#Well there are worse ways I could be coping with my eventual shunning which is in [checks calendar] 264 days

[theres-whump-in-that-nebula]

Progress pic of my descent into round insanity:

It’s just going to be one circle, all sc, increased every round (very, very, very very very very, veryveryvery………………… very… carefully)

[the-elusive-libbin]

The Hungry Boar Prince - Hunger fic

Dimitri, Felix and Sylvain set up camp after a battle but can they get any sleep with the prince’s grumbling belly? Contains slightly painful hunger, tummy rubs and sweetness between the three boys. Lighthearted and SFW with blushing and hungry grumbles ^_^ Enjoy~ ************************************************************************************

What is the meaning of war? There are hundreds of possible answers depending on who it was that you asked. This skirmish that had occurred today was a minor one, a small-scale battle and though true enough not a war, it had been exhausting nonetheless. The clanging of steel meeting steel and the ‘whoosh’ of tightly pulled bow strings that supported arrows as they released had long since faded with time. A few hours had passed since the battle’s end and three of its participants had gotten themselves in quite a predicament. The battle, for these three at least, had been won and a celebration was becoming largely overdue; yet the three found themselves not in celebration but in mutual disagreement. Each wanted something different and so bickering had occurred. The warriors were not lost but were hindered and it would take a while to return to the monastery. 

Sylvain, the red haired lancer was all in agreement for stopping and resting but first wanted to go back to the battlefield to procure his horse that was lost in the skirmish, doing so would allow him to run off ahead or at least use the animal to carry what little provisions they owned; there was no way a single horse of that size would carry the weight of the three men however. Felix, the most agile and equally most argumentative, wanted to carry on straight to their destination and get the trip over and done with, he did not want to waste his time waiting around. Dimitri, the wayward prince, had thought it through and as the leader had decided that the tree should make camp and rest, revitalise their energy and travel back to the monastery by foot the next day. What good were they to be if they carried on straight with no energy? They may collapse. Thinking it best to not go back for the horses either, Dimitri relayed his opinion and ended up getting the other two to agree, one more reluctantly than the other of course. 

So it was that Dimitri, Sylvain and Felix created an encampment in a small, hollowed out cave (if you could even call it that. It was not very deep) and started a controlled fire for warmth in preparation for nightfall that was encroaching at a slightly more vigorous pace than they had expected. Time had flown by, their exhaustion taking a hold and making them much more subdued and sluggish as they moved. Soon the three had rolled out their bed rolls that had miraculously survived the skirmish on the back of Sylvain’s horse which had coincidentally fled from the battlefield after being hit and found its way back to its master, much to the red headed flirt’s joy, and prepared to settle in for the night. They had found warmth, a horse and shelter. That was the good news. The bad news? The knight’s provisions were lost and the other members of their group would be halfway back to the monastery by now with their own food and water rations. They would have to go hungry.

“Ahhh~ I’m beat. That was tougher than we thought it was going to be huh?” Sylvain flopped backwards onto his bed roll, his hands behind his head as Dimitri took the centre mat to his right and Felix took the last roll the other side of the prince, lying down and immediately turning to face away, shunning out his two companions. He would rather squeeze his eyes closed and try to sleep, avoiding the pair’s rambling, uninteresting conversations. “It was.” Dimitri sighed in response. “We won and luckily, with very few casualties. But that does not mean we are out of the woods yet, we will need to think up a new strategy for next time. I believe I speak for all of us when I say that I have no energy left.” “Yeah, we really exerted ourselves.” “Hmph. Speak for yourselves, I’ve still got energy to carry on.” Felix gave his input with a scoff and a snide tone. “Oh yeah?~ What are you going to prove that Felix? Go run back to the monastery and grab us some food will ya.” Winked the older male. “Tsk! Shut up, you know I can’t do that.” “Awh why? Too tired? Too hungry?” “Will yo-” “That is enough. Felix we all need to conserve what little energy we have. Let us sleep so that we may return home early.” Dimitri interrupted, he did not want his comrades wasting valuable energy and frankly did not want to have to deal with their bickering throughout the night. “Whatever you say your highness.” Sylvain smiled and with a yawn, closed his eyes. “Whatever…” Mumbled the swordsman as he wrapped his arms around himself and subconsciously backed up closer to the prince for warmth just as he used to when the three were younger. Dimitri himself had lay down, resting a hand atop his stomach. It felt unusual, as though something was stirring up inside, waiting to come out. He opted to ignore the feeling for now and eventually the three men managed to drift off. There was no way to tell how long the men had been asleep, aside from the placement of stars as they threw light upon the land in a cloudless, night sky. *Grrrruggllglgggllllle* The prince’s eye shot open. What was that? He checked to his left. Sylvain, snoring gently, inoffensively. Checked his right, Felix, breathing so softly it was barely audible. Both asleep. So then what was...? “Urk!” Dimitri winced and clutched at his middle as it cramped up. It was that feeling from before but way more intense and a lot more painful. The knotting feeling twisted and turned in his stomach making him feel slightly nauseous and if not a little hot. His stomach ached and would not cease in its flipping. He had felt this before and slowly but surely the prince began to realize what was occurring. He was famished. All of his energy had depleted and to make matters worse, Dimitri had an incredibly fast working metabolism with a rather demanding stomach to support his innate strength. By the goddess he was hungry. Pressure was building and the prince knew that he would not be able to quell what was to come. ‘Please.’ He thought. ‘Please do not…’ He mentally begged his stomach and he wrapped his arms around it tightly, feeling that pressure building up, about to release. He fidgeted. ‘I-I cannot hold it.’ His single eye widened as the pressure released and his stomach let out a deep, guttural, roar.

*GGGRRRRRROOOOOOOOAAAAARRRRRRRRRgggggglllll*

Dimitri flinched, unable to stop the groan that he could feel erupting from his poor, empty tummy. Patting and rubbing at his midsection didn’t even come close to stiling the offending sound. He could feel the heat of embarrassment rising, burning his cheeks and ears and sending his face into a hot flush. There was nothing he could do but wait for the noise to peter out and hope the other two didn’t hear. There was no way they didn’t hear. Sylvain’s eyes shot open and he bolted upright immediately, looking around for the source of the noise. Felix awoke of course and had gripped the armorslayer close to his chest but lay still, waiting to slay whatever beast should sneak up on them. “Wha!? What!? What the heck was that?!” Sylvain panicked, wishing he hadn’t left his spear by the wall. He looked around. No sign of threat, his horse was mostly unperturbed but Felix and Dimitri seemed to be awake too. Did they also hear that noise? They must have! It was too loud not to! “You guys definitely heard that too right?” Felix loosened his grip on his sword and rolled over to face the other two. “Of course we did.” he sighed. “I can’t sense a threat but it sounded like a wild beast.” Dimitri remained quiet, he had long since wrapped his arm over his eyes, blushing madly. He was too embarrassed to say anything at this moment. “Well it had to have been something.” Felix continued. “Damn animal woke me up.” “Yeah woke me up too…” “Maybe it was a wild boar.” “What kind of boar have you heard that makes that kind of noise?” “An annoying one.”

*Grrrrrrgllll* 

An audible gurgle came from Dimitri’s belly and the prince moved his free hand to rest atop it without saying a word. Sylvain looked at the blonde male and processed the information. “Oh! I see~” He smirked at the sudden realisation. Felix raised an eyebrow at Sylvain and Dimitri flinched in place. “Awww man! I can’t believe it took us this long to figure it out! Hahaha!” laughed the red head. “What’s so funny?” “Felix, surely we’ve both known his highness long enough to know how his stomach works. You’re starving, isn’t that right Dimitri?” Sylvain winked as he looked at the prince, earning a gulp in return. “So then..” Felix’s mouth widened in shock. “That was his…” “I-it was my stomach.” Dimitri whimpered, finally managing to push through the initial embarrassment. “I apologise. I did not m-mean to wake you both. I could not stop it.” Sylvain was sure he could see the steam rising from the blonde’s head and honestly he felt a little bad for the poor prince but there was no way he could hold back his laughter. “Hahaha! I knew it, you always did have a powerful stomach.” “I-I cannot help it. I do not see what is so funny.” The prince pouted, taking his arm from his face and using it to hug his belly tightly. “I am famished.” The swordsman sighed and clicked his tongue in annoyance. “Seriously?! Your stomach woke us up? I’m going back to sleep. Keep the damn thing down.” “I am sorry Felix…” Dimitri sighed and the three tried to once again get some sleep. No luck. Dimitri’s belly had become more and more active by the minute. His stomach’s verbal complaints coupled with his pained moans and whimpers were ensuring that none of the three got any sleep that night. “God damn it! I told you to keep your damn stomach quiet Boar prince!” Felix yelled when he decidedly couldn’t cope with the increasingly loud noises anymore. “I c-cannot s-s-stop them.” The prince stuttered softly. Sylvain sighed. There was one thing he could do to try and help. He remembered back to a time where the three of them were younger. Dimitri always had problems like this. His father Lambert was much the same, no doubt he had inherited that trait. The red head recalled a time where King Lambert‘s stomach had once shook the plates and cutlery on his tablet at a banquet he held. He had laughed it off and made a joke of it but Dimitri had spent the entire afternoon trying to convince Ingrid, Sylvain and Felix that he could do the same after a young Felix (still with a glint in his eye and admiration for Dimitri) had asked if he could. Of course he couldn’t actually copy his father at the time but there was no doubt he probably could now. “Hmmmm...” Sylvain sat up and kneeled by the prince’s side. “Let me try something.” “W-what are you going to do? Surely you cannot believe that you could st-stop this incessant rumbling?” “I may be able to do just that.” The lancer reached his hand under Dimitri’s back and undid his metallic, abdominal armour plate much to the prince’s embarrassment and Felix’s disgust. He placed his hand upon Dimitri’s abdomen and slid it under his clothes. “W-what are you doing Sylvain!?” The prince shrieked in embarrassment. “Relax, I used to do this all the time, do you remember?” He could feel the deep, rumbling groans vibrate through the prince’s organs and muscle and on his own hand. Little tremors, an aftershock of an earthquake. After waiting a moment, Sylvain began to press, rubbing deep circles into Dimitri’s empty, concave stomach. “O-Oh my…” The prince flushed and threw a hand to his mouth in a feeble attempt to hide away. Sylvain chuckled. “See it’s helping right?” “Why are you doing something like that?” Felix scoffed. “It’s not appropriate.” “C’mon I can’t be the only one that remembers. When we were young we used to sneak out with Ingrid to go and look at the stars on the castle grounds when we visited. That one time Dimitri was starving, he missed a meal because he was training so hard and forgot. His belly wouldn’t stop grumbling so I massaged it like this to ease the pain. It worked and if I recall Felix, you asked me to do the same to you.” “I had..F-forgotten” Dimitri mumbled. “I did not!” Felix retorted.” “Yeah you did! You were like “Sylvain my tummy hurts, rub mine too!”” A blush shot to the swordsman’s cheeks as he remembered. It had happened. It had and it was wholly embarrassing. “Sh-shut up!” Felix blushed and once again lay away from the others. Sylvain and Dimitri both chuckled at that. The red head rubbed and kneaded the prince’s stomach as it gurgled and moaned, favouring two hands now instead of just the one. “Hush now, I know you’re empty. My belly is too.” Cooed the lancer to Dimitri’s stomach. “P-please do not talk to my stomach like it is a misbehaved child.” “It’s not misbehaving, just hungry and complaining a whole lot.”  “Even so..” A moment passed and Sylvain could feel some form of pressure in the prince’s stomach just under his ribs and began massaging that space too. “S-sylvain d-don’t” Dimitri moaned causing the other male to blush. Flustered, he pressed harder. “It’s s-sensitive there.” “Urk! D-don’t moan like that! People could get the wrong idea.” Second hand embarrassment set in and Sylvain massaged harder to snap himself out of it. “I can’t stop, I need to loosen this knot. I think that’s what’s causing the pain.” “B-but I..” “No buts just- Oh! I think i’ve got it!” “S-Sylvain No I-!”

*GRROOOOOAARARRRRRRRR!!!!!!*

The loudest groan yet erupted from the prince’s stomach as his friend loosened the knot in his belly. Dimitri and Sylvain both were too embarrassed to say anything for the moment. “......” “......” “W-wow…..” Gulped Sylvain. “I told you I thought I had it. Feeling better?” He asked with a smile, patting the belly before him, it still visibly shook from the aftershock of that monstrous groan. “Much….I….T-thank you…” Blushed the prince. It did indeed feel much better. Sylvain always did have the magic touch. It wouldn’t stop his stomach from moaning but it would keep it quiet and alleviate the pain. “No problem~ Though do wish we had some food to stuff ourselves with instead.” Dimitri’s mouth began to water at the thought of a feast and he retaliated by wiping away the saliva with his sleeve. It was best to not think of such things lest he set his stomach off groaning again. “Don’t talk about food.” Felix moaned, his eyes closed, arms wrapped around his belly. “Awh why? Are you hungry too Felix? Am I making your stomach growl?” Sylvain teased.

*Grrrruglee*

“Urk….” The swordsman flinched, his blush returning to his face, grateful for the fact he was facing away. “Haha! I knew it. Want me to rub your ‘tummy’ better too?” “G-get lost will you! Just go to sleep.” “Haha suit yourself~ I think we’ll do just that.” “Yes.” Dimitri agreed. “Sleep sounds good at this moment. Goodnight.” “G’night.” “.....hmph.” Perhaps it would be a restful night after all.

[phantompearlsalt]

Sour Cherry, Chapter 16

And so the angst continues...for those who enjoyed Chapter 6/the engagement chapter, here is the angsty counterpart! But in all seriousness, I promise it’s not all doom and gloom by the end 😭 Plus the next one will be much more ~spicy~ for those who like those chapters. As always, please let me know what you think as I simply adore your asks, comments, etc.! Do feel free to check this out on AO3 too ❤️

Something shifts in Kuvira after she meets with Suyin in Zaofu. When she returns to the train, almost everything about her looks the same but you instantly notice the added hardness in her eyes. When you look closer, you see that her jaw is clenched tighter than usual.

It doesn’t help that more chaos ensues when Varrick, Zhu Li, and Bolin unsuccessfully attempt to defect from the army. Baatar and two other privates manage to haul them back. Kuvira decides to keep Zhu Li around after an admittedly impressive display of her devotion to the Empire and more importantly, Kuvira.

You try to ignore the twinge in your chest when Bolin is carried away. He had committed a grave mistake, this was true, but you know he is a good man at heart. You only hope he will see the error of his ways and return. However, the more realistic part of your brain knows his departure doesn’t signal a positive outcome.

Varrick is shipped off shortly thereafter and then Kuvira decides to call you, Zhu Li, and Baatar for an impromptu meeting in her office.

You all follow closely behind and you notice the stride in her step is slightly faster now, almost heavier. She won’t express it, much less admit it, but you know the treason is affecting her deeply. Not only had she been shunned yet again by the woman who so carelessly thought of herself as Kuvira’s mother figure but now faced the uncertainty of whether those closest to her actually had the Empire’s best interests at heart.

For a fleeting moment, your stomach feels like it sinks to your feet when you wonder whether Kuvira is questioning your own motives as well.

You step into the train car and hope the conversation starts immediately. It’s wishful thinking.

There is a moment of uncomfortable silence so thick it feels like it’s plunging your feet into the metal flooring. In reality it probably only lasts five seconds, maybe ten, but they drag on like hours, emphasizing just how grim everything really is.

“Zhu Li,” Kuvira starts. The young woman looks up with a convincingly neutral face. As you stand by Baatar’s side across the room, you see the faint quiver in her neck when she swallows.

“Yes, Great Uniter?” she responds. Kuvira takes two steps forward until her chest nearly touches Zhu Li’s. She looks down at her, cold and menacing, before lifting her hand to rest it on the smaller woman’s shoulder. Beside you, Baatar shuffles around on his feet.

“You have proclaimed your allegiance to the Empire and myself admirably. Keep in mind that I haven’t kept you around because you’re indispensable — you aren’t. You do however have one final opportunity to demonstrate the depth of your commitment,” Kuvira explains.

She turns to face you and Baatar. “Suyin is planning to attack me tonight,” she says. You feel the sensation of ice cold water crash down your spine. Obviously, it’s a purely emotional response but a violent tremor rushes through you nonetheless.

You’re about to speak when Baatar jumps in. “There’s no way Mother would do such a thing,” he gasps. “She is stubborn and ignorant, yes, but I can’t believe she would resort to something so...barbaric.”

Anger flashes in Kuvira’s eyes or perhaps it’s distrust. It’s likely both.

“If you know what’s best for you Baatar you will cease to let your emotional attachments cloud your judgement,” she snaps. The man instantly falls back at your side, pressing his back against the metal wall.

“I never once doubted Suyin would turn to violence,” Kuvira continues. “Zaofu is no longer about innovation, about progress. It’s about an outdated system of government that clings to a single woman’s vision of what should be and what shouldn’t. I told Suyin we would take the city by force if she did not relent and she will use that to justify her plans.”

You want to speak so badly, you want to interrupt her and somehow convince everyone that it can’t possibly be true even when the weight in your stomach tells you otherwise. Instead, you try to swallow around the lump in your throat and fail. It feels like it’s expanding, growing wider and denser upon realizing Kuvira’s life is in much more immediate danger than before.

It’s not like you ever acted like she was never in danger — her position invited threats from all angles. But now it’s closer, it’s far too real and when you think about waking up in the morning and realizing Kuvira is no longer there, it makes you sick to your stomach.

So you stay silent. There’s nothing else you can do that wouldn’t exacerbate the already growing tension.

“What are we going to do then?” Baatar asks. His voice wavers, much like you imagine his mind does between his devotion to Kuvira and his deep-seated attachment to his family.

“That’s where Zhu Li comes in,” Kuvira says. At this Zhu Li’s eyes widen, the first indication of any emotion you’ve seen from her during this entire conversation.

“Suyin’s strategy is simple: cut off the head of the snake and all else will fall into place. My tent is easily identifiable — she’ll aim there. She wouldn’t be foolish enough to take this on by herself and there are only two others who have the necessary metalbending abilities to assist her. Wing and Wei.

Therefore, Zhu Li will serve as the pawn. The tent itself is rather dark so there won’t be a great deal of making up to do. You’ll give her the necessary items she’ll need to vaguely resemble my appearance,” she explains, turning to you.

She waits for a response, unmoving but somehow still looking expectant. You can’t find your voice so you simply nod.

“Zhu Li, you won’t be in any legitimate danger,” Kuvira reassures, turning back and marginally softening her expression. “My guards will be outside ready to intervene and I will have additional reinforcements sent to arrest the intruders. All you have to do is stay calm and play your role. Do I make myself clear?”

Zhu Li schools her face back into something indiscernible and she clears her throat. “Affirmative, Great Uniter. I’m grateful for the opportunity to prove myself to you again. I promise I will not lose your trust a second time.”

“I’m sure you won’t, as a second time won’t bode well,” Kuvira responds. She finally removes herself from Zhu Li’s space and walks out of the room, leaving the three of you stunned and disoriented.

You’re the one who finally breaks the stillness by yanking the door open and running towards Kuvira. You shout her name once, twice but she doesn’t turn back. The guards watch with piqued interest which annoys you but not enough to actually care.

Eventually Kuvira stops and you nearly ram into her back. Your hand starts to reach towards her elbow but she tugs it away just enough for it to be out of reach. When you speak again, your words come out shakingly.

“Kuvira I...we can’t do this. We can’t risk it, please. Please, I-I can’t stand the thought of anything happening to you, not when we’ve gotten this far. Your plan is sound, I know it is, but—”

“But what?” Kuvira interrupts. She doesn’t turn around but her shoulders roll backwards and her voice is barely above a growl. “There’s still some fault in it? Are you going to take Baatar’s side now too?”

“This isn’t about sides, Kuvira,” you nearly sob. “I don’t care what Baatar thinks. I care about you and I care about what Suyin could do to you. I swear if she so much as brushes a hand over your head and takes you away from me I won’t...I won’t be able to cope with that. I’ve lost too much already and I don’t regret it. Not for a moment. But you’re the one person I can’t...I just can’t lose. Please. Please, let’s just go and...and we can figure it out later. We don’t need Zaofu.”

Kuvira is still. All you can hear is the roaring of blood in your ears, pounding in your skull with relentless force. Your vision starts to blur around the edges.

“I understand your concern...but this isn’t about Zaofu. This is much bigger than that and I should hope you understand,” Kuvira says quietly. She turns around and she looks at you, aimless, distant.

She makes a move as if to close the gap between you but you see the way she holds herself back. She clasps her hand behind her back and presses her lips into a firm line. “You will stay in Bolin’s former tent. Don’t wait up for me tonight.”

Kuvira doesn’t wait for a response. She walks away and you fear your chest is caving deep into your body, collapsing and splintering until it feels like you’ll be engulfed by your own self.

Beneath the layers of twisted, broken emotion, you wish you actually could be.

---

The buildup to the actual event is intolerably slow. So much so that your body grows sore with the force of holding your limbs tight. Bolin’s tent had been cleared of his meager belongings and though there was nothing there to remind you of him, there was still a faint presence that could be felt.

Even so, it did nothing to assuage the terror swelling in your bones.

The metal walls are thick so it’s nearly impossible to hear anything outside unless it’s especially loud. You don’t expect Suyin to come barging into the encampment with blaring sirens and a horde of soldiers but you aren’t prepared for how the silence will affect you either.

Your mind shifts between believing nothing will actually happen and wondering whether they’ve already taken Kuvira away, or worse…

When it happens though, it feels like every sound and movement is condensed into the span of five seconds.

There’s a faint commotion before the alarm starts blaring and you hear the sound of Kuvira’s tent coming down. Despite her orders to stay inside, you fling yourself off the bed and run. The guards outside shout and follow behind but you can’t stop. You need to get close. Not close enough where you can be seen by Kuvira but enough to see everything unfolding and know she’s alive.

The guards in the mecha suits don’t try to subdue you — clearly they’re just there to make sure no one gets to you either. However, you’d rather anyone take you first before ever considering getting close to Kuvira.

There’s too much distance for you to discern what’s being said but you can see everything in vivid detail. Kuvira was right.

Suyin stands at the center of the tent with her twin sons at her sides, surrounded by what seems to be a dozen mechas and an equal number of privates who bring the tent down. Zhu Li sits upright and you release a bated breath when you see they hadn’t actually harmed her.

The exchange passes quickly. Kuvira walks away, you see the neon glow of electricity that folds over the three Beifongs like sheets of paper, and Kuvira’s shadow becomes solid flesh as she approaches you.

She pauses before her eyes narrow. “I told you to stay inside,” she hisses. The rancor in her voice is unexpected and you don’t know how to react, how to feel. You’re still trying to process what just happened, trying to convince the part of your brain that refuses to believe she’s here that she’s really okay. Your hands hang limply at your sides.

“Go back to the tent. You had nothing to worry about but it seems you couldn’t even believe that,” Kuvira says before walking away. You can’t tell exactly where she goes, you just see her silhouette fade into the shadows.

The guards call your name and inch you towards the tent so you finally make your way back. Your body collapses onto the bed and when you rest your head on the pillow, you feel moisture pooling onto the cool fabric.

To no one’s surprise, you don’t sleep that night.

---

The next day Kuvira fights the Avatar. She never came back to the tent and you didn’t see her all morning.

You feel that same fear grip your heart when Korra goes into the Avatar State and nearly kills Kuvira. Your body goes numb before it thrums with panic and it’s all you can do to not throw yourself past the throngs of soldiers and beg her to stop.

But Korra fails. Kuvira is safe. Opal and Tenzin’s eldest daughter blast Kuvira with a powerful gust of wind that sends her flying onto her back. She’s lifted up by two privates and within moments the army charges forward.

Zaofu falls not long after. Kuvira stakes her claim to the city and then it’s over. Opal manages to flee but the rest of the Beifongs are now locked away. Zaofu has been annexed and all that’s left is Republic City.

Zhu Li is tasked with assisting Baatar in building a spirit cannon that will force President Raiko to yield if he chooses not to do so voluntarily. The army makes it way to the spirit vines and you watch as information is gathered and the plants are harvested.

Everything should feel normal. The army just won. Kuvira certainly seems satisfied.

But something still isn’t right.

Ever since Zaofu, you’ve only caught glimpses of Kuvira in your time alone: when she slides into bed beside you but makes it a point to avoid your touch. Or when you awake in the morning and she’s already dressed, slipping out of the tent without a word or glance in your direction.

These days you find yourself looking down at the metal band around your finger more often, tracing the detailed curves and engravings, and remember the night you accepted Kuvira’s proposal. It doesn’t feel like any period of time has passed...it feels like another world entirely.

Kuvira doesn’t wear a band — it’s not really her style plus it’s inconvenient given the gloves she wears everyday. Nevertheless, she had made it an unspoken ritual to touch your ring at least once during the day, gliding her finger over the design her hands crafted or holding it up to the sun to watch it glint in the light.

It’s not lost on you that she hasn’t done this for a while now.

But that’s not what stops you. It’s the distance hovering inside Kuvira’s eyes.

She carries herself proudly, almost arrogantly, now that they are so close to the end. She nearly preens under the exaltations and praises of her following.

And yet, she’s not entirely there.

You can’t tell if she’s looking for something far away from here or if she’s somewhere else completely in her mind. You try to broach the subject one night but to little avail.

“Kuvira...I...I’m worried about you,” you say, keeping your arms folded over your blanket, resisting the urge to reach over and touch her. It’s been over a week.

Kuvira’s back faces you and she doesn’t move, doesn’t make a sound.

“What happened with Suyin —”

“Nothing happened with Suyin,” she snaps. It startles you and you bite your lip to refrain from speaking again. She continues in your place. “We are closer to uniting the Empire than we’ve ever been. Zaofu is under my control — that’s that. There is nothing to dwell on.”

You want to believe she falls asleep soon after but the uneven breathing at your side indicates you both lie awake for the rest of the night.

--

Things don’t get any better with time. When you’re alone in your tent, or caught up in the neverending stream of paperwork that still needs reviewing and filing, you find yourself chuckling. It’s humorless. Pained.

What was that whole thing about time healing all wounds?

You’ve argued with Kuvira before, both minor altercations and ones that fundamentally influenced how you approached each other. Regardless, you grew from that. Each conflict allowed you to learn more about Kuvira and what she needed from you and she learned the same for you. Even in disputes that felt insurmountable.

Nothing gets better now. At one point, Commander Zhen looks at you questioningly during a morning assembly. People are starting to notice but it’s not like there’s anything you can do.

Time proceeds, paying no mind to these hiccups of little people’s lives that mean nothing in the grand scheme of all that’s to come. Baatar and Zhu Li make great strides in the spirit beam cannon and it seems to be the only thing that brings Kuvira any sense of contentment these days. When she’s not preoccupied with observing the cannon’s construction, she’s quiet. Closed off.

Then the day comes when Kuvira realizes Zhu Li has been plotting to sabotage her plans for the cannon all along. Whatever inkling of hope remained in Kuvira’s eyes up until that point is consumed by something else that’s ruthless and sour.

Then the Beifongs come in and take everyone away. You see Bolin. You make eye contact for a second and you look at each other like strangers.

Everyone manages to scuttle onto Opal’s flying bison and just before they leave, you see Toph Beifong. It’s the first time in weeks you’ve felt anything other than despair and your eyes widen upon seeing the inventor of metalbending standing right before your eyes.

“You give metalbenders a bad name!”

Toph’s voice rings fierce and indignant as she throws the words in Kuvira’s face. No one else says a word. You stand behind Baatar so you can’t see Kuvira’s face but you do see the way her fingers tighten around the metal bars on the deck.

She looks...sad from here. You aren’t sure if she feels sad but for the first time since you joined her army, it’s the first time you’ve seen Kuvira shrink in on herself. It’s not something you see in her body language — she manages to stand upright, seemingly unaffected by the accusation.

It’s the way she stays still when Toph flies away. The way that Toph, the creator of the discipline, diminishes the one thing Kuvira has always known to be her strongest point, the characteristic that people admire her for the most.

This seems to be the breaking point.

That night, Kuvira doesn’t come back to your tent at all. You sit up in bed, staring into the empty room, wondering how on earth this can be salvageable when too much time has passed. The wedge digs deeper, grows wider, and there’s no sign that it will ever leave.

Eventually, you break your gaze to look back down at your finger.

You twist the metal band around, feeling the material slide and tug on your skin. Even since Zaofu, you haven’t thought of removing it.

But now, it feels heavy. Too tight. You slowly slide it off and set it on the bedside table, wondering if you’ll ever put it on again.

The possibility is agonizing so you pull your uniform on, step into your boots, and make your way outside. There are no guards milling about too close-by so you’re able to slip away quickly towards the shadowy mountains.

In a few days time, the army will be in Republic City. You wonder when the president will start evacuating, if at all. You wonder what will come after, when the city inevitably concedes to the Empire and everything is complete.

It’s all that Kuvira’s dreamed of for years now, to see her people reunited and moving into a new era of progress and modernity. She ushered you into this dream, allowed you to see how much was actually possible under her guidance and your knowledge, and you believed it too. You still do.

Everything had once seemed so clearly laid out. The Empire would be one at long last and you would marry Kuvira soon after. You would rule at her side, endeavoring to make life better and more meaningful for your citizens.

How true is that now?

Without the ring on your hand, you feel different. Or rather, you feel like nothing at all. You had expected to feel so many other things but instead you simply exist, feeling totally disconnected from your body, your thoughts, and everything else that breathes and moves around you.

When Kuvira finds you, it’s not surprising. You didn’t leave because you knew she’d follow. Frankly, you almost wish she hadn’t. Her being here now means you have to face reality, to determine exactly where you stand with her.

You’re not ready for that answer.

You turn to face Kuvira because she doesn’t step towards you and before you see the look on her face, you see her hand extended. She isn’t wearing gloves. Cradled in her palm is a familiar silver band. It twinkles in the hazy moonlight before her fingers close over it.

“I didn’t mean…” You start to say but then Kuvira’s face tightens, immediately making you stop.

She seals her eyes shut, swallows hard, and walks towards you.

“You were right,” she whispers. Her voice is hoarse, similar to when she first wakes up in the morning except right now it’s troubled. Hurt.

She sits to your side, never once unfolding the hand that holds your ring and sits upright. “Suyin tried to kill me,” Kuvira whispers and it sounds like disbelief. You wonder how long she has repeated those words, trying to convince herself that they’re true.

What can you say to that? Yes? The woman who took you in when your parents left you for dead, who dared to call you her daughter, had decisively elected to end your life? What good would it do for Kuvira to hear that from your mouth? She already knew this anyway, so what exactly were you right about?

So you stay quiet. You look at the mountains towering over you, feeling the smallest you’ve ever felt.

“She wants me dead,” Kuvira continues. “She forced Korra into the Avatar state. When she escaped, I knew she would stop at nothing to end my Empire even if it meant seeing me lifeless at her feet.”

“Kuvira...” Your voice doesn’t sound like you at all.

She doesn’t move, only stays silent. When you finally decide to look at her, the darkness isn’t enough to obscure the myriad of emotions cascading over her face. You see disbelief, anger, disgust.

The one that lingers: sadness.

“I think I always knew it would come to this, after I left Zaofu,” Kuvira says. “When we came face to face in Republic City after three years, things were just as we had left them when I set off for Ba Sing Se. I think worse even. There was nothing between us anymore and I accepted it.”

“But you couldn’t...you couldn’t have known she would take it this far,” you insist. Kuvira’s jaw tightens and she inhales sharply through her nose.

“But I did,” she says coldly. “You and Baatar were too invested in who you thought Suyin was. You didn’t see her the way I did, the way she discarded me without a second thought when I first left. The moment I returned, I knew what she had planned for me.”

For a moment there’s a pause where you think Kuvira’s going to continue speaking but she doesn’t. Those last few words echo in your ears.

I knew what she had planned for me.

You ignore the conflicting thoughts in your head and listen to your body, reaching towards her instead. You let your hand hover in the air just above her leg and wait for her to respond. She looks at it for a second before she slides her fingers against yours.

Her hand stiffens and you realize this is the first time she’s touched you in weeks.

You sit in silence for a while, letting the angry streams of tears roll down Kuvira’s face. Her breathing grows hard and shallow but it doesn’t break. She looks straight ahead, never once turning to face you, but her hand stays clasped over yours. The other stays clenched around your ring.

“You have the choice, you know,” Kuvira eventually says. You look at her, confused, and her face is stony again, the only hint of any emotion in the wet lines stretched over her cheeks.

“When this is all over, you have a choice. I never want you to think you don’t and I’m sorry if I made you believe that,” she murmurs, finally opening her hand to look at the ring.

There is so much you can say. You know there is so much you have to say but you fear it will come out wrong and you’ll shatter this precarious offering Kuvira makes. So you reach out with your free hand, letting it rest over Kuvira’s fingers entwined with yours, and wait.

She stops breathing for a second before tentatively, almost fearfully breaking your hands apart just enough to press the ring over your finger and slide it down.

You don’t look up at Kuvira but you feel when she leans forward and rests her forehead against yours. Hot tears fall against your wrists and you breathe in. You can’t tell if they’re yours or hers. It doesn’t feel right to break this moment with words that hold little meaning when compared to the weight of Kuvira’s hand in yours.

Instead, you sit with her for most of the night outside, waiting, always waiting for Kuvira for as long as she needs.

[ofdragonsdeep]

14: Commend

An acquaintance sits in a dismal gaol, and Ar'telan makes a courtesy call.

(Spoilers for SB, ShB sort of)

The sharp tang in the air of the Lochs accompanied Ar’telan on his walk across the great stone bridge to the capital. Beneath him, the vast expanse of the salt lakes stretched, now narrated by the hum and clang of machinery and hammers in the saltery at its edge. The rest of the land, though, still seemed like a skeleton resting where the beast had died, signal fires flickering to mark where it had fallen. The sparse forests of zelkova trees, stalked by manticores and ghosts, the bone-white fish which stalked the lakes, the uneasy fog that settled over the place, all of it added to the sense of decay.

The druvas had been cleared from the bridge in recent days, and so his only meeting was with the guards on the gate. In the many moons since Ala Mhigo’s liberation, the guard had been taught fast vigilance, both against the threat of primals and of Garlean incursion. He was so well-recognised that he was barely bothered on his way through, only a cursory check to ensure he was not an enemy of the state walking in under wicked glamour.

There were any number of attractions within the walls of the capital to captivate a traveler’s attention. A small Ironworks outpost still worked on the question of the Weapons the Garleans had made to throw against both their traitor and their unruly territories, ready to ferry a would-be warrior to the main camp. Citizens played Triple Triad by the aetheryte, eyeing him as he passed to see if he would be amenable to a challenge. The palace, now the seat of a more democratic form of government, offered the chance to reconnect with old friends. And the Royal Menagerie, with its fields of beautiful flowers, suggested a chance for reflection on things long gone and events to come.

Ar’telan ignored all of them, instead walking down the terracotta streets until he was within the mountains the city backed, the guards on the door offering an uneasy nod of acknowledgement as he passed them. Under the rock, the uncomfortable pulse of the sky was easier to ignore, and the thoughts he carried with him were easier to find.

The royal gaol, repurposed into a place to hold the many prisoners of war that had not been killed in the war for liberation. Some of them resented their captivity, some of them would have betrayed their birthplace to the Empire without a second thought. Some of them longed for redemption, cells lying empty as they laboured in civil service under strict watch. And some…

He was not the man he had been when he had first been down here. He took a moment, centred his aether. For all the hell that Hades had wrung from him, he had learned a little, though he was not sure if it would be enough. For all they called the Resonance an artificial Echo, it was a strange beast only alike in the broadest strokes. But perhaps it would do the job.

The cell was still sparse, despite the time that had passed between Fordola’s initial confinement and now. Her clothes were nicer, less rough hemp, but the collar around her neck - dormant without a mage to activate it, but still abhorrent in its purpose - served as an unkind reminder of her station.

“You,” she said, her voice level. He nodded to her, and there was a moment of absolute silence. Her thoughts were a concealed mystery, but her feelings felt loud behind her wall, amplified by two Echo-likes in proximity. She did not flinch.

“I had hoped they would be treating you better, by now,” Ar’telan remarked, and Fordola scoffed, though it was clear she was still confused by the situation that had found her opposite the man who had put her here to begin with.

“Kill a few primals, slay a few beastmen. It doesn’t matter to them,” she said, venom in her voice, but it was tired poison now. “Why are you here?” It was a question, not one he could come up with an answer for, not an easy one. Now that the danger had passed in the First, he did not think it would be long until something surfaced to demand their attention, but for the moment they stood in the lull.

“I wanted to be sure you were ok,” he said, offering a tiny smile. “It’s my fault you’re in here, after all.” Fordola scoffed.

“I put myself in here,” she disagreed. “You and I both know that. Maybe it would have been easier if I hadn’t taken their devil’s bargain, but under it all I’m still the Empire’s Butcher.” Ar’telan sighed, sitting down against the wall opposite her cell door. They had been here before, more than once, and she never warmed to him - not that he expected her to, nor would ever want her to, unless she wished it - but every time things changed.

“Has it eased?” he asked her, and she winced at the question.

“What does it matter to you?” she demanded, even though both of them knew that he had taken every effort to shield his soul from her resonant eyes, to stop her from reliving the horrors in his past just this once.

“They don’t care to ask about it, do they?” he surmised, and she made an irritable noise. “I have-”

“I don’t need your help,” she spat. “And I don’t want it. You think they don’t relish in me seeing the hurt I’ve caused them?” Ar’telan held out a hand, a tiny spark of aether gathering in it. The Light suffused it, shimmering in the darkness of the prison complex, still there despite his victory over it. As she moved forwards, he snuffed it out.

“Perhaps I do not want your sympathy either,” he said, and she recoiled, surprise in the coil of her limbs and a scowl on her face. “It does not have to be a competition, or an exchange of pity. It does need to gain either of us anything, for good or for ill. It has been many moons since the war ended, after all.” Fordola made an irritated noise.

“Then I will consider it,” she said, a compromise he had not expected to achieve with her. “Bah, you’re both as bad as each other. At least it’s easier to tune you out than the boy.” Ar’telan stifled a laugh at that. He knew a little of Fordola’s work with Arenvald and the summoners working with the Flames, dealing with summonings out in Thanalan. Echo was Echo, even by a different name.

I wonder what Hades would think to that?

“I will give you time to think on it,” he said, pushing himself to his feet as she retreated back to her pallet. “Duty calls me back here more often than most would like, I think, so I shall call in when I can.”

“Don’t rush on my account,” she muttered, bitterness still in her voice.

---

It had been Arenvald that told him the story.

The young Scion was ever excitable, and he had been brimming with pride as he had relayed the story of their fight with Ifrit, holding back the Tempered servants who had summoned it, helping to rid the land of the scourge of the summon for just a little longer. It was a different story to the one that Jajasamu had relayed - a bitter man angry with himself for misjudging the convict, and the threat they faced, feeling lesser in his need to stay back from the full brunt of the primal’s fury. Ar’telan wondered if it would have helped them to know of his first fight with a primal, in the same summoning circle at Zanr’ak, blood drawn from the stone of desperation.

He had asked how Ar’telan felt. Ar’telan had offered a reassuring platitude, acceptance of duty and necessity, and he wasn’t sure that he had been believed.

---

The first time he had gone to see her had been after the war was over. When the Qalyana summoned their goddess into a council hall and he had held the line with Arenvald and Fordola, and she had thrown her blade to the floor and walked away. Rejected the idea of death, and shunned the idea of redemption.

The guards had tried to dissuade him as he walked past them into the gaol. He had stood in front of her and neither had spoken a word, her mind overwhelmed with every bitter memory in his mind, every wound the fight had inflicted, everything he mourned. She had looked up at him, hand over her resonant eye as if it would stop the flood, and asked him how he coped.

“I don’t.”

---

The second time he had been met with less protest, at least from the guard. Again he had sat himself outside her cell, her mouth shut in stubborn silence, his hands in his lap lest she think he want to dominate the conversation. The Echo had shown him, when they had been enemies yet, what had happened to her father for the crime of making do in an impossible situation. She waited for him to use it against her, but he did not. In truth, he already had - keeping the secrets close to his heart as he told Lyse that he did not want her to be executed, to the idealistic woman’s surprise. When had it ever been black and white, under the boot of the Empire? He had seen what happened to the people who resisted. Visited the graves of the soldiers, heard the stories of the collateral damage weeping in a half-empty village.

Maybe it was selfish. In the days since, when he had pleaded for mercy for those driven to awful, cruel things, when he saw them crumble in the cell, when the people demanded blood and received it, one way or another, he had thought it might be. The blasted fields of Bozja haunted him still, the memories of a broken Queen and Misija’s choices - one way or another, they were always chosen, even if the perpetrators convinced themselves there was no such choice at all. But still he had begged mercy, that if she had to face the headsman’s axe then it would be after fair judgement. He had stood and watched people break upon the battlefield, and known, innately, that there was no judgement that could be fair.

“You got nothing better to do, warrior of light?” Fordola had spat eventually. “I don’t need the theatre of your head to make my day worse. Got plenty of that already.” Ar’telan had shrugged.

“I thought you might like the company,” he replied, and she scoffed at him. Was the wound too fresh, he had wondered? Of when they had faced off on the field of battle, her resonance overwhelmed by Urianger’s siphon, her choices rendered meaningless in the dust?

“You know how many I’ve killed. Surely there’s better company to keep than me.”

“You know how many I have killed, too.”

She was quiet then, for a long moment, before shaking her head.

“Thought it didn’t count, for you. Killing the Empire. They’re the enemy, aren’t they?”

“As we were yours. The choice is the same. That I am on the side of the victor doesn’t make mine right, and yours wrong.”

“Was that why he wanted to fight you, then? Zenos, I mean.”

The question had caught him off-guard, but eventually he had managed to offer a shrug.

“I don’t know. I don’t think so. I presented an opportunity to him - a potential for challenge. If I could reach him and face him, then he would need to work to overcome the obstacle. It made him try - think, persevere, strive. It made him feel. I understand it in theory.” Fordola had sighed, shaking her head slightly, though not in disagreement.

“It’s all mad. All of it mad,” she had decided, and Ar’telan had not been able to disagree.

---

The fog had lifted when Ar’telan walked out into the streets of Ala Mhigo, the sun twinkling with the last few moments of the light before it set. It wasn’t perfect - what ever was? - but it was something, and he would let that be enough. If one day she would be able to accept what had happened to give her the gift, if she would go from stony to acerbic, if she would leave the cell and be allowed her freedom, then his plea to Lyse all those moons ago would have meant something.

He did not carry Arenvald’s hope, that she would heal, forgive herself, move on. He had been in the chamber where Krile had been held, where they had stamped the gift into the giftless through brute force. He had felt the aether, the dozens of souls whose lives blazed in her Resonant light. She would never forgive herself for making that choice, and to ask it of her was too much. All you could do was see the death that lined your path forward, and make do.

She would not think it the same, he thought. That the people he had killed - conscripts and volunteers and natives, all equal at the end of the day, on the other side of the Warrior of Light - were the same as the ones that she had damned when she had accepted the experiment. They did not see the world the same way at all, not any more. She was bitter and hard like stone, retreating inward at the cruelty. His mask was passive, the smiles genuine, the burden accepted if only to make sure that no-one else ever had to walk the path that he had. But she yet had room to heal. There was space for her and the souls that walked with her, for better or worse, guided by the hand of the Resistance until they trusted her to guide herself.

And when the day came, Ar’telan would welcome her with a smile.

[imhereforthetryus]

Love is Hate and there no other way

(Anti Harringroves pls do not intereact with thid fanfiction your welcome to talk about anything else but this fic yes dont worry about the title i just do dEeP 💩 )

Tags: @thelonious-jagger-smitten @i-am-church-the-cat it glitching and so u might have to use the link

Tw: for abuse and panic attacks i apologize deeply i dont know how to do the read more thing im so sorry

https://archiveofourown.org/works/19911385

I be like we self projecting 👋🤦🏼‍♀️😂 noises

(Why get therapy when u can get bad coping methods 😎)

Words:7,932

Billy's eyes were blue kind of like his mother's blue but not really sure he had the paleness blue of his mothers but her eyes were just different he took a lot after his mother, the same not same eyes and bright blonde curls that seemed to grow a foot a month.

He figured that why Neil hated him so much Neil and his mom relationship was weird, in a way not just the whole abuse thing but that Billy could never really tell who was the victim and who was the aggressor.

Sure sometimes it was obvious when Neil was towering over his mother as she stood on the floor tired and hurt but then there were times when both were yelling at each other and trading insults, or his mom eyes pale and blue filled with rage would hit a plate against Neil, clawing at him and screaming truth be told at first it was amusing but he found himself laughing less and more just watching the scene unfold.

“My little Isla...Don’t cry everything is fine...let me tell you an old story of mine...about the necklace” then she would start weaving tales endlessly he would laugh and she would smile she was always a great storyteller she always wanted to be an actor it was kind of ironic how she was acting all the time … acting like everything fine “Is my bunny happy” he would not and hug her and everything would be fine but it wasn’t and maybe it would never be.

Like how if he had just been able to keep his mouth shut about the new boy at school. Who played with Billy the only child to not shun him, and who drew him a picture and how cute he looked and how he was going to marry him one day his dad anger wouldn’t have increased tenfold forever. His mom wouldn’t have left angry at Neil unacceptable of him but then if he hadn’t he wouldn’t have had his mother there to kiss his bruise stinging from Neil fist and the tears from the word faggot he didnt know what it meant but he knew it wasnt good, but she was there she was awalys there to tell him there was “nothing wrong with loving a boy that love is just loving and wherever and whoever you find it with loves you back and that the only thing that matters Isla”

He missed being a child but was he ever a child he was grown up before he knew it. He forced himself to stop thinking about everything focus on something else,...your eyes he had just noticed that his eyes well they were always blue but their not really blue if that made sense they sort of changed blues but to his drunk mind taking dangerous trips fueled by chugged countless cheap beers at Tommy H. Party it didn’t matter.

If he was drunk or sober one thing that stayed the same was he fucking hated this day...hated how his mother had left him and how she loved him she awalys used to say how much she loved him while hugging him gently like it would make Neils slaps , his red cheeks and tears disappear, as if her overwhelming love bundled with hugs and kisses would make up for it, but all it did was make Billy confused if she could love him so easily why couldnt his dad and then she came back.

Like as if she couldn't bother leaving him alone without the emotional damage of coming back she had only done it a few days at a time after years of hiding away with the words or letters getting fewer but then she had ghosted him a year later but he still remembered that day.

He remembered being thirteen his favourite toy bunny the one his mother had when she was a child and the one he spelt with to protect him from the monsters under the bed when she couldn’t sleep with him that beautiful bunny disposed and ripped to shreds it white fur blood-splattered and it head gone all because “he was too old for them” sitting on the floor of his bedroom just praying every night for his mom to come back and take him with her, and trying to lock himself in and saying his prayer faster as if to make her appear right there and then...and she did eventually on the eve of his fourteenth birthday there she was in the flesh, sneaking through the tiny window and grabbing Billy.

She shushed his protest and laughed at him but she was happy so he was happy and very confused But isn't that the life of a child, to be one without power or choice, always going with the change in the wind and praying for a safe harbor? .Wasn't that always his life going with the wind and following the “adults” he was sure they never grew up his mom was still a believer in hope even in despair while that was surely a good thing for her. it wasn't for Billy nothing was ever good for him. He was a ping pong to his parents, a useless fix it child.

They demanded him to pick a side many times even when there was no fight to be won it was a never-ending war to win his love they bad-mouthed each other constantly but he just stood there trying not to intervene in their war of hate, but he had too sometimes when he didn't want to or else he would be the target they desired to know who he loved more, but in truth there is no such distinction. They asked and should the “right” answer not arrive there is anger, swift and brutal in the form of his mom shunning him and his dad hitting him.

So even when his mom came it wasn't for him but just to win another point to piss off Neil, but he was used to the bribes. it wasn't too bad though he could get used to the perks he decided he would make the best of it as his mom carried him on her slim shoulders, he would admire the stars from above to him she stood like a giant.

Or maybe that the way he envisioned her he couldn't help exaggerate her tiny height even when he was boarding on it. he held on close afraid she disappear again just to let him calm his nerves she let him touch her hair curly, long and blonde a shining clone of his and play with her necklace. She had told him the story about how her grandmother had made the necklace from the last of their metal as a birthday gift many times usually with Neil letting a murmur of disapproval fall from his lips but this time it felt different maybe even magical. As they were walking along the boardwalk his socks light against the board, as his mom flowered him with Ice-cream galore. It was his favorite Strawberry and five scoops high he smiled happily letting the dark light shine across his face and the pools of ice cream melt onto his clothes.

They had come across an abandoned climbing place, an adventure playground of sorts, it was dark and quiet but his mom said it was okay and encouraged him to climb the fence.

She had done it too her heels landing against the sand she had laughed so he did, running up against the wooden structure which reeked of paint but she was giddy like a child taking him everywhere. At some point they ran onto the cold wet damp grass in the rain barefoot, her colorful dresses always finding a way to light up in the darkest nights, the light green still stood out even amongst the grass and as they laid there. His mom rubbing his hair and pointing at all the stars and telling him about it like a well of infinite knowledge.

“You see William that star right there” he had nodded hesitantly she rarely called him William, only when she wanted his attention, she usually called him Isla or Bunny and while he protested those pet names as long as he had been living she had just laughed and just pulled him closer he never thought he miss those names so fucking much. before you get the wrong idea she wasn’t dead but it was like that she was a ghost now refusing to acknowledge Billy but this time there were no secret trips to wherever, maybe Billy just outgrew them or his mom outgrew him he wasn't sure which possibility was worse.

As his bruised muscles cracking with pain,up against his hard mattress nothing like a beating and shitty necessities not like Neil gave a damn to his comfort after all, he give him a semi comfortable bed because “cost” but Billy knew that was bullshit.

Neil would do anything to see Billy suffer it was practically his favourite hobby when he wasn’t gutting the insides of fish but it was practically the same Neil would rail in the fish with bait or in Billy cases kind words and flashy gifts. Then he would wait a bit till the fish took the bait like Billy would let his guard down a tiny bit.Then go in for the kill using his fishing pole and fist to kill the fish slowly and painfully like he would to Billy and he knew for a fact that not only were these mattress so stiff and hard. They cost way more for whatever reason rich people like hard mattresses. but it could be worse his dad could have not given him a room at all yeah it could be worse it was something Billy always thought about him finally getting away from Neil not by his own choice but by cps he tried it before but Neil was so charming and Billy wasn’t ten and a half anymore, his mom wasn't there to challenge Neil and to protect him.

He couldn't risk a visit now so it would never happen not by any fault of his own at least he knew Neil could predict most of his movements.

He heard the horror stories he wasn’t going to subject himself to any more shit and while his dad was shit he was still legally required to provide for him otherwise how else would he use that line in his next argument, to justify his parenting methods and to complain about how hard it was raising a useless piece of shit like Billy and to think of it his father sure loved to complain about useless shit.

But he couldn’t complain he never could without a slap against his cheeks or his dad's famous speech scientifically designed to make anyone who hears it feel like shit which Billy already was, but hey the speech is such a great deal for shitty dads everywhere who wouldn’t love to mentally toture their child when their fist became too bruised to hit them.

And in all honesty Billy loathed that speech more than he loathed himself, more than he loathed his dads fist, more than he loathed girls how he hated to fuck them and go out with them and even more than he loathed Harrington.

Stupidly perfect Harrington who made Billy heart skip and leap, who made Billy blush at an insult who made Billy nervous and not just out of fear, he made Billy scared way too scared.

He could not be with Harrington even if he wasn't straight which he couldn't be because almost all the gays in California used Farrah Fawcett Hairspray it how they found each other.

Not like Billy ever went as far like that even then he was too much of a coward, his pale blue eyes glanced at the alarm finally calm for once because this was his favourite part of the day, when he could just lay in bed and glanced up at the ugly peach ceiling letting his thoughts flowed like a river stream quiet yet loud.

He pulled the wool cover closer shivering in his empty room another form of sadstic toture if Neil wasn’t beating the shit out of him he was fucking up Billys air and heat supply. He never knew when he would be hot or cold plus it was just another way for Neil to keep him on his fucking toes.

Like he didnt do that every single fucking day, with Neil mood deciding if Billy could only get away with a slap and a walk outside in the snow and how he hated the cold, he wasnt used to it . Ofcourse, he was a California Baby he could stand hot weather but not cold especially when he only had one blanket to protect himself. Because everything belonged to Neil if he pissed Neil off too much his belongings would be gone because they were never his , Neil spiteful face popped up and he imagined another cruel smile as he “grounded” Billy.

“You need to learn a lesson about Respect and Responsibility” he saw his dad, felt him “punishing” Billy, he felt his tears and struggled to get out of this hellish nightmare, his breath heavy, breathe breathe don't be such a pussy his panic attack was stopped by a knock on his door he opened the door angrily.

“What the fuck do you want M-..” his father stared at him stone cold and hard like he awalys was calculating watching Billy squirm.

“Is this how you talk to your sister” he grabbed Billy chin and squeezed it tight.

“No sir” Billy tried to make himself shorter, trying to disappear into the wall but it never worked, no matter how he wished it did but his father was in a good mood suprisngly so he let Billy off with a slap and a spilt lip, and Billy could thank him right then and there for not beating the shit out of him for being so rude and disrespectful, but the stare of disappointment and the glare was more painful than the backhand.

Billy forced himself to go downstairs dreading every step to eat with his “family” as far as Billy was conserend his mom was his only family but all his stubbornness did was put Neil in a bad mood.

“You’re Mother is gone Billy suck it up” he would say chewing his steak and despite Billy hating eating breakfast with Susan and Neil , being under his dad microscope was irritating and annoying but he knew if he didn't eat all his food, thank Susan, and be quiet and not exist then there wouldn’t be any food to digest, because Neil had done it before It was either eat everything Susan made no matter how much it taste like horseshit or not eat at all or even worse eat the way Neil wanted him too and while Billy personally thought both options were cruel and unusual toture and neither qualified as the best option but he still needed food to survive so he ate it all.

Every last spoonful in fear for Neil trailing eyes on him, his back arching aganist the chair, eating softly and trying not to throw up watching Max shoveling burned eggs and bacon into her mouth, his mom food was way better.

He glared at Susan subtly as he thanked her how he wanted to go off on her but he wasn't in the mood to skip school today and be bruised. so instead he took his anger out on Max he yelled at her to get up, which resulted in her eating her scrambled eggs slower then finally getting up and taking forever to get ready, grabbed Max by the elbow when she wasn't moving fast enough. he hated running into Neil in the morning who was less of a morning person than Billy and he grabbed her hard enough to bruise but not enough to get shit from Neil.

He ignored her screaming at him to the point where she was being a cocky little shit, and had the nerve to put her disgusting mud covered red shoes on his dashboard, with a little grin that stupid brat and when he told her to knock it off she flipped him off. so he drove like a manic letting his hands off the steering and speeding up just to see the fear in her eyes and dropped her off to the stares of the middle schoolers.

He drove back even faster it was the only way plus he couldn't miss getting ready for his favorite class of the day aka Bothering Steve for 40 minutes, he stood against his Camero letting cigarette smoke fill the air, then he went inside shoving a couple of kids who dared to look at Billy in anyway no one was that stupid to do it on purpose but still he had to install fear or he would be scared.

He wasn't always mean he used to be kind but kindness never got him anything but a broken heart and fag screamed at his face by older boys, a shove to the ground and the laughter of his classmates it never gave him anything but humiliation.

So He hid behind a charming carefree smile and reinvented himself, learning to keep his feelings inside to stop thinking about boys that way. The hurt lodged in that sweet heart like a slow acting poison and before long he became a “problem child,” destined for a life behind bars. He hated his “parents,” hated the system, hated the government and the whole damn world he had to or he would hate himself.

The hate It burst forth in his speech, his actions, his attitude. He got close to people just to hurt them, power at last. Nothing pleased him more than to walk away from a new lover ripping their valentines while they whimpered and ran, To shove a kid down and make him cry to spit the word fag in the kids fave.. To Billy people were “bad, dangerous, and they deserved what they got." Because he deserved what he had gotten.

Steve loathed first period, not only because it's English Class but Billy who made it his personal goal to harass Steve anytime he could which meant every class they shared together. Because Billy obviously didn't think his crude and sexual teasing,his fists and trips down the hallway was enough time to toture Harrington and fortunately for Steve.

There were only four classes but that meant Billy had to make an impression so Steve sighed as Billy came in late what a surprise , came up to him, knocking his books down against the floor, Mrs.Ava looked like she was going to say something but the look Billy gave her shut her up Steve reisted a snort great everyone was intimidated by Billy.

As the minutes of the lesson passed, the ceaseless buzzing of the classroom grew quieter watching them it was no secret that Billy and Steve weren’t pals but a look of shock always seemed to come on their face watching their interactions a quiet glance from Billy made the chatter started up again and they pretended to be talking about something else and looked away.

“Hey Prettyboy” Billy licked his lips at him, slamming into the seat next to Steve, Billy smiled at him.

Steve rolled his eyes trailing the pencil in between his fingers, he was way too tired to deal with Billy “Don't you have someone else to bother” .

Billy pouted giving him a small smirk he even makes puppy eyes look evil Steve sighed.

“But you’re my favourite Stevie” Steve kicked Billy from under the table.

“Fuck off” Billy just laughed and reisted the urge to whimper why was he being so weak it was just a little cut there Billy felt himself ponder looking at Steve who was trying very hard not to look at Billy and to focus on the lesson which Billy should be doing to, but Steve and his perfect lips and how much Billy wanted to kiss them, his soft hair i wonder what it would feel like oh how he wanted to kiss Steve, shove him against a wall, fuck him and punch him all at the same time why do you have to be so damn amazing Harrington.

“Ouch you really hurt my feelings Harrington..I think i just shed a tear” Billy smiled oh how he loved first period plus steve was so cute when he was annoyed FAG his mind screamed he reisted the urge to punch himself, Steve gave Billy a small smirk.

“Bullshit you dont have feelings” Billy chuckled slowly unbutoing his top not like it was open anyways but cmon if he didnt give the cows here a show people might think he a fag which he is , he winked to Steve.

“You’re right about that Pretty Boy” Steve glared and turned towards the window suddenly interested in the blue sky and clouds that dotted the sky. The bell rang finally freedom Steve thought he was one comment away from shoving his pencil up Billy ass.

why does he have to be such an asshole even worse a cute one and yeah it was pretty cliche of him to have a crush on his bully. but like can you blame him Billy was hot and straight his mind screamed at him it was too risky plus he didnt think he could handle Billy disgust more than his fists but Billy was so hot and an asshole but hes a hot one.

Steve groaned in frustration stupid horny brain but this felt weird and different he didnt like boys right i mean, and if he was gay which he wasn’t wasnt he liked nancy for a long time goodness sake then couldn’t he atleast have a crush on a boy who isnt an asshole, but what was he, after all if you weren’t straight then you were gay but he liked both he couldn’t possibly be gay and straight at the same time, there had to be a word and Steve had to investigate it for his sake so on he went after Mrs. Ava class to the library.

-

Steve ducked from Nancy and Jonathan he felt bad about missing lunch but if they even knew where he was going they would ask questions he wasn't ready to answer yet when he saw them leave he sprinted towards his car driving to the town library which was well not im Hawkins but the next town over he couldn’t bare to see anyone he knew. He opened the doors to the library entering he was hit with a cloud of dust, and started to look around.

Row after row of neatly lined up books with their spines facing outward, colour coded with dots, fiction section arranged in alphabetical order, young adults section, comfortable chairs, tables for quiet study, muffled stillness.

He took a breath walking up to the resident sub librarian Mrs. Mervil the hawk who stood about 5’4 her lip always tight and pressed as if she was simply always waiting for disappointment as if she never bothered to smile, her eyebrows and eyes were thin and like her whole self her clothes reflected that always dread and uncolorful, so professional and tight. It made Steve parents outfits look casual and who despite Steve best try hated him for whatever reason, maybe it was the blonde hair and sapphire blue eyes those combinations always seemed to despise Steve or just everyone but mostly Steve.

He gave her a false smile “Hi Mrs.Mervil” she turned towards him. her eyes cold and bored she took off her silver rimmed glasses for a young woman she sure acted old she put down whatever book she was reading he examined it, she slammed it before he could see the title but it was a space book for sure.

“What is it Steven” he sighed and gave her a smile he hoped his face wasn't giving away anything.

“Mr.Harrington if you’re just going to stand there and go dont waste my time” he bit his lip and shoved his hands deeper in his cardigan. He couldn’t do this she already hated him she could tell everyone, or even worse whatever worse was. But he needed to know this more than he needed to breathe, he could wait but he wasn't willing to wait.

“I need to find a book...to tell me about my sexuality” at that her face and demeanor softened a bit like she was remancissing she gave him a small smile and lead him towards the shelf her heels dragging along the whole way.

“Alright come along Steven I don't have all day” he sighed in relief and walked up with her, he tried to make conversation as she rustled through the books.

[viampythonissam]

Intro, continued...

It was then I became obsessed with death and the occult, desperately trying to make contact with my grandfather through anything possible. Being clairaudient, I was expecting to hear a message from my grandfather all throughtout the whole funeral and mourning period, but to no avail. So in my desparation, I went into research, and stumbled upon things such as the ouija, seances, and many more. I even considered dabbling into necromancy, just in order to hear from him again. His death broke me so much that I was for the most time wishing I were dead too. I had suicidal thoughts but somehow something has prevented me from attempting. It could be I'm too chicken to hurt myself (getting hurt by other things besides self-infliction doesn't scare me though) or the thought of my mother crying over my dead body is another thing that would crush my heart.

I started questioning my religious beliefs then. We were Roman Catholics, and we go to church, but not too often. I am very religious though when I was a child, having been schooled in a private Catholic school, and I know all the prayers by heart; but it all changed. I felt resentment for praying so hard but never getting answered. That everything happens for a reason. A reason still so vague to me to this day, which I continue to believe was the same reason of the breaking apart of this family and eventual downfall. The family is in ruins, and the family home is crumbling apart. My father's only brother, my uncle Aldrin, died a little over two years after my grandfather; and his widow and only child, my cousin, was estranged ever since then, because of inheritance issues. My father decided to sell the house, my childhood home because of this; splitting the family fortune already so that we can all go off our separate ways and stop the bickering. The only thing that's keeping him from doing so is my grandmother who is still so attached to the house built by my grandfather.

At 16, I eventually traversed my way into the craft, dabbling on it. There was a kind of pull into these mystics that appealed to someone like me. Was it power? Was it danger? Mystery, perhaps? Or maybe I just got all too familiar with the unknown for me to be comfortable chasing after it? This craft, shunned by my faith since the dawn of time and even killed tons of people because of it, felt like home to me; learning it felt like retracing my steps back from where I came from. There was a sense of calm, relief, and freedom learning the ways of the earth, elements, and spirits and those who came before. Its unrestrictive nature was a stark contrast to the repressive and dominating teachings of the Catholic scriptures. Wherein Christianity demands a million things to do and not to do to save your soul, the craft only ever wanted you to do anything you want, just as long you harm none, even yourself. I have a lot of arguments to make against my old faith, that's why I consider myself an agnostic in all fairness. That's a topic for another day.

When I got to college at 17, I applied for nursing school under my father's wishes. It was in my misfortune to be enrolled in a school with a toxic environment of sorts: unhealthy clinic hours, unreasonable school workload, toxic Christian classmates who bombarded me everyday with bible verses and inviting me to join Sunday worship thingies. I am very respectful of other's beliefs and opinions but I really have a bone to pick with the Born Agains because upon knowing I am interested in dark movies and occult, they've started telling me that the Devil has a grip on my soul and that I should stop it so that my soul can be saved. They're even worse than the Mormons and Witnesses who knock on your door at certain days. I'd just ignore it and they'll go but BAs will stop at nothing to guiltify me of being possessed and that I need deliverance. It was also the time my parents went to Australia for work because of the failing finances due to to my late grandfather's hospital expenses, my uncle meeting his untimely demise, and my uncle's greedy widow who already demanded their inheritance even though my grandmother was still alive. My best friends of highschool also attended different schools and pursued different career pathways which left me feeling more isolated and unsure of myself. These issues fed my undiagnosed depression and relapse of suicidal thoughts all throughout my 4 years in nursing school. It was a mix of emotions, a rollercoaster ride of disappointments, achievements, first-time experiences, full independence. All without a proper support system. Nevertheless, I grew wiser while treading the craft, and for the first time since I lost my grandfather, I felt safe and sound and complete.

Then I met my elementary school sweetheart again in my final year and we became a couple. He was a sweet guy, smart and responsible. We had our similarities, our quirks, but we also had differences. I was already quite a learned witch, studying tarot and palmistry as my supposed-to-be expertise, when he told me how he wanted to be baptised as a Born Again (he and his family are Roman Catholics as well). He told me how he was deeply affected by the one time he went to a worship service of his friend's church. This struck a chord in me, a subtle reference to my beliefs. At the time, I have fully believed he is the man I'm gonna settle for, the one I'm gonna marry. He's everything I have hoped for then: he's finished school, on his way to a very decent career on a ship as a marine engineer. He's from a good family as well. Well-mannered, and not to mention that we've got a pretty long history way back when we we're 10 or so. He even made a subtle proposal of a civil marriage before he hops on board the ship. I know it was betrayal of myself, but I love this man so much so, I am ready to submit myself to him.

Worst decision of my life. I started to try and mingle with Christians so I may understand just why I needed to be saved. I joined worship services and sang with them against my own beliefs. I taught myself to be like them just so I could fit in, so that I may have friends. In return, they've burned all my books and tarot decks. Even my Slipknot t-shirt that my grandmother bought me was not spared from the Christian pyre. Said that it's to release me from the grip of the Devil. They even did deliverance to me. For a while I thought I was given a new lease on life and that this is the only right thing to do. I was easily convinced since it was the most trying time of my life so far: I was killing myself reviewing for the nursing licensure exams, my parents are already coming to get us and live away in Australia for good, my bf and I hit rock bottom and broke up (the girl who is the 3rd party confessed to me that they're having an affair, and that she was so guilty she can't sleep at night knowing we are good friends and they're doing this behind my back, also I've noticed red flags about him that made me doubt him a bit. I factored everything and the dots connected like a damn constellation so I've called it quits), and I was caught in an identity crisis because of inner turmoil. Maybe it was a time of personal upheaval and the mix of situations was too much for me to handle. Maybe it was a good thing though that I never got baptised because my life just got much more complicated after that.

So I did pass the licensures, ex and I never got together again, I went to live to Australia, but I never recovered from the inner turmoil thing; which made me spiral down again the depression lane, this time in its dangerous, ugliest and darkest recesses. I was fighting with my parents which I never did before, I was angry all the time. I started drinking then and I was exhausted all the time I just want to sleep. All the activities I've enjoyed before like sketching, playing the piano, afternoon strolls, and cooking for the family, I've totally lost interest in. My health deteriorated and I cut off and isolated myself from my friends overseas, ignoring their messages and emails. I tried to cope up by immersing myself in Christian songs and scriptures but it was not enough. I was still empty and numb. I was like a zombie, waking up just enough not to get late for work, then go home after, eat unhealthily, play video games, chug a bottle or two of beer, surf the net for worthless and trivial things, and sleep very late, like around 3 to 5 am, only to wake up again a few hours later for work. This was a vicious daily cycle that went on for 4 years. The only reprieve I had was my video games, and my sombre playlist, just enough to block the deafening screams of suicidal thoughts and ideations before I go to sleep. There was also a time I was going home from my internship waiting for the train home, that I thought of just jumping on the train tracks to end the struggle and pain. I was more than ready to attempt as I felt braver now. That was the time I lost all fear for death. Hell, I was ready to buy a rope at Bunnings too as well. But at the back of my head, the same sad picture of my mother crying over my dead body stops me from doing such thing. They said the deliverance was supposed to stop these things, but guess what? It was it that brought it back. It was supposed to keep the demons away, but it did the opposite, and felt so trapped in a cage of deceit and lies. I was supposed to be saved, but why did it felt like I was dying?

It was then I pondered over everything that's happened in my life so far. Where did I fall, where did I stand tall, where did I pick myself up? I thought long and hard enough and decided to start off where it began to crumble: back home. Retracing my steps back to Manila, now 25, I found my old stuff in my old room, before things happened. It reminded me of my simple life and my freedom and innocence. Back when I had complete control of my life. Back when I was the master of my fate. I let the people around me convince me that the man from the sky take the wheel, and it damn well crashed. A head-on collision with a destructive force. I decided to go back to my roots, the one where I felt best. And embracing it tighter than ever and promising to never betray it anymore for any reason.

My ex is now preparing to marry his girlfriend of 3 years. We met accidentally and forgave him already. I'm happy for him and that hopefully his happiness continue on. My old friends are still my friends, but there's already a notable gap between which I do not intend to close at all anymore. I do have new friends now and I keep a healthy distance from them whilst making a worthwhile connection. I am now preparing to enter med school in August and become a surgeon someday. The old house is in shambles, and I realized that a house is not a home, but the family that lives in it. I miss my parents and that my family will always come first, but I am happy to be more independent now and live by myself while studying medicine. Things are well between me and my cousin (my late uncle's child) and that I have forgiven his mother already for the hurt and trouble that they caused us. We see each other as he visits me and grandmother here at the old house every 2 months. When BAs, Mormons, and other religions try to do bible study to me, I am now assertive to tell them that I am agnostic and that I am firm in my beliefs. I am now recovering from my self-destructive ways and more optimistic and living healthier. Love is around, but it felt to me that I have lots to undertake first before I commit myself to someone again. I have backlogged so much that my time has to be devoted to the craft, my family and myself first before anything else. I am trying hard to pick up all the pieces and it seems things are finally going back in its right place. And the craft, after all these years, welcomed me back with open arms without any questions, like a mother does to her child. The sun, moon and the stars never shone brighter before, the day I returned home and answered its longing call.

Now. I have to let this off my chest now once and for all. Pleasure. Why is it a sin to pursue whatever makes you happy? Why must you endure pain just so you can be saved? Isn't that a crooked logic? Why must you be averse to your own will just so you get into a good place in the afterlife? I am only human, I am flawed, but it isn't my fault because I was born and created this way. Why must I be punished for something that is natural for me? If being free and happy costs me a one-way ticket to Hell, then I'd best be off. If my witchcraft, which teaches the opposite of your tyrannic religion, is a surefire way to deliver me there, then I'll make sure I will be a remarkable witch and enjoy my lifetime, and be very ecstatic to march down the fiery highway to Hell after I am gone. But I will never again submit myself to a narcissistic, psychopathic religion who has to kill millions of innocent people, and shun and humiliate people who think in contrast, just to justify and preach the existence of their god and its scriptures. My argument does not end with this and I will not back down anymore in defending my faith.

The craft is my world, and nature is my home. I am a daughter of those who came before, of those who are truly enlightened, of those you can never ever kill. I am a witch, and you can never take that away from me again.

*** Sorry for the long post. Thanks for reading, if you did. I hope you had something to take from my story and may it help you with whatever is botheringvor troubling you right now.

May the journey of life be kind to us all. Blessed be! ❤

[awildhanmonster]

More Ado about Characters:

Alright, now for round 2!  The following characters are all more one-offs and have no direct relation to each other quite the same was as Nell/Leonora/Barnes do, so let’s see if I can keep this under novel length.  

Remy Green, aka Remy:  17 years old in current canon, and still in the last leg of high school, Remy is, for lack of any better term, a reverse werewolf: perpetually stuck in the form of a gangly wolfdog monster on all nights save the brightest of full moons.  Originally just a “normal” human kid just trying to survive through graduation, her entire life wound up turned on its head when an out of control werewolf attacked and bit her while out with friends one night.  He was subdued and arrested, even later charged for the negligence and violent assault, but the damage had been done and the virus passed on— in the worst ways.

Remy essentially suffered the equivalent of a severe allergic reaction and anaphylaxis during the first shift, which took hours (normal were shifts should be minutes) and resulted in her parents frantically driving her to the ER in tears.  She survived, though the diagnosis— for a fragile kid with shaky self esteem— was, at the time, seemingly a fate worse than death.  Despite her form, she never seems to suffer the loss of mindfulness or weakened inhibitions of most werefolk during “peak” moon periods.  

Remy has since started learning how to cope with life in a new form she didn’t really want or ask for, and she has the full, unwavering support of her parents, though it’s still a lot for a teenaged kid to handle.  I’m pretty sure she wound up being pulled from high school and is trying to finish out her last year and a half or so at home, though she could really use some friends she doesn’t think are “obligated” to love her like her parents are.  I think she’s pretty lonely and dealing with a lot of depression issues.  Luckily she’ll fall in with Wayne at some point, who’s like a sweet (greasy stoner) older brother, and he and the rest of the Losers can adopt the hell out of her as a little sister and teach her how to not give a fuck about what humans think when you’re a weirdo.  She’ll earn her happy ending eventually.  

Rose Lund:  Absolutely 100% a retooling/transplant of one of my dearest, most beloved, super shitty/earnest self-insert characters as a 12 year old on Neopets and I have NO SHAME AT ALL.  Rose is a human mage (they do exist!) around 30 or so, a pale/skinny English-Caucasian mutt with green eyes, straight brown hair, and a penchant for fancifully extra looking dyed bang fringies because she’s stopped giving a fuck.  She’s one of those rare people who can strike up a conversation with just about anyone, blessed by a very… unique way with words that’s unintentionally contributed to her internet fame as a slice of life blogger about the day to day trials of pet dragon (well, wyrm) ownership.  

Rose has been passionate about rare and magical exotic creatures since she was a wee girl, and developed an obsession with dragons (‘wyrms’ being the correct term for all non-sentient varieties) before she was out of grade school.  In college she double majored cryptobiology and spell artistry, then upon graduation, acquired a pair of rare pygmy wyrms— from temperate and tundra subspecies— respectively, as pets, both for personal reasons and to aid in her pursuit of a master’s degree in cryptobiological husbandy.

Pygmy wyrms, it should be noted, are generally terrible pets.  While only growing to approximately the size of a house cat (10-12 pounds on average) and sporting the appearance of beautifully miniaturized mythological six-limbed dragons any fantasy nut would fall in love with, they are far from domesticated, exasperatingly precocious, and have the charming habit of expelling flammable gas from a myriad of orifices when startled.  They have a distinctive, vaguely musky sulfurous smell about them regardless of cleanliness and are just clever enough to ignore training commands when convenient.  Imagine giving a very ornery, very clever raccoon flappy wings with a several foot wingspan, feeding it rotten eggs, and strapping a flamethrower to both ends, then rigging it all with an excitable hair trigger.  That is a pygmy wyrm.  Rose owns two in an apartment complex: Ice Pack (Packy), who is a pale milk white/ice blue, and Sharky (Sharkbite), who is black and burgundy/red.  

Needless to say they’re the loves of her lives and she revolves around them, having garnered a massive internet following thanks to her daily posts about their antics and the realities of exotic pet care.  They’re harness trained now and reasonably polite, though this is only due to years of hard work and constant reinforcement.  She hopes one day to breed more biddable specimens and help contribute to the conservation of the species worldwide.  Also, they’ve made her very good at anti-flammability hexes.  

Shun —: known only by her first name, a kitsune who moved into the apartment complex fairly recently with her pet pipe fox, Yuzu.  It should be noted that kitsune are particularly long lived among mythicals, though how long exactly that is tends to be hotly debated and unknown by all but the foxes themselves.  What is known is how they are extremely slow to age after reaching their peak maturity/fitness, with certain individuals reported over 500 years old and, apparently, showing very little of their age beyond a massive swath of grown tails (nine being the highest on known record).  Kitsune typically grow to around 30-40 lbs, outwardly resembling a much large. leggier, more willowy silhouette than traditional foxes, and will begin life with a single tail that splits or “buds” and multiplies over time.  

Neurologically they are fairly unique among mammals, possessing a kind of distributed intelligence throughout the body that can give the tails a “mind of their own”, so to speak, in much the same way as octopi or other related cephalopods do.  In fact, due to the extremely slow rate of cell death/turnover, a severed kitsune tail will continue to move and attempt “functioning” for weeks, even years by some reports, under correct conditions.  Which I’ll get into shortly.  

Swerving back to Shun herself, she’s an artist by trade who zigzags between traditional and digital freelance work for a living.  Conservation of mass is still in place for humanoid shifts— which all kitsune can voluntarily assume— with predictably small, delicate, androgynous bodies that rarely get above 4’5’’ or so in stature.  Features like pointed ears or slit pupils/exposed tails can be morphed or shown as desired, though the chronic perception of being childlike or “cute” regardless of how old they are is a pretty common occurrence.  Shun is no stranger to this either, and hates shopping for clothes at non-mythical-specific places because she has to do so in the *really* young children’s department for anything to fit.  

Back on the subject of pipe foxes, though— Shun is a kitsune with 3 and 3/4 tails.  She had an unspecified accident several years ago in which she lost the final quarter of her fourth tail, but managed to retrieve the piece after several weeks of searching, at which point it was already trying to become a pipe fox.  Pipe foxes (at least in this world) are the result of a severed kitsune tail’s survival instincts going horribly wrong (or right) and attempting to restructure themselves for survival, and the amount of tail there (i.e. how much was separated from the body) will determine what becomes of it, though the “starting” process is pretty identical no matter what you do.  

If a severed piece of tail has no food, eventually, with time, it will die.  If, however, you keep it somewhere safe (like a drawer) and you present it with food (which could be, I don’t know, a chicken leg), it will sense it, and you will see the start of a small, gaping fanged mouth begin to grow from the stump.  Once this has formed, the tail will wriggle itself to its prize and devour everything it can, sustaining it.  Keep feeding the tail and it will continue to grow legs, organs, features, and a face— though not necessarily in that order.  Eventually, you will have a small— usually mouse to rat sized— beautiful white magic fox, prized heavily by black market collectors for its splendor and apparent luck giving properties.  A true quarter-tailed pipe fox will live somewhere between 5-40 years, unpredictably.  The distributed intelligence of the tail will reform/conglomerate into a brain relatively on par with a modern pet dog, possibly smarter (or much dumber) depending on your luck.  

If, however, there is MORE than roughly a quarter tail chopped off, with more of the nervous tissue and mass intact, the pipe fox resulting may appear larger and more robust.  Many exotic buyers have been lured into purchasing these creatures from traders without realizing, and years later the unlucky recipient will find their precious fox’s skin suddenly flaccid on the ground like a shed cocoon, having erupted into 75 tinier pipe foxes that will summarily swarm the accessible property to spirit off with literally anything they decide is valuable, never to be found again, often raging like an infestation for days or WEEKS before vanishing forever.  

Rumor has it that feeding an entire severed tail will result in 75 tiny pipe foxes bursting forth from the cocoon shell that will each burst into 75 more bug sized foxes each, resulting in a plague of nigh biblical proportions.  But that’s never actually been confirmed on record.  

Needless to say the kitsune have a lot of protocols for dealing with severed tails and will usually destroy half-formed pipe foxes of unknown origin on the spot.  Shun keeps Yuzu as a pet due to being intimately aware of the little rat-sized creature’s origins, and she still had to sign SO many extra insurance papers and wavers before the complex would let her move in.  

I am not good at keeping it short, am I?  Wow.  Well, there you have it!  I’d be happy to answer any extra stuff I forgot too if someone has a question.  I do love these nerds.  

[paintmeflattered]

Title: The Edge of Seventeen (2016)

Director: Kelly Fremon Craig

Starring: Hailee Steinfeld, Woody Harrelson, Kyra Sedgwick, Haley Lu Richardson, and Hayden Szeto

Brief Synopsis: Nadine believes life is out to get her.  Her brother is the golden child and she is awkward, her father was the only person other than her best friend who truly connected with her but he died and four years later the family is still not coping.  To make matters worse, her best friend has now started to date her brother and she feels completely abandoned.

Review:  This movie was really sweet and it was nice to have a main character that is relatable in the worst way.  Nadine has major issues with egocentrism.  She really believes that she is the only one with issues and everybody else is fine and they are all out to get her and anybody’s choice are because they don’t care about her.  Well, that’s how a lot of adolescents think.  It was nice to watch her grow as a person and begin to think about others and realize that she does think that way.  The movie just consisted of very real characters.  Sometimes big-budgeted movies make teenagers seem too polished and perfect but I liked that this movie wasn’t like that.  Obviously they chose attractive people, but they just had a very real air to them.  The only teen that was actually close to the age was Hailee Steinfeld which was a bit sad to learn.  Hayden Szeto was already thirty when the movie came out.  But I will say I wish I had my own Erwin, he was so sweet and cute. I think we all have those moments that Nadine talks about having, where she just looks at herself and wants to change every little thing but doesn’t have the faintest idea how.  I like that she learned that you don’t need to do that; be yourself and be open to others and how they feel and things will fall into place.  I also loved that this movie really wasn’t focused on romantic relationships, it made a point to show familial and platonic relationships are important. *Spoilers from now on* I totally called how her father died.  When they were getting the cheeseburgers I was like, yep he’s either going to have a stroke or heart attack while driving and get into a car accident and die and Nadine’s going to be super traumatized by it.  I think the situation with Nadine, Krista, and Darian could have been handled better by everyone around.  At times Krista tried to do the right thing like inviting Nadine to the party with Darian but then completely left her to play beer pong.  Nadine was unfair to insist that Krista had to choose between her and her brother and when she wouldn’t, she cut her out.  Darian refused to even talk to Nadine about it until everything had blown up.  The only thing that was off to me was the part where Mr. Brunner took Nadine home with him after the disastrous date with Nick.  In real life I think he would have either called from the donut place or just drove her home himself.  I understand it was done for the purpose of showing Nadine she was wrong and Mr. Brunner actually had a very nice life with a beautiful wife and baby and so that Darian would come and have the blow out with her and show her (finally) that he isn’t happy with the cards he’s been dealt with either.  I’m glad Nadine saw how selfish she was being to everyone without her having to be completely shunned.  That can be pretty traumatizing.  I loved everything about the ending.  I loved how cordial Darian was about wishing her a good day and she left and came back and said she hope he and Krista had a great day.  Her and Krista will eventually be friends again (they’ll have to find a balance but if it’s important to them, they will do it). I liked that Erwin got to make Nadine feel awkward after the millions of times she did it to him but they show to be moving forward in their relationship and he made room for her in the circle of friends (a parallel to the party when Krista didn’t do that and Nadine was to uncomfortable to do it herself).  It was an overall terrific coming of age film.