#also I felt like deaf made more sense than blind so I chose that one

[uselesslesbiab]

Can you make some headcanons about Ryuji going partially deaf/blind after the explosion in Shido's Palace?

Ooh I’ve never really had people request headcanons like this before but I really like this idea. If people want I’ll definitely do more requests in the future!

DISCLAIMER I AM NOT BLIND OR DEAF SO THESE MAY NOT BE ACCURATE BUT I USED MY BEST FRIEND WHO IS PARTIALLY DEAF AS A REFERENCE THANKS @rosesandoleander UR SO FUCKIN SEXY MWAH I LOVE YOU

The rest of the Phantom Thieves were relieved beyond words to see Ryuji walk up to them unscathed after the explosion

Ann definitely gave him a good punch in the arm for the comment about her crying face, but that was the extent of it. She hugged him afterwards and they fell back into their usual banter

They only thing that wasn’t usual was the ringing in Ryuji’s ears

He’d seen action movies where an explosion or something happens and the characters hear some ringing in their ears for a few moments so he didn’t really think anything of it

The only problem was, the ringing never really stopped

It subsided later on sure, but even the next day, and the day after that, and the day after that, there was still that constant ringing

He tried to ignore it the best he could but one day after class Ren pulled out one of his earbuds and offered it to Ryuji to listen to some new song his favorite band had released

“Dude turn it up I can barely hear it!”

He knew something was wrong when Ren stopped walking in the middle of the hallway and stared

“Ryuji...it’s already at max volume” Fuck

It was pretty rough coming to terms with the fact that he’ll probably never get his full hearing back, but the bright side was that he wasn’t fully deaf

Thanks to Japan’s healthcare system hearing aids weren’t super expensive but they were still up there in price. Haru heard him casually mention that him and his mother were going to have to save up for them and immediately dragged him back to the hearing clinic and paid for them right then and there.

Of course his hearing aids can only help so much. His right ear was the worst, so you can often find him standing so whoever he’s talking to is on his left side.

He’s a big fan of turning off his hearing aids whenever teachers are yelling at him. It’s not like they can do anything about it.

Given how the metaverse enhances their abilities so much he doesn’t need his hearing aids all that much when he’s there, but it doesn’t fix his hearing completely.

He’s scared that he’ll lose his hearing completely as he gets older, so he does his best to learn sign language while he can.

Spoiler alert sign language is really fucking difficult

He studies with Ren and Makoto as much as possible and the rest of the Phantom Thieves promised to learn alongside him so they’d all be in it together.

[celestial-fucking-weeb]

Anonymity be Damned

Hi, everyone! This is my first ever fic, and it’s a part of the Citrus Server collab! I’m so excited about it, and I know it’s super self indulgent, but I worked really hard on it and I hope you like it. Please give me feedback and tell me what you like and what I can improve on; also, please be nice to me, I’m a baby.

MASTER LIST IS  HERE  Go check out everyone’s hard work!

Warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, AGED UP (mid twenties), fluff, brief angst, insecurities, smut, body worship, chubby kink, marking (hickies), Papi kink

Pairing: Sero Hanta x chubby!female reader

Taglist: @reinawritesbnha

Prompt: "Masquerade balls were something you’d only ever heard about in movies. You couldn’t deny the prospect was intriguing; donning your most elegant attire, confidence boosted by your anonymity and the intoxication brought on by such a magical atmosphere. You and your fellow partygoers were almost doomed to desire, inhibitions washed away long before the wine and spirits started to flow.

The mystery, majesty, and potential for mischief were far too enticing to resist.

So, when you received an invitation to Midnight’s Masquerade, you didn’t think twice about accepting…"

—————————

Of course, not thinking twice about accepting came back to bite you as soon as the realization set in that you would, in fact, have to go. Suddenly hyper-aware of your need to buy a dress, and knowing how little you enjoy shopping, you call your best girls for the job. A quick text to the groupchat had Mina and Yaomomo screaming with excitement that you were actually asking to go shopping. Jirou and Ochako sharing your apprehension, and Hagakure and Froppy bowing out due to their schedules, but wishing you luck with sweet emojis.

Yaomomo chose the dress shop, under the enthusiastic offer that she’d pay to ensure everyone would receive something from her favorite designers. You knew this was a place only Yaomomo could frequent- beautiful gowns lined every wall, display mannequins donning the most gorgeous dresses, made of the best fabrics with jewels perfectly beaded in, none of which had price tags so as to not “ruin the material” as she had told all of you. Whisking you all into dressing rooms bigger than your entire apartment, the staff practically fawned over each of you, offering assistance, refreshments, recommendations, and- oh fuck- measurements. Nerves shot through your entire body and made you nauseous, ready to make a stupid excuse to leave before your insecurities were announced to your girlfriends. You’ve always been...bigger.

The word tasted bitter on your tongue. The consultant made barely a sound as she pulled out her tape, but you heard it. That little “hm” noise, indicating judgement, knowing that most of their stock isn’t going to fit you properly, what with your plump thighs, soft tummy, squishy arms, the rolls that seemed to stay no matter how many workouts you do..

“We don’t carry plus size gowns, but I’m sure I can find something for you.”

All is confirmed when she says those stupid fucking words with that Joker-esqe smile and that hint of disgust in her tone. ‘I shouldn’t be here, I never should’ve accepted that invitation, why did I even think this was a good idea, the whole thing is for beautiful skinny girls like your friends, this is all a mistake,’ you think to yourself, insecurities and anxiety flooding your brain. Mina’s voice snaps you out of your spiral.

“Excuse me, I don’t believe we asked for your personal opinion on her body. In fact, I believe we only asked for you to do your job, but if you can’t complete such a daunting task, I’m sure there are 20 other people who’d love to take your place.” she grinned, in a tone too perky for her threatening choice of words.

“Also, as I happen to frequent this shop, I know your entire inventory. As such, I know that you do, in fact, carry gowns for each of our sizes. If you can find one to fit my chest, I know you have a variety of gowns to fit my beautiful friend, y/n. I suggest you begin pulling them, as I’m sure you’ve gotten the measurements you need. Now.” This time it’s Yaomomo, handling the situation with dignitary-level finality, before gracefully walking to you with a comforting smile. Ochako wipes a tear you weren’t aware had fallen, attempting to comfort you with false empathy, saying how you two are “practically the same size”, but you know you’re not. It’s comforting nonetheless, having the support of your friend group. Jirou cracks self deprecating jokes to lighten the mood, complaining, “If I have to wear a frilly gown to this bullshit, so do you, y/n. You’re not getting out of this that easy,” and you absolutely know she means it.  

With your spirit slightly renewed and the consultants carrying in a multitude of dresses, you all end up having a blast laughing about how the pink ballgown does not fit Jirou’s aesthetic and the skintight green satin number Ochako tried on would quite literally have Deku passed out on the floor. You giggled with Yaomomo about how certain dresses looked risqué and nearly pornographic on your respective figures. Mina whined about how each dress didn’t have enough glitter, her complaints falling on deaf ears. Over the course of two and a half hours, each of the girls had secured a dress. Mina, in a teal mermaid-style dress with enough sparkle woven into the tulle to blind. Jirou, in a simple deep purple velvet gown that gracefully fell off her shoulders. Ochako, deciding, after much peer pressure, to opt for the green satin to make Deku drool. Yaomomo, in a red gown with beautiful beading, and a deep V neckline. You, on the other hand, were struggling to find something that doesn’t have you hyperfixating on one aspect of your body or another, limiting your breathing and movement so as to not further sink into the mean thoughts swirling around inside your head. The girls have gone into full support staff-mode, bringing you dresses of every cut known to man, offering more champagne to dull the anxieties, Yaomomo even offering to make you a custom dress with her quirk. Jirou sheepishly comes into the room, head down, hoping no one brings attention to the fact that she just sifted through dresses for a good 15 minutes and didn’t hate it, before nudging your soft side. You turn to her, defeated, and ready to give up, when you realize what she’s holding. She’s picked a dress for you, even though she hates shopping anywhere that isn’t blaring music through the speakers and dimly lit. You smile sweetly at her shy offering, reaching out to take it before she pulls back.

“No, I have an idea… I know it’s easy to look at your insecurities before the dress is all the way on, and I think you should let us help you into it with your eyes closed… Then, when you turn around to the mirror, you can see all the beautiful parts, like we do!” She looks down at the floor as she mutters the words, as though she’s embarrassed to be so soft and sweet.

“THAT’S A GREAT IDEA, JIROU! OH MY GOD, Y/N, YOU HAVE TO LET US DRESS YOU, IT’LL BE JUST LIKE CINDERELLA WITH THE BIRDS AND THE MICE, COME ONNN…” Mina bounces up and down, grabbing your hands and pleading, knowing you never say no when she gives you such excited eyes.

“Uh… fine… Yeah, I guess it couldn’t hurt. It’s not like I have anything to lose.” You shyly whisper, looking away.

If it were anyone else, you’d never want them to see you getting dressed, soft tummy and extra squish uncovered, leaving you vulnerable to their judgement. But these are your best friends, you’d known them for years. They’d held your hair on your 21st birthday, and cuddled into bed with you when you were crying over unrequited love. They’ve had your back, they’d never make fun of you, and Jirou chose this dress all special for you, you couldn’t say no. With that, you turned around and closed your eyes, arms out and waiting for them to help you into whatever Jirou had deemed right for you.

“Okay, y/n, almost done, just have to zip this last part up and… DONE!” Mina and Yaomomo stepped back from their positions holding the sides and pulling the zipper, respectively. Finally admiring the you in the dress, there was a moment of absolute silence. You started shifting uncomfortably, wondering just how horrible you looked if they didn’t even have words to describe it. Ochako was the first to break the quiet and a teary-sounding “You’re so beautiful, y/n.”, followed by Mina’s signature squeals of excitement. Yaomomo clasped her hands together and began ranting about “how gorgeous you looked” and “how perfect the dress was” and “how she didn’t even know they had this one yet”. Jirou, sensing your anxious shifting, finally told you to open your eyes and turn around with a hand on your shoulder, the satisfied smirk on her face audible in her now assured voice.

“Oh… wow…” was all you could manage to say, eyes wide as you saw yourself in the full length mirror. This was, in all honesty, the first time you felt beautiful in years. The dress did nothing to hide your body- no- it somehow managed to accentuate every single curve in the most beautiful way possible. The gown was black, made from silk and taffeta, with some built in structure, and oh so soft. Simultaneously comfortable, secure, and elegant, the strapless gown mimicked a one shoulder, right side jutting up in an asymmetrical style and the left dipping just low enough to show your cleavage before cascading down your curves, hugging each roll of your body gently, showing off your figure and flowing down to the floor with a slit up your thigh, only visible when you walked and showing the ample flesh of your hip and thigh. God, it was perfect. You felt strong and classy and sexy and beautiful. Turning to Jirou, you pull her into your chest and hug her, thanking her a thousand times for finding it.

“Whoa, hey, okay… I’m glad you like it, you look absolutely beautiful. But- um- hey, can you let go? I’m suffocating in titties here.” Jirou laughed, genuinely struggling to breathe in your embrace.

“Oh shit, sorry, Jirou! I’m just so happy, I love it so much! I kinda forgot you can’t breathe when I do that…” You chuckle nervously, releasing her from your embrace.

“Yay! Okay, now that everyone has a dress, let’s go purchase them and get some food. I’m starving!” Yaomomo pitches the idea, and everyone agrees, excited to hurry out of the shop for a meal.

_____________________________________________________________

The day had finally come, and your nerves felt fried. The other girls all had dates; Momo and Jirou deciding to go together, Ochako with Deku, even Mina was going with Kaminari. But here you were, riding in the car service alone, makeup absolutely flawless, complete with falsies and red lipstick that was the perfect shade to stand out against your skin. Such a shame no one was going to be benefiting from your efforts tonight, although the thought that your longtime crush, Sero Hanta, would be in attendance was enough to urge you to adjust your carefully placed mask, ensuring your anonymity and polishing your confidence. Sero had been in your friend group since high school, and was the first person you truly warmed up to upon your acceptance into the group. You quickly became the “shy little sister” to the loud ones in the group: Bakugou, Kaminari, Kirishima, and Mina. Jirou and Sero were more your speed; quieter, more laid back and chill, with great senses of humor that not everyone was privy to. With Jirou as your designated best friend, Sero was proclaimed the unrequited love interest. You friendzoned yourself almost immediately, assuming Sero wouldn’t go for a girl like you, not when he was tall, dark, handsome, and muscular. A budding pro hero wouldn’t want you, not with your shy insecurities and soft body…

Little did you know, Sero had been pining after you since the beginning, flirting with you subtly in hopes that you’d express your interest. Eyes wandering down your curves during movie nights, taking in your too-small shorts and how your oversized shirt would raise just enough to see your little tummy pouch, wishing his face was buried between your plump thighs, praying he would be able to leave hickeys on every delicious roll, pleading he could see those cute chubby cheeks covered with tears while your plush lips wrapped around his cock… No- he couldn’t think of you like that. After all, you never returned his flirting, and there’s no way you’d like him when you could crush on manlier guys like Kirishima and Bakugou. ‘He was just a “dollar store Spiderman”, as Bakugou liked to call him, just a guy… Nothing special…’ he thought to himself as he adjusted his own mask in the bathroom mirror at the gala. His friends had all confirmed that you were coming, and that you were coming alone (said by Kaminari while wiggling his eyebrows). Every other person in the group had a date, including Bakugou and Kirishima, who had to practically drag the former to the event in the first place. He was the only one “stagging it”, aside from you, who would no doubt attract attention and end up going home with some flashy hero higher ranked than he was. He sighed, adjusting his tux jacket and cufflinks, and exited into the main ballroom to get a drink.

You walked into the venue, checked in, and stood frozen outside the ballroom entrance. You adjusted your mask, steeled your nerves, and squared your shoulders, reminding yourself how absolutely gorgeous you looked and donning your best “bad bitch” aura. You strut into the place like you own it, suddenly very aware of how many people there are, scanning for familiar faces as you sway your luscious hips to maintain your balance in your heels.

“Holy fuck... “  Sero utters, jaw slack and eyes locked on you. You’re so perfect, breasts bouncing with every step, thighs and tummy jiggling, soft smile gracing your face. He’s staring, and Kaminari has to elbow him to wipe the drool from the side of his mouth before you get there. You’re equally as enchanted, seeing Sero in his black fitted tuxedo, crushed velvet lapels, tapered pants making his quads look positively biteable, crisp white shirt tailored over his pecs, black bowtie (slightly crooked, very fitting of his personality) and mask obscuring his face, leaving him as nothing more than a handsome stranger. A  yellow pocket square catches your attention, reminding you of your favorite hero in his costume. You smirk to yourself, knowing you chose yellow gold heels specifically because they reminded you of him.

“See something you like, Sero-buddy? You’re staring so hard, you’d think she was God.” Kaminari punches Sero in the ribs, trying to break the spell. “Maybe you should talk to her, finally get over your crush on y/n by getting under someone else.” he winks, completely unaware that he’s talking about you in both respects.

“Uh… I don’t know, man. I think I’ll give it a minute, maybe grab another drink and enjoy the party for a while. I’m not trying to start hitting on some random chick just yet, though hot she may be.” Sero laughs, rubbing the back of his neck like he always does when he’s nervous. He diverts his eyes down to his drink, downs the rest of the liquid, then focuses back on you. You wait at the bar for your drink of choice, aware of that beautiful stranger still staring and leaning against the counter just enough to push your ass out. You hear him nearly choke on his drink, and move around the party satisfied with yourself.

A few drinks later, you find yourself on the dance floor, watching from the edge and lightly swaying to the music. A masked man with shaggy black hair, who you can only assume to be pro hero Grand, given his mask barely covered a fourth of his face probably only worn to fit the theme, approached you for a dance, hand extended and bowing at the waist.

“A lady as beautiful as yourself shouldn’t be a wallflower. Care to dance?” he asks, voice low and alluring, looking down at you with a mischievous glint in his deep brown eyes.

“I might…” you smile shyly, taking his hand and letting him lead you.

Once out on the dance floor, he pulls you into his chest with a hand on your lower back. It’s nice to be wanted, to dance so close to a man who finds you beautiful, especially one as chiseled as Grand. ‘Wait- is he…? Are you fucking kidding?’ Your fight or flight response kicks in as soon as you feel his hand drift lower and lower onto your ass. You pull away, ready to ask him what the hell he thinks he’s doing, but before you can get a word out, he puts a hand over your jaw, fingers tightly snapping your mouth closed. Unable to speak and too shocked to move, you feel helpless as he whispers in your ear.

“God, I love fat girls. Your self esteem is so low, I can do whatever I want and you’ll fall for it. So stupid, so fun.” His laugh is so dark, and you start to panic before a large, strong hand reaches between the two of you and wraps around Grand’s throat, yanking him back and off of you.

“Listen, this is a classy place, so I’ll give you a choice. Either you apologize to this absolutely gorgeous woman and get the fuck out of here, or I beat you to a bloody pulp right here and ruin both your suit and your face.” The handsome stranger who had originally caught your eye growls, voice so low and intimidating you didn’t doubt for a second he meant every word. ‘His voice sounds so familiar, but I can’t quite place it. He’s so angry, and he’s speaking so low, I can’t figure out where I’ve heard that before.’  Thankful for his saving assistance, and trying to calm yourself from hyperventilating, you watch Grand’s retreating form before turning to the man who is quite literally your Prince Charming of the evening.

Voice still low and angry, “Listen, I need you to distract me. Calm me down so I don’t turn around and kill that guy.” he seethes. “You are stunning, absolutely gorgeous. He was so wrong. He’s an asshole, absolutely vile, and he never should’ve even had the nerve to approach you, much less touch you. God fucking damn it, I should-”

You cut him off by pulling him close, placing your hands on his chest and letting them roam up to fix his still crooked bowtie.

“Thank you…” you whisper, tearing up as you put your head on his chest. His cologne is so calming, his scent enveloping you as his arms instinctively wrap around you and his hand finds the back of your head, holding you to his chest.

The two of you slow dance in silence, his head resting on top of yours, the scent of your shampoo and hairspray comforting him and taking him to a dream where he was dancing with the y/n he knew, feeling your soft body pressed against him, imagining how you’d look in the dress on the girl he was actually dancing with. ‘Oh fuck, y/n would look so fucking perfect in this. Her curves- fuck, this dress is soft- I would absolutely love to run my hands along her body in this dress, press her up against me like this, fuck her thighs- wait… SHIT-FUCK-NO’  Snapped out of his thoughts by the increasing tightness of his tux pants, he prays to god the sexy girl pressed against him doesn’t notice.

You notice something nudging against your thigh, breaking you out of your daydreams about the mystery man being Sero Hanta, opening your eyes before you realize exactly what you’re feeling. ‘Oh… OH. Holy fuck, did I make him hard just dancing? He- uh- feels… big… Maybe if I just-’  you subtly shift your hips, thigh brushing up against him and slotting between his legs just enough. A deep groan rises from his chest, and he leans down to your ear.

“Babygirl, if you keep doing what I think you’re doing, I’m going to have to return the favor~” His voice sounds so familiar, but the lust clouding the low rumble has it taking on an entirely new timbre. You lean in, feeling emboldened by his words, swiping your tongue along the shell of his ear with a simple “Oh really?~ And what if that’s the goal?”

With that, he crooks his finger under your chin and presses his lips to yours. What starts as a sweet and simple kiss quickly evolves into a deep, passionate kiss that left you breathless. His fingers gently resting on your neck, just above your collarbone, and tongue swiping at your bottom lip. You sigh into him, granting him access and letting his tongue explore your mouth, relishing in his deep rumbles and pressing impossibly closer, hoping he’d get the message and take you somewhere more private. Luckily, it seems he seems to read your body language and leads you to a side hallway by pressing his hand on the small of your back, possessively guiding you. Pushing you up against the wall, he leans back in to resume kissing you, with an arm steadying himself above your head. In a simply embarrassing display of clumsiness, your hand reaching for his cheek goes slightly off course, accidentally knocking off his mask and causing you to fumble to the floor to retrieve it. Upon looking up, you see Sero standing with a flushed face and his hand reaching up to the back of his neck, the endearing nervous tic you’d learned from him over the years. Oh God, if your heart wasn’t beating fast enough before, it sure as fuck was now… The man you had yearned after for years not only swooping in to save you from some low-life creep, but also having you in a kabedon against the wall of the fanciest place you’ve ever been in. He laughs, nervous now without his anonymity, and reaches down to help you up.

“I- uh- sorry, I might’ve gotten carried away. I hope you’re okay, I know I’m probably not the hero you wanted. I really do think you’re beautiful, you actually remind me of someone I know and- wow- I’m rambling…” He goes on like this, panicking that he’s somehow ruined your fantasy and disappointed you by existing. He only shuts up when you stand back upright and kiss him softly.

“You’re exactly the hero I want… The hero I’ve always wanted.” You blush, staring up at him with the most loving doe eyes you can manage.

‘Wait… Her voice… Is that- ?’ Sero came to quite possibly the best and utterly terrifying realization; that the girl he’d been lusting after all night and the girl he’d been wanting for years could be the same girl. He hesitantly brought a hand to your face, lightly grazing your mask as though asking for permission. You nod, never breaking your gaze on his concentrated expression, and parted your lips. He gingerly lifts the mask from your features, damning your anonymity, and each of you hold your breath in anticipation. The way he looks at you is like something out of a movie, or one of those shōjo manga you love to obsess over: pure relief, adoration, lust, love. Oh, you want him to look at you like that forever.

“Y/n, I-... You have no idea how happy I am that it’s you. I have been wanting to kiss you for years, and to finally do it, and with you looking… Wow- you are so fucking stunning, I have never seen anything as beautiful in my life. Fuck, I just- I wish I could tell you how perfect you are, express in words how flawless I’ve always thought you were- still do… “ Sero breathed all of this as though he had to get every word out before you disappeared. He held your face in both hands, lightly squishing your cheeks and stroking his thumb over your lips, taking in your hopelessly enthralled expression. “You know what? Fuck this. No- I mean- not ‘fuck this’, I just… I want to do this right. I want you, I need you. I want to express how important you are, I need to show you that you’re everything to me. I want to worship you, kiss every inch of your body and make you feel so incredibly complete and full and whole and appreciated. Do you understand?”

“Hanta… I- Yes. Yes. Please take me home, I need you. I want you. You’re the only one I’ve ever wanted.” You lean into his touch, wanting to be ever closer to his warmth.

You yelp as he suddenly picks you up, bridal style, as though you don’t even provide a struggle.

“HANTA, you can’t be carrying me, I weigh more than you, no no no, I’m too heavy, you can’t-”

“Y/n. I’m a pro hero, are you seriously telling me I can’t carry you? I can carry 3 people at once while hanging from a strip of tape in midair. I’ll hold you up forever if you’d let me.” He squeezes you in his hold, emphasizing his point.

His cocky attitude was majorly driven by how good you felt, soft tummy and jiggling tits against his torso, the perfect squish of your thighs in his powerful arms, chubby hands and cheeks tucked into his chest and the crook of his neck. He swore he could die happy right there. In the elevator, he took a moment to take in your entire figure, but upon reaching your feet, something turned him absolutely feral. Your shoes. You were wearing his colors. Every single piece of clothing matched his hero costume. ‘Holy shit… You knew. You wanted him before this even happened. You were his.’ The possessive growl that tore from his chest startled you as he adjusted you in his hold. He had your legs wrapped around his waist, hands unapologetically on the ample crux of your thighs and ass, lips on yours in a desperate kiss that was all tongue and teeth, grinding his hard cock against you. You whimpered against his lips, shocked by his sudden change of demeanor.

“Fuck, you’re wearing my colors, aren’t you? You want me to claim you? You want to be mine? I’ll give you anything you want, babygirl. I just need you to ask for it.~” He growled against your neck, nose tracing the column of your throat.

“Hanta, please, yes- ah~. I want to be yours. I only want to be yours. I need you. Please, please, please.” Normally, you’d be way too shy to beg this much, embarrassed about how desperate you sound, but fuck he’s making you so needy. The gasp that escapes you when Sero licks a stripe up your neck turns into a moan when he starts sucking a hickey over your pulsepoint. He feels so good, the heat between your thighs steadily building with every nip of his teeth and roll of his hips. You thread your fingers through the hair on the back of his neck and pull gently, earning a groan and a buck of his hips. He works his way up to your jaw, leaving pretty little marks in his wake, and returns to your lips like a safe haven. He strokes your tongue with his own, committing your taste to memory. He never wants to forget this moment, especially not when you lightly suck his tongue and pull him in further with those perfect fucking thighs. You’re so soft, being wrapped in your plushness with his fingers digging into the pliable flesh of your ass is too much. Sero’s sinful thoughts are interrupted by your fucked-out voice, so small and innocent, as though you’re afraid of his answer.

“Um… Can I- can I touch you? I mean- I- can I mark you, too?” You sound so unsure, not used to someone wanting to show you off.  You’re so breathless, and he’d be lying if the pleading in your voice didn’t make his dick twitch in his pants.

“Awwww~ is my babygirl shy now? You want to mark me, too? Go ahead, mi amor, sí se puede. I’m all yours, just like you’re mine.” Sero cranes his head to the side, baring his neck to you, waiting for you to bless him with those full lips, waiting for you to make a show of him finally having the most perfect girl he’s ever known.

If he could’ve taken a picture of your face in that moment, he’d look at it every day. Squishy cheeks blushing, eyes wide with surprise and excitement, gaze clouded with lust. You were so pretty, he couldn’t wait to ruin you. Sero moaned as you sucked a small dark mark onto his skin and happily carried you from the elevator to his room. You tighten your arms around him when he reaches for his key card, involuntarily pushing your chest together and pressing up into him.

“Oh, mi corazón, if you keep pressing into me like that, voy a tener que lamer cada parte de ti y puede que no te deje ir…” His threats sound more like promises when he’s carrying you through the threshold and placing you down gently, though his hands never leave your body.  Tracing your sides, memorizing your curves, squeezing any part he can get his hands on.  His right hand inches down your torso, resting on the pouch of your tummy and making you flinch. Sero notices and worries he’s hurt you, or that you don’t want him to touch you. The hurt in his eyes is obvious when he takes in your tense muscles and eyes squeezed shut, realizing it’s your own insecurities holding you back. He wishes you could see how beautiful you are, see yourself through his eyes. He was going to make you feel so fucking loved, he just had to show you what he couldn’t express in words. You stripped him of his jacket as he unknotted his tie. With nervous hands, you unbuttoned his shirt and slipped it past his broad shoulders, fingers trailing down his sculpted chest and lean abs, admiring the enticing adonis belt and pretty trail of coarse black hair disappearing into his pants. Sero, with his ego now boosted by the lustful look in your eyes as you took him in, returned your gaze to his face with an intensity that made you shiver. He kept eye contact while sweeping your hair to one side, and slowly unzipping your gown. Your breath hitches in your throat as he leans down to place open mouthed kisses along your shoulders as he pushes your dress down your body, kissing down your arms as it falls, and places a sweet kiss to your hands. Pushing you onto the bed with a soft thud and climbing over top of you, he moves the hands that raise to cover yourself , grasping your wrists in one hand and cupping your cheek with the other, as he softly reassures you.

“Princesa, please don’t hide from me. I’ve waited for you for so long, and I want to worship every inch of you. I’m going to make you cry out my name, and show you just how perfect you are while you cum on my tongue. You will not say a single bad thing about mi amor, you understand?” he says lowly, so loving yet commanding.

“Yes, Hanta… I- I’ll be good for you, I promise.” you whine, praying your submission would please him.

The sound of his given name in that pleading tone has him painfully hard, but he’s too focused on hearing his name from your sweet lips again to care. You pull him down into a passionate kiss and roll your hips against his clothed cock when he laves down your neck and leaves love bites across your chest. He sucks your nipple into his warm mouth and rolls the other between his forefinger and thumb, earning a high pitched keen from you. He switches to give the same attention to the other side, tongue swirling around the peaked bud and relishing the way your chest heaves just from his mouth on your tits. ‘So needy… Fuck, how did I ever wait this long to see y/n like this and hear her sounds?’ Sero thinks to himself, so ready to watch your eyes roll back in your skull the minute you feel his cock fill you. The thought of you bouncing on his dick, watching you jiggle with his thrusts, letting him grip the fat on your hips and help you fuck yourself on him, feeling your lovely thighs straddle him, has him impatiently rutting into the mattress. He needs to taste you, leave marks all over your delicious tummy and thighs, and feel you coming undone beneath him. His large hands slide down your sides, rubbing back up under your breasts, gripping the extra flesh over your ribcage, the soft love handles on your sides, caressing the perfect pouch of your belly and settling on your hips. His mouth follows the path of his hands, kissing and licking every place you had deemed undesirable like they were the sexiest pieces of you, leaving dark hickeys on the front of your hips to remind you that all of these parts were now his to love.

“Lo siento, babygirl, pero no puedo esperar más, necesito mi lengua en ese bonita coño jodidamente ahora. Estas necesitan estar en el suelo ahora.” If his panting growl of Spanish didn’t already have your pussy gushing, his strong fingers ripping your panties and hoes off your body had you dripping onto the bed. Your shocked squeak turning into a moan when he parted your legs and nipped at the soft skin of your inner thigh, Sero is beyond delighted by feeling your beautiful thighs squishing against his face. If he could choose his end, it would undoubtedly be suffocating between this plush heaven. He snaked his arms under your parted thighs to hold your hips, squeezing and marveling at the feeling of your warm body protruding between his spread fingers, trying to fit as much of you in his grasp as he could and never getting enough. You’re just about to plead for him to touch you where you need him most when you lock eyes and hear the teasing lilt in his voice when he groans “Itadakimasu~” and flattens his tongue, licking a long, slow stripe up your slit.

“So wet for me, princesa, is this all for me? You’re so thoughtful to give me a meal so sweet.”

“Hantaaa, please. I want you, please don’t tease me, please touch me. I need- ah~”  

Your begging is interrupted by his tongue diving into your sex, lapping at your slick like a man starved. The moans coming from the man between your thighs were sinful; in this moment, Sero Hanta was no longer the friend you’d watched superhero movies with and silently crushed on for years- he was a man, a lover, all you’d ever wanted. Wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking the sensitive pearl into his mouth, he pulled one hand from your hip and slowly slipped two long fingers into your sopping heat. The callused pads from years of hero training now rubbing perfectly against your walls have you crying out for him and grasping his hair, begging him to go faster. He suddenly props himself up, bringing his palm up to grind against your clit and slowing his thrusts, wanting to hear you beg for him and watch your desperate facial expression.

“What is it you want, babygirl? C’mon, you’re going to have to use that pretty little mouth of yours. Tell me what you want, baby, use your words. I wanna hear you beg for me.” That normally dopey smile was replaced with a lewd smirk, hungry and covered in your juices.

“H-Hanta, please please please. I need you, need your mouth. Please I wanna cum, please let me cum, I want you to fuck me! Please please pleaseeeee~” Hips bucking forward, sweat lightly covering your skin, hair splayed out, body covered in his marks, begging for him… Shit, he’d give you anything you asked for. Oh, he’ll give you what you need- don’t you worry.

“Good girl, such a good girl for me. I’ll make this pretty pussy cum. Hold onto me and just relax, princess.”

His lips returned to your clit, flicking his tongue and sucking lightly, and increased his pace. He curled his fingers just right, finding the spongy underside of your clit and he chuckles darkly to himself when your back arches, head falling back onto the pillows.

“There it is~, there we go, babygirl. Cum for me, just like this. I’ve got you, let go, cum on my fingers.”

It doesn’t take long after his mouth goes back to nursing on your clit and his fingers continuously hitting your g-spot for the coil in your belly to finally snap. You climax hard, eyes screwed shut and screaming out his name as his tongue works you through your high. Once you’ve come down, you open your eyes and see Sero sucking his fingers clean of your release and unbuckling his belt with the other hand. You sit up to kiss him, tasting yourself on his tongue, and unbuttoning his pants. He grows impatient with your pace, shoving his pants and tight boxers down at once. ‘Fuck, his dick is pretty’ you think to yourself, marveling at the masterpiece before you. He’s long, maybe 8.5-9 inches, thick enough to stretch your walls so deliciously but not too thick to fit in your mouth, prominent vein running along the underside and leading from the neat crop of black hair to the leaking tip, begging for your tongue. You start to rise to your knees before being pushed back into the duvet, looking up at him in confusion.

“No, no, mi amor. As much as I want to see your beautiful lips wrapped around my cock, that’s gonna have to wait. I want to be inside you, I need to fuck you until all you can think about is me and how fucking beautiful I think you are.” His eyes are so sincere. He looks down at you with the most loving stare you’ve ever felt, so calm and safe in his presence. You’re lulled into submission, every doubtful argument you had died on your tongue, and a soft moan escaped your lips. He leans over you, bracing himself on an elbow with his hand on your jaw to keep your eyes fixated on him. The other hand wraps around the base of his cock and teases the head along your slit, pressing on your clit just enough to have you squirming, trying to impale yourself.

“So needy for me, so wet. You’re so perfect, babygirl, I wouldn’t want to go too fast now. I want to savor every inch, feel you stretch around me while I watch those e/c eyes roll back in pleasure.” He holds back from thrusting into you when you whine in response, breathing heavy and struggling to get him inside. “Damn, baby, if you’re that desperate, why don’t you tell me exactly what you want? Beg for my cock, mi amor.”

“PLEASE, I need you inside me, please! I need your cock. Please fuck me, Papi~” You gasp out in succession, trying out the name you had once heard Kaminari teasing him about. It was a desperate attempt to get him to move, one your fucked-out brain decided was your best shot at getting him feral. And holy shit were you right. Sero fills you in an instant, hard length thrust to the hilt in your tight hole, causing you to cry out, eyes rolling back just as he promised.

“FUCK!” He’s losing restraint, driven mad by the filthy name coming from your angelic lips. The squeezing and fluttering of your walls is the only thing grounding him to Earth as he smirks down at you, baring his teeth while his other hand comes to wrap around your throat and apply light pressure to the sides. “Oh you know what you’re doing, don’t you? You have no idea how many times I imagined you calling me like that with these soft thighs wrapped around me; trust me, it’s nothing close to how sexy the real thing is. If you want to play dirty, princesa, don’t blame me when you can’t walk tomorrow.”

He backed up his statement with a few deep strokes that had your mouth falling open and eyes unfocusing, still unable to look away from the man about to wreck you. In a weak attempt to ground yourself, you reach up and place your hands on his back to feel the flexing of his muscles as he gave you slow, deep thrusts. Running your hands along his shoulders had your pussy clenching, and the groan pulled from his chest accompanying a harsh increase in his pace had your nails clawing at the corded muscles, causing him to put more force into fucking you into the mattress. A cycle of reactions, spurring the other on to continue and escalate.

“You feel so good, babygirl. S-So tight, you feel like you’re fucking made for me. I love you so much. I love everything about you. God, I fucking love your body- I love your curves, I love your legs wrapped around me, I love your sexy fucking thighs, I love your cute tummy- love how you feel pressed against me, I love running my fingers up your arms and kissing back down, I love gripping your hips when I hold you, I love watching you jiggle when you walk and bounce when I fuck you like this. You’re so fucking beautiful, so perfect for me.” Sero babbles out praises like he’ll die if he doesn’t get them out. You’re a blushing mess, knowing these words are completely true, tumbling out of his mouth unconsciously as he thinks them. “I love that expression, angel. Still so shy at my praises, even though I can feel you trying to milk my cock at every word. Such a good girl for me. Why don’t you tell me who makes this pretty pussy feel so good, huh? Say it, angel.”

“Hantaaa~ you feel so good. Please don’t stop!! I’m so close, please. I wanna cum, I wanna cum on your cock, please Papiiii~. You make me feel so good. I love you, I love you, I’m all yours. Please, I’m yours-ah~, I wanna be yours. I need you, I love you so much. Only you could make me feel like this-fuck- it’s only you. Please make me cum, Papi~” Your moans and pleas are getting louder and louder, chasing your impending climax. Every emotion flowing out of you, combined with the wonderful overstimulation, had tears rolling down your pudgy cheeks. You hadn’t yet realized you were crying when Sero leaned down to kiss and lick away the salty streams.

“Okay, princesa, I’ll give you what you need. How can I say no when you're being so good for me? Such a beautiful mess, all for me. So perfect. My good girl~” His right hand smoothes down your torso and settles between your thighs, rubbing tight circles on your clit. “Come on, babygirl. Papi’s got you, I’ll take good care of you. Cum for Papi. Cum on my cock.”

Your final orgasm has your back arched off the bed, eyes crossed, tongue lolling out, screaming out a string of “Hanta”, “Papi”, and “I love you”. Sero keeps his pace steady, fucking you through your climax and trying to prolong it as long as he can. The feeling of your doughy pussy clamping down around his cock like a vice, the gloriously wrecked ahegao face, and the sound of your cries as you creamed on his dick had him right on the edge of his own high. He started to pull out, not wanting to cross any boundaries, when he felt your legs pull him in even further. He looks back to your face; hazy, loving eyes drawing him in with that innocent look.

“Please cum inside me Papi, I want it! I’m yours, I want you. I want you to fill me up.” The permission to claim his longtime love and the aftershocks of your orgasm having you still pulsing around him finally push him over the edge. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, sucking and biting in a feeble attempt to muffle his moans of your name as his hips stuttered, thick ropes of cum warming your insides and painting your walls white. You feel so full and so content. Staying inside you, Sero rolls the two of you over to lay on his back, still holding your sweaty bodies together as he kisses your forehead and strokes your hair, telling you how good you did, how happy he was, how proud he was of you.

No one has ever made you feel so good, so wanted. Normally, your post-sex thoughts are plagued with insecurities, but instead all yoou can think about is Sero and how perfect this was. How beautiful he made you feel… and how you didn’t want it to end.

“H-Hey… Um… Sero?” you timidly get his attention.

“Y/n, I’m gonna need you to start calling me Hanta if we’re gonna be together. It’s a little weird to call your boyfriend by their family name, isn’t it?… Unless you wanna call me Papi, of course~” He says, his normal goofy grin and teasing tone returned.

“Wait… You- you really want to be with me? You don’t want me to keep it a secret? I will if you tell me to… I don’t want to embarrass you, I know I’m not exactly the ‘trophy wife’ the other heroes go for… I just really like you- um- actually, I’ve been in love with you for years now, and I just got really excited that you wanted me and-” Your nervous muttering is cut off with his lips softly pressed against yours, his hand moving to intertwine your fingers with his.

“Mi amor, I’ve been in love with you for just as long. You are my trophy, the greatest part of me. Every single thing I said is true, and I’ve thought those things for our entire friendship. If you think for a second that I won’t be walking around shirtless, showing off all of these marks to Kirishima and Kaminari, you don’t know me at all.” He winks at you and brings your hand to his lips, placing a gentle kiss there. “Princesa, babygirl, mi corazón… Nunca te dejaré, yo nunca te dejaré salir, yo prometo. I am yours, and you are mine.”

“I love you, Hanta.”

“I love you, too, y/n.”

You fall asleep on his chest to the calming rhythm of his heartbeat and steady breathing. Upon waking up, you assume you had just dreamed the entire affair, chalking it up to your vivid imagination and drinks at the ball. That is, until you realize you’re trapped in a tangle of limbs with Hanta, leg hiked over his body and arms encompassing each other. You try to shift slightly to see his sleeping face, but he stirs and rolls over on top of you with a groan. The jolt of his muscles jerking awake told you he also thought he had dreamed the entire thing, believing that the prospect of your mutual pining actually coming to fruition was too good to be true.

“Good morning, angel. I’m so glad you’re real… And that you’re all mine.” Sero softly sighs, voice rough from sleep, nuzzling his face into your chest and squeezing your soft midsection to hold you closer.

“Good morning, love. I’m so so happy, but there’s one thing…” You say, trying to hold back your giggles.

“What is it, baby? Is something wrong? What did I do?” Sero starts thinking of every possible scenario as you soothe his thoughts with a cheeky smile.

“I- um… I think I need you to carry me to the shower, you weren’t lying when you said I wouldn’t be able to walk in the morning.” Both of you erupt in a fit of laughter. He scoops you up in his arms and carries you to the shower, so content in finally having his girl.

___________________________________________________________

A/N: WHEW okay… I’m actually really proud of this, and I hope you guys like it. The Latin Sero headcanon hits me so hard and I just absolutely simp for this sweet tape boy. Huge thank you to @reinawritesbnha for inspiring me to write this matchup, @lemonlordleah-shinzawa-kitten for encouraging me and giving me the courage to post, and my dear, sweet Sage for reading it to make sure I don’t embarrass myself and inspiring me to write in the first place. <3

[bnha-mcu-requests]

Request #5

Okay so I have a story idea that I cant find so if youd like to could you maybe write it? The idea is bakugou and kirishima get together and all the others in the dorm think that its probably a toxic relationship based on how bakugous personality is, so they confront one of the two, and bakugou is rlly hurt by it aaaand that's all I got

 I love this request and I am so sorry it so long to respond to it but here it is!

The room was dark. Not an oppressive or frightening dark, but one that promises comfort, warmth and a good nights rest. 

Perhaps Kirishima was being biased but with Bakugou nestled under his chin, strong arms thrown haphazardly over his chest, he would say he was entitled to his bliss. It had been awkward at first, Bakugou angrily confessing his feelings during a training session before attempting to run away under the guise of storming off. Kirishima had acted on instinct pulling him back into an admittedly sloppy and inexperienced kiss but, he wouldn’t have had it any other way.

The rest of 1-A had yet to find out and both were content with this, neither really understanding the need to make a massive deal about burgeoning relationships. Besides, they were happy together and that’s all that really mattered. Privately, Bakugou worried about the responses they would receive, his less than pleasant demeanor was not exactly the poster for a healthy relationship. But whenever he voiced these insecurities with Kirishima, he was pulled into a tight hug where whispered responses and assurances of love tickled his ears.

Truly, they were made for each other, and while both knew it, neither broached the subject, embarrassed by the sappy confession.

Kirishima was snapped out of his musings by a groan and movement as Bakugou pulled himself away from the bed to stretch, arms reaching towards the ceiling, and, weak to the wiles of the blond, he didn’t deny himself a glance at the toned abs that peaked out from the bottom of his loose tank top.

Crimson met vermillion and an uncharacteristically soft smile graced Bakugou’s face as he admired his bedmate. 

“How long was I out Ei?” he asked, gravelly voice sending shiver up Kirishima’s spine. 

“About three hours. The others are back from shopping now and it shouldn’t be too long until dinner is ready”

The blond’s nose scrunched up in distaste as he remembered who exactly was on cooking duty that night.

“Fucking half and half better not have made cold soba again I swear to god I’ll explode the bowl” small sparks popped in his hands emphasizing the disgust and Kirishima could only watch on fondly as his boyfriend - his boyfriend holy shit he was dating Katsuki - grumbled while moving around the room looking for his hoodie that the redhead new for a fact was strewn over his desk chair. 

Kirishima let out a loud groan as he swung himself out of bed, sighing in relief at the loud pops that emerged from his spine, ignoring the concerned look Bakugou threw his way, before ambling over to his explosive partner and wrapping long arms around his torso. The boys were of a similar height however, Kirishima’s muscly form made him seem bigger than Bakugou who’s form was more like that of a swimmer’s. He nestled his nose into Bakugou’s nape breathing in the slightly sweet scent of nitroglycerin that followed the blond around. He felt his face vibrate as other chuckled and pulled away.

“C’mon Kat I just wanna hu-” he was cut off by soft lips pressed to his in a chaste but meaningful kiss.

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Dinner was a rather uneventful occasion, ignoring the yelling at the discovery that they were, once again, having cold soba and the students of 1-A settled down into the common room for Saturday night games. 

Everyone got involved in the game night, even Bakugou and Iida who under normal circumstances would have retreated to bed at 8 and 9 respectively. It was a good bonding time, or so Mina had declared when she first announced the idea. That was almost a year ago now and at this point, everyone had just accepted it as part of the routine. Sometimes they would play cards, charades, video games, monopoly and other board games, but on occasions when the class was high energy, they would beg Aizawa to let them use the training grounds for a massive game of tag or manhunt.  Tonight it was Hagakure’s turn to pick a game and like the teenage girl she was, she chose truth or dare.

Immediately people went around the room giving boundaries as they all knew there were some subjects that shouldn’t be disturbed in such an open environment as game night. Todoroki refused to talk about his scars, Shoji refused to take off his mask and Kouda would never be forced to talk if he didn’t want to.

Other than those boundaries it was pretty much a free for all, anything goes, nothing is off limits and as the night went on, the dares and truths got more and more personal or humiliating. Eventually, Kaminari worked up the nerve to ask Bakugou a question.

“Truth or Dare?” the boy asked, nervous sparks dancing across his cheeks causing Sero to move away slightly to avoid getting shocked.

“Truth” Bakugou grunted from his position on the sofa, arm thrown casually over the back of the chair so he could discretely stroke the back of Kirishima’s head.

“Um- are... are you and ....”

“For fucks sake Pikachu just ask the question” Bakugou snapped, startling a squeak from the other boy.

“Are-” “ARE YOU AND KIRI IN A RELATIONHIP?!” burst in Mina who had grown tired of waiting. The room went silent and all eyes shot to the two boys sat on the sofa, warily trying to assess the threat levels from the explosive blond.

“Yes” a collective cloud of confusion shrouded the room, some relieved that the boy hadn’t exploded while those who were braver began to ponder the nature of such a relationship.

Sensing the change in the atmosphere and feeling uncomfortable, Bakugou stood up, excusing himself to the bathroom. It was only seconds later that Midoriya got up to follow him but when Kirishima also made to stand up, he was stopped by a hand gripping his elbow.

He looked down into the doe eyes of Uraraka. She looked worried.

“Are you okay Kirishima? Bakugou isn’t forcing you to say that is he?” Shock stunned the redhead silent, he couldn’t believe what he had just heard. He sat down, surprise stealing the strength from his limbs.

“What?” he breathed out, voice barely louder than an whisper.

“Well, Bakugou is quite a violent individual, I can’t imagine that he would be the nicest of partners” Momo voiced from where she was sat in front of Jirou who was braiding her hair. Despite the eloquent flow of her speech, she looked distinctly uncomfortable, throwing subtle glances towards a stoic Todoroki - something that Kiri noted to look into later.

“He’s not hitting you....is he?” Uraraka once again asked, usually bubbly voice heavy with concern. 

Before he could respond, he heard the door to the common room open and Midoriya and Bakugou walked back in, Midoriya wearing a small smile and Bakugou appearing much more relaxed than he had when he left.

That was shattered when Iida sped towards him, hand slicing up and down much too close for comfort as he demanded to know if Bakugou had been hitting Kirishima.

“That is abuse Bakugou! I cannot believe you would allow yourself to stoop to that level! It is very unheroic” - Todoroki flinched - “You should be ashamed of treating someone you should love in this manner!”

Shocked, confused and a little hurt Bakugou stepped back, eyes darting around the room before he made contact with Kirishima.

“Ei-” he began before he was cut off by an angry Mina stepping in the way, blocking his view.

The blond turned his head towards Deku who looked just as confused as he felt and was trying to calm the still yelling Iida down. Under the weight of hateful glares and crushing betrayal, Bakugou was paralyzed - ‘Is this how Deku felt?’ flickered into mind before being chased away. 

Unable to do anything, unable to breathe, to talk, to defend himself, Bakugou turned and walked out of the room, deaf to the demands that he come back and blind to the worried look and approach of his boyfriend who was held back by Sero and Ojiro. 

He continued to walk, numb and silent until he found himself in his room. He locked the door and turned off the light.

This dark was cold and oppressive reminding him of the harsh accusations he had just heard. It wrapped around him in a suffocating mimicry of a hug, cruel words whispering telling him that they weren’t wrong, he was terrible. He did horrible things and he didn’t deserve Eiji- Kirishima.

Sinking to his knees at the foot of his bed, Bakugou Katsuki began to cry, his hiccupping sobs swallowed by the night, going unheard by the angry masses downstairs. He couldn’t hear the defences that Midoriya and Kirishima put in place, he couldn’t see the guilt in his accusers’ eyes when they realised what they had done, and he didn’t feel the warm arms that picked him up from where he had curled into a ball and that laid him into the bed. But through shuddering sobs, he could smell the cologne he bought Kirishima for his last birthday and he allowed himself to relax into the warmth of his boyfriend's chest, finally falling into a fitful sleep.

 There we have it. I know that toxic relationships can cover a wide range of aspects however, given the way Bakugou’s personality is portrayed in the manga and the anime, I believe this is the form that would most fit should the relationship be a toxic one.

My exams are finally over so I have more time to write requests and a post containing the rules for the requests (since I realised I didn’t cover those) will be coming out shortly. In the meantime, send me your requests, they really help to get the creative juices flowing!

[dreaming-gamer]

DMC Week Day 2 & 3: Demon, Fight, Loss - Nero & V

I chose to sort of combine these two days, hope you enjoy the result!

Rating: Mature

Warning: Angst with a happy ending, canon-typical violence, mentions of earlier character death, mentions of blood.

“We… should retreat…” V sounded wrong, his deep voice out of breath. Griffon’s wings looked tired, bringing him closer to the ground for each slow flap. By V’s feet, Shadow lingered but Nero could see specks of her form falling off.

Nero’s muscles burned from the fight, cuts and bruises covering his upper body. The enemy was like none he had seen before. Humanoid in form, faster than the Angelos, stronger and with more technique… Despite having fought for a long while now, their inflicted damage on the demon didn’t seem to bother it, as it towered over them just like Urizen while it seemed to only regard them as flies it needed to swat away with its scythe. Armor cloaked its limbs, chest and back, with scratches from Nero’s sword and Shadow’s spinning wheel attacks, but for the most part, the armor had held. One of its arms, its thickness about the same as Nero’s entire body hung limply at its side, the one sustainable damage they had managed.

“Shakespeare’s right, it’s too much!” The avian shouted on top of his tiny lungs. “We need backup!”

What backup was there? Trish and Lady were away on their own mission. Nico was waiting for them to come back and Nero didn’t want her anywhere near this craziness. Dante and Vergil had left this realm to him and V to protect, if they couldn’t… then who would? The iron taste in his mouth grew worse for every breath, he barely had enough strength to keep Red Rose revved up. Blood on his hands made the grip slippery, the cut above his eye was finally bleeding less so his vision wasn’t as obscured.

Nero spat, he could kill for a glass of water to rid himself of the taste… His stomach felt bruised after a direct hit earlier. He gripped his sword more tightly. V’s words were having the opposite effect, igniting that spark of fighting within him again.

“If you wanna bail V, go ahead.” Nero gathered all the snarkiness he had left into his grin and revved his sword. “I’m bagging this bitch.”

“News flash, hotshot! We’re in deep shit?!” Griffon squawked, flapping maniacally to get in front of Nero. “We need a plan!”

Cool metal touched his shoulder, in an attempt to make him turn.

“We need to regroup and mend our wounds. Right now… that’s the best we can do.” The handle of the cane was trembling. The young devil hunter set his jaw. V looked pale, his limp prominent, his hunched over form screaming of fatigue, several cuts and bruises blooming on his skin, though most of them had stopped bleeding. With his slowed movements, any further fighting for him, or either of them was too dangerous. But so was leaving this demon alone… its scythe had already torn through so much of the evacuated buildings, filling the air with smoke from the fires. If this continued to the populated areas… No, there was still something for them to try. Something he could do.

“I haven’t tried this yet.” Nero shook off V’s cane. “Just stay back.” It would actually be a first, outside of that one battle. Nero had never really found the trigger again, but now, he felt an odd certainty that he’d be able to.

I need power…! The thought rushed through his mind, with that searing heat of transformation. Every wound on his body tickled as if ants were suddenly crawling in them as they stitched together and sped up the mending process. A rush of adrenaline, the wings sprouting out of his back in all their iridescent glory, ready to pummel any and all demons into the ground.

“Nero…!” V’s voice behind him held bewilderment, perhaps insistence that they should in fact retreat but Nero didn’t turn to check.

This form had given him power to stop a family feud, to protect the ones he cared about. It would have to be enough to do so again.

One look at the demon in front of him and Nero felt rage well up. Exploding in his gut like a supernova, his yellow eyes burning as he threw himself back into the fight.

The air reeked of blood. His, V’s, but there was also the foul stench of demon blood, his Devil Trigger form enhancing his senses in a way he was still not used to. One of their earlier attacks had scraped through its defenses, hitting its thick arm and making it hang limp. That was where he’d strike again.

An earsplitting roar. Nero’s clawed hands flew to his ears. His wings fluttered, gathered wind. Avoided the scythe. He closed in, just a meter from his target. One wing transformed into the fist, poised to strike.

Something moved in his peripheral vision. Danger incoming, his body screamed. His wings flapped, the demon’s kick swooping past him, just barely missing.

A sudden crackle of thunder behind him. Nero clenched his jaw, gripped his sword tighter. His wing about to snatch the new threat from the air, when he somehow realized that no, that was an ally. A noisy one, shouting “Fry!” at the top of its small lungs, but an ally. A strike of lightning swept past him, hit the demon straight in its three glowing eyes. Its mouth opens for a screech, the tentacles around its jaw moving, showing the fearsome row of teeth.

Red Queen blazed through the flesh, searing it off, the thick limb falling to the ground with a thud. The demon roared, stepped back. Nero didn’t revel in the victory, he launched himself for a new attack. Blood splattered over his wings, his form as he aimed for the head, sword poised to strike…

Only to be caught by the other fist that had let go of the scythe, all five fingers catching hold of him and squeezing. Nero couldn’t scream, air was being knocked out of him, how the hell did this thing still have so much power?!

He thrashed, struggled against the tightening grip.

Let go! Opening his mouth wide, he bit into the thumb of his enemy. Blood with the taste and smell of decay hit his senses, hard enough to make him feel like puking but the grip remained, strong and attempting to crush him.

Nero felt his thoughts blanking out, instincts taking over. Teeth letting go, his mouth tasting of blood. Every fiber of his being burned to get free of the fingers trapping him. His pulse throbbing fast, drowning out all sound in his ears. Pain engulfing his entire frame. His wings, though trapped, tried to bend up an opening for him.

When there suddenly was a swirl of black blades cutting through the air, crackling with lightning and hitting the demon’s wrist, managing to tear through the armor plate coating the demon’s body. A sickening splat as the blood sprayed over the ground.

The grip loosened and Nero fell, pain pounding in every nerve. He hit the ground with a thud, breathless, spitting up blood and aching, feeling most of his transformation come undone as concentration and rage was slipping.

He knew this feeling, the twisting of a snake in his stomach, trying to eat its way to his chest and heart. Having someone else having to step up and fight for him, like Dante had against the demon ass Urizen. Even now, he heard the sound of fighting. Crackles of lightning, Shadow’s demonic spikes trying to pierce through. The sick sound of metal meeting flesh. Nero struggled to raise his head, spotting his comrade still locked in combat. Did he see… blood?

Should he have listened to V? Had he doomed them both? Dread spread inside, like a snake finding new vulnerable spots within him to bite into. The demon was slower now, but so were V’s familiars from their master’s weakened state.

With a yell, Griffon was hit by a fist head-on, his form falling apart during its descent, entering his stalemated form of swirling particles surrounding the blue orb.

“God-dammit!” Arms trembling under him, Nero struggled to get up, stand! Transform! Do something!

“Nero, run!” He wasn’t sure if the words were just in his head or being shouted at him. He just knew he had heard them before but he wasn’t going to face another situation like that. Not again!

Once, he lost Credo when he tried to save him. Years later, he believed he had lost Dante the same way.

Nero’s eyes found V, whose hair shifted to a glistening white just as the earth shook from the arrival of his third familiar. His triumph card, as well as last resort. V’s legs barely holding him as he grabbed onto the golem of pure destruction. Despite having spoken of retreat, V remained because of Nero’s choice.

Determination burned anew in Nero’s gut. He was not losing anyone else.

Wings and horns materialized again, his heightened senses returning. Red Queen didn’t feel slippery in his grip anymore, the weight familiar, almost light despite his aching muscles. The demon was focusing on Nightmare, grabbing its scythe and meeting the golem’s laser head-on, the light blinding to look at. Sparks flew through the air, the scythe’s metal taking on a red, hot glow.

His iridescent wings cracking their knuckles for round whichever this was, Nero charged again, aiming straight for the head. A shock of lightning made the demon’s head turn and that’s when he saw it, a soft spot, basically beckoning for him to tear it apart and end it all. Fueled by the sense of protection, he soared, aimed…

It hit, blood spraying over his arms, the sword piercing directly into the thin crevice between armor plates. But the demon was still moving, trying to shake him off. Red Queen was lodged in the wound, but not far enough.

“Nero, move!” V’s words left no room for argument. Nero let go, feeling claws suddenly yank onto his jacket and pull him away, fast. Griffon flapped frantically as Nightmare’s fist, rammed into the demon’s weak spot. Red Queen shot in far, V holding on to the inky back of his familiar with all strength he could muster while the demon wailed, tried to get away. Blood continued to spray, the demon’s motions turning twitchy, its roar sounding more like a gurgle for each second.

When it fell silent, Nero almost thought he had gone deaf. Everything was so suddenly quiet, the demon falling on its side, jaw and tentacles slack, all three eyes rolled up into its skull. Dim with no glow in sight before the creature started to dissolve.

But the creature was not the only thing that fell.

Nightmare withered away, disappearing in specks of black goo, some of them sticking to V’s hair and with Griffon currently holding on to Nero, V fell, landing heavily on his knees and collapsing in a heap with a grunt of pain, blood oozing onto the ground.

Nero’s heart felt like it would stop.

“V!” He wasn’t sure if it was his voice, Griffon’s or both of them overlapping in a chorus that made the world suddenly kick-start itself again. Ignoring that he was still meters above ground, Nero tore himself free, his wings, horns and claws fading as his transformation came undone. Feet hitting the ground so hard they felt numb for a second, he forced them into a run, Griffon soaring past him overhead.

Shadow was already by V’s side, licking his hand. The human summoner had his eyes closed, breathing as if he had run a marathon in sandals. V looked like a toy whose batteries had run out, having just fallen onto his side and not moved.

“V! Hold on, I’m gonna…” Nero carefully put his hands on the other man’s shoulders, turning him over, the quarter-demon’s vision narrowing into a tunnel, slightly blurry, looking for wounds and something to do about them. His face and hands felt so hot, the pain suddenly forgotten from the adrenaline burning through his system.

V’s left arm hung limp, blood trickling from a gash a bit above his elbow. Most of the smaller cuts on his arms seemed to have stopped bleeding, a rather nasty blue bruise peeking out under the side of his leather vest.

“I got you V.” Worry accelerated his world, it felt like the seconds passed too fast. He couldn’t think, only act. V was losing blood fast, he looked like a sheet, especially with the now black hair back in place, sticking to his forehead. Nero ripped off a bit of his own red t-shirt, wrapped the cloth around V’s upper arm and pulled hard to create pressure. V winced, a pained sound escaping through gritted teeth. “Yeah, I know it hurts, but hold on, alright?” Nero let his voice turn softer, steadier than he felt. His eyes wandered, checking for anything else needing tending to, was there anymore blood, signs that V was–

“Nero…” The name dragged out as V sounded so out of breath. “I’ll be fine. I’m merely… spent.”

Hearing V trying to comfort him, when he was the one hurt because of Nero’s stupid decision just made the quarter-demon want to puke.

“Once we get you fixed up, you’ll be fine. Just hold on, I’ll get us back.” Nero moved to get V off the cold ground, that couldn’t be good for him, V got chilled so easily anyway.

“Nero…” V’s prompted but Nero didn’t get why, he was just doing his best to get them out of this fucking mess he’d created. He didn’t look at V’s face, kept his gaze from the summoner’s neck and down.

“I’ll get us back, I’ll fix this.” He cut V off, gripped V’s less damaged wrist firmly to help him get to his feet. For a second, V seemed unsteady but steadied himself.

“Nero.” V’s tone was insistent once he stood, still sounding slightly out of breath, but much more determined. Somehow, it just grated on his nerves.

“WHAT?!” The word tore out of Nero, raw, uninvited and harsh. He snapped his head to look at V, shocked when he found V’s collected expression, his green eyes to look out of focus.

“Talk to me.” V demanded, turning his hand in Nero’s grip, cold fingers, weren’t they too cold, brushing against Nero’s underarm.

Just then, Nero realized he was crying. Wet, fast droplets obscuring his vision and he couldn’t make stop. Suddenly, it was as if the snake had wrapped itself around his throat, sealing off any words he wished to use. He tried to speak, to give him V an explanation but it was like a dam inside him had ruptured, let out the tidal wave that had built up against it. This was wrong, nothing he had ever experienced before. But he couldn’t stop, had no clue as to how to do so. His shoulders were shaking, his breaths trembling. All he felt capable of doing was hold on to V’s wrist and his comrade in arms let him.

“I thought I had too little strength, again. I thought I messed up!” He rambled. “When you fell, and there was blood, you looked like–” Nero clammed up, unsure of how to continue.

Credo. The man who’d been like his brother looked nothing alike the pale, black-haired man in front of him now. And yet the dread of losing someone close to him again had hit him like a truck. Especially when the continuation of the fight had been his idea.

“Like someone you lost.” V filled in the blank. Nero nodded, trying to wipe his damn eyes. That wasn’t even all of it, he had almost lost V once but he shut those words down.

“You… know about him?”

“Kyrie has told me stories.” V said, voice gentle as he slowly pulled his arm free, placing his hand on Nero’s arm, the touch cold but light and well-meaning. “…it’s alright to cry.”

“…you sound like Nico.” Nero couldn’t help but point out, but it was dragging the start of a grin out of him, despite all the emotions. A sniff escaped him, the snake feeling like it was letting up. Slithering away for another day. His heart was still being squeezed, but it slowly felt lighter, purged from the tears.

“Perhaps you should listen to her, she is a genius, after all.” V said, a faint smirk forming on his lips.

“Don’t say that to her face!” Their friend she might be, but she didn’t need a more inflated ego, in Nero’s opinion. It made his wallet cry enough as it was.

V chuckled.

“Perhaps we should return to her, we did fight for quite a while.” He pointed out, slowly reaching down for his cane when Shadow brushed against him and took it in her mouth but Nero didn’t miss the tense reaction of his comrade’s muscles. Before V managed to collect the cane, Nero offered him his shoulder. V accepted, his less wounded arm around Nero’s shoulders and Nero put an arm around V’s waist to steady him, because the first step almost made him stumble.

“You alright there?” Worry gnawed at Nero’s insides again, V patted his shoulder.

“Yes, I will be. Believe it or not, I have been through worse.” Nero felt it as a punch in the gut, realizing that must be true. V looked fine now, but there had been those sickening cracks plaguing his skin before, it was not easily forgotten.

“Yeah well… I’m glad you’re here V.” Nero swallowed, his voice sincere. The tears finally felt dried up, for now as they slowly made their way towards the RV. Shadow walked away to get Nero’s sword. “Next time, maybe I’ll listen when you say retreat.” He said in an attempt to lighten the situation.

“Oh, I doubt you will… The first time I had to force you.” V teased, tempting Nero to give him a playful shove but he refrained.

They were both hurt, bruised and exhausted but alive. And that was the way Nero wanted it to continue, working together with friends while devil hunting sure made it feel more fulfilling. Scarier at times, but still more positive than not.

As for V, he blinked away the damp feeling in his eyes, not following his own advice. Knowing he had support, a shoulder to hold on to spread such a warmth in his heart he didn’t feel sure any more words would come to him if prompted. Each step was heavy while Nero supported him towards the RV, Nico and proper treatment. Though most of his body ached, running on low on energy, the cut on his arm throbbing painfully, it all felt mild compared to the pain he had endured in the past. And above all, his heart felt relief it had not known before.

[linelpisffxiv]

Happier Ending

Hydaelyn promises her so much as the Exarch -- Raha -- shatters in her arms. The ability to find peace, to no longer love so strong.

It is your greatest strength, but also your greatest curse. Woe betide those who stand with the Weapon of Light.

“For death shall be their reward. Death for them and their kin and all they shall hold dear.”

She hasn’t heard Hydaelyn’s voice since that stunt Elidibus held in the Exedra, and she’s not certain it was more than an illusion. Before that? She can’t even remember. She was silent through her journeys in Ala Mhigo and Doma. Through her time in Coerthas and Dravania. The last time she knew Hydaelyn spoke to any was Midgardsormr.

How odd she chose to speak to her again now.

Might we have a pact, my champion? No more pain, for your--

“No!”

Lin stands up. “We do not have a pact. You haven’t spoken to me in years. Why now?”

Why after she knows the truth. Hydaelyn must sense she’s aware the crystal is little more than a primal.

This pain will consume you. I can tell. I shall ask again in three suns.

There was something G’raha wanted her to do. She has the eye. Neither of them found out how it was transferred by chance, but her right eye and the sanguine crystal should be enough.

She only has three days. Three days until Hydaelyn returns. And she doubts she’d listen unless she can prove everything.

She steps through the portal, sensing it would be the last time. She can follow her aether, but the portal is an easier, shorter, less painful trip. She can sense Haurchefant following her, but it feels like there’s another. She won’t turn. She’s been an avid reader of stories since she woke up in this body that wasn’t hers, became someone more than either of them.

As a bard she learned more. She has a chance this time, defy the reincarnation, bring someone back from the dead. She hopes that’s the case.

One tale Jehantel told her was of a bard who had tried this before, but Thal had a rule, the bard could not look back on their journey. They failed, whether due to silent steps, or thinking they passed when their love had yet to pass the threshold.

This is not her hubris, not yet.

She’s close to the gates. Perhaps she has all she needs on her, but perhaps not.

Lin wastes a day teleporting to Ala Mhigo and asking for the assistance of the Ironworks.

The Sons of Saint Coinach are are their excavation site still. She looks over Rammbroes’s records, trying to see if she missed something.

The records on G’raha’s last words before he sealed the tower spark something in her mind, in the hand. She runs through the outer gates, across the Eight Sentinels, up to the door. It takes her five tries and four bells until her eye and the crystal resonate with the tower.

Another two until she finds G’raha. Just as handsome before as he was after three hundred years of pain. If she hadn’t been in a relationship, perhaps she would have noticed this before, remembered his voice longer.

Waking him and the tower takes half the time remaining. Wedge gets her coffee, the tech he tried to make doing little even with the crystal. Early on she tries a classic kiss, waking a sleeping beau as in stories, only for that to fail

She isn’t even certain what did work in the end. But he wakes, and the crystal in her hand changes from Sanguine to the color of the oceans around Vylbrand.

“Lin,” G’raha says, still asleep. “There is a thing I ask--”

She did it, she gave the crystal to him, but is this worth it. Did she destroy the G’raha she knew before? Was it--

His eyes open. “This isn’t right, I have to do one more thing.”

G’raha stands up and runs.Her head aches.

Not yet. She won’t give in yet. The others try and help her, but she manages to get to a wall to keep her standing. No one can know this fight.

Only to feel the tower around her. She doesn’t quite know what it is, but she can sense everyone around. Why now? What did she succeed in doing? But the tower in her mind is clouded, only places she’s been. G’raha passed that threshold before she found this.

Still, there’s one way to be able to sense him. Learn the Tower.

Lin walks along the steps, hand pressed tight against the tower, sensing the walls around her. Her head hurts too much to open her eyes. This isn’t Hydaelyn, the Crystal keeps her promise. This is the tower. Is this how those born with the Eye felt? Allagan royalty? This constant pain with all the information the tower had.

She keeps heading down, beyond the entry. The basement that was more than the Labyrinth, the Syrcus Twinning back in Norvrandt.

She feels like her head is splitting, she doesn’t know if the lifts exists, but she takes the risk as she walks along a corridor and takes one step off the edge.

A controlled fall. A long fall. The aether keeps her descent steady, though now it no longer feels familiar.

But she can almost sense G’raha, his soul. It’s so strong, She tries to find the way.

Hear.

No. She refuses. She will be deaf. G’raha has something to do, and she will at least make sure she can see it through. She forces her eyes open and bursts into a sprint. She bites her way through the pain, trying to not fall and break these relics. They’re precious to him. She can’t rely on them staying for another three hundred years.

She comes to a wall, but the tower senses she has insist otherwise, but it is tight. He’s overwriting her. But she needs to know. Needs to

Feel.

Not feel. See. Know. She puts her hand on the wall and it dissipates this time. She steps through before it closes immediately.

“I need him out of my mind, please, please work with my blood.”

G’raha’s voice is quiet. Younger than the Exarch’s, but still similar. The ages haven’t worn on him.

“No, I like him, but he is not what I want to be. But he’s needed just as much.”

She walks up to G’raha, the room is mostly dark, with the only lights being the sickly crystal glow she knows too well.

“What is this place?”

He turns to her in surprise. “Lin, how could you-- Oh yes, he gave you his blood in two ways. How you kept it, I don’t know.”

“He gave it to me willingly. Unknowingly, but it was through a statement of willingness.”

G’raha clutches his right eye. “I know that. I know too much about you. Nothing you gave to me. These are his memories. His skill.”

She starts to walk to him.

“Stop!”

She does.

“He’s not ready. I may be the carer for this tower, but the Tower hasn’t had time to know me.”

She doesn’t understand at first.

“The Exarch. He won’t do more than give me his memories. What I needed to know. But I think I can give them away. You remember Doga and Unei, correct?”

She nods, Lin doesn’t trust her voice, but certainly G’raha can’t see her. “Y-yes?” Rough. Too rough.

“This is where they were made. The Exarch learned how to make clones, but refused to do so in life.”

So she isn’t past the threshold yet. “I’ll leave you both to this now.” Keep this room safe.”

She puts her hand on the wall and steps out, almost blinded by the light beyond.

She can only hope finding the room didn’t deny her the chance.

Think.

No. She won’t. She clutches her Heart-shaped stone and keeps herself standing with her sword. She won’t think. Won’t look back.

Three days couldn’t have passed, have it?

You cannot believe the youth can do this. Twas not possible to split the consciousness into a clone. Only copy.

“I believe in him. Raha’s had time to learn beyond the Allagan knowledge. And his youth has that same determination.”

She’s the Warrior of Darkness now, not the Warrior of Light. She will never wear that title again.

Lin can feel Hydaelyn pick at her mind, but she fights back. Fears she’s had, the moments of weakness. Haurchefant dead, Raha shot. Raha breaking.

Every time her darkest parts took hold.

She trimphed each time. If this doesn’t work, she can live. She took the chance.

You do remember that clones--

“Cannot have children. So?”

She’s wondered about motherhood, but it’s something she can live without. And if Hydaelyn tries to hint at body, well, she also remembers living without that as well.

Your soul is splintered. I thought I mended it, but last time I saw you, I saw you have embraced the fractures, refusing the healing. You act as if you are not your body’s soul.

“I am, but I’m not. I was born someone I refuse to say the name of, but I became Mneme Enki before the rejoining. A’lin’s memories turned me into something more. I go by Lin now. No clan, no father. I am me.”

Pain shoots through her left shoulder, her mind returns to Myste and Zephirin, the javelin of her own aether piercing her skin.

I can heal the pain, the splinters. You are weaker as sixteen than you are as one.

“The whole is greater than the sum of its parts? Are you telling me that?” Her voice is tense.

Zephirin and the pain flash again.

And again.

She will stand still. She won’t look back.

She is stronger as the sum of every memory locked in her. She can learn from others, not just herself.

Hydaelyn chose her. Why, she doesn’t know. Her life in Amaurot, what little she can piece from it, was not on her side. Nor were they for Zodiark. One day she’ll find that fragment, somewhere deep in her soul.

You won’t look back.

“Not until they’re ready.”

“Lin, where are you?” She can hear voices she knows well.

Very well.

Ah, so Hydaelyn tries another tale. Blind her with rage as she had been when Haurchefant died.

Make her beg atonement like a fallen Warrior of Light of the Fourth Astral Era.

Have her kill loved ones in her rage.

“Don’t come near,” she says. “I’ll attack.”

Monsters come towards her. She can’t tell if something woke up in the tower or ir this is the madness in that tale. She won’t attack, she’d sooner pass, endure every hit.

She steels herself with every technique she remembers of the sword. She hasn’t needed it for a long time, only bringing the stone to the front on the rare occasions she wanted to talk to herself. But she puts it in front of her, blocking the swipe.

Defend, don’t attack. This could be Biggs in front of her, not a Zhagnol.

Another swipe, but she doesn’t block. Pain.

So much, but this could be games with her mind. She will not give up. Not unless G’raha is lost, and he’s safe behind her.

One being tries to get past her. She flashes an abyssal drain near it. Don’t get too close. Just enough to grab attention. She won’t fight.

She tosses skill after skill in her head to prevent damage, even her damaging skills she keeps at range. Defend, attract.

She could heal, but that would require her to give in to the anger, fight what she’s facing. Until she can trust her eyes, she won’t.

Shadow Wall. When the violet light dies down, she changes.

Dark mind.

Rampart.

Reprisal.

Every step of the way she keeps defending. The wall is up behind her, she knows that much.

It’s only when she can’t find the will for any others she finally gives in.

“Give me the strength, Fray, A’lin.”

Living Dead. It’s not the best shield, and she can’t get her stamina back alone.

It gives her five minutes though Five minutes of not feeling the attacks.

Still, the time is lost on her without touch.Hearing, seeing. She parries what she can as more beasts come to her.

She takes a deep breath, prepared to lose awareness, and with it, whatever Hydaelyn wants her to.

“Your tale will not end here.”

Two voices echo together. The slightest difference between the two G’rahas.

A’lin stands up, and her vision clears. The beasts are still there, but she can also see Biggs, Wedge, and Cid on the rear.

“I’ve been trying to get you to fight this thing for half a bell.”

“Couldn’t hear you. Was in too much pain.”

Two hands rest on her shoulders.

“How did--”

“You did it, I think,” G’raha says. The younger one. “You hit something that woke them from their slumber.”

Lin grins. “I see. Well, I should finish what I started then.” She takes a pose and wraps herself in the shell of Grit.

She can’t find Hydaelyn in her mind, but she can still feel the blessing. Hydaelyn may want to take it from her, but she’ll fight every second of it.

She and the Older G’raha swap between their skills with ease, as the younger focuses on healing them. Biggs and Cid keep the creations from fleeing. A dance she hasn’t had since Nidhogg possessed Estinien. A dance she missed.

Their strikes are like music in and of itself, his flames with her diving plunge. His Glare with her Verthunder. He throws up the shield as she releases a cascade of refulgent golden arrows.

But once the enemies fall and she’s at Biggs and Cid, she puts her weapons away and find herself back in her Red Mage dress.

G’raha kisses her. The older one she loved. She smiles and kisses him back.

She pulls away for a second, turns to the young one and kisses him too. A few seconds. She pulls away and smiles as a blush cover his cheeks.

“Sorry,” she says. “I made a powerful enemy today. I’m glad I’m alive. if you--”

The younger one silences her with a kiss.

She can share them, learn their similarities and differences, both be willing.

“I destroyed my copy of most of his memories after waking up,” G’raha says. “At least, what I could. He insisted I keep his control over the tower, his ability to cast and defend. I can’t do much, yet.”

She’s passed the threshold, and let her love do the same. She avoided the rage of Halone upon a hero.

But she’s no longer a champion of the Mother. She can only hope the Blessing will never be taken away, She needs to use it, only three more times.

“Let us head to Seventh Heaven,” Cid says. “And the Rising stones beyond. You three have had a trying day.”

[maplewind-au]

Retrospective Author’s Notes

I just crossposted this note to the Wattpad and AO3 copies of Maplestar’s Light, but I’m going to post it here, too.

Hi there! My name is Razeru. First of all, thank you very much for reading my story!

I think, if you've read my story, you can surmise that I love Mapleshade. She's grown to be one of my favourite characters in Warrior Cats; her story, narratively, is written the best - in my opinion - out of most of the super editions and novellas.

Keep in mind, these words are coming from someone who grew up with these books, and also gets big mad about the things the Erins have pulled on other characters, like Squirrelflight (specifically Squilf, actually. They keep doing my girl dirty, and I'm so angry).

I took a read through my story again recently, and passed through the comments both on this Wattpad copy of the story, and the AO3 mirror. I really and truly appreciate all the love, but some people did seem to misunderstand the intention behind some things in my story, so I feel like I owe a bit of an explanation to you, my readers.

I offer this explanation because I've chosen to abandon the MapleWind AU entirely. There's too much in retrospect that I'm unhappy with, too many story ideas that don't connect narratively - it just makes a poor story. So, this is basically a big spoiler chapter for what would have happened, if I continued.

The remainder of this letter is just going to be me giving a word vomit about this story, so feel free to skip down to the bottom if you're only curious about closing remarks or projects surrounding other upcoming warriors works.

Alright. First and foremost, I want to address something specific. Mapleshade's story, as it was in canon, is a multidimensional story that a lot of people see as black-and-white. I, personally, see it as a fantastic narrative where not a single character is in the right, at least not in the context of the Clans - or morally, in some cases. This being said, a lot of the arguments about Mapleshade are usually "she's absolutely terrible and deserved what she got" / "she did absolutely nothing wrong and everyone else should be suffering" - both of which are... Very, very dangerous views to take on any person or character. When I wrote Maplestar's Light, my intention was to explore the idea where a few cats stepped out of the norm that seemed to affect this specific generation of the Clans and offered sanctuary.

WindClan has always felt like the most lax Clan out of the four, to me. With their history of welcoming in strangers and making kindly bargains with the other Clans in their times of need, it made sense to me that if a wandering cat passed out on their territory, they would reach out and help them. I chose Heatherstar specifically for this story because she was such a revolutionary, and wasn't afraid to shoot down any cat's words if she felt someone was going to get hurt.

Moreover, this AU explores the idea that instead of sleeping in Myler's barn and then going on her rampage, Mapleshade simply collapsed into grief - so Ravenwing, Frecklewish, and Appledusk all survive. Temporarily.

While Mapleshade is taken into WindClan, Mapleshade's kits are restless, and it's their turn to be angry - assuming StarClan spirits know everything (and it's heavily implied, in the first series, that they do), they pull strings just like the canonical iteration of their mother would. Ravenwing, Frecklewish, Appledusk, and - moreover - Oakstar, all suffer painful deaths as a result of the angry StarClan kits. To add insult to injury, all four lose their lives to the river while patrolling it - or are tricked into falling in. The kits drag them down until they drown.

Ravenwing and Oakstar are the only two who are able to make it to StarClan themselves, if only because of the good acts they've done to balance out the karma. The kits, however, are able to swing judgement on Frecklewish, who attacked their mother, insulted them, and was fine to watch them die, and Appledusk, who was willing to have them to begin with, who failed to save them.

This is unhealthy point of view, but they died as kits. All they know is the anger and betrayal.

On to the future.

Maplestar and Palebird have the three kits; Finchkit, Larkkit, and Firekit. Some people didn't seem to get it, and I thought I wrote it to be obvious, but Firekit is supposed to be THE Firestar in the future. With Maplestar at the helm of WindClan, ShadowClan is unable to drive them out. ThunderClan, however, is much weaker after their constant battles with RiverClan and the loss of not only Redtail, but many other great warriors. ThunderClan is driven out instead; WindClan, in their graciousness, would allow them to share the territory until something can be done about ShadowClan's terrible leader, and three Clans would unite against the one to protect their way of life.

During their time in WindClan's camp, Firepaw would grow close to the ThunderClan apprentices Ravenpaw, Graypaw and Sandpaw. Following the battle against Brokenstar, not only do Firepaw and his siblings get their warrior names, but so do the ThunderClan apprentices who participated (Sandstorm and Dustpelt included). Fireheart realizes during the night of his vigil that he doesn't want to lose his ThunderClan friends, and while meeting his family on the battlefield would be painful, he would feel worse fighting Graystripe or Ravenflight - the latter tom being the only cat Fireheart has met that makes his heart flutter.

The following day, as ThunderClan returns home, Fireheart goes with them. Yellowfang, in turn, has joined ThunderClan, having been a crucial asset to getting them in and out of ShadowClan. In return for the WindClan warrior, Spottedleaf stays; Spottedleaf had been attacked by a ShadowClan warrior the day before the battle, but Hawkheart protected her with his life. Feeling indebted, she swore to finish training Barkwing and serve WindClan just as she did ThunderClan.

The rest of the story would have gone similarly to canon, with a few minor changes; for one, WindClan and ThunderClan would forever have a close bond, not only through the blood of their Clanmates, but also through Bluestar and Maplestar, who exchanged each other's stories and bonded over how similar they were. Cinderpelt would have still gotten disabled, but through saving the ShadowClan apprentice Littlepaw from a monster; while she picks up healing from Yellowfang, she remains a warrior in spite of her leg. Swiftpaw narrowly survives, and Brightpaw lives with her scarring still, taking inspiration from Cinderpelt. Fireheart and Ravenflight become mates and have kits - Squirrelflight and Gingerpool.

I had further plans for TNP and PO3, but they're sort of lost to time at this point. The general ideas surrounded Brambleclaw - renamed Brambleflower - taking after his mother instead of his father, and being close friends with Squilf, but not mates. Gingerpool and Crowfeather do have kits, and Squilf does take them, but claims they were loner kits that she chose to raise. Bramble was their nursery parent, having chosen to be a queen instead of a warrior, and took care of them while Squilf went about being a warrior, only tuning in to feed them and sleep with them. Jay would have become a warrior named Jayclaw and Holly, an albino in this AU, would go on to be Gingerpool's apprentice and become Hollysnow. Jay is blind, and Holly is a selective mute. Lion would still have his powers of strength, but use them unwisely, and he would be the one to wind up having a crisis and revealing the secrets of his origin before disappearing into the caves.

The general idea for the OOTS arc of this AU was to give Ivy powers and still have her train in the Dark Forest, under Lionblaze - who is very much still alive, but misaligned. Dovewing would be given the opportunity as well, and only take it when she learns Tigerheart is also training there. Their struggles would surround a constant sibling rivalry, one that would deepen once Jay and Holly figure out Ivy is the third cat. I also threw around the idea of a deaf Ivypool, either from birth or caused by something much later - just to complete the "See/Speak/Hear No Evil".

The underlying, long plot to the AU was that Petalkit, Larchkit, and Patchkit effectively replaced Canon Mapleshade. Maplestar recovered, then seemingly forgot about her previous kits and replaced them with Fire, Finch and Lark. Petal, Larch and Patch want stupid, special Firestar and his bloodline to suffer for being their replacements. Technically, they were still spirits of StarClan, but pulled the strings in the Dark Forest.

Oh, boy. Those sure were a lot of words, huh.

I hope I'm not disappointing anyone by discontinuing this story. Again, looking back on it, I'm very unhappy with the way I was handling certain subjects and aspects of the story - and I'd rather kill it before I get carried away again. I've always held the belief that taking time and writing a more consise and well-placed narrative is much better than writing it quickly and breaking characters and morals. Mapleshade is a character I do want to do justice by, and Warrior Cats is a great sandbox to play in!

All that being said, I am still writing Warriors works. On AO3, I've published a couple smaller one-off stories that explore the idea of Tigerclaw not getting twisted up by Thistleclaw, and getting Scourge to join ThunderClan instead. You're welcome to read them if you haven't yet!

And I'm not done with Mapleshade, either. I'm currently working on a new, seperate Warriors rewrite based on the same time (with better allegiances); the working title for it, right now, is Falling Petals. I don't want to give too much away, but if there's enough interest, I might post a teaser excerpt to this story! There's no telling when I'll be finished with it, but I would much rather publish a finished work in full than post it by chapter and run the risk of losing interest or being unhappy with what I've put out.

A final project I'm working on is a personal Warrior Cats story called Rising Storm - it'll surround some OC Clans and Characters instead of rewriting canon material, and I'm looking for a main platform to post it on when I crack into it! If you're interested, I could use some beta readers when I start working on it, so please get in touch if you want to help out! If you know any non-Wattpad or AO3 websites I could publish the story on, please do let me know. I'll likely crosspost here, but I don't actively post on here too often, so I'd rather it not be the primary host.

I think that's everything I wanted to say! Again, thank you so much for your continued interest in my work. If you'd like to see more of what I do, look for the user 'ghastimafrix' on Tumblr, Twitter, YouTube, deviantART, AO3, and toyhou.se! I do a lot more than just write Warriors, and I'm always happy to chat.

Stay frosty, y'all!!

[renegadewangs]

Ace Mindhunter - 5th Interview

Characters: Simon Blackquill, Athena Cykes, Shi-Long Lang, and a rogues gallery of AA villains. Fandom: Ace Attorney Pairings: N/A. Warnings/rating: 16+, I would say. Talk of heavy themes such as death and abuse, plus cursing. Spoilers for every AA game up to Spirit of Justice, AAI2 included. Gratuitous amounts of headcanon for antagonists. Summary: Simon Blackquill is roped into a Behavioral Analysis project along with Athena Cykes. They must sit down with convicted murderers for interviews, in hopes of finding out just what drove them to their convoluted crimes.

5th Interview Alita and Ini

Date: June 18th 2028 Time: 2:31 PM Location: Interview Room. “So... Your parents were against the engagement? Why?” “Why? Why else? That silly brat was a gangster...” “I suppose that's a good reason. What did you tell them, back then?” “I told them... what every parent wants to hear. “Wocky is a good boy. He will protect me with his life.” All those sorts of things. When they still didn't approve, I chose Wocky over them.” “Even though you didn't really love him and were only in it for the money?” “What's with that judgmental look? The Kitakis could give me everything my parents couldn't. Telling me to stay away from him... Who needs a selfish family like that?” “O-Oh... Uh... Right.” If there was one thing about Alita Tiala that irked Simon, it was her air of innocence. Her fingers steepled together, she continued to grace the both of them with a smile. She would speak quietly, she would be polite, she would bat her eyes and act every bit the fallen angel that she wasn't. Getting a forthright emotion out of her was like attempting to have a fish tapdance; it simply wasn't in her nature. Worst of all, Simon had no idea what to entice her with in order to have her open up. Athena had been doing most of the talking and he, in turn, had been observing to the best of his ability. Athena took a moment to pull herself together, then moved on with newfound determination. “So when you got engaged, you resigned from the Meraktis Clinic. Was that just because you were about to marry into money, or did you also want to run from that failed surgery?” “Run? Why should I?” Alita asked, still smiling. “Meraktis was the one who'd failed. All I did was sign off on some papers. I'm hardly to blame, now am I?” “If that was how you felt about it, why did you go through so much trouble to steal the chart back?” “Because... Well, that silly brat... could be impulsive. If he found out that I knew about the bullet, he might've done something drastic... like call off the engagement. And if he didn't, his disturbing mother would've. They would've blown that whole thing out of proportion.” Athena hung her head with an expression of extreme disbelief. “Errr. Well, Ms. Tiala, some might argue that holding back such vital information about a person's health is, err, a terrible thing to do. It would've made sense to call off the wedding.” “Tee hee! Why does it matter what I did or did not tell Wocky? If he hadn't found out... he would've continued to worship the very ground I walk on. He would've been happy for the remainder of his life.” “Which would've lasted for about another year...” “And what a year it would've been. Now both our futures are ruined by this stupid little tiff that Meraktis started.” Tiala rubbed at her throat as she said it. A thin scar was visible there; evidence that just a bit over two years ago, she'd been strangled with a lamp cord. Already, Simon had formed a hypothesis on Tiala's mental state. One which would be difficult to support with true evidence. The most they could do was gather up more of her words and use those as pillars instead. “In regards to that malpracticing doctor...” he began loudly, indicating to Athena that it was time for him to take the lead. “If the court transcripts are to be believed, you pulled the trigger because he was about to expose your true nature to your fiancé. Instinct, panic, call it whatever you like. Now you sit before us, two years later. My question is as follows: Do you believe Pal Meraktis deserved to die?” “What sort of question is that?” Tiala asked, a bit of condescension showing through her pleasant exterior. Once again, she raised a hand to her throat. “He almost killed me. He believed that he did! He was about to dump my body in some gross river! Causing the death of his patients was not enough- he had to resort to attempted murder.” “You did not answer me. Do you believe that he deserved the fate you so generously bestowed upon him?” “I-I... Well... He must have! After all the things that he did...! Murderers deserve the death penalty, don't they?” Simon leaned forward, his eyes piercing Tiala's own. “You were put through a terrible ordeal, Angel. You were only looking out for everyone's best interests when you confronted Meraktis, yet he was blind to your intent and he did something unforgivable to you. That crook attempted to take your life and were it not for a guardian angel of your own, he would have succeeded. You shot him out of self-defense. Do you believe that to be an apt description of what occurred?” “Yes!” Tiala said immediately. “Yes, that's exactly it! Finally, someone who-” “It is a lie,” Simon cut across her in the bluntest of tones. “What? No... That's-” “Two years ago, your defense attorney attempted to feed the same hogwash to the court. No doubt, that was on your orders. However, the judge saw through it, as any member of the law-enforcement community ought to. Your murder of Pal Meraktis was not out of self-defense for a very simple reason. When you raised the pistol, you were no longer in any direct danger.” “What does that have to do with anything?” “It's quite simple. The moment you awoke, Meraktis was facing two witnesses who would have undoubtedly protected you. You could have simply slipped out the back of the noodle stand and told your fiancé that Meraktis had attempted to take your life. This was the truth, after all, with more than enough evidence to prove it. The young kitsune would have stood by your side, much like a samurai stands by their master, and any claim Meraktis had made from that point on would have fallen on deaf ears.” “Ah-” “The moment you shot a man unbeknownst of your presence from behind, you were not acting out of self-defense. Instead, you donned a mantle of vigilante. Do you still believe yourself to be the victim?” Tiala screamed out loud, her voice similar to the screech of a bird. “Eeeeek! How dare you! Don't you understand...? Don't you know what it's like to be all alone?!” Athena recoiled, her hand cupping Widget, and Simon sat up a bit straighter as well. It seemed as if they'd finally broken Tiala, but what lay beneath was more fierce than expected. “They would have protected me? He would have stood by my side?!” she yelled, spite radiating off her in all directions. “How can you know? No one has ever chosen my side before! All my life, I had to do everything myself! I had to do my own housework, I had to pay for my own studies... I even had to take up a nurse job with the most disgusting clinic in town! My only chance to get out of that horrid life was to marry some hoodlum, and even that was my decision! My hard work! When something needs to be done, the only person you can trust to do it is yourself!” Following that outburst, there was an eerie tension. Athena was still holding onto Widget, her fingers shielding a blue glow. As for Simon, he could taste something bitter, for he recognized this mindset. He knew what it was like to believe that he was all alone; that no one was to be trusted with the dirty work and so, he was the one to be sullied. He knew that voice that had whispered, in his darkest hours, that no one could or would save him. He also knew where those thoughts had led him. “You're wrong, Angel,” he said quietly. “Whether you like it or not, those who care about you will attempt to act in your best interest. They will drag you, kicking and screaming, out from under the burning wreckage of your tainted life. You need only be deserving of their aid.” “Deserving of their aid? Tee hee hee...” Tiala steepled her fingers together, once again back to smiling. “Isn't it a bit too late for that? If murderers deserve the death penalty, then vigilantes deserve it too, right? That's what the court's already decided. You can come in here and preach redemption all you want, but no one will be in my corner anymore. It's all over for me.” “Ms. Tiala...” Athena appeared quite distraught and Simon feared that she was taking their subject's emotions far too personally. If so, that was a habit she would have to kick as soon as possible, but now was not the time to bring it up. “I, for one, am in your corner. My partner as well, I'm certain,” Simon said, as gentle as a man like him could be. “It is for that reason that I would persuade you to see sense. It is only too easy to believe you cannot rely on anyone but yourself, shirking responsibility towards others. However, such thoughts will lead you down a dangerous, lonely path. Have you not already noticed it? The darkness in your everyday life? That heavy weight which keeps you pinned down?” Tiala's smile had faltered quite spectacularly now. She was chewing her bottom lip and wringing her hands together. “I... That's really none of your...” “You may still change your ways and live your remaining years with true company. If nothing else, I would suggest that you adopt a therapy animal through the prison's respective program.” Initially, Simon believed that his words had gotten through Tiala's hide. He believed that she understood the harm her mindset was doing to her. That he had helped to make the remainder of her life a bit easier. Such hopes were shoved aside when she leered down at him with something close to disgust. “Do you... believe me to be crazy?” she asked in a low voice. “Of course not.” “Therapy animals are for those who need therapy. You want someone delusional for your little psychology project? Go speak to Miney. This interview is over.” ------- Date: June 18th 2028 Time: 4:06 PM Location: Prison hallway. Strolling through the prison's halls, Simon felt more frustrated than he had in a long while. And to think, he'd considered reprimanding Athena for taking their subjects' emotions too personally. He was no better than her. To believe he wouldn't project his own experiences on these inmates would've been naive. His hands buried deep in the pockets of his coat and his shoulders hunched, he must've been radiating more than enough for Athena to pick up on. “Geez... What a stubborn woman...” she said. “Don't take it too hard, okay Simon? I'm sure she's been through a lot and I know that you'd want to save her, but... Some people just don't want to be saved.” “I did not wish to be saved, half a year ago. Yet, there you were, extending a hand to me all the same,” he pointed out, shaking his head. “You, Wright-dono, the Chief Prosecutor, Aura... The whole lot of you managed to divert the beliefs of a stubborn fool such as myself. Had you surrendered as easily as the two of us did just now, I would've been six feet under today.” “That's a little different... You didn't really kill anyone and I'm sure, deep down, I knew that. Aura and the Chief Prosecutor must've seen that as well. We saved you because you were innocent. But like you said, Ms. Tiala didn't even kill out of self-defense. She did it because... Because she believed she had to, I guess.” “Mmh,” was all Simon could bring himself to voice. Athena had a fair point. If Simon hoped to save a murderer such as Tiala from her own loneliness, it was a slippery slope. There were more than enough inmates who needed salvation from something or another. “But hey, can you believe the murder of Dr. Meraktis was the second case Apollo ever worked on? Pretty impressive that he managed to break Ms. Tiala in court when he was still a rookie, right?” “It certainly explains why he often appears so nervous during cross-examinations. How is the young Justice-dono doing abroad?” Simon asked, relieved to find a change in topic to cling to. “He's been so busy, he hasn't even found time to send us any letters! Can you believe that? Little Polly's all grown up and the boss of his own law offices, with his own paperwork to take care of and everything. I'll bet he misses the good old toilet scrubbing days right about now.” The inmates were in the courtyard at the moment; Simon could see them through the window as they approached the reception desk. Most of the faces were familiar, others were recent additions he'd never gotten to fraternize with on that same level. Several new cliques had formed in his absence, he noted. It was quite odd to be scheduling appointments with them through a middle man, but such was bureaucracy. They stepped up to the reception desk, which was manned by a guard they'd seen quite often since beginning their little psychology project. He shot them both a courteous smile. “How was your interview?” “About as pleasant as one would expect,” Simon replied. He supposed that they might as well follow Tiala's advice when it came to their next conversation. “Is Ini Miney available tomorrow?” The guard looked towards his computer to access the necessary information. As for Athena, she frowned Simon's way before leaning against the counter to address the guard. “No, no, it's Mimi. Mimi Miney.” “Her name is Ini.” “I was looking through the profiles Agent Lang gave us just yesterday, Simon. It said Mimi, clear as day.” “You may want to give that profile a more thorough read before tomorrow. She prefers to be called Ini and the prison's paperwork will reflect that.” “Yep, there she is. Ini Miney,” the guard said, wagging a finger towards the computer screen. “She doesn't have anything else scheduled. Another 2 PM appointment, then?” “Please.” The guard's fingers began to rap against the keyboard and Athena crossed her arms over her chest, looking thoughtful. “I could've sworn Ini was the name of her sister...” When the guard announced that it was all taken care of, Simon thanked him and turned to leave, with Athena following his lead. Then there was a sudden shout of alarm from behind them. “Oh, hold on! I almost forgot...! I was meant to give this to you!” Caught by surprise, Simon turned to face the guard again and saw that something was being lifted up onto the counter. It was a package, addressed to him of all people. Athena got to it first, holding it up with both hands and shaking it. “Oooh, someone sent you a gift! I wonder what it is!” she was saying. Simon snatched it from her grip and when she pouted at him, he stood firm. “I would advise you not to play around with it. It could very well be dangerous.” “Oh please, it went through the prison's security! I'm sure it's fine!” Athena paused, then took a step closer to the package. “But just to be sure, maybe I should listen for any suspicious ticking sounds.” “If you believe the security measures were sufficient, I will take my chances.” Explosives or other dangers aside, Simon had no idea what would've been sent to him, or why. The outside of the package contained very few clues and holding it sideways did not result in any sounds whatsoever. He set it down on the counter, ripped the tape off and opened it. As it turned out, the contents were more harmful than dynamite, in a way. Luke Atmey's autobiography. There was no doubt in his mind which of the inmates would've sent it to him. Simon had stated in Atmey's interview that he didn't have a copy, after all. “What a shame,” Atmey had said, and Simon had verbally agreed. Simply looking at the cover caused a chill to run down Simon's spine. “Did Mr. Atmey...?” Athena mumbled his side. “... Wasn't his execution scheduled for today? Maybe, if it's not too late, we can still-” “It is too late. The executions usually take place around dawn.” “Oh...” Against better judgment, Simon took hold of the book and flipped it open. There, on the blank first page, was a handwritten message. “Be it a hero of a clown, look upon this tragic figure and remember.” ------- Date: June 19th 2028 Time: 2:00 PM Location: Interview Room. There was something off about Ini Miney's face. Simon had already noticed it several years ago and now his gaze was consistently drawn to the problems. The oddest wrinkles had come into being by the corners of her mouth, as well as around her eyes. It was as if the skin didn't quite fit anymore. He supposed it was the downside of facial reconstruction and considering the alternative, Ini had made the only decision she could've. Ultimately, the creases made no difference, as she was still a fetching woman. From her curled red hair to her full lips, most men would dream of someone like her. The trouble was that like most inmates, she was difficult to deal with. When she took her seat before them, she raised her index fingers to her temples, appearing lost in thought. Her therapy animal, a rather large chameleon, was settled on her shoulder. “Ah... Good afternoon, Ms. Miney,” Athena said to her. “Like... I'm sorry, it totally feels like I'm missing something here. The guard said something about, like, an interview? And then Alita was, like, “you gotta go talk to these chumps,” except she was being totally cold about it. So... What's going on?” “You really haven't heard?” Athena looked stunned at the prospect. “We're helping Interpol with a psychology project of sorts.” “Parapsychology?” “No, uh... Real- I mean- Cognitive psychology.” “Then, like, I can't help you. I studied parapsychology.” Ini made to get up from her chair again, only to freeze when Athena cried out. “Whoah! No, hold on! Please, just hear us out, all right? We're interviewing several inmates in the prison and you were selected because you meet our criteria. We just want to ask you some questions about your life and the murder of Dr. Grey.” Ini slipped back into her seat, though she still appeared to be confused. “So, like... Why do you have Simon with you?” “I would prefer you address me as Prosecutor Blackquill,” Simon said. “But I've been, like, calling you Simon for years. You can't just... get yourself acquitted and then expect everyone to, like, forget you were one of us.” Instantly, Simon felt his entire body stiffen. Ini's words didn't sit well with him, most notably because she was speaking the truth. How could he expect them to treat him with respect after all they'd been through together? “... Fine, then. Simon. You will, however, address my esteemed partner as Ms. Cykes and if you do not, there will be consequences of a most dire sort.” “Simon... Honestly...” Athena said with half a groan of discouragement. Such a lack of gratitude wouldn't stop Simon from looking out for her best interests, though. “Like, it's fine with me,” Ini remarked. Athena set up the recording device and, following that, presented Miney with the usual statement. That much seemed to go down just fine, as everything was agreed to without even the slightest apprehension. Still, considering Miney's eagerness to leave the room, Simon expected there would be trouble soon enough. And right out the gate, there it was. “So... I hear that you prefer to be called Ini, is that right?” Athena asked. “Well, that's like... my name.” “I believe that legally, your name is still Mimi.” “Mimi is, like, totally dead.” “She was declared deceased for about a year. However, after the incident with Dr. Turner, that declaration was annulled and Ini Miney was declared deceased instead. You do still remember that, don't you?” For a brief moment, there was something close to spite in Ini's eyes. Then she bowed her head and the chameleon nearly slipped off her shoulder. “Like... Why would you bring that up? Are you totally sadistic or what? Don't you know that's, like, a painful memory?” While Simon drew the validity of that statement into question, Athena must've felt something there, as she backed off. “Oh... I'm sorry. How about we start with something simple, then? Can you tell us something about your childhood? You were raised in Los Angeles, right?” “Right. When I was a kid, we were living in, like, a little apartment near Vitamin Square.” “What was your relationship with your family like?” “Hmmm... Let's see...” Ini began to rub at her temples again. “I used to, like, really look up to my dad? But he walked out on us when I was, like, eight. After that, it was just me, my sis and my mom. We were totally like the three musketeers.” “You mean that the three of you looked out for each other?” “Ooh, that's like... totally what I meant! I got a job as soon as I could to support mom while my sis, like, did all of the chores after school. She went straight from high school to parapsychology studies like a total occult nerd.” Athena stopped writing quite abruptly. She looked towards the folder with Miney's information, then back to her notes. Simon couldn't blame her for her surprise, as he hadn't quite seen this turn of events coming either. He'd never discussed the past with Miney before and so, the discrepancy with the present had never been brought to light. “Ah... Wait. When you say your sis was studying parapsychology, do you mean... Ini?” Athena asked. “Yeah, duh. That was my sister's name.” “So you're admitting that you are actually Mimi?” “Are you, like, stupid? I told you Mimi is dead.” Miney took the chameleon off her shoulder and held it in one hand, watching it slowly traipse up her wrist. Athena had no comeback for that. Her lips parted, but not a single sound came out. As for Simon, he believed he understood the situation. Rather like passing a torch from one hand to another, Ini's identity had been left with the one who had survived the car crash. However, before receiving that proverbial torch, the Ini before them had undoubtedly been the older sister. “Even if Mimi is dead, you still hold her memories. Painful as it may be, we would like to ask you to reflect on her life in more detail. Will that be all right with you?” he asked. “I dunno... That's, like, a total bummer...” “We may attempt to make it worth your while. Perhaps you would like some additional privileges within the prison. A special meal, more access to the work rooms... Name your price.” “Naw... There's nothing that I want. But you two are, like, totally stoked to talk to Mimi, huh? Is your project really that important?” “Definitely,” Athena insisted without missing a beat. “We think that we can make a real difference. Someday, if all goes well, this sort of behavioral science will be able to prevent more tragedies like yours.” “Please. Step into Mimi Miney's shoes one last time,” Simon added. “... All right.” Miney closed her eyes for a few seconds and when next they opened, it was as if a veil had lifted. She was alert. She was there. “You said that you- Mimi got a job as soon as you could, to support your mom and your sister. Was that with the Grey surgical clinic?” Athena asked. “Of course not... Did you think that a fourteen year old could be a nurse? I got a paper route. I delivered papers before school every day.” “Oof... That must've been hard.” “It wasn't too bad. You wanna talk about hard? Try flipping patties and scrubbing floors at Burger Barn.” “You worked at Burger Barn too? Really?” “From sixteen to twenty two. That's when I graduated nursing school and got to working at the surgical clinic. It was an amazing rise in pay. I bought myself the best car ever to celebrate.” Remembering that Mimi Miney's heart went to automobiles, Simon couldn't allow this opportunity to pass him by. He cut into the conversation immediately. “What sort of car would earn itself the label of 'best car ever'? “You seriously don't know? It was a 1969 Chevrolet Camaro SS. I had her imported from the U.K. because you just can't get good old-timers in America anymore. She even had the dual four-barrel crossram intake manifold. Bright red, shiny, leather interior... I gave her a wax job by hand every week.” Ini paused, staring off into the distance. The chameleon, which had been clambering up her arm, slid back down towards her wrist. “Aaah... I miss her.” “That sounds amazing!” Athena proclaimed. “I can't wait to get a car some day! Mr. Wright will be so jealous...!” The idea of Athena behind the wheel of a car gave Simon a bit of a dizzy spell. Perhaps that day would never come. For the sake of anyone who wished to cross the street in relative safety, he certainly hoped not. “This raises the implication that at one point, you were attending nursing school, taking driving lessons and working a part-time job at a burger joint at the same time,” he said to Ini. “So? In case you hadn't noticed, a lot of people are in that same boat,” she snapped at him. “Anyway, I thought everything would get better once I got my job at the clinic. Except that it didn't.” “Really? How many hours a week were you working there?” Athena asked. “Mmmh.... Sometimes fifty five, sometimes over sixty... It was hard to keep track.” “Over sixty?! Isn't that illegal?” “Dr. Grey was too cheap to hire more nurses. He'd force us to work overtime and he'd say that if we weren't willing to invest that much time into the clinic, he'd replace us with someone who would.” “... I think that's definitely illegal...” Athena muttered, though it was unclear who she was addressing at this point. “I take it you were not one of Dr. Grey's most devoted followers?” Simon asked. “Hah. I didn't mind, at first. Overtime meant more money for my family and more money to spend on my car. Who cares if Dr. Grey was a total creep? I took the weekend shifts, I took the night shifts, I stayed a few hours longer when they needed me to... Anything to keep that salary coming.” Simon drew in a deep breath, casting a glance down at a newspaper article. “... Until the malpractice accident.” Miney cringed, recoiling. Her chameleon startled with such ferocity, its skin mimicked the monochromatic stripes of her prison garb sleeve. “You must've been exhausted when it happened,” Athena said quietly. “I was. But... that doesn't excuse anything. I messed up and people died. I was naive enough to believe that Dr. Grey would protect me. After all that hard work I'd been doing for him over the years, I was his favorite nurse. That was what I thought.” Miney hung her head and was silent for a moment. Then she looked up with a hard, spiteful stare. “But that quack doctor... He didn't take so much as a lick of responsibility for what happened. My name and face were smeared all over the news. I couldn't go outside without people calling me a murderer. Someone threw eggs at me in the supermarket. All because Grey kept issuing statements that I was a screw-up and it had nothing to do with his precious clinic's work procedures. A singular case of individual negligence, he kept saying.” Athena hesitated for a moment, then reached out to place her hand atop Miney's own. “I'm so sorry... It must've been very hard on you.” “Those were the worst two weeks of my life...” Miney said. “But Ini... Ini was there with me every day. She tried to protect me from clueless strangers. She took a hiatus from her parapsychology studies to spend time with me. I should've realized it then...” “Realized what?” “... I was putting her in danger.” Simon felt his fingernails dig into the palm of his own hand, that was how hard he was gripping his pen. By his side, Athena breathed something of a strained gasp. The chameleon, now relaxed once more, had returned to its dull brown color. “Do you still believe Dr. Grey caused that car accident?” Athena ultimately asked. “There isn't a doubt in my mind,” Miney replied with the same spiteful stare as before. “I'd barely been allowed to work those past two weeks. Being hounded by paparazzi was exhausting, but not so bad that I'd ever doze off behind the wheel. I would've parked the car by the side of the road for some fresh air before ever allowing that to happen. No, I was drugged and it could only have been him. Why else would that bastard bring a gun to a harmless spirit channeling? He knew that I knew, even in the afterlife, just why I had to die.” “Then... Is revenge the main reason why you agreed to Morgan Fey's plot to murder him and pin the blame on the spirit medium?” “I think... it's because I didn't want him to walk away with the knowledge that Mimi Miney was still alive. I didn't want anyone to know that. If it hadn't been for something as stupid as spirit channeling, no one would've. But...” There was a long pause, then a twisted grin made its way to Miney's lips. “Damn if it didn't feel good to shoot that stupid bastard in the face.” It was remarkable, really, how many of the subjects they'd spoken to believed that their victim had deserved to die. Was that the pattern, then, to the puzzle which needed solving? No, that couldn't be right. Simon made a note to gather up names of those who were genuinely remorseful. There were several of those within the prison walls, he was sure. After a few clicks of his pen, he decided to go on a tangent and ask that which had been bugging him for a while now. “It's curious... Despite your insistence that you wish to remain Ini Miney, you still have a very firm hold on Mimi's identity. Ini is not born from delusion, nor even confusion. She is born from stubborn nature, at best. Why is it that even now, all those years after being exposed and imprisoned for Mimi's crime, you would cling to the persona of Ini instead?” “Isn't that obvious?” Miney asked, her tone of voice so sharp that the chameleon once again started itself into black-and-white stripes. “It's because Mimi should've died that night. Such a useless, friendless murderer...! Ini was the one who deserved to live.” To Be Continued

[nokomiss]

So I've had a few days to process the Magicians season finale and basically I've come to the conclusion that:

a.) They actually killed off Quentin Like That, did their cast and crew dirty Like That, treated their fans Like That, and thought that the plotting of that story was actually decent, which, loooool.

b.) They are clumsily attempting to pull a Jon Snow, where they want everyone to believe Quentin is dead, but will bring him back at some point in the future.

If it's option A, it's supremely gross. Everyone has listed the reasons already -- the killing the 'white male protagonist' to show how edgy and subversive your show is? Gross. If you've written a show where you have a generic white male protagonist, that's the failure of the writing. And if you've written a show where the protagonist is canonically linked romantically to both women and men (even if you don't put a label on it) and is ALSO explicitly shown to mentally ill and suicidal, and you think the best solution to that is to have them heroically commit suicide, after a season of buildup to a romantic climax with a male character, and have no resolution to that?  Gross. The self-congratulatory attitude of the showrunners is really what made this such a betrayal.

AND then there's option B.

Option B was something I kept thinking about shortly after hearing about the 'oh it's permanent' thing, and then one of the actor's tweets mentioned GoT, which isn't evidence at all but does open the door for the comparison.  I'm going to speak here as a longtime ASOIAF fan/GoT viewer. (I have my own issues with Game of Thrones as a TV show that I won't get into here, but suffice to say I love it but don't view it with rose-colored glasses.)  The reason the Jon Snow thing worked and no one revolted? Was that it was earned. Jon Snow was a central character, but not the central character; GoT has a huge cast, multiple storylines, and if one character dies, even a beloved one, there's plenty of story remaining and, vitally, plenty of bonds to hold the remaining characters together. And, possibly most importantly, it was consistent with the show’s own internal rulebook.

Quentin is the emotional heart of the Magicians -- even the show itself explicitly brings his love of magic and his love of Fillory as the beating heart of the story.  Ripping that away, to use a metaphor from the show itself, will be like when Julia was severed from her soul -- still present, but missing a vital piece.  And the show has a long history of characters fighting against death, and finding ways to cheat it. It’s not a tragedy. It’s a very different kind of tale.

I have a lot - a LOT - of feelings about this, so I’m going to put them under a read more. Some spoilers for GoT ahead, and a lot of feelings about earned narratives, storytelling, characters, hope and betrayal.

Jon Snow's death didn't come out of the blue, either. The tensions and discontent in the Night's Watch were building until there was only one real possible outcome to the situation, and it made sense within context that his brothers would turn on him.  Quentin's death, as part of a really ham-handed finale, was not earned? It didn't have any build-up or gravitas. You had a character who had been depressed, put in to an awful situation with the possessed body of his ex-love, found the fire within him to fight against the Monster, and then... instead of any logical emotional arc, they had him hook up with an ex and go on the most deux ex machina quest I can remember on the show, and then kill himself over a forgettable villain. All the campfire sing-alongs in the world can't make up for the emotional momentum they lost when they took away Quentin's spine.

 When they took away his heart.

And -- here's the thing -- both of these series are based on books. And you know what? In ASOIAF, in canon right now, the last thing to happen to Jon Snow was to die bleeding out in the snow. And yet, when he died on screen, and Kit Harrington spent a year telling everyone he was done with the show, everyone still knew that Jon Snow would return. It made narrative sense.  I've honestly only read the first Magicians book, but I did read the summaries of the later two, and Quentin doesn't die. Quentin is given an ending filled with hope.

And the reason I keep coming back to the 'maybe they're doing a Jon Snow' is that his death? in that manner? Just does not make any sort of narrative sense.  Probably (undoubtedly) it's just me trying to see meaning where there is none, trying to optimistically think that the showrunners had more care for their own story than they do. But Quentin dying with no emotional fulfillment with Eliot, after a full season of fighting to save him, of being dragged through hell by the Monster, makes no sense. If they'd had the two speak at all, conclude their plotline, I would have accepted the death much more calmly. At least there would be emotional catharsis, even if plot wise I was left frustrated.

Because, here's the thing. When I read that the show had been renewed for Season 5 before Season 4 even aired, I immediately figured that it was a two-season story arc. When Season 4 was so slow to solve the Monster plot, it seemed obvious to me that they were planning on dealing with the repercussions with Season 5.  Probably -- again -- that was me putting way, way too much faith in the writers of the show.  But there are just so many dangling plotlines, and things that were dealt with so  clumsily that they might well have never been addressed at all -- the library, the hedge witches, the magic rations, the old gods, Fillory's issues, really almost EVERYTHING from the season except for getting the Monster out of Eliot's body, and even that failed to address why his growing humanity was even a THING -- that they apparently decided no one would notice because of the Shock and Subversiveness of killing Quentin.  I went into the finale with the absolute lowest of bars, because I could see there was no possible way of wrapping up everything, and I totally expected a To Be Continued at the end. Somehow they still managed to disappoint.

And that doesn’t even begin to address how they treated the other characters.  Kady, reducing herself to just Penny’s girlfriend. Alice’s own character growth stunted to shove her back into what had already been shown as a failed relationship.  Margo, beautiful fierce Margo, abandoning her own plan to save her own best friend because… she liked a dude? And had already solved the fish-issue with her fairy eye?  Penny23, reduced to just a puppy trailing after Julia, even though he had telepathy and was a traveler?  Julia, with her choices concerning her body and entire existence stolen from her again. (because a telepath couldn’t talk to her????)  Fen, totally ignored for the finale? Eliot, never getting his chance to be brave?

That doesn’t exactly inspire a lot of faith for them to make a shift to a show that focuses on diverse characters, when this is how they treat them.

Where does that leave me? With a bad taste in my mouth either way, basically.  I told a friend before the finale that "It's a universe where magic exists! They can fix things!" and it's so simple to canonically bring someone back.  All the writer's talk about realism is ridiculous, this is a show that thrives on the ridiculous and the absurd.  Even if Jason Ralph chose to not return, that doesn't mean Quentin can't. It's very in-the-box thinking if so -- I could think offhand of a half-dozen ways for him to return in a different body, hell, make it a POC one if they're actually that worried about having a White Male Protagonist -- but ultimately I felt most betrayed because this death was not emotionally EARNED by the writers.  It is lazy. It is banal.

And it's ultimately incredibly tone-deaf.  Sci-fi and fantasy stories offer escapism, and when the real world looks like it does now, literally no one wants their dumb show about magic grad school to be about death and despair. The message the fans look for is one of hope. Quentin as a character offered hope -- you could struggle with depression and still find the  beauty of all life, you could find yourself in a magical land, you could find love and friendship and bravery within you that you never realized. That you didn't have to be the hero to be important. So if his death is permanent, like the writers claim -- and at  this point I have literally no faith in them whatsoever -- then it's an incredible waste of what could have been a beautiful and groundbreaking story.  

And if they're toying with the fans... it's misguided, and just frankly has not been earned in the way they think it has, and frankly means they're blind to their own storytelling faults. It's downright mean, and I'm not sure that I would be willing to support their show even if they brought Quentin back, knowing how little they thought of their fans.

[tilltheendwilliwrite]

Warrior Daughter

Chapter Ten

Previous Chapter

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader  |  Word Count: 4601 Warnings: Blood, battle, a little gore.

Song: Queen of the Night by Whitney Houston

The keep was laid out like an E with the main doors set in the center at the top of a half-dozen stairs. The castle spread out long to the left and right, before making the sharp turn of the wings where the living quarters for each Valkyrie resided on the second and third floors, while the main floor housed the common rooms, parlours, library, and classrooms for the novates.

The main doors led straight into a grand hall where once banners for both the rulers of Asgard and the Valkyrie hung with pride. Well over three stories tall, the space soared completely open. The roof rested on pillars of ancient stone, carved in the likeness of warrior women. Once symbols of both Valkyrie and Asgard would have hung from the rafters. Baskets of flowers and heavily scented evergreens would have softened the harshness of the stone, but now only one banner flew. Wide and grand and larger than the two previous ones together, it held pride of place above the doors to the throne room at the far end of the hall, and you glared at it in anger.

A pegasus rampant on a black background, the symbols and runes of protection gone. Not one to honour Freyja. Not one to acknowledge Odin. Nothing to show Thor’s presence at all.

“Once I deal with the Fullmakt, Eira, you will cut that monstrous piece of sacrilege down and return the ancient banners. If the one for Asgard is no longer fit to fly, or must be changed out to honour Thor properly, you will send word to Asgard to have Lady Sif bring it with her.”

“Yes, my queen.” She bowed, but you were already making your way toward the double set of old wooden doors beneath the banner which loudly proclaimed the Valkyrjur felt they were above the rules of Asgard.

Two women in full, but black, battle dress, shields and spears held at the ready stood before the closed doors.

“Who dares approach the Fullmakt’s throne?” one had the audacity to ask.

Steve stepped past you on one side, and Bucky the other. Had these women had any clue who they were addressing, or what such scowls meant when they appeared upon the men’s faces, both would have been better prepared for what came next.

Steve’s shield sang when he pulled it from beneath his cloak and sent it flying the length of the room. It clanged hard off the shields of both women, sending them slamming into the door behind them. Bucky ducked the returning weapon, having followed its path at a dead run, grabbed both stunned females by the side of the head and slammed them together, setting their ears ringing when their helmets connected.

“Your queen approaches. Show some respect,” he snarled before shoving them out of the way to shoulder open both enormous doors on his own.

“Wow,” Eira whispered, clearly admiring Bucky’s strength.

“They are more than they seem, sister kin,” you said softly and walked through the doors behind Bucky as Steve slid his shield on his arm.

The sun fell warm across your body from the floor to ceiling windows. It was a cathedral space with a gallery area around the second floor where more Valkyrie and a few maidens waited. The rest of the Valkyrjur, mostly the experienced fighters, lined the walls of the throne room. 

Three walls of windows let in the blinding morning light. You paced forward, moving between shadows and light when pillars or the width of stone window frames blocked the sun. It made you thankful for the long beak of Freyja’s helm, and how it shielded your sensitive eyes from the constant change of brightness.

Your boots echoed with each step, the room silent with your rather dramatic entrance until you came to a stop a few yards away from the dais raised three stairs up from the main floor, unlike the high throne of Asgard. You were queen, but only your title set you apart. In the day to day, or in battle, you worked, trained, and fought just as hard as everyone else.

Windows of coloured glass depicting battles of old rose to the rafters behind your understated wooden throne. But now, an interloper was sitting in your seat.

“Fullmakt, remove yourself from my throne.”

She only stared haughtily at you. “Why? Because you claim to be the long lost queen? Sváfa, daughter of Tove. Born on a foreign world, memories returned without the temple’s assistance? I think you try to take what is not yours.”

“How and why I have returned is not the question here. Thor and Loki recognize me. Odin called me to return. Freyja herself sends me,” you stated as you removed the helmet and held it high for all to see. “This was her gift to me. Given so all may know I am her chosen. To stand against me is to stand against the will of the Goddess!”

A wave of murmurs washed through the room. The stir one of unrest, and uncertainty.

“How do we know it too is not a fake?”

You turned slowly to face the throne. “You dare question Freyja?”

“I dare question you,” the woman said, rising from the throne. Taller than you, she appeared to tower above when she stood on the edge of the dais. The Fullmakt’s helm graced her head, a helm comprised of a small dragon’s skull and full feather headdress. She stood, arms crossed, her leather pants as black as the dragon’s empty eyes. A breastplate of fancy bronze protected her chest and sides, matching the bracers on her forearms. It was a look many within the hall also sported.

“I see only a woman of undetermined origin. One of… questionable ability.”

You lifted your chin. “What do you mean by that?”

She tilted her head and smiled slyly. “We would never stand to let a… disabled queen rule us. Tell me, Sváfa. Would you follow a blind queen into battle?”

Another rush of noise filled the hall, but you didn’t let her words disconcert you. Just how the hell did she know that when, for all intents and purposes, no one here should yet be aware of your disability.

“I am only partially blind. And as I defeated Medina, First among the Wings with my eyes closed, I can guarantee I am a better fighter without my eyes than you would ever be with yours.”

She snarled and nearly stepped from the dais. “You dare?”

“If you do not step down from my throne, I will come up there and take it!” you bellowed. “You have allowed the Valkyrjur to fall into dishonour, and further dishonour yourself by refusing my claim. Walk away now, and I will allow you to leave the valley. You will be stripped of your armour, your sword, your rank, and your steed, but you will keep your life. Stay… and I will kill you and take what is rightfully mine.”

“You make a mockery of our ways! Bringing a man not your sjelevenn into these halls and claiming him your protector!” she screamed.

“It is you who mocks the gods!” Your hand closed around the hilt of your sword. “After seeing the state of affairs you have allowed befall the Valkyrjur, Bucky is better equipped to watch my back than any I would dare call sister.”

Gasps rose from more than a few throats, but you turned your attention from the Fullmakt to glare at Ama standing near the dais. “You disappoint me, Ama.”

“My queen.” She placed a fist on her heart and bowed deeply. “I came to try and speak sense within these walls, or I assure you, I would have been in the courtyard when you arrived. I stand with you, Queen Sváfa. On my honour.”

You listened to her heart, listened in all the ways Matty had taught you to listen and found only truth in her words, not a hint of falsehood. “Clearly, your words have fallen on deaf ears.”

“Unfortunately,” she sighed.

With a tilt of your head, you motioned for her to take her place with your small group. Ama bowed again, then moved to stand with Eira.

“The choice is yours, Fullmakt, and I am waiting for you to make it,” you said quietly, returning your attention to the woman on the dais.

“Then I chose to fight!” she screamed, reaching behind her back to pull two long blades from her spine.

“So be it,” you purred and slipped Freyja’s helm back on your head. Glemsel rang with the sound of victory when you pulled your sword from its sheath. “Any who interfere will be cut down! I declare this Queen’s Challenge!” you snarled when others began reaching for weapons.

All movement stopped, a dozen hearts skipped a beat, and you knew then and there what the plan had been. They would have cut you down as a group, come at you a dozen to one, and killed all those who stood with you, then claimed it had not been Queen’s Challenge, allowing them to justify their actions.

When the Fullmakt’s eyes widened, and she shot a glance at Gunborg, you knew you had fucked their little plan up royally. No one would dare step in now.

“I… have not decreed it so,” the woman in the dragon helm murmured.

“You stand between me and my throne, Fullmakt. It is a challenge, and I have named it so! I would have your name before I send you to hell.” You let the tip of your sword rest against the ground, your mother’s gauntlet catching the light, and nodded when Steve stepped forward to slide his shield up your arm.

“Kick her ass, baby,” he whispered only for you before moving away to stand back with Bucky, Ama, and Eira.

Her heart skipped and kicked, sweat beaded her upper lip and trickled down her spine. Fear rose in a cloud of scent around her. “Selky.”

“Well met, Selky. Come, finish what you started.” With a flick of your sword, you called her out.

Her grip tightened on her swords. “So be it.”

She pushed from the dais, leapt into the air, and slashed both swords down at you. They clanged loudly off Steve’s shield, and the vibration of the blow dispersed without a twinge of it reaching your arm. 

Vibranium. You just had to love it.

Shoving her away, you slashed at her stomach to force her back, flowing with her as she moved and swung hard at her head, smacking the helm of the Fullmakt off with ease. It skidded to a stop at Gunborg’s feet where her sjelevenn bent to retrieve it.

Selky stumbled, fear appearing in the paleness of her features. Her sword swung up and you paired the first away with your blade, the second with your shield, then kicked her hard in the abdomen sending her flying back to land on the steps of the dais.

“I am Sváfa, daughter of Tove, and Queen of the Valkyrie. Sister to Thor and Loki. Daughter of Odin. Chosen one of Freyja,” you stated, stalking toward the fallen woman. “I am Y/N, child of Midgard. Wife to Steven Rogers, the First Avenger. Sister to James Barnes, the Winter Soldier. Sister kin to Eira, a Valkyrie maiden.”

Selky picked herself off the ground and charged forward. She swung her sword, but you brushed it away. Swung the other, and you brought the edge of Steve’s shield down on it when you stepped gracefully out of its path and sheared it off at the hilt.

Down to one weapon, Selky threw the hilt of the other sword at you, but you glided out of the way. She slashed at you, but you easily slapped her sword down, her actions growing more desperate with each ragged breath.

You let Steve’s shield slide from your arm to fall to the floor. “Freyja is most disappointed in her children,” you murmured as you flicked your sword faster than most could see and sliced open her right thigh.

A grunt escaped Selky’s lips. “You are no queen of mine.”

A sad smile curled your lips. “I know. More’s the pity.” Evading her downward slash, you snuck beneath her arm and drew your sword along her ribs. It bit deep, raking over bone. She screamed and stumbled forward a step before the tip of your blade swept through her hamstrings. “But an example must be made.”

She fell to her knees, the sharp scent of her blood filled your nose. “Freyja save me,” Selky whispered.

There was a sickening crunch when your sword when through her back, cleaving armour and bone and flesh, to exit her chest. You took her by the shoulder and whispered near her ear, “Freyja no longer sees your face.”

A cry of despair left Selky’s lips when the truth of her actions and her failure hit her at the moment of her death.

You pulled Glemsel from her back, reached up, and took your helm from your head. As you stood over her body, you allowed all to see the tears which spilled down your cheeks. Silence reigned as you looked them over, let them all know the pain in your heart for killing one of your own.

“This was not my hope,” you said softly, knowing your voice would carry to even the far reaches of the hall. “Killing a sister was never my wish, but too long has the Valkyrjur lived without leadership. Too long have you suffered, floundering without order. No more! The old ways, the ways of our foresisters, the ways of honour, valour, and pride shall return to you, my sisters!”

A soft murmur of agreement ran through them.

“People will again look to the skies in awe when the wings of our pegasi cast shadows! They will speak of us in reverent tones as they once did! They will know in their hearts the Elite of Asgard once again ride at the will of Asgard’s King! Thor will hail us his greatest force in the Feast Halls, and we will be a proud people once more!”

A louder cry of agreement reverberated within the walls.

“I will work you hard, my sisters. But you will feel joy in your souls again! You will know you live with honour! The young girls of this world will once more clamour to be part of our society!”

A roar was building, beginning to echo with the pounding of many feet.

“The names of the Valkyrjur will again be whispered by the mouths of the fallen, looking for us! Waiting! Hoping to be chosen for a seat in Valhalla!” you bellowed and raised your bloody sword. “Freyja will again look favourably on you!”

The roar could not be contained as the mob of them began to chant your name.

You held up your hand, asking for silence, waiting until it carried like a hush over them all. “I am Sváfa, daughter of Tove. There stands the throne of the Valkyrie. I claim my right to sit upon it. But I ask you, sisters. Am I your queen?”

Eira and Ama were the first to move. Both stepped forward and dropped to their knee, fists going to their hearts. “You are our queen!”

Bucky joined them second. “You are my queen,” he said, mirroring their action.

Nearly as one the rest of the women in the hall went to a knee. “You are our queen!”

You turned to look at Gunborg, her sjelevenn, and the handful of women with her. Their descent to their knees happened begrudgingly. “You are our queen.”

The last one standing was Steve. He walked toward you slowly, picked up his shield, stepped over Selky’s body, and took your arm to lead you toward the dais. He guided you up the stairs, sat you on the throne, and knelt at your feet.

“You are my queen.” All you could see in the blue of his eyes was pride.

Resting your sword against your throne, you took his chin in your hand, and kissed him soundly.

The roar of approval was deafening.

Again you held up your hand and waited them out. “We begin anew, sisters. The time of unrest ends now. We return to the old ways. Some things have been forgotten. Much has fallen to the past.” You glared at Gunborg. “Those who know better should not have let so much fall by the wayside.”

She looked away, but not out of shame, her jaw clenching in anger.

“Ama.” You looked to the woman who’d stood with you.

“Yes, my queen?” she rose to her feet.

“Send to the temple. I would speak with the High Priestess.”

She blinked at you and frowned. “She will not come, my queen. All must now seek their audience within the temple’s walls.”

Rage rippled inside you. Old anger which had you tightly gripping Freyja’s helm. It was as if the gift from the Goddess had also bestowed a bit of her inside you. As if a tendril of her power had become yours and reacted poorly when the old ways were discarded or ignored.

You waved her closer and held out the helmet when she approached. “Take this with you. Tell her Freyja’s chosen commands her presence. If she will not come, make her!” you snarled.

Ama looked shocked, but took the helmet and hurried out of the hall.

A ripple of unease went through the rest of the Valkyrie and had you rising to your feet. “Make no mistake, sisters! I spoke with the Goddess at length about her feelings on you, her temple, and her priestess’. Freyja is not pleased!” you roared. “Things will change both here and in the temple, and all those who stand against her will, will not survive the purge that is coming.”

“If you’re her chosen,” Gunborg said, getting to her feet. “Why are you only now returning?”

“Excuse me?” you glared at her.

“You said Loki and Thor knew you. Odin has been calling you back. How long have you been returned to your memories, my queen,” she sneered, “before deciding to grace us with your presence.”

Unfortunately, it was a valid question. “Two and a half months.”

“Almost three months,” she scoffed, sending more ripples of unease filling the hall as she stormed forward. “And only now you decide to grace us with your presence?”

“I first had to learn to live as a Valkyrie with partial blindness. I would have been no good to anyone as I was, and as I had only just found my sjelevenn, time was needed to adjust for both of us.”

“A month I could understand,” she pressed, turning to face the others, “but three?”

“It took time to find a teacher who could assist me with both my Valkyrie abilities and my disability,” you explained, a smile twitching your lips. “Then I spent a month with him, learning, training, growing into my Valkyrie self again. Even we are given that amount of time to settle the memories of our past lives, Gunborg.”

“Then there was that other thing,” Steve said, amusement in his tone.

You smiled at him, knowing he knew why you were letting her spew her vitriol. He’d returned to his feet and had thrown his cloak back, standing beside your throne looking huge and sexy in all his armour.

“Yeah, that was fun,” Bucky smirked, striding up the dais to stand on the other side of your throne in a position which mirrored Steve’s. “But I’m glad we only had to fight one of those things.”

“No one was speaking to you, Midgardian,” Gunborg sneered. “Keep your dogs on a leash,” she spat at you.

“Now, Gunborg, just because my sjeleven and his brother gave yours a little beating last time you were on Earth doesn’t mean you should get all testy about it,” you snickered, causing laughter to ripple through the hall.

Brynjar, Gunborg’s sjelevenn, sneered a nasty comment which loosely translated to mongrels in the old tongue, and while neither Steve nor Bucky reacted, you knew they understood him perfectly well.

“And maybe you should muzzle yours,” you growled at Gunborg.

“You claim to be so invested in the old ways, yet your sjelevenn is unmarked,” she sneered, looking smug.

“You mean this mark?” Steve asked, tugging down his armour to show it off. “She didn’t like the idea of branding me like cattle, but then I know she doesn’t see me as a possession but a partner.” Steve’s smile grew even smugger than Gunborg’s had been when Brynjar scowled at his words. 

Before anyone could react, Eira interrupted. “My queen? To what are your sjelevenn and guard referring? Why did it take more time for you to return?”

“I was given a mission by Odin. I had to kill the last of the Sjeletyv.”

Shock and horror rippled through the hall.

“Lies!” Gunborg spat. “Odin destroyed them all when he cleansed the lost world!”

“One escaped,” you murmured, too many memories swamping you as you sat down again. “One on a ship. One ljå who found its way to Earth and made a pact with humans who wished for immortality. The woman of my mentor had been made ljå. She led us to the Sjeletyv in a cave below the ground where I killed the last of them. Our team took out the others, and we destroyed the mountain after my mentor… killed his woman.”

Soft sounds of pity and amazement spread.

“I do not believe you!” Gunborg spat. “No Valkyrie ever won single-handedly against a ljå. Not even you.”

“So you acknowledge I am who I say I am, Gunborg?” She stiffened but gave an angry nod which caused another ripple of unrest to fill the room. Gunborg was losing favour fast with that revelation. “Then you will remember my other talent. And as you did not fight on the lost world with us, how would you know whether or not I battled and destroyed the ljå alone or not? I killed many on my own before, but this one, the Earthbound one, went after my sjelevenn.”

She gasped and took a step back. “You went Berserk?”

You smiled wickedly. “I did.”

“The legend is true?” Eira gasped.

“She’s magnificent when it happens,” Steve said proudly.

“No.” Gunborg shook her head. “It’s not possible.”

“Heimdall was there,” Bucky smirked. “His eyes were invaluable.”

Gunborg paled for none would dare question someone as known for his honour as Heimdall.

“I was injured during the battle and only just recovered the day you arrived to challenge me on Earth. That also happened to be my wedding day so you will have to forgive me for taking four days to spend time alone with my husband,” you smiled sweetly. “I came home as soon as I could.”

Her teeth ground together, but Gunborg knew she’d lost. There was no way she could challenge your honour on the subject further without making herself out as a jealous fool.

“I… accept your reasons, my queen.”

“Excellent!” You popped up from the throne. “Sisters! Already the others make ready to present themselves in full battle dress. Half of you will join the first group, half of you will join the second, but all will be expected to meet on the training grounds in either thirty minutes or an hour after that. For those accolades I see gathered, your testing begins tomorrow. Come prepared to impress me. Failure will not go without consequences.”

They all began to file out as you waved Eira forward. “Gather those you trust and bring them to me here. Then send a few of the young ones to find the old banners.”

“Yes, Sváfa,” she smiled.

“Remember, you are my ledsager. Your voice carries the authority of mine should any question you.”

Eira bowed and hurried away.

You collapsed onto the throne when the doors shut with everyone's exit. “Well, that was fun,” you sighed, glaring at the red pool left behind where Selky’s body had been. A couple of Valkyrie had come and collected her before leaving, taking her body to be prepared for burial.

“You did good, darlin’,” Steve murmured, squeezing your shoulder.

“I don’t like killing, and that was senseless killing.” You waved your hand at the floor. “She could have walked away.”

“They had it all worked out,” Bucky muttered. “Until you called it a challenge, we were gonna have a fight on our hands.”

“I know. And I also know which ones will be trouble now. Some stood with Gunborg, but there were others scattered around the room. Their hearts all jumped when they put their weapons away.”

“You seem mighty chummy with that Ama all of a sudden,” Bucky murmured. “You sure about her, dollface?”

“As I can be. She didn't lie, Buck. Not even a minute change in heart or breathing.”

He chuckled softly. “You always amaze me, Y/N.”

You sent him a wink. “I do try, Bucky.”

“I do have one question,” Steve said, looking away from the walls of colourful glass. “How the hell did she know you were blind?”

You shook your head. “I wondered that too. No one here should know.”

“Loki?” Bucky asked.

Again you shook your head. “He wouldn't have said anything unless asked directly, and why would they have reason to ask about that? Could someone have guessed because of their colour?” you wondered.

“I don’t think so,” Bucky murmured. “They're different, but you don't act or appear blind. You look directly at people when they talk, still do. Unlike Murdock who would cock his head when he was listening.”

“The only people who knew were us,” Steve muttered. “The team.”

“And Garry,” Bucky grumbled. “Between Nat, Bruce, and I, I'm pretty sure he knew just how badly he'd fucked you up.”

“Bucky,” you sighed, but knew Loki would have explained in detail why Garry was at his mercy. “So, now Garry is missing, and people who shouldn't know about my eyes do. What are we saying? Someone here helped Garry escape? And you think he's working with them?”

“It's a plausible explanation. After all, we know someone from the temple sold you out to Hydra. How else would they have your scroll?” Bucky shrugged.

You peered up at him for a moment before another sigh left your lips. “Great. Just fucking great.” Loki would really want to be running amuck in your valley.

Bucky picked your sword up and wiped it off on the edge of his cloak.

“Eww! Bucky that's nasty!” you squealed. “Now you're going to get blood everywhere!”

“Well next time clean it off on the body first before you let people take it away!” he huffed as Steve burst out laughing.

“Oh, man!” Steve leaned against the arm of your throne, doubled over with laughter. “This is a conversation I could never have imagined being part of!”

Bucky started to chuckle, and you giggled. Soon the three of you were laughing like looneys; all bent over together as the high level of tension finally broke.

No, things hadn't gone quite as planned, but they were progressing. And with your two guys watching your back, and new allies popping up unexpectedly, you felt a little more positive about the future.

Next Chapter

[koorinohebi]

[ burn ] ( From Demon King Nobu if you're down askjfd )

Because Violence is de way || Accepting (because suffering is my middle name)

Why...

A foreboding sense of dread loomed in the air. Suddenly, the surrounding area was thick with dust. The beaten path towards the temple, disturbed, as both men and horse advanced with an intent that was as clear as the day that was beginning to form.

This dawn would be the last thing that she sees. If she would even have the chance to behold it.

Pale silver orbs stared in disbelief; at this man who had willed his troops to stop by the wave of hand. Why was he here? This wasn’t the plan. This wasn’t what they’ve agreed to do. Was it because Oda’s men patrolled Kyoto so regularly that no one even saw or felt the danger that was imminent in their approach? Did everyone who they came across believe that this was just some sort of formality because she was in the area? Did no one suspect nor felt the blood-lust emanated by the general who led them here? Were people truly unaware because they knew not the face of war when it passed them by, or were they simply the type to turn a blind eye to something or someone so... deceptive.

“Ah, Master. I thought that you were PLAYING HERO with that APE against the Mori. Had you told me that you were spectating, I’d have gotten you a better seat--”

SLAP

Without so much as a warning, the young magus approached with a crisp, sharp slap directed at the general’s face. Whether the man anticipated it or not, she didn’t care. Kiomi didn’t care if he was bluffing at having been caught off guard, or if he chose to accept the blow-- she simply didn’t give a damn for any of it, let alone his ill-construed commentary of her presence here.

“Explain yourself, Jubei. What are you doing here?”

“Why master, are you so angry that you dare address me so casually?” And without much regard for his preference at that. Not that he cared, since he was aware of his master’s temper along with the little peculiarities that she exhibit when mad. “However, I would prefer that you continue calling me Mitsuhide.” There was a significant amount of venom in his tone. Jubei was a time when he was without his beloved Nobunaga. Someone who he didn’t needed to be. All he had to be was someone who his Lady favored. Nothing else mattered. Nothing else was more important than that. And yet, and YET. Fools keep on ruining his ideal, his vision, the Ladyship whom he admired and revered most of all. Why was he here? It was that Monkey’s fault. It was because of him that the Nobunaga Oda that he longed to serve, and respected disappeared. The one sitting comfortably within the walls of Honno-ji was nothing but a fake. Someone who didn’t need to exist, someone who didn’t match his ideals. Someone utterly unnecessary. And now, NOW even this master of his who he believed understood him-- she not only barred his way, but was also making friends with that blasted primate. Again with that thing's repugnant existence. Again, stealing from under his nose. Ah, she too is not real. Another pretender. It’s that Monkey’s fault. Everything that he touches vanishes. Well, he was not having any of it. Not anymore. These fakes, this pretender to the real Lady Oda Kazusa-no-Suke Nobunaga and his master, Zaiachi Kiomi were going to feel his wrath, his suffering.

“I don’t have time for your games, Mitsuhide--”

“Don’t worry, my master. We’re not playing games. I will answer your query as you are my most precious master.” And while he said these words, a gloved hand reached to trace the contours of her face. When she opted to slap the offending appendage away, he’d deny the act only to drive digits into her hair, gripping from the scalp to pull the magus close. A relatively subdued cry fled the girl’s lips as she was forced to stare at the treacherous servant. “The enemy lies here at Honno-ji.”

===

For some reason, darkness consumed me after hearing those words. It was like I was kicked out of my body, and cast off into the void. I could feel the contempt in Jubei’s voice, the craze look in his eyes, was screaming that he had been wronged. Why was this happening? I thought we were on the same team of wanting to see Nobunaga succeed in unifying the land... that everyone in this camp were allies.

Ah, perhaps it’s that. He never did like him.

Again, I noticed too late. Maybe if I had said something, and assured him of his place beside Nobunaga’s side... maybe, then maybe--

They were all her servants, maybe if she had been more prudent. Maybe, then maybe--

===

It was uncomfortable. This feeling that was surrounding me. Amid the darkness. A darkness that began to dissipate when she slowly opened her eyes. The blackness that had consumed her previously was quickly being engulfed in licks of red and orange. The heat, along with the oppressing warmth trapped her. Her pulse raced, pupils were dilating as her chest tightened. The scent of smoke wafted to the corner where she found herself subdued by the tightness of ropes. The over all situation was provoking her to scream, and she would have, had another’s fell on deaf ears. Something overrode her own fears.

A familiar voice. Screaming. Crying-- Becoming almost unrecognizable from how hoarse it had become. The scent of blood was not lost in the air either; the metallic, coppery scent that mixed with the suffocating smoke filled her nose and her lungs, making her feel sick right down to the very pit of her stomach.

No. No. No. No. No. No. No.

No. No. No. No. No. No. No.

No. No. No. No. No. No. No.

No. No. No. No. No. No. No.

No. No. No. No. No. No. No.

Not again.

“Mi--” No. Why was it that when she actually started to care for someone, that person always befell such horrible fate? How was this different from the parents whom she loved dearly, family whom she was forced to watch suffer as they were tortured and burned alive? And all for what? For being mages who found themselves with different practices from those that belonged to a certain organization of purists? “MITSUHIDEEEEEEEEE!” The shout was enough to get his attention, enough to stop his blade from thrusting into the Oda once more.

“So glad that you can join us, master-- or rather, Kiomi.” He said, abandoning his prize for a moment only to approach the abused girl. “I made extra precautions to make sure you dont get in my way.” He said, crouching down in front of her only to tap her cheek, effectively smearing the blood of the aging woman on the mage’s face. “But I’m not a complete monster. I made sure that you didn’t feel a thing.” From her face, right down to her shoulder-- Ah yes. That’s good. that’s a good look on you, master. He touched her right down to her arms-- or at least where it was supposed to be. Where the command seal was supposed to be. The last thing he needed was for her to command him to stop. Or worse, give Lady Oda one last burst of mana for one last hurrah.

“Now, just be a good girl and enjoy the show.” He even sat her up, not minding all the screaming that Kiomi was now doing when she finally realized what she had lost. It wasn’t the pain, but the implications as well as the hate that was coursing through her veins that the yelling was pulled out of her. She called for Mitsuhide repeatedly, but all he afforded her was that crazed look. He had fallen, sunk too deep into this madness that he was beyond redemption, beyond saving. And so was Nobunaga who continued to suffer through the punishment that Jubei inflicted. The girl saw it all. How she tried to bite and scratch at the man whenever he was close enough; how Mitsuhide stabbed her in places that were too far from the comforting arms of death; how he twisted her bones, how she heard them crack, all masterfully done without ever bringing her close to the end-- at least not yet.

When the magus heard Nobunaga’s cries, she felt the tears welling up in her own eyes. “Nobu--Nobunaga did nothing wrong! Stop, stop! Jubei! Stop! Don’t do this! Don’t make this mistake! JUBEIIIII!” Ah, but no amount of screaming reached him. When he forced Nobunaga’s hand to finally commit the act of killing herself, the tears that had welled up fell, the rawness in her throat, she paid no mind to as she repeatedly called for the dying warlord. Cries and calls that were desperate to not go unheard. But it did. No longer did Mitsuhide care to hear her. No longer did Nobunaga respond. Not to her, nor anything around her. Not to the flames. Not to Mitsuhide walking away.

Again, not again. Not again. She was unable to save anyone again.

“Mitsuhide has always been very thorough.” Through Kiomi’s sobbing, she heard someone speak. An eerily familiar tone, an eerily familiar presence. When she looked from the pathetic state that she was in, she was greeted by the domineering, piercing gaze of a familiar face, yet somehow still very different. Maybe she was mistaken, maybe her tears had clouded her sight. But there was a familiar feeling, however distant it may be.

The downcast gaze given to the young master was not unlike that of one pitying a dying dog. As amusing a sight this was, there was nothing worthy of consumption here. A girl plucked too early from the tree. This look and sentimentality that she showcased for the dead, reminded the Demon King of something from long ago. An unsavory bitter taste that didn’t do much for her temperament. This weakness. How unsightly.

“Nobu--” The strange woman cut her off with her gaze. Not even allowing her to utter the name that almost fled her lips. There was nothing too extensive to say to this master. Her struggle had been futile, much like the struggles of the woman that had died at the hands of a supposedly loyal retainer. All these unnecessary emotions, to see it displayed like this was unsatisfying. Disappointing-- and yet, the girl looked at her apologetically. Despite the placid look on the Demon King’s face, this display amused her no more.

So, she decreed to see no more of it.

“Papiyas Metamorphosis.”

===

“GYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH--!”

Kiomi jolted to a sit as she woke up screaming, the tears in her eyes falling uncontrollably as the last bits of her memory felt so vividly real. The way her skin burned, the way it smelled, how she was engulfed by a volley of fire, how everything around here seemed to have exploded-- how it left her nothing but a panicked mess, to the point that-- now that she was awake, she struggled to keep the bile from exiting her mouth. She couldn't. Everything hurts, everything burned. Her skin still ached and she felt another scream flee from her lips when the after image of the fire lingered through her vision. Shaking her hands violently, her arms. Her arms were there, intact. It was too much. It wont leave her mind. Her senses.

It hurts, it hurts! Everything was so painful. Not just physically, no. Fire reminded her of everything. What she didn’t want to remember, what she wants buried deep deep down, tucked away. But in just one dream, it was all unearthed, her can of worms opened, dumped on her wounds, and topped with a mountainous amount of salt for that extra sting. How the flames burned the image of her uselessness before her eyes. How she could save no one. How her voice never reaches anyone. How nothing ever associated with her last. How everything important withers away, and dies; burning, turning to ash, leaving her behind.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I couldn’t save anyone. I couldn’t save anyone. I’m sorry, Jubei. I’m sorry, Nobunaga. I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” She cried to herself, sobbing further into her solitude. Repeatedly apologizing to air like a broken record.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I couldn’t save you, I couldn’t save the both of you.”

The image of Nobunaga’s passing. The image of Mitsuhide's back growing further and further away. The image of the Demon King turning her back on her--turning into the Nobunaga that she knew, abandoning her for her weakness, her incompetence as a master.

“Don’t leave me. I’m sorry. I’ll do better. I promise.”

She was alone, suffering within the flames of the darkness that her own mind had created.

I’m sorry.

[shift-shaping]

THE LIONESS AND THE WOLF - XI - Glittering Silverite

This work is also available on Ao3. If you enjoy my work, please reblog, leave a comment, or donate to my Ko-Fi. Thank you!

Rating: Mature

Genre: Slow burn romance, adventure

Pairing: Solas x Surana

Warnings: Blood, violence

Part eleven of The Lioness and the Wolf.  Part one.

previous <> next

Night in the desert left the air dead and stale, laying over the vast sea of sand and rock that offered nothing to her tired wings.  On the coast, even along a river, she could coast on a warm air current to give herself a break from having to stay in the air. Here she had to work to keep herself from drifting toward the ground.

Not helping her was her choice of flying form. A vulture would have had wings made for soaring, and even butterflies migrated longer distances than crows. At least like this she blended into the dark night sky above her, making her virtually invisible to the lifeless Approach below. 

She beat her wings against the dry air despite her exhaustion. She could barely see anything --she’d see better as an elf-- but the stark, violent outline of Adamant Fortress was just barely visible in the quarter-moon light. She’d never seen it before, but the description captured its sharp silhouette unmistakably. Torches broke up the darkness on its walls, illuminating sentries in glittering silverite. 

As she neared the fortress she drew closer to the ground, aiming for a perch atop an unguarded wall. Her talons met cold, hard stone and she let her wings fall open, resting her sore muscles. 

Voices drew her attention down the battlements, and she shifted into a mouse before the approaching guards could see her. She shivered in the cold and scampered into a crack between broken stone slabs. The Wardens spoke Orlesian, complicating her mission, but she could understand enough to follow along. 

They spoke of their dinner, of the ale at the fortress and what they missed from their homes. They were both human, and one was much older than the other. He had a thick grey beard peaking out from beneath his helmet and spoke in a harsher, more rural accent. 

The older man leaned against the wall, looking out over the abyss of desert before him. “Ce plan de Clarel...” He trailed off, shaking his head. 

The other man, tall and lanky, with scraggles of blonde hair poking just past his collar, adjusted his uniform before joining his companion at the wall. His rank was higher than the older man’s, but he seemed greener. “Vous vous inquiétez trop. Elle sait ce qu’elle fait.” He turned away from the desert, facing the older man. 

“Ce n’est pas juste.” It isn’t fair.

“C’est notre devoir.” It is our duty.

The older man fell quiet, letting an uneasy silence rest between them. What was this plan? What was Clarel asking them to do? Her paws were silent as she padded forward, glaring at them, trying to better understand. The older man lifted his hand and brought it to his face. He slowly removed his heavy gauntlet, catching his partner’s eye as he closely examined his palm. “Je ne savais pas que la magie du sang était notre devoir.”

Eirwen crouched back, eyes narrowed. Blood magic was not part of their duty --unless, perhaps, he was referring to the Joining. It was supposed to be a secret, so he must have been unpleasantly surprised to learn that there was some element of ‘blood magic’ involved in being a Warden. Still, she had a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. It didn’t seem right; something worse was going on.

She left the crack in the wall and scampered to the ground. The pain that formed in her wings had transferred to her arms, where it ached as she made her way deeper into the fortress. She foresaw several days of using minimal magic and laying in a hot bath back at Skyhold in her near future. 

At least this form was easy to miss, allowing her to sneak into a door left ajar and give her access to the interior of the fortress. She scuttled into a storeroom, and almost immediately scrambled back as an overwhelming gust of magic rushed through her.

She rubbed at her nose and took cover behind a heavy wooden crate. The pull on the Veil was so strong here, and she was already using so much mana that the extra strain made her head spin. She could do nothing but wait until it passed, the spell wearing through her senses so fast that it briefly rendered her deaf and blind.

When she could finally move again, the power had faded. She crept out from behind the crate, pupils expanding in the darkness all around her. Something sticky and thick stuck to her paws, and when she could focus enough to breathe right she tasted the unmistakable scent of blood.

Why here? 

But she could barely begin to investigate before she heard a low, threatening growl. The sound came from somewhere not of this plane, somewhere ghastly and wrong. She turned, taking in the shadows, looking for the source, but saw nothing until she caught a glimpse of light high above her.

This room appeared to be the lowest floor of a great tower. High above, light flickered through worn floorboards and demonic snarls hissed from another world. She remembered how she felt when the Inquisitor introduced her to a Rift, and felt a chill at the familiarity of this sensation. 

Shouting Orlesian voices followed, but she couldn’t understand what they were saying. From what she could grasp, they sounded stressed. 

She ran past the pool of blood and into a narrow hallway lit with sputtering torchlight. She needed to find a way up without changing form again, as her mana was wearing thin despite the breaches in the Veil here. The hallway lead her to a junction with one way right and one left. She chose right based on nothing but a gut instinct and lead herself to the base of a long, spiral staircase. 

Her body was too small to easily bound the stairs, but without another option she forced herself to climb. Hundreds of years of travel on the ancient dwarven steps had worn the center of each stair down towards the stair beneath it, giving her an easier place to lift her tiny body from step to step.

Still, she was exhausted and sore by the time she reached the top of the staircase. No one passed her, but she knew whatever she’d witnessed at the base of the tower was over by now. 

She backtracked through the hallway, to where she figured the voices came from. A heavy, worn wooden door stood slightly ajar, just enough for her to slip inside the room and hide amid the darkness of old barrels and cracked bottles of ale. 

In the center of the room were two Warden mages and a smoking pile of ashes. “C’est d’accord. C’est d’accord. Nothing you did is wrong.” The speaker was a woman, probably mid- to late-forties, with curly brown hair and freckled arms. Her accent was strong, but when she spoke Common Eirwen understood. The woman hesitated, raising her arm for a moment, before pulling her companion into a gentle embrace. “It is okay. Shh, shh...” 

The other Warden didn’t move, didn’t even let himself fall into the first Warden’s arms. He was visibly young, fresh-faced with a dirty uniform and dark, thick-rimmed glasses. 

“It’s for the best, Will. You heard what the Commander said. This is our duty now. This will stop the Calling.” He said nothing, didn’t shake, didn’t move, just sat there staring forward as the other Warden held him closer. “Do you want to go back to the barracks? Get some rest?” She looked up toward the top of the tower, as if it held some answer. “It must be late. You should go to sleep.”

“Do you think I’ll be able to sleep?” His voice was sudden and sharp, his accent Fereldan. The air in the room changed, as if the power of his speech mutated the atmosphere. He pulled back, his eyes cold and bright. “You made me do this. This is wrong and you made me do it.”

“William...”

“I don’t want to be part of this. I don’t want this.” He pulled against her and her grip tightened. “Let me go. Let me go, Rose.”

“I cannot do that. You are upset. You are not understanding--”

“I know what we did. I know what I did.” He wrenched away from her and stood, causing her to fall forward and catch herself on the floor. “I don’t want any of this.” He turned, and a sudden flash lit up the air. Sparks flew and Will fell forward, a devastating crack splitting the tense atmosphere as he landed hard on his right hand. The pile of ashes exploded, scattering thick dust around the room. He cried out, gasping and groaning, trying to escape the magic rope wrapped around his ankles. 

“William. Please.” The older Warden stood slowly and walked toward him, her footsteps loud on the floor. “Listen to yourself.” He gasped, cradling his wrist, writhing in the ashes. “This is for all of us. We made a sacrifice. We commit ourselves to this Organization. We are Grey Wardens, William.” She knelt beside him and he rolled on to his back. “If you are going to cause problems...”

“I won’t. I won’t, I promise, I won’t. I won’t argue anymore I promise I’ll just --I’ll do it. I’ll do whatever you ask me to.”

She put her hand on his face and he closed his eyes. “I cannot believe you.” She drew a blade from her side with her free hand and put it against William’s neck.

A powerful bolt of thunder shot through her shoulder, sending the blade spinning across the floor. She looked up at the source of the spell, to where Eirwen stood with her hand outstretched, sparks flickering around her fingers. She panted, the effort of breaking her form and using another spell wearing her already-thin store of mana even thinner. 

Rose crumpled, grabbing her injured shoulder, and her hold on William’s legs broke. He scrambled back, still nursing his wrist, and stared at Eirwen in surprise. “Who are you?”

“What is going on? What happened?” Eirwen kept her aim on Rose, but looked at William as she spoke. “What did you do?”

“I... I don’t understand... where did you come from? Who are you?”

“What did Clarel ask you to do, William?”

Using his name caused him to focus, and he swallowed hard before attempting to speak.

“We are doing what we have always done.” Rose cut him off and Eirwen looked at her, magic still dancing around her fingertips. “We are protecting the world from the Blight.” She hissed in pain before going on. “You would not understand. No one could understand that has not seen what we have seen.”

Eirwen’s eyebrows raised. “No. I imagine they could not.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small, silver pin. It shone in the light of her magic, a griffon with pale blue paint on the tips of its wings. “Tell me what’s going on.”

“You are her, you are Ferelden’s Commander...” Rose’s eyes widened before hardening, her features twisting into disgust. “Where have you been?”

“Tell me what’s going on.”

“Blood magic,” William spoke up between short, sharp breaths. “They’re summoning demons.” 

“What?”

“They’re going to go into the Deep Roads and kill Razikale and Lusacan before they get corrupted by the Blight. They think it will stop the Calling.” He shook his head, his voice shuddering. “They made me use blood magic to summon one of them. They... made me kill Colette...”

Eirwen stepped back, trying desperately to slow her breathing. She lowered her hand, panic widening her grey eyes. “Wait... you are --you hear it too?” William nodded, and she felt her back hit the wall. “Why do you hear it? How can that...” She shook her head. “No. This won’t solve anything. This is --that’s just... that’s so stupid.” She looked around, at the doors, at the top of the tower.  

“They made me kill her.”

Eirwen swallowed past the dryness in her mouth, her eyes drawn to a scattering of ash on the floor. “I need to stop this. You can’t use people like this, it’s not--” Pain jolted through her side suddenly and her words caught hard in her throat. With a shaking hand she touched her abdomen, where dark red blood spilled from a spike of ice shoved deep into the space below her ribcage. Rose had her arm raised as she stared hard at Eirwen.

“I cannot let you stop us. You must understand. We are doing what is right. We are saving lives.”

“You’re killing innocent people,” Eirwen rasped. Weakness spread through her bones, radiating out from the hole in her stomach. “This can never be right.”

“If you are truly one of us, then you must understand why this is necessary. Why we must do this.”

William hesitated, looking between them, before he went to Eirwen. “How can I help?”

“This isn’t what we do. This is --this is a perversion of our duty. Of your duty.” Eirwen fell back against the wall, barely able to hold herself up on the hard, cold stone. Rose shook as she got to her feet and walked towards them, one hand pressed to her shoulder. 

“You do not understand.” Eirwen touched the wound again, warm blood melting the ice around her fingers and soaking her clothes. “But now that you know, I cannot let you escape.”

Eirwen sunk down to her knees, and William sunk with her. He reached out, his hand careful as he wrapped his fingers around the spike of ice. “I can help you. I... I’m not a very good healer but I can try.” Eirwen glanced at him, then back at Rose. 

“I am sorry.” Ice crystallized in the air, more blade-sharp shards appearing as Rose aimed them at Eirwen. 

Eirwen attempted to fight back, forcing the last of her magic to hold the spikes back from bolting towards her. William tried to help her, but even the offer of his magic was too much for her to take hold of. He turned his focus toward Rose and hit her with a blast of spirit magic that sent her stumbling backward. The ice spikes flew in every direction, shattering barrels and bottles so that the room exploded with noise. 

With Rose distracted, Eirwen took her dagger from her hip and shoved it into William’s hands. “Tell them the demon did it.”

“What...” He reeled back, eyes wide with shock and pain. “No.”

“If you don’t kill her, she’ll lie as soon as anyone sees what happened. She’ll tell them you attacked her.” Rose tried to collect herself and stepped forward, each step heavy with purpose. “You know they’ll believe her. I can’t help you anymore. I can use a spell to heal myself but I won’t be able to help you afterward.” She pushed him back. “Tell them the demon did it.”

She used whatever mana she had let to shift again, a process that healed her wounds and returned her to the shape of a mouse. Scrambling, clumsy, aching, Eirwen ran for the door and half-fell, half-jumped back down the stairs.

At the base of the stairs she returned to the junction, turned down the unexplored path, and found herself outside of a locked door. 

Though she was always herself, taking on the form of an animal gave her the senses of that animal --for better or for worse. As a cat, her night vision sharpened and her whiskers gave her better balance. Her crow form could spot a target from hundreds of feet above, as long as she was flying during the day. As a mouse, she could pick up sounds high above the range of a person but nowhere near as low. Any kind of muffling, like a door or wall, made hearing what was on the other side almost impossible. 

She squeezed under the door and popped out into a room that was empty save for two people --a man in distinctly Tevinter robes with garish facial hair, and the Warden-Commander of Orlais herself. They spoke in low voices, so she crept closer in the shadows to hear what they were saying. 

The escape left her tired, left her lungs aching for air and her body sore. Adrenaline ruled her now, so as she settled down to eavesdrop she could feel pain and heartache returning. She pushed the feelings away, choosing to slip further into the simple mind of her current shape. 

“What does it sound like? Your Calling?” The Tevinter stood at the end of a long table, hands held behind his back, eyes focused on Clarel. She sat in a tall chair at the other end, one hand wrapped around a bottle of something murky.

It began with nightmares. Every Warden had nightmares, but they only grew worse with time. Eirwen’s dreams were reminders of what she’d done, of the mistakes she’d made and the people she’d wronged. She also saw the chaos of the Deep Roads, the sickening, oozing body of the Broodmother and her ravenous children. Her loved ones became warped versions of themselves, twisted caricatures that abused her in ways their true selves never would. The dreams were lessened with alcohol, dulled to confusion. Connecting to the true Fade, to the realm of her peaceful dreams, had grown more and more difficult over the years, to the point that she could scarcely manage it at all if the Veil was thick.

Then came the panic, the twisting sickness in her gut that eroded to paranoia over time. A burnt tree was no longer simply a random act of nature; it was an omen. If someone looked at her wrong they were obviously doing it because they could read her mind, because they knew how sick she was. This stage, for her, had only barely begun. If she held on to her own sense of logic she hoped she could stave it off. 

“I hear music,” Clarel said, quiet and slow. “Not always, and it is not close. It sounds distant, as if it is on the other side of a door or at the end of a long hallway.” She shifted her weight and raised her head, though she kept her gaze on the far wall. “Before I go to sleep, it is there. When I am alone, when I have nothing to distract me, it comes in as a quiet dirge.” 

She took a long, deep breath before going on. “And I hear the whispers. It is the voice of the Old God, speaking to me when the music is loud enough to hear. It comes from everywhere.”

“It’s all in your head though.” The Tevinter frowned at her. “Can you not see that?”

"Have you ever been afraid, Erimond?” He said nothing, and she went on. “Fear is in your head. It is not tangible. You cannot touch it. But it is still real.”

He ran his hand down over his beard, a small, scraggly thing with poorly-shaved sides. 

“This will help?” Clarel’s voice rose in pitch, hopelessness sinking in. “You believe we can stop this? Using your plan?”

He nodded firmly. “Of course. It will be difficult, and it will take many lives even beyond those needed for the ritual, but it will save your Order.” He looked at her, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. “You do trust me, don’t you?”

Clarel laughed bitterly. “What other choice do I have?”

He backed up, crossed his arms over his chest, and raised his chin. “We will have another ritual in two days’ time. I anticipate trouble from that conscript of yours. Stroud has been gathering allies...” He said the Senior Warden’s name like a curse, like it tasted foul in his mouth. “I strongly suspect he is working with the Inquisition.”

“They are misguided.” Clarel closed her eyes. “We should send a convoy to Skyhold to explain the situation.”

“You think they will listen?” Erimond scoffed. “They are fanatics. They follow a Qunari brute calling herself the Herald of Andraste. They would never listen to us, to you.” He sighed, lowered his arms from his chest, and walked around the table to sit by Clarel’s side. “You are doing the right thing, Clarel. You are protecting your Order. History will thank you for saving countless lives from future Blights.”

Eirwen desperately wished she could shift into her normal form and explain why everything about this was wrong. She felt trapped in this shape, unable to do her own duty and speak sense to Clarel. 

There was a rapid, loud knock at the door, and all three of them turned. “Warden-Commander, you are needed in the Western Auxiliary Tower.” 

Clarel looked at Erimond again before standing slowly. “Come in.” 

A middle-aged Warden pushed open the door and looked between them. She straightened. “Something terrible has happened, Commander. You have to see it for yourself.”

“Very well. Magister Erimond, we will continue our conversation tomorrow morning. Get some rest.”

“Happily, Warden-Commander.” He bowed with a dramatic flourish and slipped out of the room through a door on the far side. Clarel left, letting the other Warden lead her away.

Eirwen took her cue to leave. She left the room and followed a trail of stray, open mana to a storage closet. A single, almost-empty bottle of lyrium provided her with just enough energy to shift back into a crow.

She would need several days to reach Skyhold, but she had to get back as soon as possible. The Inquisitor needed to know what was going on. Everything she’d seen left her numb, shielding her from the deadly cold of the desert night. She couldn’t think straight, couldn���t focus on anything but pushing ahead.

Yet there was a small tinge of relief to it all: if even a new recruit like William was hearing the Calling, then maybe all of it was a farce. Maybe she had more time than she thought.

[ofinkandeyre]

Vivian was fixing Wesley’s tie, making sure it was neat and straight. She carefully patted his chest down. “They’ll be here any minute,” she said quietly to him, looking up to take in his features. His beard was full and she scratched him there. He had that salt and pepper look coming in, flecks of gray popping up more and more frequently every time he shaved to have it grow right back in. It only made Vivian fall in love more and more every day as if she wasn’t already completely enthralled by him after all this time. 

Wesley cocked his head to allow for the collar and necktie to settle. He patted down his own shirt as he heard the doorbell ring. “That’ll be them.” He felt Vivian tug at his side so they could move to the front door, Wesley had his walking stick out, though he knew Vivian would be helping him along for the most part, regardless. He heard Vivian open the door to and allowed for her to greet the couple waiting on the other side. 

He heard Vivian throw her body at their son, knowing the exact way she hugged him and was holding onto him, not unlike the way she would throw her arms around Wesley himself, he knew. However, Daniel was also taller than Wesley, so he had no doubt that it took a bit more effort for her to get her arms around his neck to hold him. 

“Oh, ragazzo mio, lascia che ti guardi. Sento che sei diventato più alto dall'ultima volta che ti abbiamo visto,” Wesley could hear Vivian cooing at Daniel. “And look at you with that full beard, just like your father. You look so handsome.” 

“Mom…” said Daniel clearly trying to gently pry his mother off of him. “I’ve got company.” 

“Oh, yes, yes,” said Vivian as she then pulled back. Wesley could feel she was back by his side and she had wrapped her arm around his arm. She gently moved Wesley to one side to allow the couple to enter. Wesley could feel them move past them, Vivian leaned close. “She’s very pretty,” he heard her whisper. “She’s tall, wavy brown hair, and—“ she paused for a moment. Wesley had a feeling she was confirming something with Daniel, “she’s blind,” she finished. 

Daniel cleared his throat. “Mom, dad, this is my girlfriend, Veronica,” he announced. “Veronica, this is my mom, she’s on the right and my dad is to the left, Vivian and Wesley.”  

“It’s so nice to meet you,” smiled Vivian. 

Wesley nodded his head but then suddenly realized that would do no good. It was also in that moment that he realized he had never, really interacted with someone else who was blind. After all, being blind wasn’t like being deaf where there were was an entire culture and community built around it. No, and even if there was Wesley knew he wouldn’t have been involved. He had grown used to his bubble of a world, Vivian and Daniel.  “Nice to meet you,” he spoke up. It was the first girlfriend of his they had ever met. Wesley had no doubt Daniel dated around, but he could tell this one was much more serious than anyone else. 

“How’d you two meet?” he heard Vivian ask.

“Ah, well, you know I volunteer in the disability resource center at school, right?” said Daniel. “She came in one day and needed help with something and we just started talking.” 

“Yeah, he makes it sound like we just started talking like we just sat down and suddenly connected,” said Veronica. Wesley had a feeling she had rolled her eyes in that moment, there was something in her tone of voice. “I was actually there to yell at someone and Danny was the one I chose to yell at since no one else was there, but of course as it turns out, he was exactly the person I needed.” There was a pause before she quickly continued, “just in the sense that I needed someone who could actually understand where I was coming from.” Wesley recognized that quick turn around, not wanting to be too clingy. Not unlike himself, really.  

“I’m trying to make my parents like you, not think we got off on the wrong foot,” Daniel spoke up. “See, now my mom looks absolutely aghast at the idea that she wouldn’t like you to begin with.” 

“He uses words like ‘aghast’ like he’s writing a story instead of having a conversation,” she spoke up again. “I don’t think I’ve ever known anyone quite as descriptive when they’re speaking instead of writing. It helps, though.” 

“It does, doesn’t it?” said Wesley with a small smile. 

“Doesn’t hurt that he has a writer and English professor as a father,” added Vivian proudly, nudging Wesley gently. 

“Yes, well, if you’re ever interested, you could take one of my classes. I teach a 19th century literature course and a creative writing class with a particular focus on descriptive writing, if you’re up to it.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Veronica said. 

 “Okay, okay, okay,” Vivian said clapping her hands, “enough of the small talk in the hallway, why don’t we start heading over to the restaurant and keep talking there. Come on, Danny, pucci,” she said as she then tugged on Wesley’s arm to lead him out of the door. Wesley heard Danny and Veronica leave before following them out.

“So, what do you think?” whispered Wesley to Vivian, knowing the kids were a few paces in front of them. 

“I think she’s perfect.” 

[sammoizq]

“What did you love about #5 anyway?” I interjected. “I don’t know… he is just perfect. And I love him so much,” “But you don’t know what it is that you love about him?” “It’s just.. the feeling when I’m with him. It always felt right with him. He made me feel loved and I loved him too,” “That’s it? Just a feeling? .. something more specific, maybe? I mean, if you thought he’s so ‘perfect’, then why break up?” “Because I’m just not good enough for him? I don’t know..” she paused. “What is love to you then…” “Hmm.. to me, being together or in love with someone should be more that just a feeling.. it should also be about mutual understanding, acceptance, respect, commitment and trust.” “That’s what all couples would hope and want their relationship to be like. But expectations and reality don’t always go together..” “Or maybe.. someone’s just not trying?” “Well if you think love is so simple.. why haven’t you been in a success relationship?” “I never said love was simple.. but I guess the reason why I’ve never been with anyone yet is because.. I already know exactly what I want,” “You have.. a checklist?” “Sorta. It’s not the typical kinda ‘I’d like a girl with long hair, pretty smile etc’ superficial checklist though,” “Oh. What kind of list is it then?” “It’s like.. a concept of love. Of what it is about a girl that will make me fall completely in love with her. A concept that has more than three specific reasons that would answer any question as to why I love her.” “You have a concept of love?” she laughed. “Love isn’t a theory.. you can’t just classify love by a concept or definition, you simply feel it with your heart..” “But you see.. the reason why I think there are so many broken hearts, is because people merely jump into a relationship when their heart feels a certain something towards someone. But I don’t think that’s love, that’s merely an infatuation. Personally, I believe there are more than three reasons and aspects that actually determines whether we really are truly in love beyond the superficial ‘I don’t know why I love him/her.. I just do’ reason,” “I call it the 4+1 theory. The aspects that will determine if it’s true love or just a fickle infatuation. It’s based on this idea that whenever we like someone, if we really go deeper into what is it that draws us to him or her, we’d be able to find that one specific reason. That’s not love though. That’s merely an attraction or infatuation. But when more than three of the aspects from this theory are present, you’ll be pretty sure that it’s more than just a feeling. For me personally, this determines if I’ll ever fall in love with a girl…”

Mind. Heart. Body. Soul.

The mind aspect, to put it simply, is her intellect. But I don’t mean the academic smarts.. it’s the way she thinks, processes and analyzes things way beyond a shallow self centeredness. It’s the way she puts across her thoughts, not for winning an argument’s sake, but to really try to understand or even sensibly debate opposing views that might leave anyone reflecting on her words or challenge me to think differently. It’s the way she carries herself off with an aura of sophistication and enigmatic charm and no matter how much I might think I already know her or have her figured out, she’ll still surprise me with something unexpected. Good surprise. I like intellect. Personally, it takes a little more to intrigue me and stimulate my senses. If I can connect with someone and talk endlessly about the concept of nothing, then, only then, will we be able to talk about everything else.. and I think that’s incredibly alluring,” “Ooh.. so my best friend’s sapiosexual too,” she teased. “But what about her likes and dislikes or like her personality.. does that go under the mind aspect too?” “Well, that’s where the heart aspect comes in. The heart represents who she is by what she values or cares about. The things she likes, the things she dislikes. What really matters to her, as well as her insecurities and fears..” She bit her lower lip - thinking. “But what if him knowing about my past and all my insecurities scares him or drives him away? Or what if he ever uses all of these against me if someday things go bad between us?” “Erm.. you do realize that it doesn’t really matter now because whether or not he ever knew, he already chose to leave you right? But.. if he still or ever tries to hurt you in any way, then he is a fucking bastard and I will punch his face, I really meant it.“ “I don’t think he even cares about me anymore,” she sighed, “maybe he never really did.. we were so.. different. I don’t know why I never actually realize it before,” “Maybe because then, you were too ‘blinded by love’ to see, or you chose to conveniently ignore the differences. Honestly though, I think it’s critical for two people to understand each other’s heart and learn to accommodate each other’s differences rather than simply turning a blind eye or deaf ear ‘because I love him and that’s all that matters’. Because if two people are too different in the way they think, behave or live.. I reckon it will become a huge problem when the infatuation bubble bursts.” “I don’t really understand..” she said. “Let me just ask you this.. does he know how passionate you are towards the arts and music?“ “Well, no.. not really. He’s more the sports kind of guy and doesn’t like theater and stuff so I didn’t want him to get bored if I talked to him about things he isn’t interested in..” “Then I’m guessing he probably also doesn’t care or know the little things about you. Like how you’re afraid of the dark and why you’re actually scared of darkness.. how family and relationships are really important to you.. that ice cream is your happy pill. You know, I’m even going to bet that he doesn’t know you go to bed every night, clutching your phone just hoping and waiting for him to text you goodnight..” She started to tear again, but I continued.. “You see, it’s not a matter of whether it bores him or not.. it’s a matter of whether he bothers or not. I mean, if he doesn’t even know these things about you, then he really doesn’t know you at all. How then can he say he loves you?” “But I really loved him,” she murmured softly to herself . “I know you did. I know you still do and it’s hurting you like shit. But you need to know that for any kind of relationship to work.. two people need to give and take. Sadly, with him, it seems like you’re the one who was always giving. If he actually really loved you back as much, he’d make a greater effort to close the gap and bridge the differences between you two. He’d want to hear what you have to say, he would actually consider your opinions, your needs and your feelings. He’ll not just tell you or text you that he loves you.. he’ll show it by the things he will do or be willing to do no matter how inconvenient or silly it might be, just because.. he knows it’ll make you happier or better. To me, when it comes to a relationship, the heart aspect isn’t just a feeling or who you/he or she is anymore. It becomes two hearts beating as one. Two people wanting to understand each other.. sharing the good, the bad and possibly a future together; actually bothering and supporting each other’s feelings, values, dreams, thoughts, emotions,” She stayed silent for a long while before she looked up, holding my gaze.. there was this unspoken tension building before she finally spoke again. “But.. what if something that’s important to me, is not something the guy might feel same way about?” “Then I’ll try-” I caught myself. “I mean, if I were him. I’d try. I’d make the effort.. because it’s important to you and you’re important to me.” She remained silent again. She wasn’t crying anymore but this time, the prolonged silence was starting to grow even more deafening. She finally spoke - softly, “do you believe in love at first sight?” “No.” I said flatly. “Oh..” she sighed. “You know what you said about mind and heart.. it’s actually starting to sink in and I’m beginning to realize that maybe these two aspects weren’t exactly a big part of my relationship with him,” “So what made you fall in love with him then?” “Well.. don’t laugh, but I’ve always thought that with him, it was love at first sight. I mean, there was just this spark between us from the very first time we met,” “Cos he was hot?” I scoffed. “No.. don’t be an idiot,” she tried to hide her smile but failed. I rolled my eyes. “Okay fine, yea maybe that. But it wasn’t the only reason!” I raised an eyebrow. “He was really nice too! And he was always sweet to me,“ she began her defense case. “He always made me feel happy, secure and loved without even having to try, you know?” I just continued staring at her waiting for her to go on. “Oh never mind, you’d never understand..” “Actually.. I do. And I think I now understand what it was that made you fall in love with him. The body aspect. The body aspect is about physical attraction, intimacy and presence. I don’t believe in love at first sight. I don’t believe you can just “instantly know” you’re in love or that someone’s THE one just by “first sight”. No offense, but I think the whole love at first sight concept is bullshit that only exists in movies and fairy tales. In reality, it isn’t love. That very first attraction.. is probably lust. Lust at first sight”. “What nonsense! It’s not like I was lusting over him from the very first time I laid eyes on him! Maybe it’s the case for guys.. I mean, sex is always on a guy’s mind whenever he meets a girl right? But it’s different for girls..” she protested. “Okay. You know what.. since you brought up the age-old guys and sex debate, I’ll tell you this secret to clarify something about guys for the first and last time.. probably 99% of guys are naturally sexual. If you ever meet any guy who tells you he isn’t sexual at all, it’s not that he’s gay – no, gays are even more horny .. he’s likely to be a liar and you should be more wary of him. BUT! Here’s the thing.. even though guys are sexual by nature, it isn’t always the only or most important thing to a guy,” “Really?” now she raised her eyebrow with that annoying smirk on her face. “Oh come on, you girls know how it is, plus you aren’t exactly saint-like innocent either.. sometimes you see a hot guy and you start fantasizing or making statements like ‘omg have my babies’..” “That…” she started blushing. “That.. is exactly my point. It’s the same with guys. We might talk and think about sex a lot more openly than girls but it isn’t always the only thing on our mind. When I said it’s lust at first sight.. I didn’t literally mean you want the guy naked and in bed. What I meant is the momentary attraction or desire– he might be hot, he might be charming, he might have smiled at you that made you feel a certain way.. but that’s not love. That’s really just a superficial physical attraction. Saying “I’m in love” right there and then just completely takes the special meaning out of the word ‘love’. If you ask me, I personally think the process of loving or falling in love with someone involves discovering the person and then perhaps developing feelings. It could happen quickly or over a longer period of time, but not at first sight,” “Hmm.. that does make sense,” she paused and then her lips curled up forming that annoying smirk again. “Oh wow, this is the first time you and I are talking about sex huh..”. “You never asked..” “Tell me then.. what is sex to you?” “Sex.. to me, is merely a physical act. I am not part of the whole “sex is sacred/taboo” camp but then, I don’t take sides with the whole bed hopping culture either,” “I can’t believe you just said that sex is merely a physical act..” she began in a disappointed tone. “But sex really is just a physical act if it’s without emotions or feelings. And that is why I distinguish between sex and making love, the same way I clearly differentiate ‘loving’ and ‘being in love’ with someone,” “Oh.” this time, she smiled. She understood. “Don’t get me wrong.. I think physical intimacy is very important in a relationship but for me, the one physical aspect that matters the most.. is the physical presence. That, is also what I reckon made you fall in love with him. “Okay this, I really want to know…” she said. “The physical presence is simply being there. You want him to be with you. You want to be there for him. Because just being there with or for each other makes your day, or you as a person, a little better. You may act or behave a little different when you’re with him, but in a good way – in a way that you actually feel completely comfortable, safe and you. Perhaps even without you knowing, you smile more and laugh harder. You feel real, genuine joy. And even on days when the smile can’t happen, you know you don’t have to pretend to be okay or be self conscious in front of him; because its perfectly okay to be the way you are and feel when you’re with him. He cares about you and you feel loved when you’re with him. Sometimes, there are no need for words or explanations.. just his presence, him being there for you, holding you.. makes you feel better or believe that it’s going to be okay again. Because you’re not just holding on to someone for attention or sympathy.. you actually feel and believe that you’re holding on to a part of or the rest of your life..” Which leads to the fourth aspect – soul. The soul aspect to me, is the deepest form and the final affirmation that should answer any remaining doubt or questions as to whether we’ve truly fallen in love with a person. It’s when you start noticing but still appreciate all the other little things, even the flaws - especially the flaws. It’s when you truly know a person stripped down of all their walls, exposed to their soul and yet still accept and love him or her. It’s a level of understanding and acceptance that goes beyond the “honeymoon everything is perfect” period. It’s when you finally realize this one person is someone you can always and want to tell everything to, and you want to ask and know everything of him or her as well. It’s when you actually want to share your life and trust your secrets with this person; and you can. This someone is the first person you think of when you’re happy, sad or when something significant happens. This same person is someone you can call at 1am in the morning and they’d drop everything to make time for you, staying by you till the sun rises or you’re better again - as you would for him or her as well. This person cares and will listen. Will really listen, giving you their undivided attention and genuine love; not necessarily every time but any time you need him or her. This one person makes your problem their problem and they go through it together with you just so you don’t have to go through the pain and tears alone,” It was at this moment, for the very first time, she looked at me in a different way but said nothing. “You see, the soul aspect..” I continued, “is when you start to see and want to share the rest of your life with this one other. And not in a clingy “I can’t live without you” way, but in a way that I can still live my life without you as I have before I met you, but now that you’ve come to exist in my life, I see the possibility of a life with you and now I actually want to make decisions and live a life, continuing to create more moments and memories together with you”. “Well.. so.. have you met this one person yet? I mean, I’m sure it’s almost impossible to find that ‘perfect’ girl who fulfills all of your four aspects of love right?” she mumbled. I could barely hear her. She wasn’t even looking at me anymore. “No, it is not impossible and I don’t think its asking for too much. You see the thing about these four aspects is, we often and will find one or two aspects in many different people. And that alone may be enough to make us attracted to them or develop a crush on them. But really, that is not love at all. If we like a person because “he’s cute” or “the way she thinks”, that’s just us liking the body and/or mind aspect of a person. The reality is, we are always going to meet many people who possess these different aspects of mind, heart, body or soul. But on a rare occasion when you do meet someone who possess all these four aspects.. you’ll almost definitely know that he or she is not one of many but may just be the one. So personally, I won’t settle for anything less unless she possess more than three qualities." “So what’s plus one?” she asked, still not looking at me. “Plus one…” I trailed off – unconsciously. “Plus one.. is something only the one who’s meant to be will ever know and hold the answer to”. end. - Truth be told, it was a story written as a confession and answer. (copied sharing from Matthew Zachary Liu)

[khalix-hyetology]

9 reasons why

                                                              1

Hi This is Tony Padilla.  

You can adjust whatever sound system or format you are listening this to. And by “you” I think I only mean one person.

Don’t worry Clay.

This isn’t like the first set.

I am not trying to be disrespectful.

I think Hannah gave me the courage to do a lot of things.

Mainly, she made me realise I wanna be honest. Honesty matters but so does the truth.

If she could pour her heart out

I wanna as well

these are the 9 reasons why to...well, you will hear it at the end of the tape. Don’t worry. I am not doing anything.

This won’t be like last time

I chose 9 because of Cloud 9

I wanna get that out of the way because then you will understand that this is about me being happy. I am happy right now.

I am also happy knowing you are hearing these tapes. 

I am happy because I wanna see you after you hear these tapes

I am pretty psyched in a way

I want you to know that talking with you — even when you were upset and angry — made me happy. At times, obviously I was frustrated. I was frustrated when you would glare at me obscenely. When you would drag me into your meltdowns. When you would misconstrue things.

But, you still talked with me. 

I loved that.

That we didn’t necessarily need a communication class.

That we could talk (but communication class probably would have helped a lot too if I could you comments — or, well it did help you elucidate more what you wanted). 

I got angry that you had meltdowns and I could just watch.

That I couldn’t do anything.

I wanted to hug you then

Tell you things would be fine

but truthfully how fucking fine would they be?

I felt your pain too

I just didn’t have panic attacks probably because I felt numbed by it

I went through the motions and did things eagerly as well

but I saw you and realised that I should try to be firmer

because if I lost it then I felt you would seriously just cry

and cry

and seeing you crying too much would just break me

There were times when I just wanted to hold you tightly and let you just bawl down

When we climbed and screamed and yelled I felt happy knowing at least I could do that for you

I wanted to hold your hand then but then again...I had to tell you I was gay afterwards and you seemed surprised

Of course, I loved Hannah. I always will. But she is my friend. I think I loved Hannah more because she meant so much to you as a person and love that I wanted to love her alongside you as well. So, that I could carry the burden of loving her that you carried in some small way.

I thought that would be enough

that was optimistic of me and pretty juvenile

because obviously it was not enough

it could never be

even if she was still around

and she and you were together I think I would love Hannah the same way

but it wouldn’t be enough because it wouldn’t help bridge the gap between you two

you have an inability to not look at broader strokes of the picture

Hannah’s irritability and her so called mood swings happened because she was genuine living in world that valued falsehood

and you didn’t see that

so she would struggle to tell you about it

and you would think she would be doing drama

but, that is why I wanted to love her with you — for you — so that if there were gaps in you life I could fulfil them and make you love better

I wanted you to be happy with her

because that is what you wanted

look at me I said this wouldn’t be like Hannah but I am talking about her

because we talked so much about her

I feel we can only talk about her recently

but that is not really the truth

The truth is that we always can talk about things

when we don’t talk we glare

or watch at each other

we are always exchanging our own languages and getting by

so I think I talked about Hannah and your love for her because it was the easiest way to expreess my first reason

carrying you

carrying you made me happy because it felt empowering and felt also vulnerable

you make me feel paradoxical things

but it make me feel balanced

when I challenged the jocks for you with my car

it felt I was going beyond what queer means labels and just being myself

so carrying you makes me be myself

helping you love is also carrying you

and so reason one to why, in these nine reasons, is carrying you

I always wanna keep on carrying you

                                                               2

This is tape 2.

If you are still here maybe I am doing something right. Also, these aren’t like Hannah’s tapes. There is no precondition to listen to them. There are no penalties. There are no feelings of wrongdoing.

I wanna just say stuff and I hope our friendship is enough to make you listen.

I think you have had enough excitement of a thriller and suspense for like some years to come. I don’t wanna add to that burden.

Remember what I said.

I like carrying your burdens with you.

Be that you being socially awkward or crying about Hannah

I wanna be there for you — be by your side.

I know you wouldn’t mind being by mine

You can get in my car and know I won’t betray you. Well, don’t always let your guard down. Not even around me. You don’t. But you do trust me enough and that’s good. I wouldn’t betray that trust. I will work to at least further it a bit. Not too much.

Because, I don’t want you to lose your edge. Your intimate and primordial nature to be a bit deflective and suspicious. It makes you human and protects you.

I want you to be protected and feel strong in your ability to make fast decisions.

As your friend, I respect you as a human first as well.  

Or, naturally, you are curious and will listen to the tapes. That’s human too. Though, I have seen you with Hannah’s tapes. You are like, well, pretty flighty at times. Though, I think that is only normal. Actually, it is not normal —

Scratch that

It is an idealised form of normal but rare to see

Yeah, people give up, but not always for the right reasons

You, on the other hand, came back, come back

I think that is important — the coming back part.

Well, for some things.

It just is for some things.

Not all things though.

Adults, even teens, don’t know what to leave behind and what to come back for.

You and I have been guilty of it.

So, has Hannah.

Think about how Hannah should have confronted Justin. Or, played a big trick on him.

I would have helped her humiliate him.

I am sure you would too.

I am surprised that Jessica and Alex didn’t even offer.

You know that’s one way of knowing who your real friends are.

It always is. Someone who can’t fucking hold an umbrella under you on a rainy day doesn’t deserve your company.

After all, I never found Jessica to be that attractive. Yeah, she is beautiful. She has great hips, curvaceous sort of bod that doesn’t happen to all women or well look great on everyone, she has long legs and she has a firm ass. She wears great clothes. I gotta say I find her sense of style attractive. I don’t like her personality. I have to say that is why I find her a bit unattractive.

Yeah, I may be gay but that doesn’t mean I don’t understand about people.

Being queer doesn’t mean that I don’t understand people or understand what attractive is for both sexes.

Do I need to trust convention? No. I don’t.

I think I didn’t need Hannah’s tape to know she wasn’t lying.

Jessica seemed insecure. She also seemed jealous of Hannah.

Think of the guys she dated. Both of them are in some way in tangent with Hannah and dissed her in some way. Like, she only could date Alex and Justin. There were so many guys she could date but she dated them. In fact, she ruined the friendship she had with Hannah and what Hannah had with Alex to be with Alex. I would say that is what is being a user is. Not what Hannah’s accusations were.

It was just like a typical cheerleader to feel the need to feel empowered. Like Jocks. I guess in the end Jessica should have been a better friend and better person for herself as well. I think I like Sherri because her personality is better.

Don’t judge Sherri too harshly because well, she is just a kid like us, trying to do the right things but getting stuck in the wrong place at the wrong time.

I think she genuinely loves you and has feelings for you

But like any person, adult or teen, she is not letting her ego take a step back. It happens. Justin did it. Alex did it. Courtney did it. Zach did it. Tyler did. Marcus did it. So, did Jessica. Far greater extent than she did.

So, yeah, those people didn’t easily come back

I will say that Zach and Sherri tried to though —

—    maybe, they were unsuccessful at the moment you approached them but perhaps we are working on it.

All I am saying is that we be a bit kinder to people

From what I learned about from Hannah is that we should try to be kinder

Even if we are not always good on it or successful about it

It’s good to try

You tried

You cared

You made more than necessary effort

I respect you for that

I don’t always respect the actions of people

I am nice to people but I am not stupid or blind

I am not deaf either

My kindness is my choice not my ignorance

Because kindness can explore dimensions that violence can’t

Though aggression has its uses

And not the classical male aggression.

We see what that entails. Justin trying to make a kiss more than it is so that he can feel secure in himself. To be honest, he acted like a slut. It’s almost akin to what we wanna believe sluts do. So, did what Alex did. Sluts are people we condemn for being sexual. In actually, sluts are supposed to be sadomasochistic people who have unhealthy exhibitionism towards trivial points of life.

The fact they are male does not give them this grand pardon to not be sluts. In fact, as gay man I can say that many sluts are male. We just wanna overlook the ugly truth about it.

Yet, you still cared

You understood what was wrong

It took you time

Obviously, I think you get academics perfectly but not well emotions

That’s okay though

We don’t always get it right

Well, guys are told not to get emotions right.

You know that’s wrong

I am recording these tapes and I feel pretty happy letting my emotions out

I may be gay but that doesn’t mean I don’t have to buy to machismo

Being a male means you are fed that crap every single day and it does hurt obviously

I wanted out from it. Being gay as I said doesn’t automatically make you get a get out of jail free card. In fact, I think sometimes it pressurises gay men to act more “masculine” the need to show others they are still male.

After all, think of positions, top and bottom.

Always respect for the top

Bottom pretty much means “woman” or “female” or “feminised” — I don’t think women can ever real be bottoms in the way people fetishize them too.

Their anatomy is well — it’s complex. They have erections too if you know what I mean so…the binary is not well placed.

I am veering away a bit sorry

My bad

It’s just I feel I can talk a lot with you

And maybe you were my tutor you would probably rebuke me like you did Jeff. Tell me to stay on topic. Don’t use run on sentences. Don’t well speculate too much. Structure your essay.

I guess this is a free form essay

Think of it as a form of prosaic poetry

Though not totally that

So, yeah, you care

There is something about that as I said

Being caring and even allowing others to care about you is not easy

But you cared about everyone

Even me

Let me care about you; care for you

I loved that

It made me feel secure in my ability as a male, in my masculinity, but also in my ability to be a confident individual

To know it is okay to care, be cared about, cared for —

You did the same for me

Getting mad at me for beating up others

I know it was you nit-picking

But I can see where it was coming from

You see me with high expectations

Look, guy, I am only human

And that’s the best thing about me

I am no paragon of goodness and kindness

But…I felt you sometimes treat me like that

Like I am this paragon of goodness and kindness

That you have high hopes for me

I feel that I have high hopes for you too

Can we easily say that to everyone

That we have high hopes about them?

That we feel something really awesome about them?

I don’t think we can and you know what? I feel it’s awesome we can have that for each other.

It made feel secure in myself. I am sure it did the same for you as well. To know there is someone, like you, reaching out to you and being reached by me.

It makes sense

It is a bit complex but we should love it like that

People wanna make categories because it’s simple

They wanna be ignorant, apathetic and unaware because it is simple

When I think of you I don’t think simple as in reductionism simple

I think of as simple as a zephyr or a summer morning

Or a spring flower

Simple to look at but also complex to know

I think you feel the same way about me

But don’t know how to say it (God Bless Communication Class am I right?)

But yes, the caring part is important

The kindness part is important

I think being kind and caring is underrated

It’s taken as a sign for stupidity

I think it can be but not always

Being mean and apathetic is also stupidity

It takes a certain form of intuition and intelligence to be kind and caring

And it is not innate.

People believe that many things are innate

They are not

We learned that that being sad and lonely is not innate

Look at Hannah

We can also say the same for jealousy and pettiness

Look at Justin, Alex, Jessica, Courtney, Marcus, Zach, Taylor and even Sherri and you can see that

Look at me commenting on them. That is not innate either. It can be a form of pettiness too.

So, caring about people. Being kind and thoughtful. I think our world of GPAs, colleges and hierarchies have pretty much shifted some of the things we need as human beings.

To be kind and thoughtful to an extent is a life achievement.

I seriously believe that

To an extent, though —

Aggression to an extent is a life achievement too.

You need it you know.

Everything in moderation.

No excess that breeds pathology.

You weren’t kind and thoughtful when you needed to be with Hannah. And, you weren’t aggressively truthful when you needed to be.

Well, neither was Hannah.

Girls need to be aggressive too.

If she was aggressive to Tyler he would have probably realised who he was fucking with. Seriously, you were right — what he did was criminal. Even afterwards, how he fucked up by messing with Courtney and Hannah. Just because Hannah didn’t wanna hang. I wanted to bust his lip. I had the urge trust me. Guys like him piss me off.

We teach girls and women to be kind and thoughtful and boys and men to be aggressive. We created an inequality that no socio-economics can solve because we have put in the bullshit math of it.

So, caring when it’s right. Especially, for a guy. Is important.

Being kind too.

And it matters.

So, the second reason to why is that you care.

Simple and complex

Just like that

                                                              3

Well, this is Tape 3.

I only recorded the A sides of the tapes.

I don’t know why.

I was thinking if you wanted to record anything you could on the B sides.

Even if they are not exactly nice I would get it.

You could even give your version of events or things you experienced.

I mean, my 9 reasons are my own, but — this involves you.

I said we have our own language. I meant it

I am not going back on that and not allowing you to speak will seem disingenuous.

And, you don’t have to give me 9 reasons

You can give me 5 or 4 or none

I will accept the B sides are blank

And it would make sense to me

Because sometimes a good answer is no answer

And, it doesn’t have to construed negatively

It can just be and I will be okay about it

So, what is the third reason to my 9 reasons?

I don’t think I can say this without some history, some context

However, it goes back to our conversation

When I said to you I was gay

I saw you genuinely confused and surprised

Like, that was a possibility you couldn’t think of

That you felt that the only reason I could have been doing so much for Hannah is because I loved her.

Of course, I did. I admitted that in these tapes. But, my love for Hannah is not the love you expected.

I think you genuinely was nervous hearing I was gay

But not for any reasons that was stupid or selfish or bigoted

You just felt, was there any signs that you missed — I could understand

Why do I feel you are always trying to overcompensate for something too?

Straight guys try to act out their straightness

Gay guys too try to act out their gayness

One thing about men, that seems socially acceptable, is that we can act out

It’s not always positive

Think about Hannah’s tapes.

Does any of the acting out mattered in the end?

They all made people look like shits and made Hannah sad and lonely

I think Hannah was wrong. Guys can be assholes and girls can be evil. She probably said this because of betrayal issues. But I think girls can equally be assholes and guys can equally be evil.

I don’t think the acts done by Justin, Tyler, Marcus or even Ryan are any less evil with what Courtney did. In fact, I felt Courtney was put in a bad spot so she acted out. If Montgomery did not come up at her trying to get his threesome maybe Courtney would have stayed quiet and chill. Though, it doesn’t excuse her it gives a context.

This goes back to acting out. Straight men feel they need to have a threesome to show their branded level of straightness. It’s like two girls means more straightness or something. Obviously, if girls wanna do this with two guys they are not considered straight. They are considered slutty or wrong.

Though it is pretty normal for women, queer or otherwise, to enjoy seeing two women have sex or two men. Women aren’t allowed their own sexual range. The two girls’ thing is only acceptable when there is a guy involved. Like being a straight man has to have this rule of threesome, this unwritten rule, but girls wanting similar treatment is denied.

In my opinion, realistically to me, a threesome with two guys and a girl is more compatible than the other model. I just feel a guy may get annoyed in a threesome with two girls, or even disappointed, knowing he can’t keep long at it as the girls. This sort of problem may not happen with two guys and a girl.

Yet, girls who cannot express this desire because of social quirks is obviously for sexism or misogyny. Males fear women’s sexuality a lot because there is a lot to female sexuality. I may be gay but I am not uninformed Clay. I like to read up on the other sex too. It is good to know about different sexes and genders.

Anyways, males do not necessarily fear queer males. They may dislike them but because it is male sexuality they seem open to it. As if, slightly, they understand it, the allure of it and all. I think they picture it as such.

Males fear queer women but they definitely don’t like female sexuality and fear even straight females. Female dissatisfaction usually runs on these things.

Female sexuality, or sexuality in general, is not always about acting out.

It never has been.

We just used the labels because they were easy

You once said to Hannah that girls may not make lists like boys.

You were wrong

Girls may use the oral tradition to pass on what they feel

They don’t always need written evidence because we live in a slut shaming, hypocritical world but it happens.

But, Hannah did make a list of people who have hurt her

Think about it Clay

She eloquently made a list and she felt better

So, the need to make such lists, to act out as such, is also a female thing as a male one

We just don’t want to look it at this way

I talk about female sexuality, about acting out, about threesomes, because it comes also to a queer context and history I wish to share with you

You were confused on being gay

Frankly, so was I

I like with my Dad who is pretty traditional and I said simple. My Mom pretty much is too. They love each other but you can see some orthodox notions of life even in your parents. I think my Dad knows I am gay and hasn’t really said much because I am not well you know the gay stereotype. I help with cars. Beat up guys who mess with my sis.

In other ways, I ascribe to what hetero males do and are supposed to do

So, you being in the not know made me realise that it took some time for me to realise I was gay

Though my first kiss was when I was around 10 and it was with a boy

Many people have different stories. To them some of their first kisses are with people of opposite sex or same sex but the first kiss doesn’t always determine anything about their sexuality. I was lucky mine helped a bit.

I remember kissing this boy from our neighbourhood and we both really enjoyed it and made it a bit of habit for like three or four years. The thing is he is pretty straight. He got a bit mad later on when he wanted to stop and I didn’t necessarily but we are chill. And, he is happy, secretly, that I was his first kiss.

The thing is for him this was just growing up and moving on to the mainstay of his affection for the ladies. For me this was who I was, right? I kissed a girl too, once. People who wanna continue on kissing the opposite sex will eventually know. Me, I am just happy kissing Brad now. When I say, I am gay I don’t use it as this label in a way that Ryan would.

You see this is the reason Ryan and I are not friends.

Ryan is pretty intelligent but he is also emotionally detached and mean. There is a classic form of cruelty in him. I despise that in him. Like, a lot.

But, when you desire men, as you Clay, who desire women, sometimes you overlook things because you are young and stupid. I overlooked Ryan’s meanness because I craved sex like you may overlook somethings to move on in life. I wasn’t proud of desiring Ryan. But, I think we all have, to an extent, that person. It just happens because we are lonely and frustrated.

Think about me as a gay man navigating the High School. And, in some ways not having the “gay vibes” of Ryan Shaver. Pretty understandable on why it would be a problem — obviously, just sex doesn’t really work. Ryan and I are not alike. We aren’t each other kismesis either. We don’t work well together. He is a sensationalist and I am an emotionally pragmatic person.

You know Ryan would be better with that lousy rat of a fuck Tyler Down. I wouldn’t say he would be totally antithetical to that prospect. Maybe, staying with each other would give both of them a commentary on how fucked they are and pretty much learn to behave.

So, Clay.

I am giving you a history of acting out and not acting out

The secret lines to sexuality

About me

You didn’t think I wasn’t gay because of my ability to be myself

It made me feel a bit happy

It’s nice to be me

Not be gay guy Tony

Just me

And you gave me that by not guessing my sexuality

Made me feel happy that I could have a default

That my default was queer and it was a part of me like your sexuality is your essential part too but we were not making it a sensational thing. A spectacle. It existed. But so did the other sides of me.

When I said, we could talk in languages I meant this. That you saw other sides of me.

I was able to show off that side when I challenged the jocks with my car. Two of them. Just me and my muscle, and muscle car.

It must have dented their heterosexist minds that me, a queer man, could challenge them as such. You helped me further pushing out the labels related to being gay. They knew that too. By making me fight for you, I was also fighting for myself.

It is a great feeling.

I don’t think everyone can have that

I don’t think everyone knows that they may need it

Context matters. So, does the history.

We can rewrite or make a new history. We can also reshape future contexts to an extent.

We have that power even if it is liminal it need not be limited.

So, yes, kissing guys and acting out. And, then not doing anything.

But, you didn’t act out either

I am thankful you didn’t

That you didn’t feel that well, you needed to act out

What I mean is when you felt I loved Hannah romantically

You didn’t necessarily hate me for it

You saw it as normal and pretty unjaded.

This is not how you saw the others

You thought there were shortcomings in their love or affections.

Obviously, there was

There was obviously something wrong with them

In the sense, how they were like to Hannah

Even as people they haven’t learned to be responsible or understand their flaws

Maybe, they will get there

Hopefully, we will see some day

I am not hopeful about the rapist though. That jock will probably rot in jail. What he did was not a mistake. It was a something he actually lived by. For him there was no consent aside his own. When I knew what that bitch did I wanted to kill him.

I may be male but rape is something you can understand can happen to anyone. Even a male. Knowing that rape will happen to anyone because of things they can’t control and of people they meet they can’t control. It hurts.

Just that, you did not seem to hate me for loving Hannah. Obviously, I did love her. She was my friend. I loved her intensely as you. But not romantically as you. For a long time, however, you were okay with me loving her as romantically as you. As if I was okay enough to love her. Something tells me if Hannah dated me you wouldn’t be angry that I was dating her and that you wouldn’t get upset over it as much as the Justin Foley thing.

I feel it’s just how you viewed me. As I mentioned once. A paragon of kindness and wisdom. It seemed you were okay if Hannah dated me because you felt I would treat her with love.

You seemed to have valued my love

And then you didn’t think I was gay

When I said it, it was like ‘Wow, Tony is gay, he doesn’t look like or feel gay’

But you accepted it and wanted to apologise for any misunderstandings between Brad and me. Hoping that nothing happened with Brad and me so that you will feel guiltier.

It was kinda nice to know you didn’t think I was gay for I felt that you just didn’t make it a big issue. You accepted it with loads of sincerity. Like, any other sincere thing.

So, you have this innocence.

Your mind is still open and you find being open to things beyond labels to be good.

I can’t say that for many people

We have a bad habit, as a species, to categorise things. It sometimes works but it also fails a lot.

You didn’t categorise me.

You just took me as you did

And for that I Thank You

So, without much delay

This is reason number 3

Your innocence to labels

And, there are more, we have to get to 9, don’t we?

Yeah, I know I do

[thebeafeminist]

My Feminist Gut

In my first-year seminar class Speculative Feminism and Sustainable Futures, we were assigned an excerpt from the book Gut Feminism by Elizabeth A. Wilson that I found very refreshing to read as it related to myself and my current experience. In my first semester, I suffered from an undiagnosed and misdiagnosed gastrointestinal condition that made it increasingly difficult for me to attend class and focus on my academic work. My family, friends and medical professionals denied my claim to have a real illness and decided it was a mental health issue. I needed to “push through”, or “suck it up”. 

Gut Feminism talks about the belly and being, making a fundamental connection between gut pain and depression. Wilson urges feminists to not overlook biological data and instead use them to give feminist arguments power. She says that for too long, “antibiologist” sentiments have been embraced by feminists, and that in general feminist theory mistrusts natural science: “While feminists have engaged carefully with, say, ethnographic data or sociological data or historical data to build new theories of gender and sexuality, we have been less enthusiastic about data from the natural sciences In relation to that kind of data we have been almost uniformly

suspicious” (Wilson 29).

In fact, Wilson argues, biology and other hard sciences can be used to empower women by challenging the claims that women’s health issues are “all in their heads.” Wilson writes, “If feminist theory is to continue to make trouble, it will need to form intimate and unruly alliances with biological data. We need these kind of alliances with biology not just in relation to depression; more generally they help unsettle the political certainties of what we think we stand for, what we think we stand against, and where we stand when we make political gestures” (Wilson 35). By founding theory in data, scientific research, and biological fact, feminists can help women defend themselves against the many ways in which the healthcare industry denies them power and independence. 

 Wilson’s theoretical discussion reflects my narrative of how I was sick and misdiagnosed, which led to further anxiety and depression, alienation from friends and family, and poorer performance in school. After this experience, I began to research how women are mistreated and abused by the medical profession. There is a direct and documented link between sexism,  the refusal to believe women when they listen to their bodies, and poor health outcomes, especially for young women. According to one BBC report, “Women are more likely to wait longer for a health diagnosis and to be told it’s ‘all in their heads’. That can be lethal: diagnostic errors cause 40,000-80,000 deaths in the US alone” (Dusenbery).  

My most sacred and known quality is my motivation, but through this battle, I felt it slowly drift away. That’s when I knew my sickness was affecting my mental health. My energy and lust for life were fading out of my life as I found myself stuck and questioning my ability to go through with college. Everything that was important to me was slowly being taken away from me because I was sick and no one knew why or understood me. 

The minute I arrived at Pitzer College, my dream school, I felt worried about my academic and social capabilities in relation to other kids. Searching for classes and hearing fellow kids talk about how easy the classes were made me feel more and more like an imposter. I kept asking myself, “Why am I worthy enough to come to Pitzer College?” I was questioning myself and felt my once beaming confidence shrink. As I began to meet with professors, however, I felt as though I was in good hands and they understood my hearing loss and disabilities. Due to my deafness, I’ve suffered major learning delays which left me developmentally lagging in comparison to other kids my age I was reminded of this in college: when my peers talked out loud in class, or when I was in a meeting with a professor, I would leave stunned and berating myself for not knowing what they were articulating. I never gave myself a break or congratulated myself for “making it.” Instead I chose to beat myself up for not being knowledgeable enough.

Suddenly, I started to gain my speed in my classes and I forced myself to share my work or my thoughts even when I felt my anxiety choking me. I would leave class with a huge smile on my face and thinking to myself how good it felt to push myself into the spotlight. I was handing in my best work in all of my classes, delivering great presentations, and sharing articulate thoughts. I still had a feeling of anxiety spread throughout my body, but that is something I have suffered throughout my life, and my natural reaction to doing something I really care about. 

Then almost overnight, my stomach began cramping up and caused me to have very irregular bowel movements. I woke up from a sluggish night of sleep, got to the dining hall, and ate a full meal, which angered my stomach even more. I felt defeated but still dragged myself to my class with the same enthusiasm. Then I sat in the bathroom contemplating what to do with the next class that I had prepared hours worth of notes for. I went up to the professor and said with the utmost sincerity, “I can’t make it to class, I am so sorry.” Then it went from one class missed to handfuls of classes. My friends began to judge me, and ask  “Why aren’t you just going to class?” My parents called me up and said, “You have to go to class!” I wanted nothing more than to continue the good streak I had started. Now reading email after email I sent to my professors, I can see my confidence deteriorating as  my happiness eroded. I no longer felt that I was in college, but rather in a prison of my own mind with constant thoughts of disappointment and confusion. Each night I would look up stomach issues. I found article after article about anxiety, bad diet, IBS, ulcers, etc. I researched  doctors to go see in my area, and I made an appointment in NYC with a great gastrointestinal doctor. I flew back to New York with happiness that I was back home where I felt comfortable and escaped my mind for a couple of days. 

I met with the doctor and felt eager to find out what was wrong with me. I told him the entire story and explained how the stomach issues had worsened, my symptoms, and what I thought the diagnosis might be. He assured me it was probably IBS exacerbated by anxiety, and I felt tears stream down my face. Anxiety? He didn’t even consider anything else, but the fact it had to be my mental health. He told me to try peppermint pills that should calm down my stomach, and I practically had to beg him to give me an antibiotic, which he prescribed and told me not take unless absolutely necessary. Then, he told me of the LOW FODMAP diet which is supposed to cut out tons of problematic foods for people who suffer from IBS, and he said I shouldn’t do it since it’s very restrictive for someone who is in college. Later that day, I had an appointment with my physician, who told me to take the antibiotics and offered an anti-anxiety medication. 

I later discovered that by accepting this diagnosis, I was reinforcing the ongoing mistreatment of women in medicine. According to an article in U.S. News and World Report,  “This knowledge gap and this trust gap can be so mutually reinforcing because if a woman is going to a doctor and describing symptoms and being told it’s just stress, and maybe she's depressed, she'll usually go to another one and another one. And maybe four doctors down the line, she might get diagnosed with an autoimmune disease, but those four doctors that she saw won't get the memo about that. It makes them have a false sense of confidence in their diagnostic skills and also means each time that happens it reinforces the stereotype that women are especially prone to symptoms that are all in their head.” (Levy).

After a long day full of doctor visits I flew back to Claremont and saw a dietician who helped me implement the LOW FODMAP diet. I started following it religiously, shopping for myself and spending hours checking labels. I ended up eating almost nothing throughout the day at school. I would spend my days with no food and then when dinner came I would eat rice and vegetables. I no longer had any desire to care for myself as everyone else seemed to turn a blind eye. My life became bleak and dull as I canceled more and more plans and holed up in my room.  My friends were becoming cattier with me as I couldn’t show up and eat in the dining halls anymore. 

One morning I woke up and felt tears stream down my face as my stomach was in pain more excruciating than it had ever been before. My dad told me to go to the Emergency Room. When I  told the lady at reception what I was there for, she snapped at me. I went outside and found my dad and started bawling and shaking, overwhelmed and disappointed in this whole situation. We went into the building and I was admitted to a bed and waited for hours to get a doctor to look at my blood, x-rays, and physical. The doctor came in and told me that through the X-ray he could see major blockages in my stomach, but nothing to be concerned about. He simply prescribed me over-the-counter stomach medicines that I already had tried. Through exhaustion and annoyance I just accepted it and tried to push back the ferocious anger about to spill out of me. That Tuesday I went to class, and my stomach grumbled so loudly I felt my whole body turn hot and red. I was so embarrassed, but I laughed it off as if it was nothing. As the class went on I got up to drink water and relieve my horrific anxiety. Then I went back to feeling vomit rising in my throat. I made it to the restroom, and felt torn as to whether I should go back to class or not. I decided to run back to my dorm and congratulated myself for making it safely. In the next class, my stomach went through the same routine. 

After being so humiliated and stumped I felt confused as to what was wrong with my body. I started eating less and less and getting colonics just to make it to classes. I was torturing my body because I had no other solution. I was assigned a therapist and put on a small dosage of Lexapro. I felt inadequate and felt that everyone was judging me because they didn’t know why I wasn’t showing up to classes. I was questioning my own ability to go to Pitzer College. I arrived at the conclusion that my only solution was to take an incomplete to pursue further medical assistance. I sent emails to all of my professors, who responded with sincerity and agreed with my course of action. Then, I spoke to my parents. They were very upset with me and felt that I shouldn’t have done that. They were threatening to take my vacation away from me and were begging me to reverse the incomplete. At this point, I couldn’t gather any strength or energy to fight with them. So, it felt that no one cared about my stomach issues and that everyone was treating me as a failing student. I was angry that no one seemed to believe me and my medical issues as if I wanted to not show up to class after doing extensive work to prepare. I wonder how people would have reacted if my leg was broken. 

My parents were frustrated and decided to fly me back to NYC to get an endoscopy. I went in hoping they would finally find something and I went under anesthesia and the doctor told me that they took some biopsies and there was an alarming amount of acid and inflammation in my stomach. No kidding. I looked at my mother in an I told you so kind of way. Days later, in Los Angeles, I received the report that I had high amounts of H. Pylori bacteria’/ in my large intestine, which left untreated can become ulcers or cancer. A wave of relief washed over me as I knew for certain something was wrong, even if I stuck to my gut to fight for an answer.  I felt a weight lifted from my shoulders. I was prescribed three different types of antibiotics which made me feel very nauseous and tired, but it didn’t matter to me as long as I was finally getting better.

Today, I look back at this semester and connect my misdiagnosed stomach illness to my delayed diagnosis of profound hearing loss. As a child, my desire to communicate caused considerable frustration which led me to throw tantrums. The people around me felt tired, angry, and labeled me, “a nightmare.” Being deaf and not understood led me to feel alone and isolated, something  I have felt throughout my first semester of college. 

I went through months full of anxiety and depression dealing with this stomach issue. The only person who understood was me. It was an internal problem, so people chose to dismiss my illness, which made me feel guilty that perhaps I was faking it. Instead of taking action, they chose to dope me up on anti-anxiety medications and send me to a therapist. It wasn’t the right solution to my stomach issues, which remained until they were properly diagnosed with good science and good medicine. As Elizabeth Wilson says, “My argument is not that the gut contributes to minded states, but that the gut is an organ of mind: it ruminates, deliberates, comprehends” (Wilson, 5). 

There is a gender bias in health care that leads to poorer outcomes for women. Women with health issues are often disbelieved and disregarded by those around them and those treating them. This skepticism leads to poorer health care and serious, sometimes fatal consequences. I am hoping this paper encourages all women who feel that their bodies are misunderstood or misrepresented to challenge doctors and other authority figures. Our society needs to encourage young women to listen to their bodies and insist that they receive the proper health care that they need, rather than dismissing them. If, as Elizabeth Wilson says, we can inform this self-assertion with good science, we can finally enforce real change for women’s health.  

Sources:

Dusenbery, Maya. “'Everybody Was Telling Me There Was Nothing Wrong'.” BBC Future, BBC, 

29 May 2018, https://www.bbc.com/future/article/20180523-how-gender-bias-affects-your-healthcare.

Levy, Gabrielle. “Why Women Struggle to Get Doctors to Believe Them.” U.S. News & World

Report, U.S. News & World Report, https://www.usnews.com/news/the-report/articles/2018-04-20/why-women-struggle-to-get-doctors-to-believe-them.

[tomoneofakind]

***My thoughts with the film A Quiet Place.  This article contains spoilers for the movie.***

  A post apocalyptic horror movie, A Quiet Place stars John Krasinski and Emily Blunt, parents doing whatever it takes to keep their children safe when blind but ultra sensitive hearing creatures start to attack and destroy civilization with every sound that they hear.   The family must remain quiet or risk being killed by these creatures.

This movie isn’t that long at around an hour and thirty minutes.  A good length for this movie and finishes right where it needs to.  The main story was the family trying to survive.  I wished that I saw more of what happened to others and wanted to know more about the creatures origins, but I was satisfied with the overall movie.  I couldn’t find any of their names and had to look them up.   There was no mention of them in the movie.  The family consisted of Lee, Evelyn, Regan, and Marcus.  There was another child named Beau who was killed in the beginning of the movie.  Lee, trying to keep his family safe and Evelyn caring for her children while getting ready for the birth of her fourth child.  Regan, Lee’s daughter, is partly responsible for her brother being killed when she gives a space shuttle toy back to him that he wanted after his dad said no to Beau.  Regan felt regret and thinks her dad holds her responsible for what she had done.  When the kids are in danger and Lee sacrifices himself to save his kids at the end, Lee reminded his daughter that he always loved her in sign language, even if she felt indirectly responsible for killing her brother and thought her dad did as well.  The only story that felt more like a plot device was Evelyn’s being pregnant.  I just didn’t understand in a world full of sound and creatures, why give birth to a baby that all it can do is cry and make noise?  It just felt like a way to bring the creatures into the home and threaten her and the family.  Was it an accidental pregnancy?  There wasn’t much with Marcus.  He just felt there and didn’t really add anything other than being scared.  Either way, I was satisfied with the story arc for these characters.

The film looks like a lot of post apocalyptic worlds I’ve seen before.  The abandoned town in the beginning looked great, but that’s all we got to see in terms of scenery.  A lot of the film shows the family’s home and the woods.  I don’t even know where they lived or where the setting of the film was.  I did like the isolation of the family as it kept the story and focus on them surviving.  There is a scene where you get to see other fires light up around Lee, making it think that others are nearby and out there, but it isn’t explained.

Sound is the main theme and device for this movie.  The monsters can’t see or smell.  They hunt their victims by sound.  It comes off like a type of sonar, where even the smallest sound is able to attract them from miles away.  I liked the sound mixing in the movie.  Mostly ambient nature noises you see and hear when walking on a nature trail.  It gave a sense of eerie calm that I’ve experienced when I go outside.  I live on a pretty high elevation and sometimes it can get real quiet outside with no noise.  I can’t explain how or why it does this, but it does happen.  There were times when you didn’t hear much.  Maybe the rustle of the fire, running water, or humming of electricity.  There was only five or so minutes of spoken dialogue in the movie.  Not being able to tell a story with hardly speaking was risky, but it works.  The rest of the dialogue is done through sign and body language.  I didn’t know at the time, but the actress that played Regan, Lee’s daughter, is deaf.  Millicent Simmonds lost her hearing due to a medication overdose as a baby.  The opening scene when Lee is running across the bridge trying to save Beau was great.  It was revealed that Regan didn’t know her brother put the batteries back in the space shuttle toy.  She and the sound was in complete silence when focused on her and her brother playing with the toy until she saw her dad run towards her to the other end of the bridge and her brother was in peril.  A great scene I thought.

I liked the look of the creature.  To me, it combined the Necromorphs from Dead Space with the Lickers or something from the Resident Evil series, with a hint of clickers from The Last of Us.  I had a lot of video game monsters on my mind while watching this.  A side note, John Krasinski looked like he could be a young Joel from The Last of Us.  I couldn’t get a clear image of them, but here are photos showing off Joel and Lee

Joel from The Last of Us

John Krasinski from A Quiet Place

Can Anyone else see it?  If not, I tried.

The idea of the creatures were great, but had questionable elements that I didn’t understand.  They couldn’t see but had fairly good accuracy when attacking and moving.  They moved around like how I would believe a blind but good listening creature is able to.  I understand those last two points.  But they came off as extreme librarians demanding silence.  It seems that they only attack people, animals, and things that made a lot of loud noise?  What they choose to attack seemed like whatever bothered them.  There was a scene where Lee and his son go to a river and get fish.  With the amount of noise that the water was generating there, why didn’t weren’t the creatures attacking and slashing that the water?  The creatures could also hears screams from miles away, but couldn’t hear the humming of electric bulbs and tell the family was near by?  It felt like a pick and choose on what they chose to attack.  They didn’t attack the family or come running in the beginning on the movie when birds were cawing in the town making noise, but hear glass breaking miles away.  I also don’t think that they need food to survive.  I don’t recall seeing them eating the victims that they kill, just swiping and killing them.  Did anyone else pick up on this?  The monsters are also brought down by what seemed to be a type of feedback that you get when you put a microphone next to a speaker.  This was revealed whenever a creature got close to Regan’s hearing device.  Not that obvious on a solution, but I’m surprised that no one in that world thought of that way to bring them down.

I heard that a sequel is in the works.  I just don’t know what else would be left to tell other than where the creatures in the film came from and others coping and dealing with the creatures.  I found out a detail that the creature might have come from space.  A newspaper article in the basement of the house mentioned that “A meteor hits Mexico with the force of a nuke.”  There is the rest of the world out there that the film didn’t seem to mention.  Only sort of briefly when Lee was trying to contact the outside world with Morse Code.  I also read that the writers had a plan to originally make this into a Cloverfield movie.  In a way, I can see this film crossing over to that movie series.  These films do have aliens that attack Earth and are distributed by Paramount Pictures, but they are two seemingly different movie aliens.

Got anything else to add or saw something I missed.  Comment or let me know and thank you for reading.

A Quiet Place ***My thoughts with the film A Quiet Place.  This article contains spoilers for the movie.*** A post apocalyptic horror movie, …