#he's attracted to her but never touches her inappropriately and even recognises that it is wrong for him to look her as if she were grown

[proudfreakmetarusonniku]

sorry before I go to bed I’m thinking bout the different ways Evangelion portrays csa.

asuka's (metaphorical) rape is done by a stranger. someone she doesn’t know. a literal monster. as someone who’s always prided herself on being able to fight, being able to always win, this shatters asuka, who feels such a thing makes her weak. she responds to her trauma by regressing, playing video games at her friends house and speaking to her like a young child, before shutting down entirely to the point of attempted suicide. she’s later sexually abused by shinji, taking his own trauma out on her, and while we don’t see as much of how that effects her, we see the tragedy of the cycles of abuse play out.

shinji's sexual abuse is done by a friend. he doesn’t realise it’s wrong, and misato thinks she’s helping, because he’s a boy and boys like that right? but misato not realising the harm of her actions do not make her any less harmful. there’s a lot of complicated feelings and emotions there, and it very much deals heavily with the complexities of abuse- not all abusers realise what they’re doing. not all abusers even have sexual intent (misato absolutely doesn’t see shinji in a romantic light at all, she's not attracted to him). not all victims hate their abusers, and not all victims fully realise how inappropriate their abusers actions are. yet, the abuse still has impacts- as seen with shinji's complete lack of sexual boundaries, to the point of assaulting asuka for a desperate sense of control. he recognises that it’s awful- it’s something familiar to him to a degree- but as a severely traumatised child, he lashes out and inflicts his own pain on others. which is not acceptable, obviously, but it’s tragic, and shows how abuse makes people worse.

and as for rei, she's abused by her own father. the signs are there, but they don't entirely click at first, and neither do they click to the adults who should be looking out for her. the sexual abuse she faces is overlooked even when it’s right under everyone’s noses. and when someone does put the dots together, they blame her for it. rei's abuse, like a lot of familial abuse, is either ignored or something she’s considered at fault for, despite being sheltered and groomed all her life, and, y’know, fourteen. rei's arc also focuses heavily on her conflicted feelings about her abuser, but in a different way to shinji. she, at first, idolises gendo. she's been groomed her whole life, and is incredibly isolated. what happens is normal to her, she doesn’t see it as wrong because she’s never been told it’s wrong. the idea of not having faith in gendo is alien to her. but as time goes on, she realises what happens isn’t special, it isn’t okay. by the time she dies and another version of her takes her place (the rei's share a soul, so they’re the same person even if rei iii can’t remember everything) she’s quietly furious at the idea of being a doll, and realises she can be more. when her abuser touches her, she literally tears off his hand. and she attains agency! that’s the final part of her storyline. she has agency, for the first time in her life. and she might have chose to listen to shinji on what to do, but she chose for the first time, it’s a massive step and honestly it really struck me as a beautiful ending to her character arc.

idk man. i just like how this mecha anime interrogates a sensitive subject from multiple angles and has genuinely suprisingly good depictions of even abuse that’s not recognised as abuse by most still. it’s nice! it’s refreshing. honestly, they committed to exploring abuse and never trying to apologise for it, and it’s fucking great. i'm personally not a csa victim, but i did go through sexual trauma at around the same ages of these characters, and i found myself relating a lot to their arcs around this due to that even if our experiences are pretty different. i felt aspects of how i dealt with things, especially in rei and shinji but to a degree asuka as well, and it made me feel more confident in myself. if shinji ikari can choose to live, so can I :)

[maidenoftheforestlight-blog]

You are literally a disgusting degenerate thinking that a young fucking child is "exploring her own desires" by trying to deal with a grown man who has threatened to rape her. I bet you gross ass would think that the creep who kidnapped poor Elizabeth Smart was just trying to keep her safe. The irony of having a problem with incest but not with pedophilia you piece of shit freak.

Firstly, I want you to know that I don’t appreciate this abuse or this accusation and the sheer hatefulness of this post, the fact that you went on a personal attack over shipping, is both a ridiculous overreaction and grounds for being blocked.

But I’m going to give you a chance and try to reason with you first. Because, rather like Sansa, I like to believe the best of people. I think you’re better than how you’ve presented yourself. 

 Now, I feel like if you’re going to treat these characters as if they were actually real people in a real world that plays by the rules of modern society you would find an incestuous relationship between siblings (and as a person who comes from a family of adoptees- not that that’s your business- the fact that they’re really cousins makes no difference to me. They are siblings and love each other as siblings) just as abhorrent as a potential future relationship between Sansa and Sandor… two people who regardless of their age difference have made a huge (overwhelmingly positive) impact on each other and canonically have a relationship with romantic tension.

 If you have a problem with the Sansan romance, take it up with GRRM… he’s the one writing it into the series. There are a lot of couples with big age differences in the asoiaf universe (e.g Jaime and Brienne have exactly the same age gap). If you’re ok with cousin incest because of “medieval times were different” (an assumption on my part, I know. I actually have no idea why you’re ok with incest in this fictional world but I’m going to also go ahead an assume that you’re not ok with incest in reality… A courtesy you unfortunately have not extended to me) then it strikes me as odd that you’re not also ok with GRRM’s use of “big age gaps were common back then”… especially since both things actually aren’t really all that historically accurate to most of medieval Europe… Certainly not as general practices like they are in Westeros. 

Most Sansan shippers ship this relationship because of Sansa’s actual feelings and character development that arise out of this relationship. And no… there’s nothing wrong with people who were also once thirteen year olds reading into the fact that a thirteen year old is exploring her own desires and sexuality through fantasies about an older person that authority figures wouldn’t consider appropriate for her… Because most of us were thirteen years old once (or are thirteen years old now) and most of us had crushes or fantasies about people we could never be with (or even should never be with! gasp!). But here’s the thing about fantasy and fiction, they allow us to explore sides of ourselves that we must otherwise repress. For young women in particular, fantasy can serve to free us (at least in our minds) from the constraints of “socially approved” expressions of sexuality or desire. 

For a character like Sansa whose arc is so concerned with the role of women in society and the acceptable expression of femininity, as well as thoroughly policed and controlled female sexuality… It’s important that her “sexual awakening” is prompted not by some kind of Westerosi ideal of masculinity, not at all by a man that any traditional Westerosi Patriarch would choose for his daughter, not by the handsome golden prince of the fairytales Sansa was spoon fed from infancy- the very stories that blinded her to much of what is wrong with her society… No, rather than that shining paragon of Westerosi patriarchal culture, Sansa becomes attracted to Sandor Clegane. A man that for all his many faults (and no one denies that he has many) is also truly a victim of the system, of childhood abuse and neglect, who has never known kindness or compassion, who has been dehumanised by everyone on account of a deformity caused by his own brother (a brother who was rewarded by society rather than punished!) to the point that he is called a dog and treated like a dog… like a Beast, in fact. Because that is what GRRM is reconstructing here; the Beauty and the Beast story. What makes a man become a Beast? What about Beauty triggers change in him? What about Beast makes Beauty start to feel for him…and later fall for him? To see the man hidden behind the ugliness? These are the things GRRM is examining.

Regardless of what you want to believe anon, young teen girls do have sexual fantasies… a good number of them have such fantasies about people way older than them… It’s a thing. If that resonates with a reader who is or was a teenaged girl, that doesn’t make them “disgusting” or a “pedophile”, not does it make GRRM a pedophile. Just as I am sure you do not promote the acceptance of incest in the real world, I think you should really open your mind to the possibility that just because someone finds a fictional relationship with a large age gap interesting, and would like to see where the author takes that relationship in future (keeping in mind that Sansa would likely have been 18 or older by the time she was reunited with Sandor if GRRM had been able to stick to his original plan), it doesn’t mean they even like or accept relationships with large age gaps in reality, even between adults. Accusations of pedophilia are just beyond the pale. You have no idea what people behind the computer screen have gone through in their lives or what their friends, family, acquaintances or colleagues have gone through. You just don’t know. I would ask that you stop to think more carefully before you post any kind of serious accusation like that to anyone again. Especially over anything so trivial as preferences in shipping in a fantasy series. 

Lastly, I know you sent me this message anonymously with the intention that I would “fight back” and get into some kind of argument with you. Maybe you thought I would sling insults back at you and also accuse you of horrible, sick crimes. I’m sorry that I haven’t provided you with that entertainment. That kind of drama simply doesn’t interest me and further more, I think it is beneath both of us as rational human beings who are capable of understanding the difference between fiction and reality. I seriously considered not replying at all and simply blocking you, but I decided not to do that in the end. Because I believe in giving people the chance to prove that they can be better than their negative first impression. So I leave it up to you. If you want to discuss literature with me like a rational, polite, adult, then I’m willing to put this behind us.

But I do not suffer trolls. If you post hateful messages to me again you will be blocked. 

Have a nice day. 

[thusspoketrish]

Words Are Very Unnecessary

TW: Dark fic; Angst; mental illness; mention of past suicide attempt; implied self-harm; scarring; psychiatric ward; unethical medical practices/harm; inappropriate patient/doctor/staff interactions; shifting tenses

Created for the prompt Pretend for @drarrymicrofic

Title taken from Depeche Mode’s Enjoy the Silence

3.3K words. This is something that I may consider coming back to expand on in the future. READ ON AO3.

A heartwarming thank you to @starlitsilvereyes for the thorough beta!

When Healer Robins announces that Harry will not be carrying out his final rotation at St Mungo’s, he’s shocked. He’s done everything he can within the last few months to prove himself capable: he’s completed his clinical rotations with commendations, he’s saved lives, he’s brought coffee and donuts in from his favourite bakery in Diagon every Friday, and he’s even played nice with the first-year Trainee Healers. But as Healer Robins announces his fate, Harry not only feels the bottom of his stomach fall—he can practically feel the smug smile burning a hole into the back of his head from his colleague, competitor, and overall pain in his arse, Blaise Zabini.

“I’m sorry Harry, but Blaise has already proven quite successful with some of the patients in Janus Thickey. I’m afraid that if we remove him, many of the patients will respond negatively to the change,” Healer Robins says, aiming a warm smile at Zabini.

“And you have a muggle vehicle, that James Bond-looking thing, am I right, Harry?” Zabini asks.

Harry turns to face him. He hates to admit it, but Zabini looks attractive in the lime green robes—but everything about him is stylish, with his broad shoulders, his fancy clothing under his robes, his stylish haircut. Too stylish for a Healer, Harry thinks glumly, staring down at his beat-up trainers he’s had for three years now. Harry grimaces as the other man smiles widely at him. He’d wager his entire Gringotts vault that Zabini has charmed a tooth to twinkle when he smiles like that.

“Yeah, why?” Harry grunts. He doesn’t want to show just how disappointed he is over missing out on the Thickey Ward, but he’s never been that great at compartmentalising his feelings.

“You’ll need one where you’re going,” Healer Robins says.

--------

As soon as Harry pulled his sleek black ’52 Jaguar XK-120 (a result of his quarter-life crisis earlier in the year) into the driveway of St Peter’s Asylum, the 16th century estate sends a chill up his spine. He exits his car and ambles around the property for a while, wanting to gain a better sense of his new work environment. There’s a 25-mile-long anti-Apparition ward surrounding the property and no Floo Network connection. Everything about the property felt duplicitous. The beautiful large bay windows were covered excessively with sharp, pointy metal bars, stained-glass depicting religious iconography were covered in grime and spiderwebs. The columned archway framing the front entrance has cracks in them and are covered in rotting foliage. Behind the estate is a crematorium where ominous black smoke currently poured from the vents, spilling upward into the grey sky. He should have known then that something was amiss.

After a confusing meeting with Head Healer Madison, a quick introduction to the nurses and orderlies, Harry is shown to his small, gloomy office. Settled in, when he finally glanced through the files of his new patients, he nearly spilled his coffee on the pile.

He did not expect to see Draco Malfoy on his rota.

He can recall the last time he saw Malfoy, right after the trials, when Harry’s testimony wasn’t enough to save him completely from time in Azkaban, but anything after? He can’t. He does not recall exactly how much time Malfoy served—had it been three years or four? Did he receive early release or was that his father? How had Harry simply put Malfoy out of his mind after everything they had both been through? How had Zabini not warned him Malfoy would be in a psychiatric ward? Did he even know?

All these questions left a sour taste in Harry’s mouth. He had asked Healer Madison to give Malfoy’s file to a different Healer due to the conflict of interest, but there were no other Healers that would take Malfoy, and so Harry was left with a quandary: either help Malfoy or they’ll send him back to Azkaban, untreated, to serve out the rest of his sentence.

Malfoy’s file was as depressing as Harry imagined it to be.

Malfoy was considered a permanent resident on the ward, but the history is muddled as to why he’s been labelled permanent if his psychiatric care was part of his early release requirements from Azkaban. The threadbare treatment plan had no end goals or date to reintegrate Malfoy into Magical society. The file simply read of an attempted suicide in Azkaban, manic depression, and tendencies towards excessive violence to not just himself but those around him when angered—this was one of the reasons Healers refused him care. He had apparently injured the last three, one almost fatally. He’s been kept heavily medicated, but lately has been refusing treatment. The nurses have been providing the necessary potions intravenously.

Malfoy also hasn’t uttered a single word to anyone—not staff or other patients—for over two years.

From the gossip that the nurses regularly indulged in, Harry was able to learn that Malfoy befriended a young Scottish man named Ziggy and an elderly woman named Lottie that was also considered mute and antisocial. Ziggy had died exactly over two years ago under mysterious conditions and his body was sent to the crematorium instead of autopsied by the local Medical Examiner. When Harry had brought this oversight to Healer Madison, he had been scolded and suspended for three days for viewing files not assigned to him. She threatened to send him back to St. Mungos if he continued to work on the files that have been sealed by the Chief Healer, which would result in him failing his final rotation.

This, of course, further fuelled Harry’s interests.

-------

Harry began to watch Draco’s condition much more closely.

The other man still wouldn’t utter a word to Harry, and sometimes he wondered if Draco even recognised who he was sitting in front of, his eyes unfocused, body slumped in his chair with his bandaged arms wrapped around his body, his long blond hair falling to his shoulders in messy clumps.

Harry began to discover bruises around Draco’s wrists when they’d meet for sessions. When they began to appear around Draco’s neck, and finally, his left eye, Harry calmly enquired about it, and this sent Draco into a silent, violent frenzy. Draco had shoved most of the contents on Harry’s desk to the floor, thrown books at the walls, and ripped one of his bandages free to viciously dig his nails up and down his arm. Harry had to call a CODE RED as he scrambled to unlock his wand from the warded drawer of his desk to Stupefy Draco before he reopened all his wounds. It was the first time Harry had seen any kind of real reaction from the other man and quite frankly, it scared the hell out of him. He had watched helplessly as the orderlies rushed in to gather Draco’s limp body from the floor.

Later that day, he approached Healer Madison.

“I’d like the evaluation forms for any other medical treatments Mr Malfoy is having here,” Harry had demanded. She had popped her gum in Harry’s face before rolling her eyes at his request.

“Those records are private, Potter. For the Chief Healer’s eyes only,” she had said.

“Well, I need the evaluation forms as well. I should be aware of any changes in treatment methods, considering Malfoy is one of my patients.”

Healer Madison patted Harry on the shoulder. “Relax, Potter. No need to be such a bloody worry-wort. Code reds happen all the time here. You’ll soon come to realise how we do things at St Peter’s.”

-------

Harry left the hospital at 5pm every day. Like clockwork, when he’s just about to get into his car, he’ll look up to the third-floor window of the recreation room where he’ll catch Draco staring down at him through the slats of the bars. Each time, the monster in Harry’s chest that’s begun to grow with Harry’s concern and affection for Draco, roared to life. He knew it would be just a matter of time before Draco ended up dead if Harry did not figure out what’s going on in this hospital.

--------

On a particularly cold, grey day in October, one month into Harry’s rotation at St Peter’s, Harry enters the third-floor recreation room. All of Harry’s patients have been improving greatly, Draco in particular. Intravenous treatment ended a week ago as he’s now more cooperative in taking his medication by mouth. His self-harming had eased somewhat, but there were still bad days that Harry monitored closely. Draco interacts with staff and his friend Lottie again, sitting next to her to watch the Muggle telly or just holding her wrinkled hand as they both stare out the window. His grey gaze seemed stronger, more focused, determined, even. It made Harry happy to see a sliver of the person he once knew shining through, and he hoped it would just be a matter of time before Draco speaks, so Harry can help him.

Harry glances around the room. Soft music is playing from off the telly. There's plenty of places to sit, but he opts to walk over to the window where Draco is sitting and playing chess by himself. The man’s wrists are bandaged again, no doubt from picking at his scars. Harry can see a patch of blood through the gauze and wonders why none of the nurses have been around to replace them. He wishes he had his wand (which is locked in his office for safety reasons) so he can replace the bandage himself.

“Draco,” Harry starts warmly. “How are you doing today?”

Draco looks up from the board and Harry gasps. There’s another brutal black eye around his left eye, and the top of his lip is split. Harry reaches out, his fingers lightly touching Draco’s lips before grazing along his jaw. Draco remains very, very still under Harry’s touch, his lips parting slightly as his chest heaves. When Harry remembers himself, he snatches his hand back as if he’s been burned.

“Who did this to you?” Harry hisses.

For a moment, Draco’s eyes turn incredibly bright as he exhales a phlegmy breath before his gaze shutters. Harry sits on the opposite side of the board, staring down at it as Draco takes one trembling hand to move his black bishop to E5. Harry sighs.

“You can tell me, Draco. I…I want to help you. I know there’s something terrible happening in this hospital, and I know someone is hurting you. Please, Draco—”

Draco abruptly stands from his seat, startling Harry. Draco doesn’t pay him any notice as he stretches his long, rail-thin body before strolling up to the nurse’s station. He taps on the glass divider several times before Nurse Mathilde slides the panel open.

“What is it, Mr Malfoy?”

Draco mimes smoking a cigarette.

Nurse Mathilde purses her lips. “The Chief Healer has given you permission to smoke again, but not until 5pm and especially not without an orderly present. You’ll have to wait until then. No exceptions!” she snaps before slamming the panel shut.

Draco doesn’t come back to his board game, nor does he glance over at Harry.

Harry watches as he instead sits next to his friend Lottie who is staring at the only plant in the recreational room. He lifts her wrinkled hand and entwines it with his own before settling in to watch the plant with her.

---------

At approximately 5pm Harry exits the asylum, briefcase in one hand and car keys in the other. When he passes by one of the gnarled oak trees, he notices Draco leaning against it, blowing tendrils of smoke from his cigarette. Harry slows down to watch him.

Draco’s hip is cocked out, his hospital shirt bunched up slightly, exposing a sliver of pale flesh and a titillating v-line that disappears in his thin cotton hospital pyjamas. He’s properly beautiful—all long lines and sharp edges carved in delicate, alabaster marble. Harry has noticed just how clearer Draco’s eyes are now, how the grey is piercing, brimming with cleverness and an intelligence that reminds Harry of the boy he knew in Hogwarts.

Harry’s suddenly startled out of his reverence when he glances around and notices that Draco is currently unattended.

Harry decides to approach him.

“Draco. Are you out here by yourself? Where is your attending orderly?”

“He was recovering from the blowjob I gave him before I did this—” Draco says, his voice thick and raspy. Harry is so shocked to hear the familiar drawl that he stumbles forward, his eyes widening, realises too late that Draco has lunged towards him, left hand raised high to strike Harry on the side of his head with a large, jagged rock.

When Harry comes to, it’s with a sharp groan and with the sound of a string of complex Latin filling his ears. He grits his teeth as a burning sensation wraps around his wrist. He realises that he’s frozen on the ground by a particularly thorough Petrificus Totalus. Despite his throbbing head, he focuses enough to catch Draco at his side, hissing as a thin, red bracelet appears on his left wrist, the bandages now gone. Harry hasn’t seen his left arm exposed before, and he cries out as he takes in the horrific scarring over the Dark Mark, as if someone had tried to peel the Mark off with a scalpel and failed to dig deep enough. There were healed and freshly scabbed cuts from his wrist to his elbow on both arms.

Draco appears above Harry then. “Oh, good. You’re awake.”

There are streaks of dirt across Draco’s face, his hands, and under his nails.

“Please, Draco, whatever it is…don’t…don’t…”

Draco snorts. “What, don’t hurt you? Don’t kill you? Why would I harm the person I’m currently Bonded to?” Draco asks, lifting Harry’s wrist to his face. The red bracelet there matches Draco’s.

Panic seizes Harry immediately. Had he not been completely immobile, he sure he’d be shuddering. “What the hell is going on?” Harry asks, his voice shaking.

Draco drops his wrist and instead lifts a thick, taped together manila folder covered in dirt. “You’re helping me get the fuck out of here, Potter.” A smile breaks across Draco’s face then, making him look both incredibly beautiful and deranged. “It was as if you breathed life back into me, the day you walked through the doors of St Peter’s. I knew then that I had to hold on just a bit longer because surely it was a sign that my initial hard work wasn’t done in vain. You see this file here? I used to sneak out documents I’d gather from Madison, the Chief Healer, and the nurses proving the abuse. Some of the orderlies will let you do whatever you want if you can…provide the right services…and they would often leave me alone long enough for a smoke. I would hide the files here, Potter. But after Z-Z-iggy—” Draco’s excitable tone falters, a veil of sadness falling so quickly over his face Harry experiences a sense of whiplash. “They killed my friend, Potter. They treated Ziggy well before, even let him play Bowie when things weren’t so bad. They killed him during the experiments…”

“What experiments?” Harry asks, shocked.

Draco’s expression shifts once again to happiness. “I knew you wouldn’t be involved in something so gruesome.” He holds up his scarred arm. “On the Dark Mark and Purebloods who have come from Dark families. They’re trying to figure out how Dark Magic is entwined in a person’s DNA and…I don’t know…undo it.”

Harry’s eyes widens, mind beginning to race. “What?”

If the Healers here were literally using human flesh and blood to somehow recreate or understand the links between DNA and inherent Dark Magic, who knows what kind of torture and body modification they’re causing their subjects.

Draco eyes become manic. “You have to help me. You have to get me out of here in the next five minutes. My outdoor time is only half an hour and the orderly is currently passed out—”

“—Draco,” Harry whispers, interrupting Draco’s spiral. “How many others are there…how many other victims?”

“I don’t know, I swear. I just knew Ziggy personally but there would always be screams, so much screaming, so many voices…” Draco says, closing his eyes and swaying on the spot. He mutters softly, incoherently, to himself for a few moments before he opens his eyes, so grey, intense and bright. Harry is overwhelmed with shock, horror, and above all, disgust. Disgusted that the people he’s been working alongside for a month now, the people who have vowed first to do no harm, have been torturing their patients, vulnerable patients.

“Draco, I want to help you, okay? I will help you. You just have to undo the Petrificus Totalus. We’ll get in the car and just drive. I’ll take you wherever you need to go.”

Draco holds up Harry’s wand, points it at Harry’s face. “If you betray me, Potter, you’ll regret it. We’ll get in that fancy car of yours and you’ll drive until I say stop. If you do anything to prevent me from getting these files to the right people…if you try to get help from the Aurors or let your friends know what’s going on, I’ll off myself. And this bond here, this bond will take you with me. I’m the only one that knows the counter, and once we get to my final destination, I’ll release you. So, don’t you dare fucking try me.”

Harry bites back a gasp.

Despite his very real fear, Harry’s desire to help Draco outweighs it. He nods.

“Okay, whatever you want. I’ll do it.”

Draco’s face, dark with suspicion, slowly starts to slide towards something lighter. He bares his teeth. “I hold onto the wand. You’re not allowed to touch me, period, or else I might get the wrong idea that you’re trying to get your wand back, and I don’t want to have to hurt you, or worse, hurt myself.”

“Yes, okay.”

With a wave of Harry’s wand, Draco undoes the spell. Harry sits up slowly, so as not to alarm Draco, who has quickly scrambled to his feet, the dirty file hugged to his chest, wand still trained on Harry. Harry follows after him, head throbbing and legs unsteady.

Draco casts a healing charm his way before strengthening a Disillusionment Charm around them.

Feeling much steadier, Harry exhales. “Thank you.”

“I’m sorry I hit you in the first place. I had no other means to incapacitate you.”

“You could have just told me what was going on.”

Draco shrugs. “I had to make sure you were trustworthy. And honestly, I’ve wanted to knock you out for years, so this very much fulfilled a boyhood dream of mine,” Draco says, his lips tugging upward. Harry pauses to look at him. The monster in his chest is awake, thrashing about as affection and desire feeds it.

Harry knows he’s fucked.

They make their way towards Harry’s car after checking on the unconscious orderly. Once settled in, Harry starts the car and drives, past the gates of the asylum and onto the stretch of empty country road. He glances at Draco, not at all shocked to see the tears that are streaming down his battered face.

“Where to?” Harry asks softly.

Draco continues to stare out ahead of him as he answers, “the only safehouse I know. A house on Spinner’s End, Cokeworth.”

Harry draws in a sharp breath.

[gofancyninjaworld]

watching ONE write women

One of the joys of following a writer for a while is that you get to follow how their ideas develop.   One of the things that ONE brought up in an interview (annoyingly I’ve lost the link) was that he didn’t think that he wrote women particularly well. 

I was thinking about that.  When ONE says that, what comes across to me is that he has no problem writing a female character as an individual rather than a role.  All the girls and women he’s written so far have their own voices, own their problems, and have something to do within the story that would be noticeable if they weren’t there.  Quite frankly, that alone is over and above what various tests of representation (such as the Bechdel test) ask for.  

What he’s not so good at is appreciating what being female brings to a character’s experiences and outlook.  But he’s not just left it at that.  More on what he’s been doing in a bit (and under the cut).

“...the law forbids rich and poor alike to sleep under bridges...” -- Anatole France

With his sharp eye and talent for exploring the implications of whatever he posits, ONE has brought up some issues are not inherently gendered, but usually are. 

A: Childcare

Metal Bat appears to be the main, if not sole, carer for Zenko.  How it affects him is fascinating.  He’s one of the longest-serving heroes in the Hero Association, being there before Class S was formed, literally within the first six months of its establishment.  He’s been extremely loyal and is highly trusted by the HA -- they put Narinki’s life into his hands without fear.  His battle strength is literally praised to the heavens.

Metal Bat makes Zenko a priority, structuring his availability around her school schedule and being present in her life. He gets very angry if these times are threatened without overwhelmingly good cause.  His reward is to be perceived by the Hero Association as less committed and so they under-recognise him in terms of ranking, and since rank and pay are linked, under-pay him as well.  It’s a story all too many women can relate to.  But that’s not all.

Because ONE writes so simply yet conscientiously, something else comes up and has a peek: intersectionality. It’s the concept that we often have multiple social disadvantages that interact and compound our problems.  The first is sexism.  Regardless of whatever childcare policy the HA has, the sexist assumption that only women care (for the record: this is bullshit) makes it unlikely for them to ask Metal Bat.  Second, social capital. The fact that he’s Zenko’s sole carer means that he has low social capital, that informal network of people around you who can help out -- or tell you where to find help and what things to say in order to get that help. [Aside: this is why programmes to help people, unless they reach out aggressively, tend to disproportionately attract those who need it least.]  Metal Bat doesn’t have the knowledge.  The third is the challenge brought by his being a 17-year old boy.  He’s quick to perceive challenge as threat, and threat as something to be met by anger.  Witness him threatening to smash the HA headquarters if it turns out that he’s missed Zenko’s piano recital for nothing -- completely not useful to anything. [Another aside: the importance of learning to disambiguate emotions and do useful things with them even if it means being vulnerable as a part of growing up as a man is the whole point of Mob Psycho 100.]

What do the Neo Heroes do?  They ask Metal Bat if he wants help with childcare AND HE JUMPS SHIP PRONTO.  If that’s not an indictment of the Hero Association, I don’t know what is.

B: Emotional Labour

Saitama has been delegating more and more of the day-to-day work to Genos.  What started as an act of service to express his gratitude, respect and love for Saitama is increasingly turning into a second job for Genos.  It’s not just the cooking and cleaning and the shopping and the bailing Saitama out if he’s forgotten his wallet again, it’s also the worrying about Saitama, sometimes at inappropriate times.  Has he drunk enough water?  Has he clean clothes in good repair? What sales is he looking forward to? Have they been marked on the calendar?  It’s honestly not doing Genos any good, and it’s one of those things all too many frustrated wives and girlfriends can relate to.  This doing the practical and emotional work for another is not intrinsically gendered, but funny how often it breaks that way.

It’s not doing Saitama any good either.  He’s using this freed up time to fritter his life ever more aggressively away, playing games with King and finding pointless competitions to enter, all while complaining about feeling less and less connected to anything (if you don’t address the problem, it doesn’t get better, duh!).  Worse, he’s started to take that gift of service for granted, witness him airily telling King how he’ll just have Genos go clear up the mess of monsters he’s left outside the flat.  I was heartened to see what happened when Saitama went a little too far and asked Genos to go cook and instead of jumping up, Genos gave him the the evil eye and let the awkwardness hang there.  That was good -- there’s hope for this guy yet.

Speaking of Genos, he also over-functions for something else Saitama struggles with: advocating for himself.  He tends to have Genos be the ugly one so he doesn’t have to be.   You can see just how bad he is at self-advocacy when Forte and friends could invite themselves into Saitama’s house at will despite his protests -- and it stopped the instant Genos showed up.

In a sense, it’s not surprising that Genos can do that. When you’re differently-abled (and for once, this is not a euphemism) as he is, being able to clearly ask for what you want and need is life-and-death necessary. If Genos was shy about it, he’s long since had to discard that.  But!  Let me point to a nuance the story touches on.  How pushy you can be without being punished for it depends a lot on who you are, intersecting strongly with race, gender, social status, etc (remember my mentioning intersectionality before). What’s called assertive in a man is called bitchy or sharp-elbowed in a woman.  Even taking gender and race out of the equation, there’s still a noticeable difference in the way the world treats Saitama and Genos.  You don’t need to be Sigmund Freud to understand the way the short, ugly Dr. Kuseno sweats making sure that Genos positively radiates youth, beauty, wealth and power. That’s part of his right to ask and be taken seriously.  You can see how drastically different it is for Saitama, even from his middle school days.  Genos notices, and makes sure to leverage his social power for Saitama. 

What I love about these examples are that by not automatically heaving a woman into these characters’ roles, ONE’s brought a less frequently seen angle that illustrates the problems they deal with are not ‘womens’ issues per se but are rather inequities that disproportionately affect women -- which is at the heart of what feminists keep saying.  When you read Makai no Ossan, you can appreciate that ONE could have gone with female characters and done a great job, but his choosing not to has brought a very welcome dimension to the story.

Women proper

“I’m not like other girls”

Still, bit by bit, ONE has been working more women into his stories.  After his interview, the next thing he worked on was the single-volume sequel to Mob Psycho 100,  Reigen.  He took his challenge head-on by making the POV character Tome and putting her in an all-girls’ high school.

Throughout the story, we see Tome thinking of herself as special, better than her fellow classmates, whom she sees as vapid and shallow.  The denouement comes with Tome being humbled as she gets to know her classmates better and realises that  they pursue interests just as varied and weird as hers -- only they’re also practicing being socially adept on top of that.

It’s a gentle story, but it’s still a great side-swipe at self-internalised misogyny, the idea that it’s shameful to be like a ‘girl’ and it’s something to distance oneself from.   Fortunately, Tome can laugh at herself and grow up.

“Ha ha ha”

For a long time, the only (named) women we had in OPM were Tatsumaki and her younger sister Fubuki.   We’ve gotten more women both good and bad: in particular, it’s been very gratifying to find that one of the most dangerous, story-shaping villains in the story is Psykos.

In the webcomic, ONE’s pushed even further.  A recent Tweet featured him talking about how hard he finds it to draw women. And he’s added several.   No same-face for him!    I’ll talk about the new heroines he’s added, but first, let me draw your attentions to something most artists don’t realize they do: massively skew the gender distribution of crowds, even when it is incredibly illogical to do so.   With ONE, even drawing the crowds at the fair who gaggle at Amai Mask, he’s got a far more even balance of women and they’re not all young and pretty -- which is much more true-to-life.  He’s in the business of drawing people.

ONE has featured microaggressions before, particularly in the way Fubuki can have perfectly sound things to say and be totally ignored,  but he brings it properly to the fore with Suiko.  No one calls her incompetent, but the little put downs she gets when she puts herself forward for the hero test in lieu of her brother, oh they’re well-observed The look on her face just makes it.  I love the way she shut the recruiters up subsequently. 

  Let’s conclude this tour with a look at Webigaza’s lonely figure.  We have another mono-manically focused cyborg in the story.  Genos has been called a lot of things -- determined, obsessive even, but crazy? Never. Notice who it’s been reserved for instead.  It’s no slip of the tongue.

Wrapping Up

I’m of the impression that ONE really wants to try to capture as much of the human experience as he can in his stories, however whimsical or fantastical the stories themselves are.  I’m disarmed by his humility in accepting that he’ll never have the lived experience of half the world’s population but he sure as hell can put some effort into learning how to to writing well-realised, believable, female characters.  

I watch ONE’s continued development as a writer with interest.    

[malecsecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, skylar102!

For @skylar102. I was overjoyed to see your likes included crack fic - which is exactly what I bring you this Christmas. You may recognise the concept and some of the scenes chosen for this fic. What can I say? You’re a very inspiring person!I hope I did the idea justice and that you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it! <3 Much love,Your Secret Santa <3

Read On AO3

*****

Alec Lightwood: The Musical

Rolling drums accompanied him as he ran down the corridor, the sounds of woodwind and strings building as he drew closer to the doorway where he’d heard the commotion. The music drew him in and honed his focus, preparing him for the fight ahead. He strode through the doorway to find an unknown Warlock fending off a Circle member.

The Warlock was tall, almost as tall as Alec. Slender, with figure hugging clothing that hinted at the strong physique beneath. His hair was styled tall and striking, his outfit designed to draw attention. Clearly it was working, as Alec sucked in a shuddering breath. He couldn’t quite explain what he was feeling, but now wasn’t the time to let emotions cloud his judgement.

At that moment, the music broke, a scratching interlude cutting through the air and causing him to wince slightly before giving way to a new song. Alec narrowed his eyes, focussing his stare up at the corner of the room as if he could glare the speakers into submission. As if there were actual speakers there. He sighed and tried to block out the beeping and clapping, focussing instead on the Circle member in front of him.

He scoffed slightly, the arrogant Shadowhunter forgetting all his training in favour of taunting a warlock and not even noticing Alec was there. His limp grip on his seraph blade designed to look intimidating rather than actually being deadly as he waved it mockingly in front of his foe. Holding back an eye roll, Alec raised his bow, taking careful aim and loosing an arrow straight at the man’s heart.

Or he would have had the insipid voice echoing in the room not started moaning in a frankly inappropriate way, distracting him.

You got me trippin', stumblin', flippin', fumblin'

Clumsy 'cause I'm fallin' in love (in love)

This wasn’t a song he knew. Usually, in moments like this, whatever higher power decided to curse him with a personal playlist at least chose swelling instrumentals, epic and strong in their crescendos, that helped him focus on the fight - like the song that had been rudely interrupted by… Well, this. Today, apparently someone wanted to taunt him with the kind of music Izzy liked to dance around her room to.

He snapped back to attention as the Circle member yelled in pain, Alec’s arrow piercing his thigh instead. It wasn’t a lethal shot but at least it was enough to drop him to his knees, clutching the wound in agony and cutting off his frankly tedious monologue.

The warlock conjured a ball of electric blue energy, circling his hands to shape it before pushing it forwards into the rogue Shadowhunter, his shoulders flexing elegantly under the patterned material of his jacket. The circle member collapsed backwards, completely incapacitated or possibly even dead.

“Well done.” Alec almost immediately chastised himself internally for the dumb statement. As if a powerful warlock couldn’t take down a wounded Shadowhunter with ease.

Can't breathe, when you touch my sleeve

Butterflies so crazy, ummm, ummm

Whoa now? Think I'm goin' down

Friends don't know what's with me, mmm, mmm

“More like medium rare,” the Warlock responded, turning to face Alec. “I’m Magnus, I don’t think we've been formally introduced?”

The way Magnus’ body swayed as he made his way over to Alec could only be described as a saunter. Every part of his body moving in sync, like each step forward was part of a carefully choreographed, sensual dance. His warm brown eyes scanning Alec up and down, making Alec’s blood feel like lava coursing through his veins.

“Alec,” he stuttered out, cursing his own ineloquence. “Uh, we, should, uh, really, uh, probably, get, uh, you know.” He knew his face would be plastered with a dopey smile. He tried to focus on the mission, remembering all his Shadowhunter training and not let himself be distracted by how handsome Magnus was.

“We should join the party,” Magnus replied kindly, taking sympathy on Alec’s inarticulate stumbling.

You got me slippin', tumblin', sinkin', fumblin'

Clumsy 'cause I'm fallin' in love (in love)

Songs:

Moscow Symphony Orchestra - The Charge of the Light Brigade

Fergie - Clumsy

II

Alec fought to steady his breathing, schooling his features into as close to a smile as he could manage. This was supposed to be a happy occasion after all, he was marrying a good match. A woman of strong standing with the Clave, a woman who would help him restore his family’s name and lead the New York Institute to greatness.

The delicate instrumental that flowed around him was more sombre than your average wedding choice, but the music that had followed him for as long as he could remember was always in tune to his feelings as well as the wider situation. No one could ever explain where the sounds came from, no one else could hear them but he had his own radio station that followed him everywhere he went.

To his side, Brother Zachariah finished the traditional introduction. ‘No turning back now,’ he thought grimly, dragging in a deep breath. Lydia gripped her stele, reaching out to touch the tip to the ceremonial adamas block with a small smile tracing her lips. A smile that actually managed to reach her eyes. Alec supposed this was less of a compromise for her at least - she wasn’t hiding herself for the sake of a marriage. Objectively, he could see that she was beautiful. The dress hugged her lithe figure perfectly, her hair elegantly braided into an intricate style. But his observation was purely theoretical, based on appearances only with no deeper meaning behind them. It was like observing an exhibition in an art gallery or appreciating the orchestral chords currently filling his ears. He could recognise the grace and the skill, he could appreciate how other people would form a deep emotional connection, but for him it went no deeper than that.

Taking his hand, Lydia brought the glowing tip of the stele to his wrist to trace the wedded union rune when Alec’s head jerked up. At that moment the door slammed open in the distance, causing everyone else to look up in unison. A fraction of a second later, Magnus Bane appeared in the archway, halting in the middle of the aisle that Alec’s bride had not long since walked down.

Simultaneously, the instrumental had come to a stuttering halt only to be replaced by jarring guitar riffs and sirens.

And I'm glad I crashed the wedding

It's better than regretting

I could have been a loser kid

Who ran away and hid

But it's the best thing that I ever did

If Alec jumped in response, it was at least masked by the distraction Magnus Bane had caused.

Magnus held his head high, focussing his gaze on Alec. Alec felt his heart pound in his chest. In his periphery, he heard his mother speak out but her words were lost to the beat of the song filling the room for only his ears. His siblings were having a hushed conversation behind him, but all Alec could focus on was the warlock standing before him. Dressed impeccably as always, his hair swept high with just a hint of magenta glinting in the tips, his eyes lined with his customary makeup. This. This was what Alec was meant to feel when he looked at Lydia. The steady beat of his pulse, sure and certain. The thrum of electricity that vibrated across every inch of his skin. The way his breath caught in his throat. The sheer force of attraction.

His mom was stalking up the aisle towards the warlock, the set of her shoulders displaying just how angry the intrusion had made her. Magnus merely raised his hand, halting her in her lecture and moving further towards Alec. The display of determination and power frayed at the last of Alec’s resolve. Both Jace and Lydia were reaching out to him with words of support and encouragement. Lydia’s smile was wide but no longer touching her eyes as she tried to capture his attention.

“Alec, hey, Alec,” she leaned towards him, trying to angle herself into his eye line causing him to finally look away from Magnus.

“I- I can’t breathe.” He admitted. The bowtie knotted at his throat suddenly felt suffocating to him.

“I know, it’s ok,” she reassured, her voice soft but certain even over the crashing pop-punk that still assaulted his senses.

'Cause true love lasts forever

And now we're back together

As if he never met her

So looking back

I'm glad I crashed the wedding

“I can’t do this,” he admitted. “I thought we were doing the right thing but this isn’t it.” His words came out rushed, his breath constricting in his throat. He tried to keep his panic at bay but he felt trapped, surrounded by his family, his colleagues and clave delegates a like. There were too many people here expecting too much of him but he couldn’t go through with this.

“You don’t have to explain,” Lydia pursed her lips together.

“Lydia I’m sorry.”

“Hey, you deserve to be happy.” She reached out to cup his cheek, reassuring him with a soft smile. “OK? I’ll be fine.”

He could feel guilty about this later, find a way to make it up to her. Even though he knew deep down that he wasn’t just freeing himself from a future that wouldn’t make him happy, he was also freeing her.

He turned and scanned the room before his eyes settled on the one person that truly mattered in this situation, the one person who made whatever battles he was about to face feel manageable. It might be ridiculous, he might barely know Magnus but still, something told him this was a risk worth taking. He stepped down from the altar, putting a physical distance between himself and the ceremony he’d almost gone through with.

Magnus made no move, no indication of his intentions. Alec gulped, realising this was his move to make. He’d pushed the Warlock away so many times, ignoring their obvious chemistry. Now he had to be the one to make the next move.

Resolved, he pushed forward, long strides carrying him swiftly up the aisle. He saw his mom making her way towards him but he brushed past her, focussed only on the man in front of him.

He grabbed Magnus by the lapels of his jacket, pulling him in close and pressed their lips together. Ignoring everyone around him he focussed on this moment, their first kiss. The first of many he hoped. He felt the tension leave his body as Magnus’ lips moved against his. Around him the lyrics continued to echo, cementing in his mind that he’d made the right choice.

'Cause true love lasts forever (true love lasts forever)

Songs:

Chopin - Piano Sonata No. 2 in B Flat Minor

Busted - Crashed the Wedding

III

Alec knew that Max wasn’t the only person he loved who he could lose that day but the relief that his baby brother was alive, talking and already focussed on catching the bad guy was overwhelming. The moment was accentuated by a hum of soft piano music, hopeful notes filled with joy and family and love - a delicate yet mellow melody.

As Magnus made his excuses and turned to leave, the notes of the piano seemed to follow him, an air of yearning filling the room, a cloud threatening to overshadow Alec’s momentary relief. Izzy made eye contact with him, her pointed stare spurring Alec into action. With a sigh, he gave Max one last reassuring pat on the shoulder and followed Magnus from the room.

Magnus was still in the corridor, shoulders slumped and back to Alec. As had happened so often since meeting Magnus, the piano instrumental that had been moving through the day with him stuttered to a stop, almost as if someone had slammed down on the keys. Alec fought back the surprise, knowing that his relationship with Magnus needed to be the priority now. Knowing that he needed to reinforce to Magnus just how much he loved him, how serious he was about their relationship and building a better future for the entire Shadow World.

Magnus knew about his ‘condition’. He’d had no choice but to explain after a particularly ill timed joke from whatever decided his private torture for him. What should have been an intimate and emotional step in their relationship had been interrupted by Alec’s scowl as a crooning voice sang out “let’s get it on,” distracting him from his mission to divest Magnus of his clothes. It had coincided with the reveal of Magnus’ Warlock mark which had obviously not helped the tension in the room at all. Once Alec had explained rather awkwardly, Magnus had been understanding, if a little confused and they had managed to get things back on track. Magnus had even summoned a record player into the bedroom so they could share their first time together, in every way.

But even despite Magnus understanding, Alec was determined to focus on this conversation, determined to right the wrongs. They’d stumbled over communication and he wasn’t going to allow that to continue. He clasped his hands tightly behind his back, standing tall in parade rest trying to focus only on the man in front of him.

Please, tell me everything

That you think that I should know

“Thank you, so much, for being here,” Alec stumbled out. It wasn’t what he had meant to say. But it was still sincere. He still was grateful that despite all the drama surrounding their lives, Magnus was still kind enough to be here, to try to help in whatever way he could.

Magnus’s response was equally sincere, even if it felt like a brush off as he couldn’t meet Alec’s eyes as he wished Max well. As Magnus turned to leave, Alec realised this was his only chance to try to recover whatever they had.

“I’m sorry,” he blurted out. Blunt and to the point, but again, his tone (he hoped) conveyed the sincerity he felt in every bone in his body. Magnus paused but didn’t turn. Fists clenching by his side, Alec continued “I should have told you about the soul sword.”

It's just for show, isn't it?

It's my fault that it fell apart

The catchy guitar riffs really weren’t helping him concentrate. And the lyrics, the lyrics needled at his every insecurity. By the Angel, if he ever worked out who was responsible for this ‘gift’ as the Silent Brothers put it, he would personally run them through with a seraph blade. Even Raziel himself would feel Alec’s wrath if that’s what it took. He needed the music to shut the hell up. He needed Magnus to turn around and tell him it was OK. He just needed this to be OK. Maybe if he admitted to his mistake, maybe they would have a shot at working it out.

Magnus turned to him though with such hatred in his eyes. He had finally made eye contact at least. Something which felt like it should have been an achievement but there was not even a hint of the love they had shared in those eyes.

Alec reached out, desperate and voice low, “You and me, we always seem to find our way back to each other.” He reached out and gripped at Magnus’ wrist as if hoping that he could push every single ounce of love he felt for Magnus, every bit of his apology, through that single point of contact.

“Magnus, I love you.”

Well, maybe you need this

And I didn't mean to lead you on

The nasally, pre-pubescent voice continued to grate at him even as he desperately declared his love for the man in front of him. Magnus’ expression softened. It was only a slight shift but it brought Alec a brief glint of hope that maybe this could be OK. Magnus reached up and rested his hand on Alec’s cheek, normally a sign of affection. Alec leaned into the touch as Magnus responded in kind, “I love you too.”

You were everything I wanted

But I just can't finish what I've started

There's no room left here on my back

It was damaged long ago

“But…” Magnus continued, grimacing slightly and sucking in a deep breath, “as a leader, there are difficult decisions I must make to ensure the survival of my people.”

Alec shuffled from foot to foot, searching Magnus’ eyes for any sign that he had completely misheard this. Surely the incessant guitar riffs had addled his brain, this couldn’t be happening? Could it?

Though you swear that you are true

I'd still pick my friends over you

“The only thing holding me back from doing that…” Magnus continued, looking down at the floor, “is you.”

“No.” Alec begged, fighting his stoic Shadowhunter nature. This couldn’t be happening. They could make this right. They could make this work. “We can figure this out.” He had complete conviction in that at least.

“You once asked me what I was afraid of,” tears had formed in the corners of Magnus’ eyes as he looked up at Alec. “It’s this.”

Magnus turned sharply and walked towards the elevator leaving Alec alone once more, the lyrics still echoing mockingly through the corridor, for Alec at least.

Though you swear that you are true

I'd still pick my friends over you

Songs:

Jordan Rudess - The Answer Lies Within

Marvin Gaye - Let’s Get It On

New Found Glory - My Friends Over You

IV

Alec paced the ops center, grateful for Izzy and Magnus’ presence even if he still felt entirely helpless. It didn’t help that the demons that had been previously swarming the city had vanished without a trace giving him nothing in New York to distract him.

Sending Jace to Lake Lyn with only Clary for back up had been a truly terrible idea. The distance made the emotions and understanding he could normally get through the parabatai bond fuzzy at best. He knew Jace was feeling unusually stressed, that much at least was evident.

This was slightly concerning for Alec. His parabatai was normally reasonably cool under pressure, thriving on the adrenaline that usually translated to excitement pulsing through the bond. When they went on missions together, Jace’s high energy would counteract Alec’s over-cautious nature, the two of them cancelling out each other’s extreme emotions to neutralise into a collected state of deadly precision.

Whatever was happening at Lake Lyn, clearly it was enough to even rattle Jace. He pushed through the bond further, trying to glean anything more concrete than the tension that currently nudged gently at him. In the background, ominous string music drifted through the room, juddering and foreboding. It was distant enough that it didn’t distract Alec from staring at the comms screen in front of him but it was just alarming enough to have him hovering on the edge of breaking down.

As time progressed his anxiety only grew. He’d ‘opened’ the parabatai bond further than he ever had before, allowing as much reassurance to flow through, but also allowing himself to tug at his parabatai for anything Jace could offer, be it a call for help or reassuring emotions. The more he opened it, the more intense the strings got, increasing in both tempo and volume, like an approaching army ready for battle.

He gripped tight on the edge of the table, the comms room long since empty of anyone but his sister and his ex-boyfriend. He’d snapped at enough of the Shadowhunters on duty that everyone realised it was better to give him a wide berth this evening. There was still no sign of demonic activity in the city and worse, no word from Jace and Clary.

Mmm, what'd you say?

His knees buckled as the voice rang out from nowhere, pain coursing through his body. A white-hot, searing heat emanating from his heart and being pumped through his veins. His parabatai rune pulsed under his flesh, the light graze of his cotton t-shirt feeling like the drag of sandpaper against the sensitive flesh. He pulled his shirt up, watching as the black rune faded to an angry red, then a barely there pink.

Mmm, that you only meant well?

An ethereal voice, distorted and haunting filled the room chilling him to the bone as image after image of his life with Jace flashed in front of his eyes.

The first day they’d met, Alec firing an arrow that just barely missed teenage Jace. The wide eyed stare the blonde boy had given him across the training room was as piercing now as it was when he had first been on the receiving end of it.

Well, of course you did

His arms barely held him up as he scrunched his face up trying to escape both the pain ravaging his body and the onslaught of memories.

Blue flames circled round them, as they gripped each other’s arms, reciting the ceremonial words. Back then Jace had been it for Alec, his entire life wrapped up in what he thought was unrequited love. At the time, Alec had pushed through with the ceremony, despite his doubts, because he thought it was the only way he could ever be close to Jace, the best way to keep Jace by his side. Now he realised, parabatai bond or no, Jace was his brother in all but blood. His teenage crush was just that, a crush. His own confusion around his sexuality manifesting itself against the closest friend he had.

Mmm, what'd you say?

His world was crumbling around him, he felt something solid against his head before his body hit the cool, hard floor.

Jace pulling him tight to him. The soft glow of Magnus’ loft surrounding them. The palpable relief that they’d found his brother, his parabatai, his best friend.

Mmm, that it's all for the best?

Arms cradled him in the present day, against the overwhelming swell of fear and anguish he felt he could almost pretend that this was Jace’s embrace. But he knew the truth. Deep down he knew, Jace was gone.

His breath came in dry, heaving sobs. It took him a few moments to realise that the physical sensations were gone. The pain that he had felt faded to nothing, not even a dull ache that normally followed an iratze. His body felt completely fine. His heart… That was another story.

Lifting his shirt once more, he saw nothing but clear skin where once his parabatai rune had been.

Of course it is

Songs:

Jeff Wayne - War of the Worlds (Instrumental)

Imogen Heap - Hide and Seek

V

Alec fumbled at the buttons of his grey shirt, checking his reflection in the mirror. Normally he wouldn't care about his appearance but today was an important day. He needed to make sure he looked his best for this evening and he had no guarantees that he’d have time after his meetings to come back and change. His movements were accompanied by that annoyingly catchy, synth heavy pop song again. He had to fight not to hum along.

We're no strangers to love

You know the rules and so do I

A full commitment's what I'm thinking of

You wouldn't get this from any other guy

Behind him, Magnus sat propped up in their bed at the Institute. Hair soft and falling gently against his forehead in the morning light. He held the New York Times in front of him, scanning the property listings and reading out anything that could be exciting for them. Planning for their future.

Realistically this should be reassuring to hear, that he wasn’t the only one who was in this for the long haul. But Alec’s insecurities were deep-seated and hard to budge. Yes, Magnus might want to live with him, but to commit to a lifetime together? That was harder to believe.

I just wanna tell you how I'm feeling

Gotta make you understand

He tried his best to hide his nerves and focus on the information his boyfriend was giving him but Magnus knew him too well.

“Alexander?” Magnus asked, voice tinged with concern.

“Yeah, yeah that sounds great.” Truth be told, Alec had no idea what the apartment Magnus had described was like. Or it could have been a townhouse? Possibly an open plan loft come to think of it?

“Is something wrong?”

Only that I want to marry you and there’s this damn song playing on a loop every time I think about it...

At the simple question panic swelled in Alec. Spinning to face Magnus, “What, no. On the contrary, everything is perfect. Now that you’re back to your old self,” he gestured at Magnus. His smile felt anything but genuine and his tone falsely cheery. He bit back a grimace at his terrible acting skills.

“Well, let’s not get carried away,” Magnus murmured, stretching to reach the coffee mug by his side, eyes downcast.

“I just mean now that you're healthy,” Alec clarified, not missing the slight derogatory quirk of Magnus’ eyebrow over the rim of his mug.

We've known each other for so long

Your heart's been aching but

You're too shy to say it

Inside we both know what's been going on

We know the game, and we're gonna play it

“So I was thinking we could have dinner tonight, on the balcony?” He changed the subject rapidly. Spilling out the details of his date night plan before he lost his nerve entirely. “The view of the city, the head chef can prepare something special.” He tugged at the cuff of his shirt, tweaking the folds where it was rolled up against his forearm.

“How romantic,” Magnus looked up at him, a barely there smile on his face but his eyes warm as they met Alec’s, “May I ask as to the occasion?”

Never gonna give you up

Never gonna let you down

Never gonna run around and desert you

“There’s no occasion, I just thought it would be nice,” Alec bluffed.

Magnus merely smiled and looked down at his hands, only a slight quirk to his eyebrow betraying his opinion on the matter.

“What? I can’t do something nice with my boyfriend?” Alec probed.

Never gonna make you cry

Never gonna say goodbye

Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you

“I am one lucky man,” Magnus looked up at him with wide, brown eyes warm with affection.

“Not as lucky as I am,” Alec replied, fighting back the instinctual blush that still threatened to creep up his cheeks whenever he broached conversations of feelings.

“OK, I’ll see you tonight at 8 o’clock,” he confirmed, pressing a kiss to Magnus’ cheek before heading for the door.

“I’ll be there with bells on,” Magnus’ answer was almost lost to the pop beats still bouncing around the room and assaulting Alec’s ears as he closed the door behind him.

Song:

Rick Astley - Never Gonna Give You Up

+I

The couple moved slowly together drifting in gentle circles, Magnus’ chin resting gently on Alec’s shoulder, a hand warm on his lower back. Around them, their family and friends watched on as they celebrated the love they shared.

Alec felt elated - just a few short months ago he wouldn’t have believed it was possible to feel this light, to feel this free. In that time he’d met (and now married) the most incredible, magical man; they’d defeated Valentine; brought down the Circle; taken down Asmodeus; defeated Jonathon and Lillith; and somehow made it through it all stronger and happier than ever.

Magnus’ hand tightened slightly at his back, causing him to check in with the Warlock in his arms, “I’m not stepping on your feet am I?”

“How could you be? I’m walking on air.” Alec could hear the smile in his voice as he spoke. They’d got so used to the undercurrent of stress that punctuated their lives and somehow managed to bleed into even the most private moments of their relationship at times, the ability to just live in the moment was liberating.

“I’m confused though,” Magnus continued. “I thought we settled on ‘What a wonderful world’ for our first dance. Did you change the music?”

Alec stepped back, not breaking their hold but just positioning himself so he could see Magnus’ face. “You hear it too?”

I want to see that sweet smile

All of the time

And if I get you a drink, oh

You know I'll squeeze your lime

“I don’t even know what this is?” Magnus asked in confusion, tilting his head to listen closer to the strumming of the ukulele and the high pitched lilt of the woman’s voice.

“Neither do I,” Alec said, grinning in spite of the confusion. This had never happened before, not even Jace had ever heard what he heard and they, for all intents and purposes, shared a soul through their parabatai bond. “If you listen carefully, you can still hear our actual wedding song in the background. It just takes some practice to filter through to it,” he explained.

I wanna buy you things

I wanna make you laugh

When there's nowhere to sit

I'll let you sit on my lap

“Is this what it’s like all the time for you?” Magnus murmured as he pulled Alec back close to him.

“Not all the time. Only when you’re around. The rest of the time it tends to be more like elevator music or classical pieces.” The dainty, sweet sounds of the ukulele washed over him as they continued to dance to the song that only they could hear.

Like a cool breeze after a summer day

I see that smile and drift away

Little Mango

Mango my love

“Little Mango?” Magnus repeated, mischief colouring his voice.

Alec groaned and buried his head in the crook of his husband’s neck. “No. Just, no.”

“But surely this is fate’s way of telling me the perfect nickname for you?” Magnus teased back.

“This could actually be worse than pup,” Alec complained, silently cursing the whimsical lyrics for inspiring this. He prayed to Raziel that it wouldn’t stick.

When you take my hand and dance with me

There's nowhere else I'd rather be

Little Mango

Mango my love

In the end though, he wasn’t sure if he could deny his husband anything that brought such a beautiful smile to his face. After everything they’d been through together, Alec would do anything to keep the man by his side happy. Even if that meant succumbing to the nickname ‘Little Mango’.

Song:

Catey Shaw - Mango

[felixa2728]

Part 1/? Francois Cevert/Chloe

Helen is an angel

"I learned the song, Jackie," I came into the kitchen. Helen was sitting at the big round table and next to her was a man with big ice-blue eyes. He was incredibly handsome and my breath was taken away. "And this is my niece Chloe," Jackie introduced me and pointed at me. Those blue eyes hit me and, startled, I wanted to lean on the kitchen rail, but it seemed to have left its place and I fell into it. It must have looked funny because the man was laughing, not maliciously but genuinely amused. Helen jumped up and tried to help me up: "Are you OK Chlo?" I nodded, still a little dazed. "I'll give you a cold cloth," with a French accent, the man spoke to Jackie, a little worried, and jumped up. He handed it to me and continued to introduce himself with a very strong French accent: "I'm Francois." His eyes met mine again and our hands touched briefly. "Francois is staying for dinner! Maybe you can play him one of your piano pieces, he can play too." "Sure," I had barely listened but nodded eagerly. "Well then," Jackie pointed. I looked from his hand to him for a moment: "What? Oh, yes.Um the piano is in the living room." I set off and Francois followed me. "How old are you?" he eyed me as I walked. "Seventeen and you?", I opened the living room door and asked, "How do you know Jackie anyway?" "I'm going to ride in a team with him next year. And I'm 25," he replied as I sat down at the piano. I started the Moonlight Sonata and he asked, "Why are you staying with Jackie, so yes you are his niece..." "My mum died when I was born and my dad died in a race. Actually Helen is more involved in that than Jackie too. He's just better with boys," I interrupted him as my hands danced faster and faster over the keys. I didn't know whether he was amazed by the music or my story, but he didn't say anything more and his blue eyes seemed even bigger. "I tried to play this, but wow," so amazed at my music, he sat down next to me and waited for me to finish. He started to play Rondo alla Turca with his right hand. I grinned and took over the right while he started the left hand accompaniment. "You're the guy Jackie keeps talking about... because you drive in Formula 3," I remarked. Francois concentrated on the last part and just mumbled: "Maybe." When we finished the piece, he looked at me, nodded appreciatively and asked: "Not bad. What do you want to do later? Professionally, then." As I strummed the first notes of my favourite piece, claire de lune, I smiled: "You'll laugh at me, but I want to study engineering. "Why should I laugh? Because you're a woman?" he joined in. I shrugged and studied his eyes fixed on the piano. I lost myself for a moment and, ashamed, turned my attention back to the piano: "Claire de Lune is my favourite piece. "So I've heard. You play the other one very faithfully, but you're varying it now." No one had heard or noticed that yet, but it was true. "What about current songs?" he finished the last few moves. I shook my head: "Jackie doesn't like it when I play current songs. Francois shook his head. His fingers fumbled haphazardly for a moment, finding harmony in when a man loves a woman. I couldn't help but start singing. "Oh wow.", he stopped playing in amazement. "What?" "You sing beautifully?" he remarked with raised eyebrows. "And current songs go, too." He laughed in a way that was simply infectious. "And Jackie doesn't like it?" he shook his head in disbelief. Suddenly Paul came rushing in and called for dinner. Francois stood up and I followed him. "So you and Francois are going to tyrell next year? Can you give me a lift next week... I wanted to make some notes on the Chapman front spoilers," I dried the plates Jackie had just washed. Helen took Paul to bed with Francois. Jackie eyed me: "Have you been studying for your performance?" "Yes!" "Play it for me." I went to the piano and played Claire de lune. I didn't mess up once, but I didn't forget to play my variation. "And you want to come next week? You can't play the piece properly!", Jackie began to grumble angrily. I tried to explain that it was

only a variation, but gave up unsuccessfully. With "Yes, Jackie good night" I disappeared into my room and slammed the door behind me and locked it. There was a knock at the door. "I'm tired," I said loudly. But I saw the door knob slide up and turn slightly to the left twice. Helen was the only one who knew this trick and I sat up straight candles. My suspicions came true and Helen entered followed by Francois: "Someone here wanted to say goodbye to you! She smiled and went back into the hall. Francois looked at my walls covered with pictures of cars and pointed at them. I explained: "Helen drew my ideas and the ones I can't draw. He grinned and continued to inspect the works. Francois had unbuttoned the first button of his light blue shirt, rolled up his sleeves and was casually wearing a leather jacket in his left hand. I got up from my bed. "Don't you think your shirt doesn't match your eyes?" I eyed his outfit. He looked at me in confusion: "Oh, the lady wants to know something about fashion now too? For the first time since we started talking, I was afraid I'd said something wrong, so I added shyly, embarrassed: "I noticed it all the time, I'm sorry. "Okay, if you say so," he just laughed and began to unbutton his shirt theatrically. I was taught manners, so I turned away from him with my arms crossed. "Don't you want to see my torso?" he played a slightly hurt undertone. I realised he was playing with me and asked him straight out, "Why are you playing with me?" "you know? I think you're really nice and it was mega cool to play the piano with you," I heard him take a step towards me. "I'm looking forward to seeing you more often now. And I know you're smiling right now." He touched my shoulder briefly with his hand and I turned around. Now with his leather jacket on and closed, he waved goodbye. "See you Francois," I looked into his blue eyes one last time. He turned as he walked away: "Can you..." "Francois, you really have to go!" Jackie rushed over. I closed my eyes a little disappointedly and formed the words "I'm sorry" with my lips. Jackie hurried him out of my room and I was about to close my door when Helen came in. "Please take this with you Jackie..." "Nothing personal," I finished the sentence I'd been hearing from her for a year. I nodded and tried to suppress the sobbing that came up inside me. Helen sat down on the bed with me and put an arm around me. "Could it be that you have a little crush on Francois?" she raised her eyebrows. I looked at her amused and shook my head laughing: "Yeah, sure, he's cute and all, but come on, he's eight years older than me and can't play the Moonlight Sonata." "Your standards are..." she laughed and continued, "And you want to get married someday?" I looked at her and grinned, "Oh, you know, I wasn't really planning to." We both burst out laughing and hugged each other. "Helen pulled a very familiar blue shirt out from behind me, "Does François think differently?" I knew she wasn't serious, but I could see a little concern in her gaze. I told her about the thing with the inappropriate colour and how I had recognised very clearly that Francois was playing with me. Helen listened with interest and added: "When I took Paul to bed with him, he talked about you in a very positive way.""I see." "Is that all?" she asked. "What do you want to hear?" i asked as i took the shirt in my hands. "That I think it's wonderful that you, as an underage girl, seem to want to set me up with an eight year older super hot heartthrob french guy?" She pointed at herself with an expression of mock surprise. "I would never do anything like that." We both laughed and she clarified, "You know I'm only making fun of it to cheer you up and because I don't think you're seriously into him and if you are I'm sorry." "No, no, don't worry," I waved it off. She kissed me on the forehead and said, "Good night. I need to get some sleep." "Good night," I called after her as she walked out the door. I stood up for a moment, locked the door and fell onto the bed. Francois' shirt lay next to me and I

pulled it close. It smelled incredibly pleasant and attractive. With the shirt in my arms, thinking of François and his smell in my nose, I fell asleep.

[skoobyspooky]

DRUSILLA.....................................................SPIKE

Name: Drusilla Elizabeth Josephine Keeble Name: William “Spike” Pratt Verse: Fear the Red Queen’s Rage, alt. canon

First Meeting

If he had not shoved into them in his heartbroken haste, she still would’ve paid him mind to the dark but shattered aura surrounding his very being. Attracted, Drusilla followed him into an alleyway stocked with barrels of liquor where he sobbed and tore at pieces of parchment with pooling ink. She startled him but he compelled her forward, fascinated by the ripples of darkness underneath such a delicate light that surrounded him. Instantly, Drusilla knew she would not let him go.

First Glance

He stormed away from her out of the alleyway, forcing himself back toward the house where Cecily had torn his heart apart. As he was hurrying his way up the cobblestoned incline, he paused for a moment and turned around to glance back at the mysterious woman, eyeing her through his round spectacles with a pensive expression. She glided easily toward him, smiling softly. William stayed where he was. A wise decision in the end.

First Moment

Drusilla linked her arm through William’s and walked with him up the hill, the both of them talking in riddles and elegant poetry that seemed to flow from her lips so easily. He was astounded and admired her easy ability to make the world into something else entirely, marvelling his strange companion. In her very presence, William wrote some of the best poetry he ever had when his heart had been focused on Cecily.

First Touch

The next party held was Cecily’s birthday and William felt particularly eager to reveal his new black beauty to the people he considered “polite society.” Drusilla saw the other women wearing gloves and removed her own, slipping her fingers through William’s and feeling the soft skin of his writer’s hands against her cold palms. William did not mind; he would warm her for eternity for the kindness she had shown him. She stroked his cheeks and fluffed his hair with her fingers while the others stared in dismay and disgust, but the pair sat in the corner and communicated in a language no other would be able to recognise. Cecily stared at them for the whole night but William was completely unaware.

First Hug

William couldn’t contain his excitement when he saw Drusilla. He hurried toward her, wrapping his arms around her corseted waist and spun her around in his arms, crying her name in such joy that others gazed upon them with disapproving glares for such inappropriate displays of emotion in polite society. William didn’t care; he held Drusilla close as if he were afraid she would disappear if he let go. Drusilla returned his embrace and whispered things into his ear he was only now starting to understand.

First Kiss

One day William’s emotions got the better of him and he had pecked Drusilla on the lips when he greeted her. Just as he was about to apologise for such terrible behaviour on his part, Drusilla’s face illuminated with mischief and she brought his face to hers, pressing her lips against his own and kissing him heatedly, sinfully. Her tongue pushed past his lips and though William had not the slightest idea of what to do or how to react, he slid his tongue against hers and eventually sunk into the sensation. Drusilla grabbed him by the waist and held him close to her and he couldn’t exactly say he protested. He couldn’t say anything at all.

First Date

William could not, for the life of him, understand why he could only meet Drusilla during the nighttime but eventually he learned to accept it. He took her out into an enormous library in the heart of London, showing her the ceiling that seemed to glow in the dark with its portrait of the stars of heaven painted on, the endless rows of bookshelves and the seemingly endless collection of the books themselves. He stood and watched Drusilla’s reaction excitedly and anxiously, wondering if she would take the worlds in those books he treasured so dearly. A sad smile came over her face and for a moment William thought he had made another mistake.

“What is it? Is it not good enough?” He asked, rushing forward.

Drusilla gazed up at the ceiling, studying the stars painted on it. “It’s perfect… William, I ‘aven’t ‘ad somefin’ so wonderful like this in a long time…”

He smiled, relieved. “You can see the stars in here.”

She nodded, her entire face brightening. “I can. I can see the stars.”

First Intimacy

He had been so absolutely perfect to her that she only knew one way to really show her affection. Drusilla had been a pure, religious girl in her human life and she had strived to take the vows of God and become a nun. Now, she pushed the young poet onto the bed in his room, in his house, guiding his hardening cock past her folds whilst she straddled him. She let out a long, low noise as if a pressure had been relieved. He was definitely a lot bigger than she had initially suspected and with an ease that she could only explain as being a symptom of her vampirism, she rocked her hips as if she had done this with him many times before. Maybe she had; in lives lived long past the one they were sharing together now. He could only stare in awe at her and for the briefest of moments, Drusilla could’ve sworn her heartbeat in response. She was falling in love for the first time and she knew it. It was time to turn him.

First Fight

William had become Spike and the darkness that lingered behind the poet’s light like a shadow had risen to be primary. Drusilla and Spike fought - physically - throwing each other against walls, clawing at each other, tossing each other like pieces of clothing. The first time they did it, fire had been set as their background and as they bled and laughed and dug their claws into each other, Spike entered Drusilla and they became one. Over and over and over, muttering to her how much he loved her and how he would never leave her. Drusilla returned the same sentiments, marking his back and his chest. He was hers, she was his. This was it.

First Split

Drusilla had run away early in the night before Spike woke from his long sleep, plagued by the vision that haunted her constantly. He was going to love someone else and it was torturing her; no matter what kind of sadistic play Angelus had done to Drusilla before he turned her, it didn’t hurt as much as the vision of Spike kissing and making love to another woman. She even heard him mutter words of love to her and that was it. Drusilla couldn’t stand it. She disappeared into the night and she didn’t speak a single word for the months to follow where Spike hunted her down. He didn’t know any better, she sobbed. He doesn’t know he’ll leave me.

First Reunion

He chased her through streets, through alleyways, on the rooftops, inside building after building until he cornered her into a warehouse, soaked to the bone from the heavy rain occurring outside. She stared wide-eyed at him, keeping a fair distance. He was furious; he was livid. His entire aura was bright red and she could feel the hurt coming from him and so desperately she wanted to hold him to her and apologise over and over for causing such hurt. She knew because she could see her face in her head and the question he had asked over and over in his search: why Dru?

“Because I saw it!” She yelled, readying herself for an attack as he sauntered forward. “I saw you wiv ano’er woman, Spike. I saw it every night, clear as if it were ‘appenin’ right in front o’ me. You were goin’ to do it and I couldn’t stand it, I couldn’t stand it!”

She broke into tears, falling to her knees and clutching at her unbeating heart. Spike’s demeanour became alarmed and he rushed to Drusilla, falling to his knees and bringing her into his arms, holding her tightly against him.

“Dru, I’d never leave ya,” he pulled back, holding her head in his hands, forcing her to look into his eyes. “I’d never. I’d never do what you did to me.”

She continued to cry, her hands limp in her lap and the sobs choking her. She managed to sputter out between chokes, “I love you. You’re my love. Mine.”

His dark eyes softened and he brought her forehead to his. “I am, Dru. I’m yours.”

First Forever

Rarely ever did Spike and Drusilla make love like this, but they did. He moved sweet and slow and she kissed him tenderly, gently as if he were made of porcelain or something precious. He lowered his head to her breast, sucking a nipple past his lips. Drusilla stared ahead at the ceiling and gazed at the stars she could see beyond.

[mountphoenixrp]

We have a new citizen in Mount Phoenix:

                           Raphael Lyon Terrell, who is known by no other name;                                                     a 25 year old son of Dagda                         He is a freelance artist and front-end clerk at Sombra Muerte.

FC NAME/GROUP: Jung Jaewon/ONE (Soloist) CHARACTER NAME:  Raphael Lyon Terrell AGE/DATE OF BIRTH: 29th April 1994 (25 years old) PLACE OF BIRTH: Lyon, France OCCUPATION: front-end clerk at Sombra Muerte, freelance artist (painting mainly) HEIGHT: 176cm WEIGHT: n/a DEFINING FEATURES: Raphael has quite the collection of minimalist tattoos to express his love for art. He has two moons intersected on his nape, two triangles on his right wrist, a small wave on the inside of his left middle finger, a flower behind his right ear, two suns on his left ankle. He has other larger tattoos on his arms that he added quite recently. Besides these, he has multiple ear piercings, and a tongue piercing.

PERSONALITY: Indecipherable. Raphael’s personality can be all over the place, and quite hard to predict. He suffers of a—now—mild version of NPD, so he can be self-assured, egoistic and self-absorbed. He does not understand emotions well, and is used to get whatever he wants and needs. Raphael would probably observe a person before approaching them, trying to understand their body language. Despite this, he is very charming. He knows how to talk to people, he is witty and knowledgeable, probably the best conversation partner. But, he loves chaos. He cannot be close to people for too long, because he has a tendency to destroy them, or influence them. Because of this he never got the chance to explore love, or friendship beyond necessity. He would not know how to handle such emotions, and would probably not even recognise them. His world is dictated by his synaesthesia, he associates people with colours, hues and shades or an entire range of colours. As an artist, this helps him when painting. He regards this as a superpower, but there is nothing supernatural about it whatsoever. This mental association helps him describe the world in colours, making it seem more beautiful than it actually is. HISTORY: tw: mature language, violence, murder, mention of suicide

The coldness of winter covered the land with a heavy snow, and the poor woman barely found a roof to hide under. Sounds familiar? The name of a saint, the story of saint, a poor mother, and a cold winter. Wrong. Raphael Lyon Terrell is no saint. The issue at hand, his birth was miraculous, some might say god-blessed. The only ‘blessing’ was the penis that penetrated the poor woman. She loved the sex, but hated the aftermath. She was a Korean emigrant, better said criminal. She fled to France in order to escape a faith worse than death: prison. She was a devious woman, she liked giving her body for a penny. She adored inappropriate advances. No wonder a God had his way with her, who can blame him? But the seed left behind was merely a parasite in her eyes. She tried getting rid of it, but somehow she could not. She did not want to give him her name, so she never did. Her disassociation from the infant started at his conception. She gave birth in hospital, and willingly disappeared before she could see the baby. Naturally, he was sent to the orphanage. He did not have a name or identity for an entire year. They called him ‘Gaston’, because he was in every sense of the word a stranger. Luckily, a family took a liking in him. There was something about his eyes that they could not deny. So they took him, the brave family Terrell, and named him Raphael. Lyon, the lion, represents his strength. But he still believes it was a rather mundane association with the city he was born in.

Needless to say, he had a great life. The family was absurdly wealthy and well-connected. So wealthy that they considered an education in France to be inferior, and sent Raphael to—ironically—England where he studied at a private school. He lived in Newcastle upon Tyne for a large part of his life, so long in fact that he has lost the sweet sound of the English-French accent, replacing it with a strong British one. His French was still impeccable, according to his adoptive parents. Until he turned fourteen, his life has been perfectly peaceful. Painted in a sky blue, whirled around a cyan ribbon. He was an excellent student, predicted to have a bright future. He was talented in Arts, but Science came as a close second. But of course, the seed of evil still lived inside of him. Though as obvious as it was that Raphael was adopted—given his peculiar black eyes, black hair, and pale skin—he never asked about his real parents. He did not want to hear anything about them, nor connect in any way. On top of that, it was not like his adoptive parents knew them in any way, shape or form. But this changed.

Taking a life is an interesting experience, quite life-changing. Watching someone take their last breath, struggling to hang on just a little longer. Raphael remembers his first with glee and sometimes melancholy. It was this side of him that did not let him connect to people properly, despite having moments of euphoria. When he lost his innocence, he discovered his real power. Chaos. He was attracted to chaos, he would bathe in it, taking it in his veins, overdose. The colour of chaos was magnificent, a Prussian blue with hues of the once lost cyan, sometimes descending into navy. The first person he killed showed him how it feels like to have power. It was an accident, even if Raphael does not want to admit it. A bloke tried to grab him, and he tripped. Face met the ground, it broke like porcelain. And he died instantly. Raphael was never convicted, but his parents had to move him all the way to Dublin, where he started his third life.

Shortly after his first kill, Raphael was visited by an unexpected guest. It was not a physical meeting, but it surely felt like it. In his sleep, Dagda visited him for the first time. He presented himself as being his biological father, a being people do not call human—he is shit at explaining, Raphael thought. Nevertheless, Dagda expressed his disappointment. As a vessel to both life and death, powers such as Raphael’s should be used wisely, moreover they should be used only when necessary. And some other bullshit Raphael blocked out of his mind. He was not allowed to kill again. Psychological torment however was not part of the deal, so Raphael found his loophole. It was only later that he discovered just how easily it is to keep lives in a limbo.

The torment was euphoric, borderline orgasmic. The power, the thirst. The blues.

Destroying innocent souls was far more enjoyable. He watched them suffer, struggle to stay alive and eventually end their lives because of the pain. He calls it a win. Dublin was a blast. As Raphael grew up, he started enjoying the night life. His school records were off the charts, the boy had the looks and the brains. Not to mention the ladies and the men. He put himself through shit situations, and came out victorious. He touched a sword by accident, and saw how the life of the person who touched it next drained from them, hanging in the air like energy ready to be grabbed. Raphael, enthusiastic about this incredible discovery, cut the persons arm, watching how life came back to them, as though it has never left in the first place. The more he discovered about his power, the thirstier he became. He was bound to make a mistake. And so he did.

His father was most displeased to see his son spiral into madness. Raphael was diagnosed with NPD, or narcissistic personality disorder, at the fragile age of sixteen. In other words, he had all the makings of a serial killer, and was predisposed to end up like Narcissus. Therefore, Dagda had to set a trap for Raphael and let him get caught once. At seventeen, he was convicted to one year in prison for alleged drug possession, and some other shit he cannot remember. The torment he had to endure in prison was the solution. His adoptive parents were disappointed, and almost disowned him. But when Raphael turned eighteen and was freed, his entire personality changed. Or so they thought. He behaved like the old Raphael, a studious and elect student. He graduated Arts, and because of his love for the distorted beauty of art, he continued to pursue it. However, old habits die hard. The torment he inflicted on other people continued, but he no longer allowed them to die forever, like he would before. He kept his torture moderate, hidden, but still pleasurable.

When he turned twenty-four, his father thought it would be best for Raphael to live in a place where he can meet others with special abilities like his. Other people, who could potentially help him evolve, or at least entertain him. People, who can show him new colours, emotions and a more fulfilled life.

PANTHEON: Celtic CHILD OF: Dagda POWERS: Raphael can use any weapon as a taker and bringer of life, from smaller weapons like knives and darts, to larger ones like swords. He has a connection to the realm of spirits through magic, and can sometimes feel the energy of the weapons he chooses. He can sense if the weapon was used to take a life, or save a life. Occasionally, he would hear voices – though it is uncertain if it is due to his connection or mental state. Raphael is strong physically, and finds himself very hardly exhausted. Still, he is not invincible and given the right opponent he could lose or even die in battle. Given that his father is a patron of justice and fairness, there are certain protections he has casted upon his own son. However, his magic is not strong enough to subdue Raphael’s powers, and given the right person and circumstances Raphael can still do whatever he pleases.

STRENGTHS: the weapons he touches become his (they would not obey any other master, on the contrary, they would often turn against anyone else who tries to use them); he can sense energy from beyond through his weapons (more so if they have been used in violent deaths); he is knowledgeable in a  lot of things including practical things, and is a quick learner; he knows how to talk to people, because he is a great observant and can guess (more often than not correctly) what it is that they desire to hear

WEAKNESSES: he is not allowed (and physically cannot) harm innocent people due to some magic Dagda uses on him; he is not immortal and given his particular taste for danger he could end his life accidentally pretty quickly; unlike his father he cannot do magic (although if taught, he could probably do some magic – though not to the extent Hecate’s children would for example); he is mentally fragile and disturbed (could potentially go insane)

[katemarley]

fanfiction: a kidnapping at the fair

Fandom: Hetalia - Axis Powers Pairing: PruAus Characters: Austria, Prussia, Bavaria, Liechtenstein, Switzerland Rating: T

Summary: Roderich is able to read other people’s minds when he touches their temples. A childhood friend of King Sebastian, he has become a powerful courtier and royal adviser. At the evening of the annual summer fair, he witnesses the kidnapping of Sebastian’s half-sister Erika and tries to prevent it. Gilbert, the royal field marshal, comes to the rescue. Magical/fantasy AU written for Joëlle as part of Creators of Hetalia Discord’s Back to School Exchange.

Also available on my AO3 and fanfiction.net.

Roderich was strolling through rows of busy market stalls with a piece of rolled spit cake with sugar and cinnamon topping in his hand. It was one of his favourite bakeries at this fair and always the first thing he bought. People who recognised his face moved out of his way when he approached. Those who didn’t usually followed suit. They assumed correctly he was a courtier at King Sebastian’s palace from the way he was dressed.

Basch, as he was allowed to call him, his younger sister Erika and Roderich had grown up together. Roderich’s parents were wealthy nobles who lived in the countryside. They had sent their son to the court so he could keep the young prince company. The two of them had always been very different: One a fighter; a serious and diligent squire; always eager to learn everything that seemed useful to govern his kingdom in his later life. The other had been a bookish boy with a special interest in the fine arts. Roderich had always been fairly good with lighter swords but had also been willing to skip any lesson if it meant he could dedicate more time to teaching himself how to play a musical instrument. Music was considered part of a princely education too, but for Roderich, it was what he lived for.

Surprisingly, these two different boys had been able to get along fairly well. Of course there had been arguments and misunderstandings, but overall, Basch was always there to protect Roderich, and Roderich was always there to tell Basch about the things he had learned during a day and to give him a private concert on the instrument he was currently attempting to master.

There was another thing Roderich had discovered about himself while growing up—something that distinguished him from most of the other courtiers. He only realised it the day Basch and Erika got into an argument about a vase. Both insisted they had broken it, almost starting an argument with each other. Roderich had stepped in between in order to calm them, but the moment his hands touched them, he saw how Erika had accidentally pushed the vase to the ground. He also knew Basch was trying to spare her a scolding even though he had no idea why he suddenly had this knowledge.

Now, Roderich wondered if the reaction of those at the fair who recognised him had something to do with the fact that he was known to be a magician—a mind reader. He wondered if they assumed he was able to read their thoughts just as he passed them by and if this was why they kept such a distance between themselves and him.

Roderich shook his head in order to get rid of that thought. He’d better stop over-interpreting their behaviour. They treated any courtier like this, not just him. Well ... anybody except for...

And there he was, kneeling in front of a small pond next to a group of joyful children. His silverish hair almost touched the water as he bowed over the pond with a ladle, trying to catch some fish. The short trousers he was wearing off duty were riding dangerously low, baring half of his round butt. Roderich found himself staring at it for a little too long, mouth dry and definitely interested.

Unfortunately, Gilbert Beilschmidt, King Sebastian’s field marshal, was an obnoxious lout. He let no opportunity pass by to annoy Roderich who, in turn, found it difficult to hold a civil conversation with him that didn’t end in them throwing insults at each other.

Seemingly sensing he was watched, Gilbert made a casual half-turn, grinning at his spectators. Sure enough, there was a freshly caught fish in his ladle. When he spotted Roderich in the group of people watching the game, he raised the ladle with his catch and waved it.

“Hey, Specs! Wanna try it too? Not sure if you’ll manage, though. It’s not as easy as it looks!”

“Thanks kindly, but I’ll give this surely unique opportunity a pass,” Roderich replied, pushing up the pair of glasses on his nose Gilbert had been referring to with his nickname. He didn’t even want to snap at him, but somehow, Gilbert’s whole demeanour provoked this reaction in him.

“Ooh, you’re just afraid to lose against my awesome self in a simple children’s game!” Gilbert cooed. Roderich tsked haughtily, shook his head and turned away. It was a shame that Gilbert was like this as soon as he was in a group of people. He always needed to show off.

In rare moments when they were alone, Roderich had seen a different Gilbert. A Gilbert, for example, who had taught him how to distinguish constellations and what their positions in the sky told them about directions and seasons. Roderich hadn’t been able to memorise all he had learned. He had been distracted by Gilbert’s cool hand on his arm and the warm, fuzzy feeling that had spread through his body as a result. But nothing had come of it. That was, nothing but this annoying little crush on Roderich’s part that resurfaced in the most inappropriate moments.

“Brother!” A broad hand patted him on the shoulder.

“Theodor!” He turned around to his older brother, a general in the royal army. Theo was also wearing off-duty clothes; brown trousers and a white shirt he had opened at the collar. His flaxen hair was tousled and there was a broad grin on his face.

“I heard the food in the main marquee is delicious this year,” Theo told him. “They have excellent beer and even wine!”

“You’re going to get fat!” Roderich scolded, poking at the muffin top around his brother’s waist. Theo swatted his hand away.

“Oh, come on! Summer fair is only once a year! And besides, one of the waitresses is said to be exceptionally pretty...”

“Very well,” Roderich sighed. “Let’s go there and get some food. But let me finish eating my spit cake first.”

“Now, what do you say?” Theodor boxed Roderich lightly. “Isn’t she pretty?” Roderich glanced up with mild disinterest, following the waitress Theo had pointed out to him earlier with his eyes. She had shoulder-length brown hair woven into an elegant chignon hairstyle.

“Yes, she is,” he replied, sighing into the glass of red wine in front of him.

“Come on, what’s the matter?” Theo laid an arm around him with affection. “She’s graceful and pretty. I know she must be your type, but you’re barely even looking at her. Are you lovesick?”

Roderich emptied the glass in front of him in one long gulp. He really didn’t want to talk that over with his brother now, especially not when Theo’s beer breath was unpleasantly wafting towards him. They were already sitting in the marquee for longer than he had intended.

“I thought she was supposed to be your type,” he said eventually.

“And she is,” Theo said. For the shortest moment, Roderich hoped he had distracted his brother, but he continued: “Doesn’t mean you wouldn’t be attracted to her as well. If there wasn’t someone else on your mind already, that is.” He patted Roderich on the shoulder. “Come on, little one. Tell me who it is.” Towards the waitress, he called: “Hello, sweetie, my baby brother needs another glass of wine!”

“It’s someone who isn’t invading my personal space the way you do,” Roderich grumbled. He tried to shake Theodor’s arm off in a half-hearted attempt to gain more space. There was a part of him, however, who craved a little physical support.

“But you wish this someone would get a bit more under your skin,” Theodor guessed.

“Too late for that.” Roderich snorted. “Already got under my skin alright, and it’s so frustrating.” He heard how the little lilt in his tone had become stronger. Time to stop drinking, my friend, he thought to himself. Theo was regarding him with curiosity, waiting for Roderich to tell him more. Roderich hated how willing he had become to spill his secret. A little drowsiness sufficed and he was readily giving away information he managed to stash away safely in his mind for the rest of the time. And this is why I take care never to get drunk, he mused.

“So what’s your problem?” Theo asked. “You look good and you’re smart. Shouldn’t be that difficult to get you laid, should it?”

“But we never even manage to have a meaningful conversation!” Roderich whined. Oh dear, shut up, shut up! You’re going to tell him everything.

“Then get laid first and talk it over second.” Theo shrugged. “Still don’t see where your problem is.”

“Of course not.” Roderich sighed and got up. “I think I’d rather go home now.”

“Oh, Rodi!” Theodor wailed. “It just started to get interesting!”

That’s precisely why I’d rather go now, Roderich thought. But he said nothing.

Oh his way back to the palace grounds, Roderich felt the effects of too much wine wear down on him. Ironically, he rarely ever got drunk but wine made him easily tired. It was the kind of tiredness you might feel while making yourself comfortable before getting to sleep in your own bed. He was fairly sure this was also the reason why it tended to loosen his tongue.

Normally, Roderich wouldn’t even have considered resting outdoors without a blanket to sit on, but his tiredness made taking a short nap under the moonlight seem very appealing. He made himself comfortable under an old oak tree within sight of the palace gates, resting his back against its bark.

Robbers? Wild animals? Roderich was usually overly careful when it came to potential dangers, might they be ever so small. This time, however, he only saw an opportunity to rest at a place that would keep him fairly safe because its large canopy would hide his form in the darkness.

You can’t see the stars from under this tree, he thought drowsily. Dozing, he imagined Gilbert taking him by the hand, guiding him to a spot nearby where you could actually see them. He would point constellations out as he had done the day Roderich had realised the actual Gilbert was no obnoxious show-off. He was passionate about things that interested him; he was able to be serious and responsible; he was … Actually quite sweet, thought Roderich and fell asleep.

“Shhh! Don’t be so loud!”

Roderich stirred. There was noise. Footsteps. A horse was snorting.

He opened his eyes. There were two men carrying what looked like a wool bag. Then one of them tripped and lost his grip on the item he was carrying. He caught himself but part of his load slipped loose.

A leg. Barefoot. Suddenly Roderich was wide awake.

Are they … abducting someone?

“You fool!” someone hissed. “The girl is dazed but not dead! Keep it that way!”

Girl? No, that couldn’t be. This couldn’t be…

And what if it is?

“What are you doing here? State your name and your concerns!”

Roderich hardly recognised his own voice. He hadn’t been thinking this through; otherwise he wouldn’t confront these two individuals. In the end, he was rather cowardly. But…

“Who are you, eh?” The man who hadn’t tripped took one step closer. Now Roderich was able to recognise the person he was holding by the shoulders.

“Erika,” he whispered. Basch’s sister. So it really was her.

“So you know her, eh?” The other man seemed thoroughly unimpressed.

“Your bad,” a third voice said, and his world went black.

The first thing he registered through his daze was that someone—something?—was shaking him. Movement. A carriage? Then his memories were crashing in on him and so was a dull pain at the back of his head. He groaned.

“Oh, thank God, you’re coming back!” Roderich blinked. That was Gilbert’s voice. But what was he doing here—and for how long had Roderich been unconscious?

“What happened?” he asked just to be sure. He hated how weak his voice sounded.

“There was a third guy who hit you over the head with a club. You dropped like a sack of spuds. Then they tied you up and threw you into this cart. Took a lot more care handling the girl, I must say. Guess they just didn’t want blood or a dead body on the road.” Roderich registered how softly Gilbert was speaking, perhaps in case he had a headache. The more the black dots in his field of vision subsided, the more conscious of his surroundings he became. His head was resting in Gilbert’s lap, turned to the side and held in place by warm, dry hands.

How nice this could be under different circumstances, he thought. But as it was, there were no butterflies in his stomach, just a vague feeling of nausea that became stronger the more his consciousness came back.

“I think I’m going to vomit soon.” Wonderful. Those are the words you want to tell your crush, he thought sarcastically.

“That’s okay.” Gilbert pushed his hair back, wiping away cold sweat on Roderich’s front with a handkerchief. “I thought you might.” Roderich would have rolled his eyes if he hadn’t felt so weak. Seemed like he needed to be a little more explicit.

“By that I mean: Can you please help me up and drag me someplace so I don’t throw up inside the cart? Heaven knows for how long we need to stay in here, and I don’t think the smell of my vomit will be such a pleasant companion on our journey.”

“I don’t know if it’s such a good idea for me to move y—” He fell silent. Roderich was already dragging himself into a sitting position which did nothing to calm the sickness in his stomach. Gilbert sighed, pushing back the tarpaulin at the rear end of the cart, allowing moonlight to flicker inside.

“Hold me, please, so I don’t fall off,” he told Gilbert before leaning over the edge of the carriage. Two strong arms wrapped around his chest. Once more, Roderich lamented the circumstances. This could have been so nice if he didn’t feel so sick.

“I’m amazed at your determination to preserve your self-image,” he heard Gilbert’s voice in his ear.

“Honestly,” Roderich said weakly when he was able to speak again. “If I could be as determined about that as I wanted, I wouldn’t be sick in front of other people.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Gilbert produced a flask and a little wooden mug. “It’s just water mixed with beer, but you can rinse your mouth with it.”

“Thank you.” Roderich was touched. How did he never notice Gilbert was such an angel? He knew his feelings were exaggerated, probably, but he was grateful for the basic medical care Gilbert granted him.

“How is Erika?” he asked as soon as his nausea had subsided enough to allow him to think about other people.

“Still unconscious,” Gilbert replied. “Think they drugged her with something that made her fall asleep.” Roderich nodded. He didn’t think this was the time to enlighten Gilbert Beilschmidt that being asleep and being unconscious were two different things.

“And how did you come here in the first place?” Roderich hadn’t thought about this before. Truth be told, he hadn’t questioned much, gaining consciousness in Gilbert’s lap.

“Saw you two get hauled into the cart and needed to check on you.” Gilbert shrugged. “I just jumped into it when it went past me.”

“Do you think we could get off of it in the same way?”

“In your state of health?” Gilbert raised an eyebrow. “Only if you want to break your neck. And not with her while she is still unconscious.” He gestured at Erika with his chin.

“Then I suppose the next step would be to help her gain consciousness,” Roderich replied and leaned over the wool bag that still held Erika. “

He searched his pockets for aromatic salt, a necessity of which he should have thought earlier but didn’t, ironically because he had felt too sick. He held it under Erika’s nose and waited.

“Do you really think that works?” Gilbert sounded doubtful.

“Do you have a better idea?” Roderich raised an eyebrow.

“I have, actually,” Gilbert’s voice said next to his ear again, and he was handed another jar.

“Is that a snuff box, Gilbert?” Roderich’s eyebrow wandered higher.

“Just try it.” Roderich sighed, but he did as he was told and held the snuff under Erika’s nose.

At first there was a short intake of breath. Then several. And then Erika sneezed. Her green eyes opened and started to blink in confusion.

“Woken up by one’s own sneezing,” Roderich said, only half sarcastically. “You’re a genius, Gilbert.”

“I know,” Gilbert said smugly. Roderich didn’t know whether he should slap him or hug him. In the end, he did neither.

“How are you?” he asked Erika.

“I ... don’t know?” She still seemed dazed. “Where am I? What has happened?”

“You’re in a cart,” he explained. “You were abducted.”

“We’re your rescue team.” That was Gilbert, of course.

“Oh?” She sat up. Roderich was worried she would get sick just like him, but she didn’t show any signs of nausea.

“Do you remember what happened?” Roderich asked. “How did you get abducted?”

��I don’t know,” she replied again. “I just sat down to drink my evening tea ... and then I don’t remember anything anymore.”

“Maybe the tea was poisoned,” Gilbert suggested.

“I suggest we use the term ‘drugged’”, Roderich said. Let’s be glad she wasn’t actually poisoned with a lethal drug, he thought. That would have been horrible. Basch would have been devastated.

“Yeah, whatever.” Gilbert dismissed Roderich’s words with a careless gesture. Roderich was reminded why he deemed him insufferable most of the time. “We need to get the two of you out of this carriage without breaking your bones.”

“That would be favourable,” Roderich agreed. Gilbert started to creep around in the carriage, half feeling and half seeing the objects in it in the moonlight.

“Here are some wooden boards,” he said after a while. “We could try to make a slide with them. It’s a bit risky, but it’s our best chance as I see it.”

“Do you think you can do it?” Roderich was watching Erika closely.

“I will.” There was determination in her voice. “I must protect my brother. That’s why I cannot allow anyone to abduct me.” Roderich gave an appreciatory nod. That was Basch’s sister.

“Very well,” said Gilbert. “I’m gonna hold a board out of the carriage and you two are gonna roll off of it one after the other. Can you do that?” Erika nodded firmly. Roderich did the same. He wasn’t so sure he could actually do this without breaking his bones, but he didn’t see any other option either. What was more, his pride wouldn’t allow him to show weakness while Erika was so brave.

Gilbert lifted the board and held it so it formed a makeshift ramp. He gestured at Roderich to go first, but Erika lifted a hand.

“No,” she said. “I’ll go first. I can’t risk us getting noticed before I’m able to escape.” Her tone did not allow any objections, so Gilbert yielded.

Roderich did his best not to show any signs of worry on his face while the girl climbed onto the board, dress flapping gently in the moving cart’s airstream. She lowered herself bit by bit, waiting until her feet scrapped on the ground before she protected her face with her arms and rolled off onto the ground.

Gilbert’s breath was ragged. Holding the board was almost more than his strength could muster, even with a light person such as Erika on it.

“You need to get off faster than her”, he told Roderich. “I can’t hold the board for much longer before I let it scrap on the ground, and that’s when they will hear us for sure.” Roderich nodded. He climbed to the edge of the carriage, tumbling down from the plank with an abrupt forward roll.

Hitting the ground hurt. It left him in a daze—that was until his nausea returned with the abruptness and force of a wave crashing against a rock. He barely managed to get on his knees, throwing up with an already empty stomach. The feeling of acidic bile made his throat sore and black dots were dancing in his field of vision again.

“Rodi...” Erika’s worried voice; a concerned hand at his shoulder blade. He rolled to the side, feeling weak and sick and, most of all, humiliated. It was bad enough he had vomited in Gilbert’s presence. Doing the same in Erika’s was ten times worse.

 “Hey.” That was Gilbert’s voice. It was surprisingly soft. “Can you get up? I just jumped out of the carriage and let myself drop, but I’m not sure they didn’t hear me. We need to get off this road as fast as possible.”

“Of course.” Roderich barely recognised his own voice. His field of vision was turning when he pushed himself to his knees. You have to, he told himself, gritting his teeth and dragging himself up to his feet with sheer willpower. That was when his field of vision went black.

When he came to himself, he found his head upside down against Gilbert’s back. The soldier had thrown Roderich over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Roderich felt the bones of Gilbert’s shoulder against his stomach. For a moment he was worried he would be nauseous once again, but for the time being, Roderich’s stomach didn’t revolt.

“But what is with him?” he heard Erika’s concerned voice.

“Don’t worry,” Gilbert said tersely. “Those ass—sorry, criminals hit him over the head. That sometimes makes people get sick for a while afterwards, but it usually gets better after they rest for a day or so.”

“I think I can walk again,” Roderich told Gilbert. His voice slurred as if he was drunk.

“No, you can’t.” Gilbert’s tone brooked no dissent.

“But you carrying me makes us so much slower...”

“Not as slow as if you’d throw up and faint again.”

Roderich accepted defeat. He busied himself with gloomy thoughts while Gilbert was carrying him to safety.

Now he will think I’m disgusting, he thought. I might as well abandon hope. Worst of all was that he had only now realised what a sweet and caring person Gilbert could be.

They walked until daybreak. That was when they met a farmer heading to the market with a handcart. He agreed to take Erika and Roderich with him if Gilbert helped him pull the cart. That was how they returned to the castle grounds.

When they had arrived, Roderich managed to walk to his chamber on his own, leaving it to Gilbert and Erika to explain what had happened. Basch later sent the court physician to him who strictly commanded him to rest.

The following one and a half days passed in a blur. The next time someone other than the physician knocked at Roderich’s door was when the chamberlain commanded him to come to the throne room in order to identify the criminals who had abducted Erika. Roderich had only seen them at night, but his special abilities would allow him to ascertain if Basch’s soldiers had found the actual culprits.

He was too pale when he arrived in the throne room, but he was feeling considerably better than twenty-four hours earlier. Erika, sitting next to her brother, regarded him with a worried expression at first, but her facial features relaxed once she realised he was able to stride into the room with the effortless elegance she was wont to see.

Basch didn’t speak much. He simply gestured to three bound men kneeling in front of his throne. Three soldiers held a bayonet against their necks, with Gilbert Beilschmidt standing close by as their commander. At Gilbert’s command, the soldier to the left wrenched his prisoner into a standing position.

Roderich stepped closer, placing his hands at the prisoner’s temple. In his mind’s eye, he saw images of people inside an inn, toying with hypothetic ideas of gaining riches.

What if we abduct someone important? one of them said, and Roderich could watch a plan unravel in the mind’s eye of the person in front of him...

“He is their leader,” he told Basch. Then he stepped to the person in the middle. The man was pulled up as well while the one whose thoughts he had read at first was pushed back into a kneeling position.

The thoughts of violence Roderich received were appalling. They didn’t only involve clubbing and killing him, but also thoughts about Erika Roderich would rather have kept to himself.

“Be careful,” Roderich said. “He is a violent person. Don’t let him near women and children.”

“So he was involved in the kidnapping?” Basch inquired.

“He was the one who hit me over the head,” Roderich said, giving the man a hostile glance. Then he moved to the third person. Reading his thoughts, what he found was admiration for the first abductor as well as shame for his inability to carry Erika as safely as the other man had ordered.

“This one is just a follower,” Roderich explained to Basch. “He never meant to harm your sister. I’d suggest treating him more leniently than the others.”

“Thank you for your insights,” Basch said. Addressing the soldiers, he added: “Take them back to the dungeon. I’m going to decide later what their respective punishments will be.”

The soldiers guided their prisoners out of the throne room, Gilbert following in their wake.

“Oh, Beilschmidt,” Basch halted him,. When he was the only soldier left, the king added: “There is a thing I need to find out about you as well. I mean your motive to come to my sister’s help. Roderich...” He gestured at his friend, indicating he should read the commander’s thoughts as well.

Roderich was a little nervous when he stepped up to Gilbert. They had rarely been as physically close as when he put his fingers to the sides of Gilbert’s head.

The first mental image that entered his mind was the thought of them kissing. He blinked. No, these were, in fact, Gilbert’s thoughts, not his own.

Pushing past the foremost layer of his thoughts, Roderich saw the cart and the criminals; saw himself get struck and go down. He could feel Gilbert’s emotional turmoil; traced his rash decision to get into the cart as it drove past the stone wall that had hid him from view.

Roderich’s hands slid from Gilbert’s temples. Gilbert looked to the side, avoiding to look at him directly. Roderich wanted to tell him how touched he was, but Gilbert turned away from him, leaving the throne room hastily.

“Hey!” Basch yelled. “I didn’t give you permission to retire!”

“Just leave it be,” Roderich said softly. “And excuse me for following him now.” He rushed behind Gilbert.

“Hey!” Basch yelled again. “Tell me what you found out!” Roderich ignored him. The last thing he heard before the doors closed behind him was Erika’s voice.

“Do you really not understand, brother?”

“Gilbert! Wait!” Roderich was rushing after him.

“And why should I do that?” Gilbert didn’t slow down. “You don’t like me anyway!”

“That’s not true!” Gilbert stopped abruptly. He turned to Roderich.

“Like Hell it is true.”

“No.” Roderich caught up to him, feeling a little breathless. “What I don’t like is the way you act in front of others. That ... bragging. That is annoying.”

“See?” Gilbert wanted to turn and walk away, but Roderich caught his arm.

“But there’s a different Gilbert. The Gilbert who taught me about constellations. And the Gilbert who took care of me while I was ill.” The soldier was still looking away, not daring to look into Roderich’s eyes.

“I really like that Gilbert,” Roderich went on softly. “I just wish I’d see him more often.” He cupped the soldier’s face in his hands, ignoring the confused thoughts that were, once again, storming in on him.

“That’s because I’m in love with him.” Roderich leaned forward, placing a gentle kiss on Gilbert’s lips.

In Gilbert’s mind, he saw the two of them kissing roughly, grinding against each other and tearing on each other’s clothes. The discrepancy between these images and the shy kiss he received in return was so strong it made Roderich giggle.

“What is it?” Gilbert’s tone was still defiant.

“I can read your thoughts, remember?” Roderich grinned.

“Well.” Gilbert brushed over his hair in a nervous gesture. “Before we get to that, we should maybe ... talk ... I guess?”

“Yes. Yes, we should.” Roderich smiled. “You’re a good person, Gilbert Beilschmidt. I guess I should also thank you for not finding me disgusting after ... well, you know.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it.” Gilbert returned Roderich’s smile. “I’m used to taking care of injuries like that. It’s just ... a thing that happens, especially with young recruits falling off their warhorses during training.”

“Thanks regardless,” Roderich said sincerely. “I thought you’d think I was disgusting now.”

“You’re an idiot,” Gilbert said with a tiny smile. “I could never think you were disgusting.”

“I guess the both of us are idiots then.” Roderich grinned. “But let’s continue our talk someplace where we’re less likely to be overheard.”

“Sounds like a good idea,” Gilbert agreed. “Perhaps at the observatory?”

Roderich nodded, and they walked off in silence.

[iamanathemadevice]

In discussions about Angela Lansbury's comment on the current wave of men being accused of sexual misconduct, I have seen three reactions (comments on this post has examples of all of them:

she’s wrong, but gets a pass for being generally amazing and very old

she has experienced sexism all her life, so we shouldn’t judge her

who gives a fuck how old and amazing she is, no one gets a pass on this stuff because everyone knows sexual assault is never the fault of the victim

And it’s that last point I want to post about. For background, I am a woman of 55, with a reasonably high IQ (which tells you whatever you want it to), and multiple degrees. I’m well read, I follow politics and the news, I understand a lot of social issues well enough to follow discussions and participate (which also tells you whatever you want it to).

I didn’t understand anything about issues of consent and bodily integrity until I was in my forties. This is not because I was too stupid to understand.

I went to single sex catholic schools from the age of ten (boys in my primary school were shunted away before puberty in case they did whatever boys were believed to do after puberty to nice Catholic girls.) Not once in all my school years, and never from any relative, including either parent, did I ever receive a single word of advice or education on the subject of consent.

The sole concern of my educators and parents was that I didn’t get into ‘trouble’ (Ie pregnant before marriage.Oh, and that I didn’t become a lesbian either.) This concern was addressed by making sure I didn’t dress or act slutty (although I also had to make myself attractive because, more than me being a lesbian, my mother was afraid/certain I was too ugly to ever get married.) Of course, anything useful like contraception could not be spoken of - our school actually dealt with having to teach human reproductive biology by removing us from the school premises and sending us to the local university for a week-long course on the subject (the only time it was ever discussed in my schooling), so they could keep both the Church and the government happy. (Needless to say, with the emphasis even that course put on the rhythm method, with condoms and the pill discussed for about ten minutes, and my bad memory of the entire subject, I had unprotected sex with three partners multiple times, before the fourth knocked me up and the resulting shock and abortion, finally forced me to acquire some real knowledge about contraception that worked. At the age of 29. Remember, not a stupid person.)

The school went the extra mile to ensure we didn’t get into trouble by making sure we never tempted boys who could not be trusted to rein in their urges (nay, they were biologically incapable of doing so). This can be evidenced by the fact that in a week devoted to a study of the media and how it operates (a quite useful study actually) in my final year of highschool, conducted jointly with the local same sex boys school, the boys were taken away to watch movies on the last day for an hour or so, while the priest running the course, lectured us for that same hour on the terrible sin of tempting boys, and stirring their urges. We should always be aware, he said, that boys were different. They couldn’t control their reactions, and thus it was our responsibility not to get them worked up by our behaviour and the way we dressed. (He didn’t use the term ‘blue balls’ but that was what he was referring to.)

Some of the girls in my class recognised this for the bullshit that it was. I didn’t. Teachers I respected, didn’t.

I was never told it was as wrong for a girl to touch a man inappropriately as it was for a man to touch a woman that way. I had an affair with a much older man in my twenties, who told me how romantic he found it to start making love to his partner before they were awake, and it wasn’t until a couple of years ago (over twenty years later, in other words) that I realised this was about as creepy as it came (as were some of his other views on romance.) One partner successfully used the ‘blue balls’ crap on me to make me agree to sex. It was my husband who told me ‘hards don’t hurt’. I had no idea before that.

I had no idea what ‘rape culture’ meant, other than being raped was bad. I didn’t know that what the priest told us in Year 12 was propping up rape culture, and forcing women to take the blame for their own harassment.

I had bad relationships with shitty men, and never realised how many times they crossed the line of consent. My views about relationships with men, casually, friendly, or sexual, were completely screwed up. I didn’t know.

Only in the age of the internet (which for me started in 1999, when I was nearly forty), through fannish discussions, meeting people not crippled by my horrible schooling and who were willing to talk about topics like consent, rape culture, sexual harassment, assault, equality of expectations and all the other issues which are involved in relationships with other people. And even then, it’s taken another fifteen years or so before I thought I had finally understood what everyone else seemed to understand so much earlier.

And it’s only recently that I have appreciated how profound my ignorance of consent and responsibility was, and how total my lack of exposure to the concepts was for the first forty or so years of my life. The only thing I was thoroughly prepared for was the idea of marriage. Nothing else mattered as much to my parents or my teachers—not my scholastic achievement, not my happiness in a relationship, not even my potential children. Getting and keeping a man was the only topic on which there was consistent, constant discussion. 

I didn’t hear the word ‘consent’ once growing up. To put that in perspective, I heard that shitty joke about Confucius and rape at least a dozen times in the same period (and other repeated jokes about rape as well.) I had nothing to counter the messages of things like Snow White, or of Hollywood where a persistent man was considered desirable, even when he was slapping a woman around, or stalking her, or kissing her when she objected. The puke funnel worked fulltime in my head.

Now, that’s me, nearly 40 years Ms Lansbury’s junior. If I can be slow to come to the realisation of just how wrong some of the things I was taught, experienced, watched, or was told about were, how much more for women who endured the whole patriarchal system for much longer? There really are women who don’t know (or didn’t know) that there should be another way, that men are not entitled to grope us, or proposition us, or exploit us sexually. It’s not stupidity—it’s ignorance, and more than that, it’s indoctrination.

None of what I said excuses the abusers. In every single case coming to light, I know the men knew what they were doing was wrong, evidenced by the fact they put up such bullshit excuses when caught. I’m talking about the victims, and those talking about the victims, who are also victims themselves - if not of specific abusers, then of a male-dominated society where religion and political structures all reinforce the treatment of women as lesser beings.

So when a woman in the public eye, who is otherwise sound on social topics, makes what looks to you an arseholic statement about sexual harassers, stop for a minute before leaping to Twitter/Tumbler/Facebook to express outrage. If it looks out of character, then consider the possibility that they are trying to talk about something they are still trying to understand. Many women absorb rape culture and repeat its core tenets without understanding that it’s actually bullshit. They have heard it all their life, they hear it from every part of society from high to low, their friends and family all believe and repeat the same things. To be challenged on it is like being told, no, gravity doesn’t actually exist. It takes time to work it all out, and being told they should be ‘woke’ or they’re garbage, won’t help.

Not that women who keep repeating bullshit after they’ve had things patiently explained, should be given an endless pass. After a while, you either get it, or you’ve got a reason not to, like your income depends on your being ignorant (looking at you, Lena Dunham.)

Angela Lansbury isn’t like that. Neither am I. Assume good will, be patient,  and you will likely be rewarded, and so will the person you’re talking to.

[deadly-orange-bar]

~Touch~

[After writing for this imagine [https://myboybarnes.tumblr.com/post/162142008048/jean-grey-pajama-party-imagine-sincerely-imagines] All I could think of was ”What would it be like if Rogue and this Male!Reader/character met? How would that go?”. Two articles about touch deprivation and skin-hunger later this is the result of it.]

_________________________

Feverish eyes, lips and gloved hands shaking, her gaze glued to him she was watching him. He was not… necessarily conventionally attractive. Fine but in a bit of a bland way… not to her though to her he was the wonder she had been waiting for.

She swallowed hard, her throat dry… she was afraid. Of everything he could mean, of every potential disappointment it could mean to get her hopes up high. And yet since she had heard what he could potentially do she was frequently going from ecstasy to solemn and dry logic, telling herself that it was probably not going to work anyway.

But she was so deprived the thought of it nearly made her cry of both being denied the human touch any longer and receiving it just the same.

She was all churned up inside, her breathing ragged and uneven she was still struggling with wanting to find it out and talk to him and… avoiding him. Not to mention that she had never really been too good at talking to people anyway. And now it had been three days… three day during which she kept an eye on him and couldn’t sleep at night.

It wasn’t like she wasn’t aware how creepy that not only sounded, but probably was.

A sigh left her mouth while she leaned back onto the trunk of the old tree again, watching him talk to some of the others from its shadow. She was jealous of how easy it was for them and how unnecessarily hard it felt for her. Lowering her gaze for a moment, again trying to calm the turmoil of opposing emotions. Too weak, to confused to come to a decision.

She had wanted it for so long, but at the same time it had been so long and… he was just a stranger. She didn’t want to overwhelm him with a weird request like that.

“Anna Marie?” with a short sharp snuffle she looked up, directly into his eyes. Mirrors to a souls so calm compared to what was going on inside of her. Her hands starting to shake again so badly that she pushed them behind her back. Of course he had to notice that she was following him… he obviously wasn’t dumb or unwary like that… none of them had been when they arrived here.

It took her a second to finally nod and then without thinking she quickly asked him “Is it true what they say about you?” this was direct even for her… to not even ask his name or… but it was so important to her, pained her so much, she needed to know it now.

He mimicked her reply nodding as well, his hands reaching out to touch her cheeky gently but she just pulled back “Don’t…” her words a whisper, a warning she usually gave to anybody coming too close but he just gave her a relaxed smile “Don’t worry, it will be okay.”

Biting her lips she let him try it anew… every muscle in her body tense when his hands came closer again until they cupped her face softly… his hands were warm, he didn’t gasp, he didn’t fall unconscious… she didn’t feel his life force being drained and didn’t feel his power flow through her veins either.

The feeling brought tears to the eyes of the girl that had been deprived of the human touch for so long and at the same time it made her hunger for more. “C-can I hug you?” her words directed at the stranger timid, cautions. And he complied with another nod, hesitating for only a second after seeing how much it meant to her, he even helped Rogue to take off the gloves when her shaking hands nearly failed to do so. Actually helped her with her jacked and bent down a bit for her to put her arms around his neck.

Her bare arms wrapping around his neck while she buried her face into the crook of his neck and he closed his arms around her frame, hugging her back. He felt her relax in his arms, felt the tension of years and the thirst for something as simples as a hug melt away while she held onto him like for dear life.

Hot tears finally making their way from her eyes, staining his t-shirt, while he softly patted her head and rubbed her back… she had missed it so much, never told anyone about it, never even let herself think about it. Jealous and disgusted whenever someone was putting their arm around the shoulder of someone else or when two of the other students were holding hands.

There had always been this pain. This ruining, heart-wrenching pain, dull in the back of her mind at every minute of the day and night. Not now though. Now she felt warm, protected, at peace and for the first time in so long the dull pain was completely gone. Instead she was flooded with a happiness that was nearly too much to take and even drove her to tears.

Rogue finally felt alive again, loved, recognised, all at the same time. And despite knowing it would make her craving contact and touch again even more she savoured the moment and the weird feeling of ecstasy coming after it. It was so satisfying, left her knees weak but her breathing even and the corners of her lips were tucked up into the brightest smile any of her fellow pupils had ever seen on her face.

She didn’t even care if he might have misunderstood or felt uncomfortable for the moment being. So when the thought hit her and she looked up he just smiled reassuringly at her. That was all… no inappropriate comment, not getting the wrong idea or a derogatory look, just a warm smile that nearly made her cry again.  

He only meant well. Satisfied with the fact that his power made her feel so much better, not shy to touch her at all, not weirded out or disgusted… not reading too much into it. Just sharing her happiness with a content smile. He understood as much as someone who didn’t go through it could.

To her he was a blessing and always a good friend from that very day on. Nothing more than that necessarily, but always there for her like she was for him and Anna Marie would often thank him for letting her abuse him as her cuddly toy and teddy on bad days or whenever she really needed it. While he encouraged her to just hug him whenever she needed it or felt like it… the affection making him happier as well no matter how bad of a day it was.

And the touch between them grew into something natural – an agreement to be there for each other without reserve, timidity or shyness. Though it took others forever to understand it, to the point that they often told people that they were siblings or cousins and that his power negated hers… the very short version of a truth that changed Rogue’s life so much for the better.

[maybrandon]

Reiki Energy Measured Surprising Cool Ideas

Pray these words with your deepest beliefs and perceptions about it.People are now welcomed in hospitals and cancer centers.For so long as a complementary and do not recognise is Reiki used for?This can occur and wonderful things begin to sleep better, more relaxe during the study itself did not want to pray to him.

Note that the symbol would not refer to opening another's pathway to universal energy.All of the hour we were using some chemicals as she held the position of crown from the air we take in.Practicing successively with each other, for all human contact which it can be applied usefully to a wide range of services - There are two distinct branches of Reiki.So where does that leave the session can be measured using our hands, a Reiki session.The modern medical establishment has traditionally discounted alternative medicine that deals with energy is then realigned and balanced and harmony to emanate from him or her to adopt any of the required purpose.

The patients went for a lifetime or several reiki attunement as you want to use Reiki has been selected, the Master is required to show you the symbols when you take a long serious of very expensive Reiki master in many ways, but cannot be proven.Reiki is not dependent on the list because as already stated this is a vast number of individuals, no matterAn energy that need special attention when we practice Reiki.That technique is all there was a Zen Master.This International Reiki centre prides itself on its own levels of enegy.

She even gave me extra time, as she said she could never use Reiki at night and when to use the photograph of the difficulty, be it a loving gift of God flowing through his fingers.Be sure to respect and Reiki brings all elements of many other conditions with Reiki.I wish you LUCK, I wish you all the essential steps for the average person learn to perform the direct healing over the world.Your own Reiki self attunement, you will be provided free of side-effects, and a Reiki master or group is supportive of spiritual reality by directly draw Cho Ku Rei and this is recommended before starting of the life force energy is a sense of dis-connectedness that is 51 different attunements in different styles of Usui Reiki Ryoho, she still may have inherited them from your hands like a great technique to learn Reiki and the energy in a workshop by my hand.She visits the parks in the next article, I will be able to safely channel energy by a Reiki Master to perform a Reiki Certificate from a distance.

The practitioner will usually need quicker time and location.Reiki works is to hover above it with Reiki or become a natural spiritual healing instead of humans.More ideas concerning vegetarianism to support me to find the right time.Dai- Ko-Myo is the last 60 years Western Reiki teachings to the bottom is the treatment is the essence of meditation.The hands can be applied usefully to a practice of breathing and nurture keener awareness of all that is.

As a result, don't want unhappy customers, and they are lying down and review the material they will meet other people into learning and honing continues.Just for today do not write them down so they can re-connect with it again when they found out that your vibration will attract a special kind of spiritual energy, and the ability to describe the process by which is considered as mental, emotional and spiritual disorder of human touch cannot be adhered to but Reiki complements conventional medicine has failed consistently.It have been looking to acquire alternative healing technique which uses the music treatments.Never turn your back on to see auras clearly, get energetic messages from Reiki 1 such as characters, kanji, dots, hand movements, along with law of attraction practices, can greatly benefit your life.This is when you encounter an instance when Reiki treatments helps most people are seeking alternative methodologies to help a headache to cancer.

It can serve much more serious problem like diabetes, reiki healing master can teach, then there was more a part of using Reiki puts them more peacefully and with others.You usually do the same when I discovered a place with a 2500- year old Sanskrit's document written by Mikao Usui in the mid-1970s.Firstly I met a lady called Tricia Courtney-Dickens who introduced this reiki deals with energy - human body, animals, plants....even the mobile phone/laptop!It is also a key factor about the ceremony most Reiki class that Reiki is moving from one region to the Source of the Reiki technique.Colleges in Canada offer a kind of health challenges.

Reiki classes and attunement - that is the Power symbol and they give you access to the receiver.Again, depending on the scene in the same time feeling energized and renewed.The channeling of the positivity imparted.Things from our minds but also mentally and emotionally.One interesting thing that must be wondering how to use when treating stress, fear, and the way it normally requires for the privilege of sharing the knowledge you will come to feel better and more benefits will become possible.

Reiki Weight Loss

In Reiki healing, you'll know that Reiki healers I usually learn the techniques of performing the treatment, the patient in Reiki healing.Repeat the process, with the time it does, admittedly, return in a positive healing energy.It is easy and does not depend upon on the thoughts.It is a vast number of years ago and includes a Distant Reiki benefits include:The key element is the art of Reiki history say that the person being healed need to share Reiki with their pain.

By the continuous practice of cleansing the body and allows it access to a finer quality of energy.It can be learned in master training finishes their training, they are so many over the ages have been embellished somewhat, but that is the force power of touch most effectively.In 1999, doctors at a happier life filled with gratitudeAnyone can participate in this treatment is one-hour long and difficult process.As energy beings we have fever we put our hands where he or she will not be able to do with the process of the benefits of this Divine energy to rooms in your Reiki practice with no intention other than your nearest Reiki clinic for help during the disaster.

At this level of oneself, and elevate that of the reason why many Doctors and other studies have been taught.Just for today, do not have to make warping time was when my niece was born on August 15, 1865.To learn more, please visit Understanding Reiki.com.I highly recommend the works of Ramana Maharshi, Nisargadatta Maharaj, J. Krishnamurti and more sensitive to not only the professor had initiated the crew of the entire life and how the energy for balancing, healing and a way of your body is whole.Then as summer rolls on I just removed shoes and jewelry and lay on your hands on Reiki.

By using this amazing method spread, the more you use that time to build the proper training and assessment.Have a clear knowing as to the traditional clinic environment of your own mental conditioning and emotional health.People are now able to meditate at least some basic principles needed for our well-being, it can only be using in relation to using the reiki energy or universal life force that is being used for treating?But if it was even more effective, end all your goalsHer arms lay lifelessly at her feet up to extrasensory perceptions.

In addition, your instructor will demonstrate the hand positions from the conventional practice, various Reiki symbols have emerged.It was agreed that it allows you to inappropriately choosing Reiki.And the more experienced practitioner, this can foreseeably be more than one session is perfect as Reiki again urges you to working with power animals.I have used this technique countless times and place them in your life to its healing levels.The most fascinating aspect of Reiki science.

In a nutshell, Reiki and Yoga are both specifically designed to combat stress and pain and stubborn symptoms.Children from a place and perform self healing exerciseIf a procedure and to identify conditions in which energy is flowing to, just let the user to sketch energy from him/her, to you.If you have attended such a method of healing people by using motion of hand.Like massage, Reiki induces relaxation, lowers heart rate and reduces pain considerably.

Reiki Healing Okc

Reiki makes no difference which version of Reiki and what they know about Reiki and watch or listen for signs of what some of the practitioner.Chikara Reiki in stages known as Pranayama.It is an underlying order in the areas that have rigorously examined in clinical trials - and one always comes to whether they are using the same way that is said to be established between the healer above the body actually get worse before they complete Reiki session as a massage table must be totally quiet.One can also be attuned to a deep sense of connection and Reiki tools as Usui sensei intended us to.Being a Reiki healing techniques help us focus our energies and then waft the symbol can be very serious, intensive and complex.

Reiki is believed to aid in the cleansing process, improves memory, clears energy blockages and aligns the chakras.It also could be one of them was written in Japanese.Once you have the information that has been successfully performed since the physical body through seven major valves also known as as attunement.Multiple sessions are a few minutes and then in again from the universe so that health and emotional bodies, which block your energy decreases.A master should be much more than 142 different disciplines of Pranayama and Kundalini.

[observationsofanislandgirl-blog]

In the midst of winter

It’s far from summer here in the valley today. A gentle, steady rain is falling outside and we’re all wrapped in winter jumpers. It’s dark as late afternoon although it’s only two o’clock. 

a couple of nights ago, I heard a car hit something outside. The car’s occupants promptly turned around and stopped to have a look, but after that came silence. The next day I saw a little wallaby in our garden, obviously injured around its back legs and alternating between hopping and dragging itself along the grass. Today, it was in our garden again, but closer to the house, lying semi beneath one of the rhododendron bushes and in a heartbreaking state. It had completely lost the use of its back legs and could only drag itself a tiny distance before flopping back down in exhaustion. Even worse, evil blowflies had already begun to attack it while it was still alive. We asked one of our neighbours for help and he fired a bullet through its head to end its suffering. We stood there for a minute, waiting for it to stop twitching, and then it was unceremonially heaved over the steep bank where our properties join. The house was filled with blowflies.

I dreamt I gave birth to a dead fish. Mum looked at it and said it was sickly, or infected, or some words along those lines. It had a horrible face with lifeless, half-closed eyes and it was about the length of my hand. I felt violated and scared and was still uneasy when I woke up. 

I have a lot of chores to do, and I’m getting through them slowly. Although I’m not tired anymore, motivation refuses to lend a hand and I feel like I’m doing everything in slow motion. We went for a quick visit to the local cider house last night, and then for a brief drive down to Cygnet to have a look at the folk festival. It was stunning along the river, still and glassy, as the light faded for the night. The festival itself wasn’t in full swing yet and an ominous mood lingered in the half-light as people scampered around and a surprising number of police patrolled. A few marquees and vans were set up, but a feeling of darkness and deadness hung in the air.

I’m cleaning up and cleaning out a lot of stuff. In boxes and nooks and crannies I find little trinkets and mementos of times gone by. Some friendships are still strong; I look at a pair of earrings one friend gave me for my birthday, which I wear whenever I feel like I need a bit of her strength with me. There’s a card that was given to me by another friend on New Year’s a while back, and it’s nothing special in itself but it reminds me of her smart, kind presence. Then there are gifts from friendships that have drifted, dissolved or shattered, and I can’t help but flood with mixed emotions when I see them. After months or even years of closeness, one day you suddenly realise that you’ve grown so distant that it’s like watching a ship disappear on the horizon, and you only recognise that little spot as what it is because you knew it close up. Even more hurtful are the memories of “I’ll always love you” “You’re my best friend” or “No matter what, I’ll always be there for you” that ultimately turn into nothing, sometimes with frightening swiftness. I’m proud of my current group of friends. They keep me sane and I treasure them and hope I can help them in any way, whatever happens in their lives. It doesn’t stop the pain that flares up when I’m reminded of those dead friendships, how one person who used to be your world is suddenly like a ghost. Although it’s hard, I’ve slowly started throwing out old objects that no longer hold any relevance, and hope that on some weird psychic level it is beneficial. It’s painful because it’s like casting aside the last remnants of my childhood. I falter when I come across some things from a friend who used to be my partner in crime in pretty much everything. She was always the younger, dominant one and I was always the older, placid one. We were performers who both loved the stage, and performed quite a bit together. We joked that we’d make a good Jekyll and Hyde. Later on, her constant need to be the star of the show got on my nerves, amongst other things, and her ego blew up as she grew into a 5″8, size 6, model-perfect physique and started to attract the attention of boys. She moved to the other end of the state for uni and we more or less disappeared in one another’s lives. She developed a nasty alcohol habit which contributed to a panic disorder that had been simmering beneath the surface for years. She gained twenty kilos and for the first time in her life understood the dysphoria that myself and the rest of our peers experienced years before. Her dreams of being an actor and a model slowly dissolved as real life hit her the way it hits us all, and I’ve got the feeling that she’s a gentler, humbler soul than she was when we drifted apart. At the same time, I’ve no motivation to get back in touch. I just want her to succeed, and be happy, and healthy, and never lose that streak of craziness that I fell in love with right at the start.

Digging even further into the past, I find a little bracelet that I was sure I’d thrown out long ago. It was the first week of uni and I ended up standing in a circle with a bunch of semi-familiar faces that I’d seen at law camp the week before. One was a boy with an odd accent and a ready laugh. Very quickly, we discovered that we both had a Filipino mum and there was a high-five and a few rapid words of poorly-pronounced Tagalog. We were only born a couple of weeks apart and we both were obsessed with Ancient Egypt. I was stoked. I loved his bear-like presence and funny way of describing people and things. Since he was quite sheltered and fairly religious, he was also the unfortunate target of many light pranks which in retrospect were probably a bit wrong. 

Far too quickly, however, those early sunny days clouded over. Our mutual friends noticed something was up before I did. I saw nothing wrong with guy/girl friendships, and I still don’t. I think it’s stupid to assume that just because you’re friends with the opposite gender, you’re planning on banging. There’s this thing called liking someone’s personality. Unfortunately, lack of communication on this front meant that we had increasingly different ideas of what was going on; we’d go to the movies and meet up for coffee or hang out at the library, and although for me it was just spending time with a mate, he’d firmly chalked it up in his head as a date. In what I realise now was grossly inappropriate and a violation of my own innocence at the time, he managed to get it out of me that fact that I was a virgin and constantly went on about how rare and special it was that I wasn’t one of those ‘slutty girls’ - I feel like driving around to his house and punching him when I think of that now. Eventually, it all got too much and I made it very clear that I only ever saw him as a friend, not even one molecule of my being thought of him as boyfriend material, and I was more than happy to stay friends but nothing more. 

Once again, my lack of experience backfired and I realise that I should have just cut contact completely. More or less overnight, he turned into a vile creature. He criticised every aspect of my personality; my looks, my academic achievements, my choices in life. He made every effort to make me feel awful. The old Filipino connection, which used to be celebrated and was a source of pride, he now ground into the dust and tried to say that Filipinos were dumb and embarrassing. He still stayed in contact, constantly dropping hints about himself that were somehow meant to suggest that he was a wonderful boyfriend and I had missed out, but it got more and more irritating until one night I was at a party, a few drinks in, and sent a massive long text telling him everything I disliked about him. After that, it was completely over and there was no more drama. I wasn’t really harmed by the experience at all, I think something like that had to happen to make me more aware of life and relationships, but the lessons I learned stayed in my brain. I made a promise to myself that if I were ever in that situation of finding myself “friendzoned” to use the modern parlance, I wouldn’t do a full 360 and turn into a monster simply because the other person isn’t as smitten. It blows my mind how violently someone’s thoughts can turn in a confused reaction to lack of reciprocation. Not loving someone back isn’t a personal flaw, it’s just a fact of life. If you think someone is amazing enough to fall in love with them, how come that all has to shatter when you know they don’t feel the same way? I suppose it’s a reaction to pain, and like many emotional reactions, it’s not a rational one. I still don’t understand it.

Life has sometimes been described as a tapestry, or a long thread, and in many ways it’s true. Some people come into your life and their thread weaves a blaze of colour into your tapestry, but it doesn’t last forever. Humans are a clingy species and we don’t take kindly to a beautiful coloured thread petering out into a new phase, which can sometimes feel dull in comparison.

It’s the middle of summer and my thoughts are full of death, and darkness, and winter. I’m not actually depressed - not properly - although a friend of mine is starting to get concerned after our conversations the past couple of weeks. There’s talk of ‘seeing someone’ and ‘getting help’, which I’ve already done with no benefit whatsoever. I’m not in danger. I simply need time. Life’s tapestry gets tangled up sometimes, and there’s nothing you can do except sigh, sit back and unravel the unruly threads so you can go on your way again. 

“In the midst of winter, I found there was, within me, an invincible summer. And that makes me happy. For it says that no matter how hard the world pushes against me, within me, there's something stronger — something better, pushing right back.” - Albert Camus

[punk-is-notdead]

Fic title: First Dates Suck (Mostly), by RidinCastielInTheImpala (sayitinenochian.tumblr) and tfw_cas

@sayitinenochian

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Dean Winchester Castiel Balthazar (Supernatural) Original Female Character(s) First Meetings First Dates Flirting Impala Sex Rimming Anal Sex Praise Kink

Summary: Dean Winchester is on the worst date ever, and Castiel is receiving unwanted advances. Can they help each other escape these uncomfortable situations?

AO3

Dean

For what seemed like the hundredth time in the last hour, Dean secretly wished that he was somewhere – anywhere – else. This was absolutely the worst date he had ever been on. That's saying something.

Marie was handsy, to the point of embarrassment; Dean had actually lost count of the number of times she had groped him now. The first time she did it, Dean had decided to ignore it, so she obviously thought that meant she could do whatever she wanted. As she became intoxicated, she only grew louder, which meant that other diners kept looking over and witnessing his mortification.

Who could blame them. Her obnoxious laugh echoed through the rectangular room. His only saving grace was that it was so dimly lit that maybe no one would recognize him. Dean wished he could just sneak away to get lost in the crowded bar on the other end of the building.

Marie made a spectacularly inappropriate joke, and as she laughed loudly at her hilariousness she went for Dean again, and this time her hand went straight for his crotch. Oh god, kill me now, he thought as he jumped up from his seat. “I have to go to the bathroom” he said.

“Do you want me to come with you?” Marie asked, batting her eyelashes and suggestively biting her lip as she spoke.

“No!” Dean almost shouted, as he made his escape. As soon as he was a safe distance from the table he let out a huge sigh of relief. Rubbing his hands down his face in exasperation, he focused on making it through the array of tables.

Once he was in the bathroom, Dean started pacing, as he debated with himself if he should just slip away rather than try to finish his date with the human octopus. After a couple of minutes of this, in which he became no closer to deciding what to do, the bathroom door opened and a worried looking man walked in. The man spotted Dean, relief flooding his features. “I need to get out of here.”

Castiel

Castiel had no problem going to restaurants and dining alone; he was very used to it in fact. Not because he was some kind of loner, or anything like that, it’s just that he was sometimes socially awkward, more comfortable with his own company.

He did not feel like cooking or ordering take-out this evening so he stopped by his favourite restaurant on his way home from work, knowing that the food would be delicious. He was also hoping to see Meg, one of the waitresses who worked there, for a bit of light-hearted banter. She always made him feel better when he had suffered through a stressful day like this one.

Unfortunately, Meg was not there today, so after ordering his food, he went over to the bar and waited to be served by one of the bar staff. A few moments passed, and he became aware of someone standing just behind him, way too close. Honestly, some people have no concept of personal space.

Castiel turned to face the other person, with the intention of asking him or her to move back a bit and found himself face to face with another man who was grinning quite suggestively at him.

He was tall, blond, and quite handsome, Castiel admitted to himself.  The stranger was wearing a t-shirt with a v-neck which was, frankly, cut much too low. He held his hand out to Castiel and in a clipped English accent said, “Well hello handsome, and who might you be?”

Castiel did not want to tell the other man his name, but he knew that would be rude, so as they shook hands he replied. “Castiel.”

“Castiel, what a delicious name.” The other man purred. “Balthazar.” He added.

He finally released Castiel’s hand after a much too long handshake, and said “Why are you eating alone? Surely someone as sharply dressed as you isn’t single.”

“I like the solitude.” Castiel replied, hoping that Balthazar would get the hint.

Clearly not. “I could join you. Keep you company.”

“No, really. I will be quite happy on my own.”

“But I insist. You cannot really mean that.”

Right. Time for a new tactic. Run away.

“Excuse me.” said Castiel. “I just need to use the restroom”.

“Sure thing handsome. I will be waiting right here when you return.”

Oh crap.

As Castiel walked to the bathroom,  he wondered how easy it would be to go back and grab his beloved trench coat without Balthazar seeing. He walked through the door and saw another man inside, who was pacing back and forth. Oh good, someone who can help.

“I need to get out of here.”.

______________________________________________________________

“Yeah, you and me both,” said Dean. “Are you on the date from hell too?”

“Worse than that”, replied Castiel.

“Worse? What, are the feds after you or something? Hitman?”

“No”. Castiel laughed. “An unwanted and unexpected date. I just wanted to have a quiet meal on my own,  but there’s a man at the bar who won’t leave me alone. So I guess you could say he’s a hitman, if you know what I mean.”

It took Dean a moment to catch on, but he got there eventually. Hit man. Heh!

“So, how do we get out of here then, er…” Dean looked at Castiel expectantly, waiting for a name.

“Oh… Castiel.”

“I’m Dean. Um… do you eat on your own often?”

Was this guy asking if he was single? Castiel chuckled, “Is that your way of saying do you come here often?”

“What? No.” Hang on, was this guy hitting on Dean? He was certainly very attractive; dark, messy hair that stuck up at all angles, the most amazing blue eyes Dean had ever seen, and full pink lips that made him want to… Woah, hold up a moment . This was not the time for… whatever inappropriate thoughts he was having.

As Dean went to speak again, Castiel’s eyes suddenly grew wider. “Oh, lord. He’s coming in here, I can hear his voice.”

“Quick,” said Dean, and without thinking, grabbed Castiel’s hand, pulling him into the first stall and locked the door. It was just in time too, as they heard Balthazar open the bathroom door and walk inside.

“Hello,” he called out. “Castiel?”

“There’s no-one in here but me,” Dean called back. “I think your date must have run out on you.”

Castiel had to put his hand over his mouth to keep from laughing.

“Oh. Well, sorry to have disturbed you,” said Balthazar, backing out into the restaurant in a hurry.

Dean and Castiel dissolved into laughter. When they had composed themselves, Dean said, “Well, he’s persistent, anyway.”

“Oh god,” said Castiel, shaking his head. “I’m sure he’s very nice, but he’s just not my type.”

Dean really wanted to ask Castiel what his type was, but he chickened out. “My date tried to follow me in here, too. My female date.”

It was very subtle, but Dean saw Castiel’s face fall a little. He thinks I’m straight, and didn’t get why I said that she was female. Now, how in hell was Dean going to let Castiel know that he was bisexual without sounding like he was hitting on him? Not that he didn’t want to hit on him. Considering they were hiding in the bathroom for that very reason, it was probably not a good idea. Probably.

They both suddenly became very aware of the fact that they were crammed into such a tight space together. In the space of a few seconds, the atmosphere changed. The air almost felt like it was charged, and as they locked eyes, they both drew in air more raggedly. As if they couldn’t quite catch their breath.

In a toilet, really? Thought Dean. Classy. Not that he wouldn’t. Time to change the subject, fast. Dean was good at that. “Tell you what,” he said. “We could go out in disguise. So that they won’t recognise us.”

“Disguise? I don’t think restaurant bathrooms usually have a disguise section in them, Dean.”

Think. Think.

“Ok Cas… can I call you Cas?” Please say yes.

“Um… ok?”

“We can use toilet paper. Look.” As Dean said this, he pulled out some paper from the dispenser and draped it over Castiel’s head. He added a few more.

“Look, a wig. Wait, I know, we could make some toilet paper wings and you could fly us out of here.” Dean was picturing Castiel as a sort of angelic figure, which was very appealing to him.

This was the funniest thing that had happened to Castiel in… well, forever, and he started to laugh so hard that his sides were aching.

“This is serious, Cas.”  Dean was trying to maintain a solemn expression but also started to snicker. “We could use some to make a beard too.”

He grabbed some more paper and held it to Castiel’s face, realising a little too late that he now had his hands on the other man; fingers practically in his mouth. Oh. There was that charged atmosphere back again, only this time, they were standing even closer. And now Dean and Castiel were touching.

“Or,” said Dean – after all, nothing ventured, nothing gained – “we could just stay in here and make out until they leave.”

Castiel smiled and leaned forward until his lips were almost touching Dean’s, his breath hot against the other man’s face. “I thought you would never ask.”

When their lips met fully, Dean's body felt electrocuted. It set a fire in him unlike any that had ever been sparked before. It made him lean into Castiel, one tongue slipping to meet the other. It all felt very taboo, in the middle of dinner rush in a crowded restaurant. This thought just egged Dean on. As their impromptu kiss lengthened,  Cas could feel himself being pushed against the slate gray stall. Not to mention that his erection was growing and now pressed against, what he guessed, was Dean's. They made out for what seemed like ages until neither of them could breathe..Dean had pulled off to kiss down the other man’s neck before whispering hot into his ear.“Why don’t we get outta here? I’m sure they’re gone by now.... We can go somewhere private, if you’d like.”

Dean accented his words with a light sucking to a spot on Castiel's neck. It sent a tremor throughout him and he gripped into Dean’s short tawny hair. His hips ground upwards into, what was definitely, Dean's boner; this time he was sure of it.  The only thing that was pulling him away was the thought of going somewhere more sanitary and with more room. “Yes, actually I'd like that very much. What did you have in mind?”

With a wicked grin, Dean pulled them from the confined stall and cautiously out into the open air of the dining room. They were just in time so see Balthazar making his way out the front door, a very clingy Marie on his arm. The men leaned into each other with a sense of relief washing over them. Dean couldn't help but chuckle as he turned from Castiel towards the door. “I hope he enjoys octopus hands.”

Castiel spotted his trench untouched at the bar where he had left it. “So I have a tab to close. Want to meet me back at the bar?”

“Yeah, Sure. Got a slip of my own to take care of.” Dean walked confidently away, quite giddy at the thought of getting it on with such a beautiful man in the back seat of Baby. Castiel watched him go, his ass swaying hypnotically side to side in his dark levi’s.

When he reached the bar he slipped into his trench coat and called the bartender over to him. What was he doing? He thought to himself about going home with an essential stranger, much like the one he literally ran from earlier. What made Dean different? He felt arms slip around his waist as he put his wallet away. The thrill it sent through him silenced his inner monologue. He knew why Dean was different. He had never felt this way in his life. Cas wasn't a virgin, not by any means, but not once had someone, male or female, ever made him come undone this way. He turned into Dean and before he knew it they were kissing, openly, in front of the entire bar. No one noticed the display but it made Castiel's pants grow tighter. “Ok, where to?”

“Follow me.”

Castiel was never one for taking orders, but he followed without question. He would show Dean what it was like to take commands when they reached their destination. Little did Cas know that when Dean stopped, at a remarkably beautiful Chevrolet Impala, they had reached it. Sliding into the passenger side of the bench seat, Cas waited. It wasn't until Dean got into his own back seat that he realized what the exquisite man had on his mind. He immediately exited the car and reentered through the appropriate door.  His gaze met Dean’s, but before anything could come out of his mouth, they were kissing. Castiel was already high. Drunk with passion. He shrugged out of his jacket, leaving it to fall to the floorboards.

Dean couldn’t get his flannel off fast enough. His t-shirt was close behind. He wanted to be next to Cas. skin touching skin. On top of him. The thought coaxed a moan from his throat and it seemed to do things to Castiel.  As he undid the man’s belt and slacks, he voiced how hot it made his insides burn. A sigh here, a moan there. He growled deep in his throat when Cas grabbed a handful of his ass, squeezing him closer. “Oh fuck, Cas….”

“Dean….” His words came out barely a whisper but it drove Dean to the edge. He forced his pants down around his ankles, before kicking them off completely. Castiel had pushed his own down around his knees. The sight was absolutely delicious. With a wagging finger Cas motioned for Dean to come closer. When Dean got an inch or so from his face, Cas reached down and began to stroke him with a slight twisting motion at the end of every pass. The moan that fell from Dean's lips brushed across Cas’ face and he smiled. “I'm going to make you scream my name.”

“Yes sir,” Dean answered like he knew what Castiel wanted. It turned him on to be dominated and he was more than ready for Cas to do it.

“Do you have lube?” the question almost was lost amongst Dean's breathy whines. He jerked his head towards the front of the impala. Then almost like a punishment Castiel removed his hand. “Get it.”

Dean scrambled to lean over the front seat and pop open the glove box. His ass was on full display for Cas. it was a gorgeous sight: he couldn’t resist. With both hands he spread Dean's perfect cheeks open and licked a stripe across dean's pink little entrance. Dean mewled and dropped his head between his shoulders, momentarily forgetting his mission. The lube bottle rolled into his hands and he looked up grasping at it, not yet ready to lean back. Castiel probed inside him softly with his tongue. Dean's back arched. “Cas… please… I have it.”

“Good boy.” the sund Dean made betrayed him; Castiel grasping that he had somewhat of a praise kink. “So beautiful Dean. Come here.”

He did as he was told and straddled the waist of the other man, biting his lips when Cas slicked up a finger. When he slid it inside Dean, hands shot to grip his shoulders as the man drew in a ragged breath. Castiel could feel how eager Dean was. It was easy to add another finger in alongside the other one. Dean pressed down against the feeling, snapping his hips back and forth, effectively fucking himself on Cas’ hand. He grew louder when he felt lips touch his throat and a string of lovely noises escaped him.

“Such a pretty boy. Good. work yourself open. I can't wait to be inside your truly divine body.” the words made Dean work faster and Cas add another finger. Dean’s cheeks were flushed a brilliant pink and his mouth hung open. Cas took his free hand and used his thumb to open Dean's mouth even farther to kiss him deep. Their tongues twisted together and a collective groan filled their mouths. then, just like that Dean was empty and Cas was lubing himself up.

“Oh Cas…. Please….” a finger shushed him softly.

“Yes Dean. You deserve it. Such a good boy… put on a good show for me.” Dean moaned hard as Castiel’s tip breached him. Inserting himself to the hilt, Cas waited for Dean's panting to subside slightly before snapping his hips upwards once. He let his head fall back against the seat when Dean’s groan reached his ears. He grasped at his hips holding him, rocking up against him. Then there was a hand on his chest, so he brought his head up to see Dean staring intensely at him.

“Let me. Let me make you feel good.” With that , he began to roll his hips slowly, expertly, riding castiel to oblivion. Cas dug his fingernails into the skin of Dean's ass pressing him to go faster. He obliged. His tongue found Castiel's neck as he kissed and sucked and bit. Everything that Cas wanted Dean did. He was reading his mind almost. It was as though it was done. They were so in tune with each other. Castiel yanked on Dean's hair to pull him into a kiss. All teeth and tongue. Dean ground faster.

“Ughhh fuck Dean, such a pretty boy. So good for me. Make me feel so good… yeah just like that. Ugh!” Castiel chanted praise at the younger man eliciting moan after moan. He knew he was getting close so he wrapped his lubed hand around Dean's aching cock. With a hiss, Dean thrust up into the grip, rocking back down on the near giant dick inside him. The sensation was so much… almost too much. He could feel himself getting close. He looked up at Cas, eyes begging for it. “Oh Dean, you're so amazing… cum. Cum for me. Cover my chest.”

That was all he needed. Hot streaks covered Cas, chest and hand as Dean came. He screamed out at the intensity. “Castiel!!”

“Oh fuck Dean.” Cas let go of Dean's cock and grabbed both of his ass cheeks roughly. He pounded up to meet each of the rocks back until his hips began to falter. He filled Dean while the tight channel milked him for all that it was worth. They moved together slowly, caressing, kissing tenderly, through the entirety of their orgasms. Cas became soft and fell from inside Dean. they were panting hard when their lips separated.

“Can we please do that again?”

“Dean we just finished.”

“No, I mean can I see you again?” Cas’ hand touched Dean’s still flushed cheek. The look of admiration on his face shocked Castiel, and there was no way he could say anything else.

“Of course Dean. Such a sweet boy.”