#its the most heartfelt thing coming from a man who spent his entire life fighting a war and then leading an entire kingdom | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ssigmas · 2 years

Text

the admittance of it

so i saw this twitter post and it gave me incurable brainrot so i had to write something bc there is nothing better than desha fumbling through his feelings for u

also on ao3

king desha/gn!reader, 9.5k

tags: mutual pining, idiots in love, minor injury, possible incorrect medical care shh, he gives you his cape (oh my god he gives you his cape), five times desha tries to confess and one time you beat him to it.

Desha had never given romance much thought.

There had been no affection between Satun and his mother. What he knew of love came from old fairy tales and observing his brothers as they fumbled through their own relationships. Despa, conceited as he was, had a reputation for being compassionate and knowledgeable, and as such others often sought him out for advice. Ouken, the golden child, made friends easily due to his nature alone — he was kind-hearted and eternally optimistic, always offering others a shoulder to cry on with promises that it would all turn out well in the end.

And Desha was…well. Himself.

He told himself early on that it didn’t matter. He wanted to dethrone his father and rule in his place as a fair and just king. There was no time for friends, let alone romantic partners. There would be time to figure it all out later. Later.

And then you came along, and Desha came face to face with the fact that he was having his first crush well into middle-age, with no idea what to do about it.

It hadn’t been love at first sight, no; he didn’t believe in that. He fell for you slowly, gradually, the way water gently erodes at the harsh faces of rock to smooth them into stone.

You had come to the castle looking for work. You were a healer, a medic — you had the knowledge to heal what couldn’t be fixed with magic alone, and Desha would have been stupid to turn you away. There was no end to the amount of people vying to become a member of his army, but talented healers were few and far between.

It was a small miracle you stayed. He hadn’t been particularly kind to you in the beginning, after all. He had a nasty habit of senselessly running his mouth with little care to how his words were perceived, and he voiced his doubts about you loudly and often. You came from no-where, with no lineage or mentors to voice your worth; of course he’d be skeptical.

And then four of his soldiers returned on the brink of death from an assignment gone awry, and you single-handedly ensured they would live.

He no longer had his doubts after that.

It had been a long, long time since the Order of the Underworld had a skilled healer on standby, and your presence and talent meant that they could train harder and push themselves further than before. The Captain kept you busy— you treated everything from the most minor of scrapes and bruises from sparring, to the most intensive welts and lacerations from treacherous trips.

You earned Desha’s respect quickly compared to others. You were a good healer, a hard worker, and you were kind. Everyone had some positive story to tell — about how you comforted them when they were in the throes of pain, or how you sat and listened for an hour as they complained, or how you did something as simple as remembering their name.

Desha liked you for your competency and talent. The fact that you were cute didn’t register with him until far later, not until he caught you laughing at something vulgar he had said with your hand over your mouth like you could hide, and his perception of you shifted ever so slightly. It was like he was really noticing you for the first time — like how one finally realizes the beauty of a sunset after seeing it every day of their lives.

After that, he started to discover the little things — how you tended to smile so wide that your eyes squinted, or how soft your hair looked in the glow of torchlight, or how the sound of your laugh made him want to laugh, too.

He sought out more reasons to be near you. He’d stop by the training grounds while you mended broken bones and bloodied noses just to watch you work, or he’d find excuses to wander the castle in hopes of crossing paths.

He didn’t get to speak to you often — partly because your schedules kept you both busy, and partly because he wouldn’t know what to say. Conversation had never been his forte; there was a reason he had few friends growing up.

Instead, he kept an eye out for you. When he saw you with dark circles under your eyes, fatigue slumped in your shoulders more than usual, he made sure you had a full stock of potions to keep you going. If his army could spare it, he might’ve even told the Captain to take it easy with training. Just for a day. Just for a little while, just to give you a break. Gods knew you deserved it.

One evening, he found you in an empty wing of the castle that overlooked the rest of the Underworld, apparently lost in thought. You had brightened up when you saw him, smiling so wide it rivaled the radiance of the stars. Whatever was troubling you had fled in that instant, replaced by your smile that made something cold and hard inside himself soften, just a little.

“King Desha!” you had exclaimed, looking genuinely pleased to see him, and held out your cupped hand. “Want one?”

He’d examined the pale slices gathered in your palm. “What are they?”

“Dried apples! They’re my favorite, but they’re hard to come by down here.”

It had tasted sweet, almost too sweet; it reminded him of the candies Despa used to share with him when they were kid. He’d never been one for sweets, and yet when you offered him another one, he couldn’t say no.

You had stood in companionable silence, sharing the slices of dried fruit piece-by-piece until none were left. When the last light in the kingdom had flickered out, you bid him goodnight with that same bright smile, leaving him with the lingering taste of apples and a warmth in his chest.

What could grow in the Underworld was limited by what thrived in its underground environment, and fruit trees hardly prospered. Nonetheless, if Desha made sure that there was always a stock of dried apples in the castle, it was no one’s business but his own.

Ever since his youth, he had a tendency to avoid his reflection. He hated looking at mirrors, water, or even the back of his spoon — he disliked what stared back.

He took after Satun the most. He had his father’s unsightly mouth, his thick eyebrows, his angled nose. Despa and Ouken had been fortunate enough to have their features softened by their mother. In some ways, he was thankful that he was the only one out of the three of them to be cursed with his father’s appearance, but there were moments where he wished he looked a little more…human.

Despite all that he had accomplished, despite his flourishing kingdom, his childhood habit still lingered. He had made peace with his appearance as much as was possible, but he still saw Satun in his every reflection.

Even now, the ghost of his father stared back at him as he considered his appearance. He rubbed his thumb between his eyebrows as if he could smooth away his perpetual scowl and soften his features into something kinder. He didn’t want to frighten you away — you were so soft, so sweet and gentle, and he was nothing but sharp lines and jagged edges. Even when he tried to school his expression into something more neutral and unassuming, his pointed teeth made him look every bit the monster that his father was, and he glared back at himself.

He groaned. There was no use lamenting it twenty years ago, and certainly no use lamenting it today. You were kind enough that his appearance wouldn’t make or break anything, and besides — shouldn’t he be complimenting you? Isn’t that how it worked? He’d say you were pretty, and then…

Well. He’d figure it out. He had a starting place, at least.

Most days, you occupied your time in the infirmary with the scant few medics the castle had on hand. You were the only one out of the three of them who could heal with magic, and as such you had the most on your plate — why wait a week for a wound to heal when you could close it in seconds with magic? Those wounded in training could pop in to see you for a couple of minutes, get a dose of healing magic, and then pop right back out to the field. Most injuries were far from lethal, and on the rare occasions someone would come in on death’s door, you had three others to help coax them back to life.

Unsurprisingly, the infirmary was where Desha found you. A couple soldiers occupied the cots, either unconscious or asleep. You were off on the corner, stretched up on a footstool as you restocked some of the bandages. When you heard the door open, you turned your head, and then smiled wide enough to split your cheeks when you realized who it was.

“King Desha! Not very often you come down here.” You stepped down from the stool and faced him properly. “Is there anything I can do for you?” Despite your smile, he could tell just how ragged and worn out you were. Your hair was unkempt, your eyes dark and hooded. You lacked your usual glow, like you were subdued by your fatigue.

He faltered. “You…look nice,” he finished lamely.

You glanced down at your bloodied shirt, bemused. “Um, thanks?”

Idiot, he inwardly cursed. He meant it — you were still beautiful, even through the grime and blood and sweat. It was in times like these that he wished he had Despa’s tact, or Ouken’s emotional sensitivity, if only to help him navigate through a simple conversation.

He pressed his palm to his temple and groaned, frustrated with himself. “Listen. There’s something I’d like to —”

The door slammed against the wall as two soldiers burst through with a third draped limply across their shoulders. His helmet was off, displaying the bleeding gash in his forehead.. There was a puncture near the clasps of his armor, and dark red had begun to drip from below. “Help, please!”

You went on alert immediately, giving him an apologetic look as you rushed past him. “Some other time, Lord Desha.”

Two other medics helped get the wounded soldier onto a cot and out of his armor. You surrounded his body with the vivid green of healing magic while another dabbed blood away with a wet cloth. Desha could clearly pinpoint the lines of exhaustion in your form, the way your hands trembled ever-so-slightly.

He didn’t need to watch you save a life, and he’d get in the way if he stayed any longer. The two soldiers lingered awkwardly near the door, obviously unsure what to do. They jumped to attention as Desha neared.

“Go,” he ordered. “Your friend is in good hands.” “Yes, sir!” He left ahead of them, cape swishing at his heels. Next time. He’d have other chances to talk to you.

(And if the Captain received orders to take training lightly for the next few days, no one needed to know that the order came from Desha himself.)

Of course, “next time” didn’t come for several days, and came after the Captain had sanctioned a two-day reprieve for all soldiers. When he finally got the chance to talk to you in private, it was after most of the castle had gone to sleep, when he found you yet again in that abandoned wing. There was a little balcony that extended outward, and tonight you had opened the doors, allowing the nighttime air to filter in. You were resting most of your weight against the railing, arms crossed as you surveyed the city beyond.

Desha stood a few feet behind you. “Hey —”

Startled, you jumped with a yelp as you spun to face him. “King Desha! His mouth split into a lopsided grin. “Oh? Don’t tell me you start slacking after one day off.”

You laughed off his jab, bubbly and cheerful. “No, not at all! I was just…lost in thought, I guess.”

He stepped beside you and out onto the balcony as you turned back toward the railing. There was more color to your cheeks, and the bags under your eyes were less pronounced. Your hair was damp, as if you’d just bathed, and the air around you carried the faintest scent of herbs. The time off was clearly doing you some good.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it? Your kingdom.”

“Eh?” The Underworld was a cavern of rock and stone; beauty was not the first thing

to come to mind. It was functioning, it was flourishing, but Desha would hardly call it beautiful.

You gave him a smile over your shoulder. “I don’t remember much of what it was like before you became king, but I remember always being scared. Everyone was scared.” You wrapped your arms around yourself in a self-hug as you gazed out into the distance. “I saw this castle as the safest place in the world. I used to look up here and think that I’d be in these walls someday, sheltered and protected from all the bad.

“Of course, things got better when you took over. There was less fear, less reason for me to look up and imagine the castle as some magical safehouse. I never truly believed I’d end up here one day, and I guess…” You trailed off, then shrugged. “It’s different seeing the town from up here. Seems a lot smaller these days.”

He understood the implication. You felt safe here, and by extension in the entirety of the Underworld. Desha knew his kingdom was not without its problems — there were still unsavory criminals, and conflicts often arose due to the sheer diversity of citizens — but it was leagues better than it had been under his father. Silence.

You shivered. Desha caught the goosebumps that pimpled on your exposed arms, the way you hunkered deeper into yourself, and in one fluid moment he unclipped his cape and draped it over your shoulders.

Being underground meant that the vast majority of places were protected from the outside elements, but it didn’t keep the chill away, especially in the winter months. He had a naturally high tolerance for pain and discomfort and didn’t even register the colder air.

Your mouth formed a little o in surprise. Desha was easily over twice your size, and the cape was large enough to hang from you like a blanket. You gripped the edges and crossed your arms over your chest, almost hiding your face in the oversized collar. “Won’t you be cold?”

“No.” He tore his gaze away from you, angling his head so you would hopefully miss the way his cheeks threatened to flush. “Besides, shouldn’t you know better than to wander the castle dressed for bed?”

You opened your mouth to reply, then thought better of it and settled back into silence. He peered at you from the corner of his eye as you nosed into the fabric of his cape, a contented smile on your face. And oh, there was something so captivating about seeing you in an article of his clothing. It was ill-fitting, bunched up and folded in several places, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that this was right. Like you were wearing a sign with his personal stamp on it, like you were saying that you were his —

“Oh! Um, King Desha?”

“Hm?” Forced out of his thoughts, he met your gaze fully and found you staring at him with wide and earnest eyes, almost as if you were hoping for something.

“Wasn’t there something you wanted to talk about? Back in the infirmary?

He almost sputtered. Yes, he had been meaning to confess, hadn’t he? But saying I like you here seemed too sudden, too abrupt. It was just the two of you, however, away from prying eyes and loose lips, and he had your full attention. Now might be the only chance he’d get for a long while. He should…

“Just, er…” The words stuck to the walls of his throat and he swallowed them down, awkwardly clasping his hand on your shoulder. “You’re doing a good job. Keep it up.”

He wanted to kick himself for being so cowardly, but your face lit up with the biggest smile he’d ever seen, true and joyful. “Really? You mean it?” “Would I lie to you?

You looked away as if embarrassed by your outburst, but your wide smile still lingered. “Thanks. It means a lot coming from you.”

He couldn’t help the way he mirrored your smile; seeing you happy was just too damn intoxicating. His heart was racing, but his shoulders felt light.

And then he realized how idiotic he must’ve looked with his big mouth stretched into a stupid grin, and about-faced on his heel. “A-anyway, it’s getting late. Get some rest.”

“Goodnight, Lord Desha!” you called after his retreating form. He answered you with a wave of his hand as he walked off, hoping that the dim lighting of the castle hallways hid the redness of his face.

Sleep would not come.

He laid still in his bed, breathing even and deep, but the only thing he could focus on was the memory of your smile, of how you looked wrapped in his cape. He wished he hadn’t bailed at the last second, but it was like his mouth just refused to speak them.

Ridiculous. He was a king and yet found himself defeated by three little words.

Though…

Desha sat up in bed. He didn’t have to say them out loud, did he?

Despa used to have heaps and heaps of poetry, most of them love poems. He could do that, could write you a poem. He could have it dropped off to you, even, and there’d be no need to wait for your schedules to align.

He grabbed a piece of parchment and sat at his desk, quill in hand.

The blank parchment paralyzed him. What would he even write? Words had never been his forte — it was always Despa who knew the right things to say, and Ouken was the one who knew the right way to say them. In contrast, he was blunt and churlish. Even in times where he tried to be gentle or kind, he often managed to say the wrong thing.

He dipped the nib into ink and started writing. He liked it when you were happy, and a smile was something people would write poetry about. Surely.

Your mouth, he began, and then immediately scratched it out. Starting with that would send the wrong message. Your smile is like…

Like what? It was a smile. It meant you were happy. What more was there?

He scratched that out, too, and began again. You are…

Desha groaned. This was turning out less like an attempt at poetry and more like an exercise in humiliation.

Your mouth

Your smile is like

You are

You

…

No. Nope.

Embarrassed, he crumpled the parchment in his hand and disintegrated it with a flash of lightning.

He’d figure something else out.

As he walked through the main city of the Underworld, Desha tried to see it from your perspective. You had called it beautiful — a word which rarely if ever crossed his mind. Trees and other greenery grew at random from wherever they managed to root among the rocks and dirt. The buildings, lopsided and disorganized, were cut into all manners of craggy shapes and sizes from the surrounding stone. Unlike the surface, there was hardly any natural color to speak of — it was the townspeople that decorated the Underworld’s drab shades of grey and brown into something homey. Vendors lined the streets with everything from rare produce to homemade goods, and the outsides of homes were garnished with hanging trinkets or colored tiles to break up the monotony of rock. Oil lamps and torches doused the city with a warm and cozy glow, reminiscent of campfires that so often meant safety.

As he passed, people stopped to wave or say hello with smiles on their faces. A bull-like man offered him a ripe fruit, which he politely declined, and when a child’s ball came rolling at him, he kicked it back to their cheers. His face was a common sight in the Underworld, though he wasn’t as sociable as some might’ve hoped.

He often thought Ouken would have been better suited for this type of kingly duty. He’d always been a natural leader, more so than Desha was, and he thrived in the company of people. Put simply, Ouken was a people person. Desha wasn’t. The bronze statue erected in his honor was proof enough. He’d mangled the face for a reason.

He avoided looking at it as he walked by.

Homes dappled the scenery less and less the farther he went, until he was out in the training fields the Order sometimes used. Here, small cracks and crevices in the cave ceiling gave way to sunlight, and an above-ground stream emptied into a vast lake. This could be beautiful, he mused, if only because it was away from the hustle and bustle of the town center. Here, the greenery was more varied, more colorful. Wildflowers burst from the blades of grass, blooming in all colors of the rainbow.

Amidst all the rock and poor soil, a lone rosebush was stubbornly trying to grow. Many of its bulbs were small and unopened, but a couple early-bloomers had blossomed outward into full flowers. Desha reached his hand out and rubbed a petal between his forefinger and thumb, contemplating. Roses were romantic, weren’t they? So if he gave you one, then surely…

He tugged on the stem, intending only to take the single rosette, and a whole section came free from the rock. Groaning in frustration, he pulled off unopened buds and dirty roots until he was left with a slightly mangled stem but an unblemished rose. The thorns didn’t even tickle the tough skin of his palm, and he held it delicately to prevent damaging it further.

Single rose in hand, he managed to make it without incident all the way to the castle grounds — until he heard your voice call his name.

Impulsively, he hid the rose behind his back like some child caught with something they weren’t supposed to have, and felt foolish for doing so. You came panting, holding his folded cape in your hands.

“King Desha!” you started, stopping to catch your breath. “I meant to give this to you this morning, but the Captain said you’d had gone out to town and I thought, oh no, he doesn’t have his cape, he’s gonna go be around all those people without his cape, and so here I was, thinking I’d be able to chase you down…” You cut yourself off and chuckled nervously. “Sorry, I’m rambling. Thank you for letting me borrow it!” You held out his folded cape with both hands outstretched, almost in a bow.

“All this for my cape?” He couldn’t help the laugh that escaped, as noisy and ugly as it was. You looked so serious, too, like you had committed some grave error by failing to return it early enough. He’d understand if it was something like his crown, but this… “Don’t get so worked up over nothing. It’s a piece of clothing.”

You smiled sheepishly, not meeting his gaze. “But, y’know, you always look so cool and regal wearing it! If you’re gonna be in public, I think it’s something you should have with you.”

Desha took it from you with a quiet hmph to disguise how gratifying he found your small compliments. “Sure, I guess. Thanks for bringing it back.”

You shuffled where you stood, an awkward silence befalling the two of you. “...Well, I guess I should —”

“Wait.” He turned his head away, embarrassment eating at his throat as he brought the rose from behind his back and proffered it to you. “Here.”

You gasped. “King Desha, you’re bleeding!”

He glanced down. He was gripping the stalk hard enough to force the thorns into his skin, and small trickles of blood had begun to drip from his hand.

Instead of taking said rose, you swathed his hand between your much smaller ones. A faint green glow emanated from your palms as healing magic, soft and warm, curled around his skin like a springtime breeze.

Desha could only watch, mouth slightly agape, as you tended to the small puncture wounds. Gently, you coaxed his hand open and took the rose from him, smoothing your thumb over his palm to smudge away the blood.

“Lots of flowers have thorns as a defense mechanism,” you explained, beginning to carefully clear the stem of any prickles. When it was free of its offending barbs, you tucked it behind your ear and smiled widely. “So be careful next time, okay?”

“Y-yeah, thanks.”

It looked good, he decided. He liked how the red looked against your hair, how its wide petals brushed against your skin — he’d even call it beautiful.

Someone called your name, and he was shocked back into the moment as you regretfully waved goodbye, your lips forming words he didn’t hear as you jogged out of his sight.

He hoped his face didn’t look as red as the rose he’d given you as he continued toward the entrance. He unraveled his cape, and when he slung it over his shoulders, he imagined he could still smell the herbs you’d bathed with, your scent woven into the fabric.

A few days later, Desha again found himself out past the main town of the Underworld, standing on a hillside which overlooked the training grounds a short distance away. The Captain had asked him to come and observe some new drill or demonstration or…something. Truthfully, he’d only been half-listening when the Captain explained the details. You had been just a few feet away, carefully setting the bone in some poor soldier’s leg, and he’d been too taken with how the light shimmered in your hair to fully absorb what he was being told.

From his vantage point, Desha spotted the Order congregated into the open fields. Many were stretching or running through basic combat routines with each other, wooden practice sticks in their hands. Whatever exercise the Captain wanted to show off obviously hadn’t begun yet; he was off talking with a small group.

Shouts and hollers emerged from another section of the field, near the edge of the lake. He was too far away to hear the specific words, but he understood the angry tone well enough. Two armored soldiers were shoving each other, hostility in their body language. He huffed out a humorless laugh; the Order could be so unruly sometimes.

A scuffle between two soldiers was none of his concern — that is, not until he spotted you running full-speed at the two, waving your arms as if you could draw their attention to you. It was a foolish thought; you should’ve let them wear themselves out, and the issue would resolve itself. Most fights were petty squabbles, in Desha’s experience.

And then one reached for a wooden club, intending to strike the other with it, but caught you in the crossfire instead. The club hit you square in the head and sent you tumbling into the nearby water.

He moved without thinking.

The steps between you and him didn’t register — he was on the hill one moment, and in the next he was plunging into the chilly water. You weren’t submerged very far; the water this close to the bank was fairly shallow comparatively speaking, and he didn’t allow you any time to sink any lower.

The world was deathly quiet when he emerged, sopping wet, with you clutched to his front. He held you tight to him — one hand cradling the back of your wet head, the other positioned under your legs. He was bigger and broader than most any human, but right now you felt abnormally small and frail in his arms, like he could crush you with one wrong move.

Your breaths puffed weakly against his skin, but you remained limp as he walked, no doubt struck unconscious. Blood trickled from a laceration on your forehead at a worrying speed.

Desha did not look at the two soldiers responsible as he passed — they were already infinitely lucky the weapon had been blunt. Desha didn’t know what he’d do otherwise.

“I’ll leave the punishment up to you,” he said, nodding at the Captain. “I trust your discretion.”

“Yes, sir.”

The rest of his soldiers parted to create a path, standing at attention. One of your fellow medics came rushing to meet him. “Please, Lord Desha. This way.”

A little first-aid station had been set up near the training fields, though “station” might have been too generous a word. There was a single cot along with a haphazard collection of materials, like they’d been taken last-minute.

He laid you gently onto the cot, smoothing your hair from your face. You were soaked to the bone, skin chilly to the touch, and though you weren’t awake to feel it Desha imagined you must’ve been cold.

The medic swaddled you in whatever available rags were on hand to stave off the chill and cleaned your wound carefully, wiping away the blood that smeared your forehead. She unraveled a roll of bandages and wrapped the length of it around your head, securing it in the back with a knot.

“Are they okay?” he asked, gruffer than he meant.

She smiled reassuringly. “It only looks bad. Head wounds tend to bleed a lot no matter how severe. They’ll be okay, but it’s important they get into some dry clothes and get proper care in the infirmary. I can arrange transport to —”

“No,” Desha interrupted. “I’ll take them.”

She worried her lower lip, looking almost like she wanted to protest. “Be sure not to jostle them too much, and keep their head as still as you can.”

He scooped you into his arms with as much tenderness as he could muster, pillowing your head on his shoulder. He nodded toward the medic. “Thank you.”

“Keep them safe, King Desha. They’re someone precious to all of us.”

Stony-faced, he carried you all the way back to the castle. By the time he’d reached the infirmary doors, enough blood had seeped from your wound to tint your bandages a faint pink color. He kicked the doors open hard enough that they slammed against the wall, startling the two medics inside.

“King Desha! Is that — oh, dear…”

They took your limp form from his arms and laid you on one of the cots. One of the medics began fussing over you, unraveling your bloodstained bandages to take proper care of your wound.

“How’d this happen?”

“Training accident,” Desha replied, curt. “Get them some dry clothes and have them brought to my chambers once you’re done. They can rest there.”

The two medics shared a glance. “Of course, Lord Desha. Leave it to us.”

You could rest in the infirmary, of course. Or your bunk, which was in a room shared with the three other medics. But his quarters had the largest fireplace, the softest bed. It was only natural. He nodded toward the medics and left without another word. He was itching to get out of his wet clothes, himself.

All the way to his bedroom, the image of you lying so still and unresponsive on that cot floated above his vision. You looked so much like a shell of yourself, like life had drained out of you. Rationally, he knew it to be untrue — he knew you’d be fine, that you just needed to rest — but he hated thinking that his last memory of you would be without your smile, your kind eyes looking into his.

Feeling powerless was new. He was the second-ranking king for a reason. He had abilities most people only dreamed about, and yet he couldn’t stop you from getting hurt.

He knew it was no one’s fault, not really — he could blame those soldiers for arguing, he could blame the Captain for not paying attention, he could blame you for trying to break them up — but mostly he blamed himself for not being quick enough, for not having the foresight to stop it from happening in the first place.

In a moment of rage, he slammed his fist into the wall of his bedroom. The sheer force of his strength marred the marble with a small impact crater, and as he pulled his hand away bits of debris crumbled to the floor. The muscles of his jaw bulged as he clenched his teeth tight to keep from making a sound.

He stayed in that position, hand braced on the wall, standing stock-still, until the urge to remodel his room with his fist dissipated. By all accounts, he was a level-headed person. He rarely got angry in the first place, and rarer still did he give in to his anger, but this was…

He shrugged off his cape and began to strip from his wet clothes, leaving them heaped in a pile to be dealt with later. His crown followed, set aside almost carelessly onto his desk so he could pull his soaked hair up and off the nape of his neck. There was no need for him to look kingly — you were his only priority right now. Everything else could wait.

After dressing himself in a simple tunic and pants, Desha stoked the fireplace with a simple spark of electricity until fire bloomed in the hearth, crackling and popping as the sparks jumped from log to log. He was in the middle of adding more wood when someone knocked on his doors.

“What?” he called out. A moment later, the two medics from before wheeled you into his room on a trolley.

Gone were your wet clothes and your bloodied bandage. They’d wrapped you in warm, loose clothing, and had taped a thick patch of gauze over your wound. He liked to think there was more color in your face than before.

“King Desha, sir.”

The medics stepped aside as he gathered you in his arms with infinite gentleness. As kids, Despa and Ouken had once brought him an injured bird as if he might’ve known to mend it back to health. He had been nothing but a destructive force, especially back then, but it was the first time he had tried to fix rather than break. You reminded him of that bird — not in your frailty, but because you made him so desperate to help you.

One handed, he turned down the covers to his bed and placed you square in the middle, surrounded by an assortment of soft pillows, and then proceeded to tuck you in. “Do you know when they’ll wake up?”

“It’s hard to say, sir. We believe they sustained only a mild head injury, so it may only be a matter of hours.”

He glanced back, eyes hooded. “And if not?”

The medic shifted nervously. “Could be days, or possibly weeks —”

“But that is a very slim chance!” interrupted the other medic. “Head injury notwithstanding, they are otherwise a very healthy adult. We detected no water in the lungs and were able to stop the bleeding fairly quickly, so there is nothing to worry about.”

“However,” said the first, “if their wound reopens, or you notice any wheezing or crackling as they breathe, they need immediate attention.”

Desha piled more and more blankets atop you as he listened. Expensive furs, large quilts, and whatever else he had on hand all went toward making sure you’d stay nice and warm. “I got it. Thanks.”

“Do… you require anything else, sir?”

He watched your chest rise and fall evenly in sleep. Your lips were slightly parted, and with every exhale he felt your breath brush against his hand as he pulled a blanket closer to your chin. “Have some dried apples brought up.”

The hours stretched into dusk. Desha settled himself in the chair next to you and simply watched as you rested. Were it any other occasion, he was aware it would be considered creepy — what right did he have to stare at you for hours on end? — but he was truly concerned, he told himself. Even if his gaze traveled to the slope of your nose, the soft plumpness of your lips, the elegant angle of your neck, even if it lingered where your lashes dusted your cheeks — he was just monitoring you.

Fire roared in the hearth. The room had grown toasty and was just shy of unbearably warm. Desha ran warmer than most, so if he was hot, you were probably comfortable. The room with all its tile and marble would lose heat the moment he snuffed out the flames, so it was better to let the fire run its course to keep you warm for as long as possible.

The Captain’s voice sounded from the other side of the door. “King Desha, sir?”

“Yeah.”

He stepped inside. Desha could only imagine what he was thinking — you, comically small in his vast bed, buried under a mountain of blankets; him, slouched in the small armchair to your side, his long legs stretched out in front of him. As the king, there were better ways to spend his time than watching over you. There were people he could assign to do that, could have a medic sit at your side for a full day if he so ordered. But he wanted — no, he needed to keep his own eyes on you. He wanted to be the first to know if you woke up, or if your head decided to split in two, or if any other number of things were to happen.

Desha knew the burdens of royalty all too well. There were many sacrifices he’d made for the greater good, both personal and otherwise, and he knew he was being unreasonable, if not entirely irrational. But, damn it, he should be allowed this selfishness. Just this once.

The Captain stood in silence until Desha raised his gaze to his helmet. He snapped to attention. “King Desha! I take full responsibility for what transpired out there today, sir.”

He resisted the urge to groan. He wasn’t in the mood for apologies or penitence, but he knew the Captain was simply doing his job. “Make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

“Of course, sir!” There was a beat of silence where he obviously waited to see if Desha had anything else to say. When it was apparent that he wasn’t going to be reprimanded further, he spoke again. “Are they okay?”

Desha grunted the affirmative. “Just need to rest.”

The Captain must’ve been regarding you through his helm. “Lord Desha, I really am sorry that —”

He waved his hand dismissively. “I allowed you your one apology. You don’t need to say anything else on this matter.”

“...yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

For a moment, there were no other sounds in the room besides the crackling fire. The Captain shuffled on his feet. “I will take my leave —”

“Wait.”

He paused. “Yes, sir?”

“Do me a favor. Stand guard and make sure no one bothers me unless it’s urgent. If it can be delegated to some else, do so.”

“Yes, sir!”

The Captain seemed eager to help, though whether he saw it as punishment for what occurred earlier or simply as a royal duty Desha didn’t know, and didn’t care enough to find out. The Captain gave a short bow before he left, and the dull thud of the doors swinging shut let Desha know that he was, once again, alone.

Not alone alone. You were there, of course, even if you weren’t awake to talk. Desha hadn’t ever been a lonely child, not with two other brothers, and often while growing up he'd wish for nothing more than peace and quiet. He liked the isolation of his kingdom and enjoyed his time away from others.

But, for once, he found himself craving the company of another. Of you. He wished you were awake so he knew you were okay, he truly did, but he wanted, selfishly, to talk to you. There were so few occasions where he got to speak with you privately, and he wanted nothing more than to hear your bubbling laughter in response to something he said. Even if all you two did was sit in silence together, it would be leagues better if he could look over and see you smiling.

He stood from the chair and walked the scant few paces to his bed, where you were slumbering peacefully. Nothing had bled through your bandage, and your breathing was even and steady. Desha lifted his hand to your face — almost monstrously large in comparison — and touched his fingertips lightly to your forehead, a few inches shy of the gauze. His fingers drifted upward, sliding delicately into your hair, nails barely scratching against your scalp. He lowered his hand and pressed the back of his palm against your cheek, feeling the give of your flesh.

What would he say if you woke up to his shameless fondling, if you caught him

red-handed with his hand in your hair? What would you say? He tried to imagine you reacting with anger, maybe even annoyance, but in reality he knew you’d have forgiveness on your tongue and a smile on your face.

He could try to explain it away by saying he was checking your temperature, that he was making sure you weren’t cold — but that wasn’t the truth. It wouldn’t explain why he knew your favorite food, or why he so often lingered where you might be, or why he tried writing poetry, or why he gave you a rose, or why your smile was his favorite sight in the entire world.

Lying to you would be like hiding a wound: small at first, until it grew too big, leaving him with no choice but to admit to its existence. There was no point. He could confess to you now — say those three words that had been itching at the back of his throat for months now, once he realized what he was truly feeling.

He parted his lips. He’d just tell you that he…that he lo…

Even now, even when there was no chance you’d hear him, even when his only audience were the far-off moon and stars…Even then, he couldn’t admit it. He would laugh at his own absurdity if it didn’t make him feel so pathetic.

He was a hopeless fool, and hopelessly in love with you.

He woke with a jolt.

Desha cursed the moment he realized he’d fallen asleep and stumbled out of the armchair to look at you, heart thudding in his chest.

You looked exactly as he left you last night — with clean bandages and a healthy glow to your skin. The only difference were a few pillows that looked slightly out of place, as if you’d tossed and turned in your sleep.

He breathed an inward sigh of relief. Now that his main priority was taken care of, his body alerted him to his other needs — namely, one very pressing matter.

There was a crick in his neck, no doubt from sleeping akimbo in the armchair, and his lower back protested when he bent down to collect his still-damp clothes from yesterday. He planned on having them washed while he bathed, and then he’d get dressed and come watch over you again. He’d be out for an hour, tops.

If you didn’t wake up soon, he knew he couldn’t continue to postpone his duties. As long as he was certain you wouldn’t suddenly get worse, he would post others to watch over you in his place.

The Captain jumped to attention as Desha emerged from his bedroom. “Watch over them while I’m gone,” he instructed.

The answering yes, sir! followed him down the hall. He handed his clothes off to an attendant to be laundered and stepped inside the adjoining bathroom. Truthfully, he’d have preferred to take a hot bath with all the trappings that kingship afforded him, but there was little time. He made do with cold running water — at the very least, it felt good to scrub away the events of yesterday. The temperature also helped to make him feel more awake and alert. He wasn’t sure how long he slept, but there was enough fatigue behind his eyes that he knew it couldn’t have been more than a few hours.

After a handful of minutes, he stepped from under the perpetual spray of water and dried himself off, wrapping the towel around his waist. He spent little time looking at himself in the mirror as he freshened up, only staring at his reflection long enough to pull his wet and stringy hair up into a very messy bun.

He dressed into the clothes he’d been wearing before, only bothering to grab his cape and clip it around his shoulders. It was still warm from where it had no doubt been sitting to dry near the fireside

The Captain called out to Desha as he approached his bedroom. “King Desha, sir. They’re awake.”

You were sitting up when he entered, the bowl of dried apple slices perched atop your lap. A vast majority of the blankets had been tossed aside, though you had wrapped one around your shoulders, much like his cape. You smiled when you noticed him, soft and subdued. “I like your hair. It looks good like that.”

Any other time, he’d have committed your words to memory to reflect on them later. Now, though, his only singular thought was you.

His heavy bedroom doors swung shut with a sense of finality, leaving the two of you sequestered in the privacy of his room. A part of him urged to rush to you, to ask you a hundred and one questions and to hold your face in his hands until he could be certain you were okay.

He tamped that feeling down deep inside himself. “How do you feel?”

“Honestly? Like shit,” you laughed. You looked awful, too, head injury notwithstanding. Your eyes were half-lidded, like you could fall asleep any moment. “My head is killing me, and I don’t have the reserves to make myself better with magic right now. I’m kinda in limbo, I guess.”

Almost cautiously, Desha approached his bed and sat on the edge of it, angled toward you. “Do you remember what happened?”

You nodded. “I ended up as the punching bag in the middle of some argument.” Your tone was almost jovial, like you were trying to make light of the situation, but when Desha didn’t laugh or even smile in response, your shoulders slumped. “You must think I was being foolish.”

“Yes,” he answered without pause. You were just a healer, not a true field medic. You had no formal combat training nor did you have your own suit of armor to protect you. Of course it was foolish. “You’re too kind hearted for your own good.”

You looked down at the bowl in your lap while he spoke, rubbing your index finger along its wooden edges. “Actually, the reason I did it is kinda silly,” you admitted. “I…wasn’t thinking about who was gonna get hurt, or about de-escalating the situation. I just knew that you were supposed to be supervising us, and when I saw those two acting as if they were some dumb hormone driven teenagers, I just…” You shook your head. “I thought it’d be so embarrassing if you saw them behaving like immature kids, and I didn’t want that to be your impression of us.”

“You’re right. That’s the most idiotic thing I’ve ever heard.”

You flinched at his words. “King Desha, I —”

“You’re saying you almost let yourself get killed over my hypothetical opinion?” He groaned and pressed his palm to his temple, trying to temper his tone. “Pick a better reason to die next time.”

“Respectfully, you don’t get to tell me what to care about!”

Your attitude shift gave him whiplash; he’d never heard you raise your voice before, much less with this much anger behind it. Despite all your bravado, your voice trembled as you spoke. “If your opinion is important to me, then I’ll die for it! If I decide that your clothes are important, or how you take your eggs, o-or…whatever! I’ll do anything for you!” You wrung your hands in your lap, still not meeting his eyes.

“Hey…”

“And maybe it’s wrong for me to feel this way, and maybe I shouldn’t say it, but I like you, Lord Desha! A lot. A whole lot. And I know that you’re the king and I’m just some healer, but I —”

He grabbed onto your shoulders. “Hey.”

You shut up immediately, left heaving and teary-eyed by your outburst. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…” You bit your lower lip and ducked your head, as if you could avoid his gaze. “Please forget I said anything.”

You had gone from cowed, to angry, and then back to cowed in a manner of minutes, and it was all because of him. Desha inhaled deeply to prepare himself while still trying to process the exact meaning of your words. “Listen,” he started, as gently as he could muster. He was speaking to the crown of your head, but it made it easier than trying to confess face-to-face. “I like you, too, so —”

He stopped short as you jerked your head up in disbelief, narrowly missing bumping your head into his nose. “What?”

He felt his face grow hot. “You heard me.”

There was a split-second where all you did was look at him, wide-eyed, and then you were lurching forward to crash your lips awkwardly into his.

Unprepared and more than a little shocked, Desha fell backwards into the pile of blankets, taking you with him. The bowl in your lap toppled over and sent dried apple slices all over the bed.

You had kept yourself from collapsing into him with your hands braced on his chest. You were all but straddling his waist, knees on either side of his stomach. “Oh, oops,” you began, and then broke into sweet, bubbling laughter.

Desha couldn’t help it; he started to laugh with you, his raucous and off-kilter guffaws overpowering yours. You stayed atop him until your laughter petered out, until you were both merely staring at each other in the quiet room.

“For how long?” you suddenly asked.

“Huh?”

“How long have…have you…?”

“I don’t know. A while.”

“And you waited this long to tell me?”

“I didn’t wait,” he protested. “I tried telling you. Multiple times.”

You tilted your head, processing his words. “You mean… So, that time when you gave me your cape?”

He nodded.

“And…the rose?”

“I thought I was being clear enough.”

You looked infinitely pleased at the information, if a bit bashful, and hid your smile behind your fist. He reached his hand up and pulled yours away from your mouth, holding your wrist captive in his grasp. He didn’t sit by your side all night, sick with worry, to have you hide your happiness from him. Just looking at you made his own mouth upturn at the corners, unbidden.

“You’re pretty when you smile, King Desha.”

He scoffed and turned his head away, feeling his ears turn red. “Don’t start saying embarrassing things.”

You took advantage of the fact that you were still on top of him to lean in close enough that your noses almost brushed his cheek. “Even if they’re true? I’ve always thought you were handsome.”

“Enough,” he grumbled, even as he felt his blush spread down his face. “Get off me.” The bed shifted as you swung your leg over and crawled back into your hole between all the pillows. Desha sat up and covered his face with his hand, groaning. “I hope you won’t start saying stuff like that all the time.”

“What, I’m not allowed to compliment you? After I’ve spent all this time biting my tongue?” You shook your head. “Now I won’t seem weird if I say how good you smell, or how much I like your hair, or —” He glared at you, and you stopped and laughed. “I’ll space them out, how does that sound?”

“Whatever,” he grunted, rubbing at the back of his neck.

You fell into companionable silence. The fire had long since died down to nothing but ash, though his room no longer seemed so cold and empty.

“You know,” you started. “The Captain told me that you didn’t leave my side the entire night. Said you slept in that little armchair.”

“Someone needed to keep an eye on you, and I wanted it to be me. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

You inched your hand closer to his, and curled your fingers around his pinky, smiling softly. “I’m fine, King Desha. Promise. Although —” You broke off into a yawn. “I think I should get more sleep. Too much excitement for one day already.”

He glanced toward his doors, and then back to you. “I’ll have the Captain stationed outside the doors if you need anything. Anything major happens, have him get me. I want one of the medics to check you over later, too.”

You tugged a blanket over yourself, snuggling into the mass of pillows. “I can’t give myself my own exam?”

“You’re injured,” he said. “You do too much already. Just use this time to rest.”

You yawned again. “Yes, sir.”

Satisfied, Desha stood from the bed and grabbed his crown from his desk to set it rightfully on his head where it belonged. He glanced back one more time to find your eyes had already closed, and he lingered for just a moment, almost wanting to sit back in that armchair to keep watch over you again.

He couldn’t. You were fine, he told himself, and pushed open the double doors.

In just a few days, you were practically back to normal. With some sneaky self-healing, the gash had become little more than a broad scab, although the area around it was still discolored.

The two of you had grown closer. He often sought your company when he wasn’t actively dealing with anyone else, often inviting you to have lunch with him or to walk through the halls. Due to your injury, you currently had an open schedule (even if he did catch you trying to return to work a couple times). While you were healing, he insisted you keep to his bed, but you were equally insistent that he sleep under his own covers. You had protested that the bed was big enough for the two of you, and it was — it was even big by his standards — and that you could sleep on each edge with a sea of distance in between.

The first night of that arrangement, you ended up cocooned in his arms while he tucked you to his chest, keeping you safe and secure against him.

After that you dropped all pretense and drove straight to cuddling at night.

It was no longer a rare occurrence to see you and him together. You dropped in whenever you could, either just to chat or wave hello or even just to sit in silence, enjoying his company.

Now, however, was not one of those latter times. There was a lull in between subjects looking for an audience with him, and you were perched on the arm of the throne, talking about this and that while he patiently listened.

To be honest, he sometimes had trouble following you — you tended to jump from topic to topic, and if you were really excited, you talked so fast you’d stumble and trip over your words. He did always listen, even if he didn’t always understand — what mattered most to him was seeing you smile.

“Anyway,” you were saying, “I should go. I promised some friends I’d have lunch with them.”

You leaned over the throne and pressed your lips to Desha’s cheek, quick and chaste, before hopping off. “See you later, Lord Desha!”

He watched you leave through one of the side exits, his fingertips ghosting over where your lips had been seconds earlier, like he could commit to memory the warmth and shape of your kiss.

Quiet sniggers echoed in the vast hall, and he whipped his head around to the guards posted near the entrance. He scowled, trying to appear threatening even though he could feel his ears burning. “You two. Not a word,” he hissed. “Understand?”

The two soldiers jumped to attention, backs ramrod straight. “Yes, sir!”

Desha hmph’d and slouched down into his throne, leaning heavily into his elbow. It gave him ample excuse to hide his smile into the palm of his hand — it wasn’t befitting for a king to look so lovesick.

#.txt #ranking of kings #ousama ranking #desha #king desha x reader #desha x reader #writing #i had other ideas but then i saw that tweet and i was likeholy shit. Holy Shit.#i love him. i love him i love him i love him i love him #im still sort of conflicted abt how i portrayed him #and im also not entirely sure hed act on his feelings if he Did realize he liked u #but the tweet was so fucking cute i just had to indulge #forgive me maybe im cliche but i love like opposites in a relationship so much #desha is so coarse and grumpy and an asshole and i love it if ur the complete opposite of him #god anyway that tweet is literalyl so good bc desha giving u a thorny rose is literally like the purest form of confession there could be #its the most heartfelt thing coming from a man who spent his entire life fighting a war and then leading an entire kingdom #hes saying 'i love you. isnt this how im supposed to show it?'#and there r obvious gaps in his knowledge but he still Tries #idk. its just so sweet to me #ill take men who love u but dont know how to express it for 1000 alex #urgh the more i wrote this the more i disliked how i wrote it but i cant see any other way around it #desha in love is Uncharted Territory. how tf is he gonna act? no one knows #i certainly dont #hope its believable tho i might change my mind in 2 weeks GJKSFJKSFJKAFW #i was gonna call this limerence after the piece ive been listening to non-stop while writing this but.#its gotta be WHOLESOME #wholesome love #anyway #next step: suck his co

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itssleepyrabbit · 3 years

Note

hi! wow i super love your art and i don’t have enough dabihawks in my life 🥺 was wondering if you had any fic recs for them?? 💕💕

aah thank you so much!! 💕💕 💕💕

BOY IF I DO HAVE!! alright buckle up this might get long (most are fluff and SFW~ i’ll put a NSFW warning but be sure to look at tags in all of them!!)

Bed I made (lie in it with me) by silverwordswrites

“Touya is in desperate need of a plus-one for his brother's wedding and Keigo is infinitely curious about the man who he was sure used to hate him in college.”

-- the summary says everything and honestly it’s one of the most romatics dabihawks fics i’ve read.

On-going

He Doesn't Love Me by Fatally

“Dabi doesn't love him. He's accepted that thorny truth, swallowed it down and let briars grow in his chest, drinking down his blood like water.Or: The one in which Hawks settles for pining for his entire life and doesn't realize Dabi's been staring at him the entire time, too.”

-- I love pinning Hawks with a burning passion.

Completed

sweetheart, is that you? by fuckendeavor666

“dabi and hawks say i love you (without actually saying i love you) in five different ways.“

-- This is my absolute fave dabihawks fic

Completed

Deck the Halls With Boughs of Folly by DrAphra

“In which the League has acquired a new fancy mansion -with all the heating and food and plush beds they could possibly need - but they still prefer to spend the day out in the wilderness with just each other. Plus Hawks.“

-- Honestly all Aphra’s dabihawks fics are more than worth it but this one has a special place on my heart.

Completed

fuck, im so young - orphaned

“Todoroki Touya writes poems.

Words upon words of heartfelt confessions, letters of sing song fantasies, syllables of feelings he never got to say out loud.

When Todoroki Touya hits sixteen, he burns himself to death.

When Dabi hits twenty four-

He meets Hawks.”

-- i don’t know how to explain but this fic it’s pretty

Completed

Feathers and Feelings by Toboe1087

“Hawks keeps leaving feathers on his pillow, and Dabi's about had it.

(like hell he'd let anyone else have them, though)”

-- Dabi preening Hawks feathers is a blessing

Complete

(this is not a) swan song by bittermoons

“"Who's your favorite, then?"

"Hawks." Touya doesn't miss a beat. "Definitely Hawks."

"What? Seriously? How come?"

"He has his flaws, but at the end of the day, he's trying to do good. It's something he always strives for. Dabi, on the other hand...if it weren't for Hawks, he wouldn't be a hero, that's for sure."

[Or: How a secret is revealed, and what comes afterwards.]”

-- Adorable no quirks AU with manga artist Touya and oblivious Keigo! Another author i adore pretty much all dabihawks works.

Completed

You can't trap the sky in a bottle by thyandra

“Letting Toga organize the accommodations for their trip might have been a mistake. This particular truth becomes obvious to Keigo as he opens the door of his hotel room for the first time. There, staring back at him mockingly, is a single, king-sized bed. It’s only by virtue of all the years spent perfecting his poker face around his adoptive parents, that he manages to keep his face straight. At his side, Touya clicks his tongue. “They must’ve given us the wrong key.””

--(no quirks AU) I really love they way Dabi and Hawks are written here i can’t express it in words and so so much pinning

Completed

A Tale as Old as Time by EloFromMars, Gotcocomilk

“Dabi and Hawks are hit by the most improbable Quirk: both are yeeted in Fairytales land and have to rely on each other to get out of this.“

-- this was such a fun read omg

Completed

A Romance Written All Over Your Body by minatsukinoamayo

//NSFW mind the tags!//

“Hawks is assigned to infiltrate the League of Villains in order to expose them. Hawks usually never fails a mission, but Keigo usually never falls in love, either.A story of how Hawks falls from grace to become a villain, because hero society has failed them all.

5 times they're not in a relationship and 1 time they are.“

-- you know those fics you say “one more chapter” and it’s 3AM

Completed

it caught spark in your eyes by youareoldfatherwilliam

//Mature - Implied Sexual Content//

“Keigo’s quirk is powerful, but sometimes it comes with unintended side effects.

Or: A 5 + 1 fic of five times the more…instinctively bird-like parts of Keigo’s quirk took over accidentally during his relationship with Dabi, and one time it happened entirely on purpose.“

-- I was screaming about this particular fic on twt the other day pls give it a read if you can it’s so so so good! Any fic that has Hawks with bird traits has a special place on my heart

Completed

The Others by threesipsmore

//Mature - 2 sexual scenes, nothing too explicit but they’re there//

“"Skeptic's starting to think he’s more important than me,” Toga sneers, an acidic edge to her voice. “Making decisions on his own, sending out birdie without even talking to me first.”

She’d simply acquiesced to cooperating with Skeptic, but from day one the complaints had never stopped. In this tiny room layered with sushi and cakes, Dabi was forced to listen to her whining.”

-- You go birb, you get that man

Completed

Equivalent Exchange by inexchangeforyoursoul

“Keigo blinks the blurry oblivion away from his eyes, although some part of it is oddly stubborn and to stay indefinitely. There's three things he's certain of: first, he’s alive. Second, just by looking at the bed and windows he can tell this is no villain hospital or torture room. Third: something feels wrong. Very wrong.

The silence… is deafening.

xxx

To obtain, something of equal value must be lost.

If so, what of a bird that has lost its wings?”

-- i had so many feelings reading i can’t physically explain them to you also PINK HAIR DABI PINK HAIR DABI

Completed

dabi's 5-step guide to being a better parent than endeavor by twinkfrankenstein (orphan_account)

“A little voice inside his head whispered spitefully about how this was no place for a child, and how he was making a mistake and would only traumatize the kid, yada yada. He responded with an equally spiteful-

“Fuck off, its not like I planned to do arson today.”

(or: how Dabi becomes a good dad just to spite his own, realizes he kinda sorta maybe likes Hawks for realsies, begrudgingly admits the League cares and finally comes to terms with his protective side. Not in that order.)“

-- this legit made me laught out loud idk what else tell you

Completed

The Todoroki In-Laws by aphrodaisyacs

“Over 10 years after the fight against the Paranormal Liberation Front, Rumi, aka the part-time hero Miruko and the proud wife of one Todoroki Fuyumi, decides it would be an awesome idea to create a groupchat with the significant others of the other Todoroki siblings.

Maybe things would be easier if its members weren’t two Pro Heroes, a former one and a rehabilitated villain, but…Honestly, where’s the fun in that?”

-- this is not dabihawks focused but it’s so funny pls

Completed

With Being Petty Comes Consequences by CursedUndead

“"When we were saying fuck pro heroes, I didn't think you literally meant FUCK them," Tomura grumbles, kicking over an empty beer can.

"Pretty judgmental for someone fucking a pro twice their age," Touya says.

Tomura squints, and says, "Ten years is not twice my age."

Or, after spending Enji's money, Touya is forced to babysit for the number 2 hero to pay him back. Touya makes it his life's mission to fuck his new boss.”

-- this only has 4 chapters but i know it’s going to be one of my faves

On-going

The Truth series by AmethystUnarmed

-- Hawks gets hit with a truth quirk and starts to be actually free by the power of love, friendship and a bit of crime <3

The last entry is on-going

and if we sit and count it up it's really not a lot by sincerelysamedt

“Hawks finds a bento box in his messenger bag and almost cries.

"Is that a loving wife bento?"“

-- please PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD READ THIS ONE /sobbing noises/

Completed

steal your heart by darlingest

//Mature//

“When infamous thief Hawks announces that he is going to steal the heart of Endeavor's son, everyone expects him to prey on Shoto Todoroki - nobody suspects Touya to be the actual target.“

-- Villain Hawks and civilian Dabi are my guilty pleasure and this one it’s so soft too i’m- djsahfdjkfhadf

Completed

darling, thank god it’s this universe we’re in (and you can annoy me as much as you please) by juurensha

“ Todoroki Rei divorces Endeavor and moves all four of her children into a small apartment next to a boy with wings as red as the hair of her eldest son. “

-- This was one of the first dabihawks fics i ever read and, to this day, i come back to it when i feel i need the extra burst in happy feelings and check their other works too! Honestly all are such a good fucking read

Completed

#ask #faerie-fang #this is not even half the fics i love #i can always show more but i was afraid of bugging again djsfhadf #honestly check ALL this authors you're not gonna regret it #fic rec #dabihawks

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wallwriterstuff · 4 years

Text

The Necessity of Love

So inspired by this post from @lord-diavolo-is-watching

Okay imagine this : the brothers had a hard time to adjust to the Devildom, so for their first night they all slept together in the living room and the brothers (everyone but Luci, Satan and maybe Mammon) asked if they shouldn't pray because that's what they usually do before going to sleep and Lucifer simply told them:

"Starting from today we don't pray anymore. Father has forsaken us."

Have a fic that literally no one but @ikemen-lover159 asked for :)

Summary: On their first night in the House of Lamentation, Lucifer gives it it’s namesake by lamenting on all the sins that brought them to the Devildom, trying to pinpoint where it all went wrong.

Warnings: Angsty as hell because we don’t know what fluff is here, Satan being somewhat cruel, the boys in distress, questioning the problem of evil.

Words: 2722 because I couldn’t stop once I started please forgive me

I would like to note that for any religious folk reading this, I mean no offence by posing the problem of evil as a way to question God. I followed what seemed like a logical thought process for Lucifer in a time of great grief and pain for all the brothers. In no way is it meant to belittle beliefs of any nature but this fic’s intention is to show how belief might be questioned. I have tried to handle the topic sensitively and apologise if anyone feels it was handled wrong.

Since their very creation they had been taught to love. They had been taught to be patient, to be kind and to be devout. They had been taught the importance of purity, of chastity and charity. They were supposed to embody the traits that humanity would strive for in their quest for virtue, and they had worked for centuries to become all that He had intended them to be. Among the ranks of angels, there were few higher than them thanks to their devotion and adoration to Him and His cause.

The hypocrisy was stifling.

Lucifer had been created first, famed for his beauty and grace as he diligently served Him. He knew nothing other than the blind loyalty to the man who had breathed life into his lungs and raw power into his soul, not until he was taught compassion and love and everything good. He had been good. He’d been the best at being good! He had been chaste and pure and kind and ensured that his brothers were to. They shared no blood, but they were brothers none the less, created one by one and entrusted to one another to be guided down a virtuous path. They had all been good…hadn’t they?

It had been Him who had asked them to watch humanity, to give the lesser beings something to strive for as they grew into the world gifted to them. His adoration for them was clear so the Celestial Realm had followed suit. Lucifer had devoted himself whole heartedly to learning to love the strange little creatures far below, reaching up their hands as though virtue and grace was something they could snatch from the heavens. He had taught his brothers to do the same and they had spent endless stretches of time watching over the little ones when even He had seemed to grow bored of his creation. Belphegor and Lilith had taken his teachings to heart the most - Lilith perhaps a little too literally.

Lilith.

The agony her name brought was almost unbearable and his fist clenched of its own accord, nails scratching through the delicate fabric of the chair he had sat himself in by the fire. Her love for humanity had been so great it had led her to temptation. The rules were clear, to alter her lover’s lifespan was not an option but his sister was young and as it often did, youth had given way to impetuousness. Lucifer was no fool. He knew the likelihood of their love being accepted amongst the ranks of already sceptical angels, lesser and disobedient angles, was slim. He had thought he had more time to make Him and everyone else see reason, to craft an argument so well made it could be unshattered by any attempts to counter it. He had vetted the man, knew he was virtuous and good and deserving of the love of an angel. If only she hadn’t been so rash in attempting to save his life…

Lilith.

He hissed, the sting in his chest to real to subdue and file away. There was not a moments peace from the grief and the pain he and he alone had to shoulder now. Her only crime had been to love another too much. How could obliteration be the fate she deserved for following His teachings? His crime was worse, he had known it the moment he had suggested it to his brothers, but again it had come from a place of love. He had loved Lilith so deeply the desire to save her had become a maddening need. His own survival had seemingly depended on it, or so it felt like. His brothers had loved him enough to walk right behind him, standing tall as they leapt into the fray. When He had declared that they were all guilty of a grievous sin it had enraged him because…he’d never intended that. His love for his sister had driven him to a rebellion that placed his beloved brothers in just as much danger as she was in.

In the strangely still aftermath of it all he’d come to the conclusion it was his fault, lying on a cold, dirty floor as he waited for something to come and end his misery. When Lilith had began to fall he’d dived with her, his brothers continuing the fight in his stead as he plunged in a desperate attempt to save her. It was all he had ever wanted to do and things had spiralled so far beyond his control it was laughable. Only as she lay dying, his heartfelt goodbye pouring from him as he committed one last act of betrayal out of love for her, did he finally understand exactly how this would end. He had intended to take the blame, to suffer whatever punishment he must in exchange for the lives of his brothers, whose only real crime was to follow a flawed and imperfect angel like him. He still hadn’t seen it even then, the flaws in His Father so many humans were starting to see as they bickered about how best to honour Him.

He hadn’t expected to fly right into the middle of their execution.

He had returned to find them restrained but struggling, fire in their eyes and hope in their hearts. For him to return without Lilith crushed them. Beelzebub, the gentle giant beloved by every angel he had ever met, had gone limp so suddenly that those restraining him sagged to the floor under his sudden dead weight. Dazed at the loss of their sister the six of them had been entirely ready to accept punishment, to join her in returning to the nothingness they’d been created from. He knew differently, he knew she was alive and well now, and as an all-knowing Father Lucifer was sure that the powerful man before him knew it to. Watching Michael’s sword come swinging towards Mammon’s neck, the brother he had known and loved longest, had cleaved his heart in two – quite literally at that.

The bitter anger and betrayal he’d felt, the desperate need for vengeance, it swelled and burst out of him in a great shaft of light that flittered about angrily, the malevolence in it quite obvious. Once its humanoid figure had formed and the light had dimmed, the howl of rage the embodiment of his wrath let loose had shook his very bones. It had taken a lot to restrain Satan when he was first born, and Lucifer knew he had only made things worse by creating him. He honestly hadn’t meant to, but the rage had been too much. Mammon being put to death, his brother calmly taking it as though he deserved to pay for Lucifer’s crimes…it had been too much, and yet not enough. Not enough for their Father, who knew the grief was a greater punishment than death could ever be.

So, with one mighty shove He had pushed them all away.

The fall itself replayed in his head still and he doubted he would ever be granted peace from the memory. Shattering the barrier between the Celestial Realm and the human world had felt like crashing through ice, the shards cold and sharp as they sliced through his skin and the stinging wind did little to soothe the wounds. The cold had quickly become fire, Celestial grace unable to leave the Celestial Realm being dragged up and out through every pore in his body until it combusted and set ablaze the wings so many had fawned over. His brothers screams echoing in his ears, his bones popping like firecrackers as his entire form was diminished. Landing in the Devildom had quite honestly been painless compared to the rest of it all. The slap of cold, hard dirt on his back, stealing his air, was actually a welcome relief, since it meant he no longer had to Fall.

He wasn’t sure what had happened to the others or if they’d tell him their experience, given time to heal, but as his body slowly put itself back together he had been greeted by the animal that would become his familiar. The peacock had strutted regally towards him and pecked at the remaining feather and bone the impact hadn’t quite shed him of. He had stared aimlessly at the sky, letting the peacock preen him as new wings grew in. He had lay there thinking of all that had led him to this moment and reached the conclusion that something had to be flawed. So what was it? Was love flawed? Was humanity? Was it both?

It had been a few days since that moment and he still wasn’t sure of the answer. His brothers were all finally awake, Diavolo granting them power and healing their injuries like an old friend, welcoming them to the Devildom as though they were always meant to have fallen into the depths of its depravity. Their new home was lavish beyond anything they could have imagined and yet…it was too much. To spend all the millennia from the dawn of creation up until now revering the simple things, refuting greed and luxury, made it difficult to be thrust into a world where an opulent lifestyle was not only expected but required. They embodied different virtues now. Pride, greed, envy, wrath, gluttony and sloth. They had been warned of these seven deadly sins and tried their best to aid humans in avoiding them, and now…now they were them. It was all his fault.

Belphegor would happily blame humanity from now till the end of time he was sure, but their predicament to him seemed to stem from love. Lilith had loved a human, and he had loved Lilith, so he started a rebellion and their love for him meant his brothers had joined him on a one-way ride down to the Devildom. He had tried to use that same love since, praying for the forgiveness of his brothers. His Father had quite diligently ignored his pleas and though Lucifer was still undecided if it was love, humanity or both that was a flawed concept, he had reached a conclusion that was equally as harrowing as it was satisfying.

God did not love.

An all-loving Father would have offered a chance at forgiveness, wouldn’t he? An all-loving Father would not have been so cruel as to condemn them to a fate where they would have to endure their grief in a place too unfamiliar still to call home. Death would have been a mercy, so an all-loving Father would have granted them that surely? They were here because they had loved one another too much, and their Father had not loved them enough. It was decided then. Love was a flawed concept. His Father had been wrong to place such high value on such a tempting sin.

“Dammit all!” Leviathan’s howl of irritation and pain had his eyes lifting from the fire crackling in the hearth. Tears pricked at vivid orange eyes, his fingers desperately scratching at the scales that now coated various patches of skin. The digits came back bloody and Mammon’s eyes widened.

“Hey, hey! Stop it Levi, here, here let me see.” He gently forced his brother’s trembling hand away from the self-inflicted wounds. “Hang on, let me get something.” Mammon left in a hurry and Lucifer looked over each of his brothers in turn. The rooms were too lavish, and they weren’t used to sleeping so far apart from one another, so a compromise had been made and plush duvets had been bought down to the living room. Belphegor had yet to wake, his sleeping patterns completely irregular now his body was adjusting to the sloth in him. Satan was engrossed in a book about Devildom history, the only one who was seemingly keen to be down here. Asmodeus had turned his back on them all, huddled in his duvet and staring aimlessly at the bookshelf before him.

When Mammon returned with a bowl of water and a cloth, Levi couldn’t help the quiet sniffle that left him.

“Th-thanks.” He mumbled, trying desperately to keep it together. Beelzebub wasn’t even trying. Protectively wrapped around Belphegor as the latter snored softly, the grief and torment in his eyes was obvious as he watched his older brother hurting.

“The scales are really dry, maybe you should take a bath.” Mammon suggested quietly. His loud, boisterous personality was gone, replaced instead by something horribly timid. Lucifer felt another pang of guilt and anger. He had done this to them all.

“Maybe…maybe we should pray?” Asmodeus’s voice was equally as quiet, weak and uncertain. Lucifer clicked his tongue, his eyes moving back to the flames. He heard the rustle of Amso moving but couldn’t bring himself to look at him. He didn’t want to see any of them if he was honest, the brothers he’d failed. Satan’s quiet snort didn’t go unnoticed.

“Asmo-“

“We usually do before we go to sleep so what’s the harm?” Beelzebub demanded. He had had little patience for Satan since his appearance, convinced that he was the reason they had been tipped into the Devildom and stripped of any chance of re-joining his beloved sister, the final piece to the puzzle that was Beelzebub, Belphegor and Lilith.

“In case you haven’t noticed, he seems to be done listening to you.” Satan sneered.

“Like you would know, you weren’t even an angel! You don’t understand any of it!” Asmodeus protested, “Right Lucifer?” Lucifer couldn’t bring himself to answer. He had tried. He had prayed and prayed and prayed only to be ignored time and again. Their Father didn’t love them, he had abandoned them to this place. He had taught them all to love and gone back on his own word. Lucifer clenched his fist once more, the anger and grief roiling in his gut and making him feel oh so sick.

“All I’m saying is if your blessed Father was all-knowing he would have foreseen this happening, wouldn’t he? So, if he knew it was coming, and is all-loving, why wouldn’t he correct your course? Why not help you avoid this truly terrible fate?” the way he drawled each word really gave it time to sink in and the answering silence spoke volumes.

“He’s…got a point.” Mammon muttered uncomfortably.

“Of course I do, the sooner you accept it the faster you can start adjusting to life here. It might not be all bad. Did you know the Devildom has over 300 types of demon inhabit it?” Satan stated matter of factly.

“And now we do.” Beelzebub said softly. The silence that rang in his ears made Lucifer’s head spin. He pushed up from his chair, levelling each of his broken, beaten brothers with his calmest stare. They all knew better than to question the tears in his eyes or the slight waver in his voice.

"Starting from today we don't pray anymore. Father has forsaken us."

He quickly buried himself in his own bedding after that so they wouldn’t see how much it truly pained him to say it. He pretended not to hear Asmodeus cry himself to sleep. He pretended he couldn’t hear Mammon trying to calm a pained Levi begging him to take the scales away and give him his wings back. He pretended not to hear Beelzebub’s quite goodnight to Lilith, his solemn vow to look after Belphegor woven into the tender words that carried through the air. He pretended to ignore it all even though every bit of pain his brother’s oozed was soaked up by him like a sponge, adding to his own torment. He pretended not to feel Mammon’s hand on his shoulder to as he passed him to settle down to sleep to.

“Have we really been forsaken?” he asked him quietly. Lucifer swallowed thickly.

“Father has forsaken us…but we will not forsake each other.” It was all he could think to say to comfort his younger brother. He would forsake none of them. He would make them whole again as best he could. He hadn’t made a deal with Diavolo for nothing. Even if the world around them changed, even if he himself became unrecognisable to the people that once loved him, everything he would do from then on would always be in the name of family.

#obey me #obey me mammon #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me lucifer #obey me diavolo #the fall #angst #demon brothers

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orionsangel86 · 5 years

Text

“I Think It’s Time For Me To Move On”

...And Other Things That Have Destroyed Me This Weekend...

So there is this common trope within love stories which generally happens at the end of the second act in which everything goes wrong and we all think that the lovers are doomed to failure. Its pretty much standard in every Jane Austen novel, every romantic film every made, every single bloody love story. Go ahead, name one. I guarantee you the break up moment is there.

Within the epic love story of Dean and Cas, there have been many break up moments, and all have had their emotionally devastating impact on the relationship and the show...

But THIS was a different level.

(For a nice summary of Destiel break up moments and understanding of this trope, @tinkdw wrote about it here.)

I didn’t think that there would be another moment within Dean and Cas’s relationship that could hit me this hard. The mixtape in 12x19, the wrapping of Cas’s body in 13x01, and the return of Cas in 13x05 are moments that I consider to be the very top of the scale in making this pairing undeniably romantic. Moments that pushed it beyond a platonic interpretation. These three moments have been the things I cling to when the show has otherwise made me doubt any conclusion to the DeanCas story, and since there hasn’t been another one of those moments since 13x05, until now I have been somewhat nervous that the story was dropped, or being forced back behind a platonic screen.

15x03 has ripped that screen away.

Emotional meta under cut...

This entire episode was an emotion fuelled dramatic roller-coaster that killed off three characters including our beloved witch queen in a scene that almost stole the show and practically canonised the SamWitch ship. Rowena’s death should have been by far the most torturous moment for viewers to endure, and it was extremely torturous and had me sobbing on a plane 3 hours into a 7 hour flight. That incredibly heartfelt moment between Sam and Rowena will probably go down as one of the top tear-jerking moments on this show. It was tragic in the best way - the way Supernatural is famous for.

But lets not gloss over the fact that in an episode where THAT should have been the climax, where THAT should have been the emotional highlight and end point, instead we get a further MORE dramatic stand off between Dean and Cas that pulled focus and ripped all of our hearts out just as violently as poor Ketch in the first act (a very clever and smug piece of meta foreshadowing there Mr Berens).

On a meta level, this is HUGE as a writing choice because they MUST know how this looks. This was the climax of the third episode of the finale season. The way Supernatural has always structured itself since Carver era is that the first three mytharc episodes of each season establish the direction of the story and set the foundations for the character level focal points and dramatic key notes to come.

That the writers have chosen to end the foundation episodes with a DeanCas break up moment that was more dramatic than a Spanish Telenovela has just stunned me and left me reeling because I just can’t see how else this can go. This break up scene absolutely DEMANDS a huge reconciliation of the sort that will be part of the A plot of the season - the FINAL SEASON. Guys. Part of the reason I have been so quiet and so disillusioned with the show during late season 13 and season 14 was because they pushed any Destiel plot into non existent territory - it became kinda irrelevant and Dean and Cas just acted like friends (homoerotic friends yes, and sometimes like an old married couple, but it was mostly played as an afterthought imo), so for this to suddenly be brought to the forefront of the emotional story again is excellent news for us.

The thing is, like with those huge moments I listed above, the break up scene is basically undeniably romantic when you break it down to its components:

1. It’s only Dean and Cas.

Once again we have another scene of high stake emotions that excludes Sam. In a platonic reading of the show, it makes zero sense for there to be such a hugely disjointed relationship between Cas and Dean and Cas and Sam given he has known them both for so long now that if they were all “just friends” then surely Sam would also feel the impact of Cas’s choices as heavily as Dean. In a platonic reading, Dean comes across as an asshole, Sam comes across as being weirdly uncaring about his friend of 10 years, and Cas comes across as not even bothering to get Sam’s opinion before leaving. A romantic reading makes sense because quite literally THIS IS A ROMANTIC BREAK UP.

2. The words spoken.

“Well I don’t think there is anything left to say.”

“I think it’s time for me to move on”

From Cas’s perspective at least, name one time in a piece of media where such language has been used for a platonic breakup sincerely? There have been heartfelt break up songs that use these exact words. (I should know I’ve spent the last 24 hours listening to them all).

That last line in particular is so heavy. It’s the last line of the episode and nothing about it is platonic. This is relationship terminology my dudes. “I need to move on, and get over you.” This is Cas’s bloody Adele song. My heart breaks for him, but if I was his sassy and fabulous best girlfriend right now I’d be sitting him down, sipping a cocktail, flipping my hair and telling him “Babe, you’re too good for him. Good Riddance. Let’s go out, have some cocktails, something pink and fruity. No dive bars for us darling. I’ll take you to Heaven... the fun one in London.”

In all seriousness though, from Cas’s perspective, this was him admitting defeat and giving up the fight for love. How anyone can possibly say Cas isn’t in love with Dean after this, well I just don’t know what show you are watching. This is the face of a heartbroken man who has just accepted that his love is unrequited.

3. The many faces of Dean Winchester

On the other end of the scale, Dean was mostly silent after his poisonous words “And why does that something always seem to be you?”

Forgive the terrible gif quality I’ve no time for fancy gif work!

Look at his face here. He knows what he said was fucked up and he immediately regrets it. The way he swallows around that regret and then turns away.

and after Cas says that devastating final line and walks away? We get THIS reaction from him:

The jaw clench as he looks down. The sorrow on his face as he realises he has well and truly fucked this up. LOOK

Finally, he looks up, makes himself look up and watch Cas leave. If that isn’t the face of a broken man I dunno what to tell you. Anyone who thinks Dean is totally heartless and uncaring right now needs to reassess because this is NOT the face of someone uncaring. This is the face of someone who has just lost everything. Again.

4. The FUCKING MUSIC

Seriously. The sweeping heavy drama of the low strings that come in right after Dean says that horrid line, that carry the weight of the look of horror and heartbreak on Cas’s face as they amplify the emotion there. As they blend seamlessly into the slow and subtle version of the Winchester family theme behind Cas’s heartbreaking speech and Dean’s stubborn stoic face hiding a multitude of emotion, until the violin dominates as Cas says “I think it’s time for me to move on” and the Winchester Theme swells to its climax, ripping all our hearts out just like poor Ketch as Dean watches Cas walk out of his life surrounded by darkness.

I MEAN.

A friend on Twitter reminded us all of this point about the importance of this theme via @justanotheridijiton here which is essentially:

“The Winchester theme is not simply an aural marker to let the audience know when and how Sam and Dean love each other (any Supernatural fan knows that is the baseline of their relationship), but to provide narrative information, especially when the image and dialogue are incomplete or inconsistent with the true situation... Seasoned fans will recognize the theme and its history of being paired with images indicating deep emotional bonding and a desire to do the right thing by the Winchester code. Here we trust our ears over our eyes to reveal the truth.”

So here is yet another key indicator that any surface read that this is actually an ending between Dean and Cas and that Dean really is just an angry asshole is utter bullshit.

Honestly, this was PAINFUL, but it was painful in the best way. It was 13x01 levels of pain, but this time it was Cas choosing to walk away which makes all the difference. Dean’s greatest fear isn’t his loved ones dying on him after all, but of his loved ones choosing to leave him. This was exactly the kick up the ass Dean needs in order to win Cas back, classic love trope style.

Hence my excitement at what is to come. Yes we won’t see Cas again until 15x06, but in the meantime I fully expect a good helping of angst and wallowing from a depressed Dean who has to deal with the fact that he has just lost the love of his life and it is all his fault. That he just pushed away the one person who promised they would always stay by his side. That has got to hurt.

So yeah, this episode emotionally destroyed me, and I’ve only really covered the primary reason, let alone all my feels over SamWitch, Rowena’s death, Belphegor’s taunting of Cas over his deepest fears and then having to suffer through smiting a creature wearing the face of his son until his body was nothing but a burnt corpse... I wonder if Bobo had a bet going in the office over how much he could hurt us all? He was certainly enjoying scrolling through the Supernatural tag on Twitter and liking everyone’s reaction tweets including some brilliant Destiel related ones. I do love Bobo. Our Angst Goblin King.

If anyone had asked me a few weeks ago what my thoughts were on the chances of getting explicit canon Destiel by series end, I would have said somewhere in the realms of 30-40%, considering it a battle of wills between DabbBerens and CW studio execs who I still feel are against it in general. I would have considered everything that happened after 13x06 as the writers getting a big NO on Destiel from the network and therefore having to pull back on any Destiel related plot points (purely my own speculation on BTS matters of course).

Now I am wondering if Dabb kept fighting the network? If he managed to wear them down into begrudging acceptance? I’m currently up to around an 80% chance of textual canon DeanCas if we continue on this path. If Dean is clearly shown to be mourning and hating himself over Cas next episode, and if this DeanCas dramatic plot line continues to be a focal point of the emotional story arcs... well...

I’m side eyeing 15x07 a lot right now. Only in my wildest dreams would I think that they might actually introduce an old boyfriend for Dean in a “coming out” episode, but the placement, timing, and potential is all there and I’m kind of once again donning the clown mask because I’m just in awe at everything that they are doing. I guess we’ll find out soon enough. In the meantime, I’m gonna paint my face in red and white and wear my rainbow wig and listen to break up songs on Spotify whilst trying to shove my heart back into my chest where Bobo Beren’s gleefully ripped it out with his hands like the demonic angst goblin he is. Wish me luck, I’m not sure I’m gonna get through this season with my emotions intact.

#destiel #supernatural #spn meta #destiel meta #spn speculation #season 15 #15x03 #castiel #dean winchester #spn spoilers #my meta #destiel dreaming #destiel break up

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theropoda · 4 years

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3, 4, 6-8, 11, 13-17, 19-22, 26-30 uwu

WOO LAD THAT’S A LOT THANK U!!! this got long and i wrote an essay or two LOL so im putting it under a readmore!

3: Best game you’ve ever played? WEEEELLLL.......let me preface this with two things: one, i am a FAKE GAMER as in my laptop is not at all made for gaming, it’s piss poor, so a big chunk of games i’m interested in is because i watched a playthrough of them lol. i have a 3ds but only 3 games on it (animal crossing new leaf, tomodachi life, nintedogs & cats). second, i’m very bad at choosing favorites of things.....BUUUUT .....i choooooose, in no particular order, OFF, pigeonetics, elder scrolls oblivion, pathologic classic HD!! i’m more than likely forgetting a few though, so sorry about that

4: Worst game you’ve ever played? as i said above, cannot choose favorites, neither can i choose whatever the opposite of favorites is but...uhh, does lif even count as a game? like lif, the stupid little furry flash game i remember playing on some shady website. it was surprisingly very active with a BUNCH of people there but i kept dying like every 5 seconds....AWFUL

6: A game that’s changed you the most? WELL define Changed.....ummm aha first thing that comes to mind is OFF. it’s one of those things where you never knew you wanted something so fucking bad until you saw it--and it’s like that for me. i NEVER knew i loved that odd, surreal, colorful, “looks playful and simple in some parts but incredibly violent and unnerving in other parts” aesthetic til i played it. like aesthetically i love that game to BITS and something about it just stuck with me til the end of time.

later in life (meaning, past year or so) it changed me because it taught me a lesson about storytelling and creative endeavors. a very useful lesson. which is: things don’t really need to have a meaning. stories, art, music, writing, whatnot, while it CAN be deep and meaningful, while you CAN use it as a way to communicate with the world about all kinds of heartfelt things, it can also be...nothing, really.

once i, as usual, got ridiculously overwhelmingly sad about small things. specifically seeing other people around me come up with all kinds of deep and meaningful characters and stories, sometimes putting them into webcomics or writings of theirs, and they were all so well-thought out and detailed and what i envied most was people put a lot of themselves and their experiences into them, venting and coping through them, whilst also making these larger-than-life grandiose complex stories and worlds and so on and so forth.

it made me look at my own ideas and get mad/frustrated at how shallow they were. but then i remembered OFF and i felt better because Fun Fact, mortis ghost has a now-abandoned dA account and if you go through the comment section on his profile, he answers a lot of fan questions and he mentions several times that the game didn’t really have a “meaning”, it didn’t really have a “deeper story” or moral or anything, really. i’m paraphrasing this but i vividly remember him saying “i wanted to make a game, so i did”.

that made me feel a lot better because it made me realise that sometimes art--especially stories, in my case-- doesn’t NEED to be DEEP or have MEANING...sometimes it can just BE!!!! sometimes it really can just be all about AESTHETICS like who GIVES a shit if there’s a hidden meaning if you take the first letter of all of your characters’ names and put them backwards, sometimes all that matters is if they just VIBE with you y’know....

yume nikki is similar in this regard bc that game doesn’t have any story other than “collect egg” and yet it’s so impactful. that game doesn’t have a story or meaning it just IS........ :) GOD THATS SO LONG IM SORRY ABOUT THAT but yeah. funny violent ghostbusting baseball man is a game that changed me :)

7: A game you’ll never forget? OFF AGAIN LOL,,, it’s just so memorable because of how unique it is. visuals, soundtrack, story, everything is so memorable. unforgettable. oh god you can tell how much i love this damn game can’t you

8: Best soundtrack? yakuza 0, OFF, there is a picture (another game by mortis ghost, again composed by alias conrad coldwood who also composed OFF), pigeonetics (the entire soundtrack of which is here), jojo’s bizarre adventure all star battle and eyes of heaven, silent hill 2 & 3, undertale....probably forgetting more but all of these...earcandy

11: Hardest game you’ve played? i am a shitty gamer so this is Most games i’ve played lol!! but uhh..well you see. hardest game i remember playing as of recent is pathologic classic hd in which it’s...not only hard to understand what any character is saying at any given time lol but also, i don’t think it’s HARD it’s just...you need to focus. you REALLY need to fucking focus and pay attention in this game. so i wouldn’t say its HARD, but i’m only putting this here bc it’s in recent memory.

i say recent memory because the true answer is susceptible to “yeah, but now you’re older, it must not be so hard.” as in if i played it now i think i’d have a way easier time. but when i was around....10-12 years old i had several ps3 video game adaptations of animated movies and i had SUCH a fucking hard time with them. g-force, bolt and up in particular were fucking HARD. like genuinely, the hardest time i had EVER had in my live playing video games is tied to these three fucking games. g-force and bolt ESPECIALLY. one particular level in bolt took both me AND my sister around a year to fucking finish.

again, i was baby, so i bet i’d have a much easier time with them now that i’m 17. but for now, in my experience, bolt and g-force for the ps3 were harder than pathologic classic. i think icepick lodge should take a few notes for them for pathologic 2.

13: A game you were the most excited for when it wasn’t released yet? STREETS OF KAMUROCHO...i spent the entire day of its release anticipating its launch lol

14: A game you think would be cool if it had voice acting? hmm..most games i like and know about do have voice acting so i dunno....i guess it would’ve been kind of cool if morrowind had like, full proper voice acting. but i can understand why it only voice acted things like greetings and battle insults because GOD that game is SO...complicated...and as a result, the conversations are so lengthy and text-full. playing morrowind is really like a goddamn book! if it was voice acted i’m sure all that information would have to be shortened bc i know no one is going to fucking voice act two whole paragraphs

15: Which two games do you think would make an awesome crossover? pigeonetics and yakuza in which instead of being about the criminal underworld it’s about shady and unethical pigeon clubs, breeding, racing, etc etc...a lot of illegal shit does happen in the world of pigeons especially when it comes to racing; prized racers have been kidnapped and held for ransom before. and then there’s Avian Cucking: The Sport, where people breed the sexiest pigeons (horseman thief pouters), release them outside to seduce other people’s sexy pigeons, and bring them back and keep ‘em, drama ensues. will kiryu ever escape his past as a professional pigeon-napper, and find solace in his new life as a pigeon hobbyist? find out now by playing YACOOZA......

JOKES ASIDES i don’t know i really don’t....umm, pigeonetics and animal crossing somehow?? :O... like, instead of managing your own town it’s managing your own loft!...orrrr, the jojo games (all star battle & eyes of heaven) with yakuza, because i think they’re somewhat similar because they’re both haha Wacky Silly AND serious over the top fighty-fighting.....or maybe a crossover with OFF and discover my body, which, despite being an incredibly short and obscure indie game i still love to bits for what it’s worth. WAIT ANIMAL CROSSING AND MINECRAFT THAT WOULD FUCK SO HARD OH MY GOD

16: Character you’ve hated most? From what game? i can’t think of any character i like, HATE...with a burning passion.. there are a few i dislike or have a complicated relationship with though.. i’m not interested in the series anymore but ouma from drv3...i’ll admit that he is a bit fun sometimes, especially in the very early beginning he’s a likeable brat but as the game progresses he becomes more irritating than anything and i have an issue with him in regards to writing, despite the fact that i have never been awake in any english class ever lol. it’s too long to put in this already long post but i’ll keep it at that. if you like him, well, good for you for finding joy in something i couldn’t! but he just doesn’t do it for me.

AH I JUST REMEMBERED....MINE......FROM YAKUZA 3....maybe i’d change my mind if i watched a playthrough of y3 again, because i think you always absorb something better on your second watch (tho i honestly Dont have the energy to do that all over again, the yakuza games are too fucking long), but i really hate his writing. spoilers for y3 but, i think mine’s writing, alongside other things in the game, were super messy...and a big part of why i hate him is that not only is he one of those “could’ve had great potential but fell flat” sorta guys but also his love for daigo is seen as some fans as good gay rep and i?????/.............um....WELL let’s just say that, i think people nowadays will see any gay character ever in any circumstance and say it’s good gay rep just based off the fact that A Gay Character exists....he was Not, good gay rep imo....he was not, let alone, Good. .........

17: What game do you never tell people you play? can’t think of any games i wouldn’t tell people i play.. idk exactly what this question’s asking. does it mean what game you don’t tell ppl you play bc you’re embarrassed about it...? i’m not very embarrassed by any of them. the only thing that comes close, i guess, is uhh lioden and wolvden. i’ve only interacted with those communities a LITTLE TINY WEE BIT, yet of what i’ve seen it’s a goddamn dumpster fire and i’d never want to be associated with them lol

19: Which game do you think deserves a revival? i’m well aware it’ll never happen and that it’s more a wet dream than anything but...PT/silent hills..... on a more realistic/”could happen” note, PIGEONETICS!!!! SERIOUSLY, it’s an amazing game about amazing animals and it teaches genetics in a very simplified and efficient way!! genetics is SO hard for me to understand, i fucking hated studying it but this game really helped me understand how it works AND its super engaging and interesting!! HOWEVER, of all the pigeon genes we know of, only a handful were seen in pigeonetics and i’d LOVE a sequel that employs new game mechanics AND new genes!! i wanna learn about bronze and stencil genes! i wanna learn about phenotypes like grizzled and pied!!! genes like sooty and dirty!!! @ UNIVERSITY OF UTAH GENETICS DEPARTMENT PLEASE IM BEGIGNG YOU

20: What was the first video game you ever played? earliest memories of Gaming involves me at my aunt’s house playing two games: super mario brothers and some kind of trapeze game. i don’t remember anything else though

21: How old were you when you first played a video game? i can’t remember but i must’ve been REAL tiny.... 6-9 years, maybe??

22: If you could immerse yourself in any game for one day, which game would it be? What would you do? immerse myself meaning go into their world...? huh....on one hand i’d like to go in the world of yakuza 0 to play in the arcades and do whore related activities but i’d also love to go into the world of animal crossing (and i’m pretty sure i’d be some sort of generic dromaeosaurid in that game!!) and shop, chat with villagers, do chores for them, go fishing, bug hunting, eat delicious fucking food like the apples mangos peaches cherries etc etc.....OH AND FOSSIL HUNTING THAT’S THE BEST PART!! though it would definetly be a little weird, to be a little dinosaur and finding a fossil of a...little dinosaur....i guess the non-sentient species went extinct and the dinosaur i am is some kind of, descendant of a sapient non-avian dinosaur that survived the k-pg extinction event...oh but who cares all i want is a cool little ambulocetus fossil or something. and some cherry pie :)

26: Handheld or console? my old ps3 just went kaput one day years ago so i haven’t used it in years so i can’t compare well... but i’d say handheld, because it lets me like DO stuff more...would love to get a console one day, a ps4 maybe but i’m kinda worried it’ll make me stay in one room all day wasting away my time when there’s other stuff i can do, y’know? but something handheld like my 3ds, on the other hand...i can do stuff with it. i can take it to my room and play it between breaks i take as i clean the room and fold my clothes, i can watch something on the tv and play the game during ad breaks, i can take it outside too if it has charge to last me a while! so....handheld i guess

27: Has there ever been a moment that has made you cry? yakuza 0 and undertale in particular have ALMOST made me fucking bawl with many of its moments....yakuza 0 especially, after that Fucking Ending i had trouble sleeping because oh my fucking god. video game people SAD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

28: Which character’s clothes do you wish you owned the most?

29: Which is more important, gameplay or story? HMMM....well, if i were to play a game with a shitty story but really good and fun gameplay i’d probably continue playing it for the gameplay. but if i played a game with shitty gameplay but an interesting story, there is a chance i’d play it more for the sake of the story but also i might just quite and see the rest of the story on youtube or something. i’m more likely to go through a boring story for fun gameplay than go through boring gameplay for an interesting story, so i guess gameplay is more important to me....that is, WHEN i actually own and play a game as opposed to when i just watch someone play a game because i don’t own the game but wanna know abt the story lol

30: A game that hasn’t been localized in your country that you think should be localized? i have no idea how video game localization really works....but i assume localizing a game in india would mean something like, removing content according to cultural norm and also somehow translating it into the 22 official languages..? or just two or three language if it’s tied to a particular state, which seems way more doable. i honestly have no idea? i’ve never interacted w the indian gaming community that much to be honest, all i know of it is of the video games i’ve seen sold in some game stores and a few whispers about like solid snake or whoever from my school’s cafeteria....the most popular games here, to my knowledge, are those very streamable games like fortnite and PUBG and your call of duties and whatnot. those generic shooters. and even then, that honestly isn’t the “indian” gaming community bc this country is so FUCKHUGE, it’s just tamil nadu. one state.

soooo, according to what little i know of gaming interests in where i live, i don’t think any of the games i like should be localized here bc i don’t really think there’s an audience for it as far as i can tell :( maybe animal crossing? it’s a fun little games for all ages and i think it has a chance of becoming popular here, so maybe that is worth a shot! but i can’t think of any other game that i like that really has an audience here (other than Me lol)

#asks #stommevrouw #THANK U EVIE THIS WAS SO FUNNNNNNN #WOOF haha this made me tired #im probably hitting the bed now! thank u!!

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sailorshadzter · 4 years

Text

dog park date

a bonus chapter to this mini series

i couldnt help but to write this out after mentioning their first date in the second chapter. i couldnt even find the motivation to write the third chapter until i finished this one. so here it is lol.

Sunday morning.

She's spent a ridiculous time in front of her bedroom mirror, frustrated by her lack of clothing and the anxiety she's begun to feel. It's true, she's not done this in a long time. Once, she had sworn off dating and men in general. After Joffrey, though, who could blame her? Joffrey had been of a caliber all his own- arrogance and violence all wrapped up in one single man. And yet... His smile was charming, his golden hair like that of a hero from a story book. Sansa had fallen hard for him and in the beginning, things had felt perfect, almost too perfect.

Looking back, there had been signs- of course there had, but she was blinded by the brightness of being in love for the first time. She recalled the first time they argued, about a night she spent with Margaery, far later than the time she had thought to be home. The fight ended when Joffrey smashed her phone in a fit of rage. Sansa had fled their shared flat that night, opting to spend a night at home instead, though she never told her parents the truth of her stay. She wishes she'd never gone back to that flat, back to him, but she had... And it was the worst mistake of her life.

Knock, knock.

Sansa turns towards the door, pulled from the past and the tangle of her thoughts to face her younger sister who stands there, dark hair pulled back in a tight top knot, Nymeria hovering in the doorway behind her. "You're gonna be late," she says as she steps further into the room, avoiding the discarded clothes that litter the floor. Clearly, her usually well dressed and fashionable sister was struggling. Sansa makes a face at her and turns back to the mirror, once again surveying the reflection it shows. "You look fine," Arya goes on as she sinks onto the bed, though she must shove over a few shirts to find a spot to sit. Nymeria lays down beneath her feet, though her eyes do not close as she too blinks up at Sansa. "It's just a walk in the park."

"I seem to remember someone who worried about what they wore on their first date with Gendry...." Sansa shoots her sister a smirk in the mirror, triumphant when the young girl blushes despite herself. Arya is not easy to poke fun at- except when it came to Gendry. "You really think this is alright?" She turns back to face her little sister, arms outstretched to give her a better look. It takes a moment but then Arya nods, giving her a quick thumbs up. Sansa sighs but gives a single nod of her own, knowing at this point she didn't have time to change again anyways. This was it. "Don't forget, Jory will pick you up at noon to go see mum," Arya nods, following after Sansa as she heads out of her bedroom.

Arya had come to live with the month before. Her little sister had always been a bit on the wild side, like their aunt Lyanna, their father said, but ever since their mother's illness had resurfaced... Arya was having trouble dealing. And so Sansa had decided it was best for everyone if Arya came to stay with her awhile. It seemed to be helping... at least, Sansa hoped it was. "I'll see you tonight, alright?" Sansa smiles down at her little sister and raises her hand in a wave as she clips Lady's leash into place. "Later!"

Out into the sunshine of the late morning, Sansa allows Lady full control of her leash, keeping surprisingly slack grasp for a dog like Lady. But her sweet Lady was gentle, soft, quite unlike the way she looked and quite like the name she's been given. The wolf dog was often assumed to be prone to violence- wild animals, people on the street would say, but Lady was far from it. Truthfully, all of the pack had turned out quite docile, though Grey Wind had always snapped his jaws when irritated, though fitting for Robb's companion. She could still remember how Robb would snap in an instant, laying to waste any bully, grown or child, with his sharp wit and intelligence.

Her thoughts turn from her brother instead to Jon, who has caught her gaze just up ahead of her. He's knelt down on the corner, just outside the gate that leads into the local dog park, grinning as he pats his great, white dog on his head. For a moment, all of the breath leaves her body; here in the sunshine, she catches a glimpse of him she's yet to have. Jon wears a white t-shirt, basic but it suits him, and it reveals to her what she's been wondering all this time- just how muscular was he? Turns out, its the perfect amount. His dark curls are tightly secured in a knot at the back of his head, something she's very attracted to, and his dark jeans look well worn, as if they're his favorite pair. "Sansa, hey." He notices her almost too quickly, rising up from where he knelt as she approaches. Before she can respond, Ghost is surging forward and Lady is greeting him just as excitedly, as if they were long lost friends. "Well, they like each other, huh?" Jon jokes and Sansa laughs, the sound sending waves of pleasure down his spine.

In truth, he's not sure how he managed to stand up and speak to her. She's a stunning vision in her light colored denim, skin tight down to the ankle, her top a slightly oversized graphic tee that's been ripped down into a sharp, deep neckline, tantalizing him in the worst (and best) of ways. Her red hair is pulled back in a sleek ponytail on top of her head and the length of it still amazes him. "No gun today, huh?" She asks, her voice bringing him out of his stupor.

"No," he laughs, shaking his head as they fall into step along the pathway. It's prime time for the dog park and so there comes laughter and voices from all around them, the barking of different dogs floating along the breeze. "Even I get a day or two off a week." In truth, he gets three, but that's because of the long hours. "How about you? What kind of work do you do to score weekends off?"

She blushes, surprising him, and she licks her rosy lips as if she's thinking about what to say. "Well, I'm a student, mostly," she admits with a quick smile, loosening her grip on Lady's leash so the dog can catch up with Ghost, who runs ahead. "I had a job but..." She can't admit that she had to quit her job because of Joffrey so she says the first thing that comes to her mind. "It was interfering with my studies, so I'm just taking a break until the end of the semester." Now, that wasn't entirely a lie, anyways.

"You must go to U of W, huh?" He asks to which she nods. "What are you studying?"

"I want to be a music teacher," she grins, thinking already of the small children she's guided through a spring concert during her time as a student teacher this last semester. "For little kids." She thinks a lot about taking an extra course or two, to add music therapy to her degree, but with her mother being ill, she's barely had the time for her regular classes, let alone a few additional ones.

Jon thinks back to those two nights at the bar, the sound of her voice always an echo in his mind... "Any kid that has you for a teacher would be pretty lucky," he admits without hesitation, bringing another rush of color to her cheeks. They turn onto another path, this one leading to a fenced off chunk of land that the dogs can run leash free. When Lady and Ghost are rushing excitedly out into the open, the other dogs in the distance barking as they approach, the two of them find a seat on one of the benches that sit against the fence. "I meant to ask... Your mom, how is she?"

Sansa blinks, genuinely surprised by the question he's just asked. She sits up a little straighter, their shoulder brushing as she shifts. "She's doing great, actually, I think hopefully she'll get to go home in a few weeks." The most recent prognosis had been a good one and Sansa can only hope that it's a matter of time before she's considered "well" again. "My father will be glad to have her home and my brothers, too." She smiles, thinking of the little boys she's left behind in the North, at home.

"That's great!" Jon says, truly meaning it, recalling the heartfelt wish of her last song. "Where does your family live? You're not from down here," like him, her voice carries the distinct Northern accent, though from differing areas. "Northern, am I right?" He thinks she must be from the Vale, that red hair of hers certainly reminded him of the Tully's in Riverrun. "Where are you from?"

She blushes again and looks away, momentarily distracted by the sound of Lady's bark. "Well, I told you my name was Sansa Stark, didn't I?" She shoots him a somewhat sheepish glance, blue eyes shining in the morning sunlight. That's right... Jon realizes, recalling that night when she had told him her name, though it hadn't registered with him what that might have meant. "My father is Eddard Stark."

"You're the daughter of the Warden of the North?" Jon exclaims, unable to contain his shock at what she's just told him. So he was right about that Tully red hair, considering who her mother was. Though united under a single king, the kingdom of Westeros was divided into nations, governed by someone chose by the king himself, to rule in his name, as of course he could not be in every nation at once. The governor of each kingdom was like a king all his own.

She cringes, unable to help it, though she smiles all the same. "Yeah, he is," she confirms with a quick nod. It's not that she's ashamed of who she is or who her family is, but being attached to the Stark name, to the name of a family who's head runs an entire kingdom... It can be daunting. The expectations were higher, she was raised differently than the other young women she attends University with. With that comes privilege and coming to school here has opened her eyes to the many blessings she's been given in life. But.. Even so... She had always wanted more than what her parents had wanted for her. Coming to university had been her only way of rebelling against them, choosing to study music and pursue a career of her own outside of running the North.

"That's incredible," Jon kicks himself mentally for not realizing this sooner. "So your family lives up North still?" He's somewhat surprised that Eddard Stark had allowed his daughter to stray so far from home. It was rumored that the Stark's were untrusting of those outside their bubble of the North, of Winterfell. Though, Eddard Stark's oldest friend was their King, Robert Baratheon, so Jon supposes he felt he could trust his daughter would be safe in the South.

"My father lives North still, with my brothers, and my mother.. Well the best hospitals are here in the South, so..." She trails off, raising her shoulders in a shrug. "I moved here for school because I wanted something of my own. Being part of my family..." Another pause, a strained sort of smile toying with her rosy lips. "I've been what they wanted my entire life. I wanted something that was only mine, not something they gave me or something that they wanted me to want. But... When I left, that's when Robb... That's when Robb was killed. And not long after that was my mother's first diagnosis." It was also when she had first met Joffrey. Sometimes, irrational as it is, she can't help but to wonder if she was the cause of her family's pain and Joffrey had been her punishment. She had moved to King's Landing despite her parents wishes and Robb had come along to "protect her" as he'd put it, deciding to enroll in the University alongside her. Before anyone knew it, he was dead and their mother was ill. "I'm sorry," she's blushing again, "that was a lot to dump on you." Again, she's struck by how easy it is to talk to him.

For a moment, Jon is silent. "I kind of understand what you mean," he admits after a moment more. "I grew up mostly on my own," he shakes his head when she looks up surprised, mouth opening to apologize. "But I never felt like I had something of my own. I didn't have a family, so I didn't have much. I guess that's why I joined the Special Forces." Back then, he had hoped to find family among comrades, to find something worth fighting for. Worth living for. "I came South to find what I've always felt like I was missing." He's never told anyone these things, but looking into her clear blue eyes, Jon knows he could probably tell her anything.

Sitting there in the sunshine, staring into his eyes, Sansa knows something is about to change. She can feel it in the air, hear it in the whisper of the wind. She opens her mouth to speak, but she can't find the words to say. In truth, it almost feels better without words. It's as if they understand each other, despite the silence of the moment. No moment has ever felt like this before, super charged with electricity that flows through her veins. She wonders if he can feel it too.

He can.

It takes everything in him not to reach for her, to touch her hand, to feel what her skin feels like against his own. They fall back into easy conversation after a few more moments of static silence and Jon finds he quite enjoys the easy going sound of her laughter. He wills himself to be wittier, if only to bring another smile to her face.

Later, when the morning has faded into early afternoon, they stand at the bottom of the stone steps that lead up to her home. "I had a lot of fun," she says, bobbing on her feet, ponytail swinging with her every movement. "And it looks like they had too much fun," she giggles, gesturing down at the dogs that have laid themselves down on the sidewalk at their owners feet, tired out from a long morning of running and playing.

Jon chuckles as he tugs on Ghost's leash, urging the dog back up onto his paws. "Maybe next time we'll have to leave the slowpokes behind, I guess they can't keep up." Sansa feels her heart skip a beat. Next time? He wants there to be a next time? "I'll call you, okay?" He goes on and she pulls herself from her mind, nodding quick. "See you, Sansa."

"Bye, Jon." She feels almost... Empty... Yes, that's it, empty, when he walks away from her. Perhaps he feels it too, for on the corner he pauses, turning back around to look for her. She still yet stands there on the sidewalk and so she raises her hand in a silent gesture of goodbye. Jon returns her wave and then disappears around the corner, leaving her with no other choice but to head inside.

When she steps inside, she finds Arya laying on the floor in the den, Nymeria beside her. "Hey." Her younger sister calls out, raising herself up onto an elbow so she can turn to face Sansa as she sinks down onto the couch. "Mum says hi," she rolls over and sits up to pat Lady who has dropped down onto the floor beside Nymeria. "So..?"

"So what?"

Arya rolls her eyes, leaning in to give Sansa's calf a gentle punch. "Sooo, is there going to be another date?"

A smile toys with Sansa's lips before she gives a single nod. "I think so. I hope so."

[ x x x ]

It's as she's dumping the dishes from dinner into the sink that Sansa hears her phone beeping with an oncoming call.

Wiping her hands off on a dish towel, she waves a smirking Arya away and can't stop her heart from skipping a beat at the sight of the name on the screen. "Hey," she says when she answers, sounding way more easy going than she feels. In truth, she's fearful that her heart might beat right out of her chest there in the kitchen.

"Hi," Jon's tenor vocals are smooth through the phone. She can almost imagine him on the other end, leaning against his kitchen counter, Ghost at his feet. "I know there's some rule about waiting to call, but I..." He trails off and surely he must be shaking his head to clear his mind. "I couldn't wait."

"I'm glad you didn't," she's barely breathing as she sinks into her usual chair at the table.

On his end, Jon is smiling, her admission giving him the confidence to continue on. "I want to see you again. Soon." He can't keep her out of his mind, out of his heart. Somehow, already, she's found a place within him. "Tell me when."

A beat of silence and then comes a response.

"Tomorrow... Tomorrow evening."

Jon inwardly rejoices and he nods, though she cannot see him. "Tomorrow. Seven thirty? I'll pick you up." When she says yes, Jon feels true joy rush through him. They talk for a few moments longer before hanging up, though almost at once Jon feels that almost familiar feeling of longing. How can someone he knows so little have such a magnetic pull upon him?

That night as he crawls into bed, Jon hears his phone buzz on the side table.

Reaching for it, he smiles when he opens the message, pleasantly surprised to see a photo before any words. She must be laying in her bed, the only source of light from that of her phone as she snaps the photo; Lady is laying across her chest, clearly passed out after her long day. He glances down at Ghost asleep on the floor beside his bed and smiles. Good night, is all it says, but it's enough... It's more than enough.

Just before she dozes off, Sansa hears her phone beep. Good night, sleep well, I'll see you tomorrow, is all he's written, but it moves her unlike anything else ever could. Such a simple message, but somehow, coming from him, it means something new. Something wonderful. It is the start of something new and exciting.

The start of something special.

#jonsa #jon x sansa #modern au #i wrote this #my writing #this has literally been in my drafts for weeks #ITS FINALLY FINISHED #its over 3k words but its DONE.

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veridium · 5 years

Text

miss independent

COLLEGE AU DISASTER COMING IN HOT

I want to say that this chapter, even though relatively short and to the point, is a very important one in terms of content for me. Based on a lot of my experiences being a young queer person in activist/”social justice” spaces, and the ways in which people use those spaces for their own needs. This is all a eloquent way of me saying: gay drama, it sucks, and it’s real. The community isn’t a utopia!

So, uh, enjoy!

fic masterpost // last chapter

-- Theia The Gayuh: Hey

Read 8:04am

-- Theia The Gayuh: Can we talk, please?

Read 8:13am.

-- Theia The Gayuh: You turned on your read receipts just for this, didn’t you.

Message Delivered.

She sends the messages Tuesday morning, and Liv can’t decide whether she’s angry or thankful she’s left her alone for 48 entire hours. Usually they can’t stand to be upset with each other more than the length of one L Word episode. Oh how the turn tables.

Eventually, though, she does respond. After a whole day of classes, texting Cassandra about everything but the fact that Theia reached out, and seeing Ellinor in passing, walking hand-in-hand with Cullen. She’s glad they worked things out for now -- now being a day-by-day, sometimes even hour-by-hour kind of thing. They survived the first party saga of their respective relationships, and now she sympathizes with Cassandra’s desire for peace and discipline more than ever. Besides, it’s getting to be crunch time in the semester. They should be calming down.

Olivia: Meet me at Johnny’s at 6, then. I can’t stay long. I have to study.

Read 3:17pm.

-- Theia The Gayuh: Sounds good. Thank you.

If she scrolls up just a bit, she can find their last messages from before the war. Memes from gay instagram accounts, short threats of disownment and other heartfelt jokes. It’s not right being on the outs with her, but what can she do? She’s still angry, and that isn’t saying much. Olivia can be angry for years if she deems it necessary.

She touches base with Ellinor, the other half of her brain, before she shows her face at the pizza place they agreed to meet.

-- Ellinor: I don’t know, dude. Maybe she wants to apologize?

Olivia: I hope so because if it’s just more bullshit I’m going to be so mad.

-- Ellinor: Cullen says to hit her with the crushed peppers if she fucks up.

Olivia: 👀

-- Ellinor: Okay I said it

-- Ellinor: He says hope it works out. I said that was boring.

Olivia: Be nice!!

Before she locks her phone she looks back on the last messages Cassandra and her sent to each other from hours prior. They’re perfectly nice and sweet, not paragraph length like they used to be. The more they get to know each other the shorter the answers become and the less stressful it is to come up with what to say. She puts the car in park and turns the key, making one last wish that she won’t have to lose a friendship just so she can have a relationship.

Johnny’s is one of the most college-town holes in the wall there is. But, to be fair, their pizza is also the best in town -- or so Theia and Olivia swear every time they show up for the last by-the-slice orders at 1am. Now, in the socially acceptable hour of dinner for regular people, she’s reliving all the hazy memories when she walks in and sees Theia sitting back at a corner table along the wall, scrolling her own phone.

Ugh. Fuck.

She looks up and sees Liv standing like a scarecrow, and doesn’t smile. She just sits up and takes an anxious breath by the looks of it. Olivia tucks her head and walks over before it becomes a standoff in an old Western film.

“Hey.” Theia says it first as Olivia drops her keys and wallet on the table. She does a subtle head nod in reply and takes her seat. That is more than enough.

“Are you...how are you?”

The sound of her voice is enraging still. Its sobriety and measured diplomacy, too. Where was it when she needed it? When Cassandra would have benefited from it? Oh, that’s right, drowned in a gallon of rum and bud lite.

“I’m good. You?”

“Good.”

She holds back a glare. She shouldn’t be good. She should be far from good. But when she looks up, Theia’s face says as much.

“I...I thought it would be better if--”

“H-how is Josephine?’

Theia gives her a confused look, hands sliding back and into her lap. “Uh...she’s...good. You haven’t been in touch with her?”

“Not since Saturday. I was planning on texting her.”

“Oh. Uh, cool. Yeah, you should do that.”

“Yeah.”

Awkward pause, part one, hits. Olivia’s eyes wander around the place, to the chalkboard signs with the beer tap menu, to the awkward high school-aged boy behind the counter re-folding takeout menus. Man, he still does not look a day over 15 with that haircut.

“Liv.” Theia says it in a ‘let’s cut the crap’ kind of way, but she’s not ready to follow along. But she also can’t divert attention anymore so she keeps her mouth shut.

“Liv, come on.”

“Hm?” she offers, and locks eyes with her. It’s then she notices the coca-cola cup of water and ice she has in her hand, straw by her mouth.

“I know you’re mad at me.”

“Uh…” Olivia can’t hold it back anymore. This baiting and subtle nod to the issue is aggravating her bullshit meter. She smiles with impatience and shakes her head. “Uh, it’s not that I’m mad at you, Theia. It’s that you fucked up.”

“I know that.”

“Do you? Because you seem to be chilling with your ice water.”

“Ah.” Theia sighs, and sets down her cup. “So that’s how this is gonna go.”

So this is how this is gonna go? Ugh, she was right. It’s gonna be more bullshit. Not just the apology and explanation she deserves. No offer to apologize to Cassandra directly. No accountability. Why the fuck did she make this plan? Theia is never going to--

“Look, I know what I did was immature. I’m sorry. It wasn’t my intention to hurt you.”

“Hurt me? What about Cass? You went full Mean Girls on her. If anyone should be here getting an apology, it’s her.”

“As long as I get one for the hours I spent talking to you and texting you about her when she was pulling her bullshit.”

“That’s not how that works!”

“Well it should!”

“Uh, hey.” From above both their steaming heads, the boy from the counter interrupted, standing like a beanpole with two menus in his hand. He eyed them both with a look not unlike the way the little girl in the movie Matilda looks at Ms. Trunchbull, and sets them down between them. Olivia blinks away her hostility as best she can, but Theia just rolls her eyes and looks away. Classy.

“Thanks,” Liv says, but the boy is already halfway back to the counter. Talk about a way of saying ‘please hurry up with things so you can leave sooner.’

Theia sighs with dread and takes her menu, thumb pressing a corner bend as she stares at the lines of words. Olivia keeps hers flat on the table and retracts her hands, peering over it like a child. Maybe she should pull out a magnifying glass and also search for a will to live.

“I just don’t get what you see in her.” Suddenly, Theia sets down the menu and folds her arms. She’s really ready to be completely obliterated.

Olivia perks up fast, outrage in her posture as her mouth goes open wide. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean, Theia?”

“It means exactly what it sounds like. I don’t get it. I didn’t get it in the beginning, I didn’t get it at the party, and I still don’t.”

“If you don’t get it, fine. You aren’t in the relationship.”

“It’s not that, Liv. You have always been a certain kind of person, and you have always been outspoken about what it means to be queer. You deserve someone who is as passionate about it as you, who won’t...like, I don’t know. Gentrify it.”

“Gentrify it?!”

The boy came back again. This time with a notepad and pen. Behind him an older man was peeking out from the window into the kitchen looking as if he had bribed him to return.

“I, uh…” Theia said, still mad as she nearly tossed him the menu. “I’ll have the Hawaiian personal, please.”

“Chill,” he replied, sliding the menu under his arm. Then he looked at Liv, one eye twitching a bit narrower than the other. What, was something on her face?

“I’ll have a Margarita. Medium, please...” she looks at Theia when she bends her brow. “I’m bringing back some for Ellinor. I owe her for stealing five of her easy-macs.”

She hands the menu back because the guy looks like he’s being held hostage, releasing him back into the wild. After that she folds her arms and rests them on the table, leaning onto the table.

“Oh. I thought…”

“You thought I was bringing some for Cassandra? What, that she’s waiting outside with sunglasses on and a sniper in case things go bad?”

Theia bites the corner of her mouth and looks away. Her fingers twist together as she takes in the wall painting hanging next to them of the old river bridge just past downtown. College town shops always decorated with images you could see by virtue of a 5 minute walk in any direction. As if it heightened the experience or the pride in a bridge of all things.

“You give her too little credit.”

Theia snorted. “Is that so?”

“Yeah, asshole?” Olivia tilted her head, countering her feistiness. “You know nothing about her.”

“No one does! So she’s gay now. That mean she’s going to stop hanging out with those sexist, stalking assholes in her Bible study? The ones who campaigned for Prop 13 last year?”

“I never saw her out there with them!”

“It doesn’t matter, Liv! She still wasn’t against them!”

“You don’t know that!”

Theia scooted back in her chair but didn’t get up. She rolled her eyes so hard her head went with them, and she locked them on one of the tv’s on the opposite side of the room. Sports, or something, playing on the screen. Olivia stayed where she was, in the exact shape she was, though her flight or fight instinct trampled her willingness to stick around. This was the complete opposite of how she always wanted it to go, of how she always thought it would be. Her life had become a Dr. Phil special where the envious best friend was sat across from the happy but plain looking married couple, begging the best friend to stop egging their cars.

“Is she out to her family?”

Olivia scoffed. “Theia, you’re gatekeeping again.”

“I’m not, I just asked a question,” she corrected, looking back down at her.

“I...I dunno.”

“Really?”

“Probably not. She just came to the conclusion herself. I don’t think she’s had the time or reason to. Not until...well, I don’t know.” She grabbed the straw wrapper leftover from Theia’s drink and began playing with it.

“Pfft. Gotcha.”

“That doesn’t matter, though. Why should it? So she can be the “correct” form of real?”

“Oh, don’t give me that. You know what I’m worried about. The same reason you were concerned when Josie and I got together. The thing you saw fit to bring up that night, in public, in front of everyone. Remember how not-whispery your tipsy whispering is?”

Shit. She hadn’t thought about it like that. At the time, it was an empowering speech-and-run that she made to expel her rage. The kind of tell-off everyone dreams of giving when faced with someone’s traitorous actions. She hadn’t taken into account the volume, or the environment -- had Josephine heard her? Had other people? Oh God, that might have been completely humiliating…

Theia watched her, and shook her head. “Yeah, I know what you’re thinking, and yes, she does know what you said.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah, that was a wonderful fight to have at 3am. Thanks for that.”

“Theia, I--”

“Whatever, Liv. You know what I mean when I ask if she’s out. It’s different when we’re kids, when we’re poor...it’s not like that with you. You’re both adults, and she’s rich. What’s stopping her from doing what all those Beauty Queens do making out with our friends in the dive bars then running off to Mommy and Daddy’s house in the Dales?”

“She’s not rich, her fa--”

“Liv.”

Ugh, fuck. She rested back on her chair and ripped the wrapper in two. She caught her on something she would say was bullshit in any other context, and she hated her for it. Wealth wasn’t an individualistic thing, it wasn’t some easily-excluded condition. That was well-evidenced by her continued compliance with her Mom’s antics if it meant getting her tuition bills paid and health insurance secured.

“You’re still being disrespectful and showing your privilege. It doesn’t matter the age of when someone comes out, it’s still difficult and uncomfortable. The fact that she is doing it, and doing it with someone in her life, is brave. And she and her family aren’t white. Neither are Josie’s. We won’t ever know what it’s like to do what they do. Money or no money.” If only you knew what she’s gone through, what she struggles with. Shit, if only *I* knew.

“Ugh, you sound like those women’s studies harpies with all the buzz words.”

“I sound like a compassionate human being. You would do well to try it sometime.”

Theia slurped her water, visibly calmer than she was at the start. Perhaps a little too calm. Her heart was in the right place, if only she would admit she was just feeling protective and possessive of her best friend. Instead she was dunking and deep-frying her concern in narrow-minded visibility politics. Olivia flicked the ball of remaining wrapper onto the table, giving up on it as a plaything. She was looking at the person who helped her come to terms with her sexuality, the person who listened to her cry in the middle of the night after she’d have another fight with her Mom about wanting to cut her hair or have a pride flag in her room when she’d come home in the summer. They had gone through so much, and she wants to hold onto it with the hope that if she can change, Theia can, too.

“Well. I guess I’ll be wishing for her to prove me wrong, then,” Theia allows, shrugging her broad lesbian shoulders with her broad lesbian skepticism. This isn’t the last of it, and she isn’t convinced in the slightest. By the looks of it -- and by the knowledge Olivia has in 2 years of friendship -- she’s choosing not to pick the battle anymore. Relieving, but only to an extent.

“Thanks, I guess. I still think you owe her an apology.”

“Fat chance.”

“Theia.” Olivia notices pizzas being brought out of the kitchen. Perfect fucking timing evaded them this far, why would it start now? “Apologize to her or I won’t let this go.”

“Oh come on.”

“I mean it--” she interrupts herself as the guy approached with Theia’s order and two pizza stands. She’ll have to wait until he’d do the second trip for her own meal. It felt like an hour, their stiff staring down of one another while Chad-Kevin-Trevor-whoever did his thing. Poor dude, he was annoying but he would get a good tip. No one wants to be at the mercy of gay drama. When at last everything was served, and the guy got out with his life, she pulled napkins from the dispenser and continued.

“I’m not going to apologize to someone who proves me right the next day. I’m just not going to have her put a rift between us.”

“You have no faith in her and you don’t even know her!” Her put a rift between us? Her?

“I have seen this happen too many times in this town to blink it away, Liv. I’m not going to watch it happen to you and pretend it’s some big surprise.”

“And if she doesn’t?”

Theia chews away, dropping her slice down on the plate. Her greasy hands ate up the napkin she used to clean them off, finger by finger. “I can’t stop you from dating her. But you can’t stop me from having my gut feelings.”

Oh, fuck all.

After a tense pause, Olivia grabbed the infamous crushed peppers and generously sprinkled them onto her own meal. “You know, maybe it’s for the better. If she were here she’d say she wouldn’t want your apology unless it was sincere. Which, obviously it isn’t, because you are an asshole.”

“Psh. Fine, say it’s that. All I know is I don’t say sorry unless actions prove it warranted. And I trust you enough not to do that thing everyone does when they get together.”

You mean U-Haul and crawl up each other’s assholes never to see anyone else again. Cool, that’ll be fun to attempt, considering I intend to keep you two as far away from each other as humanly possible. For my sake, and hers. Olivia took a large bite into her first steaming slice and, as always, immediately squirmed.

“H-h-haw--”

“God dammit, Liv,” Theia grinned and slid her water to her side, which Olivia took and gulped from the rim. Fuck the straw.

“Gah,” she gasps, and slammed it down. “I’m such a dumbass.”

She met her glance, mouth lined with sauce and balsamic. Theia’s playful expression is her weakness. She chuckles for the first time all afternoon, pressing a crinkled up napkin to her mouth as she did so. Theia follows suit, leaning back and running her fingers through her down-and-tousled hair. She mutters a curse under her breath. It’s like opening a can of soda and letting the carbonation finally release.

“Ugh, Liv, you’re always going to be my girl.” She reaches for the parmesean shaker and began dousing her pizza in it. A Hawaiian pizza with parmesean sounds disgusting, but the way she ogles it with hungry eyes, you’d swear it was the most delicious thing to ever be invented.

Her statement though. Her statement makes Olivia’s heart creak. She wants so badly to nod and smile, fully believing in it as she always had. But the truth is -- and she hated herself for it -- the entire time she sits there she’s missing Cassandra. Missing her, the way she talks, the way she laughs when she had a mouth full of food.

She watches Theia take her first cooled-down and thus safe bite, and for that split second she lets her inner frown weigh on her face.

The pizza isn’t for Ellinor, she confesses in her thoughts, one which she wishes to say out loud. But everything said not to. Everything said it wasn’t safe. And for that, she is at a loss.

“Well, fuck her.”

Ellinor, having stolen a slice of the leftovers, thus proving Olivia’s fib somewhat obsolete, is adamant. Cross-legged in old basketball shorts and a tank with flannel on (peak pajamas aesthetic). All the while Olivia paces with a textbook in hand, trying to work out the anxious energy while also getting work done. A futile endeavor, a tale as old as time.

“Ellinor, please.”

“Nah, fuck her. She knows what she did was fucked up!” said with a mouthful of margarita goodness. She gulps it down and then burps like a truck driver twice her age. Olivia has to giggle.

“Ahh, fuck, this hits the spot. What was I saying? Oh, yeah, fu--”

“I get it, okay!” Olivia shut the book and tossed it onto her desk. Huffing with indignation. What bright idea did she have thinking she could just be friends with so many opinionated and crass women? Oho, feminism, blah blah blah, women’s empowerment, blah blah, empowered women empower women, blah blah BLAH.

“Well. Then what are you going to do?”

“I’m going to proceed as planned. Theia doesn’t feed me or pay my bills. Her opinion is purely arbitrary.”

“Uh huh, so that’s why you’re creating rubber burn marks on your carpet.”

“What?!” Olivia squeaked, looking back behind her bare feet. Oh, good one, Ellinor.

“Liv.”

“Oh stop it! I’m doing my best. Theia is one of my first and truest friends. She’s the only one I’ve known as long as you.”

Ellinor slouched and scowled with bitchy apathy -- a talent she knew best. Sliding herself off her friend’s bed, she put her hands on her hips and stood toe-to-toe with her.

“Yeah, Liv, and only one of us isn’t being a dick about something that’s making you happy.”

Olivia frowns and slides her hands into her hoodie pocket. “It’s...it’s not the same. It’s different in the community versus out. I can’t--”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

“Ellinor…”

Ellinor dragged her feet as she headed towards the door. “Last I checked, Liv, there isn’t a Hayley Kiyoko song about being gay meaning you get to step over boundaries like they’re hopscotch squares!”

“Ell--”

“Nah-ah!” she yelled, sliding in through the door’s narrow opening. Her finger went up in the air as she lingered. “I can cite sources, too, Ruth Gay-der Ginsburg!”

“...I hate you.”

From the hall, the same sarcastic voice echoed: “LOVE YOU TOO!”

She’s going to be saying that for the rest of the week. Fantastic. Olivia resigned herself and fell back on her bed, hands across her stomach as she wished to be anywhere else but there. She had always swore she would tape stars and planets to her ceiling but never got around to it. Truth was she wasn’t tall enough to reach, and Ellinor has no advantage in that department, either. But...she could ask Cassandra. She could do that now. She could do a lot of things.

But first, she can do one right thing, for someone who didn’t deserve the heat she got. She unplugged her phone and held it above her head.

Olivia: Hey, Josie. I talked to Theia about the party. I’m sorry I made an ass of myself at your expense.

Read at 8:55pm

-- Josie: It was not the funnest thing. I appreciate your apology, though. Theia was being ridiculous, I’m sorry you had to deal with that.

Olivia: It’s not your job to apologize for her choices.

-- Josie: I know! Is Cassandra okay?

Olivia: Yeah. A lot has happened. I’m feeling really overwhelmed.

-- Josie: Oh, dear. You want to get coffee tomorrow?

Olivia: 😭

-- Josie: Lol, okay. I’ll meet you in the Hub.

#fic update #day & age #friendship fic #college AU #college!ellinor #college!olivia #modern thedas au #hot mess express

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duhragonball · 5 years

Text

Dragon Ball Z 036

It’s the Namek Saga! I have mixed feelings about this arc, and I’ll try to explain them.

So I got into DBZ when it first aired on Toonami in the fall of 1998. I don’t recall exactly how it was aired, but I’m pretty sure they showed four or five episodes a week, every week, until they got to the Goku/Recoome fight, and then they would start over. Somewhere along the way they aired Movies 1, 2, and 3.

Now I was just a casual viewer in those days, so I wasn’t going out of my way to watch them in order. I didn’t exactly like the show much; I just watched it because it was on, and I was sort of curious about what would happen. The Saiyans arc impressed me because it did a good job buildng suspense. But you could skip a few episodes and not really miss much. There were plenty of recaps, and not that much happened in any single episode.

The Namek Saga had some trouble following this formula, though. Once the heroes got to Namek, it was hard to really measure any sort of progress being made. The overriding strategy was to stay in one piece until Goku arrived to even the odds, except the supporting cast was pretty threadbare by this point. They couldn’t exactly kill anyone off in the Namek Saga, because they had killed so many guys off in the Saiyans arc, and if you took out any more there wouldn’t be anyone left to tell the story with. So it felt to me like much of the arc was just the gang marking time until Goku showed up.

And this wouldn’t have been so bad, except that whenever Goku finally did show up, he’d punch Recoome’s lights out and that would be it. Toonami would run out of episodes and start over with Episode 1. I remember at least once when I was kind of following more closely to see if they’d finally put some new eps in the rotation, and then... no such luck. Goku shows up, whoops the Ginyu Force, Bill Murray wakes up in the hotel room to “I Got You, Babe.”

I feel like this has colored my opinion of the arc. I was trying to remember exactly what I didn’t like about it, and my criticisms aren’t really all that valid. “It’s too long,” but it isn’t. It’s 32 episodes long, and that’s three episodes shorter than the Saiyans Saga. “There’s no big fights,” but there are. Vegeta vs. Zarbon is pretty cool, and Recoome smacking Team Three Star around is fun. “It’s unsatisfying,” but not really. Frieza gets extremely pissed as the arc wears on, and Goku shutting down the Ginyus and Vegeta at the same time is awesome.

For a time, I struggled with the rewatchability of DBZ. It was hard to get invested in older episodes, because for a while it felt like the battles were pointless back when no one knew how to turn Super Saiyan. Eventually I got over this and learned to appreciate the show beyond the novelty of a first-time viewer, and I think that’s helped me respect the Namek stuff more. In particular, when I read the manga version, I found it much brisker than the anime. Maybe it sounds weird to say this, but for me, knowing which parts are filler helps me appreciate the filler more.

So I’m looking forward to analyzing this arc in greater depth, and forming a more nuanced opinion of it. It’ll probably never be one of my favorites, but I bet I’ll come away with a greater appreciation of it.

First off, we gotta wrap up the loose ends of the Saiyans arc. Krillin just let Vegeta leave the planet, because Goku asked really nicely. Yajirobe doesn’t understand that, so he calls Krillin an idiot. Why didn’t Yajirobe finish Vegeta off? He took him down with his sword, and then he stood there like a jerk and gloated instead of cutting off his head.

Krillin picks up naked baby Gohan and brings him over to half-naked ER patient Goku, but then an airship arrives, and out pops Chi-Chi.

She leaps over Goku’s body and grabs Gohan out of Krillin’s arms.

Fans give Chi-Chi a lot of crap for her behavior in this episode, and I’ll bet you a dollar that none of them have children of their own. Gohan’s five years old in this episode, and Chi-Chi hasn’t seen him since he was four. One day he just left and didn’t come back. Now she’s finally close enough to touch him and he’s all beat up and unconscious. What would you do?

You know what? Goku did have it hard, but he’s a grown-ass man. He’s not entitled to Chi-Chi’s attention right now, but Gohan is. I think Goku knows that better than anyone in this episode, which is why you never see him complain about being ignored.

Bulma’s pretty upset about all of their dead friends, particularly Yamcha, because she used to be sweet on him, and particularly Kami and Piccolo, whose deaths mean that they can’t use the Dragon Balls to wish Yamcha back to life. She bawls out Yajirobe for not doing more during the fight. She’s got a point, although Yajirobe probably did more good by holding back and picking his spots. If Yamcha had shown the same level of caution, well...

I sort of get Yajirobe’s attitude here. Everyone talks to him like he’s a piece of shit, and when he musters up the courage to be somewhat responsible, everyone still talks to him like he’s a piece of shit. And then they wonder why he doesn’t help out more often. He can’t win.

The gang loads Goku into the aircraft and then they head back to the first battlefield so they can collect the corpses of their friends. It’s a pretty somber ride, until Krillin finally explains his theory that they might be able to wish their friends back to life after all.

This is a pretty cool moment right here. There was a time when Master Roshi was happy to be surpassed by so many young and talented martial artists. Now, they’ve all been killed. Goku and Krillin were wished back, but the Dragon Balls no longer work, so that’s it. The next time Goku and Krillin die, they’ll be gone for good, and Vegeta’s up in space somewhere planning to make that happen very soon. But Master Roshi lives on, and he’s completely powerless to do anything about these new enemies.

For some reason, I forgot about all these scenes of Yamcha, Tien, and Piccolo being loaded into capsule coffins. Of course, the Ocean Dub never would have shown this part, because Saban had the script edited so that they were all blasted “into another dimension”. Showing their dead bodies would have undermined that already flimsy concept. Still, for some reason I remembered Krillin informing Roshi that they would find no remains for Chiaotzu, on account of him blowing himself up.

Bulma starts reminiscing about all the good times she had with Yamcha. That gets kind of awkward, because she spent most of their relationship being mad at him. This one flashback of them walking together never actually appeared before. Judging from Bulma’s Raditz-Era clothes, I’d say this would have been right before she got mad at him before they parted ways between Dragon Ball and DBZ.

I prefer to remember Yamcha this way, standing proud on his own, rocking the Turtle Hermit dogi, got the long hair flowing down his back, giving the audience a low-key but heartfelt thumbs up. Vaya con Dios, Yamcha.

Gohan wakes up and Chi-Chi mothers him the way only a mother can.

He looks in the back and finds his dad, badly hurt but still smiling. Look how happy the li’l guy is. It was a tough year, but he made it all the way through, and now he’s got his parents back.

Yajirobe tries to give Chi-Chi shit for ignoring her husband in favor of her son. First of all, fuck you, Yajirobe. Like you’ve got any business telling anyone how to act in public. You spend most of this episode picking your nose in the background while the others talk. Second of all, Chi-Chi knows her husband had the time of his life almost getting killed today. Gohan’s the one who needs her right now, whether anyone will admit that or not.

Yajirobe asks Goku if he can hit her. Yeah, go for it, Yajirobe. Make a move, I fucking dare you. I take back what I said before, Yajirobe sucks.

Anyway, Krillin lays out his big idea. When the Saiyans first saw Piccolo, they recognized him as a Namekian, an alien from the planet Namek, and Vegeta said that the Dragon Balls must have been a product of Namekian magic. During the battle, Vegeta abandoned the plan of using Earth’s Dragon Balls, in favor of simply going straight to Namek and finding more powerful Dragon Balls there. Krillin thinks he must have been on to something. If Piccolo and Kami were originally from Namek, then it stands to reason that there’s Dragon Balls there that still work. All they have to do is go there and find them, and they can wish their dead back to life.

The problem is that no one even knows where the planet would be, but Goku contacts King Kai and asks him, and he knows all sorts of things about it. After praising Goku and the others for their efforts, he looks up its coordinates...

... and he gives some background on the planet’s recent history. He had believed that a natural disaster wiped out the entire population of Namek in the past...

... but he can sense fewer than 100 still living on the planet today, so the severe weather didn’t kill them all.

While they talk this all out, the gang begins to realize that the Namekian who split into Kami and Piccolo must have been a refugee, sent to Earth to escape the natural disaster on Planet Namek. For whatever reason, no one ever came to get him after the crisis abated. King Kai assures them that the Namekians are a gentle people, not like Piccolo at all.

On the contrary, Piccolo’s evil was probably born from the corrupting influence of Earthlings, so who’s the real Demon King, I ask you?

While they all discuss this, Bulma crunches some numbers and determines that Namek is simply too distant to reach by spacecraft. The fastest ship Capsule Corp. has would take 4339.25 years to make the trip, and that’s just one way.

You know, I remember Bulma being pretty snotty about this in the Ocean Dub, almost like she was glad to burst everyone’s bubble. I can imagine an alternate universe where “4339 years and three months” would have become the big meme instead of “Over 9000.” Ah well.

But Krillin’s got a solution in mind. He saw Vegeta leave in his spaceship, but it was clearly a one-seater. In the dub, he points out that there’d be no way that Nappa guy could have fit in there with him, so I just want to pass along that mental image. Anyway, the point is that Nappa must have come to Earth in his own ship, which must still be lying around somewhere. And Krillin stole Vegeta’s keyfob when he left, so he’s pretty sure they can use it to recover Nappa’s ship. From there, Bulma and her dad can reverse engineer the thing and it can make the trip in a much shorter time.

And now Bulma’s sold. I like that about her. A minute ago, it was impossible, not because Bulma’s a pessimist, but because she can only work with the technology available to her. Hand her an alien spaceship with a faster-than-light engine, and she completely changes her tune. She’s so scary good with gadgets that reverse-engineering alien tech is nothing to her.

Everyone laughs.

THEN THEY POINT.

Then they laugh again.

Goku tried to point too, but his arm has an owie.

#dragon ball #2019dbliveblog #goku #chi chi #gohan #krillin #master roshi #korin #yajirobe #yamcha #kami #piccolo #king kai #namek saga

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youvegotyourvictory · 6 years

Text

Hamilton on Broadway

08.25.18

Yesterday was two months since I saw Hamilton with one of my very best friends. Making a list of some things I never want to forget.

1. I imagine death so much, it feels more like a memory

I’ve been listening to Hamilton for almost two and a half years. This line still hits me the same way it did when I was first learning the words.

2. Look around, look around, at how lucky we are to be alive right now

At the most random times, this line hits me like a bus. It’s not every day, but sometimes I do think about how miraculous it is that any of us are alive. How lucky we are.

3. King George is even funnier live and the album really doesn’t do his facial expressions justice, there’s no way it could. Just.....every time he was on stage, I laughed

4. Dying is easy, young man, living is harder

I think about this line all the time. Washington says it to Alex and obviously it speaks to Alex’s character, because he’s always willing to die but never really willing to use his strengths to stay alive. He always wants to fight and is ready to verbally take down anyone he deems fit—willing to die in a war that’s never really going to be his own, just to prove himself. All of that is so much easier than living.

5. Eliza in Helpless

I already love Eliza so much—both fictionalized character and real life woman—but she’s so cute in Helpless. It’s so great to see her this in love.

6. King George saying, “Everybody!” in You’ll Be Back and people coming out of the woodwork just so they can sing along with him

7. If there’s a reason I’m still alive when everyone who loves me has died then I’m willing to wait for it

I’ve spent a few late nights thinking about this, thinking of the legacy Burr left behind—how he just wanted to keep his mouth shut and stay out of trouble, until the moment it really counted. I can’t imagine all that must’ve motivated him, knowing he was the only person he had left. Everyone around him had died, and still he wanted to keep his head down and wait for a reason to do more.

8. Tomorrow there’ll be more of us

It’s probably for the best that this song isn’t on the original cast recording because if it was I would definitely cry every time I listened to it. I can’t even begin to express how much it kills me that John Laurens died before he could lead his regiment to safety—and ultimately, freedom. And Alex’s reaction to it, his pause and then, breathless, “I have so much work to do”—his immediate need to work faster and harder than he had before. There’s no doubt anywhere that he was deeply in love with Laurens.

On Tuesday the 27th, my son was killed in a gunfight against British troops retreating from South Carolina. The war was already over. As you know, John dreamed of emancipating and recruiting three thousand men for the first all-black military regiment. His dream of freedom for these men dies with him.

9. The part of Non-Stop when Angelica and Eliza are on the outer ring of the stage and then Hamilton is talking about both of them and once he’s done talking to Angelica the stage starts moving so she drifts away from him and then Eliza comes in to view

This is really one you just have to see in person to fully appreciate

10. Jefferson in the purple suit

I have never seen an article of clothing transform someone so easily and completely. Before, Lafayette was careful, calculated, etc, but as soon as the purple suit came out, he did a total 180 and strutted everywhere, fully in control of the stage. It was like magic.

11. Hamilton’s green suit

It’s a look and probably an aesthetic choice that some people don’t care for, but boy do I love it

12. The cabinet battles

Honestly what took everything to that next level was the fact that we were in New York watching it. Hearing “You could’ve been anywhere in the world tonight, but you’re here with us in New York City” felt so....incredible because I had never even listened to Hamilton in the city before. And it was true—we really could’ve been anywhere else, but we were there, in the theatre, watching it all unfold.

13. Take a Break

One of my favorites in the play, due entirely to Alex and Angelica’s exchange in the second verse. Also, Eliza’s beatboxing and Philip’s pride when he raps for Alex is something I wish I could replay forever. Hearing the screams of “un, deux, trois, quatre, and CIIIIIIIIIINQ” was something that made all of us burst into cheers and applause

In a letter I received from you two weeks ago, I noticed a comma in the middle of a phrase. It changed the meaning—did you intend this? One stroke and you’ve consumed my waking days. It says, “My dearest Angelica” with a comma after ‘dearest.’ You’ve written “my dearest, Angelica.”

The breath between ‘dearest’ and ‘Angelica’ is so much more pronounced live and I really wish I could live in that moment for the rest of my life

I also really love how they both take the time to focus on this and show that it holds a lot of weight and meaning to each of them, and then after a pause Angelica says, “Anyway, all this to say...” completely moving on from the subject

14. Southern motherfucking democratic republicans

No need to even say more than that. Y’all already know.

Actually I lied. I didn’t remember a lot from the bootleg going into this because it had been a decent amount of time since I’d last watched the whole thing—usually if it pops up on YouTube again I just listen to the few songs I know will make me sob, the ones I really want to hear, and then I leave it alone. I think in my head I kind of wanted to save it until I could finally see it in person. Before seeing it live, I think I’d only watched the bootleg all the way through maybe two times. It just felt like something I needed to wait for. It was well worth it. Anyway, like I said, I didn’t remember much so I certainly didn’t remember the shot of Burr, Jefferson, and Madison all walking together across the stage with the spotlight on them as they sang this part. Power move.

15. King George pulling up a stool so he can watch everything unfold, see all the drama as it happens, and watch Hamilton destroy his own career

I lost it at this part. I knew that he does this, but seeing it in person just made it so much funnier. Again, I think it was mainly due to really being able to see his facial expressions there. Just the thought of King George sitting there as all of this is happening in the 1700s is so funny to me and it’s just.....god it’s good

16. King George throwing Reynolds pamphlets and dancing around Hamilton was just....top-tier comedy

17. Hamilton’s black suit

That velvety suede one. If you know you know

18. Eliza’s scream at the end of Stay Alive (Reprise)

This was one of the moments I couldn’t forget the first time I watched the bootleg. No matter what I’m doing or where I am, if I’ve been completely fine throughout the rest of the songs, this is the moment that gets me every time. It’s always guaranteed to make me start crying. Not only is it heart wrenching to hear her scream after Philip has just died, but to see her yank her hand away from Alex when he tries to comfort her is something that’s been with me ever since that first watch. I don’t think I’ll ever really forget it.

19. It’s Quiet Uptown

I knew I wouldn’t make it out of this without sobbing. I usually don’t make it through the OCR without crying, and seeing it in person is so much more painful. Alex pleading with Eliza, telling her he’d change everything if he could, telling Philip that he would love where they moved to. Seeing Alex grieving, and then to see Eliza come in and be completely stoic, refusing to even look in Alex’s direction. Also the fact that literally everyone looks weary and so incredibly run down—even Angelica in her narration looks like she’s been crying for weeks.

Can you imagine?

Alex turning one of Eliza’s phrases back on her—look at where we are, look at where we started—he knows he’ll never be able to make this all up to her but he still begs her to let him in and let him try to help her.

It speaks volumes that all records state that Hamilton was never the same after Philip died—a large portion of him died that day too. Can you imagine?

Eliza, do you like it uptown? It’s quiet uptown.

One of the parts that gets me every single time, without fail: Look around, look around, Eliza.

I started crying during the last song and didn’t stop through the entirety of this one, but one part that made the tears flow faster was Eliza’s gentle “It’s quiet uptown” and Alex’s breakdown as soon as she speaks for the first time.

There’s a part in the Hamilton companion book that Lin wrote where he describes something that happened to the company during rehearsals and every time I read it I cry and cry, so I’ll just leave you with it:

The power of “It’s Quiet Uptown” was intact from its first day: Actors cried while singing it, the production team cried while listening to it, Andy couldn’t bear to choreograph it, not with his daughter, Sofia, fighting cancer, and getting sick on the way to school, and the whole family hoping the next round of chemotherapy would work. ... On November 16, 2014, Oskar and Laurie Eustis’s beloved son, Jack, died. He was 16 years old. ... Oskar and Laurie were about to spend half a year or more in the world of a show that pivots on the loss of a child. ... Two weeks later, the full company assembled for the first sing-through of the show ... when Oskar and Laurie walked in. ... Hearing “It’s Quiet Uptown” for the first time since their unimaginable loss was bound to be wrenching. It was wrenching, for everyone. When the sing-through ended, we offered words of consolation that were heartfelt but inadequate before a grief larger than anyone could comprehend. There was one thing that the Hamilton company didn’t know that day. When Lin had learned of Jack’s death, he had sent an email to Oskar and Laurie expressing his deepest condolences. He also sent them the demo recording of “It’s Quiet Uptown.” “If art can help us grieve, can help us mourn, then lean on it,” he wrote. If they preferred to delete the song, he would understand.

Oskar and Laurie did lean on it. In the rehearsal studio that afternoon, nobody knew that “It’s Quiet Uptown” was the only song they had listened to in their first week of mourning. They had listened to it every day.

20. Best of Wives and Best of Women

This one gets me every time. I know I’ve said that about everything so far, but god....this one is so meaningful.

I can’t say anything that will be better than what Lin has already said about the song so I’ll leave you with the liner notes he wrote from the Hamilton companion book:

In the musical of my life after I’m long gone, my wife Vanessa is going to be the one who steps forward as the hero. Vanessa is not particularly fond of musicals—she only likes good ones. She is not effusive in her praise, or boastful. But when I looked up from that Chernow book and said, “I think this is a hip-hop musical,” she didn’t laugh, or roll her eyes. She just said, “That sounds cool.” And that was all I needed to get started. As I fell in love with the idea of a love triangle between Eliza, Alexander, and Angelica, she said, “Can you have Angelica rap? That would be cool.”

I am someone who is so averse to travel that I wrote a whole musical about not wanting to leave my block in Washington Heights. It was Vanessa who booked us trips and time away from New York. “You don’t get any writing done here because life keeps popping up.” Thanks to her, Hamilton was written in Mexico, Spain, Nevis, Sagaponack, St. Croix, Puerto Rico, The Dominican Republic—long trips where Vanessa would take me there and then leave me alone to write while she explored. She is my first audience, and she’s a tough audience, so I know if I impress her I’ve cleared the highest possible bar. She’ll come home from work and say, “Your king tune was stuck in my head all day—that’s probably a good sign.”

This started out as a note trying to explain how my wife really is the ‘best of wives and best of women,’ but I’m trying to get at something more important—this show simply doesn’t exist without Vanessa. It’s a love letter to her.

21. The World Was Wide Enough

There’s nothing I could say here that would accurately sum up this one, so I’ll simply put this:

Death doesn’t discriminate between the sinners and the saints—it takes and it takes and it takes. History obliterates. In every picture it paints, it paints me and all my mistakes. When Alexander aimed at the sky, he may have been the first one to die, but I’m the one who paid for it. I survived, but I paid for it. Now I’m the villain in your history. I was too young and blind to see. I should’ve known. I should’ve known the world was wide enough for both Hamilton and me. The world was wide enough for both Hamilton and me.

One thing I’ll always remember: in the Hamilton documentary, Leslie Odom, Jr. is talking about Burr’s legacy, basically that he did all of these other things in his lifetime—a long war career, accomplished lawyer, worked with Hamilton on the first murder trial of the country, etc—but the one thing he’s most remembered for is being the man who shot Hamilton in a duel. Leslie talks about how much more Burr could’ve done if the duel hadn’t gone down the way it did, that it was a really sad moment in history, that Burr wasn’t a lonely man when he shot Hamilton. Burr had friends, a great job, so many things going for him, but still he chose to shoot Hamilton in that moment. Leslie goes on to say, “I think that our show is doing a really good job of...reminding us that....all of us are more than one thing.”

There’s another moment, from Lin’s episode of Drunk History, where he describes the duel and says, “And so, Burr’s the monster. And what’s ironic about that is Burr was never the monster. Burr was the cautious motherfucker who never let his opinion be known. And Hamilton was the reckless motherfucker who let his opinion be known about everything. And in the one moment where it counted most, Hamilton was cautious, and Burr was reckless. And that defined their legacies forever.”

22. There’s a moment that Lin took out that we don’t get to see, but I’m going to include it here anyway. Eliza, reading Hamilton’s last letter to her—the one he was writing when she begged him to “come back to bed, that would be enough.” Among his last words are these:

I need not tell you of the pangs I feel, from the idea of quitting you and exposing you to the anguish which I know you would feel. With my last idea; I shall cherish the sweet hope of meeting you in a better world. Adieu best of wives and best of Women. Ever yours

23. Eliza in the finale

As I said, I already love Eliza so much, but hearing this final song is something I’ll always think about.

Eliza lived fifty years beyond Hamilton’s death, something I can’t even begin to imagine doing. Of all the things Hamilton put her through, she still loved him in the end. In her own words—I am so tired, it is so long. I want to see Hamilton.

Again, during this I couldn’t help but remember the fact that we were in the very city where much of this musical takes place. All of these real events occurred in this city.

Hearing Eliza recount all she had done after Hamilton’s death is inspiring and exhausting and amazing, but the line that always got me and I knew would hit me even harder in New York City....

Oh. Can I show you what I’m proudest of? [The orphanage.] I establish the first private orphanage in New York City. [The orphanage.] I help to raise hundreds of children. I get to see them growing up. [The orphanage.] In their eyes I see you, Alexander. I see you every time.

Not only does she establish this orphanage, but it still lives on today. Eliza’s orphanage lives on in the form of the Graham Windham organization, a fact that always blows me away. She established and served as director of the orphanage for 27 years—she dedicated a significant portion of her life to this work. And to know that we were in the city where she did this, where she got to see the Hamilton legacy growing before her very eyes in the form of these children—I lost it.

Oh, I can’t wait to see you again. It’s only a matter of time.

Two months have passed and I still can’t believe I was there, really seeing Hamilton the way it was intended to be seen. I’ll never forget it, and I hope someday I’ll get to do it again.

#finally I got around to typing all this out!!#sorry for the long post I just really had a lot to say!!!!!!#hamilton0825 #text #personal

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hiraethidity-m · 6 years

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THOU HAST TURNED A VOW INTO A BLOOD OATH. THY BOND SHALL BECOME THE WINGS OF REBELLION AND BREAK THE YOLK OF THY HEART. THOU HAST AWAKENED TO THE ULTIMATE SECRET OF THE TOWER, GRANTING THEE INFINITE POWER ...

name: Kyoko Sakura age: 16 - 17 code name: Raven ( which has many different meanings compared to Akechi’s CROW ) persona: Wudan Witch named Opheila meele weapon: Lance ranged weaopn: Automatic Ak47′s joined: After the Phantom Thieves defeat the Medjed and before taking on the case of Okumura’s Foods. color scheme: Red,Black, with hints of White arcana: The Tower ( & death )

BACKGROUND / STORY :

As a resident of kazamino city, Kyoko grew up being the daughter of a Clergyman, whom as well lives with her little sister and mother. Most of her life was spent being home-schooled with her little sister by their mother, as this was a decision declared by their father. Since he didn’t trust the public school systems and their ways of teaching. Afraid that they would unravel everything that he had ever taught his children and the ways of the Lord himself.

As time has passed, though, her father had begun to preach more and more away from the stories that had been printed within the bible. Thus, talking about things that had nothing to do with the Lord’s word. In result to his preachings, the town disregarded his stories. Declaring him as incompetent, as well as insane. And slowly, over time, the people that came to sermons had begin to dwindle in the numbers. Until, there was absolutely no one who came to hear him talk anymore. The town’s folks opting to go to the church’s in neighboring towns, instead of their own. With no one attending the services, or money coming from the church, this causes the family to become poor – even near the point of becoming homeless.

Swallowed in regret, her father turns to alcoholism. Turning his personality completely. He becomes aggressive. He becomes abusive ( physically / emotionally / mentally ). Kyoko tending to get more of his backlash as a way to protect her family from him. This had proceeded on for weeks-months. But, how much of this could they really take, though? When would it become to late for them?

As the Phantom Thieves popularity skyrocketed, even their name had become news within the Sakura household. Their father completely against them. Finding them as sinners in the Lord’s name and nothing but mere criminals. But Kyoko saw them differently. They had become a huge topic within the household though, once the Medjed had become involved. Challenging the thieves to reveal themselves. Whereas her father supported the Medjed, it was clear that Kyoko supported the Thieves. She saw the good in their work and the justice that sought out to achieve. Their workings, is what gave Kyoko hope.

Near the end of the Medjed’s time limit, Kyoko finds herself sitting inside the public library ; the phantom’s form site displayed on the computer screen. She contemplates for a while – could she really ask for their help? Would they really come to her rescue? She reads all the mixed reviews about the group. The hatred that followed the support. She ponders over if she could really go through with this, while her fingers rest upon the keyboard. Before she realizes it, she’s pouring her story out on the screen, begging for the help of the thieves before it had become too late for her household.

When the Medjed case becomes closed, Mishima finds Kyoko’s post for the form. Once he reads it over, he finds this as something that is extremely important. How could a father do this his family? He pursues Akira to take the case. Finding this as something that would be easy for them and finding as way to keep their popularity up. But easy it wasn’t – After searching around the Memento’s for the shadow of her father, they were left with nothing; Empty handed. That’s when the group decides to take a trip the town that they resided in. Upon arrival, it is quickly learned that the father had in fact grown a palace. Showing the group to true dangers that had lied here for the Sakura household.

Due to the lack of technology in her homestead, Kyoko is never informed that her case had, in fact, become of interest to the group. Or that, they had indeed arrived to the family’s church. So when the infiltration route becomes started, and they enter the metaverse, she too, is taken to the metaverse. Simply by mistake though. It was one of those, she had been walking within the perimeter when they entered, and she herself had gotten swooped in as well.

Upon arrival, the thieves are greeted with a glamours and humongous church, spot lights adoring the front as a line of people are currently waiting outside the front doors. From there, they start their route. Kyoko though, is nowhere near them once they enter the metaverse. In fact, she finds herself somewhere located within the church already. Confused and scared about her current surroundings, she finds herself making the rounds through the church as well.

The Phantom Thieves managed to find Mr. Sakura first. They find him in the main hall, with church pews littered in people. As the thieves have their confrontations with the man himself, Kyoko happens to over hear everything from one of the top balconies. Staying silent, she simply watches as her head spins. Glee filled within her as her hope skyrocketed. She couldn’t believe her eyes – The Phantom Thieves did in fact come to her rescue. They were really here to save her family before it had become too late. A new feeling soars through her. A feeling of change to come. Something within her rattles her bones, edging her to take a stand in this fight; so she does.

As Mr. Sakura’s shadows calls them out for them being nothing but sinners, and making sure they rot in hell where they belong, Kyoko makes her appearance at last. Calling out her own father for his deeds. During this time, the birth to a new persona is made. A new contract formed.

I AM THOU ; THOU ART I

ophelia is born ; a Wudan Witch persona. Her mask is raven styled and her meele weapon is a lance. It is then, that Kyoko promises to make him change his ways, thus in return, he tells her that she is no better than the thieves that stand behind her. And if she is to go against him, he would kill her too.

With the infiltration route placed, the gang returns to the real world. Giving Kyoko the chance to actually properly meet everyone and telling them the story of what had happened to her father.

In a few days time, the gang decides to send a calling card to her father, leaving Kyoko in charge of making sure he sees it. When he does, heimmediately blames Kyoko for it through his drunken state, since she is a supporter of them. Feeling threatened, he becomes even more violent towards the family. Seeing nothing wrong in his ways – blaming everyone for their current position instead of himself.

Its later that evening that Kyoko regroups with the thieves, helping them take out her father’s palace. Once successful, their treasure ended up being a bible.

Mr. Sakura becomes bed ridden for the next week, as the alcohol slowly makes its way out of his body. When he comes through, he apologizes to his family for everything he’s done to them. Especially to kyoko since she got the worse of it all. And many scars that would never heal on her body from him. But, he finally had his change in heart.

As a few weeks / a month passed from the incident, Mr. Sakura finds himself in the hospital, on death row. Kyoko doesn’t blame the thieves for this. This was not their fault. This was the alcohols fault. Even the doctors had said so themselves. At the capacity that he consumed it, they were honestly surprised he wasn’t on his deathbed much sooner.

What she was thankful though, was the apologies and heartfelt “i love yous” she had gained from him before his passing. She knows she would have never gotten them if it wasn’t for the Phantom Thieves. She thanks them entirely for everything they had done for her.

With no need to keep the church any longer, her mother sells their home and church. Deciding to move herself &. the girls out of the town, and starts over with a new life for them. The girls finally get themselves enrolled into a real school – Kyoko begging to go to shujin academy so she could be with her friends that she had finally made. Their mother gets herself a real job that’s stable enough to support them. And her sister gains friends for the first time in her life.

Due to Kyoko’s test scores, she is able to enter as a 3rd year student, but Kyoko opts to be a second year so she could have a chance at being an actual student. And have time to be a teenager and make friends and spend time with them. She becomes placed in Ryuji’s class.

** It can be speculated that Kyoko & Futaba may be cousins

#long post #( verse seven ) THIEVES OF HEARTS !#persona 5 au #just copies and paste my old bio because i should be asleep and i am lazy to rewrite this.#verse info #alcoholism mentioned #tw : alcoholism mentioned #religion mentioned #tw: death mentioned #death mentioned

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tobythewise · 7 years

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JUKEBOX for ABC Prompt :D

Thanks @babygirl06301 for the prompt! :) I hope you enjoy!

If you’d like to request a word starting with my upcoming letters leave it in my ask box! (upcoming letters, KLM)

Music. Music has always been a huge part of Dean’s life. He’s never been good at communicating his feelings through words. That’s why he loves music. It helps him sort things out and express himself. Dean’s come to love music and in the process has also come to love the jukebox.

He met someone special at this jukebox. It was a Thursday at the Roadhouse. Dean decided to stop there after a rough day at work. He couldn’t think of a better way to unwind than with a cold beer and some classic rock.

On his way over to the jukebox, Dean literally ran into the most beautiful man he’d ever laid eyes on. The guy gestured for Dean to use the jukebox first which he did quickly. Dean moved to the side so the blue eyed babe could program his songs next.

Music started playing through the speaker but instead of the rock Dean was expecting, an upbeat pop song started. When he looked over, the beautiful man had a shit eating grin on his face and raised his eyebrow at Dean. He paid the extra money to have his songs play ahead of Dean’s.

Dean threw his head back and laughed. “Can I buy you a beer?”

The guy nodded and they made their way to the bar. That night, Dean left with Castiel’s name and phone number.

Their first kiss was at this very jukebox. Their first date was at the Roadhouse since they both loved the beer and the burgers. After eating, Dean went up to jukebox to play a song for Cas. As the song ‘Just the Way You Are’ started playing Dean felt strong arms wrap around his middle. Dean’s face split into a smile and his chest filled with warmth. He turned in Castiel’s arms and went in for the kiss. It was chaste and quick and absolutely perfect.

“Cause you’re amazing, just the way you are,” Dean sang. When the song was over, Cas kissed Dean again.

“Thank you for the song, Dean”

“Anytime, Cas.”

Their first fight was in the company of this jukebox. Two of Castiel’s college friends were in town and they decided to all hang out at the Roadhouse so they could meet Dean. Well, Dean was not impressed with the insistent flirting that Meg and Balthazar were throwing Cas’s way.

Dean might be slightly possessive. He might also be a tad bit of a jealous asshole sometimes, but that doesn’t mean Cas has to play into their flirting just to see Dean get mad.

The two of them end up at the jukebox away from their friends. Dean of course plays a song for his boyfriend and Cas throws his head back and laughs at Dean whispers the words in his ear.

“Cause you’re too sexy, beautiful. Everybody wants to taste that’s why, I still get jealous.” He pulls Cas into a hug. “I’m sorry, baby.”

“That’s alright, Dean. I’m sorry, too.”

The jukebox has a part to play for their first time. Three months into their relationship, Dean walked up to the jukebox with a giant smirk on his face. He puts his money in, looks back at Cas, and winks.

The sound of ‘Pour Some Sugar on Me’ starts to fill the Roadhouse and Dean saunters over to his boyfriend. He grabs Cas by the waist and pulls him onto the small area by the pool tables were no on is.

Cas laughs and grabs onto Dean’s hips. He moves along to the music and they both begin to feel the pulls of arousal. Dean turns so his back is against Cas’s chest and leans his head to the side so he can sing into his ear. He grinds ever so lightly against Cas’s groin and groans when he feels a distinct hardness there.

Dean feels Cas tighten his hold on his hips and then a pair of lips attacking his neck. When the lips pull off they only go as far as Dean’s ear. “Let’s get out of here.”

Dean grabs onto Castiel’s hand and practically drags him out of the bar and into the Impala.

Dean and Cas almost break up when someone attempts to use the jukebox against them. It’s six months into their relationship. They’re enjoying dinner at the Roadhouse when a very drunk Lisa stumbles to the jukebox. The music changes and the lyrics start to pour out.

Tell me why are we wasting time / on all your wasted crying / when you should be with me instead / I know I can treat you better / Better than he can

Both Dean and Cas look over to see Lisa stumbling over to their table and throwing herself on Dean’s side of the booth. She wastes no time grabbing at Dean and trying to kiss him.

Dean never wanted Castiel to find out about his relationship with Lisa this way. They dated and broke up because she cheated on Dean and got pregnant with someone else’s baby.

Dean immediately looked over at his boyfriend who looked completely lost. “Baby,” but before he can say more, Cas is moving up to the bar.

Lisa cries when Dean scolds her and tells her to leave and never contact him again. Thankfully, Castiel is still at the bar when she leaves and Dean can try to explain things to his boyfriend. But first, he goes to the trusty jukebox.

Dean slowly makes his way behind Cas and wraps his arms around his middle. Dean leans forward and sings into his boyfriend’s ear and prays that Cas can feel all of the emotions behind it.

“There’s just one more thing that I need to know. If this is love why does it scare me so? It must be something only you can see, ‘cause boy I feel it when you look at me. So tonight I’ll ask the stars above, how did I ever win your love? What did I do? What did I say, to turn your angel eyes my way?”

Castiel’s rigidness seems to ease away as Dean continues to hold him and sing to him. When the song is over, Cas turns so he can look Dean in the eyes.

“I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you before, Cas. I promise I’ll explain everything and answer any questions you might have. But I just need you to know that I love you.”

Cas blows out a breathe he was holding. He nods his head. “I love you too, Dean. I love you so much.” He grabs onto Dean’s hand. “Let’s go and talk this out.” But before moving, Cas leans forward and pulls Dean into a loving kiss.

“Yeah, Cas. We can work it out.”

The next step in their relationship is of course in front of the jukebox. Cas had just took Dean by the hand and asked his to dance. Dean, never one to say no to Cas, agreed. Cas picked the song and they gently swayed to the music as Cas sang to Dean. His gravelly voice made Dean smile and he felt overwhelmed with love for the man in his arms.

“Baby, you’re my angel. Come and save me tonight. You’re my angel, come and make it all right. Don’t know what I’m gonna do about this feeling inside. Yes, it’s true - loneliness took me for a ride. Without your love, I’m nothing but a beggar. Without your love, a dog without a bone. What can I do I’m sleeping in this bed alone. Baby, You’re my angel!”

Dean could feel his face blush. He loved Castiel so much and in that moment knew that this was it for him. Dean was surprised when Cas stopped swaying and instead had a very serious look on his face.

“What is it, Cas?”

Cas smiled, “I’m just thinking about how much I love you.” Cas moved one of his hands from behind Dean’s neck and pulled something out of his pocket. He placed something into Dean’s hand. “Marry me.”

Dean opened his hand and found a silver ring. There was no hesitation in his answer. “Yes! Of course, Cas.”

And so, it was a sad day when Ellen retired what they’ve come to call their jukebox. Today, all of their family and friends were gathered at the Roadhouse. They were celebrating their five year wedding anniversary.

As everyone exchanged funny and heartfelt stories from Dean and Cas’s past, Dean couldn’t help the small sting of disappointment he felt knowing they couldn’t play a song on the jukebox. This was the first year they couldn’t participate in their tradition.

As the night was wrapping up and everyone was getting ready to leave, Ellen stopped the couple at the door.

“Heya, boys,” she handed Dean a key. “I thought I should give this back before you noticed it was missing.”

“Is that our house key?” Cas asked.

“Yep. Your anniversary present from all of us is waiting for you at your house.” Then she walked back in the bar without any more explanations.

The couple speculated the entire way home on what their gift could possibly be. They opened the door and Dean was overcome with emotion. He laughed and cried and pulled his husband into his arms.

“I was afraid we’d have to break tradition this year,” Dean whispered.

“It would seem we never have to worry about breaking that tradition again,” Cas said with a smile.

They walked over to their jukebox that was now making its home in their house. They spent the night taking turns playing love songs for the other until Dean fell asleep to the soft sound of Cas’s voice.

“But I can’t help falling in love with you.”

#ask box #abc prompt #destiel #destiel fanfic #deancas #first kiss #babygirl #tobywrites #proposal

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lgbt-teenager-support · 7 years

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Warning: Long post!!

@mercialachesis said:

Hey I was wondering if you could recommend some books or films with an agender character either main or side? Thank you !!

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

Hello! I'm sorry I couldn't answer your ask straight up, this post includes a lot of links.

I couldn't find very many books that describe the character as specifically agender, but there are a lot that use the words "gender fluid" "gender flux" "gender queer" and the like if you're ok with that! Summaries taken from Goodreads

Mask of Shadows - by Linsey Miller

"Sallot Leon is a thief, and a good one at that. But gender fluid Sal wants nothing more than to escape the drudgery of life as a highway robber and get closer to the upper-class and the nobles who destroyed their home. When Sal Leon steals a poster announcing open auditions for the Left Hand, a powerful collection of the Queen's personal assassins named for the rings she wears -- Ruby, Emerald, Amethyst, and Opal -- their world changes. They know it's a chance for a new life. Except the audition is a fight to the death filled with clever circus acrobats, lethal apothecaries, and vicious ex-soldiers. A childhood as a common criminal hardly prepared Sal for the trials. But Sal must survive to put their real reason for auditioning into play: revenge."

Symptoms of Being Human - by Jeff Garvin

"The first thing you’re going to want to know about me is: Am I a boy, or am I a girl? Riley Cavanaugh is many things: Punk rock. Snarky. Rebellious. And gender fluid. Some days Riley identifies as a boy, and others as a girl. The thing is…Riley isn’t exactly out yet. And between starting a new school and having a congressman father running for reelection in uber-conservative Orange County, the pressure—media and otherwise—is building up in Riley’s so-called “normal” life. On the advice of a therapist, Riley starts an anonymous blog to vent those pent-up feelings and tell the truth of what it’s REALLY like to be a gender fluid teenager. But just as Riley’s starting to settle in at school—even developing feelings for a mysterious outcast—the blog goes viral, and an unnamed commenter discovers Riley’s real identity, threatening exposure. Riley must make a choice: walk away from what the blog has created—a lifeline, new friends, a cause to believe in—or stand up, come out, and risk everything."

What We Left Behind - by Robin Talley

"Toni and Gretchen are the couple everyone envied in high school. They've been together forever. They never fight. They’re deeply, hopelessly in love. When they separate for their first year at college—Toni to Harvard and Gretchen to NYU—they’re sure they’ll be fine. Where other long-distance relationships have fallen apart, theirs is bound to stay rock-solid. The reality of being apart, though, is very different than they expected. Toni, who identifies as genderqueer, meets a group of transgender upperclassmen and immediately finds a sense of belonging that has always been missing, but Gretchen struggles to remember who she is outside their relationship. While Toni worries that Gretchen won’t understand Toni’s new world, Gretchen begins to wonder where she fits in Toni's life. As distance and Toni’s shifting gender identity begins to wear on their relationship, the couple must decide—have they grown apart for good, or is love enough to keep them together?"

The Tiger's Watch - by Julia Ember

"Sixteen-year-old Tashi has spent their life training as a inhabitor, a soldier who spies and kills using a bonded animal. When the capital falls after a brutal siege, Tashi flees to a remote monastery to hide. But the invading army turns the monastery into a hospital, and Tashi catches the eye of Xian, the regiment’s fearless young commander. Tashi spies on Xian’s every move. In front of his men, Xian seems dangerous, even sadistic, but Tashi discovers a more vulnerable side of the enemy commander—a side that draws them to Xian. When their spying unveils that everything they’ve been taught is a lie, Tashi faces an impossible choice: save their country or the boy they’re growing to love. Though Tashi grapples with their decision, their volatile bonded tiger doesn't question her allegiances. Katala slaughters Xian’s soldiers, leading the enemy to hunt her. But an inhabitor’s bond to their animal is for life—if Katala dies, so will Tashi."

Love Spell - by Mia Kerick

"Strutting his stuff on the catwalk in black patent leather pumps and a snug orange tuxedo as this year’s Miss (ter) Harvest Moon feels so very right to Chance César, and yet he knows it should feel so very wrong. As far back as he can remember, Chance has been “caught between genders.” (It’s quite a touchy subject; so don’t ask him about it.) However, he does not question his sexual orientation. Chance has no doubt about his gayness—he is very much out of the closet at his rural New Hampshire high school, where the other students avoid the kid they refer to as “girl-boy.” But at the local Harvest Moon Festival, when Chance, the Pumpkin Pageant Queen, meets Jasper Donahue, the Pumpkin Carving King, sparks fly. So Chance sets out, with the help of his BFF, Emily, to make “Jazz” Donahue his man. An article in an online women’s magazine, Ten Scientifically Proven Ways to Make a Man Fall in Love with You (with a bonus love spell thrown in for good measure), becomes the basis of their strategy to capture Jazz’s heart. Quirky, comical, definitely flamboyant, and with an inner core of poignancy, Love Spell celebrates the diversity of a gender-fluid teen."

Chameleon Moon - by RoAnna Sylver

"The city of Parole is burning. Like Venice slips into the sea, Parole crumbles into fire. The entire population inside has been quarantined, cut off from the rest of the world, and left to die - directly over the open flame. Eye in the Sky, a deadly and merciless police force ensures no one escapes. Ever. All that’s keeping Parole alive is faith in the midst of horrors and death, trust in the face of desperation… and their fantastic, terrifying, and beautiful superhuman abilities. Regan, stealth and reconnaissance expert with a lizard's scales and snake's eyes, is haunted by ten years of anxiety, trauma and terror, and he’s finally reached his limit. His ability to disappear into thin air isn’t enough: he needs an escape, and he’ll do anything for a chance. Unluckily for him, Hans, a ghostly boy with a chilling smile, knows just the thing to get one. It starts with a little murder. But instead of ending a man’s life, Regan starts a new one of his own. He turns away from that twisted path, and runs into Evelyn, fearless force on stage and sonic-superheroic revolutionary on the streets. Now Regan has a choice - and a chance to not only escape from Parole, but unravel the mystery deep in its burning heart. And most of all, discover the truth about their own entwining pasts. They join forces with Evelyn’s family: the virtuosic but volatile Danae, who breathes life into machines, and her wife Rose, whose compassionate nature and power over healing vines and defensive thorns will both be vital to survive this nightmare. Then there’s Zilch, a cool and level-headed person made of other dead people, and Finn, one of Parole’s few remaining taxi drivers, who causes explosions whenever he feels anything but happy. Separately they’d never survive, much less uncover the secret of Parole’s eternally-burning fire. Together, they have a chance. Unfortunately, Hans isn’t above playing dirty, lying, cheating, manipulating… and holding Regan’s memories hostage until he gets his way. Parole’s a rough place to live. But they’re not dead yet. If they can survive the imminent cataclysmic disaster, they might just stay that way…"

Black Sunrise - by Christina Engela

"When a single Ruminarii Hammerhead arrived to invade the small backwater Terran colony of Deanna, the people of Atro City went to meet them at the space port with open arms. (Perhaps ‘exposed’ is a better word?) Life as a private investigator, slash bounty hunter isn’t all Gary Beck wanted it to be. There weren’t any big mansions on a palm beach owned by an affluent writer generous enough to let him live rent-free and use his spare Ferrari. But then, you have to ask yourself, what could you expect living on a planet like Deanna? As a third rate colony in the Terran Empire, Deanna had more than its fair share of dull moments. It orbited a star called Ramalama. If you think that’s funny, Deanna’s two moons were called Ding and Dong, respectively. (This is a local joke.) Cindy Mei Winter hoped to put her violent and somehow depressing past behind her, but now it seemed her new beginning (and her holiday) were going to have to wait."

If Found Return To Astropop - by Lucas Hargis

"Unaware of one another’s gender or appearance, a poor, aspiring architect and a spoiled, free-spirited astronomy fanatic find themselves mutually smitten by reading each other’s journals. Genderfluid, sixteen-year-old Robin “Astropop” Chicory lost a journal three months ago. When a stranger (known only as Pippopotamus) secretly returns it, Astro discovers that Pip read their innermost thoughts and meticulously traced Astro’s past movements. Without meeting, Pip believes s/he is smitten with Astropop. Astro knows this because Pip wrote a heartfelt journal in response. Astro reads both journals side-by-side, amazed at how simple words on paper can exert a mutual gravity between complete strangers. As their tandem confessions and intimate stories tangle with the drama in Astro’s everyday life, Astro ends up hopelessly smitten with Pip, too. But because of distance, timing, and interference from the universe, it’s impossible for them to ever meet. When Astro flips to Pip’s last precious page, a supernova of hope explodes—a precise time and place where shy Pip will be waiting. Astro can finally meet the intriguing Pip, but fears their deep, inexplicable connection will be broken. And there’s the world-shattering chance the revelations of who they each truly are will eclipse their imagined versions of one another."

And here's the entire Goodreads list in case any books I didn't include speak to you! Hope this helped! For the life of me I couldn't find any agender movie characters :( If anyone knows of other books in this vein feel free to add!

-Mod Gaby

#goodreads #queer lit #books with agender characters #books with gender queer characters

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alittlecstaticxilophone · 7 years

Text

Who told your story

So, here’s this for the sweet anon who requested number eight with hamliza. Thank you for requesting and I hope you like this

If anyone is curious about the prompt list HERE it es and feel free to request.

The light of the candle was the only thing that illuminated Eliza’s bedroom and it seemed like that little light was going to be consumed soon. Now at her age and after passing most of her recent days in bed she was unable to fall sleep finding difficulty to find a position that would warrantee a comfortable sleep. Usually her family kept her company during the night but it was too late and they were all sleeping leaving her alone with her thoughts. Nowadays, she didn’t have many things she had not passed already through her mind, instead, she had memories. Thousands of precious things to remember were locked inside her brain and most of them still made her smile today.

She was unused to be ordered to stay in bed she had spent most of her life (especially after she got married) running around helping people, carrying herself and sometimes another bundle in her belly. Being confined to a bed, no matter how necessary, was bothersome for the old woman that always looked for ways to be able to at least visit her own backyard without her entire family gushing about her health.

Suddenly she heard a soft knock on the door interrupting her thoughts, curious; she tilted her head looking at the clock that marked the one a.m.

-Come in- she muttered hoping the person at the other side would hear her. Perhaps it was one of her sons or daughters coming to check on her or bring her a little company knowing she would complain jokingly of expending a night entirely alone.

The door cracked as it was opened and a figure stepped inside Eliza’s bedroom, the woman stared in disbelief at the masculine figure as it made its way to her bed and sat at the end of it, it took it a while to adjust to the soft mattress and it smiled softly as tears filled Eliza’s eyes.

-It’s good to see you Eliza- the figure smiled and Eliza felt the tears run down her cheeks, when the figure saw this his face turned into a more worried one surprised at the woman’s reaction and how calmed this was, but still heartbreaking

-No, no- he whispered leaning closer to her careful not to invade too much of her space–Eliza, don’t cry, I crumble completely when you cry- he spoke bringing a smile the woman’s face, she lost the count of how many times she had dreamt with hearing that voice again.

-It’s not that- she laughed -I’m just-she cleaned the tears that rolled down her cheeks –surprised to see you, it’s been fifty years Alexander- She said and he nodded in understanding, if the situation was reversed(thank god it wasn’t) he would also be surprised to see his dead wife in front of him.

-I know- he answered knowingly sitting closer and reaching for her hand–I was waiting and counting any minute until the day I would get to see you again. - he kissed her knuckles like the first time he had met her all those years ago, the gesture made her feel young again and brought another smile to her face, oh she missed his unnecessary attempts of flirting.

-You could have come earlier, when I was still young- she joked as he caressed her ridged hand, he looked at her almost as if what she said had offended him directly.

-Don’t say that- he sat next to her interlocking his hand with hers letting her rest her head against his shoulder –You did so many wonderful things without me around, besides you definitely are beautiful no matter your age- he kissed her forehead, she furrowed her eyebrows with a smile adorning her face –And it wasn’t the time for me to come, but now it is- he whispered quietly, she widened her eyes at his choice of words noticing how he seemed to look at her but at the same time avoided her gaze focusing instead in her hands or head but never looking into her eyes.

-Does that mean I’m going to…?

-Yes, I’m sorry I can only seem to bring bad things to your life- he apologized knowing she would pick up whatever he said almost instantly, she had always been a smart woman, he waited her to fight or refuse the fact that she wouldn’t survive the night, she was a fighter, instead, she nodded and adjusted herself better to him and he held her closer as he used to do.

-Well, you also brought some good ones- she remembered fondly the night they had gotten married, and how happy she was after she had Philip, now she wanted to remember the happy things she had while he was still married to her. He smiled softly.

-If it wasn’t for me we could have had an incredible marriage- he reasoned – You managed yourself amazingly without me, there are not words to thank you enough for everything you have done for me Eliza, now I have a name, a legacy. Thank you- he recognized kissing her in her forehead,

-I wasn’t going to cry forever Alexander, someone had to finish the job you left half made-she reasoned –It wouldn’t have killed you improve your handwriting when you were alive, you know? I found it charming when you were courting me but as your widow it was painful to read, John even asked what I had seen in you because with that handwriting it was impossible that I could have understood your letters- he chuckled at the choice of words she had used,

-I’m sorry- he apologized, still with a smile on his face, -Thank you for organizing my writings, I’m sure it was a lot of work-

-It definitely was challenging and a constant dare for me and Angelica’s patience- she reminded fondly how Angelica would help her and complain at the same time about Alexander and how the man didn’t deserve all the troubles Eliza was going through for him, it had pained her when her sister passed away but she moved on, she always did

-I can see that- he pictured an angry Angelica –That woman slaps hard, as soon as she found me on the other side she slapped me twice one “in case I forgot what I had done on earth” and another, quoting her “Look after Eliza even from here because you did not deserve her and still don’t, so watch her as she does wonderful things for your sorry undeserving ass” she didn’t have to tell me a single one of these things- he mumbled as he rubbed his cheeks remembering the pain of the ghostly slap Angelica Schuyler had given him.

-I can picture that, she used to say if she died before you she would come to haunt you- Eliza mumbled, if he wasn’t dead Alexander would have sweated nervously expecting Angelica’s ghostly figure to appear in front of them ready to hug Eliza and slap Alexander once again. It took him a few seconds to assure himself that angelica wouldn’t come to haunt him so he could speak again.

-Washington told me to tell you that he was grateful for the monument; he was touched for the gesture and the effort you put into it- Alexander spoke as he traced with his hands the details in Eliza’s dress, she raised her shoulder like a child that didn’t know the correct answer to a question.

-It was nothing, and it was mostly Martha’s idea I just helped with the found rising- she answered dismissing his opinion being as humble as she was, the truth was that she had tried as hard as she could and her husband knew it just like everyone else should have known.

-You need to stop belittling yourself like that Eliza, you are a wonderful, fierce woman.

-I know who I am Alexander; you don’t have to remind me- She interrupted him sternly, not letting him continue with the trace of compliments –I’m just stating the truth, I helped Martha, the monument was not my idea- She finished leaving him speechless, when they had met she would accept any compliment with a soft blush on her cheeks, now with the severity of her voice, there wasn’t any trace of hurt in it seemed like he was scolding him for doing something stupid rather than reminding him who she was, it was rare to see Eliza like that, she tended to take things in a softer way, scolding the person but more softly leaving them to think about what they had gone wrong.

-The boys told me you interviewed them- He opted for changing the subject knowing that conversation wouldn’t lead any of them to anywhere,

-their stories also deserved to be told – she reasoned, she chuckled when she remembered how much Lafayette gestured whenever he spoke telling her about his battles and the French revolution and everything he had done in his life, or how Hercules told her that he convinced a poor British officer to tell him their plan and the man told him, they saved Washington’s life thanks to that.

-I know- Alexander responded as their promises of success in a bar filled their minds.

-Have I told you what I’m the proudest of?- She smiled nervously he opened his eyes in child-like curiosity waiting for her response

-What?- he urged her to speak unable to wait any longer, she let out a soft heartfelt laugh aware of her husband’s limited patient.

-The orphanage-he kept quiet, she took it as a sign for her to continue –I helped to found it and was the directress for twenty seven years, there were so many beautiful children Alexander, all of them needed a home and I did my best to be able to give it to them, I watched them grow.-She smiled widely remembering every single one of the kids, her children complained about how she forgot about the simplest things nowadays but she still seemed to recall every single detail about her past. –Sometimes they reminded me of you, when they ran around, with their endless energy, I thought I didn’t have enough hands for all of them- She laughed as she looked at her own hands –I wonder if I did enough for them, for all of us, for you- she mumbled, he looked at her shocked unable to believe the words that came out of her lips

-Why do you doubt yourself Eliza? - He exclaimed, -What you did was more than enough, hell you didn’t even had to do nothing at all, it wasn’t your duty and you still. All those kids will remember you forever as the kind sweet woman that gave them a home. You might never see the result of your work, but that doesn’t mean what you did was unimportant Eliza- he consoled as she sank deeper in his arms Alexander felt how her heartbeat got weaker and weaker, he turned his face to the clock noticing that it was the three AM and it was almost time for them to leave.

-I know- she yawned closing her eyes slowly –I was just wondering how was it, from someone else’s eyes.- It was the last thing she said before her eyes closed completely, his eyes filled with tears as he slowly accommodated her in the bed in the position she liked to sleep when she was alive.

-It was amazing Eliza, you are amazing, I love you so much- he stood up and watched as her soul did it as well separating itself from her body ready to reach him. She stood slowly in disbelief taking a look at herself noticing she looked young once again, like Alexander who looked like he did the first time they met. He stretched his hand to her so she could reach him, she kissed him it was slow, kind and soft and everything Alexander missed about her. Eliza looked around the place one last time as he opened the door and gestured to tell her that they couldn’t stay much longer it was time for her to leave, they left the bedroom knowing they would miss their home and what they had built.

The next morning John was the first one to open his mother’s bedroom door to inform her that the breakfast was ready and that someone would bring it to the room. It surprised him to see that she was still asleep, with a soft smile on her face.

-Mom- he called. It usually didn’t take long to wake Eliza up, so when she gave no answer he understood, he looked how her hand held her locket tightly and smiled softly as the tears accumulated in his eyes. As he left the bedroom to gave the family the news he thought he saw both of his parents waving goodbye, even if it wasn’t true he leaned his head to them.

#hamliza #hamilton #hamilton the musical #alexander hamilton #hamilton x eliza #eliza schuyler #eliza x hamilton #follow #followme #reblog

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