#combination of pride and insecurity and need to just Belong. to just belong as himself. is. compelling

[transmasc-tabris]

More screenshots (bonus, managed to find Bull a shirt and don't know how to feel about that)

[thegoosewiththemost]

Slice of Life with BJ

For @nak3d-snak3 , I finally finished off your prompt!

Hey how you doing? Could i have a day in the life hc's with bj and his s/o? Like whats a common day for them? I have other ideas for requests but don't want to be to demanding. Cheers!

- you cannot drag this man out of bed to save your life if he doesn’t want out. Beetlejuice sleeps like a sack of bricks that have been haphazardly thrown across your mattress and if he’s somehow lain on top of you, good luck getting out of there.

- cuddle time in the mornings is a regular occurrence and most days you set the alarm half an hour earlier to make time for that daily morning debrief, allowing yourself that buffer time to wake up slowly and enjoy each other’s company.

- sometimes when it’s cold you find the excuse to drag the entire blanket with you both to the kitchen

- you work together like a well oiled machine in the mornings. After much dedication, determination and false fire alarms being set off, Beetlejuice turns out to be a surprisingly capable cook. Typically he’s the one who will make breakfast if it’s more complicated than cereal and milk. You’re in charge of making the beverages and doing the dishes afterwards.

- the bathroom is your private space away from each other and the one boundary that you insist on keeping with Beetlejuice. Despite the progression in your relationship with each other, he is as clingy as ever and though he is less insecure about himself, he still struggles with the fear of losing you and so he compensates for this with constant touches whether it’s from his feet seeking your legs under the blankets when you sleep to a protective arm around you when you’re out together.

- takes the initiative to order for you when you’re going out for coffee because he knows exactly what you want.

- while his possessiveness of you had lightened up significantly after knowing how you felt about him and after much reinforcement of the fact that you weren’t leaving him high and dry, he still occasionally feels threatened by people who he thinks are better than him.

- good luck to anyone who decides to hit on you, because they might just encounter a very spontaneous accident like a spilled drink or have their belongings swept away by a strong wind. He’s the first to defend you against any unwanted attention.

- some things don’t change, like his mischief and his sexual appetite, but for the most part, you can tell that he’s much more relaxed than he ever was before. More genuine and less of a parading conman because he has no need to hide anymore.

- he takes pleasure in the smaller things in life, like watching the lizards catch their prey or the sensation of being hugged and loved as he is without fear and pain.

- when you’re home he’s joined to you at the hip, going where ever you go and leaning into your touch where he can.

- loves being held and sinking into you during movie nights. The combination of your familiar scent and the security he feels with your arms around him is what does it for him. He absolutely melts when you feed him snacks or massage his scalp and shoulders.

- chick flicks take pride of place alongside horror flicks and comedic movies in his preferred movie lineup.

- likes to become your personal cushion when you read your books aloud to him.

- he likes to partake in your daily rituals, maybe in an attempt to copy them but also out of intrigue and because he likes to imitate what he deems as normal for living people. You have a skincare routine picked out specifically for him and you go through the motions together every morning and night. You have too many pictures of Beetlejuice with a wet face mask on saved to your phone.

- kisses goodnight happen without question. He likes to sleep with his face in your neck or your hair and it takes a while to figure out the ideal sleeping position where he isn’t snoring, usually with careful repositioning on your part after he falls asleep.

[dmagedgoods]

👀, 😍, and 🔥 for both Sal and Eneas please!

Salvadore: 👀 : Does your OC believe they are attractive? Do they use that to their advantage? Salvadore knows he’s attractive and a bit too well. He invests much time to look the way he does. His training, personal style, and body care routine are of high importance to him. Aside from his personal well-being, it has a lot to do with impressions. The position he holds or aims for comes with certain expectations, regarding appearance too. He absolutely uses this to his advantage. It’s less about causing infatuation and similar emotions (he doesn’t mind this sort of attention though, but he pretends to be above it in most cases), and more about professionalism and the picture he wants to draw of himself. It belongs to the reasons he mainly wears white too: His appearance is supposed to reflect his standards, goals, and beliefs and everything he stands for. 😍 : What does your OC find irresistible in others? Worldly and/or creative and/or social forms of intelligence combined with a certain flair of superiority. It can come in many shapes. Elegant confidence and high knowledge, sharp-witted eloquence, interest in getting to know and understand the world, a love for arts (in all their flavors, written, painted, played …), some philosophical ideas (lighthearted or heavy and deep) … He wants an intellect to match his own and he may be subliminally drawn to certain similarities to himself out of narcissistic reasons or just in an urge to be understood. At the same time, he wants and needs a bit of a challenge, someone who stands up to him, someone who doesn’t give in too easily when he acts all commanding, someone who teases him and doesn’t hesitate to criticize his weaknesses. 🔥 : What’s a surefire way to make your OC get flustered? Answered here.😏 ~ Eneas: 👀 : Does your OC believe they are attractive? Do they use that to their advantage? Yes and yes. Being attractive belongs to Eneas’ methods to guide and manipulate those around him. It’s not the most important part of it, but a very helpful tool and sometimes more. He likes his appearance and that it captivates, allures, and seduces others. His style connects many things he highly enjoys and serves mostly his own preferences, but of course, he is a man of many masks and if necessary, he changes it to make it suit his current position, goal, and the role he plays. He knows how important it is to make the right kind of impression. (What this “right kind of impression” entails strongly varies though, depending on what he is after. He may appear like a mysterious ruler one day and like a humble servant the next.) Still, being attractive is not nearly as important to him now as it was during his early youth. Aside from his violin play, his appearance became what got him a bit of money when he lived on the street, later even a bed and some meals, then a place to stay, gifts when he learned to utilize it more effectively … He would go so far as to say that he only survived in this time because he was lucky enough to be a “pretty boy”. 😍 : What does your OC find irresistible in others? Lawfulness, duty, determination, a genuine codex, and despite it all: pride in serving not ruling, so it almost carries humbleness. Those traits may be the only way to actually get to him, to disarm him and see his actual self behind his many games instead of only receiving a performance from him. The harder thing to find is the second part: This person would need to genuinely love and want him, be attentive enough to notice his weaknesses behind the masks, and self-assured enough to go the steps necessary to keep him from running the very moment he notices his own genuine feelings and starts to panic. 🔥 : What’s a surefire way to make your OC get flustered? I’d say it’s close to impossible to get Eneas flustered. He’s too serene, saw and did, and survived too much. Flirting, teasing, playing with insecurities, courting with charming words and gestures, that’s his language, he speaks it fluently. Well, this said, one way actually exists to get him flustered and never fails in its effect: Seeing through his masks and answering with an open display of genuine affection.

[calumxkisses]

Sweet Creature | c.h.

pairing: calum hood x reader

genre: angst to fluff

warnings: i think implied smut?

summary: request - Heeyyy, can you do one, where they have a big fight and they are in quarentine, and they stop talking to each other, and the sleep in different rooms, with cal... kiss from brazil 🇧🇷

a/n: this is one of my favorite song! let me know what you think about it! i hope you enjoyed it ;)

you should read this imagine while listening to: sweet creature

➳

“What the hell is wrong with you?” a scream comes out of your lungs. Your face has turned red, your head hurts and you feel your heart pounding. Your throat is now dry and you feel your nails sticking into the palm of your hand.

What Calum notices, however, are the tears running down your face and the pain behind your eyes. What hurts him the most, though, is knowing he is the cause of your pain. He would like to hug you, tell you that he is sorry, that he loves you and that he doesn't even remember why you are fighting, but his pride prevents him from being the person he would like to be. The person you are in love with.

“All you do is whine.” he screams out, rolling his eyes and letting out a snort.

This discussion was the straw that broke the camel's back, filled by being forced to stay at home, by a canceled tour and canceled parties but, above all, by the concern of a world that is in chaos, with a fatal virus that spreads like wildfire.

He is worried, he feels the burden of not having to disappoint anyone, of being a good person who says the right things, of being a child who cares about their parents who live on the other side of the world and cannot go to visit, reassure, and that he can only see through a mobile phone screen.

“I have a right to be angry, you know that, right?” Your voice calms down a bit, but anger still runs through your veins. You walk up and down the room, with one hand on your forehead and being careful not to step on the broken glass of the fallen vase.

Calum has spent the last few weeks in the studio, out in the garden practicing, or locked in a room, anywhere but with you. He preferred to wake up early and go to sleep late, feel cold instead of holding you and skipping meals to avoid being with you.

For the first time in days, you get a good look at him: his hair has grown, as has the beard surrounding his face, he has terrible dark circles and the vein on his neck comes out prosperous, underlining how much he is screaming.

You felt abandoned, alone, left on the sidelines, and your feelings were amplified by the impossibility of going to someone, just to escape from that situation, to be held by someone else or just to talk over a coffee with a friend.

The only thing you could have done, was to ask him why, what you had done to deserve such treatment, and to spend some time together. And that’s where the scream started.

Tears roll down your face and you run your hand under your eyes to wipe them away. If you didn't notice them before, now the pinch caused by their wake has become hard to ignore.

“Are you going to cry now? God, you’re making me regret being with you. I really wish you weren’t born.”

Calum feels the pain it caused you before even reading the expression on your face. He puts his hand in front of his mouth in hopes of being able to block the words, but they have already left his lips and have come straight into your ears, getting stuck under your skin and breaking even the last pieces of the broken heart you have left.

His words hit you like a bolt from the blue. Arguing often leads to saying unthinkable words and among all the things you've been yelling at each other in the last hour, some bad words have certainly escaped, but nothing so terrible.

You feel a pain in your chest never felt before, deep and intense, and even the tears stop flowing. You inhale deeply, seeking relief in a breath of air and waiting for your body to react in any way, all is better than feeling full of pain. The room starts spinning, your head feels full and empty at the same time, and your legs struggle to bear the weight of your body.

Calum carefully scans your face, looking for any reaction from you to understand how much your mind has absorbed his words. His stress, his worries have led him to be a different person and the fear that you may leave him has terrified him, but his insecurities have done the opposite of what one expects, making he walk away from you and treating you coldly, and now he fears that he is really on the verge of being alone, with his broken heart in his hands, ready to mend every wound himself.

You didn’t deserve this.

“I can’t do this anymore. Not with you.” You whisper, lifting your face and looking him straight in the eye. The words he used, the coldness of his tones and the loneliness in which he left you have piled on top of each other on your chest, making it difficult for you to even breathe. You need time, space, whatever helps you figure out what to do.

“What do you mean?” He asks in a shaky voice. His eyes are glossy, his hands are shaking and his face has lost color. His heart carries so much goodness and you know it wasn't his intention to hurt you, but his words were like stab wounds and you need to take care of them now.

You don't want to leave, and not because you can't take a plane, but because Calum means too much to you and leaving is not an option to consider. If it ever ends up between you, after all you've been through, it should be in a more dignified way and not because of a stupid fight and insincere words.

“I’m going to sleep in the guest room for a while and then we’ll see what to do.” Is all you can say and all you can do.

“So you’re not leaving?”

“I don’t think so, at least not now.”

Silence.

And that silence means everything and nothing.

You pick up the pieces of your shattered heart and, after casting one last look at the boy in front of you, you take refuge in a room that doesn't belong to you. The air in the guest room is different, you can't breathe the love that characterizes every corner of yours and Calum's and even the sheets seem different, cold, painful. You put a hand through your hair and lean on the door, slowly sliding towards the floor and letting go of your frustration.

Calum closes his eyes and puts his hands to his face as his body slumps onto the sofa behind him. The house reigns in silence, the only audible sound is your sobs in another room and, before he knows it, he starts crying too. He doesn't care about wiping his face or stopping the moans that come out of his mouth, he deserves to feel awful and humiliate himself like that, the guilt is devouring him and he just thinks about how he wishes he could disappear, to make your life easier.

When you first met, he knew you were the right person from the first look you gave him. Behind your eyes, deep in the irises, there was a whole world, made of kindness, love and joy. You had your demons, but the strength you emanated made it clear that you were able to overcome them, even without knowing it. A world that he wanted to discover, with delicacy and patience, and in which he wanted to live.

But what he feared most was bringing darkness into the light you emanated, turning your smiles into tears and your heart into a mass of sharp pieces.

He had told you, while you were eating some heated pizza on a rainy morning, your legs were on his and your face on his shoulder. And you had caressed his face, wiping away the dirt on his lip with your thumb, assuring him that you would have love him anyway and that you would have happily shared some of your light, and then you had kissed him, and that kiss tasted like tomato sauce and love, a combination you still love with all your heart.

And now, the only thing he can do, besides pitying himself, is wondering if you're regretting sharing your joy with him, if you'd rather stay full of light instead of welcoming his demons. And he fears your answer is yes.

Duke rubs his face on his leg, asking for scratches but also showing his affection. He doesn't know what happened and Calum wonders if the dog, who loves you more than any other person has crossed the threshold of your home, would look at him differently knowing that he broke the heart of the person he loves most.

If so, as his mind is trying to convince him, he couldn't handle it. He would not be able to live knowing that he has let down another being he cares about. Because he cares about you, but it is difficult for him to show it, the fear of rejection is stronger than he would like.

So, he lowers himself a little and gently strokes the dog, hoping to be able to receive that affection he is so afraid of losing.

As Calum's world shatters before his eyes, you take care to gently reassemble what's left of yours. You're still on the floor, getting up takes too much energy and a motivation that you can't find.

How you feel about the guy down the hall cannot be described in words, there is no way to describe what his gaze makes you feel, the way his words reassure you or how his love warms your heart up. It just works like this. Your love does not need big gestures or difficult words and never like now, it is better to absorb the silence and be lulled by the air.

Perhaps it would have been better to remain silent, let the cold of his words slip on you and learn to live in the loneliness in which he left you, but you couldn't go on like this. Not fighting would have meant not caring about him or your relationship and that's exactly the opposite of how things are. He had to know how you felt and what you were missing.

The sweet sound of his voice or the warmth of his skin are essential for you, not only on a love level, but in the daily routine of your life. A routine that had changed, which was no longer full of joy and smiles, light and perfume, but of demons that wandered undeterred around the walls of your home, ready to bring the cold into your souls.

And that routine, once full of love, was now non-existent. No more words had been said between you, no meal had been eaten together and your bed had forgotten what love meant. The stars, ever present witnesses of the passion that surrounded your bodies, were now always absent, covered by gray clouds and black skies. Even the moon, which guards all lovers, shone with a paler and more blurred light.

The moon gave way to the sun, the grass grew and the days alternated on the calendar. And yet, it seemed to you that you were still still that afternoon. Sure, breathing had become less difficult and the tears had stopped flowing on your face, but even in the middle of spring the coldness brought chills on your body.

You have no idea what he is doing, occasionally you see the shadow of his shoes behind the door of the guest room or you hear broken melodies coming from the studio, but his face becomes more and more unknown.

You spend your days studying, working, playing with Duke or reading your favorite books. You wake up late and go to sleep early, hoping to feel less lonely.

The truth, however, is that you miss him immensely, like water in the desert or milk after eating spicy food. You need to be able to get lost in his eyes or just hold his hand. The headache meds don't work like his kisses on your forehead, and no number of blankets could bring you the same warmth that a hug from him gives off.

You feel so pathetic to need him by your side, but after so many years of loneliness, he was able to convince you that you were worthy of being loved just like everyone else and, specifically, that he would love you more than anyone else. And he had done it, always and anyway, for the sake of the joyful news and the bad of your depression, he had always been there, ready to show you that you were worth it.

He wants to do it, he wants to continue to hold you and to tell you how beautiful you are, how honored he feels to be the keeper of your heart and the champion of your love, but he believes that no apology would bring serenity to your sky.

What is he supposed to do? No words would express the humiliation he feels whenever he thinks back to your fight and his behavior, no hug or kiss would bring love into your broken heart.

He spent his nights awake, the insomnia caused by his thoughts was making it impossible for him to live. The table seemed too big and the bed too uncomfortable, the bass was always out of tune even as he spent hours adjusting its strings and no melody seemed catchy enough to lift your mood in the other room. He knew that when you were sick, listening to him play brought some peace to your troubled world, but now no sound would chase the bad weather away.

None of his gestures would be enough to show how bad he feels. Nothing can express the pain he feels and the regret of his words.

However, 3 years of relationship is enough for him to know what makes you smile. There is one song in particular, in the immense repertoire that is your music library, that you love to hum and listen to when the silence is too loud.

So, wearing his best shirt and trying to fix the clump of his hair, he sits down at the piano in the living room and, after taking a deep breath, he tries to voice his thoughts.

Sweet creature

Had another talk about where it's going wrong

But we're still young

We don't know where we're going

But we know where we belong

And oh we started

Two hearts in one home

It's hard when we argue

We're both stubborn

I know, but oh

As you put down your favorite book after reading it again, Calum's sweet, broken voice spreads throughout the house, bringing a sense of comfort to your heart. You can hear the pain behind his voice, and even though you know your wounds will take some time to heal, the words he screamed at you lose their value. One part of you is still angry but the other, curious and in love, wastes no time getting you out of bed and walking towards the room.

The piano overlooks the garden, the sun shines above and illuminates all the plants. Duke is chasing a butterfly, its tail wags quickly and some leaves are stuck in its fur. Calum has his back to you, his back leaning slightly forward as he looks outward, but his mind wanders somewhere else.

You lean on the door jamb that separates the two rooms and close your eyes, letting yourself be carried away by the music and breathing regularly, giving your body respite from all the accumulated stress.

Sweet creature, sweet creature

Wherever I go, you bring me home

Sweet creature, sweet creature

When I run out of road, you bring me home

Sweet creature

We're running through the garden

Oh, where nothing bothered us

But we're still young

I always think about you and how we don't speak enough

Calum watches the garden as the lyrics of the song automatically come out of his mouth. He was never good at playing the piano but, during the nights spent away from you over the years, he promised himself to learn all your favorite songs so he could sing them to you whenever you needed them.

And while Duke rolls around in the grass, he can't help but think about the thousand picnics you had on that same lawn, the laughter you shared and all those moments when he always fell in love a little more looking at you.

And even if the song doesn't belong to him, he can still feel every single word and a small tear falls down his face.

And oh we started

Two hearts in one home

I know, it's hard when we argue

We're both stubborn

I know, but oh

Sweet creature, sweet creature

Wherever I go, you bring me home

Sweet creature, sweet creature

When I run out of road, you bring me home

You take a few steps forward and, after taking a deep sigh, sit next to him. Calum winces at the contact but his face turns into a big smile after seeing you. He doesn't know if you're still mad at him or if his singing worked, but being able to see you again after so many days spent in agony brings a sense of peace to his messed up world. He knows that this song is not enough, that he will have to prove a lot more to you - even if you will probably forbid it - but knowing that he has you there, frees him from a weight that he carried inside.

And as usual, there is no need for words, he just needs to feel your head resting on his shoulder to know that you have come back to him. And when your hands touch his, he feels at home again.

Almost automatically, your hands begin to move to the rhythm of the music and your fingers touch the keys of the piano, accompanying Calum in the melody, just as he taught you.

Duke is rolling in the grass, the butterfly now forgotten, and his happy face is illuminated by the sun. It seems that the sky has returned to shine too, not just your eyes, and the pieces of the puzzle fit together perfectly again.

I know when we started

Just two hearts in one home

It gets harder when we argue

We're both stubborn

I know, but oh

Sweet creature, sweet creature

Wherever I go, you bring me home

Sweet creature, sweet creature

When I run out of road, you bring me home

You'll bring me home

There was no need to talk to him, or to explain, risking losing you was necessary for him to understand that something was wrong, that he had to find the right path, that you can risk skidding, the important thing is getting back on track.

“I am grateful to your mother for bringing you into the world, but even more grateful to you for being a part of my life. I'm sorry for what I said, I didn’t mean it. I love you and I always will.” He whispers, placing his hands on his thighs, as soon as he finishes singing the last words. His words are sincere, you can perceive the displeasure behind his tone and you know he believes what he says.

He kisses you on the forehead and, taking your hand in his and squeezing it, he rests his face on your head, closing his eyes and absorbing the silence, a cautious silence, full of peace and fresh air.

“I love you too.” You whisper back, closing your eyes in turn and letting yourself be lulled by the peace and serenity found. You know that everything will be fine, that even if you’ll have other fights, you will always find a way to get back to each other.

-

[penrose-quinn]

What We Don’t Talk About

“Hey,” you started. “Can you still tell if it's about to rain?”

Takeomi sighed. “Sometimes.”

It didn't rain, though. Everything was too stagnant, and perhaps for the two of you, the world might as well have been on a standstill upon Shinichiro’s death.

pairing: takeomi akashi/reader ❁ implied (oblivious) shinichiro sano/reader

content tags: gender neutral reader. companion piece au to green light. tokrev manga spoilers. major character death. hurt/comfort. angst with a happy ending. reader is wearing a suit just because. childhood friends. old-not-so-close-friends grieving and coming together after the funeral. when takeomi hit rock bottom. unhealthy coping mechanisms. smoking.

green light ❁ read on ao3

Takeomi always believed he found Shinichiro first on that one rainy day all those years ago.

Finders keepers. He wouldn’t stand for it to be the other way around because it was all about laying claim on some petty victory that he never had as a boy unentitled to a lot of things, and it went without saying that Sano Shinichiro was one of the best things to come into his life. So he’d take that claim with pride and brandish it around like the flag of the Black Dragons, heralding what was so triumphant and larger than himself and everything else combined.

So when Shinichiro found you, did he ever think the same?

The both of you grew inseparable to the point that he had to wonder where he fit in there.

Takeomi always did on different areas too. It was an insecurity he’d rather not disclose to anyone when he understood early on that he was just an ordinary kid and he’d rather not be reminded of that. Standing next to his childhood friends’ tall shadows was enough, but never once did he feel like leaving. It felt like a place where he could belong, lingering in the shadows of number two.

He knew this was a spot reserved for you, though for whatever reason, you kept refusing him and Shinichiro kept you close anyway. The two of you were like this ever since.

With his arm slung on your shoulder.

Takeomi wondered why he still chased after girls.

Why you never came back to Tokyo, now that was a mystery.

He never bothered to know more since you moved to study in Meidai. It wasn’t like you and him were ever really close; the both of you just had one important link, a tug-of-war sometimes, but the small, unspoken rivalry still came with respect.

Besides if Shin’s happy, then that’s all what mattered, right?

But he wasn’t here anymore. You were.

No one expected that you’d show up in his funeral.

The first to welcome you were the Sanos; open arms in their own kind, solemn way, like you’d been a long, lost relative.

His friends followed after: spoke of condolences, sat quietly, drank cups of sake. Reunions shouldn’t be this depressing.

What would he think, seeing us all broken up like this?

Takeomi would argue that you left them first, though it’s difficult to hold a grudge for so long because he’d learn that things would never last, and it would only take another glimpse of Shinichiro on the casket for him to make a hasty escape to the restroom, the walls of the cubicle closing around him like a constricted throat.

There, kneeled on the edge of the toilet bowl, the world fell under him all over again.

Takeomi was on a bench from some desolate parking lot, cut in blue and amber by the filthy glow of the lamplight.

“Mind if I sit here?”

You approached him in the weary light, black suit and all. He regarded you with indifference, except for the glasses. Wire-framed, fake. The same pair you used to wear in your brash youth, the ones you probably never needed at all.  

Takeomi gave you another once-over before moving a bit to make room for you to sit. "Really honed in on your sociopathic streak, huh."

He was already drought out of pleasantries from the funeral. Honestly, it wasn't like he was pleasant to be with nowadays.

Taking your place next to him, you only nodded off his words with nonchalance, lighting the butt-end of your smoke – Golden Bat, was it? You weren't always this predictable. 

"Sure," you mumbled; cigarette wedged between your teeth. Your jaw's a bit slack around it. "You look like shit."

He felt like one too, but he wasn't going to admit it to the likes of you.

You weren't even glancing at him when you told him that. It wasn't an insult, but more like a halfhearted observation. An abrasive one, though that's a language the both of you shared for so long and he welcomed the familiarity with the same, bleak sense of abandon that hung around you.

“Take one,” you insisted.

Then you lifted the pack at him. It’s new and glossy, and he contemplated on the tear from the edge of the box; a tiny scar that remained like an afterthought because you most likely bought a pack of Shin’s favorite brand in a whim, desperate to poison yourself with nostalgia.

He'd mock you for it, if he wasn't in the mood to join you in a smoke break. Nicotine was nicotine. It called for such occasions.

So Takeomi pulled out a cigarette, and you flickered the lighter for him. He thought of the hostesses who used to do this for him, wondering if they got bored repeating the same gestures every night. He took account that your company was free, but you weren't cheap. He could tell from your suit. You looked like a wealthy accountant or something like that.

You could probably buy him out from the massive debt his drowning in right now.

Must be nice being successful in Nagoya. He would've opened the conversation there, if he had a vague idea how to not sound so begrudging about it. If Shinichiro were here, it'd be so much easier, and he'd likely berate him that it was just you.

You, the Specter of the Black Dragons. You, a distant friend from his boyhood.

Just you.

"You don't have to believe me," after all this time, was what you meant to say, but you cradled the sentiment on your lips, wrapped around the miserable cloud of your cigarette, as if to hang onto the taste of something like a memory—or a ghost.

The both of you must've stopped fooling yourselves at some point that this was the closest thing you could get to him.

"But I really loved him."

We all did, he thought, smoking deeply.

Takeomi bought you a can of Suntory from a nearby vending machine.

"Drink up."

He decided to return the favor. For the cigarette, for this sad attempt of a heart-to-heart.

It could never change things back to the good, old times, but at least he could afford to know you a little better.

“I'm moving back to Tokyo.”

“What, Nagoya ain't good enough for ya?”

“Something like that. I just got a feeling I should be here,” you said after taking another sip of your beer. Takeomi would learn later on that you kept dreaming about Shinichiro ever since his passing; dreams of another time gone, dreams as bittersweet as the rain. You looked up to the night sky. “The air's different.”

“It's just the weather.”

“Hey,” you started. “Can you still tell if it's about to rain?”

Takeomi sighed. “Sometimes.”

It didn't rain, though. Everything was too stagnant, and perhaps for the two of you, the world might as well have been on a standstill upon Shinichiro’s death. It’s a good thing one of you didn’t like to dwell on that for too long – or at least, pretend not to.

“Tell me something else.”

“Like what?”

You hummed in thought. “Tell me about your family.”

Takeomi did, in measured successions. 

Like how he thought he looked more like his father each day, how he regretted not getting Senju the present she wanted for her birthday, and how he hadn't seen Haruchiyo for quite a time when he'd been out running off to god-knows-where.

Because he couldn't bear it, he'd omit the other details too: his father’s uselessness and Haruchiyo's scars. That shameful part about how he couldn't even afford a gift for Senju without splitting the pay with Wakasa and Benkei, even though she'd reassure him that he didn't have to give her anything because she could care less for a present when she already had him.

Takeomi couldn't find it in himself to admit to you that he was broke, though perhaps there had been something about the manner that you had patiently listened to him throughout that made this small, trembling part of him break out into a confession.

"It's all my fault."

"You're harsh on yourself," you remarked, drinking your beer with one last gulp.

"It's true." Takeomi kept his voice somber and firm from cracking into a sob, but for that, he smoked quicker; the stick of his cigarette a lifeline, about to be snuffed out from a despondent drag. You gave him another stick, but the lighter wasn’t working this time, running empty of flames to spit.

Sighing under your breath, you offered the tip of your cigarette, pressed against his, and he sucked in a breath until something smoldered between the both of you.

Though even cinders died too quickly, and after you withdrew yourself back with a warm, languid trail of smoke on your lips, the taste of ashes still lingered—of the past? The present? He saw two things at once nowadays, some kind of screwed up dual vision when you got older, but he couldn’t determine his future anymore.

"I fucked up, and there's no one to blame but me."

Takeomi thought about Shinichiro again, golden like a sunset and an era so brilliant one had to wonder how could it all just fade away? Then he thought about you, mulling over if you’d just been the ruins of what you once were.

Addicts could always tell it from each other: the hopelessness.

Yours were a pair of glasses, a relic of the past, and you became blindsided for it.

"Guilt, huh," you mused wistfully.

Takeomi wondered if that was the only thing you could offer him. He didn’t need any more words of consolation from everyone else, though he figured sharing addictions was more comforting, like two cigarette embers meeting to burn, breathing a little deeper into the air of your lungs to taste what’s always been hurting inside.

In your company, Takeomi was careful to never mention your brother again.

He liked to think that he's wiser from that time when all of you had still been kids, pushy and volatile from your emotions. Not realizing it was a sensitive matter, he tattled on Shinichiro that your brother was a convicted criminal and you hated him for it; so much apparently that Shinichiro had to intervene between the both of you to reconcile, though he went about it in his stubborn way that drove you to a heated point where it came to you hitting him squarely in the face, giving him a nosebleed.

His memory was a blur in the aftermath. What he could only recall was that you and Shinichiro were always quick to forgive each other.

You and Takeomi, however, ended up in obscurity. The both of you just went talking about something in school the other day and he assumed everything's settled; maybe, partly because of Shin's meddling when he remembered the boy flashing him a thumbs-up at some point.

He wondered if he felt the same encouragement when your mouth grew looser with alcohol.

You were always good at making yourself appear more well-put than most, even after drinking two bottles of sake earlier with your old friends and then a can of beer with him. If your sister accompanied you, she could’ve stopped you from drinking more. He's too certain you didn’t even eat anything, something else devouring you inside from your unfocused gaze; staring but not staring. Were you seeing ghosts?

“I like the way he used to say my name,” you admitted in a slow, pondering tone.

Takeomi sent you an incredulous look, and you let out a wisp of laugh.

“I know. It’s stupid, but I can’t help but think about it now. See, the last time he did was . . . three years ago, I think? It was a butt-dial. Heh, can you believe that? Even dropped his phone right after I picked up. Probably swore something under his breath too. You know how he is when he’s piss-drunk,” which hadn’t always been the case, because Shinichiro could actually hold his alcohol quite well than most of them. So the rare occasion of him getting all wasted was too amusing to pass up when he was the flimsy kind of drunk that acted on his impulses; drunk-texting being his number one offense.

“That idiot could’ve just texted me. Spelled my name wrong or whatever. But no, he had to call at four in the morning,” and then you voiced out your name, like how he must’ve uttered it on the other line. “—he said. He didn’t sound as confused as I thought he was. Or was I just imagining it? Oh, well. Then he asked, how are you?”

“What a mess,” commented Takeomi, shaking his head from second-hand embarrassment.

You chuckled. “I just told him that he’s drunk. Then I shut him off right after.”

Then you took a mirthless drag from your cigarette.

“That’s the last time I heard his voice,” you admitted. “Wish we talked about something more meaningful. Or why he was drunk. If only I just . . .”

You tapped the ashes on the empty beer can with a finger. Some flew on the skin around your fingernail. If you ever got burned, you didn’t show it.

“I hadn’t seen Shin for four years,” you said.

Everyone knew, and at some point, they gave up on you. Shinichiro never did.

“Was he happy?”

He missed you a lot. But Takeomi didn’t tell you that. You looked like you’d shatter, if he did.

“Yeah,” he replied.

“Good,” then another long, painful second. “That’s good.”

That’s enough.

“He didn’t look the same.”

“No one does,” he said. Except for you.

“Over time,” you finished in a murmur, standing up to walk towards the vending machine. “Yeah. I get it.”

“It’s late.” Takeomi heard the crash of your drink on the pick-up box, followed after the pop of a can—of beer, he observed, after sneaking a brief glance at you. “You’ve got somewhere to stay?” he didn’t mean to ask; it’s more like a formality before he’d leave you alone. You had money. There should be a nice place for you somewhere. But.

“No,” you said, and drank some more.

The both of you took a taxi to his apartment.

You paid for the ride. Rather, you agreed to it in a drunken stupor when you just sluggishly handed him your wallet after he tried asking you to – which, even he’d admit, was sleazy of him, but it wasn’t like he could pay for a taxi. As if taking you to the train station was an option at all.

Whether the driver regarded him with disgust or not didn’t matter. His affairs weren’t his damn business anyway. Besides he was used to the sneers, the backhanded appraisals. He’d already accepted the fact that he was the lowest of the low.

“But you’re better than this,” muttered Takeomi with a tired huff. To you or himself, he wasn’t sure. Though what he did know was that he couldn’t just leave you as you were in the parking lot at this dark hour. So he steadied you like an anchor, keeping your arm around his shoulder, as the elevator creaked open and he led you towards his apartment door; plastered with the month-old signs and casual threats. From gangs, loan sharks, you name it. It was a fucking piece of work.

Not very welcoming, but it served the purpose of making it appear like he abandoned the place for a long time.

“Shoes,” he reminded, and you just kicked them off your feet; haphazardly scattered and out of place in his genkan. Then he walked you inside, careful to not let you stumble on the furniture and the rows of empty glass bottles, until the two of you were in this lonely crevice he called his bedroom.

Once you sunk on the mattress and old sheets, he couldn’t help but think how things wound up like this.

Could’ve been a funny story, but no one’s laughing.

Takeomi gave your shoulder a tentative shake, whispering your name, though you couldn’t be bothered to be woken up by anything.

Would it really make a difference if you had a few missing bills? Would you even remember?

His hand almost reached for your wallet until something abruptly vibrated from the pocket of your pants. Curling his hand into a white-knuckled fist, he picked up your phone instead, flipping it up to see a missed call and the unread messages from your sister in the notifications.

[23:14] it's late. are you still at the funeral? [23:30] where are you? [23:58] text me if you’re coming back

Then he stared back at you from his bed and sighed, typing up a quick reply.

[0:01] At a friend's. I'll be back tomorrow.

“You’ll worry your big sister sick, idiot,” grumbled Takeomi, sitting at the edge of the bed. He placed your phone on the dusty nightstand.

“. . . sorry,” you murmured from your pillow. He bristled from your response before a soft snore rolled out of your mouth, and he finally let out the breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

Guilt, huh, he recalled. 

Takeomi decided to pull the comforter over you, absentmindedly tucking its edges to your sides in the familiar manner he used to do for his younger siblings.

A dull ache split his chest at the thought. He could feel it throb along the seam of his scar, as if it was the first time. Then he grabbed a pillow and lied down on the floor, staring at the ghost lights of the city smudged on the ceiling.

It reminded him of the quiet melancholia in your eyes. 

Maybe, the both of you could talk about it in the morning.

[lvnatiq]

Random Relationship Headcanons | Felix Escellun x gn!reader

a/n: Hey ! On todays menu I am serving you modern au relationship headcanons. I know for a fact that I can’t write headcanons AT ALL yet here we are, out of spite I will keep trying until I can manage to write good shit. I’m going through a chaotic time in my life so please be patient with me 😭

I’m currently working on tattoo artist! reader x Felix headcanons and college!enemies to lovers one-shot. Knowing that Felix’s fav trope is enemies to lovers, I will post it hopefully before his new chapter drops. I used most of the hcs that were sent to me but if you couldn’t see yours, then it will probably be used on the other works.

No beta we die like men.

warnings: curse words, nsfw under the cut, random sage moments, felix being a ‘the neighborhood’ song basically.

You persuade him to start an Instagram account, and because of his family's popularity, he quickly gains followers. His account is practically empty because he would rather spend his time stalking your account on Instagram. You noticed the emptiness and wanted to take him out and take some photos for his account, which turned out amazingly. He is a little camera shy, so be patient with him.

You like to watch him apply his eyeliner but he finds it so stressing to do under your gaze.  He used to be able to do it easily, but it has now become one of his most difficult tasks. You wanted to ask for his assistance in applying eyeliner to you in the hopes of making it simpler for him; he agreed but quickly regretted it when he realized how near your faces would be. You with your eyes closed, waiting for him to drag the line as he was only thinking about how bad he wanted to kiss you. 

Felix has a Polaroid of you and stella in his wallet I said what I said.

When it comes to himself, he can be a pessimist, but when it comes to you, he is the most loving and positive boyfriend you could ever ask for. You have a dream ? He is ready to help you achieve it. Do you want to change in your life ? Go for it, He’s more excited than you are.

He can be quite insecure at times when it comes to your relationship because he feels like you deserve the world but the world is too big for his tiny hands. Will his cuddles be enough ? God he hopes so.

He almost cried when you told him you loved him for the first time. He's also baffled as to how you might feel the same way about him.

Drunk Felix is really clingy and honest. Whatever he can’t say sober drunk felix can and definitely will.

“May the stars let my death be between your glorious thighs amen-“ “Felix-”

Felix is weird but it add to his charm. It’s not unusual for you to wake up in the middle of the night and find the pillow besides yours empty. In the dead of night, you will find Felix munching on some weird ass food combinations.

He also has a habit of doing things that are extremely adorable without even noticing it. Like walking around the house in his oversized shirts, his hand clutching at the cuffs whilst the other one sheepishly rubs his eye.

“Can I lay on your lap ? I promise I won’t fall asleep. I just need to rest for a little.” His voice is so soft and hushed. “Of course, come here.” He throws himself onto you as he comes hopping on his tip toes.

He falls asleep on his desk too often, so you have to carry him back to his room, where he snuggles against you while you lead him there. Once he's in his room, he insists that you stay with him, so you wait until he falls asleep as you play with his hair, and he wakes up thinking it was all a dream.

I firmly believe that Felix’s love language is acts of service. Like making you coffee and bringing you random snacks as you work or wrapping you up in fluffy blankets whenever he catches you slacking on the couch.

He's been romanticizing anything and everything since he met you. When he sees beautiful flowers, he wants to bring them to you, but he also believes that their beauty stems from the fact that they are alive, so he argues and stresses a lot when deciding what to do in simple situations like these.

His edginess belongs to his impulsiveness and his style only at any other situation he's a complete softboy.

And I'm certain he knows a variety of card tricks. He enjoys showing off, and he enjoys it even more when you become fascinated and beg him to share the trick.

If you're a morning person, you'll probably spend your mornings alone in solitude, finishing work before the day begins, but if you're a night owl, you and Felix will go out for night walks and Felix would go out for night walks, sharing headphones to play some music, enjoy each others presence and develop a habit of watching the sunrise together.

Felix makes you playlists at the most random times and with the most random names. Until one day he sent you a playlist at around 4 a.m called “you”, filled with his favorite music. He usually sees music as a safe space for himself and now that you are his safe place too it’s only appropriate for him to do so. This only further proves how he spends his time thinking about you.

I feel like Felix would have what most would call "attachment issues" but it’s mainly because of his protective tendencies. This is not to say that he’s this "overly jealous toxic" character; rather, he has never had anyone to truly call his own in his entire life so he would do anything to protect it.

Felix is also big on astrology, so if you want the perfect birth chart, he'll give it to you. Also he owns a lovely deck of tarot cards, and if you ask him for a love reading, he can't manage to keep his words and feelings to himself so he modifies your reading according to him and his desires. Let the boy abuse his powers for the sake of love.

His style could be described as dark academia, his wardrobe mainly consists of dark colors, lots and lots of blazers and a lot of oversized shirts. He also loves jewelry so he owns a lot of rings and chains. Just so you know, if you're wearing any of his rings, his heart is doing cartwheels.

Is it obvious that he loves it when you place your hand in his and play with his rings with your fingertips.

Spoil him. Buy him that baby blue hoodie with cat ears.

“Ah, you look adorable.” “Isn’t it a bit too b-big ?” “You could say that. Do you mind ?” “No, I like it that way.” “I would know.” You smirk followed by felix’s gasp. “If you so desperately wanted a cat boy you know you have me right ?” Nudging your shoulder, Sage leapt into the conversation. “What is he talking about ?”  Felix grumbled, only to notice two fuzzy triangular fabrics on top of his head as he brushed his fingertips over it.

He’s obsessed with your hands, kissing your knuckles, drawing circles in your palm. At a certain point it became an involuntary gesture he does it quite often without realizing.

He’s also canonically extremely blushy but he would never admit it. You’re convinced he uses some sort of make up because it is not possible for the pink dusting his cheeks to look this good.

He insists that you’re cold even in the warmest weathers because he wants to see you in his coat.

Sage forces Felix to take his thirst trap Tiktoks.

He really appreciates it when you add to his herbal tea collection without him noticing and he considers it a sign of affection because he takes his tea very seriously.

He loses it when you call him baby he gets flustered and frustrated but it’s all because it rolls off of your tongue so nicely that he can’t get enough of it.

Felix owns a broad collection of scented lip balms some of them are tinted. You didn’t hear this from me.

He never once took anything the Sage says seriously until he saw how well you two got along. He never thought that he would be standing there taking relationship and flirting advice from the frat boy.

Felix is a complete asshole when he wants to. He’s very verbal about it too. Consistent sarcastic remarks and eye rolls. I mean it runs in his blood, look at Escell.

You love it when he suddenly whips out the confident Felix, it’s not a daily occurrence you know.

When Felix is concentrated, he’s lost and there’s almost no way you or anything else can distract him. So it’s time to grab some colorful hair clips and ties to fuck around with his hair.

Felix is not the best at verbally expressing his gratitude towards you. He doesn’t know what he would do if you weren’t there for him at the lowest points of his life where normally he would close himself and bare the weight of his family problems and personal life issues that he can’t seem to get out of. Now he has you, someone who’s willing to listen to him and offer him a warm embrace when he needs the most. 

While you to play games together, when he wins he wears that iconic shit eating grin of his with pride looking at you through the corner of his eye. “Shit, what do you want me to say to that felix ? Perhaps I should call you master now that you won ‘one’ fucking round.” He is praying that the screen light is covering the fact that he is a blushy mess after hearing you say that.

NSFW

I cannot stress this enough but he is extremely vocal in bed. Whining, trying to restrict himself from making too much noise but failing miserably.

Muffled pants, choked sobs and lots of pleasure infused tears.

He loves getting praised during sex but what he loves more is to get praised after it’s all over. Like you telling him how great he was, how well he behaved, how good he made you feel. He experiences sub drops a lot so please assure him that he did well :(

He’s into power-play but not in a submissive or dominant kind of relationship, it’s more of a psychological thing where the fact that he can see how good he makes you feel gives him a rush of confidence and adrenaline.

I believe that this motherfucker is a masochist, pain makes him more excited than getting an update on his favorite author who went on a year long hiatus and that is saying a lot.

Bite him. Scratch him. It is so stimulating for him he can reach his high just from those actions.

Fuck do anything to his ears bite, lick, pull, blow on it. He is extremely sensitive so anything you do will basically drive him out of his mind. It will most definitely lead to him trembling beneath your fingertips.

You must think that you are the only one who is such a tease but you’re wrong. Felix teases you quite often mostly to direct your attention towards him or to keep your attention on him. He’s quite greedy when it comes to you and your hands on his body. Unbuttoning unnecessary amount of buttons on his shirt to show a little skin that he knows you’ll notice. Playing with his necklace placing the chain between his lips dragging it towards the inside of his bottom lip teasing the metallic charm with the tip of his tongue. He definitely ain’t oblivious he knows exactly what he’s doing and he makes sure that you know exactly what he’s doing.

When he’s in the mood he will tug the hem of your top meanwhile his eyes are glued to the floor or graze the temples of his glasses between his lips, his teeth lightly nibbling the pointy edge. He loves to play dumb too. When you question him, he acts like he doesn’t intend anything and that you need to get your head out of the gutter.

At the end of the session Felix looks divine. Drool leaking down from his bottom lip to his jaw line towards his neck, his bangs sticking on his sweat coated forehead, his chest rising up and down quickly. His eyes rolled at the back of his head, his hands still clutching tightly to the sheets. Faint whimpers and deep breaths filling the air.

Leading up to the after care, his shy self returns. He buries his face to your chest hiding his blushy cheeks beneath the palms of his hands.

He likes to experiment a lot and you are his favorite subject.

It shouldn’t be surprising to find random kink definitions or role-play ideas on the search history of your laptop. After all Felix just asked for it to write an email, that’s all there is to it. That’s until you offer to try them out.

He doesn’t act upon his jealousy, what he does instead is that leaving marks on you especially around your neck and your chest where he knows it will show. Don’t cover them up if you don’t wanna deal with him.

“People just don’t appreciate art anymore.” “Felix these are, hickeys.” “Oh so now you are judging my art medium ?” “Since when proving Sage that I got railed by you is a form of art ?”

I didn’t see anyone point this out but whenever he is in the sub space he tends to be more on the bratty side. He starts of shy but his confidence builds up as the tension rises. Meaning that you should be ready to get your patience tested.

When you two are in separate places your suggestive words and tone leads up to phone sex, which Felix secretly fantasized about a lot. What made everything even more dirty was the fact that you didn’t know that he was laying on your bed surrounded by your scent and humping your pillow. Once you come back home you are greeted with a fresh pair of sheets on your bed. Apparently Felix decided to do you a favor and clean your room as well as the the whole house. He’s crossing fingers that you don’t notice because he knows that he’ll never hear the end of it.

Felix knows a lot about sex but his knowledge is based upon fiction rather than experience. So, naturally, he is more interested about learning specifically how your body responds to certain actions, what you enjoy and what you’re interested in so teach him. He’s a good student and oh well he’s a quick learner.

Pull his hair pull his hair put his hair pull his hair pull his hair pull his hair pull his hair pull his hair.

When he settles between your legs as he ties his hair, he places the hairband between his lips and looks up at you with half lidded eyes. It’s his definition of torture.

Even though he doesn’t give off that vibe, he is very freaky if you would’ve known what his AO3 tags consisted of you would agree.

Tag list is open

[wolfish-trickster]

Going to a pride with Loki

pan!loki x ace!reader

Warnings: fluff, supportive loki, aphobia (mentioned), slight mention of nsfw, typos, bad writing and grammar (but you're already used to it😅)

Tag list: @gaitwae @lucywrites02 @hard-to-be-the-bard @birdgirl90 @laramoonworld @forevernthensome @kozkaboi @theonlydeadpoet

from the beginning of the relationship he knew you weren't as 'straightly normal' as you pretended to be

his gaydar never fails

so when you told him you're ace he was like 'darling, I already know, now which t-shirt matches my eyes more?'

the fact he found out so early and wasn't making a big deal out of it was a big surprise, but a pleasant one

he respected your boundaries even before he knew, but now he respected them even more (if that's even possible)

if you're sex repulsed he will even go as far as skipping over sex scenes in movies

"Loki, it's not like I'm going to throw up if I see two actors doing their job-"

"quiet darling, this is for your own good"

the furthest he dared to go with you was cuddling in underwear during hot summer nights and him being reduced to your personal ice cube but secretely loving it

slight nsfw if you're sex neutral or sex positive: when he's horny and doesn't want to bother you he just locks himself in a bathroom and does it himself until you find out and tell him you're pretty meh about the actual sex/you like it occasionally and you're willing to help him, all he needs to do is ask (but the little insecure boy inside him still locks himself sometimes)

anyways now onto the actual pride

as soon as he found out there's such a thing he immediatelly wanted to join in and walk around like the proud peacock he is

he would conjure up a cape in pan colours when he found out sexualities have their own flags on this planet

"darling, there is pride near our town, can you join me please?" *insert puppy eyes*

you were this close to tell him yes but you couldn't

you experienced enough aphobia and bullying not only in school but online too and didn't want any more of it

plus if you're female you don't want to provoke lgbt folk on that pride with 'straight passing couple' with Loki by your side since you read it didn't end up so well for some people in m/f relationships on prides

so you tell him about your anxieties and fear and how not everyone thinks people on the ace spectrum belong

he swears he will protect you with his own life if needed

so you agree to come with him and he was so excited

he had to put a little spell on his face so no one but you could recognise him (some people still hate him for the New York thing)

there were many people on the pride

all of them had either face pain or pride pins or a giant flag, even Loki had his pan cape

when he noticed how left out you felt he conjured up a cape for you too

Loki was extravagant as ever, he enjoyed the attention he got

no one dared to be mean to you thanks to Loki's tall figure always by your side

you made a lot of friends there, so did Loki

they told Loki about the cake joke ace people have when you weren't listening

you both had a lot of fun and enjoyed yourself

when you came home a big cake in colours of both pan and ace flags combined waited for you on a counter

you love cakes (who doesn't) so of course the cake is gone before the sunset

which is a shame since Loki has a sweet tooth too and wanted more, but you promise him you'll bake him something good and sweet tomorrow

it's safe to say you and Loki can't wait to go on a pride next time

[mimisempai]

When I see you I know I'm home

Summary

Returning from a mission, Sam walks along the harbor to find the one who shares his life, and revisits his memories...

Words : 1273 - Rating : G

https://archiveofourown.org/works/31403135

Sam would never tire of this sight.

As he followed the road that led him to their home, as he drove along the harbor, the sight of the "Paul & Darlene" had a way of soothing him. It was the sight that told him, "Welcome home."

But this view tonight, this view he had been graced with for the past few months, gave him a sense of belonging that made him say, "I am home."

Seeing Bucky busy on the boat had that kind of power. Sam felt like the sailors who navigated through the storm and saw the light of the lighthouse to show them the safe harbor.

No matter how chaotic the world was, when Sam would see this, he knew he could put his bags down, hang up his Captain America suit and just be the time he was here.

He decided to park the car and walk the rest of the way to enjoy the view.

The dockworkers were starting to head home, and Bucky was finishing unloading the boat. Sam couldn't help but think back to that day when Bucky had come to bring him his new armor.

There was so much misunderstanding and unspoken words between them at that time.

They had been drawn into a chain of events, between John Walker, the Flag Smashers, Madripoor and Riga. It had been impossible for them to settle down to clear the air between them. Both were struggling with their own demons.

"Just dropping this off. You can sign for it and I'll go."

Sam chuckled as he remembered Bucky's words when he had delivered the armor. To think that it had just taken a faulty boat pipe for them to be able to talk each other naturally and regain the closeness they had before.

Seeing Bucky now going down into the engine room, Sam remembered how they had worked on this boat together.

In fact, thinking back, it was so obvious that Bucky had come in the hope of being made to stay, the way he had spontaneously offered to help, the roundabout way he had gotten Sam to offer to stay with them.

Meanwhile, Bucky had gone back upstairs and put away whatever was still lying around, making sure everything was in order for the next day. Sam remembered fondly when Bucky had come to join him in that same engine room in the early morning, he remembered precisely the intimacy of that moment, their closeness, all those glances exchanged, no wonder they hadn't been able to fix the engine at the end.

As he got closer, he saw Bucky greeting some people who were passing by and others who came to exchange a few words. Old Carlos as usual. Sam had been surprised at the friendship that had formed between him and Bucky. Seeing Bucky laughing so freely, he thought to himself that at the time, it was something he would never have imagined seeing.

Bucky had once told him that what had been pivotal for him was the way he had been welcomed here combined with his discussion with Sam in the clearing.

That Sam had given him some perspective and something to look forward to. To him who had only gone from battle to battle, without having time to really stop and think about what he wanted to do and not what others wanted him to do.

Sam remembers how he felt that day.

The responsibility of that shield weighing on im. In that moment he had so strongly needed someone, for Bucky, to understand what it meant to him. And Bucky had reacted beyond his expectations, he had apologized to him, and even though he still didn't understand everything, he had taken the first step. Sam didn't need someone perfect, he knew there was a lot to learn, but Bucky was making the effort. He had also put his own insecurities into words, nothing like the aggressive talk from the disastrous session they had with Bucky's therapist.

Sam had found in Bucky an attentive and understanding ear, Sam had been able to express his fears and doubts. Bucky had accepted everything and validated everything.

Even though nothing had happened between them at that point, the dynamics of their relationship had changed and had planted the roots of their current relationship.

He remembered Bucky, stumbling over his words trying to make him understand what he was trying to do to make amends. He had seen the broken man, but he had also seen the man who wanted to get better, who wanted to break free, it had only taken a few words to guide him and Bucky had walked the rest of the way.

What a journey...

Seeing him laugh like that, communicating with people, freely, so open. Sam couldn't help but feel pride for the man who shared his life. He had found in Bucky a partner who complemented him, one who allowed him to put down his baggage, to be himself away from the expectations of the outside world and the responsibility he had taken on.

He was only a few steps away now, Bucky had his back to him and was looking out over the lake, the sun was setting, and it reminded Sam of the day Bucky had stayed.

Sam remembered little moments of that day, "Uncle Bucky" coming up here and there, Bucky taking the time to talk to every person he met, the smile that never seemed to leave his lips, the smile he had had when he had seen him, Sam. And later, when he had come to join Sam on the dock and without a word, they had returned together to Sam's house.

Today it was he who approached Bucky from behind.

"Hey..." he put his hand on his shoulder, not a flinch, Bucky simply leaned his head against Sam's hand before turning around.

"Hey Sam... already here? Weren't you supposed to be back tomorrow?" He framed Sam's face with both hands, not letting him answer, and kissed him softly before resuming, "I'm not complaining though..."

"Hm..." Sam grumbled because he hadn't had enough, he reclaimed Bucky's lips keeping him from moving back. In return, Bucky wrapped his arms around him and the reunion kiss dragged on and on, neither of them getting enough. Once they caught their breath, much later, Bucky put his head in Sam's neck and whispered, "I missed you."

Sam tightened the embrace before whispering back, "I missed you too Bucky. Why do you think I came home early?"

He took Bucky's hand and they stayed like that, facing the lake and the setting sun, in silence, enjoying each other's presence.

Sam cleared his throat.

"You know when I saw you on the boat when I first got there, I thought we were kind of like that boat. It has had its ups and downs. A while back I thought I was going to lose it, I thought the repairs would never be enough, but with a push, perseverance, and once we figured out what it needed, it started up again, and since then it's been cared for, paid more attention to its needs, and it's still here even after all it's been through, stronger than before."

"Just like us," Bucky replied in a slightly broken voice.

"Yes, just like us." Sam raised Bucky's hand to his lips and kissed it.

Bucky replied, his throat tight, "Thanks for not giving up on me."

Sam simply replied, "Thank you for understanding what I needed."

Then still holding Bucky's hand, he began to walk to get off the boat.

"Come on Bucky, let's go home." ____

If you have made it this far, thank you for taking the time to read.

[daydream-believin]

The Never Ending Roadtrip (tie the knot)

summary: (part 1) / (part 8)  fem!reader joins Douxie on his quest for Nari’s safety, he’ll need company wont he? PART 7) two weddings in one day for our lovely wizard couple.

warning: swearing, maybe? prolly tho, alcohol, the us government

word count: 3149

a/n: the target audience here is def me. ahahjdd i hurt myself writing this, bon appetit

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Y/n let her eyes wander through the strange place. She supposed this was a pawn shop of sorts, but not one a mortal would patron. Or even know about. She wasn’t entirely sure how she got there herself. This was technically a basement. Grungy, yet somehow fancy? There was sand on the floor, and a giant floor to ceiling glass pane that made up an entire wall, letting patrons know they were in the bottom of the river Cohansey. Which would be beautiful, had this not been New Jersey. The water was murky, trash floating by with the occasional fish. Big, slimy green fish that looked like they could swallow an old lady’s chihuahua. Or maybe a toddler. There were shelves and shelves of either the shittiest junk you ever saw or things that looked like they belonged in an Egyptian tomb. Best not to touch anything. Y/n couldn’t clearly remember the entrance to this place, or entering, but that must have been a part of the concealment magic in place.

Douxie wasn’t kidding when he said they’d sign the papers tomorrow. He found himself acting fast, in case she changed her mind. She wouldn’t, of course. But just in case. While it would seem rushed to any outsiders, it didn’t feel so to him. Might as well have taken an eternity. A millennium. He had known her for years, was her best friend for years, he knew everything about her. She knew everything about him. It became much more apparent when suddenly she had the skill to do nothing but look at him and know something was amiss. Despite his best poker face he’d developed over the centuries, capable of fooling even the most observant of company. Not her. He had hoped she felt as strongly towards him as he her. He still had his insecurities and doubts, even if these rings could prove it.

He paid no mind to the big slimy green fish that flashed their large teeth to patrons. Douxie dug through the box of loose rings, looking for something specific, surely. Different enchantments, different curses, different styles, he needed to find the perfect pair. The sound of metal clattering was starting to become grating to the other patrons of the pawn shop. It was way too early for such clanging. Sure, it was afternoon, but still. Douxie had already found one for him, he just needed to dig around a little bit longer to find one for Y/n. He had already found several that could work, a bronze one shaped like tree branches around an emerald stone, a dainty silver braided band to bind, and an amethyst solitaire with calming qualities. None of these were right. Perhaps settling wouldn- Eureka, there it was. A nice gold band, the mate to the silver toned one for him, engraved with the matching runes, protection for them as they were together.

Douxie happily purchased the rings from the man behind the glass counter, to the relief of the other patrons. He found Y/n locked in a staring contest with one of those toothy fish. He pulled her away, assuring her that Fish don’t have eyelids, Love. Strange, she could have sworn that one did. He opened his palm, showing her the rings. She squealed, to the annoyance of the other patrons. They needed to get out of her before someone kicked them out.

They didn’t have to spend anything on dress/tux rentals, all thanks to Hisirdoux brand magic clothes. Y/n did manage to squeeze Archie into a little bowtie, much to the dragon-cat’s dismay. Y/n made sure to get a snapshot of it for archie_the_emo_kitty. Unlike Archibald, Nari was more than willing to boast formal wear. With all those wedding dresses she’d looked at with Y/n in mind, she begged Douxie to give her a little poufy green dress. Doux snuck in some smoky quartz as beading. Just a little extra protection never hurts. She was a very happy forest child, and spent a lot of time spinning around and around, fascinated by how the fabric flounced. She was very eager to do her part once Y/n explained to her what a flower girl was. Nari was going to be the best girl of flowers. Flowers grew from her hair.

The bowtie wrestled around Archie’s little neck matched the one around Douxie’s. Archie was technically the best man, of course. Some might think having a cat as your best man a bit sad, but there was no truer friend than Archie. And while Archie made them believe he was disgruntled at his state, this was only to preserve his pride. He would do anything if to make his brother, his familiar, smile. Even wearing a stupid blue bowtie and standing next to him during some sort of ceremony. Archie had to admit, he was surprised. Well, not surprised about them marrying, just that it was happening so soon. He knew his wizard’s heart could get ahead of him sometimes, so what was really surprising was learning that miss L/n proposed it. Perhaps those two were more alike than he knew.

Douxie looked really good in his suit, Y/n thought. Of course, anyone looks good in one, but Douxie looked extra good. Very handsome. It wasn’t a tuxedo, but he still opted for black with a little blue embroidery, and of course the blue bowtie. Very classic Douxie. Y/n wouldn’t have it any other way. He tried slicking back his hair but Y/n stopped him. No need to hide that perfect fringe, thank you. She braided a few of the strands down the side of it but not enough to obstruct it. There, that was good enough. Different but still the classic Douxie look. He laughed as she fussed with it. Some wildflowers he and Y/n picked earlier that morning were pinned to his lapel.

Y/n held a bunch of the same wildflowers in her hands. Not exactly a bouquet, but enough. She and Doux had woven some of them into crowns for each other to wear, respectively, for the day. It was a trollish tradition she thought was adorable. Picking the flowers together, weaving them into headpieces for the other to wear, a sort of unity thing. How beautiful.

Y/n actually made her own dress without Douxie’s help, as seeing the bride in her dress before the wedding was bad luck, after all. Douxie had taught her the spell, and she had been practicing an awful lot. It wasn’t perfect, but it did turn out to be exactly what she wanted. Y/n ran her hands down her sides, Not too frilly, not too sexy. Soft, sweet and romantic. And her. It looked like her. She hoped Doux would like it. He did.

She left her hair down. Douxie had made a comment once, way back when, that he thought it looked beautiful loose. She hadn’t meant for him to see it then. Douxie liking it was hard for fathom, considering her aunt had drilled into her head that loose hair was for loose minds, silly people not to be taken seriously. One’s hair should only be down when bathing or changing, especially not around others. In a way, leaving her hair loose like this was an expression of intimacy.

While they went to sign the papers officially in the eyes of the US government, the real wedding was out in the forest, with the trolls. Still, they figured they should tie their legal identities together, it’s not like a troll can actually officiate. Despite their legal identities being temporary and they would definitely have to forge new documents in half a century, they needed this for taxes and all that jazz. Y/n was going to make Douxie combine their bank accounts eventually. An efficient end to their ‘no, let me pay’ fights. But now wasn’t the time for finances. This was about love. And despite this not being the real wedding, Y/n still felt giddy.

The air in the courthouse smelled like dust and tobacco, and it felt like vague memories of confusion and bureaucracy. Strange memories, yet somehow nostalgic. At first the employees weren’t going to let Archie into the building, but once Douxie picked him up and showed him off, explaining that he was the best man, they couldn’t help but let him and his little bowtie in. That’s the thing about being cute, you often get away with murder.

Standing in front of the judge was daunting, even though Douxie knew he did nothing wrong. This time. He was just here to sign that marriage license. What a wonderful piece of paper, covered in calligraphy, stating that he legally belonged to Y/n and Y/n legally belonged to him. Such a fragile thing, in his hands. He would preserve it. Save it for centuries. The witness was a stranger, but that didn’t matter. Archie was the real witness, but alas cats have no power in court. Y/n blushed under Douxie’s gaze as they signed their names to the document. She looked ethereal in that dress, with the flowers in her hair. Even thought they were in a stuffy courtroom with people paying for traffic tickets, she was a goddess, standing here next to him, signing her soul to him. He would return the gesture with his whole chest. And he did.

They slipped the rings onto each other’s fingers, and it was done. Douxie looked back into Y/n’s eyes. His wife’s eyes. His heart may have stopped with that thought. His wife’s eyes.

Y/n was vibrating with energy as they left the courthouse. It was infectious, and soon Douxie was bouncing on his toes too. They couldn’t help but keep smiling. This was just the beginning. Time for the ceremony. Well, at least neither of them had to worry about cold feet. Y/n squeezed Douxie’s hand three times as they set off for the forest. He returned the gesture, kissing the top of her head for good measure.

Once they arrived at the shaded area the trolls had gathered in, Y/n sucked in a breath. It was just, so lovely. They were sitting in a circle, the center being where the wedding couple were to stand. Wildflowers decorated the ground. Nari had made sure they were arranged nicely. While Y/n didn’t know all of these trolls, she was delighted that most of her old pals were here. A few weren’t, but only because they hadn’t made it through the eternal night a few months ago. Surely their spirits were here. The atmosphere felt too much like love and support for them to not be. One of the trolls was strumming a lute of some sort. There was a baby troll who looked like they must have been carried here while they were napping and was now bewildered as to what was going on. Douxie may not know many of the trolls himself, but their presence felt right. And it made Y/n happy. A perfectly good reason for anything nowadays.

Y/n hooked her arm through Douxie’s as he led her to the center of the circle. The gentle lute music played as they kneeled, ready to begin. The music stopped and the officiant started. The officiant was an older troll, who could’ve rivaled Vendel in terms of ancientness. Neither Douxie nor Y/n payed him much attention, locked in each other’s gazes as he read off the sacred trollish wedding texts. A breeze blew through, blowing their hair, and a strand stayed in Y/n’s eyes even after it stopped. Douxie gently brushed it away, and was so caught up in the tender action he almost missed the officiant ask him to join his hand with Y/n’s.

“We are gathered here to witness the binding of two souls. Do you, Hisirdoux Casperan, and you, Y/n L/n, come here of your own free will, to be bound to each other in life and love for the rest of eternity?”

“Aye” Douxie and Y/n offered in unison.

“Then it shall be done.” The officiant tied the handfasting ribbon around their joined hands. A golden light shone through the ribbon, a little bit of magic.

Douxie placed his free hand under Y/n’s jaw. “You are the blood of my blood and the bone of my bone. I give you my body, and I give you my spirit. May you always drink from my cup. May I always be by your side through life and though that which comes after.” I will protect you always My Love.

Y/n was somehow able to catch her breath long enough to repeat the words back to him. “You are the blood of my blood and the bone of my bone. I give you my body, and I give you my spirit. May you always drink from my cup. May I always be by your side through life and though that which comes after.” You’ll never be lonely again Dewdrop.

“May the union now be sealed” Douxie and Y/n took this as a ‘you may now kiss the bride’ as trolls don’t kiss. Y/n was pretty sure trolls touched foreheads instead, as she’d seen Blinky and Arrgh do that often. She did as such to Douxie before kissing him. It slightly confused him, but he still recognized the affection.

There was no one there but them. Douxie deepened the kiss, melting into his beloved, his wife. Y/n matched it with fervor, but pulled away just as fast, almost making him whine. He opened his eyes, getting ready to pout, but was knocked back into remembering where he was. Oh, yeah, there actually were other people. His bad.

As the sun went down and the reception started, many trolls said many things and yet Douxie had no idea what was being said. He found it very hard to focus on anything that was not Y/n in this moment. A celebration was being had, yet the only important thing was the hand clasped in his and the cool feeling of metal he would soon get used to. He couldn’t wait to get used to it, as if it were nothing but a part of his skin. He could vaguely make out what song the lute troll was currently playing, one that reminded him of his younger years, and boy, did he feel young next to Y/n.

He led her into a dance, as this was a song perfect for dancing, of course. Y/n laughed. She hadn’t expected their first dance to start so soon. The light of the setting sun cast an orange glow as they flitted around joyously. At the end of the song, Douxie lifted Y/n and spun her around. A few nearby trolls, already drunk on bright green grog, raised their mugs and gave a cheer. A toast, one supposes. Y/n giggled at how quickly Douxie put her down after that, face flushed.

The red, orange, and yellow leaves of the trees around them seemed to be amplified by the sunset. It was one of the most beautiful things Y/n had seen, and perfect ambience for the best day of her life. The sound of the lute songs, birds chirping, and trolls chattering was the sound track. She’d play it on repeat if she could. She could feel Douxie’s shoulder brushing hers, and smell the comforting scent of cloves that clung to him. With every peck she could taste the red wine on his lips.

Now that the sun had gone down, magic candles were lit throughout, lighting the festivities. The trolls took this as the signal to bring out the food and start the feast. And feast they did. Nari was very interested in their food, and while Y/n wasn’t very positive she should let the veggie lady eat half of whatever this stuff was, Y/n didn’t care to police her this day. Nari can suffer the consequences of her curiosity for once. Y/n was too busy being wrapped up in Doux.

There was a very tall cake, resting on a flat rock. Must be one of Jim’s recipes he taught them while he was with them. Or it was a traditional troll recipe. No matter, wizard digestive systems are pretty strong and stranger things had been eaten. It was decorated beautifully, with the wildflowers and florets of what was either icing or plaster. Either way it would be delicious, whether it be made with flour and spices or gypsum and cat blood. Whatever it was, it smelled heavenly as Y/n smashed it into Douxie’s pretty face.

He should have been expecting that. He had hoped she’d be sweet and gently feed him but he supposed the temptation was too great for his mischievous bride. A cheshire cat grin replaced his adoring expression as he grabbed a glob himself and smeared it across her features in retaliation. Y/n burst out laughing, grabbing him by the collar to kiss him and get them even more messy. Douxie’s lips tasted sweet, so it must be one of Jim’s icing recipes. Archie was glad he over by the rock and not next to them, in the splatter zone.

The dancing lasted all night. The candles, the full moon, and the stars cast a romantic glow to the celebration. The full moon was the perfect moon, a blessing for their big day. Douxie was very thankful for lute troll, this is exactly what he pictured his wedding sounding like when he was a boy. He twirled Y/n around effortlessly and endlessly, he wasn’t sure he’d ever tire of this. Her soft hands in his, he absolutely knew he’d never tire of. The trolls taught them a few of their traditional dances too, Y/n seemed to really have fun with those. At one point, Y/n danced with Nari, a cheerful little ditty, and Douxie thought it was the new most adorable thing he’s ever seen. It was cuteness overload, he may have to go sit down for a bit and let his heart catch up with him. However, It wasn’t long before Y/n pulled him back onto the dance floor once again.

After the feast was devoured, conversation lulled, and the music faded, the trolls packed up and headed back to trollmarket. The light of the candles was getting dim. Still, Douxie and Y/n stayed, swaying in each other’s arms. The music may have left, but they didn’t need it. They hummed to each other as Douxie leaned over to Y/n’s ear, to sing her a song he had written for her, not too long ago. She could feel his breath on the shell of her ear as he whispered the words meant just for her. Y/n let her eyes slip closed as this man, her husband, sang his heart to her in this private moment. She wished she had a poem prepared for him. Sure, she’d written plenty, but none of the words seemed quite strong enough anymore.

[mr-gallows]

Astrological signs for Anakin Skywalker!

I mostly just focused on the signs and planets, not on the houses that they fell into, so there may be some inconsistencies! I might change these later the more I learn, but this is just for fun! Here is my take on Anakin! (with some minor Obi-Wan analysis for comparison!) Read Obi-Wan’s interpretation here. Edit: I changed Anakin’s moon!

Before I get into this, I want to explain the elements and the modes: Air = thoughts/intellect Earth = materialism/pragmatism Water = emotion/spiritualism Fire = Action/Instinct 

Cardinal = initiative Fixed = stability Mutable = adaptability

Anakin has mostly Fire and Water, making him active and emotional. He has just enough air to give him an unconventional intellect. He is also Cardinal and Fixed dominant, which gives him initiative and stability (not often a word you would describe Anakin with!). He has a beautifully intense chart, this boy belongs in a Gothic novel. Lord Byron would be proud.

Scorpio Ascendant: The ascendant is our mask or ‘filter’. It is the first layer of our personality, what we show to people before they truly know us. Anakin processes the world around him through the lens of a Scorpio; with high emotional intensity and an almost psychic perception. He is reserved with most people around him, he keeps his guard up like a Scorpio. Most of the time he keeps quiet, letting Obi-Wan do the talking with his more chatty Libra Ascendant. Scorpio Ascendants also look very intense, and may come across as cold to people. Unlike Obi-Wan’s airy Libra, Scorpio has a very heavy presence, because it’s a fixed sign. It has the intensity of a black hole. 

He’s not going to budge an inch, until he knows that he’s safe around you. 

This is probably why Anakin comes across as a loner most of the time, even though this boy is like ‘im so lonely please love me i’m so lonely’. When people get to know Anakin better, and he lets his guard down, they get a glimpse of his core Aries self (Obi-Wan is very familiar with this side). 

Aries Sun: The Sun is the ‘core’ part of the personality. Anakin is an Aries Sun, a fiery cardinal sign, making him highly action-oriented. Anakin seems to have a lot of trouble staying still, always needing to do something with his body or work with his hands. He needs to see the fruits of his labors right now dammit.

Anakin often gets typed as a Scorpio Sun, however I think Scorpio, for all of its emotional volatility, can be frighteningly calculating. Scorpio Sun likes to hide in the shadows, waiting patiently for the perfect opportunity to strike. Anakin broods like a Scorpio, but he has the impatience of an Aries, and carries out most of his actions like an Aries.

His Aries Sun is very active, always on the move, acting on its feelings almost without thought. Anakin seems to be flying by the seat of his pants in most areas of life. He’s also naturally pretty fiery and competitive, having no issue with showing off. Anakin is restless, he has an urge to push boundaries and to experience everything. He’s very open, and his moon blends in easily with this. It’s this fire and action-oriented cardinal energy that has given him drive to become a Jedi, and probably his Aquarius/Scorpio that gives him the follow-through. Cardinal energy wants to lead, and Anakin is a natural-born leader. It comes more naturally to him than to Obi-Wan’s mutable Virgo!

Moon in Sagittarius Leo: The moon is our vulnerabilities, our emotions, and our maternal instinct. It is the side of ourselves that comes out when we are most comfortable. I thought that Anakin was a Sagittarius moon, since he seems given to sensory experiences. The more I saw how he interacted with Ahsoka, however, I’m starting to think he is in fact a Leo Moon. His emotions are wrapped in his pride. I remember the idea that Anakin wants more than what a Jedi’s life offers, even though he shouldn’t. He has strong desires. There is a nobility to Leo, fiercely protective of what it claims as its own. The way he tells Ahsoka he would never let anyone hurt her makes me think of a lion protecting its cub. Anakin is so fiercely protective of her, he sneers at the mere implication that Asajj sees a part of herself in her. With Padme, he wants to express his love in grand, dramatic gestures, probably in ways that he wishes he could show the whole world, but he can’t. He wants to save people who are suffering and right wrongs in a very grandiose manner. It feels like a divine calling, a narrative in which he is the main character, it is his purpose in life. This is how Anakin mothers the people he loves. Extreme, devout protection and gestures of adoration. Just think of a Lion’s majesty and ferocity, and you’ve got Anakin’s moon. 

Mercury in Aquarius: Mercury is all about how we understand things, think, and communicate. Anakin’s Aquarius Mercury is having a hard time breathing with all these fire and water signs around it. This is where Anakin’s unconventional thought patterns come from. Anakin will come up with a solution to a problem that is very unexpected. Anakin’s action-driven Sun, his possibility-driven Moon, and his forward-thinking Aquarius Mercury combine to make him a very daring pilot. Honestly it makes him very daring in many areas. His Aquarius Mercury is fascinated by tech and creating new things with it. He also doesn’t care much for social etiquette, and may even be amused by saying something blunt. He has a taste for innovation. Him and Obi-Wan having Mercury signs in air makes me think that’s why their banter is so amusing. They are both quick witted in this regard.

Venus in Scorpio: Venus rules romance, aesthetics, and taste. Oh boy, this is a doozy. Where do I start?

Having a water-based Venus is compatible with Obi-Wan’s water-based Moon. Water signs are compatible with other water-signs. However, there is a problem: Obi-Wan’s moon only comes out when he feels completely comfortable to do so. That happens extremely rarely. 

Anakin’s Venus is pulling at Obi-Wan’s Moon, demanding that Obi-Wan share a part of himself that Obi-Wan only shows when he feels absolutely safe to do so. Unfortunately, being a Jedi, it’s never safe to do so. Scorpio probes, which might even feel parasitic to Obi-Wan.  Obi-Wan will block it out, because it’s sensitive, it hurts. Anakin interprets this as a rejection, and thinks that he did something wrong, when it’s really just not the way Obi-Wan expresses his love (most of the time). That said, the detail-orientation of Obi-Wan’s Venus and his emotionally-psychic moon are extremely precise in detecting Anakin’s mood-changes and feelings.

(Obi-Wan’s Moon/Venus: “I love you but I don’t know how to deal with this.”)

Anakin’s love is raw. It is an all-consuming type of love, it’s like an addiction, a drug. Anakin wants to know the depths of someone’s soul, he wants to know someone’s deepest traumas and demons, to accept them and love them for all that they are, because ultimately that is what he craves for himself.

This kind of love is extremely intimidating to Obi-Wan’s gentle Virgo Venus and sensitive Cancer Moon. I don’t think Padme really knows how to deal with it either. I don’t think he’s shown all of it to her.

Scorpio Venus, along with his Scorpio Ascendant, makes Anakin very possessive and stubborn. This doesn’t mean that Scorpio Venuses are bad, only that they have an urge to take things to an extremely intense depth that most others don’t feel comfortable going to. Not everyone sees that as love. A Scorpio Venus has to learn that not everything has to go that deep, and that boundaries need to be respected.

On the plus side, you can probably tell your deepest secrets and insecurities to Anakin, and he won’t tell a soul. He’ll probably feel closer to you. 

Suspecting rejection, Anakin thinks he has to prove how much he loves someone, so that they don’t let him go. I think of the scene where Anakin gives his lightsaber to Padme, as a symbol of his life and love (I also suspect that Padme is probably a Cancer Ascendant, which would explain Anakin being drawn to her because she has a mothering, caring energy that he wants in love). Anakin doesn’t realize that he doesn’t have to go to these extreme lengths to prove that he loves someone, he doesn’t see that they already love him. He feels wrong and broken, and he wants someone who can heal his soul, when he really needs to look inwards and heal himself.

A Scorpio Venus can also take things very personally and become wrathful. Scorpio has a divine wrath, it is complete and utter destruction. Anakin is fire and ice, he burns everything to ash and freezes it over.

(Anakin’s Leo Moon/Scorpio Venus: “Why are you leaving me? What did I do wrong?”)

Losing someone he loves is death itself to him. When he speaks to Master Unduli about not giving up on Ahsoka, the thought of losing her looks like it physically pains him. 

In short: Anakin not properly dealing with his Scorpio Venus/Leo Moon is probably the cause of his fall. 

Also: Scorpios like darkness and intensity. To them, it is the most real, the most deep. Explains why Anakin likes black, huh?

Mars in Aries Scorpio: Mars rules passion, war, instinct, and sexuality. An Scorpio Mars is a planet in the sign of its old rulership! It is not as potent as Aries, but I changed it because I examined the way Anakin goes to war. He is more likely, at least later on, to use underhanded and sneaking tactics. This is where he becomes very cold, calculating, unyielding. Having a third inner planet (Ascendant sort of counts as a planet) in Scorpio makes his personality slightly unbalanced. There’s a LOT of Scorpio here, a lot of intense emotions that he has difficulty understanding. He can never completely express himself, there is something he’s always holding back, and he doesn’t even know what it is that he’s holding back.  

When it comes to sexuality, this is another area where Anakin gets possessive. This is where not only his Mars, but his Scorpio Venus and Leo Moon all come out to play. The eroticism is ridiculous. It’s wild, uninhibited, dark, passionate, emotional, and probably loud. What a drama queen. He’s easily aroused and wants to give everything he can to his partner. Having Scorpio in the planets of love and sexuality makes his expressions of love tinged with darkness. He probably has a dominant edge and wants to explore dark taboos. He wants to utterly consume his partner and have them consume him in return. This is an intense sensory and emotional experience for him, and he wants the best. His ideal is a luxurious bed with candles, a beautiful moonlit view, and nobody else for miles. Leaving his partners exhausted and satisfied is what he strives for, and he’d wish they could do this forever. Aries/Leo/Scorpio make his head, back, and well...his genitals, his erogenous zones, respectively.

[carlatsukinamistolemyhamsandwich]

Who do you think was the first to fall in love with Yui, Carla or Shin? Which of the two relationships do you think has the best development? And finally, if Giessbach and Krone were still alive, what do you think they would think of the relationship between their sons and Yui?

Ohhhh this is an interesting question, sorry I took so long to answer anon but I had to do a deep dive into Shin and Carla’s DF routes for this so it took a bit of time. I’ve split this into three different sections.

Who fell for Yui first?

This is a little tricky as these boys are not great at dealing with their feelings. What I’ve done is included a list of what I view as key moments in their relationships with her and when they occur in their DF routes.

(This post got REALLY long so I’m putting the rest of it under the cut).

Carla’s route

Dark 10 - Carla allows Yui to go to the library at school after she says she wants to read to distract herself from her current situation. Carla reflects that he did the same thing while confined to Banmaden and while this doesn’t show any feelings on his part, I do think it’s interesting that he draws such a comparison. In the Dark Epilogue they then have a conversation about books and this is the first instance of them bonding that we get in the route.

Maniac 06 - Carla catches the scent of a vampire on Yui after allowing her to go to library (she was talking to Mertz) and accuses her of using his fondness for reading to gain his sympathy. Carla himself is surprised at how angry he feels and while he refuses to acknowledge that it’s because he’d started to trust Yui and feels betrayed, that’s exactly what it is.

Maniac 09 - Carla reveals to Yui what he plans to do with her and basically says he’ll have sex with her right there (fortunately he’s stopped due to his Endzeit in the next scene). I don’t think I need to clarify that he’s not doing this because he feels things for Yui but I’ve mentioned a similar thing in Shin’s route so I feel it’s only fair I highlight this moment too.

Maniac 10 and Epilogue - After Carla collapses from Endzeit, Yui goes get help and Carla can’t understand why she comes back (i.e why she doesn’t run away) and starts to take care of him. Yui tells him that it’s because she feels compassion for him. Carla actually opens up a bit here about his feelings towards his father but goes back to being cold to Yui and pushing her away due to his hang-ups about how he should behave as a king. After Yui leaves he notes his heart is beating loudly and he starts to say he finds her scent irritating, before realizing it might be another feeling. Suffice to say Carla definitely feels something towards Yui at this point but good luck getting him to admit it.

Ecstasy Prologue - After a conversation with Yui, Carla notes that he felt happy because of her but is confused as to why. It’s because you like her you doofus. Again Carla is still in the phase of “feeling something but I’ll die before I admit it to anyone including myself”.

Ecstasy 06 and 07 - Here Yui recognizes her feelings for Carla. As for Carla, he allows Yui to hug him and asks her to dance with him. Once they finish, Carla tells her to go to Shin after he dies but when he’s alone he reflects that he actually doesn’t want Yui to go to anyone else. I would actually say that Carla’s started to love her by this point (or at least something very close to love) but he doesn’t properly admit it to Yui or himself until his vampire ending.

Shin’s route

Dark Epilogue - In my opinion this is the first instance where Shin goes from seeing Yui as just a thing to use to surpass his brother and actually seeing her as her own person. Shin takes care of Yui after she gets sick (although this is because he needs her alive and healthy for their plan rather than because he cares for her) and Yui thanks him. Shin is taken really off-guard by this, because the founders were strong enough that they never needed help (and so never had to thank anyone in return). He also notices scars she has from her time with the Sakamaki brothers and they remind him of the incident with his eye

Maniac 09 - Shin and Yui’s first kiss under less than great circumstances. After Carla tells Shin to hand over Yui and Shin fails to sway Mertz to his side, Shin decides to make Yui his by attempting to have sex with her (fortunately Carla interrupts them before he can do any more than kiss her) (Just as a quick aside, Shin very much seems to associate sex with ownership, as this comes up in Ruki’s DF route too. What he’s doing is very very wrong but I just want to explain his mind set a bit). Now what he’s doing here is dreadful and Shin is definitely not doing this because he loves her. I don’t think he feels nothing for her here either (based on a scene that happens immediately after this) but he’s still very much just trying to one-up Carla.

Maniac 10 - As punishment for what happened above, Carla sucks Yui’s blood in front of Shin while Shin begs him to stop. This is again partly about not wanting to lose to Carla but based on the dialogue I also think this is the first real moment we get any indication that Shin might have some form of actual feelings for Yui. Towards the end of this scene, Yui also protects Shin from Carla’s magic by getting in the way and Yui notes that there was pain on Shin’s face just before she gets hit with and blacks out.

Maniac Epilogue - In this scene we get one of the most important conversations in the development of Shin and Yui’s relationship. Shin asks why Yui tried to save him considering everything he’s done to her and Yui replies that she doesn’t want him to suffer because she know what it’s like to suffer. Shin naturally doesn’t understand her actions at all and says he wants to kill her because her attitude pisses him off (he isn’t serious, he just doesn’t know what to do and so acts like an idiot) but before that  he’ll give her a nice memory by holding her close to him for warmth. Here, I believe Shin actually starts to see that he has something in common with Yui, she feels powerless against him in the same way that he feels weak compared to Carla (although you have to read into the dialogue a bit to come to this conclusion).

Ecstasy 07 - While Yui is taking care of Carla after his condition dramatically worsens (due to Endzeit), Shin reflects that it’s the first time he’s met someone like her and that if they’d met normally she probably would have gotten along with Carla and become his. Shin is definitely feeling things at this point and starting to realize it but he’s not quite there yet.

Ecstasy 09 - After Yui asks Shin not to go and fight Karlheinz for Carla’s sake, Shin views that as her choosing Carla over him and in a monologue he says that he wanted her to choose him and thought she already had. Yui finds him because she wants to talk to him and Shin kisses her and accuses her of wanting to flirt with Carla (because he’s hopelessly insecure and also an idiot). Yui then says she belongs to him and Shin frickin melts. This is where he goes from “cares about her and has started to admit it himself” to “genuinely cares about her”. There’s a bit more on Shin’s feelings for her in his Vampire ending but I think this is where I’ll stop for now.

Comparing the two routes side by side I’d actually say Carla starts to develop feelings for Yui faster than Shin does but  has a much harder time admitting it because of his “I am the mighty Founder King, I can’t have feelings for a fragile human” mind set. Shin has a bit more of a narrow worldview in terms of believing in the absolute superiority of the founders and being incredibly focused on surpassing Carla, which is why I think he’s a bit slower to come around to her (although it’s really not by that much) but I do think he’s much more honest with himself regarding his feelings towards Yui when he does develop them.

Which relationship has the best development? 

Urgh... this is really hard as it depends heavily on whether I’m just looking for at them initially falling for her (DF) or the other routes too.

Just based on DF, I’d actually say Carla and Yui’s relationship has the best development, as it actually addresses some of Carla’s issues. Part of Carla accepting his feelings for Yui is him confronting his idea that kings cannot express their emotions and his own loneliness as well. Even when the other founders were alive, Giesbach’s treatment of him and his own duties/position as heir to throne, left Carla very isolated. While his mother genuinely cared for him, there was little she could do, and in asking him to kill Giesbach (although for the good of their people) it put an immense amount of pressure on him. This combined with Yui telling Carla that it’s okay for him to be selfish, or rather to be true to his own feelings rather than trying to act how he perceives a king should be, is why their relationship is really important to Carla’s character.

Now I love Shin to death but I don’t think the progression of his and Yui’s relationship is quite as nice in DF. A lot of Shin’s route is just dealing with his complicated feelings towards Carla, rather than focusing on his relationship with Yui and while she is crucial in getting him to go back to Banmaden and have that final confrontation with Carla in his vampire ending, ultimately the brothers have to discuss things on their own for Shin to get any sort of closure on that front.

However if I’m looking at the series overall (i.e. DF and beyond to LE and later CDs) then I think Shin and Yui’s relationship has the best development, as he goes from the prideful “humans are dirt under my feet” attitude at the start of DF to actually relying on Yui in his LE route and being glad that he didn’t die in the incident where the Vibora took his eye. He says this in his Born to Die CD and for anyone less familiar with his character I want to point out how much of a big deal this is. Shin’s pride as a founder is a huge part of his character and I’d say he loves the first bloods and believes in their superiority even more so than Carla does. So for him, Carla, the person he looked up to above all others and the future founder king, lowering his head to one of the sub-races was not worth Shin’s life. He says as much in the moment and later when discussing it, that to him it would have been better to die than to see Carla sacrifice some of his (and the founders’) pride. Which is why when he then tells Yui that he’s glad he didn’t die because it otherwise they wouldn’t have met, it really shows how much she (and their relationship) has come to mean to him.

With Carla I feel like the majority of his issues are tackled in DF and while the fact he’s willing to become a ghoul, in order to prolong his life with Yui (and admittedly get revenge for Shin) in his LE vampire ending is also pretty big, I don’t think he’s much more of a stretch for him from DF where he went to Karlheinz (Karlheinz, the person who confined him to Banmaden for centuries) to plead for Yui’s life. I think that although Yui is very important to Carla, Shin is more impacted by being with her in the long time and I like that their relationship continues to develop from DF.

How would Krone and Giesbach react?

Giesbach disapproved of basically everything Carla ever did so I can’t see him being happy with Carla in any scenario. At best I think he’d make nasty comments about how founders (and especially founder royalty) should not lower themselves by having relations with a human and at worst I think they’d be actual threats.

I can’t see Giesbach being thrilled by Yui being with Shin either (he was not a very nice person by the end guys), but that’s because I don’t think he’d view her as being good enough for Shin. If Shin was adamant about being with her then, I don’t think he would do anything to force them apart (because Giesbach did love Shin) but it would lead to some awkward family dinners.

Krone, on the other hand, would probably just be happy that either of her sons had found someone who made them happy.

On a serious note, one thing that I don’t normally mention on this blog but think I should here; although I love DF and the Tsukinami brothers, the idea that anyone who treats you as they do at the start of DF will fall in love with you just because you’re nice to them is for fiction only. I trust you guys to be sensible and keep yourselves safe but I thought I should bring this up when discussing the idea of the boys falling in love with Yui because I don’t want anyone to think that I’m romanticizing what Yui goes through. If you were to meet anyone like the Tsuki bros as they are at the start of DF irl then you should run for the hills and not look back.

I hope this answers your questions anon! Again, sorry I took so long ^^;;

[lonelyopinions]

A Story of Healing, Forgiveness, Adversity, Wisdom, and Improvement

This is the story of a young man who needed to find where he belonged. A man who felt out of place everywhere he was until he realized what his life was missing. He had to reinvent himself several times before he got it right, but he eventually *did* find his peace. His story is as true as it needs to be for others to benefit and learn from his experience.

It’s also the story, to one degree or another, of everyone who has found themselves in a similar situation.

I hope this helps all of them. Hold on. Things will work out for you.

His name is not important. What his story can teach others is.

Although he did not at first realize it, he was born into a broken and abusive household. His parents never really meant to harm him -- but, as is so often the case, well-intentioned people often hurt the ones closest to them not out of malice, but simply because they are flawed. His mother, to be precise, was the product of a severely abusive home, herself. She also had had a major head injury and, probably, a variety of mental illnesses. Thus, although quite clearly very well-intentioned, his mother often was an extremely anxious, alarmist, and controlling woman. After the young man had become more mature, he would realize that his mother’s behavior was caused not by her being evil, but simply by the fact that she had been quite damaged.

Her husband, the young man’s father, was almost completely dominated by his mother. This was not because the young man’s father lacked a spine or courage or sense (in later years, the man would recognize that his father had all of these virtues and many more in abundance), but rather because his father was not terribly wealthy, and his mother, for the most part, owned most of his family’s money. Throughout their troubled and often horrid marriage, the young man’s parents were constantly fighting, mostly about money. Beyond that, though, his mother was actually fighting for stability and control -- something that, for a person with serious mental health issues, was ultimately very important.

This domination by his mother led to some very unhealthy dynamics in his household.

The young man had an elder brother and a younger sister.

His brother went on to become very ambitious, headstrong, tough, and dedicated. Despite this, his brother had some serious flaws. Perhaps because of this brother’s good qualities, his brother was also often very judgmental, arrogant, and, on occasion, cruel. The young man had, through the stupidities and insecurities of youth, done serious harm to this brother on occasion, and he and this brother fought often and bitterly. Although there was often intense hostility and sibling rivalry between the young man and this brother, this brother would also go on to do quite well, eventually being accepted into a prestigious college after a superb high school career. When he thought back on his early life, the young man would later realize that his brother’s toughness and drive probably came from the severe adversity his brother had had to go through in the absence of caring and attentive parents. The young man would thus eventually come to view his brother with a combination of respect and admiration, and would beg forgiveness from this brother.

The young man’s younger sister did not have the elder brother’s drive and ambition, but had also gone on to make a life for himself. The young man was glad that his siblings had made lives for themselves.

The young man’s own life turned out to be far more troubled.

Although there was never much point in rebelling against the authority and power of his two parents, the young man would spend most of his adolescence fighting a hopeless battle against their unfair rules and restrictions. Not only were these rules and restrictions damaging and dangerous, but they were also so extremely unfair.

Even as a youth, the young man knew that rebellion was ultimately futile. His parents simply had all the power and money, and he had no legal right to insist that they behave fairly or to request that they justify their behavior. Still, he rebelled anyway, if only because his parents’ behavior was so outrageous that it almost demanded rebellion. In the end, he defied his parents simply because not doing so would have made him submissive psychologically.

Perhaps because of this, the young man had a very troubled adolescence. He would often skip classes, run away from home for significant periods of time, and neglect his homework. He was also diagnosed with clinical depression around age 15, and his life at home quickly deteriorated into chaos. As his behavior and mental health declined, his mother’s behavior became more and more histrionic, intense, controlling, domineering, and bullying. These problems led him to do very poorly in school, and he would spend the later years of his adolescence just surviving one crisis or another. Although he would eventually graduate from high school, his performance had been very mediocre, and he had lost a lot of potential to these problems.

Due to these and related issues, the young man would spend most of this adolescence and 20′s simply coasting through life, jumping from one menial job to the next while taking a very light load of college courses. Far too much of his life was spent “just getting by”, without a clear idea of what a meaningful or happy life would be like or a clear idea of how to create such a life.

As it turned out, in addition to his troubled childhood, the young man also had another, insidious problem that prevented him from gaining a strong sense of meaning or purpose from any particular career path or area of study.

Perhaps because of his unusually troubled childhood and life, the young man had, very unfortunately and unwisely, become a “deep thinker”. Although he recognized that this had certain great advantages in helping him think clearly and carefully, he also had a certain odd indifference and apathy towards many of the things his peers and friends found interesting. It wasn’t that he could claim that the things his peers wanted in life were bad -- they just were missing something. It wasn't as though status, money, sex, fun, and prestige were bad -- it was just that the young man was searching for something else.

This would cause the young man a great degree of trouble during his adolescence and early adulthood. Not only would he never feel a strong attraction to any particular area of study, but he would often avoid socializing and interacting with his peers due to this odd feeling that something was profoundly missing from these social events.

It was due to this and similar problems that the young man would ultimately waste his 20's. Before he knew it, he was on the cusp of his 32nd birthday, with few accomplishments to show for it and very few interests. The man often wondered why he was so indifferent toward most of the world and the people and things in it. His life had become a pathetic, apathetic, grey shell of an existence. Would this be the rest of his life, drifting aimlessly from one distraction to the next without any real profound sense of meaning or direction? He hoped not, and because there was still hope that this would not always be the case, he continued surviving -- but never living. In a fit of desperation, he turned toward contemplation of his problems and philosophy as both a consolation and a self-diagnosis.

And that's when it happened. He suddenly had an epiphany. That's when everything changed.

He realized in a sudden flash of insight what his life had been missing. Finally, after so many years of aimless searching, he had his answers. Things finally made sense.

He had been contemplating the many problems he had gone through in his life when it struck him. Without quite knowing what had prompted him to this realization, he slowly came to a conclusion about what his life had been missing -- the something missing that he had never found.

It was simply faith in humanity.

This point needs to be clarified. For most of his life, the young man had been a die-hard pessimist. This was not because he considered pessimism to be edgy or intellectual or cool, but rather because so much of what others deemed so deserving of worship was, ultimately, not what they thought it was. For some people in the young man's life, they had preached the value of their religious beliefs and devotion to God. For others, patriotism and nationalism were their bedrock. Still others simply tried to live as happy and pleasurable a life as possible, thinking these goals were the main reasons for the majority of human civilization and progress. And yet others claimed that he should help his fellow man.

But the young man had seen through each of these. When it came to religion, the young man felt he had very strong reasons to be an atheist. When it came to patriotism, he knew that, while serving other individual people might be worthwhile, his country had done horrible things in the name of national pride, prestige, and power. And, oddly enough, even living life for the pleasure and happiness that one could get from it rang hollow. Happiness, he had realized, was not a result of pleasurable, exciting, or comfortable surroundings. Happiness, instead, was a byproduct of living a good life that one was content with. Perhaps some people could live life happily with only creature comforts, fun, and hedonistic pleasures. However, the young man and most of the human race required something more -- a sense of meaning. He realized that all the luxury, fun, and free time in the world would not satisfy him. At least, not by themselves.

It was service to humanity that appealed to the young man the most -- but eventually it, too, was promptly dismissed. The young man had, once upon a time, been idealistic. He had earnestly believed that the world could be saved -- if only enough people combine their efforts behind a common cause and work toward furthering that cause.

Pessimism and experience would eventually leave the young man disillusioned from this dream. Although many people in the world had shown him the potential for good in human behavior, it had always seemed to him that humanity's potential for immorality was far greater. Furthermore, when people were charitable or generous toward strangers, it was often due to an underlying assumption that the stranger was, in general, someone fundamentally good and worth helping – which, the young man reflected, was not necessarily true, by many people’s standards of the word “good”. Add to this the fact that people had a right to their own opinions and very frequently chose to believe senseless or irrational things or make senseless or irrational choices. Bettering the world was, the young man reflected, a very hard thing to do on any notable scale.

However, in a sudden moment of clarity, the young man saw the flaw in his previous beliefs. Although large scale change might be too hard of a thing to hope for (large scale changes were usually caused by large numbers of people mobilizing), the young man saw a quite different and far more reliable and compelling reason for morality. On the level of individuals¸ a great deal of good could be done. As the young man thought about this more and more, he realized that his biggest regrets in life were the times where he had hurt others out of his own insecurities, and that the proudest moments of his life were the instances where he had encouraged or helped others. Helping other individuals on a day-by-day basis, the young man realized, was worth the effort. For some strange reason, the young man had gotten the foolish and pessimistic idea into his head that only large scale changes in humanity mattered – that, since society at large wasn’t going anywhere, it was ultimately pointless to try to change things.

Now, though, the young man saw the error of his ways. He had a new purpose in life, and a new reason to be the best person he could be, and it had nothing to do with believing that human beings were all God’s special snowflakes, or with denying the hard truths of this world. Going forward, the young man would pay attention to the good that could be done in the world, from the daily decencies and kindnesses toward the people in his life, to the small acts of humanity and generosity he could accomplish. He felt, for the first time in a long time, like he was moving forward and like he had a purpose worth working toward and fighting for.

It was true that he had lost a lot of time.

But he would catch up, he realized.

[narastories]

Happy 280th Birthday Tom!

After having such a great fun with doing this for Lord John, I decided to do a reading for our wee Byrd as well.

A Natal Chart Reading for Tom Byrd

Disclaimers:

I am still not an astrologer

This is made in the spirit of appreciation of this character and his story. The purpose of this is pure fun on my part and hopefully to entertain some of you as well. Plus, to maybe provide some character-study-style insight or inspiration.

Tom Byrd’s character belong to Diana Gabaldon - duh -

Tom has no official canon birth date as far as we know it. A few of us decided on a whim to celebrate him on this day, and oh boy is it perfect from an astrological standpoint. Of course, it is. But that’s it, it’s just adoring fan-silliness from our part.

Again, I take full responsibility for the time of day chosen. I have cycled through the day by the hour, compared charts and decided on the one that I’ve found most fitting and just went with that.

Tom Byrd’s character has appeared only in the Lord John books so far, so every example I’m giving here will be from there. Nothing too spoilery.

This is astrology applied to a fictional character, you have been warned. Continue at your own discretion.

Let’s transport ourselves into the world of Outlander, and imagine the day that world was gifted with the presence of this cute and complicated character. What do the stars tell us about him?

Double Cancer 

No one ever said that Cancerians would be easy to understand. People born under the Crab are capable of holding many contradictions in their personality, and this is twice as true in the case of Tom Byrd who has both the Sun and the Moon in Cancer. When the two most powerful planets of a chart are in the same sign it tends to make the characteristics of that sign very prominent.

He is extremely cautious, but won’t hesitate taking the initiative when he needs to. Others tend to underestimate him at first, because he will stick to the rules. That is until he breaks them. He does not welcome change, but still adapts quickly to changing circumstances.

Tom appreciates safety, like the security that comes from stable employment, but still has a secret love for adventure. Luckily he can satisfy both of those cravings as the valet of Lord John Grey, because we all know that his lordship has the talent of getting into the most bizarre situations and is more than happy to keep Tom around to accompany him. (#zombies #succubus)

Just like a little crab crawling sideways he might have an indirect approach to things, but eventually he will always get where he wants to go.

He is sensitive and kind, but since his feelings are so dominant his mood can change fast. This is usually concealed by a carefully constructed exterior built from propriety and good manners. He uses this to hide deep feelings and extreme sensitivity underneath. He might be calm and collected on the surface most of the time, but there is a constantly shifting tide of emotions in his heart. He has the tendency to worry too much, to brood silently when he’s hurting or sulk when he disapproves, but no one listens to him.

Those who know him a little better will know that this grumpy little valet has a heart of gold. He is extremely caring and has a natural talent for making others comfortable and cared for.

At the same time Tom is cautious about revealing too much, which makes him naturally discrete. Besides his skill at giving a close shave this was one of the characteristics that made Lord John keep him as a valet just after just a short while of knowing him. Tom is also exceptionally perceptive and hard to deceive. He will notice the tiniest of details. This, and his high sensitivity to people’s emotions makes him good at figuring out others’ motivations. His intuition also makes him great at sensing public trends, and this combined with his creativity contributes to him becoming a good valet. He has a good memory and likes to collect information and store away small details later to be used.

His most admirable trait is probably his loyalty. When he is caring for someone, nothing can deter him. Crabs are known to retreat to safety at the first sign of danger. Don’t be fooled by Tom’s occasional outburst heroism, bravery is not his default setting. (#roaches) And because of that it means so much more when he does choose to stay and fight.

Cancerians tend to be quite the people-collectors. They don’t easily let people they know out of their sight. So fyi: there is no way Tom Byrd would willingly abandon Lord John Grey or let him out of his life completely. I think he would have loved if Jack decided to stay with them, but you know… his brother had his own loyalties.

Underneath all these layers Tom hides a fragile heart. He secretly needs and craves support and encouragement. He tries to hide it, but he has a lot of insecurities and can be a bit shy.

He is passionate about fixing other people’s problems. It comes from a strong urge to care for others even if it can be a bit overbearing sometimes.

Having the Moon in Cancer as well makes him even more protective and persistent. He perceives the world through his emotions, rather than rational arguments. This can cause a conflict with people who try to argue their feelings away - khm John khm - because that is very hard to understand for Tom. Other aspects of his chart play into this as well (Mars in Taurus) Sometimes he won’t be willing to see someone else’s point, especially if he knows that person feels differently than the argument they intellectually make.

No matter how in tune with his feelings he is, he doesn’t usually show them openly and as hypersensitive he is to other people’s emotions, he can sometimes be blinded by his own.

He is best in a deep, committed and loving relationship with someone who will appreciate his delicate heart and will dispel his feelings of unworthiness.

Capricorn Rising

Tom Byrd has a serious outward demeanor. No matter how young, inexperienced or out of his depth he may be in a certain situation, he is more than capable of employing the ‘fake it ‘till you make it’ tactic.  

With strangers he is often quiet and reserved. He also possesses great willpower and determination. It is important to him that he achieves things through his own hard work and that he feels like his life is meaningful. (Mars in Taurus) He has all the necessary discipline, ambition and patience to do just so. Becoming a lord’s valet is something he takes pride in, no matter the initial circumstances.

He has an active mind, quick intelligence, and the ability to concentrate. He likes to map things out ahead of time, because he doesn’t like to be caught unprepared. Fussing over details is his way of staying in control. He’s also a bit of a perfectionist.

He is a worrier. He loves deeply, and goes out of his way to be kind to others, but on the other hand he will hold onto hurt, and will hold a grudge.

His chart is ruled by Saturn which is in Cancer in the 7th house of partnership. This might suggest that he is emotionally too dependent on others. However, he is great at seeing a task through completion. Can be sly if he wants to. (see how he inserted himself into John’s life? see??) The obstacles he needs to overcome are his insecurity and lack of confidence.

Other interesting tidbits

The evils of propriety

Tom is mindful of decency and societal norms. (Capricorn Rising) That doesn’t mean he is not ready to throw them out the window, this is just another one of his contradictions. With him belonging to one of the Uranus in Capricorn generations he has the confidence to break through old established ideas. This aspect of his chart does oppose the likewise generational Neptune in Cancer, which suggests that this conflict is something he has a lot to do with in his life. Old-fashioned values vs. change for the better. Being compassionate towards others and maintaining harmony vs. fighting for your values and/or goals.

Sweet little cupcake

Tom is irresistibly likeable and naturally attracts warm feelings from others. (Venus in Leo) Do I need to say more? He is adorable and I have fallen under his spell. Points to Venus - there is my excuse lol

Twin influences

Tom has Mercury in Gemini, which gives an interesting quicksilver quality to his personality. He is surprisingly hard to pin down (get your mind out of the gutter ;P ). He is curious, versatile and quick witted. A great example of this is when in Private Matter John is trying to be very discreet about inquiring about his brother, and is surprised to find that against this effort, Tom immediately sees through him that he considers the possibility of his brother being guilty.

He also has Jupiter in Gemini, which again points to his adventurous nature and the knack for getting into advantageous situations. Do I need to say more?

Detective

My favourite small tidbit in his chart is a complex trine which suggests that he is good at looking beneath the surface for answers, good at investigating and unearthing things, and that he finds great allies in this. He is quite a little detective, our Tom. Seems like a small thing, but the placement of it suggests that this aids him in a great way. Which we know is true ;)

I hope you enjoyed this little ramble. It was fun to write, and it just made me fall twice as madly in love with our wee Byrd. Not that I need the encouragement on any day lol

[parasympathic]

SELF PARA 001.

It isn’t until Thursday morning that Montgomery decides he has to leave.

He wakes up, and the emptiness of his bed is entirely familiar. The scent of someone else still clinging to his sheets is not. A moment that exists in his memory alone, because the man who’d spent the night next to him doesn’t know that Monty had woken up pressed so closely against his side. He doesn’t know that he’d taken a few precious seconds to memorize those quieter details that only serve to haunt him now. He doesn’t know, because he’d been gone by the time he woke up.

He spends too long holding onto those things now. Too long with his eyes crushed closed, head resting against his pillow and fighting the urge to reach out in the darkness because he knows no one will be there next to him. 

Then he gets up, strips the bed clean, and tries to take better comfort in the familiar brand name of his favorite painkiller.

It’s not, and never has been, the most effective one he’s ever had. He thinks that distantly after he puts his sheets in the wash, it solidifies when he finally cleans up the mess of his kitchen that’s been sitting there for the last day. Fruit that’s gone rotten because he left it sitting out, empty coffee cups, the only bit of breakfast the man had accepted from him, and it’s sometime after that, the last pieces of Emiliano cleaned away, that he comes to that conclusion; he needs to go home.

Friday is dedicated to making the arrangements. Ensuring someone is at the hospital in case they need a medical examiner, making sure the training schedule for his House is set for the week. He doesn’t tell them he’s going, not until he’s sitting in the airport Saturday morning and he finally texts Athena. On my way to New York. Be back before the end of the week. A moment of hesitation, the thought that he should warn her, tell her not to let Hugo too close to the Duponts, tell her to keep an eye on them, ask her if she’s seeing Emil because it’s not a subject he’s wanted to touch on or even think about around either one of them. He sends none of it, and then his flight is being called, and he’s gone.

The plane arrives at JFK, he calls a car, and then it’s the first time he’s been back in the city in over a decade. And it strikes him as strange, not that it feels unfamiliar now, but entirely the opposite. The towering gray buildings, bright lights and concrete, and something that isn’t warm enough to be nostalgia. A reminder, of who he was when he was here, even if that had only been some hollow husk of a person. It’s who he still is, when the rest of it gets stripped away.

The Lacroix family home looks almost the same as it does in his memory, tucked in among other houses just as expensive in the Upper East Side. The outside a familiar ivory shade, wrought iron fence barring the way, the familiar creak of the gate when he lets himself in. Motions easy and his stomach in knots, a sinking dread that he couldn’t remember if he’d felt before, but it feels like he should. It feels like a nightmare he’s had too many times, walking towards an empty grave that he knows belongs to him, terrified he’ll look in and see he’s already at the bottom.

It’s too late to run, he still has to look, and he doesn’t hesitate when he rings the bell. He still stands there and holds his chin up and feels a familiar insecurity starting to eat away at him, that when his mother passes judgement on him, he’ll only fall short of every expectation.

The door opens, and she’s standing there, and he hasn’t seen her in just as many years, but she looks almost the same too. A few more lines around her eyes and mouth that he knows better than to point out, a little more makeup like it can hide those signs of age. Dressed in some strange combination of bohemian and affluent, lace shawl around her shoulders, but the layered necklaces are decorated with diamonds, the mismatched braids in her hair woven with the same. He’s sure that every bit of it is entirely intentional. A reminder to those rich and powerful circles she’d forced her way into that she still holds his father’s name, his wealth, and enough influence of her own now, even though she came from nothing.

Anyone who thought that was all she ever was never looked her in the eye, because they are as cold and sharp as he remembers, absent any echo of the smile that curves her lips. “Montgomery,” she says. “Look at you.” She holds her hands out in some dramatic fashion as she studies him head to toe.

For a moment it’s almost fond, and then she shakes her head and steps back to let him in. “Your hair’s too long. When’s the last time you had it cut?”  

There is a personal and very selfish reason he’s here, one he can’t get himself to ask for or even consider the first day, because there’s something painful about the thought that he can’t look right at. Like he’s an addict on the verge of relapse, hating himself for every weakness, for crawling back here, for still wanting his mother to put her hand on his jaw and take away every piece of anger and hurt that’s carved out a hole in his chest that Vicodin won’t touch.

It’s too much of why he’s here, it’s also not the only reason, carrying his own share of multiple agendas. Not just to put distance between himself and Emil, or himself and Hugo, but in some desperate hope that he might be able to find some better evidence than his own suspicions of just what the man has done and what he’s capable of.

The title of doctor offers him a foot in the door to Mount Sinai, the title of one of Endine’s Head Significants pushes him past it. A lie on his tongue about trying to find family records for one of their initiates that’s still close enough to the truth.

It leads him to the records room, and it’s where he spends the next few days, and it’s where he finds Henrik Mortensen’s file. It’s old and hasn’t been updated in years, because the man hasn’t been here in years, but this time there’s a name, this time it leads him to his parents, and in those files he finds the answers to at least one of those questions he’d been looking for. The smallest piece of validation. Gifted parents, gifted sister, and then Mortensen.

A Void. 

Wine is his mother’s drink of choice, she presses a glass into his hands before she takes a seat next to him. She asks more questions than she answers, she asks him if he’s seeing anyone, when he’s going to give her grandchildren, a subject hedged around with a familiar excuse, that with work he just doesn’t have the time. He thinks briefly about telling her the truth, the words forming in his head, but he knows he’ll never say it. 

He doesn’t believe her interest is entirely feigned, a smile the moment he tells her about a change in title that he’s sure has less to do with pride and more to do with some possible leverage it might give her. Less interest in the hospital, because pathologist is harder to make sound interesting or noble in polite conversation.

But she is an empath, even if he came to the conclusion at some point that she’s also likely a sociopath, when one of the harshest lessons he ever learned was that no normal person was so vacant of emotion. Not enough to drain it so easily from someone else. 

It leaves him just as certain that it isn’t empathy that eventually has her setting her glass aside so she can focus on him. “You’re upset,” she says. It isn’t a question, which is for the best, because he doesn’t know how to answer her. Silence following, an urge to argue on the heels of that, but the longer it takes to smile back, the less point there is to even trying, so he doesn’t waste the lies. He just looks away, focusing briefly on the glass in his hand, and the glass she put on the table. It’s a red instead of a white, but the details have little to do with the momentary flicker of loss and heartache that follow on the heels of memory.

“Let me take it from you,” she says. That isn’t a question either, and out of the corner of his eye he sees her lifting her hand to place it on his jaw, the motion a familiar piece of his childhood. One that promises relief, a promise that the only good thing she’s ever done for him is to just make it stop hurting, and he thinks this is why he really came here, not for research, not for any greater cause, this is why he came back. So she could simply take it from him.

The problem, he finds, is her word choice. The problem, as he is so often, is Emiliano Pavone, asking him what he was taking back. And if his heart was the answer he gave him, it’s just one more awful realization that not all of it belongs to him anymore, not enough to let her have it.

He catches her by the wrist before she touches him, pulling his head back while she’s left frowning at him. “Don’t,” he tells her.

“You know I can feel what you’re feeling.” She sounds annoyed by it, which does little to ease the hurt. “It isn’t doing you any favors.” 

“I know.” And he does. “But it’s still mine.”

And it’s not.

It’s Monday before he finally contacts him, before he finally tells him he isn’t coming, because he’s never missed a Tuesday before. Whatever excuses he can give, even the very honest truth, that he’s no longer even in the same state, he still knows how it looks. Exactly like what it is; that it has everything to do with a disastrous Wednesday morning, and it’s the first time he wished he’d gotten more of his father’s anger, because it doesn’t last as long as the regret.

It wasn’t a promise he’d given him, but it had come out like one, a simple I will, swearing that he was going to keep trying to figure the man out. It feels like arrogance now, that he’d sat there and told him he thought he understood him better, and not even eight hours later he proved that he didn’t. 

There's plenty about Emil that he thinks is fake, different faces he puts on, and most of them trying to take the form of someone nice. Something he hadn’t been that Wednesday morning, and Monty had let it hurt, when he should have been watching for the pieces that were real. The man drunk and rambling in Italian across his lap had been real. Something messy and honest, and maybe it’s a delusion to decide that’s the part that matters most about those twelve hours, but he prefers to call it hope.

He writes a dozen different messages trying to think of the right words, in his notes this time instead of in a text because he doesn’t want to be caught with all his fear and his doubts playing out in a constant ellipsis. Something blunt and all too hopeful one of the first. I’ll be back the end of the week. Do you want to go to dinner with me?

It gets erased. I’m sorry, and I should’ve stayed, they get erased too. You’re right. I think this is a romance too. Scrubbed out just as quickly before he stares at his phone and then starts to type something more honest.  You're the worst thing that’s ever happened to me. You said that you love me, but I don’t know what that means to you. Only that whatever this is, it hurts. And you can change your mind tomorrow, but I can’t. So what happens to me if I let myself love you back? 

He takes a breath, he knows halfway through that’s nothing he’ll send, but he leaves that one there before he tries again. Je te veux means I want you. So don’t tell me there’s no ‘we.’

In the end he just gives him facts. He’s going to miss their date. He’ll be back before the end of the week. And then it stalls, because he wants to ask if everything’s ruined now, he wants to know if there’s any point to hoping for anything at all. 

In the end he settles on sorry, which he thinks describes the state of him too.  

It’s sitting on the floor of the records room that he finds something more than rumors, more than guesswork. It’s his father’s autopsy report, a thing he’d never looked at, never cared about. It means so much less than the corpses that he cuts open on a daily basis, because at least he tries to find answers for them. At least he can figure out why they’re gone, a question he had never really asked himself when it came to Nathan Lacroix.

A home invasion. That’s what they’d called it. It read more like an execution, two bullets put through the back of his father’s skull. It’s the only way he can really see the man dying, because it was one of the many lessons he’d taught him, one he’d used not that long ago even if it had earned him a steadily forming scar on his ribs for it. Any weapon used against a telekinetic became their weapon. So it would have to be from behind, it would have to be a surprise.

It seems incredibly likely now that someone already knew that.

He sits it down on the floor in a row, next to three other files. The Caruso’s. A year and a half after his father, six months after the disappearance of the Dupont’s. A timeline sitting in front of him that has a sinking feeling in his stomach.

He makes copies of each of them before he puts the files away, hoping that’s all he’ll need because it suddenly feels much more dangerous to be here.

The rumors surrounding Hugo’s parents are a little more useful than their medical records. Nothing he paid attention to when he was younger, because he didn’t care, because the man didn’t matter any more to him than any other, despite his role as the Dupont’s guardian. If his mother proves a little more helpful, it doesn’t ease the hurt that this is how he’s spent his week, this is what he missed Tuesday for.

She has cards in her hands, sitting on the floor across the table from him. He does the same, because it’s still habit to indulge whatever’s asked of him. So he plays Gin Rummy with a woman he can’t help but resent, wishing he hated her half as much as she probably deserves.

“What do you know about the Hellströms?” he asks.

Her gaze flicks to his, the briefest glance, something sharp looking up at him before she lowers it back towards the cards in front of her, smile settling on her lips. He would’ve missed it years ago. He’s paying attention now. “I haven’t heard that name in a while. What do you want to know about them?” 

“Hugo. He’s in Asphodel at the moment, so I’m just curious.”  

She hums, taking a card off the top of the deck. “Well, I’m not really sure,” she says, and he doesn’t believe that for a moment. Cecilia didn’t survive this long through ignorance, and there are still scars on his leg serving as a reminder of exactly what kind of business she’s involved in. “His father was caught up in some kind of scandal when he was younger. I think it was gambling or money laundering. Something like that. What’s Hugo doing in Asphodel?”

He shakes his head, takes a card off the deck, discards another one. The thought occurring to him briefly that he’d never mentioned to her that the Duponts were alive, so he doesn’t start now. "I’m not sure.”

“He didn’t say?” She takes another card, discards another, he watches her hands move and he thinks of Three Card Monte, and he almost tells her he’s changed his mind, she can have all this hurt after all, because he doesn’t like the ache that follows something so simple and stupid as a game of cards.

“He said,” Monty offers slowly. “I’m just not sure I believe him.” 

“Oh? Why not?” Said as casually as anything else, but it still draws his gaze, watching until she looks back up at him. A smile on her lips, a tilt of her head as she studies him in turn, and if he feels desperately empty inside he knows it’s from her. “Montgomery?” 

He hesitates a moment longer, considering the real answer, considering what she might respond to. Ambition seems the smartest bet. “I think he’s after my position.”

“I see.” She frowns briefly, something thoughtful in its place, but it’s more telling that the cards in her hand are momentarily forgotten. Voice a little colder, and he thinks that’s so much closer to the truth of her. “So what are you planning to do about it?” 

For a moment, he ignores the question, because it’s a dangerous one to answer either way. He ignores everything except the woman looking back at him, just as many rumors circling her as the  Hellströms, if not more. His grandmother’s drunken ramblings echoing somewhere in his memory, and he hadn’t cared enough then either, because it hadn’t mattered until abruptly, it did. “I don’t know. What happened to my father?” 

Her brow furrows, the smile fading, he thinks it’s supposed to be confusion but it doesn’t read quite right. “You know what happened,” she tells him. Shaking her head in the next moment, dropping her attention back down to the cards. He feels the press of it then, something like grief and regret starting to crowd into his frame, but it doesn’t belong to him, perfectly capable of recognizing the difference. “You know I don’t like to talk about it.” 

“Don’t.” He can’t help but snap at her, pulling back like physical distance will separate him from those emotions. He thinks he should drop it but he doesn’t, tired of not having answers, even if it means poking the hornet’s next, even if it means discarding self-preservation entirely. “If I told the Magistrate I think someone had him killed, would you talk about it then?”

“That’s a terrible thing to say.” The sensation of hurt grows worse, it presses against the inside of his ribs and he can’t breathe with it, which is funny because it’s what he wanted her to take away, and instead she’s just making it multiply. “Anyway the Magistrate already investigated. They were just thieves. A burglary gone wrong, despite your grandmother’s conspiracies.”

“There are ways of deceiving even the Magistrate. Telepathy.” He pauses, still watching her face, practice keeping his voice calm when he’s doing his best to ignore every awful emotion she’s trying to force on him. “Alchemy.”

There is no flash of anger, there’s no sensation of it either. One moment there’s an aching loss forcing itself on him, and then the next moment it’s gone. A strange sort of relief following it, even if it isn’t his own pain she’s taking back, just the illusion of her own. “I can’t believe you’re still angry about that. You healed up fine.” Her cards tossed down on the table as she rises gracefully to her feet. Grasping at her glass of wine and taking a long swallow from it. “I think,” she tells him. “It’s time for bed.”  

And he thinks that might be it, that might be the end of it, but the words come over her shoulder, said just as casually as her telling him to cut his hair. “Don’t worry about your position. Usefulness was always your best trait. As long as you don’t outlive it, I’m sure you’ll be fine.” 

[aleteia-ff]

Chasing the Western Wind | Post-HTTYD3 One-shot

Inspired by the many Hiccstrid-kid drabbles I’ve read throughout the past weeks, here is my own! Instead of focusing on their birth or on them as little kids, this short is about Zephyr turning 18 and how Hiccup deals with that, as her father. And likewise, how Zephyr deals with being next-in-line to the Viking who created peace with the dragons. Spent a lot of time listening to Stoick’s Ship while writing this, and my heart isn’t much better because of it.

Chasing the Western Wind

Out of all the adventures Hiccup had been on throughout the years, being a father was certainly the most difficult and most rewarding one. He still remembered the day on which he first held his new-born daughter in his arms like it was yesterday. It’s the kind of moment that changes your life forever. As chief, he was already very aware that the village depended on him. But this was different. That little girl had nothing but Astrid and him, along with their family and friends, to keep her safe from the dangers of the world. And after many years, in which her and her brother had been his pride and joy, his most dreaded day had finally come. Zephyr had turned eighteen.

Most Viking girls would have spent that day drinking, only to come back out of bed when they really had to. But not her. Not that the party had been a dull affair. On the contrary; he and Nuffink had been busy dragging guests back to their homes until deep into the night, after Astrid’s scolding hadn’t done the trick. Especially Snotlout had gotten so drunk he’d completely blacked out – and Tuffnut had totally been responsible for it. He often wondered if the two were a good influence on his kids, but he figured two guys giving them an example of how not to do things could be just as helpful.

Zephyr herself had been distracted throughout the day however, her eyes often staring into the void in front of her. And it didn’t surprise him that he found her on the day after, just past dawn, sitting in her usual spot, on her favourite cliff. It was a place he would’ve picked himself if his daughter hadn’t pretty much claimed it, as it was absolutely gorgeous. It didn’t provide its visitors with any scenery of New Berk itself, which was a shame as the island’s nature was stunning in its own right. Instead, it gave you a beautiful look at the ocean, spread out in front of you and reaching as far as the human eye could see. He had his own spot just like that; it was the one where he’d said goodbye to Toothless so many years ago. This cliff however, faced the other way and belonged to his daughter.

It was still hard for him to look at Zephyr as the woman she’d become instead of as the little child she’d been for so many years. She was slender and although she was taller than her mother, she still didn’t quite reach her father’s height. Her long auburn hair was neatly braided on her back, its style clearly inspired by her mother’s – she even wore one of Astrid’s leather bands around her head – and its length was close to his own mother’s. Valka was luckily still around to inspire both of her grandchildren, although he did feel like she spoilt them way too much.

Zephyr’s other features were mostly Astrid’s as well. From her round face, to her nose, to the way she dressed, to her beautiful blue eyes which made it almost impossible for him to tell her no. But the look in her eyes had always been his. Astrid had first pointed that out when Zephyr was only fifteen. It was the look she had had to deal with as his friend and fiancé. And the look his dad had undoubtedly had to make peace with as his father. And she felt that, as Zephyr’s parents, they should probably start preparing themselves for the same.

It had taken him a while to see it as well. As much as he loved his children and as much as they had clung to him over the years, Astrid had always been the once to notice those little things first. A combination of a mother’s instincts and the fact that she’d spent so many years looking at Hiccup himself, she’d said. And indeed, as he now watched his only daughter gaze towards the horizon, her eyes fixated on the sea, he understood what Astrid had meant. His daughter was just like him. They had named her after the western wind. And it was calling for her.  

“Hey, Zeffie,” he greeted her as he sat down next to her, supressing a groan as he did. His body had started to tell him he was getting old, and his prosthetic certainly wasn’t doing him any favours. Still, he was positive he had many years left in him. He would make it so.

Zephyr heaved her shoulders, rolling her eyes and looking at him with an irritated expression on her face. “Dad, we talked about this. I’m not a child anymore, so you can’t keep calling me Zeffie.”

He smiled at her. He knew that all too well, but he enjoyed watching the expression on her face as she once again decided that her dad was totally not cool. “Alright, Zeph.”

That was what her friends usually called her, and he had to supress a chuckle as he could see his daughter visibly cringe. She probably thought her dad was outright lame.

Taking in her clearly unamused face with a smile, he continued. “So, did you like your party yesterday?”

“Yeah,” she answered, plucking the grass next to her. “It was nice. Although we should really prevent Uncle Tuff and Uncle Snot from sitting together.”

“Well, you know that the two are basically inseparable,” he agreed. Tuff and Snot were basically like an old married couple at this point.

“They’re great though,” Zephyr smiled, her voice trailing off into the distance. She was still distracted by whatever was weighing on her.

“What’s on your mind?” he prodded, knowing that he usually just had to pull things like this out of her.

“Nothing,” she shrugged, pleading innocence with her blue eyes. He pulled up his eyebrow at her, scolding her with his best dad-look. And soon enough, she caved. “It’s just…” She gestured with her hands, a trait she’d undoubtedly gotten from him. “I’m eighteen, dad.”

“What about it? It’s just a number,” he simply responded.

Annoying Zephyr was usually the best way to get her to talk. “No, dad, that’s not it. It’s not just a number, it’s… I don’t know, everything.” She frowned, crossing her legs and putting her hands in her lap. “I’m an adult, for all I know I could be Chief in a few years, marry, have kids, just… everything.”

“Hey, I don’t plan on dying for a long time. So don’t consider yourself lucky just yet,” he teased, poking her shoulder. Then he turned more serious. “Are you afraid of becoming Chief?”

Zephyr bit her lower lip. “Yes.”

“Why?” He could think of a lot of reasons – he’d had his own when he was her age, after all – but he needed to know hers.

She averted her gaze, looking at her hands instead of at him. “Because of you.”

He frowned. That hadn’t exactly been the answer he’d been expecting. “What do you mean?”

“Because I can never live up to you, dad!” she almost yelled, her sudden outburst taking him by surprise. She had to have been dealing with this for a long time.

As she looked at him again, he could see the tears in her eyes. “You’re Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the Third. You created peace between dragons and Vikings, you killed the Red Death, you battled I don’t know how many dragon hunters as I have no idea which of Uncle Tuff’s stories are made up and which ones are true.” She scoffed, wildly gesturing as a tear made its way down her cheek. “You saved Berk from Drago, avenged your dad, became chief at twenty. You led everyone here, prevented the dragons from being captured by Grimmel the Grisly, built this place up from the ground and yet you still somehow find the time to look after the Hidden World and the village!”

Zephyr was visibly panting and had outright started sobbing as the words left her mouth. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer as she cried against his chest. He softly stroked her back and her hair as her shoulders shook against him.

“I just don’t know if I can do it, dad,” Zephyr sobbed. “I’m not like you. I’m not as great, or brave, or selfless. I could never live up to your legacy.”

He exhaled audibly, pulling his little girl even closer to his chest. Gods, she was so much like him it almost hurt. It felt like just yesterday that he’d had the same doubts, the same insecurities, the feeling that he’d never be able to live up to his own father. But she’d never seen that. Zephyr didn’t know the journey he’d gone through to get to where he was now.

She’d only known him as her dad, one of the people she looked up to. She’d never seen him as the scrawny boy from Berk, terribly insecure until Toothless gave him some self-worth. How hard it had been for him to lose his dad, having to step up to become chief when he hadn’t been ready yet. The way he’d doubted himself throughout all those years he’d spent on the backs of dragons and how incredibly long it had taken him to get over their separation from them. To this day, he still missed not having Toothless around all the time, even though they now saw each other as often as their duties and middle-aged bodies allowed them to.

But those weren’t the stories people told about him. His friends, his mother, Gobber and especially Astrid knew them, but the hardships they’d all gone through wasn’t what was being carried over to the next generation.

“Hey,” he called, still trying to calm his daughter down. “You don’t have to be like me.”

“As if I ever could,” Zephyr remarked sarcastically, her voice hoarse from the tears she’d shed. “You spent six years flying around on a fire-breathing dragon.”

He laughed softly. “That’s not what I mean. Yes, I flew a dragon. So what? So did everyone else on Berk.”

“But you were the first,” she pointed out, looking at him with those blue eyes he loved so much.

“Ruffnut and Tuffnut were the first to try stacking fifty yaks on top of one another. Doesn’t necessarily mean they were good at it,” he smiled.

That arguably terrible joke did get him a chuckle from his daughter. But her face soon clouded again. “But you were. Even mom says you were better than she was.”

“But that doesn’t have anything to do with you,” he told her. “Yes, I flew a Night Fury, but the time of Berkians flying around on the backs of dragons has passed. It allowed me to do things you will simply never get the chance to. And that’s not your fault, and it doesn’t have anything to do with who you are. So don’t compare yourself to me. It’s not fair.”

Zephyr sulked, not completely accepting his words. He put his finger under her chin, forcing her to look at him. “Look at me, okay?” He waited until she slightly nodded before continuing. “You are brave. And you are selfless. You are stubborn, strong-willed, and full of perseverance. And you will become great. In your own way. But that doesn’t happen just like that.” He snapped his fingers. “It takes years. It took me years to get to where I am now. I have been a teenager too, and I have been insecure too, feeling like I could never live up to your grandpa.” He’d told her enough stories about the great Stoick the Vast for her to understand how much he’d meant to him. And to all of Berk. “But you will find your own way to be great. And no matter how you do that, your mother and I will always be incredibly proud of you.”

A smile appeared on Zephyr’s face, and she started to wipe away the tears that were still on her cheeks. “You might be right,” she finally conceded.

“Come on,” he told her, getting up and dragging her to her feet. “I’ve got something for you.”

“But we already did presents yesterday,” Zephyr frowned before following him to the forge. He had a small room there, where he could usually be found if he wasn’t at home or out chiefing.

He looked through his drawers, eventually finding what he was looking for. He put the little brown sketchbook on his desk, carefully opening it and folding out the papers, which had become more fragile throughout the years. It was the map he’d been working on throughout his years with Toothless. He’d completed it to show the location of New Berk and the few islands close to it, but had left the location of the Hidden World undocumented on purpose. Only those who needed to know knew where it was, and they’d share that secret with those who were worthy.

He’d made several copies tidied up copies of the map to aid New Berk’s sailors and traders, but this version had always stayed with him. Since they’d settled on New Berk, he’d only ever used it to illustrate the stories he’d told Zephyr and Nuffink about the time they’d spent on Dragon’s Edge. Especially Zephyr had always loved those tales. So had Fin, but he was more like his mother, practical and focused on what was right in front of him.

Zephyr had, just like Hiccup himself, always looked beyond that, finding herself trapped in the pitfall of overthinking things. The two siblings balanced each other out nicely in that sense; Fin was always quick to pull Zephyr back to earth when she had another outlandish idea about fixing one of the island’s issues that honestly didn’t need any fixing.

“What are you pulling that out for?” Zephyr wondered as she came to stand next to him, dragging her fingers across the decades old map.

“I’m giving it to you,” he told her with utter confidence and pride.

Her eyes visibly grew bigger as she looked from the map to her father. “But why, I –”

He gave her a gentle smile. “It’s up to you to decide what to do with it. It’s still not finished, after all.”

“But Berk, the dragons, you, mom, Fin –” Zephyr stuttered.

“Will always be here,” he reassured her. “Although I can’t speak for your brother of course.”

What appeared on Zephyr’s face then had been the happiest and most determined smile he’d seen from her in ages. She hugged him, squeezing him tightly. “Thanks, dad.”

The two months that passed from that day onwards had been some of the hardest Hiccup had had to live through thus far. He’d suspected for a while that things were going to unfold like this, and Astrid had seen it for years. Which did not mean that she hadn’t scolded him for sort-of convincing Zephyr to go through with it, but he knew her well enough not to take that personal. They both had to deal with it in their own way, after all.

He hadn’t been surprised either when one day, two weeks in, Ruffnut and Fishlegs had practically burst into the Haddock home. Asking him what exactly his daughter was dragging their oldest son into. But he hadn’t needed to do much explaining. After all, they’d experienced it too. It would only be a matter of time before the inevitable happened. Their spark was their children’s too.

So now he found himself standing in New Berk’s harbour, watching as Zephyr handed out orders to her friends. She would make a great chief one day, if she’d choose to take on the position herself instead of handing it to her brother. Who would be great at it too.

Throughout his years as a father, he had often wondered how his own dad had felt watching him go through life. Only now, years later, he could somewhat begin to understand what his father had gone through. How he might have felt when he’d thought his son had died at the hands of the Red Death, or how worried he’d been during all those years Hiccup had flown through the Archipelago, making both incredible friends and terrible enemies. And now, too, he was watching his child prepare to head into the Great Beyond. And gods, did it hurt. But he could never stop her. And his dad had known the same had been true for him.

He tightened his arm around Astrid, who was keeping an eye on Nuffink in return. The boy had had his own way with dealing with his sister’s impending departure. Somewhere last week, Astrid had pulled him out of the forest after someone had caught him kissing a girl who was distantly related to the Jorgenson family; and Hoffersons mingling with Jorgensons was out of the question. Fin had aptly responded that technically, he was a Haddock, not a Hofferson, which hadn’t exactly appeased his mother. But it had reassured Hiccup once again that he, too, would be fine.

He swallowed away the lump forming in his throat as Zephyr walked up to them, saying goodbye to her grandma before eventually turning to her brother.

“Don’t think you’re going to be chief just because I’m going to be gone for a while, Nuffie,” she teased, ruffling her brother’s blonde mop. She was still taller than him and knew all too well her little brother resented it.

“Just don’t try to become like dad by losing a limb along the way,” Fin bit back, sticking his tongue out at his sister, which earnt him an elbow in his side from Astrid. Of course the two siblings were never going to say they’d miss each other, even though Hiccup was sure they would. Zephyr had even asked her brother to go with her, but he’d decided not to, eager to seize the opportunity to take on the responsibilities his sister had had instead.

Zephyr then turned to her parents, a lopsided smile appearing on her face. “I love you.”

She hugged her mother first, Astrid going over some last-minute practicalities as she hugged Zephyr back. To prevent herself from crying right there and then, Hiccup knew. Lastly, his daughter faced him.

“So west it is, I’ve heard?” he asked, smiling away tears of pride.

She nodded. “Chasing the western wind you named me after. After all, there’s still a lot missing on your map.” She patted the satchel that was flung around her shoulder, Berk’s crest proudly painted on it. Ever since he’d given it to her, she hadn’t let it out of her sight.

She spotted the tears welling up in his eyes as she spoke and she moved up on her toes to hug him, her arms around his neck. “I’m going to be great, dad,” she whispered.

He wrapped his arms around her once more, holding his daughter as tight as he could, not knowing when he would see her again. Just like it’d been with Toothless so many years ago. “I know.”

They separated, smiling at each other once more before Zephyr drew herself away from her family, nodding towards them once more before determinedly walking towards the boat they’d been readying. “Alright guys, let’s get going before we all go crying back to mommy,” she commanded, flashing bright smiles at the friends who’d chosen to go with her. “And yes, Fishnut, I do mean you.”

The teens pushed off, their boat slowly drifting away from New Berk’s docks as the ocean took a hold of it. Hiccup could see Zephyr inhale deeply, closing her eyes as the wind caught her hair, ruffling her bangs. He imagined the way she felt right now was much like how he’d felt flying out on Toothless when they’d first headed out towards the Edge. The world she’d been staring at for so long, finally within her reach.

She held on to one of the boat’s ropes, letting herself hang over the side of the vessel, smiling and waving towards the people who’d gathered to see them leave. She would be fine. Her mother had taught her how to fight, and she had her friends with her. And he, of all people, could never keep this feeling from her. She was an explorer, just like he’d been. So there she went. Into the Great Beyond.

[redknight3996]

26: Rapture

For an angel, a devil must be made. To contrast, to compare, to seduce. 

A more...playful presence, to allow things to progress as they should, as they must, as things could be, as things would be, should things go wrong.

The cultists were derived from a number of places, from a number of people. It’s so tricky to find a cult exactly right, exactly militant, exactly cruel, so many were drawn from many sources, to find the right types, to separate the callous wheat from the insecure chaff, to recruit those who sought power and violence and not merely a sense of belonging. Who valued power over others, and therefore would work well as a set of supposed devil worshippers.

They’re not really, of course; their faith is a constructed thing, put together to bring out the best out of the worst, to make the world collapse in raving lunacy and zealots burning people at the stake. There were so many ideas, so many thoughts, of breaking wheels and wooden horses and iron maidens. Of men named Stake and Lynch and Creek and Wick and Dice and Retch.

Sing a song of flesh and bone in the garden of gore, let your voice join the chorus. Adulate, undulate, invigorate, blessing! The red robes silk and stain against skin stitched shut. Masks of crows and cows and cats and rats set them apart from the goated skull worn on a ringleader’s rot.

Butcher and Baker watch the circus tent, bemused by the weird folk who have taken up residence. The songs call to the dead, to the red, to joyous meat. Six by six, they hexagon the ring, chatting and calling and chanting and bringing forward the performance of a life.

Lion-faced, lipped, with claws under the coat, the cloak, calling a manticore or perhaps a lamassu, though no bulls are present, for Minos had better judgments to call, and the man with stakes in his skin and his bones and jabbing in deep to every joint has a roar he must allow as the echo of elephantine trumpets give rise to the center circle.

Bring down the bats on the deadened skulls, crack them open and let the brains flow like yolk. Crack the shell to be born, coalesce the flesh, scream and wail as you tear from the womb, the tomb, the earthen body of what mothers there might be while the fathers gather and commit acidic baptism.

The ring is the basin and the slurry the child. As any parent should, they give of their own bodies, their own breasts, their own teeth to chew the food and their own fingers to gnaw on in turn as the pile begins to teethe. Coalesce, conglomerate, shift and sift and slug together, forming to an animal bereft of a shell but do not worry, because it will come soon.

You are not present, because you are not present, because the tent is needed for the operation, and the doctor is here. His hands are washed, his gloves are sterile, and a mask fits over his noseless face and his smiling mouth of crooked teeth. Splotches cover his skin, discolored rashes and rakes and bruises and boils, and yet he is capable, still capable, they couldn’t take that from him, and he guides the composition, for this isn’t quite a birth, so much as an apotheosis.

Not yet though. Tehom swirls and seethes and splits and combines, layering onward and onward under a membrane that is film, not flesh, and the stalks poking out spear-like points, like stakes, and the first father feeds himself to the teeth so the shell may form and so to does the second and the third and onward, because a chrysalis is needed for a queen. 

There is weeping and pride and joy, a calling of great things from the gathered cultists. Six for Golgotha, to let her eyes and ears and nose and tongue and heart and intestines form, to sink inside and become truth, as the doctor claps, nodding, the process proceeding as needed.

Wood through the body, rope around the neck. Execution, slow and steady, to brace as bones and wiring, to give, to succeed, to gasp at last and know the breaking of teeth and necks.

Crick and crack and soft sounds, lit flames, babbling streams, water, fire, needed things. To be wet and warm, to fill with blood, to know the world rains sometimes, but homes have hearths.

A chance, a cut, a splitting, a rut, a stream of vomit and bile and sickness, necessary disgust and fear. Worries, anxieties, but joys, and avoidance. Care, careful, don’t be careless. A cauldron overturned where the boiling of bones and brains takes place inside, where the soup readies itself in a mix of stock and broth and loose hairs.

Crack the shell, break the iron, let the beast inside skitter out. Calling them Rapture is what was declared, what was advised, and the doctor welcomes such a thing. A given name is important, though whether they choose to keep it or not is up to the child, though to call this being a child is inaccurate at best. They are far past the larval stage.

A butterfly is a good contrast to a moth, wouldn’t you agree? It’s not quite right, a little too fleshy, but the warmth of autumn in its orange and yellow carries well. Wings patterned with faces drip and drool and weep even as their body bristles with enjoyment, anticipation, and a long tongue pushing down to drink from the slurry as the shell mulches. Laughter and sobs and screams and screams and retching, the symphony of emotion pulses as the rot spreads across the ground from the long, red legs stabbing into the ground.

One nose is not enough, not nearly, so a mass of antennas, of tendrils, of drooping hairs, of semi-solid horns taste the air above eclipse eyes, colors shifting as attention is diverted hither and thither and singing curiosity to all able to hear.

Butcher and Baker wisely decide to take their leaves from the wailing carnival, uninterested in interacting with that nonsense. The ground cracks, and buildings begin to sink.

Brilliant, sunburst wings spread as the big top erupts and meat and mulch shower the carnival. Dawning eyes take in the brilliance of the greater sun overhead, and condemns it for its audacious nature. How dare it shine brighter?

If you ask, Rapture will take you out of the park. They will, they promise. And they hold true to the promise. You’ll just need to sink into their flesh and join as one, another face in the chorus.

They would leave immediately, aiming to spread gospel and decry the vainglorious star, but a howl catches their attention, and they drift down instead, to talk with the interesting gentleman in the forest, whose empty eyes show none of the eagerness he so deeply feels. 

Sing the praises of flesh and gore in a world losing its meaning. Feast merrily and bring your children forth, for the earth ruined belongs to them. 

Sing the dirge of law and lust, for those impure things are left to drown in a slurry of our making. Adulthood flies on wings of fantasy as childish mundanity, reality, is doomed to drought.

Sing a song for the ending days, and hold it true to your heart. Let go, and pick a better sun.