#<- forgive me the character tag I merely wish this post to find people who know about the fellow.

[chiropteracupola]

okay hello everyone. Does anyone know anything about what kind of hat it is that Tharkay has.

[candorarchives]

Confession

Author’s note: This is Part 1. Apparently things were getting way too long and I was having too much fun. Might post the second part when the mood strikes. “And now...we wait,” I muttered under my breath. The clothing given to me was passable, but fitted badly on my form. It was made for someone with more mass than I did. Usually, I’d like the quiet, but the lack of sound was more unsettling than anyone would have anticipated. 

The confession booth was rather dark, a small light illuminating the inside. Though there were holes for light to pass through, this wasn’t enough. It kept whoever was inside hidden from sight, yet seeing the congregant confessing in plain view. I was never raised Catholic, so its significance is unfortunately lost on me. But the psychological phenomena was not. 

Humans, in their constant search for meaning, have propped up the belief in the divine. A means to avoid being accountable—a reason to resign themselves to fate. To have a semblance of wrong and right that won’t necessarily make absolute sense. 

But who watches over the arbiters of sin? Men of the cloth, clothed in black yet none know what their souls are made of. I came here to learn their ways—to uncover the truths hidden beneath their rites and rituals. Nothing out of the ordinary yet. The worst I’ve heard is some priests talking over what was the worst thing they’ve heard out of a confession booth. 

I pity their congregants. 

Currently, there haven’t been many people going to confession. I’ve had the routine memorized already. Get the person to say the prayer of contrition, listen to them confess their sins, and provide means of making penance. It’s a bit similar to actual psychotherapy—just more of a legalistic affair. 

Footsteps grew louder as a small line started to form near the confession booth. I have been working for about two weeks now—but the feeling is something akin to a month. The patterns have become familiar, like knowing how to read notes. The steps have become piano pieces. Regular visitors were becoming more and more obvious by the day. 

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.” A feminine voice graced my ear. One too familiar for my liking. “I’ve never confessed in my life, Father...but I aim to rectify this today.” 

I say the usual things, but there’s a lack of authenticity to it. “Speak, my child.” 

“I’ve been thinking...about someone. I don’t see them often, you see.” Her tone takes a solemn approach—but we both know she’s not used to being here. “And, Father—my heart grows fonder for them every single day. They light a fire in me that I cannot quench, and this....has led me down a dark path.” 

The fact that I couldn’t discern for certain that she was making this all up was most concerning. It was even worse that she sounded so sincere...have I lost? Has someone taken her from me already? No. That cannot be. It cannot be. “Continue,” I said whilst trying to compose myself. 

“I longed for him each day, but never tried to approach. It took so long for me to gain the initiative—but worst of all...I started to be….” The rest was unintelligible. Whoever has gained the upper hand from me...he’s gotten her wrapped under his thumb. To get her to stutter and blush at the mere mention of your name...how quaint. “Well...you get the point. It all started when Mr Wing had asked me to send a package to this man…” 

Oh no. 

The realization hit, her narrative unfolding. “He was setting up a card tower….” It was her psychological evaluation. I’m surprised that she remembers it as if it happened yesterday. But I’m getting ahead of myself. The difference between confessing to a priest and confiding in one’s therapist is that the latter has better solutions to fix the issues at hand. A priest is more often than not ready and willing to blame it on one’s spiritual failings than a psychological problem that can be overcome. 

“Though I racked my brain, there was no plausible way the cards would fall.” The goal was never to keep the tower in place. Though I did admire her tenacity for the former. That day she had already proven herself to me...and yet I could not find enough evidence to convince myself that confession was the endgame. 

She was still in the middle of the narrative. “The ensuing nights led me into quite the dreamscape, Father.” Long story short, the dream she was describing was both lucid and made me question for how long she had been harboring these feelings. It took my entire being to control myself—knowing the consequences if I lost control now. You can ask her about it later, just focus on the mission, Richter. Let’s just say it’s not helping that I’m listening to someone describing body parts that shouldn’t be out in the open. “My dear, such dirty thoughts...a more...intense purification is needed it seems.” 

“What do you mean, Father? Shan’t a fervent recitation of the Rosary not do? I could do community service, serve the parish—I don’t understand.” 

Honestly, I could not continue the conversation. Was I succumbing to the darkness yet again? Or awakening it? I could not ascertain. The detective game was one thing, getting into character was easy, but this? I was grasping at straws at this point. “The sins you’ve committed are not so easily absolved, dear.” 

The initiation ceremony flashed, almost in a blink of an eye. I remember having to watch this innocent woman give confession, the priest inside the booth looking flush in the face. But his lust emanated into the hall...and the rest was history. Something I’d wish to forget, yes, but history nonetheless. 

Her voice brought me back to the present day—more of a reminder of the grim reality that faced us. We were playing roles, I a priest about to pounce, and her the innocent damsel in distress. The fact that she was this brings about an unexplained heaviness. A part of me screams to sneak out of the booth and not bring it up, but the information is so close. It’s in my grasp, give it a day, I just have to…. 

Rosa, could you ever forgive me? 

“Father? Am I...am I damned forever?” The fear in her voice heightens. If I didn’t know it was her I’d be honestly worried. “Have I become so unclean that not even Christ can cleanse me?”

To be continued... Tagging @gloryofluv who has been screeching at me to get this posted lmao

[fallin-4-ya]

The Follies and Vices of You

cedric diggory x reader- part ii of series 

based off the novel and film ‘Pride and Prejudice’ by Jane Austen

summary: Being the beloved sister of the incredibly wealthy Mr. Potter, you felt no need to rush into marriage. But one day, when you come to meet a new acquaintance, the proud Mr. Diggory, your views of love and follies change.

warnings: none! (gif is not mine, credit to owner!)

part i, part ii, part iii, part iv, part v

‘Maybe it’s that I find it hard to forgive the follies and vices of others, or their offenses against me. My good opinion, once lost, is lost forever.’ -Jane Austen 

With the arrival of fall, so came the arrival of new companions. Mr. Draco Malfoy, a cousin of your Godfather, came to stay with you and your family at the estate; due to the management of Malfoy Manor, after the passing of his father. These manners having to be settled with Mr. Sirius Black, you had grown quite acquainted to each other over the autumn months.

While with each passing day, came new agreements and new events that had to be attended to; there was just one that you impatiently waited for, the Winter Ball. It was a marvelous party held by the Weasley Family, and was an invitation only event ensuring that only anybody who was anyone could attend. It was rather a charming way of making new friends.

One day, dining with your family and Mr. Malfoy, you received the invitation to the Winter Ball. Unable to hold back excitement, you eagerly stated, ‘Oh, look! Our invitation has finally arrived! Miss Ginerva and I have been at an utmost excitement for this event. Mr. Malfoy, you will come won’t you? There is music and dancing with such a marvelous atmosphere. It really is such a great way to make new friends!’

‘Miss Y/N, nothing would exhilarate me more than attending a wonderful party with wonderful people.’ Mr. Malfoy replied.

‘Splendid! As though I do wish the dreaded Mr. Diggory would not come and spoil the evening-‘

‘Mr. Diggory did you say, Miss Y/N? I haven’t known him to be in this part of the country.’

‘Why yes! He has been a resident at the Weasley Estate since the summer, doing business with Mr. Fred and George. Its unknown when he will be finished. Mr. Malfoy, pardon my asking, do you know of Mr. Diggory?’

‘Yes, my father and his were very closely acquainted. They did much business together when we were children. Mr. Diggory and I were very close friends growing up. He borrowed some money from us, quite some time ago before he inherited his fortune. However, he was unable to pay us back in a timely fashion. We had a falling out quite some time after that.’

You sunk into your seat a bit. Mr. Diggory, a man fed by pride, not abide by the rules of business, you questioned to yourself. Strange, the carelessness of men.

The next day you were expected to attend afternoon tea with Miss Ginny. Taking the pleasure of welcoming yourself into their home you went to the parlor, where tea was normally served. But rather than seeing Miss Ginny, you walked in on a reading Mr. Diggory. He caught your eye and immediately stood awkwardly, ‘Miss Y/N, what a surprise. How are you this day?’ he managed to stammer out.

‘Mr. Diggory, very well. Thank you, may I ask you the same?’

‘Fine, thank you.’ He replied. You both stood not exactly knowing what to say to each other, tensions were rising and words did not come easy.’

‘Er- Mr. Diggory, where may I find Miss Ginerva?’

‘Oh yes. She’s in the dining room. Fine seeing you, Miss Y/N.’

You nodded quietly and left the room, heading for the kitchens. I don’t think I will ever understand the brains of men, you told yourself.

The afternoon went by rather quickly, as you chatted with such a gracious friend; and you could not but help to tell Miss Ginny about the information you found out the previous night.

‘Did you know, Ginny, that Mr. Diggory had relations with my Godfather’s cousin, Mr. Draco Malfoy. A very handsome young fellow. Apparently, Diggory borrowed money from him some time ago and never paid the poor family back. Very questionable if you ask me.’

‘Very questionable indeed.’ Pondered Miss Ginny, ‘Perhaps, you also ought to know as well that Mr. Diggory had a late sister. She was very young when she passed, just shy of fourteen. I heard it was an illness that struck her.’

‘Really!’ you said shocked, ‘A Miss Diggory! How very unfortunate. How sad as well.’

You thanked Miss Ginny for the tea and began to head home. Mr. Diggory was perhaps the strangest character you were to meet.

The ball at Weasley Estate came much faster than anticipated. After dressing in a beautiful silky, white gown and having your hair twisted and plaited into an updo, it was time to go. The general splendor of the ball was much greater than it seemed to be in years prior. The entire ballroom was adorned in gold decorations, and a beautiful orchestra played in the ballroom while numerous couples were dancing in the center. You quickly found your friend Ginny. Between chatting away with her and dancing with the company of Mr. Malfoy and your Godfather, you were having the most wonderful time. While walking through the corridors, arm in arm with Miss Ginny, you were met by the tall, handsome figure of Mr. Diggory.

‘Miss Y/N.’

‘Mr. Diggory.’ You bowed.

‘May I have the next dance?’ he said staright faced.

‘You may.’ You both bowed and you and Ginny scurried to the nearest empty hallway.

‘Did Mr. Diggory just ask me to dance?’ Ginny nodded, ‘And did I say yes?’ Ginny nodded even more excitedly, ‘Well, isn’t that convenient, considering I vowed to detest him for the whole of my life.’ You both broke out into a fit of giggles.

You soon found yourself face to face with Mr. Diggory in the ballroom. The orchestra began playing and the dancing started. ‘Beautiful evening. I must urge you that I’ve never seen a ball be more mesmerizing.’ You observed to start conversation.

‘Indeed. Though I have seen more impressive in my days.’

‘You are quite difficult to please, Mr. Diggory, even more so to make out.’

‘May I ask, Miss Y/N, what you are to mean by that. Or should I expect you to keep your motives most secretive.’ He steadily responded.

‘Nothing of the sort. Just that I find it excruciatingly difficult to make out your character. As while your stature is nothing short of grand, I cannot help but to hear such terrible things about your demeanor.’ You said as you both graciously danced your way across the marble.

‘Perhaps, Miss Y/N, you are to consider that I find it rather difficult to forgive the follies and vices of others.’

‘I fear that I am in no position to mock you for that, Mr. Diggory. But I do ponder over the question as to why so many people think you as proud.’

’’It may do you well to ask yourself why others can be the most quick judge of character without fully knowing what lies beneath their outward appearance. I shall pose another question for you ponder over, said being, why when one has pride, it gives the permission for others to be prejudice towards them?’ After a mere moment of silence between the pair, the dance music came to an end.

‘Oh, and Miss Y/N. Perhaps you are right in saying dancing is a most valuable way to make new friends.’

 You turned your cheek and could not help but to feel your lips tug to a smile. Mr. Diggory was a most interesting character indeed.

(end of part twoooo! hope you guys like it. part 3 will be posted shortly! chat with you all soon!)

tag list: @freddieweasleyswife @truly-insatiable

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

tapestry 👑 V

Warnings: eventual dark elements (tags to be added as fic continues)

This is dark!(king)Steve and explicit. 18+ only.

Summary: King Steven had a wandering eye but you never thought it would fall upon you.

This Chapter: The court celebrates the harvest.

Note: I’m a goddamn liar and ended up writing this after work and staying up past midnight because I have a problem people. I need help but until then I’m gonna keep posting so here ya go, my lovelies.

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply! Love ya!

The week of the harvest celebration had come, though time seemed to stand still. Each day dragged on dreading the next. Anxious of what the king should do next, of how the court should roil once more, of your own part in the brewing mess. Even as the waters calmed it did not comfort you. Peace only assured you that chaos was on the horizon.

Rose continued to stew in her anger. You dared to think it was jealousy. While the king persisted in his prolonged stares during rehearsals, your partner did not ease matters as he passed along his master’s messages. Each added to the weight on your shoulders, the guilt that stabbed you each time you looked at the queen. Though you did not encourage it, you felt your part in it just as grievous.

And your father. When you met again, he did not spare a word. His disappointment, his frustration, his anger all spent upon you. Your disobedience had nearly cost him. Never mind that it kept your reputation in tact, that it gave hope to a future betrothal. He didn’t want an earl’s wife, he wanted a king’s mistress. The baubles you refused to accept, the promise of a title greater than his own father’s. You factored little in his desires outside your ability to fulfill them.

The saffron brocade was stiff across your chest, cut much lower than your usual gowns. Each woman was to wear a different shade of autumn for the performance. The king and queen would lead in goldenrod yellow as satins and silks of auburns, scarlets, and moss would swirl in. In imitation of a rush of leaves falling from the barren trees, heralding the change of seasons.

A seamstress knelt at your feet and pinned the skirts. The queen ran a finger along her throat as she considered you. It was the final fitting before the banquet; you were the last of the women to attend their measurements. 

You could barely look Eleanor in the eye. Hearsay was rife as it always was but did she believe the whispers. Did she think the king truly enamoured by you? Did she know of the letters? The gifts he sent along with them? The ones you would not open, that were sent back untouched.

If she did, she did not betray herself. She smiled as she neared and touched the golden border along the top of the bodice. “Tighter around the waist,” She suggested to the tailor. “A half inch lower here.”

You looked down at your chest. You blinked. You really didn’t need less fabric there. As it was, your cleavage was more than noticeable. You bit your lip but did not protest.

“The colour is marvelous,” The queen looked you in the face. “Are you well, my lady?”

“I am but…” You hesitated as the seamstress pinned the bodice. “There are matters we should speak of, your highness.”

“Yes, I think there are,” She nodded and gestured to the seamstress. “If you would excuse us a moment.”

The other woman acquiesced with a bow and quickly retreated. The door closed behind her and left you alone with Eleanor. She smiled and swept away from you to sit on a cushioned bench as the pins in her ashy blonde hair caught the light. She patted the cushion next to her.

“Sit, let us talk of what worries you so.” She cooed.

“Your highness,” You approached reluctantly. “I do not think myself fit for this. I am a poor dancer.”

“You are not so bad,” She said as you sat beside her. “Heavy-footed but not entirely hopeless.”

“Hopeless enough.” You grumbled. “Especially in a place such as this.”

“I know you shall do just fine.” She smiled. “But you do not refer to only the performance, do you, lady?”

“No, no, I do not,” You looked at your lap. “Surely, you’ve heard.”

“There are no secrets at court,” She returned. “I know my husband’s attention has strayed again. I hear Lady Rose and her detest, her complaints of her neglect. And it makes me most happy.”

“But the king…”

“The king does as he wishes. I cannot stop him but I can abide it so long as I am not met with nonchalance and scorn.” She held her head high. “I can stand any mistress but none who would shame me so openly.”

“I...I have refused the king. Every time. I do not wish to involve myself in your marriage. Your highness,  I admire you too much. I would never--”

“You’re a smart girl. I trust you are able enough but this court is perilous. Allies are rare but should be welcomed,” She pulled a loose string from the tail of your hood. “So long as you are...covert, I would have no reason to mind the dalliance.”

“P-pardon? Your highness, I don’t understand--”

“Do with my husband as you please. I know you, my lady. You are loyal and you will not so blatantly degrade me. If I must bear this marriage, I shall bear it with a mite of dignity.”

“I please none of it and yet he does not relent. If you are truly my ally, can you not stop him?”

“He will not relent. He never has and I’ve never been able to stop him. No one has.” She sighed and her long lashes flicked. “I do prefer you to Rose. Oh, I do very much.”

“You…” For a moment you gasped for air. The realization struck you in the chest. “You have maneuvered me thus, haven’t you? Because you knew the king would never tolerate your mistreatment of his mistress and so you thrust me before him.”

“I did not thrust you, my lady,” She smiled. “You were merely well-positioned at a most opportune moment.”

Your mouth was bitter with betrayal. The queen had seemed the only genuine character at court but in a moment, she revealed herself to be just as vile as the rest. Perhaps it was easy to pity a scorned woman but it was little excuse for the disgrace of another. You could not forgive her crime on the grounds of another done to her. You clenched your hands together as you tried not to scowl.

“And you expect me to appease him? To forfeit my virtue to him?” You stared at your skirts.

“I expect you to do as you think necessary,” She said, “But my husband gives little heed to what is necessary. To what it proper. He will take as he pleases, not as you please.”

You looked up at her. Terrified. “And you would not stop him?”

“Cannot.” She shrugged and a glimmer of regret flashed her in eyes. She pitied you. “It is not so bad. You will be taken care of after. A husband will be found, or if that does not please you, a household all your own. I swear it on my honour.”

���Your honour?” You scoffed. “You bartered me to your own husband.”

“A barter you could only dream of,” Her green eyes sharpened. “You don’t know, cannot know, what is like. To be ridiculed daily. To be tied to a man who can never love you, a court that will never accept you as their own.” She shook her head. “I did mislead you, I admit it, but only because I know you to be honest. To be without presumption. You would not bring me further shame because you fear it yourself.”

“Do you not realize that you’ve already brought shame upon me?” You stood and crossed the room. You couldn’t stand to be near her. “You are not a friend to me, my queen. I am...alone.”

Silence. You heard the rustle of her skirts but she did not near you. You turned as she reached the door. She adjusted a pin in her hair as she reached for the handle. She exhaled softly. 

“You will change so that the dress may be altered and you will go. And you will never speak to me as you have again. I am still your queen.”

👑

The day of the harvest arrived. The feast hall was draped in golden and bronze silks as the court gathered along the trestles. The benches did not overflow as dancers hid beneath the canopy just beyond the doors, awaiting their grand entrance to the plucking of lutes and trill of flutes.

You stood quietly, head down, hands clamped together as you recited the steps in your head. You weren’t prepared. No matter how often the master led you through the steps, you’d never be ready. You weren’t a dancer and you were too distracted to retain the simple choreography. 

A shiver went up your spine as a familiar voice met your ears. The space was tight and the performers were close. Steven’s laughter boomed in the small space and you looked up. The king and queen were at the front of the procession, several pairs between you. He was drawn by your movement and grinned at you before you shied away. The queen batted her lashes and took her husband’s hand. Her response was not heard.

“You should not be so nervous,” Lord Barnes intoned. You’d forgotten his presence beside you. “You are not so tragic as you think.”

“Ever gracious but a poor liar, Lord Barnes.” You huffed. “I have noticed how you’ve padded your boots.”

He chuckled. “Of the dozen pairs among us, do you think we would stick out so sorely?”

“I hope not,” You said. “Thought I apologize if I should make fools of both of us.”

“You are much too cynical.” He stepped closer. “You deny yourself even the slightest error. How can one find any pleasure in life with such suffocating restraint?”

“As a lord who would never face consequence for his lack of, I doubt you could understand the caution of a lady.” You returned. 

“Surely not. I could never be so pious. So...boring.” He mused.

You bristled and turned your face away from him. You looked around at the other dancers as they chattered and fidgeted in their impatience. Rose snarled as she caught your eye and shrugged off Lord Alan. You blanched and tucked your chin to your chest.

“I was teasing, my lady,” Barnes leaned in. “You needn’t take it so heavily.”

“I am aware, my lord. I can understand humour, as poorly as it may be presented.” You looked to him pointedly. “I may be plain but I am not simple.”

He laughed again. He glanced around and you followed his gaze to the door. The king peered between the bodies and watched intently. You stiffened and returned your attention to your partner.

“So I’ve noticed.” Barnes said. “As has he.”

“And you, his infiltrator?” You arched a brow. “Do you recount our every word?”

“I might be a loyal companion to the crown but I am no informant. What we speak of remains between us, I swear it.” He assured you. “But I might tell you something...most intimate.”

“So you would?” You prodded.

“I’ve known Steven since we were children. I know him better than any. I know him beyond the courtly disguise he wears.” Barnes faced you and took your hand. He drew you close. “As I stand near to you, he watches, he seethes, because he is quite taken by you.” His voice was low. “And the more you refuse him, the more taken he shall be.” He raised your hand to his lips and kissed it softly. “And he has rarely been refused in his life...he will not stand for it long.”

“Is this a warning or another message?” He dropped your hand and stepped back.

The queen’s voice rose above the babble and she clapped her hands. “Lords, Ladies, we are due. Positions, please.” 

She turned and the king raised his hand for her to take. Each couple mirrored them and you took Barnes hand as he stood side by side with you. He looked to his feet and pretended to kick the dust from his toe as he spoke under his breath.

“It is both, my lady,” He whispered. “A king’s requests quickly become commands.”

👑

“May I?” Barnes was beside you before you could flee. 

You’d hoped to cling to the wall until you could manage to sneak away. As late, you’d grown much too conspicuous for that. You turned back to him, caught in your retreat, and sighed. He was not the only to note your attempted escape. Your father sneered from his seat and the king raised his head above the queen’s as they spun along the boards.

“I wouldn’t pain you or your toes further, my lord.” You replied. 

“I can bear it,” He assured you. “And there is no other partner I wish. They’re all rather dull.”

“Dull of foot might be more painful than dull of wit.” You returned and he grinned.

“The wit does outweigh the foot, my lady,” He offered his hand. “Come on.”

Your eyes were drawn back to your father. He tilted his head dangerously. You couldn’t tell if it were to deter you from dancing or from leaving. You forced a smile and took Barnes’ hand. He guided you onto the floor lithely. His feet were swift and kept clear of your own.

“Did I mention how wonderful you look, tonight?” He marveled as you turned in time with the room. “The cut of that dress is quite complimentary.”

You kept your head high and did your best to follow the steps. “Thank you, my lord. That is kind of you to say.”

“Not so drab as that habit you wore before,” He japed. “Was it the queen who recommended the brocade?”

You stared at him. You struggled to piece together the puzzle. Did he operate upon his own resolve? Upon the kings? Or perhaps he was just as much the pet of the queen? Your lips pressed together as you peeked again across the room. Both king and queen watched you as they moved their bodies gracefully to the music.

“The queen did,” You answered evenly. “She was certain to see that all her ladies were attired fittingly for the event.”

You avoided his gaze as he watched you. As you tried to decipher him, he did the same to you. Your foot came down on his but he did not flinch as he smoothly guided you along the floor. The music swirled around you with your skirts as you were led in the jig. Your head spun with the candlelight and crowd of satin and silk.  He squeezed your hand and you looked to him. He smirked as the music eased to the next tune and he bowed to you. 

“My lady,” He said as he led you by your hand. 

As he turned you, you found the king waiting. You searched through the crowd, the queen was already swept up by Lord Samuel. She paid no heed to her husband’s ploy. You wondered if she were not a party to it. Lord Barnes released you and nodded to his king. “Your highness.”

“Would you allow me a dance, my lady?” The king coaxed.

You fought not to dissemble. You glanced around and found your father still watching. He leaned forward as he nodded. His hand was in a fist on the table. You didn’t dare resist. You took the king’s hand and let him lead you to the melody.

“My lady, you are more beautiful than I’ve ever seen you,” He said breathily. His eyes did not meet yours as they wandered to the top of your bodice. “I’ve found it most difficult to think of anything but you this night ...truly every night.”

“You flatter me, your highness.”

“I am honest. I bear myself to you.” He said. “And you still refuse my gifts? Still refuse me?”

“You know I cannot--”

“I know you are afraid but you haven’t reason to be. I shall protect you; from the queen, from the court. You shall be mine and I shall make certain you are kept well.” His blue eyes burned down at you. “I only long to give you everything. To give you all of me, all I ask in return is you.”

“You are married--”

“But not in love.”

“You are king and I am an earl’s daughter. Unwed and without betrothal.”

“As king, I can see to your future. I can give you title, a castle, lands…”

“So I shall lower myself to courtesan for you?”

“No, no, never. I shall raise you, my lady. Hold you in the highest esteem.”

“You shall ruin my reputation.”

“Can you not see how I suffer? My lady, you torment me so.”

“Your highness,” You stopped short and he nearly stumbled. “It cannot be. To prolong it will not change the circumstance that divides us. I do not seek infamy, I do not seek controversy, nor will I lower myself to be your mistress.”

“Lower…? I do not ask you--”

“You do. For what shall people say? What do they already whisper?” You rescinded your hand. “Your highness, you have not considered fully what you ask of me. You have not considered me.”

“I--”

“Excuse me, your highness,” You touched your stomach as it knotted. “I think I am unwell.”

He blinked, stunned. He bowed his head and you backed away from him. You readied yourself for his pursuit. For him to stop you. He did not and when he was hidden by the crowd, you turned and scurried to the door.

You didn’t slow until you reached an alcove just along the corridor. You were shaky as you leaned against the stone and caught your breath. Would the king be upset? Surely your father would but you could face his wrath as you had your entire life. You recalled Barnes’ words. Would the king cease to merely ask?

And who could save you? The king had a dozen allies and you had not one. The queen would not stop him, nor would his leal friend. Your father, surely, would find a way to assist him. Your own blood would sell you into scandal. You were so very alone.

A sole scuffed upon the stone and drew you from your reverie. A shadow loomed just around the corner and you tucked yourself into the alcove. You flattened your skirts with your hands and held your breath. The footsteps neared and you didn’t dare to move.

The king’s tall silhouette appeared before you. He walked past the alcove as he looked around. He sighed softly and hung his head. He tapped his toe as he stopped and hooked his thumbs in his belt. You watched, paralysed. 

He let out a disappointed grumble and turned back. The toe of his boot caught the hem of your skirt as it splayed out from your hiding spot and he stopped. He looked over and his eyes met yours in the dim of the lanterns. They pierced you through the shadows and his lips curved.

“My lady,” He greeted, “Why do you run from me?” He stepped forward. “Hide from me?” He lowered himself to his knees as he reached for your hands. “Can’t you see how desperate I am? How I am completely at your mercy?”

“Your highness, please,” You begged as he gripped your hands tightly. “Please, this is indecent.”

“My lady,” He brought your hands to his lips and laid a dozen kisses upon them. “I cannot wait. I’ve never waited so long and it pains me deeply. Every second I am away from you, I cannot think. I cannot live.”

“Your highness,” Your voice was coarse as you tried to escape his hold. “You would tarnish me.”

He released your hands and you tried to brush past him. He caught you around the waist and pulled you against him. He pressed his face to your stomach and kissed the taut brocade. He nuzzled into you and raised his chin to look up at you over your bosom. You caught his shoulders as you struggled with him.

“Please, please…” You could barely speak. You were terrified at his strength, at how easily he held you there. He walked forward on his knees as he pushed you back into the alcove until you met the wall. “Please…”

He dropped his arms and you felt your skirts lift and you sobbed. He lowered his head as he tugged at your skirts and you felt the cool air on your ankles. He bent and you pressed yourself to the wall. You could barely breathe as you watched him. He lowered himself until his lips met your slippers. He kissed both and sat back on his heels.

“Can’t you see, my lady?” He peered up at you. “You have me on my knees?” He bent to kiss them again. “I am yours.” He declared as he sat up once more. “Entirely yours.”

You clasped your hands before your chest. You were trembling. You could not speak as you stared down at him. He let your skirt fall back into place as he stood. His shadow enshrined you as he reached out to touch your cheek.

“Are you afraid, my lady?”

You nodded and turned away from his touch.

“You needn’t be for I shall find a way for us to be together. A proper way.” His fingers trailed down and he dragged his thumb along your lower lip. “I promise you, I will.”

For a moment, he held your face. His hand firmly cradled your chin and he leaned in until his breath was upon your lips. His thumb traced your lips and he closed his eyes. He let out a long sigh and pulled away from you suddenly.

“I will wait,” He said, though he spoke more to himself than you. “I will wait.” He opened his eyes and bowed to you. “My lady.” 

You watched him back away, too stunned to move as his shadow faded down the hall and his footsteps softened to silence. You cowered in the stone alcove until you were certain he was gone. At last, you found your strength and stepped into the amber light of the lanterns. 

Lord Barnes’ foreboding rang in your head; ‘A king’s requests quickly become commands.’

[deepperplexity]

Prompt: 15. Snowmen

A/N: So I had in mind something light and funny, some payback for past hurt if you will. It turned out to be quite deep in the end though and I really don't know what happened. But I feel like it was, good..?

Setting: The forest between Hogsmeade and The Shrieking Shack

Characters: Severus, James, Sirius, Peter, Remus, Lily (their 5th year at Hogwarts)

Word count: 1724

Warnings: Bullying, Retaliation, Past hurt, Broken friendships, Some funny stuff too

Masterlist page // Masterlist post // SNAPEMAS POST

They had been taunting him, for so long. Snowballs, leg binding jinxes, ice under his feet - it just went on and on. Severus was at his wit's end by the middle of December. Everywhere he went they seemed to be, no matter where he tried to hide they seemed to find him, despite his best efforts to not let it bother him he was fuming. No matter what, the Marauders always seemed to get the last laugh. Well, not today, he thought as the visit to Hogsmeade was reaching its end.

He had found a jinx, intended for joy he presumed by the notes in the margin. But he had other plans for it. They were always four against one - but not this time. No, this time he would have backup. Just one more, he thought as he looked around at the four snowmen he had spent over an hour making. Just one more and I'm set, he thought again with something that resembled a wicked smile of hope.

He knew they would come, knew they were looking for him, knew they wanted to get one last laugh out of the Hogsmeade visit. He had known before they ever even went on the little trip. So he had planned and planned, hoped he'd be able to get some revenge that wouldn't get he himself into too much trouble. Hopefully, no trouble at all if he could help it. They always get away with the foulest of shit so why shouldn't I?

Just as he put the last head on the last snowman so they outnumbered the Marauders he heard snow being crushed under many boots. It was time. He hid behind a tree a little ways away from where he could see it all. He tensed when laughter reached him, James's laughter. An evil sound that made him shiver.

"Oh, what's this? Someone's built snowmen," Remus said with a curious voice and chuckles were heard. Severus looked at the Gryffindor boys as they walked closer to the snowmen. He kept his wand ready.

"Would be a shame if they were to, get destroyed, wouldn't it?" James chuckled and Severus saw the evil gleam in his eyes. It made his stomach turn.

The Marauders stiffened as the snowmen looked at them with evil grins of rocks and twigs. Their long arms reach for the snow around them and in an instant, they started throwing snowballs at the boys who seemed chocked. They got pounded by snowballs and Severus could barely contain his laughter as they fumbled around while trying to cover their heads. It was glorious.

Sirius laughed, Peter snickered and Remus seemed tired of his friends' shenanigans.

"Don't destroy them," Remus said but the others just laughed as they walked closer with determined steps. Severus flicked his wand and used nonverbal magic to make them come alive. With a single purpose. To throw snowballs at people.

James stumbled and fell backwards, Peter ran around like an idiot while Sirius skipped around in an effort to avoid as many slinging snowballs as possible while Remus - a bit more calm and collected - seamed to be the only one who even thought of using magic to shield himself from the onslaught. Not that it was enough. The snowmen surrounded the boys and snowballs came from all directions.

Severus saw Remus roll his eyes as he aimed the wand at the snowman closest to him. Fire burst out of his wand as he said 'incendio' but Severus had been clever. A fire repellent charm laid over the jumping snowmen and the look on Remus's face was unforgettable as his magic did little to no damage on the snowball-throwing snowmen.

Severus snickered as he peeked out from behind the tree.

"Do something!" James screamed.

"Like what?!" Sirius hollered back with a pissed off expression as his curly hair got whiter and whiter. Severus had to cover his mouth so as not to laugh out loud and reveal himself.

"Anything!" James screamed back as he crawled around in the snow on his hand and knees.

"It's not working!" Sirius shouted out.

"I damn well noticed!" Remus smeared back and they gathered in a lump in the middle of the snowman circle.

"Run for it!" James said with a frantic voice as the snowmen inched closer, the snowballs hit harder and they seemed at a total loss for what to do.

"Now?" Peter piped up.

"Now!" James declared as they all barrelled out of the circle, the snowmen instantly hot on their tail with bouncing jumps.

Severus laughed out loud and crumbled to the ground as the chaos ran away with shouts and ducking heads. He knew the spell would only last for about another minute but by Merlin did he hope they got thoroughly wet and cold in that time. Almost a shame they don't know it's my handy work, he thought as he wiped away tears of laughter from his eyes.

"I should have declared myself so they'd know I'm the one who got them hunted by snowball-throwing snowmen," he sighed out as he rose from the crouched position.

"Oh don't worry, they will."

Severus whipped around at those words, that voice. His eyes were met by an angry-looking Lily and he paled somewhat by the sight of her.

"Really, Severus? Snowmen throwing snowballs?" She crossed her arms over her chest and Severus shrugged. Even if it felt a little less fun now that Lily was angry with him.

"You could have at least added some snow spewing dragons while you were at it," she snickered out and Severus's eyes widened as Lily's face turned from sour to sweet. A little grin etched over her lips.

He chuckled as the idea formed in his head, the vision of dragons spewing snow while hunting the Marauders alongside the bouncing snowmen.

"Sorry to say I'm not that great a snow sculptor," he chuckled out as his shoulders relaxed a bit.

"You're, not mad?" he asked carefully. She blew a raspberry and rolled her eyes.

"I don't agree with the behaviour but all things considered you did payback in a good way, I suppose," she said on a chuckle, "I know they are mean to you and I'm sorry for that, but you shouldn't stupe to their level." Severus arched a brow at her words.

"But dating one of them is fine?" Lily's face hardened at that.

"Who I date is none of your concern."

"I know, and who I throw snowballs at with the help of some snowmen is none of your concern."

They glared at each other, Lily offended and Severus angered.

"You really know how to ruin a good time," he muttered as the joy he had felt mere moments ago disappeared.

"You really know how to ruin friendships," she countered with and her words stung. More so than any words ever said by the Marauders.

"It wouldn't be so hard to be friends if you weren't a bully lover," he bit out as anger rose in him. And hurt, hurt from her betrayal and all the times she just stood by as he was tormented for merely existing and being different. She gasped at that and fisted her hands by her sides.

"Well if you weren't so insecure you would have known I loved you as a friend despite it all!"

"Despite what?! Despite being bullied? Abused? Terrorised? Hunted by bullies you so dearly love?!" Severus roared with pounding heart and heaving breaths. She glared at him with a shake of her head as she apparently had no words to retort with.

He sunk to the ground. The joy from his retaliation had gone away and left was only self-loathing and fear. For he was truly scared Lily's words would be true, that he would be miserable and alone. Why did I have to say that? She was trying, by Merlin... He thought but his feelings were to hurt by her. She had cut too deep with her betrayal and even if she wanted to be friends again he could not forgive her for all the years he had cried and all the pain he had gone through every time she just let them bully him. Without a chiding word at them or a helping hand for him. All is not meant to be forgiven. Everyone does not earn forgiveness. He thought to himself as the memories flooded him with pain.

She walked past him and turned her head.

"They'll know, I'll make sure of that." Severus sneered at her.

"Go ahead, tell them. Let's see what happens after that. Who knows, perhaps this time they'll do it properly and finish me off. Wouldn't that be quite something?"

"At least it would be better than spending your life miserable and alone, 'cus that's what you'll be in the end, Snape," she said with venom in her voice, "I tried to be nice to you, just a moment ago. And look what it got me. Insults."

"There would have been no insults if the words weren't true." She huffed at that and stomped away without another word.

He wanted to forgive her, to move on and leave the past in the past but how could he do that when they were at every turn with their utmost efforts to make his life hell. When she held James's hand and laughed at his jokes despite the fact that James was a horrible person. How was he supposed to let it go and move on when he was hurting so badly? How was he supposed to tell her that the bullying was nothing compared to her indifference of his pain? How was he supposed to smile when it felt like a lie?

Perhaps he would indeed vanish one day and be rid of the whole ordeal that was life. Perhaps he'd just melt, like snow in the warmth of the spring sun. Perhaps he'd just stop living like the snowmen who, by now, was just snow, twigs and rocks again. Perhaps it would be so. But there was a chance that life had something else planned for him and he would hold on to that thought until the very end, even if it turned out to be mere dust in the wind of the storm that was unfulfilled wishes throughout eternity.

Masterlist page // Masterlist post // SNAPEMAS POST

Tags: @lizlil @snapefiction  @morphineisouthoney​ @setsuna-meiou31​ @snapefiction​

[Dec:2020]

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[amphtaminedreams]

Paris Haute Couture Week S/S 2020 Plus a Little Jacquemus: Okay, Dior DID Suck (Part 2/2)

Hi to anyone reading,

First of all, thank you! I have never had a post do as well as the part 1 of my haute couture week review did and I am so overwhelmed with the positive feedback. This is probably funny to read for those of you getting thousands of reblogs on your posts, me acting like I won an academy award because I got a couple of hundred, but honestly I don’t expect any traction when I write on here (it’s basically just me word vomiting everything I’m thinking as if people want to hear it aka. mouthing off into what I thought was the void) so if you did read it, thank you! I do spend a long-ass time on these so it means a lot:-)

I’ll leave the self-indulgent ramble there though as it’s probably not what you came for and jump straight into part 2 of my thoughts, starting with Jacquemus. Yeah, I knew what I was doing when I tagged that in my last post. Simon Porte Jacquemus is the man of the *fashion* people right now; I’ve even found myself coming round to the Le Chiquito bag despite my original thought being “well, that’s fucking useless”. I know, I know, technically it’s not haute couture; it was part of Men’s Fashion Week, but it happened around the same time and everyone was talking about it on Twitter, so I feel like I have to include it.

In a way, it kind of reminds me of Bottega Veneta’s last RTW show, in that, especially with the women’s outfits, we seem to be sticking with simple, fitted garments and chunky, more statement jewellery. I’ve got to say I like the styling here a lot more though, and in general I’m a fan of this collection. The collared tops with cut outs underneath blazers are cool and I can’t wait until it gets warm enough for me to not feel dumb wearing my headscarfs like this; there’s a LOT of summer outfit inspiration. It’s not a mind-blowing collection or anything but it is effortlessly sexy and that’s something I wish I could say about myself. Most of us can only hope to look half as good as these models do whilst making the effort but at least Jacquemus is aspirational, lol. 

I also fucking adore this colour palette. I’m sick of neutrals literally just meaning brown and white; the navy, sand and muted khaki is a fresh edition to what is usually interpreted as the colours you’d seen worn by Disney’s Riverboat Cruise staff and only Disney’s Riverboat Cruise staff. And I mean, come on-what is more neutral than typical English school carpet blue.

Next for the whole reason I had to make this haute couture week review 2 separate posts: Jean Paul Gaultier’s final show.

In the best way possible, it’s a lot. I don’t even really know where to start, except to say that I guess this is a fitting last show; a celebration of everything campy, messy, weird, performative, and punk is the perfect send off for a brand whose best known perfume of the last few years is called Scandal. More than anything, the final show represented the range of characters and cultures that have influenced JPG throughout his half-a-decade-long career, the lines that supposedly separate what is “masculine” and “feminine”, “old” and “young” and ultimately art and fashion blurred in the most exaggerated way possible. Sure, there are some looks which are individually a bit messy here but the way they were grouped into almost chapter-like segments meant that when you see them all together, they work. Nods to the patterns and structures that recurred from season to season were sprinkled throughout, from sailor stripes to corsets to the expected whirlwinds of colour. I’ll even allow the wellies in that one outfit; if I can get over bucket hats in Peter fucking Pilotto’s last RTW show, I can get over some questionable shoes here. Middle aged fishermen and boys who liked to pose with monster carp in their Tinder pictures as some weird display of masculinity everywhere rejoice.

Now onto a show that I personally found slightly disappointing: Margiela.

I think this one is a bit TOO weird for me. Like if you’re gonna go avant-garde, go all out. Chiffon gimp masks (I don’t know if that’s the intention here but that’s what I’m getting, sorry Maison) are something I’m not particularly fond of and I’ve never been a fan of the Tabi boots in the first place, let alone when they’ve seemingly been blown up to Michelin man style proportions. I didn’t find the show to be a total lost cause-I enjoyed the colour palette and I’ve always liked that contrast stitching detail, plus the bowler hats are interesting-but on the whole considering how much I liked the last RTW show, this is a bit of a let down. 

The looks I included are salvageable but (I feel mean saying this) there were genuinely a lot of pieces that did just resemble bits of fabric draped over each over with no discernible rhyme or reason, so much so that they reminded me of some of the monstrosities I saw at a Drag Race pub quiz this one time where we had 5 mins to make some garms out of loo roll and then have a team member model them for points down a makeshift runway. 

Ralph and Russo was alright. There were a few pieces that I really liked but again, I can’t help but compare this collection to the last, where it felt like the fussy details of bows and sequins and feathers and the Barbie Dreamhouse palette were utilised with a direction in mind. Here, I don’t get that. As ever, the gowns are gorgeous and I’d pay good money just to try one on for five minutes but as an overall collection I’d say there was a lack of higher vision, which is probably the snobbiest sentence I’ve ever written so forgive me.

As for Ronald Van Der Kemp, I could’ve done without including it to be honest, if it weren’t for the few pieces I’m in love with: the velvet cape, fur trimmed jacket and blue satin dress are probably my favourite pieces here.

So onto a collection I liked a lot more: Schiaparelli. 

The influence of nature from flowers in bloom to insects to the organic structure of the human skeleton is as present as ever, though this collection includes a lot more delicate symbolism than usual. Honestly, the details make it for me; the brooches, earrings and facial jewellery are other-worldly touches to outfits that could otherwise be simple fashion magazine editor on-the-go. That’s not in itself a bad thing! The suits are gorgeous. I mean, I’m talking fashion editor in New York in a power suit yelling orders down the phone while she rushes along with a coffee. A Miranda Priestley in the making type woman. THAT’S a modern take on the divine feminine that Maria Grazia should’ve been going for; our goddesses aren’t women who sit around looking pretty (though that helps too) and place curses on mere mortals anymore, they’re women who get shit done. 

With regards to Valentino, which was also a delight, let me start by saying this colour palette is EVERYTHING. It’s ugly sisters in Cinderella fantastic, and we know those 2 were the real fashion icons really. Other than that, I adore the Old Hollywood silhouettes from the gloves to the Liz Taylor-in-Cleopatra-level-dramatic earrings. Everything is opulent and expensive-looking and pretty much what we’ve all come to expect from Valentino. A strong 8/10.

For me personally, Viktor and Rolf was a standout and one of my favourite collections of haute couture week. It’s not going to be everyone’s cup of tea and I know it’s at the complete opposite end of the spectrum to what was probably my other favourite collection, Elie Saab, but this is just my style down to a T, the perfect balance of grungy and cutesy that I want to achieve. 

There’s probably going to be a lot of objections to the temporary face tattoos and I get that, but I think they’re fucking sick. I obviously wouldn’t get a permanent one lest my mother murder me in cold blood however if I did, you bet I would be pairing them with frilly-ass babydoll dresses that you could pick up in Camden Market like this. 

And last but not least (that would be Dior), there’s Zuhair Murad.

Sigh.

IDK, man. Seeing Zuhair Murad dresses on Tumblr and WeHeartIt (remember that site? It still exists!) as a 14 year old was one of the things that got me into fashion, so it sucks that almost every time a new collection comes around, I feel underwhelmed. Disappointingly, the brand hasn’t really progressed all that much since 2013. It goes without saying that the stoning and the embroidery and sequins are stunning and would make anyone feel like a princess but from a critical point of view, I’m just not seeing anything new here. Whereas I feel like Elie Saab, for example, reflected the growing fascination with East Asian fashion and recognition of the supremacy of the region’s street style in his haute couture last collection, Zuhair Murad seems to be stuck designing the same dresses he was 6 years ago. 

To pick one example, the rounded stoned necklines are so outdated that they’ve been making their way onto department store prom dresses for years. I get that it’s supposed to be a reference to Ancient Egyptian style and I respect that, I was one of those 8 year old that was obsessed with mummies and the “Curse of Tutankhamun”, but couldn’t it be done in a more interesting way? It’s Maria Grazia’s spin on Ancient Greece all over again. Now I get how how the I imagine very niche subsection of people who are into fashion and Julius Caesar (okay, so I don’t even know if they still believed in mythology and all that malarky at that point in history but just roll with my comparison here) might’ve felt going through Vogue Runway. Anyway, I hate to end on a critical note and so be clear, these are still absolutely magnificent dresses. If we ignore those ugly round necklines, that is.

So that’s it for this post! If you read part 1 and 2, I hope you enjoyed it! As always, let me know your opinions and feel free to disagree. I’m literally just about to start trawling through all the A/W 2020 RTW collections though I imagine that’s gonna take me way longer to do than this, so I wouldn’t expect that for a month or two. In the meantime, I’m trying to fit shooting a Euphoria-inspired lookbook into my days off work which is looking atm like it’s going to be the end of March, so look out for that, and also a review of the red carpet fashion from this season’s award shows. 

As ever, thank you so much for reading and again, thank you for the reception on part 1 if you were one of the people that read it. It makes staying up til 3am with the jitters seem worthwhile, lol! 

Lauren x

[immoral-tales]

Character Analysis: Osamu Dazai

002

Before we begin our journey and dive into discussing the characteristics of a man named Dazai, I would like to apologize. Please do forgive my absence and inability to be active on the blog. And I have to admit, my initial reaction was “holy shit!” You definitely took your sweet, sweet time writing this, and I had a strong desire to give you the response you deserved. Writing half-assed headcanons and responses are not my thing, therefore, I decided to take my sweet time. And of course, I might or might not be a lazy bastard as I was procrastinating to open Photoshop to crop the messages to put them into this post. All things considered, let us begin, shall we?

First of all, this character limit is a pain in the ass and I’m going to start a petition for this hellsite to remove the limit because people need to vent and share their amazing ideas with the world. Secondly, thank you so much for agreeing with me, I greatly appreciate it. There is so much more we do not see and I’m going to delve deeper into his persona, dig deeper to find the real Dazai that has been buried in his own layered personality and mind. His mind is an incredible place, but unfortunately, not everyone can understand him. However, I cannot blame them, due to the fact that Dazai as a person is already a puzzle.

I will use the term “journey.” Dazai’s journey to understand humanity is an incorrect approach, he will always have difficulty understanding what human nature is. Every person has their own definition of what it means to be a human, therefore, this subject is quite debatable. I have to agree with you, this man is drawn to people with a positive aura. And of course, having a significant other with a similar mindset would be a major drawback for him. Instead of progress, he would have a regress. His ability is called “No Longer Human,” yet he is desperately attempting his best to find what it means to be a human. He does not need a companion who will hold him back, he needs someone that will make his path towards discovering his own humanity unforgettable.

You took the words right out of my mouth: “As someone said, understanding + empathy works best for him than relatable. I believe he wants to be understood, at least to a point. Someone who can understand him while also support and help him understand his own emotions what I think he needs. Of course, not therapy him, but be that supportive figure.”

As I said previously, Oda and Dazai used to share a special bond, their friendship was one of a kind. Odasaku managed to show him how the real world functions and how there is an entire world, outside of the Port Mafia, filled with endless possibilities. Their companionship was unique, but he would have a different type of relationship with his significant other. I strongly believe Dazai would be delighted to have an older woman as his lover. An understanding, non-judgemental woman. I believe years of experience would make her the right person to be by his side no matter the circumstances.

Let us talk about how Dazai has a praise kink. I mean, you are not wrong. And I agree with you. Some might not agree with me, but I think he has never been praised properly. More or less, Mori raised him to be a perfect killing machine without any remorse and I strongly believe he rarely praised him? Therefore, once his lover started to praise him, he started to enjoy it, and then, love it. Of course, he would never admit it out loud, but we both are well aware he has a praise kink. Considering his significant other would be more experienced in bed than him, would be quick to discover his weaknesses—I mean, his kinks.

This man adores challenges and someone who questions his mindset is ought to get his attention. A person that does not agree with his viewpoint and challenges his very own existence. Two Dazais is a bit too much and his relationship with Dostoyevsky is a story for another day—I will not delve deeper into this matter right now.

I have got carried away, as well. To conclude our discussion, I have to say, this man truly deserves happiness and he needs to learn how to take care of himself. Dazai deserves a second chance to redeem himself and learn how to live his life, despite the mistakes he made in the past. He is a human like the rest of us—even though he is a fictional character—and he does not deserve to die, he has to live.

First of all, I would like to thank you for being patient with me. Only God knows when was the last time I posted some quality content. This blog is dying because of me, and there is nothing I can do about it. Once more, this proves how much of a horrible admin I am. To put my rambling and venting aside, feel free to spam me when your heart desires. It is not like I have anything else to do here. Let us move on to our discussion, shall we?

Before I forget to mention, I have made a separate tag for us—Dazai with an older lover—I’m tagging our every conservation with it and you can find our discussions under it.

I have to say, that is standard, shallow praise. Allow me to demonstrate it with one simple scenario: imagine you are working for an international organization—the field of this organization is not important currently—and you have been promoted to a senior management team to be one of the vice presidents, reporting directly to the CEO. Of course, all of your colleagues would congratulate you on your achievements, but none of their congratulations will be genuine. There might be some exceptions, but let us not dwell on it. Your colleagues are not interested in your well-being, or the path you have walked upon to achieve the impossible. They merely wish to be in your place, and some of them are even envious of your position. Their words will be long forgotten as their facades slip. This might be an odd comparison, but Dazai was in a similar situation. His subordinates' behavior around him was carefully coordinated and his attitude towards them was indifferent. Like a mutual agreement. Everything was superficial, the only thing that kept him moving forward, as you mentioned above, was his friendship with Sakaguchi and Oda.

Yes, I have to agree with you. He has never received genuine praise before. Hear me out, ability users avoided him like the plague because of his ability to nullify their abilities. Therefore, he has been touch-deprived his whole life. I believe, at first, he would be quite hesitant to allow anyone to touch him, his lover included. It might take some time for his lover to make him open up to her, his layered personality to slip, and be himself. The real Dazai.

Dazai has a strong degradation kink, but his praise kink is there, as well, to neutralize it. He would never hesitate to shower his lover with all his affection and praise; however, he prefers to receive it. And of course, he would never admit it out loud. We are talking about Dazai here. Yes, complimenting him during the sex is great, but praising him on a regular basis would make him fall head over heels in love. Undoubtedly, he would deny all the claims of having a fondness for being commended, but his lover knows him better than that. His daily motivation becomes earning those praises from his lover, and Kunikida has never been more thankful for Dazai bringing his lover with him at the agency.

Nah, there is no need to apologize. We are all insomniacs here. Even though I do not post cursed content here, but I can . . .

[wroughtbetwixtfanfic]

A Place To Call Home, Ch 8.

Fandom: Rosewell, New Mexico.

Summary: A canon divergent take on Roswell, New Mexico, and the relationships  between Isobel, Noah, and Rosa; later parts will shift the focus to  Michael and Alex, as well as Michael and Noah. What is it like to share a  body with another alien? Can broken trust be mended? Do the ends really  justify the means?  

Rating: M.

Tags: Canon divergence, minor  character death, not really character death, body sharing, polyamory,  hurt/comfort, addiction problems, sickfic, revenge, fix it, friends to  enemies to lovers, lovers to enemies to lovers, Noah is complicated, cw:  dubious age stuff for a little bit considering Nasedo/Noah is  who-the-hell-knows how old.

Word Count: 2833

Dawn broke, painting the Roswell sky lilac, magenta, and gold.

The  road that led to Carlsbad was desolate. It had been easy enough to lure  a driver to him, persuading them to take him to Midway RV Park. It was  along his chosen escape route, lingering just far enough away from  Roswell that Nasedo felt comfortable hiding there until sunrise. He kept  to the scant scattering of trees, curled up against the trunk of one  farthest from the RVs; sleep evaded him, but he closed his eyes and  rested as much as he was able. He would have to move swiftly once it was  time, and he would need whatever strength he could muster.

As  the sun peeked over the horizon, Nasedo felt some measure of relief. He  could feel his powers, still coiled inside his body like a rattlesnake  ready to strike. It was irritating to know that it would take hours to  accomplish what he, a skilled fighter, had once been able to do in  minutes. Still. His powers hadn't left him. They merely required  patience, and practice, to return in full. He wouldn't need more than a  couple hours at most, regardless. Not if he was careful.

An old  man in the RV park was shuffling past, walking towards a rusted-up  truck. Nasedo waited until the man was a couple paces ahead before  moving out from the trees and slinging an arm around the man's shoulder  in a gesture of familiarity. "Keep walking," Nasedo said, his voice  calm. "Where are you heading?"

The man's eyes glazed over. "Hagerman."

"Hagerman is a lovely place. You'll give me a ride there, won't you?"

"Alright."

Nasedo  glanced around as the neared the truck. There wasn't anyone else  around, but anyone could show up out of the blue. He took the  opportunity to enact the first part of his plan. The lamp post near the  truck had just flickered off for the day; he could still hear the hum of  electricity running through it. He pressed his hand to the cool metal  as the man opened the truck door, sending a surge of power through the  lines. Nasedo took some of the energy into himself, sending the rest  blasting outward with a crack. The power in the park sputtered and died,  with lights in the distance dying soon after. The metal of the post had  warped, with a lightning strike pattern branching outwards.

Time to go.  Nasedo climbed into the truck, and the man drove out to Main Street  without a word. He leaned back against the seat, taking a slow, deep  breath. Using his powers in such a way was taxing, but it was vital to  leave a noticeable trail. Manes, he recalled faintly, had been friends  at one point with Valenti. The bastard would notice the signs. If Manes  saw a trail leading away from Roswell, and the heirs were still in  Roswell, hopefully it would pull suspicion away from them long enough  for Nasedo to strengthen himself and return to the heirs more prepared.

He  looked at himself in the mirror of the car. He didn't look much older  than Max. Had he really been so young when he went into stasis? He  couldn't remember anymore. Soldiers went straight from school and into  service, and their species had such long lifespans, they didn't age the  same way as humans. At least he recognized himself otherwise. Darker  brown skin, brown eyes, black hair. He knew that, unfortunately, he  would have to be careful. A little less than half the state was white,  but that 'little less than half' was very loud and wasn't exactly known  for progressiveness. He'd have to split his energy between leaving  breadcrumbs for Manes and whatever parasites he had on his side, wiping  memories, and turning people's attention from him. It would be a  difficult day, but the end goal was simple. Leave a trail down to  Carlsbad, take a bus from there to Albuquerque, and disappear into the  swarm of humans that called it home.

Large fields, empty except  for the occasional horse, gave way to farmhouses, a baptist church, and a  gas station. Hagerman was small. Quaint, Isobel would have  said with a little nosewrinkle, and not in a flattering sense. Nasedo  would have to move on to a bigger city to avoid suspicion, but he  wouldn't force the old man to go farther than intended. It wasn't worth  the effort, if he could find another ride.

"Where are you heading, friend?" Nasedo asked.

The man barely blinked. "Rio Felix apartments."

"I see. Why don't you let me off at the church, and then you can be on your way."

"Alright."

The  old man stopped, and Nasedo got out. He circled around to the driver's  window, patting the old man on the shoulder. "Thanks. Do me a favor and  forget you ever saw me."

"Huh?"

Nasedo walked off before  the man could come to his senses. The truck sat there for a moment,  idling, but kept going. The switch to the next vehicle happened fast.  There was a car near the edge of the church, covered in Christian  stickers with some lanky white man getting inside. A minute later and  they were on their way to Lake Arthur. A young goth-looking sort outside  Lake Arthur's city park got him to Aretesia. A larger city meant more  potential witnesses, but it also meant more people distracted with their  own thoughts, emotions, and lives. It also meant that, when Nasedo  tapped into the energy grid at the WalMart and blew the power in the  entire city, it was sure to make the news.

By the time he got to  Carlsbad, delivered by a semi-truck driver who smelled like cigarette  smoke and tequila, the sun was beating down and the air was thick with  the summer heat. Nasedo stole one of several pairs of sunglasses from  the truck, hopping out and taking in the scenery. Carlsbad was smaller  than Roswell, but not claustrophobic like the others had been. He didn't  feel like eyes were on him as much, which made swiping the wallet of  some polo-shirt wearing douchebag easier. Fifty bucks. Enough for some  food, and a one-way ticket to Albuquerque.  

The Motel 6 was  seedy, but the staff members were overworked by tourist season, and  seemed too tired to care about much of anything. Convincing the older  woman at the desk to give him a room for the night-- free of charge--  barely required any of his powers at all. Nasedo sighed as he flopped on  the bed in the motel room, curling up and drifting off to sleep as soon  as his head hit the pillow. By the time he woke up again, the sun was  setting. The clock on the nightstand read that it was seven o' clock at  night. It was tempting to go back to sleep, but his stomach was roiling  from a lack of food; he would have to go out and find something.

A  lack of phone or computer meant having to do things old school. He  flipped through the yellow pages, finding a store within walking  distance. It wasn't anything fancy, but it didn't need to be. He was  able to buy more water, a couple frozen dinners, and enough packaged  foods to make it to Albuquerque. The woman at the check-out stand gave  him a warm smile, and he forced a smile back, but he felt his insides  twist. The only ones who had ever looked at him like that were Isobel  and Rosa. He didn't want anyone else to, certainly not some strange  human who would ship him off to a lab the moment they knew the truth.

Nasedo  stood in the motel room when he got back, the silence suddenly and  painfully obvious. He was alone. Before he'd met Isobel, the emptiness  had been maddening-- but now that he'd known her and the other heirs,  now that he'd known Rosa and tasted what it was like to have someone  love him and care for him, life felt hopeless. Even if he managed to  bring Rosa back to life, it could take years for Max to get strong  enough, and he knew in his core that Rosa would never forgive him. None  of them would, would they? Isobel would never trust him again. It was  useless. And yet, Nasedo knew he wasn't owed that. Rosa deserved to  live, regardless of how she'd feel about him.

He sat in the  middle of the bed, crossing his legs and closing his eyes. He wished  that his king and queen had survived, or that he could see his parents  one last time. If only he could ask for their wisdom. The only advice he  had were the last words his father ever said to him, just before the  attack the fell their kingdom. Don't let poison fill where love should be.  His father had disappeared moments later, marching into battle  alongside Nasedo's mother while Nasedo was sent away with the rest of  the royal guard.

They had been warriors to their last breath,  stalwart and honorable. He had aspired to be like them to the end of his  days, as well, but the crash had changed everything. Anger and hatred  had festered where love had been. Isobel and Rosa had been the guiding  stars in his life keeping that tainted ichor from consuming him. They  were lost to him, now, and the only choice he could see going forward  was to use that poison inside him to save Rosa and keep the heirs safe--  even if he had to do so from afar. He could pretend, at least, that  there was something noble in that.

But even if it was the  most-right choice, he was no longer what he had been. He'd broken so  many oaths already. Without an elder to direct him, and knowing that  punishment would be handed down on him if there were any elders left,  Nasedo embraced his newfound purpose. Nasedo slid off the bed and held  his old clothes in his hands, focusing. They dissolved into ash in his  palms, and he dumped the particles into the wastebasket. There had been  stories of warriors that had become something darker-- through  necessity, but they were never spoken of, and treated as outcasts among  their people. They were the ones that dispatched enemies in their sleep,  using night as their disguise, or slipped toxins into their drinks. War  was a bloody, terrible thing.

And what were most humans to him, except enemies in a war that had begun in 1947?

It made his next task easier to think of it that way.

He  packed up everything he planned to take with him, shoving it into a  backpack that he'd purchased at the store. Human food tasted strange on  his tongue, intense and foreign in a way it hadn't when he shared  Isobel's body, and the shower's heat and pressure was almost painful on  his skin. At least sleep remained the same, providing a few more hours  of relief before he set out. It wasn't hard to find some loud, irate,  and drunken bigot who was looking for a fight. It felt like nothing,  this time, taking the ranting fool's life. Nasedo dumped the body in the  bushes; by the time anyone found it, the handprint would be visible.  With any luck, it'd draw anyone who was looking away from Roswell.

The  ten hour bus ride to Albuquerque followed. The air inside the bus was  too warm, stagnant, and smelled like sweat. Thankfully, no one opted to  sit next to him; he leaned back against the seat and closed his eyes,  enjoying the rush of strength that moved through him. Taking a human  life did restore some of his strength, after all. He knew he should have  felt some sort of shame, but the creature had been a vicious, violent  thing. Remorse was a waste of time and energy on someone who wouldn't  have felt remorse for doing the same. And if it eased the ache in his  core, if it healed some of the damage done to him by time thanks to  hiding from murderous humans, then why not revel in it-- just a little?

Besides.  With any luck, it was the last life he would have to take. As soon as  he got to Albuquerque, he would convince a few tourists to generously  donate their wealth, and find shelter. What else did most humans need,  besides a safe place to sleep? A phone or computer, to access  information and communicate. Access to transportation. Food, clothes,  hygiene supplies. The hardest thing to acquire would be his human  identity.

Nasedo knew a little of what he had to do. After all,  Isobel, Max, and Michael hadn't come with proper papers, either. Isobel  and Max's parents didn't say much about it, but their father was a  lawyer himself, and had shared the story of how the three had been found  nameless, mute, and naked in the desert. They hadn't had any records,  of course. No parents found, no proof of any of their births. He had  mentioned in passing how some families chose not to have social security  numbers for their children, often due to religious reasons. It was  assumed that that's what had happened to Isobel and her brothers. Kids  like that could still get one later in life.

All it would take was a good story, and a little persuasion.

A  four hour transfer in El Paso, Texas, gave Nasedo time to grab a cheap  burger from the closest fast food restaurant. It was so unlike the ones  at the Crashdown-- thick, juicy beasts piled high with crisp pickles,  onions, and sweet rounds of tomato-- but it quieted the snarling in his  stomach. It also gave him a chance to mull around town and pick a few  pockets, gathering up a small bundle of cash; he bought new clothes at a  funky boutique, changing before he got back to the bus station.

It  was strange to walk among so many humans after all that had happened  within the last two days. He expected that, at any moment, someone would  notice that he wasn't human. Or, perhaps, someone would have recognized  him somehow from Carlsbad. After all, he couldn't wipe the memories of  everyone possibly within eyesight. Which was why Nasedo got nervous  when, as they made a brief stop in Las Cruces to pick up other  passengers, an older woman stared hard at him before taking the seat at  his side. Her eyes were hazel and deeply wrinkled around the ends; she  had long salt and pepper hair, pulled back into a braid, and skin just a  bit darker than his own. Perhaps how his mother would have looked, had  she lived to become an elder.

"I'm sorry for staring," she said,  with a thick accent that he couldn't place. "You look so much like my  grandnephew. He lives so far away now."

Nasedo didn't know what  to say, so he pretended he was talking to an elder from back home. It  felt less bizarre. "I'm sorry he's far away. Do you see him at all?"

"Not often. I'm going to see him this week. He lives in Sante Fe with his parents. It's very beautiful there."

"I've never been."

"Maybe someday." She leaned a bit closer. "Are you traveling towards someone, or away from them?"

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, you have a look. I have two children, nine grandchildren. I know the look."

For  a moment, Nasedo didn't respond. "Away from someone," he finally  answered. His throat squeezed shut, and it was hard to speak. "I, uh. I  messed up, and I'm trying to make it right."

The old woman reached out and rested her hand on his. "Have faith. You'll find your way back to them, someday."

"How do you know?"

"When you get to be my age, you know."

They  spent the next eight hours alternating between silence, dozing, and  Nasedo smiling appreciatively as the old woman showed him pictures she  had of her 'favorite children'-- nine cats that were being watched by  her eldest daughter, and her daughter's wife. Both were doctors, the old  woman said with a proud look. When the bus pulled up to the station in  Albuquerque, Nasedo had learned more about knitting and indoor gardening  than he'd ever anticipated.

"Thank you for the company," Nasedo  said to her as they got off the bus. The time had gone by faster than  expected, and he almost felt sad at parting ways. "Have fun seeing your  grandnephew."

The woman gave him a hug, and he didn't resist. "Bless you. Good luck."

He  watched after her as she shuffled to the parking lot, and to a car that  was waiting. A couple helped her in; to his surprise, the old woman  looked back and waved through the window. Nasedo waved back, unable to  help smiling.

Maybe, just maybe, some humans weren't so bad.

[leta-the-strange]

Spoiler-free COG feelings/essay/thoughts before I see the movie. Spoiler-free because the movie isn’t out here til the end of the week but obviously, I’ve picked up info from trailers and interviews and things like that so sort of common knowledge stuff but I guess if you’ve avoided all the promos for the year I wouldn’t want to ruin it for you now so don’t read until after you’ve seen it if that’s the case (again, I only know basic info).

I have a lot of feelings that I’ve been sitting on for a while because frankly, large parts of the Fantastic Beasts and Harry Potter fandom terrify me. It’s why in my nineteen years (okay, thirteen years – I had to learn how to read) I’ve distanced myself from engaging in the fandom too much and when I do, I try and stick to as safe, neutral content as possible.

But I’m going to write a little bit a lot (my anxiety’s poppin off the charts right now) not to antagonise anyone or personally offend people just to get this pent up crap off my chest before I see the movie. 

I have Māori and Pākehā parentage. Although I am proud to be a Māori girl and I’m definitely not white-passing, I do acknowledge that out of my family, I was born with the lightest skin and being a lighter-skinned/mixed poc among my family and friends has made me recognise my privilege. That isn’t to say I haven’t experienced lifelong struggles with racism, bullying and discrimination but I will never experience the same micro-aggressions and experiences that they have. Although, I do have light-skinned privileges and I don’t ever want to take away the struggles of my family that I won’t experience on the same level, growing up looking a little different opened me up a lot of feelings of invalidation within my own culture. When I experienced racism as a child, I was also met with disdain for being upset about it when I wanted to talk about it. This was when I was a child and I didn’t understand lighter skinned privilege or the animosity from some of my own people. I am far more educated now, but during that confusing time I, like most children, turned to literature (which in turn is what helped me make sense of the world).

I’ve gotten a little off track – this isn’t overly important to what I’m writing about, but it is introducing my opinion as coming from a woman of colour who has experienced racism and horrible bullying, but I always feel the need to clarify my position as a lighter skinned poc before giving my opinion based on those experiences.

Obviously from my content, I love Leta Lestrange. Perhaps it started out as a matter of representation, but I feel like over the past year, I have become intrigued with her for a number of reasons. She’s striking me as a Sirius, Regulus and Andromeda Black type character. Different to her family and caught in a struggle of light and dark (magic, not skin colour). Loves magical creatures. I haven’t seen it yet but it seems like she is one of the centre point characters of the film. She seems to be connected to many of the main characters in one way or another and has always striked me as the most intriguing.

I really do hope I am wrong but the ‘other’ love interest’s in the Harry Potter universe are usually treated terribly. They experience character assassination to further the development of the canon/new interest.

I really hope this film doesn’t do the whole blow out a woc character to make the white, self-insert, classically beautiful, ‘im not like other girls’ character shine brighter.

Before everyone comes for me, I wouldn’t say I’m a Tina ‘anti’ whatever that is. There’s no like extreme hatred at all! I would say I don’t like Tina as a character, or Queenie for that matter. Not yet anyway. The new trailer gives me hope that this movie might win me over finally. It doesn’t need to be upsetting or offensive to anyone. There are lots of people out there with favourite and not-so-favourite characters. A lot of people dislike Ron, Dumbledore, Snape, even Harry…and there are people who have those characters as their favourite.  

There are a lot of reasons I don’t like Tina and Queenie. I may address them in a different post if being vague upsets people more than going in-depth but at this point, I am trying to stay as unconfrontational as possible but I have seen people get extremely furious when they don’t deem your reason for disliking them to be ‘good enough’ so if not saying exactly what I find uncomfortable about them is not as preferable as telling people then I can write it up as respectfully as possible if I’m treated the same way. All I’ll say is that I think Tina is a good person, but, in my opinion, not a great character. Queenie is the opposite. I would not like Queenie as a person but I have to admit, she’s a good character. But I’ll hold the rest of my opinions until after the second film. 

Honestly, the film adaptions leave some of my favourite book characters to be desired. Maybe if FB was a novel, I’d like Tina but I really dislike her in the movies. I have seen people blow up when this is said. I try to understand the outrage. I think one of the reasons I dislike Tina is one of the reasons why people love her. She is, at this point and in my opinion (which is ONLY an opinion), a self-insert character. Any Newt x Reader fanfiction can easily read as a Newtina fanfiction and vice versa. I know. Because I’m a FB fanfiction writer myself and tried to write her. Sometimes when you attach yourself to a character so much, it can feel personally offensive when someone says something as harmless such as they don’t like then. I don’t experience this as often. Every Reader/OC fanfiction is, perhaps unintentionally, but nearly always aimed at a white person in description. In actuality, nearly every character in literature is, intentionally or not, described with textbook white features or assumed white by the fandom/readers/watchers.

I know people are going to hate this opinion because I’ve seen people jump down other people’s throats when this gets brought up. I do believe, whether it is conscious or not, Leta not being white COULD, subconsciously, be a factor as to why she is so inherently hated. I’ve seen more hate for Leta than any other character – even the antagonist! I hate what they did to Lavender Brown, book and movie wise, but even she, being as over exaggeratedly unlikable as a romantic plot device, received and still receives far less fandom hate than Cho Chang (who was also eventually written to be ‘jealous, hysterical, unlikeable’, etc, etc – I don’t agree btw I love, understand and appreciate Cho and Lavender)  who was smart, talented, kind, traumatised, and until it was no longer convenient to the main characters romance for her to be ‘likeable’ anymore.

I wish I could enjoy going through the Leta tag but often, her and Newt can’t even be in a scene or photo together and people lose their minds with anger and hate. Literally, the comments on any scene/photo they are in are all along the lines of ‘stay away from newt!/poor tina/urgh, don’t flirt leta/leta WHAT ARE YOU DOING?’. Sorry, to break it to you guys but it isn’t a love triangle. It’s a love conga line. The only person getting in the way of ‘Newtina’ is Newt. Instagram is even worse. By worse, I mean horrible beyond belief. The better comments are the ones are the ones merely (though still grossly) comparing her to Tina and how much they dislike her, the other ones are wishes that she’ll get killed or join Grindelwald. It’s literally not even hidden the fact they wish either of these things happen so Newtina can happen faster. I’m not a Newtina shipper at all (Yet. Again, this might change if the films improve) but this would be one of the worst ways to further your ship. That is literally not going to change the fact that Newt’s still in love with her (you can have feelings for two people at the same time. The filmmakers confirmed - in fact, one of the first things about the new movie that they confirmed - that Newt is ‘absolutely still in love with her’), it just makes her conveniently unattainable. I do have a feeling that Leta might die and if it happens, it better not be because she’s unwillingly in the way of a ‘love triangle’ that people have forced these three characters into. If Newtina is going to happen in a way that isn’t awful, rushed and horrible, it will be slow-burn and it’s in own time AFTER Newt has healed and properly fixed things with Leta. You can’t be best friends and in love with someone for 15+ years and fall out of love with them immediately after they die, turn bad and settle for a woman you met for like two days and collectively spent maybe ten hours with. It might be a Ron/Hermione situation where it’s slow and eventual. That’s the only way I could possibly get on board and I think it could be done tastefully if they don’t resort to lazy writing. I do have my fingers crossed I’ll start to like the Goldsteins before this happens and I can enjoy it as much as everyone else does.

To be honest, after seeing the trailers, I see only two endings for Leta (and I hate them BOTH):

She joins Grindelwald: If this is the plot twist, it’s the shittiest plot twist ever. Pretty much 90% of the fans since seeing the first film have assumed/liked to believe she’s pure evil. Probably the characters themselves all assume she’s evil from her last name. I was worried the whole ‘haha, I was on Grindelwald’s side all along!’ situation was going to happen. We know JK hates Slytherins. My ‘Leta joins Grindelwald’ theory would be that she has always been on the good side – or trying to be – and after YEARS of oppression and discrimination and being distrusted by maybe the central characters in this film no matter how hard she tries AND maybe finally realising that Newt isn’t going to ever forgive her she just snaps and goes all ‘f*ck you guys then’ (I wouldn’t blame her tbh). HOWEVER, I doubt this. In a trailer, you literally see Leta THROW a fucking spell STANDING BY HERSELF (what u doin bby?) at Grindelwald. Trust me, if this was Tina it would have been all everyone was talking about but of course the fandom was all ‘yeah, see, she’s in the same frame as Grindelwald SHE’S EVIL’. One of the trailers is literally titled Leta vs. Grindelwald. Everything in the trailers/promos points to Queenie joining Grindelwald but *shrugs, I guess*.

Leta dies: I get this may seem the preferable way to appease the Leta haters and the Leta lovers especially if she dies after redeeming herself or heroically or whatever but urgh, no. I know everyone’s like ‘DoNt MAKe ThIS AbOUT RaCe’ when the woc character inevitably is killed but I’m sorry. To have been able to sit in a theatre as a little girl and see Leta Lestrange in the wizarding world would have blown my tiny mind. Honestly, as an older teen seeing Zoe Kravitz in that little photo frame in Newt’s case in the first film was iconic enough for me. After growing up being made to believe I was ‘unattractive’ because of how I looked, seeing total dreamboats like Callum Turner and Eddie Redmayne’s characters being all heart-eyes over Leta is, like...wow!  And I do have an uncomfortable truth for people who want Leta to die. That would possibly be the WORST thing to happen for the Newtina thing (would pretty much be the last nail in the coffin for me ever coming around to it). I’ve seen it happen in my family when someone you love dies. Your feelings for them essentially FREEZE. You can’t fall out of love with someone who is dead. That’s of course not to say that you don’t love again and just as much as the first time. But it takes time (LOTS of it) and there’s a little part of your heart that’s like…permanently sealed off. I don’t even like Newtina yet and I’m hoping for the sake of the Newtina fans that Leta doesn’t die because freakin’ yikes. Just let them heal and connect and be besties again goddammit, its POSSIBLE (and bet your ass I’ll write it my god damn self to prove it if they don’t). 

I know these are highly unpopular opinions and I HOPE that I am wrong, and they do her character justice and don’t discard her via death or the dark side.

In summary, I suppose my biggest struggle with Leta’s character is definitely the overwhelming fandom hate which I still can’t quite comprehend. I really want to believe it isn’t a race thing. Though, I have seen horrible posts about Leta, mean comments on nearly every Leta promo, Zoe Kravitz literally being called a c*nt in the comments of a Leta post on tumblr, a lot of fanfictions having her be primarily evil, selfish, manipulative, in some a rapist even, ugly, cruel, etc. But honestly, she’s literally not interfering in Newt having a relationship with anyone at all??? She’s literally been villainised because her friend can’t get over her (getting Snily nostalgia). But buggered if I’ve been able to find next to anything of that calibre about Jacob’s fiancée (literally a Queenie doppelganger) who left him, like, the day he met Queenie. I get that it was a deleted scene for those non-hardcore fans, but Leta-hate was literally kicked off by a picture in a photo frame and a comment made by a, in my opinion, kind of not-nearly-as-infallible-as-people-think character that barely knows Newt breaking into his head non-consensually (after being repeatedly told not to) who had an agenda to hook him up with her sister. Sooo…*shrugs*.

Even I personally have tried to keep out of the fandom debates, but I wrote a Leta and Newt story (still ongoing) that I stopped for a while because the kind of disgusting comments I was receiving about people hating the pairing. Which, I get. You don’t like a pairing, that’s cool? Why are you going and seeking out a piece about them and then taking the time to leave a comment? Whenever I start to read a story about Leta being this horrific monster of a person and being torn apart and compared and occasionally borderline racist, I just…click out? I know it’s only a small patch of weeds in what is likely a garden of roses, but I have never come across such an insecure fandom for a literal canon ship. If the relationship was that pure and strong, you wouldn’t feel the need to kill or villainise the (non-existent) ‘threat’. I just hope the writers feel the same way. You can write healthy closures and strong women of colour characters without casting them aside for plot development/man pain/stereotypical Caucasian romance/plot device, etc... I’m going to go into the theatre at the end of the week slightly optimistic to be fair but I’m also fully expecting to be disappointed but honestly, Leta could avada kedavra every character and she’s still going to be my favourite, I don’t make the rules. 

[chaptersonetoinfinity]

10 Questions Tag (2/2)

Tagged by my lovely TD, @greenmountaingirl and a continuation of an earlier post :) Sorry I keep forgetting this was just sitting in my drafts, oops! Got a bit stuck on making up my own questions...

1. What is the hardest part of writing for you? 

The actual writing. Putting words down on a page or document.

2. What is your favourite part of the writing process?

WORLD BUILDING. DESIGNING MY CHARACTERS AND THE SETUP AND POSSIBLY THE MAGIC AND MAYBE EVEN A WHOLE NATION. *Bounces excitedly at the mere thought of that.*

3. Do you prefer/ find it easier to write characters of your own gender or a different gender? 

I find it easier to write characters of my own gender, for sure, but I like to have more non-females in my stories (which, honestly, always end up like 75% female-dominated, which is awesome but I do wanna branch out more). Versatility is goals, and I need to practice writing all kinds of people. 

4. What is something you wish you could express better in your writing? 

I wish my straightforward descriptions can give people a clear picture of things. I tend to ground my writing in a lot of abstraction and/or personalization, so much that sometimes the perspective takes over the actual LOOK of things. I need to learn to say some things as they are.

5. Description or action?

I find that my best descriptions happen while I’m describing action? Like, if I’m just gonna describe what a place looks like, I might miss bits and pieces, but when it’s grounded in the perspective of someone in action, it’s easier. So to answer the question... both?

6. Internal monologue or third person narrator?

Third person, but close third that switches every section (yay, branching out!). Occasionally internal monologue is nice, but having too much of that makes me go on tangents. Third person POVs can hold me back a little.

7. Do you ever write epistolary segments?

Not a lot, but I do enjoy writing letters out when I can hear a character’s voice very well inside my head. I hope to write more.

8. What is your favorite character you have ever written?

Gah! You’re asking me to pick ONE character? ONE?! Okay. Fine. Umm based on the characters already in a work of mine that’s completed, I’ll have to say Aleksandr. You haven’t met him yet, but he’s going to be part of Veracity Verse, and his last name is Makarova (for those of you who know what that implies!) and he’ll be Damien’s Cluster-mate and eventual boyfriend. His character is... Just think of a blend of Riley, Lito, and Wolfgang, and you’ve got him. Sad with a big heart and a murderous streak.

9. Villains or heroes?

Someone who’s not clearly one or the other, depending on each reader’s perspective ;)

10. Do you like to redeem characters who do bad things or let them stew in their nasty comeuppance? 

“Nasty comeuppance”. Love that phrase, TD! Now back to the question... I believe most people can redeem themselves to different extents. I try to give villains redeeming factors, and the more morally gray characters with a choice that (if they take) can bring them a bit over to the good side. But that can’t be said for all my characters. Quite a few people in The Ever Rift, despite being given redeeming factors as villains, are gonna rot in whatever iteration of Hell they believe in. There’s only so much forgiveness to be given.

My 10 questions:

If you’re running low on motivation, what do you do to hype yourself up for writing?

Give us a link to your writing soundtrack, if you listen to anything while you write. Or list the songs in there. Reveal your secrets. Please?

Do you write a little bit each day or huge chunks at a time and not much in-between?

Are any of your characters based on real people you know, or yourself?

Have you ever gone to any real-life writing events?

Would you rather always know the right word to use when you’re writing, or always have the opportunity to write when you want to?

How often do you write at work or in class or somewhere you’re not supposed to write?

How do you determine which of your characters you’re gonna kill?

Any common writing/character tropes that you absolutely have no idea how to tackle?

Do you use any writing softwares like scrivener or cold turkey writer or something else to assist your creative process?

Tagging @gear65 @hidden-inside-of-you @peacocktalk @lilyaceofdiamonds @kinoglowworm @nerdygaykitten @adhdwritewithme @whjteljghts and anyone else who wants to do this!

[random-red-ramblings]

Chapters: 5/? Fandom: Les Misérables - All Media Types Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Javert/Jean Valjean Characters: Javert (Les Misérables), Jean Valjean, Cosette Fauchelevent, Toussaint (Les Misérables) Additional Tags: Post-Seine, Javert Lives, Slow Burn, old man virgins, Eventual Porn, Mentions of Suicidal Thoughts, guys getting through their issues, tentative friendship, Friends to Lovers, will update tags and ratings as we go, Javert using slurs to describe himself Summary:

Javert's moment with the Seine is interrupted but his confusion and uncertainty remain. Life continues to be difficult for him with these new trials of conscience, but perhaps it gets somewhat easier in the presence of a friend.

Friendship is the last thing either of them expected and maybe, in the end, it's a bond that runs far deeper.

Chapter 5

Over those two months of early summer they developed something of a routine: Javert would often dine with Valjean and Cosette on Saturday evenings and then the two men would be left alone at the empty hearth and Javert would tell him of his latest trials. As more time passed, these were not the sole subjects he sought Valjean’s counsel on, they became complete descriptions of his day (including many extended rants) and Valjean was always riveted. He did not have much conversation to share here, he did not have much of a life outside of the walls of his home any more, yet that made Javert’s information of what was happening in the city even more necessary to him.

By the end of July, Javert would occasionally visit on other days of the week with a question of morals. He still always arrived for dinner on Saturdays and within a few weeks he stopped even arriving with queries of moral justice - just a ‘good evening’ - and Valjean spoke of Cosette, Javert spoke of his work. Neither of them spoke of the past and Valjean was always ‘Fauchelevent’.

In August, the weather was hot and bright and they began taking walks together around the neighbourhood. Valjean had agreed that he and Cosette could visit the Gillenormand household occasionally but after the first few visits he found it painful to accompany her, to see her dote over Marius so lovingly. From then on, it was arranged that she would go with Toussaint and Valjean found his time occupied by Javert instead. Javert did not know much of nature and this was a subject Valjean was more than qualified conversing in.

At the start of September, the doctor declared Marius was out of danger. Cosette was overjoyed, as expected, and Valjean felt his sorrows begin to creep back in. Cosette visited Marius every day, some days it did not feel like Valjean had seen her at all. He stopped going out, stopped eating decent meals, but then Saturday rolled around and Valjean’s desire for Jarvet’s company became overwhelming.

Javert never let him down. A knock sounded with the chime of the clock and Valjean hurried to the door.

“Javert!” He said with a smile. When had speaking his name form a smile on his lips? When had his greeting changed from ‘Inspector’ to his name?

Javert snorted and stepped inside, handing Valjean his hat.

“Cosette is visiting Marius this afternoon.”

“Isn't she always?”

“It seems that way, yes.” He could not stop the melancholy at the edges of his tone. He closed his eyes. “And when he is, well, they shall marry.”

“Is he really so disagreeable?” Javert raised an eyebrow as they went to the living room to take their usual seats. Valjean had already prepared the tea in his anticipation. Javert would undoubtedly find Marius disagreeable - he was one of the students at the barricade where Javert had been captured, but Javert seemed surprised Valjean would be judgemental.

“No… Well, I have not had much opportunity to know him.” He did not say that he did not care to know him.

“Ah, I believe it is the natural way of things for a parent to feel sorrow when a girl moves truly into womanhood.”

Valjean couldn't help but sigh. He poured their tea, Javert never took anything to sweeten it and Valjean was never certain if that was because he did not like it or that he did not allow himself that pleasure.

“You do not want her to leave,” Javert said.

“Of course I don't. But that is the way of things, as you say.”

“Do not tell me you are afraid if she does not live with you she would not choose to see you?”

Valjean sipped his tea.

“You fool,” Javert spat. “You have done much for her and even I can see how she cares for you.”

“You are right, as always,” Valjean demurred. He was in Javert’s company now and he did not want to think of Cosette’s future. He thought of a change of topic. “But tell me, how goes the forgery case?”

Javert did not look particularly pleased at Valjean escaping his line of enquiry but he allowed it.

“The noose is tightening. Mark my words, by next Saturday when you ask me, they shall be in custody.”

“They?”

“Oh yes, it is most certainly a gang. Well, my theory is one mastermind who is prominent and close enough to a few people of note to have their correspondence, who then has an unfortunate or two practice the hand and signature endlessly until it is perfected. It is possible they do not even know what they are writing. Merely copying a series of shapes.”

“And… you would take them into custody?”

“For questioning of course. Until the whole truth is clear to me.”

“And if your theory is correct?”

“Then they would be considered victims, surely. Their ignorance used and preyed upon for nefarious means.” He said it so matter-of-factly that Valjean could only stare at him. “How could they be guilty of a crime they had no knowledge of committing?”

“Javert…”

“Do not argue with me, V-Fauchelevent. It is just. Would you expect me to compensate them and have them schooled? That is not within my power or my finances.”

The efforts Javert was making! Consistently using Valjean’s false name (probably to avoid making an error if they were in company), having more leniency in his work… And yet he did not seem to realise it. If these things were coming naturally to him, he was indeed a truly changed man.

“You are a remarkable man,” Valjean smiled.

“What? And you are a foolish man who seldom makes any sense.”

Valjean’s smile gave way to a chuckle. “So you always tell me.”

“Then it would appear you have no intention of changing.”

“You would wish me to change?” His voice retained its humour but he could not feel that joy inside. Javert turned his saucer slightly back and forth with the tip of his index finger.

“I would only have you make sense.”

“Thank you, Javert.”

Javert thrust his arms up in exasperation. “You see?! What sort of reaction is that?”

Valjean could not help but laugh again and wasn't that wonderful? That the man he had feared for so long could put him in such good humour?

“At least one of us is entertained,” Javert muttered, folding his arms, but it held no bite. “I will stay for dinner but I must be going as soon as we are done. I need to gather information tonight.”

“Apologies. We are later than usual, with Cosette and Toussaint being out longer than intended.”

“It is fine. The type of people I seek do not come out onto the streets this early.”

“You will send a note tomorrow?”

Javert rolled his eyes at Valjean’s concern. “If it will stop your fretting and getting and absurd ideas into your head, like running into the situation to ensure my safety, then yes.”

“Thank you.”

“I will not require rescuing. I am not some ninny of a student.”

“Good evening, father! Good evening, Inspector!” Cosette called from the front door.

“Good evening, my dear.”

“Forgive my lateness,” she said, poking her head into the room. “I did not mean for you to wait for your dinner.”

“That is quite alright. I do not mean to be rude Mademoiselle, but I must be going after we have dined.”

“Oh. Of course, I do not want to keep you too long.”

Javert nodded to her before she hurried off to help Toussaint prepare the dinner. He did not ever speak much in front of Cosette. Javert fell into silence, lost in thought, looking at the doorway where Cosette had just been. keep reading

[sonofthesaiyans]

I posted 481 times in 2021

225 posts created (47%)

256 posts reblogged (53%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 1.1 posts.

I added 2,135 tags in 2021

#eren yeager - 249 posts

#mikasa ackerman - 248 posts

#armin arlert - 234 posts

#attack on titan - 229 posts

#shingeki no kyojin - 227 posts

#levi ackerman - 226 posts

#hajime isayama - 203 posts

#snk spoilers - 196 posts

#i hate isayama - 176 posts

#sasha braus - 147 posts

Longest Tag: 68 characters

#falbi gabi braun falco grice sasha braus sasha blouse hajime isayama

My Top Posts in 2021

#5

Petra Deserved Better

Just happened to run into some really cool fanart of Levi’s best girl, Petra. And all I could think was, “What Could Have Been.” 

See the full post

94 notes • Posted 2021-10-21 02:31:59 GMT

#4

I’m not going to stop...

Until we get justice for Sasha Braus. I will not stop hounding on Isayama for what he did. I don’t give a fuck that it’s just an anime. 

I’ve suffered disappointment. BUT THIS. This messed with me, everything that bastard did to her in Season Four and Chapter 105, taking her away and removing anything remotely likable in a story that pretty much said fuck all to the characters who were worth a damn. In favor of some c**t tagalong that nobody asked for. I was more than just heartbroken and angry, I cannot. Get this off my fucking mind. And it’s all because of Isayama. 

He’s not going to stop us from enjoying Sasha again one day. I wish so hard I could tell him to his face how furious I am at him for what he did. I want him to know it and to see it. Yes, this affected me very badly, and I cannot forgive it. Everything I never wanted to see from AOT, he did it in the span of barely three chapters. I want him to know his work had a deeply adverse affect beyond his crappy narrative and his even crappier final conclusion. A conclusion that did NOT validate this turn of events on any level. 

I hope one day this can be made right and that he is finally forced to feel some shame for all of it. He’s got nothing to take any pride in, I don’t care how many copies he sells of that shit he passes off as a legit manga.

This story ended with the Ocean. 

98 notes • Posted 2021-11-23 07:58:51 GMT

#3

Hey! Remember this guy?

Remember what his name was? Remember when he used to be the biggest deal on the show, practically the series mascot, not counting Eren or Scarf Girl? Remember what an enigmatic personality he had? 

NEITHER DO I! 

Says something when your Titan has more personality than you do........

119 notes • Posted 2021-12-05 08:11:15 GMT

#2

Stockholm syndrome, aka Eremika....

You know, Mikasa’s attachment to Eren even after he crossed all lines that must never be crossed by any human being, even after he destroyed the world.....why because he was family? The Eren who rescued her the day they met was dead long ago. And yet she still can’t fully come to terms with what a monster he is.

You know that sure reminds me of another character who was similarly bound to somebody abusive just because they were family, but then realized that they, also a genocidal maniac, was not worthy of their loyalty anymore. Who was it now? 

Oh yeah. THIS GUY. 

See the full post

166 notes • Posted 2021-11-18 02:09:56 GMT

#1

It's been seven months and I really can't believe the audacity of many fans who still insist hating the ending means "you just didn't get it!" And they call you out as if you're an idiot for having the many questions raised by it.

It is exasperating. Honestly did anything about that finale work? Because I can't find one goddamned positive thing to say about the story after the timeskip. What is it these defenders see as redeemable about this final season? You know aside from Eren's hair and abs? Because when people don't even like the look of MAPPA's Titan animation what do you got left to lose?

I may primarily hate this season for what it did to Sasha but I doubt her survival would be enough to make me look past all the other bullshit Yams put into play here. She merely would've made it more watchable. Hange as well. And Historia.

What do these defenders think they are defending?

This story ended with the Ocean.

180 notes • Posted 2021-11-11 23:58:50 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

[jaymaydraw-blog]

Just a story I wrote a while back and never posted.

Tags: Tyler/Kyle - Freeform, Prince Kyle, Marquess Tyler, Archduchess Charlotte, Archduchess Helen, King Franklin, King Franklin is an Asshole, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Charlotte is a Scary Woman, Kyle is a Shy Child A story based off of a roleplay scenario that myself and friends had come up with. All of the characters mentioned are original and belong to my friends and I; so please do not use without my permission. ------------------------------------------------------------------- Chapter 1: Royalty: Until We Meet Again Kyle drummed his fingers on his leg, watching the rolling hills pass as his carriage clobbers along. His father was seated beside him, similarly bored and exhausted from the long journey. Kyle lets out a long suffering sigh, slumping with the knowledge that the day ahead was going to be very boring indeed. Carriages in front and behind were also carrying small groups of noblemen and women to the same destination, one such carriage held a remarkable noble family. Tyler's family. Tyler has a Remarkable family in the sense that he had two mothers, whom share their powers equally. They are a strong diarchy, even though they were totally pacifist. The two arch duchesses preferred to concentrate on resources and care of their subjects. Unfortunately, they were considered a lower power due to the fact they had no military and had only one heir to the bloodline. However, this does not stop the two Archduchesses from being a formidable political opponent. Their skills in negotiation and moderation were unparalleled. They expected absolute respect from all, and anyone who opposed them would be... Educated. The young prince Kyle awoke from a broken sleep by his father. Their carriage had stopped, and it was time to get out. His father dragged him from the comfort of the carriage and out into a large hall. Kyle was coming along because of 'Political Education' or something similarly ridiculous. As important as it was, as far as Kyle was concerned it just seemed to be a bunch of stuffy old men and women bickering and pretending to like each other for a few hours. Not far behind were Marquess Tyler and his mothers' carriage. The three exit, assisted by a couple of attendants. They moved inside along with everyone else and into the Hall to socialise a little before the meeting was called. All around were Knights, earls, and various other noblemen and women all talking of business. Talk of recent wars, treaties, trade agreements and even marriages. It saddened the young prince, who was stuck listening about one such marriage, that two people were pushed together with little to no say in the matter, before any form of feeling had developed. Just like the one Kyle's father had arranged for him. Alas, that was the fate of royalty in this world, and one must accept that. Some short few minutes pass then; the chatter fades into hushed mumbles and respectful silence at the entrance of the formidable Duchess Charlotte, clad in a deep purple gown and silver accessories, the beautiful Duchess Helen in a warm red trailing gown, ornamented with golden thread. Behind the two women strode in the dashing marquess Tyler, wearing a striking black tunic and leggings, a spectrum of colour seeming to glitter from under the fabric like stars in the night. Gazing at the new group, Kyle felt small- literally and figuratively. His blue and white outfit made him feel unimportant and meek. They were also standing tall with Tyler at five foot and six inches, while he was a mere five foot two. He stowed himself away quickly to avoid feeling even less important, but his mind had a different idea. He couldn't remove the image of the two women's son; tall, dark and handsome. The meeting was called to begin, so the three took their seats, which resulted in Tyler sitting right next to the young prince Kyle. Tyler doesn't seem to notice him, as he sits patiently watching straight ahead, straight backed and calm faced, surely a perfect heir. Kyle attempted to look dignified beside the perfect man beside him, though all this seemed to do was make him look like a common man next to a royal. As the meeting wore on, an expression of great boredom and distaste etched its way on to Tyler's face. Mutterings of hatred left his lips as he glared at the current speaker, whom was lecturing the matriarchs of the room on their under-qualification and general uselessness as rulers. This rant had particularly been aimed at the Arch Duchesses Charlotte and Helen as they still have neither plan nor intention on building armies or navies. This continues for a good ten minutes until Charlotte's agitation finally boils over. She refused to be spoken of in this manner, and refused to let it go unnoticed. She stands, and her voice boomed over all noise in the room "How dare you speak of myself and the other maidens present! We have had to work twice as hard to gain our titles then twice again to sit in this Hall, and you DARE call our lives easy! You know not of the things you speak. So if you do wish to keep that privilege I bid you be SILENT" To Kyle's relief, the room does indeed go silent. Even his father was quiet, which was out of the ordinary, as he would usually mumble under his breath about something or another to get someone riled up and then they'd no longer be in good standing. He did miss being on good terms with the majority of the nobility here. Time passes before the other Duchess, Duchess Helen, began to speak. Her gentle voice was enticing and captured the attention of any who listened, and she spoke of an important event. The upcoming marriage of her only son, Tyler, and the young prince Kyle. The prince froze in shock and fear in equal measure, as he had never known who he was to be married to, only that he would. He couldn't believe that the terrifying man beside him would be his future husband. Everything else the woman said was tuned out into the background as he fiddled with his sash, thinking of how his future would unfold. After this minor shock, Tyler settled back into his seat and continued to listen to the meeting. He voiced his own opinions and even got into debates with people, which many of the children of the other nobles wouldn't dare do. His voice remained calm and measured while he spoke, but he was also firm and even a bit passionate, which Kyle seemed to find easier to listen to and follow. He never attempted to gloss over or sugar-coat anything, though he knew how to perfectly handle a sensitive subject. Some such subjects were the continued starvation in the frozen north lands, and the imbalance of wealth in the eastern territories. He argued for an improvement in the quality of life of the townspeople in a central and southern central kingdom. All three problems raised were promised to be dealt with and reported on to the relevant powers. Unfortunately tempers had been running thin in the south, which was the land that Kyle's father ruled over. His father had taken offence to the accusations Tyler had made, no matter how true they were. Kyle notices his father’s shortening temper and attempts to silently reason with him, which fails. He turns back to Tyler, listening to him and praying to whatever powers may be that his father doesn't try to do or say anything to anger Tyler. This also gets totally ignored. "Yes our kingdoms have their problems, but you can hardly think of yours as perfect can you?" Franklin retorts spitefully. Kyle groans internally, of course his father had to argue. He also knew that he was about to be, quite literally, in the middle of this. Rather than yell, Tyler turns to the leering king and smiles. A sickly sweet smile dripping with poisonous hatred. "Oh, I do apologise." he says eerily calm. "But I believe the answer to your question is no. Years and years of peace, no famine nor infection and only a short drought. Our kingdom is not perfect, though compared to yours it is a paradise. Our kingdom has helped yours on numerous occasions in case you may have forgotten. Do you remember the months of drought when the only source of water came from our generous kingdom? Do you remember the year of famine when whole families starved to death and only the donations of other kingdoms kept your subjects alive? And let us not forget those wars that YOU started, knowing you couldn't fund the care of your injured afterwards. And yet again you had to depend on others to drag your sorry ass out of debt. Where did you spend that money we gave you? Oh yes I remember. On another banquet after another unnecessary war while hundreds died of very treatable wounds." Franklin frowns and sits down. "Do forgive me for my insolence," he mutters quietly. Tyler sits, with a slightly smug look on his face that made Kyle smile slightly. It had been a long time since his father had been dragged through the mud like this, and it sort of made him happy. The meeting continues, with leering looks thrown at the shamed King Franklin, with a few directed at Kyle but he was frankly too happy to care. The meeting drew to a close after five eventful hours. Kyle got out of his seat, and paused. He considered talking to Tyler quickly before he was forced to depart and, thankfully he seemed in no hurry to leave. Kyle taps his shoulder to gain the taller mans attention. "Those were some excellent points you made" He says shyly Tyler smiled warmly at him. "Oh, thank you," he replied. "And, you must be Kyle. If I am correct?" Kyle nods, "And you are presumably Tyler." The tall man looks at Kyle with a soft gaze. "You are so much more stunning than your portraits suggested" he mumbles Kyle goes as red as a rose at the complement. "T-Thank you. And... Well... It’s nice to know who I will be marrying," he manages to stutter out. "Yes, that was quite the wonderful surprise." Tyler agrees. "Well I wish I could stay longer, but my father's patience is thin. Farewell, Tyler." "Until we meet again, Farewell,"