out that he is half-Jewish which I suppose is meant to be shocking when he doesn’t practice or isn’t different in any marked way from her family? The character has no Jewishness in him but as a side note and dare I say for shock value. Her family isn’t even written as believably against the union, as no one can resist super cool hipster protag Henry DeTamble (Even his name sounds INSUFFERABLE) 

The problem, of course, is that the very wealthy can buy their way out of many problems, meaning that an author has to have a particular deftness of hand in order to make you feel something for them. This is not that author. Any sympathy one might have for Clare goes immediately out the window when she’s complaining about having only a small room for a studio in which to create, while she’s living off the INTEREST from her trust fund, and hiring a cleaning service because neither of them is willing to vacuum. Not her trust fund. The INTEREST from her trust fund, which means there must be so much fucking money in there we all want to scream. 

Of course, Henry goes into the future and wins the lottery so they can give her a new studio, I shit you not this is a thing that happens in a novel where we are supposedly meant to identify with the characters and feel for them. They buy a nice house with a separate studio in the backyard, not even in the house, just a large brick edifice where Clare can do whatever she wants because these people don’t have consequences until Henry’s death, and by the time he dies, we’re all thanking God that at least there’s one thing they can’t weasel out of. The book has the audacity to have them, later, describe having a private box as one of their “little indulgences” friends a private box is the realm of $1,800 dollars for ONE showing of an opera, and while I am a believer in the good of occasionally saving up to do something that is an experience, there is no way I would describe that as an ‘indulgence” but these people have such wealth that they never need worry about anything at all, except the central point, which is that Henry drifts in and out of time and we would like to sentence a child to that. 

Henry himself is a collection of traits rather than a person--it is so important to the author that we know he is a real punk with great musical taste, that he knows German and poetry and Chicago--it’s all rather a laundry list of the long-haired, tall, punkish but very classically learned boyfriend Niffenegger would like to have rather than someone who has a heart or a mind.  But the luck of it all is that she clearly cares about henry far more than she does Clare, and so he gets a bit of fleshing out with a tragic anime backstory and all that, and from time to time we see bursts of real humanity in his character. 

Their love, even if it were not burdened by the exceptional trouble of CLARE BEING GROOMED AS A CHILD, has the weight of air. Henry is a womanizer with a drug problem, but then he meets Clare, hot rich redhead who proves she’s known him her whole life, and suddenly the magic swelling violins are in the background, love has found its day, and no more is ever said about it.The book refuses to get anywhere deep into how they feel about things and why, it is only glancing blows that seem to suggest an emotion rather than allowing ourselves to get into their minds.  

The bulk of the description of their love is sex. Sex sex sex. I get it, they are hot for each other, I am trying very hard to get over the fact that they are married when Clare is 22 and Henry is thirty, but you’re giving me nothing to pin their relationship on but the fact that they enjoy railing each other and Henry has been around since Clare was a child. I don’t understand the why of their relationship even once, it all seems so accidental, and I wanted there to be a lesson, or something to be said about humanity and relationships, but I found nothing save for maybe the idea that women are fully engrossed in their relationships and men basically luck into them and then drop out from time to time? But even that is far far deeper than I think the novel deserves credit for. 

The side characters are somehow worse, mainly racist stereotypes or one note characters who ALSO exist to have their lives enhanced by the protagonists. Even their friends only exist so that Gomez can have the hots for Clare for years, because Everyone Wants To Bone Clare. 

The writing itself is terrible too, written in the style of a script, almost, rapidly shifting between first person narratives in a matter of one or two paragraphs, often, helpfully telling who is talking by, I shit you not, putting “CLARE:” or “HENRY:” before the paragraphs, so we can enjoy who it is that is navel gazing and picking over the conversation without saying anything really, save for how badly Henry wants to fuck his super hot wife, who may or may not currently be a teenager, and how desperately Clare loves him, and has loved him since she was a child, for reasons that remain unclear. 

It’s padded out and ridiculous and reads like some of the drafts when I am being a complete garbage pile, and thank you to the person online who had already typed this out so I didn’t have to:

Henry:

Clare is wearing a wine-colored velvet dress and pearls. She looks like a Botticelli by way of John Graham: huge gray eyes, long nose, tiny delicate mouth like a geisha. She has long red hair that covers her shoulders and falls to the middle of her back. Clare is so pale she looks like a waxwork in the candlelight. I thrust the roses at her. "For you."

Please try to read that with a straight face and get back to me, i could not manage it, and it was early on the book, and this sort of thing goes on for pages, if you don’t like hearing about how pale Clare is, and that she has red hair, her two most dominating character traits, you are in for a very, very rough time. 

The narrative voice of the characters is identical. I mean, I suppose I should thank whatever god is responsible for this clusterfuck for the CLARE and HENRY bits because otherwise I would have no clue who was talking from moment to moment. Does NIffenegger think all people think alike? That their internal monologues are the same? It seems to me she must because I can’t figure any other way that one could write two characters and have them, even when their opinions differ, sound like the exact same person. 

I did enjoy the letter at the end of this story--and this is where I saw where my reader connected me to this book--it almost seems as if it was written for a different novel, a novel about a doomed love between two people that truly loved each other and had rich inner lives. It’s beautiful, or it would be totally removed from this novel. 

This review has, in itself, gotten to be as rambling and listing as the novel, and so I will let it rest here. I read incredibly fast. This took me something like five or six hours to read. It was a waste of every single one of those hours and I wish I had gotten a Big Mac instead. Save yourself, save six hours, save three dollars and ninety-nine cents, and read literally anything else. 

[indecipherables]

💀  * [ maya hawke + cis female + she/her ] —— have you met clara elderton? they are a twenty-two year old first year postgraduate currently studying medicine. they live on farrow, and word around campus is that this gemini is incisive + observant, as well as callous + sardonic. i wonder if they’ll make it out alive. a boat club scarf in deep maroon tied tightly around a pale neck (forced back across the collar of a grey checked wool coat by a brisk early morning breeze), indecipherable notes written in easily smudged black ink, eyes like unfamiliar and uninviting deep waters. 

hello! i’m jess and this is my grumpy med student/river girl clara – more info beneath the cut (not particularly coherent)! this got accidentally long and rambly but tl;dr is: useless lesbian ice princess gets considerably more frosty when she returns back to holloway to find her best friend (who she was totally in love with for four years) has transferred out without telling her, leaving her alone to a) captain the rowing team her friend started and b) sulk herself to death. 

like this for plots and i will come bother you or feel free to drop me a message (i’m southern gothics#8995 on discord) if you have an idea or just want to vibe! 

𝐢. 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐚 𝐞𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐨𝐧?

     holloway’s rowing teams haven’t historically done very well in inter-collegiate competitions, your guide explains, trotting cheerfully along the paths down to the boat house. it’s the first week of a new school year and this poor soul has been tasked with giving you the lowdown on clubs and activities –– of which there seem to be an endless variety. 

your guide’s voice takes on a conspiratorial tone as he grinds to a halt just before the boat house. the boat club never did well UNTIL emma miralles and her friend clara elderton arrived at holloway about four years ago. by their junior year, the girls had completely revamped the women’s first boat and for the first time in decades holloway was holding its own in national competitions. emma should have been captain again this year - she was pre-med, y’know, they both were. they were going to stay here forever, because those courses take so many years, right? but something happened between them in spring. 

     so emma didn’t come back at the end of summer and now clara is here on her own –– captain of the women’s boat, even though she’s half the rower and half the captain emma was. i heard that she doesn’t even like rowing that much –– she was just doing it for emma all along. 

             it would be kind of sad if clara wasn’t so awful. 

the girl in question emerges at the door, engulfed in an enormous blue jumper. she doesn’t look AWFUL but her grim expression starkly contrasts with the warm glow of her appearance - gently tanned, golden-haired and spattered with freckles.  

anyway–– your guide whispers, though clara is clearly out of earshot –– all this to say don’t bother trying to join the women’s first boat. she’s made three girls cry already and there has only been one training session.  

𝐢𝐢. 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐝𝐢𝐝 𝐰𝐞 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞?

❈  clara has always had a starkly unromantic view of the world. she does not believe in fate or in luck. the only time she has even considered the existence of destiny or a higher power is when the universe dropped emma miralles (quite literally) at her feet on her first day at holloway. 

❈ from the first flash of that enigmatic smile it became clear that the half-italian girl was everything clara was not - excitable, easy-going, effortlessly cool and yet welcoming and warm. somehow, despite the disparity in their upbringing and personalities, the two girls would be joint at the hip from then onwards. 

❈ clara was from some nowhere town just outside of boston. her parents were not especially rich themselves, but a distant relative and good samaritan had left a considerable sum in her will to allow the female line of eldertons to be educated wherever they chose, for as long as they wanted. clara, who had excellent grades and a desperation to get out of her dead-end town, found the longest course of study there was on offer –– a guarantee to keep her away from a town and a household that had never really been interested in her.

❈ emma was passionate about a lot of things - becoming a doctor fell just short of her love for rowing. clara was passionate about only one thing - emma - so whatever the other girl threw herself into, clara followed. she hoped that on the banks of the river, 5am, the sun creeping out over the frosty, dew-decorated grass, the light might hit her face in a certain way, that seeing clara in all the things she loved might one day allow emma to add clara to that list. clara threw herself into the work and into the sport, mustered a smile for all the people that fawned after emma. 

❈ the argument came out of nowhere, but at the same time seemed to have been brewing since they’d first met. as if they were always hurtling towards the same point, to the riverside on that balmy may evening. on campus clara was known for her sharp tongue, her biting remarks. few people knew that emma, away from the crowds of adoring freshman, the dumb blazered boys, the party-girls and doting tutors, was capable of quite equal malice. 

❈ perhaps, as had been suggested that night, emma had always known how clara felt about her - revelled in it slightly, enjoyed being worshipped. clara spent the whole summer holed up in a research lab on an internship in washington trying to find out. emma didn’t respond to any of her calls, not a single text. 

❈ but - this would be fine. there would be time in the fall to repair their friendship, right? wrong. emma didn’t return to holloway, leaving clara and the boat club completely in the lurch. 

𝐢𝐢𝐢. 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲

[ ON THE SURFACE ––– she’s cold and abrasive, keen to let you know that she’d rather not participate in small talk and sees it as a waste of her time. in class she is attentive and bristles with do-not-sit-with-me energy, she has been likened to a robot and often gets comments on her need to improve her bedside manner if she ever hopes to be a surgeon. in the corridors she glowers - a warning to keep a wide berth. at training she is a machine, relentless in her criticisms even as she appears aimless, even despondent. she cannot trick anyone into thinking she cares as much as emma did.] 

[ BEHIND CLOSED DOORS ––– she softens noticeably, but is still made up of sharp corners. her words are still cutting, but more obviously said in essentially good-natured jest. she will lounge on furniture, sitting in imaginative ways to study and work on her notes. she isn’t easy and open with her affections, instead approval is shown in a series of quiet gestures: a cup of coffee appears unprompted, she reaches across you to tuck the label in your sweatshirt, she offers up her scarf without question, she lingers outside your final class of the day.]

𝐢𝐯. 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬

i don’t have any specific wcs because i love to bounce off other characters with a bit more flexibility but please do let me know if you are looking to fill anything that you think clara might work for or we can muddle through something between us! 

[war--lords]

Hanayome

Warnings: Female!Reader, mild family conflict, possible inaccuracy Word count: 3,648 words (Exactly same as last chapter! What sorcery) Tagged: #hanayome Translations and important notes:

It’s done! This is the last chapter. I plan on putting out another one that is kind of like an optional chapter with no plot in it whatsoever.

I also really hope you understand what’s happening in this chapter, there’s a lot of explaining and I stayed up till like 3 am to try and write it so it may not be the most cohesive.

Part 1 Part 2

3.

You don’t remember losing consciousness.

You let out a sigh, your skin enjoying the coolness of the futon you lie on. Its fabric is softer than what you’re used to, almost like satin. It is with great reluctance that you open your eyes, because you don’t feel like you want to leave the bedding. Blinking slowly, you try to gauge your surroundings—a regular-sized room, its flooring covered with regular tatami mat, making it look almost like an inn. A nice inn, granted, thanks to the artistically placed decorations and plants. 

In the corner of the room in front of you sits a man. He is facing a low table, pouring something from a flask into a saucer-like cup. Sake, you assume.

Strange. Your fever seems like it has dissipated, for you no longer feel woozy or mildly uncomfortable, but you’re still warm—from sleeping, perhaps? The weather outside is far from hot, the night breeze cool after the rain. 

You sit up, allowing your eyes to adjust to lantern-lit room. It’s still dark outside, but there’s enough light from the inside to let you look at him more closely. Nobunaga, he said his name was. What an awfully human name. His raven black hair frames his face, carnelian eyes seemingly glowing as he focuses on the cups. You can see his profile quite clearly from your spot in the mid-sized room—the slide of his nose, his lips, his jawline…

Even while appearing human he possesses an unmistakably supernatural aura. It’s almost visible to the naked eye, rolling off of him slowly in huge amounts like midnight waves by the beach. There’s something about him that draws you in—that something being everything.

“How are you feeling?”

“Confused,” you reply, as if you didn’t just pass out. You regard your clothing: a silk sleeping kimono and a beautiful red haori that you are thankful for, as it effectively covers the curve of your bosom. Your irouchikake is neatly folded by the side of the futon, and you try to ignore the fact that he undressed and redressed you. Did he see you naked?

“How long was I out for?”

“An hour, maybe a little more. You collapsed while trying to walk.” He walks toward you with a cup. “Drink.”

Liquor sounds counterproductive right now, but it could help you accept the more bizarre things that will undoubtedly unfold, so you take it from his hand. There’s a spark when your finger touches his. You do your best not to let your surprise show and grab the cup before downing its contents whole, the warmth down your throat distracting you from the effects of his touch.

His eyes watch you and you notice that his face is rather close. He is handsome, exceptionally so, and it frightens you a little to be thinking that in such a situation. You have pressing questions that are more important than admiring his physique—you can’t let yourself be distracted.

“You came here expecting some answers,” he says. He’s doing that again, ‘reading your mind’. Casually placing a hand on your forehead, he gauges your warmth, and upon finding none, he returns to the corner to carry the table closer to the futon. “But before I entertain your questions, you must entertain me first.”

“Go?” You ask, inspecting the board game spread out on the low table. 

“Surely you are familiar.”

“Yes,” you answer. Popular temple pastime. Still, it’s surprising to know that he indulges in human games.

The next few minutes are filled with silence, with the exception of the clicks and clacks of pieces on the wooden board. For a lone god dwelling in a mountain, he is a great player—never rushing, almost as if savoring the consideration of each move. You, on the other hand, find yourself mostly trying to avoid being overpowered. A strategy that is working so far, but you feel that it won’t last for long.

He pauses during his move, watching his pieces intently, and you can’t help but stare.

His hands and fingers look strong, yet elegant, the kind you’d see in koto or shamisen players. He wears a simple black kimono decorated with gold elaborate designs, leaving behind his additional outer layers—even gods have attires that are purely ceremonial, you suppose. The loose sleeves allow you a glance at his forearms, beautifully curved with muscle. Without checking yourself, your gaze goes up and up, to his shoulders and collarbone, to the teasing parting of his kimono on his chest, to his collarbone—

By the time you arrive at his face, he’s already looking at you, a positively smug expression pasted on his face. You look down at the go board despite it not being your turn yet—the embarrassment! Willing all your blood to avoid your cheeks at all cost, you try to focus on the game.

It makes you wonder why you lost. The focusing did more harm than good, so it seems, or he’s just really good at playing. 

“Was that entertainment enough for you?” You say, brushing your loose hair as a temporary distraction. You still refuse to believe he caught you staring.

“Quite,” he answers amusedly, putting away the pieces and the board. “It has been a while since I’ve had a human opponent.” Which means he’s always played against inhumans. You wonder if his playmates are other gods, a question that you decide to push to the bottom of the list. Important questions only.

“You may speak your business,” he declares, sounding official even as he casually pours out another glass, this time for him as well. 

“May I be honest with you,” you pause, “Lord Nobunaga?”

He doesn’t seem to dislike the honorific. Also, you realize the redundancy of your question too late. He can see through you like a book. Wordlessly he permits you to continue, examining you with unreadable eyes. How unfair it is, that you’re so transparent in front of him while he’s still such a mystery.

“You have ruled over us for centuries, and never has it been written that you demand young women as part of the annual sacrifice. Why now?”

Again, Kiku’s voice rings in your ear. He said your name... he wants you.

“Destiny,” he answers, as if simply announcing the weather. “It is destiny that demands it, not I. Us gods may be almighty, but none of us are more powerful than destiny. Not even the Great Mother can escape it.”

You don’t even have to ask the question.

“You call her Amaterasu, ancient beyond all ages.”

“The Sun Goddess,” you murmur, nodding, “of course.”

“To us, she is the Great Mother of all beings, god and man alike. Even now she watches over us from the sky each day, but she has said that she is not above destiny. One day, though far away that day may be, the sun will die out.”

You remain quiet, considering your words. “So you’re saying destiny told you to marry?”

“At the beginning of my existence, destiny has whispered to me my predeterminations. I did not ask for a life of conquests—it was handed to me. My powers are the same.”

He looks at you just then, with a tenderness that no man has ever looked at you with. His hand reaches out for yours, enclosing around it with warm fingers, as if the electricity from before had melted away. Your heart skips a beat. 

“Your name was given to me when I came to being. I saw not your face, but the very essence of your soul. I have known you long before your ancestors were born—and I waited.”

There is a certain weight in his words, but strangely you feel your soul soaring in response. His warm hand feels as though it is holding your heart instead, gently and with great care, and you feel like you could give up right then and there.

“Have you no influence on people’s lives?” You ask quietly, as if not wanting to speak at all. You remember whatever romantic encounters you had with men—were those experiences merely to keep you accessible for him? There’s bitterness in your throat when you speak again.

“Could you not have any part in mine, some way to lead me to you?”

“I could,” he begins, and as he speaks he strokes your fingers with his thumb. You find it very comforting. “But everyone is bound to fate. I didn’t have to because I know that you are bound to me,” at these words he gently squeezed your hand, looking at it with an almost nostalgic look on his face, “and I to you.”

“So self-assured, even for a god.” Your commentary is meant to be incisive, maybe a tad reprimanding, but it comes out nearly like a loving, welcoming nudge. The corner of his lips turn into a smirk, definitely catching the same connotation, and you find yourself embarrassed, not unlike the way you were during the Go game earlier. 

“If you understand the course in which fate’s threads run, you’d be confident too.”

Perhaps he is discreetly addressing the creeping insecurities holding you back despite how right it feels to trust him. You want to just because it is the natural thing to do, but in the crevices of your heart lie doubts, and they have teeth, sinking into you slowly. What about the message he delivered himself—the young bride he wanted? Surely he knows of the abbot’s younger daughter.

“If you’ve known my name and face, why shoot an arrow from the sky?”

“To teach your father a lesson,” he answers. He always has an answer, it seems.

Your eyebrows knit together in confusion. “When he was only following your instructions?”

Something changes about his face, the subtleness of it making you think that he is somewhat surprised at your rebuke. He stops stroking your hands. When he looks into your eyes, it’s clear that he is searching for something that he doesn’t find. You’re left confused.

“What?” You ask, not able to stand the stillness.

“You don’t know,” he declares then, returning to his normal self, but in his amber-like eyes is reluctance.

“What is it that I do not know?” You ask again, insistent.

He seems to consider this for a while, examining your face like he’s evaluating how determined you are to know the truth. Seeing no signs of hesitation on your part, he yields, though everything about him remains as composed as ever. He then holds both your forearms, and with a sliding motion down to your hands, tells you to open your palms and face them up. You feel your breath picking up and heart palpitating, unsure of what he is about to do to you—he is going to explain, isn’t he?

“I shall show you,” he answers your silent question. “Close your eyes.”

You do as you’re told.

He purses his lips slightly, watching as you sit, eyes closed, in front of him on the futon. He has never been the deity that meddles into human affairs too much, only interfering if necessary. And at this moment, it is necessary—you have climbed many steps to reach his dwelling looking for answers. He saw this coming, yet it is still rather unfitting for him to be the one revealing such a personal matter. 

But denying you the truth would be unfair.

So he cups your cheek and he still finds it unreal. One would think meeting a god is unreal, but for so long you’ve been a phantom in his mind, shapeless and untouchable, and now you’re alive, in the flesh in front of him. His hand wanders up to your forehead, mapping your skin, feeling its warmth. Closing his own eyes for focus, he then presses his thumb gently to the center of your forehead, and begins to chant.

The incantation is foreign to your ears, but a few seconds in and you recognize a familiar feeling: floating. You almost feel drowsy, like you’re stuck between consciousness and sleep, but an uneasy sensation up your spine prevents you from losing grip of reality. His voice grows louder, unnaturally so, as you hear an otherworldly echo after each phrase he recites.

Images begin to float in your mind. The stone patterns of the staircase heading up the mountain repeats before your eyes, but this time it’s heading downwards. You follow the path, down, down, reminding you of the fever dream you had in the prayer room. It feels real. You can smell the earth in the rain, hear the sound of the bamboo forests rustling. From the sky above, his voice resounds, a constant stream of recitations as your vision brings you down the mountain. It isn’t long until you reach the temple.

The night is dark and none of the lights are on. In fact, it looks as though no one is home. You feel a force guiding you inside the main building at the furthest area of the temple grounds, where your family lives. All the hallways are empty, and you see nobody on the way to your quarters. Your heart begins to beat faster as you approach your room, the sliding doors just an arm’s reach away. What are you doing here?

It is then the sliding door next to your room opens, slowly. You feel your throat clench, blocking the air to your lungs—Kiku emerges from the darkness, looking around her cautiously, and even though you’re right in front of her, she can’t seem to see you. Astounded, you follow behind her. Where could she be going, sneaking out in the dead of the night?

You don’t have to venture far. Kiku is swift but silent, tiptoeing to minimize the sound of her footsteps, and before you know it, you find yourself at the hallway leading to the temple’s stone courtyard.

The sight before you stops you in your tracks.

Kiku runs towards a man at the edge of the grounds, a familiar silhouette in the night. Once within arm’s reach, the man brings her into an embrace, and she willingly buries her face in his chest. He tips her chin up and leans down to kiss her, deep and hurried, and it only takes one second before Kiku brings her hands to his face. Their lips lock desperately, like they only have the night to be together, but they eventually part. The man takes her hand as the two of them rush towards the stairs leading to the village, disappearing out of your sight.  

I swear I love him! So much...

It is then the pressure on your forehead disappears—you don’t realize how warm your skin feels—and you open your eyes, once again finding yourself back in the room with Nobunaga. He has stopped chanting, quietly peering into your face out of concern masked with composure. You realize that he’s holding your hand now, and that you’re in a cold sweat again.

You stare at him.

At sundown, a fiery arrow shall come down from the sky and pierce the roof of the house in which this virgin dwells.

“Kiku—”

“She gave herself to the man she truly loved, even while knowing she cannot be with him.” He says, not letting go of your hand. It sounds like he is complimenting her. Meanwhile, you still feel trapped in the dream, all the memories of the next morning rushing back to you like a river runs.

Kiku has always been an early bird, but nobody ever considered that perhaps she didn’t sleep the night before.

“She really did love him,” you murmur.

“She still does,” Nobunaga tells you.

“But what does this have to do with teaching my father a lesson?”

“You should know that your sister and her lover is bound for each other,” he says, “like us.” You feel your heart jump at the addition. “Once fate decides, there is little man can do, though there are a few notable exceptions to this law. Your father, however, severed their relationship on the basis of his own arrogance.”

“Father thought the man’s social standing wasn’t up to par,” you add bitterly.

“He was clearly blindsided by the honor of his daughter becoming the bride,” Nobunaga continues, beginning to stroke your hand again, yet his words are unchangingly straightforward, “and again, he made the mistake of preferential treatment.”

“Did you arrange for this to happen?”

“I only plan what is necessary, and the whole commotion with your younger sister was not. If I had it my way, you would be here much earlier.” At this, he moves to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. The way his face tenses up slightly tells you that his regret is sincere. “As a matter of fact, I believe this to be predetermined by fate.”

“How so?”

“It is your father who has repeatedly behaved out of pride. First, he cast away an honest man who loved your sister for poor prestige, and then he sent the wrong bride out of personal preference. A mistake it may be, but standing on selfishness nevertheless.” He proceeds to comb your locks, a gesture you absolutely don’t hate. Dare you say his moderately intimate touches are keeping you grounded. 

“Now,” he begins again, “I shall justify why I believe fate is punishing your father. He is an abbot of a temple who has the privilege to be in my presence once a year, and whose duty is to intercede for my worshippers, keeping them in my favor. At present, he has failed to perform perhaps my most important instruction yet, a mistake that is not at all a secret amongst the people. One would consider incompetent, would one not?”

“To err is human, my lord,” you reply, albeit conflicted. You’re not sure why you’re defending your father.

“His true err is in his idea of principality behind his actions. If he didn’t desire to see only one of his children succeed because the other doesn’t adhere to his narrow-minded standards of decorum, he would’ve sent you to me. A head priest should know that the established practice is always based on succession, in which you come first. As for your sister, no suspicion shall be cast upon her amidst the turbulence surrounding the head priest, and so she will remain protected from all judgement until he is reunited with her lover.”  

Kiku, happily together with the man she loves most! You can almost see her in that shiromuku again, this time with a groom next to her and a bright smile on her face. You become quiet, unable to admonish what he said, mostly because you long for it to be true—the part where Kiku is happy, at least. Instead you resort to another question.

“Is destiny punishing my father by discrediting him, then?”  

The corners of his lips are upturned and at that moment you realize how much the man in front of you knows. It could be that you’ve been in his presence for too long it makes you forget he is a god.

“Destiny’s punishment is by demotion.”

Your eyes widen. For the first time tonight, he is truly smiling at you.

“I have known your soul since I was a new god, and for that same amount of time, I have known you to be not only a wife, but a partner.”

“Partner?”

“My bride is predestined to also be a goddess.”

And she will dwell in the seiiki with him forever.

“As a human-turned-deity, you have the benefit of communicating with the people with no need for intercession and freedom to visit the mortal plane as you please. The head of the temple shall only rule over rituals of worship. We shall be known then as no longer two, but one.”

With you totally appalled, he takes the opportunity to lift you up by the waist and place you in his lap. 

“It is said by fate.”

You should still be in shock, but it’s as though your eyes have truly been opened, and every little second of your life has led you to this very moment. Everything makes sense. You remember the spark between your skin and his when they first brushed against each other, the palpitations of your heart when you entered the holy grounds. All of a sudden, the only thing you want to do is stay with him and never leave—it is unthinkable, for you would never want to escape from your very own sanctuary. He may have just offered you godliness in all its power, yet all you hear is an earnest proposal, to which there is only one answer. At that realization, you can’t help but smile—how are you supposed to reject when you can’t even think of the word ‘no’? 

He leans forward and presses the most tender kiss to your jaw. The touch of his lips is soft and unhurried, but it leaves a heated sensation on your skin. Then, nudging his nose against yours, he begins to speak. 

In nothing but a whisper, he calls your name, followed by the name of your mother, and your mother’s mother, and her mother before that. You sigh as he does, an unnatural shiver running up your spine. Everything about him emits warmth. It reminds you of the sensations you felt earlier when he lifted the enchantment off of the paper—you see flashes of your ancestor’s faces in your mind’s eye, only for them to comfortably slip like sand between your fingers, leaving only you and him in stillness.

He brings his hands up to cup your face, making you look straight at him. On his face is a mix of confidence and warmth.

“How would you like to rule the world at my side?”

You answer by gently kissing him on the lips, and the first rays of morning sun start to shine outside.

[trashballerina]

BNHA Fics I really like

Btw, the ones with a ⭐ are my favorites

journey to the past 

https://archiveofourown.org/works/15046934

Izuku is five years old the first time he's saved by heroes. He's an instant fan of the woman in pink with her cheerful smile and the man with his ice powers and fine-boned features, even if they both refuse to tell him their names.

For most of his life, Izuku has been the centre of villain attacks, but he has never been injured. Every time, he's saved by bright, unknown heroes—heroes who smile at Izuku, and ruffle his hair or ply him with hugs, and seem mesmerised by how small he is.

Heroes that the rest of the world doesn't believe exists.

Opinion: Honestly, it’s really pure and heartwarming with a side of angst. Seeing a young Izuku fanboy is adorable and from what I remember it's pretty well written. I honestly really love this one.

Lies in the guise of truth

https://archiveofourown.org/works/15124007/chapters/35067359

All Might is the world's #1 hero, the symbol of peace, the pillar that the world knows they can stand on. He dominates every room he's in, from press conferences to his Hero Agency.

It's pretty easy for everyone to overlook Yagi Toshinori, All Might's 'quirkless secretary'. But he's still there.

Opinion: I really love Dadmight. Like I really love Dadmight so I may be a bit bias. It diverts a bit from canon, but I was alright with that. It’s wholesome, cute, and Toshi deserves some love 

I Would Understand  ⭐

https://archiveofourown.org/works/12729852

Shinsou Hitoshi had a bit of a problem, and that problem was that he’d gotten attached to Aizawa Shouta. And somewhere along the line had started seeing him as a parental figure, a replacement for all the foster home parents who’d passed him along and never quite done their job.

A kid who's been in foster care his entire life spends a normal, average day after training with the teacher who seems to care a little too much.

Opinion: I have found myself revisiting this fic thrice already lol. Honestly, the first chapter is my favorite and well written--as are the other chapters. I love the melodic and somber atmosphere of some of the scenes and it really feels so sweet but hits me in the feels. The EraserMic in here is beautiful and great Dadzawa.

Ghosts of Flowers

https://archiveofourown.org/works/19851709

Shigaraki gets the chance to carefully sift through the pieces of his recovered memories and tries to hold them close.

There is something that bothers him a bit though: Hana seems—oddly familiar.

It’s not until he’s reviewing the U.A. training exercise footage their mole got them that he realizes it.

The Yaoyorozu heiress, with her long, dark hair, her elegant eyes, and her confident smile, she looks just like—

But she can’t be Hana.

Opinion: I love this one a whole lot. The concept is interesting and executed really well. I really love the characterization of the characters and you get some great internal dialogue and inside thoughts. While I do think the story goes a bit fast, I really enjoyed and understand there’s a lot to tell in ten chapters. 

Not a Spare Part

https://archiveofourown.org/works/18974530/chapters/45052543

In one universe, Tony Stark closed his eyes to a world where Superheroes were a rarity.

In another universe, Tony Stark opens his eyes to a world where Superheroes are the norm.

(An AU where after the events of Endgame, Tony Stark finds himself inhabiting the body of a young quirkless boy named Midoriya Izuku and figures out that the world could use... another Iron Man)

------- Basically, Izuku becomes Iron Man.

Opinion: I really like this fic. Tony is giving Izuku the confidence he needs and makes some new friends and builds old ones. 

Reconfigure  ⭐

https://archiveofourown.org/works/16893972

It's been years since the League of Villains was disbanded. Out on parole and stuck in therapy, Tomura Shigaraki is coasting through life. While he's no longer a villain, he's not exactly a productive member of society either. When an awkward past fling shows up, he's met with a shock: a 3-month-old baby girl. Turns out motherhood is hard when you're a serial killer. Suddenly saddled with the responsibility of a child, Shigaraki has a choice: keep his life the boring way it is or become a father for his kid he didn't know he had.

He knows nothing about being a good parent (and neither does the recently paroled Dabi/Touya Todoroki), but help comes in the most surprising of forms, specifically pro hero Uravity. All Ochako Uraraka wants to do is be a hero, so when she stumbles across the former villain with a baby, she can't help but worry. With Shigaraki clueless, Uraraka decides to do her best to help. What starts out as a chance meeting between two old enemies turns into something else as they find themselves in a strange predicament and more people get involved. They say it takes a village to raise a child. Sometimes, it's a handful of mostly reformed villains and the heroes they tried to kill when they were teens.

Opinion: Alright, before you dismiss this one, hear me out:  Tomura/Ochako really works in this fic. This fic has become one of my favorites because of how its written, characterization, and Tomura’s child--because I’m a sucker for wholesome parent and child content. I honestly really love this fic and had a lot of emotions throughout.

Something Still Remains  ⭐

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22737019

“Are you Shouta?” the shadow-man asks, and his tone is polite but there’s something verging on almost desperate behind it.

Shouta considers. He’s unarmed, facing an unknown person who knows his home address and his first name, he hasn’t slept in thirty-six hours, and he’s wearing kitten-patterned pajama pants. Despite all of that, he’s still confident in his ability to handle himself in a fight, but nothing about this situation is making sense, and it’s sending him slightly off-kilter.

Starting with how the shadow man knows his name.

“Maybe,” he says, after his silence has dragged on a beat too long. “Who’s asking.”

Opinion: It’s a one-shot, but a heckin good one at that. The tone of this fic is so gentle and quiet. Also, Kurogiri characterization is great. I’m absolutely craving more.

How to kidnap an underground hero and an UA General Studies student- A guide by Present Mic

https://archiveofourown.org/works/23068645/chapters/55178836

Hizashi knew what the villains were planning, he was one of them after all. But they wouldn’t hurt what was his and the plan was rather simple. Really.

Step 1: Convince them that it is just going to be a family holiday and that they desperately need a bit of a break

Step 2: Get Shinsou to take quirk suppressants, make him believe it’s a good thing and that it would help him, tell him that they would wear off on their own, not that they do

Step 3: Put the pills into tea, not coffee, the latter could cause health problems

Opinion: I have so many feelings about this. Like way too many. It’s not finished, but I need more. Erasermic, Shinsou, and Eri, and literally everything I love

it's a chatfic, but with villains

https://archiveofourown.org/works/11777448/chapters/26554635

DABnation added NotDeadpool, Ketchup, Magic Mike, BIG MEATY, MoonMoon, FidgetSpinnerPro, MAGNIFICENT, and Loan Snake to the group.

Stab Lick Delicious:Why is Kurogiri crying DABnation: i think DABnation: he realized he made a mistake

Opinion: It’s been a while since I’ve read and it’s unfinished, but I remember having a really fun time reading this and having quite a few laughs.

Karma in Retrograde

https://archiveofourown.org/works/14924609/chapters/34574417

When Dabi is struck by a de-aging quirk that regresses him to the most influential part of his life, he finds himself turned back into a sixteen-year-old U.A. General Studies student with lots of self-esteem issues, parent problems, a destructive quirk that he can't manage, and no memory of the years that he's lost - not to mention the fact that his little brother is now the same age as him and one of the top students in the U.A. hero course. In U.A.'s attempt to make up for what they missed and help the Dabi of the past, present, and future, he is placed with the only students that know him and have yet to find out what truly makes the difference between a hero and a villain. There, they must face the question of whether he can change or his destiny is already set in stone.

Opinion: I really like this fic. I really love young Dabi. It’s been a while since I’ve read, but I really love this one.

komorebi  ⭐

https://archiveofourown.org/works/16717599/chapters/39209133

The change can't be immediate, or it’ll seem forced. It has to take time, in order to be realistic. He knows that.

He’ll need to seem like a villain. But he’ll be a hero.

And for that, Hitoshi thinks he’d do just about anything.

Or,

Someone's selling UA's secrets, and Shinsou Hitoshi definitely doesn't have anything to prove.

Opinion: If you haven’t noticed, I really like Dadzawa. This one is super interesting, written really good, and I love the characterization of Shinsou. Like some chapters had me rioting I thought they were so good. I love the alternating moods ins scenes and I feel that I can really feel the atmosphere--if that makes sense lol.

Mendacium  ⭐

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21297146/chapters/50713442

"Why are you doing this?" Shouta couldn't help but ask. Really, this kid couldn't be much older than his class, and he was already out his risking his life to fight... and was good at it. That was the worst part of all, that a child would act like an experienced soldier in the face of danger. "If you stop now, I won't report you. You can just go on home to your family, and maybe try to be a hero-"

A laugh cut him off, but it was more sad than condescending. "Mr. Trash Bag, I'm doing all I can to get home. But like hell I'll be a hero. I've been used by the government too much." A slight European accent colored his words, and his Japanese was a little hesitant, but the determination was clear. "I have to admit, though, your quirk is really awesome. The ability to stop others' energies... remarkable."

The boy tensed, and Shouta activated his quirk on reflex.

"Too bad it doesn't work on me, then. Can't erase what you don't have, after all!"

OR: Edward didn't want to help Truth. He didn't want to go to a different world to defeat yet another Father. He didn't want to become a vigilante there.

He also wanted his brother back. The choice was obvious, even if Truth is a massive asshole.

Opinion: 10/10. Superb. Love our short funky blond alchemist. There’s ling chapters, great Edward Elric, and it had me rolling a few times with laughter. I thoroughly love this fic. 

Demons of the Past  ⭐ 

https://archiveofourown.org/works/17642501/chapters/41601551

For Enji Todoroki, hero name Endeavor, reconciling with the past is easier said than done. Even more so when a dead son comes back to haunt him.

Opinion: I had this before BUT HEAR ME OUT! This fic is absolutely amazing. I was blown away with the characterization of Enji and I know so many people hate him-- I included--but I think his perspective is interesting. The high emotional scenes really had me feeling. Honestly, give this fic a try and you’ll see what I mean.

Black Cat Cafe  ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

https://archiveofourown.org/works/15442725/chapters/35844969

Aizawa Shota was a man tired of life, bitter and jaded from the endless horrors of the world. Six years ago, he disappeared, his existence erased.

Redeye is a stoic man with a mysterious past, who runs a tight shop, cares for his young ward with his whole heart, and makes a flawless cup of coffee.

He also has an unabashed fondness for stray cats.

(Otherwise known as a bitter Aizawa makes café Switzerland, adopts twenty hero-in-training children, some villains, and Shinsou, and then kicks All for One’s ass into next week. And maybe falls in love.)

Opinion: This is the one bois. I think this is my favorite bnha fic. The concept, the characterization, the PINING. I am absolutely in the with this story and the author.

Sure As the Setting Sun  ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ 

https://archiveofourown.org/works/12111294/chapters/27462717

Mob never aimed to be a hero, despite being an apprentice to one. He only wanted to make sure his quirk never hurt anyone ever again. However, an incident that occurs in his third year of middle school spurs him into action despite his wishes. Mob enters into UA academy, the top heroics school in all of Japan, and winds up with several new friends and much more trouble than he bargained for.

Opinion: It hasn’t been updated for a while, but seeing my two favorite cinnamon rolls together melts my heart. Mob is in the hero course but has the moral dilemma of fighting, and honestly, it is so interesting to see how it’s handled. 

_________

Well, I hope you enjoyed the list. I really tried not to star everything (I like them all!). I’m probably going to make more for different fandoms and more in-depth tbh. I had a lot of fun doing this! If anyone has any fic recommendations for, please don’t feel shy to send me some! I love talking about writing!

[worryinglyinnocent]

Fic: Vastly Different Worlds

AU-gust Day One: Fantasy AU Fandom: Stargate Universe Pairing: Nicholas Rush x Chloe Armstrong

Rated: T

Summary: With her father’s kingdom on the brink of war, Princess Chloe turns to the court sorcerer, Master Rush, for solace, frustrated that they must keep their relationship secret.

===

Vastly Different Worlds

“We have the Nakai forces closing in on our northern and eastern borders. We expect that their advance guard will arrive within the week. Whatever secret weapon your sorcerer has been working on, we need it ready to move out now.”

Chloe sighed as the colonels fell to arguing amongst themselves whilst her father considered all of the information that he’d been given. Every war council was much the same these days, just a lot of shouting and no decisions actually being made, before ending by blaming the chief sorcerer for whatever misfortune had befallen their forces this time. This was usually because the chief sorcerer always declined to come to the war councils and as such wasn’t around to defend himself.

Chloe would admit that his continued absence from the war chamber was getting to be somewhat suspicious and if she hadn’t seen him in person around the palace from time to time, she’d think that her father had made up the existence of Master Rush to get the colonels off his back.

She glanced down the table towards Brother Wallace. She had not known Eli long; he had only arrived at the palace to begin his apprenticeship under Master Rush a few months ago, but he had quickly become a firm friend. Since the Nakai insurrection had begun, Eli’s presence in the war chamber was becoming more and more frequent as Rush sent him to represent the magical interests instead of coming himself. 

Chloe mouthed a message to Eli. Where is he?

Eli rolled his eyes. Observatory. Where else?

Chloe smiled to herself. She loved the observatory, but she never had much opportunity to visit it, or its inhabitants. Her mother didn’t approve of her dabbling in sorcery, preferring her to be educated in the arts of diplomacy instead. Chloe had already brokered her first alliance between their own kingdom of Destiny and the Langaran elves in the south, and she could categorically state that whilst she definitely appreciated the importance of good allies, especially against the threat of a horde of invading Nakai, diplomacy was so teeth-clenchingly boring that she never wanted to do it again. Well, at least not whilst her parents, who were infinitely better at it than she was, were still around. 

No, she’d be far happier, and, dare she think it, far more useful, in the observatory learning magic from Eli and Rush and helping their war effort. She did not have the innate talent that the two sworn sorcerers had, but her learned magic was getting quite strong even if she did say so herself. What she lacked in ability, she made up for in tactical application, which was no sorcerer’s strong point.

She glanced over at Eli again. Cover for me?

He gave a theatrical sigh and nodded, his hands moving deftly and quickly, the pulse of magic that shot out of his palm going completely unnoticed by her father and the preoccupied colonels. Chloe slipped out of her seat, the facsimile of her that Eli had created remaining in her chair. No one ever asked her opinion on anything during these councils; she wouldn’t be missed.

She paused by Eli’s chair as she left the room.

“Thanks Eli, I owe you one.”

“You still haven’t paid me back for the last couple of times. You technically owe me three.”

“I’ll make it up to you, I promise.” She kissed his cheek. “You’re a star.”

She raced out of the room before anyone could notice that there were two of her there, and she made her way through the palace to the observatory, keeping an eye out for anyone who might question her.

Chloe felt the magic of the tower envelop her as she set foot on the first step up to the observatory. She didn’t know what enchantments were in place to protect the spire, but she knew that they recognised her as a friend and let her pass without incident. The generals, she knew, were not welcome in Master Rush’s domain, and she had overheard more than one heated conversation between them about being kept out of the place. She’d never yet been able to see precisely what happened when they attempted to enter, but she had high hopes that it was something amusing. 

The magic surrounding her became more and more intense as she made her way up the stairs, and she breathed it in, feeling it race around her veins. She could quite see the attraction of the power and mystery, and she could tell why so many chose to enter the magical arts, even if far fewer stuck the course.

The observatory was its usual mess of potions and parchment, chalk dust and incantations everywhere. At first glance, Master Rush was nowhere to be seen, but she could hear the scratching of chalk against wood and she knew that he had to be here somewhere. 

Looking around the large room, she saw something that had not been there on her last visit, a complex spell scrawled around the wall. Master Rush was not a man to let a lack of parchment get in the way of an idea, and it was a very good job that he and Eli had the magic to clean up after themselves or the entire palace would be covered in strange, half-built spells that no one knew precisely what they were for, including the man who had written them in the first place.

She followed the spell around the room, knowing that Rush would likely be at the end of it, and she found him in the shadows behind a bookcase, scraps of parchment in one hand and chalk in the other, worn down almost to a stub. His arms were covered in dust and there were so many smears of it on his glasses that she wondered how on earth he could see. 

“Master Rush?”

“Go away, I’m busy.”

“I can see that. Can I hold something for you, maybe?” It certainly looked like he was about to drop one of his many pieces of paper and she’d hate for them to get muddled up in case it resulted in the observatory blowing up. Such an occurrence had not happened yet in Master Rush’s time as chief sorcerer, but there was a first time for everything. “You look like you could use some more chalk.”

Rush stopped his scribbling and looked at his chalk stub, pushing his glasses back up his nose and transferring more white powder to the lenses, and to his face. He looked so focussed on what he was doing that it was almost alarming in its intensity. 

“Yes,” he said eventually. “More chalk.”

Chloe left him behind the bookcase and went to source a new stick. “What’s this latest masterpiece?” she asked as she hunted. It looked as if the search might be in vain, there was that much junk lying around. “How do you and Eli ever find anything in here?”

“We have a system. Don’t move anything or you’ll mess it up. And I’m not entirely sure what this new masterpiece is yet, but it will tell me when its ready. With any luck, it’ll be the cloaking spell that everyone’s been so anxious to get their hands on.”

At length, Chloe found a fresh stick of chalk - well, one that was marginally longer than his current one at any rate - and brought it over. 

“Yes, the colonels are champing at the bit slightly,” she said, standing next to him as he continued to work. She traced her fingers over the spell lightly without making contact, privately impressed with how many of the symbols she was able to read and translate into magic in her head, even if she didn’t have the nous to cast them yet. “This is light magic isn’t it?”

“Yes.” Rush paused in his scribblings, turning to her. He sounded impressed as well. “The way to make something invisible is to change the way that light refracts around it. This spell, hopefully, will do just that. You’re a quick learner, Your Highness.”

“Thank you, Master Rush.”

He took the new chalk from her, his fingers brushing against hers for a brief moment and transferring a coating of dust. Chloe could still feel the warmth of his skin against her hand, burning there.

She lived for these precious minutes when it was just the two of them. They happened so rarely, commitments by necessity keeping them apart, but neither of them could deny the intensity in the atmosphere when they were together. Despite taking the chalk, Rush didn’t start to write again, just staring at Chloe’s fingers and the dust his own had left. 

Finally, he turned away, his movements abrupt and jerky, pulling himself out of whatever reflections he had been caught in. 

“You’ll be missed, Your Highness,” he said gruffly. “Eli’s illusions are masterful, but he can’t keep them up forever.”

“Please call me Chloe.”

He turned back to her. There was something haunted in his eyes that Chloe hated to see there. She knew a little of his past, although only from the snippets that she had picked up through Eli. She knew that there was a wife who had died, and she knew that Rush blamed himself, spending so much time on trying to find the magic that would save her and not enough time by her side in her final moments. Perhaps that was why he worked himself up into such a fervour now, barely resting in his attempts to discover everything that the magical world had to offer. 

“Please call me Chloe,” she repeated softly. Rush shook his head with a little snort. 

“I don’t think that your parents would approve.”

No, they wouldn’t approve. Chloe was a princess and heir to the throne of an influential kingdom, and ever since she had been born, her parents had been grooming her to marry someone influential in a purely political alliance to strengthen their kingdom. She knew that her mother was secretly hoping for a union with one of the Elven kingdoms to introduce some longevity into the bloodline. 

But despite their plans for her, Chloe couldn’t help being her own person and wanting what her heart wanted, rather than going along with what was wanted for her. And what her heart wanted was Rush. 

“I don’t care.” She reached out to touch Rush’s shoulder, leaving another smear of chalk dust there in among all the others on his robes. 

“Your Highness.”

“Chloe.”

“Chloe…” Rush sighed. “Do you know what you’re getting into here?”

Chloe nodded firmly. “I’ve known ever since I first snuck in here and you started teaching me magic.”

She wasn’t going to back down so easily. If this was something that they both wanted, then she wanted them to at least try and make something of it. The only challenge now was to make sure that she and Rush were both on the same page, and this really was something that they both wanted.

“I want this, Nicholas,” she said. Maybe using his first name would convince him of her intent. “I want you, not whatever match my parents happen to have picked out for me because it’s the most advantageous to Destiny. You understand me in a way no one else does. We understand each other. If you don’t feel the same way, then that’s another thing, but don’t try to push me away by saying it’s something I don’t want if really, it’s something that you don’t want.”

Rush’s fingers closed over her own on his shoulders. “I do want this,” he said softly. “I want it far more than I should, but I’ve accepted that it can never be, Chloe. For all we live in close quarters, we inhabit vastly different worlds.”

“I know we do at the moment, but I don’t see why we should have to forever.”

“There are some elements of the status quo that we can’t change. Maybe it’s for the best.”

Chloe sighed. “How can it be, when we both want something and we’re denying ourselves this thing that we want based on a sense of politics and propriety that’s centuries out of date? Why can’t we just take this chance to be happy whilst we have it?”

“What happens when we no longer have it?” Rush asked quietly. “What will happen when it ends?”

Better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all, Chloe thought, but she knew better than to voice the sentiments to Rush. It made sense that he was scared of beginning something new after everything that had happened, and she understood that. She just wished that she could get him to open up to her and be truthful about his fears with her. Rush had been so guarded for so long out of necessity that sometimes she thought he hid the truth even from himself. 

“Maybe it won’t end,” she said eventually. “Maybe everything will work out well if we just have a little faith. Life doesn’t always have to be a constant cycle of preparing for the worst. Please, Nicholas, won’t you take a chance with me?”

For a long moment, he didn’t speak. He didn’t move, his dark eyes impenetrable as he gazed at her. Chloe was on the verge of giving it up and leaving him alone with his spells; she had done all she could to convince him and it was not to be, so she would have to accept that. 

Then his hand was on her face, chalk dust smearing on her cheek as he leaned in to press a chaste, tentative kiss to her lips. The ghost of a smile passed across his face as he broke away, and Chloe returned it. 

“Maybe a chance isn’t such a bad thing,” he murmured. 

Chloe kissed him again, going in with far more energy than he had given her, but he made no move to pull away, accepting her readily as she slipped her arms around his middle. It felt right, here in the observatory with just the two of them, where they had spent so many precious moments together uncovering the secrets of the most mystical magic and working out its applications. Chloe had no doubt that there would be any more of those precious moments to come, but for now, she was content to enjoy this one. However long this thing between them lasted, and however it might end, she knew that this was something she could never regret.