#“He who leaps for the sky may fall it's true. But he may also fly.”

[multistoty]

Continued

The air tasted like wonder. Like candied butterfly wings caught in sugared spiderwebs, and drunken peaches coated in luck. Helaena was grateful that she had done what was right to win over her sister. Thusnelda had a history of physical and emotional scars that were intriguing though the gold spun blonde knew better than to ask. The ghosts of the past to often jump from surprising places to get their claws into you. The last thing she wanted for that to happen. In fact a pacifist by nature, she wouldn’t hesitate to show her thorns to someone who would treat one of her few friends in such a way. Her family. It was hard not to feel like a second class citizen when your own mother seems to look at smudged ink on her hand were you were concerned and a husband who spent most of his nights away. The curve of her stomach the result of a particularly drunk night. Still, Helaena was grateful to have a babe in her arms soon. “I used to have her ancestor as a child. Aemond found her when I was sulking and gifted me her. She knows a Targaryen. Knows a princess. Warrior or not.” the smile of fondness could be heard with the words that parted her lips. Were her brothers were chaos, the targaryen girl had always played steadfast nurturing. The centipede was precious to her another test of trust. It felt as if kindness was a knife that had cut through her carefully placed shields. The gentle curve of her cheeks and porcelain doll skin with brush stroke perfect features showed further how woman were underestimated and under appreciated for their looks. Both had refused to be a pretty doll on some shelf. Hear the language that isn’t spoken, for everyone can hear spoken words, but only a few can hear the heart that beats behind it. You must find the magic that warms your skin in winter, the magic that perceives what cannot be seen, the magic that curls in your gut with fierce power and will not let you give up, no matter how long or cold the days. We must taste the bitter before we can appreciate the sweet. When she loved, she did it as fiercely as she lived. There is magic in everything, only you must watch for it. It does not come from spells or potions or the sky, nor by special delivery of the gods. It is all around you. It doesn't always take an army to save the world. Sometimes it takes just one person who won't let evil win. You can't be happy unless you're unhappy sometimes. Love: a single word, a wispy thing, a word no bigger or longer than an edge. That's what it is: an edge; a razor. It draws up through the center of your life, cutting everything in two. Before and after. The rest of the world falls away on either side.He who leaps for the sky may fall, it's true. But he may also fly. A good friend keeps your secrets for you. A best friend helps you keep your own secrets. The smile nearly split her lips as it lengthened. Tears misting her eyes though they were happy and didn’t fall in fat globs. A softness came further to her hand at the ready for her darling centipede though it was more to aid her.“Don’t forget where you from or who you are.I'm not trying to fix you; I don't think you need to be fixed. I'm not trying to turn you into someone else. I only want you to be who you already are.  You are the only one who pays attention to myself or her for that matter. To me that makes you have more manners than anyone I know.So many things become beautiful when you really look. I have only let Aemond hold her and he lasted a few moments. Aegon will show himself true, but you are my only sister and friend beyond your husband. Although- Jace is a kind boy.”

@thusnelda-targaryen​

[rphelperblog]

Delirium Series

“I love you. Remember. They cannot take it”

“Everyone you trust, everyone you think you can count on, will eventually disappoint you.” 

"I won't let you go again” 

“This is the strange way of the world, that people who simply want to love are instead forced to become warriors.” 

“You can't be happy unless you're unhappy sometimes".

“I'd rather die my way than live yours.” 

“I guess that’s just part of loving people: You have to give things up. Sometimes you even have to give them up.” 

“Love: It will kill you and save you, both” 

“Hate isn’t the most dangerous thing, indifference is.”

“I know that the whole point—the only point—is to find the things that matter, and hold on to them, and fight for them, and refuse to let them go.”

“He who leaps for the sky may fall, it's true. But he may also fly.” 

“The most dangerous sicknesses are those that make us believe we are well” 

I love you. Remember. They cannot take it.” 

I prefer the ocean when it's gray. Or not really gray. A pale, in-between color. It reminds me of waiting for something good to happen.”

“Hearts are fragile things. That's why you have to be so careful.”

“The flip side of freedom is this: When you're completely free, you're also completely on your own.” 

“And you can't love, not fully, unless you are loved in return.” 

“Take it from me: If you hear the past speaking to you, feel it tugging up your back and runing its fingers up your spine, the best thing to do-the only thing-is run.”

“That's all I want. Just you and me. Always.” 

“He is my world and my world is him and without him there is no world.” 

“I wonder if this is how people always get close: They heal each other's wounds; they repair the broken skin.” 

“Now I'd rather be infected with love for the tiniest sliver of a second than live a hundred years smothered by a lie.”

“If you’re smart, you care. And if you care, you love.” 

“How can someone have the power to shatter you to dust--and also to make you feel so whole?” 

“It's the way he says my name: like music.” 

“But you can build a future out of anything. A scrap, a flicker. The desire to go forward, slowly, one foot at a time. You can build an airy city out of ruins.” 

“It's amazing how words can do that, just shred your insides apart. Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words can never hurt me - such bullshit.” 

“I know that life isn't life if you just float through it. I know that the whole point- the only point- is to find the things that matter and hold onto them and fight for them and refuse to let them go.” 

“Snapshots, moments, mere seconds: as fragile and beautiful and hopeless as a single butterfly, flapping on against a gathering wind.”

“But maybe happiness isn't in the choosing. Maybe it's in the fiction, in the pretending: that wherever we have ended up is where we intended to be all along.” 

“It's like a razor blade edging its way through my organs, shredding me, all I can think is: It will kill me, it will kill me, it will kill me. And I don't care.” 

“Who knows? Maybe they’re right. Maybe we are driven crazy by our feelings. Maybe love is a disease, and we would be better off without it. But we have chosen a different road. And in the end that is the point of escaping the cure: We are free to choose.We are even free to choose the wrong thing.”

“I've learned to get really good at this - say one thing when I'm thinking about something else, act like I'm listening when I'm not, pretend to be calm and happy when I'm really freaking out. It's one of the skills you perfect as you get older”

“Love: a single word, a wispy thing, a word no bigger or longer than an edge. That's what it is: an edge; a razor. It draws up through the center of your life, cutting everything in two. Before and after. The rest of the world falls away on either side.”

“It's so strange how life works: You want something and you wait and wait and feel like it's taking forever to come. Then it happens and it's over and all you want to do is curl back up in that moment before things changed.”

“The past is nothing but a weight. It will build inside of you like a stone.”

“That's the thing: We didn't really care. A world without love is also a world without stakes.” 

“This is what amazes me: that people are new every day. That they are never the same. You must always invent them, and they must always invent themselves, too.” 

“We wanted the freedom to love. We wanted the freedom to choose. Now we have to fight for it.” 

“There are some losses we never get over.” 

“I need him to know that I came for him. I need him to know that somehow, at some point in the tunnels, I began to love him.”

That's when you really lose people, you know.When the pain passes.” 

“We all need mantras, I guess - stories we tell ourselves to keep us going.” 

“Live free or die.” 

“But it does not tell you this: that love will turn the whole world into something greater than itself.” 

“I've been so used to thinking of what the borders are keeping out that I haven't considered that they're also penning us in.” 

“This is what hatred is. It will feed you and at the same time turn you to rot.” 

“Waste today, want tomorrow...”

“He is no longer mine to lose, but the grief is there, a gnawing sense of disbelief.”

“Something must die so that others can live.” 

“You came form different starts and you'll come to different ends.”

“I’ve been trying so hard not to think his name, not to even breathe the idea of him” 

“Time jumps. It leaps. It pours away like water through fingers.”

“We can never understand. We can only try, fumbling our way through the tunneled places, reaching for light.

“But how could anyone who's ever seen a summer - big explosion of green and skies lit up electric with splashy sunsets, a riot of flowers and wind that smells like honey - pick the snow?” 

“people themselves are full of tunnels: winding, dark spaces and caverns; impossible to know all the places inside of them. Impossible even to imagine.” 

“And when it started to get dark you pointed to the sky, and told me there was a star for every thing you loved about me.”

Either way, I can't stop it. I've lost control. And the truly sick thing is that despite everything, I'm glad.” 

“Rainstorms are incredible: falling shards of glass, the air full of diamonds.” 

“That's the thing about faith. It works.” 

“The only thing worse than having no friends is being pitied for having no friends.” 

“That is the rule of the Wilds: You must be bigger and stronger and tougher. You must hurt or be hurt.” 

“In a world without love, this is what people are to each other: values, benefits, and liabilities, numbers and data. We weigh, we quantify, we measure, and the soul is ground to dust.” 

“This is what I want. This is the only thing I've ever wanted. Everything else—every single second of every single day that has come before this very moment, this kiss—has meant nothing.” 

“I hate skin; I hate bones and bodies. I want to curl up inside of him and be carried there forever.” 

“I’ve always hated being looked at.” 

“It occurs to me that for a long time she has been doing her own version of resisting.” 

“You have to go forward: It's the only way. You have to go forward no matter what happens. This is the universal law.” 

“It’s us against them, three against countless thousands. But for some reason, and even though it’s absurd, at that moment I feel pretty damn good about our odds.” 

“There is no before. There is only now, and what comes next.” 

“Love is a kind of possession. It’s a poison.”

“And now I know why they invented words for love, why they had to: It's the only thing that can come close to describing what I feel in that moment, the baffling mixture of pain and pleasure and fear and joy, all running sharply through me at once.”

[thesoundofanicefall]

ONS first opening analysis

So before chapter 104 will officially release I decided to analysis the First Opening of ONS that by Kagami sensei's words is really the discussion and Yuu's talking to Mika.

Then let me start!

All this time, I never meant you harm

So come what may, it is you I have sworn to protect

So don't take all of the blame, we're all at fault

Ah wait don't take all of the weight, you always do

There will always be something you cannot control

We will set you free, your salvation has begun

No light in sight, it's a world of chaos

But don't lose hope

You are the reason why I still dream

I'll be there, hold on

I'll save you somehow

So where are you now?

I'll reach you by dawn

Before you can be turned

Sweet innocence burned

The fallen angels arrive, let them know

(the prove that Shikama doji is actually the fallen angel one)

That it's the pain that makes us all human after all

All I see is a dream out of reach

Our fragile precious world

I'll protect it and rise to the call

I don't know if I have lost you yet

Do they control you like a little marionette?

I'll cut the strings if you'd only come with me

Let me free the wings of your soul so you can fly

I've been waiting here, calling to you all this time

Can you feel the wind?

Let me lead you to the sky

No light in sight, it's a world of chaos

But don't lose hope

You are the reason why I still dream

I'll be there, hold on

I'll save you somehow

So where are you now?

I'll reach you by dawn

Before you disappear

The one thing I fear

The fallen angels arrive, let them know

That it's the pain that makes us all human after all

(Yuu and demon Mika will face Shikama doji and Yuu wants him not to fall for his trap or scare of him as Mika on first ending of ONS replyed to this part like this that the fallen angels I run with all know it's our fear that makes us all human after all)

All I see is a dream out of reach

Our fragile precious world

They'll discard it and rise to the call

(just like we saw how Asuramaru, Kiseki o and Gekkoin destroyed Mika's world)

If you wanna fight with me

Then go ahead, it's destiny

Cause all I wanna do is set you free

You will be the death of me

--------------—-----——---------—--------—

So yep till here everything in the opening happened in main manga but since this part will go for future chapters!

Let's take a look and analysis it together!

-------—-------------—--------——---------—

The power of our army has been cut with a scythe

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Army?! What does this mean?! The Japanese imperial army or the heaven's army?! Anyway no matter what army is this (Although I think that's the Japanese imperial army) but something that is important is that army is or better to say was Yuu's allay and friend

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And if we lose you to them, we may never survive

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And yeah ofc if they will lose Mika to Shikama doji (the fallen angel) everything will end just like how Mahiru mentioned this on chapter 103 and Krul said before many times too)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You can leap but you must first believe

Just one step at a time

So keep your head up, boy and you'll be fine

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

About this part I think here Yuu is talking to dream Mika who called for Yuu's help on chapter 101 before and as Yuu mentioned before too in this opening here Mika is now like a puppet and so he will eventually join Shikama doji and Yuu says if you wanna do this then that's fine but as I want to save you and I am your true friend and Shikama doji is actually your true enemy then at least know this that I am not mad at you because of what happened 4 years ago and our family's death so stop blaming yourself and believe that you are a precious and wonderful person and back to me!

And so my guess is that although the dream Mika will join Shikama doji and demon Mika will be with Yuu but still Yuu needs to also rescue dream Mika too he will face with him at the end and will eventually and successfully save him from his dark thoughts and traumas and the heavy blame he takes with himself because of what happened 4 years ago

So that was this! Hope you'll like it also what do you think yourself?!

Please add anything you think to this ^^

[dragonrajafanfiction]

Genji Heavy Industries (Part 10) No More Sacrifices

I love the MC. I love the MC... I love the MC

No one can stand upright within the realm of Yanling Majesty unless they have permission from the user himself. The person in the field must bear tens or even hundreds of times their normal weight. Blood will break through the skin from below the body and the brain is severely deprived of blood. In an effort to avoid blood loss to the brain, those affected will kneel or bow low to the ground. But even bowing, they may not be able to survive. As the power of Majesty continues to rise, the user can make anyone's bones crack and flatten their bodies to the ground. Although it is called "Majesty", it is not a kingly conquest at all, but rather an overwhelming super-gravity applied to the opponent, slowly and mercilessly crushing him. 

This was Chisei’s plan, concentrating the group of deadpool in the center of the hall, forcibly overpowering them with the Majesty, and then setting them on fire. The fires were so hot that they would explode in a few minutes, and the heat and shockwaves would turn the floor into a fire pit. Finally, it was time for the fire to come out. Chu Zihang grabbed the flamethrower from Caesar’s back, and the ten-meter-long flame swept over the oil-soaked deadpool. 

Immediately, the blaze rose ten feet high. The deadpool were completely immobilized and could only endure the burning. Pale faces burning, black hair burning, the deadpool group’s wails were deafening. Your headache returns at the noise. 

"Quick ...... go!" Chisei Gen turned you by your shoulders and shoved you hard toward the elevator shaft before collapsing in a pool of blood. 

You gasp. “Sequelae!” 

But before you can go to help him, Chu Zihang has beaten you to it and shoves you again to the elevator. “Go!”

Everything in you rebels! “No!” This was just like when Renata pushed you over the cliff! You’re arms stiffen at your sides and your hands balled into fists. “No!”

Chu Zihang returned his sword to his hip, pounced on Chisei, and pulled him up from the pool of blood to take a look at his face. Zihang was greatly alarmed. Chisei’s heart was frantically beating to maintain his faltering body, and purple-black capillaries emerged from the surface of the skin. It is no wonder Chisei Gen decided to use this super Yanling after so much delay. This Yanling would put a great burden on his body. “Majesty” will drain the entire life force of the user in an instant. 

The more high-end Yanling are, the more they burden the body. The mythical "Rhine", once released, will kill the user, who can only survive for a fraction of a second in his own domain. 

"Go!" Chisei said again. 

Chu Zihang suddenly understood the meaning of Chisei’s words. Once Chisei was too exhausted to support his power, the field of Majesty would also collapse. The deadpool will once again gain the ability to move! 

You brandish the claw of the dead female Deadpool and fall on the still wriggling enemy beasts in a frenzy to disable them. But they were already starting to recover! Your face is covered in dried black blood and soot, but your tears are coming so quickly that they make pale tracks on your face. Your face was twisted like a demon’s. You weren’t angry at Chisei or Chu Zihang or even Caesar for the situation. It was these Deadpool who were now trying to make your friends tell you you have to go. You have to live! You have to leave them behind!

You were sick of hearing it and for provoking those words to be uttered, these Deadpool would pay!

Chu Zihang didn't even have to think about it to know that a Deadpool was pouncing on his back. Caesar found it and suppressed it with firepower. He grabbed Chisei and rolled to the ground to dodge as a giant flaming serpent fell from above, a deadly lunge by a Deadpool who had just been freed from the realm of Majesty. Chu Zihang completely ignored the fact that he was now on fire.

Its sharp claws gripped Chisei's calf, and Chu Zihang heard the slight sound of bones twisting. The death servitor’s grip was so strong that it could have left handprints on steel. But then it fell limp. 

You’re standing on the Deadpool's back, the claw dagger lodged under its skull. You wrench the claw from its neck bones. “Take the damn sword and help me!”

Chu Zihang suddenly felt an additional thing in his hand, the hilt of Onimaru! At the key moment, Chisei had handed Chu Zihang his alchemy sword! Zihang rolled over and leaped up, swinging the blade into the Deadpool's chest. You leap out of the way, while Chu Zihang finished it off by drawing the last Sten submachine gun firing into its heart point blank.

There were more deadpool rising. Your eyes are a blazing golden terror as you dash through the piles of flaming bodies towards them with the claw dagger. In the dark, you can see the stirring deadpool's eyes opening as the field collapses. Those eyes have become your targets. Your laser pointer.

Channeling the fury of the female deadpool chasing the red dot, you dart from one body to the next, not planning on killing them -- that would take too long -- but severing their spinal cords at the neck. If you were even partially successful, they wouldn’t be able to crawl out in time to escape burning to death. Caesar and Chu Zihang had seen your cold killer’s aura before, but this aura was blazing hot like the sun. Chu Zihang had seen a glimpse of your fighting style before in Chizuru, when you anticipated his attack and cut off his approach to you by splitting the street in half with a wall of heat, all without looking up to confirm he was coming. Then when he fell from the sky, you were again ready, lifting up a piece of concrete to make him dodge and then ruining his landing with an earth tremor.

You were good at shooting and hand to hand combat, but your true power was your ability to predict the moves of the enemy and take advantage of them. With the snake, it was simple. Pinned to the ground, they could only rise up or roll over. Even as they thrashed to get at you, you simply followed their movement, like a homing beacon locked onto the back of their head and, once you’d severed their spinal cord, you moved on to where you were already keeping sight of the next target’s movements. You did all this without pausing. Within seconds, ten deadpool who had been released were suppressed by your knife the moment they started to recover. It only took 4 or 5 seconds for each one.

"Carry this guy to the elevator!" Caesar ran to Chu Zihang's side, the Western Watch firing in quick succession to release a cloud of mercury smoke. “MC! Let’s go!”

You nod and turn to flee. Suddenly you are hit with a blinding pain that makes you cry out. You turn to see the rising body of the deadpool that raked you across the back with its mighty claws. You knew where it had been positioned. It it had been lying there, eyes closed, seemingly already dead or subdued. It was lying alright. It was lying to you. Now its body was already in an S-curve, pulled back into striking position.

The roaring trap-jaw of razor sharp teeth thrusts forward and fills your vision but then it’s sent flying back by a barrage from Caesar! Caesar let’s out a furious snarl as he unloads the last of his machine gun into the monster. The gun smokes and sizzles a second before he realizes he’s out and then he tosses it to the side and runs to you. He picks you up and carries you towards the elevator shaft.

Neither of you say anything as you rush towards the elevator shaft. The eyes of the remaining deadpool are like Will o’ the wisps, dancing in dark patches between the flames.

Chu Zihang carried Chisei on his shoulders and moved towards the elevator. All of you were exhausted, your hearts were beating so violently that it seemed your chests were going to crack. 

Then the ground shook. A sturdy death servitor gallops through the mercury fumes created by explosive shells, pulling itself along by its upper body. Its upper body is sturdy like a horse or a bear. Before mutating into a death servitor, it was probably a sturdy man. The dragon blood stimulated its muscle growth. Its shoulders are freakishly bulging. It’s arm span is long like a gorilla's. It has the most amazing snowy white swords in its hands! It picked up two long blades from the ones Chu Zihang had discarded in the fire, and approached in the form of a sword dancing snake god. In known records, there is no shortage of Deadpool using weapons. If they had weapons skills as humans, that memory can be inherited by the Deadpool. But such sophisticated knife skills had never been seen before by anyone in the team.  Its snake body is enchantingly twisted, double swords flowing around the body, forming a flawless defense. 

Caesar assessed the situation for a moment and set you down. “Go to the elevator.”

“No..No… No…” You couldn’t say anything more. Exhaustion reared its ugly head again and this time combined with blood loss and pain. It was happening again! When would he stop trying to sacrifice himself?

“MC. Look at me.” 

You look at him. His eyes were as blue as Renata’s. 

But instead of saying live, he said, “I promise I’ll come back.”

“Okay…” You say, but inside you still burned. When he saw your seeming submission to his order, he let you go. But you are done with sacrifices. You weren’t leaving without all of your friends. Your hands tighten around the smooth metal of the laser sight in your pocket.

Caesar was far too busy with his own issues to realize that, for this whole battle, you hadn’t used any of the ammunition that you had loaded onto your belt. You’d spent some shots to free the claw from the Deadpool female and use it as a dagger. You’d fired your gun to escape from the deadpool that trapped you. But after that, you hadn’t fired a single shot.

You swing the laser sight into the eyes of the Deadpool swordsman. The laser light sends excruciating pain through its skull and is too blinding to ignore. He rears back and gives a loud shout. You take off running, raise your pistol and start unloading all the ammunition you had on your person.

“MC!” Caesar yelled.

“Save the romantic fluff for your fiance, lover boy!” You skid to a halt, shining the light into the furious monster’s eyes. You spread out your arms and twitch your fingers in the universal sign of “come at me”

Your back hurt. God, it hurt. You could feel the blood running down and you knew your time was limited. But you would much rather spend your remaining time and energy helping Caesar escape than being a limp doll against the wall.

Caesar pulled out the antique shotgun from behind his back. The length of the barrel is absolutely amazing. It’s longer than you are tall! Where was he hiding that? In a pocket dimension? Your wide eyed stare made the Deadpool turn around, just in time for him to look directly down the barrel of that bad boy. 

The shotgun fired as usual with a loud bang. The force of the large caliber bullet was so great that you had to jump out of the way when the snake man was blasted into the fire. Caesar was jolted backwards by the recoil. You run over to him, cackling like the naughty girl you were to help him up.

"What a time to play with knives and be cool." Caesar dropped his antique shotgun and drew his next weapon, an ordinary shot gun. "You're a fucking funny character, aren't you?" 

The ground shook again as a huge shadow fell from above. It was a steel beam weighing over a dozen tons that plunged several inches into the floor like a spear of a god, spilling debris in a pile taller than you. The ceiling and walls were cracking. Another aftershock! Zigzagging cracks spread fast on the inner walls, and the laminated steel floor slab could not withstand the earthquake. The intensity of this round of shock waves exceeded 8.0. Flames in all directions, glare, and dust blurred your vision. The wooden statues of Buddha hanging on the walls turned into a blaze of fire and fell, and the black iron shrines were burned red. All of these had been carried from the old shrine of the Hydra family, relics that had been handed down for thousands of years… their lifespan ended today. 

You finally reached the elevator door. The shockwave had not only just cracked the floor and walls, but it had broken the steel beam above the elevator door and blocked it.

The only way out was gone. Royal Fire could not destroy the walls of the Genji Heavy Industries building. In a few minutes, the fire of the explosion would sweep through the floor, and you would end up being buried with the deadpool. Your heart sank.

Caesar stood by your side and gave the debris an annoyed kick. 

"I never thought I would die by jumping into the oven in the middle of a feast of roasted snakes ......" 

"Then the way you planned your death is...?" Chu Zihang pulled out his sword at his waist. 

"I was going to have a band and girls in sexy dresses, by a champagne-colored pool, with the sky littered with fireworks, and reporters from all over the world waiting outside my house for Caesar Gattuso's death." 

Chisei suddenly stood up bracing against Chu Zihang's shoulders. He limped to one side and tried to press the down button of the freight elevator. The button lit up, the numbers above the elevator doors slowly changed, and the freight elevator was actually working! 

This slow-running old elevator actually survived the earthquake! 

"So that scum Lu Mingfei is okay too!" Caesar's voice was filled with relief. 

“I’m going to tell him you said that.” You mumble weakly.

Chu Zihang cut off a piece of C4 explosive and inserted the fuse after adhering it to the elevator door. He dashed to you, embracing you in a hug and ignoring your cry of pain. With a loud boom, the aluminum door with steel plates embedded inside was blown open. You were trembling but you understood why he shielded you, you weren’t able to escape fast enough.

"Great, but those things seem to want to take the elevator too." Caesar turned his head to look behind him. 

The "sizzling" sound of scales on marble tile and the sound of crying babies was approaching, and even Chu Zihang and Chisei Gen could hear it. In the flames and black smoke, a faintly bright snake shadow appeared. Those burning death servitors actually forced themselves to endure the pain of crawling over. Those who had their spines severed still screamed as though they could try to reach you by voice.  These deadpool had the ability to sense your location by vibration and you’d just given yourself away. The deadpool who wielded two swords twisted his body enchantingly, looking very much like the snake god Naga of Indian mythology. Its twin swords burned red in the fire, stirring up a large wind. Caesar's large caliber lead bullet did not inflict a fatal wound on it. 

"Your blood!" Chu Zihang whispered, "They smell the blood on you!" 

Caesar suddenly realized. The deadpool’s thirst for blood and killing was rooted deep in their minds, and they would not let go even in death. Chisei Gen’s blood was the most delicious thing they coveted. Chisei had been wounded in the shoulder before, in the elevator shaft. The strong smell of burning could not hide the smell from them. 

"Strip his armor off and throw it into the fire!" Caesar yelled low. 

"I'm afraid it's useless. The Deadpool will immediately find out that it's just a piece of armor and continue exploring this way." Chu Zihang quickly dismantled the straps of the armor, the chest and then the shoulders, from Chisei’s body.

"In the Trieste, you were the first out of the cabin. Now leave the rest to me. Call me as soon as the elevator arrives, I'll get out of the fire as soon as possible. Give me cover fire." Chu Zihang is expressionless, never one to shy away from dangerous work.

You try to rise and find that the pain crashing through your body was too much and lower back to the ground. 

Chu Zihang watches you struggle with no words.

You huff. “Fine.”

He nodded and unloaded a bullet from the shotgun, cut open the plastic cartridge case, and spilled the gunpowder on Chisei's shoulder. Caesar had already lit his cigar and pressed it hard into the wound. When the flames rose, even Chisei's face spasmed. The pain of burning nerve ends was enough to make the average person faint. The burn temporarily blocked the blood vessels and dried up the blood on the surface of the wound, thus removing the smell of blood from the body of Chisei. Chu Zihang put away the shotgun in the windbreaker, pulled out the sword. He’s not as good as you or Caesar at firearms. He’s far more trustworthy with a blade.

"Hey." Chisei said. 

Chu Zihang twisted his head, to catch Onimaru which he tossed to him: "Use this blade to cut through the bones of the deadpool." 

Chu Zihang nodded slightly, and did not say thank you. He suddenly sprang into the fire, the hem of his coat flapping like the wings of a great eagle. The swarm of deadpool reacted swiftly, and the sound of snaking went after Chu Zihang.

[glassworkspiderlilies]

portrait of a lady

Genshin Impact | Lumine/Albedo | AO3 Summary: Three times Albedo draws Lumine, and the two times he doesn't. Notes: mr. albaedo...

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Dragonspine is only the beginning.

Albedo is well-informed about her by now, one would think, after running so many tests and observing her first-hand. But those were all in controlled scenarios of his own making, and so, he discovers, that outside of that, there is far more to Lumine, stranded Traveler of worlds.

Somewhat surprisingly, there are quite a few chances to see her out and about around Mondstadt. Albedo is, besides Chief Alchemist, also Captain of the Knights of Favonius’ Investigation Team—which means he too does his fair share of fieldwork, granting him opportunity to cross paths with her at unexpected moments.

But even so—the Traveler has her goals and he has his, and since Dragonspine, he spots her only in passing.

As such, in order to perform a separate study when he only sees her in such scattered moments, Albedo does the other thing that he does best besides alchemy and childcare—

He draws.

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It is one thing to see her combat in a controlled situation, and another to see her fighting out in the wild. Even from the distance that he spots her, she is quite the sight. Lumine is strong; this he knows. But her movements are different when she’s in a trickier situation and does not have to account for the safety of another person. She is as vicious as she is elegant—relentless in her swordsmanship, flawless in her footwork.

It could be a dance, almost—and so too can he see that it is not one meant to be performed alone. The one who stands beside her can only be just as formidable—and of course it must be her missing brother, whom Albedo feels like he can picture despite never having met him. Still, she does what she must to make up for that lack of partner, and with one final array of slashes nearly too quick for the eye, the Ruin Guard falls. Lumine pockets the core of the monster before flipping her sword into the air, and it disappears to wherever it does.

She’s on her way again before Albedo thinks to call out to her, unwilling as he is to interrupt whatever mission she’s on without a particular reason.

Instead, he flips open his sketchbook. He has a very good memory, but he uses quick, broad strokes anyway to capture the basis of what he saw before a certain amount of detail is inevitably lost to the limits of brain capacity. He is in the middle of a field investigation with the command of other knights, so it won’t do to take too much time for something so completely unrelated.

That night though, he sits at his desk and refines the sketch. The sharp angles of her arm as she cuts through the Ruin Guard’s tough body, the fluidity of movement from one slash into the next, the flow of her hair as she whips her body around to dodge…

It is not perfect, but it is passable. There is only so much he can derive from such a short moment, without additional time with the model.

Still, it will do, until next time.

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Miraculously, for all the dangerous maneuvers she tends to do, the Traveler’s flight license has yet to be revoked. She always falls just short of penalty, in a way that makes the Acting Grand Master’s lips pinch together and the Cavalry Captain grin in delight when they see her. Jean can only sigh and request for Lumine to simply be careful, to which the Traveler dips her head obediently and solemnly swears that she is, and would not let her flying jeopardize herself or the citizens’ safety.

There is something about the way she says that, so serious and matter of fact, that goes beyond simple confidence in one’s flight skills, and has the Knights questioning.

But they do not ask, nor can they really figure just what it is exactly they want to question.  

Albedo, of course, observes. She is so natural in the sky, the glider seeming like an extension of her body. She flew exceedingly well even after she’d been first gifted the glider, according to Amber, even when Stormterror’s winds had whipped her so suddenly into the air. Lumine has Barbatos’ blessing, it is true, even if not quite in the form of a Vision, but her skill does not feel owed to that. Jean, gifted with her Anemo Vision as she is, is not so remarkable in the skies; even Amber, three-time winner of Mondstadt’s Gliding Championship, does not quite have the particular easy grace that Lumine does.  

It is….baffling, this ever so slight yet just discernable difference that cannot quite be explained.

Albedo sees her sometimes out in the field, a large shadow overhead as she glides. On somewhat rare occasions she will accompany him while he experiments in the wild, and he watches with mild trepidation as she steps off the sides of cliffs so casually, unfurling her wings like an afterthought to retrieve an herb or some such thing down below.

Other times, she drops from such great heights that he can only marvel at the lack of fear.

He is painting below Starsnatch Cliff the first time this happens, suddenly hearing a soft call of Albedo! in the distance. It takes a minute to locate where it is coming from, and he squints to see the tiny figure of the Traveler atop Starsnatch’s tip, waving her arm. He waves back, but he cannot hear what else she is saying nor understand what she is gesturing at, and tilts his head in confusion. In another minute, she takes a running leap off of the cliff, gliding towards him. He watches as she soars, then takes out his sketchbook to capture her figure in the air. Albedo’s eyes follow her as she glides past him, and—ah, the band of hilichurls making their way towards him must have been what she was trying to warn him about.

But then—she drops suddenly, hurtling down with such speed that it is genuinely alarming, the wind whistling. Her sword manifests in her hand and she uses it to pinpoint her landing; she slams into the ground, the blade sinking into the sand before her knee does, her other leg bent and braced for support. The hilichurls are blown back from the resulting blast of power, and she’s up again in a flash, ready to fight.

Albedo blinks before adjusting his gloves, and joins her in the clean-up.

“Are you not afraid of falling?” he asks, immediately after the battle is over.

She turns to him with a faint smile, putting away her sword.

“Not when I mean to,” she responds. “Are you not afraid of surprise attacks, if you are so focused on your art?”

“I would not be Chief Alchemist or Captain of the Investigation Team if I could not handle such situations,” he replies politely, “Though I thank you for your concern, and assistance.”

She gives him an amused look.

“Are you hurt?” he queries, glancing at her knees, “That was…quite the landing.”

“It is not so bad with sand,” she shrugs, brushing off the grains that have stuck to her skin, “But I have gotten better at mitigating the damage.”

He raises an eyebrow, and her lip quirks up as she awaits his potential scolding. There are a few beats of silence between them before he sighs.

“I trust you know what you’re doing,” he relents, and her eyes grow more mirthful.

“As do you,” she says pointedly, and he holds out his hands in defeat.

They have a quick lunch—she splits her food with him despite his protests—and she’s off again, always busy.

Albedo stays behind until the sun begins to set, filling pages in his sketchbook, the image of her descent burned into his mind.

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“You want a lesson on alchemy?”

He blinks at her in surprise as he lets her into his laboratory. She steps in carefully, looking around with interest and taking in its disorganization and clutter.

“This is not so different from Dragonspine, is it?” Lumine says, the corners of her eyes crinkling, and he coughs lightly in mild embarrassment. “And yes. Is it so surprising? Timaeus has been a great help, but I do not think it remiss to ask his teacher for guidance as I move on to craft more complicated things.”

“From what I hear, you are shaping up to be quite the alchemist yourself,” Albedo says, crossing his arms and putting a thumb to his chin in thought.

Both Timaeus and Sucrose, who had seen her craft in person before while he has not, had mentioned that she was taking to the process quite well.  

“You are exaggerating, surely. Perhaps it may seem that way when all one crafts is the occasional potion. But as I said, I find myself needing to make use of more complicated alchemy if I want to reinforce my weapons.”

Albedo hums, studying her. It is true that such a thing was one of his topics of particular interests for a time, hence her coming to him instead of Sucrose, who was far easier to find.

“Have you ever thought of becoming an alchemist, with this growing interest of yours?” he asks, motioning for her to come closer to his crafting table.

“Ah, Sir Kreideprinz, is two students not enough?” she teases lightly, “I’m afraid I haven’t the proper time to invest currently, as you must know. But I shall promise not to abuse any knowledge you are willing to impart upon me.”

It startles a laugh out of him—one, because it had not occurred to him that she would, and two, because what was considered misuse of the art was not always the same between alchemists.

“All knowledge is worth having,” he murmurs absently, and she glances at him out of the corner of her eye, but he says nothing further on the topic of potential misuse. “Alright, then. Look here…”

She is a good listener, despite the complexities of the process he outlines. They discuss the theory, and he shows her how to combine the pieces she’s brought to higher-level material. She watches with a nearly hawk-like keenness, and asks him to repeat the process a few more times before she attempts it herself.

It is all about trial and error, in the beginning, and so Albedo steps away and takes the back seat as he watches her work out the formulae and arrangement of materials on the table to achieve what she wants. He pays close attention to prevent any dangerous accidents, but also idly puts a pencil to paper while he observes her.

Her focus, the way she drags her fingers lightly over the symbols as she thinks, the purse of her lips as she works out what she needs to…yes, drawing her is never tiring.  

Eventually, she succeeds in her crafting, straightening out her back and smiling in quiet pride as she turns to show him the results. Under his further guidance, she uses her newly crafted materials to reinforce her sword, and they both look upon the end result with satisfaction.

“Good work,” he says, as she prepares to leave, “May this serve your well on your journey.”

She glances at the papers he had set aside before coming to assist her again, unable to see what is on them from this distance. Still, there is a knowing gleam in her eye.  

“And may that serve you well in your research,” she replies, with a slight raise of her eyebrow.

His lips twitch in amusement, but he does not respond.

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As much as Albedo loves Klee, she is a boundless ball of energy, and he must admit that he is not always able to keep up with her. It is why there is a rotation of knights to look after her when Albedo is particularly busy and cannot be disturbed—and playing with Klee comes to be considered tantamount to a training regimen. Oftentimes the girl will have left a string of exhausted knights—especially recruits—in her wake when he finally comes out of his laboratory.

So it is odd that this time, when he comes out to take down his “Experiment in Progress” sign, that the halls are unusually quiet. The knights seem fairly undisturbed, and he does not even hear any distant telltale explosions to signal her presence.

“The Honorary Knight is watching Klee,” he hears Jean say, and Albedo turns around to see the Acting Grand Master smiling at him as she comes down the hall. “The last I saw them, they were in the courtyard.”

“I see,” Albedo says, inclining his head in thanks, and goes searching.

Jean had spoken truly; the two are still in the courtyard, sitting on the grass, and apparently weaving stalks of dandelions into garlands. Albedo is surprised to see Klee so focused on such an activity, when she usually prefers more active games.

“Hello,” he says, to draw their attention, and Klee perks up immediately, rushing over to hug him around the middle.

“Albedo! Are you all done now? Can we eat dinner early? Can Miss Lumi come? We played all day so I’m really hungry!”

Albedo pats her head and murmurs acknowledgement of her requests, his eyes crinkling as he looks over at Lumine.

“Jean had mentioned you were watching her,” he says, “Thank you. I hope you were able to convince her to leave the fish population at Starfell Lake intact.”

To his incredible surprise, Lumine’s cheeks turn faintly pink, and Klee begins to jump up and down, still holding onto him.

“Albedo, did you know? Miss Lumi is really good at fishing! She can catch them with just her bare hands! We brought lots back, so can you make Woodland Dream tonight, pleeeeeeeease?”

He blinks at Klee, then looks back at the Traveler, who avoids his gaze and steadily continues to weave dandelions together with careful precision.

“With her bare hands, you say?” he asks, and his sister uh-huhs enthusiastically.

“Oh! But I want to finish making these first! Albedo, do you want to make one too? Miss Lumi says that in some other worlds, flower crowns are a sign of appreciation!”

“Alright then,” he says, though Klee is already dragging him towards the spot she had temporarily abandoned.

He is quiet for a while, letting Klee and Lumine show him how to bend the stalks carefully and weave them tightly without breaking. But as he falls into the proper pattern, he is too curious to stay silent.

“…Where did you learn to catch fish with your bare hands?” he asks innocently, without looking up.

“…The fish population is intact enough that, given a little time, Starfell Lake will be full again,” Lumine says first instead, sensing the question he is not asking. “But—nowhere in particular. It is simply a matter of practice. It was a silly thing that Aether and I had challenged each other to do one day, and then contested one another for the most caught.”

Her tone grows a little quieter at the mention of her brother, her eyes more melancholy. Albedo glances at her, but before he can say anything, it is Klee who broaches the subject.

“What’s Mr. Aether like?” she asks cheerfully, and Lumine startles at the question. “You’re twins, right? Do you look exactly the same?”

Lumine blinks, her eyes growing thoughtful.

“No,” she says absently. “But we do look…very similar. His eyes are a little sharper, and his nose is a little more pointed. His hair is sort of like mine, but he could never the front to lie flat. Back when both of our hair was long…I braided his, but he liked it so much that he kept it. He cut mine for me, when I wanted a change.”

Albedo looks at her, noting what she says, trying to imagine her other half.

“Go on,” he encourages, and her eyes widen a little as she pauses, thinking about stories to share.

Haltingly, she tells them a little more about her brother. How he favored the hotter months over the cooler ones, how he liked acrobatics when they flew, how he preferred darker clothing over lighter ones. As she speaks, Albedo forms a clearer picture of Aether in his mind.

In the course of this, Klee ends up dozing against Albedo’s side, though she tries hard to stay awake.

“Ah, I tired her out,” Lumine says, her eyes crinkling.

“Quite the feat,” Albedo murmurs, patting Klee’s arm. “Ah, Klee. What about dinner?”

“Woodland….Dream…” she murmurs, and Lumine chuckles.

“It was all she could talk about, at the lake,” she says, reaching out to stroke the little girl’s hair tenderly. “I have high expectations.”

“It’s my specialty,” Albedo says easily, “So it should not disappoint. Ah—here, this is for you.”

He gives her the garland he had woven, as well as the finished one of the two Klee had been making, as Lumine was undoubtedly meant to be one of the recipients. Lumine blinks, taking the crowns gingerly.

“Appreciation, right?” Albedo says, and Lumine nods.

She puts both on her head, and then places the one she made carefully on Albedo’s.

“My gratitude, for dinner,” she tells him, and he smiles.

“Well, you will have to come home with us first,” he says as he picks Klee up, and she blinks a little in mild surprise before smiling back.

Albedo leads the way, and it is not long before Lumine falls into step beside him.

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He is finishing up some sketches in the library when she climbs through the open window, startling him out of focus.

“Hello,” she greets amicably, sliding into the chair across from him.

“Hello,” he greets back, “That was quite the entrance.”

“It’s faster this way, sometimes,” she says, and he blinks at her, unable to formulate a response to say otherwise. “How many hours have you been here?”

He blinks again, working out the time via the position of the sun, peering out of the window.

“Four hours, perhaps?” he guesses, and Lumine hums, looking at the papers laid out in front of him, which are all various portraits of her.

“Will you finally tell me what this is about?” she asks, propping her elbows up and putting her chin in her hands.

He smiles.

“Nothing so mysterious,” he says, gathering some of the drawings closer to glance at for reference, “I have said before you make a fascinating study, have I not? But I suppose I did want to try something.”

She raises an eyebrow in question, but Albedo signals for her to wait a moment as he makes some minor adjustments to the piece he is working on at present, which is tilted towards him against the edge of the table and thus out of her sight.

“Alright, then,” he says after a while, “Here—all of these are for you.”

He places this last finished piece on top of the small stack resting on the seat of the chair next to him, then hands the whole thing over, and she takes the little pile with open curiosity.

Her expression changes to shock when she looks down at the first drawing.

“…Aether,” she whispers wonderingly, her hand hovering over the portrait as if she is afraid this too will disappear in front of her.

“You paint quite a vibrant picture when you speak of him,” Albedo explains, “So I thought I would try my hand at actually putting him to picture. I am sure there are inaccuracies, but…tell me, how did I do?”

She is silent as she goes through the others—some quick sketches, some more detailed renderings, some smudged with color, and even a couple of full paintings. Her eyes grow wet as she looks through each page, pausing here and there to trace the lines with her fingers, or to relax her grip so she does not crinkle the paper overmuch.

“Near perfect,” she finally says, very quietly, as she looks at him. “Albedo, this is….remarkable. I feared…forgetting small things about him, with the time that had passed. Thank you.”

He is not sure what to say now that she is teary, so he coughs a little and pushes the sketches of herself towards her, as well.

“You are very welcome. I confess I may have given him some of your mannerisms, for lack of other reference. But when you fight, there is a space for him, and I can guess how he might compliment your movements as you must complement his. Of course, as I have never met him, I did take some liberties…”

He trails off when she looks at him again after studying her portraits, her gaze a little more intense.

“You…must have been studying me quite closely, to produce these,” she says, tone deceptively mild.

“Ah—my apologies, I suppose it was presumptuous of me,” he says, worried about losing her regard, “I—sketch people around Mondstadt so often, they have grown used to seeing me do so. But I should have asked your permission.”

“Oh—that is not what I mean,” she reassures him, tilting her head, “I just hadn’t realized you were paying quite so much attention to me. I would have sat for you, if you asked.”

His eyes crinkle at the suggestion; she bore his constant tests with great patience up in Dragonspine where others would not have so readily, and here she is still willing to do additional favors for his whims.

“I appreciate the offer, but it was not such a…staged manner that I was after. I enjoyed seeing you simply going about your activities.”

She hums, gentling putting down the stack of drawings before leaning back in her seat a little.  

“And now?” she asks, and he blinks at her, confused at her meaning. “Is this moment also something you are looking to draw?”

He stares at her, taking in her profile in this moment, a curious feeling creeping over him as he observes her. The quiet intensity of her gaze, the faint smile curving her lips, the weight of some sort of expectation in the air…

“I…suppose I could, but as I mentioned, I was hoping for something other than a controlled environment,” he demurs hesitantly.

“Ah, so you believe this a controlled environment?”

He pauses again, taken aback, and as if to purposely disprove his implication, a strong gust of wind rushes through the open window. The papers on the table rustle loudly, startling the both of them, and the two instinctively surge from their seats, lunging across the table in half-panic and slamming their hands down to prevent the sketches from flying away.

“Oh no—have we creased them?”

“No, they are fine, I believe.”

They look up then, realizing how close they have come to each other.

A few heartbeats of silence pass.

“…Do me a favor, if you please,” Lumine says quietly, as they try and sweep the papers back together. There is a balance hanging between them that has not yet broken while they do so. “Keep these portraits of me. If you…come across my brother, please give them to him.”

“I will keep them safe,” Albedo says, narrowly missing grazing her fingers as he lays another sketch onto the pile, “It is no trouble.”

She smiles faintly.

“I should hope not,” she murmurs. “I shall…entrust myself to you.”

She means the drawings, he knows, and yet there is a slight unguarded lilt to her voice, and he does not miss the double meaning.

There is a question here, an offering, if he chooses to accept it.

At this distance, they can see each other’s eyelashes; one slight movement and they could be touching. The delicacy of the moment is suspended as they stare at each other—Albedo’s blue, blue eyes are wide and searching, Lumine’s pink lips slightly parted. The gauzy white curtains are billowed upwards by the wind again, fluttering over them like a veil, hiding them from direct view.

A soft murmur, a gentle brush of cheeks, a warm puff of breath.

…Do you trust me, Albedo?

…Yes.

Their silhouettes slowly drift closer.  

[captcas]

hoax

exile by capthamm

your faithless love’s the only hoax i believe in

part five of capthamm’s captain swan’s folklore read on ao3 / read the ao3 series

Grounding herself, Emma fists her hands until her fingers irritate the road burn coating her palms. Regina just got off the phone with Cruella DeVil and Ursula. Cruella and Ursula.

What the fuck?  

Killian arrives and she immediately feels the cool touch of his hook rest on her slightly exposed hip. She’s not sure when this became second nature but she’s glad it has— the consistency grounding her further.

Storybrooke. Chernabog. Town line. Cruella. Ursula. Killian. Hook.

Captain Hook.

She’s dating Captain Hook while co-parenting with the Evil Queen who's trying to decide if she should give Cruella DeVil and Ursula a chance at redemption.

What. the. fuck.

She doesn’t have to deal with these looming realizations as often as she did when the curse broke (the first time), but every once in a while something throws her into a tailspin and she has a hard time finding her way out.

If it weren’t for Killian she’d bet her life savings that Storybrooke was all a delusion and she was sitting in a hospital somewhere compensating for years of home hopping and abandonment.

But then there’s Killian.

There’s been three moments in which Emma knew she wasn’t living a lie.

The first was when Henry came back to her after biting the poisoned turnover. The moment he hugged her… that moment was so visceral, she knew it had to be real.

The second was when Neal died, when she felt a wave of feeling wash over her too great to comprehend. More sobering than any event in her life before, it was a direct reminder nothing is permanent.

The third is every moment she’s spent with Killian since the moment she’s met him. Maybe that’s cheating, shoving hundreds of moments into one, but since she’s met Killian everything has changed.

She was standing in the middle of Cora’s attack, heartless corpses scattered at her feet and she felt another loop setting in, then there was Killian. And so their story goes. Every moment of what the fuck and you’ve got to be kidding me, Killian’s been there— whether on the right side or not is here nor there.

She grasps his hand tightly, drawing a small “x” with her thumb near his wrist and she notices him nod slightly before addressing their ragtag fairytale army, “Emma and I are going to head to Granny’s for some food and then we’ll meet Belle at the library to research our new winged friend.” Everyone nods enthusiastically and leaps into action, David delegating the rest of the group out as Killian squeezes Emma’s hand and leads her away from the chaos.

Once they’re out of ear shot, Killian speaks, “Are you alright, love?”

She loves him. It’s weird, the moment you realize something so profound, but she guesses the small moments are as good as any. “I will be. It’s just… a lot.”

“Aye, Swan. I’m sure it would be for anyone not of our land, but you’ve made great strides in making your own place in this world.” He pulls her in tighter and Emma breathes in his welcoming scent. She always envisioned pirates smelling awful, but Killian is probably the cleanest person she knows. Pirates. She takes a deep breath before diving too deep into that thought.

“Thanks.” She smiles up at him, and she can tell Killian knows how much she means it despite her lack of flowery sentiments he is so versed in. He kisses her temple and she welcomes the silence.

She could handle Elsa making her way into town. Emma was on a level playing field with everyone else, backstories practically nonexistent until Anna entered the picture, but with the arrival of Cruella and Ursula, something shifted in everyone.

There’s history there Emma isn’t a part of and no one is being very forward when it comes to clueing her in. Killian’s holding something back, but she assumes it’s out of shame and knows he’ll tell her on his own time– she didn’t fall in love with a man unscathed; dismal pasts are just part of the package. What’s killing her are her parents, both clearly hiding some dark past with these villains. It’s resurfacing all the anxiety she felt the day the first curse broke. Everyone was so elated, families reunited and memories restored, but Emma felt exactly the same– her relief Henry was going to be alright aside. Snow White hugged her daughter for the first time while Emma hugged her friend Mary Margaret for what felt like the hundredth time.

The playing field was anything but level.

The Enchanted Forest was only a further extension of that, Emma constantly on edge yet feeling 6 steps behind. When she got back to Storybrooke, she felt herself level out— at least she knew how to use the restroom here.

Emma hates to say it, but besides the fact Henry was kidnapped, Neverland was a welcome challenge. Killian warned them the island was greatly unknown even to those who reside there permanently. The playing field leveled itself out completely as everyone seemed just as clueless as she was.

Don’t even get her started on her magic.

Henry has had that book memorized since she met him, the stories practically his now despite him not being alive for the majority of them. He’s always on pace with the rest of the group, knowing references to past dalliances and squabbles without so much as turning a page. She’s glad he’s not feeling this level of anxiousness, but wishes beyond all belief that she could take some of that photographic fairytale memory for herself.

It’s the squeeze of Killian’s hand that brings her back to the present and allows her to walk up the steps to Granny’s without tripping and making an ass of herself. Killian places their order and leans in close to tell Ruby something privately. Before Emma can wonder what he’s said, Killian is leading her up the back steps towards his room and unlocking the door.

“I thought you could use some familiar territory to decompress, love.”

Emma loves him. It’s the only thing that’s convinced her this isn’t some dream that is only minutes from being over. It’s what keeps her fighting tooth and nail for some semblance of normal in her new life which is decidedly anything but. It’s what grounds her when there are literal flying demons from hell trying to take her into the sky.

It’s the only thing that’s made perfect sense.

“Thank you, Killian.” He smiles and begins to turn away, not picking up the true gravity of her appreciation. Emma grabs his wrist and he turns back towards her, worry etched into his brow.

“Are you sure you’re alright, love?” She should answer, but finds herself too busy searching his eyes for any hint that this is a dream.

Emma’s known she loves him for a while now, since the moment they returned from the past– the monumental nature of his trade for her family’s safety winning her heart completely. She doesn’t dare tell him that though– she fears the moment she does is the moment she wakes up back in Boston… alone. Emma hasn’t been alone since the moment Henry found her, and while there are moments she wishes for time to sort out her thoughts, she relishes every moment with her family. At this point, she’s not sure she’d know how to be alone anymore and the thought of leaving this reality for the truth scares her everyday.

Killian’s the only one who seems to remind her this is as real as it gets.

His thumb brushes softly across her wrist where he’s slowly taken control. As though he could read her mind, Killian nods ever-so-slightly, a comforting smile breaking across his face. She squeezes his hand, purposely placing one of his rings in an uncomfortable position on her hand in a futile attempt to wake herself up before she jumps to the point of no return.

Emma finds his eyes again– somehow her anchor even though they’re as blue as the sea. She used to drown in them, the emotions she felt overtaking her as they acted as x-rays into her soul, but as time moved on all she found was comfort. Taking a deep breath, she decides she doesn’t want to live on this edge anymore. If this is all a hoax, she wants to know now before the pain of waking would be more excruciating than she already imagines it would be, but also before he tells her first, and the fear of the unknown stops her from returning the sentiment. Emma aches to tell him, so that she can finally know if the fairytale (literally) she’s been living is truly her life.

So she does.

“I love you.”

As Emma expected, he surges in for a kiss, his actions speaking louder than her three words -even long ago. He comes up for air, and for a moment, Emma refuses to open her eyes, sure the dream will have changed, or worse she’ll have woken up all together, but then that moment passes. Killian’s forehead is hot against hers as she feels the smiles lines grow across it. He breathes out and his breath graces her lips softly. In a seemingly impossible task, Killian closes what little distance remains between them. Emma moves in to kiss him once more, but he leans back slightly to stop her. It’s then, on instinct alone, that Emma finally opens her eyes. As she gazes into an endless expanse of blue, a weight lifts from her chest– a weight left long ago when she turned to find cops in that alleyway instead of Neal. She never realized how heavy it was, not until the moment it was gone– or if not gone, shared.

“I love you too, Swan.”

He brings her back to the here and now in an instant and she’s home.

His voice– light and full of the kind of happiness she truly thought was reserved for the best of dreams– buries itself deep into her mind, creating a sort of tattoo on the memories that lived there. Sure, she’d been told I love you many times, by many people, but the words that leave Killian’s mouth feel permanent.

They feel real.

She rushes forward to kiss him, once again. The electricity radiating through her body, the feel of his hands laced along her lower back, and the smile forming  against her lips finally convince her that, while her life may be part fairytale, it’s undoubtedly as real as any of the others in Henry’s ancient book.

. . . 

@mariakov81​ @lfh1226-linda​ @kmomof4​ @superchocovian​ @pirateherokillian​ @teamhook​ @nikkiemms​

[thetrailofyourbloodinthesnow]

anon requested: Rama Setu as a Symbol of Love

(tagging some mutals that might like this: @incurablescribbler @1nsaankahanhai-bkr @soniaoutloud @panchali @chaanv) (Also in AO3)

Rama had never seen the sea before. He'd grown in faraway Ayodhya, in the kingdom of Kosala, that had no exit to the sea. Later, during their exile, he'd crossed plains, mountains, and jungles, but the largest bodies of water he'd come across had been rivers. As they started making their way southwards, Lakshman had once asked how much farther south were they planning to go. The terms of their exile hadn't been clear in that regard. "As far as we can," Rama replied. "Maybe we'll reach the end of Bharatavarsha and find the sea," Sita added, trying to infuse a sense of adventure to a journey that none of them had wanted. Rama smiled at her fondly, "Maybe."

Back then the prospect seemed nice – to take a walk on a golden beach, leaving footprints in the sand and watching the gentle ebb and flow of the tides – but as with everything else, there was no joy in it without Sita.

The sight of the sea, in all its unimaginable vastness, only filled him with a terrible sense of helplessness. The vanaras, who had also never seen it, trembled in fear and despair when they reached the shore. "We've reached the edge of the world!" they cried. Rama knew from his lessons at Rishi Vasishtha’s gurukula that such thing was ridiculous, the world didn't have an edge. But it could may as well had been true. It seemed they had reached the end of their search, without having found Lanka, and Sita.

Then, an old vulture called Sampati heard them mention his brother - the valiant Jatayu who'd been mortally wounded trying to save Sita, but lived long enough to point the direction she'd been taken - and offered to help. His atrophied wings couldn't lift him up anymore, but with his sharp eyesight, he looked beyond the horizon and at the distance he saw an island, and in that island, a golden city: Lanka. "If I still could, I would go there myself and find her for you," he told Rama. "But as you see, I cannot fly." And neither can bears or monkeys, Rama thought dejected.

He'd been wrong, though. As it turned out, there was one monkey that could. A monkey that could do the impossible, but couldn't remember his greatness until it was needed the most. When everything seemed lost, Hanuman did a miracle. He increased his size, becoming bigger and bigger until he towered like a mountain, his head scraping the clouds. Then, with a great leap that shook the earth, he rose to the sky, casting his large shadow over the entire beach bellow, and flew off towards Lanka, carrying all of Rama's hopes with him.

~•~•~•~•~

A full day passed without Hanuman returning, and Rama was growing more and more anxious. All his life he'd believed himself to be a very patient man, but this ordeal was greatly testing his limits. He sat by the shore, staring into the distant line where the ocean met the sky. He longed for Sampati's vision, to see beyond that limit, and know what had come of his vanara friend.

More than ever, his thoughts kept returning to his wife. He hadn't known - he'd thought he did, but truly he hadn't - just how much he loved her. How much better her presence made his whole existence. In the hardest of times, she'd given him a reason to laugh, to hope, to dream. She turned an exile that should have been the worst years of his life, into some of the best. And now she was gone, and he felt so utterly lost and lonely. And guilty as well, for having failed to protect her, for having brought her with him in the first place. Although he knew that he couldn’t have stopped her from following him.

Not that he hadn't tried, but she was a stubborn one. She rebuked every argument, rejected all reasoning, and stayed firm in her conviction that her place was at his side, no matter where he was. She promised she would take care of herself, not burdening him at all. And when he still argued against it, she reached the heart of the matter: “Is it that you don't want me at your side?”

No. It was exactly the opposite. He desperately wanted her at his side. The harshness and danger of the forest life didn't strike him as bad as the loneliness of it. But that wasn't a good enough reason to drag her along, like a child dragging along his favorite blanket to give him comfort. She wasn't his property, she was his responsibility. At least he knew Lakshman could defend himself, but he didn't know if he could ensure her safety out there.

"What if you get hurt? What if you get lost?" He insisted. "I'm not so delicate. Don't expect me to trip with every pebble on the way. And if I got lost, then I would find my way back to you." She locked eyes with him. "I would go through hell to find you." At that, knew nothing would stop her from follow him, because she wasn't just doing it out of duty. He realized then the deep of her love for him.

Did she know the deep of his love for her? Hard to say, since he wasn't one the show it. He was always keenly aware of their station in life, even in the forest. They were the rightful king and queen of Ayodhya, and he considered the overemotional display of romantic affection to be below their dignity. And in any case, it wasn't in his nature. He'll rather show his love through respect, through service, through protection (although he'd failed miserably at the latter).

But when he lost her, something broke inside of him, shattering his composure. He'd wept and despaired, wandering the forest crying out for his beloved like any forlorn lover. In an ironic reversal of roles, Lakshman had to ask him to remain cool-headed. Falling into desperation wouldn't get him closer to Sita.

He listened to his little brother, and focused instead on the single-minded goal of getting her back – and of slaying the trice-dammed rakshasa that had kidnapped her. He'd taken all that anguish and buried it deep within himself, but with every day that passed without her, it threatened with bursting out. He could feel it eating at his gut now, as he looked at the distant line where the ocean met the sky and waited for a sight of his vanara friend.

And sooner rather than later, he got it. First, it was a tiny spot in the sky that grew larger and larger as it approached, until he could clearly see Hanuman returning.

~•~•~•~•~

Hanuman didn't disappoint him. He'd found his wife and even managed to speak with her. And he brought her hairpin and a story known only to the couple as proof of the meeting. But all the proof Rama needed was the reverence and admiration with which he spoke of her. Nobody who had known his Sita could fail to admire her.

Hanuman told him of his Sita: sited in a garden of Ashoka trees, refusing to enjoy the luxury of her captor's palace, bullied by her guards and harassed by Ravana, but unyielding to any threat. Showing her fortitude while waiting to be rescued, growing sadder by the day, but never letting it show, and never losing hope that her Rama was coming for her. And he was. Now that he was certain that Sita was beyond the sea’s great expanse, nothing was going to stop him from reaching her.

He regretted that he didn't have anything – not even words – to give Hanuman that would demonstrate his gratitude for what he'd done for him. So he simply embraced him, like a brother. For the vanara had become as dear to him as one.

Now it came the matter of how their army would cross the sea to Lanka. Rama sat in council with Lakshman, Sugriva, Jambavan, Angad and Hanuman to discuss it. The most obvious option was to build boats, but doing so would require a lot of time and expertise that they simply didn't have. Other options were proposed – some plausible, other fantastical – but at the end Rama decided that if they couldn't find a way across the sea, then maybe the sea could make way for them. The most fantastical of options, perhaps, but he could try asking.

For several days and nights, he sat upon the beach fasting and reciting mantras, praying to Varuna, the Lord of the Oceans. But the only answer he received was the roaring of the waves. His frustration began to mount. Where before the sea seemed like an endless stretch, now he saw it as an irritating block in his path that only serve to keep him idle when he could have been battling Ravana and his army. A burning rage began to boil inside him, and at last reached the end of his patience.

He commanded Lakshman to bring him his bow and quiver, and began firing burning arrows at the sea. Those terrible ashtras caused the water to steam and boil, filling the surface with the dead carcasses of aquatic creatures. He placed one last arrow on his bow. "Varuna!" He shouted. "This arrow of mine will scorch every drop of you, until the oceans of these earth turn into barren deserts! Unless you come and face me!" He took aim, ready to shoot. "Well?!"

The sea swelled and swirled, spiralling inwards into a whirlwind, and from its midst he appeared. Lord Varuna rose from the waters with a great makara as his vahana; his skin was of a bright cerulean hue, his ornaments were made of seaweeds and pearls and seashells, and in his hands, he carried a noose and a fishing net.

"Lord Ramachandra," his voice boomed over the clashing of the waves. "Don't act rashly. From the ocean comes the salt, the fish, and the rain. If you destroy it, the whole of creation will suffer. "

Rama kept his arrow pointed at the ocean. "If you part the sea for my army to cross, then I'll have no reason to destroy it."

"The fire's nature is to burn, the wind's nature is to blow, and the nature of the ocean is to be deep and expansive and impassable. I cannot change my nature for you." Lord Varuna sounded apologetic enough to compel Rama to lower his bow with a sigh. "There is another way, however. Amidst your army, there is a vanara named Nala, rocks thrown by him into the ocean cannot sink. Have him built a bridge over me and I will hold it afloat. May victory be yours." And with that he disappeared back into the waters.

Rama called on Nala to prove Lord Varuna's words. The monkey picked up a stone and hurled it into the sea, and sure enough it floated. Small ones and big ones, every stone he touched before being thrown stayed on the surface of the water. But another problem soon became clear: although the stones didn't sink, they drifted away from each other. The army began racking their brains for a solution, when Hanuman got an idea.

He carved the name 'Rama' into one stone and handed it over to Nala. The stone stayed put, unmoved by the tide. Another stone with Rama's name was thrown into the water and it stuck to the other like a magnet to metal. Rama was impressed. "How did you know it would work?" he asked Hanuman. "Because your name has become my mantra. It was by chanting your name that I could fly over to Lanka, and overcome every hardship I founded there. It's your name that gives me peace, comfort, and clarity whenever I need it." Rama didn't know what to respond.

So it began the construction of the bridge. The bears and monkeys divided themselves into groups with different jobs assigned to them. Some scoured for stones and boulders from the nearby mountains, others carved Rama's name into them, and others passed those stones in a long chain to Nala, who hurled them into the sea. Jambavan and Sugriva organized the groups, Sampati - perched on a great rock - supervised the works, and Hanuman flew all over, doing the job of a hundred workers all by himself.

Now that they had a clear goal to work for, the troops were full of high spirits, and the sound of happy chatter was almost as loud as the ruckus of the construction. Rama saw Lakshman laugh for the first time in months as he competed with some of the bigger vanaras to see who could lift the bigger rock.

And Rama saw them work amazed by the fact that while he was doing it all for Sita, they were doing it all for him. They spoke eagerly of reaching Lanka and fighting the rakshasas to recover their Lord’s wife, and his honor. And, whenever a particularly big boulder was put in place, or whenever some difficulty in the construction was overcome, the workers would shout in unison "Jai Sri Rama."

And it wasn’t just the bears and monkeys, but also other animals who joined the efforts. Once, Rama spotted a little squirrel scurrying between the feet of the bigger workers. He would wet himself in the sea, and then roll on the sand, sticking the sand grains to his fur. Afterwards, he would run to the bridge and shake the grains off, filling the gaps between the rocks. Rama pick up the little one in his hand, and ran his fingers through his back, saying: “Thank you.”

What he had done to have these animals act so oddly against their nature, and to command such loyalty from them, he couldn’t say, but he felt immensely grateful anyway.

And as the days passed, their labor bore fruit. The great bridge began stretching towards to horizon, glistering in the sunlight like the Milky Way across the night sky. Rama worked strenuously along with the vanaras, knowing every stone, every boulder, every pebble, brought him a step closer to her.

“Bhaiya, look!” Lakshman pointed him to the horizon that he hadn’t glanced at for some time, so fixed was he on his labor. In the distance, faintly visible, was a stretch of land. Rama smiled. I’m coming Sita.

[ragnaofazure]

Forever Blue.

“...” A couple more bites, then a big sigh, placing down the plate and utensils he procured next to the sister’s grave, he had finally finished what was his last meal.

Smiling happily, he was calm, he was at peace. A refreshing smile on his face as he remained silent on what could most likely be the last cloudy day of winter, spring was but a couple of weeks away at best, “Sadly the sun didn’t shine as it should for you, sister... I wish I could have made it be so. But even I have my limitations.” Commenting playfully, he caressed the soil she lied under one last time. Slowly, tenderly...

...It’s then his voice cracks if only for a little, knowing that where he was going, he had to face it with a smile, he had learnt that for the better on the later years after he restored the world and gave it back it’s possibility.

...But he couldn’t. Not this time all the way through.

“...More sadly, I can’t go where you deservingly went to, and it’s not like I’m really ‘going’, I’m going to an eternal limbo — maybe more fittingly a purgatory only I and she can enter, and she can’t even really tamper with it, for it’s only my right to do with it as I wish.”

It is then he is unable to hold it anymore.

(BGM)

“... ...” Tears begin streaming down his face as he fully falls to all four, his sobs and gasps as he cries his one, ultimate cutting pain out for the final time, it all drips on that soil many times over for several minutes. He couldn’t hold any thought nor speak coherently further for the moment... Only raw emotions of sadness and pain escaped his body.

“I really, really... With all of this soul, whatever it might even be... I wish I could go where you are. But I don’t remotely deserve that to begin with...” Not even a chance at a reunion was remotely possible, considering his intentions on top of it all.

After solid twenty minutes of letting the grief escape his body, slowly he rises to his feet, wiping away his face with hand and wrist.

“This is the last time we’ll be seeing one another, sister...”

Reaching around his back, he took his sword and planted it next to her grave, imbuing it with his own brand of Ars Magus to ensure that close to no one could remotely have a chance of moving it. Again.

“...” It felt so strange leaving his weapon behind as he turned his back; as if he had left a part of him behind, which in reality, he was doing so.

But it was time to depart, he needed to go to the basement of the ruins of the church to be whisked away to his destination. Where it all began.

Not looking back a single time, the wind blew as a small opening made itself among the clouds in the sky, allowing the sun to shine over the grave and it’s new company. Of one of those moments one could truly believe in little miracles...

One foot in foot in front of the other, he continued to walk the forest down the hill, it was then, to further let everything sink in...

“...?” Many forest friends came out of the woods, as if they somehow knew he was leaving for good. A couple of bluebirds and their newborn capable of flying reached to nest in his hair again, a bear he had met far from here came to nuzzle at his side, a herd of rabbits, which he was sure there were only two of, now multiplied five times came to hop alongside, and of course... One stray cat that somehow had survived and adopted to this environment leaped to one of his shoulders.

“...You all know or so?” He had to stop, to look downwards and ask, taking in every single one of them, and the look on their faces said it all, “I’ll miss every single one of you, even if you forget me, I won’t.” This wasn’t making it any easier, but what really drove it home?

"Hey, hey...” The bluebirds rubbing it’s head to his cheek only caused his heart to crack, “There there... If I can ask you all a favor, which I’m sure will remain... Please. Take care of the sister for me. Keep her good company and more, I’ll appreciate that on the other side forever.”

The animal friends seemed to understand, “...I shouldn’t try and stall this anymore.” Ragna then spoke, “You all can come with me to the ruins, but after that... That’s enough.” Hoping they were able to also understand that, he resumed his walk, for there was only halfway left of the path to the end.

He did slow down as he finally reached the ruins, no more than ten minutes after.

Standing at the edge, right before where the entrance used to stand when it was an actual building, he stepped forward without them, turning one last time to face all of them... The sadness was in the air and could be felt.

“You are all amazing. Be friendly to whoever comes too, unless they are terrible, always keep this haven safe, yeah? Goodbye. All of you.” Then turning his face to not let them see more tears, he began his climb down to below the ground; to that basement.

Eventually those remains came into view, with all of the crystals that responded to his right arm. He walked around until he stood dead center in front of it, smiling as he looked at was left of the Black Beast with a small sense of pride and acceptance.

“...It’s so fitting to be standing in front of you one last time as it all comes to an end.” He spoke, “You won’t return, and I can tell you already feel that.” Ragna could perceive it’s disdain emanating from his very soul, but it could do nothing about this, it hadn’t nurtured to it’s necessary needed state that would only be reached at the end of his life.

"...” He closed his eyes and concentrated, calling out to the Azure, he knew there would be one answer as the matching light eventually began to engulf him, warping him to where only those chosen could be allowed to enter, and he was the only one with that right left.

Soon enough, he opened his eyes again. He was in the space of the Gate. A lone, extensive space with that girl awaiting right before it, guarding it, the eliminator of threats outside of reason as well...

...But she answered to him if he so wished it, despite the lack of expression, she welcomed him with open arms, essentially. He had told her prior he would come today, for he intended... To go sleep. He was going to not use the Azure to alter anything, obviously, but he wanted to enter that same space as to remove himself from existence again, yet to not disappear forever once more.

She did not question it, if that was what the Man of Azure; the Azure itself desired, he was free to do carry out said wish.

“...You might not understand it well, even if only you will be the only one to hold that record of me given reasons, but... I’ll miss you too. Try and do more then stand here whenever, after all, no more successors  or inheritors will come and hopefully it stays that way. No one will be able to make use of this place at all.” Those were his parting words to the girl, and now that it had been said, he raised his right arm, the back of his palm shining the brightest it had ever done so.

The True Azure had been used and the gates were being opened just enough to let him pass... 

“...Goodbye, Es. May we meet somehow again perhaps, I’ll somehow treat you anytime still.” Leaving a heartfelt farewell, he turned his back to the last person who would see him and passed through the gate, smiling and, of course, still never looking back whatsoever.

Walking into the blinding light, the man known as Ragna the Bloodedge was disappearing from everyone’s memories, leaving nothing but perceptions of belief of his existence, which would also disappear from everyone’s minds as well, in anyone he made strong impressions of as the gate shut and locked.

Just like that, the man was no more as he once fell into that void of infinity, slowly closing his eyes as he fell further and further down bottom, entering a peaceful, dreamless sleep.

—————

...Days later, after every trace of him had virtually vanished for good, even leaving huge blank spaces in wanted posters and beyond, anything that contained a trace of him had somehow disappeared, leaving confusion and headaches to everyone.

...On the sister’s grave, where his sword still stood, a blue rose; a particular shade of blue somehow sprouted right on the center of the grave. How? Nobody knew, nor there was anyone to see it.

Ragna the Bloodedge officially ceased to exist once more.

His only wish having been that, despite no longer walking the Earth, was to have done any sort of good despite his role and he never gave up at any adversity during his second opportunity to live.

Despite never knowing if it was satisfactory second chance at life in terms of doing better then all the evil he carried out as his role as the Destroyer, he left without regrets.

Possibilities are endless, he proved that. And he hopes anyone else continues to believe that.

No matter how much it hurts, no matter how terrible the world and life is, hands are dealt for a reason.

As long as one believes in a single shred of hope and attempts to claw upwards...

Possibilities eventually become reality, or at least it was better then to simply lie down and vanish.

This is what he fought for.

And he never bent nor broke. Anyone can at least try.

Always believe. And never give up.

Fin.

[quotes-books-read]

He who leaps for the sky may fall, it’s true. But he may also fly.

Lauren Oliver, Delirium (Delirium #1)

[severalspoons]

Liveblog: Rewatching Trigun, Episode 20

Surprise, this blog series continues! I have no intention of letting it end at episode 19. (I mean, that’s not even a nice round number!) While these aren’t liveblogs any more, they still give me an opportunity to discuss meta. 

Life lesson learned: once you start a series of anything, do not stop until it’s finished--no matter what other projects come up, no matter how shiny they are, and no matter how much you’re dreading watching episode 23. Since I do my best work when feeling inspired, I hate to wait and let my enthusiasm for the new project cool, but jumping ship only ends in two unfinished projects instead of one.

This is going to be arranged by theme, not so much chronologically. Also, it ended up being more about Wolfwood than originally intended.  Including a spoiler, so be careful.

Millie’s Transmitter

Millie reports that the Chief of Bernadelli gave her a transmitter/tracking device, which must be a rare, valuable piece of technology -- to prevent anyone from outwitting her. Meryl replies that this is nothing to brag about. I disagree.

First of all, the chief cares about her enough to entrust her with this bragworthy technology. She must have earned his trust and good opinion, also an achievement. He could easily punish or fire her, but instead gives her a tool to perform better. Countless people with learning disabilities dream of bosses like this. 

People tend to take a harmful all-or-nothing attitude towards disabilities. Either PWD are incapable of doing things and nothing can be done about it, or they are capable of doing things, and shouldn’t need help. Since people with disabilities themselves live in society, they end up indoctrinated and taking the same attitudes towards themselves. Shame and self-hatred often result. People strive for years, often with therapy, to get to the matter of fact acceptance Millie shows here.

***

Vash in Hell

Everything is red, from the beginning. The sand, himself and his clothes, the sky. Knives comes into view, blurry and mostly in shadow, only one eye visible.  What looks like meteors, probably chunks from the ships, fall through the sky like rain. We’re seeing from Vash’s point of view.

When waking Vash, Knives’ voice is normal, sounding like a real child. It doesn’t change to his growly evil voice until Vash accuses him of being a murderer. Then, his eye loses its pupil, and he suddenly appears to have fangs. He looks like he’s become some sort of monster. Not human, as Vash says.

Knives beats him up for even daring to compare him to a human. What hurts the most about this is you know it’ll be a long time, and probably many more such beatings, before Vash leaves.

Was it ever possible to take care of Knives? Was Rem’s last request reasonable?

Vash announces he’s finally ready to face Knives. What impresses me most: he’s finally making a significant decision for himself.

***

Meet the Folks

How is Vash more attractive in normal clothes than his signature coat, even in scenes showing only his face? Speaking of which, this episode is full of beautiful shots of Vash’s face. Wolfwood’s, too. 

How the hell did Wolfwood get here? He said he was concerned about Vash crying then jumping off a cliff, and followed him. However, he seems to have climbed up from below. How would he have found a floating platform? Certainly, none is visible below him. And since he seems to know nothing about the flying ship, he can’t have taken Vash’s strategy and jumped onto a platform at just the right time. 

“Come meet the folks!” Yes, they actually do have a summer cottage in the sky. Ever wonder why Vash’s head is always in the clouds? ;) 

Wolfwood actually says “I’m getting sick of your lies.” Hypocritical much?

Wolfwood is the first guest Vash has brought “home” in over 20 years (in other words, since he became The Stampede)! 

Does that mean that the whole time Vash has been on the run, he hasn’t visited the SEEDS ship (probably to prevent anyone tracking him from discovering it)? Vash could have simply hid out for the last 20 years in the SEEDS ship; it’s his home, after all. Instead, he chose to go out and protect people from Knives, and each other. (How many of us would have made the same choice?)

***

Inside Legato’s Lair

What does this informant know about Chapel’s duties? From the way Legato dismisses his concerns, it seems like Knives’ followers aren’t given much information about each other.

Wolfwood is now doomed. “You’re such a fool. Had you behaved, you might have lived to see Doomsday. But I’m pleased, for I now have the opportunity to carry out another of my master’s wishes.” 

A surprisingly restrained evil chuckle from Legato. Thank you for sparing us a full-on villain laugh.

How does Legato get shoulder padding that sticks out that far? Each shoulder is almost twice as big as his head.

***

A Series of Awkward Events

The ship has a whole observation team. No one should be able to get up here without the SEEDS leaders knowing, right? Right? ...

The old man tells Brad Vash has changed over the years. How? 

After all this buildup, Brad opens the door, letting in blinding light, and this is what he sees:

The legend acting like an idiot and getting his butt kicked. Very dignified. 

This is Brad’s reaction:

“Is that your great legend?! Huh?!” “What a relief! He hasn’t changed at all.” (A relief? What were they afraid would have happened to him?)

Brad is not amused by Wolfwood’s touchy-feely ways.

“Who’s he?” Vash, looking embarrassed: “I’m not sure.” Fair enough, but not very helpful, and Wolfwood doesn’t elaborate. We already know and love Vash’s embarrassed grin, but I can’t get over Wolfwood’s almost sinister smile in the mirror. 

A cute moment where Vash looks back like, “isn’t my place great?” and Wolfwood just gapes like an idiot. (Close your mouth, my dude. Flies are gonna get in). 

Vash last visited about 20 years ago, and Jessica was a small child then, so she should be about 23 or 24. However, she looks and acts like a teenager. Vash inadvertently becomes part of an unwanted love triangle.

To his credit, Vash tries to put her off, in a joking way (”I have a reputation for being easy but even I need a bit of advance warning”). Wolfwood makes the whole situation worse by teasing Vash about his “girlfriend” in front of a fuming Brad. It’s as if he were going out of his way to antagonize the people on the ship.

When Vash actually has a chance to look at Jessica’s face, he remembers her. Think about that. He may only have met her once, it’s been 20 years, and he still recognizes her and remembers her name. How many other people does he remember from the past ~130 years? This is how he uses his powerful plant brain--Knives would view it as a waste.

Jessica cooks a feast for Vash, which, tragically, he won’t get to enjoy. How did she cook all this food so fast? It’s enough to feed the whole ship.

***

Wolfwood is mistrusted for the wrong reasons

Wolfwood actually takes off his shades and armor of acting like a jerk while introducing himself to Jessica. This is unusually open and vulnerable of him. He actually is trying to behave. But Brad, worried about “a bunch of outsiders” bringing war to their flying paradise, hits him where it hurts.  

...Did I mention Wolfwood has beautiful eyes?

Anyway, everyone gathers around staring at Wolfwood from a distance, while he drops cigarettes on the ground. There’s an entire pile lying at his feet. The whole scene is the definition of passive aggressive. 

What seems to anger Wolfwood is not so much how they treat him personally, but their denial combined with moral superiority. Not to push a metaphor too far, but these folks are able to take the moral high horse because their literal high position keeps them safe. Yet, they use this immense privilege not to help the world below, or to prepare for the ship’s inevitable fall, but to hide in their castle in the sky. It clicks for me that Wolfwood probably feels about running away the way Vash does about suicide (think back to episode 11). 

The SEEDS dwellers do not seem to understand that Wolfwood is both trying to help them and a little resentful of what they have. To them, he is everything they’ve been taught to fear and hate, up here poisoning Paradise for them with his unpleasant ideas. Of course this sort of dynamic never happens in real life.

Also, keep in mind that none of them know anything about the people below directly, only from hearsay. They’re not wrong about Gunsmoke as a whole, but they treat Wolfwood like a monster rather than a person.  That also never happens in real life.

Then he gets to the scene of a crime too late--but just in time to look like the one responsible. Although the ship dwellers would love to see him dead, he leaps to defend them against his own colleague. Knowing, perhaps, that doing this would confirm he switched sides, and his own days might be numbered. He doesn’t even pause to think, he just goes, the same way he did when the child went missing in episode 9.

***

Vash Will Save The Day

“Like you care. Five years is probably like a blink of the eye to you anyway.” Vash denies it, but the second part is probably true. He looks so surprised to hear it’s been five years.

It can’t be easy for Vash to admit that he was responsible for the “Fifth Moon Incident,” and is probably more dangerous than Knives. Once again, his only argument is “please.” But there’s no buffoonery or melodrama here. He’s dead serious, and that’s more convincing. 

Wolfwood tries to stop Leonoff from saying his name. No one who would understand the significance or matters to him is present, just Brad and Jessica. Is he merely afraid others will hear? Does he still consider himself to be Chapel?

Even facing Leonoff, Wolfwood still hasn’t put his shades back on.

Now imagine if Vash managed to find ways out of no-win situations and save the day without all the whining and crying.

Wolfwood can pause and wait for once, having faith that Vash will show up. He knows there’s always a third option for Vash. He does not yet see any for himself. Still, progress nonetheless.

***

Unfortunately for me, Vash is back with his red coat in Vash the Stampede mode, yellow glasses hiding his face.

OK, I can see how Leonoff’s puppets get into the ship without being noticed, but how on Earth did the big guy even get here?

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Baby You Were My Picket Fence [Chapter 7: Let It Be]

You are a first grade teacher in sunny Los Angeles, California. Ben Hardy is the father of your most challenging student. Things quickly get complicated in this unconventional love story.  

Song inspiration: Miss Missing You by Fall Out Boy.

Chapter warnings: Language, ANGST.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing) HERE

A/N: Thank you all so much for the love this fic has received! I hope you continue to enjoy it...the highs and the lows. :) I also wanted to give you a heads up that I am currently in school and that the next year will be pretty intense, so there may be times when I don’t update as frequently as I’d like to. But I will never go on an official hiatus or not finish a series, and you are always welcome to drop me a note asking how the next update is going. Happy reading!

Taglist: @blushingwueen​ @queen-turtle-boiii @everybodyplaythegame @onceuponadetectivedemigod @luvborhap @sincereleygmg @stormtrprinstilettos @loveandbeloved29 @ohtheseboysilove @jennyggggrrr @vanitysfairr @bramblesforbreakfast @radiob-l-a-hblah @xox-talia-xox @killer-queen-xo @caborhapch @kimmietea @asquiresofftime @hardzzellos @sleepretreat @ramibaby @jonesyaddiction @ixchel-9275 @omgitsearly @lovepizza-cake11 @deacy-dearest @shishterfackisback @mrbenhardys @deaky-with-a-c @whitetrashdarling @stephanie-everlasting @brianprobablywill @dancingstan @7-seas-of-fat-bottomed-girls @abigfatmess @hufflepuff-khaleesi @sara-1705 @thigh-your-mother-down @chlobo6 @danamaleksworld @painkiller80 @teenwolflover28 @jazzman-19 @lucyplaysguitarandcellobitch Please let me know if I forgot anyone!!

You slam the door behind you and sink to the kitchen floor. Your hands are trembling, your chest heaving, your vision blurring as tears ripple across your eyes. You don’t remember what you said to her, to the siren, to the sublime woman you’re still struggling to comprehend is Ben’s fiancée; something insipid and vague, something brief. You don’t remember leaving Trader Joe’s or driving home. Your shopping cart is still full and unattended in the produce section, waiting powerlessly to be retrieved, ice cream slowly melting and dripping through sagging paperboard containers.

“He’s getting married,” you gasp almost inaudibly between ragged breaths. You glance up at the refrigerator. The magnets still spell those two innocent little words: I’m sorry.

You rip your potted artificial calla lily off the counter and hurl it at the refrigerator; magnets and ceramic shards fly in every direction like shrapnel.

“He’s getting fucking married!” you scream to your empty house.

You bury your face in your hands and sob with maddening helplessness. You fell for it. Some outlandishly-too-good-to-be-true British movie star dropped out of the sky and you were stupid enough to believe he loved you, that someone like him ever could. You fell for it like a mammoth into tarpits, roped in viscous darkness and with nowhere to go but down.  

And then you hear a jarringly cheery ringtone. You clutch for your purse and tear out your iPhone. The name on the screen is Ben Hardy. 

“No fucking way,” you hiss, and decline the call. It occurs to you—gnaws away at you—that just enough time has passed for them to have finished shopping, picked up Eli from Ben’s mother’s apartment, arrived home; just enough time for Ben to have slickly dismissed himself, disappeared to his Lexus or some other shadowy corner somewhere, a dim clandestine place to deal with dirty secrets. And that’s exactly what I am: the unhallowed mistress, an unspoken ghost in the haunted crevices of a marriage, a black stain on a white dress.

Your phone, face-down on the countertop, rings every two to three minutes like clockwork. You wipe your eyes with the back of your hands and try to collect yourself: stagger to your feet, pour a glass of the Patrón tequila—straight, no ice—that you keep on the top shelf, drop a vinyl on the record player. Take It Easy by The Eagles floats through the thick, stifling air. You glare at the green calla lily that lays limply on the kitchen floor, its petals bent precariously yet still intact.

“Die, bitch,” you whisper bitterly. But of course, it doesn’t die; the calla lily is fake, just like your relationship with Ben, just like all the things he said to you. It’s a lie. It’s eternal. You snatch the lily off the floor and toss it into the trashcan.

There’s a sound outside—the humming of an engine, the rustling of footsteps—and then frantic banging so forceful your door quivers on its hinges. “Y/N!” Ben shouts from outside, still rapping on the white-painted wood. “It’s me, it’s Ben, let me in.”

“Never in your life,” you hurl back, furious at how hoarse your voice sounds: like someone who’s been crying, like someone pathetic and wounded and weak. You feel like a fox caught with its leg in a steel trap, the flesh split down to the bone and glistening with ruby gore, the hunter looming voyeuristically with his hands on his waist and a rifle slung over one broad shoulder.

“Please, please let me in, just let me explain—”

“Fuck off!”

“You deserve an explanation,” Ben says, more measured now. “Let me give you that.”

That knocks some of the rage out of you, replacing it with curiosity, unsurety, temptation. You don’t know what you deserve, but you do crave an explanation. And part of me still wants to see him.

“Five minutes, that’s all I’m asking for.” His words are patient, suppliant. The Eagles record spins as the moments tick by.

At last, you cross the kitchen and open the door. Ben slips inside as you step away until your back hits the refrigerator. You remember the last time you were in this room together; it hangs between you like spiderwebs, invisible but ensnaring, interlaced threads just waiting to be walked into.

“Hi,” he says softly, almost whispers. Then his gaze flicks around the kitchen, to the magnets and ceramic debris littering the floor, to the tequila, to the record player, to you. And you almost feel sorry for Ben, almost; because his once-clear eyes—malachite or emerald or peridot or jade, you think impulsively—are red and swollen, his shoulders wilted, his expression shell-shocked. He looks like hell. But you probably do too. “Babe...I...” He comes towards you.

“Don’t touch me.”

He backs away immediately, raising his hands in surrender. The silence is heavy and ominous.

Finally, you ask: “Who is she?”

Ben sighs, rubbing his chin distractedly with one thumb. “Her name is Santina Nicolosi.”

Your eyes close like drawn curtains. “Of course it is.” You know that name, you’ve taught Nicolosi kids before. The Nicolosis are a vast family with old roots in Hollywood, producers and actors and directors, ostentatiously wealthy, omnipotent. The kind of people Ben should be associating with. The kind of women he should be marrying. “Is she a model?”

“An actress.”

“Jesus christ,” you moan. And then, before you can stop yourself: “Why, Ben?”

“It’s hard to explain, it’s complicated, it’s...” He gestures vaguely with his hands, his beautiful hands. Hands that will never touch me again. “We haven’t...we...we were really young when we had Eli, and it hasn’t been easy, it’s been off and on, and we disagree on virtually everything...but I...” He wrenches it out. “I’m an adult, I have to take responsibility, I have to try to make it work. For Eli.”

You scoff. “Yeah, I’m sure living with gorgeous Santina Nicolosi and her barrels of money and inexhaustible industry influence is a real goddamn curse.”

Ben says nothing.

You swallow, your voice cracking. “So this is what you do, you find someone brainless and naïve and ordinary to screw around with, and then when you’re bored of that you go home to your actress-slash-heiress fiancée—”

“I’ve never done this before.”

“You fucking liar,” you seethe.

Incredibly, he laughs, a quick caustic sound. “I didn’t lie to you.”

“I get that ‘not in the picture’ could be open to some interpretation but there is no alternate universe in which it means engaged to.”

“I didn’t lie to you about the rest of it.”

You shake your head in fury, in persistent waves of shock. “I can’t believe this, I really can’t believe this, and I...oh god, I...I still have to see you, because I teach your son...” You’re sobbing again, you’re falling to pieces, you’re fracturing like thin ice under reckless feet.

Ben tries to reach for you. “Please don’t—”

“Don’t touch me, you, you...” There’s no word for what he is, there’s nothing malevolent enough.

He points at you as his voice leaps louder, more wrathful. “Don’t you say it, don’t you dare call me a demon!”

“You are!” you scream at him. “You are a fucking demon, you are a monster, you are the worst thing that ever happened to me!”

Now Ben has nothing to offer in reply. He shifts his weight from foot to foot, frowns at the floor, chews on his lower lip in that absentminded, nervous way that he does. “I’m so sorry,” he says simply.

“Thanks, I’m whole again,” you fling like a dagger.

He flinches, and again you’re struck by his palpable distress, his vulnerability. But that didn’t stop him from cheating, lying, making me love him, cracking my ribs open so he could rip my fucking heart out. “I...”

“Get out,” you snap.

“I’m sorry, I really am. I won’t make this any harder for you than it is already. I won’t bother you again.”

“Perfect,” you whisper, your lips trembling. He needs to leave, he needs to leave NOW, I can’t let him see me crumble again.

Ben opens the door. “I hope—”

“Just get out!”

He nods in resignation, steps outside, disappears into the fading afternoon sunlight. And you’re alone in so many more ways than one.

You bite back tears as you pace through the kitchen, struggling to compose yourself, desperate to forget. Then your eyes catch on the artificial calla lily in the trashcan. It’s pointless to throw it away, you realize. There’s no end to it; even if it’s collected with the refuse, even when goes to the landfill. It won’t decompose, it won’t disappear. If anything, it’ll just end up choking a dolphin or sea turtle to death. You fish it out and lay it on the counter.

“I don’t want to let you go,” you say to the green calla lily, to nobody at all.

I have to heal from this. I have to get over Ben Hardy. I have to move on.

But you’ve already forgotten what your life looks like without him.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s Saturday. You shuffle out of your bedroom with a blanket draped over your shoulders like armor, your eyes sore and aching, your thoughts a fog. You’ve slept for approximately ninety total minutes. You scowl at the couch.

“Stupid debaucherous sex-couch of shame,” you mutter. That’s supposed to be funny, but it doesn’t feel that way; it feels sad and pitiful and raw. You plop down in your lounge chair instead, pulling your knees to your chest, flipping through the channels until you find a special about the Cretaceous Period on HBO.

After an hour, your phone rings. It’s Joe Mazzello. You’ve saved him in your contacts as Zappy Zap Dino Boi. Tipsy Y/N is an interesting character. “Hello?”

“Hey, Sweet Caroline!” His voice is bright, bubbly, effervescent.

“Ahh. You remembered that.”

“I wasn’t nearly as turnt as you were. We still on for baseball?”

Are we? You don’t want reminders of Ben, you don’t want any links to his world; you want to forget he exists entirely. But you like Joe—or, at least, you had at The Edison—and you can’t help but notice that he’s already lightening your spirits, evaporating gloom like rain off pavement. “Yeah, totally.”

“Is tomorrow afternoon gucci?”

Oh my god, he’s one of those people who says gucci. “You are definitely not as cool as drunk-me thought you were.”

Joe cackles through the phone. “Is it okay if I bring a friend?”

“Ben?” you ask reflexively.

“No, not him. Ben’s got work in London. Why?” His interest is piqued. Oh no.

“No reason. That’s fine with me. Your friend is gucci.”

Joe chuckles again. “Text me your deets and I’ll pick you up.”

“Sounds like a plan, dinosaur kid.”

“Also: the friend is not Jeff Goldblum. Don’t get too excited. Don’t show up with whipped cream and lingerie.”

You laugh, your first laugh in nearly twenty-four hours, a loud genuine laugh that starts deep in your belly. “I’m devastated.”

“See you soon, amica.”

“Bye, Joe.” You hang up and stare at the ceiling. This is fine. This is sensible. This is only going to lead to good things.

Right?

~~~~~~~~~~

“Strrrrrike seven!” Joe announces cheerfully. He’s wearing shorts and a red baseball jacket that he says is from a film he wrote and directed called Undrafted. It’s an even eighty degrees outside and breezy; the strands of dark hair that jut out from under Joe’s cap are fluttering in the wind. The sky is clear, unmarred cerulean. You had been anxious before Joe’s Subaru rolled into your driveway, steeping in your dusky house and your own misery, second-guessing the point of friendship, of love, of everything; yet the moment you slid into Joe’s backseat all of that vanished. You adore this eccentric little man, you had realized with relief, even when there’s no alcohol involved.

“This is so sad,” you say, twirling the bat in your hands. “This is absolutely pathetic. I am an embarrassment to America.”

“Maybe Joe’s pitching is the problem,” Gwilym suggests helpfully from where he’s crouching over home plate.

“Uhhhh, rude, Gwilym!” Joe shouts.

You glance back at Gwil. “That’s very kind of you, but I’m pretty sure it’s me.”

Gwil stands, the ball still snug in his mitt, and pulls off his catcher’s mask. “Joe,” he calls, “take it down a few notches. Toss it underhand. Nice and easy.”

“Fine.” Joe snatches the baseball out of the air when Gwil lobs it to him.

You turn back to Gwil, shielding your face from the sun with one hand. “Is this getting too painful to watch?”

He smiles benignly, reassuringly, but his eyes are nervous. They’re an intense royal blue, you note; like the ocean, like the sky. Like Eli’s, like Santina’s. That’s a thought you push away with both hands. “No, no, not at all. You aren’t far from the mark, actually. You’re just swinging a second too soon. But if Joe slows down and you figure out a rhythm, get your comfort level up...you’ll be batting three-hundred in no time.”

You chuckle, bouncing the bat against your sneakers. “I highly doubt that, Mr. Lee. But we’ll do it your way. They don’t have baseball in the U.K., do they?”

“Cricket and football, mostly.”

“Who do you root for?”

He grins, more brashly now. “The Welsh.”

“Hey,” Joe yells. “Is the pep talk over yet? Are you ready for me? I’m aging out here. I suddenly love rice pudding and can’t figure out how cellphones work.”

“Don’t rush her!” Gwil replaces his catcher’s mask.

“You’re Welsh, aren’t you, Gwil?” you ask.

“I am, happily so.”

“I just taught my kids what Wales was last week! It took a solid fifteen minutes to get past the large marine mammal connotation. They voted that Scotland was cooler.”

“Freaking tiny American savages!”

“Hey!!” Joe waves his arms theatrically. “I exist!”

“Go ahead,” you accede, taking position and raising the bat over your shoulder. Gwil squats just behind home plate again.

“You have more time than you think you do,” he says softly. Joe pitches the ball underhand, and it floats slowly through the air as your gaze tracks it. “Not yet,” Gwil whispers to you. “Not yet, not yet, not yet...NOW!”

You swing, your eyes pinched shut, bracing for the weightless whistle of open air. Instead, there’s the jolt of an impact, a cracking sound...and Gwil’s ecstatic cheer.

“Holy shit!” Joe cries, his eyes following the ball across the field. “You hit something! You actually hit a ball!”

“Yes!” Gwil throws off his mask and pumps his fist in the air. “I told you, I told you that you could do it!”

“I did it!” You spin around and—spontaneously, without thinking at all—you leap onto your tiptoes and toss your arms around Gwil’s neck. “You saved me! I’m a proper American now!” And for one fleeting moment, there’s no Ben Hardy anywhere in your mind, there are no trapdoors of agony like cold pockets in a lake, frigid paralyzing blackholes just itching to drag you down. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

“Of course,” Gwil says uneasily, his arms hesitantly circling around you. You back away as Joe comes jogging over, clasping the conquered baseball.

“Not bad, Carolina Panther! Should we celebrate? In-N-Out Burger?”

“Carolina...Panther...?” Gwil echoes.

“It’s a Sweet Caroline joke. Joe’s mocking me. Per usual.”

“You really weren’t that bad a singer,” Joe teases with a grin. “Obviously I enjoyed meeting you. Where did you say you knew Ben from...?” He’s trying to act casual, but you can tell he’s been waiting for an opportunity to ask that question. And you’re trying too: trying not to cringe at the sound of Ben’s name, trying not to let on that it rips you in two.

“I actually teach his son Eli, he’s in my first grade class.”

“Aww, how precious!” Joe gushes. “And...you and Ben...are you, uh...like, a thing...?”

Not since I found out about his fucking fiancée. “No, definitely not a thing. Just friends. I actually don’t even know if you’d call us friends, maybe just acquaintances.” Maybe just mortal enemies. You narrow your eyes at Joe. “You know he’s getting married, right?”  

“Is that still happening?” Gwil asks Joe.

“Yeahhhh,” Joe sighs dramatically. “Santina.” He pronounces each syllable of her name distinctly, like it’s a newly discovered breed of insect or a rare element on the Periodic Table.

“What’s wrong with Santina?” You’re channeling all your effort into seeming indifferent.

Joe rolls his eyes, tossing the baseball between his hands. “What isn’t wrong with Santina.”

Gwil snorts in agreement, slapping his catcher’s mitt against his thigh to chase the dust away.

“So...” Joe prompts. “In-N-Out Burger? What do you say, Sweet Caroline? I’ll buy, but only on the condition that you get me back when you’re in the MLB one day.”

“I will gladly accept those terms.”

You all pile into Joe’s Subaru, and Gwil isn’t riding shotgun this time; instead, he climbs into the back with you. The In-N-Out Burger is packed, so you eat in the car with the air conditioning blasting and the radio blaring A Night At The Opera. And somehow you find yourself laughing hysterically as Joe tries to sing Bohemian Rhapsody with his mouth full of cheeseburgers, as Gwil spills a chocolate shake all over his expensive plaid golf pants, as you share your animal fries with Gwil and he shoves two under his lips like walrus tusks; somehow, you find yourself barely thinking of the suffocating grief that’s been hovering over you at all.

But when you inevitably have to go home—when your kitchen door clicks shut and you’re left alone with your randomly-arrayed fridge magnets and your piercing memories and your undying green calla lily—suddenly it feels like there’s nothing in the world worth thinking about but Ben.

~~~~~~~~~~

Usually you have to wait until lunch or special to check your phone, but today the kids have an assembly about preventing forest fires. Only in Los Angeles.

While Sasha keeps a watchful eye on your class, you sneak away to catch up on grading. As you pluck your favorite red pen out of your teacher bag with your left hand, you tap your iPhone screen with your right. It’s 11:05 in the morning. You have seven new texts, all from Gwil.

9:21 a.m.: Good morning, love!

9:44 a.m.: Wow wow wow that was meant for someone else, please disregard.

9:51 a.m.: Okay I lied, that was meant for you, I am just hilariously bad at asking people on dates.

9:54 a.m.: ...Will you go on a date??

9:55 a.m.: With me, clearly.

10:11 a.m.: Bleeding christ I am the worst, please ignore me if you have any taste whatsoever.

10:35 a.m.: Brb swimming back to Britain in disgrace.

At first, you’re too stunned to do anything but blink senselessly at the phone: Gwil likes you? Do you like Gwil? Gwil is sweet, of course, he’s handsome and charming and successful and everything a lover should be. But Ben is immutable; he’s the stars, he’s the sawtoothed ocean floor, he’s the blood cells splitting in your bone marrow. There are parts of you that won’t ever be free of him.

Ben isn’t here. Maybe he wasn’t ever really here. And he is never coming back.

You text to Gwil: Let’s do this.

[sope-and-shine]

Christmas Special: Day 18

-> Pairing: Taehyung x Reader -> Dragon Shifter!AU // Fluff -> Word Count: 2.3k -> Summary: Taehyung just wants to experience what humans do, whether it’s Christmas related or not. -> Warning(s): None

A/N: I really tried to make it under 2k guys. Also, I only skimmed this before post :)

“Good Morning, (Y/n)!” Jin greets as you enter his bakery so early in the morning.

You smile as you approach the counter, “Good Morning, Seokjin. Can I have two muffins please?”

He nods. He goes to collect your usual banana nut muffin, unable to hold his curiosity back, “Who’s the lucky duck to get the second one?”

“No one special.” You shrug, ignoring his knowing stare to grab some coins for him.

“Whatever you say~” He sings, handing over the goods and taking the coins for your breakfast. He waves to you, “Have a good day.”

“Goodbye, Seokjin.” You call behind you.

You were indeed meeting someone special today, but it was none of Seokjin’s business to know who this someone is. Only you needed to know, and it was better that the information wasn’t discovered by any unwanted listeners. Especially in the town you reside in.

As you get closer to the edge of town, you approach the farm owned by your friends Hoseok and Yoongi. Both of whom happen to be outside working at the very moment you walk by. 

“Are you going back to the woods already, (Y/n)? You were just there last week.” Hoseok calls out, pulling your attention to him.

You shrug, “I’m meeting with someone today.”

“Oh, well, enjoy your time together.” He says, nodding and moving back to his work.

“Thank you, we will.” You say.

Yoongi, however, is not pleased by this answer. He comes to the edge of the fence where Hoseok won’t hear and narrows his eyes, “This special someone wouldn’t happen to be that dragon shifter, would he?”

“Why would that be any of your business, Yoongi?” You ask.

“Look, you know what they say about shifters.” He starts, already shaking his head and prepared to lecture you.

“And you know what they say about attractive, grumpy men, yet here we are.” You challenge.

He chuckles, “Cute. Very cute.”

You place a gentle hand over his, “I’ll stop by on my way back to assure you that I am very much alive.”

“Just watch for hunters if not the shifter.” He says, more of a plea than a warning.

You only nod and continue on your way to meet with the friend you had met months ago while searching for a good spot to rest. You’d come across the shifter right after a terribly violent change, and you didn’t have it in your heart to leave him so miserable. You aided the man until he could move on his own once again a few hours later, but you both had already grown a strong bond by the time it came to say goodbye. But now, standing in the clearing where you met, you can’t seem to find the man who promised to wait here for you.

“Taehyung?” You call out, scanning the area around you for the beautiful blonde hair you’d become accustomed to.

“Boo!” The noise in your left ear shocks you more than it should, sending you feet into the air out of fright. You turn to make sure you aren’t hallucinating and find the man behind you laughing as you try to catch your breath. “You should see you face!”

You’re shock is quickly turned into rage as you gain your senses once again. You step forward and playfully slap his shoulder, “You jerk, I brought you a muffin!”

“Wait, you did?” He asks. Gone is the laughter he just couldn’t hold in, now replaced with curiosity.

“Yes, but I’m not giving any of it to you now, you heathen.” You spit. Taehyung looks at you with a pout, resembling a small child who’d just had his toy taken away. You’ve seen this look before, but unfortunately for you, you haven’t mastered the art of ignoring it yet. You sigh, “Fine, but I hope you hate it.”

“I promise you I’ll hate every bite.” He takes the treat for your hands in excitement, licking his lips before taking a heafty bite of the treat. He lets out a moan, one that has you turning away to feign frustration to mask your embarrassment. Even if you hadn’t Taehyung was far more concerned with everything that you had planned for the two of you. “So, where are we going today?”

“Down the road to the next town over. It should only be an hour by horse once we stop by the farm on the way there.” You explain, already prepared for the journey you’d be taking today.

“Or I could get the both of us their in twenty…” He suggests, taking in another mouthful of muffin.

You sigh, “You know how stupid it is to fly in the open Taehyung.”

“But I’m always careful! Please, let me fly with you just this one time.” He begs. Once again, he uses that pout on you, and you can’t help but give in to his wishes once more.

“Alright.” You say.

Taehyung smiles and shoves the last bit of muffin into his mouth. In the few months that you’d known him, you’d never seen him shift before, so this would be a first for you. He has you stand behind a tree, watching from afar in the event he shifts and you’re too close to his wings. You watch as the blonde boy turns into a beautiful yellow dragon with two large twisted horns on his head and spikes going from the top of his head all the way down to the tip of his tail. You’re surprised, especially when you climb onto his neck when he offers it to you. He allows you to cling onto him as tightly as you require before he soars into the air with one leap of faith and a flap of his large wings. He takes you into the sky and you’re amazed by how beautiful everything is from so high up, and you’re even more amazed when true to his word you’re in the next town over within twenty minutes.

“What’s going on?” Taehyung asks after shifting back. The both of you listen to the music coming from the town just a mile ahead of you, hearing the happiness of the people within.

You turn to the hornless shifter with the biggest smile, “Welcome to the Winter Festival, Tae. This celebration is held every year in honor of Father Christmas before he makes his journey down from the highest mountain to spread love and cheer to us humans young and old. You said you wanted to partake in human customs, so I thought this would be nice.”

“You really were listening to me…” He says. He has a soft look in his eyes as he looks at you, and you can’t hide the blush that paints your cheeks from his intense glare. You reach for his hand and tug him towards the path leading into town, “Let’s go have fun.”

And fun you had. Thanks to Taehyung’s lack of horns and tail when he shifts to a human, he’s able to enjoy the festival without any suspicion of being a dragon shifter. This allows him to join you in the festivities the town pulls out for this day every year. You get to enjoy the smell and taste of fresh hot chocolate - and a small taste of some ‘special’ eggnog - you were able to enjoy the frozen pond that others skated on, join in on the games the children of the town would play together, and even enjoy the play held by the towns church. In every activity, you got to see the pure joy on Taehyung’s face, and it made risking everything to bring him here even more worth it.

“You humans are strange, but this celebration really is amazing!” Taehyung cheers. The two of you had moved away from the festivities for a short breather, watching from afar as couples and children danced in the town square to the music being played once more.

“The festival is really the best one of the towns.” You say. You catch the sight of something passing by you, and look up to find white flakes of snow beginning their decent for a fresh coat of snow. Even though you’ve seen it many times, you can’t help but to watch it fall with childlike wonder, “It’s snowing again…” 

Taehyung observes you as you watch the snow fall, taking the moment to appreciate how your hair frames you face and the way your eyes light up at the sight of falling snow. You radiant smile makes his heart clench, and he has to use everything within him to turn away and focus on something else. Thankfully, he finds a distraction. 

“We should head back now, I don’t want you walking home in the dark.” Taehyung says, pulling you out of your trance.

You sigh, “I can take care of myself, Taehyung.”

“I know, but let’s just get going anyways.” He suggests.

You’re not one to argue, and you both take your leave from the festival. You make the journey back to your special clearing and are ready to bid Taehyung goodnight when you hear shouting close to you. In the distance, you can spot lights that seem to keep getting closer and closer as you watch them and listen.

“What’s that?” You ask.

“Hunters.” Taehyung says. He grabs your hand before you have much time to think and immediately starts pulling you after him deeper into the woods to get as far away from the hunters as possible. “We need to move away from the town.”

You shake your head, still allowing yourself to be lead away, “But I need to be heading home.”

“If the hunters get you then you won’t be going home anytime soon.” He reminds you. You both knew very well that if the hunters found the two of you together, there was little chance that they would even think of sparing you. 

So, you continue on after him, following him as quickly as you can in the snow and dimly lit wood. You’re surprised when you finally come across a strange looking cave, and suddenly it’s like you’re somewhere else entirely.

“What was that?” You ask.

“The entrance to my home. I know a wizard who resides in your town who charmed the entrance so no one but me and my friends may enter. I won’t say who he is, but he’s promised my protection from hunters in return for protection of his own.” He explains. His pace changes to a languid one and he leads you through the cave until he makes it an area much larger in size with very little decoration. “Welcome to my nest! Make yourself as comfortable as you can and I’ll be right back.”

You watch him walk away to another entrance that was obviously made for his dragon form rather than his small human body. This must be the main area of his nest for him, so he’s probably gone to another area. You can’t help but begin to wonder how big Taehyung’s nest may be until he comes back with a large ball in his arms. He throws it to the floor closest to his fire it and it unrolls to become a mattress. “This isn’t much, but I use it when I feel like sleeping in my human form.”

“It’s fine, Taehyung...Taehyung?” You’re taken by surprise when the dragon shifter begins to nuzzle into you, rubbing his face all over you in anyway he can. You’re stunned by his actions, almost appalled! But you can’t find it in yourself to stop him.

“I have to scent you while you’re here. Other shifters live close by, and I can’t have them thinking they’re in enough danger to find and kill you when it comes time for you to leave.” He explains. He continues with his ‘scenting’ until he pulls away to scan you over, nodding in affirmation that he’d done a good job with you. “That should do.”

You clear your throat and smile in appreciation, “Thank you. I’ll just get settled in for the night then.”

You bid Taehyung goodnight and settle onto the small mattress he brought you. It has a nice quilt to go with it, and being placed by the fire makes it even better. But you can’t shake off the cold that you can still feel seeping in through the cave walls. Taehyung’s quilt doesn’t do enough for you, being his body temperature can withstand this type of weather.

“Are you cold?” Taehyung asks after several minutes of you shuffling to get warmer.

“Just a bit.” You sigh. There was no use in denying that you were cold. What was he going to do anyway? Laugh at you? Taehyung wasn’t that kind of person- or shifter. However, you’re surprised when he begins to climb into the mattress behind you. You sit up and turn to him,  “What are you doing now?”

He shrugs, “You’re cold. I may as well sleep next to you and help you warm up.”

“That’s highly inappropriate.” You remind him, refusing to give in to his albeit sweet gesture.

“Would you rather freeze?” He asks.

Thinking it over, sleeping next to Taehyung couldn’t be that bad, could it? Especially if it was going to keep you from freezing halfway through the night. Besides, just him sitting next to you was enough to spread more heat into your body. You sigh, “I suppose one night won’t harm anyone.”

“Good choice.” You don’t miss the way his boxy smile appears proudly on his face. He’s happy to pull you back down and press his chest against your back, letting his arms wrap around your body to pull you close. He nuzzles his face into the side of yours again, but this time you have no complaints on the matter with how warm and comfortable he is.

[synechd0che]

Aim Your Arrow at the Sky (I’m so Tired Now)

For the 2019 Tolkien Secret Santa Exchange run by @officialtolkiensecretsanta

Recipient: @stand-up-and-fight-daleks

World: Silmarillion (First Age Middle Earth)

Rating: Teen and Up

Pairings: none (general audiences)

Characters: Celegorm, Oromë, Curufin

Summary: 

The bees in the west field hum as Nerdanel works, star-wife, clay-shaper, the bright babe of scarlet mother hears the wind-whisper of little things.

Author’s note:

Title from Florence and the Machine’s “Sky Full of Song.”

I didn't tag this as Graphic Violence because it's not super detailed, but there is a passage towards the end that has some gore.  If you want a synopsis of the passage so that you can skip reading it, please message me and I'm happy to do so.

I will post this on AO3 very very soon, at which point I will attach a link on this post.  Otherwise, I’m Barefoot_Dancer on AO3 and the pseud I use for Tolkien related works is Lorinand_Lost.

Aim Your Arrow at the Sky (I’m so Tired Now):

The little one is in the vegetable garden, cloth-swaddled, brilliant-haired. He inches beneath the fruit vines, out under the humid canopy of gourd leaves. A mole he catches; it wiggles the moist star on its nose, sable fur dappled in tree-light. Dirt-digger, brother-mine.

And the little one whispers, root-feeder, brother-mine, and he turns him loose to burrow.

The leaves part and his mother’s face appears. As mothers do, she wipes berry juice from his cheeks, gives a scolding for his clever escape. Back into her shawl he is wrapped.

The bees in the west field hum as Nerdanel works, star-wife, clay-shaper, the bright babe of scarlet mother hears the wind-whisper of little things.

...

The old forest is ancient-dark, loam-rich, and the air is full of the creakings of the mossy, the time-bent. The little one is now a childling, taller than the sword ferns and shorter than the elderberry.

Little-water-swimmer, the brook gurgles. The childling drinks, and the water is clear and sweet.

With a leap he's an arrow, a ray of light, and he's reached the lowest branch of the spruce. A third of the way up, he finds a nest, four pale blue eggs, and the disgruntled parents, fretful and feathered.

Egg-eater, whistle the wood thrush in their woven home, Bird-catcher.

He climbs to where the branches are whip-willow thin and the sun lances through the needles, to where the wind whispers.

…

Deep in the wood, there is shadow, under beech and oak of interminable age. Everywhere is covered in their leaves, and everywhere not covered by leaves, in a deep moss. The childling is now a youth, tall and lean, his gold hair braided back. He carries his spear, ash-haft, heart-finder. The youth kneels, feeling the moss. The hare has come this way, light-footed, liquid-eyed.

And there it is in the underbrush, and there the youth lunges in pursuit. Then everything blurs in a dizzying, frenetic sprint, and he is a boy, and he is the hare, and then he has it by it's haunches. It goes still, looking at him with one golden eye, sides heaving. Fleet-foot, danger-tooth, and as a plea, brother-mine. The youth feels another set of eyes on him, and looks up slowly.

In the clearing, in the heart of the forest, there is a stag standing in a shaft of light. There is ivy in his antlers, and then he is a man. In a breath, the shade of a deer, gleaming bone and wet sinew. And then a man again, with the stag's head. He moves between these aspects as he says in a voice as old as time, boy-prince, swift-runner, come you now a-hunting?

The youth lowers his spear. Forest-lord, monsters-bane, Oromë.

Gather for me the waltalís nectar from their cliff-face hives, and you may join my wild-hunt.

~~~

Around in a circle are the other Huntsmen. They bear torches, stamp to the beat of a hide drum, sing in a tongue that sounds like the running hare, the charging boar, a diving hawk. Oromë stands at their head, motionless; he has taken the form of a man, dark skinned, braids capped with bone beads.

There is a wind in the cliffs, and the old harvesting ropes groan. Overhead, the bees whir and circle lazily. In one hand, the youth holds the harvesting basket, in the other, a long wood shaft tipped with a blade. He seeks purchase on the ropes with his knees, his bare feet, toes white-knuckled to the jute. He begins to climb.

Inching his way to the top is slow, and grueling. The youth is cold from the sweat-damp tunic that clings to his chest, and the ground is dizzying down below. The bees grow louder. Flightless-brother, knife-bearer. They spiral down from their nests, humming around him, alighting on his clothing and on his bare skin. The youth can feel their little feet as they bump their way over his breast bone and into his tunic, their gossamer wings across the eyelids that he screws closed.

When he can hear the hive above him, he raises the long blade to cut. The bee-music swells. elixir-thief. And they bite him, quick flashes of pain that bloom and burn. They bite at his exposed feet, the youth cries out, tethering himself into the ropes tighter. Now they crawl across his lips, and he locks them shut; they carry with them their sticky and bewildering nectar, made from the cliff flowers that give visions and heat and euphoria.

But they do not stop biting him, and in anguish he cries Shining-wings, sister-mine, Queen, I beseech thee! The nectar is in his mouth now, and there is a fire behind his eyelids and in the sky as the sun sets. It is bitter, it is sweet, and he burns. And the queen says, Take with care and temperance our madding-sweet, thee who speaks with little things. The biting ceases, and the youth fills his basket. Thanks-be, golden-daughter.

With his descent can hear a wild music, and the air moves in strange forms with languid intent. Below, he can see Oromë, and his head seems to shift between aspects - deer, decay, man - antlers grasping at the sky and weaving like vines.

When his feet hit the ground, the youth crumples. Oromë looms over him, washed in torchlight. Turkafinwë you are, father-named for strength and pride.

…

It is dark here, except for the fires burning on the northern horizon. The youth is of majority now, forest-hardened, valinor-soft. Below him in the valley, the goblin army, tortured-legion, unfortunate-brother. Under him shifts his horse, a dappled grey mare. She snorts, unsettled by the smell on the wind, puissance and suffering. Gentle-girl, Turkafinwë murmurs, Peace-be, safe I keep you. She nickers, settling.

When the ground-crawlers and night-wrigglers bring word that the orcs are in the Vale, Turkafinwë lights his torch. In a wave behind him, his men light theirs. There is the rolling sound of ringing steel being drawn, and then it is a hot-rush mad-scramble down the hillside. There is a shout in the air, and a wave of lights charge down into the orcs, who are night-blind with the sudden fire.

Down past Eithel Sirion and into the Fens they are driven, hunted and harried by Turkafinwë and his men, splashing and stumbling into the salty water, muddied and bloodied by the horses' hooves.

Their screaming sounds elvish. And their blood looks elvish as it streaks his blade and soaks into his hair. Some cry for mercy, some cry curses, some fall silently and their bodies relax into a peace cheated from them in life. Turkafinwë surges forward; for mercy, for vengeance, none will be spared here.

Silence falls, except for the groans of the wounded. Overhead, the carrion birds wheel. Brother-hunter, fearsome-fighter, blood-glutted you are, and now we fall to feast. The spirit of Alqualondë is in the air, or maybe it is just the sea air. In the water, elvish hair and orcish hair appear identical.

Tyelkormo he is by mothers-wisdom, the hasty-riser, hot-blooded.

…

Snake's-brother, Orodreth names him, lie-smith, brutish-betrayer. Turned out from Nargothrond in the dead of night. He mourns Huan, and his brother mourns his son; both are living dead, and neither will see their loved one again on this side of the sea. They are shades in the forest. They hide in the day, and travel at night as traitors under a sliver of moon. They seek their brothers' company.

The birds gossip about him, the beasts ignore him. He hunts for food, and his prey fall with baleful glares and die inelegantly, and he can hear them cursing him.

He is not Turkafinwë, he is not Tyelkormo, he is Celegorm in this new language that he speaks poorly and of which understands little, and silence is now his friend.

…

In that blood-haze, in those dark caves lit with glittering lamps, he can feel that familiar oath-madness creeping at the tips of his bones.

Behind him, there is a cry, and he turns to see Caranthir with an arrow sprouting from his jugular. On the causeway above him is Nimloth holding a great yew bow. Celegorm screams like it's his throat in which the arrow is buried, like a panicked horse, like a she-wolf protecting her pups. From his belt, he frees his last dagger. Willing it to fly like a bird, that Oromë and his teachings haven't quite abandoned him, he looses it. His aim is true, and the Queen of Doriath falls.

A scream rings in answer to Celegorm, ripping from the throat of Nimloth's human husband. King Dior charges him, broadsword raised. When their swords meet, all else falls away. Celegorm is dimly aware of the tears on Dior's cheeks, and that he is crying as well. He thinks he can kill this man, who is only human, but when Caranthir, falls with a groan, Celegorm's world freezes. He is too late to block Dior's blade, which slides through his breast plate like cold fire. He coughs blood, grabbing onto Dior's pauldrons to support himself. But in Dior's hasty fury, Celegorm's sword has also found its mark. The light leaves the man's eyes, and he and Celegorm fall as one.

The cold seems to spread from the wound, racing across his body and relieving Celegorm of oath-madness. He cannot push the blade free, but he does have the strength to pull Caranthir toward him, to roll Curufin into his lap. Celegorm listens as their breathing slows, as they go limp in his arms. Now, with bloody faces and sightless eyes, they look younger than they have since departing Valinor.

At last, he too can rest. Cold darkness comes to claim him, rolling over him like a wave.

…

When Celegorm awakes, there is fog, and out of the fog come gleaming eyes. A pack of wolves ring him, and they speak with Namo's voice. Welcome-be, kinslayer, oath-keeper.

Well-met, doomsman, spirit-master, Celegorm whispers.

The wolves close in on him, and he draws in on himself. When they savage his body, he thrashes out, and then realizes that the wounds close almost instantly. This must be his punishment, he realizes: eternal torment, unbroken by death or the oblivion of the void to which he had promised his soul, but from which he had apparently been saved to experience this fresh hell.

The wolves speak with Namo's voice, naming him Prideful-child, headstrong-hunter and they tear at his arms.

The wolves speak with his little brothers' voices, naming him Failed-caretaker, and in his father's, oath-breaker, and they rip at his legs.

The wolves speak with the young voices of Elured and Elurin, naming him Butcher-brethren, child-murderer, and they rend at the soft meat of his belly.

The wolves speak with Finrod's voice, melodious and terrible, naming him Cousin-killer, home-defiler, and their teeth sink home in his throat.

One wolf nuzzles close to his throat, and says Hound’s-friend, brother-mine, and Celegorm begins to cry because that is Huan’s voice inside that wolf.

And then the wolves speak in a new voice, and they name him: Hunter who is now prey, Turkafinwë; wrathful Tyelkormo; wretched Celegorm.

And Celegorm gasps, This is my voice, Namo, you torture me with my own voice.

And they say, his blood dripping from their teeth, Of course we do, for we are you. So tell us, how do you name yourself?

As Celegorm struggles between the heaving bodies and snapping jaws, he cries I am a kinslayer and an oathmaker, I am a monster and a butcher! His head disappears beneath the sea of fur. But I am also a third-brother and my people's defender, friend to little things and silent-hunter! He surges upward, grasping the largest wolf around the neck. Above all else, I am tired, and heart-sick, and I desire only restful darkness.

The wolf laughs. You will have no rest, not here, not until the remaking of the world. And everything goes dark.

...

When Turkafinwë awakes, for the second time since his death and after an interminable age, there is sunlight.

Turkafinwë sits up with a start. "I must be dreaming!" He shouts horsely, "You mock me, Mandos!"

"Can't stand the idea that you're one of the last of us to be released?" Curufin rises lazily from his seat under a tree.

"Brother?" And then quietly, “how long have I been gone?”

"Mother says it's been about four thousand years."

“You said one of the last…” Celegorm says slowly. “Who else is left?”

“Maedhros, for starters,” says Curufin. “If I know our oldest brother at all, it’s more due to his prodigious capacity for self-recrimination and less to Mandos’ judiciary streak.”

“And father?” Celegorm asks, pretty sure he already knows the answer.

“Well, look at it this way. When I was in the halls, I only ever saw visions of Celebrimor’s torment; how do you think it feels to have failed not one but seven sons?”

Celegorm sighs. “What are we doing here, brother? Surely the council would rather condemn our souls to the void.”

Curufin laughs. “I think Manwe is something of an optimist. And I do remember one last thing from the halls - the shade of my son that I had conjured as my punishment told me before I was released that I would have no rest until the world is remade.”

Celegorm starts.

“We May have forgiven ourselves in the halls,” continues Curufin, “but out here, we must fight for the forgiveness of others. One individual seems like he wishes to be first in line.”

The bushes behind him rustle, and out steps Huan. Turkafinwë, brother-mine And he knocks headlong into Celegorm, who falls flat with a laughing face full of dog fur.

There are bees - which he can hear, but cannot see, because he is on his back looking up at the bluest sky imaginable. And the bees say Welcome-be to land-everlasting, son of Fëanor, he who hears the wind-whisper of little things.

Author’s Note:

Waltalís - derived from walta (excite, rouse, wild) and lís (honey) in quenya.

Inspired by something I read once about traditional honey gatherers who climb up the side of a cliff to collect the honey made from a particular psychedelic flower.

Concerning the battle at the fens of serech,I headcanon that since the orcs began as elves that Sauron tortured and experimented upon, the first few generations are startlingly elf-like in appearance.

I like the idea of Mandos being the rehab of Valinor. They both serve time as penitence and learn to forgive themselves.  So Namo’s brilliant idea is to have people overcome their self-hatred by handling their own punishment.  Celegorm feels guilt over Finrod and his younger brothers, so he punishes himself with wolves until he’s all worn out and willing to forgive himself.

[lady-divine-writes]

Klaine fic - “A Vision in a Dream: Chapter 4 - Ramping Up the Possibilities”

Summary: Struggling songwriter Blaine Anderson is trapped in a dull job writing jingles while trying to compose the one song that will help him break into the music business. He's on the verge of giving up when a chance encounter in a local park changes everything ... and nearly gives him a concussion.

Notes: So, yeah, this is the story I wrote for the @klainesummerchallenge 2016. Better late than never. This chapter written for the prompt 'outdoor sporting event'.

Read on AO3.

Blaine skates through the park, gliding leisurely along, the sun setting champagne gold behind him as he contemplates the many conundrums he currently finds himself in. He’d been ecstatic not too long ago talking to Will, full of plans and first steps and bullet points and goals. But now, rolling down the jogging trail through the trees, he feels stuck again – more so than he had before.

And to be honest, he’s getting tired of the frequency in which this happens to him.

When he’d first offered to help Will bring music back to Lima, the man had shot him down, repetitively and sincerely. Will wasn’t looking for Blaine to convince him. As wistful as he was over the prospects of getting the carnival up and running again, the music festival back on, he’d come to terms with losing it a long time ago.

“That’s very generous of you,” he’d said, “but you can’t. It’s impossible. I’ve been trying for years!”

But in contrast, the man’s eyes had shone with so much excitement, so much hope, Blaine continued to insist, swearing up and down that he would do it with or without Will’s help, until the poor, overwhelmed man couldn’t possibly say no.

And he didn’t. Because Blaine had convinced him. Thoroughly. He had faith in Blaine’s conviction.

Hurrah.

With that accomplished, Blaine felt the rest would simply fall into place. It was a done deal in his mind since convincing Will had to be the biggest hurdle to this whole undertaking, right?

Turns out … not exactly.

Actually, not at all.

Because at that point, he hadn’t properly factored Sue Sylvester into the equation. He’d kind of forgotten about her in his zeal to sway Will Schuester, caught up in the moment when he should have taken a few steps back and done his research first, seen if this thing he wanted had any real chance of happening.

Seen why it had been so difficult for Will Schuester when the man had been elbows deep in it for most of his adult life.

There was always the possibility that the woman in question was dead. In that case, dealing with her estate shouldn’t be too difficult. He couldn’t imagine too many lawyers would want to hold on to a dead woman’s grudge for long.

Blaine had had no idea what he was getting himself into.

As soon as Blaine and Will parted ways, Blaine found himself a park bench, pulled out his phone, and started Googling Sue Sylvester. Luckily, information about her wasn’t difficult to find. Articles regarding Sue seemed to fall into two categories – articles written about her by credible journalists, and vanity pieces written by the woman herself. By her own accounts, she was an actress, a model, a TV commentator, and she’d single-handedly put cheerleading on the map.

He couldn’t find any credible sources to back those claims up.

But the non-biased articles he read were damning.

Enough that he seriously considered going straight home, packing his things, and taking the first flight he could to Bali.

The more he researched Sue Sylvester, the more he realized the true extent of Will’s dilemma. Sue wasn’t just a bitter woman with an ax to grind. She was downright vindictive. Slashing tires and filling gas tanks with sugar were the tamest of her many infractions. She’d been known to break into people’s apartments and urinate in their hair products. The high school she’d worked at? She terrorized the children who went there, putting dirt in their lockers and throwing sticks at them for no reason. She forced the girls on her squad to stuff their bras with silicone breast enhancers, then made them pull them out and slap themselves with them when she needed a chuckle. She’d even stolen one poor family’s Christmas tree and presents Seussian Grinch style. How a woman with her track record for petty crimes and child abuse could go on to become a member of Congress …

… actually, that was the only thing about her resume that made any sense.

As far as the carnival was concerned, she hadn’t simply scrapped it, she’d purchased the rights to it – the name, the amphitheater, the land, even the concept. Plus, she didn’t seem to have any weaknesses. That’s not to say that no one had dirt on her – they obviously did. She just didn’t care.

To make matters worse, the woman was still very much alive (evidenced by several recent editorials published in the Lima Gazette regarding defunding PBS because the shows on it could be categorized as ‘hate speech’) so bypassing her and dealing with her estate isn’t an option.

Lawyers can be reasonable. Money and PR can grease a lot of wheels.

Heartless old hags bent on decades of sadistic revenge? Not so much.

If he’s going to get the carnival – and thus, the music festival - up and running again, he’s going to need to convince her.

And this is where Blaine shudders.

Because those articles, and the pictures they paint, have Blaine believing Will is right.

They’ve failed even before they’ve begun.

He loses himself in the run around of that thinking, not even noticing when the sun drops down below the horizon and the street lamps pop on down the trail. Nor does he notice the streak of gold zipping behind him, cutting the course through the trees with a stifled giggle.

It’s long past twilight by the time Blaine reaches the skate ramps at the far end of the park. Though much of the park itself is dim, this end is so flooded with light, it seems like daytime over here. At least a dozen kids are there on skates, boards, and scooters, practicing tricks and showing off for their friends. They congregate mostly at the steeper ramps. Blaine weeds his way through them to reach the flat area his skating instructor told him would be a good place to practice. It’s sunken, accessible by a gentle incline, perfect for beginners, which is probably why it’s empty now, with the more accomplished skaters (every one of them between the ages of eight and fourteen) over on the opposite side.

Blaine steps onto the ramp cautiously. It’s not steep, but he’s sure he could still pick up a decent amount of speed and hurt himself if he’s not too careful. He holds onto the railing as he goes, lowering himself down in sections. But before he reaches the bottom, he’s cut off by a familiar looking man with eyes blue as the sea, and hair that seems to defy gravity, leaving a streak of gold behind him wherever he goes.

Stunned by the man’s sudden appearance, Blaine lets go of the railing. He grabs it again quickly when he rolls a foot down the ramp. “You!”

“Me,” Kurt says, doing a lazy, inside edge spread eagle - a move that, while elegant, also showcases his strong thighs and his tight rear. Blaine does his best not to stare, not just because it would be rude, but because Kurt hasn’t taken his eyes off him, watching him like a hawk with those baby blues that never seem to stop smiling, as if Blaine struggling in rollerblades has become his new favorite form of entertainment.

Even though his cheeks burn from the attention, Blaine braves a bit more speed, managing to get to the bottom and stop without spinning out, flying backwards, and landing on his tailbone … the way he may or may not have done earlier.

“You’re getting better,” Kurt comments. “I’m impressed.”

“Thank you.” Blaine’s voice wobbles, one kind word away from exploding at Kurt’s unexpected praise. “Do you come here often?”

“A-ha. I can practice my skating here.” Kurt transitions smoothly to an outside edge spread eagle, leaning back on his blades, face tilted to the sky, a position which not only shows off his legs again, but something else entirely, and Blaine almost falls without making a single move. “It’s usually pretty empty so no one bothers me.”

“You must live around here,” Blaine proffers, fishing for clues as to where in the world this gorgeous man keeps springing up from.

“Occasionally.”

“Occasionally? What does that mean?”

“It means I’m here today, but who knows about tomorrow.”

“Oh.” Blaine’s heart sinks, thinking that Kurt might disappear tomorrow and he’d never see him again. But as that hasn’t happened yet, he shoves it from his mind. “Why did you kiss me the other day?”

Kurt shrugs. “Because I wanted to. Why? Didn’t you like it?” The next time Blaine sees Kurt’s face, he’s pouting, but not all that convincingly with the smile in his eyes.

“I---I didn’t say that.” A small shock leaps in Blaine’s stomach remembering Kurt’s lips touching his. It doesn’t feel like a simple memory. His lips sizzle as it passes through his brain. “I just … do I know you?”

“I don’t know. Do you?”

“I don’t think I do.” Blaine starts to glide, following Kurt as he meanders around in lazy eights to continue the conversation. “I don’t remember ever meeting you before, and I’m pretty sure I’d remember you.”

“Is that right?”

“That’s right. And that’s another thing - how come we keep meeting like this?”

“Like what?”

“Out of the blue.”

“Just lucky, I guess.”

“It seems like more than just luck to me.”

“You’re right.” Kurt chuckles. “Someone must be setting us up.”

“Who?”

“Don’t you know?” Kurt winks, confusing Blaine until he catches the implication.

“You think … me?”

“Possibly. I mean, you’re always here.”

“True …” Blaine no longer struggles to keep up, skating like a natural since he’s no longer overthinking it “… but I’ve been coming here for ages and I’ve never seen you, so wouldn’t that mean you’re the one setting us up?”

“I guess …” Kurt changes directions, almost colliding into Blaine when he does, frowning playfully when Blaine manages to hop out of the way. “But I think I’d know if I was, so my vote’s still on you. Yup. You’re doing all this.”

“You’re … you’re right.” Blaine follows Kurt as he ventures into an area that’s darker than the rest, shrouded by the shadows thrown by the overhanging lip of the wall blocking the light of the street lamp. He plays along, willing to agree with anything as long as he gets to continue this conversation. “That must mean I want to see you again.”

“Do you?” The farther Kurt goes, the darker their surroundings become, only the brightness of Kurt’s clothes and the glimmer in his eyes visible. “Want to see me again?”

“Yes! Yes, of course. Absolutely. I would love to see you again!”

“Why?”

“I want to get to know you. I find you fascinating.”

“What do I do that fascinates you?”

“Well, for one thing, you don’t stand still long enough for us to have a conversation!” The words fly out of Blaine’s mouth before he has the time to consider whether or not they sound offensive. They do to his ears. And by the way Kurt’s back goes rigid, he can only imagine he thinks so, too. Blaine holds his breath, begging with his brain for Kurt not to skate off in a huff, but he circles back around, eyes pointed thoughtfully toward the sky.

“Hmmm … you may have a point.” Kurt puts one foot behind him, leaning on the edge of his wheels and slowing to a stop. “There. I’ve stopped. Now, what do you want to know?”

“Who are you?” Blaine asks breathlessly.

“I told you. I’m Kurt.”

“Do you have a last name?”

For the first time since they met, the smile in Kurt’s eyes extinguishes slightly. “No. But it wouldn’t make a difference if I did.”

“What do you do?”

“I skate.”

“I mean, for a living?”

“I don’t.”

“What do you mean you don’t?”

“I don’t do anything for a living. The universe pretty much takes care of me. And in turn, I take care of other people.”

“Other people?” Blaine’s brow furrows. “Like who? Are you a nurse or something?”

The amused expression returns full force to Kurt’s face. “Do you need me to fit into some sort of box or something?”

“No. I’m just curious.”

“Can I ask you a question, Blaine?”

“Of course! Anything!”

Kurt leans forward till he’s only a breath away. “Can I kiss you again?”

“Yes!” Blaine answers too quickly, but he can’t take for granted that, for once, Kurt is standing still, has been standing still for a full three minutes so far.

Which makes his chances of getting another kiss good.

“Wow!” Kurt laughs. “You didn’t even have to think about that, did you?”

“No, I didn’t. Because I have been thinking about it. For a while. And anything I can do to make it happen … anything … I will.” Blaine glances at Kurt’s lips, desperate to kiss him, to relive the excitement, the rush from before.

Kurt licks his lips, staring so deeply into Blaine’s eyes, Blaine feels like he’s falling, his feet floating in the air as he dives into the sea that is Kurt’s eyes. But Blaine also sees fire there, traces of that molten light that follows Kurt around everywhere he goes. It swirls and dances, wrapping around Blaine like a lasso and setting him gently back to earth. Kurt pulls back, inching away from Blaine’s untouched lips, and smiles. “That’s good to know,” he whispers. He sidesteps Blaine, and skates away into the shadows.

“Wait!” Blaine shoots out after him, but before he knows it, the world becomes pitch black. Blaine’s eyes scan the dark, hoping against hope that Kurt is hiding somewhere, teasing Blaine some more. But Blaine feels the truth deep within his chest.

He wasn’t fast enough.

Kurt is gone.

[corneredpoets]

Author Presentation

Pen Name: Chasing Butterflies | 17 | Poet

"He who leaps for the sky may fall, it's true. But he may also fly." 🦋

- Lauren Oliver, Delirium

[mountainashfae]

🎥

🎥 do you have any favorite scenes from your hyperfixation?

The best part of this app being 100% fantranslation is that I can go and grab transcripts of all my favorite scenes. I’ll try to keep it down to 5 and under a cut because a few go on for a bit.

Since a few of these include the player, I’d like to preface this saying that the default name for the protagonist is Akira, and that’s the name most fantranslators use.

[  media hyperfixation ask game! ]  

Prelude to the Festival and Justice

Figaro: I’ll wait here. I have a hunch that things won’t end well if I go near the ruins of Mesa with you guys. Lennox: ........ Figaro: I can sense the tension from here. The original spirits of Central have heroic natures, so they hate wizards from the North. It feels like they’re saying, "Get out, villain."  Both Oz and I are ultimately Northern wizards at our core, after all.... Lennox: ......That’s not necessarily true. Figaro: Leno...... Lennox: When your nature changes, you grow accustomed to the land — and eventually the land comes to love you in return. The way you are overprotective of the brothers — I think that’s just like the Southern wizards, who love their families. Sir Oz must be the same..... Because a heart that loves harmony and goodwill was born in him, he came to be loved by the Central lands. So I’m sure it will all work out. Figaro: ......Thank you. You’re a good guy..... Lennox: Well, I am a better person than you, Dr. Figaro.   Figaro: ...... Lennox: No taking back your words.

Chapter 16: The Lunar Eclipse Palace (Murr and his Friend)

Murr: Hello, Shylock. It's certainly been a while. The scent of your pipe reminds me of the times we spent all night in argument. Shylock: It has certainly been a while since I last saw such a garrulous Murr. You must be a piece of Murr's soul. Murr: Indeed. What are you going to do with me? Shylock: I'm going to retrieve you and return you to Murr. Murr: Really? My dear friend Shylock, do you really want to do such a thing? Shylock: ...What do you mean? Murr: I thought you were quite fond of him. The innocent and simple-minded me, who rolls around like a stray cat. Shylock: .......... Murr: He won't talk down to you; he won't insult you. He'll listen to your every command. The foolish and adorable Murr, who belongs only to you. You loved me, and you loathed me. Of course you're fond of him. Shylock’s face stiffens at Murr’s grin. Shylock: ....Oh loathsome Murr. But if you are going to call me a friend, I do wish you would understand me a bit better. Murr: I believe I do understand you. You wanted to stop me from inventing magical science technology. But I refused. And as a result, your hometown was contaminated. The creatures went extinct, and the waves ceased to echo across the shores. Of course you loathe me. But you are surprisingly obsessive, so you could not cast away your affection for me. That is why you continue to think of me in conflict — the conflict that you so adore. You loathe me and you love me. You blame me and you forgive me. You pity me, and you think of me nostalgically. Am I wrong? Shylock smiles.

Chloe: Dreams Shared With a Sewing Box (aka the moment I fell in love with Chloe)

Imagining Chloe’s childhood makes my heart ache. Chloe is still smiling painfully. Chloe: It’s fine, it’s fine! It’s all in the past, so I’m all fine now! Plus, I can make whatever clothes I want now. I was only allowed to do chores here and there back then, but I was always so jealous watching my father and sisters create such beautiful clothes. I’d think, I also want to make nice clothes. And if I wear beautiful clothes, then maybe even I can change.... Even if I’m skinny and ugly..... If I can make such lovely clothes, then maybe even I can be of use to someone wonderful...... As Chloe’s voice grows hoarse, I can’t help but exclaim forcefully. Akira: ...Chloe, you are wonderful. You’re cool, you’re adorable, and you’re kind. I love you — we all love you, Chloe! Chloe looks surprised. Then he laughs shyly, his cheeks flushing. Chloe: Thank you, Sir Sage..... Ehehe.... That makes me so happy. Rustica said the same thing to me, you know.....

Chapter 17: Wicked Wizards (Rustica’s Wish) (aka my favorite Dad Rustica moment)

Rustica: Oh, there you are, Chloe. Chloe: .......... Rustica: I know very well how whimsical Westerners can be, but the people of Central are certainly prone to mood swings as well. The person who said hello to me in the morning glared at me and ran away in the afternoon. I was a little bit surprised. Chloe? Chloe: Ah...... Rustica. Sorry, sorry. What was that? Rustica: Did you hide something behind your back? Chloe: No, not at all! Rustica: Ahaha. So now you're trying to surprise me too, Chloe. What are you hiding? A bird? A butterfly? Chloe: Ah......! Rustica: Come on, show me. Chloe: ............ Rustica: ....A torn scarf? Isn’t this the scarf you embroidered, Chloe? This blue bird, right here. I remember you working on it, because I thought it was so lovely. How did it get torn? Chloe: ......Ah.... ....I gave it. To someone I made friends with at the party. Rustica: ............ Chloe: She said it was pretty, so I told her she could have it as a symbol of our friendship. Then she was really, really happy! She said she'd show it off to her friends and family! ....But this morning.... She said she didn't want it, because a wizard's scarf was bound to have some horrendous curse on it.... She said, "You're trying to deceive me and curse me to death, right?" And she tore it and threw it to the ground.... Rustica: Chloe.... Chloe: It's fine, it's fine! I'm not feeling down about it or anything! I'm used to this sort of thing, anyway! .....But I'm an idiot, so I came up with all these ridiculous fantasies. Like, maybe if I give her this scarf, she'll put it on the next day, and come to say hi to me. Then I’d feel really ticklish inside, but I’d also be really happy, and say, it looks great on you.... Chloe: Maybe her friends and family would ask me to make them scarves too, and I'd get really busy...... .......I came up with so many of those stupid fantasies, like the ones that play through your mind right before you fall asleep..... She was afraid it might be cursed.... Of course she was scared..... I'm such an idiot..... Rustica: You're not an idiot. Chloe: ...I am an idiot..... Rustica: Your dream is absolutely lovely. If she doesn't want the scarf, can I have it instead? Chloe: ....It's nothing valuable. Rustica, you're handsome, so you deserve to wear something much nicer. Rustica: There's no scarf more valuable than this one. Chloe: ....That's not true. I haven't used any expensive fabrics or threads.... Rustica: Because this scarf is the only one of its kind in this world. It's something that only you could make. Chloe: .......... Rustica: It's more precious than a commonplace luxury you could find anywhere. It’s more precious than the moonstone; more precious than any jewel. Here, look. This scarf was created by my beloved Chloe. It's the only one in the world. It has my favorite blue bird embroidered on it, too. It’s a bit torn, but that’s no cause for concern. For I have a friend who's very good at needlework. Rustica: I'm sure he will fix it up perfectly. This blue bird will fly freely into the sky, no matter how many times its wings are torn. Isn't that right, Chloe? Chloe: ......Yeah...... I'll sew it back together, as many times as I have to..... .....Thank you, Rustica. Rustica: And you have my thanks as well. Don't cry...... Please smile, Chloe. Chloe: ........ .....Yes...... Rustica: Please don't feel hurt. Like the bright moon that shines in the sky, we may be shoved away every time we approach someone, but...... We can smile wherever we are. We can sing the songs we love, and dance with the people we love, wherever we are.

Chapter 21: A Story for the Sage’s Manual (A Wish)

Oz: Sage. Akira: Yes...... Oz: I'm sorry — but you are going to share my fate. Akira: Huh......? Woah......! Oz takes my shoulder, and we lean over from the balcony. Akira: Hey...... Wai—! Oz: Let's go. Akira: ...........! Oz leaps from the castle balcony, holding me in his arms. ✦✧☾✧✦ Dark wings, and a golden moon. We plummet swiftly. Akira: ............ Oz: Grant me strength, Sage. You are the one who guides us. Believe in me. I believe in you. Akira. I tightly grip Oz's hand in return. For I, too, once wished for the same. I want to build a small bridge of trust. With this world. With the people living in this world. And...... With myself. Oz slowly releases his fingers. In that hand, he holds a magnificent staff. I hadn’t noticed, but the speed at which we’re falling has slowed. I look at Oz. He opens his mouth. Oz: << Vox Nox >> In that moment...... We defy the laws of nature. And rush upwards into the night sky. As if we’re flying to the moon.