#//are more or less about finding bravery and courage within finality

[unboundtravels]

SHORT TRIPS; UNBOUNDNOVEMBER 21/23: TWILIGHT

"What about me?" "If there was something I could do about that, I would. I guess we're both just going to have to be brave."

 It feels like it’s raining. Although the clouds hang in the way of the sun, there is still an afternoon afterglow… and yet despite the months still creeping through the midst of summer, the wind is still very cold today in the city of Freedom. There is an almost unanimous silence save for the howling and the whipping of the wind… the beating of the flags that flow through the breeze. The water of the fountain is still, and the lights are low. The world almost looks distinctly colorless… absent of the cool aftertaste that’d follow a pleasant warmth. The world feels more absent today.

The People of Mondstadt did not care much for Lady Eula Lawrence. Her bloodline was responsible for many, if not most of, the issues that plagued Mondstadt so fiercely into its present. To this very day, The Knights of Favonius were working hard to clean up the mess of those who had come before. Of those Knights was Lady Lawrence, who was fiercely dedicated in her pursuit of redemption… and yet she dealt every day with the harsh whispers of those who could not separate the past from the present… those who did not understand the ever-changing nature of the human soul and its relationship to time. 

They were wrong about her. That is the truth of the matter. Eula was a beautiful soul, a kind and dedicated one. She looked out for those in need and did what she could to help the innocent. Considered by many of her allies to be a responsible friend and an excellent warrior, she was supported unconditionally by those under her command. Eula was the best of parts of Humanity condensed into one singular form… not bound by convention… solving her problems in a unique way and handling the world one day at a time. The people of Mondstadt were simply wrong about Eula Lawrence.

When the chips were down, The city of Mondstadt was threatened… when the whole of creation was threatened… Eula stepped forward, to act as a shield for her people and her home. She could’ve turned away, could’ve stood on the sidelines… but it was her nature and her responsibility to put her home first. There was no love lost between her and Mondstadt, but the fact of the matter was that there were people there who were counting on her, and she had to return. No one could fault her for that. Even if they’d fail, at least they’d fail together… and while they were together, nothing could dismay the Knights and their cause.

It feels like it’s raining.

It’s been a week since the threat of Celestia was quelled, and the people of Teyvat were freed from the confines of an oppressive destiny. The road there was not without sacrifice, however… and of those who stood and fought, not all came out intact. Among those who had fought and been claimed by the battle… was Lady Eula Lawrence. She died as she lived: Protecting those who meant the most to her. Her friends— the family she’d made after cutting ties with the clan that she’d disgraced. In the knights, she’d found new meaning and new purpose… or at least, the start of that new purpose, and she was happy. However, that would not stop her fellow Knights from mourning her loss.

The Funeral service ended an hour ago, and Outrider Amber stood near the entrance of the Favonious Headquarters, the wind biting at her skin. She wonders why it feels like it’s raining despite the absence of thunderclouds or rain. Perhaps Barbatos is allowing them to have the feeling and the sensations without the fuss. Amber is allowed to live in denial for just a bit longer, wiping away tears with her thumb as she shudders out an exhale. Despite the fact that the people of Mondstadt had cared very little about Eula, her last act of life had opened eyes and touched hearts. Everyone had been at her funeral… and she’d just escaped the fond wishes and condolences… but The Outrider’s mind was scattered.

The Captain of The Cavalry Guard and The Grandmaster had noted how distracted she’d looked… chalking it up to grief and attempting to comfort the Outrider over the loss of her friend. Although Amber had tried to explain with sincere genuineness that she was simply looking for someone in the crowd. She didn’t see him in the service, she didn’t see him in the wake, and even as the people exited the church and returned to their homes… she didn’t see him. She eventually, almost dejectedly, sat on the steps leading up to The Favonious Headquarters. A sigh escaped her, and her fingers grazed at a wooden box carefully. He was looking for The Spindrift’s companion, as Lady Lawrence had left one more thing for the one her heart belonged to. Amber was almost ready to give up until her eyes saw the crowd thinning… and there, walking toward the gate out of the city…

She was at first taken aback by the fact that she had failed to notice a man not wearing any black, wearing an outfit he’d wear as if it were any other day of the week. A green cargo jacket over a black T-shirt, fingerless cotton gloves, dark denim blue jeans, and high-top sneakers… with a messenger bag strapped across his chest. He had a sun-kissed complexion dotted with many freckles and hair that was swept into an almost bed-razzled look. The Outrider didn’t even hesitate to sprint toward him… to try and catch him before he vanished. 

“Doctor!! Doctor—!!”

She stopped at his side, expecting him to turn away… but when he turned to face her, Amber was again taken aback by The Doctor’s complexion. The Doctor was a very bright individual, usually. With Eula, he was fiery and charismatic… but also on occasion, he was icy and powerful. He clearly wasn’t of this world, and he made no attempt to hide that. She was just taken aback by how neutral his expression was. Numbness, and with eyes that sagged very low. He looked no older than twenty-three, usually. Right now, however, those eyes looked ever so ancient… as if they’d walked circles around the universe thousands of times over. Perhaps this is just genuinely what the man looked like when he was distraught, though… 

“I… didn’t see you at the service.” She started, trying to get any reaction out of him, any sort of sign that he was feeling some type of emotion. He looked like he was on autopilot, just blankly staring at her while he contemplated thousands of thoughts all in the span of a couple of microseconds. She wasn’t sure if she should really force him to stay, as he clearly was just stopping by out of respect for Eula. They had such an incredibly deep connection. In the few months before the catastrophe that recalled Eula home, The Doctor had appeared in Eula’s life almost like a sort of fairytale prince. He dropped from the sky, whisking her off into planets and skies unknown… showing her all sorts of things that defied the laws of logic and imagination. Amber knew, from the way that Eula looked at him…

It was love. In its purest form.

The Doctor needed Eula to find himself in a brave new universe, and Eula needed The Doctor to give her a home where she could truly detach from what defined her on Teyvat. The Doctor had a light in his eyes that ignited a fire within Eula’s heart. They were like sunshine, an unstoppable duo. Eula was gone though, and The Doctor was all alone, now. She saw the way that realization had cemented itself in his mind. She began to understand why The Doctor looked so numb, right now… simply by thinking it through, she saw a man who wanted to lock himself away from the world and cry because the world had become so much colder without his other half. Amber knew now that she should not keep him for long.

“She… wanted you to have this.” Amber found the words sticking in her throat, coming out through chokes. Completing this final request for Eula seemed to cement the realization in her mind that her friend was truly gone. “She—” Amber struggled to recall the details of what Eula had explained to her, about why she’d left The Doctor to return home. She was very vague, as always… but she seemed to allude to… the idea that… she had had no choice. “She knew this was very hard for you, Doctor.”

She saw his face twinge, and that was confirmation enough for her to know that he was not soulless, or on autopilot… but that he was bottling everything up to unleash in a space that was unrestricted and unjudging. She shouldn’t keep him, but she also knew that once he left… she wouldn’t see him again, and the idea of him having no one simply left her a little heartbroken. Amber choked on more words, but she forced them out simply because she knew he needed to hear it.

“She loved you very much.”

She saw another twinge in the face muscle. He acknowledged that but kept his mouth as tightly shut as he could for fear of breaking under the pressure of his own emotions. Hesitantly, he took the wooden box and wordlessly turned away from Amber. She had so much she wanted to say and yet she knew he probably already knew. She wanted to tell him that it wasn’t his fault, but he probably already knew that. She wanted to ask him if he was going to be okay but was sure he wouldn’t answer her. She looked for any indication that the man was going to be able to walk back from the edge and was scared to let him go because of it. Although her feet remained planted very firmly at the border of the gate… she watched that man walk toward the Police Box at the end of the bridge, entering it wordlessly.

The sounds of its engines echoed outward as The Box’s lantern began to flash… and the wind cleared so that it could fade away from reality. So many tears were slipping out, now. Amber’s hands remained clenched firmly toward her chest as she watched for a long moment as if she was waiting for something. All she could do was give a prayer to the wind that the man would be safe upon his travels, and that the spirit of freedom would follow him wherever he went. There was a light in his eyes that seemed to spread like an infectious warmth across the universe… The Outrider would be very upset if it went out… as would a great many others, as well.

The TARDIS was quiet. Its hum echoed out like the ticking of a clock in an empty room. Its lights were dimmer, the console quieter. The Wooden box was placed against one of the panels of the console as his jacket rested against the seat nearest to the console. The Doctor reached to flick for switches as the rotor in the center of the room sunk up and down. He wasn’t sure where he was going… but he was just going somewhere. His mind was buzzing with a silence that he couldn’t really describe. It was strange to be alone with his thoughts, especially when they weren’t uttering a single word. A heavy exhale left his chest through his nose as his eyes caught the box when it came into his peripheral.

He almost hesitated to reach for it, because he knew that looking beneath the hinges would cement the reality he was looking to ignore. As soon as he admitted to himself that he wanted to ignore it, he knew that he needed to face it. His hands found the box and he very slowly opened it. Neutral expressions immediately faltered beneath the weight of what the box held. Softened gaze began to tear up as brows furrowed together and a shaky hand reached in for one of the first items. His thumb traced over the glass texture of an extinguished vision. Eula carried it with her at all times… how could he not recognize it? His head tilted softly. It wasn’t indifferent to holding someone’s heart in your hands…

He slid the vision into his pocket, reaching back into the box to pull out the crest of her family. The Doctor had learned much about his human companion to learn about the crest of the Lawrence family, and how much weight it had carried. The fact that she left it for him seemed like a solemn admission that she had wished for more from him. His face softened again as he began to feel pain in his hearts over all the what-ifs that he’d missed. He wasn’t an idiot… he knew that what he’d had with Eula was more than intimate… but he began to feel pain in his chest over all the missed opportunities to tell her just how much she’d meant to him. Pressing the crest to his upper lip softly, he repressed more choked winces as he looked back into the box. 

This next item nearly killed him. He almost hesitated to grab it. Inside the box was a Cecilia that had wilted deeply since she’d given it to him. He knew that he’d kept it close by on the TARDIS, but she must’ve found it and taken it away with her into battle. Now she wanted it to return to its rightful owner. The Doctor’s face had sunken into something so low and deep now that his head felt like it had a weight. When he touched the Cecilia flower, he had to immediately put the box down. It was sort of like touching something that had gone from warm to cold… the realization that there was no more life within an object was cemented by that transition.

The Doctor exhaled, shakily. Tears had begun streaming down his face as he looked toward the rotor. There was silence as he kept his eyes away from anything aside from The Cecilia because looking back at it reminded him of their last conversation. Heal yourself. The memories of every moment he’d ever cherished with The Lady Lawrence crept into his mind and seemed to make every passing second more and more painful… and the tears came down in an abundance that left him a bit blind from the blurry vision. He wiped away the tears with the base of his palm and slid the flower into the control panel of the TARDIS. With his hands empty, he just stared up at the TARDIS rotor and let the tears stream down until he could get a handle on himself. Sometimes he’d stop, thinking that his emotions had finally calmed, only for them to start again. So there was a long silence, where The Doctor stood in silence over the controls and felt his eyes darting across the console room before eventually, he felt himself restraining enough to at least sink back into numbness. He heaved another sigh before he moved to look at where the monitor was taking him. His fingers traced against the vision in his pocket for a moment as his thumb flicked through the monitor’s scans. He needed to just… get back on the road, again. His eyes caught Cecilia again and eventually he just… stared off, again…. Toward the wall. The room felt much emptier without her, and when the realization that Eula Lawrence was truly gone sunk in…

The Console room was deafeningly quiet now. Save for the sound of the engines and the distant sound of the hum. He exhaled, looking down at the controls. History was repeating itself. Of course, it was. It always did. For a moment, sorrow melts into a deeper resentment of himself. The Timelord rests one hand in his pocket whilst he flips various switches and twists various dials before the second hand is deposited into his opposite pocket, and he's left just staring.

Imagine having the power to change whole moments of history. To alter the very fabric of reality. Imagine having the power to move heaven and earth for ordinary people... but never being able to use that power to save the people who really matter the most to you. Imagine being left with a gaping hole in your chest every time you re-enter this console room by yourself, knowing the home someone else had made for themselves was within yours... and realizing that life has just gone back to the bitterness of what it had been before.

The last time he was alone, he was wearing someone else's face. He had made connections, gained new titles, and lost just as much. He'd endured pain, suffering, and heartache. He'd seen the top of the mountain, breathed the clean air of victory, and lived out a wild dream of passion and joy.

Only for it to be back to how it was when he was at the bottom of the barrel. He'd done so much to come to peace with what had happened, with where he'd gone and what he'd done. He'd regained his title, come to terms with his fate, and he'd even conquered destiny itself. Or at least, he thought he had. Never had he been so humbled before, and the price of his arrogance was this.

The loneliness.

This is what it feels like to be The Doctor. Not the joy or the happiness of the never-ending thrill, but the crushing lonely bitter sadness that comes afterward. The sound of silence in a place people once called their home ringing through your ears. The pain of knowing that you had the power to save the people you cared about, but choosing to do your duty as the last of your kind instead. To maintain the web of time. Humbled again by the beast you'd thought you'd conquered: time. This is what it means to be The Last of The Timelords. Everlasting loneliness throughout all of time and space.

All he can do is endure. It's all he has left. 

He exhales, heavily.

"Goodbye, Spindrift." He remarks as he leaves another chapter of his life behind. 

There'll never be another like you. 

[thesoulspulse]

I've been getting this idea in my head I wanted to explore about a group of special ghosts known as Mistwalkers. They are the holy messengers of Evermore, in other words the final paradise only worthy souls are allowed to enter. Like Necromancers they served the will of the Angel of Death by helping bear witness to the judgement of souls who have either finally found their peace or have been exiled until such a time as they find redemption or seal their own damnation.

Story: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/14297213/1/Vestige

Warning! There are story spoilers for "Vestige" written down below so read the rest at your own peril. Truth be told I mostly just wanted to sort of make a ghost that looked a little more like the classic bed-sheet ghost but with a bit more ethereal elegance. Also, this design is also partially inspired by my oc Luna who I sadly ended up removing from Owen's story and more or less replaced her with Eris as his main supporter/friend. She was just an ice ghost/witch though so there wasn't much of a connection to Death himself apart from maybe the 'deathly chill' someone might feel sort of like Danny's ghost sense.

No one has seen one of these divine spirits since Death sacrificed himself to give ghosts and the other spirits who resided within the Veil a fighting chance against Lilith by reshaping it into the Ghost Zone. Yet in the coming days this will change as the threat of a door opening once more between the Earth and the Ghost Zone that leads to an evil realm of pure darkness even ghosts know to fear draws closer. A realm where Lilith and her legions of Wraiths and other demonic monstrosities reside without an ounce of humanity or mercy to be found in their black hearts.

Death and these divine messengers are the reason why white hair is seen as a symbol of being close in nature to them. Owen might have been born with his partial albinism to symbolize this because he has the soul of the first Necromancer Death granted his power to but Vlad and Danny were 'touched by Death' as and chosen to help restore the lost balance between worlds. Unfortunately Vlad succumbed to his selfish desires and then his ghost form changed to reflect that growing darkness in his heart. But if his heart changes enough he might just be able to reclaim this unknown gift bestowed upon him that's remained buried this whole time. Danny on the other hand embraced his role as a protector and this is why his powers only keep growing stronger, it's a blessing because of his courageous heart as well as the bravery of his ghost hunting ancestors who once helped fight off many evil spirits.

[spookyspaghettisundae]

Die for the Many

Mother and my friends adorned my hair and dress with flower wreaths. I still vividly remember the sweet scent of those desert blooms, so many of them offered up and woven together so artfully. I tried to think about anything else but could not get my mind off my fate. Mother hummed all the while.

She hummed so melodiously. So sadly.

"There is great honor in the sacrifice you are making," she said.

As if I needed to be reminded for the thousandth time. They all said the same.

The people of our village all always spoke such hollow words. You could decline when you were chosen, but nobody ever dared. I still vividly remembered the last girl who protested, the look of helpless dread on her face, fidgeting nervously.

She did not protest for long, though. Nobody even forced her, nobody said a word to change her mind—they just looked at her with all the accusations their eyes could project. And in her own gaze, I could see the fire of rebellion dying. The fear taking overhand, and the will to live flickering like a dying flame.

Everybody feared the consequences of failing this sacred duty. I am sure there were others like her, before her. Surely, there were others like me, before me, resigned but quietly unwilling.

Mother hummed, and my friends eventually joined in on it. As if this was a joyous day, an occasion worth celebrating. Fingers that grazed my skin, they felt like ghostly wisps, so very far away, yet electrifying and giving me gooseflesh.

"It is only sacrifice when you give up something meaningful to you," they chimed in.

Oh, how easy it was for them to say. To believe that their sacrifice was giving us up into the jaws of death.

They were allowed to continue living. They got to hide behind their sorrow of losing us. Of knowing no other way than surrender.

Girls like me—we were supposed to die for them.

A tearful kiss on my forehead was all she gave me, in the end. Though I could tell it was not easy for her, that all she did to add levity or beauty or honor to what my destiny foretold, it all only served to outshine the crushing weight of losing her daughter this way.

Generations after generations had lived thus. And watched their daughters die thus. I do not think that any still lived who knew a time before this cycle.

The cycle of sacrifice of the few, for the good of all, and chosen carefully by the Many.

It was the only way our village knew how to survive. In this wasteland, our walls and homes made of adobe stood proud and tall atop the only oasis wide and far. Who knew what lay beyond those windswept dunes, hidden beneath the infinite horizon? Who knew if others would ever find to us out here, or if we could venture into the unknown, and find a different form of salvation?

In the shadow of the mountain that towered above us, the Many selected those of us virgins to wander the path of the rock, to the top of those dizzying pinnacles where tall stone kissed the sky.

To see the dragon, and to offer ourselves to it. To spare our home of the dragon's wrath.

One of us perished in the dragon's maw, and the village continued to survive for five more years.

Such was our way.

Such had always been our way. Nobody dared to lie about knowing a time before it. Some elders claimed to pass on tales of the time before our arrival there, from before our ancestors crossing the blighted wastelands even. But those old fairy tales of pilgrimages and saints and self-sacrifice, they all sounded so absurd. So unreal.

Especially now.

I admit I was selfish. Until the Many had chosen me, I had repeated those same mantras, those same hollow words as all others had always done. Those empty phrases allowed me to sleep at night, to pretend that nothing was wrong. I used to sometimes awaken from my nightmares, covered in sweat, having dreamt of being chosen next. And lying to myself like the elders lied to themselves, and our people perpetuating these myths—misfortune only happened to others, right?

It was noble to give one's life for the others. To obey the law of the Many.

I grew up believing that all of this was perfectly in order.

"There is great honor in my sacrifice," I repeated to the elders as they grazed my cheeks and shoulders and arms with fleeting caresses.

There was something loving about these touches. Of course, they loved the one they gave away. Of course, they loved the one that secured their continued survival.

Never before had I felt so sick at seeing their aged, wizened, wrinkled faces. Knowing they were allowed to grow old and die in their slumber while I would be cut down in my prime.

Devoured by a monster.

I smiled, but it was as empty and soulless as our collective words. It certainly did not reach my eyes.

It never reached our eyes. I remembered another girl who had marched to her death. I had been so small at the time, yet I remembered her with such staggering clarity. I must have looked the same in this moment. A mask to match, to hide the despair; a cork to bottle up the urge to run—the instinct to flee into the wasteland and find a different fate in the sands, stung to death by scorpions and devoured by the dunes perhaps, but leaving them all to their own doom.

I refrained from acting upon my selfish instincts. We regarded such as courage, I believe, even when it stayed unspoken. But was it gutlessness, I wondered? It must have been.

In the end, if all you know are cowards, then it is easiest to fall in line and do as the others live before you. Die before you.

Easiest to uphold a legacy, rather than question it. Rather than mustering the audacity, the bravery to challenge old ways.

Still, they sang, and everybody cheered, and frolicked, and danced. Holding my hand for the rest of the way to the gates of our town, my sweetheart accompanied me. He had the gall to tell me how proud of me he was, how proud he was to have known me. His pain was genuine, but it paled in comparison to my own anguish—I knew this in my heart of hearts.

I never resented another person as much as I resented him in that moment. But it, too, was fleeting. Devoured by the dread that gripped me. The finality of it all, weighing down on me like an avalanche of crushing stone.

My friends were the first to stop following before reaching the gate. They kept shooting glances over their shoulders as the distance between us grew to lengths that could no longer be bridged.

Then my mother and my sweetheart let go of my hands, let me continue forth alone. Though true sadness rang with their goodbyes, it all felt weak. Pathetic, even.

Then the priestesses accompanied me the last steps of the forlorn way, up the dusty road, and they only turned back once the rocky crystalline crags jutted high above my narrow path.

My lonesome path.

And from our village, the Many watched. I felt cold as the Many watched me leave and disappear into the rocks. Back then, I did not understand it yet. But it makes so much sense to me now.

The Many always watched.

The singing, cheering, and weeping trailed behind me, growing fainter and fainter after I lost sight of them, and they lost sight of me. The village continued to celebrate my noble sacrifice, my great honor, but it was no longer in celebration of me. In truth, they rejoiced, their joy of life eclipsed the tragedy of my death. Whether they would admit it or not, they celebrated five more years of prosperity. Of knowing they would brave the wasteland in their idyllic little oasis, for five more years.

As for me, I harbored no such hopes. I admit to my cowardice and fear that had taken root within me. I could not have cared any less about that damned place. Some part of me, the rage within, it hoped to know their bones would one day lay bleached beneath the merciless sun. The adobe walls could crumble and bury them for all I cared. I fantasized about their singing and cheering turning to screams of agony as I envisioned myself in fantasies, of straying from the path and leaving them to their rotten fates.

It would not make a difference to me any longer. For me, the dragon awaited.

But I stayed my course. I truly think it was fear—cowardice—that guided me.

The uneven grounds and sharp rocks bent the leather of my sandals, making the walk as unpleasant as possible. I had to continuously readjust the flower wreath as it shifted crookedly upon my crown, but after what felt like an eternity of walking, I gave up on correcting it. How little would my appearance matter? Would the dragon be picky about its prey's adornments?

The spark of defiance within me never died, even if I had resigned myself to my fate. Too fearful of the consequences of challenging what was, and always had been.

I needed to use my hands to keep going, anyway. To find balance as the dusty path gave way to jagged rocks, and grounds too difficult to leisurely stride upon anymore.

My bitterness had grown to meet my fear. Perhaps it even eclipsed it. I was prepared to get this over with. I would even taunt the dragon, if necessary, if that helped speed things up. I prayed for a swift death, not a dignified one.

Another small eternity passed, leaving the bitterness to poison the well of my mind, flying by as my thoughts circled within the darkest depths of that well, antagonizing the place I had grown up in; demonizing the home I had thought I loved. And with that, I had chanced upon my destination. The precarious path led here, and only here. Only the damned had walked it.

A rumbling beneath the stone filled me. It shook me to the bone. Before I knew it, it felt rhythmic, like breathing. Or a colossal heartbeat.

Finally had I reached the great cave where the dragon dwelt.

A roar erupted from it, suggesting that it sensed my presence. A bright blaze illuminated the cave's bowels and made shadows dance along its rugged walls.

Growled the creature, with the volume of an earthquake and thunder conjoined, "Come to me."

I wanted to run, but I was too afraid. Not afraid of the beast chasing me or of tumbling down the rocks and breaking every bone in my body in a fall that would likely not have had the kindness to kill me instantly—but afraid of the consequences of being punished for breaking ancient law.

Sixty-four seasons young, and that was all it had taken to drill this feeble-mindedness into me.

Thus, I did as the dragon bid me to. What good was I at anything but doing as I was told?

I stepped inside the cave. I trembled all over. Though I told myself I had resigned my entire being to my death, I feared it more than anything now. My mind painted horrid pictures of many ways I could die—of ways I would die. Fire engulfing me and knowing the sensation of being burnt alive, with the skin blistering and sloughing off the bone. Of gigantic teeth that snapped my body like twigs.

Another growl heralded a small flame, lighting the path to my grim destiny.

The dragon awaited me at the end of the tunnel, where its scorched and scarred walls adjoined with a huge, cavernous hall. The rock had molten in its center, a perpetual fire within the stone that cast an eerie red glow, and perched upon a ledge, majestic in its magnificent size, there the beast sat, enthroned above the little creature I was in comparison to its awesome size.

But the dragon was not alone. The gloomy crimson shine revealed to me other people dwelling in this cavern. They surrounded me.

Women stood guard, all clad in armor and carrying spears of fearsome make. Star-metal gleamed in the glow, shaped to perfection upon mysterious forges. Many of the women looked older, grown adult, more beautiful than the day they had departed from the village. I recognized some of their faces. Many others looked strange and unknown, yet familiar somehow. My seniors, some elderly, all people I had expected to be long dead.

Yet here they stood. Alive, and fierce in appearance. Huntresses. Warriors.

Asked the dragon, "Did you choose to come here and end your life of your own volition?"

Imperiously it spoke, with the flames licking from its nostrils, and eyes glowing as red as the molten rock, a wisdom of eons pooling behind its glare.

It answered for me, for I had lost my speech, trading it for bewilderment over this strange sight, when it said, "Or was it the Many who chose for you to die hither on this day?"

A question that was no question. We all knew the answer.

I could not contain myself; curiosity had seized my senses, my gaze wandering across all these women gathered here, and then coming to rest upon the giant scaled beast, covered in horns and wings unfurling.

"Am I not to die here?" I asked, knowing the answer.

More growls erupted from the beast and tremors shook the earth. Murmurs traveled through the Ladies of the Spears.

"Do you know what the Many is?" asked the dragon instead of meeting my question.

With all due diligence and all the reverence I had been brought up to harbor, I replied, "The eldest say the Many is the manifestation of the spirits of our ancestors."

Words that came from a place of constant drill and blind repetition.

Of constant indoctrination.

"The Many is a dark spirit," growled the dragon.

Only now did I realize that the creature had been calm all this time—calm until now, that is. Until now, when fury welled in its air, and fires of rage erupted from its maw without harming anybody present but casting a bright light within the cave.

Said one of the women, every syllable resonating with crystal-clear resolve, "It feeds on the darkness of our people. Every act of cowardice bolsters its body. Every ounce of greed and envy is what feeds its blackened essence."

The strike of her spear against the stone echoed through the cave and punctuated her speech with a fury of her own.

Spake another, with a voice that trembled with anger, "It keeps our people weak. Pliable. It drinks the ghosts of those who breathe their last breath of old age, bitter and yellow-bellied, and it grows fatter with each selfish surrendering of us girls."

The dragon finished their angry remarks, "Whether they truly perish or not matters little to the Many. It knows not that it and I are ancient enemies, and that I would spare every one of your kind to end its existence. Come to me, child. Arm yourself, and we begin your lessons. Soon, the time will come that we march upon your home and face the Many in bloody battle. Only together do we stand any chance against such a demon."

And know you, who listens to me now, of that lost village. Of Umbra.

The day I came of age, my calloused hands could wield the spear better than I could ever wield the sewing needle or the pot. On that fateful day, the demon lost in our battle. And Umbra crumbled in its wake, a desolate ruin stranded in the wastes.

The dragon perished, as did many of my Sisters of the Spear who left their lives on the battlefield. And the Many, a giant hungry shadow it had become in my absence, it took our people with it. When our people screamed in fear upon seeing the dragon, the Many sapped them of their very life force and used it to grow to terrifying proportions. It used them as its shield, used their fear as its axe. Matched our resolve and slew so many before we could even hope to best it.

But as with all evil, now I know, it can never be eradicated. As long as man lives, darkness dwells in man's heart.

You seek the oasis? You seek the treasures you think we left behind in Umbra? You are a fool.

Do not go there. You will find only misery, and perhaps you will birth the Many again. For we could not destroy it. A dragon and all of us warriors, and we could not destroy it. We could only bury it beneath the bones of our ancestors and the crumbling adobe walls of our fallen village.

You cannot destroy it, either.

No man can.

As long as weakness lingers in the heart of man, the Many can feed upon it, and will always return.

Turn back now, traveler. I beseech you. There is nothing beyond this wasteland but death and gloom. Do not tempt fate, do not make our battle something that was fought in vain. For as long as Umbra stays buried and forgotten, so does the Many.

I care not for your story. Your excuses are feeble. Your supposed motives do not impress upon me.

Your greatest honor would be to now heed my words—to sacrifice your quest and abandon your folly—and turn back. Turn back now—or I shall do us the favor of striking you down before your greed can feed the Many again.

What shall it be?

—Submitted by Wratts

[watarigarasu]

Sweet Nothings

Pairing: Kíli x Reader

Word count: 3,898

Warnings: None

Author’s note: None

Synopsis: Kíli is not aware of the impact his words have upon you.

„Is she avoiding me?” Kíli inquired, his piercing gaze glued to your back when you were riding a horse barely few steps ahead, leaving the Durin brothers at the very end of The Company. Not that any of them were complaining, on the contrary, it was a perfect opportunity to finally share a word or two about the current situation, which—surprisingly or not—seemed to be way more serious than the wargs chasing after you all. “I mean it, she did not spare me a single glance since we escaped the Goblin Town!”

“I think you may be a little bit overacting,” Fíli stated matter-of-factly. “Tell me, when was the last time you had a conversation with Bifur, hm?”

“And why would I have a conversation with him?” he frowned in confusion.

“To prove my point that sometimes you chat with one person, then another and there is nothing odd about it. It does not mean that she is avoiding you, she is simply… occupied.”

Kíli thought for a while about his brother’s words, valuing them as most likely wiser but not convincing in the slightest. It has been two whole, long days since you managed to escape the Goblin Town and so, two whole, long days since he had a chance to hear your voice calling his name or to see you laugh at something he said. The bitter sensation was growing in his mind, making him wonder whether you were bored by him already or maybe he unintentionally did something to offend you… He was not perfect, often acting before thinking but he would never make anything to hurt your feelings and especially not to alienate you.

“Or maybe…” Kíli lowered his voice to the conspirational whisper. “She thinks I am too old for her.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Seriously!” he hissed and slowed his pony down a little bit to give even more space between them and The Company heading further east. “When I think about it now, this might be the reason. Before reaching Rivendell we were chatting and somehow it slipped me that I am seventy seven. Seventy seven, Fíli! How old do you think she is?! Humans age different so maybe… five? The gap would be devastating, no wonder she does not want to talk to me anymore!”

Fíli barely could contain the amused smile, hearing more and more ridiculous explanations flowing from his brother’s mouth.

“I can assure you that this is not the issue. And I highly doubt that she is five.”

At that point, Kíli was ready to tear his hair out. He has been observing you for some time, desperately trying to find out what could be the reason for your cold behaviour toward him but no matter for how long he was deducing, there was no conclusion. You were acting as normal as always with everyone else beside him and this fact hurt him much more than he wanted to admit.

“But,” Fíli continued, noticing Kíli’s discouragement. “I can try doing a little reconnaissance if you want.”

His eyes immediately shone with new excitement and the happy expression did not fade from his face for the rest of the day, until the camp had to be settled again. Many hours later, when the sky became completely dark and the only source of light was a campfire, Kíli sat at the opposite side of you, pretending to be focused on his bowl of soup but realized that he has completely lost the appetite.

You were so close and so far away at the same time.

Naturally, his first idea was to simply approach you and ask about the change in your behaviour on the same day he realized it, but he found himself unable to speak to you. You were busy packing your stuff and he stood there, like a total oaf, staring at you completely silently, when no words escaped his lips and none seemed to be appropriate for the situation. Kíli has never felt as helpless as then, the courage leaving him when he was too afraid of accidentally pushing you further away.

He cared, he cared so much that it made him back away. After all, watching you happily spend time with the others was a better option than seeing you upset at him.

Kíli sighed deeply and took a small sip of the dinner, forcing himself to eat, knowing that he will need energy tomorrow morning. For now, he was hoping for Fíli to find a reason, his calm and collected attitude could provide more informations that if he approached you, acting so strange and very unlike him. Perhaps that was the reason—his behaviour tiring you, although at the beginning of the quest you were not giving him signs as such.

On the contrary, you seemed to be very pleased with his company during your first night as a guard.

“I just want to make sure that you won’t mess something up,” he teased you then, sitting next to you on the mossy ground, back resting against a giant, fallen tree trunk.

“It is more likely that I will mess something up if you will keep distracting me with your talking, Kíli,” you stated, peeking at him and the sword he was holding on the knees, preparing to sharpen it before the next day of march.

“Fair point,” he winked. “Consider it as a training then. How well can you be aware of your surroundings with such a great distraction?”

There was something in the depth of his voice, how low it was, how slightly hoarse after the long day, which made your heart melt with warmth and spill all over your body like a golden honey, the tingly, lovely sensation bringing smile to your lips. His eyes were so dark and mesmerizing you could stare at them for hours and still not get bored, the emotions visible in them like in an open book. It never failed to amaze you how in one moment he could look at you with such a gentle, caring manner and in the next one, if the enemies were approaching, there was a wild rage within them, burning passion and unstoppable bravery.

You thought that he was not afraid of anything, not even for a moment.

“Is this how low you think of me?” you gasped and placed a hand over your heart in a theatrical manner. “I would never get distracted, not when the whole Company is counting one me.”

“You take this so seriously.”

“And you do not? I mean,” you paused for a while, recollecting your thoughts. “We are a team and we need to protect each other. If I can help by staying awake and looking for intruders then I will do my best then.”

“Just like you did your best when Balin asked you to protect the campfire from the rain when everyone was packing and you stood over the ember with your coat spread open like some kind of winged animal?” he chuckled and even though you did not consider it as embarrassing, the way he laughed at the memory itched your heart a little bit.

“If you are going to mock me for doing what others asked me to, then–“

“I am not mocking you,” he interrupted, now the tone of his voice much more serious. “I did not mean that. I actually think it was very sweet of you, even though you were completely soaked afterwards and the fire went off anyway.”

“How is that sweet in any way then?”

“In a way, my dear, that you are hardworking and caring.”

It was nice, hearing the compliment from him, especially since you were not expecting it barely few moments ago.

“Obviously,” Kíli continued, now looking back at his weapon and sharpening the edge. “I could go on and on. This is only the tiny peak of your virtues and there is still much more to discover.”

“I think you are exaggerating,” you added, wondering how did he manage to say things like that so naturally, with so much ease, seemingly completely unaware of how much they affected you.

“No way! I intend to name more, if not all of them. Then you will see that I was right and as a prize I will want you to admit that out loud. Moreover, in front of everyone.”

“In your dreams, Kíli!”

“Oh, but you will! You will say that Kíli, the Son of Durin was right all the way and you, my lass, have never been so wrong in your whole life.”

It was hard to not laugh at his words, especially considering the hilarious tone of the voice he used to recite the statement. You almost did not notice when half of the night passed by then, the peaceful forest allowing the whole Company to rest before the dawn.

Kíli cherished this memory as promising. He was coming back to it many times before falling asleep, recalling your smile and words, trying to remember as much as possible from it. He did not lie when he made the vow of naming all your advantages and so, the next day he surprised with yet another detail about your personality, you did not previously pay attention to.

“And what do we have there?” Kíli mused as he approached you, while you were trying to sew up the hole in your breeches left by a branch during the warg’s chase. “If that is not our beloved, very talented and no less skilled friend?”

You peeked at him, confused.

“At that point you are just making it up.”

“How could I.” He showed you his bright teeth in a charming smile.

“I am just sewing up my trousers, everyone can do that,” you pointed out, which made Kíli gasp loudly.

“But can they do it with such a precision? Could they ever look so adorable with that focused face? And do they have that tiny, sweet little wrinkle at the bridge of the nose? I highly doubt that!”

You muttered something about him being ridiculous and incomprehensible, and came back to your work, not wanting him to notice how the amount of compliments—although, most likely, said as a joke—was embarrassing you.

The scenario repeated few more times, each one of them Kíli surprising you with the amount of knowledge and wide vocabulary. You were scolding yourself for allowing the first impression of him to take over your judgment because the more you knew him, the more interesting he was, day after day proving you that in reality, there was still a lot to learn about him.

The compliments he was giving to you were fancy and often making you laugh. Before his little mission to apparently embarrass you with calling out loud every single thing you did right, you doubted that anyone paid attention to the way you were tying shoelaces or styling your hair. And yet, there he was, attentive and always ready to tell you how good you looked, how smart you were, how clever you acted or how your presence brightened up the whole surroundings.

And it was sweet, Kíli’s charm obviously reaching your heart and causing the butterflies to fly in your stomach whenever you spotted him nearby. Soon, you found yourself waiting with an anticipation for the next day just to see him again, to hear him tell some funny story from Ered Luin, to watch him practice shooting with the bow. His adorable, cheerful face occupied most of your thoughts, even in the times where it surely should not—eventually resulting in you falling to the shallow but cold stream after stepping on a particularly slippery stone and Kíli, naturally, shouting after you:

“Hold on, my damsel in distress, your savior is here!”

“Who do you call a damsel in distress?” you frowned while standing up, the water reaching a little above your ankles, but before you could go out of the stream, Kíli was already next to you, effortlessly picking you up as if you weighted nothing more than a feather and throwing you over his shoulder. “What are you–?!”

“I am assisting my lady not-in-distress in crossing the river, what else?”

“Put me down right now, immediately,” you demanded, noticing the curious stares from the rest of The Company who must have noticed your absence. “Kíli, please.”

But he did not listen, instead walking with you out of the small river and only then letting you go on the dry ground. Adjusting your clothes, you murmured a simple: “Thank you”, still rather awestruck. You were familiar with the differences between Men and Dwarves and yet, witnessing him in action was always impressive.

“I am much stronger than I look, I know,” he wiggled his eyebrows at you. “I also have many other ace’s up my sleeves, you will see.”

His boldness was both intimidating and alluring and you did not want to lie to yourself, pretending that you did not like it. Perhaps it would be better to face him about this, to talk about yours and his feelings and then decide what to do next. The rest of The Company was not blind, they must have seen what was going on between you two and they deserved an explanation, too.

Your plans changed drastically when you found out the harsh truth during an innocent coincidence, which allowed you to see his real intentions—and the conclusion broke your heart.

Rivendell was like a dream, a town in clouds, completely separated from the dangers of the outside world and it was hard to tell whether you were staying there for few hours, days or even years. Overwhelming peace and harmony blinded your senses and muted the natural instincts which were telling you that soon it was the time to move forward. Until then, however, not you, nor the rest of The Company could deny an invitation for dinner with music and chatting.

Sitting at the opposite side of the table, you peeked at Kíli from time to time, in between admiring the unusual landscape. The Elves, although visibly not understanding Dwarves’ manners, were kind and gentle, bringing new plates and playing on the instruments to make your stay as pleasant as possible. Golden sun spilled over the marble floor and in its light you noticed how Kíli’s hair, now neatly washed and pinned with a bead, were having some burning red and deep chocolate reflections. What caught your attention the most, however, were his eyes and the soft, loving gaze, which happened to not linger on you for more than a second.

Instead, you noticed the meaningful looks and discreet smiles sent to the Elves.

Deciding to focus on your meal, you started to feverishly wonder, when did you make a mistake and how could you not notice the simple fact that it was not Kíli’s attraction toward you causing him to act this way, but rather his personality and natural charisma. He was so open, easily astonished by anything new, eager to try everything and never hesitating to make a first step. It was in his nature to charm, to talk, to flirt, to love and to live.

You were not a difference in his life, but an opportunity.

Despite what you hoped for, the first and last night in Rivendell was full of sorrow and unanswered questions.

“May I join?” Fíli’s voice brought you back to present, to the camp in the woods, the fire in front of you and the bowl full of still untouched soup.

“Sure.” You moved aside to give him more space to sit on the fallen tree trunk, which was now used as a bench.

“I thought you seem troubled,” he continued. “Can I help you somehow?”

If his attentiveness surprised you, you did not let it show.

“I am just tired,” you lied. “It has been a long day.”

“Indeed…” He accepted your excuse and pointed at the bowl. “You do not have to eat that if you do not want to, you know? Nobody will get angry.”

Only then you remembered about your dinner and looked at it as if the bowl has just magically appeared in your hands.

“You may be right,” you nodded. “I am not hungry.”

“Well then, I can only hope that this is not some illness spreading because Kíli seems to lost his appetite, too.”

Immediately you peeked at the other side of the campfire and spotted him sitting next to Bombur, blank gaze glued to the burning wood. Apparently, he was no less troubled than you were.

“I hope so, too,” you muttered and eventually decided to try a first spoon.

If you want something done, do it yourself—or so Kíli repeated to himself while marching angrily toward the front of The Company, where you were walking side by side with Ori. Fíli’s intervention was helpful, obviously, but it still led him nowhere, not knowing what exactly caused you avoid him all of a sudden. His ominous words were not making it easier either.

“She is worried.”

Kíli blinked few times, hoping for the further explanation which did not come.

“About what…?”

“Something regarding you, I guess.” Fíli shrugged. “I do not know the details.”

“That much I know, brother, I was hoping for the details precisely! How can I do anything about it when I have no idea what is going on?” Kíli kicked the small rock which was laying on his way on the road. “I would even apologize but I do not know what for, so that would never work.”

His brother’s look was very meaningful, just like the smile on his lips.

“You like her.”

“Of course I do, everyone likes her.”

“No, no. You like her. More than the others.”

Kíli glared at him suspiciously.

“Whatever you are implying…”

“You know very well what I am implying.”

“… It won’t work because she currently hates me.”

“She does not hate you,” Fíli sighed. “Listen, just try talking to her. I can assure you that if you talk it thoroughly, everything will be fine.”

Kíli was not sure about it but he did not have many other options. Eventually, he decided to approach you and confront about the whole situation, hoping that you won’t try to escape this time. When he finally fell into step with you, he called your name, the look of determination on his face.

“Can we talk for a moment?” he asked and noticed how for a single second your eyes wandered around in an attempt to find yet another excuse—but found none.

“Sure…” you nodded then and slowed down the pace so you could stay alone with him at the end of the group. “What do you want to talk about?”

“About us.”

“Us?” you snorted.

“Yes.” Kíli gently touched your arm and stopped you mid-tracks, making you face him. “What happened? I thought we were doing just fine, why the sudden change?”

It was painful to look at those dark eyes of his, full of remorse and confusion. There was no doubt that he genuinely did not see his own mistake and you could not decide whether it angered or upset you more. Either way, he deserved an explanation.

“We were doing perfectly fine,” you admitted slowly. “Bu the point is… Oh, Kíli, you cannot say all those words and expect me to not fall in love with you.”

Your confession made him speechless. He was staring at you as if he saw you for the first time—or as if you were some kind of goddess allowing only him to experience your presence. He opened his mouth, attempting to answer you but could not find the right words and so he closed them, reminding you of a fish out of water.

Crossing the arms, you patiently waited for his answer, feeling the thrill of fear over what you were going to hear. That your emotions were ridiculous? That you should not take the innocent game that seriously?

“I–Are you in love with me?” Kíli simply wondered and when the word ‘love’ escaped his mouth, he smiled.

Truly, honestly, hopefully.

“Of course I am,” you sighed deeply. “But unfortunately, it was a little bit too late when I realized that you are not.”

Then it struck him. The memory of the evening spent in Rivendell, how cheerful you were while approaching this place and how your attitude drastically changed over the dinner. The funny situation when he accidentally mistook an Elf with She-Elf still echoing in his mind but not as vivid and clear as the pained look on your face back then. There was a sadness behind your smile and he was too excited to notice it.

Your name danced on his tongue when he whispered it and approached you, cupping both of your hands in his and licking his lips before giving you an answer.

“You are mistaken,” he started. “I am in love with you and Mahal knows that I was since I first laid my eyes upon you. Everything I said about you was no less that truth itself and I really do admire you in everything you do. Even in the way you gracelessly fell into that river.”

Light peeking from between the branches landed on the side of his face, giving his eyes more depth and colour, and he squeezed your hands tighter after noticing how the corners of your lips were trembling, the happiness after hearing his confession not possible to hide anymore.

“And regarding to what happened in Rivendell,” Kíli continued. “I was just being a fool and you should know that sometimes I tend to be one. A really big, Dwarven oaf. It was certainly one of those moments but it would never change the way I feel about you, only you. You are everything to me and I love you just the way you are. I love your smile and your laugh, the stories you are telling, how helpful and dedicated you are and how huge your heart is! I love that you decided to join us on this adventure because I love seeing you everyday, saying ‘good morning’ and ‘goodnight’ to you. And I love your flaws, too, the ones I did not mention before. You are aware that I am not free of them either, but that is exactly what makes us us and I would never change anything in you because in my eyes you are perfect just the way you are, with everything you carry in your soul. Only that way the picture is complete.”

Sunlight swirled in the corners of your teary eyes, Kíli’s hand never letting go of yours and The Company far ahead of you two. Still, there was no rush to chase after them, not when you have just realized that all you have ever wanted was right in front of you.

Kíli took a step closer and in an answer you slowly leaned forward, closing your eyes, until your forehead rested against his and the tips of your noses barely brushed against each other. It was a perfect afternoon, the one worth remembering, as you stood there in the middle on the forest bathed in the bright, golden sunlight, and there was nothing which could disturb the peace of your connected hearts.

[wraithqveen-archive]

She had dreamed of it, the comfort of being surrounded by familiar faces, the warmth of the fire, the scent of skillet bread. Her mother’s presence, bright like summer, and the long, dark braid swaying as she damped the fire. When she was still fourteen, a girl ripped from the only world she had ever known, she had longed to have her hurts soothed by her mother’s hand, steady and reassuring as no one else could be. Inej had longed for that safety so badly the hurt in her heart felt physical rather than metaphorical; and it never went away, even as the years passed, even as she became someone else, even as she felt heart was something she lost along the way, drowned in the tears she never shed.

Her hopes had begun feeling distant, after a while. To be here now, hearing the crackling of fire, the slightly spicy scent of dill mixing with that of the bread’s dough, few feet away from her mother as they cooked together, still made her feel as if walking into one of those dreams. It took reminding herself it would not all just disappear, that this was real and she was real and she was there. Oddly, the happiness had made her feel as if she would vanish as she had so many times before, dragged from present to exist only as if an echo, a ghost, there but not.

Her mind had raised the question of what it would be like to return plenty of times before. Even as she longed for it, Inej knew it would not be the same. Even as she hoped for it, she dreaded the reunion, what they would think, if they would still love her if they knew she was a killer and a thief, if they could still love her with blood in her hands and a hardened heart. Once, she had told Jesper to open up to his father, tell him the truth -- but even then, when he asked her if she would, all she had been able to reply was she would give anything to have the chance, even if the words would not be spoken.

There had been explanations, of course, after their teary reunion in Ketterdam’s harbor. She had told them the slavers had ripped her from bed and dragged her to the ship, that she had been sold, but not to where. Courage failed her when it came to speaking of Tante Heleen buying her, of the Menagerie with the room full of silks and incense, a mockery meant to represent their caravans. She could not speak of being made into a lynx, a girl in purple silk, their culture made into a costume. She could not tell them of the men who made her not want to be touched ever again. Of Heleen taking away the safety and comfort her parents had always taught her to find in hugs, when she would offer kindness only to follow with cruelty. 

All of it had been left unsaid, a chapter of the story skipped because she wasn’t brave enough to voice it. Then Inej told them after a year she had been able to leave, thanks to Kaz. Initially, she hesitated to tell about the Dregs, to say she had been part of a gang; but perhaps she needed not specify at all, having said enough in letting them know they had worked together ever since, often in less than lawful ways. 

If Inej failed to find her voice and speak of what she suffered, she feared their reaction to what she had done. The daughter they knew did not wield knives, had not taken lives with them. The daughter they knew would have been horrified at the prospect, but she had long since stopped shedding tears for the lives she took. The girl she had been would not abide hurting innocent people, threatening them for information, stealing from them for survival; she still hated to harm those who had done nothing to earn it, but amidst all the blood Inej had found a taste for it. There was a reason she wanted that ship; justice may be a worthy goal, but hunting slavers would still be killing and destroying.

There was no part of her sincerely apologetic for doing what she had to do to survive. Innocence had been taken from her long ago; she had faith her Saints did not demand it. Still, the prospect of facing her father’s disappointment, her mother’s judgment, left her terrified. She did not care for other’s approval, but she would not bear to be hated by them.

And perhaps it weighs more than she thought, all the things she had not been able to tell. The fear of what would happen if they knew hung around her like a shadow, making her heart beat anxiously even in what should have been a moment of peace, respite found at last, happy and safe close to her mother, home once again. It still feels incomplete; or maybe she is incomplete, unable to be entirely happy anymore. Inej isn’t certain --- there is no prompt, no request, no prodding. They had not been discussing it; her survival and return were still news, still cause for celebration, but not topic of conversation. The words come unbidden, a confession more open than any other made so far. 

She had survived, but she had not been spared.

Her mother is quick to offer comfort, as she had done countless times before. There is only kindness in the gentle touch to her cheek. Inej is suddenly grateful for Nina and Jesper, first to make her feel safe enough with touch again, safe enough not to flinch in face of a hug, not to expect violence in touch meant to be gentle. It would have hurt much more not having been able to let her own mother close like this, and it is only because of them she can find the intended comfort in mother’s gesture.

No words follow. In spite of her sudden bravery, there is no new tale told, no more details revealed. She wants to, this time. Wants to tell what she had done, wants to beg forgiveness for it even if the possibility of not having it breaks her. Inej finds that she cannot. The words are there, in her mind, at the tip of her tongue, fighting to be said. It feels like even as part of her had opened up a second before, now she’s once more entirely locked away, the walls impossibly high even for the one hidden behind them. 

Nevertheless, no questions follow, either. The skillet bread all but forgotten, they sit beside a fallen log, Inej allowing herself to be guided by her mother’s hand as if she was a little girl again. And as if she were a child, instead of simply sitting beside her she lays down with her head on her mother’s lap, seeking comfort and protection she barely remembered what it felt like to have. The hand running through her hair is soothing, though the calmness does not make her truly less anxious, terrified even as she wishes again to plead for forgiveness.

Instead, she listens ever quietly, the rise and fall of her chest sole indication of her breathing. Inej can feel the swell of tears, soon enough making her vision blurry. It won’t matter to me, Rajani says, and it is only her surprise as the words continue that prevents Inej from sobbing. All the time she had struggled with her own feelings, they had seemed to her well and truly kept concealed, a secret hers alone. Head snaps up, reaction saying enough; it had not occurred to her there was even a chance her mother would know of her shame before she spoke of it. She had tried hard to keep it within, not to let it show... the Wraith had learned plenty of tricks at the Barrel, a thousand ways not to let other people read you, but here she was only Inej, and Inej had always been an open book to her mother.

Slowly, she returns to her former position and listens, her mother continuing to speak as if returning to a story. There is plenty that demands forgiveness, Inej thinks; would you still think there isn’t if you knew, mama? The words remain in thought alone, but the tears return to her eyes, unable to be stopped this time. Their fall is slow, at first; one after the other, slowly streaming through her face. And then Rajani says the words that irrevocably break her.

I forgive you.

Perhaps it is unfair, to have this forgiveness without asking, without making her sins known. It doesn’t matter. Inej’s body shakes with each sob, not so quiet any longer. Those are the tears that had filled her heart for years, night after night in the Menagerie, when she had not been allowed to cry. Those are the tears for the lives she had taken, the wrong she had done, the people she had hurt without wanting to. They are for herself, too, for the girl she no longer was but mourned all the same, bright and sweet and incapable of doing harm. She had died aboard a slaver ship, been reborn as a Wraith in the Barrel, and though she did not regret changing to survive, she grieved being forced to.  

They are tears of relief, too, bitter and sweet at once. Relief for being forgiven, for having that shadow banished, that weight finally sliding off of her shoulders. Relief that even knowing of her shame, even seeing her regret, her mother was able to love her. Maybe she mourned her daughter, the parts of herself she had lost along the way, much like Inej felt for what was torn from her, the pieces she could not recover. But there was love still, love for who she had become, even if there was much for her to discover.

She wept in sorrow for what had been, in relief for what it was, for her mother’s love, infinite and boundless, regardless of how worthy of it Inej herself felt. Reunion had made her heart full; this was different, though not bad. It was reopening wounds to let them heal proper. It was washing away all she had carried for so long without even fully realizing it, letting the tears cleanse her heart like rain washing over the land.

Inej does not know how long it takes for the sobs to ease, the tears to dry. Through it all, her mother’s steadying presence keeps her grounded. Unsure as she had been there could be complete love for who she was now, the limitless reality of that support seems almost daunting. She doesn’t want to lose it; not now, not ever. 

Their people had a saying that dictated there were only three things one needed in life; a full belly, an open road, and an easy heart. The last one was the difficult part. In this night, however, beneath a starry sky, as she rested her head on her mother’s lap, forgiven at last, that almost seemed possible again.

@heartales hi

[hearteyes-candyskies]

Odysseus

yandere shouto x reader, background shinsou x reader

summary; im a lil too obsessed with greek myth and purple prose and shouto’s too obsessed with u. peep the title if u still dont know what this is abt

tw; blood, death

word count; 2.6k

X

the cast

of course, we have our brave and guileful hero, Todoroki Shouto, as Odysseus himself, Nobody, King of Ithaca, and Son of Laertes. you play the role of sweet Penelope, Helen’s pretty mortal cousin. brash Antinous is portrayed by Yoarashi Inasa. and Shinsou Hitoshi is our silver-tongued Eurymachus

the first glance

Shouto first comes for the hand of your demi-god cousin, Helen, who is said to rival Aphrodite in beauty. you don’t like this farce your uncle puts on, summoning men from all over Greece to compete for Helen’s hand in marriage; she is still a child, only 16, and with no say in her future. still, you think, rather guiltily, better her than you. you do your best to avoid the suitors who come in hope of Helen’s hand, lest the see you and decide that they would like a consolation prize. downward gazes, veiled hair, and thick, draping robes all help to deflect attention, and you mange to pass unnoticed for the first couple weeks. all of this changes when he arrives. it’s said that nothing escapes his watchful gaze, and when his icy eyes sweep over you, you can feel yourself freeze as you pull your shawl just a little closer. he pauses for a fraction of a second, and yet you are unimaginably relieved when he moves on to inspect the crowd of nobles gathered in the corner

the pursuit

that night, you appear only as needed for the festivities before hurrying off to your rooms to weave. you’re rushing through one of the more abandoned hallways, preferring to walk a little extra rather than run into a drunk man, and when you turn the corner, room in view, Shouto stops you. maybe stop is too vague of a word; rather, he cages you in, not only with a casual hand against the wall, but also societal niceties. you desperately want to push him away, run for the refuge of your room, but to do so would be to slight all of Ithaca and bring his wrath down on your father. Shouto knows this, too. he tries to woo you first, honeyed words and a silver tongue, but you’re the daughter of a king. you’re used to gold. he tells you that the minute he saw you hiding away in the corners of shadows that his heart would beat for no other, and that he had to have you no matter what it took. 

‘such a delicate thing, whose humble beauty is overshadowed by your cousin’s,’ he says. it doesn’t escape your notice how docile he makes you out to be, and while you were raised to be demure and refined lady, if Shouto really thinks you’re going to sit back and let him take you away, he’s wrong. he seems to sense the little fire of rebellion deep within you, but rather than putting him off, it only stokes his desire. lust flares in his eyes, and from that moment onward you know that you’ve trapped yourself in an obsessive relationship

the snare

Shouto leaves Tyndareus’ house with an alliance of the Greek city states and your hand in marriage. his quick wit and silver tongue allows him to secure the visiting nobles into a united agreement; Tyndareus will choose a husband for Helen, and all other men must leave without quarrel, and come when called upon. in return, Tyndareus will support Shouto in his pursuit of you. you know who the man is before your uncle even speaks, for in your agreement to marry Shouto, you asked that he might provide a kind and worthy man as Helen’s spouse. once again Helen lords over your life, but you cannot find it within yourself to hate her for it. after all, she is but a mere child, still too young to understand that her beauty is not really hers, that her life will always be in the hands of other men. still, one could argue that you are but a child, too. the ceremony is beautiful; you wear a dress of the finest fabric, a material softer and finer and lighter than any sort of linen you have ever encountered but one that Shouto assures you is worth it’s weight in gold. if he thinks to buy your love with material goods, you’ll allow yourself to be spoiled but you will never part with your affection willingly. at least, that’s what you think. Shouto has other plans

the early years

even from the beginning Shouto’s love is overbearing and extreme, but he’s a powerful king who treats you well and kept your cousin safe so there’s not much you can complain about. you’re just barely out of childhood, children who have been burdened with great power and yet the love and devotion he looks at you with is unparalleled. you have a feeling that he would fight even the gods to keep you. he’s kind and considerate; for the first two years of marriage he neither beds you nor tries do, despite the pressure he must feel to produce an heir and the weight of your family’s expectations. these gifts, these personal liberties he allows you to have, the way he lets you roam the island at your own leisure, this is why you fall in love with him. it’s odd; you never thought you would love the stoic king of Ithaca, but it seems that Aphrodite has other plans for you. on your twentieth birthday, you welcome him into your bed for the first time, and less than a month later, you discover that you are with child. it’s the next turning point in your marriage

the worse years

after the birth of Telemachus, Shouto’s love changes once again. once forgiving and relaxed about your interactions with others, he seeks to hide you away for only himself to see. the worst is when men approach you. it does not matter what their intentions are, nor their age nor stature nor standing; Shouto claims that his heart beats only for you, and thus yours should beat only for him. his demands to know where you’ve been and who you’ve talked to become more and more intense, until the island loses it’s queen. you are a prisoner in your own home, with Shouto smothering you in love, spending the whole of his day just lounging with you while he addresses kingly matters. bitterly, you think how you have never had any power to your name, not the way that men do and not the way that Shouto does. your rooms are nothing but a gilded cage, and you are almost glad when he is summoned for war. almost. after all, you do love the soft, kind boy that he once was

the war

throughout the war, you hear of your husband’s exploits. his bravery, his cunning, his skill. whenever you do not hear about him, your heart aches in fear, though you do not know if you wish him alive or dead. a year after the way has ended, when Helen has been reunited with Menelaus again, when Agamemnon is dead and Cassandra gone, when Aeneas has set sail for New Iliium, not yet Rome, the suitors come trickling in. at first, you do not know what to do, for festivities and mean both ceased to exist within the palace walls after the birth of your son. two catch your eye, bold Antinous, known as Inasa, sweet beyond his brash exterior, and sly Eurymachus, whose wit you see in your husband and whose charm is only his own. by the end of the second year after the fall of Troy, it is obvious who your heart beats for. the sight of purple sets your heart alight, and his small smiles are as sweet as the finest honey. you wonder if this is how Odysseus felt when he first saw you. 

‘call me Hitoshi’, he says, and the way it rolls off your tongue is a sign that this love was meant to be. he asks for your hand in marriage three times. each time a flash of red and white causes your throat clog with fear, and though you know that you deny him out of protection, it makes the tears no less painful. even the loss of your husband cannot set you free

the reprieve 

after Hitoshi’s third proposal, you set about weaving a shroud for your vanished lover. each day you weave ten rows, and each night you unravel five more. the sun-drenched days you spend with your violet-haired lover only fuel a blazing passion within you, but when he is gone, when you are alone in a cold room meant for two, the icy gaze of your husband haunts you, and you cannot help but delay the inevitable once more. you will bury your love, one day. you just cannot find the courage now. in the end of the fifth year after the fall of Troy, you finish the shroud. 

Hitoshi is too respectful to rejoice, but you can see the relief in his eyes that you have finally put the memory of your husband to rest. plans are made, friends contacted, and suitors long vacated return to your halls in preparation of a beautiful wedding. the palace swells with life once more, the boisterous laughter of the men filling the halls and driving away the cold of the night. when night falls, you rest your head against Hitoshi’s chest, his arm slung carelessly across your shoulders, and you listen to the steady sound of his heartbeat, and rejoice in the constancy of his love. 

where Shouto is the sun, bright and brilliant and life giving, but prone to flares of temper and burning those his affections focus on, Hitoshi is the moon; silver-tongued and soft, reflecting the radiance of others and giving the world a gentle glow. yet, despite your happiness, despite the love and life that is promised, you cannot help but feel a pit of worry in your gut

the unraveling 

not more than a week after the former suitors’ arrival, your anxieties are confirmed in the form of a beggar. he is naught but an old man, merely claiming to know of the great king Odysseus, yet you cannot help but lean away from Hitoshi, your lover, and sit as if unhappy with the festivities. something about your mysterious visitor doesn’t sit right with you, and when he proclaims that Odysseus has escaped death, you know why. Inasa laughs, the scent of wine and honey heavy on his breath, and declares Odysseus dead. 

‘his wife has burned the shroud she wove, not more than a month ago. dead men do not return five years after their fall.’ you want nothing more than to silence him, fear brewing in your stomach, and you are too busy giving panicked glances to your dear friend to notice how the stranger’s eyes train on you alone. a curt nod affirms Inasa’s statement, and your voice is steady when you answer. 

‘less than a moon ago I laid the memory of my husband to rest. it has been ten long years, five years too long for a living man to return.’ you say this, and yet, you cannot wonder if this is a test . who is this man who claims to know of your husband, whose eyes burn like ice against your skin? you have to know, and perhaps it is your curiosity that causes your downfall

the slaughter 

when the guests wake the next day, you propose a challenge. it’s selfish of you, borne out of a need for reassurance, a need to know that your husband truly is dead and that your love lives and will remain living. the great bow of Odysseus, only to be strung and shot by the man himself, is brought out, and forty axes are planted in the great hall. 

‘this bow was my husbands, may his soul rest in Hades, and it was said that only he could wield it. who among you will try?’ man after man step up, failing good naturedly and patting Hitoshi on the back when he too does the same. you don’t mind his inability to wield the bow; in fact, it comforts you that your husband has been laid to rest, that his memory will not live on even in his weapons. then, the beggar from last night comes forward, and though you know that the decrepit body of his will be unable to sustain the force needed to even string the bow, fear runs thick in your blood. it is like you have been struck by Zeus, watching as the stranger strings the bow with ease, before launching an arrow straight through the great axes in the hall. your husband stands, and shakes off the illusion like a fur coat. 

‘my love’ is all he says, and before you can react there’s an arrow buried in Agelaus’ heart and an expression of horror burned into his face. he orders you to the bedroom, your shared bedroom, but you stand still in shock, unable to move as he slaughters the men you have called friends in the very place you once called a prison. soon, far too quickly, there is none left save for brave Inasa and your lover Hitoshi. the look of disgust on your husband’s face as he rounds on Inasa, sword drawn, is unimaginable. 

‘you come into my house, flaunt the rules of xenia, court my wife, and desire mercy? you will have no justice except for the bite of my blade.’ Inasa dies inelegantly, loud voice lost in a fountain of blood pouring from his throat. as Shouto stalks towards Hitoshi, it as all you can do to throw yourself around your lover, despite your please, Hitoshi steps out from behind you, hands placating and silver tongue spilling words of peace and goodwill. you want to tell him that silver tongues fail against tongues of gold, but it is too late and in the end all you can do is hold your love as the life bleeds from his eyes, forgiving and gentle to the very end

the ruins

the hem of your fine silk dress is soaked in blood when Shouto pulls you into his embrace, and you call brokenly for the servants to keep your son from seeing the carnage. he should never have to know the monster that his father is. as you look into his face, worn by the horrors of war and lined by time, you cannot help but hope that this is not your husband who has just perpetuated such a crime, that the soft red and white haired boy you once knew is dead, and a god holds you in their arms instead. 

it’s a desperate, last ditch attempt to save the face of a man who once brought the life of Ithaca to you, and when you ask him to prove that he is Odysseus, that he is Shouto, your husband, you hope that he cannot speak anything but lies and half truths. he asks what you would want to hear from him, and you tell him that you have tired of sleeping alone and would like him to move to the bed in your bridal chamber, as only Odysseus himself would be able to lift it. 

Shouto smiles, the years slipping off his face, and for a second you’re staring into the eyes of a man who helped your cousin, a man who waited two years to even touch you because he wanted to respect your decision to love him at your own pace, the man who gave you your greatest joy, Telemachus. he strokes your hair, love clouding his beautiful eyes, and tells you that it cannot be done, for he built the bed himself around a living olive tree. your heart sinks in disappointment, and you know that no divinity stands before you, only a god of a man. as you fall into his arms and sob, he holds you close, arms just a little too tight as he whispers soft comforts in your ear. 

‘I am home, my love, and you have been here, waiting faithfully for me’

[liaswritesrobots]

HI I just read your Mtmte LL megatron thing where his crush writes poetry, his is about love but the readers isn’t, CAN I PLEASE REQUEST A HAPPY ENDING FOR IT, JUST SOMETHING?!?!?!! PLEASEEE JUST MAYBE THE READER JUST DOES THE OPPOSITE BUT DOES LOVE MEGS?!?!?!? PLEASSSSSEEEE

Part 2 to this

A month has passed and you and Megatron have been sharing your poetry less and less with each other, but you have no idea why. You fear that maybe you've offended him somehow, especially since he always gets this weird look in his optics before looking away from you anytime you two are around each other. He's always curt with his answers too, as if he doesn't want to even talk to you anymore.

It hurts.

You feel like you're losing a friend and you don't even know why. Was it something you did? Something you said? You wish he'd stay with you long enough to discuss it. Everytime you try to be alone with him long enough to talk about it he always leaves the room in a hurry. You also wonder if it's because you're human. You wonder if you had misjudged him, thinking that he was becoming more open to organics, only to be wrong about his change of spark.

You lie on your bed, staring up at the ceiling, wondering if he hates you now… if he's always secretly hated you because you're a human. You groan and rub your hands down your face, trying to come up with a way to get him to talk to you outside of giving you orders as a captain.

You look over at the datapads and papers on your table. You shoot up, getting a brilliant idea. You'll write to him! He likes reading so writing down your concerns should do the trick!

You write down your feelings, hoping it'll catch his attention, then dash down the hall to his habsuite. You knock on the door and leave the datapad on the floor before running towards the corner to hide. You peek out from the corner to see him open his door and bend down to pick up the datapad in confusion. He slips his helm out and looks around, trying to find who left it, before shrugging and going back inside with it in his servo.

--

Megatron sits in his chair, looking down at the datapad in his servo. He knows exactly who this is from because of the size of it. He stares at it, anxiety raising in his spark, afraid to even look at the contents.

'It could just be a report.' He thinks, trying to calm himself down, 'But then why didn't they hand it to Magnus?' His optis narrow and vents out heavily, 'Just read it, for Primus sake!'

He closes his optics as he turns the datapad on, waiting several seconds before opening them again and raising the datapad to his face. He goes over each word slowly, his spark dropping as he reads what you wrote.

"Megatron, I'm not sure why you've been acting so distant towards me lately, it feels like you're going out of your way to avoid me. Have I done something wrong? If so, I'm sorry. I want to talk to you again, beyond the brief orders you give, and I'll apologize in person too. I want to know what I've done to upset you so I can fix it. I miss our talks and our meetings, and I miss sharing our poems with each other. I miss you."

You miss him?

He sits there in silence, in shock. You miss him? But he's evil… a monster… at least, those are the words you used to describe him. Why would miss someone feared… someone hated? Surely you're messing with him. That has to be it! You're messing with him to make him feel bad, you have to be.

He lowers the datapad and squeezes his optics shut tight. Gods be damned! Gods damn him! Maybe he really is still a monster? Maybe that's all he'll ever be? To you. To the crew. To himself…

He sighs and lifts himself from his chair, not sure what to do with himself.

--

You hear a knock on your door a little after midnight. You hop out of bed and shuffle over to open it halfway. Megatron stands in your doorway, a look of utter sorrow on his face. He bends to hand you your datapad back. He starts to open his mouth, only to close it immediately as the right words escape him, he looks away from you.

You rub your eyes and take the datapad, "Megatron? It's late, shouldn't you be sleeping?" You ask with a yawn, "You know how Magnus wakes us up way too early on weekdays."

He remains silent, his crimson optics burning with desolation as he refused to look directly at you.

"Megatron?" You open your door all the way, "What's wrong?" Just as you ask you look down at the datapad in your hand, remembering what you had written, "Oh..." You look back up at him, equally as sad now, "I'm sor-"

"Don't you dare apologize." He finally speaks, his voice is stern, as if giving you a command. He glances at you, his optics glowing softly as he narrows them, "You have nothing to be sorry for." he says, tone gentle this time.

"Then why are you mad at me?" You ask, voice cracking. His spark breaks hearing you sound like that.

"I'm not mad." He tries to reassure you, facing you completely now, "I just… I should be the one apologizing." He turns his attention to the floor now, lips turned to a sorrowful frown.

"For what?"

"Everything."

The realization hits you. He feels guilty, "Megatron I don't think that I-"

"I know how you really feel about me." He admits and you stop mid sentence, heart feeling like it's going to stop as heat rises to your cheeks.

"Wha… how… how did you find out?" You ask hesitantly. You could've sworn it wasn't obvious, no one else noticed, did they? Oh God what if they did and that's how he found out?!

"I read your datapad." He says with a look of pure guilt, "One that you didn't lend me, when I was returning some that you had. I know I shouldn't have invaded your privacy like that. I do not expect forgiveness, nor am I sure I would want you to forgive me."

You tilt your head at him, "Over reading a datapad?" You say confused, "I mean, yeah it was kind of a dick move to do that but… it's not like-"

"Not just the datapad!" He raises his voice slightly in frustration, "For everything! For the war! The murders! The chaos! All of it! I never expected any of this! Any of these feelings! And I assure you that I try to get rid of them, but they won't stop!"

You jump at his sudden outburst and look at him with confusion, as you're not sure what point he's trying to make.

He gets a sad look again when he notices how startled you are by his outburst, "See? Even now I continue to frighten you." His optics dim, "I know you believe me to be a monster, perhaps that's all I am and all I will ever be." he says tilting his helm downward to avoid eye contact.

"What?" you ask, completely lost on what's actually happening right now, "Dude it was… it's one datapad, what the fuck are you going on about right now?"

He looks back up, surprise plastering his face before a brow ridge raises, "Your poem? About me? How I'm evil and a monster?"

You get a look of annoyance before looking at Megatron like he's the dumbest bot on the ship, and honestly, right now he might as well be, "That's an old poem." you inform him.

He looks at you confused, "What do you mean?"

"That was a poem… from when I first got this job. A year ago." you say in a serious tone.

A look of embarrassment spreads across his face.

"My feelings have changed since then."

He clears his intake and stands up, "I see. So you do not hate me?"

You let out a deep sigh, "I still have conflicting feelings about what you've done, but I like who you've become." You say with clear embarrassment on your face as you close your eyes, "I… really like who you've become."

He relaxes his shoulders and lets out a sigh of relief, "I am glad to hear that." He smiles, "I've missed our meetings too."

The two of you stand in silence for what feels like forever, but in reality only seconds have passed, grateful to have this little misunderstanding cleared up. Still, your heart aches thinking about how Megatron thought you hated him when that was far from the truth. You try to muster every bit of courage within you to tell him your true feelings, but you fear he may be the one to hate you if he knew.

"I'm sorry I woke you up so late over this silly business instead of talking to you about it earlier." He interrupts.

"It's fine, I'm just glad we sorted this out."

"You should go rest now, I'll see you in the morning." He smiles at you with the most gentle look in his optics before turning to leave.

"Megatron wait!" You let out as he's ready to step away.

He turns back, looking at you with a kindness on his face, the kind from before this little mishap, "Yes?"

"Iloveyou." You mumble under your breath, hoping that it's enough to make the ache in your heart go away before you end up ruining this rekindled friendship.

"Pardon?" He tilts his helm, "I didn't quite catch that."

Your heart sinks as you avert your gaze from him, "I love you," you say again, a little louder but still in a whisper.

His optics go wide and his mouth hangs open as he looks at you standing in your doorway, "Did you… just say you loved me? He asks for clarification, wanting to make sure he heard you right.

"Yes."

The hallway goes quiet again, your heart beating rapidly and his spark pulsating like mad.

You love him? You love him? All this time he's worried so much that you would reject his feelings when you felt the same way? And you love him? He can't believe this, it's as if time has frozen in place and every thought of you he's ever had is rushing to him at once. Even now you show him how much better you are than him, by admitting feelings you shouldn't have to him. You show him your bravery, a kind that he lacks. Those words ring through his processor and he looks at you in awe, as if he's looking upon an angel that is showing him a mercy he does not deserve.

You swallow hard, "I'm sorry I shouldn't have said an-"

"I love you too." He says in a harsh, hoarse tone, as if his vocalizer is glitching and short-circuiting, like he's going to cry.

The silence returns briefly, before another yawn escapes your mouth.

"I'm sorry," He says softly, "I'm still keeping you awake. I think we should both get back to bed, and continue… this… in the morning." He says with a quick turn, heading back to his own habsuite.

You watch him walk down the hallway, only retreating back into your room once he turns the corner out of your sight. You crawl back into bed. How the hell are you supposed to sleep now? Now that you know he feels the same way? You lie awake, wondering if you'll get any sleep tonight.

--

Back inside of Megatron's habsuite, he too lies awake, staring up at the ceiling with your words still fresh in his processor.

'I love you.'

"I love you." he quietly repeats the phrase on his mind, "I love you." His optics dim as a smile forms across his lips. He closes them and lets out a small vent of air, "I love you." he repeats, falling into recharge.

[dreaming-of-assclass]

AssClass OC

*SOBS* SHE’S FINALLY DONE!! 😭

Trying to replicate the Lerche style was...painful and took forever lmao

I’m just gonna info-dump a lot about her under the cut! Honestly less than half of this is relevant, but I figured I’d include as much as I can so you can get to know her.

I’m not making a fanfic for her or anything: but she will pop up a lot in mini drabbles, art pieces, etc.

Kamiya Mai (神谷舞) - Possessing charisma and a knack for navigating around any type of terrain; Class E’s Investigator

“Bravery doesn’t come from nowhere. You have to be scared first to have courage.”

Description

One of the class moodmakers, Mai is fun, witty, and cares deeply for her peers. She puts her all into everything she does and isn’t afraid to stand up for others.

She has an extremely strong photogenic memory and a natural knack for exploring new places, gathering information and memorizing routes with ease.

She’s a skilled athlete as well, very quick, agile and able to use it to her advantage in assassinations.

Codename: Honeybee (ミツバチ/Mitsubachi), Sugino’s Idea

He’s been struck with disbelief after having breakfast at her house once and finding out she puts honey on her pancakes instead of syrup. Also the name is fitting overall, as her short temper and cute looks remind him of a honeybee.

Birthday: April 2nd

Height: 155 cm

Weight: 51 kg

Bust Size: C

Blood Type: B

Favorite Subjects: Art, Biology, History

Worst Subjects: Classical and Modern Japanese, Math

Interests and Special Skills: Skateboarding and exploring new places

Former Club: Calligraphy Club

Treasured Items: Her hat collection and art journal

Favorite Food: Iced Coffee

Bento or Snacks: Snacks

___________________________

Stats

Physical Ability: 4

Mobility: 4.5

Close-Range Assassination: 4

Long-Range Assassination: 2

Academic Prowess: 3.5

Characteristic Skill (Spy-in-Training): 4

___________

Karasuma’s Assassination Aptitude

Strategy/Planning: 2

Commanding/Leadership: 3

Execution (ability to carry out plans): 4

Technique (traps, weapons, preparations, etc): 1

Scouting/Intelligence Gathering: 6

Politics/Negotiations: 5

____________

Bitch-sensei’s Fashion Check

Mai has a very tomboyish, soft grunge style. She seems to be equally fond of pants and skirts, although prefers the former for the sake of mobility. Overall her style is street-savvy, and she’s most fond of pink, white, black, red, and gray tones.

School Uniform

With summer being the exception, Mai wears thigh-high black stockings with her uniform. She wears the uniform with little change besides that. Mai changes her hair up very often, but some common styles are space buns, pigtails, or half-up. She’s quite fond of hair clips and wear them everyday.

Street Clothes

Mai wears hats very often, and it drives me crazy. Why cover up that cute face of hers all the time?? She’s very fond of Doc Martens, and usually pairs those with leggings. On her girlier side, skater skirts are a good look for her. And paired with whatever, she seems to really like hoodies.

______________

Relationships

(All of these have so much depth, I’m gonna have to make a separate post o_o)

- Sugino Tomohito (addressed as Tomohito)

He was the first friend she made once she joined Kunugigaoka. They’re best friends and stick to each other often. She greatly supported him during the baseball game against the main campus, to the point that she joined it herself to keep an eye on him.

- Okano Hinata (addressed as Hinata or Lesser Hina)

They hit it off instantly, but upon learning they shared the same birthday, Mai joyfully declared them sisters. They’re very close and bond over a lot, especially sports and thrill-seeking. They can clash at times with their similar temperaments.

- Kanzaki Yukiko (addressed as Yukiko)

Their relationship had a very rocky start. Neither of them liked each other and had very differing natures. It wasn’t until the Kyoto Trip that they began to understand each other. After that, their friendship steadily grew and they became very close. They balance each other as opposites.

- Asano Gakushuu (addressed as Asano or President-kun)

After the first semester mid-term exams, Mai’s family decided to request tutoring for her, so her grades could stay fine/rise. Who else was assigned to her but Asano Gakushuu? It’s a challenge keeping 3-E a secret, but Mai enjoys teasing him and having conversations about anything. And Gakushuu won’t admit it but he does enjoy her company. They grow to have a friendship over the course of the year.

- Kurahashi Hinano (addressed as Hinano or Superior Hina)

They started out as casual friends for a while, but still got along super well. Then summer break began and they found each other to be great bug-catching partners. They have a lot in common, being excitable and chatty. Their conversations never end. Mai is glad there’s a biology nerd besides herself.

- Akabane Karma (addressed as Karma or Satan)

They’re very good friends, and surprisingly clicked fast! They have a lot of similar interests and occasionally, Mai will volunteer to help him in pranks. Karma loves to ruffle/mess up her hair, half out of fondness and half genuine enjoyment at her ire. He calls her “May-chan” in an exaggerated American accent to make fun of her. They can disagree at times but when push comes to shove, they’re there for each other.

-Kayano Kaede (addressed as Kaede, later Akari)

They’re definitely close friends and it’s just so obvious to everyone how much Mai adores her. She’s constantly hugging her, getting her pudding, etc. But more than that, Kayano was someone she could confide in and felt comfortable around. The reveal hits Mai hard, and she needs a while away from her. Once her anger fades, she feels more empathy towards Kayano than anything else. Their friendship repairs and grows stronger afterwards.

__________________

Members of the Kamiya family:

Mother: Professional Choreographer

Mai gets along with her mom and they’re quite close, being each other’s only immediate family. But they don’t have much in common and her mother’s demanding job doesn’t allow them to spend much time together. Mai has grown relying on outside friends more for company.

________________

A hidden side of Mai Kamiya

She loves biology...but anatomy and anything human body-related makes her very squeamish. She especially can’t handle the sight of blood or needles before feeling dizzy.

_______________

Extra notes:

^^ Actually that ties into a lot about her. She has really awful test anxiety, which is how she dropped down to 3-E. She either did poorly in the exams for her worst subjects...or in the final exam of 2nd year, she skipped school to avoid the test all together. That’s how scared she was.

She gets very nauseous and feels sick under a lot of academic pressure, especially in exams.

She’ll never admit this though. No, in every other aspect of her life, she tries her hardest to keep a brave face, look independent and strong and everything she doesn’t feel she truly is.

Before I forget to mention this, she transferred to Kunugigaoka in her second year! She met Sugino since they were in the same class, and he was the first friend she made. 

She has a lot of pride in things she is good at (sports, art) and it can push to the point of arrogance sometimes.

Will take any chance to prove herself, even if it’s reckless or stupid or ruin things. For someone who’s a moodmaker and loves people, she’s not the best team player but that improves over time.

Generally is easygoing and goes with the flow of the mood...but she can have a short temper, and go from 0-100 fast. Only if someone is insulting her or her loved ones though.

She’s pretty confrontational, but don’t be fooled: she’s more bark than bite. She’s a sweetheart deep down, and all her classmates know it.

She’s bubbly, cute, and a total chatterbox once she gets comfortable around people, and can drop her “cool rebel” facade

Very creative and resourceful UwU. Super quick-witted too.

But she also can be incredibly ambitious and has big aspirations for the future. She’s fairly realistic though.

Her biggest flaws are that she can be self-centered, very stubborn, rash, short-tempered, overdramatic, and slightly arrogant. She has little confidence in herself.

Her name “Mai” means “dance” and it was given by her mother, a professional dancer. She wanted to name her daughter after her greatest passion. Even though Mai grows to have absolutely no interest in dance lmfao. She complains about this but stops when she learns of poor Kimura’s plight.

She grew up speaking a lot of English within her family since her mother used to live in America so her language skills are great...but she is far from perfect at literature. She mostly just lacks the patience to analyze it and finds it boring.

And...that’s it UwU. Also just gonna drop this transparent version because I worked really hard on drawing her and I’m proud 💜

[heloisedaphnebrightmore]

Narnia - The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe & Prince Caspian [My opinion on the Characters - Ranting time]

“Reading is my therapy” masterlist

So @mytreec​ , @leahstypewriter​ and I have been discussing Narnia recently so I thought I would give it a watch again after all those years. Oh my, did I have a rollercoaster ride in that 4+ hours. 

I would like to also state that I do not remember what was in the book, it’s been over 15 years since I last read it and whilst I loved the movies, I did not get caught up in the book much.

First I will start with all the negative personality traits I have experienced within the characters before I’ll go for the positive attributes. 

Also I would like to say that it’s not an official review from me or anything, I simply needed to rant. My language is very poor and mostly pissed off throughout the rant xD

Peter!

So from the very beginning I was very sceptical. I remembered that I did not like Peter much back in the day and once again, my feelings haven’t changed much. The way Peter talks to Edmund, trying to overpower him, always scolding him, sometimes even in an aggressive manner, such as when Lucy showed them the wardrobe or when they arrived to Narnia, just made me want to slap the boy to shake some sense into him. 

Of course, it is visible that he loves his brother, they are laughing together right at the beginning of the movie, but the amount of hurt he has caused him already with his attitude has already pushed him away. No surprise that the boy feels attacked even when Peter just wants the best for him. 

I loved how Peter handled Lucy, always caring for her, always being there for her. And whilst he didn’t believe Lucy when she found Narnia and indeed he was a bit of an arse, I do believe I resonated with him, because the older you get, the less you believe. Obviously Lucy as the young one would have a wider, more vivid imagination. 

As they arrived to Narnia, I started to like him more and more. The way he struggled against all the odds and finally collected himself enough to show a more logical thinking, instead of just being plain bossy definitely showed a growth in personality for me. 

If we just look at how he welcomed his brother back. They didn’t jump into each others neck, they still had their walls up, but that little joke about trying to not wander off was perfectly enough for them to understand each other. I think that was a point where Peter started to understand Edmund a little more.

Also the courage he showed as he led the army in to battle was a positivity for me. Instead of just talking down on people and telling them off, he finally learned to rely on others, that he is not alone. The little nod he and Edmund exchanged for the battle to start, I like to think that wasn’t just a signal, it was also a symbol of trust. But then I could be reading too much into it. 

In Prince Caspian, once again he started off by annoying me. From the very first moment he and Caspian met, it was like a dog fight. Who the alfa is. I just can’t understand how this man has always someone to disagree with. (Referring back to the fight in Strand underground station and his issues with Edmund)

It seems to me that Peter, just like Caspian has some underlying inferiority issues, because that two does nothing, but bickering. 

However when Caspian almost brought back the Witch and Peter fell into the same trans, oh it showed how freaking similar they are. 

The development between the two, the discussions, the agreements and lack of arguments showed that both finally accepted that they needed to work together, which was important in their development.

However once again Peter had an issue with someone, just like before with Edmund. It really makes me question what he is thinking and feeling, because this is not about being argumentative, this is straight up being bossy. 

Lucy!

Oh dear Lucy, my sweet little bean. Back in the day when I last watched the movie, I thought she was cute and innocent. Oh god, was I wrong?! 

Is it just me that is concerned about Lucy arriving to Narnia and agreeing to go and have a cup of tea with Tumnus the faun? Is it just me that watched the screen with a gobsmacked expression when she said she thought he was a friend after he has confessed planning to kidnap her?! - Haven’t their parents told them not to talk to strangers? Haven’t their parents told them not to go anywhere with strangers? For God’s sake, what on earth have their parents taught them?!

Back when I watched the movie I didn’t find it creepy, but now it raises some concerns that a little girl would just get up and have a cup of tea with a faun in a world she doesn’t even know. o.O - Excuse my ranting over here :)

Anyway, Lucy is a bundle of joy, innocent and sweet, believing everything, which I rather call naive, but let’s ignore that for now. She is this cute little girl and that’s how she was stuck in my head, but after rewatching the movie, that little girl had some serious things to say and some seriously sarcastic comments to add. To quote her “Don’t worry, I’m sure it’s just your imagination.” :D

I was shocked at how adult-like she could be, even more so than her siblings and it was certainly refreshing to see. Whilst she kept her innocence, she showed a brave and grown up attitude.

Lucy for me was put at the backseat in prince Caspian, but I lover her just as much as in the first movie, but she didn’t play a big role in my eyes. 

Edmund!

Edmund was one of those characters that I liked and disliked at the same time back in the day. Peter’s constant nagging had affects on his attitude let’s start with that, but the boy really needed some spanking to get him back on the right path, because he was even more annoying than back when I last watched the movies and don’t even try to defend him for his hardships being caused by Peter. 

And let’s be honest, the boy lies better than anyone I know. Straight up lying to Peter and Susan when Lucy is trying to prove to them that Narnia indeed exists was a mean move, my boy. 

Of course our ball of aggression is arriving to Narnia and guess what, dumb as Lucy, he eats and drinks whatever the Queen gives him and not even like taking it out of a bag or a compartment on her sleigh, no, the woman makes these things with a drop of liquid and our main character doesn’t even question it. I would like to refer to my previous renting - What on earth have their parents taught them?! Edmund is not even that young anymore, the lack of suspicion from him was disappointing. 

And what bothered me even more, the boy now feels a rush of honesty and spills all the secrets. Up until now he was lying, now he has this honesty burst and lets it all out. From one end on the spectrum to the other. Oh boy, he got on my nerves. 

Now obviously we could see that the boy had some issues from the beginning and he wasn’t the nicest of characters from lying to spilling too much. However, I have to give him, that it was visible that he was conflicted with what to say, what to do, what was right and what was wrong and if I want to be honest, we can all relate to that. Nothing is black and white, we make decisions that we feel are right, but others might choose differently. 

I have to say that in the battle when he ran to protect Peter, I like to think that he didn’t just do it because they are brothers, but for two reason; one being the fact that he had his personal issues with the Queen and he grew enough to stand up to her and secondly because while we saw him as a little coward, he developed the bravery he needed to stand up against someone who he perhaps knew that he didn’t have much chance against. 

His belief in his brother, Peter that he could lead them, him accepting that his brother is indeed a good leader also shows that he finally left his sulking behind and he can see a side to him that he deliberately tried to ignore.

The boy who has finally grew. He has a very good development in my eyes. And not jus the fact that he has been smart and witty, but the way he always seem to get Peter out of trouble, the way he had the strength to stand up to the Witch again. That boy grew hell of a lot. 

In Caspian, he kind of took the backseat for me, just like Lucy.

Susan!

Back when I watched the movie, she annoyed me to no end. Her smart comments, “realistic” way of thinking as she said and logical thoughts made me roll my eyes. However now that I have grown up, I can see where she was coming from. They happened to arrive to a place that they don’t even know, their brother gets captured out of nowhere, they meet talking animals and they are being told that they are part of a prophecy. If I want to be completely honest, my girl was right, I would have said let’s get out of here too. 

But then her logic was also something that pulled her back. Peter was ready to save their brother and go on a search, and this little teenage girl keeps on going on about leaving. It was very hard not swear at my screen. 

She is actually the character who didn’t show me much development, but she was also the kind of character that I didn’t feel like she got enough time on the screen. I personally think she had way more layers than what we have worked with and it would have been better if we started to see into her character a little more. 

Now we have got to see more of the girl in Caspian, but is it just me or she still didn’t have much contribution physically or personality wise to the story? Please correct me if I’m wrong, but I just can’t remember much of her doing anything other than exchanging looks with Caspian, leaving with the horse and being saved by Caspian and well, being “logical”. 

Prince Caspian!

Okay let me start off with the amount of love I have fo Ben Barnes. Obviously this has clouded my judgment before. When I say before, I mean I thought for years that Prince Caspian is a flawless piece of man. Oh God, was I wrong?!!! Very!

The man is a ticking time-bomb of idiocy. It’s not enough that he decided to confront his uncle in the middle of a secret attack, he dares to blame Peter for what he has done. It was all his fault for losing so many of their army to begin with. If he kept to the plan, they wouldn’t have been exposed. 

If it’s not enough, the man has an inferiority complex. I mean the way he tries to overpower Peter (let’s not talk about the way he responds, I already did above) is ridiculous. He is a young prince who knows nothing but the stories he has heard. Peter at least has been through a war before. 

And let me mention when he almost brought the White Witch back, I thought it can’t get any worse. I understand the disappointment he had, the feeling of being useless, but you can’t just bring people back, you dumb little boy. 

Honestly as much as I liked him before, he was so much of a disappointment now, but it’s because I was so enchanted with Ben Barnes in my younger years, that I forgot to actually read him. 

However, I really liked the humanity he showed when he didn’t kill the Telmarine King. That showed real development compared to how he attacked him in the castle. 

What I considered a huge change also is the way he behaved with Peter later on. He didn’t try to overpower him anymore and so Peter as well accepted his opinion and ideas easier. That was definitely a change that I enjoyed watching. 

The White Witch!

I was actually disappointed in the witch in a way. I mean from the very first moment, the way he talked to Edmund was way too aggressive. I personally think that a normal kid would have picked up on how insane she was. I think she would have been a better character if she acted nicely, having some psychopathic tendencies instead of coming off as the villain from the first moment. 

[soulairee]

Woman of Medicine

SasuSaku Castlevania AU. Dracula!Sasuke. I’ve been wanting to write this for ages now. While the dialogue is very much the same between Sasuke and Sakura as it is between Dracula and Lisa in the Netflix series, it was still so much fun to put their meeting into writing. If you haven’t checked out Castlevania, I highly recommend it. It’s a wonderful show.

Haruno Sakura makes her way across a vast plain of land littered with bones—the dirt beneath her boots ashen and lifeless, the air reeking of death and decay. A blood-red sun sets on the horizon, tainting the sky in hazy washes of orange and crimson.

Surrounding her, reminding her that she may very well be heading to her certain doom, is an endless forest of skeletons, hoisted upon giant spikes pierced through their skulls. 

Sakura is careful not to get too close to any. With their jaws hanging open and their limbs hanging limply at their sides, they make a horrific picture: thousands upon thousands of skeletons screaming into nothing, with no one around to hear their cries. 

Her fingers tighten around the hilt of her dagger, and she jerks back when a flurry of bats appears as if from thin air, screeching, the sound of their leathery wings a rough staccato in her ears. Sakura glares at them, swiping her dagger at one that gets too close and driving the blade of it through the bat’s small body. She shakes the corpse from her blade, allowing herself to feel just a small amount of remorse for it as she wipes its blood on her handkerchief.

Thankfully the others now give her a wide berth, and so Sakura grits her teeth and trudges forward, head high. The hood of her black cloak falls to drape about her shoulders, long pink braid swinging behind her. 

She walks through the forest of the dead—heart thundering in her chest, anticipation thrumming in her veins—until she sees a sharp pillar of grey stone rising from the earth. With each step a castle manifests before her very eyes, and she gasps when the entirety of it becomes clear to her. 

It’s massive, climbing thousands of feet in the air above her, carved of great slabs of stone and pillars of obsidian. The architecture alone steals the air from her lungs. She can’t even begin to count the amount of levels within; can’t even begin to imagine how the castle balances itself with so many uneven towers branching from its center. It’s designed to emanate cruelty and menace, the inanimate counterpart to its lone master (or so she hears). But for all its harsh lines and severe edges, the castle appears elegant to Sakura. Beautiful, even. Then again she’s always been able to find beauty in the darkest of places—this time, evidently, is no different.

Shaking the awe from her face, Sakura breathes deeply before climbing the large set of stairs leading up to the castle’s monstrous twin front doors. She places her palm flat against one, the stone cool and hard beneath her skin. She shivers, feeling its iciness in her very bones, and nearly pulls her hand away before she senses movement against her fingertips. 

A gasp escapes her lips, and she steps forward to lean her body flush against the door. Indeed there’s movement within the castle—reverberations from a great beast walking about, she thinks, or perhaps from the castle’s master himself. She closes her eyes, listening. 

No, she thinks, eyes flashing open once more. Not a beast. The pulses of movement are too rhythmic, too steady. And that’s steam she hears, pumping out between heated metal.

Machines. It has to be.

Sakura can barely check her excitement. She smoothes down the sides of her cloak, willing her smile into a diffident line. 

Then she raises the hilt of her dagger and knocks it against the door. Once, twice, almost three times—

The doors creak open, heavy and slow. 

Sakura steps inside.

If she’s to be honest with herself, she expected to be afraid. To turn tail at the last moment, sprinting back to her homeland, all her dreams and efforts laid to waste as a result of her own fear and trepidation. 

But as Sakura enters the castle and takes in her surroundings, knowing she could die at any moment, she feels only curiosity. Curiosity and wonder as she turns in a circle, gazing upon the hundreds of metal candelabras hanging from the walls, casting the great hall in warm, flickering light. 

She blinks, once again having to bring herself back to reality—she’s here for a reason, after all. There’s someone she has to meet, even if it’s the last thing she does. So Sakura continues forward, dagger clutched in her hand, eyes darting left and right, searching for any sign of him. 

She inhales sharply at the sound of the stone doors slamming shut behind her, but she refuses to look back. Instead she lifts her head and gazes upon the top of the double grand staircase before her, where a dark figure now stands, silent and foreboding.

Sakura tries to make out his features but he’s too far above her, shrouded in shadows. She clears her throat and sheathes her dagger. 

Then, mustering all the confidence and bravery her small body can manage, she calls in a voice steadfast enough to make her proud, “My name is Haruno Sakura. I am from Konohagakure, the Village Hidden in the Leaves.” A deep breath. “I want to be a doctor.” 

Within the blink of an eye the figure is gone. There’s the sound of fabric rustling behind the pillars lining the hallway beside her, but when she turns to follow the noise, he’s moved out of her sight.

Then he speaks. “You bang on my front door,” he says, his voice echoing all around her, deep and calm yet with a subtle, threatening edge that stiffens her spine, “because you want to daub chicken blood on peasants.”

This irritates her. “Don’t mistake me for a witch,” Sakura replies, indignant. “Everyone out there already does.”

Another rustle of fabric from beyond the pillars, this time on the second floor. 

“I believe in science,” she says, nerves causing her to take a hesitant step backward. “But I need to know more. I’ve exhausted all my other options, and all the stories say the man who lives here has secret knowledge unknown to the world.”

“I do not get many visitors,” a soft voice says from directly behind her. 

It takes everything within her not to show her shock—how was he able to sneak up on her so quietly, so stealthily? Indeed she feels his looming presence at her back, his words spoken into her ear so she could feel his warm breath against her skin. 

Sakura remains still, staring straight ahead as he continues in that deceptively soft tone, “What have you to trade for my knowledge, Haruno Sakura of Konohagakure?”

Finally she’s had enough. Sakura’s eyes narrow and she steps away from him with confidence. Turning to face him now, she lifts her head and says, “Perhaps I could help you relearn some manners. I’ve crossed the threshold of your home and you haven’t offered me a drink or even to take my coat.”

All this said while Sakura gazes upon the face of the most handsome man she’s ever seen. With hair so black it appears almost blue and eyes the color of onyx, he’s the very epitome of darkness and the worst of nightmares. He stands a full head taller than her, his broad shoulders made even broader by the heavy black cloak he dons. Above the cloak’s high collar and peeking from strands of black hair she sees his ears, elongated and pointed. A vampire, through and through.

Sakura refuses to be cowed by the sheer intimidation his very aura exudes. She stands proud, meeting his gaze fearlessly, and takes great joy in the small flicker of surprise that flashes in his dark eyes. 

Those eyes narrow to slits. “And what if I took a drink from you?” he asks fiercely, fangs gleaming in the candlelight. “Or have you loaded yourself with silver, crosses and garlic in superstitious fear?”

Sakura taps her index finger against her lips, thinking. “I might have eaten some roasted garlic earlier,” she admits. “Was that rude? It was all I had left.”

He begins to pace around her in circles, hands laced behind his back. “I’m not interested in superstition,” he snaps, “or assisting some muttering wise woman working tricks of entrails and pine needles.” 

“I want to heal people, with real medicine.” Sakura tries to put all the passion and ardor she feels into her words, desperate. “I want to learn. Will you help me?”

He stops his pacing and stands still in front of her. He tilts his head to the side, examining her as if she were an exotic animal. 

“You are certainly more... unusual than most humans I have met in recent times,” he finally says. “And much less afraid of me.”

Sakura grins. “You only seem a little frightening, truly. Maybe I can teach you to like people again. Or to at least tolerate them.” She pauses, thinking of her journey here. “Or to stop putting them on sticks.” 

He chuckles, husky and low. “I gave that up a long time ago.”

He turns and begins walking away from her, deeper into the castle. Disappointment begins to weigh in her gut, and for a moment she accepts the fact that she’s failed, but then he gestures with his hand for her to follow.

Sakura hurries to join him, all previous doubts melting away. 

“Where is the Village Hidden in the Leaves?” he asks inquisitively. 

Fresh courage flows through her in waves. “You don’t seem to travel much,” she teases.

He shoots her an amused look. “I can travel. This entire structure is a traveling machine.”

This little piece of knowledge he’s shared with her thrills her to no end. A traveling machine?

“But you don’t travel, do you, ...?” She trails off, raising her brows at him. 

“My name is Uchiha Sasuke. You may call me Sasuke. And no, I don’t travel.”

Sakura nods, pleased to finally have a name for this centuries-old vampire that is mysterious as can be. She can’t wait to know him better. Can’t wait to see what he has to show her. She’s been waiting for this moment for years.

“Well, maybe you should. The world is changing, Sasuke.” She meets his gaze, smiling. “Travel, like people do. You might even like it.”

Sasuke lifts a brow. She continues to look at him expectantly, and he eventually turns away.

Clearing his throat, he says with a hint of disgust in his tone, “I’ve known you for all of two minutes, and you offer for me to walk the earth like an ordinary peasant while I give you the knowledge of immortals.” He sweeps a hand before him, and a pair of doors swing open in response. “The true science.”

Sakura walks past the doors and into the room. Her mouth parts as she turns in a slow circle, taking in the room easily five stories high with books lining every wall and all sorts of golden contraptions unknown to her filling its center. Most of them move on their own, powered by some source she’s starving to know more about. Glass beakers are organized neatly on a wooden table to her right, some empty and some filled with gurgling golden liquid. To her left she’s shocked to see what appears to be a glass ball filled with lightning, the white light zapping around inside.

There’s no word grand enough to describe what she’s feeling. Awe, reverence, astonishment—all too cheap to put her experience into words. She is quite literally viewing the future right now, and she nearly forgets how to speak as a result.

Sakura finally twists around to find Sasuke standing to the side, watching her with an expression she can’t place. She’s too wonderfully dazed to care. 

“You realize,” she says, nearly vibrating with excitement, “that those humans won’t be peasants anymore if you teach them. If you show them what you’ve shown me.” She walks toward him, hands splayed before her. “And they won’t live such short, scared lives if they have real medicine.”

“Why should I do that?” he questions, genuinely curious. 

“To make the world better,” Sakura breathes, clasping her hands to her chest. “Start with me.” She gives him her brightest, widest smile, full of optimism and promises for the future. Oh, the changes they’ll set in motion. “And I’ll start with you, Sasuke.”

Sasuke stares down at her, quiet. She sees loneliness flash in those black, endless eyes, and wonders when the last time was that someone—vampire, human, anyone—treated him as something other than the monster he’s painted himself to be. She wonders how long it’s been since someone smiled at him; wonders how desolate indeed it must’ve been in this great, massive castle, alone for so many years. 

Then, finally, like the sun breaking over the horizon for the first time in centuries, showering light over a land of eternal darkness, she sees it: hope. Hope, newfound and unpolished, but there nonetheless. His eyes nearly glow with it, and he gives her a small, barely-there smile in return.

“Very well,” Sasuke says, almost in disbelief, as if he can’t quite come to terms with how she managed to persuade him but satisfied with their agreement regardless. He bows deeply, arm outstretched, gesturing to the wealth of knowledge surrounding them. “I think I might like you, Haruno Sakura of Konohagakure.”

Sakura beams.

For the future is theirs, and she cannot wait to discover all it has to offer.

[lovestruckthief]

Juno

I must have written this almost two years ago, but didn’t have a blog back then. My ramblings about Juno (Astreaus’ and MC’s daughter) because I’ve always been intrigued by her and what it must be like to grow up as a half-titan while the dust from Olympus’ fall is still settling. 

Especially when her parents cast such long shadows.

....................................................

It's not easy, being the daughter of two worlds, especially when you don't quite belong to either of them. Some would argue that it's three worlds, but they would do so under their breath and out of her parent’s earshot. As far as her family is concerned, there’s only two that matter.

Earth and Tartarus are in her blood. Olympus shifts and flutters like a fragile mist behind her eyes and somewhere beneath her skin. Her aura is a bright and brilliant magenta but at times she can see that it's flecked with gold. Though nobody else seems to notice that. But for her it's yet another reminder of how she is not fully anything, but simply in between. 

She is a child born into a world newly awoken. She hears of how things were before in the stories of her parents and the other Titans. Tartarus was poisoned, frozen, a place holding its breath. Until her father freed her mother and together they freed Tartarus. And finally, finally, the world lived and breathed again. 

Alive is the only way she has ever known Tartarus. When she was very young it was like early spring. New shoots sprouted between cracks in rock and flowers bloomed in the unlikeliest of places. And now the nature in Tartarus had come to resemble its inhabitants. Uncontrolled and unrestrained so that the whole world seemed to overflow with life. She knows Tartarus as wild and beautiful and dangerous for those who aren't clever or quick or careful enough. But fortunately she's all three. 

Well that's a lie. ‘Careful’ is not a concept she is very familiar with, so she’s really only the first two. But she has those two in spades and that's usually enough. Her parents have taught her the safe routes in Tartarus and the dangers she needs to watch for. Selene has taught her the thrilling shortcuts and scenic routes and Juno likes those the best, because she has to be quicker and cleverer than ever and she doesn't have to give a thought to being careful. 

She knows Earth as well, in its vastness and infinite variation. It is her home just as much as Tartarus is and she grows up somewhere in between the two. 

When she is little she takes everything all at once, running as soon as she walks and she is quick to try and argue or make a point in meaningless strings of toddler babble mixed in with dashes of English and Greek. She refuses to be carried or even have her hand held and she doesn't hesitate to wriggle out of arms and slip out of hands. Fortunately, her parents seem content enough to watch her run ahead of them. She navigates the beautiful but treacherous pits of Tartarus with the untamed grace of a Titan. She runs and climbs and leaps—and sometimes falls, though her mother and father are always there with a steadying hand when she needs it—and grows up a daughter of two worlds (though some would argue three, but at that age she knows little of Olympus and less of her connection to it). She brims with the reckless, insuppressible courage reserved to the very young and her father laughs and spins her in the air and calls her fearless. 

Her best friend is a dark haired boy who is quick to frown but faster to laugh. A dozen glowing water snakes twist around the two of them when they play together. Her other best friend—because she can have more than one is—softer and gentler but still has a quiet kind of steely bravery and their aura is sometimes a lion and sometimes a lioness. When the three of them are young Juno pulls them into every kind of trouble because her friends are too loyal to let her get into it by herself.

She grows, as children do. She begins to notice things she'd never seen before. The way eyes always turn to her parents when they enter a room. Some slide off quickly, nervously. Others stare unabashed, sometimes curious and sometimes guarded. Sometimes the gazes are hard and cold and sometimes they're directed at her. The first time she really notices she is barely five and it is the first time in a while that she's in a room full of monsters and Titans and demigods. The stares make her skin prickle and burn and she is left feeling a sickening mixture of hot and cold. She drifts closer to her father’s side, almost without realising it, and her little fist twists itself into the fabric of his coat. 

She is the daughter of legends. She is fearless and fierce but at the end of the day she's also only five. Her eyes drop to the floor and she looks away. Her father looks down at her, first with surprise and then with understanding as he scoops her up. She lets herself be carried, despite her usual stubborn insistence to walk on her own two feet and she buries her face in his chest. Heat flushes her cheeks and she pretends she doesn't feel the stares still directed at her back. 

But she isn't one to be restrained for long and she had soon perfected the long, steady look that ensures that they are the first ones to look away.

She hears things too. Things that are said when her parents aren't around and people think that she isn't listening. Some people are reverent, some are wary, some are fearful. Some are… worse things. And she comes to the realisation that the people she knows as her parents are actually a great deal of different things to a great deal of different people. 

Heroes. Traitors. Revolutionaries. Criminals. Legends.

It's difficult for her to reconcile the images of her parents with the stories that are told about them. It's hard to believe that the man who sings her soft lullabies and the woman who bakes cupcakes and dabs her nose with frosting were also responsible for tearing down Olympus.

The stories she hears are different every time. Told by dozens of people in hundreds of different ways. The details shift and change and the truth is harder to pin down than mist. She hears the stories where her parents are heroes, where they’re monsters, where they’re victims. As a child she only ever believed the stories where her parents were good. But she grows, as children do, and knows that the truth, much like her, is probably somewhere in between. 

As a young woman she is wild and bright and fiercely independent. She is never short of things to say with a retort always waiting on her lips. She doesn't do speechless. Except maybe once, when she was kissed by a pretty girl whose eyes can turn people to stone but who only ever looks at Juno with light and laughter and something both soft and strong which neither she nor Juno quite have a word for yet.

She is growing up, as children always will. The pull of Olympus is stronger now, far more than it ever was when she was little. It echoes behind every heartbeat and burns under her skin. It leads her with an insistent tug, back to the broken, empty ruins of Olympus. She feels like a ghost as she drifts silently through its shattered halls. Aimless and directionless but somehow always finding her way back to the circle of broken thrones. 

She wonders what it means to carry the seeds of Hera’s power. What it is that she feels stirring beneath her skin. Some people, she knows, see her as a last fragment of the Gods, the only hope of their return. Others see her as the main force preventing it. 

 She hopes, secretly, that some people can just see her as Juno. 

She loathes the idea of fate and destiny, of a predetermined path. The thought that her choices mean nothing because everything was decided before her birth makes her skin prickle and her stomach churn. She hates to admit, but she doesn’t feel very fearless. She mostly feels young and uncertain and like she’s being backed into a cage that everyone can see but her. 

She keeps those feelings deep within her and tries her best to not let them show on the surface. It doesn’t always work though and her friends exchange worried glances and the pretty girl with the pretty eyes holds her hand and promises that she will listen when Juno is ready. 

It comes out eventually of course. To her mother first, and after that it becomes a bit easier to talk about. She is the daughter of legends. She is fierce and bright but at the end of the day she’s only sixteen and sometimes she just really needs her mom. It’s a relief when it all pours out, in a flood of agitated pacing and frustrated tears. Her mother lets her talk and rant and cry. And at the end of it she holds her daughter and calls her brave. Destiny can get bent. The only person who is going to decide Juno’s future is Juno. Hearing it is almost enough to set off Juno crying again. She hadn’t realised how much she needed to hear that.

She asks her mother what she thinks of the belief some people hold, that she is going to return the Gods to power and her mother just shrugs. “Maybe you will” she says “and maybe you won’t. Either way, it won’t be because of destiny. It will be because you made a decision and acted on it. Don’t be afraid of making choices.” Juno notices, but doesn’t comment on how her mother has dodged answering what she would think if Juno actually did make that choice. 

She grows up with different worlds twisting through her veins and singing beneath her skin. In time, she feels less in between and more like she simply carries parts of those worlds within her, without slipping through the gaps. 

There is rebellion in her blood. There is selfishness and sacrifice. But there is also hope and love and a spirit which will never bend or break in its quest for what is right. She is so much more than the daughter of legends or a child caught between worlds. She is a thousand different things all at once and she is the only one who gets to decide her future.

[primasveraas-writing]

Rey x Mando!Reader Headcanons

Request: Rey x Mandalorian reader headcanons? Maybe with sum slow burn enemies to friends to lovers? 👀👀👀

Thank you!

XXX

As a Mandalorian, you are nothing if not independent

The First Order clearly stands in the way of everything you believe. Their iron first of control is a direct threat to your independence, your way of life, and the galaxy as you know it

So once you realize that standing on your own against their regime is ineffective for the most part, you offer your services to the Resistance

You don’t wish to be a fighter on the ground, or “one of them,” per se. But you have a unique set of skills that they can use as they so wish

It’s here, of course, that you meet the hero of the movement, Rey. Between the two of you, there is a mighty skill set and you are often paired together for this reason

 Part of you had still hoped that you’d be able to work alone, even as a representative of the Resistance, so you don’t plan to make friends with Rey

She’s too happy. You don’t have anything against happiness, but as a general rule, you’ve found that people who are overjoyed all the time don’t have a tangible grip on reality

Not to mention she doesn’t seem to realize that you can take care of yourself. Or, for that matter, that you don’t want to hug her any time something goes right

She’s simply a presence that you tolerate, you tell yourself. And certainly nothing more

Even so, you make a deadly team. Despite the fact that Rey seems to pull punches more than you ever would, your precision and efficiency together is unmatched

But one day, Rey crosses a line. In her attempt to save someone, she entirely undermines you, using the Force to pull your target out of the way. As a result, your blaster bolt misses, hitting a fuel tank and altering everyone in the vicinity as to your location

You take on more fire than you should, and Rey still doesn’t manage to save the Imperial she was trying to spare

When you make it back to the base, you finally vent your true feelings. Rey hardly lets you yell at her for long; before you know it, you’re in a screaming match on the tarmac with everyone around you staring

You both stalk off angrily, and when Rey manages to talk to Leia in the hopes of finding comfort, the general tells her that you’ve already requested to work alone or with someone else from now on

For the sake of maintaining some calm in the Resistance, Leia obliges

You hardly see Rey from then on. Occasionally you’ll brush by each other, but your helmet disallows any true eye contact, and for that, you’re very grateful

However, her closest friends try and convince you to apologize or make peace. Finn is particularly defensive, and Commander Dameron attempts to make you see that working with Rey again is what’s best for the Resistance

Yet you refuse outright and begin working with whoever Leia assigns you with

Maybe Dameron has a point, you admit reluctantly, because missions are never the same after that

No one matches Rey’s brilliance or skill. No one is as intuitive or perfectly matched to your fighting style

And maybe, just maybe, you miss the way she could make you smile underneath your helmet, where you could safely enjoy moments of her presence with the safety of her never knowing this fact

So you complain less than expected when weeks later, the general tells you that out of necessity, you and Rey will be paired once more for at least one mission

You’re working together perfectly again without a second thought, even if Rey refuses to talk to you for the duration of the journey to the planet you’re operating on

And on the way back, your heart aches. Nothing has come close to this feeling since you last parted- the adrenaline from a thrilling and successful mission, the excellent cohesion of your combative strategy, the way that Rey seems to make the whole universe come alive in the heat of battle

Finally, you open your mouth to apologize. Rey is silent throughout, but you promise to give her a better chance, and she nods and smiles

Your friendship begins that day. The two of you are paired on missions again, and you're even more unstoppable than before

This is, in part due to the genuine connection that quickly forms between you. In accepting her friendship, you actually deign to spend time with Rey and her friends

It's the first time Rey hears you laugh

She won't admit it until months later, but she loves the sound

You even allow some of her hugs, but it's a boundary that's slowly broached

You see for the first time that Rey's positivity and happiness comes from triumphing over hardship and seeing the best in others rather than naivety and ignorance

This is one of her most admirable qualities. As a Mandalorian, you've been taught your whole life to view the galaxy cynically, to expect little from others and keep what's yours close to your chest

Rey breaks that mold ingrained deeply within you. It's like the sun shining through the darkness, and you realize that you enjoy this change more than you could have ever imagined

And in turn, your opening up to Rey about Mandalorian culture gives her an understanding of your perspective. Your realism seems close to pessimism, but it's not without reason. After all, Mandalore has a long history of hurt, violence, and betrayal. Even after generations of change, it's a hard thing to shake

It's a quick fall after that. Rey opens your universe to so much light, and although you'll never be quite the same as each other, you both relish the balance you bring to your relationship

Rey is irresistible. From her laugh and smile to her true and pervasive kindness, her beauty shows, and your affection deepens by the day

You're pretty sure she feels the same way. Her hugs become longer and more constant, and she squeezes your hand whenever you're near

Plus, making her blush and laugh is a favorite pastime. Your bravery in battle also happens to translate to courage with flirting

It's enough that people roll their eyes when you turn on the charm for Rey. You're witty but not subtle, and that's what makes your tactics so effective

It works. You're alone together, having meandered as you talked to outside of the base. It's just you and the trees and the hum of life around you

You take off your helmet, and Rey beams. It's not unusual for you to reveal yourself like this, but it's a sure sign of your comfort anyways

You reach out to grab Rey's hand, and she offers a lovely smile in turn, not objecting when you pull her close to your chest

She responds enthusiastically when you lean in and kiss her at last

[nebulawritings]

A MISTAKE AND A CHOICE PART 4

 Part four. Final part? I guess? Anymore think it would be a full blown fic. I need to stop my head running amok and write some fluff instead. Angsty ending ahead, you have been warned. Enjoy

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Four (and a bit)

Book: Open Heart, Book 2 [Choices Stories You Play]

Pairing: M!DrValentinexEthan M!DrValentinexBryce

Reading Time: ~ 5 minutes

Warning: None. Angst? So angsty.  ____________________________________________________

The first week was hard, but manageable. Ethan threw himself into work, taking extra shifts when he could get them and staying at the office to work on the diagnostic teams cases. The other staff members put this down to him trying to make up for the length of time he had been away, but the real reason was much closer to home. Because, when he ran out of things to do, his mind wandered to Casey and his last words. “What I really want”. The senior Doctor had repeated that phrase over and over, almost as if it were a mantra. He realised, not too soon after saying goodbye to Dr Valentine, that the time he had spent in in the Amazon had not been remotely helpful in guiding him to what he really, truly, wanted. He’d spent far too much time trying to hide from his feelings, not entertain the thought of embracing them.

Often, when he allowed himself a walk to the local coffee shop, he would attempt to imagine his life with, and without, Casey Valentine. The ironic thing was, that every time he went to the coffee shop, he would be reminded of the other Doctor, their times together and conversations. His walks started to take him a different route, and he began to frequent standing in front of a small, inconspicuous jewellery shop. They had very pretty rings and necklaces, and elegant headpieces and bracelets. He would stare at them, not really taking in the sight, as he thought about what it would be like to live with Casey as his partner. Embrace his feelings. To show him off, take him to fancy dinners and introduce him to his father, formally, all the things a good partner would do. He made his mind up quickly, within 48 hours, so he was relatively calm as the week rolled to an end, although he subconsciously checked his phone one too many times. But the following Monday morning came, and no contact from Casey followed. One weeks silence rolled into two, and two soon turned into four. He, of course, questioned Naveen almost endlessly about where Casey was, but he would be told that Mass Kenmore still needed him, and to be patient, and they hadn’t agreed an end date. So Ethan waited. Every day that ticked by, he would walk by the jewellery shop. Week three he went inside. Week five, and he left with a box. It was inconspicuous enough, but he hid it in his pocket none the less, until he was back at his office. He opened it, slowly, and regarded the simple platinum watch inside. It was handsome yet refined, and Ethan had chosen it specifically for the practicality. After all, he couldn’t have a flashy watch around the hospital. He then pulled up his sleeve, and looked upon the watch already sitting on his wrist. In fact, it had been there since he’d received it at his graduation; a gift from his father. The watch had belonged to his father, and his father before him and before him, who was gifted it by some sort of British royal family member for bravery or some such as Ethan understood it. It wasn’t shiny and new, although it was beautiful and intricate. You wouldn’t know looking at it, but the single item was more valuable to Ethan than anything else could be, from a sentimental point of view. For a man who was not overly enamoured with the idea of sentimentality and material items, it really was priceless. It represented courage, and reminded him of how proud he was when he graduated. How happy he was to see his father smile. It represented history casting back decades, his family, and it was timeless. Unending. He supposed it could be referred to as an heirloom. The watched slipped from his wrist, and he placed it in the box, now labelled with a simple red card. ‘To Casey’ it read, ‘My Choice’. He’d told the other Doctor once of how much the watch meant to him and the history of it, after the young diagnostician had enquired as he enquired of all things that piqued his interest. Ethan hoped that, by giving over the item most valuable to him, that his feelings would be understood not just through words, but by actions. How Ethan intended to commit to Casey, and him only. Of course, he still hadn’t heard Casey’s answer…He could only pray. As if on cue, after five and a half weeks, his phone suddenly lit up with a notification. Ethan practically leapt for his phone when he saw the name. Sorry it’s taken so long. He smiled at the simplicity. I have been unbelievably crazy at Mass Kenmore, and I promised myself I wouldn’t rush my decision but… I hate to admit how difficult it’s been not being able to vent to you. Ethan relaxed in his chair, reading the words as if they were gospel. Oh, and…please don’t respond to these messages. Ethan deleted the small amount of text he’d already written. But, I’ve made my choice. I suppose it’s good, in a way, it’s taken so long. It’s given you plenty of time to decide. I hope? “You have no idea” Ethan replied softly, wishing he could tell Casey everything there and then. Anyway, I’ll give you my answer at the following address. I’ve checked your diary online and can see you’re free, so don’t even try and chicken out okay? If you’re there at 7pm, this Friday, you’ll find out my answer. If you’re not there…I’ll know yours. See you? He waited, but no more text came. It was Wednesday, so he had two days. “I’ll be there, Casey” he said, firmly, clutching the box with his watch in. “Christ, nothing could stop me”.

Thursday and Friday seemed to drag on longer than the previous five weeks. Every minute was agonisingly slow, and at night sleep didn’t come to him easily at all. It was 6pm on Friday, at last, and he was finished for the day. Ethan made a straight beeline for his office, and quickly changed out of his work clothes into something, he hoped, would be pleasing to the eye. He was never one for fashion, but he had sought the guidance of a helpful shop clerk, and bought a new dark blue shirt that was slim-fitted, and a pair of black jeans which, in his opinion, were far too tight. The clerk said he looked ‘hot as hell’, so Ethan had purchased them. He was questioning it a little as he fastened a pair of cufflinks on to match the new watch he’d purchased himself and laced his shoes. 18:22. The motel address Casey had given him was 31 minutes away, on the outskirts of town. Traffic would be quiet going out of town on a Friday night, so if he took the back roads and picked up the main road at junction 7…His train of thought was cut off by a sharp rapping on his door. He cursed under his breath. Ethan had been very thorough and straight that, tonight, he was not to be disturbed. That he had an important meeting, and he was unavailable to anyone from 6pm. So, whomever was at his door now was about to get ‘unavailable’ seriously explained to them. Grumbling, and one arm in his coat, he opened the door; already poised to unleash. “Dr Emery!” he exclaimed, quickly stepping back from the woman outside his office.

“Dr…Ramsey…”.

Her voice was strained and her eyes red, as if she’d been crying heavily. “How, um, sorry”. He composed himself and opened the door a little wider. “How can I help?”. He still had time…Just.

She looked awkward, like being with him was the last thing she wanted. “I need to talk to you. Urgently”.

“Sorry, Harper, but-“

“I know, I know, you’ve got some top secret meeting to attend. Don’t think I came here lightly, I know how many extra hours you’ve given recently but this can’t wait, Ethan”.

Her tone was so severe that he automatically stepped aside. She let herself into his office, and he closed the door behind them.

“So, how can I help?”. His eyes darted to the clock on the far wall. 18:27.

Harper turned towards him, fresh tears brimming in her eyes. “You have to believe that I didn’t think…I mean I didn’t know-I didn’t mean for it, Ethan!”. Her tone was almost desperate.

The senior doctor furrowed his eyebrows, concern evident. This was entirely unlike the stoic Harper he knew, so it must be something serious. “What’s happened, Harper?”.

The other doctor didn’t say anything, just reached one shaky hand into her purse and pulled out a small item.

Ethan’s eyes widened and his words caught in his throat, sickness rushing to his stomach. There was no need to be a Doctor to recognise what was in her hand. Hell, as long as you could read instructions you’d know. “You can’t be serious” he whispered, a torrent of emotions swamping him at the sight of the two small, red lines.

“You think I’d joke about this!?” she snapped, tears streaming freely. “Please, Ethan, I need…We need to talk about this”.

Anything that he had felt, or known, or decided up until that moment suddenly seemed pointless. Like there was never going to be an option, or a point, to everything he’d prepared up for this day. For Casey. His arm dropped, coat slipping off of his arm to the floor with a clatter, the sound of the box meant for Casey hitting the floor. On auto-piolet, he gestured to the couch in his office and Harper moved towards it, as Ethan slowly closed the door to the room, shutting out the world…And his world. He knew that if Casey had chosen him, that his mind was made up. One thing the older doctor admired about the younger was his tenacity, and his unwillingness to shift on any decision he’d made. But if Ethan didn’t show…What would that do to Casey? But if Harper really was...If he was going to be...He couldn’t leave her. He couldn’t abandon her. It took two of them to tango after all and there was no was he would turn into his mother. Click. The door locked, and Ethan stepped towards Dr Emery.

Casey had been at the motel for a few hours, anxious. He’d made sure to leave plenty of time to get ready, to leave Mass Kenmore and sort out the few patients he’d picked up responsibility for. It had been a rough, long few weeks but the day was finally here and he wasn’t going to let anything, or anyone, spoil it. 7pm rolled around, and his eyes were fixated on the motel door. He sat at the end of the bed, in plain sight of the clock on the wall by the door. Candles were dotted around the whole place, and he’d made an effort to look as good as he could. Showered, freshly laundered clothes, new cologne. He was wearing an oversized jumper that he knew Ethan liked and jeans. Simple, but Casey was hoping they wouldn’t be too focused on clothes…If he turned up. “He’ll be here” the doctor repeated for the hundredth time. 7:15 came and went, and Casey looked out the window. Again. “It’s fine…The traffics bad. That’s all”. He checked his phone just in case. 8pm. He checked his phones history. Checked the address he’d sent earlier in the week. 9pm. The candles started to snuff out, one by one. 11pm. Casey was laying on the motel bed, feeling…He could only describe it as numb. His eyes hurt, and had long since run out of tears. Casey Valentine has chosen Ethan Ramsey, and Ethan Ramsey had chosen someone else. A thousand scenarios had run through his head to try and explain why Ethan didn’t show but none of them made sense. Not this late. Not with no text, no call. His hands were shaking as he lay in the now dark room, the few candles still burning not enough to light the room. Without thinking, he grabbed his phone and dialled a number that had become foreign in the last few weeks.

“Casey! Man it’s been a long time! How’s Mass Kenmore treating you!”.

“…”.

“…Case? You there, dude?”.

“Bryce…”.

The others tone changed entirely as he heard Casey’s voice. “Hey, I’m here…What’s going on? You sound like you’ve been screaming for hours”.

“I…I need you. Sorry, no I don’t I just…What’s that noise?”

“Oh, I’m out with some college buddies. Doesn’t matter. Where are you, Casey?”.

“Oh, no, Bryce go and enjoy yourself. I’m sorry I called”.

“Hey! Don’t you dare go, Casey”.

“Why?”

“Because I want to know where you are”.

“Why? It doesn’t matter, you’re busy”.

“Tough. It does matter”.

“Why?”.

“Because you matter, Casey. You sound like hell”.

The diagnostician laughed, fresh tears welling in his eyes. “I feel like hell”.

“Where are you?”.

Casey told Bryce the address, and after a quick ‘I’ll be there as soon as I can’ they hung up. The sound of someone else’s voice managed to pull Casey out of his stupor, and he started wrapping things up at the motel. He gathered the candles, and left an envelope on the side with cash along with the key. He called the reception, told them his plans had changed and the room would be empty for the night. He picked up his other bits, pushed them all into a bag just as he heard a car pulling up outside. This late, it was pretty safe to assume it was Bryce…If it wasn’t Ethan. “It’s not him you idiot” the young doctor muttered bitterly. As he  gathered his things and left the room, looking around at the cold, empty space, he realised that as soon as that door closed he would be shutting it forever. As in, Ethan Ramsey…Forever. “Goodbye, Doctor” he whispered, before the door clicked shut, and he met Bryce halfway to the car. The surgeon was out of breath and panicked. “Take me home” Casey practically begged , as he felt warm arms wrap around him, soothing and safe.He buried his his into Bryce’s chest, squeezed his eyes shut.

“Whatever you need” came a gentle reply. No questions, no explanation required as to why the hell Casey was crying in a motel in the early hours of the morning. Just comfort. “I’m here, Case. I’ll always be here for you”.

[bangtiddies]

Little Hands

Pairing: Jimin x female reader Genre: Fluff, smut (?), domestic Jimin AU Words: 4,889 Warnings: lots of cheesy fluff; swearing; minor smut? there’s a sex scene but I’m not a smut writer (nor am I good at writing smut) so it’s not too explicit I hope

Summary:  You love Jimin’s delicate little hands. From when you first meet him, all the way to when a tiny little hand wraps around his small pinky finger.

Park Jimin has always been self-conscious of his small hands. Especially since you’re the one who always fusses over how cute and small his hands are. He thinks your hands are just as cute, even more delicate than his own hands. And he wishes his hands can envelop yours like Taehyung’s large hands could, but your hands intertwining with his like a perfect puzzle is just enough for him.

And there are some moments that you both share, that are so special. From when you first meet Jimin and his small hands, to when small hands are being held by little ones.

When you first meet him, you find yourself marvelling at how small his hands are. Your right hand shakes his, and your insides melt at how soft and fitting they are. Jimin has lovely hands. And a beautiful seeming personality that fits his adorable small hands. You want to get to know the personality and the perfect, small hands.

“Nice to meet you, Jimin. I’m Y/N.”

A friendship blooms, and three weeks in, it’s obvious to everyone but you and Jimin that you fancy each other. Shy glances and small gestures; sometimes, one of his small hands are holding yours and it just feels so natural. Like your hands belong together.

It takes a good two months for the two of you to finally bring up the courage to confess your feelings. The day it happens, everything feels so sudden in the otherwise normal day you’re having. You’re cuddling on your living room couch, opting for an impromptu movie night as your planned outing with Jimin had been terribly ruined by the weather. Yours and Jimin’s friends would smirk at your current state, making annoying cooing noises as they tease you for being whipped for each other. But Jimin always stupidly says that you’re really good friends.

And you believe every word about what he calls a so-called friend date, even though he wants you to have the ability to read behind his words. He has no courage to say his real thoughts out loud.

Because in all honesty, he wishes it’s a date like his friends say. He’s so smitten for you that he’d jump at any chance to have one date with you. He wants to be holding your hand with his small hand for a romantic reason and not a platonic one.

And you’re feeling a little disappointed because every little hope you have about Jimin reciprocating your feelings is crushed every time he says that the two of you are good friends. Even now, when you’re cuddling with him, you’re a little upset that your cuddling will never move from the platonic status.

But today, all of a sudden, while the two of you are watching some cheesy romcom, Jimin has the sudden want to play with your hair. His small hands itch to touch your hair, and surprising himself at doing so, Jimin acts on his instincts. You feel his hands running through your hair, and for a while, you’re confused and shocked. But then you close your eyes and relish in the moment because it feels so good. You’ve always been a fan of people playing with your hair; and you don’t have them doing it often, as they’re usually uncomfortable with it.

The moment escalates quickly when you accidentally let out a moan. You hear his breath hitch. You’re in a close enough proximity to feel his heart beating faster and his growing arousal beneath you. If you weren’t in such a euphoric state, you’d pull away awkwardly at the situation, face red and a stuttering mess. But the moment has taken a different turn from your normal cuddling days, and you’re suddenly initiating a kiss.

Your bravery shocks you. But fuck, kissing Jimin is everything you dreamed of and more.

Things get heated and next thing you know, you’re in your bedroom, lying submissively on your bed under Jimin. Sloppy kisses are shared as clothes are being shed. Foreplay is short, although he makes sure to pleasure you with his fingers before he’s slipped a condom on, and his hips are rolling into you, his arousal deep within yours.

You didn’t think you’d be fucking Jimin tonight but you’re so ecstatic that you are. The moment is driven by lust and affection; you can’t think straight, all you’re thinking is Jimin, Jimin, Jimin, Jimin.

Jimin’s thinking the same, your name filling his lust driven thoughts. He continues to roll his hips into yours while his hands explore every bit of your bare body, and his lips yearn for the touch of yours and the skin below your face. The small consciousness he has within the lust is wondering if this will lead to anything. He prays it has a positive aftermath, and not a negative one.

Jimin lasts longer than your any of your previous sexual encounters and despite what people say about small hands, he has a fair-sized dick. And he knows how to use it. You don’t find many men who make you orgasm so good that you’re sent into oblivion. Your sexually driven self tells you he’s a keeper, even though a romantic relationship hasn’t started nor been discussed yet.

The two of you don’t say anything, partly because you’re both afraid of professing your love for each other while having sex. How embarrassing would that be? Instead, the room is filled with grunts and moans, with Jimin’s occasional checks to see if you’re all right. He’s a sweetheart. He finally lets one last strangled moan out before he releases, his orgasm spreading in the room. At the same time, his fingers near your core sends you into yet another wave of pleasure. This is by far the best sex you’ve ever had.

Jimin collapses on you, his arms wrapping around yours as he pulls himself out of you. Heavy breathing fills the air, and Jimin shifts himself so he’s lying next to you. The two of you trying to catch your breath, enough to make coherent words about what just happened.

“So,” Jimin starts, still slightly out of breath. Fuck, he sounds so hot.

“So,” you reply quietly.

“Um,” his confidence is gone, and suddenly, he’s feeling extremely shy and vulnerable. He just had sex with you. He just had sex with you. He’s never imagined that the fantasies he’s had of you would ever become reality.

Fuck.

Oh, fuck.

You’re also lost with what to say, afraid of how Jimin feels in the situation. Was this just all lust for him? In all honesty, even you can’t tell if you were just fucking or making love. Perhaps there’s a line between them and you’re falling just on it.

“Y/N,” Jimin whispers, finally finding courage and words to speak to you, although he’s still feeling awkward, “I... I really like you.”

“I like you too, Jimin,” you whisper back, although you’re taking his words differently and you’re sounding dejected. Your heart is ready for rejection, for his words to tear you apart as good friends runs in your mind.

“No, uh,” he sighs, sitting up and running a hand through his hair, “fuck.”

You sit up and face him, “Jimin, it’s fine. We can just go back to normal and pretend it never happened.”

“No!” he says immediately, grabbing your hands. His cheeks turn red when he notices that you’re both naked in front of each other and loses his words. Oh shit. His lust driven self during sex didn’t focus on you entirely but now he can, and he can’t help his eyes trailing down to admire your bare body. Holy hell, you’re beautiful.

“Jimin?”

“I don’t want to go back to normal,” he admits, avoiding your eyes, “I... I want us to be something.”

Your eyes widen, “what?”

“I want to take you out on a date that isn’t a friends date. I want to cuddle and kiss you on the couch while we’re watching movies,” he takes a deep breath, “I want you to be my girlfriend.”

You freeze, breath hitched. You wrap your head around his words, and your thoughts go haywire. He likes you, he likes you, he likes you.

When you’ve finally comprehended his words, you reply with a shy smile, “I want to be your girlfriend too.”

Jimin lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, and without saying a word, presses his lips against yours. It’s more romantic this time, unlike the lust driven kisses earlier, although you’re both still unclothed. It doesn’t matter anymore though; it already feels less embarrassing.

Jimin takes you out on your first date the next morning – a breakfast date – and it’s cute and romantic. Everything you’ve ever dreamed of and more. And his small, delicate hand intertwines with yours the whole day.

“You’re beautiful, baby. I’m so lucky.”

About a good six months into your relationship, Jimin suggests that you move in with him. You’re a little uncertain because of how fast it may seem, but you both know deep inside that the moment is perfect. And with the way you started your relationship, what is too fast? You’re both pretty much living at each other’s places anyway. Might as well make the relationship more official than it already is. His small hands hold yours as he asks you to move in with him. You’re hesitant at first, weighing out in your head the pros and cons.

The pros win; after a week of pondering, you’re moving in with Jimin.

Jimin’s place is nicer than yours, but you’re still a little upset to say goodbye to your small, inconvenient flat. You also had to sell your bed; that was disheartening. However, you’re feeling content with the idea of waking up next to Jimin every morning, your bodies fitting together perfectly like a puzzle. In the long run, a better, bigger bed, along with a sleeping companion, is worth selling your shitty bed that you bought at a garage sale.

It doesn’t take long to move your belongings to Jimin’s, thanks to the extra help you’ve received from Jimin’s friends. Especially Jungkook – that muscle bunny sure can carry a load. You make a mental note in your head to keep Jungkook’s strength in mind. After all, you’ll be living in the same house as the young lad.

When every item of yours is nicely placed and organised in Jimin’s room, which is now also yours, the lot of you decide to throw a last-minute barbeque dinner in the backyard.

In the classic manner of Jimin and his friends, the barbeque dinner is delightfully chaotic. Seokjin is by the barbeque, turning meats and kebabs every now and then, his toddler son sitting on his wide shoulders. The little boy giggles as Seokjin yells at Jungkook whenever the mischievous lad nicks a piece of steak. Jimin and Hoseok have started an impromptu dance session, getting Namjoon to join in. They laugh manically at Namjoon’s awful but hilarious dancing. Yoongi rests on the swing couch, body intertwined with his girlfriend and lazily playing with each other’s hair. You’re sitting on the picnic table, having a weird but interesting conversation about potatoes with Taehyung.

Your conversation leads to the Irish Potato Famine and you’re midway through it when Jimin pulls you away, small hands guiding you to dance awkwardly with the smiling boy. You’re joking around with the dancing, and next thing you know, you’re laughing with the rest of the dancing bunch as Taehyung joins in on the hilarious dancing. The dancing doesn’t last long, however, as a body slams into Jimin, and the two figures fall into the pool with a giant splash.

You hear Seokjin yell, “that’s what you get for stealing some steak, Jeon Jungkook!”

You turn toward Seokjin to see him a few steps away from the barbeque, his giggling toddler son tucked under his left arm, and holding a pair of tongs with his right hand, indicating that the older male had chased Jungkook to the pool. The sight causes the rest of you to burst into laughter. Jungkook and Jimin both gasp for some air as they resurface on the water, taking in their laughing friends (including Yoongi, who never fails to enjoy others’ misfortunes,) before Jimin lets out a yell and chases Jungkook out of the pool.

He gives up chasing Jungkook very quickly, unable to catch up to the athletic boy, and walks over to you with a grin. A chill runs down your spine. You know what’s going to happen and you try to find ways to get yourself out of the situation before it happens.

“Y/N,” Jimin draws out, “I’m cold.” He adds a cute little pout for effect. Damn. How are you going to get yourself out of this?

“Maybe you should get into some drier clothes,” you reply, slowly inching yourself away from your soaked boyfriend.

He smirks, “I’d rather a hug.”

And then suddenly, his wet body envelops you as you let out a squeal, feeling the water seep into your clothes. It’s uncomfortable, but Jimin’s hugs have always been comfortable so your body is also, in a weird way, responding positively to the impact. Your squeals turn into laughter as you run your fingers through Jimin’s wet hair while his body continues to embrace yours. He smiles softly at your laughter before placing his lips upon yours. You hear shouts of protests from Hoseok and Taehyung but you’re only concentrating on how soft Jimin’s lips feel on yours. Every time you kiss him, it feels magical, beautiful, and comforting. You love kissing him.

“Get a room, there’s children here!” yells Jungkook, gesturing a hand in the direction of the toddler boy who’s now in the care of Hoseok. Jungkook is holding two towels in his hands, and he throws one at Jimin. It lands perfectly upon Jimin’s head, interrupting your kiss-turned-make-out-session.

“Is there more than one child here?” you ask, noticing on Jungkook’s choice of words, as Jimin pulls away from the hug to grab the towel from his head.

“Jungkook’s the other child!” Jin exclaims, his eyes never leaving the barbeque as he places steaks on a plate, “a child who doesn’t respect his elders!”

The rest of you laugh again.

That night, you lie in Jimin’s arms in your shared bed. There are many nights and mornings in his arms to come, and that thought alone brings a smile to your face. And you wake up the next morning with his small hands caressing your face as he brushes strands of hair away from your eyes.

“Good morning, beautiful.”

You’ve been living with Jimin for a year now, which means you’ve been dating for a year and a half, and Jimin decides that he wants to marry you. He’s always thought of a future with you but now feels like the perfect time. He wants to spend the rest of his life with you and he wants to make that want official.

And thus, the planning for the proposal begins – booking the perfect venue and creating images of the perfect moment to propose on one knee with the ring he bought three months prior. His friends are helping him with planning the specific date night and Jimin couldn’t be more thankful; even Seokjin’s young son is a helpful mental support during the moments when Jimin has doubts filled with anxiety.

Jungkook decides upon himself that it’s his duty as the flatmate to make sure that you don’t know anything of Jimin’s plans and so, during this whole planning process, you’re completely oblivious to everything. Which makes things a little easier for Jimin since he’s the worst liar he knows. If you even ask a single thing about his behaviour, he’d sweat profusely and most likely confess his plans to propose to you.

But, as most perfectly planned things go, Jimin doesn’t get to propose the way he had been planning to do.

The two of you don’t really go on many dates now, usually opting for staying at home together and enjoying each other’s presence (in many ways,) so when you hear that Jimin is taking you out this weekend, you’re ecstatic. The last proper date you had was for the first anniversary of your relationship. And that was quite a while ago.

You also don’t think twice about the date, or what it may have in store; you just assume that it’s going to be elaborate for sure, knowing Jimin and his perfectionist tendencies. There are times when Jimin just wants to show you how much he appreciates and loves you, and he does so by taking you out on beautiful, perfectly organised dates.

You want to do something for him in return, so on Thursday morning, you decide to make him a special breakfast in bed. You put in as much effort as you can to the breakfast and after placing everything on a tray, you bring the breakfast into your shared room.

When Jimin wakes up to see you holding the tray, he gives you a confused look, which in turn makes you a little flustered. You blush, look down at the tray of breakfast you prepared before stuttering out, “I, uh, the date this weekend is probably going to be really nice and, uh, I made a little something as a thanks in advance?”

You look up from the tray to see Jimin giving you a look that you can’t read. His eyes are wide and lips parted, his dishevelled hair making him look like an angel crafted from heaven. You don’t know if his expression is showing confusion or overwhelmed emotion, so you continue blabbering on.

“You always take me out on these lovely dates and,” you let out an awkward laugh, “I realised that I haven’t done much in return so...”

Jimin is so overwhelmed with emotion, he doesn’t even know what to think. As you continue to babble on, he admires how beautiful you are. How much he loves you and every little thing you do that sets his mind off like crazy. And so, without a single thought into it, he blurts out during your babbling, “marry me.”

You almost drop the tray of food you’re holding; you’re not sure if you heard him right, or if he was saying anything at all. Maybe your little blue fantasies are taking you over and you’re now daydreaming another situation. Fuck, maybe you need the breakfast more than Jimin does.

Your blank look almost disappoints Jimin, and without thinking anything through, he scrambles out of the bed toward the closet. He opens it, reaches for the jacket he always wears that’s currently hanging on a plastic hanger and digs a small hand in one of the large pockets. He grips the small box and doesn’t bother having second thoughts; he’s already blurted it out, he may as well propose now.

As soon as you see the little black box, you take in a sharp breath and it hitches. The cutlery and crockery on your tray start to clatter as your hands shake. You quickly place the tray down before any debacle happens and you try to soothe your shaking hands by rubbing them against your sides, breathing out slowly. Your eyes never leave Jimin as he makes his way toward you.

He gets down on one knee, and the waterfalls start.

“Y/N,” he whispers, but to you, he’s loud enough that you hear every breath, “I want to be with you forever. Will you marry me?”

Tears roll down your cheeks as you eagerly nod your head, accepting his proposal almost immediately. It’s a dream come true for you; Jimin would make the perfect marriage. You swear, you’ve been imagining marrying him since your relationship hit the three-month mark.

“Fuck yes,” you laugh.

He fumbles as he takes the ring out of small box. One of his small hands holds your left hand, while the other holds the ring, as he shakily slips the ring on the fourth finger of your left hand. It fits nicely, snug.

At that moment, in Jimin’s perspective, nothing looks more perfect.

The date that weekend flows differently to what Jimin planned, of course, but nevertheless perfect. You stare at the ring on your left hand often and make jokes about how the ring would look prettier on Jimin’s small hands. He blushes and feels a little shy and embarrassed from the jokes, before telling you that the ring is perfect for your delicate hands. That his small hands are not the full beauty that you are. He knows exactly what to say to leave you flustered. And he loves how cute you look when you are.

“I love you.”

Months of wedding planning flies by too quickly and you’re already in your wedding dress, ready to be wed. Pre-wedding jitters run through your fingers and you find yourself fiddling around with everything and anything. Your friends try to calm you with the best they can, but their grins obviously indicate that they’re excited and jittery for the moment just as much as you are; they know that you and Jimin make the perfect match.

Jimin is at the wedding venue, greeting guests and putting on an overexaggerated smile to hide his fears and insecurities. If anyone asks him how he is, he’d probably start crying. Jungkook, his best man, keeps a close eye on Jimin and Jimin can’t thank him enough. If left to his own devices, Jimin’s not sure how he’d cope. He’s already ready to let his tears fall and you haven’t even started walking the aisle – he can already imagine that the moment will be perfect, just like a fairy tale.

And when you arrive and he sees you standing at the other end of the aisle, looking beautiful in your wedding dress, the dam in his eyes break. With every step you take, a new tear trails down his cheek. By the time you reach him, he’s a mess as you grip his small hands with yours. Your eyes are rimmed with tears; seeing Jimin cry makes you cry.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers.

The rest of the ceremony is a blur. The both of you blubber through your vows, rings are exchanged, and you’re officially husband and wife. Jimin savours the first kiss you share as a married couple and once you’ve pulled away, he can’t help but look down to his left hand, where his new wedding band fits on the fourth finger. He admires it, and vows to himself it’ll be there forever.

The reception is a little more in your element. Your tears are dried, and it’s a little louder and delightfully chaotic, just the way your group of friends are. It starts off romantic and sentimental, with speeches made by the important people in your life, including best man Jungkook who shed a few tears during anecdotes. Then, after the soft and slow first dance shared between you and Jimin, the whole room turns into a dance floor, and your friends and family are moving along to the beats of some pop song Jungkook has chosen.

You’re dancing with the most handsome boy in the room – Jin’s son – when Jimin swoops you away from the small boy and leaves the giggling toddler with Hoseok.

“Jealous of a two-year-old?” you tease him while he cuddles your back once you’re both off the dance floor. Jimin hums, his head resting on your shoulder and you laugh a little at his lack of response.

“Y/N,” Jimin whispers to you after a while, intertwining the fingers of your left hand with his, “I love you. So much.”

You smile, the emotions of the wedding getting the best of you as tears prick your eyes for the umpteenth time today, “I know. I love you too.”

Weeks later, after your honeymoon, the two of you buy your own house. You’re moving in almost immediately, with the amazing help of your friends and family. And you spend the evening in the backyard of the house, lying on blankets upon the slightly damp grass. And Jimin’s hand holds yours as you stare at the stars above you.

“You’re brighter than all of the stars.”

Nights of tangled sheets and intertwined bodies lead to nine months of growing a life inside of you. Jimin’s small hands are always on your swollen abdomen, cooing sweet words and singing softly whenever he can.

And then it happens, at fucking four in the morning.

It’s the contractions that wake you up, and you walk out of bed to the living room, waiting a little in the room in case it’s another series of Braxton Hicks rather than the real deal.

You’re in the living room for about an hour before you’re sure that, yes, it’s got to be the real deal. You’ve had one cup of tea to perhaps calm you down but that only helped momentarily, now feeling more anxious about the little life that may come within the day.

You get up toward your room to wake Jimin up. You feel a little guilty, since he’s been working a lot recently with his current creative project and he deserves his sleep – but it takes two to tango and he’s just as responsible for the small life inside you as you are. As you’re walking to the room, however, you feel something wet trickle down your legs.

Oh, fuck.

All your guilt flies out the window as you shake Jimin awake. He stirs a little before sleepily looking at you, then the digital clock on the bedside table, and then back at you. His half-asleep brain doesn’t click on yet, and he mumbles a quiet, “are you okay?”

You don’t even beat around the bush, “my water broke.”

And suddenly, Jimin is wide awake, eyes wide like saucers and bolting out of bed. He’s flustered, rushing around the room, grabbing things and throwing them into a large bag, asking you question after question, “do we need more clothes? How many nights will you be staying at the maternity ward? Shit, what if it’s too cold and we don’t have enough-”

“Jimin!” you yell, getting his attention and snapping him out of his rush. You take a deep breath before gritting out, “let’s just get in the fucking car. We can deal with this other shit later.”

You don’t have to tell him twice. He just nods, grabs your hand, and walks with you toward the car. He doesn’t rush you or anything, despite his small hands shaking in fear and anticipation. You both get in the car and Jimin drives you to the hospital, one of his hands holding yours while the other holds the steering wheel. His hand squeezes yours tighter every time you wince in pain.

Once you’re in the maternity ward, you wait. You get changed, take a bath, pace a little, and you’ve probably waited at least three hours when baby finally decides to come.

Childbirth is painful. You manage to scream every curse word you know and throw them at Jimin, who takes all the curse words like strong brick wall, holding your hand and cooing sweet words at you as he brushes your hair away from your sweaty forehead with his other hand.

“You’re doing amazing, beautiful,” he says, as you grip him harder with a scream. He tries not to wince at the pain, knowing that the pain you’re going through would be worse than any you’d put him through. He wishes that it was possible to transfer pain from you to him. Instead, he tries to be as supportive as he possibly can be.

And then, baby is finally out, a healthy cry sounding around the room. When Jimin’s eyes rest on the crying baby girl – it’s a girl! – his eyes brim with tears. He gets to cut the umbilical cord, and his hand shake as he does so.

You’re the first to hold her, of course, to get the skinship that mother and child needs. You start to cry, which almost makes Jimin cry too.

Jimin doesn’t actually cry though, until he’s finally holding his daughter in his arms a few minutes later, cleaned and wrapped in a towel. The tears fall naturally, as soon as the small body is placed in his arms.

She’s so small that he’s afraid he’s going to break her. He doesn’t trust his shaking hands to hold the baby properly. But seeing her in his arms, so small, so little, so tiny, Jimin promises to himself that he’s going to protect his precious little girl forever.

Jimin loves his daughter’s little hands. With every minute he can get with her, he has a finger of his wrapped by one of her tiny little hands. Every moment he has, he locks it in.

Most nights, you’ll walk into the nursery, and your heart will squeeze every time you see Jimin with your little baby girl on his chest, both sleeping soundly on the rocking chair. You’ll walk up to them, kiss them both on their foreheads, and cover them both with a soft blanket. You’ll coo at the little hand gripping the pinky of the small hand.

Goodnight. I love you both.

[homenum-revelio-hq]

Welcome (again) to the Order of the Phoenix, Ashley!

You have been accepted for the role of PETER PETTIGREW, with your requested faceclaim change to Nico Mirallegro! We really enjoyed reading your application! We particularly liked how you didn’t go down the route of Peter didn’t have a choice, but instead owned that he did have a choice and made the wrong one. We absolutely agree that he should be included in all things Marauders because he was a Marauder and that’s what made the betrayal so heartbreaking! Can’t wait to see what you bring to this character!

Please take a look at the new member checklist and send in your account within 24 hours! Thank you for joining the fight against Voldemort!

OUT OF CHARACTER:

NAME: Ashley

AGE: 25+

TIMEZONE: EST

ACTIVITY LEVEL: I work part time, but I’m either always on my phone or online after work.

ANYTHING ELSE: N/A

CHARACTER DETAILS:

NAME: Peter Pettigrew

AGE: 21

GENDER, PRONOUNS, and SEXUALITY: CIS Male, He/Him, Confused - Peter has always assumed that he’s a straight man, but that he would never actually be with someone; who would want someone like him? However, that doesn’t mean that both women and men haven’t caught his eye before; he’s just never admitted that to anyone, or even to himself, because that’s not the way to survive. As far as he’s concerned, he’s going to be single the rest of his life, and his sexuality isn’t ever going to matter.

BLOOD STATUS: Half-Blood

HOUSE ALUMNI: Gryffindor

ANY CHANGES: I’d like to use Nico Mirallegro as his FC.

CHARACTER BACKGROUND:

PERSONALITY: 

Self-Reliant; it was something that from practically day one Peter Pettigrew had to try and become, and it was something he hated, something that was so prevalent as a child that it felt like a constant weight on his shoulders; even though that was exactly what had saved him, and what had kept him alive thus far. As a child, it had kept him alive, had kept him away from the bullies, had kept him from going under. Always having to be one step ahead, one thought ahead, planning for the next step and the one after that. If he didn’t rely on himself, then he’d have never made it to Hogwarts. Self-reliance isn’t something that normally comes to mind when one thinks of Peter Pettigrew; and that not being the first thought, that’s exactly how Peter likes it. How can anyone know that he’s one step ahead, when they don’t think he can plan his next meal on his own?

The true hatstall was right; and perhaps Peter would have fit more with Slytherin than Gryffindor. After all, there is a certain amount of cunning that has to go into planning three steps ahead to make sure that you survive, right? However, having met those boys on the train, Peter had felt as if they would be the ones to keep him safe, to help him survive the next series of years at school. He’d already been bullied enough as a child before school, and he didn’t want to end up getting bullied his entire career at Hogwarts too. Sure, his first thoughts about the rest of the Marauders were that they would be the ones to keep him safe; but that didn’t mean his love for them was any less as he got to know them, nor that he didn’t truly want to be friends with them. His desperation to be in Gryffindor with them wasn’t just to survive, but because he felt like he needed to be with his friends; his first true friends that he’d ever had before.

Peter played stupid; it was a choice he made, because if he was stupid and always needing help, no one would want to rely on him or ask him for anything, right? And, he always thought that if it was shown he needed his friends and needed their help, they’d be more likely to stick around. For the first two years at Hogwarts, this game plan worked well; the other students and teachers thought he was stupid and an awful student, but because he hung around with the other Marauders, the other students became much less likely to bother him. His friends kept him safe. They also made him realize that he didn’t have to keep playing stupid around them, not that any of the teachers would ever believe he wasn’t still getting a ton of help, however.

The truth was though, that Peter wasn’t stupid. He wasn’t a squib, he wasn’t a hopeless case, and he wasn’t far below his fellow Marauders. After all, he’d helped in their quest to become Animagi, he’d helped with the creation of the Marauder’s Map, and he’d helped with so many of the pranks that they’d pulled. He wasn’t a genius or anything, but he had proved himself rather useful, at least to his friends, and well; if he had been completely useless, would they really have allowed him to stick around and continued to be friends with him?

However, Peter doesn’t believe that he has anywhere near the courage or bravery that his friends posses, and he’s convinced that the only reason the hat was kind enough to let him be in Gryffindor was because he was terrified to be without his friends. All that the hat told him about inner courage and such, it just seemed like a cop out to him. Peter doesn’t think that he’s brave at all. He’s never stood up to his mother, or to the bullies from his childhood, nor the ones at Hogwarts, and he’d easily participated in bullying Snape. He’s always just kept his head down and gone along with things, because it’s the safer option, because that’s what it takes to survive, and survival is what Peter cares about the most.

Very fearful and almost constantly anxious, Peter can easily be come off as shy and reserved to those that don’t know him super well like the Marauders, and that’s the way he wants it. He can appear almost anti-social or apathetic in situations that don’t directly involve him or his survival. It’s easy for others to think that he’s forgetful or foolish, though he does his best to stay useful. Useful to his friends and the Order so they don’t suspect him and turn on him, and useful to the dark lord so he doesn’t kill him. He’s terrified of both, and so weak-willed and desperate to survive that he can’t come clean to his friends and ask for help.

Eventually even, he’s come to believe that his friends really are above him; he’d already always thought they were braver than him, but they had to be smarter than him, stronger than him, all around just better than he was. He was losing faith in his own abilities, and starting to believe everything that so many others were saying; that he was so far below the other Marauders, that he shouldn’t bother. And if everyone else was saying it about the boys he idolized so much, it had to be the truth then, didn’t it? He loves them, so they have to be better than him.

BRIEF OVERVIEW OF FAMILY:

Thistley Pettigrew was a young witch who grew up in her family home in Scotland. She was the apple of her parents eyes, pampered and treated as if she’d never have to have a care in the world. She went to Hogwarts and was a proud Slytherin, much to the surprise of her Gryffindor and Ravenclaw parents. Still, they loved their daughter more than anything and the three were very close. That was why, when they passed only a few months after she graduated from Hogwarts, it was so completely devastating to Thistley. She spent weeks mourning in the family home, before feeling as if she needed to get out; and so she began to travel and drink, partying as if she were trying to drown out the memories and forget the pain completely.

That was where she met Dalziel. It took awhile before she even learned his last name, not thinking it much important at all. He was a drinking buddy and a friend, an older man by seven years, who let her crash with him and who got her back safe when she’d gotten completely wasted. It went from drinking buddy, to friend, to friends with benefits, and Thistley was sure that she was starting to fall in love with the man. He was just what the pureblood needed, despite him being a muggle. She wanted him to stay with her, needed him to stay with her; he took care of her and made her feel as if her parents were right, that she wouldn’t have to have a care, because she would be taken care of. Who needed work when you had a man ready to provide for you?

It was when she became pregnant that things took a turn. Thistley had never wanted children, but Dalziel’s attention had started to wander towards other girls, girls younger than her age of twenty. She had to get the attention back on her, she had to keep him from leaving her; and so, she’d made sure that they weren’t as careful as they’d always been, and gotten herself pregnant. She was ecstatic, already thinking of them moving back to her family home and raising their child together, feeling as if she’d just won the lottery. But Dalziel… he hadn’t wanted children either, and when she announced that she was pregnant, he’d begun to look for a way out.

It was towards the end of her being seven months along that Dalziel left one night to get them food and he didn’t return. Thistley had fallen asleep, exhausted from the pregnancy, and awoken to find that he still hadn’t come back. She felt like she couldn’t be too concerned; he was having a child with her, he had to come back, didn’t he? But days went by and she didn’t hear from him, couldn’t find him. She didn’t leave the apartment though, desperately hoping that he would come back, and when she went into labor, she was sure that he would be at the hospital with her.

He wasn’t. He didn’t show up at the hospital, and Thistley was devastated. When she was finally ready to go home, she couldn’t go back to the apartment if he wasn’t there, and so she left a note for him, hoping he’d see it if he returned and that he would join her at her family home. She went there with her little boy, her little Peter. She’d named him, and in a fit of angry at Dalziel not being there for them, decided not to use his last name. Instead, she gave him her own last name, vowing that once his father returned, she’d change it for him. He was her darling little boy, her ticket to getting her love back, and Dalziel would return, he had to.

A year went by, and Dalziel never returned. Thistley was never able to find him, and it wore on her. Here she was now, a single mother of a small baby, living in a large building that felt less like a home anymore and more like a prison. It was in need of repair, and she was in need of money. She found a girl who was willing to babysit for her and watch Peter while she worked, and she was more than glad to hand off the small child to someone else. She’d started to resent her child, and she didn’t have time to take care of him or focus on him, not when she had to begin working and getting things back together for her life. She was tired, angry at the world, and upset at the fact that people looked at her as if she were garbage.

The babysitter seemed to care about as much as his mother did. She took care of the boy, of course, making sure he was bathed and fed and was learning to talk and walk as he grew… but it was a job and not her own child. It was at that point, as he began to get old enough to learn and do things on his own, that Peter had to really learn to become self-reliant. His mother was always busy and rarely had time to even speak to her child, and the babysitter had started becoming more interested in sneaking around the home with her boyfriend than actually watching over the child she was supposed to be taking care of. It was only a few years that she was even there, since she rarely got paid and finally had enough.

Peter learned quickly to take care of himself. It weight heavily on the young boy’s shoulders, and he vowed that once he was older… once he was older, he would have help. He wouldn’t have to be so self-sufficient. He’d have people to take care of him and do things for him. He wouldn’t have to worry about being safe, or fearing for his life because he had to go into town on his own; he’d have people that would protect him unlike his mother, and who would make sure he was safe and alive. Survival was his main focus, and it was learning to think two steps ahead and always trying to figure out the next outcome that would become ingrained in his mind.

He’d once tried to ask his mother about his father; because well, what child wouldn’t be interested in the parent that wasn’t there, wanting to know why he wasn’t. Had he died? Left them? It had eaten away at him for so long, and finally he’d asked, but he hadn’t gotten the answer he expected. His mother had brushed him off like it didn’t matter, telling him that she didn’t know the man’s last name, and that it wasn’t important anyway. Peter was so surprised by it, and off put by his mother’s reaction, that he was too scared to ever ask her about it again, despite wanting to desperately find the man.

When it was his turn to go to Hogwarts, his mother was actually very surprised that he’d even gotten his letter; she hadn’t realized that her son had any magical talent, though that was probably because she hadn’t paid much attention to him at all. All Peter wanted was to go and learn enough to keep himself safe and alive. If he could learn enough for that, that was all that mattered. He wasn’t a leader, he didn’t want to go in and run things, he didn’t want to be some superstar… all he wanted was to be accepted by someone, to be included and feel like, for once in his life, he wasn’t completely alone. All he wanted was to survive.

OCCUPATION: Peter is a Potioneer at the Apothecary in Diagon Alley.

ROLE WITHIN THE ORDER/THOUGHTS ABOUT THE ORDER:

Peter never wanted to join the Order. He wasn’t a huge supporter of the cause, he didn’t want to fight… but the others had joined, and who was he to disagree? They weren’t in the dorm anymore, and he was terrified that them being apart would mean they would leave him behind. Losing his friends would have been devastating to him, and so, as with everything else, he followed along without question. But he isn’t convinced that in the end, they’re going to come out on top. He gets it. The others are passionate about the cause, they’re so concerned with what’s right and wrong, and they want to fight for those rights for everyone. They want to save the world, and it doesn’t surprise Peter at all. His friends especially have always had the gumption to do just that, and the belief that they can and will. But he isn’t convinced that it’s going to work, and he’s scared of what the outcome could be. Of course he wants things to turn out right… but he doesn’t want to have to give his life in order to make that happen. He wants to live. He’s not even sure that they’re not all wasting their time with the Order, or if it’s not all going to crumble around them, and very soon. Him betraying them is just loosening the stones in the foundation, and he can’t help but be torn between the thoughts of ‘this was already happening’ and ‘I’m the one that’s bringing it down’.

SURVIVAL:

Peter survives because he’s become a double agent. He’s made himself useful to both sides, and therefore whichever side is winning, that’s the side he’s going to jump ship to. It’s a heartbreaking idea to him, and he can feel the guilt gnawing away at his insides, but he knows it’s what he has to do. He has to be able to survive, and that means doing things he doesn’t want to do. No matter what, he’s going to live; even if that means he has to destroy those he loves in order to do it. He’s useful to the Order by his profession, and the fact that the Marauders are there and he’s one of them. He’s useful to the Dark Lord because he’s an inside man and can pass on things from the Order. He feels like he has protection from both sides, and as long as those two sides don’t figure out what he’s doing… then he’s going to be alright. But having to lie to his friends, and having to be careful around the Dark Lord, it’s taking a toll. He wishes that he had been stronger, that he had been brave or courageous for once in his life… but that wasn’t to be, and now he just has to live with what he’s done.

He’s currently in a very small apartment in London. His mother didn’t want him coming back to the family home, not when she finally had the house to herself again, and so he’d scrounged up enough money to move out, and now has his own little apartment. To him, it’s a blessing, because he can actually rest and relax there. However, he does miss the dorm room so much, and it can get incredibly lonely for him being on his own. It’s warmly decorated, and he’s got so many blankets; on the couch, on his bed, on the chair, almost as if he’s using the blankets to nest in to feel safer.

RELATIONSHIPS:

Peter loves his friends almost more than anything, the only thing he cares about more is, well, himself. Still, the Marauders mean the world to him, and he looks up to them so much. They’ve always been, in his view, the best people in the entire world. They’re smarter than him, stronger than him, braver than him, and all around better; at least he’s convinced himself of this. He still almost doesn’t understand why they’d be friends with someone like him. Still, he loves them. He’s always been close with Remus, admired Sirius, and looked up to James. He could talk for hours about how great they are, and yet, here he is betraying them. He feels guilty and wishes he could just confide in them, that he could just tell them what he’s done and break down and ask for help… but he’s too far in at this point to stop it, and he’s convinced that even if they did find out, they wouldn’t help him; they’d just turn on him for it taking this long for him to do anything. So, that option is off the table, and it breaks his heart. For now, the only way he’s staying above water is lying to them, and that’s going to be how it has to go. It’s the same for the others in the Order. Peter cares for them, he’s watched them fight and struggle to survive, just as he’s doing. But he can’t sacrifice himself to keep them alive. So, as much as he looks up to all of them, and wants to be close and friends with them as well, he can’t help but keep that thought in the back of his head, 'I have to survive first’.

OOC EXPLORATION:

SHIPS/ANTI-SHIPS: Peter/Chemistry is what I ship, although Peter is really not seemingly interested in anything romantic at this point, and may not be; not when there’s a war and his survival has to come first, and not when he’s sure no one will ever want him.

WHAT PRIVILEGES AND BIASES DOES YOUR CHARACTER HAVE?

Being that his mother is a pureblood and that he, and most others, don’t know who his father is, Peter gets away with being a half-blood that thinks his father was also a wizard, not a muggle. His mother has basically insisted that his father was also a wizard, though only a half-blood, so that Peter wouldn’t have the 'stain’ of having a muggle for a father. Listening to his mother, Peter didn’t have the best opinion of muggles growing up. However, meeting muggleborns like Lily and stepping further out into the world instead of his family home, Peter’s eyes opened up more and he’s much more accepting than he was before. Yes, he still has the occasional slip-ups where he says something biased or rude, but he’s still learning. The hardest thing for him now is the fact that he’s around the Death Eaters that talk so badly about muggles and muggleborns, and it’s hard for him sometimes to remember to keep those thoughts out of his head except when he’s with them. After all, he doesn’t want to slip up in front of Lily when he adores her so much, and he doesn’t want her to hate him.

It’s hard for him to keep both worlds separate sometimes, going between the open minded thoughts of the real him, being with the order and his friends (i.e. being completely fine with werewolves, because obviously he became an Animagi to help Remus and stay with him during a full moon, being okay with muggles because of being around them and such, etc.) but also, going back to the close-minded feelings he has to get in his head with the Death Eaters. Having to hate muggles and muggleborns, having to dislike werewolves, having to think purebloods are better than everyone else. Those thoughts burrow deep, and it’s hard to shake them. Still, as a white, CIS man, Peter seems like he can get away with a little bit more; that and the fact that he’s learned to just keep his mouth shut and not say anything at all, well, that makes more sense.

WHAT ARE YOU MOST LOOKING FORWARD TO?

Peter has never been my favorite Marauder, by far. However, I’ve always had a soft spot for him, especially after the way he’s always treated in the fandom. Yes, he was awful in his later years and there’s no denying that. However, he was still a Marauder. He still was their friend. He still was one of them, no matter how much anyone wants to try and erase it or leave him out of all the edits and stories, etc, that they make. So really, I’m just mostly looking forward to getting to play him. Getting to show that there’s more to Peter Pettigrew than just the “evil man who turned on the people who cared for him”, and getting to play out the fact that he’s torn between two worlds and that he’s just desperately trying to survive, and so misguided that he thinks the only way to survive is to step on those he loves. I’m looking forward to playing out all the different sides of him, and to show that he’s such a complex character, and that maybe if he’d just been treated differently, or things had been handled different, it wouldn’t have turned out the way it did for him or anyone else.

[laythornmuse]

Captor, Chapter 8, Part 2

Claire felt her face flush several degrees of red as he pulled her closer until her breasts were pushed against his chest and her fingers dug into the muscles of his shoulders.

“But it was your brazen courage that made me fall for ye, Claire. Surrounded by six men twice the size of you, you would not surrender your charge until you saw her pass safely. Your eyes glowed like coal embers, and I swore to myself then to be worthy of you, so you’d turn that gaze on me.”

Claire’s mouth fell open in her surprise as she considered Jamie’s words. She paused to collect herself before she spoke.

“Mary was so young and so frightened,” she whispered. “I didn’t know her for very long, but I made a promise to stay with her, and I would not abandon it.” She swept her eyes up to him. “In that moment, I saw nothing but my death, and my promise. I’m not sure that counts as bravery.”

“I disagree, Sorcha,” Jamie asked. His hand swept over her cheek as he dipped his head to hers. “It takes fortitude and guile to stand by your word instead of fleeing. As it is, I’ve scared ye senseless since we’ve met and yet here you stand.”

“Just that first night,” Claire answered, with a grin. She let her eyes drop to their interlaced fingers. She felt like a contradiction in this man’s arms: a part of her felt hurried and impatient while also feeling like she could sustain herself forever by merely touching him. Her fingers tugged at his coat, pulling him closer so she could tuck her head beneath his chin. “I’ve grown rather fond of you, Jamie.”

“Och,” Jamie muttered into her curls. “Ye grow fond of hounds, lass. I hope to be more to ye.”

“More?” Claire whispered into his neck, letting her breath tease a path to her ear.

“Mmhmm,” he murmured against her mouth. “Come now. It’s nearly time.”

Jamie led her back to their boulder and tucked her between limbs and plaid. Together they watched the last of dusk fall into the deep darkness of night before the sky glowed with brilliant shades of green and silver, purple and gold.

“Oh Jamie,” Claire whispered. “It’s beautiful…”

The Northern Lights, a phenomenon her uncle had spoken of in passing, was beautiful to witness in the northern Scottish sky. Jamie’s arms held her close to his chest as her head fell back against his shoulder.

“Aye, tis. You can see it most clearly in the early winter months. I was hoping we’d have a clear night for ye…” His words trailed off as her eyes met his. She entwined her fingers with the hands around her and pressed a soft kiss to his lips.

“Thank you,” she whispered against his lips. Jamie kissed her in answer and felt his blood quickened from her heat. Pressed close, their kiss deepened and Jamie’s hands took up their earlier work of loosening her stays. He felt her hands tangle in his curls as his tongue grew needy and slipped to her neck. Soft mews reached his ears and he groaned his approval as she straddled his lap and move her hips against his.

”You’re testing my restraint, Claire.”

“Then be rid of it,” Claire answered. “I want you, Jamie.”

She rucked up his kilt and slid closer, but felt his hand intervene.

”Nay, we can’t. Not here,” he murmured against her lips. She began to protest but he silenced her with a kiss. “I won’t be taking your virginity on the cold ground. Let’s head home, aye?”

Claire felt her heart swell as he pressed his forehead to hers. She nodded quickly and pressed her lips to his shoulder, feeling overwhelmed by his tenderness. Yes, he was the closest thing to home she’d felt in years.

They dismounted a short distance from camp, expecting to find most bedded down for the evening. Instead, a small crowd had gathered around the chief’s tent, with raised words being thrown between the parties involved. Jamie saw Alex in the fray and immediately started for the crowd, with Claire a step behind him.

“You’ve traded her to me enough times that I thought you’d be agreeable, Alex,” said a large brown haired Scot. Claire recalled his name was Will. “She’s happier with me, and you can go about finding another-”

“I’ll no have it!” Alex roared. “She is mine to do with as I wish, and if I use her to pay my debts then it is my choice to do so.”

“That was your right until I got her with child,” Will said evenly. “She’s been given a choice to come to me, and she’s agreed.”

Jamie stepped into the circle and transformed in the firepit’s light, his gentle features turning to steel as he took in the men’s words.

“Alex you knew the risk you took in sharing her,” Jamie said evenly. “Will is within his right, and no one else has touched her.”

“And what if it’s mine then?” Alex sneered, turning his venom toward his cousin. “The child could be mine after all.”

“He hasn’t lain with me in months—” Helen said, but quickly shrunk behind Will as Alex moved to strike her. James stepped forward, neatly intercepting Alex and turning him towards his tent before motioning to Will.

Claire startled when Helen appeared at her side, slipping her hand into her own. She’d been staring at the spot the men stood while arguing, and Alex’s tone had frozen her in place. His words reminded her of men she’d overheard in her past, those who would drop women off by the Nuns prayer house as if they were debris. She’d hold their hands while the nuns worked to comfort them, heal their ailing bodies if possible, or offer prayers if it wasn’t.

Helen’s hand felt like Mary’s and at that moment Claire realized that Alex’s hatred was not reserved for the English.

***

Jamie didn’t return to their tent for several hours, and though Claire told herself to sleep, her mind spun with questions for him. When he finally slumped through their tent flap, his expression was dark and irritable.

Claire didn’t say a word as she watched him from the bed, her eyes following him as he undressed with less care than he usually took. Finally, he approached the bed, his eyes widening upon seeing her awake.

“You should be asleep,” he whispered, sliding in beside her. “Come now, let’s…”

“Why did he share her, Jamie?”

The words burst from her mouth against her will. She knew he was exhausted but the last few hours had proved a living nightmare for her. She needed answers.

Jamie let out a breath, and she could tell he was searching for words and was coming up short.

“I canna explain why,” Jamie whispered. “Maybe they weren’t well suited, or…”

“But he…he whored her out to pay debts? What kind of debts?”

Jamie was still beside her as he listened. He bit his lip and shook his head. “Nothing of consequence. The men gamble from time to time, playing cards. But some don’t know when to back from a game.”

Claire felt tears prick at her eyes as she wiped furiously at them, a rage building within her that left her hands shaking.

“Would you—”

“No. Claire, look at me.”

Claire choked on a sob, but slowly brought her eyes up to his. His hand cupped her chin and his gaze visibly softened.

“Alex is young and carries demons of his own, but it’s a frowned upon and rare practice for the reason you saw tonight.” Jamie bowed his head to meet her eyes. “You dinna need to fear that of me. Not ever, do you understand?”

Claire nodded as she let Jamie pull her close. He murmured softly to her in Gaelic as he ran his fingers through her hair and looped his free arm around her waist. Claire buried her face into his shoulder and neck, and let herself cry out her frustration, anger, and sadness for Helen, and for the other women’s bedsides, she’d sat beside. Jamie didn’t question her tears just as he didn’t question her anger. He accepted them and held her through it until she quieted and calmed. Only then did his fingers begin to poke at her side.

“I thought I explicitly told ye to sleep naked…” he said with an exaggerated sigh. Claire felt his smirk against her brow and couldn’t help the one that pulled at her lips.

“The bed was too cold without you. I had to wear clothes,” Claire answered, her eyes blinking coquettishly at him.

“Mmhmm. Weel, I suppose I can’t argue with you dressing for bed when You’re alone. Dinna forget my preference though.” His hands tugged at her sleeves and a moment later he had her shift off her and thrown on the floor.

His lips pressed to her softly, weighing that perhaps she’d changed her mind given the events of the evening, or was now too tired to let him love her body…

“Will you have me, Claire?” He asked.

Claire pulled him down on top of her and bit his bottom lip. “Only if you stop making me wait.”