#and the fact that it got stolen from us along with the wilds physically hurts me

[iknxwtheend]

the fact that heart stopper got renewed almost instantly and first kill got canceled despite it getting more views and the fandom literally doing everything in our power to make sure it got a second season just shows how much netflix truly hates lesbians.

[newmooninhername]

Phileremon stood at the edge of the wood, staring out into the clear cut beneath power lines, pinching the divot beneath her bottom lip. Her neck had begun to hurt sometime the night before, and indicator that her strange physical affliction was coming on strong. The pain made it difficult to think.

Several feet away towards the middle of the clearing, a family of deer had, overnight, slipped between the long wall of pin oak sentinels and a group of persimmon. She saw evidence there of bark rubbed away, likely by the horns of some lone, rutting buck months prior. One of the elders had a limp, as evidenced by the way the right front hoof left race tracks atop the squall's leavings.

There was also a well-used rabbit trail. She made a mental note, that if she ever got desperate for meat she could make traps for them there. For now, mushroom and shiso-herbed rice and crystal yacón were as proper a meal as any, with their omega fatty acids and high protein content.

"Anassan, whatever lesson you give, I will face head on."

'I just hope it never involves me having to kill another being...' she thought, returning to her investigation.

What was missing was any sign of prints for the diamond-eyed walker. The snow was powdered there, its expanse untrodden at the bases of thistle stalk and burdock bur. The girl looked right and left. Yes, this was the exact spot it had been standing. "Nothing," she billowed, unaware of having spoken. Weren't skinwalkers known for leaving a yellow trail of pustulous saliva from whatever mouth they were wearing? The footprints of the animal or human it had donned? Tags of decaying flesh, left here and there on winter twigs, as its stolen hide slowly fell apart along the trail?

Phileremon suddenly remembered the scent of rotten meat she had smelled as she'd left the offering; the now-realized presence of a corpse. And yet, no sign of it remained. To her knowledge, there was not a creature within fifty miles whose passing was untraceable. Vetala were said to inhabit the mountainside, hanging here and there from old buzzard trees at midnight, but had only ever been sighted north of the halfway mark around its spiky midsection, where wild ginger, blood root and fir lost footing on the sharp spires of ironed manganese.

Phileremon looked up over the rising trees towards the peak. She was accustomed to thinking of it as a mountain, but in fact it was a being, heir of an ancient race, an Antæan skyggeberg named Theou. She stood still as its stone, gaping upwards. What a behemoth it was.

The Antæan had not moved in millennia. In the midst of thousands of kilometers of pin oak, sverrewood and cedar pine, it had settled, dozed and eventually slept, its roots comfortably buried.

Asleep it had remained, now less a being than a legend, its jagged charcoal cliffs and charnel grounds striking companions to the slivers of barren, snow-vowed roads and impassable valleys. Cragged elbow creases and armpits, forever pinned in ice packed so hard as to form glass pauldrons and gauntlets, dappled its massive, wrinkled form.

Theou's southbound crest now seemed to dissolve into the white-grey of that morning's sky. It was said that one could step off of the peak and find oneself standing on the plains of Prytannin, a planar rift of the dead whose sky is the landscape of the human world below. How unsettling that must be, to look up and see ash, oak, elk and bear instead of birds and bluesky. It was said that senates of wizened ghouls presided strictly over the dead there, their broken ramparts and bastions pristine inside, held together by their power. She had never been there, never had a reason to go, but knew that the plane's unique, necrotic creatures, half-ethereal, half-matter, had no interest in traversing into the common world.

On some occasions of unknown celebration--once a year or so, but never the same month--the Prytannin dead would gather along Theou's ridges and cliffsides, led in procession by the Tymbidian, She Athrone the Underworld. Her presiding aspect (generally compassionate Polyodynos, alert Phylakê or the lantern carrier, Noctiluca) would take the River Styx and rise to the surface emanating a muted, Tyrian purple light, raising the dead through the many churt caves of the local karst region surrounding the skyggeberg. Friend of corpses, keeper of lost souls, the Tymbidian would lead them for three days before dissipating with the mists, running back down into the black soil once more, bearing the brunt of winter against her torches.

It was said that she walked them so that they would not feel alone, having something other to do than obsess over the loss of lives once lived above. Phileremon had witnessed the grim procession several years in a row, with absolute awe and wonder. It appeared to be less a trek of boredom, more a rite or ritual.

Nightly, the girl witnessed the Tymbidian walking the local dead along the borders during twilight, as was part of their pact. But She'd never been accompanied by any Prytannin dead below the halfway line except during Procession, so it could not have been them in the clearing, as they never moved into the physical world without Her permission, and certainly not ever alone.

The Theou's dreams mingled with hers often, called her to take its paths to the Prytannin, but she couldn't imagine why she should. It was dangerous up there and, by her estimates, she was still at least a decade away from being powerful enough to manage such a quest.

She wished that, instead of a skyggeberg, a lyfjaberg had settled there, as those brighter Antæan were said to lead to prytannin of healing, powerful artifacts of aide. The skyggeberg, on the other hand, was a place for strict ascetics, where one went to challenge oneself to the utmost, face one's greatest fears. It sickened rather than healed, starved, scared, its sigiled artifacts luring those seeking sepulchral boons only found once the traveler was lost, half-dead or beset by all manners of haunts and half-lives. For the time being, Phileremon had not the strength to undertake such a challenge, and little desire.

Her mind snapped back to the meeting between them, the diamond-eyed creature and she. Phileremon shook her head and shivered, her neck crunching, wisps of hair sticking out of her hood touching her face, too numb now to be felt, to tickle. While it was speaking the name out loud that chanced calling the skinwalker to you, she was even unnerved by thinking the name. What a horror.

The girl quickly admonished herself. Why was she even questioning what she had been told? Veneficar Hegêmonen was not a liar. If she had foreseen a skinwalker, that's exactly what it had been. Yet, Phileremon had lingering questions that she would not gain from Hegêmonen, who spoke so often in riddles and mysteries. She decided to go speak to the Historian about it instead. One thing was for sure, there was no evidence to indicate that anything had passed the treeline and entered her woods.

The skin on her face had begun to burn. It was time to return home. She followed her footsteps back to Propylon, to see about the offering and whether it had been accepted. Passing the apothecary shack at the clearing reminded her of the whistling that had accompanied the beast. She needed to remember to ask the Historian about that as well.

Arriving at Propylon to her right, she saw with sudden delight the massive tracks of a dog, evidenced by the x-shapes that the spaces between paw pads left in the snow. It had eaten, delicately, from the center of the offering plate where she had piled the meat, bone and egg, and marked it afterwards, urine leavings a sure ownership of the small shrine.

The prints never left the circle ward around the stone altar except for where they came and went down the hill to the small cave entrance. Excited, Phileremon ran to the cave, hoping as she ever had to find physical evidence of a visitation by her Matron.

It was as she had hoped, the second evidence of a physical manifestation. No human-shaped footprints, but prints nonetheless; hound tracks beginning and ending at the tiny entrance. No large dog could fit into that hole, and the prints stopped just short of it, which indicated to her that it was, indeed, a Stygian hound manifesting a physical form long enough to take the hill to the offering.

She imagined the scene; a shadow appearing at the hole in the frozen soil, atoms thickening into a black fog, taking form of a giant, silken hound. How graceful it must have been, its eyes slanted and wise. Perhaps one day she would stand before it, before them both as they stood, majestic, on either side of She, Borne of a Thousand Forms: Darksister, the Tuscan healer, Ecate. Leukophryne, the wizened, white-browed, winter veneficar. Ouresiphoitin, solitary wanderer of the Antæan wood. Perhaps the compassionate Agallomenen Elaphoisi.

Her heart beat quick in her chest, her eyes widening, a smile breaking across her numb face. What an eventful deipnon it had been! She had been so worried that the long stint of her inability would be followed by many uneventful months before she could return to her previous skill level. Here was proof, finally, that Hekate had no intention of punishing her for what she had not been capable of.

She knew this already, innately. The belief that she was not worthy was hardly beneficial to her craft. Hekate asked for courage, confidence, asked Phileremon to be the Queen of her land. It was time to stop being the self-doubting acolyte and step into her place at her Matron's side, no longer as a girl but as a Lampade of the New Moon.

She hurried back home to speak to the Historian, though it seemed less pressing now, her smile wide and warming the marble of a face that had been frozen so long, so long.

[anntoldst0ries]

Coda (Ethan x MC)

Book: Open Heart 3, Chapter 7 Pairing: Dr Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr Noelle Valentine) Word Count: 3.1k Rating: 18+ (NSFW) Summary: Things got heated between Dr Ramsey and Dr Valentine during Bloom’s event. Will they finish what they’ve started?

Warning: This fic contains adult content, don’t read if you’re a minor.

A/N: Happy Easter, folks! So, let’s pretend this horror of a dress (which, let’s be honest, even Bloom’s PA wouldn’t wear) never happened. Also, this is my first time ever publishing NSFW fic, so please be understanding 🙈 That being said, I always appreciate feedback and am forever grateful for all of you, because you help me grow 💜

Huge shoutout to Bree @jamespotterthefirst who was so lovely to pre-read it and actually encouraged me to post, girl you are golden and I just cannot thank you enough! We are all so lucky to have you 🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼😍

Even though he was trying to be sensible about this, every molecule of sense left him during his left palm’s chance encounter with Noelle Valentine’s bare thigh.

But has anything about their touching bodies ever been truly accidental?

Although, if he was honest, this was just the culmination point.

His rational mind’s death by a thousand cuts.

It all started when she entered the premises of the venue in her provocative dress and he had to blink rapidly a few times, thinking that his eyes were deceiving him, breath trapped in his throat.

Cut.

Her every step gracious and light, as if she’s been the human embodiment of a wood nymph.

As if she’s stolen the world's entire allure.

Cut.

Her silky waves, cascading like a waterfall - he wanted to dive into them, lose himself in them.

Drown in them.

Cut.

She was a prodigy, a goddess descending from mount Olympus, who, for some mysterious reason, decided to grace the mortals with her overwhelming presence.

Some guests were standing agape, the others smiled wide and showered her with rain of compliments; a few people had tiny lightnings of jealousy flickering in their eyes.

But no one was left indifferent by her grand entrance.

Strangely, Ethan didn’t feel jealousy.

In fact, he couldn’t be more proud.

His eyes, like x-rays, have relentlessly been reminding him of the perfect shapes hiding under the layers of the sophisticated, silky material. In this regard, he envied everyone else. Unlike him, imagination was all they had.

He knew. He touched. He teased. He tasted. He caressed.

Sometimes, ignorance was truly a bliss.

Today, ignorance was certainly not going to help him get through this evening.

* * * * * *

He almost lost it on the balcony.

Then, the sudden appearance of musicians interrupted them.

He wasn’t startled.

He was angry.

Freaking Bloom and his jazz band, he thought to himself. How on earth was he constantly able to rain on Ethan’s parade, even when they weren’t physically in the same room?

Noelle’s pearly laugh dissipated all thoughts in an instant, her impossibly beautiful face now turned to him. Entwining their hands, Ethan knew he had no choice but to play along.

Inside, he was laughing out of the other side of his mouth.

They were coming back to the room full of buffoons and right now her presence was as comforting as it was driving him further into insanity.

Before he was even able to sit down, someone has already slipped a drink into his hand and when Ethan was ready to sigh and curse the fate that sent him to Bloom’s 4th circle of hell*, a sudden realisation struck him.

This evening wasn’t lost yet.

In fact, it wasn’t lost at all.

And as he was thinking, a small smile ran past his lips.

The answer was right there in front of him.

* * * * * *

“Dr Ramsey, you’re still here?” Ethan had heard the unwanted and all too loud voice, followed by an even more unwanted pat on the back, accompanied by his nemesis’ reddened face and alcohol breath.

He plastered a fake smile, mustering the remains of politeness.

“You didn’t strike me as a party type, I thought you’d be making excuses a long time ago.” Leland grinned like a Cheshire cat. For a second, an outsider could have almost thought these two hold each other in high regard.

Almost being the key word.

“This is the most pleasant surprise.” Leland continued. “You see, I am rarely wrong, so it’s one of these moments when not only am I wrong, but also being wrong actually makes me happy.” He laughed as if he’s just delivered the best punch line in the world.

“Well, we are representing the hospital after all and I wouldn’t be too much of an example if I left before the rest of my team.” Ethan put on his best charming smile, not without a superhuman effort.

You don’t play the game, you play the opponent, he reminded himself.

“It looks like we are finally agreeing on something, doctor.” A sleazy smile ran past his lips, as he left to mingle with another circle. Inside, Ethan shuddered. There was just something about Bloom that didn’t add up and he was yet to figure what it was… but now his focus shifted to something else entirely.

Just like he predicted (or diagnosed, if you will) with every sip, every passing minute, the guests were falling deeper and deeper into inebriation - the excellent staff made sure that every time someone emptied their glass, a new dose of liquid happiness was ready for them. Dr Ramsey knew this must have been Bloom’s doing.

They may have had money and resources but during these events, they were like wild animals held captive and then suddenly let loose. Their problem was that they thought money could pay for everything, but it certainly couldn’t buy back dignity, redeem bad manners and erase terrible first impressions.

Tonight, he will use this flawed logic to his advantage.

* * * * * *

Noelle was sitting across the table, not even trying to hide anymore that whatever the tech moguls were trying to sell, she wasn’t buying.

Neither their fancy apps nor their bullshit.

Ethan finished yet another glass of scotch and stood up, his height towering over everyone else at the table.

“Well, it’s about time I was moving. Thank you for a very… revelatory evening, gentlemen.” The other table occupiers didn’t even pay too much attention and murmured something, shifting their focus back to the beautiful female doctor. “Dr Valentine, can I offer you a ride home? That is, if you were planning to leave soon…”

“That would be great, thank you, Dr Ramsey.” If her eyes could speak up, they would have definitely thanked him for throwing her a lifebelt.

“Fantastic, meet me outside in 10 minutes then? I have…one more business to attend to beforehand.”

She wasn’t exactly sure what it was — the look, the pause between words, the accentuation - but something told her that whatever business he meant, she was very much a part of it.

Her suspicion has soon turned out to be justified, as his tall figure wandered off and disappeared around the corner.

A corner he had absolutely no reason to disappear around.

The younger doctor waited a minute before making her excuses and assuring her companions that a future partnership with Edenbrook couldn’t look any brighter, Noelle turned around and followed the man in black suit.

Walking as fast as her hurting feet and long gown were allowing her, Noelle entered a long corridor at the back of the fancy restaurant and had to admit that even this place, which must have simply led to different utility rooms, looked spectacular and stylish. Almost like those fairytale corridors, which lead to other dimensions.

But only if a voice summons you and guides you there.

Just as the thought popped into her head, a firm grip tightened around one of her wrists, making her jump.

When she turned around, his index finger was on his lips in a clear message.

Quiet.

They only made a couple of steps before he cautiously opened the door and rushed her into a room. It looked like a sophisticated pantry or a wine cellar and she thought the stock must have been worth more than her annual salary.

The room was dark, bar for the little window, which wasn’t much helpful with providing the light, given that the world outside was hugged by the arms of the night.

“Ethan, what’s goi—“ She never had a chance to finish the sentence, before he took her breath away with his lips, not for the first time this evening. He didn’t stop there, pushing her towards the counter, like a famished animal backing its victim into the corner.

“You said you’ll be looking for an encore, didn’t you?” She was trying to accustom her sight to the darkness, the gleam in the blue of his eyes her only reference point.

“Although, if I’m not mistaken and my opera knowledge is still sharp, I think coda** is actually the word you’re looking for.”

She stilled, a shiver running through her spine, the electric feel both hot and cold. An audible swallow filled the silence that lingered after his words, not for long as he continued his monologue.

“And I’m sorry, Dr Valentine, but I’m not a patient man today…I’ve exhausted all my patience on senseless endeavours this evening.” Almost as if to prove the sincerity of his words, he started moving towards her, his every gesture deliberate; there was no space for randomness.

Every word hit her like a wrecking ball, her remaining senses overkeen. She couldn’t rely on her eyes anymore and her hearing, smell and touch suddenly became heavily heightened, almost supernatural.

She couldn’t reflect on this for too long though, as he backed her further towards the counter, blocking her moves.

“H-how… how do you know no one’s gonna come in?”

Even in the dark, she could see the corners of his lips going up, in a smile which wasn’t affectionate. It was dark, almost sinister.

And hot as hell.

Ethan leaned into her and dropped his voice even lower than she thought was humanly possible, whispering straight into her ear.

“I don’t, but… my diagnostic instincts rarely fail me, Noelle Valentine. Plus… that’s a part of the thrill, isn’t it?” He paused for a second to gloat upon the effect his ministrations had on her. Dr Ramsey enjoyed controlling the situation - more than he’d care to admit.

“Look me in the eye and tell me you haven’t fantasised of this, of losing yourself in me completely… except you couldn’t, because of a tiny detail, a stubborn question in your pretty head… what if someone walks in on us? What if it happens when you are overwhelmed by pure ecstasy, knowing there is no coming back, that the only way is forward…”

Ethan knew immediately that these words hit the jackpot. If she wasn’t before, she was definitely shaking now, her treacherous body betraying her in all ways possible.

That’s how she knew all these months ago. Maybe her mind could, but her body could never lie to Ethan Freaking Ramsey.

Ethan’s hands started roaming her body, discovering his favourite promised land, as if he had not been touching her on that balcony earlier, as if he’d never touched her before.

Because for him, every time with her was first and last. And he hoped things would always feel this way.

“Who are you and what have you done to Ethan Ramsey?”

She couldn’t see the smirk that appeared on his painfully handsome face.

“If I were you, I’d be more worried about what’s to be done to you, Dr Valentine.”

With this, he lifted her up by grabbing her ass and sat her on the counter, pressing her back against the cold wall, which felt strangely warm against her body.

Or not so strangely, given there was a fire inside of her.

Securing her neck with his palm, he pulled her closer for a long, wet and greedy kiss, the obscene sounds of their mouths filling the otherwise silent space.

“Touch me.” A silent plea fell off her lips, her voice a quiet sob. Usually, he’d enjoy teasing her forever, playing little games, checking how far she would go to get what she wanted. But not tonight.

Tonight… he’s gonna give her exactly what she wants.

Because he wants it even more.

His middle and index finger slipped past the silky material of the dress and the band of her underwear. Noelle parted her lips slightly and drew a shallow breath, waiting in anticipation. Her wish was granted a couple of seconds later, when he ran up and down her folds, eliciting a small, guttural moan, which he was sure would forever be his favourite sound in the whole world.

Before she was even able to get used to the feeling, he pushed 2 digits into her without warning, making her eyes wide with amazement. But the movement stilled a second later. Maybe he couldn’t not tease her after all.

“Please.” The sound that came out of her was almost inaudible, yet extremely high pitched. Even if he tried, Ethan simply didn’t know the words that could come close to describing what these reactions were doing to him.

“You know I will give you the world… I will give you anything you want, Noelle. You just need to tell me what it is that you desire.”

She didn’t know what was the biggest turn on - his sultry voice dripping with desire, the feeling of his digits inside her or the well thought out choice of words. But it gave her an answer immediately.

“Fuck me with your fingers, Ethan.”

There was something shy and yet confident about the way she said it, he couldn’t explain it. Whatever it was, it made him even harder, which, at this point he thought wasn’t humanly possible. Although he was painfully aware of his own desire, he couldn’t rid neither her nor himself of the pleasure of watching her come undone on his fingers.

“As you wish, my naughty girl.”

His fingers started moving in come-hither motion, first slowly and teasingly. Just when she opened her mouth to beg him again, his thumb circled her swollen clit and pressed the sensitive bundle of nerves with precision, sending her mind into overdrive. She had to bite her own shoulder to suppress what she was sure would turn into a scream.

“Fuck… yes, right there.” She was an incoherent mess, while his fingers curved and touched places that made her eyes roll. “Faster, Ethan.” She commanded weakly as his fingers picked up the face, going in and out of her furiously.

She was pleading and moaning for god knows what and her hands were desperate to grip something, just anything.

Soon, he knew as well as she did that the peak was close, for her body kept moving and shaking on its own accord.

“I’m…this…you…” She cried, making even less sense than before.

“I know. Let go… let go now, Noelle. I know you needed this so much. Come for me now, baby.”

Sinking her teeth, this time in his shoulder, and tightening her grip on him, Noelle clenched around his fingers, the feeling so arousing that he thought he’s going to explode himself. He had to hold her with all the strength he had in his free arm, as she was all over the place, trembling, cursing, riding out what must have been one of the strongest orgasms she’s ever experienced.

When the feeling settled, Ethan slowly loosened his grip over her and slid his fingers out, bringing them to his lips. The taste of her astounded him every single time.

“In case I haven’t told you before… nothing can compare to the way you taste. Maybe apart from the way you feel, but I need to check to be certain.”

Before he was able to do so himself, she reached for his belt and unbuckled it hastily, letting his pants pool at his feet. Ethan hissed when she was ridding him of the last layer separating them, his throbbing member oversensitive to the slightest touch. He responded in kind, slipping her thongs down.

He stared at her as if he’s forgotten how to blink before saying:

“If I were you, I’d hold on tight.”

She grabbed the edge of the counter and tightened her grip, leaning onto her other arm, palm pressed flat onto the surface. Ethan positioned himself in front of her and the moment his tip met her sex, a wild lust overtook him completely, from top to bottom. He pushed hard, their bodies finally connecting.

He didn’t waste time to make himself or her feel comfortable. Right now, he wasn’t a guest - he was the invader, the intruder, the conqueror.

“Fuck, it’s impossible you’re still so tight.”

In answer, she clenched her muscles around him even more, earning herself a throaty sound.

“You little minx.”

She was going to be the death of him and what an epic death it would be.

“Ethan, fuck me like you mean it.” Noelle bit her lower lip, knowing the effect this tiny gesture always had on him. He didn’t need anything more. The sound of fast thrusts soon filled the air, making it thick and dense. The race started, two lovers chasing their gratification like it was the last thing they were ever going to do.

This wasn’t vanilla.

It was chilli, whiskey neat and flames.

A dance of carnal desires, intense and salient, leading to the grand finale. Nothing finesse, quite the contrary - a satiation of the most primal of human desires.

Ethan kept thrusting into her so deep that she felt blood when she had to bite her lip, trying to stop the animalistic scream trapped in her throat, begging to be released. She felt every vein, every nerve inside of her, every place he was reaching. Her hands and arms hurt, but her mind, currently controlled by Ethan’s cock moving in and out of her in killer pace, has overridden any physical sensations other than pure pleasure.

“So…so close.” She panted weakly, rolling her eyes as waves of pleasure kept crashing on her.

Leaning into her, he caught her earlobe and as he kissed her ear, Ethan groaned. “You’re so,” thrust, “fucking”, thrust, “hot”, thrust, “when”, thrust, “you come.”

And with that, she came.

Her whole body arched and hot white pleasure turned every cell of her body into bliss. It was like jumping into the pool on a sunny day, submerging yourself completely and then just… floating.

Ethan followed her instantly, her climax triggering his own. They were holding onto each other for dear life, compounding the intensity of their sensations and silently praying for this moment to never, ever stop.

When their breathing returned back to normal a few moments later, the older doctor pushed aside strands of her hair that stuck to her face and then cupped her cheeks.

“You ok?” The tenderness in his voice almost made her heart stop.

As if she hasn’t already been dead.

“Ok? No, I’m not ok. I am pretty fucking great.”

“That you are.” He smiled wide. “You are pretty fucking great.”

“Well you are not too bad yourself. How are you feeling?”

“I feel like I died and was reborn, all at the same time.”

They laughed at each other’s choice of words, still in a tight embrace.

“Ready for the next part, Ramsey?”

“Next part?”

“Now we need to sneak out of here for real.”

* * *

* This is a reference to Dante’s poem “Inferno” from “Divine Comedy”

** coda - The final part of a play, film, or narrative in which the strands of the plot are drawn together and matters are explained or resolved

Tag 🏷 list: @starrystarrytrouble @genevievemd @sophxwithers @terrm9 @maurine07 @the-pale-goddess @drakewalkerfantasy @iemcpbchoices @oldminniemcg @schnitzelbutterfingers @mercury84choices @lsvdw-blog @archxxronrookie @queencarb @qrkowna @utterlyinevitable @lucy-268 @udishaman @stygianflood @romereadingshop @romewritingshop @caseyvalentineramsey @xxsugarplumfluffsxx @liaromancewriter @mrs-ramsey @wingedhairstylemusicweasel @fayeswiftie @tsrookie @lisha1valecha @alina-yol-ramsey @stateofgracious @lem-20 @fireycookie

[that-wizard-oki]

if your up to rambling about it more, how would arc 3 have gone with morganthe there?

Alright anon, and all who happen to be interested in my damn theories... after 2 very long days, here are my... general... ideas on how Arc 3 might have gone with Morganthe present.

This is a long one my dudes. Grab a snack, take a seat, and if you make it to the end, thanks for reading. 

Let’s take a look, shall we?

Morganthe & The Wizard’s Character Foil would be the cornerstone of this arc.

Y’know how everyone talks about Zuko and Aang being one of the greatest character foils in fiction? Well, in a nutshell, I think that Khrysalis part 1 & 2 (and arguably the entire second arc) built up this wonderful relationship between Morganthe & The Wizard- one that i think could easily be just as memorable and clever as the aforementioned. 

If you’re unfamiliar with my thought’s on this idea, here’s a rundown:

All throughout arc 2, Morganthe’s dialogue towards the wizard is usually focused on things they both have in common. We’re both students of Ravenwood, both have studied under Merle Ambrose directly, we were both considered prodigies, respectively. Some other characters also bring up things here and there, most notably Tse Tse Snaketail in Mirror Lake (which, by the way… mirror lake…c’mon) who claimed “she (Morganthe) knows you better than you know yourself!” 

Azteca is when we really begin to see the foil between Morganthe and the Wizard start to be set in motion. Azteca itself is the first time I think our wizard is truly and utterly overwhelmed with obstacles- Between the impending doom of Xibalba, the raising of the Undead (once again, mind you), the revival of our last greatest foe, AND the fact that Morganthe, the puppet master behind this all, is always one step ahead of us the entire time. 

A huge moment for the Wizard IS that we fail in Azteca. This is where our wizard has to face the sting of failure, and it runs deep. While the wizard has thus far fought against evil within the Spiral for the sake of justice and protection, NOW the wizard's motivation to go after Morganthe has shifted from the general expectation to do so, to something MUCH more personal. Our desire to ensure Morganthe is defeated, is forever tied to our own sense of self worth- if we don’t defeat her, we are a failure.

 We can easily see the parallel between this and Morganthe’s motivation, which has thus far been fueled by her desire to show Merle what she’s capable of- and that she will go to the greatest length to prove so. 

In Khrysalis, we see the Wizard grow into a similar mindset. They’re much more rash in how they go about pursuing Morganthe, learning ways to try and fight her more evenly when the time comes, and eventually hunting her down. It snowballs to the point where our wizard, despite several warnings, decides to release the god of chaos under the presumption that he will aid them in their goal to defeat the shadow queen. Even more alarmingly, Spider reveals to the Wizard that Morganthe was actually infused with this great power (not stolen, like the arachna had claimed), and that the arachna had groomed her into a weapon of mass destruction by design. Despite knowing that Morganthe was just a puppet on strings this whole time, our wizard still feels that defeating her is the only way to truly avenge themselves. THIS is what Old Cob was hoping for. He WANTED the wizard to be so self absorbed in the idea that Morganthe’s very existence was something that the Spiral, that the Wizard themselves needed to be cleansed of. 

And we played right into the palm of his hand, and after we defeated her, Spider released his children and nightmares into the world. However, It is not gratifying relief we are met with. Instead, there is only a long, daunting, shadow, and it’s in our likeness.

This was a little watered down, but these parallels between Morganthe & The Wizard has always been so interesting to me, and when Arc 3 began, I was fully expecting Morganthe to return in SOME way and the wizard would have to go through a self-reflective journey WITH her in order to really come to terms with what they did, or that Cob was hurting them instead of helping.

Of course, that’s not what we got… but to answer your question now anon- what do i think Arc 3 should have been with Morganthe there, with all this in mind? 

Obviously, Morganthe and the Wizard need to have their development & closure- but let’s take a deeper look into how that would work for the both of them.

First off, Morganthe needs a reason to return. Character wise, she has a few purposes:

She was the closest one who had been connected to Old Cob. Even if most of it was him manipulating her, they shared a connection through Morganthe’s intrigue of Shadow Magic, and perhaps she had directly communicated to him at one point. 

Besides Spider himself, she probably knows more about Shadow Magic than any other being in the Spiral. She WAS the one who re-discovered the existence of Shadow Magic, after all. 

To expand on this reason, I think Morganthe might have even figured out ways to connect with her own Shadow in more uh, constructive ways, than perhaps Spider and Raven (I’ll get into this later). 

With these factors, I think Morganthe being present in Arc 3 means that she would have been a very valuable asset in helping the Wizard & crew go after Spider/Raven simultaneously.

Now, I think a really fun way to integrate Morganthe into Arc 3 more seamlessly, is to have a plot point that alludes to her still being alive. Otherwise, I don’t think the Wizard/anyone else would bother trying to revive or find her JUST for the sake of “maybe she would be helpful”.

Remember when, after we defeated Morganthe, Old Cob informed us that we had “absorbed too much of her power, and that it would consume us” and so we have to give it back to the land? 

Well, what if when we did, that “power” held her memories, her very own Shadows? And when we returned it to the land, those Memories might’ve returned to their place in time?

Take Morganthe’s memory in Wizard City for example- the one rooted in when she accidentally lost control of her powers when attempting astral spells. This specific part of her shadow, not being able to return to a physical vessel, found its way back to its place of origin. Maybe Diego, upon training students in combat, runs into issues with a “specter” of some sort haunting the battle grounds, and reports these disturbances to Ambrose. As the game normally does, Merle would reach out to us about this problem.

I think a good time frame for this to happen is after Mirage/before Empyrea- arguably, this is the Wizard at their lowest point. Mellori has just been captured, we just found out she’s Raven’s Child, and BOTH gods are now not in our favor. That way, when we investigate the Arena in WC, and find out this ‘specter’ resembles a young Morganthe, the wizard would truly feel overwhelmed with the idea of her still being alive/out there WHILE all this is happening. 

Whether we tell Merle or the Arcanum scholars first isn’t super important, but the point is that Morganthe potentially being alive is now an additional problem on top of everything else at hand. As the scholars, wizard, and perhaps Ambrose/additional characters problem solve what to do, they begin to bring up the character points I brought up earlier. I think Velma, being the shadow scholar, would mention that Morganthe WAS the shadow queen, and might be useful as a prisoner to help get information on Old Cob’s plans/biddings. I think Ione would agree, and that Morganthe could also be potentially working under him in some way, and that making sure she is a controlled variable is most important right now. The last thing the Spiral, or the wizard, needs is a wild card threat.

I think… knowing that the Wizard had just lost Mellori, and among other things, Velma would request to assist the Wizard in this task, since it is Shadow-magic related and she’s only been able to learn about this school of magic through what little has been available outside of Khrysalis. The wizard, though I think reluctant about the idea, doesn’t argue against her coming along. 

If you follow my idea that Velma had gone to Ravenwood with Morganthe, and they’d been good friends there, I think Velma coming along to investigate this matter is also important- perhaps when they both return to the Duel Arena and try to confront this memory of Morganthe’s, the wizard’s first instinct is to fight it into submission, but Velma might take a more gentle approach, as she remembers the likeliness of an old friend. 

The memory becomes more in control of itself; Seeing Velma, it was reminded of a pleasant part of itself- friendship, comradery amongst fellow wizards, instead of just abandonment and loss as it had been previously engrossed in. 

Once calmed, the Memory can “think” more clearly, and does its best to answer the inevitable questions; what are you? How did you get to wizard city? Is the “real” Morganthe still alive? And so on... Obviously the memory has a limited understanding of what they’re asking. Eventually, they piece together that there are OTHER memories out there, and they need to be found and returned back to their physical owner- Morganthe. 

I won’t go into the big details here, but they then travel to Avalon and Khrysalis, maybe even places she had been as a pirate, to find the other two missing Memories. Velma probably learns a bit more than she was expecting to, and the Wizard’s consciousness, especially when they get to the memory related to Khrysalis, starts to weigh heavy. 

Any who, these three memories are collected, and being extensions of Morganthe herself, are able to help navigate the wizard, Velma, and perhaps other Arcanum members (for safety reasons because that's the literal queen of shadow right there lads) to where her physical body resides. 

Using one of the ships in the Arcanum, they are led by the memories into the dark sea of space, not too far off from Khrysalis. Soon, they come across a swirl of rubble and shattered remnants. Weaving their way through, a cluster of fragmented glass paves the way to an abandoned vessel, sleeping gently, frozen in time and protected by her own demise. They’ve found Morganthe’s body. 

Simply put, the memories return to her, and the wizard/Velma contains her comatose body to be brought back to the Arcanum.

Once they’ve returned with Morganthe, a lot of things could happen, and since this is all just theory of something that’s already passed, I’m just gonna list off some of those things that I think would have been interesting to see, so, here goes lol (warning, this turned out to be a lot longer than anticipated I'm SORRY lol)

Morganthe would have maintained in a comatose state for at least a bit once at the Arcanum. The main issue now is figuring out what to exactly do with her now that she is alive. 

I’ve kind of enjoyed the idea that Ione/other scholars would be pushing for some sort of trial- she did technically commit genocide against the Aztecasouars, and no one but the wizard, except for MAYBE Velma since she was also retrieving her memories, knows that she was being controlled when she had done so. 

I also think the idea of a trial, something rooted in judgement, would provide an interesting setting for just allllll the damn shit to be let loose. Like Morganthe would wake, finally free of the shadow that the arachna had pumped into her body, free of Cob’s very voice in her head, only to wake to find she'd murdered an entire civilization, among defiling the dead, and is being held accountable for doing so. Everyone’s obviously against her, for good reason as they think, but the Wizard’s just here like “I know this bitch was literally forced to do these things but I never told anyone about any of that because I wanted to just believe I was right, and I still have this grudge against her for making me feel like a failure, so I kind of just want to see her imprisoned or worse” and of course you have Velma, who just got her long lost friend/childhood love back, is now faced with the possibility of losing her again, and FINALLY you’ve got MERLE who’s probably just silently taking all this in as it unfolds, since he has had a very fixed perspective on the whole ordeal and doesn’t even know what to believe. 

I don’t wanna spend too much time on the ins/outs of this idea, but generally, even if this wouldn’t have happened, the group learns (perhaps through Velma’s advocation, since I doubt the wizard would be doing it) more about Morganthe’s situation, maybe even that the wizard knew this whole time and never said anything- but the general consensus becomes that, since Morganthe isn’t working for Cob (she might even speak of how much she probably despises him for what he did to her), and because she’s so knowledgeable on Shadow Magic, it might actually be best for the Wizard and her to work together to try and rescue Mellori. 

Obviously, both of them are reluctant about this, though I think the wizard is more so. Morganthe might actually have a soft spot for the Wizard, seeing a lot of herself in them, and also having tread on similar paths. I think it would be so, so fun to see Morganthe try to connect with the wizard, but the wizard constantly shuts her down or ignores her because they don't want to admit they’re so similar. But then you have the moments where they have to help each other. Maybe it’s when both have to go into the Nexus to get Mellori back, and Morganthe has an easier time weaving through this Shadow Plane because of her experiences with it, and the Wizard really has to trust her to help lead them through it. In turn, maybe Morganthe actually struggles when they reach Ravenwood in the Nexus because it triggers those memories of being expelled and cast out, and the wizard has to help ground her so she doesn’t slip into this un-reality. Like! That feels so powerful and moving to me- that despite being used and pitted against one another by Spider, they learn to work past those false feelings and really begin to see each other eye to eye. 

Though I think it is important to bring up they are dealing with slightly different parts of their Shadows- Morganthe is a step or so ahead, having already connected with them. Now, her goal is to accept them, and while I think she has more or less accepted her three memories from earlier, the fourth one, the one of her as shadow queen, the one where she isn’t just her, but also Spider controlling her… the part she doesn’t want, but remains true. To accept her rage, her anger towards Merle that mirrored Cob’s anger about Raven- this is her true challenge for this Arc. 

Remember how I said Morganthe’s motivation in Arc 2 was to prove Merle wrong and show him that she was powerful? Well, now it’s to extract revenge on Old Cob in a similar way. Logically, she knows killing him would mean the end of the Spiral, so the struggle for her is to FIGHT against that desire, the rage, accept it, acknowledge it, and convert that energy into something that can help her and others heal from the scars of the past.

Alongside Morganthe interacting and coming to terms with herself, her shadows, everything, I think the Wizard must learn to let Shadow into their own life. Shadow is not this evil thing that they think it is- it, as Spiders is as well, a necessary part of all life in the Spiral. Instead of casting it away, we have to know that the parts of ourselves we don't like aren’t what define us, but we should see and acknowledge them so they don't consume us; which i think  the wizard is at risk of. 

Any who… that’s a lot, but ultimately, I think when we come to the end of Arc 3, to the Husk, The Wizard & Morganthe have to make the decision to completely trust in themselves and each other. As Spider said worlds ago, we are both the Children of Light & Shadow. I know Arc 3 presents the wizards at the Scion, a balancing force between Mellori and Bat, but I’m gonna be honest, I think it would be much more compelling for BOTH the wizard & Morganthe to act as this “middle ground”- Literally thus far everything about them screams yin and yang; the wizard primarily hailed as the harbinger of light, Morganthe as the umbra queen- yet they are not completely The Light or The Dark- they both have a piece in each other, they both work together, they balance each other out. 

Perhaps a stronger set up to still include Bat and Mellori is them simply realizing that they are not their parents- they do not have to do what is expected of them just because of who or what they are, they can choose to support each other as siblings, instead of taking one of their parents sides and hurting each other. They, like the wizard and Morganthe, can work together as one. 

This way too, the weight of having to be the Sole Person balancing everything all the time, ISN'T put on the wizard- it can be shared by another.

ANYWHO… I know I'm rambling a bit at this point, but similarly to Arc 3’s end, they’d work past their own desire for revenge or pride, and combine their strengths to become what we originally see the wizard transform into during the fight with the Storm Titan; a Child of Light and Shadow.

Also, here’s a few side things I��d like to see happen in this Arc, as well as the final conclusion for Morganthe’s character. 

Morganthe being protective of the Wizard, and the Wizard being protective of Mellori I stated earlier that Morganthe see’s a lot of herself in the wizard, and can feel responsible for them in some way. The same goes for the Wizard and Mellori- there’s this interesting domino effect they've got going on in terms of that, so i just think some dialogue reflecting this dynamic between the three would be fun. 

Though once Mellori and the Bat are united, Morganthe would definitely  have Some Feelings come up regarding her and her own brother. I think it would be fun for Morganthe to be extremely wary of Bat for this reason, and also because he’s the son of the God who used her power and body for his own gain. Maybe Morganthe has a sly line towards Bat, or something about her being like “I’m watching you” because she doesn’t want to see another person go through what she did with Malory. 

Also…. Morganthe helplessly being unable to call Mellori “Mellori”, and instead says “Mallory” every time because That’s Baggage! Morganthe’s like, “Wizard, we gotta get Mallory from the Nexus!” or something and everyone’s like “... you mean Mellori?” and she’s like “... that’s what i said, right?” like this shit is so, so funny to me. 

Also Morganthe eventually warms up to Bat, seeing him be a Good Older Brother in part 2. Ideally, it would also be nice to see her open up to him about Mallory, and they just have a Moment about shitty families, trust issues, having done bad things because What Else Can You Do?… god, that stuff hurts my soul. Let your Siblings Heal Kingsisle, i will not rest until they do lmao. 

Oh yea! How could i forget the biggest thing outside of the wizard/Morganthe- Merle and Morganthe! Wow do those two need some damn closure together. I’m not stuck in a definitive way that this could happen- Generally though, I think Morganthe would be avoidant of Merle at first, as she feels that she ultimately failed to do what he cast her out to do when he banished her, which was to “find her true self” and learn to control astral magic. Not only was she unable to do that, but she was unfortunately roped into the arachna, and we know the jist of what happens from there. On the other hand, Morganthe is also angry towards Merle- if he wouldn’t have banished her, and instead been patient with her powers and helped her learn, NONE of what she had to endure in Khrysalis would have happened. 

For Merle, his perception for so long was that Morganthe's endless curiosity drove her into Shadow Magic, and thus became the Shadow Queen- with this thought, his act of banishing her was justified because she was just a lost cause either way. Now, however, he’s realizing that that wasn’t the case at all- instead, she was truly trying to learn how to master astral magic and control her powers, and unfortunately others decided to take advantage of her curiosity and ability- so he’s trying to grapple with the guilt of inevitably putting her through that. 

They both are understandably scared to confront each other, and I think their avoidance would carry out through to Empyrea part 1, maybe even a bit into part 2. Again, i don’t have a definitive thing in mind (since Merle isn’t super active in arc 3 anyhow), but perhaps they’ve been put into a situation where they just simply cannot avoid one another- or maybe Morganthe’s having a hard time convincing the wizard or Ione or someone on what they should do next, Merle tries to interject, “Morganthe, perhaps-”, but Morganthe snaps at him, “ and I certainly don’t want to hear what the man that caused all of this has to say about it!” … silence fills the room, Merle taken aback, Morganthe looking him dead in the eyes, meaning what she said but regretting it as the first thing she said to him. She huffs, storms out of the room...

With just a nod to the others and the wizard, Merle leaves and follows her out, maybe she’s pacing around the end of the halls, and when she sees Merle she just starts pouring her heart out in anger. “Don’t you follow me out like that, don’t you pretend to care for me now! You couldn’t possibly understand what’s at stake here, not that you would take the time to understand anything you don’t know!” she huffs, angry with him and herself, “I know I was curious and naïve and stubborn, but where were you!? Why couldn’t you help me, why, why was the only option for you to to take the only thing I had left and send me away?” this is where her anger starts to fade and she’s becomes quieter, yet still stern, “The worst of it is that I told myself I'd do what you never could, and when I did, I’d return to prove you and everyone else who looked at me and saw a failure, a monster, wrong... but I never got that far. I only got to the point where some forgotten God of chaos decided what my ‘true self’ was for me… and like the curious, stupid little girl I was, i played right into his hand-” and here she’d become overwhelmed and start talking more specifically about her anger towards what was done in Khrysalis, ending with “and through all of it, and even now, even though I’m so, so angry at you, I still wanted you to be there for me. Why weren’t you there for me?” 

I like the imagery that, the whole time Morganthe has been unraveling her thoughts and emotions at him, Merle has been slowly moving closer and closer to her, and when she says this, she melts into his arms, sobbing- finally getting that comfort from him that she’s wanted all this time.

Merle, now holding her, begins to speak softly, “You don’t have to forgive me, but I am truly sorry for all that has transpired from my own failings. In all my years, turning you away has remained one of my deepest regrets.” This is getting a bit long, but the main points I think Merle would make in his apology towards Morganthe, is that ‘her true self’ is not something anyone, not even he, should define for herself, and that Merle thinks she has already found her true self, and that it’s not being Shadow Queen, it’s not being a puppet, it’s not being a failure or his apprentice or a monster, but being in tune with yourself- something she had started doing with her own Shadows/Memories.

Anywho. Sorry for the heavy dialogue but i think about these two everyday and just want them to HUG IT OUT MAN… AAAAA

Furthermore; I think a very fitting End for Morganthe’s character is that she, upon Merle’s request, would become a professor of Shadow Magic at Ravenwood, with the idea that she could properly introduce Shadow to wizards in a controlled environment, and help erase the stigma surrounding it. Not only do i think she’d make a great professor or teacher because of her enthusiasm towards magic, but i think it would be satisfying for her to help others who might have difficulties with magic/their powers since that was a core reason for her own suffering. Also, her and Velma are DATING and are cute shadow scholar lesbians together, it’s cute af, thank you, moving on. 

Lastly, the Wizard would have some closure, or at least tools to eventually reach closure about the things I've talked about  in this post. Hypothetically, arc 4 could have then been focused on the wizard’s self-journey to become in-tune with their shadows and memories. 

SO uh… yea i think that’s the overall ideas i had about how Arc 3 might have gone if Morganthe was a factor. I haven’t actually spent a lot of time thinking about Morganthe in arc 3 though, since the arc is now finished and we’re onto arc 4, and i always enjoy trying to implement new lore, like the sewers, into these theories, and even who or what Morganthe is- bt this was fun to revisit! I do think her being in Arc 3 would have been most fitting thus far though, so i always like coming back to the what-could-have-been ideas :’D

But yea! If you’ve made it this far… Thanks for reading lol. And if you want me to go more in depth with anything i had mentioned in this post, because some things i decided to gloss over for simplicity's sake, feel free to ask :D

Anywho…. Bye oTL

[dameronology]

your voice is a gun {obi-wan}

'and i don’t pick up when you call, ‘cause your voice is a gun/every word is a bullet hole, shot a hole at the sun’ -  forgiveness, paramore

warnings: angst, language

enjoyyyy

- val xx 

p.s this has not been proof read cos i’m living life in the fast lane

One of the greatest things about humanity was its imperfections. 

That meant that they could do some really unclever shit - and Obi-Wan Kenobi was no stranger to that. Like every other human being, he felt a lot of things. He said a lot of things and did a lot of things. For the most part, he was calm and collected - other times, he managed to bat things right into the realm welp, I fucked up! 

Obi-Wan didn’t mean to say the thing (more on the thing in one moment). You’d both fallen into the trap of arguing; it was the sort of slippery slope that started with mostly valid bickering and ended with insults flying back and forth. He was spitting venom about your bad habits, and you’d managed to make a backhanded comment about his mother. Punches were being thrown left right and centre, tempers heated - mostly as a result of a bad day at work and much less because of one another - and it was only a matter of time before one of you tripped and fell past the point of no return. 

That’s when the thing happened. You know the kind of comment so treacherous and so awful that it felt like Satan himself had put the words in your mouth? Yeah, one of those. 

‘When you’re like this, it makes me wonder if all this sneaking around is worth it!’ Obi-Wan had not-so-wisely yelled. ‘It makes me wonder if you’re worth it!’

You both froze. You fucking froze. He wanted to reach out, to grab the words and swat them back into his mouth, right out the air and right out of your ears. Alas, they were gone, released out into the wild for you to hear. He was usually quite quick on his feet, good at solving problems as soon as they happened, but he had never felt so helpless. The bullet had left his gun and now, all he could do was wait for your reaction. 

Obi-Wan could have sworn that he saw you go through the seven stages of grief in the space of three seconds. Your eyes fell to the ground, mouth falling open and twitching slightly as you fought for something to say. What could you say? He’d gone lower than low. If this was a game of limbo, he would have won first place - and it felt as though he were hitting you over the head with the limbo stick. Repeatedly. 

‘I-’ Obi-Wan went to speak first, but you stuck your finger up to silence him. The audacity.

‘Say nothing.’ Your voice was a little shaky. 

He had taken the one thing you were terrified of and thrown it back in your face. How many times had you opened up to him about your fears? About your doubts that the fuss of sneaking around wasn’t worth it? You were both putting so much on the line to be together. Your jobs, your livelihoods, the very purpose you had sworn your lives too.

‘Darling, I-’

‘- I said don’t fucking say anything!’ Oop, there it was. 

It was though you had finally found your footing. The bullet had hit you - it had gone right through you, exit wound and wall - and all you could do was reel back with the sheer force of it. The one person you loved most in the galaxy, the one person who completely fucking cherished above anything else, had swept the rug out from under your feet. You’d opened up to him about your worst fear and he’d used them against you. 

‘Get out.’ You murmured.

‘I didn’t mean that.’ Obi-Wan tried to take a step towards you, hands reaching out to grab yours. You swatted them away. ‘You know I didn’t mean that-’

‘- maybe you’re right.’ You cut him off. ‘If we keep arguing like this, maybe sneaking around is more trouble than it’s worth.’

You both knew that was a fat fucking lie. Going behind the Council’s back and sneaking around was a small price to pay. It was something you worried about constantly, but the minute you melted into Obi-Wan’s arms or woke up beside him, all that doubt faded away. He was all you needed and you thanked your lucky stars everyday that you’d found him in such a vast galaxy. 

Then he had to go and say dumb shit like that. Well done, Kenobi.

‘You don’t mean that.’ Obi made another attempt to grab your hands. 

‘I just...’ you let his fingers briefly brush against yours before firmly placing them on his shoulders and physically pushing him away. ‘Get out.’

‘It was the heat of the moment.’ He was barely phased by your actions. ‘Please, be sensible-’

‘- you’re telling me to be sensible?’ You could hardly hide the humour in your voice. ‘Imagine if I took the one thing you were most scared of and thrust it back in your face!’

‘I can’t imagine it because I know that you would never do that.’ Obi-Wan admitted. 

‘And yet, you managed to.’ You spat. ‘You know where the door is.’

‘Darling, will you just listen to me-’ 

‘- so that you can hurt me again?’ You gave his shoulder another jab. ‘So that you can say something that will rip my fucking heart out?’ 

A sob escaped your throat, hands flying up to cover your mouth. It felt like you were drowning, like your worst fear was consuming you and dragging you under into an angry sea. Your mind was racing with thoughts - what would you do without him? How you could you cope? The galaxy was dark. Frankly, it was fucking horrible. You couldn’t do it without him. He couldn’t do it without you. 

Obi-Wan felt like his heart had been ripped out. Admittedly, he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to be hurt by a situation that he had caused but seeing you so upset made him want to cry along with you. He took a step forward, ready to cling onto you, ready to hold you and make it all better -

- but you pushed him away again. You stuck your hands out and you blocked him. You wrapped your arms around yourself and you turned our back away. Forget what had been said about pain earlier: this made that pain feel like a tickle. 

‘Go.’ Your voice was firm. ‘I don’t care where. Just go.’

So, he did. Obi-Wan got his cloak and he left. It was just him and his pity, wallowing and simmering as he endlessly floated around the halls of the Temple, nothing but his absolute fucking stupidity to keep him company. He could only hope and pray that you would come around in the next few hours - he wasn’t going to sleep other wise. 

Neither were you. You dragged yourself to bed, heart aching a little bit and your chest heavy. The worst part was that you couldn’t even remember how the argument had started. You hadn’t meant any of things you’d said, and nor had he. Why you felt such the intense need to attack the person you loved was beyond you - beyond both of you. Like I said: humans thrived on their imperfections. Other times, it was their fall from grace.

Obi-Wan could have gone back to his own room. He could have slept in his own cold bed and spent the entire night worrying about you - and letting you worry about him. He was suddenly hyper aware of the fact that his absence was your worst fear and leaving you alone was a catalyst to that very phobia. 

He didn’t know what to do. First and foremost, kicking himself seemed like a good idea. He’d spent so many years banging on at Anakin for not thinking before he spoke and yet, he couldn’t even manage it himself. He didn’t know how his Padawan had made it this far. He had a way of doing things that Obi-Wan could never quite grasp - but in a way, it was something he envied.

And so, the Jedi found himself asking an important question: what would Anakin do?

(God - he really was desperate, wasn’t he?)

Skywalker, Obi-Wan figured, probably would have done as he always did: as he pleased. He would have slipped back into bed with you, acknowledged your anger and then said tough shit, because I’m here now. Anakin’s logic would have been of the why are you shutting me out when you’re so scared of me leaving? variety. That made a lot of sense. 

Obi-Wan shivered at that thought. It made sense. 

So, he turned on his heel and he made his way straight back to your quarters. The door was still unlocked, as it had been when he’d left two hours previous. 

You were curled up in the corner of your bed, one his cloaks covering you and the sheets tangled over your forms. The fact that you’d cried yourself to sleep over him felt like a punch to the gut. He’d hurt you and he’d hurt himself. The latter part couldn’t have mattered less but frankly, he probably deserved it. 

Obi-Wan quietly kicked off his boots, clambering into bed beside you. His side of the mattress was cold - almost refreshingly so - and a horrible reminder of the very absence that you had demanded. He held his breath for a moment, half expecting you to turn around and sock him around the jaw.

‘You are worth it.’ He laid behind you, words soft as you form stirred slightly. ‘Every close call, every stolen kiss and every moment of panic is worth it because it brings me closer to you.’

‘Don’t be shy.’ You whispered. ‘Say some more.’

It was working. You were coming back to him. 

‘I’ve never doubted you for a second.’ He slid an arm underneath you, pulling you towards him so that your back collided with his chest. ‘I love you more than anything in the world and I never meant to hurt you. I know you told me to leave but I’m not going to do the very thing that scared you in the first place.’

You shuffled around to face him - his heart broke all over again at the sight of your puffy eyes and tear stained cheeks. 

‘Bold move, Kenobi.’ You murmured, voice bleary with sleep. ‘But I don’t want to fight with you. I’ve said some dumb shit and you’ve said some dumb shit.’

‘The dumbest.’

You leant up, gently brushing your lips against his. ‘It’s not so much what you said - it was just the thoughts it triggered. Everything feels so fragile and the idea of us being more trouble than it’s worth is really fucking painful.’

‘I know.’ He nodded. ‘But you’re worth all the trouble in the world and then some.’

You gave him a soft smile. ‘I love you. You’re an idiot but I love you.’

‘I love you too.’ He replied. ‘And I’m going to prove it you, I swear.’

{tags: @cherieboba​ @likeshootingstarsinthenightsky​ @aty-cgca7​ @corellians-only​ @highlycommendable​ @saintlaurentkenobi​}

[anonymous0writer]

I Wanna Be Yours II JJ Maybank

Author: @anonymous0writer​

Requested: Yes!

“I love you songfics, can you do another one with JJ, but this time with the song "I wanna be yours" by Arctic Monkeys?“

Warnings: Nothing. Maybe one swear word and a tiny bit of smoking..

A/N: Ahhh, I love writing angst :) lol I hope you like this anon!!

Tags: @jayjaymaebank @rudys-pankow @maaybanks @everydayimfangirling @outrbank @thelocalpogue @decap-quadrant @ahhireallydontknow @never-ever-too-many-fandoms @kylosleftbuttcheek @insanitysparkles @divcrdown @youfookendonut @dpaccione​ @outerbanksbro  @jjs-housekeeping​ @teenwaywardasgardian​ @traumaflavouredjuulpod @magnuolia @sarapage89 @emsma11 @bxbyyyjocelyn​ @teamnick​ @jjmbanks​ @thesurfingsnail @lulubutton34​ @obxsummer​ @katiaw2​ @poguecollins​ @notaninstagrammodel​ @danicarosaline​ @timmyswrld​ @gmwlover100​ @koufaxx @bellaguarneri​ @diverrdown​ @drewswannabegirl​ @lordsagittarius​

Lyrics look like this

I wanna be your vacuum cleaner Breathing in your dust …. You call the shots babe I just wanna be yours

Day faded around you, the heavy cloak of the starry night falling around you swiftly, enveloping you in nightfall. The only bright light in the blanket of darkness was the flickering flames of the dying fire. The orange wisps of flame licked the sky in a desperate attempt to get free. It crackled and popped as embers floated around you, light little fireflies in the night. They danced around your legs and lit up the sand under your bare feet. Laughter and cheers filled the air, heavy and intoxicated. 

Five teens sat around the fire, the flames casting weird shadows dancing over their sun-kissed skin. Their faces were split into wide, drunk joy and eyes lighting up with the intoxicated haze of awe. You stood at the edge of the coals, them shining brightly back up at you, furious in their simmering. The dark, burnt coals and the pure heat of deep oranges and angry reds fuming under them. The sight was intimidating, but you, with your determined eyes and drunken mind were quite a force to be reckoned with. Your breath caught and your eyes zoned in on the end point. Your finger curled into a fist and you drew a deep breath before you darted forward. 

Bare skin danced over the smoldering coals. They were fast but not fast enough, the sizzle of burned skin and the flash of white-hot pain in your feet sent you farther over the coals. Dancing painfully but carefully, picking your way rapidly over the fiery embers. And then you were done. Hurting feet finding haven in the cool, soft sand, digging. Your pent up breath escaping your lips and your eyes betraying the hurt coursing through your blood. But the whoop you let out masked the hurt, adrenaline still strong in your veins.

JJ’s cerulean eyes found yours, both a calming feeling and a stir of wild chaos releasing in your chest. The feelings were weird in their own right, but JJ had both of them spilling in your chest. He lit you up in ways that scared the living shit out of you. The butterflies in your stomach were stomped out as you broke the eye contact. You didn’t like the feeling the butterflies brought. It was almost like heaving on an empty stomach over the toilet, alcohol trying to leave your system. You knew what the butterflies meant, and that's exactly what made you turn the boy away time and again. 

Feelings weren’t your forte, never mind love or falling for someone. And no matter how much you didn’t want it or were terrified of it, you were pretty sure- as much as you could be- that you were falling for JJ Maybank. And you didn’t want any part in it.

JJ’s lips turned down slightly, his dimples fading from his skin, the only sign that he was upset. He craved your attention and the ways your eyes seemed heavier than any other gaze. He loved the way you laughed, eyes lighting and your nose wrinkling. He loved the way you talked, slower, but intense enough to have you on the edge of your chair even if you’re talking about your day. He loved your attitude, and the way you walked and the way you laughed at his comments. He loved everything about you. He loved you.

You whooped, the calls breaking the silence of the night. Soon all five of you were screaming and cheering, the screams erupting into the air. The fire seemed to glow brighter at the fierce calls of happiness. 

JJ grinned and screamed along with you, but his eyes were rapt on you. He loved that out of all of them- even him- that you were only one brave enough to run across the smoldering coals. He loved how you matched him in so many ways. Crazy thoughts and wild actions. Unfiltered mouths, reckless behavior. 

JJ’s joy was muted by the memory of your refusal of his kiss. His lips quirked down as the muscle in his jaw flickered. He finally cast his eyes down, now focusing intently on the fire. He just wanted you. He wanted to be allowed to love you and have you love him back. He wanted you to love him. And he wanted so badly to be yours. 

Secrets I have held in my heart Are harder to hide than I thought Maybe I just wanna be yours I wanna be yours, I wanna be yours Wanna be yours, wanna be yours, wanna be yours

It was hard, harder than you could imagine. The thoughts roared in your mind and your fear was huddled in the cavity of your chest and your throat was clogged with unsaid words.

JJ was sitting in front of you, bruised knuckles and scabbing fingers laced together, mouth pulled into a thin line, his usual bright eyes dulled by the weight of your silence. 

“I-” You started, the words catching in your throat and your breath getting stolen. 

JJ’s eyes flicker up to meet yours, brief and embarrassed. Embarrassed yet again that his heart was out on his sleeve and you ignored it.

But you didn’t ignore it, you saw it and ached at the sight, but you couldn’t bring yourself to answer the desperate call for love. You looked down, unable to even catch a glimpse of the boy before you. But his scent filled your nose, evading your senses. Sea salt and a hint of weed wrapping you in a warm hug. 

You felt like sobbing. Words tangled in your chest, choking you. It hurt to know that this boy was loving you like he’d loved nothing else and you were too scared to reciprocate, but not giving him the words he needed to hear and understand was even worse. 

“I’m sorry,” The words flow past the barricade of the others, moving easily and spilling out of your throat. 

You hate the words once they hand in the air. Hate that they sound fake and forced. And that that’s the only thing that will pass through your lips. You hate the fact that those two words are the most used and overused. And empty. After a while, the words lose their feeling, yet that seems like the only thing you can say.

JJ’s throat bobs. His eyes are stinging and he feels like he’s about to lose it. Either to break something or scream. JJ runs a shaking hand through his hair. It happens every time. JJ comes to you, grin wide, eyes bright and heart clear as day on his sleeve. You ignore it, terror and sorrow closing your throat. His eyes dimming like a light flicked off, and his smile fading from his lips like a ghost. And then you are left to cover up the reopened wound and desperately fail. Just like every other time. And this time is no different. 

So why does it still hurt like barbed wire tightening around your heart when the boy stands and leaves? Why does it feel like the sun has passed behind a cloud, leaving goosebumps erupting on your skin, chills running down your spine and leaving you in the cold shadow of it’s ghost? Why does it feel like your heart is breaking at the same time as your shoulders sag in relief?

And let me be the portable heater that you'll get cold without I wanna be your setting lotion (I wanna be) Hold your hair in deep devotion (how deep?) At least as deep as the Pacific Ocean I wanna be yours

JJ was left cold and alone. Chills settling deep into his bones, not leaving any time soon. A dark moody cloud of regret and heartbreak hovering over the boy. He felt as if he was dancing in the rain, not caring if he got soaked to the bone, the chill entering his body that never left and went inside, unable to warm up or shake off the darker feeling roiling in his gut. And he was left alone. Without Kie and her worried eyes and supportive words asking- no, begging- him to move on. No John B. to clap his back, say his condolences and offer a beer. Even Pope was absent, his wise words and his weak attempts at the joke like a familiar sight.

And of course, you weren’t there, which felt like a slap in the face. Like when it was so cold outside, it made your skin numb, but the slap of skin against skin had his face stinging. He gritted his teeth, trying to ease the pain that seemed almost physical, with the blunt. The half-assed rolled blunt sat loose in his hands. Part of JJ didn’t want to numb himself from the high of the drugs but the other screamed at him. And hey, if it eased it for at least a while, it was worth it. Right? 

Smoke escaped from his lips and the boy was soaring. Cloud Nine looked pretty good from where JJ sat. A small laugh escaped his lips as his eyelashes fluttered against his cheek.

Memories that were more dreams and hopes of the future came to life from the depths of his mind. They came forward and erupted with color and life. Your laugh rang through his ears as you curled into his chest, his fingers brushing through your hair. 

He could feel everything as if his senses were heightened. The silky smoothness of your long locks of hair, the brush of sunlight against your skin, highlighting your eyes. Making them look like pools of gems, shining and paler. He could feel the shift of his shirt as you snuggled against him. The rising and falling of your chest and the soft sound of your breathing hanging in the air. Every detail of the moment blared at him, jarring him into another ‘memory’. 

You danced in front of him, dressed in a white bikini with flowers patterned onto the fabric. Your figure became smaller as your feet carried you to the ocean, giggling and water spraying your legs as you crashed into the serene waters. 

A soft gasp escaped the boy as his pale eyes blinked rapidly, clearing away the cobwebs of the dreams. 

“Jesus,” JJ mutters, hand running over his face. But the only thing in his mind is you. I want to be yours. 

[iamtheprotagoneil]

it's late, and i'm on my phone so most of this probably won't make sense but i'm thinking about how neil could have been a rogue agent, before he was recruited into tenet.

thinking about what an insubordinate little shit he could be, how it drove his superiors insane, with all the wild ideas he thought of to get through a mission. despite that, they still allowed him more leniency than they cared to admit, because as erratic as he was, he still fucking delivered some pretty darn good results.

thinking about how neil always had this certain flair to him, an affinity for the dramatics (despite what he'd said in the film). he'd always try to cause a scene (as diversion, of course), make it loud and banging so no one would look where he was. it was effective, sure, but the clean up would always give his superiors a headache.

thinking about, at some point, push would come to shove, and neil's agency decided that they just couldn't accept his antics anymore. "enough is enough," as they'd exclaim in their secret meeting or whatever, before sending an in-house assassin to neil's flat. they only realized what mistake they'd made, when news came next morning, stating that the body they recovered was not of neil's own.

thinking about how neil got smart after that, learning to contain himself as he went underground. he didn't hold a grudge; there was no point, really. it hurt, sure, to know that the organization he'd poured his heart and soul into serving had abandoned him so coldly, but he understood why they did it. so as they'd turned their back on him, he did the same, going in search for excitement elsewhere. because you better believe that as much as he wanted to do good, the adrenaline rush from it all was what *truly* kept him going.

thinking about how he stumbled onto tenet by sheer coincidence, having been in the right place at the right time when the chatter occered. his intention was set. he couldn't let it go, couldn't get this super secret agency that seemingly operated out of the usual time-space continuum out of his mind, because there was just so many questions, so many things left unanswered, and neil just simply couldn't sit idly on an unsolved mystery.

thinking about how neil's obsession ultimately lead nowhere, how he got so frustrated over the trails that kept getting colder and colder, loose ends getting tied up quicker than neil could ever reach or catch tails of. but despite that, neil just wouldn't give in.

thinking about how his determination paid off, or perhaps the universe just ran its course to ensure the plot it'd written out would progress. neil, once again, found himself in the right place, at the right time, and tenet was just right in sight. literally.

thinking about how neil broke in to learn more about them. he got through the front gate, through the back door into the building with a stolen badge. he managed to catch sight of very strange occurrences, for example, a gun being lift up from the ground by, seemingly, magic. but well, neil didn't believe in magic, quite the opposite, in fact. he was enthralled by it, head swirling with theories and explanations on how this could have worked. he was so focused that he didn't hear or see the person stepping up to him, not until that person spoke up from right besides him.

thinking about how neil startled out of his science-induced daze, turning to face the stranger, getting himself in a fight stance, hand ready on the gun strapped to his hip. but well, the stranger didn't look like he was going to do anything to neil. in fact, he was only looking back, an inexplicable glint in his eyes as he gazed up at neil, too meaningful yet neil could catch none of it. he could only stare back at the stranger, gauging his reaction, his expression, his everything but coming up entirely empty. it gave him a sense of deja vu, of how he'd felt about tenet during the months searching for answers.

thinking about how the protagonist (if you haven't guessed already) smiling in consolation, assuring neil that he meant the other no harm. in fact, he only wanted to talk. neil complied, but keeping his guard up still.

thinking about how the protagonist started talking about tenet and all that came with it. this was ass-backward to the policy of tenet, of course. they didn't talk about what tenet was before they recruited the agent, it was vice versa. but well, neil was already recruited wasn't he? neil didn't know it yet, but he was, and not right when he thought.

thinking about how neil took a look at this stranger, who'd definitely read up on neil before this conversation, and saw not judgement, not one bit of malicious intentiond, but only understanding. neil liked to think that he was a good judge of character so he interrupted the stranger's explanation about inversion with an emphatic, "yes."

thinking about: "yes... what?" / "yes, i'd work for you." / "i don't remember asking." / "no, but you wanted to. 'else you wouldn't have told me so much about this- all of this."

thinking about how the protagonist wouldn't be able - didn't bother to - hide an impressed grin from his face. he was just so enticed by how intelligent neil was, how excited neil was acting over all of this. he couldn't help but compare this neil to the one he kept in his memories. the similarities were all there, but at the same time, still so different. it was hard for the protagonist not to wonder about how, or when, this neil would grow into the one the protagonist would meet later in the past. another version of himself, that is.

thinking about how eventually, the protagonist pushed all of his own excitement - about working with neil, about fullfilling the prophercy neil'd given him about their friendship, about the things they would get up to - down. neil still needed to pass the test, first, despite the protagonist already knowing the result. he still couldn't have people looking at neil and called favoritism (there would be none; they were both too good of agents for that). besides he didn't think any other agents would be able to trust neil if he didn't have to go through the same torture they did.

thinking about how the protagonist only hummed thoughtfully at neil's answer, before saying, "okay." they got neil settled, although keeping him at arm length from all the missions he wanted to go on. at one point, neil snapped, couldn't stand the monotomy of lessons about physics (which he already knew about) and theories rather practicing such things for himself.

thinking about how he confronted the protagonist about it, stopping the man on his way to the mess hall and demanded to be put on active duty. he explained about the field experience he's already got as an ex-mi6, all the expertise he possessed, things he was certain the protagonist must have already known from reading neil's file.

thinking about: “is it because i went rogue? because it wasn’t my fault, you know? they decided that i was too *difficult* and apparently not worth the effort of containing so, well...”

thinking about neil ending his words dejectedly, eyes shifting to the ground as memories of being pushed out by his agency came back to haunt him. the protagonist saw it on his face, expression shifting from bemusement to something akin to worry, as a fire burned bright in his chest, urging him to find the people who’d brought this look to neil’s face and made them *pay*.

thinking about how the protagonist snapped neil out of it with a gentle hand on neil’s shoulder, how the protagonist sighed and gave in to it, deciding that it was time he stopped delaying the inevitable. he didn’t comment on neil’s rant, bypassing it as there was no point to talk about the past. he knew who neil was, what he would become, so what he had been to another agency did not at all matter.

thinking about how the protagonist assigned neil to a mission that was sure to end in disaster. the lives sacrificed in it were as necessary as it was tragic. they were doing it for the better good, years from now on, then years into the past. they didn't know it though, thinking of it as nothing more than a usual infiltrate and retrieve mission.

thinking about how went things turned bad, it went *real* bad. all team members were caught an tortured although none talked, not even neil. we already knew how this part would go so there was no need to be lengthy about it. neil 'killed' himself with a pill provided to all agents for moments just like this. what he didn't know that his own pill was swapped right before the mission started, when the protagonist came down personally to wish them good luck. as if he didn't know already that it wasn't what they needed, that only a few of them would get out of there alive with the help of an extract team after the fact.

thinking about how neil would wake up from his drug-induced coma, and met with a blurry image of the protagonist, welcoming him to the afterlife.

thinkin about: "why didn't you talk? you barely knew us. why even bothered protecting us instead of saving yourself?" / "you've read my files already, boss, so you should know that that's just not the kind of person i am."

thinking about how the protagonist would feel so utterly speechless at that - not at neil's words specifically, but at the way he said it. he decided right then that neil had been right all along, that his prophecy would definitely come through. in the protagonist's mind's eyes, he could already see the fun they would have together, the journey they would take together, and the friendship that would so easily form between them.

[ningdungi]

fairy prince!yeonjun

this has been in my draft for so long since CYSM i decided to just post it...lengthy and messy because originally it was just a prompt :D also inspired by she-ra and the princesses of power lol i love that show

pairing: yeonjun x reader (fem)

genre: fantasy, a little angsty

summary: you got captured by yeonjun, the crown prince of the fairy kingdom in the magic forest

choi yeonjun, the crown prince of the fairy kingdom deep in the magic forest

the fairy kingdom has been one of the greatest protectors of the forest for thousands of years, along with other kingdoms in the magic island

the island being covered almost 1/3 by the forest, the fairy kingdom remains one of the biggest and strongest kingdom to ever exist

however, it is also not the friendliest kingdom as it is hidden deep in the forest to protect the ancient magic and stones

the foreign organization exploits the hell out of the island but never get to touch the forest as it is protected by magic and ancient spirit of the ecosystems

the leader of the evil interstellar organization wasn’t so dumb either, they waited for years preparing the best strategy to get what they want: the ancient magic and (said to be) stolen stones to combine with their crazy technology so they can conquer the universe

the leader of the evil interstellar organization wasn’t so dumb either, they waited for years preparing the best strategy to get what they want: the ancient magic and (said to be) stolen stones to combine with their crazy technology so they can conquer the universe

mistaken for a new kingdom, the evil organization is known for their evil sinister king. When rlly he’s just a capitalist asshole that only cares abt money and power... and his precious daughter—or what the locals call—the evil princess, you

he also has a younger son, prince taehyun, your half-brother, who happens to be a genius and good with technologies. But his father wanted him to be a warrior, not some nerd. So he’s never really fond of him :(

one day you grew tired of being seen as a delicate doll that needs protection, you’re a trained warrior that’s always at least on the top 3 in class. Plus you’re older than taehyun so you need to prove yourself to your father if you want to be force captain and to take the throne one day (yes i’ve been watching a lot of she-ra) but your father just couldn’t risk it

one day, the your kingdom poisoned the forest and unlike any previous failed attempt, this time it finally worked

the day the invasion occurred, you sneaked out of the evil kingdom to join the force that your half-brother co-lead... i mean, you have lots of knowledge about the history and ecosystem of the magic forest, thanks to the help of your best friend, healer elf prince!soobin, whose kingdom had been corrupted by your father (but he still hangs around bc they did no harm to the elf kingdom, just taking over the whole region)

i mean, what could possibly go wrong?

well thee answer is: everything

you got captured IMMEDIATELY by the fairies

even better, you’re captured by the fairy prince!yeonjun himself. you were sneaking in the trees under the moon light, in the dark dark forest. and thats how you ended up being strangled by the prince himself and tied up with vines and thorns

you were in an awe the entire time bc you had no idea that the fairy prince would be this beautiful and ethereal. he just looks so... delicate and magical and soft, despite the fact that he almost choked you to death

you’ve just never seen any creature as beautiful as him, all glowing and sparkling softly under the moonlight

the glimmering luxurious pastel dress that he wore fits him perfectly, and the flower crown on his blonde locks made little butterflies fly upon him. His eyes cold but shines brightly, and everywhere he goes, he leaves trails of fairy dust and sparkles

but to your surprise, he’s kinda mean and short tempered. A frown never leaves his soft peachy lips

one look at you and he goes "... and what could the infamous little princess of the evil kingdom be doing in MY land? doing MEAN and EVIL stuff? hm??”

you’ve heard about the fairies not being the most friendly creature but you thhought they were just vicious, not sarcastic and seems angry all the time

and strangely enough, unlike other fairies, he didn’t have wings. And the flower crown on his blonde hair looked more like horns growing out of his head

he grew impatient from your lack of response but he couldn’t kill you yet, he needed you to get back at the evil kingdom

so he brought you to his kingdom—the kingdom’s prison, to be exact. But it’s just a beautiful chamber filled with wild plants and flowers and glowing fireflies underneath the moonlight, you were kinda confused when he said it’s a prison since the concept of prison that you grew up with is practically just a cold dark chamber of torture

“THIS is your PRISON? you sure you’re not taking me on a fairy date just now? to meet your pretty little fairy friends?” you said with a smug on your face, knowing that he wouldnt dare to intentionally hurt you, as he is a creature of natural protector despite his short temper

so you use this opportunity to annoy the hell out of him

“pretty flower crowns you got there” “btw where are your wings? aren’t all fairies supposed to have sparkly translucent wings?” “honestly i thought prisons are supposed to be a little more dark and intimidating you know, not like this pretty fairy garden”

you’d give him headache and the urge to use some forbidden magic curse on you but he didn’t because your corpse wouldn’t do any good

“these are HORNS! and not every fairy have the same physical features, stop stereotyping us! it’s disrespectful” he snapped

you were just complimenting him why is he always so cranky

i mean his horns look so beautiful they could easily be mistaken as a crown...

after gathering some information, you broke out of the prison with the help of the dying forest and weakening magic force

but you didn’t want to return just yet. you needed to gather more information as the forest started to heal

also you’re kinda lost your way back home lol

your father was FURIOUS, he blamed everyone for your abduction. even your little brother got enough beating for that

as days gone by, you feel like you’re getting closer to the secrets of the island, and also the fairy prince

and every encounter with him it’s just consist of a lot of bickering and sword fighting and being angry at each other

one time your faces were far too close to each other it made you let your guards down, but you snapped out of it quickly and proceed to strangle him

for some reason he never try to actually kill you and you never seem to get the right chance to kill him. it’s weird coming from you bc that’s literally what’s you’re trained for, to kill the prince. you still gotta prove yourself, remember?

but you’re getting used to each other’s presence so much that it became amusing for him

“wow (y/n) this is actually a fun date idea. I’m giving it a 4/10. could’ve been a solid 10 if you didn’t try to stab me in the ribs tho :/“ he said in the middle of a sword fight

one day you’re battling in some strange part in the forest, you were spying on him but got caught

but little did you know, it was one of the forest’s sacred sites. It’s filled with the strongest magic and ancient technology and guarded by forces you don’t know yet

you got struck by some ancient magic, resulting in some strange event to happen. which led you to be captured by the fairy prince yeonjun himself, again

you were kinda weak from the struck so most of the time he’s the one guarding you in the prison, keeping an eye on you and limiting your suspicious moves

so all you can do in the meantime is to either insult his annoyingly beautiful prison or annoy the prince himself

he always seems pissed and suspicious for no reason so it’s kinda fun to you

“are you in pain or something? did you get struck by some strange magic too? why are you always so mean and angry?? are you hurting somewhere ??"

“excuse YOU? am i supposed NOT TO ?? maybe i wouldn’t be so mean and angry all the time if the evil kingdom DON’T try to exploit the forest ALL THE TIME, every think of that? does that ring a bell? here's a hint: i’m talking about YOU, princess (y/n)” he’d roll his eyes, angrily walking in circles. kinda mad at his dad for making him guard you

i mean... there should be enough guards in this castle, right?

little did you know, the magic is actually weakening... leaving the royal bloods’ magic the only force that can protect the forest, for now

“for the hundreth time, i am NOT a princess! i’m a fucking warrior, so stop calling me that!” sometimes you get pissed for his sarcastic remarks and his attitudes in general too. also this time you’re not really feeling well after the struck

“whatever you say, my princess” he’d blow flower petals on your face before giving you a smirk, dancing away gracefully as he picks flowers and tuck them into his flower crown... dozens of flowers immediately grows back for every single flower he picks from the ground, what a sight

you’d blush and try to look away. he never used his magic and charms for this type of things, usually it’s just for some silly pranks or weak attempts temporary torture in the battlefield (bc using magic drains his energy quickly)... so why now? was he really using magic or was is it just you?

after so many encounters and chances of being alone together, you sure know how to get on each other’s nerves... and each other’s head

you were there for a couple days, it’s kinda weird that you didn’t try to escape

turned out you were kinda sick, the strange magic struck weakened your senses and abilities. but you didnt want to admit it nor let him know that you’re literally vulnerable right now

you were smart enough to use this opportunity to get close to him, telling lies about how pitiful your life’s been as a princess and how you just want to prove yourself to your father, you don’t even care about conquering the universe

he didn’t buy that at first, not until you told him about how the evil kingdom sees the forest. you’d say your father thinks the fairies are the bad guys bc they stole the stones from the ancestors of your father’s planet thousands of years ago and that they’re just trying to get it back to heal their dying planet

you didn’t lie at that part, it was true... at least for the invaders. that’s how he kinda get surprised he had to tell the fairies’ version of the story

turned out that it’s all just a misunderstanding between the two parties, but unlike yeonjun being the democratic soon-to-be leader that he is, you still want approval

which you can only get by killing the fairy crown prince yeonjun before his coronation

but jokes on you, you kinda have feelings for him too. you didnt even try to kill him when he fell asleep holding you in his arms... you’d always say to yourself that ‘it wasn’t the right time’ to kill him just yet

of course it wasn’t. there never was, and never will be. you love him, dumbass. even the moon shining upon you the two of you could easily tell

he’d start to tell you secrets... secrets of the forest, his ancestors and families, the kingdom, the magic island, everything

you knew the forest is dying, but what you didn’t know is that he never wanted to be king,, he doesn’t feel like he’s qualified to be one. hell, he doesn’t even have wings, and he’s got horns growing out of his head. no fairy king or queen written in history of the magic island to not have wings, ever

“but it’s not required, right? literally nobody said you’ve got to be born with wings in order to be a fairy king. it’s already in your blood, yeonjun.” you would reassure him as you lift his chin so you can clearly see his eyes... all shaky and scared

he’d kiss you and you swore you almost forgot about your personal mission of luring and getting him into your trap

he told you about when he was just a fairy child... other young fairies and forest creatures bullied him for having horns and no wings,, i mean... he’s a fairy after all. it’s actually really natural, it’s just unusual among the immature creatures

one day he ran away way too far out of the forest... to the giant thorned vine bushes that looked like a cavern... it was dark and scary, he’s never seen this part of the island before

he didn’t know that it’s an entrance to the darker side of the island, where your father landed the ship and invaded a whole region of natural resources and innocent creatures, including the elf kingdom

and then he met a little girl, holding a basket full of flowers and wild berries, with a messy flower crown made of wild flowers on her head. she approached him and asked him softly if he’s lost and why is he crying

he was scared at first because she’s dressed like human, but after a while he learned that she’s harmless. he told her he’s scared that one day he’s gonna turn into a monster bc of his growing horns

“horns? i thought these were a crown... a very peculiar one, i must admit. but didn’t you say you’re a prince? a prince is supposed to wear a crown, right?” the little girl said brightly

“here, let me tuck these flowers in between your hairs and horns... now it’s a flower crown! it’s always been a crown, but now you have flowers!” she would jump around happily, which made the little prince smiled a little too

the story kinda shocked you... could it be that...?

no, snap out of it! it’s not even important nor relevant to your current circumstances

but you never thought that the crown that he proudly wore all the time has been... a growing pain for him

speaking of pain, the part of your back that’s got struck by the strange magic the other day keeps hurting you, and that night it started to get worse, two vertical scars started to form, followed by black liquid running down from each one

“you’re hurt! why didn’t you tell me?” he snapped, his voice filled with worries and anger. maybe it’s because of the fact that black blood could only mean one thing... dark magic

he took care of you and looked after you all the time

and yet you’d still tell him lies... and giving him false hopes

“let’s run away, together... to somewhere far, somewhere safe, we can build our own forever...”

[erudite-rebel]

Title: Forced Offerings Summary: The recounts of Bartholomew Oobleck regarding an incident which took the lives of his parents when he was a child.  Characters: Bartholomew Oobleck, Qrow Branwen, OC’s Notes: I’m posting a bit of writing I did. A few people who follow will be familiar with my Magnus Archives AU, or at the very least have seen me spam about it and draw art for the (3) other people who I know that listen to the podcast. I’m actually very proud of this little bit of writing, though I understand not everyone would want to read it. I’m trying to get myself back into properly writing, and though this is fanfic I think getting it out there and maybe receiving feedback could help?

It’s a horror story. One I kind of want to adapt, honestly, to a Creepypasta to submit to NoSleep, but for now it can remain like this.

Warnings for body horror, gore, and guts.

“There has to be some sort of rational explanation for-”

“For someone wearing someone else’s skin like a meat suit?” Qrow’s words were calm. Somehow he was always calm. Even after all of this. 

Barty leaned against the chair, hands gripping the back of it until it was twisted and pressed against the table. He had dark bags under his eyes and was unsure of the last time he’d had a proper sleep. Every piece of him felt tired, from toes to fingertips, and he knew if he laid down there would be nothing to gain for it. Just wakefulness, watching, waiting.

“I always thought I wanted it to be real, Qrow,” he said. “All my life. Ever since the wanting to know dug its claws into my head for the first time. Even when we both should have run away after the incident. I- but now I’m here. And I really do know now, even if there’s so much more that I don’t. Hidden. Layers waiting for me to scrape away and dig down into them.”

When he looked back up Qrow’s face was near unreadable, as it always was. As though his old friend had at some point become a spy. “You can still get out, Bart. Quit. Forget.”

Barty laughed weakly. “You don’t… you don’t think I tried? I attempted to write up a letter of resignation, and it was as though the keys had transformed, like staring at some unknown machine as the cursor blinked. So I took up a pen, determined to write it, and I forgot how to write. And when I saw Ozpin I… the words. They wouldn’t be spoken. I don’t think I can quit.”

He sagged then and pulled out his chair, sitting heavily down. His head was laid in his arms, trying to think it through, but what was there to think of? To understand? He was trapped. A group of beings wearing skin suits had attempted to break into the archives. He’d looked at one of them wearing the face of a person he’d taken a statement from. Veronica Chase of Leeds.

“Everything I remembered pointed to… to the world being a very dark place, but I think I. I was too young to understand just how horrific.”

Cool fingers curled around his. Barty squeezed them on reflex, trying to convince himself not to do anything so childish as cry. There was so much going on. Too much going on. And he knew Ozpin, Qrow, perhaps some of the other assistants, he knew they knew more. And those secrets, that untold knowledge, burned like a hunger in him as much as recording statements had become. A part of him, one he didn’t yet know how loud it truly was, wanted to devour that knowledge.

Qrow’s voice broke into his thoughts. “...Have you ever spoken about it?”

Barty considered the question a moment before he lifted his head. Qrow was no longer unreadable. He was sad. Maybe angry as well. 

“I haven’t.” He’d alluded to things to Qrow, when they were young and just a few stupid, desperate children, but he’d never told the full story. Perhaps not even to the police.

Qrow nodded to the tape recorder. “Maybe now’s the time.”

“You mean give a statement?” He sounded incredulous, as though that was the last thing he ought to be doing.

The other man shrugged, but thin fingers curled a little tighter. The gesture was soothing. “Couldn’t hurt.”

Barty sat up straighter, looking at the recorder waiting for him to merely press record. It called to him. With a sigh he picked up his glasses and placed them on his face, straightening his back. Qrow’s hands retreated over the table to his lap, and the other man was silent as he slouched and stared at Barty.

The record button depressed with a satisfying click, and the gears within ground softly with their age. The sound tingled along his spine like light, tickling fingers.

“Statement of Bartholomew Oobleck, regarding a series of deaths at Eastwyke Museum of Artefacts and Antiquities in 1996. Statement taken on November 22nd, 2020. Audio recording by Bartholomew Oobleck, Head Archivist of the Beacon Institute, London.” He paused a moment, as memories returned, like he’d merely opened a door. He remembered being a young and curious boy, and the scent of dust and paper and age in the museum’s storage. It was almost as if he were there, and he knew he’d be able to tell the story down to the deepest detail, and when he began to talk he wasn’t entirely sure who he was talking to - Qrow, the tape, or himself. 

“Statement begins.”

I don’t suppose there are many people who would remember the Eastwyke Museum of Artefacts and Antiquities anymore. Or if they do, they might pretend not to. The galleries had originated from the private collection of Duke Francis Egerton, who had been the Duke of Eastwyke for perhaps a decade in the eighteen hundreds and primarily concerned himself with gathering rare and unusual antiquities. In the 1950’s several of his descendants saw fit to open it to the public, perhaps to use it to make a little money or invest. Despite that it didn’t see tourism. The patrons were mainly students from Oxford, or travelling academics. Anthropologists, archaeologists, Egyptologists… even had an entomologist come in weekly to just sit in the insect room and take it all in. No, not many people would remember it, but it was my childhood.

My parents, Pearl and Mathis Oobleck, were archaeologists. They were often abroad with work and digs. Sometimes I went with them, sometimes I stayed at home with my grandfather Tennyson, who had a little cottage on the grounds when he worked as curator. When he retired the mantle passed to my father and they were home a little more, unless going off to expand the collection. It was… a happy enough childhood. Maybe lonely sometimes, but I had an entire world of secret knowledge to explore, a library to devour and help curb my hyperactivity. I was content prowling those halls, which felt more like home to me than our cottage.

When I was nine the proprietors purchased a considerable number of artifacts from a private auction, something to do with a portion of Duke Egerton’s original collection that had made it into the hands of a branch of the royal family they’d had a rivalry with. The purchase caused quite a stir. All sorts of wild stories were told… not the least of which was that many of the artifacts there were once bought from grave robbers. I never heard the truth of it, though I suspect it was. Most private collections are just that. Stolen.

I was forbidden to go near the newest items. While it was next to impossible to keep me out of the storage rooms, I had learned early not to touch anything, and was not allowed in the room where they were held without an accompaniment to make sure I kept my hands well off. I remember standing in the middle of the room, hands stuck firm under my arms to resist the temptation to touch the pottery or old weapons. I must have looked like I had seen Father Christmas as I turned every which way trying to get a peek at it. I was a horrible annoyance, I suspect.

One part of the lot, though, I remember very well. It had been a beautifully preserved set of canopic jars. I recall being told they were from the eighteenth dynasty. They were made of black stone, each head carved with exquisite detail, the polish hanging on despite the millenia since. All over the surface of the jar were carved hieroglyphs, uncharacteristic of the usual designs. Several people believed the jars to be fake, as the material was wrong for the time, and the glyphs were unusual, but carbon dating seemed to suggest it was an immutable fact. I think there was a lot of discussion whether to open the jar and study the remains inside.

The largest advocate for their authenticity was Dr. Herbert Renshaw, a loud and corpulent man. I never knew him well. He was the sort of man who didn’t have patience for even a docile child, let alone a hyperactive boy with a million questions. He usually didn’t want me about so I didn’t hear much of them until he’d found me one day loitering near the entrance of the archive where they were being kept and he asked if I would like to come inside.

I remember finding that odd, chiefly because I knew he didn’t care for me, but also because of the look in his eyes. I was never much good at deciphering human emotions when I was younger, but even then I thought there was something of a gleam to them. I readily agreed, though, and darted inside the moment I was allowed to.

We didn’t have much in the way of conversation. He talked at length about the glyphs carved into the rock, and how they’d seemed to be in several different languages. His speech had been rapid, I remember, and I’d had difficulty following along. All the while I’d been edging closer to them, feeling captivated by the staring eyes of the figureheads atop the jars. I felt as though they were looking back at me, urging me in. 

I hadn’t even been aware of reaching for them when Dr. Renshaw’s hand slapped down hard over my own, knocking it away. Knuckles stinging, I’d turned and fled as he glared. But even now I’m not sure if I ran from the slap, the look in his eyes, or the fact that there had seemed to be radiant, physical heat from those jars. 

For the next few days I was kept busy with my homeschooling and hardly got a chance to go into the museum beyond writing a maths test in my mother's office. Whenever I was in, though, I happened to see Dr. Renshaw. Normally he was a neat and tidy sort of man, with expensive suits and his moustache waxed within an inch of its life, yet… it seemed as though he was keeping less care of himself. Hair unbrushed, buttons undone, bowtie lank or missing. And as he walked he’d mutter to himself and turn a wild sort of gaze on a person, something that made you feel less like a person and more like an object.

When I asked my mother about it she dismissed it as him being overworked and told me to concentrate harder on my studies. I tried, but the memory of the way he walked and stared wouldn’t be banished from my mind.

It was on a Monday that it truly started. I had left one of my science textbooks in my mother’s office and needed it for that day’s lesson, but it was on Monday’s the museum was closed, so I took my father’s key and let myself in the back entrance. I was hardly afraid. I knew these halls like the back of my hand.

As I was passing through one of the archives - it had been stuffy and hot with summer, without climate control - I heard an odd sound. A sort of whimpering coming from further in the dark. At first I rooted in place, wondering if I should run and get my father, too afraid to call out. When the sound came again I crept through the shelves, terrified of what I might find, when I came upon one of the librarians, Maggie Law. I’d always liked her. She let me read what I like and sometimes would sneak me toffee’s or other sweets. I’m certain she had a kind, round face, but now all I can remember is how she’d looked there in the shadows. Yellowing skin and eyes, soaked with sweat, hands clutched over her side. I remember her crying, her voice so broken and small as she said ‘he pulled it from me, he pulled it from me.’ 

I ran then, straight for my parents. It had taken them a good five minutes to get me to talk enough sense to call an ambulance. I remember watching from my window as she was taken away, staring through old warped glass at the blue lights. 

I also remember something else, though. Dr. Renshaw. His face looking out from a window at the same scene. Even though I couldn’t see him clearly, my vision what it was, I felt sick just to look at him. I felt dread.

More attacks followed. The following day the groundskeeper, Kevin Rutherford, was found dead, torch in hand. I overheard the police telling my parents he seemed like he must have had a heart attack while patrolling the grounds that night. The day after that an archaeologist named Judith Churchill was found in a state of shock in the parking lot, having finished up late that night. 

The museum closed. Everyone by that point was terrified, and the police were doing regular patrols. I was thirsty to know what was happening but my parents refused to tell me, so I’d taken to listening in on the telephone whenever someone rang. I eavesdropped on one such call and learned that Maggie Law had died. Hepatic encephalopathy, they’d said. I remember struggling an ancient medical textbook down from a shelf just to look it up. It’s a condition caused by acute liver failure.

I was in a right state after that. My parents were making sure to keep the doors locked. I remember my mother tucked me in and told me not to worry. I try to always remember that.

It was around ten pm that a knock came at the door. Unable to sleep I’d made a little tent of a blanket and was reading by torchlight when I heard it. Curious who it could be at that hour with so much going on, I crept from my bed to go to the stairs to watch the front hall. I thought perhaps it might be a policeman, that there’d be some news.

It was my father who answered the door. On the threshold stood Dr. Renshaw, and he looked haggard. Deep bags below his fever-bright eyes, cheeks almost sunken, hair a mess. I remember he had a hand tucked into his jacket. 

My father invited him in, of course. There’d been concern in his voice as he shut the door and warned him he shouldn’t be out so late with such strangeness going on. 

I remember the door swinging shut. I remember Dr. Renshaw pulling one of the jars from his jacket and noticing the eyes of Qebehsenuf, the falcon, somehow staring out from its black and smooth surface. And then Renshaw reached for my father.

Words do not feel as though they can describe. I watched as his hand seemed to sink through clothes and skin and flesh without a drop of blood. I remember my father’s face going stark white as my mother asked what was going on. And then Renshaw pulled his hand back.

It was like nothing I had yet seen. Pink, almost purplish, tubes were gripped in Renshaw’s hand. My father screamed then, falling to his knees, watching as this mass was pulled from him. There was too much even for Renshaw to hold and it slipped to the ground with a wet splat, and seemed to move like a languid snake. 

My father fell over then, as my mother screamed hysterically. All I remember clearly was Renshaw looking up at me as he held my father's intestines like fleshy ropes, letting them drag on the ground and slap his clothing. Our eyes met. They were like I had never seen before. There was something mad there, but also elation or euphoria I couldn’t understand.

I ran then, bolting for my parent's room. I remember crawling under their bed and curling up beneath the headboard, hands over my ears as I listened to my mother scream before it just… ended. I waited to hear boots upon the stairs, for Renshaw to come and stick his hand into me, but he never came. All I heard was the door swing shut.

I didn’t leave until morning when the police arrived. The maid found my parents, and the police found me. Had had to drag me from under the bed, in fact. They didn’t let me see their bodies, and the funeral was closed casket. I told the police who I’d seen but Renshaw had disappeared along with those canopic jars. Jars I worry that had gotten full on what was stolen from his coworkers.

I went to go live with my grandfather after that. There was a lot of therapy. I was pushed harder than ever into my schoolwork, and I treated it like a drug to quiet my mind. Eventually I think I half convinced myself it was a hallucination by the time I went to high school. Now I know better.

Statement ends.

[rayveewrites]

So as a simultaneous end of the year/ completion of Golden Echoes/ launch of Buried Gold celebration, I thought it would be neat to go through every chapter and post my favourite line/phrase/sentence/paragraph/etc from each. Why? Is this a genuine celebration? Do I think I’m funny and laugh at my own jokes? Am I actually just procrastinating? Yes. (Very obviously spoilers for the entire fic.)

Prologue: Lost  Darkness, pierced by the faint glow of sunlight through the holes in the ceiling. The sound of dripping water, pooling in the centre of the room.

Prologue: Found It remembered a time of life and colour, when it danced and played and sang, when children flocked around him and fed off its happiness and energy and gave him their own. Would it ever experience that again?

Prologue: Name  Old, brittle bones grinded. Rusted metal sounded against the tiled floor. Colourless eyes softly glowed silver.

Returned ...whoever thought it was a good idea to create a horror attraction out of the actual murders of actual children needed to have their heads readjusted. Forcefully. With a mask full of crossbeams and wires.

Exploration ...servos and circuits, they had been at this location for an hour and Freddy was already having a terrible day. Also it was 10 AM. The location operated at night. Why.

Darkness  So young, and left without a voice. I ask you now to make your choice. Clean the tiles of blood and tears? Or let them suffer with their fears?

Void He called up a memory, of turquoise eyes and golden fur, of whispers in the night that meant nothing and everything, of a feeling of happiness, that nothing would ever change, because the world was already perfect. 

Balloons Of course this place has wonky physics.

JJ “So let me get this straight. A potentially dangerous supernatural rabbit wants me to take a cryptic message to a potentially dangerous animatronic rabbit, and then somehow convince the other potentially dangerous animatronic rabbit and his potentially dangerous animatronic friends that the first potentially dangerous animatronic rabbit is not, in fact, the definitely dangerous child-murdering serial killer who’s...somewhere else. Have I got all that?”

Rabbit Part of his mouth twitched, as if he was trying to make a facial expression, but couldn't. 

Arcade The Void was not cooperating.

Parts Things had always seemed much brighter when they were two.

Guard Whatever came to one or the other's mind, in the breaks between people coming through and Sam playing creepy sounds over the speakers because 'a couple of teenagers are smooching on cam six, do they you realize I can see you, jesus christ, why are you even snogging in a horror attraction anyway, I really don't get the appeal, I swear to god-' or something along those lines, anyway.

Adventure Peace wasn't a feeling the ghost had had for a very long time.

Notes ...it had been a handful of wild yellow daisies a little girl had found, and he’d woven them into a ‘flower crown’ (actually more of a flower bracelet- the girl had picked as many as she could hold, but children had small hands) and put it on Fredbear’s hat when his partner wasn’t looking. Fredbear had promptly worn it all that night and the next day, daisies and all. Spring hadn’t been sure if he’d noticed or not, but either way, it had been very cute.

Cupcakes If the kid wanted a dinosaur, the kid should get a dinosaur, as far as he was concerned. Clothes were clothes. Why did people kick up such a stink about it sometimes?

Tapes “Uh, hello? Hello, hello! Uh, there’s been a slight change of company policy concerning use of the suits. Um, don’t.” “Oh gee,” JJ muttered, “imagine. It’s almost as if they were giant metal deathtraps.”

Talk ...she didn’t need to understand every aspect of Springtrap's life. That was Springtrap’s job, and he was apparently terrible at it.

Performance “It smells like something crawled in there and died.” 

Gold Fredbear had been Springtrap’s heart and soul; as much as he loved the children and gave each performance his all, his real reason for living was in the bear who sang beside him. Springtrap remembered singing on stage, a guitar in his hands and love in his soul. He remembered stolen kisses in the night, waltzing on cool tiles with music nobody else could hear. He remembered stealing Fredbear’s hat dozens of times, running off wearing it and giggling like a small child himself. He remembered quiet nights, when the only sounds were his guitar and Fred’s soft humming, sometimes the same tune, sometimes not, but neither of them ever cared. He remembered curling up together, watching stars twinkle in the night sky beyond the walls of the little diner, and truly believing that the time they had together was infinite. 

Stage He was holding something. He looked down, opened his hand and saw a gleaming purple microphone, accented with gold. It had been years, decades, since he had last seen it, but he recognized it. He knew what it meant. "Even after everything, I’m still with you." 

[Note: this is also the chapter that contained Springtrap’s poem. I’m quite proud of that one, despite how much of a pain it was to write. So, honourable mention]

Notes [Note: wait, crud, there’s two chapters named Notes? I’m gonna have to change one of those later.]

Maybe she just needed to hit something.

Knife [Note: I forgot to actually title this one in AO3. Welp. Better fix that later]

It was slightly strange, a Freddy’s-related crime that was just… basic burglary. It was always the unusual crimes that happened- murder, manslaughter, OSHA violations (so many OSHA violations). But theft? That was new.

Shadows

They lapsed back into silence for a moment. “So, this place… is it real?” In a fashion. It was created from your memories of what is gone. “So… if Fredbear isn’t here…” He is unreachable. “Where?” I cannot tell you. “You don’t know, do you.” The Shadow-Bear was silent, telling Springtrap all he needed to know. 

Puppet RWQ… Yes? Stop tormenting the rabbit. You’re no fun. Puppet? She hissed at the purple bear. Stop tormenting the rabbit. “And why would I listen to you?” Because, Shadow Freddy said as the Puppet was slowly levitated up into the air, all four limbs flailing, he’s needed. And also, you are being, as Springtrap so eloquently called RWQ earlier, an asshole.

Voice Specifically, it was more a mixture of blood, rotting flesh, and whatever other bodily fluids lingered in William Afton’s partially mummified decomposing head and was accessible via Springtrap’s mouth, without opening said mouth to the point where someone would notice said partially mummified decomposing head.  [Or] Springtrap was displaying remarkable self-restraint. First, he hadn’t punched the Puppet in the face for threatening his friend’s life. Then, he hadn’t punched the Puppet in the face for implying he had a problem with the golden bear. Now, he wasn’t squeezing the life out of JJ in a hug.

Ghosts “No. The thing is, I’ve never had a name I felt truly fit before it. I can’t be Bonnie any more; the Classic model has taken that name, and he is welcome to have it. Spring Bonnie was the name the Man Behind the Slaughter used; I never truly referred to myself with it. Some employees called me Golden Bonnie, to fit with the whispers of a Golden Freddy, but that was never truly a name either, although I suppose I could have gotten used to it eventually. But Springtrap? It lets me keep my past, and it lets me have a future. Sure, it’s a little odd, but I don’t mind. I kind of like it. It’s unique.”

Humans Oh, Spring has a key. That explains where the spare went! When did he get that? Jake’s been looking for it for ages. Not that it’s my business. He says he technically works here, so it’s not stealing. Cheeky. He’s right though.

Henry “I’m not sure whether I should be pissed about the weird way he’s been constructed, or impressed he hasn’t collapsed yet. What the hell is holding him togeth- wait what the hell is that.” Springtrap winced. He knew he should’ve warned them beforehand, but he still tended to hide the rotting corpse. It was instinctive, a sort of habit- born from the fear he would be scrapped is the workers found out, and increased by the fact he was being blamed for murder.

Sound No matter how bad Springtrap’s eyesight could get, no matter how often his joints locked up, Springtrap had always had his rabbit hearing. It had saved his life several times, back when the Classics were hunting him. He had figured out a basic method of echolocation for when his eyes were useless. He relied on his ears, and now they were letting him down for the first time in his life. It scared him.

Doors “Freddy! We have a problem!”

Attack He did. He needed a hand. God, it hurt. Where was his arm? Was that his arm? No, it couldn’t be. He was gold. Not green. Or maybe it was. It was hard to think. Thinking. What a strange concept. The Greeks had invented thinking, hadn't they? Why would they do that?

Rest There were voices. Voices. His voicebox had lungs. His lungs were in his spine. His spine was being held together by lungs. His spine attached to his legs. He had no legs. He heard voices. He couldn’t hear. The grass was nice. Cool. Soft. Green. Like his eyes. Not like his eyes. Like his fur. He had no fur. Like his plush. His plush was green. Or gold. Or red. Or brown. He couldn’t remember which. Maybe it was all of them There was a breeze. It was nice. Warm. Hot. It was sunny. The sun was a star. He liked stars.  Stars meant Fredbear. And dancing. Where were his legs? He wanted to dance with the stars. Or with Fredbear. Fredbear. His Fredbear. He missed Fredbear.

Epilogue: Box Smeared down the plaster, it started about six feet up, and grew thicker toward the ground. It looked like Springtrap, or the Purple Guy, had slid down the wall until they were sitting. The tile beneath was stained heavily, and Freddy marvelled at how much blood was in a human body.

Epilogue: Opening ... no killing. That was the new rule. It was a strange one, for Master, but he supposed Master knew what he was talking about. He had changed, too; he had scratched behind his ears a couple days ago and it had felt so good.

Epilogue: Spark He remembered a time of life and colour, when he danced and played and sang, when children flocked around him and fed off his happiness and energy and gave him their own. He would experience that again.

[bleachintothemultiverse]

MEET THE MUSE Rules: Don’t reblog, repost. Tagging: @hirako5hinji @bookofaion @viciousvizard @achaoticmultiverse (atem?) @ofdeathandwinterstrawberries (any muse :3) @skyvar​ @duelist-in-black @ohmaiwhathavewedone @world-duelists (Vector uwu)  @sphaeraa​ @kaibacorpbros​ (Seto) tagged by: stolen from the hc meme tag on tumblr

 ( reply as muse talking )

image

► NAME ➭   Aizen sosuke ► ARE YOU SINGLE? ➭ “For now yes.” (depends on the verse and rp partner- in most verses he is.) ► ARE YOU HAPPY? ➭  “....I guess so?” ► ARE YOU ANGRY?  ➭   “No.”  ► ARE YOUR PARENTS STILL MARRIED? ➭  “...i don’t know who my parents are.”  ⚡️ NINE FACTS!

► ‘BIRTH’ PLACE ➭. “...Rukongai.”  ► HAIR COLOR ➭   “.......Brown.” ► EYE COLOR ➭   “.......also brown.” ► BIRTHDAY ➭ . “May 29th.”  ► MOOD ➭   “..Mood? current mood? content.” ► GENDER ➭   “Male”  ► SUMMER OR WINTER ➭ “...winter.” ► MORNING OR AFTERNOON ➭   “after noon.”

⚡️ EIGHT THINGS ABOUT YOUR LOVE LIFE!

► ARE YOU IN LOVE?➭    “Currently? ...I don’t know.”  ► DO YOU BELIEVE IN LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT? ➭   “..Not really. if you love some one by just looking at them- you are easily manipulated by your feelings.”  ► WHO ENDED YOUR LAST RELATIONSHIP? ➭  “Haven’t been in one.”  ► HAVE YOU EVER BROKEN SOMEONE’S HEART? ➭  “Yes. Hinamori’s”  ► ARE YOU AFRAID OF COMMITMENTS? ➭   “....You don’t need to know that.”  ► HAVE YOU HUGGED SOMEONE WITHIN THE LAST WEEK?➭ “No ...? im not really a physical affection person.”  ► HAVE YOU EVER HAD A SECRET ADMIRER? ➭  “Yea probably. I was known as one of the better looking captains after all. not to mention all of the girls who used to stare at me during the academy days”  ► HAVE YOU EVER BROKEN YOUR OWN HEART? ➭  “..No?” 

⚡️SIX CHOICES!

► LOVE OR LUST ➭  “Neither.” ► LEMONADE OR ICED TEA ➭ “...I don’t like either- but I guess i could drank ice tea. I just prefer it to be hot.”   ► CATS OR DOGS ➭  “Cats. but dogs are good loyalty animals... so in reality its a tie, but Cats are more amusing to watch, they know your feelings better.”  ► A FEW BEST FRIENDS OR MANY REGULAR FRIENDS ➭  “..I guess a few best friends? i don’t... have much “Friends.” let alone best friends,”  ► WILD NIGHT OUT OR ROMANTIC NIGHT IN ➭  “..If i had to choose- romantic night in. i guess.”  ► DAY OR NIGHT  ➭  “Night.”

⚡️ FIVE HAVE YOU EVERS!

► BEEN CAUGHT SNEAKING OUT ➭ “Yes- my Ex-taichou caught me sneaking out from the barracks. and have caught me being out after hours and using kido to conceal my self. “   ► FALLEN DOWN/UP THE STAIRS ➭  “No...? i mean- i have almost trip but i caught my self before.”  ► WANTED SOMETHING/SOMEONE SO BADLY IT HURT? ➭ “yea. I have- not to the point it hurt. but i have wanted something and I got it.” ► WANTED TO DISAPPEAR ➭  “...Disappear? No...?”

⚡️FIVE PREFERENCES!

► SMILE OR EYES ➭   “Eyes- you can tell a lot  by reading a person’s eyes.” ► SHORTER OR TALLER ➭  “Shorter- there isn’t many people who are as tall as me or taller.” ► INTELLIGENCE OR ATTRACTION ➭   “Intelligence. I don’t see the appeal of attraction.” ► HOOK-UP OR RELATIONSHIP ➭  “Neither.”  

⚡️ FAMILY!

► DO YOU AND YOUR FAMILY GET ALONG ➭   “...I don’t... know my family.” ► WOULD YOU SAY YOU HAVE A “MESSED UP LIFE” ➭   “..No I wouldn’t say that .” ► HAVE YOU EVER RAN AWAY FROM HOME ➭  “From the districts? Yes i joined the academy.”  ► HAVE YOU EVER GOTTEN KICKED OUT ➭   “No??”

⚡️ FRIENDS!

► DO YOU SECRETLY HATE ONE OF YOUR FRIENDS ➭ “I don’t hate them, I distrust them dearly. Its a difference.”  ► DO YOU CONSIDER ALL OF YOUR FRIENDS GOOD FRIENDS ➭  “No.” ► WHO IS YOUR BEST FRIEND ➭   “Tousen and Houygoku- though i am not sure if you count that.” ► WHO KNOWS EVERYTHING ABOUT YOU ➭ “No one”  

[desiree-harding-fic]

IHSTFA River Scene

When Kravitz comes home, he thinks the wine is blood at first, the years he spent talking of this murder and that and this domestic violence case and that – and so he sees the red on the wall and on the couch and the floor and his heart stops for a solid ten seconds as he wonders what on Earth he’s going to do without Taako.

And then he looks a little harder, and sees that it’s not blood, but wine, and before he can even breathe a sigh of relief, a shape appears at the top of the stairs and something about the movement catches his eye.

It’s Lup. But Lup like he’s never seen her in all the time he’s known her. Lup with her face splotchy and hair wild, looking like a woman possessed, and she looks right at him, which she never does except in stolen glances and glares from across the room when she thinks Taako can’t see.

She looks right into his eyes, and holds his gaze, and the look that crosses her face is disappointment, sharp and so painful, and Kravitz doesn’t understand why, and then she’s thundering down the stairs toward him.

“Kravitz,” she gasps, and Kravitz can’t remember the last time she even acknowledged him like this, and hell, he isn’t even sure if she’s ever said his name before this. “Kravitz,” she grabs the lapels of his suit, hauls him close to her. She’s so like Taako, this close. And so much not.

“Please, please, Kravitz, you need to find Taako,” she gasps, and her grip is so strong. “Please,” she says, and tears are spilling from her eyes, and Kravitz doesn’t know when Barry got there, but he’s trying to pull her off of him. “Please, can you go out and look for him, he – he’ll listen to you, and he’s not answering my calls and I said such horrible things to him and you have to tell him I’m sorr - I’m so sorry. I don’t know where he’s been since this morning – please, Kravitz, please. I can’t lose him again and he just walked out the door and hasn’t been back -”

What can Kravitz do?

“Okay,” he says, grabbing Lup’s wrists, not hard but firm, and holding her still, talking in his best calming voice, the way he talks to the hysterical clients every once in a while, “okay, Lup. Slow down. Taako’s missing?”

She visibly flinches at the word missing, and lets out a horrible little sob, and Kravitz curses his insensitivity, but Lup still nods.

“Okay,” he says, trying to form a plan. It hasn’t even been three minutes since he came in the door. And his house is in complete disarray with broken glass on the floor and wine on the wall, and a woman having a breakdown in his foyer, and this is so much, and where could Taako have gone? Lup must have said something really awful to Taako for him to just… not come home, and Kravitz is more than a little worried. What state is Taako in? What if something happened to him?

“Okay, Lup, look at me,” he says, and she does, such a horrible expression of pain on her face that Kravitz’s heart about comes right out of his throat. “I’m going to go out, and I’m going to find, Taako, okay?” She’s looking a him so intensely, and Kravitz doesn’t think she ever has like this, ever, in the whole year she’s been back. “I’m gonna go get him, and bring him back, okay? And I’ll tell him what you said.”

“Tell him I’m sorry,” Lup sobs, “I’m so sorry –”“I will, Lup,” he says, and releases her wrists, and she grabs his jacket again, clinging.“Thank you, Kravitz,” she sobs, “thank you.”

Barry has to pry her off of him, and Kravitz has to go because it’s nighttime in D.C., and Taako didn’t have a car, but he could’ve gotten a cab or an uber or anything, he could be anywhere, and Kravitz has to find him. Because it isn’t like Taako to just run off, he’s been doing better – he’s not the kind of person who just runs away from his problems anymore. Hasn’t been that person in a long time. And the fact that he has –

Kravitz has to find him.

He slips out the door, barely looking as Lup collapses to the floor, Barry still holding her desperately and trying to calm her, and Kravitz wonders how long he’s been working on that, and secretly, he blesses Barry’s patience.

But the knowledge that Taako’s gone sits heavy in his stomach like a stone as he climbs back into his car, still in work clothes. Taako. Oh, Taako.Kravitz has to admit that he’s been… angry with Lup, since she returned. He tries to push it down, tries not to acknowledge it, but he is. She’s made their lives infinitely harder. And he would never begrudge a person’s mental health… but with Lup…

It’s just that he just doesn’t want Taako to be hurt. And Lup, intentionally or not, has been hurting him, hurting him deep. Causing stress so acute with her spiral that Taako’s been spiraling too. Kravitz himself is barely holding on.

And where does she get away with ruining his home in a fit of passion? The number of times Kravitz wanted to smash something out of frustration is… too many to count. But when has he ever acted on it? Somehow, he’s expected to have more restraint than that.

He could scream.

And yet… Kravitz would never wish her away. He knows how important she is to Taako, knows who she was through Taako’s stories and memories. He can see, once in a blue moon, little glimpses of that person in the Lup of today. But PTSD does a hell of a something to a person.

But for Taako to just run away… what could she have done to prompt such a thing?Taako’s phone doesn’t even ring when Kravitz calls it. Which means it’s either shut off or dead, which is just fucking perfect isn’t it?

He calls Ren, but no one at the restaurant has seen Taako all day. He calls Istus, but she’s heard nothing. He calls Magnus and then Merle, talking to them on the phone as he wanders around the city in his car, first on the streets near their neighborhood and then to the bars he and Taako used to go to, but no one’s seen him, not one of their friends. And no one’s heard anything, not even his mother, who he calls in fit of desperation, and Kravitz shouldn’t have stayed late at the office, if he had come home sooner he would have known sooner and could’ve looked for him before it was the middle of the fucking night, and anything could have happened to Taako, out alone in the city like this. It’s not like he isn’t competent, but Kravitz also knows the kind of things that happen to gay men wandering the streets at night, even though they live in a good neighborhood, and he has to force himself not to think about it and just keep looking.

He’s on hour 3, and he’s been calling Taako, or at least trying to, every 10 minutes or so and has gotten nothing, and he’s just starting to consider calling the police because it’s past 11pm now but Taako’s going to be so mad if he does –

And he rolls by Georgetown Riverside Park.

For some reason, his foot hits the brake, and he stops dead.

Something tells him to park and get out of the car.

He and Taako came here when they first moved in to their house together, a few months before Lup got back into the states. It was just barely spring and he and Taako would bundle up in their coats and walk out to the park, not caring how far it was from the house even though Taako complained the whole time, and then they would just stand and talk and stare at the water and the city across the way. Because Taako liked the water, liked living near it. He liked the way the lights would reflect and the boats that would occasionally go by. He loved the Potomac, loved the South as much as he used to protest it, and Kravitz loved watching Taako in the light of the streetlights and the stars.

The same light falls over the park now, and it’s freezing, and Kravitz pulls his coat around himself, the air slicing through it like it’s made of paper and chilling him to the bone. He tightens his scarf and shoves his hands in his pockets and walks through the park, looking carefully into every shadow, a last resort. Gods, let Taako be here, he prays. It’s been hours. Kravitz is exhausted, bone tired.

But more than that, Kravitz is scared. So scared in the wake of his family falling apart and feeling like he’s the one string holding all of it together, and now it feels like that string is fraying and breaking, and if Kravitz has to call the police and go home empty-handed, or if he has to stay out until morning leaving Lup to truly lose whatever’s left of her mind, or if he has to deal with a phone call tomorrow at 7am telling him Taako’s body washed up on the banks of the river somewhere, then everything will be over.

For the second time in a few hours, Kravitz wonders what he’s going to do without Taako.

His throat is tight and he thinks he might finally cry.

And then.

There. Along the river. In their spot.Taako.He’s long and lithe and so beautiful, and he’s not dressed for the weather at all, no coat, no scarf, nothing. He must be freezing. And he’s just staring at the water, leaning on the fence, unmoving save for his left hand which slowly brings a cigarette to his mouth as he takes a long drag, and then away as he blows out, the smoke mingling with the fog of his breath in the cold air.

Kravitz is so, so unbelievably worried, seeing Taako in the middle of some sort of classical nervous breakdown, and fuck, he’s smoking again, but more than that he is so relieved.

Taako’s not missing. He’s not dead. He’s here, in one piece, maybe not mentally but physically whole, and Kravitz can work with that.He walks up to him slowly, half afraid to call his name and startle him. He just walks up to him and stands next to him, facing him, and Taako’s in profile, looking almost grayscale in the indirect light from the streetlights on the snow, and Kravitz says, soft as he can,

“Taako?”

Taako doesn’t look at him, takes another drag from the cigarette, and Kravitz can see the pack in his pocket. His eyes are unfocused on the water, and he’s still, so still, and Taako’s never still. It scares Kravitz. It’s like it’s not even Taako standing there, just a ghost of Taako, a reflection.

He breathes death in and out, and doesn’t look at Kravitz, and just says,

“I don’t think I can do it anymore, Krav.”

Kravitz’s heart breaks.

“I know, Taako,” he breathes, his chest heavy with it.

“You don’t,” Taako says, bitter, glaring at the cold water, not quite ice, but so close, “you don’t know her like I do – you weren’t – you weren’t there. You can’t see what she’s –” he looks like he can’t go on, just glares at the cigarette in his hand and bites his trembling lip. His hands start to shake.

“You’re right,” Kravitz says, and he has to get this right, in this moment. He has to do this just right, because that’s what he does, he gets things right, and the prospect of losing Taako forever is hanging over his head like a chandelier ready to come crashing down on them both. “I wasn’t there before,” he says, “I didn’t know her when you did.”

“But I know you,” he says, because he thinks in this moment, Taako needs to hear it. That someone in the world knows him, and loves him. That someone cares for him. “I can see what it’s doing to you,” he tells him, because he has to get this right.

“Talk to me, love.”

Taako throws the cigarette to the ground, grinds it out under his heel, and he stares at the water for a long moment, and Kravitz wonders if either of them are breathing, and then Taako puts his head right in his hands, balling his hands into fists in his hair.

“What am I supposed to do?” he whispers, broken.

Kravitz wants to hold him.

“Can I touch you?” he says, and Taako, breath shaky, nods. And Kravitz immediately wraps his arms around him, going so far as to unbutton his coat and pulling Taako back against his chest, trying to lend him some of his warmth. He covers Taako’s hands with his own and holds him. Taako’s so cold. He’s shivering. And Kravitz wants to take all of his pain away, and knows that he can’t, that this collective family breakdown is killing all of them, slowly, as sure as Taako’s cigarettes would, as surely as Lup’s drink. They’re trembling apart, piece by piece, foundations being shaken so the whole building will come crashing down.

“What do I do?” Taako says again, his voice so tired. “What the fuck am I supposed to do?”

“Come home,” Kravitz says, because it’s true. “For tonight, come home. We can figure it out from there.”

“I can’t watch her do this anymore.”

“I know.”

“But I can’t get her to stop.”

“We’ll keep trying,” Kravitz insists, “your sister loves you. We’ll keep trying, and we’ll take it one day at a time. It’ll work out, Taako. I promise.”

“You can’t know that,” Taako says, and he sounds so fucking defeated, that Kravitz turns him right around and cups his face in his hands.

“Listen to me, Taako,” he says, “I do know. I know because I’m not going to fucking let this go on. I don’t care what it takes, I am going to work every day to help her and I don’t care if it takes my entire fucking life, Lup is going to get better. You and me and Barry, we are going to make this work and I don’t give a fuck how hard it supposedly is. I am not giving up on your family.”

“Kravitz,” Taako says, a little fear-colored, a little awed, and then he reaches up and touches Kravitz’s face and Kravitz didn’t realize he was even crying. He didn’t realize that he’s shaking too. “Babe, hey…”

Kravitz draws in a deep breath, and the cold of it burns his lungs.

“You scared the shit out of me,” he says, and then he’s really crying. So much crying tonight. Kravitz thinks if he sees another tear in his lifetime he’ll die.

Taako wipes his tears with his freezing thumbs, switching their places, reaching up to hold Kravitz’s face.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and Kravitz shakes his head to tell him no, it’s ok, because that’s not what tonight was for, he’s here to bring Taako home, not make him guilty – “no, don’t babe. I am sorry. I should’ve called.”

“I called you so many times,” he can’t help the words from spilling out, “I thought something had happened to you – like –” he chokes on the word, can’t bring himself to even speak a hypothetical into existence like that.

“Like you used to see at work all the time, fuck, Krav, no.” Taako says, and Kravitz sobs. “No, no, baby, I’m okay, I’m right here.” He cuddles in close to Kravitz’s chest, and Kravitz puts his arms around him, holding him tight. “I’m here, I’m okay, Krav. I’m sorry I didn’t call you, I – I’m not – I’m not.”

“Don’t fucking do that to me,” Kravitz says, the last of the fear rearing up inside him for one more attack, “don’t you ever do that to me.”

“I won’t, Kravitz,” Taako says, holding his face, bringing him close, “I won’t, I’m sorry. Babe, I’m so sorry.”

Kravitz nods, and hold Taako close, and it’s so cold, fuck, he’s freezing, and Taako must be colder, but it doesn’t reach him, also, in a different way, and Kravitz is wondering if this is what a mental break feels like, and Taako says,

“How is she?” half-grudging, half-worried.

Kravitz gives a little humorless laugh. “Awful,” he admits. “I think maybe she’s been in and out of panic since you left this morning.”

“Shit.”

“It isn’t good, certainly. I wasn’t home for two minutes before she was on me begging me to come get you.”

“Lup talked to you?”

“Extensively. She told me to tell you she’s sorry. She was… hysterical. She’s convinced you hate her.”

“I could never. I mean, I’m pissed, but I’m not – I couldn’t. I thought she knew that.”“I’m not sure she knows much of anything anymore.”

Taako sighs, runs his hands through his hair one more time, and then he turns, resolute.

“Okay.” He says, “Okay, let’s go.” And he begins walking down the sidewalk, back in the direction of their parking lot.

“Taako?” Kravitz says, not wanting to push, but knowing - knowing he has to.

“Yeah?”

Kravitz just holds out his hand. And Taako stares at it, and then Kravitz looks meaningfully to the crushed cigarette at his feet and back at Taako.

“Fuck,” Taako says, “yeah, okay,” and he reaches into his shirt pocket and pulls out the pack of cigarettes and crosses the space between them to put it in Kravitz’s hand. Kravitz closes his fingers around it carefully, drops his hand to his side.

And then they go.

He drops the cigarettes in a trash can as they walk by, and he tries to read the energy off of Taako, to know if he’s upset with him. But it doesn’t feel like he is. In fact, as soon as Kravitz’s hand is free, Taako takes it in his own.

They slide into the car, Kravitz turning on the heat full blast, and Taako melts back into his seat and sighs.

“Kravitz?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.” He says, voice simple, eyes closed. He looks tired. Kravitz knows he is.

“Whatever for?” Kravitz feels his heart bleeding out, maybe a little bit.

“For looking. For coming to get me.”

Kravitz isn’t sure if his heart swells or breaks at that, but he reaches across the car to grab Taako’s hand where it lays on the seat.

“Always, love. Always.” Taako nods, opens his eyes.

“Alright. Let’s go home.”

[midnightechoes]

Five Firsts

Catradora Week Day 4 - Soulmates

[Yes, I know this is late. It took WAY longer than I thought it would. I’m still gonna try to get through all the prompts. Late or not I really want to.]

[WARNING: Includes referencing and allusions to child abuse, both physical and psychological. Also some angst.]

Catra wouldn’t mind being done with First Ones temples. Nothing good ever came out of visiting them. This one was no different. At least it had been useful. Catra’s mind wandered back down the path that led her to her current situation of hiding high up in the rafters of the main hall, waiting for Adora to show, who was apparently taking her sweet old time. The waiting was excruciating.

It had started two weeks back. Catra and Scorpia had been visiting the kingdom of Midnight Sands, far to the north, along the edge of Horde controlled territory. They were looking for recruits and potential allies, something that the Horde suddenly had to do now that Second-In-Command Catra had put an end to the practices of enslavement and baby stealing. She thought she had found someone with potential. A magician, shunned the by kingdom of Mystacor and subsequently bitter with the Princess Alliance that Mystacor aligned itself with. The magician would need to prove himself though. He chose to do so with what he said was a mind reading spell. He asked Catra to think of a specific word, and he would use the spell to find out what the word was. Catra was skeptical, but the magician assured her that it’d be quick and simple.

It turned out to be anything but simple. The spell caused a reaction in Catra, a flash of an event that she had supposedly been present for, but an event Catra had no recollection of ever experiencing. It was disorienting. It made Catra light headed to the point where she almost passed out. She would have collapsed onto the ground if it wasn’t for Scorpia, who caught her mid-fall. After a few moments Catra regained herself. Her first instinct was to slash that bewildered smirk off of the magician’s face, but she fought that urge. After some arguing, and threatening, and pleading on the magician’s part they finally figured out what had happened.

Stolen memories.

The magician was able to confirm his theory that what Catra had saw was in fact a fragment of a memory that had been erased from her mind. On Catra’s back, running along her spine in a haphazard line between her shoulder blades was a series of seven marks. At first glance they easily could have been simple birthmarks. But on further inspection what they were were tiny little jagged spirals. Apparently each one represented a memory that had been stolen from Catra.

Even after all this time, after she was dealt with and gone, Shadow Weaver was still finding ways to hurt her former pupil.

Catra had tried to forget about it. A day passed, then two. There was no forgetting about it. So she put Entrapta to work on finding something that might let her regain her memories. It only took Entrapta three days to find a solution. Unfortunately, the solution wasn’t ideal. There was word of a First Ones temple in the rocky cliffs of the eastern part of the Midnight Sands kingdom. That part of the kingdom was firmly in rebel alliance territory. Catra had to know though.So her, Entrapta, and Scorpia set out to find the temple.

Getting to it wasn’t so bad. It was the getting in that was the problem. It took Entrapta hours to get them in and get them safely to the center of the temple where a holographic AI named Thread Spinner greeted them. Catra got what she wanted though. Thread Spinner was able to dive into her mind and fish out memories long sealed away by Shadow Weaver. She was shown three in total, each featuring their own revelations. Thread Spinner said that the rest of her memories were fragments that involved other people. The other person would be required to complete the memories. Catra’s mind was reeling. She was having trouble coming to grips with the memories that had been returned to her. Yet, she wanted to know the rest. NEEDED to know the rest. She had a pretty good idea where to start.

Adora.

If these were childhood memories that required others to complete, there was a good bet that Adora was necessary for at least a couple of them. Probably most of them. On top of that, Adora had been present in one of the memories that Catra DID have returned to her. It was an odd memory that Catra didn’t want to deal with, but at the same time, she knew that if Adora had remembered this memory Catra would have NEVER heard the end of it. Meaning that Adora had at least one confirmed stolen memory.

All of which brought Catra back to her present situation. Through the Horde’s impressive network of spies, she had put word out about Horde finding a First Ones temple. It was obviously a trap. So obvious that Catra was a little scared that Adora would see through the deception and elect to not come. She knew Adora though. Trap or no trap, it would be hard for her to not at least investigate the possibility of a First Ones temple falling into the Horde’s hands.

Catra let out a bitter chuckle. It was ironic to her that even after all this time, all this trying to push her away, once again Catra needed Adora for something. An uncomfortable feeling washed over Catra. Needing Adora. Catra had put in too much work to prove herself to everyone to be okay falling back into this place where she needs Adora. Anger and resentment started washing over her again, along with something else. Faint feelings that she’d also worked very hard at burying deep into the recesses of her soul in the hopes that they’d be snuffed out completely. They always managed to claw their way back though, even if just briefly. Seeing Adora in her memory, a young Adora, maybe nine or ten, had not helped.

For a moment, Catra almost let her thoughts run wild. There were so many, so many conflicting emotions, conflicting desires. Catra could feel herself starting to get knotted up. Which is why when a loud “clunk” noise echoed through the chamber Catra was more than a little thankful to have something to refocus on. The noise had been the sound of the temple door sliding open violently. Before she came into sight Catra could hear her. Adora, and thankfully for once without her new friends, the pink haired girl and that bubbly boy who, if you asked Catra, was always way too cheery.

---

Adora entered the temple. As soon as she was through the door it slammed closed with a “clunk”. She spun around to examine the door. It didn’t seem to be opening anytime soon. “That’s not ominous or anything,” she mumbled to herself. The straight hallway before her was mostly dark, lit only by random streaks of blue light that pulsed on the wall.

“Well Catra, you’re here somewhere. Time to find out why,” Adora said to the dark hallway. She was worried. A couple days ago the Best Friend Squad had been eating lunch on the lawn in one of the gorgeous courtyards in Bright Moon Castle. Bow and Glimmer were showing Adora what a “picnic” was. Adora didn’t mind. She loved spending time with her friends, although she really wasn’t able to figure out what the point of a picnic was. In the middle of it they were approached by a man who called himself Simonno. He had heard rumor that Horde soldiers, led by the Second-In-Command, had stumbled upon a temple to the north. The exchange was tense, but Simonno left willingly after delivering the message. Bow and Glimmer didn’t understand Adora’s tenseness, and she didn’t know how to tell them: she knew Simonno. His name wasn’t Simonno though, it was Arn. Adora knew him because Adora remembered him from History 101. They had hung out in a study group a few times. Arn was a Horde spy. Except for the name Arn wasn’t even trying to conceal his identity to Adora. It couldn’t be chance that he was the one to deliver the news.

Even for a linear path, it took Adora some time to make her way down the mostly dark hallway. Eventually she reached a doorway that spilled out into what seemed like an ocean of blackness. Carefully Adora continued on, and suddenly, everything was lit up. She stood in a large, open room. The walls were made out of what seemed like purple crystal pillars clumped together. The floor had a glassy blue sheen to it. A few tapered columns rose out of the ground. At the far end was a raised pedestal where the hologram Thread Spinner stood, appearing calm, with their fingers pressed together in front of them.

“Greetings,” Thread Spinner called out from across the hall.

“Oh, hello. Are you here by yourself?” Adora inquired.

“Hey Adora,” a voice called out from behind them, as if on cue. The way the cat girl drew out the “e” sound in “hey”, the way she let the second “a” in Adora’s name linger in her mouth, even after all these years, still made Adora momentarily forget to breathe, until she had to let out a low, mostly inaudible gasp. That it was still so effective annoyed Adora to no end.

Adora turned to face Catra, who was standing a few feet away, one hand perched on her hip, the other arm hanging lazily to her side. “Hey Catra,” Adora stated flatly. Adora’s posture was tense, defensive. Not aggressive, but ready should the situation start going bad.

“Believe it or not I’m not here to fight. In fact, and this brings me NO joy to say, Adora I need your help,” Catra huffed out the word “help”, like she had to be forced into saying it.

Silence fell back over the room for a moment. Adora tilted her head slightly, taking in her former friend. She was trying to read Catra, her body language. It used to be so easy, but now Adora feared that her reference points were outdated. Still, Catra had gone through all this trouble to, so far, just talk and not attack her.

“Help with what?” Adora finally said. She wasn’t sure when it happened, but at some point the defensive stance had morphed. She was now standing with her hands loosely clasped behind her back, casually kneading the arch of her left foot into the ground.

Catra took a moment to compose her sentence in her head. It was a struggle to find the right way to put this. Finally she settled on, “okay, first, I need to see, uumm, your back just to make sure I’m right.”

Adora looked at her slightly confused but simply shrugged and spun around. There was no sort of response. After a moment she looked over her should to see Catra with her head planted in the palm of her hand. “What?! You said-”

“-I need to see your back! Like, your back back,” Catra huffed, cutting Adora off.

“...Oh.” Suddenly, Adora’s jacket wasn’t the reddest part of her. “Um, why,” she stammered out.

Yep, there was no avoiding this. Catra sighed and turned around to face away from Adora. She began tugging at the back of her shirt, so that it bunched around the base of her neck, but leaving most of the rest of her body covered. “Because of these.”

For a moment there was no response. Catra was starting to feel very exposed, and stupid, when she felt something. A finger. Two fingers. Pressed against her skin. They gently began sliding their way along the path of the markings, stopping at each one, as if trying to commit each to memory. The contact caused Catra to start sucking air in through mostly clenched teeth. An involuntary action. “They aren’t birthmarks,” Catra airly said, as if answering a question that the fingers were asking.

The fingers drew away from her back. Catra was unsure how she felt about that. Something soft flopped onto the ground next to her. She looked down to see Adora’s jacket. Catra turned around. Adora was maybe two feet away, with her back to Catra, in the middle of untucking her shirt. At first Catra stopped herself from doing what she wanted, but something in her brain convinced her that you’ve gone this far, don’t stop now. Catra grabbed the back hem of Adora’s shirt, and slowly started sliding it up. Adora didn’t protest. Instead she just used her own arms to try to hold the front down as best she could.

Adora had her own set of markings. “Six,” Catra said after trailing her finger between them all. Catra let out an amused grunt, “looks like I win.”

“How many do you have? And what are they?” Adora prodded.

“I have seven. They’re remnants, markings left from a memory erasing spell,” Catra answered. They were both silent for a moment. “Shadow Weaver keeps finding ways huh,” she mumbled.

“It appears that way,” Adora said as she pulled her shirt back down and turned to face Catra. “What can we do about it?”

“That’s where I come in,” Thread Spinner suddenly said from where they were suddenly standing, just a couple feet away from both girls. Their voice was loud and confident. A sudden explosion that blew up the atmosphere of the room. Thread Spinner’s appearance had so startled them that both Adora and Catra shrieked and jumped back.

Thread Spinner paid no mind to their reaction. “Welcome to the Temple of Sifting Memories. I am Thread Spinner. I, and this temple, were built specifically by the First Ones to provide mental clarity and guidance for those whose minds have become clouded. This includes, for your needs specifically, retrieving memories that have been lost.”

Adora smiled and pointed at Thread Spinner. “Wow, you’re so much friendlier than Light Hope. Maybe you could teach her a thing or two.”

The AI looked at Adora inquisitively. “Light. Hope? No, that name has no meaning to me,” they said. Before Adora could respond, Thread Spinner continued, “now, if you are ready-” Thread Spinner disappeared, then reappeared atop the pedestal across the room, “-we can begin,” they finished, voice booming so the entire room could hear.

Adora turned back to Catra and gave her an inquisitive look. Catra sighed again. “So, Thread Spinner’s shown me three of my memories, and one of them cuts off when you enter the room. Thread Spinner says that memories that are shared between people that are taken away from everyone can only be fully reconstructed if everyone involved is present.”

“So basically, if a memory is shared together, and stolen together-” Adora began.

“It can only be recovered together,” Catra finished. “Don’t you want to know what Shadow Weaver took from us?”

Adora held out her hand to Catra and nodded. Catra simply began to walk past her towards the pedestal. Adora started to sigh until she felt Catra’s tail brush her hand and loosely wrap itself around her wrist. Adora looked up. Catra was looking over her shoulder and nodding towards the pedestal. “Let’s go,” she said. They casually crossed the room, the entire time Adora being led by Catra’s tail. When they got to the stairway Catra released her grip and continued up the stairs. Adora stood at the base. Catra was standing at the top of the pedestal next to Thread Spinner. “It’s pretty simple. Thread Spinner here scans your mind and then,” Catra spun around and spread her arms in front of her, gesturing to the dark, sizeable platform in front of the raised pedestal area. “The memory is shown to us here. We don’t have to ‘experience’ them this time, thank goodness, we’re just watching them. Kind of like those, oh,” Catra began snapping her fingers errantly, “what are they called? Rebellion kingdoms do them,” Catra continued snapping her fingers as if trying to snap a memory into existence.

“Oh, right!” Adora responded. She began rubbing her chin thoughtfully. “What were they. Hmm. Parties? No, no those were something else. Platitudes?”

“Are you talking about Plays?” Thread Spinner interjected.

“That! Yeah, that’s it,” Adora exclaimed.

Catra turned to the empty platform. “I guess we should start with my memory first, since it is at least partially relevant to you,” Catra said. She looked back over her shoulder to Adora with a grimace. “Look, just try not to make a big deal out of this after you see it. Please?”

Adora raised an eyebrow. “No guarantees,” she said smoothly.

Catra huffed and turned back to empty space and nodded at Thread Spinner. The AI began glowing. The empty space on the platform began filling with light. At first it was blinding and all encompassing, but soon shapes started to take form. A scene emerged, and began playing out in front of them.

---

Shadow Weaver was toiling over control panels in the Black Garnet chamber when a young Catra, about ten years old, burst into the room. The young cat girl was holding a book large enough that she had to cradle it with both hands. The book looked old, worn, with an ornate design etched into the cover.

“Shadow Weaver! Shadow Weaver!” Catra called out. Her voice was full of enthusiasm, even as she labored to carry the book that was almost half her size.

The cat girl’s enthusiasm was lost on Shadow Weaver, who didn’t bother looking up from her control panels at first. “I thought I told you that I was not to be disturbed today Catra. How many times do I have to discipline you before start following my or-” Shadow Weaver stopped in the middle of her thought as she looked up to see the book that Catra was holding. Shadow Weaver flexed her hands in and out of a claw shape as her eyes narrowed. “WHERE did you get that book?!”

Catra gulped. “I didn’t steal it! Well, I mean, I didn’t steal it from the library! There were these fifth year cadets who had it and were making fun of me! So I stole it from them!”

The Black Garnet chamber began going dark around Catra. Shadow Weaver was still in front of Catra, but her voice was everywhere. “I will only ask you this once Catra, tell me the names of these cadets and I will deal with them MYSELF, and you will hand me that book right this second or-”

Just as quickly as Shadow Weaver started to bend in to encompass Catra’s entire field of vision Shadow Weaver retracted herself and the room returned to normal around Catra. Barely a second later a ten year old Adora appeared in the doorway, huffing and struggling to catch her breath.

“Sorry Catra, I tried to keep up, but you lost me like two hallways ago,” Adora said, between breaths. She looked up to see Shadow Weaver, standing, hands pressed together and looking patient. “Is it true Shadow Weaver?!” Adora beamed, finally mustering some sense of energy back into her body.

Shadow Weaver glided over to Adora and gently brushed a finger along her cheek. “Is what true my child?”

Catra held up the book. “Am I, a princess?”

“What did you say?” Shadow Weaver turned back to Catra.

“It says in this book that I’m a princess!” Catra exclaimed. “Does that mean I have super powers?! Do I have a kingdom?!”

“You probably have a huuuuuge kingdom!” Adora interjected. She was holding her arms over her head, trying to measure out the hugeness.

---

The scene stopped abruptly. Catra was still staring at the still images when she became aware that Adora had joined her on the pedestal. She could feel her eyes burrowing into her. Catra slowly turned to see Adora, just a few feet away from her, staring at her with the evilest grin Catra ever saw on her face. Adora’s excitement was palpable.

“You’re. A. PRINCESS?!” Adora exclaimed.

Catra was rubbing the bridge of her nose in frustration. “See, I knew you were gonna make a big deal out of this.”

“I mean, YES. HELLO? Miss “I Hate Princesses” IS a princess?!”

“We don’t know that I’m a princess! It stops there. It doesn’t end, it just stops.” Catra pressed her index finger against Adora’s forehead. “Meaning the rest of it’s somewhere in there.”

“Right,” Adora said with a nod. “What do I have to do?”

“For shared memories to be completed, the parties involved have to be joined,” Thread Spinner interjected.

Both girls glared at them. “Excuse me?!” Catra exclaimed.

“In my experience holding hands is the most common way to join,” they added.

Catra let out a sigh of relief. She held her hand out at Adora, who stared at it thoughtfully for a moment before grabbing it with her own. “Alright Thread Spinner, show us what was taken from us.”

The scene before them came back into focus.

---

“Nobody has a kingdom!” Shadow Weaver huffed. She snatched the book out of Catra’s hands.

“Am I a princess though?!”

Shadow Weaver glared at her for a moment. “You’re a princess that no longer has a people. Now,” she grabbed both girls by the arm and drug them to the door. “Get OUT. We will deal with this LATER,” she hissed. The door slammed shut immediately after.

Adora was a ball of energy. “Oh my Hordak you’re a princess!” she squealed.

“I wonder when my superpowers are going to show up!” Catra cheerily mused.

“They’re gonna be the coolest!”

Catra held her head high as she placed each hand against her waist. “I don’t care what Shadow Weaver says, if I’m a princess I’ll make my own kingdom! It’s gonna have everything! My own personal guards!”

“A moat!”

“My own throne room!”

“A royal court!”

“Ooh, a giant ballroom where we’ll hold balls every night!” Catra exclaimed. After a second her mood dropped though. “Oh,” Catra said with a sense of deflation.

“Catra? What’s wrong?”

Catra was hanging her head. “Maybe I won’t host balls. A princess can’t host a ball without a prince. Pretty sure that’s a rule.”

There was a couple seconds of silence before Adora’s hand appeared in Catra’s view. She looked up to see Adora’s arm outstretched. “I’ll be your prince,” she beamed.

“Really?”

“Of course!” Adora said. They both giggled as they took each other’s hand and began spinning around, poorly dancing to a song that only they could hear. They spun and twirled and laughed for while before Adora accidently misjudged their spacing and sent them both slamming into the wall. Neither seemed especially upset. Instead they kept laughing as they both leaned against the wall, facing each other. Adora stopped laughing first and watched as her friend continued giggling.

After a moment Adora had a sudden urge she couldn’t explain. She leaned in and pecked Catra on the cheek with a brief kiss. Catra stopped laughing and raised her hand to rub the area Adora had kissed.

“Gross,” Catra whispered.

Adora looked down. She could feel a burning sensation inside her cheeks. “Oh! Oh no, I’m so sorry!”

“No, hey,” Catra began, then she kissed Adora on her cheek, “I like gross,” Catra said with a soft smile.

---

The scene began fading back into nothingness. Both Adora and Catra stood there, unmoving, in silence. Slowly Catra was tightening her grip around Adora’s hand.

Finally Adora spoke. It was barely audible, she was speaking mostly to herself. “Our… Our first kiss. I… I don’t remember…”

“Of course we don’t,” Catra responded. Her voice was calm, but shaky. “That’s the whole point.”

While they were talking the light in front of them was reconstructing itself into a new scene.

“Wait, what’s happening now?” Adora asked.

---

A 15 year old Catra was sitting on the dark grey railing that lined the roof of their barracks. Her feet were dangling free, facing outward away from the building. The sky was a swirl of deep oranges and reds, and Catra was trying to get lost in them. That was easier than dealing with the pain in her left arm. Something was broken, it had to be. She wasn’t sure how long she had been sitting up here, losing herself in the inky patterns of the sky when she heard the door swish open.

“There you are!” a 15 year old Adora called out. She strolled over to where Catra was sitting and leaned against the railing. “I’ve been looking all over for you. I  thought we were going to get dinner together,” she started. Adora lost her train of thought as she noticed how Catra was holding her arm. “Catra?” she asked, slowly bringing her hand to Catra’s arm. Catra winced and pulled her arm in closer. Adora pulled her own arm back, giving her friend room. “Catra, what happened?”

“I’m fine,” Catra scoffed.

Adora put her hand on Catra’s shoulder. There was no wincing, so Adora left it there. “You’re not fine, you’re in pain.”

Catra looked down at her arm, as if regarding it for the first time. “I’m usually pretty good at hiding it. It’s just really bad today, I was trying to avoid you until it healed a little,” she said. Her voice was low, deflated.

“What? Has this happened before? Did someone do this to you?” The anxiety in Adora’s voice was noticeably rising. Catra didn’t respond. She barely even acknowledged that she heard Adora. Determined, Adora began rubbing Catra’s shoulder. “Hey, please talk to me?” Adora asked. Her voice was soft, and warming.

With a smooth spin, Catra hopped down from the railing and leaned on it, just next to Adora. “Can we please talk about something else?”

Adora moved to stand in front of Catra. She grabbed each of the cat girl’s shoulders and gently rubbed them. Catra seemed to shrink in Adora’s grasp. Adora stared intently at her friend. After a moment of silence between the two, Adora gave a heavy sigh. “Did, did Shadow Weaver do this to you? Has, has she done this before?”

Catra looked up at Adora. Her eyes were puffy, as if just holding back tears. “Adora can we please just talk about something else? Anything else!”

“Why?! We can’t let this keep happening Catra! We’ll talk to Shadow Weaver! Let me talk to Shadow Weaver. I’ll talk to Lord Hordak if I have to!”

“No! Adora! This is why I DIDN’T want to tell you about it. I knew you couldn’t just let it go. Talking’s NOT going to help anything! If anything it’ll only make it worse!”

“Then why stay here? You don’t care about the Horde, and you’ve always wanted to get out and see the world. You shouldn’t put up with this Catra.”

Catra pressed herself harder against the railing, as if trying to shrink away from Adora. “Why do I stay?” Tears were beginning to stream down Catra’s face. “Why do I stay? I stay because I don’t want to leave you!” Catra exclaimed with as much force as she could muster.

It was apparently a decent amount of force, because it caused Adora to take a step back. Catra peered into her friends eyes. She could tell that Adora was thinking, debating herself. It seemed Adora had come to an agreement in her head. She leaned in and began gently scratching the back of Catra’s ear in just the right place. The place only Adora knew. A few involuntary purrs rattled out of Catra. Adora simply smiled. “Then let’s leave.”

“But, your training? Being a Force Captain is the most important thing in your life!”

“Catra, you’re the most important thing in my life,” Adora replied.

Adora’s words smacked into Catra. She stared at her friend, peering into her bright blue eyes. There was a softness, an earnestness, a sea of invitation in those eyes. Catra couldn’t say no anymore. With her right hand she grabbed the back of Adora’s head and pulled her into a searing kiss. Adora rested her arms on Catra’s shoulders and began tangling her fingers into Catra’s hair.

Eventually their mouths separated, more out of need for air than want. “Let’s get out of here,” Adora said airily as she scratched at Catra’s scalp. “Tonight. Right now.”

“Where would we go?”

“I’m not sure. I don’t really care though. We can go anywhere,” Adora contemplated for a moment. “Let’s go everywhere. Let’s see the world. I want to. I want to see everything Etheria has to offer, with you.”

Catra leaned in to kiss Adora again. “Then let’s go,” Catra whispered through their kiss.

Adora took Catra by her hand and led her to the door. It slid open to reveal Shadow Weaver standing in the doorway. The girls both jumped back.

“Shadow Weaver?! What are you doing here?” Adora asked, attempting to sound as nonchalant as possible. Shadow Weaver didn’t answer, she simply began gliding out of the door onto the roof.

---

The scene faded away. Before Either Catra or Adora could even react, another scene began forming.

---

Thirteen year old Adora and Catra were running down the hallway of their barracks. Adora was leading them, dragging Catra along, their hands firmly clasped together.They were giggling, and running as fast as they could. They turned a corner, and then a couple more until they reached a door. The girls quickly slipped inside and closed the door behind them. Adora hit the light switch. They were in a cleaning supply closet. They both bent over in exhaustion and continued laughing.

“Did… Did you see the look on Annera’s face?!” Catra huffed.

“She sure… sure was mad!” Adora responded. “Who was that person she was with?”

“I think they were one of those advanced level cadets. What on Etheria an advanced level cadet was doing hanging with Annera is anyone’s guess.”

Adora pulled herself into an upright position and tapped her lip repeatedly. “I think they were wrestling? Which is weird, right? Wrestling in your barracks? We have so many great training rooms.”

Catra let out a hearty laugh. “Pretty sure they weren’t wrestling, Adora.” Catra walked up to her friend, who was leaning against the wall. “They were, you know, I think they were kissing.”

As if on cue Adora’s face turned beat red. “Oh!” She gasped.

Catra laughed at the obvious discomfort of her friend. “Oh wow, you’re so red! You never even think about that kind of stuff do you?” Catra teased.

“I have too!” Adora blurted out. If it was possible, her face had turned redder. She tried to compose herself. “Have, have you?” She asked. Her voice had fallen to a low squeak. Part of her hoped Catra hadn’t even heard it. Part of her needed to know Catra’s answer more than anything else in this world.

“Of course I have,” the cat girl responded. Her tone had become more thoughtful. Not a laughing matter to her apparently. “When you, thought about it, were you imagining anyone in particular?”

Adora didn’t say anything. She simply nodded. “What about you?” she asked after what had felt like a painfully long stretch of silence.

“Yeah,” Catra simply stated.

“Were you ever tempted to actually try it? Like, with that person I mean?”

Catra pushed herself off the wall they were leaning on and moved directly in front of Adora. She was gazing at Adora, her mismatched eyes fixated on the blonde. “What if the person doesn’t want me to?”

Adora met Catra’s and smiled softly. “I think they would.”

“Are you sure?”

“Very sur-” Catra cut off the end of Adora’s sentence with a kiss. Both of their lips were closed. It was as if they were both trying to push their faces through each other. Adora grabbed Catra’s shoulders and pulled her closer. It was an inelegant kiss, but it wasn’t sloppy, not like what they saw Annera and the cadet were doing. And yet to Adora it felt like every nerve in her body was exploding with energy.

A sudden and sharp sense of dread fell over them as they heard the sound of the door sliding open. Catra pulled away from Adora with lightning speed and they both turned towards the doorway. Standing in it was Shadow Weaver, with Annera just behind her. “WHAT do you two think you are DOING?” she demanded.

---

That scene fell away and another immediately began forming. Adora could feel Catra’s hand, gripping hers tighter and tighter, her nails were digging into Adora’s skin.

---

Adora was sitting propped up in her bunk, leaning against her pillows, which were pushed against the back of the bunk wall. She was early 17, less than a year before she would end up finding the sword of She-Ra and leaving the Horde. She was still in her pajamas. Blankets were pulled up to her waist, and on top of them was Catra, also in her pajamas and still fast asleep. Catra was nestled between Adora’s spread legs, using her right thigh as a pillow. Adora was busy reading a book. Every minute or two she’d use her free hand to turn a page, then let it fall softly into Catra’s mass of hair that she’d lazily stroke.

After a while Adora’s attention was pulled from the book by the sound of a yawn and a gentle pushing into her stomach. She looked down to see Catra yawning and stretching her arm over her head, pushing her hand into Adora’s stomach.

“Good morning sleepyhead. You made it awake before noon. I was beginning to have doubts,” Adora teased. She pressed her hand farther into Catra’s hair and began gently scratching her scalp.

A sleepy moan rose out of the cat girl as she slowly rolled over to rest the back of her head on Adora’s left thigh. Her eyelids were still half shut as Catra stared up at her human pillow. An amused smile grew on her face. “Are you really reading, a textbook no less, on our one day of the week off?”

“It was the only book within arm’s reach, the rest are up on the shelf.”

“Well why didn’t you get up then?”

“I. Didn’t want to,” Adora said. Her smile was soft, happy.

Catra pressed her head harder into Adora’s thigh and closed her eyes again. “Dork.” Adora’s response was to tickle the top of Catra’s ear, causing it to flick wildly. “Hey you!” Catra exclaimed and responded by tickling at Adora’s stomach. A full on tickle fight broke out. After a few minutes exhaustion from laughing washed over them and they fell back into their original positions.

“What did you wanna do today?” Catra asked.

“I don’t know. Was kind of thinking it might be nice to just lay around reading all day.”

Catra groaned. “That sounds boring!”

“Training was grueling this week. I think my back could use ‘boring’ for a day.”

“Ugh, fiiiiinnne,” Catra moaned and got up.

Adora stared at the spot that Catra just previously occupied for a moment and gave a little smile. She straightened the blanket over her legs and picked her book back up. After a moment Catra reappeared, flopping back into her spot between Adora’s legs. She was holding a few books in her hands as well as a small device, one of the Horde’s best new inventions, called a PlayKid.

“If we must sit around reading, you are NOT reading textbooks,” Catra said, handing most of the books she brought to Adora.

“I thought you said it was boring?” Adora teased with a smirk.

“That’s why I brought the game, duh.” Catra nestled her head back into Adora’s thigh and turned on the PlayKid.

Adora looked at the selection of titles in her hands. All Adora’s favorites. She picked one and set the rest down next to their bunk. Adora began scratching the base of Catra’s ear, teasing out a few purrs and leaned over, her head hovering just above Catra’s.

For a moment Adora simply stared at her friend and smiled. “Hey,” Adora finally said, sounding like something between a warm greeting and a question.

Catra propped herself up on her left elbow. With her right hand Catra began massaging the back of Adora’s neck. “I don’t REALLY care what we’re doing, as long as we doing it together.”

“Same here,” Adora responded. She lowered her head closer to Catra. “Hey, Catra?” Adora meekishly asked.

Catra pushed herself up farther on her elbow. “Yeah, Adora?”

Adora didn’t say anything else. Instead she lowered herself into a kiss.

---

The scene froze before anything else happened. Adora realized it was because Catra had tugged her hand away, breaking the bond. Catra had her back to Adora, both of her hands were balled tightly into fists. Adora turned her attention back to the platform in front of her. Her heart felt twisted and crushed. Stray tears rolled down her cheeks.

“She… Took them all. All of our first kisses,” Adora breathed. Her voice was strained, in pain.

“Not all of them,” Catra said. Her voice was low, full of defiance.

“I can’t remember any of them,” Adora exclaimed.

Without giving her any more time to think or react, Catra grabbed Adora’s arm and spun her so that they were facing each other. Catra sprung forward, slamming her lips into Adora’s. She placed her hands on each side of Adora’s face, using her thumbs to gently caress her cheeks. Catra teasingly bit Adora’s lower lip and pulled. She slipped her tongue past Adora’s lips and licked her teeth. Adora let her in, and their tongues began dancing together in each other’s mouths. Adora put her hands on Catra’s hips and pulled her closer. She could feel Catra’s tail loosely wrapping itself around Adora’s leg. Adora couldn’t focus. In that moment she wasn’t even sure if the world existed beyond her and Catra. She felt enveloped in the warmth coming off the cat girl pressed against her. Loud purrs reverberated through both of them.

They pulled their mouths apart after what felt like an all too brief eternity. They stood there, mouths just inches apart, foreheads pressed together. Catra was still gripping Adora’s face and caressing her cheeks. Adora’s hands had wandered their way up to Catra’s ears, scratching them in that special spot only Adora knew how to find.

“She can’t have this one,” Catra breathed.

Adora moved in, and inquisitively flicked at Catra’s lips with her tongue. Catra greeted her with her own tongue, and guided them back into another kiss.

It was their fifth first kiss. Adora still didn’t know what their future had in store. There were plenty of messy details and obstacles that Future Catra and Future Adora had to deal with. What she did know though was that she was pretty confident this first kiss would stick. And that it wouldn’t be their last.

[jasperlion]

TAGGED BY: stolen from @cavaliant​ im sorry dusk i keep nicking your memes TAGGING:  _(┐「ε:)_

—    BASICS.

▸     IS    YOUR    MUSE    TALL    /    SHORT    /    AVERAGE ? Average, despite his lineage. Much is owed to the famine, which stunted his growth, since he grew up a commoner and thus was hit hard by the absence of food during his preteen/teen years. As an adult, however, he’d get a final sudden growthspurt before he stops growing completely, so he’d be kind of tall.

▸      ARE    THEY    OKAY    WITH    THEIR    HEIGHT ? Yes, although at the moment he keeps wondering if his mother was short or something, considering the beast of a man who was his father.

▸      WHAT’S    THEIR    HAIR    LIKE ? Fluffy and wild, often windswept, although it tends to fall into ‘place’, if by that you mean sticking out constantly. At the very least, he can quell the top, but the rest has a mind of its own. It’s very soft, though.

▸     DO    THEY    SPEND    A    LOT    OF    TIME    ON    THEIR    HAIR     /    GROOMING ? Not at all. He’s given up on taming his hair, so a quick brush in the mornings before he slips on whatever he’s got to wear (headband at first, later on crown) is all he really puts an effort into. And it’s minimal at best.

▸      DOES   YOUR   MUSE   CARE   ABOUT   THEIR   APPEARANCE   /   WHAT    OTHERS    THINK ? While he can get a little self-conscious in formal environments, he generally doesn’t care much as long as what he wears is practical. He tends to feel more shy or ‘dumb looking’ the more formal things he wears, and it’ll take a lot of getting used to before he treats it like business as usual. In general, ‘so long as I’m decent/presentable, it’s fine’ is his motto, something that probably frustrates his more noble savvy friends.

—    PREFERENCES.

▸     INDOORS    OR    OUTDOORS ?  Outdoors ▸     RAIN    OR    SUNSHINE ?  Sunshine ▸     FOREST    OR    BEACH ?  Forest ▸     PRECIOUS    METALS    OR    GEMS ?  Neither, metals are more useful practically, though, so he might lean in that direction. ▸     FLOWERS    OR    PERFUMES ?  Flowers ▸     PERSONALITY    OR    APPEARANCE ?  Personality ▸     BEING    ALONE    OR    BEING    IN    A    CROWD ?  Mood and crowd dependent, if he likes the people he’d definitely prefer the crowd, but if he feels overly uncomfortable around them he might favor being alone. ▸     ORDER    OR    ANARCHY ?  A little mix of both, he needs order to function but prefers spontaneous action to planned action on the dime. He does try to hold back and make plans/make sure things are in order if it’s important, though. Keyword is try. ▸     PAINFUL    TRUTHS    OR    WHITE    LIES ?  Painful truths, although for a while he tried to shield himself with (not so white) lies simply because it’d mean that a person he trusted wasn’t lying to him. ▸     SCIENCE    OR    MAGIC ?  He tends to mix the two and they are intricately related back home. ▸     PEACE    OR    CONFLICT ? Peace, definitely.  ▸     NIGHT    OR    DAY ?  Either works, although he used to prefer the day while he lived in the village simply because of daily tasks. ▸     DUSK    OR    DAWN ?  Both. ▸     WARMTH    OR    COLD ?   Physically he likes cooler environments, but warmth is comforting and familiar as well. ▸     MANY   ACQUAINTANCES    OR    A    FEW    CLOSE    FRIENDS ?  Both ▸     READING    OR    PLAYING    A    GAME ?  Both

—    QUESTIONNAIRE.

▸      WHAT    ARE    SOME    OF    YOUR    MUSE’S    BAD    HABITS ? He tends to jump to conclusions with little evidence, mostly out of thinking he’s heard enough, and it’s something he needs to work on.  He’s also bad at holding back his emotions, be it anger, happiness or sorrow, and can be far too open with them whenever present. On that note, he does tend to hide personal feelings from people he doesn’t know well, despite his words that there’s nothing wrong with them, when it comes to specific topics that hurt him which he feels he has to push aside for the overall better. In trying to hold close his ideals that feelings are important and Mycen’s words that he has to push them behind him for more important things, it can confuse him on how to act or what to say. Alm tends to overwork himself so he can sleep, or otherwise turns to doing too much of something similar to tire himself out. It can lead to straining himself too much. While he believes it’s important to apologize if you’ve done wrong, his perception of when it’s his turn to apologize and when he needs to be apologized to can be easily skewed by other’s words rather than keeping a cool head and thinking of the situation as a whole. It can lead him to apologize for things he does not need to apologize for.

▸      HAS    YOUR    MUSE    LOST    ANYONE    CLOSE    TO    THEM ?      HOW    HAS    IT    AFFECTED    THEM ? While he did lose soldiers in the battles with Desaix and Rigel, although they were mostly not those close to him — it still hurt him to lose them, to have to bury them, and with his high empathy it’s not hard to imagine he’s felt guilt over the sacrifices they’ve ended up making along the way, intentional or not.

Berkut and Rudolf were not close to him, and neither were Fernand and Rinea; far from it, they were distant as could be. Even then, Alm felt for them, felt for those around him who lost them, and felt Rudolf and Berkut’s loss intricately and personally due to their blood relations. Rudolf’s death is already complex enough, in the man being his father, not having fought back, and having planned for this to happen — but Berkut’s felt a little worse. It could have been preventable (and how? he asks himself that a lot), it was someone he killed fully knowing they were relatives, and the man had lost his sanity only to then beg of him to finish it all when he regained it. It’s made a lot of uncomfortable, terrible feelings well up that he feels he can’t even address because he doesn’t deserve his own peace. That, in itself, was the message that Mycen’s words transferred to him, no matter how well-intentioned. He lost his family to his own hands, and how he feels about it is quite complex and terrifying.

The one that hurt him the most, however, was Celica. Like Rudolf, he himself did the deed, but unlike Rudolf... she was as close as could be in his heart. Despite the fact that she returns to him, and thus does not truly die, for a few minutes she truly was dead. He mourned her, he wept for her, and he has this memory to remember and think of for the rest of his life. The memory of how it felt to stab her, the memory of her dying breaths, and of how it felt to hold a corpse. It haunts him, and so does the guilt — it’ll never go away, no matter how necessary or how she managed to return, unlike everyone else. It doesn’t stop that it happened, that he did kill her, and the fact that it likely left adverse effects in her for the rest of her life. 

▸      WHAT    ARE    SOME    FOND    MEMORIES    YOUR    MUSE    HAS ? The games he played with his friends in Ram, reading stories together, memories of Gray returning with little gifts for everyone from outside the village, seeing Kliff again after he left for school, playing with Celica in the flower fields, whenever he and Celica read stories late into the night, training with his friends, training with Mycen, the stories Mycen would tell him about his days as a Knight, hanging out with everyone in the Deliverance on down times during the war and thus befriending them, receiving mentorship from them as well, meeting Celica again in the balcony (despite the fight, it’s something he will always remember fondly), little shenanigans he used to get up to in Ram, receiving praise from those he looked up to in the Deliverance...

▸     IS    IT    EASY    FOR    YOUR    MUSE    TO    KILL ? He gets no joy from it and he dislikes taking lives unnecessarily, but for Alm it’s almost second nature to kill his enemies. In the battlefield, it’s you or them, and while at times he’s regretted it more than he usually does, it doesn’t stop the fact that he has a steady hand when he does the deed. Alm is a warrior trained by a warrior from Rigel first and foremost, and what he knows best how to do is how to fight and, by association, kill.

▸      WHAT’S    IT    LIKE    WHEN    YOUR    MUSE    BREAKS    DOWN ? Alm is pretty sorrowful when he breaks down, less leaning to violence and more towards emotions in general, especially the negative. He becomes a lot more reactive and a lot less introspective, especially if what has caused the upset is something he doesn’t understand the reasons for. He asks questions, he cries, he gets even more upset when he cannot get the answer, and he... feels. A lot. Only rarely would this lead to violent actions on his end, but it can lead to anger, either to the cause or himself.

▸      IS    YOUR    MUSE    CAPABLE    OF    TRUSTING    SOMEONE    WITH    THEIR    LIFE ? He trusts others with it far too easily, and while it used to not bother him, well... things have changed.

However, he’s more than capable of trusting others with his life, and even more capable of giving his life for someone or a cause to see it through. While he’s by no means suicidal, he has the mindset of a soldier; he will do what he must.

Still, it’s usually others who trust him with their life by putting him in a leading position, which he finds strange.

▸      WHAT’S    YOUR    MUSE    LIKE    WHEN    THEY’RE    IN    LOVE ? Alm’s been in love for a long time, honestly, so it’s easy to tell how he is when it happens. He’s just more affectionate towards that person, will embrace them and generally hold them close. He likes to stick by their side, speak with them often, and thinks of them and their safety often. He holds their words to his chest and, if he upsets them, it will weigh heavily on his mind if he’s unable to apologize or stop it right away. Capable of thinking about a situation and realize where he messed up, he is sincere in his apologies (although, as mentioned before, at times his perception of where he messed up might heavily lean in favor of the other person, apologizing for things he didn’t necessarily do wrong as well — hopefully his partner helps clear that up for him, he won’t be able to see that without help).

Gentle and caring, he’s not one to just show affection in one way, instead doing so even with the barest of actions. Deliberate forehead touches, gentle cheek caresses, soft embraces, etc. He takes great care with his actions with the person he’s in love with.

It’s relatively easy to tell who it is, too. He’s very attentive and close to his friends, of course, and leans to physical affection for all. However, with the person he’s in love with, it’s always more thoughtful and mindful, always lingering and considerate.

He’s just a giant fluffball with them, basically.

[wellkepteden]

Prompt 01: Questionnaire

(content warning for: suicide mention and uhhh brain washing? kind of? idk how to warn for that, and some mild like.... referenced medical gore idk)

01. Tell us about your character’s name. Was it given to them or chosen? Does it hold any special meaning? If your character has aliases or nicknames, how did they get them and what do they mean?

“What do you want to be called?”

“I don’t understand the question, sir.” 

“Well, I can’t just keep calling you Sixteen.” 

“Technically my full designation is PM-16-21A.” 

“That’s not a name, you need a name, kid. What do you want to be called?” 

The Keeper wasn’t really a man that cared for names, so he never bothered naming his charge either. It wasn’t until Eden reached the cybernetics expert, Sargo Hemmel, that she received a name. It was a long discussion, but ultimately she begged off deciding on a personal name for long enough that he gave up and named her after a dancer he’d known in his youth. 

As for surname, Eden had a stronger opinion. It’s really just a pun on the fact that she was partially raised by the Keeper. She thinks she was very well kept. Hemmel tried to convince her to pick a more common name, but she does have her stubborn moments. 

02. What is your character’s relationship to their homeworld? Do they hold fond memories of it, or do they hate it? Are they still here, and if not, do they miss it?

Eden didn’t get to see the outside very much while she was on Dromund Kaas. She remembers frequently listening to the rain, but even before she was stolen she was kept carefully away from public view. Now, it’s just a place that’s too dangerous to ever return to. A wistful dream that was never really a reality. 

03. Describe your character’s relationship with those who raised them. Was it positive? Negative? Neutral? What sorts of ideologies were they raised with, and do they still stand by them now?

Even without the extra mental programming, Eden is a pretty naturally friendly person. She got along well with the scientists that watched over her in her first few years, and she absolutely adored the Keeper no matter how hard he could be to read and reach. Even though she was almost an adult by the time she reached him, she always considered Hemmel to be just as much of a parental figure, too. Luckily, she’s allowed to keep in contact with him even if the others are now far out of reach. 

Growing up, the message was hammered into her that she should never trust anyone and that the world was a harsh place where you could never relax your guard. It never really took. Somehow, Eden remains a font of optimism almost no matter what happens. Just about everyone that helped raise her is convinced it’s going to get her killed someday (if they don’t think it already has). 

04. What is your character’s relationship with the Force? Is your character Force-sensitive? Whether or not they are, do they believe in it? Do they lean more towards the dark or the light or are they somewhere in between?

Eden is force sensitive!! Not extremely, but enough that had circumstances been different she probably would have been picked up by either of the large force sensitive organizations. Hilariously, though, despite her own sensitivity to it she’s still not completely convinced it actually exists. She has a hard time with things that she can’t quantify in a way she’s comfortable with, and the implications of the force’s existence and so on make her Very uncomfortable so she tries not to think about it. 

For the most part she only really uses it to convince people to help her, or to grab things that are out of reach. She doesn’t do much fighting, and was never really trained, so that’s about the extent of her abilities. 

If she was trained more, though, she would definitely lean towards the light side. Not necessarily because of any inherent goodness, but because she’s not near as in touch with her more unpleasant emotions as she would need to be to harness the dark. 

05. What three word would you use to describe your character? What three words would your character use to describe themself? What three words would someone close to them use?

me: bubbly, absent, brittle 

eden: tall, pale, blonde 

hemmel: never shuts up

06. Describe your character’s aesthetic. Do they tend towards fashion or function? Do they like to accessorize? How does this extend into their own personal spaces, such as their home or their workspace?

Eden tends towards whatever is going to help her complete her current job. That pretty much always comes first. Outside of that, though, she does very much like dressing up in things that make her feel good, and will often spend paychecks on nicer clothing. Textures tend to be more important to her than looks, but feeling like she looks good is important too. 

Since others are rarely welcome on her ship it’s become one big cozy nest though, honestly. She likes to keep trophies and anything, really, that catches her eye. It’s important to her that she gets to do Whatever she wants with her space, after having grown up without a real space to call her own. 

07. What are your character’s vices? Guilty pleasures? Bad habits? Weak spots?

A love for all things luxurious has followed Eden since her first time inside a rich person’s living space. Not that she ever wants to go as wild as so many of them do, but she does have a serious weak spot for the finer things in life. One of the quickest ways to her heart is well crafted gifts, whether they’re food or clothes or something else. 

Outside of that, she has a particular fondness for cybernetic modification and loves to be filled with the latest tech. (in more ways than one ;D o god what did i just say) 

Also there is her habit of sleeping with... Just..... A Lot of the people she works with. And the people she doesn’t work with. She doesn’t consider any of that a bad habit, though, so I’m not sure it belongs in this section. 

08. Tell us about your character’s relationship with food. What are their favorites? Do they enjoy cooking? Are they adventurous? Will they eat absolutely anything or are they hard to please?

Growing up, food was for nourishment exclusively. So, of course, now that she’s on her own she’s abandoned that philosophy completely. Good food, it turns out, is delicious and makes her feel good and Eden is happy to indulge whenever she can. That being said, she doesn’t have all that much experience cooking because she would much rather let others do it for her, BUT she has helped others out a good few times and she loves working in tandem with people in the kitchen. 

Also, she’s unlikely to try something new unless someone has specifically recommended it. Getting her to eat something she dislikes is very difficult, and she would much rather avoid doing it to herself. 

09. How does your character feel about engaging in relationships—romantic and / or sexual—with others? What is their history like? Do they fall in love easily? Are they constantly in and out of relationships?

Eden loves easily and lightly, and her attitudes about romance and sex are basically identical. Both are very fun! She loves people, and she loves affection, and for her sex is not much more serious than dancing (though she’s never pushy about it, either). Commitment is never on the table, though. From the start of any given encounter, it’s very clearly stated that Eden is probably going to be moving on in days or weeks, off to the next planet and the next job. 

She does have a few off and on partners that she falls into familiar patterns with when they occupy the same space, but even those fall much more into a friends with benefits area than anything more serious. If asked, Eden will say very dismissively that she’s loved many times, and it’s true that she comes to love and adore people very easily, but she’s never related to the poems and songs about romance. She’s never really missed someone when they were away from her, or had her heart ache for them. Frankly, she thinks it sounds unpleasant. 

10. What is your character’s pain tolerance like? Can they hold their own in a fight, despite injury? If someone hurts them with the aim of gaining information, how much can they take before they cave?

Don’t hurt Eden !! She hates it and will do anything in her power to avoid it. She’s not even particularly into spanking in the bedroom. 

Poor Hemmel has to like fully knock her out every time she comes in for an upgrade, too, cause she’s very.... Reactive. Horrible at staying still. 

That said, lying and disobeying direct orders already literally physically hurt her so someone wouldn’t need to torture her much to get information out of her. Although, on the other hand, she’s also physically incapable of sharing certain information. Regardless, in the event of an emergency she has several kill switches set up that she can activate to remove herself as a liability if it becomes clear that she’s not going to escape. 

11. What is your character’s weapon of choice? Are they more skilled as a melee fighter or do they have more skill with ranged weapons? What’s their fighting style like? What sort of training do they have behind them?

No weapons!! If Eden is in a fight then she’s already failed, no weapons! She keeps a knife on her but it’s a utility tool not for fighting. The Keeper and Hemmel both tried to teach her to fight so she has Some training in blaster handling and etc, but she mostly refuses to even entertain the idea. If there’s any chance of avoiding a fight she’ll take it, every time. 

12. Does your character have any words or catchphrases that they say frequently? Tell us about how they picked them up.

When on autopilot she tends towards Very Polite, so between that and her time spent with Hemmel I’m sure she has a number of stock phrases. I just don’t know what they are yet, so I’ll get back to you on that. 

Outside of that, though, she does have kind of a particular way of speaking about her. Often, when speaking to someone she'll have an air about her like she’s sharing a very special secret with them, or a joke that no one else gets to be on. A hushed, amused tone comes to her most naturally. 

EDIT: i forgot sometimes in the middle of a conversation she’ll get a strong urge to drop in a “For the good of the Empire” but usually she manages to resist...... it’s just muscle memory honestly

13. Tell us about a negative experience your character has had with either the Jedi or the Sith, and how this has affected their standing. Whether currently aligned or unaligned with either faction, if forced to choose, how would they side?

Eden was raised on horror stories about the Sith-- though he worked with them, in his private moments the Keeper was not very fond. Perhaps because he worked alongside so many. However, out in her daily life Eden hasn’t had the opportunity to meet all that many Sith or Jedi individuals, and so remains largely neutral on the subject. 

That being said... You can’t miss the destruction that a Sith leaves behind, and that is something she’s witnessed on any number of occasions. So, between the Sith and their horror, and the Jedi who she views as similar to any other authority figure, if forced to choose she would lean towards the Jedi. At least, as far as she knows, they kill people less. 

14. How would your character react to seeing a relative or friend on the opposing side of a battle or mission?

If a friend is on the opposite end of a mission, then either Eden is currently working a con with them, or she has royally screwed up. Regardless, it’s not as though she’s going to be any more willing to fight them than she is anyone else. 

15. Describe a memory that your character finds embarrassing.

Shame doesn’t actually come all that easily to Eden-- she’s not self conscious about many things. However, there were a couple of moments in which she deeply regretted not doing more research ahead of time. Though he taught her many things, there were ways in which the Keeper neglected her education, and Hemmel didn’t necessarily know that she had those gaps. 

What I’m saying is she had Absolutely no idea what she was doing the first time she had sex and was very much trying to learn on the fly, which is a terrible idea and resulted in a very embarrassed and giggly end to the evening. 

16. What goals does your character hold for themself and what steps have they taken towards achieving them? How far are they willing to go to reach them? What is their be-all and end-all?

Though she would say that survival and fun are her only goals, Eden is also fervently searching for a way to undo what the Empire did to her head. Cybernetics have proved unhelpful in that area, and it’s difficult to find any experts that don’t have pre-existing Imperial connections. At the moment, her search has stalled and she’s trying very hard not to think about it, but she would do almost anything to de-program herself, barring hurting someone she cared about. 

17. What is the one thing your character would change about their life if they were given the chance? What other lives could they have lived as a result?

Honestly, Eden doesn’t much regret the way she was born or the way she was raised, at least not in any way that she would admit to herself. But she does sometimes dream of a universe in which her head and her actions were entirely her own. 

18. Living in such a high-conflict time, how does your character feel about doing what they must to survive? Will they hurt or kill others—either directly or indirectly—to protect themself and / or those close to them? If so, do they regret it when all is said and done?

This is an area in which Eden is Highly Conflicted! Honestly, fighting is a very bottom of the list Last Resort for her, and in 99.9% of situations she’s convinced that there are alternatives and that she’ll find them. Usually, she’s right. A good stealth field can solve a lot of problems. 

19. What is the biggest problem your character is currently dealing with?

Well! Her head isn’t entirely her own! But that’s more of an ongoing issue. Right now she’s low key wrestling with the morality of continuing to stay aggressively neutral as the galactic fighting seems to be only getting worse instead of better. This may be something she solves by going Robin Hood sometime in the near future, but that’s still hugely up for debate. 

20. Give us 3+ headcanons of any length or subject matter.

1. Programming: As referenced multiple times in the questions above, before she was stolen away the Imperials did manage to fuck around with Eden’s brain a fair amount. It’s mildly experimental tech, but so far largely successful. Unfortunately, they didn’t finish in Eden’s case which actually leaves her in considerably more danger than she would be otherwise. To avoid doing damage (psychological or physical), they were moving slowly with the Watcher kids, implementing broad ideas at first and then refining them once they had really settled in. 

Eden never got to the refining stage, so she’s left with broad strokes programming like “no lying, no hurting others, no disobeying a direct order, no sharing government secrets”. Had she managed to keep going for another few years, these things would’ve been refined in scope to things like “no lying to a superior officer, no hurting others unless threatened,” and so on. But, it is what it is. 

Violating any of these rules, as it is, leaves her with a blinding headache that is very rarely worth it. Luckily, her Keeper was careful to teach her ways of talking and thinking around some of the programming, as like many things of this nature it can be finicky and there are loopholes to be found. 

2. Seams: Eden has very many scars, all of them thin and almost invisible, which she affectionately refers to as her ‘seams’. They’re almost exclusively surgery related, long thin lines down her torso and along her limbs where skin was peeled back to allow for cybernetic enhancements. They’re faint enough that it’s uncommon for anyone to notice them unless they’re in bed together, as her doctor does very subtle work. 

3. Enhancements: Speaking of the reasons for the seams, though-- having partially grown up with Hemmel, Eden is fully stocked up on high tech enhancements. There’s very little of her body that remains completely untouched, and she does have a fondness for experimental tech which has led to mild short outs in the past. Every few months she returns to Hemmel for a check up and maybe an upgrade, so her list of capabilities is ever-changing. 

Some of the things that she’s had for a very long time and will probably always keep, however, include: False eyes to allow for enhanced vision and a useful HUD, several stealth systems that range from masking body heat and vital signs to cloaking her entirely, enhanced hearing and sensors in her fingertips that allow her to collect very specific information, and a few types of ‘kill switches’ as she calls them that can either knock her out or kill her completely should the situation call for it (none of these are able to be activated by anyone but her and maybe Hemmel). None of her tech is dangerous to anyone but herself. 

bonus. Give us a list of any length telling us why our “fave is problematic.”

i’m not convinced that she is !! 

sure she steals a lot but is that really that bad? 

maybe she’s accidentally broken a few hearts but that’s not rly her fault is it?

so what if she has just decided she’s friends with a good number of people without asking for their input??

who cares if her ship is a mess and she might not be able to fight to protect the ones she loves!! 

[emileewilson]

THE G WORD

 I wrote this blog months ago. It’s time to share my story and some exciting news! I’m re-branding my business to include herbal education, workshops, and more! The entrepreneurial journey has been fun for me as I grow and expand my offerings. I am so happy to offer skincare and beauty services, but my practice has evolved into so much more. The following true story is told from my heart and I hope you’ll embrace my new brand with enthusiasm and support.  This is my story from Gypsy Skin Spa to Wild N Rooted. 

 It has been brought to my attention recently that a word exists. This word is part of our English language and our cosmology. This word has many meanings, it is powerful, controversial, and mysterious.

 Gypsy.

 Some people believe it to be a racial slur, others believe it to be a lifestyle and some have no idea what the word is, means, where it comes from, how to say it, or even care. You can see where this may cause some issues and concerns. Due to its controversial nature, I used it once, but will refrain from using it moving forward out of respect for those reading this who deem it offensive.

 This is my story and how I birthed my lifestyle brand in 2015. This word resonates with me deeply in a very authentic way. It is an expression of my being.  After being attacked online and accused of being a racist, I strongly felt the need to tell my story. I want to talk about it. This dilemma, this idea, this age of offending is an opportunity for education and to begin co-creating a high vibe around the label.

 You see, our English language is convoluted in historical accounts that many of us didn’t even know existed. For instance, the word “Bucket List” actually comes from hanging someone by “kicking the bucket” out from beneath them before they die. Did you know that Hooligans are associated with the Irish? Vandals, the Germans? The G word are associated with the ethnic group, Roma or Romany, who immigrated into parts of Eastern Europe. The locals thought they were from Egypt or Egyptian (hence gyp) which we now know as they begin to have a voice in literature and other cultural affairs. They identify with Roma, Romani, Romany, or Rroma. I’m what you call a European Mutt, which is essentially a dog mixed with who knows what and I don’t like it very much. Alas, society has deemed that description appropriate.

 My focus is on the positive aspects of the G word discussion and how we can use it to free the people under this guise, not slander them. More importantly, that we stop grouping people together and/or generalizing, stereotyping subgroups of people or minorities in the first place.  There are good people and bad people. Period. There are all types of different people in this world. I mean, there are ALOT of us!  We have different ideas, perspectives, opinions, customs, foods, languages, fashions, economics, currency, status, religions, and experiences. This all happens simultaneously as life spirals along, upwards and outwards.

  My personal story regarding this particular identity began when I was 30 years old, also known as my Saturn Return, when the walls around me would literally come crashing down. My roommates and I were residing in Marina Del Rey, CA and we all lived peaceful, independent lives. A large development company purchased the property and our landlord told us to vacate. During this time, I also lost my job and couldn’t afford to pay my bills. A dance troupe that I created and adored fell apart at the seams and my Grandmother passed away. I went on unemployment and moved back in with my parents. Welcome to the Boomerang Generation.

 Although grateful for this landing, it was uncomfortable. I got a part time job in a small salon, but my business couldn’t thrive without clientele.  Soon enough, I decided to go back to College in Fullerton and soon I found myself back in Los Angeles living in West Hollywood. This was an interesting time. I had ditched an abusive boyfriend, my car was broken into, very important documents like college homework and documentary drafts were stolen. I was drunk most of the time falling into a deep state of depression. I had also discovered Ayahuasca as a medicine, something that would change my life in the most extraordinary way.

 Still to come at 32 years old, I was forced to file Bankruptcy, the banks wouldn’t accept my income loss or life changes. Eventually, I found another spa in Redondo Beach, CA and moved into a room with the generous Persian couple who owned it. A month later, I met a nice Indian man in Hawthorne and I rented a room from him. He was a single father with a daughter and a gorgeous white Shepherd named Bella. To supplement my income, I began working as a cocktail waitress while developing my clientele. No more than 3 months later, the restaurant folded. My inappropriate employer kept my last paycheck and I wasn’t making enough money at the spa to live on my own. I moved back to Culver City with my Aunt and shared a room with a friend. I lived there for, you guessed it, about 3 months. During this time, I was able to get another part time job in Santa Monica at a small spa called Petite Spa with a lot of potential, as well as taking up an offer to work for a high- profile ticket broker in Huntington Beach. This led me to a short stint in Orange County. I even got a third job working part time at another day spa. Less than 3 months later, I was fired from the office job and so I quit the esthetic job and moved back to Los Angeles. I found a small studio in Mar Vista, CA. One room, no kitchen, and it became my sacred space for 2 years.

 With hardly anything, but a strong will and a humbled spirit, my private practice as an Esthetician and Herbalist was born. The journey was already under way.

 In 2016 I studied in New York with a wise, old woman named Susun Weed, a Witch. All five of her apprentices were not allowed to say the word “guy.” It was unacceptable around her and she would only accept “Gaia” instead. It was difficult to change my habitual language, but eventually I started to remember. I admired how she created her reality, yet I feared her verbal abuse. Ironic eh? I lived on her land for two weeks and was initiated as a Green Witch, polishing my toe green as the final induction. The Washington Post wrote a great article about the word “guy” and its origins. Although now common language, the Oxford English Dictionary defines it as a “person of grotesque appearance.” When I came back to L.A, I began noticing how many people said “Guy” when referring to myself and women. It really bothered me. I attempted to correct them several times, then held my tongue, then it became plain awkward. Nobody cared. It was a construct. Once I realized my offenders never intended to insult or hurt me, I stopped physically hearing it. I can’t even remember the last time. I know they’re saying it, but I just can’t hear them.  The origin of “guy” has become a fun fact in Etymology. Now it means “a man or woman.” It’s amazing how our language morphs, twists and turns, along with history, experiences and ideologies.  

 Why am I telling you my life story? Well, because it all has to do with the G word. With all of that being said, we are still in a predicament because the G word is STILL used as a derogatory ethnic slur in other parts of the world.  In this very moment. In fact, people all over the world continue to oppress minorities and entire countries still deny genocides and documented accounts of massive human extermination. This pains my heart so. I dream of a peaceful planet where all cultures can learn from one another, respecting the language, food, music, fashion, art, and religious views. May we all migrate toward our tribes. This is a tall order; however, THIS is my focus, not how the G word has dubious meanings around the globe. My work is to continue finding my truth, my voice, and stand up for what I believe in. Of course, my writings and teachings are a part of this. I believe in service to the people, empowering women and leaving the world a cleaner place. It’s that simple.

 There is freedom and oppression within the G word. It has become an archetype. At age 3, my mother chose this as my costume on Halloween, dressing me in a gold scarf, bright red lipstick, blush and hoop earrings (clip on of course!). Let us think about it as an archetype. Like Witch, Faerie, Crone, Goddess, and Bitch, all those that we have reclaimed.  Allow for the good, the bad, and the ugly. I don’t subscribe to living in a paradigm that even allows for racism. Using the word racist and race separates us more than it holds us. I think that for people in the U.S, the G word conjures up feelings of traveling, romance, fashion, mystery, a free spirit, natural living, family, and determination. The irony and most painful part of this archetype is that one group of people on one side of the world felt and feel offended by it, and the other groups in the West have gained wild open-hearted freedom from it. We must ponder as a society, no matter where we were in the past, we are here today and need to continue moving forward together. We cannot suspend each other in the past. As my Mentor once said, “It’s ok to look into the rear-view mirror every once in a while, but you can’t drive the car that way.”  

 I consistently check myself and tune into my energy. When I’m feeling off, I have to take a deep breath and move it into a higher vibration. Living in society with different people has its challenges, but I believe it is our human right to feel happy and free no matter what our circumstances. I wish this upon all cultures. Instead of accepting a slur from the oppressors, the people of Romany are in a great position to reclaim themselves. Let us embrace the real G word and may they come into the light. Let the women tell their stories, entering into evolution. My prayer is that we release the word into the ethers and let peace fall upon the land of the aggrieving. My highest belief about this is that we are one human race thriving together on Planet Earth.

 So here we are back in my studio apartment. I knew exactly what I had to do. I had to create work for myself, with my own two hands. I had to discover my passion, my gifts, and share them with the world. I had to learn from other women and I also promised myself I would stay in one place as long as I could. Humbled by my life on the road, I was finally feeling confident, independent, and free once again. I began embracing my call to the wild, to ceremony, Paganism, the plants, and natural healing methods, reading books, apprenticing, and attending workshops. I studied myself. I studied others. Along with the Magician, The G word was becoming a strong presence in my life.  I still receive gifts to this day that represent G word magic.

What I did not know until recently is that the Romany are STILL being oppressed in Eastern Europe and the G Word is not a nice word at all.

I interviewed a couple Roma men that I found online. I interviewed Romany women who use the term in their business brand. They told me that the prejudices are still occurring against them. They all said they are not personally offended by the word, but warned that others may be. As a woman of mixed European descent, I am always searching for cultural traditions that I can call my own. I grew up with a small family and little tradition.  This is partly why I am so drawn to the archetype and the lifestyle, one that allows me freedom, contrary to what others feel the G word means.  

 I am a privledged white woman. I will use my voice to help others in need. I will continue to lead by example. I am a Lover. I am a Magician. I am a Manifestor. I am not an oppressor. I am not a racist. I AM wild and rooted.

 The Archetype that I felt would continue to represent my journey, my dream, and my passion was Gypsy (oops I said it), but after months of pondering the last three years of my life in the herbal world and reading historical accounts of this word and how misused it has been, it has left a rather bitter taste on my lips. I have decided to evolve myself, my name, and my brand to include more herbal knowledge, medicine making skills, and workshops. A name that I feel will bring the people together. The timing couldn’t have been more perfect. Things really do happen for a reason and sometimes buttons get pushed for a higher purpose. I will be launching a new website soon so stay tuned!!! I created a name that represents my most divine constitution. A name that is not controversial, or offensive, but one that remains powerful and meaningful to me. I belong to no one.  

 I AM WildNRooted!!  

Emilee Amara

Holistic Facials, Herbalist