#perhaps because the experience is mixed up in positive memories and still shaped who you are today

[vimbry]

in a constant fight between "yes it's sad to say you will romanticize, all the things you've known before, it was not not not so great" and "call me sentimental, but I want to go back, and commemorate the place with a historical plaque"

[cassiabaggins]

Athelas

A/N: lets get this Kiliel week started! All these stories are canon with my Extra Burglar timeline and occur following the Battle of Five Armies. I hope you enjoy, and please like, reblog, and leave a comment if you do! Also check out my Masterlist or AO3 for the rest of my works!beating! Also a special thanks to my betas, @anjhope1 and @deathlikessodaandpizza

Warnings: mention of major character death

Word count: 3552

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Taglist: @anjhope1 @deathlikessodaandpizza  @lonikje  @myrin1234 @wettomatodude @lothloriien @annkdarar @artsywaterlily @hmmm-what-am-i-doing  @drowingintheempty  @kilielweek @estethell

Summary: Kili is grievously wounded in the Battle of the Five Armies and Tauriel is the only person who can keep him alive, but her presence is less than welcomed by many of the dwarves

To his credit, Kili is not the most difficult patient Tauriel has ever had. Granted, he does little but sleep for the first few weeks, and his care is only left to her because the dwarven healers have long since realized that they have no idea how to keep him alive, and the elven ones are too preoccupied with their own kind. 

Sleep though he may, it is not a consistent one, and Kili fades to almost wakefulness several times, enough so she can feed him thin broth, mixed with crushed athelas, to replenish his strength and numb the pain. At first, she isn't positive even athelas will help him, but he seems to rest easier when he takes it, even if it is only a few sips. She battles against the possibility of infection and his own mortality and wishes, not for the first time, she had pursued healing with more vigor. She has enough knowledge to bind a wound in battle and keep a comrade alive until the real healers arrive, but knows next to nothing about nursing a dwarf back from the brink of death, so in what little free time she has, she lurks near the healer’s tents, learning what she can to help him. A far cry from her younger self, who would have chafed at the idea of sitting still and listening, but now, she has a reason to.

As Tauriel continues to tend to the wounded dwarf, she notices something quite strange:  Kili gets few visitors. Tauriel wonders if that is because he has few friends, or if it is because his brother, the king, has forbidden it. She suspects the latter. The reason for this belief is because just days after the battle, while Kili is still hovering between life and death, a healer from the Iron Hills comes to check on him. She takes one look at Kili's wound and her eyes widen. Then she glances suspiciously at Tauriel and whispers something to Fili, that she knows she isn't supposed to catch.

"He should be dead," the healer says. "Your Majesty, your brother should not be alive. I am sorry, but I fear this is not him but an elvish trick, seeking to gain your trust and usurp your throne." Fili does not like that, and the dwarf is sent from the tent with a voice trembling with anger.

The brother in question sits with Kili whenever he can spare a moment, holding his hand or braiding his hair and talking to him, but there are not many moments to be had. The halflings visit more often, but they must begin their long journey home before the winter becomes too harsh. So, usually, it is just Tauriel sitting with Kili for such a long amount of time, that her younger self would be both annoyed and impressed with her commitment to the dwarf. However, there is only so much sitting still she can stand and restlessness has her pacing and singing and itching for activity. But she cannot leave him. She will not. He needs her. 

Finally, on the seventeenth day, Kili awakens enough to speak. As he slowly fades into consciousness, he realizes he has been awoken by an argument between Fili, his tone heavy with annoyance and anger, and another voice, one he doesn’t know. 

“...an elf taking care of the prince of Erebor?” The stranger is saying. “It’s unheard of!”

“She saved his life!” Fili snaps back. “As far as I am concerned, that means she can stay as long as needed!”

“Your subjects are already questioning your ability to rule, lad, don’t give them any more reason to doubt you.”

Kili can hear his brother’s voice shaking with anger. “I am fine with whatever they think of me, if it is to ensure my brother’s full recovery. And it is Your Majesty to you, not lad.”

Kili can’t help the soft laugh that escapes him. Fili sounds like Thorin when he does that, all pomp and pride. The argument stops and he senses someone moving close to him.

“Kili?” Fili asks, placing his hand on his forehead. It is warm and comforting. “How are you feeling?”

“I’d feel better if you all quieted down and let me sleep,” Kili mumbles.

“Aye,” his older brother says, stroking his bangs off his forehead. “I’ll take this outside. You get some sleep.”

“Where’s Tauriel?” Kili finds himself asking. He’s a little afraid he just dreamed her presence, that she has already left and returned home. 

“I am here,” her soft voice murmurs, and his heart leaps.

Kili cracks his eyes open to see her and his brother leaning over him, both of their foreheads drawn with concern. "You're missing an eye," Kili finds himself saying to his brother, who gives him a dry look.

"I am aware."

Kili loses interest in Fili's bandaged face and looks over at Tauriel, a much lovelier sight. He smiles. 

“Amrâlimê,” he mumbles, drinking in the sight of her. Fili’s one visible eyebrow shoots up in surprise, so high Kili wants to laugh again, but that hurts too much. Tauriel’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. 

“I’m sorry, Kili, I don’t know what that means,” she whispers. 

“Yes, you do,” he replies, sliding his eyes shut again. He reaches out with the hand nearest to her, searching for her cool skin. 

“Kili,” Fili hisses, “you can’t just--”

Of course he’d protest. Kili twists up his face, suspecting his brother is more concerned with the use of Khuzdul around non-dwarrow than the fact he just confessed his love for an elf in front of two witnesses. “You’re making my head pound, nadad,” he says pettily, knowing that will shut Fili down, and it does. He subsides with some minor grumbling under his breath about Kili defeating the whole point of a secret language with a display like that.

“Get some more rest, Kili,” he says, “When you feel a bit better, we can bring you into the Mountain. I have a room set up for you already.”

“Can Tauriel come?” Kili asks, suddenly terrified his brother will tell her to leave. He reaches out for her again, making a slight grabbing motion with his fingers, but she does not weave her fingers with his like she had before. Fili sighs. 

“Yes, she will come, too. She’s the one keeping you alive, after all.”

“Good.”

The stranger, whoever they are, starts to protest, but Fili says, “enough. Khar, we will finish this outside. Come with me.”

Khar. The name sounds familiar. Kili believes Thorin had a few meetings with a Lord Khar back in Ered Luin, and he had a vague memory of a dwarf with a red beard and brown eyes. Kili hadn’t liked him then, and he certainly doesn’t like him now. He reaches again for Tauriel’s hand. She’s so quiet, he’s suddenly afraid she’s disappeared. The third time turns out to be the charm, and perhaps the others have left, because her cool, slim hand suddenly slips into his. 

Kili smiles. “Tauriel,” he breathes. 

“Kili,” she replies, “your brother is right. Try to sleep. It will help you heal.”

“Can you sing to me?” 

She is silent for a while. He opens one eye to peek at her, a little worried that  asking for a lullaby is a bit more intimate in her culture. However, when their eyes meet, she is looking at him with surprise. He frowns a little, and then she lets out a breath, closing her eyes, a smile playing around her lips. “Yes, I will sing to you.” 

And she does.

.

On the twenty seventh day, Tauriel deems him well enough to be moved into Erebor. They lay him on a pallet in a cart drawn by rams, and despite all the cautions taken, it turns out to be one of the most excruciating experiences Kili has ever undergone. His whole body is pure fire, radiating out from his wound, and every jolt of the cart is a lightning strike of pain lancing through him. He bites back the groans he wants to let out, and squeezes tight to Tauriel’s hand. At least three times the pain becomes too unbearable, and he faints, but each time when he comes to, her hand is still holding his. 

The final time he passes out must be for quite a while, because when he loses consciousness, they are just approaching the mountain, and when he wakes, he is tucked up in a nice, warm, comfortable dwarven bed, leagues better than the thin cot he had been lying on in the healing tents on the battlefield. It's warmer, too, a fire crackling merrily in the hearth at the foot of his bed, and blissfully free of that post war scent of blood and mud and rotting corpses. Kili rather thought it had gone away in those last few days, but apparently he had just gotten used to it, because the smells of this room— herbs and stone and smoke and dust— are like the finest perfumes in all of Middle Earth, even with the faint lingering trace of dragon hanging about the place. He takes a deep breath in through the nose. Aye. Besides the dragon, it smells dwarven. It smells like home. But even the homey smells can’t drive away the pain encompassing his body, and he lets the deep breath out in a rush accompanied by a pained groan.

He doesn’t really notice he’s alone until a door to his left swings open and Tauriel steps through. She looks fresh faced and clean, her hair braided back, a few strands hanging free, and she’s changed clothes as well, to a loose blue tunic that looks suspiciously dwarven, and brown trousers. Kili decides he likes trousers on a lass... and the shape of her legs. She’s carrying a tray with a teapot and mug, and smiles when she sees that he is awake.

“Good evening,” she says, setting the tray on the bedside table. “You slept for a whole day.” She picks up the teapot and pours some of the contents into the mug. “How are you feeling? In pain?”

He manages a weak nod, but that hurts, too. 

"I thought so. Here. Drink this," she says. Kili peers suspiciously at the steaming cup she holds toward him. He thinks it may be medicine, but unlike the dwarven tonics he's used to, it doesn't smell awful. It smells like a combination of mint, earth, and something floral, but he doesn't know the scent, so he is suspicious. He hurts too much to move or speak, but the doubtful look he shoots her is enough. She sits down on his bedside, frowning. "It is merely an infusion of athelas, Kili. It will dull your pain. If I wanted to poison you I would have done it long ago."

That wasn't what he was worried about, but he doesn't have the energy to point that out. He sighs and opens his mouth a bit, and she helps him drink. It is hot, but not burning, and warms him right down to his toes. It would even taste like a normal tea, if not for the faint bitter aftertaste. Slowly, the radiating pain from his chest begins to dull and his muscles relax, and he thinks he might be able to sleep. Actually sleep, not pass out.

"Thank you," Tauriel says, setting the mug aside. "I am going to give you a sponge bath and change your bandages, and then you can try to rest, unless you would like to try eating. How does that sound?"

"You sure you don' jus' wanna see me naked?" He finds himself mumbling with a smirk. She scoffs. 

"You are hardly an appealing picture at the moment, laying here, barely alive, half drunk from pain."

Kili chuckles, but it turns into a hiss as his movement jars his wound and pain shoots through his body. "Everything hurts," he moans.

Tauriel tenderly touches his cheek in comfort. "I know. Give the athelas a moment to work."

He nods weakly and she stands up.

"Where are you—"

"I am merely fetching soap, hot water, and fresh bandages," she replies soothingly before leaving the room.

Before long she returns with a large bowl of steaming water, several rags, soap, and some warm fluffy towels. Slowly, she places the objects down next to him and it dawns on him as she soaks the soft towels in the warm water that she was about to wash him. Suddenly, Kili squirms and shies away from her.

“I don’t know how I feel about this,” he mumbles.

“About what?” She asks without looking up from her task, absently tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. 

“About you seeing me naked,” he whispers, looking anywhere but at her.

Tauriel stops and stares at him for a while and he can feel his cheeks tingling with a blush. “I have seen you naked before,” she says blithely.

Kili’s head shoots up in dismay. “What?! When?!”

She sighs. “Who do you think has been bathing you and changing your bandages for the past month?”

Now it is his turn to stare at her. He hadn’t thought of that. Tauriel touches his shoulder sympathetically. 

“If it makes you uncomfortable, we don’t have to wash between the waist and the knees.”

In the end, that is what they settle on. While she bathes him, she is careful and gentle, but thorough. Just as quick as it begins she is taking away the bathing materials and returning with fresh bandages and a small pot of something.

“I have to change your bandages,” she says apologetically. “This will be… painful.”

“What’s in the jar?” he asks.

"An ointment that will prevent infection and reduce your pain. It's mostly echinacea, chamomile, and athelas, mixed with a lard base."

"You sure like that athelas stuff. What is it, anyway?"

"Some call it kingsfoil," she says, opening the container and checking the contents. She tilts it so he can see a greenish brown paste inside. "See? I'll spread this over your wound. It shall help it heal, with the right incantations."

"Isn't kingsfoil a weed? I've been told that it's a weed."

"It is often seen as a weed, but truly it is a healing herb, though the knowledge of how to use it has been mostly lost to mortals. I've used it on you before, when you were shot by the orcish arrow."

"Oh. I don't remember that."

"I don't find that surprising, you were quite delirious."

Kili feels cold air on his chest and suddenly realizes that Tauriel has been carefully untying his bandages. He looks down and is quite shocked at the sight of his wound. This is the first time he's seen it, an ugly, puckered gash stitched closed with thick black thread. 

"Well," he says shakily, "that will leave a scar."

Tauriel doesn't laugh at his joke, too preoccupied with assessing the wound. "Soon I'll be able to take these stitches out, but not yet." She looks up at him. "I am going to clean it now. Are you ready?"

He gives her a lopsided smile. "Aye. I'm a grown dwarf, I won't cry."

.

In the end, a few silent  tears do manage to squeeze themselves out of his eyes. After her treatment, she lays him back and feeds him medicine that not only numbs the pain but also causes him some drowsiness and he falls asleep once more until she wakes him to feed him. From there, this same routine continues,  with a few minor changes with Company members visiting him when they can, but for the most part, it is just him and Tauriel. 

.

As more members of the Company come by, Tauriel better acquaints herself with them. However, as kind as they are to her, she is no fool. She knows the distrust (and in some cases, hatred) the other Dwarves of the mountain have toward her. They only keep her around due to Kili’s steadily improving condition. But before long, he will not need her anymore. He will be at a point in his recovery where the dwarven healers will be able to manage just fine and the dwarves will tolerate her no longer. She must leave before it all comes to a head and something terrible happens.

.

She begins to prepare travelling supplies: food, drink, and clothing, a map as well, as she makes her plans. Plans she tells no one of; she intends to slip away, unnoticed, into the night. They will not follow her and she knows she will not be missed. They just want her out of the mountain. She plans her route carefully; choosing to slip out in between the changing of the guard and taking a discrete route south. She calculates how many days she can ration out her lembas on foot versus on horseback or by boat, how long she can walk without sleep, how long her tinderbox can last, everything is carefully planned. However, what she did not plan for, is Kili. 

On the winter night that she executes her plan, she doesn't notice that Kill awakens as she creeps about the room, watching shrewdly as she gathers her belongings and crosses the room to her exit. But before she has the chance to even reach for the doorknob, he breaks his silence. 

"You're leaving," he whispers accusingly. 

Tauriel closes her eyes and sighs. “Kili,” she says softly, not looking at him.

“I’m not stupid, you know,” he says, “I’ve snuck out enough times in my life to recognize when someone is doing just that.” Tauriel's shoulders slump. She opens her eyes and looks up at the ceiling, studying the gold flecked green stone, but she still does not turn and look at him.

“Please don’t be angry with me.”

“I’m not angry! ” he huffs, clearly angry. Finally, she turns and raises an eyebrow at him, meeting his glare. "You’re just going to leave me, without so much as a goodbye?!” he continues, his eyes blazing with passion. 

 “Kili, surely you know of the strife my presence is causing,” she replies, “I know you aren’t blind to what is going on in the Mountain.”

“Of course I know!” He explodes, punching the mattress beside his thigh, “I'm not stupid! But you can’t just go!” Tauriel rather gets the impression that he’s hiding his sadness and betrayal behind anger, and if she didn’t know better, she'd think he was begging. But that’s ridiculous. Dwarves are proud. They do not beg. Silently, Tauriel moves away from the door and toward the bed, as graceful as water, and looks down at him. 

“And why is that?”

“Because then they win!” He shouts, gesturing wildly outward, as if to indicate the entire mountain and every dwarf within it. Immediately afterward, he seems to feel guilty for raising his voice, and drops his arms, looking down and away and picking at his blankets. Tauriel takes the opportunity to sit down on the bed beside him, contemplating his words. 

“Kili,” she says finally, after what seems like an age, “I wish it was that simple.”

“It can be,” he murmurs, turning back to look at her, his hand catching hers where it rests on the blanket. “Tauriel, amrâlimê...”

She looks down at their joined hands and something alien wells up within her. Is it love? Is it fear? She doesn’t know. 

“Stay with me,” he says, gripping her fingers. “Please.”

She looks up at him. He’s giving her the same pleading look he gave her on the lakeshore, conveying all his emotions in his gaze: love and determination and desperation...

“I can’t,” she whispers. 

His face crumples and he moves his hand off hers with a heavy sigh. “I know,” he replies. Because he does. Despite how desperately he wants it, he knows that at this point in time, what they have, or at least what they want to have, is impossible. He looks away so he doesn’t have to see her leave. The mattress shifts as she stands, and he listens to her footsteps begin to move away from him. Then, they pause. 

“I have something of yours,” she says. He looks up to see her reaching into her bodice. He frowns, confused, until she draws out her hand and holds it open to him. His runestone rests on her palm. She kept it? She still has it? “This belongs to you.”

“No,” he replies, staring listlessly at the stone.  “It’s yours. It was a gift.” 

She stands in silence for a moment, then her fingers close over it and she returns it back to where she had it, smoothing her shirt down over it. “Thank you.” She says after a while. He nods, looking down again. 

She moves again to leave, he hears rustling as she shoulders her pack, and the door creaks open. 

“Where will you go?” he calls after her. She turns to look at him, framed by the door. 

“I’ve always wanted to see the sea,” she replies. 

He nods. “Ah.”

She gives him a smile, but he doesn’t have the strength to return it, and her face falls. “Perhaps I will see you again someday,” she tells him, and is gone before he can reply. 

[queenof-literature]

Wind

Part 7 of my Hero of Wild series! Wow we’re here already

I’ve had this idea for so long and I finally get to write it! Uhh I don’t have any clever jokes for April Fools, so take this instead. Honestly the most April Fools thing about this is I didn't get a chance to edit much sooo sorry about that.

Hope you enjoy!

Wind narrowed his eyes at the scene before him.

Why did Twilight get to be best friends with the mysterious new hero!

Of course Wind was happy Wild seemed to be finding his place among the others. It started when they found out he had the cooking skills of a castle chef. No, scratch that, his skills had to succeed any castle chef. He had tried food in Warriors and Twilight’s Hyrule Castles, and nothing beat what Wild could do with time and a proper set up!

Man, he was hungry.

Not the point!

The point was, Wind watched Wild silently laugh at something Twilight said to him, Wind couldn’t help but huff. Jealous wasn’t really the way he would describe his feelings. Wind was happy when he saw Wild getting along so well with Twilight, especially with how shy he seemed to be around other Hylians.

That was another mysterious trait about Wild. His name, Wild. It implied someone savage and not caring of others and their rules. That wasn’t Wild.

Wind discovered what his name really meant. If Wind’s name was the gentle tuseling of hair from the high seas, then Wild’s meant the course but soft feeling of grass beneath one’s feet.

Their names were similar, not just in the lettering, but in the feelings they both provided. When Wind thought of their names, he thought of freedom. And with Wild perhaps a few fires along the way.

And Wind was gonna be his friend dammit.

~

His sign was outdated, the other Links weren’t the only ones who didn’t understand him. Like many things, sign has evolved without him. The only one who truly understood that was Zelda, and she was in Hateno.

Wild didn’t have many memories, but he did remember talking to her after they finally got along, only with her. Verbally. No matter how hard he tried he couldn’t even remember what his voice sounded like.

Would he have a similar accent to Zelda? Posh and regal? Probably not, accents could be changed and acclimated and it had been over one hundred years since Wild had heard anyone have that accent but Zelda, and perhaps the ghost of the king. No, his accent would probably develop into a mix of things.

  As for his voice itself, would it be soft and quiet? Loud and course? Did the two feel different when you spoke? Sure Wild had made noises before. He laughed when he was alone, sometimes the noise just bubbled up and he couldn’t stop it. But talking? Wild didn’t know how, and that was embarrassing. He could read, he could write, and he could understand how other people spoke. He couldn’t speak.

He had watched how others talked. He tried to copy it. When they said an ‘oh’ sound, they made the same shape with their mouth. He was positive he was doing it right, he copied it exactly, but nothing pushed passed his mouth. Nothing of importance anyway.

Just as it had the past couple of days, Wild’s mind flashed back to Sky’s offer. He had seemed so genuine, it didn’t seem to be something the man would offer simply to be nice. But perhaps the man hoped Wild would forget about it, maybe Sky himself had already forgotten about it. Still, there was just a small ember of hope in him.

He imagined himself finally keeping up with conversations, laughing loudly, maybe even surprising Zelda. He shouldn’t let himself get lost in fantasies but he couldn’t help it, not when it was a small possibility. There was no telling if Sky’s offer was truly genuine, or that Wild would actually be able to follow through and speak, but what if he tried. 

Still that would require reaching out, approaching Sky and asking for help with one of the most basic actions one could perform, something many did without even thinking about it.

Yet Sky understood that, didn’t he? He had been open with Wild, told him of his childhood struggles. Perhaps there really was no shame in asking. Wild let out a low sigh, not aware of the figure stalking him from behind, eyes narrowed slightly, plotting.

~

Now, how was he to approach him? Wind mused on the answer as the group walked forward. No one had claimed this Hyrule as their own yet, the best they could do is walk the main path and search for a town, and keep their guard up.

Truthfully Wind didn’t know Wild well enough yet to determine the best approach. Would a direct question work? He had tried that before and had been mostly brushed off, but that was before Wild knew who they were. Wind decided ultimately to be honest and say whatever was on his mind, Wild could probably tell when someone was being dishonest or not genuine. 

Twilight bid Wild a short goodbye before speeding up to talk to Time near the front of the group, and Wind saw his chance. Wind took a deep breath and trotted up to be beside Wild, giving the fellow teen plenty of room as the rest of the group tried to. They did the same thing for the more antisocial Links at the beginning of their group as well.

“Hi Wild! Breakfast this morning was really good.” Wind complimented, trying to start up a casual conversation. It was true, the food Wild called ‘crepes’ had absolutely blown Wind’s mind. Maybe Wild would be more inclined to talk if it was about something the teen enjoyed, and Wind could tell he really loved cooking.

‘Thank you’. Wind felt success at the small sign, preparing to talk again before Wild continued his signs. ‘There are a lot of flavors’. It took Wind a moment to remember the word for flavors, but Wild signed slow enough for him to figure it out. ‘Depends on the ingredients.’  

“I bet! Feel free to experiment with ingredients, I'm sure we’ll all thank you for it.” Wind joked, chest feeling light at the small smile he earned from Wild.

‘Will do.’ Wild joked back, and Wind bit his lip at the lull in conversation. Now or never.

“We don’t know each other very well.” Wind observed. “Can we ask each other questions?” Wind didn’t know what making friends was like in Wild’s Hyrule, but at Outset it was very forward, hopefully he wasn’t crossing a line. Wild’s steps seemed to falter for a minute, and Wind felt another spike of worry, before Wild nodded.

“Really? You don’t have to.” Wind assured, fearing Wild was only saying yes to be polite. Wild nodded once more, and Wind’s eyes lit up in excitement.  

“What’s your favorite color? Your tunic is blue like mine! Where’d you get it? Where’s your Zelda? Where are you from? In your Hyrule I mean. Do you have a favorite animal? What-”

“Woah there Wind.” Warriors physically stepped into the very one-sided conversation, placing a firm but gentle hand on the sailor’s shoulder. “Give him a minute to answer.” Warriors noticed the wide eyes Wild held under his hood and his twitching fingers.

“Oh! Um, sorry Wild.” Wind rubbed his neck, embarrassed. He just couldn’t decide what to ask first!

‘Don’t have one. Zelda made it. In Hateno. Everywhere. I like horses.’ Wind’s eyes lit up, excited someone had kept up with questions, but halted himself from asking anymore.

Wild however, felt sadness bloom in his chest further. 

He wanted to say that his favorite color depended on the day, on what marvels his Hyrule had in store for him. 

He wanted to say Zelda made it for the champion, her duties as a princess, but she was a scholar at heart and she was pouring over books and reaching out to leaders to make her kingdom better as they spoke. 

He wanted to say that he loved his horses and the companionship they provided, but he thought bears and elk were fun to ride and foxes were so cute with their fluffy tails and huge yawns he only killed them when absolutely necessary.

He wanted to say that, but he didn’t. Because he couldn’t.

Before Wild could raise his hands and ask a question in return, a shout was heard from the front of the group.

“Watch out!” Twilight yelled, unsheathing his sword. What? Wild’s head whipped around, eyes scanning for any sign of a threat. He summoned his sword with the others, lucky enough to have a royal broadsword with minimal damage. The rest of the group stood in different stances, ranging from wide to more narrow and showing how different they were from one another. It appeared they were all waiting for the enemy to make the first move. And make the first move they did.

 A creature launched out of the trees in an instant, right towards Warriors, who expertly lifted his shield  to protect himself.

“They’ve surrounded us!” Called Legend, blocking another creature attacking him from the other side of the path. Wild could now see they looked like a different version of Lizalfos, green scales shimmering in the sun contrasting the pale milky yellow of their stomachs. They didn’t look like his Lizalfos, their heads rounder and bodies thicker, but that was something Wild would need to get used to.

“Keep an eye out for the black one!” Warriors shouted to their group. Black one? Did they not have black Lizalfos? Something in Wild’s head screamed at him and he summoned his shield from his slate and parried a strong hit from yet another of the creatures. They really were surrounded, but Wild was used to fighting this amount by now. He raised his hand to his slate to summon his bomb arrows before pausing in growing realization. What was he thinking? He would hit his comrades!

His hesitance resulted in a strong punch to the chest, Wild’s breath caught and he stumbled back, running right into Sky behind him who was fighting off his own Lizalfos. Wild quickly recovered, almost dodging the next attack before realizing that if he did the creature’s sword would ram right into Sky’s chest. Wild clumsily blocked, chest constricting, desperate to get away and cursing himself for his own weaknesses. Quickly he lurched to the side before the Lizalfos could raise his sword, and ran right into Legend this time.

“Watch it!” Legend snarled, not even noticing who it was in the heat of battle. Wild’s eyes darted around, looking for any opening, anything to do. If he could get into a tree he could jump out and take them out with his arrows, no, no opening. He continued to use his sword and shield, hyper aware of all the bodies surrounding him that weren’t enemies.

And at the worst possible moment, Wild’s shield broke. He really should have expected it.

The Lizalfos made a deep growl in its throat, smashing its shield into Wild’s head causing the boy to stumble and fall, landing on his back, his sword skidding away from him. The Lizalfos didn’t hesitate, raising its sword to plunge into Wild. This was going to hurt…

With a cry from the left, Wild watched in awe as a small body parried the sword above him, Wind. The boy swung his sword in an arch, cutting right into the Lizalfos chest. It was shallow, but it allowed Wind to gain the upper hand. How had he made that big an arch without hitting anyone? Wind launched himself from the ground, mercilessly driving his sword into the Lizalfos’ chest, crashing them both to the ground.

As the other Links finished up their own fights, ensuring they were truly out of enemies, Wild stared in awe and shame. Everyone had taken out at least one enemy, everyone but him. Wind had to step in and save him. Wild’s cheeks were bright red, an uncomfortable heat across his face, ears and neck. Without thinking Wild yanked his hood higher, chest constricting. They were all looking at him, they were all seeing how inept he was at this.

“Are you okay? I think he got hit in the head!” Wind called out to the other Links. Oh, so that’s what felt wet on his face. Oh well, head wounds bleed a lot. Wild silently begged Wind not to draw anymore attention to him. He just wanted to forget this ever happened. They were all looking at him.

“I have a potion!” Hyrule called, rushing over. Wild shook his head as Hyrule approached him. He was fine, he didn’t need it. He had already messed up.

‘Fine’. Wild signed as Hyrule sat in front of him, perhaps normally this would be fine, but everything was too much and Hyrule was too close.

“Wild, you’re bleeding.” Hyrule stated, reaching for Wild’s face. Wild quickly flinched away, hand flying towards his slate in momentary panic. Hyrule’s eyes widened, realizing what he had done and pulling back. “Sorry! Sorry just… you’re bleeding. We have extra don’t worry.” Once again Hyrule offered the potion, holding it far away from himself for Wild to grab. Wild didn’t know Hyrule all that well yet, their shield surfing adventure aside, but he knew the other boy would probably persist until Wild drank, and the last thing Wild wanted to do was to make a large spectacle. Well, more than he already had.

Wild reached out to grab the potion, ensuring he didn’t touch Hyrule’s fingers, before slowly sipping, only consuming enough to heal his head wound. Almost instantly he felt fog he hadn’t even known was there clear up, allowing him to relax, only slightly. There was still an uncomfortable heat in his cheeks and ears. He handed a skeptical Hyrule the bottle, gesturing to his healed head no longer gushing bright red. Hyrule reluctantly clipped the almost full potion back onto his belt, but didn’t leave Wild’s side.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Wind approached Wild. It was too much, it was all too much.

‘I’m sorry’. Wild signed shakily to Wind, eyes focusing anywhere but on the younger boy who had perhaps saved his life. ‘I’m sorry’. He signed once more, this time in the direction of Time and the others. That could have gone so much worse, he could have gotten someone killed, specifically Wind. 

“Wild, it’s okay we’ve all had to save each other’s asses before.” Wind piped up, but Wild only shook his head, he lifted his clammy hands, but nothing would form. What could he say? That he was sorry he put them all in danger? That he was sorry he almost blew them up without thinking?

“Teamwork is hard when you’re not used to it.” Wild’s shocked eyes darted to Hyrule in front of him, the other boy having a look of sudden understanding of what had happened, and that understanding dawned on the rest of them. 

“Do us a favor and don’t almost electrocute all of us like Hyrule did.” Legend smirked at Hyrule’s red cheeks and betrayed glare.

‘I almost blew you up’. Wild signed without thinking, feeling regret pool in his stomach. He expected a scolding, a remark about how reckless and dangerous he was, how they shouldn’t let him fight. He did not expect them all to burst out laughing. 

“Great, there’s another one!” Four groaned, but he didn’t sound very upset.

“Like you’re one to talk!” Warriors laughed, dodging a kick from the smith.

“Let’s not stay here for too long.” Time announced, however the clear smirk on his face told everyone how amused he was. Honestly, Wild was scared he would get a verbal lashing, but Time would probably wait for later to do that.

“Are you okay to walk?” Hyrule asked, and while Wild appreciated the concern he was confused how a small head wound would impede his movement at all. Still Wild shook his head and stood, ignoring the slight tremble in his legs from the feeling of the world imploding just a moment ago. Wild had to restrain himself from rolling his eyes at how pathetic he was being.

It seemed unnatural to be on the road again. The others chatting even while keeping a far sharper ear out for what lurked along the path.

“Hey Wild.” Wind greeted once more.

‘Thank you’. Wild signed with as much feeling as he could have while not making eye contact.

“Oh! Uh yeah, no problem. Those bastards are slippery.” Wind smiled at him, the same as before, and Wild felt himself calm slightly. “Listen…” Wild cocked his head slightly at Wind’s sudden serious tone. “I know…  I know what it’s like, to feel embarrassed when someone else has to save you. I’m the youngest so…” Wind trailed off, gesturing his hands vaguely, but Wild could understand what he was trying to say. “It, well, it took me a while to realize that getting help isn’t something you should be ashamed of. I used to feel bad whenever someone stepped in to help me, but Warriors told me that it’s okay to accept help, and I had forgotten that. That’s what being a group is. Don’t feel bad.” Wind smiled up at Wild, who looked as shocked as he felt. It’s okay to accept help. It was such a simple sentence yet it sent Wild reeling.

‘Thank you, Wind’. Wild signed, and Wind lit up once more at the sight of his name sign he was so proud of. He nodded and he and Wild spent the next hour exchanging questions and answers. They were all simple, nothing that dug deep, and Wild wasn’t as overwhelmed as he thought he would be. Yet something still weighed heavily on his mind.

~

Sky was well aware of the company he had. The others had taken to doing their chores before settling in. It was a general unspoken rule that if they had the opportunity, Links that had their tasks done could do whatever, just as long as it was near camp or someone else knew where you were and you were within someone else’s eyesight. It certainly helped them all, especially those who were used to traveling alone. The tasks weren’t really assigned, most of them just did what was closest and others filled in the rest. Sky had already ensured that Epona was properly taken care of while Twilight secured the perimeter, and was content to work on his latest woodworking. It wasn’t the only hobby he had, but it was nice for evenings he was content to sit back and observe.

Currently though, his main point of interest was awkwardly shuffling behind him. Sky wondered if he would come around in front of him to talk, but ultimately decided to be the first to speak. Sky shifted from where he was leaning against the tree to face Wild, meeting questioning but troubled blue eyes. He had been wearing his hood around camp less, and Sky wanted to think that was a positive sign. It seems being acknowledged only troubled Wild more. 

“Hi Wild! Is there anything wrong or would you just like company?” Sky offered, always so considerate for his feelings. This only made Wild more flustered as he stood there, awkwardly shuffling his feet. “Wild?” Sky pressed, no impatience, only concern and confusion. Wild squeezed his hands close to his chest before raising them. 

‘Is your offer still open?’

[hualianff]

Untethered III 《II》

Hold On – Park Yun Seo

White noise rings through Xie Lian’s ears, replacing the brutal assaults of battle until they fade away into the background. Beads of rain make contact with Xie Lian’s face, soaking his hairline and his clothes. But nothing else matters in this moment besides the ring Crimson Rain holds hostage, away from Xie Lian’s heart.

“It’s common courtesy to answer when someone asks a question, little Prince,” the pirate captain sings, pulling tighter on the ring until the chain feels like it’s going to snap.

“No!” Xie Lian gasps worriedly. His hands fly to grasp the ring, effectively unhooking it from Crimson Rain’s sword, but cutting his right hand in the process. Blood immediately oozes from the small wound, cleansed by the rain and sliding down to splash onto the deck.

Xie Lian grimaces while inspecting his hand. His other palm closes around the ring protectively, pressing the cool surface to his lips. The prince unconsciously closes his eyes, memories flooding his mind, letting through five year’s worth of forbidden euphoria.

He envisions the grungy tavern on the outskirts of the Kingdom of Xianle, where Shi Qingxuan had convinced him to sneak out to explore outside the palace walls. He can taste the muskiness in the air, hear the drunken pandemonium. Shi Qingxuan had eventually gone off to gamble–particularly well-versed in wagering despite being of nobility status–leaving Xie Lian sitting at the bar alone, unsure of what to order.

Xie Lian remembers a mysterious figure taking the seat to his left, draped in a red overcoat with an eyepatch covering his right eye. The stranger did not hesitate to call the bartender over, ordering two beverages with a slight lilt in his baritone voice. Xie Lian awkwardly fixed his gaze onto his glass of iced tap water, hoping his common robes, untied hair, and makeup-less face would go unrecognized.

That, and the fact that he had no experience ordering or drinking alcohol, even at twenty-years-old.

The bartender brought over the eye-patched man’s drinks, setting them down with a thunk! Xie Lian was content to watch for the stranger’s drinking partner from his peripheral vision, perhaps even pick up on how to drink in the proper manner. He would be damned if he didn’t learn one useful thing during this night of freedom.

However, Xie Lian was not prepared for the man to grab one glass and slide it in his direction. Xie Lian froze in his seat, sitting with his back ram-rod straight, hands neatly placed in his lap. Should he kindly refuse the offer? Unsupervised drinking was certainly risky. Or should he take a cautious sip? He would think that was the polite thing to do.

But before Xie Lian could react, the man casually angled his body towards him, leaning his elbow on the bar and propping his face with his palm.

His next words made Xie Lian’s heart come to a complete halt.

“Good evening, Your Highness.”

Xie Lian’s memories abruptly shift, and he is transported to the day when he first saw Ghost Ship. It appeared out of nowhere, easily twice the size of the traveling ship Xie Lian had taken to a neighboring kingdom. When the royal guards jumped to attack, Xie Lian simply held a hand up, stopping them in their tracks.

The prince walked to the side of his ship, assessing the Ghost Ship with keen eyes. Ghost Ship was traveling at a faster speed, quickly passing the royal ship by with no intention of initiating battle. When the better half of its length sailed beyond Xie Lian’s sight, the man steering the wheel came into view. As if in slow motion, Xie Lian locked eyes with the man, who donned familiar red and an eyepatch, and also wore a signature captain’s hat.

A captain. A pirate captain, Xie Lian remembers thinking, captivated by those broad shoulders, tattooed skin, and eccentric clothes. The same pirate captain circles in on him like a hungry shark, scimitar scraping along his arms and back, tearing the drenched fabric of his robes.

“Who knew the Prince of Xianle cares so much for a plain piece of metal?” Crimson Rain continues spitting his words like poison.

Xie Lian curls in on himself, trembling.

When pirates began uncharacteristically wreaking havoc on the docks of Xianle’s ports, Xie Lian often rushed to the scene to fend them off himself. Specifically, a pirate who could give Xie Lian a run for his money when it came to sword fighting, but always escaping with an evil smirk painted across his lips.

When Xie Lian had nearly drowned, those same lips had pressed against his own to breathe air into his lungs.

That had been his first kiss.

A few months later, Xie Lian had snuck out of the palace once again to the very same dock at the end of the port, where a certain pirate awaited him.

The images flitting through his mind now blur together, becoming unrecognizable except for the sensations imprinted on his body.

A warm body claiming him in a king-sized bed, among silken sheets and the pale glow of the moonlight streaming through the window. It was almost too dark to make out the man on top.

Almost.

One lust-filled eye bore down at Xie Lian.

“You like that, Your Highness?” the baritone voice growled into his ear.

Xie Lian hears his answering moan play inside his head and inhales sharply.

Between the secret meetings came secret letters specially addressed to the prince. They appeared with the changing winds, anonymously delivered under the pretense of confidential mail sent from other royalty. But no one could imitate that atrocious handwriting, nor invoke the same joy from Xie Lian when seeing his favorite red, butterfly seal.

Isabella’s Lullaby – Takahiro Obata

“It’s from someone special,” Xie Lian grits out, hanging his head low. The ring–presented to him with the most tender gaze and gentle hands–symbolizes hope. A promise of unconditional love.

“Trust me,” a low whisper ghosted against Xie Lian’s temple. “I’ll come back for you.”

And Xie Lian believed him.

That was one year ago. The spontaneous visits stopped, and so did the carefully crafted letters. With no one to confide in, Xie Lian spiraled down underneath everyone’s expectations and his own realized failure. He had been foolish. Blind. Naive.

Within that one-year period, Xie Lian lost faith.

Not in his love. Never in his love.

But in destiny. In free will. In god.

The one thing, one person, he needed most in this lifetime, was no longer within his reach.

Until now.

“Where will you run now, dear Prince?” Crimson Rain’s voice brings Xie Lian back to the present. His eye holds none of the familiar warmth it once did when he slipped the very same silver ring onto Xie Lian’s finger.

The rumbling and squeaking of footsteps make their way towards the pair, Xie Lian’s royal guards abandoning the protection of the ship to come to their prince’s aid instead. But even as Xie Lian gazes up at Crimson Rain’s, brandishing that strong jaw and classy smirk, the prominent eye patch, and the shimmering eye that radiates insanity, Xie Lian feels a certain sense of peace wash over him.

It’s finally time.

Xie Lian gives the pirate captain a hostile smirk of his own, taking out the white ribbon holding up his hair and letting the rain weigh down his brunet locks.

“Hua Cheng,” Xie Lian croons knowingly, widening his eyes in faux innocence. The instant look of surprise on Crimson Rain’s face is all Xie Lian needs before kicking the pirate’s sword to the side, scattering it a few meters away. Xie Lian dives for the exact sword, adjusting to the new weight and shape of the weapon. His palm throbs where the cut splits further open, blood staining the hilt.

Xie Lian swiftly points the sword at Hua Cheng’s jugular, their positions now switched.

Now, it is the pirates who are yelling chaotically, demanding their captain not let a rotten prince get the best of him. Hua Cheng simply clicks his tongue, signaling his men to retreat.

“Your Highness...” the pirate captain murmurs. Xie Lian digs the sword more insistently into Hua Cheng’s skin, forcing the pirate back. Xie Lian herds him onto the official plank, where traitors are typically executed, sentenced by the prince himself.

“Back. Up,” is all Xie Lian offers bitterly, his long hair curtaining his face, body still tense even though he has the upper hand. Hua Cheng holds his hands up in surrender, his hair drenched with rain, the long braid crooked where it cascades down his right shoulder.

“Xie Lian,” Hua Cheng addresses in a sweeter tone. “My dear Prince, if you could see yourself now.”

Xie Lian swallows thickly.

“You are a beautiful sight,” Hua Cheng rasps out, no more than a whisper. Yet, Xie Lian catches every word, and his heart clenches painfully.

Of course, Hua Cheng would think that.

Xie Lian’s sword wavers, but only because the pouring rain has stolen every bit of warmth as it washes down his body, making him shiver. The prince knows everyone’s attention is on them, the royal guards cheering their prince on in hopes that this conflict will end in their victory.

But they remain unaware of their biggest defeat.

The Prince of Xianle had fallen in love with a pirate.

With an unbearably heavy heart, Xie Lian draws his sword back. Tears leak out of his eyes and stream down his face, mixing in with the rain. In this very moment, Xie Lian feels the most suffocated he’s ever been, and wonders if this is truly what it feels like to be on the brink of death.

As if it happens in slow motion, Xie swings the sword with all the power he possesses. Hua Cheng’s arms stretch open in vulnerability, lips forming into a small, understanding smile.

“Gege.”

Something inside Xie Lian shatters. The familiar term of endearment is for Xie Lian’s ears only. His heart pounds against his rib cage with the ferocity of an imprisoned soul, screaming at Xie Lian to ask not what he would wish for in death, but what is he willing to live for?

The answer is right in front of him.

“I’m back.”

《Bonus I》

[seriouslyhooked]

The Bast Bad Idea (Part 2)

Three-part CS AU where Emma and Killian are doctors working at the same hospital (world without pandemic). They’ve yet to meet, but Emma has definitely seen the sexy Dr. Jones in her travels at Mist Haven Medical. It’s generally a bad idea to get involved with a colleague, but a little fantasizing never hurt… right? Inspired by the song ‘Bad Idea’ by Ariana Grande and a TV couple who set the bar for true love stories.

Part One Here. Story available on FF Here and AO3 Here.

A/N: Hello everyone! First and foremost, I want to start with a huge thank you to all of you who have reached out about this story. The response was so far beyond what I was expecting, but I am thrilled to know that all of you enjoy a CS Doctor AU as much as I do. As someone who grew up watching Grey’s Anatomy, it’s essentially engrained in my DNA to love a medical romance, and this story is one I have wanted to write for a long time. I’ve had more than a month away from writing thanks to my busy schedule, but finally my muse came to play and add a bit of fluff to this sweet short story. Chapter two picks up with a critical question – what was Dr. Jones going to propose to Dr. Swan…? Without further ado, here is our answer. Thanks for reading and hope you enjoy!

“This might be presumptuous of me, love, but I find I’m helpless to resist. I was wondering – that is, I was hoping that perhaps, you and I, we could…”

His eyes strayed down to her lips, and Emma wet them absentmindedly. She heard a low growl, and realized it was coming from Killian. She shifted in her seat, turned on in a way she had never been before. Instinctively she moved closer, sensing the sinfully sweet current between them, like lightning just before it cracked across a summer sky. The instant attraction was breathtaking. It felt almost out of time and space.

“We could…” she continued, nudging him along and hoping he would elaborate. She wanted so badly for him to say aloud what she herself was wishing for.

Yet where Emma expected words, she was instead met with action, tantalizing and surprising, but inspiring something in her she never expected. Before she knew it, Emma was in Killian’s arms, aching for this moment, kissing him and knowing she was positively senseless. All that existed was this kiss, this touch. It was electrifying and invigorating, a blaze rushing through her blood stream that emboldened a part of her she’d always held back. Desire. That was what this was, and it was luscious and intoxicating.

Following his lead, Emma broke away from the kiss only to gasp for air as he crowded her body against the wall. The hardness of the cement blocks behind her, coupled with the heat and definition of Dr. Killian Jones was too much to handle. She arched into him, striving for contact, and reveling in the feel of his skin on hers. The only problem was these damn clothes between them. Never in her life had she been irritated at this doctor’s coat she’d worked so hard to earn. For years she studied and poured everything she was into medicine, all for the authority this coat portrayed, but she practically purred when Killian stripped hers off and tossed it to the ground. Pushing his off of his body in return made her mind race. The muscles of his chest and arms were driving her to distraction. Then they flexed, and she swallowed harshly, earning a deep, decadent chuckle from this man who drove her crazy.

“See something you like, Swan?”

God that cockiness. They’d never had any kind of real conversation before now, but the way he smiled spoke volumes. His air and his persona were dripping in assuredness. Emma used to think that she hated so much confidence, but when it came to Killian, she craved it something fierce. It was somewhat infuriating, the way his eyes shone with mischief and conceit, but it was also hotter than anything she’d ever known. Still, part of her would rather die than admit that aloud. She had her pride, no matter how wrapped up in this moment she may be.

“It’s hard to say,” she replied, her voice sounding out with a shredded silkiness that she’d never heard before. “I haven’t seen much of anything yet.”

“My apologies, love. Allow me to rectify the situation.”

Emma watched as this ridiculously attractive man purposefully teased her. With deft fingers he reached for the base of his scrub top, inching the material higher up his body. The trail of dark hair he revealed was evocative, but it held no candle the shape and tone of those abs underneath. Sweet Jesus, were those real? Emma bit back a groan at the sight, her lip pressed tight between her teeth. It took everything in her to keep her hands from reaching for him. She lay them flat on the wall behind her at her sides instead, but they balled into fists unconsciously as Killian eventually tossed the shirt away.

His black hair was mussed now, both from removing the scrubs with that always-present swagger, and from her fingers having run through it during their never-ending kisses. His eyes were dark navy blue, but still they shone with hunger and delight. His grin was a mix of charming and predatory, but instead of inciting a fight or flight response, Emma only wanted to surrender. This was a man who knew he was in complete control. He had hooked her, totally and beyond any shadow of doubt, and all she wanted was for him to have his way with her.

The curses he whispered while helping her shed her own scrubs were like prayers on high, a sweet song to her ears that only added to his allure. Killian’s eyes never strayed from her, but his reactions were so open and transparent. He hid nothing, allowing her a glimpse to the world inside, and it caused the power between them to shift. If Emma was being hunted, then she was also hunting in return, and Killian seemed ready to be caught.

“Emma, I -,”

His voice faded out, and she struggled to hear him. Instead, there was a blaring alarm. Was this a fire drill? Why had the light in the room gone hazy? Still, Emma heard herself whisper his name.

“Killian?”

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

The screech of the sharp, incessant chiming by her ears wrenched Emma’s eyes open, and immediately she groaned in disappointment. All of that – every exquisite moment – was a dream. Ugh, of course it was! Because this was her life now: fantasizing about a hot trauma surgeon ceaselessly and wishing that her memories of him were more than mere imagination.  

“Damn it,” she muttered aloud, covering her eyes with her hand in frustration. With her vision blocked, Emma was more aware of the feeling that her body was wrapped up in her sheets. She’d obviously been tossing and turning through the night, restless in ways she rarely was before seeing Doctor Jones. These freaking dreams just felt so real, and they’d only gotten worse since officially meeting him.

That was three days ago now, but things had been chaotic in the meantime. The level four trauma that came in when they’d been formally introduced totally swamped the ER. Emma was called down for consult on multiple patients, needing to give life and death assessments and treatment plans for half a dozen people. While down there, Emma had the chance to see David and Killian in action. She was struck, even in the grips of adrenaline, by their cohesion and capability. They were cool and collected, battling odds that were dire to say the least, but they prevailed. Emma had worked for years to hone her craft, to heighten her skills, and to meet the moments of medicine that her work provided. But the energy in the ER had shifted, and she felt her own abilities elevated by the camaraderie and collectiveness of everyone in the hospital.

That shared experience only lasted a short while, for after initial inspections and emergency consults, Emma was quickly rerouted to the surgical wing. For 16 hours straight she worked to save the lives of four people, and through something that felt like magic, or maybe divine intervention, she was successful each and every time. That good fortune held, not only for her, but for all of her colleagues as well. The hospital had managed something next to impossible – they had saved every victim of the horrible accident, but the work had been backbreaking. When she’d finally scrubbed out of her last procedure, Emma admitted defeat, heading home and sleeping for twelve straight hours.

Her next shift was markedly slower, and Emma had the chance to see the progress of her post-op patients, and to connect with the others in her unit. It was critically important that the doctors, nurses, admins, tech teams, and other staff were all feeling strong and secure. Patients needed everyone working as a collective whole, and Emma took it upon herself to monitor that. It was unusual for a Doctor, especially one who wasn’t overseeing daily operations, but it mattered to Emma. Saving lives took so much more than her medical degree and steady hands. She needed each and every person in the cardiac wing to be successful, and she valued every one of them for what they brought to the team.

Unfortunately, while Emma’s day was slower and steadier, there was also a favorite element now lacking. She wasn’t too proud to admit that she’d willingly joined Ruby on the daily trip to the coffee cart. Actually, she’d been the one to page Ruby this time, earning more than a bit of teasing from her best friend, but Killian and David never showed. Only later, when Emma was at the tail end of her workday and helping with a consult in the ER, did she learn why.

“He was here for sixty-eight straight hours,” David said bluntly, after having confirmed his diagnosis for a patient presenting with a blood circulation issue.

“I’m sorry?” Emma asked, confused for a moment at David’s turn of topic.

“Killian,” David said, prompting Emma’s face to heat. Here she was, hoping it wasn’t totally obvious that she was looking for a man she hardly knew beyond imaginings, but David had seen through her in a matter of moments.

“Oh, um – that’s, well that’s… crazy. Sixty-eight hours?” That beat even her record, and she’d been called a workaholic on more than one occasion.

“Mhmm. We were on the end of a twelve-hour shift when the call came in and he stayed, until every last patient in the trauma department was seen and attended to. I left for eight hours and was dead to the world the entire time. Still felt laggy when coming back. Meanwhile, he caught maybe four hours sleep total interspersed between rounds, crashing in on call rooms. You’d never know though. He was totally unfazed. Brilliant as ever. It was like being back in the field again.”

“Seriously?” Emma asked, amazed at that. She was no stranger to long shifts, but to work that hard for that long was a herculean feat. Somehow, though, she wasn’t surprised to hear Killian had pulled it off.

“Yup. I had to force him to go back to his hotel. Actually, Regina had to. I tried, but until the Chief said something, he wouldn’t budge. She had to spew all sorts of protocol and legal jargon at him to get him to go. Even then, I could tell he was debating whether to stay or not.”

“He has a real connection with his patients,” Emma commented, vocalizing a fact she’d ascertained by watching him in action. Killian cared deeply, and while his main job may be all about stemming the flow of crisis, and bouncing around from one case to the next just to keep people holding on, he kept track of all those he helped, and invested in each patient no matter what.

“Maybe. I think it had more to do with the fact that it was only eight am and you wouldn’t be at the coffee stand yet.”

Before Emma could respond, David was paged for something else. He’d left her with a polite goodbye, but also a knowing smile. Another time, Emma might have tried to fake that she wasn’t interested or deny that there was something between her and Killian, but instead she was too busy fixating on what she’d just heard. Emma carried David’s assessment around with her for the rest of the day, well after leaving the hospital and heading home. She spent the night wondering if what David said was true. Was Killian as interested in her as she was in him?

“This might be presumptuous of me, love, but I find I’m helpless to resist. I was wondering – that is, I was hoping that perhaps, you and I, we could…”

“We could what?” she whispered, getting out of her car, heading inside to her next shift. “What was he going to ask me?”

“Did you say something, Emma?”

Emma jumped at the unexpected question, senses on high alert as she stood before the elevator in the parking garage. When she found Mary Margaret only a few feet from her, and clearly the orator of the previous question, Emma relaxed slightly. She tried her best not to show her embarrassment, but it was difficult. Now she was talking to herself? Jeez, she was truly losing it at this point.

“Oh, uh, nothing. How are you today?” she asked her friend. Mary Margaret smiled widely. Her excitement was palpable, filling up the elevator car as the two of them stepped inside.

“I’m great! Just eager to get to work.”

“Any interesting cases on the schedule?”

“Oh, uh, sure, there’s a few, I guess. Well really most of my day is going to be in consult with the Chief’s office.”

“Wait a second, you have to spend a prolonged period of time with the Evil Queen and you are smiling? Who are you and what have you done with Mary Margaret?” Her friend now looked flustered, clearly trying to grasp at an explanation and then it dawned on Emma. “This is about David isn’t it?”

“David?” Mary Margaret asked, her pitch higher than it had been just moments ago. Emma laughed at her friend’s terrible play acting. Trying to pretend that this wasn’t about David Nolan was a lost cause. Eventually Mary Margaret realized that, and she sighed, releasing the tension in her shoulders as she exhaled. “Okay, yes, I am seeing Dr. Nolan today.”

“Let me guess, he’s also going to be at the admin meetings.”

“They’re about coordinating long term therapies better with our emergency protocols and treatments. So yes, the head of the ER is likely to make an appearance.”

“I see,” Emma said, biting back a smirk so as not to make Mary Margaret too uncomfortable. In the end though her curiosity won out, and she had to ask. “So, any movement there?”

“Movement?”

“Has he asked you out yet?”

“Not exactly.” Emma waited for her friend to explain herself. Mary Margaret held off for a few seconds before blurting out the truth. “I actually asked him.”

“Really?” Emma was shocked. Not because she thought any less of Mary Margaret. In fact, quite the opposite. She was proud of Mary Margaret for going for what she wanted. She just had never ever seen Mary Margaret step outside of a comfort zone like that, and certainly not with a hospital colleague. “Good for you. And he obviously said yes.”

“Why is it obvious?” Emma rolled her eyes, but in a teasing way.

“Come on, you know you two were making heart eyes at each other the other day. There was a definite spark. We all saw it.”

“I’m honestly surprised you noticed since you had your own, what did you just call them? ‘Heart eyes’? Well, you definitely had heart eyes for a certain trauma surgeon.”

Now it was Emma’s turn to blush, and what perfect timing, because the elevator doors had just opened to the lobby. They exited the quiet of the elevator to a hustle and bustle found only at a top tier hospital. It felt like a swarm of people, buzzing every which way, on their own individual paths.

“David and I going to dinner tomorrow,” Mary Margaret said quietly, looking around and finding no eavesdropping colleagues. When the coast was clear, she smiled, looking back at Emma with excitement all over her face. “That’s all I know though. I may have asked him out, but he made it very clear he had plans for how our first date was going to be.”

“I have a good feeling about this guy,” Emma said, referring to David. She had known Mary Margaret for a long time, and she knew how much her friend wished for a real and solid love in her life. Few people desired and deserved that kind of connection like Mary Margaret, and for Emma, there was a real satisfaction in seeing her friend’s instant connection with a stand-up man. Based on past experience, there weren’t too many of those to go around.

“Which one?” Mary Margaret asked. Emma stammered something non-committal out, causing her friend to laugh once more. “And that right there is all the answer I need. See you later, Emma. Oh, and when you see Killian again, just go for it. Believe me, it’s so much better than waiting and wondering.”

With that, Mary Margaret headed towards the wing of the hospital where the Chief and her admins worked. At the same time, Emma turned her attention to the cardiac unit.  She had a ways to go to get there, but while still in the main entrance of the hospital she was stopped short by a gruff, and somewhat uncertain voice.

“Excuse me, Doctor Swan?”

“Yes?” Emma replied, looking to the young man who approached her. Taking in his features, she realized she knew him peripherally. He was one of the new interns cycling through the hospital this year, but he hadn’t worked in the cardio wing or in a surgical capacity. Taking in his lanyard, which bore his ID card over plain clothes, she saw he was an ER intern. Interesting. “Can I help you?”

“This is for you.” The young man offered her a paper box. Emma accepted, thoroughly confused before the intern elaborated. “Curtesy of Doctor Jones.”

“Oh,” Emma said, suddenly incredibly interested. Unable to resist, she opened the box. She didn’t know what she was expecting, but what she found made her smile widely. “These are flowers. Paper flowers.”

“Yes, ma’am. I’m not entirely sure of the significance, but Doctor Jones told me there is a note inside as well. He wanted me to be sure to mention that.”

Emma was more than excited to read what this astonishing man would write to her, but something the intern said reminded her of the awkwardness of this situation. Had Killian used his authority over the interns to have this delivered? It wasn’t a crazy assumption. Many of the residents and attendings here saw interns as the low rungs on the ladder. They were meant to be learning and training, but often they were sent on coffee runs and foolish errands. Emma never believed in that though. She found it unkind and unnecessary.

“To be honest, it was hard to convince Doctor Jones to let me bring these,” the intern said, perplexing Emma further while eerily reading her mind. “I had to offer about a half dozen times. My shift was ending, you see, and I’ve been looking for a way to thank Doctor Jones since he got here. You know he created extra hours in the ER skills lab? He’s working with first years too. We get very little access usually, because the third years are prepping for exams and stuff, but he convinced Doctor Nolan to extend the hours. He’s even hosting classes himself. Cool right?”

“Very cool,” Emma said with a nod, and another smile. She breathed out a sigh of relief, genuinely happy to realize this man she’d been thinking of was good to others. It also made accepting this thoughtful gift so much easier.

From there, Caleb said goodbye, heading out for whatever interns did with down time these days. Oh, who was she kidding? Sleeping. That’s what she’d done, and no doubt that was what all interns still wanted most of all. Emma though, felt more awake now than she had in a long while. She found a quiet corner in one of the corridors leading to the cardio unit and took a seat, opening the box away from prying eyes.

Inside the box there were six different types of what looked like origami flowers. They were beautiful and delicate, and she wondered where he could have bought them. Only when she opened the note did she realize the truth.

Emma,

As you know, I’ve been away for quite a while, out in the field in a completely different world. In the desert there’s not really that much to do, except survive and keep as many of your people as well as you can. The downtime is long and hot and quiet. I picked up these tricks from a fellow soldier. It kept my hands at the ready and my mind clear, and there’s an honest beauty in them that reminds me of you. 

Truth be told, there’s a flower for each time I’ve tried to catch you at the coffee cart since our meeting. Clearly my missions have been unsuccessful, so this calls for a change in tactics…

Emma smiled at the thoughtfulness and felt the pull of butterflies low in her chest.  He thought she was beautiful, and he said it without fear. Had a man ever said so much? Had it ever mattered? Certainly not like it did now. Reading on, Emma laughed at the lightheartedness of the note and the bit of cheeky humor that accompanied it. His easygoing candor and transparency enchanted her, drawing her in even more than she already was. Then she memorized the time and place he suggested that they meet at the bottom of the page, knowing nothing and no one was going to keep her from this meeting.

Only after reading through his handwritten thoughts three or four times did she realize an added layer of perfection: these flowers weren’t just handmade and crafted with intention. They were also safe for her to take with her to her ward of the hospital. Being in and out of the ICU and cardiac units, Emma couldn’t bring real flowers into her offices without putting some patients at risk, but she could have these. From within the box she selected a bright yellow blossom, beautiful and intricate and folded to perfection. Wordlessly she tucked it away in her pocket. The others were deposited for safe keeping in her office as soon as she arrived back in the East Wing, and displayed on her windowsill, brightening the space.

The hours between the start of her shift and the time she was meant to meet Killian passed by slowly. Her rounds usually distracted her, but not today. While she still gave all due attention to her patients, Emma had that sense in the back of her mind that this afternoon would bring so much more to the forefront. The promise of seeing him again kept her heart pattering faster than it should be, and by the time the clock was minutes from their meeting, she was positively bursting with anticipation.

“Okay, usually I would give you a hard time and pretend to tag along, but even I can’t mess with a smile like that.” Ruby’s words snapped Emma’s focus back to the hallway where she was standing, pretending to read a chart. As she looked to her friend, however, she would never be able to recall what was on the screen in front of her. Ruby grinned when their eyes met. “He gave you the flowers, didn’t he?”

“You knew?” Emma asked and Ruby nodded.

“Yup. Ran into him at the cart a couple of times. He was really starting to piss off the kiosk guy with all his loitering. Had to give him a hundred dollars just to shut him up.”

“He didn’t!”

“No, I wouldn’t let him. I told Boris to shut it unless he wanted a hospital wide nurses strike. Guy knows better than to cross me. He just acts tough for clout.” Emma laughed, knowing her friend truly ran this place in most ways. But then the apprehension of the moment caught up to her again, and Emma’s brow furrowed in worry. “Oh no you don’t. No doubting this, Ems. I’ve vetted this guy. Run all the background, checked all the sources. He’s a good one, a one in a million, needle in a haystack, diamond in the rough kind of man. And, to top it all off, he’s crazy about you.”

“You think?” Emma asked and Ruby nodded.

“I know, but that’s all I’m saying. Let Killian speak for himself, okay? And, even though it’s hard, try and trust this.”

“I think I already do,” Emma whispered. “Trust him, I mean. But that’s crazy, right?”

“Love tends to be that way.”

“Ruby.”

“Emma,” her friend parroted, taking her hand and squeezing gently. “Just go for it. Go for it and see for yourself.”

With a nod, and the validation that she needed to hear from a trusted friend, Emma headed off. It felt natural and expected to make her way towards the center of the hospital once more. This time though, she passed the coffee cart, with only a fleeting glance. Killian wasn’t meeting her there today. In fact, she wasn’t entirely sure where they were meeting. She followed the directions he’d given her, up a few more flights of stairs and through the wing with pediatric patients and newborns. She had been here many times before, for consults and comfort. It was a draw here in the hospital – the cuteness of babies just starting their journeys in the new world. Emma looked at them today, noticing the vibrancy inside the nursery, but didn’t linger. Instead, she followed the last of the route that Killian had given her and ended up somewhere she’d never been before. A place that must have just finished being renovated.

“Wow,” Emma whispered, walking into the sunlight on the open terrace.

With the glass surroundings and the plant life everywhere, this place was beautiful. There were pergolas and hanging vines, topiaries and flowering plants, daffodils and tulips, all breathing in the spring. It felt like a park, floating in the air, with the sounds of the city barely audible below. Emma could imagine the kids and the families who would come here someday. She hoped it would be a space for them to find some peace and happiness while staying in this unfamiliar and often stressful place. Hospitals were rarely any fun for patients, necessary as they may be, but this space was beautiful enough to distract from that.

“You made it, love.” The deep rumble of that familiar voice sent a shiver through Emma’s whole body. She cast a glance over her shoulder, finding Killian, leaning against the stone façade of the building behind them. In his hands were two coffees, and as he moved towards her, he offered her one with a boyish smile. “This is for you. Didn’t want you missing a routine caffeine fix for my sake.”

“Thank you,” Emma said automatically, feeling his fingers brush across hers, sending a zing of awareness through her. Her eyes flashed up to his, and she knew he felt it too. Suddenly she had no want or need for this coffee. She cleared her throat slightly before continuing on. “Where exactly are we? And how, might I ask, does the new guy know about it before I do?”

“It’s the Hubbard Family Wellness Gardens, gifted by one of the hospital’s most loyal benefactors” he said, full of knowledge. Emma was shocked that he actually knew what this place would be but then he smiled, gesturing to the plaque bearing that information. She bit back a laugh. “And as for how I found it, that’s easy. I never leave well enough alone, and I’m curious by nature. I’ve been nearly everywhere in the hospital now, but this place seemed the best for what comes next.”

“What comes next?” Emma asked, her voice hitching up as she repeated the words.

“Aye,” Killian murmured, his tone dipping sensually low. She swallowed harshly as he entered into her space, and he tracked the motion. She felt the heat of his closeness, and caught his scent in the air, clean, and male, and with a hint of spice.

“I’m afraid I didn’t think this through,” he said, close enough to kiss her. God, how she wished he would kiss her. Emma vocalized her first thought.

“Really? I did. Like a lot.”

His smirk told her she’d said that aloud even though she never meant to, but before she could react, he took hold of her cup once more.

“I meant these,” he gestured to the coffee in her hand. Oh, right. “May I, love?”

Emma nodded, and shakily let go of the cup she forgot she was holding. With deft hands, Killian  placed their drinks back on a table beside them with far more poise than she could muster at the moment. When that was done, he stepped towards her again, looking at her with a glint in his blue eyes that made her heart skip. His hands came to her body, one to her hip, the other to cup her cheek. The rightness washed over her, and so did the realization that none of her dreams could actually prepare her for real intimacy with Killian Jones.

“Last time we spoke I intended to ask you something. Do you remember?”

“Yes, I remember,” she whispered, her voice hoarse from wanting this so badly. Without thinking, she wet her lips, and he caught the action, letting out a groan that mixed pain with passion and pleasure. Then he cursed, a totally British ‘bloody hell’ falling past his lips before dipping his mouth to hers and giving them both a taste of temptation.

The kiss was… beyond incredible, but Emma was so deep in it she had no ability to comprehend anything at all. She was consumed with the moment, arching against Killian, feeling the silky strands of his dark hair and the scruff of his beard. His kiss was assured and passionate, dominant and indulgent all at once. She succumbed to the sensations, and let the rightness surge within her, not caring at all that they were outside or at work or that they’d just met. Instinct took over, and her gut, which Emma had always trusted, was telling her that this man was even more than she imagined, and someone she should choose to let in.

Pulling back from the kiss, Emma and Killian stayed close, and Emma took stock of all the places they were touching. His hold on her was firm but caring, like she was precious, and he wouldn’t let her slip away. In his eyes she saw so much emotion, and again she was struck by his transparency and trust. He wasn’t shying away from her or the moment. He was in the depths of desire with her, and their kiss, that perfect, sexy as all hell kiss, had left him tongue tied. The quiet wasn’t awkward, but assuring, and Emma felt secure here, safe even, while also being filled with more unknown wonder than she’d ever been before. Like someone at the start of a glorious adventure, she took a next step born of passion and hope.

“I’m off at six tonight… so, you want to pick me up at seven thirty?” she asked, referencing a date he hadn’t actually asked her out on. She feigned ignorance even though she could read him like a book. “Unless you were going to ask me something else…”

His hold on her tightened, and he shook his head immediately. She was right. He wanted a date – and she saw no reason to wait when she wanted one just as badly. She grinned at him, loving how the tables had turned. This time he swallowed harshly, and she was oh so tempted to kiss him again and see if he’d stay shy or rise to her challenge.

“It’s a date, Swan,” he said dazedly. 

Emma hummed out her agreement, going in for one last fleeting kiss. But where she meant to only tease, he took the reins again, kissing her senseless and leaving her breathless when they finally broke apart. Only when her pager beeped with an incoming call did they end their inevitable interlude, and as they did, Emma felt a pang of longing, wishing this moment could last so much longer than this.

“Tonight, love,” he whispered, running his thumb against her lips. “Far away as it may seem, I promise the wait will be worth it.”

“Good,” she replied, nipping his thumb ever so softly, and bringing the fire back in his eyes, before taking a step back. And with that, and just enough presence of mind to grab her coffee, Emma headed off, back through the hospital to the work that awaited her, knowing she could and would get through anything today for the promise of tonight.

Post-Note: Ah!! Finally!! I got the words on the page!! I did the thing!! I wrote the story!! And honestly, it’s such a relief. It felt, at some points, like I may never get this chapter written, but finally today it came. I know many of you were waiting, and I cherished every comment and review and message along the way. I hope all of you who wrote me, and those who read along with chapter one, all enjoy this installation. I write these stories for me and to brighten my world ever so slightly, but also in the hopes that they’ll spark joy for others too. In a time like this, a little joy goes an awful long way. Anyway, thank you all for reading, sending you the best, and hope you’ll join me next time for the final chapter of this CS AU! xE

[glasyasbutch]

Time! Line! Asks! Roona: 2! Craving: 5! I make you be nice to Craving asmr!!! Ezra: 7! Gildy: 14! Tov: 8! Did I just go through your active characters page! Yes!!!! Go nuts king!!!

hee hee hoo hoo!!!!!!!!!! thank u rebekah!!!! (also thanks for the reminder to add gent and take off gildy from my active characters nnsfsdkl)

2. the timeline in which they never met who would become the most influential or important person in their life, or that person was taken from them before they were capable of forming memories.

Now this is an interesting one for roona, because they genuinely don’t have a single person in their life that i consider to be hugely influential. like, i guess at the moment you could say sepia man, for trapping her in black and white hell, or vinny, for talking her into taking that job.

but honestly, roona doesn’t form long-term attachments, and that’s not a sad thing for her! she enjoys the constant change, and she has plenty of good memories and people she considers friends, but she just doesn’t hang around any of them long enough to experience a lot of change that wouldn’t have otherwise occurred had she not been trying with that exact purpose.

so, in some ways, this timeline is pretty much identical to the one they’re in now. they float around from place to place without much regard for what they’re going to and what they’re leaving behind outside of following the trail of interest they’re currently on.

in other ways, removing any one person from their life would disrupt the timeline just as much as anyone else, because every single place she’s been and person she’s met has tweaked her path in life just a little bit. roona functions like a domino snake, falling moment to moment to moment and not able to see ahead because theres the thing thats happening right now in the way, but if you turn one domino even a little, you might miss the next one entirely and stop the trail right then, or skip to another area. so picking any random person to remove from her life very well could mean that alternate universe roona is still on the material plane, across the country from where they and vinny last were, a college of whispers bard multiclassed with rogue posing as a cleric just to get better gossip.

roona lives her life unchanged, yet utterly changed, and always random.

5. the timeline in which they continue on from the current point in their life to the best happy ending within their reach, where nothing that has happened so far is negated, but the happy things start piling up

craving’s backed herself so far into a corner that there’s no happy ending for her without some strife first. so we’ll get that out of the way.

the party finds out who her patron is. maybe judhas lets it slip, maybe she gets drunk again and spills it to val in a heart to heart about their devil cult trauma, maybe the morning lord sends manic and message and she can’t bear to lie to him when he’s sitting right next to her and asking so sincerely what she did to try and let him walk the high road.

and she cries. she cries, and she screams, and she pushes people away, and she retreats beneath her own skin and tries to hide because she knows this is her fault but she cannot admit she fucked up because she has to believe in what she’s doing if she’s going to see it through.

but someone snaps her out of it. someone gives her an exit. someone (or several someones) vow to stand by her side without judgement and get her out of this mess no matter the cost because they don’t believe that she’s as hopelessly damned as the rest of the world.

they break out of barovia first and foremost. they stab that vampire bitch right through the heart.

she gets to tell judhas to fuck the hell off, and god does it feel good.

then, she discovers the location of sirris’ true soul, that it is not in hell, and she has no reason to have her pact anymore, and she finds a way to break it, even against the queen of loopholes.

she runs into stella again, a free woman, and its been so damn long since they saw each other. they both had their trauma turned on them to manipulate them into subversion and they both are tearing that control apart from the inside. so they clean each others wounds and kiss each other’s bruises and craving finally says “i love you” because god damn it, she does, and she knows stella already knew, but her star deserves to hear it.

manic has a happy ending too, because he and craving are too close for her to have one without him. he sticks with the morninglord, i think. this god seems good for him, even if he won’t really be your typical preacher-type paladin. he probably finds love again in val. if not romance, at the very least family. at least one of her and manic gets a cat again.

craving lives her life supported, wanted, and free.

7. the timeline in which they never experience the loss that taught them something important

this is actually pretty similar to #1 that morgan gave me for him (timeline for ideal life) but i’ll give a quick thing.

the loss was cate’s death, and it taught him that the world is ultimately uncontrollable, even by the gods. at first it made him angry, that he was lied to, and he didn’t want to trust in anyone for fear that he’d be let down. he took five years to start calming down, and then it began to transfer into making him overly kind, because if all he can control in this world is himself, he wants that part to be as welcoming as possible.

so, in a world where cate doesn’t die, he never becomes disillusioned and reillusioned with the idea of devotion. he simply grows in his trust of tamara. his power increases, he becomes a staple of the temple, he lives a happy life inside its battered walls.

i would posit that he might actually be less compassionate in this timeline. not that he’s mean, he’s a very dedicated paladin of a mercy goddess. but, ultimately, he believes that mercy is a given in the world. he believes in tamara’s ability to force it to occur, and that he is simply a conduit. so he makes less effort to cultivate it himself. kindness is no longer a conscious choice that he has to make, and perhaps, that means it falls slightly more to the wayside.

ezra lives his life secure, confident, and devout.

14. the timeline in which they take a chance they didn’t in canon

i’m gonna do a real throwback here, to gildy’s first campaign that lasted ... less than 10 sessions. I think it was a total of like 6. 

in our second session, we met this old man who lived in the middle of nowhere and everyone thought he was super weird because he would go out in the mornings and sweep dust off his lawn and carry it inside. gildy asked him what he was doing and he revealed that this was actually ash, floating over on the wind from a near-ish-by volcano with a connection to the fire plane. he mixed the ash in with clay to create enchanted pottery.

now, playing an elderly 3d artist, i really wanted to flirt with this other elderly 3d artist, but the dm said no because we’d never come back to this town. but, in the timeline where gildy couldve done whatever the fuck she wanted because she wasn’t constricted by a meta-plot, she would’ve tried really hard to get to know this guy!

she would’ve asked to learn some pottery, her hands still work just fine even though her knees don’t always. she’s used to shaping metal, which fights back. she’d love to learn to shape clay, which almost moves before you do. (she might have tried to do the ghost pottery scene with this dude. she knows what’s up). 

there was a nice smithy in town too, made all kinds of weapons and armor. she would’ve taken up apprenticeship with them and hopefully become one of their artisans. and i think she would’ve had a wonderful time there! a new city, with new people, a new love of her life, all the creation she could ask for at her fingertips, a life that hasn’t grown stagnant even after 270 years. there’s also, if i remember right, a mountain nearby. she does get a little homesick from time to time, the view helps. 

gildy lives her life reimagined, shared, and satisfied.

8. the timeline in which they gain everything they want, except for the thing they wanted most

i think this is actually the timeline he’s in right now!!!!!! he wants more than anything to go back home and be forgiven. i don’t think that’ll happen. even if he does reconcile with rax eventually, he’ll have been gone too long for the clan to feel like home in the same way, and i don’t think either rax or him will ever be able to forget what happened, just build a new relationship around it.

but, he has friends now, which he never thought he would. and a house. with a business under it! what!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! he’s doing good for the city. he’s part of an order dedicated to righteousness and law. he’s an upstanding citizen!

and. of course. he has savra. he has the potential for unconditional love, for family, for future, everything he thought he’d get back from rax one day, but probably won’t. he’ll fall in love with her before he even knows it, (he’s already started), and when he finally realizes, he’ll feel more okay with it than he ever thought he would be, because she knows what its like to feel shame and she knows how to grow past it. 

he’ll be her good man, and a good father eventually, and he won’t even need to go back home anymore (even though he’ll want to, he’ll always feel a bit of guilt that the half-dragon babies only know their human grandparents, and he’ll miss the summer festival food because you just can’t get the right spices in waterdeep even if he and savra try to cook the meals themselves, and he’ll miss the way his brother punches his arm when he laughs because savra never does that, and -). but he’ll have a home in ways he never thought a home could be, but he likes them, and he’s happy, truly, even with the shadows that still curl around the corner of his heart. 

tov lives his life long, useful, and good.

[a-collection-of-villainous-aus]

Blind Au part 5

(if you don't like rly ooc it's best you just carry on scrolling, there is also talk of pillow frotting and self servicing but nothing graphic only mentioned.)

It was the early hours of the morning, early enough to be still called night, late enough to be debate that it was infact morning, listening to the sound of traffic, smoking a cigarette mixed with tabacco, a smooth rich blend tainted with demons blood, in other words poisonous to humans.

The air was cold, a gentle breeze swaying his coat, remembering with ease how the town glowed, highlighted in orange via streetlamps.

What did his memory matter now though, his damn world was black, no longer would he witness contorted faces, bodies twisted and broken into works of art, oh the ones Flug made were sheer master pieces...without his sight how would he see them, head leaning back, exhaling, smoke and mist escaping into the air.

What did he mean by that.

That thing he'd said, about him using that on the next graduate student of his university.

What the hell did it matter, it was not as if Flug had any feeling for him, the doctor had made that clear and yet here he was, a master of all, a creature so dark that natural darkness appeared bright as a summers day.

Whose body ached in ways pain could bring and yet this was an agony he'd done everything he could to ease, nothing softened this torment, despite this blindness...that pain was still somehow worse.

Acylius was not staying for him, he was staying to keep Demencia safe from him!

Could his Doctor not feel one note of sympathy for him?

Black Hat would have once slaughtered anyone he thought was trying to offer a pity fuck, wanted Acylius Flug to now give it to him, what would those hands feel like on his flesh in long lingering touches that he'd give freedom to explore, discovering unknown landscapes with agile finger tips, deft in their perfected movements and to taste those lips he'd never truly witness.

He rarely let any living being take charge but this was more than that he didn't just want to allow him to be in control, no, he wanted to surrender to him.

The day they'd met had set all this in, while being the most powerful being of all time, this blindness made him feel weak...unworthy of his doctor, what sort of sensible demon would choose a mate who could not see...surely he would see that as a deficiency, something making him unsuitable as a mate, a pathetic...thing that Flug would never want...if he'd ever wanted him in the first place.

Black Hat thought on this, questioning if he would still want Acylius if their positions were swapped, only one answer came to mind.

Absolutely, yes and without question, but these were his own thoughts, what he knew he'd do.

A snarl escaped him, this should never have happened, these feelings should not exist and yet here they were an abomination to his kind...still...this pain, this shame and humiliation of loving someone who could barely stand your existence, the demon would not rid himself of the course that would be a pain one could never heal from.

All these years he'd enjoyed being the one where people pleaded for him and now he was on the other side of this, it was honestly surreal what had this world and its fates done...karma perhaps, deserved one maybe...

A sudden turn of his head, foot steps were coming up the stairs, metal doors opening, after all being on the roof meant he was outside Flug's lab.

Over the strong odour of chemicals, his scent still lingered combined with that of victims, their fear and blood, his obvious glee, wonderfully intoxicating.

He may or may not have rubbed out one or two from sensing all that deliciously divine torture his Flug had given to those insolent heroes, because no matter what, Acylius was his, without a doubt he would haunt his waking moments if he ever left...the very idea of being forgotten by him was unbearable.

The doors finally slid open to Flugs laboratory, barely breaking his though pattern which was building him up to another night of watching him sleep, seeing the rise and fall of...his...chest...

No...no he could not see that, not anymore, cursing him for sleeping with that ridiculous bag on even then...as the days carried on it was as if he was realising more and more all that that been taken.

He should have ripped it off, exposed his face...and destroy what little security Acylius felt...a sigh escaped Black Hat, apparently sight or not he'd never have done that, understanding it would be the same if someone tore his hat from him.

Anyway no doubt it was only the fraud one under there incase of forced removal.

That one he'd worn throughout his learning days, all Black Hat really knew of hia psychical shape besides the more demonic form was Acylius was very tall for someone with human genes.

Six ft seven, so much leg, so easy for his doctor to tower over him as they took these forms.

Oh yes someone was here to see him.

Some worker or food depending on Black Hat's mood, his lip curling, fangs bearing, how dare this thing talk to him, the old demon did not face him lest he did not look in a direction that was quite on point and let this quivering pissant suspect anything.

"Well what is it, if it is not of the utmost importance I will throw you off this building."

"Doctor Flug...he...he gave me a message, he took Demencia out and these are his words please, please sir do not shoot the messenger..."

They were trembling violently and in most cases Hat would he delighted in their terror at his mere presence, but his focus was on what Acylius had said.

"Speak."

"He said he might be back tomorrow, he wants to give Demencia a good time after everything that has happened."

Oh ho the messenger did not exactly get shoy, they just sort of...exploded, pieces of matter landing on Black Hat

Eye twitching with the biggest unsettling grin stretching across his face, far from pleasant and more tormented mania.

He...Demencia, a good time was usually lingo for a turn in the sheets, is that what Acylius wanted, a mad woman or just someone with that between their legs.

The moron should know he could give him anything he wanted, anything he desired at all from the rarest scientific elements and off world materials to the finest and best of all his wishes...but what if, what Flug wanted was...

He placed his finger tips gently under his eyes, no there was one thing he could not do, something he would never be able to again, what if all Acylius wanted was someone who could see him...

Facing downwards, hands now clenched by his sides, teeth grinding, did it have to be her, the one person if he caused harm to would have him running never to return.

What a sick and cruel irony.

Shoulders sinking, slowly licking the blood from his cheek scowling like a child who'd been denied what he'd been screaming for, why could his Acylius not even dote on him now.

Why could he only play the fearful brown nosing employee for their blasted commercials, all those acted moments, he hated them, not one genuine given word of affection.

Instead it all came from a source he did not want in the least, at least like that, there was no denying Demencia was the best at what she did but, he only felt platonic appreciation.

What he wanted more than anything was for Flug to over worry about him, desperately ask if there was anything he could do and then comply with his demands.

As much as Black Hat wanted to deny it, he knew he was needy, emotionally so, he wanted contact, contact with everything but him most of all, he wanted to curl up to Flug and feel his arms around him.

Stepping back he found himself pressed against the cold surface of Flug's plane, brows furrowed and sliding down, feeling what had been his worker soak into the seat of his pants, warm wet entrails and pulpy flesh clinging to him.

Knees to his chest and head bowed...he would never openly admit this was his fault, but could Flug honestly blame him?

He'd lost his sight and there was nothing anyone could do...despite that be was considering humouring Acylius by following the idea for some made up ritual to use the eyes of some idiot cult member.

Any excuse for some tender touch, some gentle caress from the hands of his doctor...but first he needed to go get his strongest bottle of alcohol and perhaps frot Acylius's pillow.

It would not exactly be the first time he'd done so...and it would be a lie if he denied that most university graduating students had been coaxed into role playing his scientist without realising every time he was calling them doctor he really was saying Flug or Acylius.

Did all their late night conversations, shared personal experiences mean nothing, Flug had no limit on research funds and yet was he only humouring him, did Acylius talk with him merely because he was his boss...either way he was going to talk to him, no matter the mate Flug picked, he owned his soul, he belonged to him.

About seven hours later, an empty liquor cabinet and a pillow beyond washing, musing how it was yet another pillow Flug could not use, staggering into the water the lobby, bumping into things hearing how they smashed with no shits given, slithering down the hall along cooling tiles shifting into a larger more beastial form, laying there like a dog with chin over paw.

Ears laid back grumbling, usually under different circumstances he could have controlled these...emotions.

This blindness was far more difficult to deal with than he wanted to admit, it did not make him weak but it was the first time something had been lost in which he could not fix...and his only comfort...was out gallivanting with someone else.

He twitched as the clock chimed ten, it's dull sound echoing throughout the hall as the door finally opened, Black Hat sneered, so they'd had enjoyed themselves, he'd half expected them to come back squabbling.

The scent of alcohol and blood filling his nostrils, for a moment inwardly he panicked, fearing Flug might have some how been hurt...no it was someone else's, he settled back down grumbling.

"Glad to see you two had fun...not that I can see, so figure of speech, no room for a blind demon now hmm?"

His tail thumped on the floor, despite trying to act aloof.

Listening to Acylius's bag crinkling, his ears perked, what was his doctor doing, well one he knew he was moving in closer that's for sure.

No doubt only to berate him probably.

Black Hat waited for Flug to speak, outwardly he gave off the impression of being cold but inside he was curling up and as much as he hated to admit it even to himself he felt like some pup giving big eyes and whimpering, he needed something genuine that was tender, it was his own fault that the doctor did not want to give that to him.

"Sir...you know what, I am too tired to be mad at you, you stink of alcohol and sex, no doubt I will be replacing another pillow-"

He placed a finger to the lips of the beast before him whose head had risen about to make an excuse

"-Yes I do know about you doing that. "

Black Hat blushed but didn't respond head laying back on the floor.

Acylius tucked himself between paw and jaw, somewhat marveling at how his boss's head was bigger than him, beckoning Demencia over, grinning as he saw the emerald shimmer of Black Hat's cheeks growing, the lizard woman however did not move.

"He's just gonna be mad at me...pass."

Demencia answered quietly, holding her hair infront of her.

Black was aware the smaller demon was clearly the more intoxicated of the two, what was going on, he was so close, heart racing, warmth pressed to his cheek, if he sent Demencia away this would no doubt stop, Flug would leave him alone in this hallway.

"No...no I will not there is space for you to..."

Sooooo Acylius knew he humped his pillows, well that was a little embarrassing, but that didn't matter now.

Acylius was right there and all he wanted to do was whine and nuzzle his body, whispering as he was petted by those hands that worked so hard to meet deadlines or create wonderful bloody works of art...but he could not tell how pathetic his doctor possibly found him now and maybe that was just his mind spiralling, because the idea of Flug finding him worthless was practically unbearable...he had to keep a calm image, so Flug thought he had it together at least.

Feeling Demencia settle beside him cautiously, his ears instantly perked once more, was...was Flug snuggling against him and...and licking his cheek, it wasn't often Acylius Flug showed his demon side and never the affectionate tenancies his kind had.

505 was passing them, starting the day and only smiled to himself thinking, this was at least a start.

Of course Black Hat knew if Acylius was sober this would not be happening and he would only let it go this far, much of a monster he was, intimate matters were always consensual.

Allowing this, his desperate need to have him close he did not care if his doctor was angry later, gladly he accepted those tender kisses on his cheek, the rough feel of his tongue until he felt him stop with a gentle snore following, daring lightly to return the kiss and accidentally licking across his face instead, stifling a laugh at the sleepy sound his doctor made before curling back up to him.

"You like him huh?"

Oh yes, Demencia was there, not that he'd forgotten, more like this had been so unexpected...yeah he'd forgotten okay because he couldn't believe this was happening.

"Well that actually explains alot, I mean honestly who could resist my hot ass, but I guess least I wasn't imagining things...kinda sucks for us both I like you, you like him..."

Settling back on his scaly arm and sighing

"Guess I know you're a dead end now, I'll find someone else to obsess over, even I can tell you got the mushies for him."

Black Hat's mouth hung open for a moment, eyes forming on his neck to try and face her, one or two managing, their pupils all lined in blue, unable to see.

"So you knew?"

"Yeah, guess I just hoped I could get you to feel that way, maybe I would get there to, I mean though most of the population wants you to ram them into your desk with your horn...but ya know same time I'm not into standing in between this stuff."

Demencia shrugged, peeking under the gap of Black Hat's jaw, smiling as she saw Flug curled up and purring in his sleep like some big dumb cat.

"Demencia?"

"Yeah?"

"We good?"

Demencia blinked, darkness below Hat had been watching too much television prior to his loss of sight, that was an unusual saying for him..especially as it was the closest she knew she'd ever hear him say 'I'm sorry.'

Smiling and petting his rather large face she replied

"Yeah...we good, also me and the doc spent the night trying to find a cure for you...Sillyus is actually worried about you, killed everyone after enquiring about cure or places to find books with possible information."

Snuggling up to her boss she felt him completely relax, Demencia wrapped herself in her hair continuing

" When he couldn't find anything , he felt like he'd let you down, started drinking and I had to help get him back. "

Hat still did not know what to say, Acylius had been concerned with his well being after all?

The hybrid demon who was still rubbing his cheek on his neck as he slept, had actually been worrying over him after all...had some dark force answered his prayers, he had no idea but was not about to argue with the universe.

Demencia had also fallen asleep and while his world was dark, his hopes were starting to brighten, if just a little, there was some peace within him.

Today was going to be a vacation day they clearly all needed it.

"Thank you."

Black Hat whispered to both of them before letting himself sleep with wings draped over them.

He was simply happy to have Acylius show him affection if only for a moment and to know he had not been out dating Demencia...

Of course he would have been jealous, he would want Acylius to be happy...just not with her...not because she was not good enough, no one was good enough for Flug but himself...but witnessing them on a daily basis would have been more than he could bare in knowing it was not he who had Flugs attentions...

Wait...

Waaait....

That comment about university graduate students and how he'd use his blindness to seduce them.

Fuck.

FLUG.WAS JEALOUS.

[lovvegood-a]

THE BASICS:

Full Name: Luna Lovegood

Label: The Dissonant Serenity ( x )

Nicknames: Looney, Luns

Birthday: February 13

Birth Place: Near Ottery St. Catchpole

Gender: Transwoman

Sexual Orientation: Pansexual

Occupation: Student

INTERIOR:

Blood status:  Halfblood ( Pureblood father, halfblood mother )

House: Ravenclaw While Luna does show qualities that belong to other houses ( she’s definitely courageous and noble, has a deeply proud streak that often brings her more bad than good, and is a loyal and kind person ), she fits best in Ravenclaw. It’s where she can flourish, where she can feed her endless intrigue with everything around her. I think Luna is a true Ravenclaw, as she uses her sharp mind in most situations she’s in --- I chose innovative as her defining positive trait for a reason; I think Luna is able to look at situations with an unique perspective and because of this, she often brings good solutions and/or insights. She’s an original, incredibly stubborn when it comes to her convictions, and always down to learn. 

Wand: Pine wood, unicorn hair core, 14 inches, inflexible. Pottermore on pine wood: “The straight-grained pine wand always chooses an independent, individual master who may be perceived as a loner, intriguing and perhaps mysterious. Pine wands enjoy being used creatively, and unlike some others, will adapt unprotestingly to new methods and spells.” /// This, I think, perfectly fits Luna --- she’s a strong individual, who is definitely an experimental and creative person, both when it comes to magic and other aspects of her life.  I chose an unicorn hair core, because wands with this core struggle to perform Dark Arts -- like Luna -- but are very faithful -- like Luna. Her wand is long, as she’s quite tall and has a strong sense of self, and is inflexible because she’s most often an incredibly stubborn person.

Boggart: Her mother’s death scene --- it’s what scarred Luna most, even if she doesn’t admit that to herself. It’s a memory that startles and shakes her, one that’s been buried down due to the trauma linked to it --- seeing it again, experiencing it again ( especially knowing what the outcome would be, what the long-term effects would be, how much the longing would ache ) would be one of the scariest things for Luna. It could also take the shape of that scene, but with her father in stead of her mother; losing her father is another great fear.

Patronus: The Hare

Pets: None, but then Luna doesn’t really believe in the idea of pets. Animals are their own, after all, and she feels connected to plenty of them. Cats from her housemates, the thestrals, mice running around the hallways; she loves all of them, but none of them are hers. At home, there are often stray animals hanging around --- she and her father tend to them, if they need help, and Luna does sometimes name them ( carefully, though, because what if these creatures have a name of their own already? ). 

Moral Alignment: True Neutral. Luna looks at the world with a bit of a distance, at time, and is able to look at situations with objectivity, when she wants to. She’s not apathetic, though, or coldly distant; she just acts without prejudice or compulsion. And more than often, she does do what is morally good ( and she does lean towards being neutral good very much ), but I think that the way she views the world and how she approaches things is more true neutral than anything.

Tarot Card: The Hermit

Goals / Desires: Luna wants to do what fills her heart. Make art. Discover the world. Research magical creatures. Those are all things she would like to do with her future life, but then there’s more --- she wants to do what is right. With a sense of justice -- or, well, more a deep hatred for injustice -- she is motivated to take strides to make the world a little brighter and better. 

PHYSICAL:

Height: 178cm / 5′10

Eye Color: Pale grey

Hair Color: Light blonde

Clothing style: Where can I begin? Luna’s style can only be defined by her own person --- I don’t think there’s anyone else who dresses similarly to her, haha. She makes plenty of her own clothes, likes accessories made of unconventional objects, adores a bit of magic in her clothing. She likes colours, especially pastels. When she wears shoes, she likes converse. Mismatched patterns are always good. Flowy dresses? Yes please! 

Left handed or Right handed: Left handed

Distinguishing Features: Her hair and eyes.

Tattoos or scars: Usually has some minor scars from animal or branch scratches, that fade easily.

FAMILY:

Parents:  Xenophilius Lovegood ( father ), Pandora Lovegood néé Henneberg ( mother, deceased ).

Siblings: None

Children: None

FAVORITE:

Book: Luna doesn’t like picking favourites, but she really loves her old picture books still, mostly for sentimental reasons & because she likes illustration. She mostly reads non-fiction these days, preferring her own fantasy over fiction. 

Movie: N/A -- Luna has never seen a movie, sadly. I think she would love studio Ghibli, though, as well as documentaries ( both nature and more conspiracy theory based ).

Food: Strawberry bavarois

Flower: Lily of the Valley

Season: Spring

Animal: This one is so hard, haha. Luna loves animals! I think she feels especially close to thestrals, but she’s also simple in the sense that she really likes cats and bunnies. 

Memory: The summer she and her parents went to Iceland.

THIS OR THAT:

Cats or Dogs: Cats

Mornings or Nights: Mornings

War or Love: Love

Smoke or Drink: Smoke, if it’s weed. Otherwise drink.

Coffee or tea? Tea

Writing or reading? Writing

THOUGHTS:

Death Eaters coming back Luna is rationally scared and quite frustrated. She also has her fair share of theories on Voldemort’s return ( none that conflict with Harry’s story, though, just ones that fill the gaps ), some more logical than the other. She and her father have had many discussions about these --- like the role Fudge played in it all ( bigger than in reality, of course ) and whether the Death Eaters are using midges to communicate.

Enemies coming back Luna doesn’t necessarily have enemies that are personal. I suppose she’s not looking forward to seeing her bullies again at Hogwarts, but she doesn’t consider them enemies. As for enemies that aren’t personal, those are mostly the Death Eaters ( as well as the Ministry and a few Quidditch teams ), and for that see above! 

Loved ones coming back Luna thinks she will see her mother again already, but if it were to happen now, she would be incredibly surprised and more than happy --- she’d be euphoric. And confused, and very lost, but mostly just incredibly happy. 

Love At First Sight Luna thinks that love exists in an infinite amount of ways, so love at first sight as well.

One True Love / Someone You Will Always Love She will always love her father --- it’s an unconditional love, and if we look at his canon future and how he ends up selling out her friends, that is something she will forgive him for. 

QUESTIONS:

What is their family history like? How does it affect them? How do they feel about their family? How does their family feel about them? Pandora was born to a muggle and a witch, and raised by her father alone. And, being able to see the magical world through her father’s muggle eyes, she grew interested in the limits of magic from a young age. She began experimenting with charms early on, and met Xenophilius at Hogwarts, where they bonded over their love for the unknown and their willingness. Xenophilius comes from the Lovegood family, of course, which has always been a tad eccentric, though never as eccentric as he himself.  Luna was born to this set of openminded parents, and it was exactly what she needed to flourish. Her own mind has always been open, but she was able to dream outside the lines with her parents. Growing up was a world of opportunity --- no questions unanswered, no desires unfulfilled. Luna got to paint and run and discover from a young age, and was a perfect mix of her two parents, with some of her own qualities mixed in.  Luna is extremely proud of her family. She sometimes pities others, for having parents that restrict them, keep them from all that she did get to do. When people speak ill of her father -- who is a somewhat public figure, and often painted as a crazy conspiracy theorist -- she gets uncharacteristically fiery and angry, and will lash out. Her mother, she is proud of as well, but it’s more complicated than that --- and luckily, people don’t bring her up as often as her father. Of course, a big part of her family history is her mother’s death --- it was a turning point in the way Luna’s homelife functioned. In the years after Pandora died, her father grew codependent on her ( which is not how it should be --- and Luna vaguely knows this, but doesn’t feel any anger over it ), but on the other hand the two grew incredibly close as well. But Luna worries about her father when she’s not near, as he’s of the opinion that tasks like eating, washing and sleeping are meaningless in the grand scheme of things, a waste of time when there’s so many more pressing and interesting things to do --- and it’s Luna who often was the one to remind him that, dad, you’re a human being despite it all.  And then her mother, her mother is just a massive gap. And yes, Luna believes that she will see her again, that she isn’t truly lost ------ but that doesn’t ease the waiting, the longing, the aching. Her mother’s death left her with mental scars and a hole in her soul and while there’s plenty of beautiful and comforting things she can say about death, it doesn’t change that. Her mother still died, and she’s not there --- and she will be there one day again, yes, but sometimes Luna just wants her mother now.

Who were their first love and do they feel the same now as they did then? Luna hasn’t really been in love yet, I think. She has had crushes, but she’s never been in love with someone, has never had a connection that deep --- it’s just flings and crushes, connections that lasted just a night, a week, a month at most. She doesn’t mind.

Do they believe that a person can redeem themselves from mistakes of the past? Yes, in most situations --- I think even Luna, an eternal optimist, draws a line here with people like Voldemort and the Lestranges, for example. She does believe in people’s strength to do good and does believe that there’s almost always a way to make up for ones mistakes --- but of course, there are things that are inexcusable. Luna is able to be very unforgiving, though, so sometimes it does take a lot for someone to redeem themselves in her head. 

What scares them? Losing her father. The war. Complete silence. 

How do they feel about death? Have they been significantly affected by it? On one hand, death is just another mystery --- and Luna does love mystery and life’s bigger ones. It’s a mystery she can’t solve, though, and sometimes she’s at peace with the fact that she can’t have all the answers. Other times, she’s just incredibly frustrated and angry, because death took her mother away from her and there’s nothing mysterious about that --- she’s just gone. One day she will see her again, that she is sure of, but right now she’s a young woman who grew up without a mother and that’s just painful. That just hurts. And that’s definitive.  Luna has seen death, and that has affected her deeply. Seeing her mother die at age nine was a traumatic experience that still haunts her -- despite her denial about this -- and it’s triggered her to dissociate from the world around her and herself quite a lot. On another hand, it has given her a bit of wisdom and insight, an ability to understand death perhaps a bit better than others do -- or at least give it her own interpretation. 

Pride, envy, gluttony, lust, anger, greed and sloth. If your character was a seven deadly sin, what would they be and why? Pride, with anger on the second place. Luna is incredibly proud and can be, because of this, very inflexible. Yes, she is openminded, but when it comes to her beliefs and convictions, she won’t change her mind unless there’s solid proof. When people question her, she doesn’t reflect on her beliefs, but rather thinks that they’re narrow minded and limited. When it comes to her father, she’s quite prideful as well --- she holds him and his work in high regard and if someone dares insult this, she will becoming steely and hard

Do they believe Voldemort is back ? Yes. Why shouldn’t she? When Harry came out of that maze and spoke those words, it was clear that he spoke nothing short of the truth, and you will never find Luna believing the Daily Prophet over someone like Harry Potter. It’s not a truth she likes, but it’s clear to her that it is the truth, and she won’t shy away from that.

PICK THREE:

Lyrics that describes your character best        -- Runaway by AURORA  ( the whole song, tbh ) ------  I was painting a picture / the picture was a painting of you and / for a moment I thought you were there / but again, it wasn't true / and all this time I have been lying / oh, lying in secret to myself / i've been putting sorrow on the forest plains        -- Rhiannon by Fleetwood Mac ------ she is like a cat in the dark and then / she is the darkness / she rules her life like a fine skylark and when / the sky is starless         -- The Wind by PJ Harvey ( I chose this song for her app more for atmosphere reasons than lyrics, but I wanted to add it still ) -----  Catherine liked high places / high up, high up on the hills / a place for making noises / like whales / noises like the whales / here she built a chapel / with her image / an image on the wall a place where she could rest and / and a place where she could wash / and listen to the wind blowing

Quotes that your character lives by        --  “The knowledge of all things is possible” --- Leonardo da Vinci        --  “There is no end. There is no beginning. There is only the passion of life.” --- Federico Fellini        -- “Dwell on the beauty of life. Watch the stars, and see yourself running with them.” --- Marcus Aurelius

Fictional characters that your character can relate to Allison Dufresnes from The Little Friend by Donna Tartt. --- All of the quotes on my blog are quotes about her --- she just really reminds me of Luna in a lot of ways. Both of them saw a family member die at a young age and both of them were damaged by it. Both of them deal with dissociation because of their trauma, have trouble with communicating with people at times and are described as a dreamy, soft, vague. They also both have a soft spot for animals.  Orla McCool from Derry Girls. --- Orla just ... screams Luna. Both have convictions that others think of as wacky, naive or just downright nonsensical, both make incredibly out-of-the-blue comments that do, somehow, make sense. They’re both a bit ignorant of social cues and don’t have much of a filter.  But they aren’t just similar in that sense, they’re also both very loyal friends. ALSO when Orla danced with her grandpa? That’s Luna and Xeno. Spot on. “Protestants hate ABBA.” -- Orla. “Purebloods hate ABBA.” -- Luna. I’m just SAYING.  Phoebe Buffay from FRIENDS. --- I feel less passionately about this one than the two above, but I just think that Phoebes role in the group of friends really mirrors that of Luna in the dynamic of her ( future ) group of friends. Phoebe’s optimism, creativity and straightforwardness are also things she has in common with Luna, and honestly? I could see Luna writing a song like smelly cat. 

People who have changed your character’s life immensely I think her parents have had a massive impact on Luna --- they allowed her to flourish, to grow, to develop her passions and beliefs and convictions. Because of the freedom she was given as a child, she’s been able to grow into who she is now. Her mother’s death, of course, has impacted her life greatly as well.  Ginny is also on this list, I think, as one of her first friends. :’)

[spamzineglasgow]

(REVIEW) ternura / tenderness by Sarah Sophie Yanni

In this review, Alice Hill-Woods traces the poetics of multiplicity, intimacy, vibrant materiality and energy in Sarah Sophia Yanni’s new chapbook, ternura / tenderness (Bottlecap Press 2019).

[[ CW: body dysmorphia, eating disorders ]] 

> The first page of Sarah Sophia Yanni’s chapbook, ternura / tenderness, published by Bottlecap Press and nesting twenty-three poems, swings open on its hinges, revealing an interior soaked with sensual murmurings. Linen, grease, matted fabric and pastel hues constellate in a saturated portrait of a room. It feels safe to observe and enter, akin to visiting the home of an unfamiliar relative who welcomes you regardless of your emotional proximity. In her artist statement on her website, Yanni explains that ‘a culturally liminal place is most familiar, orbiting the things that are lost in shift’ (date unknown). Indeed, her chapbook reveals a subtle interplay between detailed places pulsating in time, and sketched memories, fluttering with bodily energy, changing form under her agile signature. At points breathless, lacking caesura (‘freshman year’), her poems are also breathy, seductive, playing with space and form (‘home / body’). It is a poetic voice engendered by a gaze that emerges hungry to record minutiae, which are then generously shared with the reader, compiling a vivid smorgasbord of experiences.

> From the outset, I am already aware of the protean potential of translation: ternura is tenderness; tenderness ternura: but in which moments do these language-bound paradigms overlap? How can we trace the difference lost in the shape of mouthing different syllables? Do notions of tenderness shift according to the language in which they are contained and received? Yanni’s chapbook is tender: fabric folds oscillating against skin are soft, redolent of warm glimpses, a heart open to the nature of things. But there is more than tenderness, too: an ache, perhaps, or a harder glare carving its presence into rosier backdrops. The speaker admits: ‘there are certain words | I can’t translate – guey, pedo, me cay bien– | but I know how they feel in my mouth, in yours’ (Yanni 2019: 27). This exploration of linguistic limitations operates with the very tenderness the chapbook’s title lays claim to, considerate and delicate in a way that simultaneously signals strength.

> I particularly relish the astrological assertiveness of Yanni’s poems. In the Roman-numeral-spliced ‘multiplicity’, the speaker states: ‘V. I am a gemini / the reason for my multiplicity / | or at least my primary excuse’ (2019: 4). It brings to mind one of Yanni’s #MicroMeta poems for Metatron Press, which pouts in pastel blue on Instagram:

it’s because I’m a gemini sorry I yelled and sorry I cried about nothing except that it wasn’t about nothing and really, I’m not sorry

                                (Yanni 2019).

Yanni’s girlish, starry brevity entices users such as girlhowdy69, who declares: ‘these made me tear up’ (Instagram 2019). Being a Gemini signifies more than multiplicity, though, and regardless of your approach to astrological musings it cannot be ignored that Yanni’s writing embodies the mercurial wit and dual energy implied by this zodiac sign. Yanni is half-Egyptian and half-Mexican, and I can defend the notion that her vibrant poiesis has twice the impact, double the deliciousness.

> Materiality is a significant element of ternura / tenderness. Not only do some fabrics indicate lived-in places, but bodies; what it means to touch, to know. It brings to mind Jane Bennett’s Vibrant Matter, in which she argues for the ‘capacity of things […] to act as quasi agents or forces with trajectories, propensities, or tendencies of their own’ (2010: viii). Different fabrics are endowed with this kind of activating energy. In ‘I know the room in abuela’s house’, meaning is embedded in the shape of ‘curling wallpaper punctured by a golden crucifix’ (Yanni 2019: 2), walls distorted by age and faith, ‘sticky rain’ (ibid.: 7) in ‘why isn’t there an option for mixed race kids’, ‘wet pools / opaque | fabric clinging’ (ibid.: 4) in ‘multiplicity’, rolled and hemmed material in ‘pleated uniform skirt’. The semiotic tapestry is stretched out on to the textual frame for hermeneutic rubbings, like pushing a hand into those dark, velvet boxes in a museum play area, hungry to associate mental image with physical object. This close attention to materials, informing one another, dialogically positioned in alignment with Yanni’s varying narratives, makes for seductive reading.

> Site-specific worship blurs into the lust for home-space, the contingent sequences of what is homely melting into the transcendent. Glimpses of rituals rolling wavelike into ordinary spaces reminds me of Lila Matsumoto’s Urn & Drum (2018). Yanni’s ‘In / Between (ii)’ paints an image of ‘baskets of warm bread, tiny plates of chopped | tomatoes’ (2019: 8) alongside a ‘church that echoes’ (ibid.), reminiscent of Matsumoto’s ‘Morning’, in which the speaker orients themselves towards the sensory dew of the kitchen; ‘pinching | the plates between pinky and thumb I dip them one by one | into the water which undulates with fresh promise’ (Matsumoto 2018: 23). Kitchens, then, may be interpreted as sites inscribed with the potency of interlocking communities waiting to share words or food. In ‘In / Between (iv)’, the speaker demands recognition for this sacred space: ‘of course, I’d | reply, what could be safer than Abuela’s | kitchen’ (Yanni 2019: 20). The semantic circling back to Abuela across the textured landscape of the chapbook is indicative of this character’s weighty presence, an enabler of tender exchange.

> Yanni’s formal technique treats text with a controlled awareness; in many of her poems, stanzas are portioned out, resisting gluttonous reading. This consistency appears to be an extension of the speaker’s experience of a suggested eating disorder. For example, in ‘multiplicity’, the speaker confesses:

for two summers I let myself rot / a raw throat coated with slime / anemic faint purple flesh                               (2019: 4)

The forward slash – oblique, repetitive, leaning into the next breath – is paradoxically simple and multivalent. It feels era-specific, reminding me of glossy pamphlets of song lyrics inhabiting CD cases in the early 2000s. It is also textually divisive, a knife slicing into lines that have already been broken off by enjambment, and, although subtle, her use of punctuation feels deliberate, pregnant with feeling. In the same stroke, the poems quietly interrogate discourse around consumption. Whose gaze is the girlish body-form configured to? The speaker presents the body as a site of restraint upon which violence is performed, corporeally exhibiting ‘a doctor’s delight’ (Yanni 2019: 4) and ‘the thrill of smallness overlapped | with fainting in public’ (ibid.: 18). Flesh-and-memory-laden erasure is mourned, her poem ‘yesterday’s desires’ a complex eulogy for time tainted by dysmorphia. Although grief is not a domineering element of Yanni’s chapbook, it may still be considered part of tenderness’s symbolic vacillations. To look back on a body warped by illness takes courage, an inspection softened by gentle awareness.

> Orchestrating an impasto collection of emotive and tonal shifts, from softly spoken to defiant, it is clear to me that Yanni’s poetic presence is waxing, a glimmering orb amongst other contemporary constellations. Reading one moreish poem catalyses an urgent desire for the next, a clever domino effect that interlinks subjective schemas with well-articulated energy. Finally, I must confess: the Gemini in me stretches towards the Gemini in the text, and, for a moment, I can feel the familiar closing-in between speaker and reader that can only occur with such tender momentum.

References:

Bennett, Jane. 2010. Vibrant Matter (Durham: Duke University Press)

Marchigiano, Ariana. [@girlhowdy69]. January 2019. ‘these made me tear up’ [Instagram comment]

Matsumoto, Lila. 2018. ‘Morning’, in Urn & Drum (Bristol: Shearsman Books), p. 23

Yanni, Sarah Sophia. 2019. ternura / tenderness (Bottlecap Press)

Yanni, Sarah Sophia. 24 January 2019. ‘it’s because I’m a gemini!’, Metatron Press @metatronpress [Instagram post]

Yanni, Sarah Sophia. Date unknown. ‘artist statement’, <https://sarahsophiayanni.com/writing/writing/> [accessed 20 October 2019]

ternura / tenderness is out now and available via Bottlecap Press. 

~

Text: Alice Hill-Woods

Image: Bottlecap Press

Published 17/11/19

[haberdashing]

You know that post about how Hogwarts being mandatory for pureblood wizards/witches during Deathly Hallows means that the school would have a ton of older homeschoolers attending for the first time and also a bunch of them would be Weasleys?

And how said post more or less says “this is a great excuse to make a bunch of Weasley OCs”?

...well, I made a bunch of Weasley OCs. Details under the cut because long post is long.

Fair warning: it’s been a while since I’ve read Harry Potter, so it’s possible some of these details may not 100% fit with canon.

The Weasley family branch I’ve invented is tentatively related through their father being Arthur Weasley’s younger brother (though I might change the details of their Weasley connection, idk). They live near the English/Scottish border and until Deathly Hallows time were all homeschooled because between getting to King’s Cross and getting all the school supplies Hogwarts says each student has to bring, going would mean spending rather a lot of money that they didn’t generally have to spare.

There are probably a few siblings who are old enough that the Hogwarts mandate doesn’t apply to them, but I haven’t figured out anything about them yet, so I’ll focus on the ones who do end up going to Hogwarts, at least for one year: Lance, Morgan, Gwen, Penelope, and Callie.

Lance’s full name is Lancelot, and he doesn’t really care whether you call him by his full name or just by Lance. He’s strong, determined, and very much a rule-follower except when the rules are blatantly wrong, which of course is the case rather often in Deathly Hallows Hogwarts. He’s a Quidditch whiz, usually gravitating towards the position of Keeper. He’s not terribly fond of formal studying, and having it forced upon him doesn’t help, but he makes it work. He’s very much protective of his younger siblings, and during his time at Hogwarts he extends that protection to any and all Weasley relatives, though Ginny makes it clear quickly enough that it’s not necessary to treat her the same way. He’s the kind of person who might have made a good Prefect, under different circumstances.

Morgan’s name isn’t short for anything, and they didn’t pick it solely because of the Arthurian legend connection, but, well, that connection certainly didn’t hurt either. They’re on the scrawny side, making them looking even younger than they actually are. They’re a smart one, but they’re more likely to apply that intellect on experiments of their own invention than on, you know, homework. They’re fascinated with the rules of magic, and especially with what happens when magic goes awry. They’re independent, introverted, and wildly inventive. There’s no one area of magic that they prefer, because they like to dabble in all of them, mixing and matching as their latest big idea requires. Morgan probably would get along with Fred and George, or at least would be open to collaborating with them, if only as an excuse to justify some of their wilder experiment ideas.

Gwen and Penelope are twins--fraternal twins, specifically. Gwen’s the older of the two by a whopping nine minutes, and likes to lord that (and her extra inch and a half of height) over Penelope. Every once in a while the two of them like to claim that they’re identical twins and watch the befuddled expressions of those trying to reconcile that claim with how they don’t look much alike, especially by Weasley standards.

Gwen’s full name is Gwendolyn. She doesn’t much care if you call her Gwendolyn or just Gwen, but she does insist that if you use a nickname for her it be Gwen rather than Lyn, because as it happens her mother’s name is Lynn and she’d rather not go by her mother’s name, thanks. She’s a shy one, good at blending in and being a wallflower but not so good at actually, well, standing out from the crowd, though part of her wants that, wants to be the center of attention rather than being perpetually in the background. She’s very adaptable, though, and good at judging the scene in front of her and acting accordingly, and she’s got a great memory to boot. She's fond of potion-making, of how nice and predictable it is when you follow the rules.

Penelope, on the other hand, is significantly more outgoing than her twin sister. The only people allowed to call her Penny are her siblings, and even then she usually rolls her eyes. She’s a social butterfly, good at making friends of all shapes and sizes, and she’s got a huge heart. She’s almost as good at Quidditch as her brother, though she’s more of a Chaser or Seeker. She’s also got a green thumb, excelling at taking care of plants both magical and mundane.

Callie is the youngest of the family. Her full name is Calypso, but she hates it with a passion. She’s outspoken with a wicked temper and isn’t afraid of backing up insults with a few choice hexes. She’s a rebellious soul, and while she’s the baby of the family, she hates being babied, hates being reminded of her youth. In a different age, she would have loved taking Defense Against the Dark Arts. As it is, she’s not terribly interested in any of her classes, and it shows in her grades, which are lackluster at best.

Morgan, Penelope, and Callie look exactly as you’d expect a Weasley to look, with bright red hair and skin covered in freckles. Lance’s hair is closer to strawberry blonde than outright red, but he’s still clearly a Weasley at a glance. Gwen, on the other hand, takes after her blonde, freckle-less mother, with hair more blonde than red and the freckles on her pale skin being few and far between.

When the Hogwarts mandate comes, Lance is sixteen, Morgan is fourteen, Gwen and Penelope are thirteen, and Callie is eleven. They all end up as Gryffindors, but the Sorting Hat takes longer to decide on that for some of them than others. (Lance and Callie get proclaimed Gryffindors with the hat barely touching their head; Gwen is briefly considered for Slytherin, but turns it down immediately; Morgan gets considered more seriously for Ravenclaw, and Penelope for Hufflepuff, but in the end, Gryffindor still wins out.)

The whole family would be seen as “blood traitors”--living in a sparsely-populated area where there are only so many people around to connect with, this branch of the Weasley family has gotten close to neighbors both magical and Muggle, and are thus well aware that Muggles and Muggleborns are people no worse than pureblooded wizards like themselves, and that not having magic doesn’t mean a person can’t be valuable or skilled in other ways. How each member of the family acts to further their views and assist the resistance, however, varies from individual to individual.

Lance spends the first month or two following the rules, even when it hurts him to do so, even when he knows that they’re wrong, because he has a long-term plan in mind, and said plan requires being a rule-follower at all times. Once his reputation as a good and obedient student was firmly established, he would occasionally use that reputation to try and keep those fighting the resistance more directly out of trouble. (”You said Brian was out in the halls past curfew last night, up to no good? Well, that can’t be right, because he was with me in the Gryffindor common room all night--we were cramming for that big Charms test we have coming up, I can probably dig up the notes we went through together if you want...”) It doesn’t always work, but it works often enough to be worthwhile.

Morgan’s experiments become mostly directed towards practical matters that they could then share to help others fight the good fight. Some are straightforward enough, spells that harm others in new and exciting ways that might be enough to throw off an opponent, but Morgan’s pet project is working on a spell to change hair colors. Given that red hair, Weasleys, Gryffindors, and blood traitors have become largely synonymous in the eyes of the current Hogwarts administration, being able to change one’s hair color at a moment’s notice has more practical applications than one might initially assume. The hard part, is turns out, isn’t making a spell to change hair colors, but making a spell to change hair colors without some horrible side effects kicking in along the way. After a few months and several trips to the nurse, however, they figure it out and spread the information to everyone they think they can trust.

Gwen uses her largely non-Weasley appearance, her talents for adapting to strange situations and blending into the background, and the spare Slytherin robe that’s been tucked away inside the Gryffindor common room all year with nobody able or willing to explain how it got there, to occasionally go undercover and see what information she can pick up when people aren’t quite as guarded as they normally would be towards a Gryffindor Weasley. While she uses several fake names for these missions, one she uses a few times is her mother’s maiden name of Hendry; the Hendry family is largely Hufflepuff, when they attend Hogwarts at all, but there are enough exceptions to that rule that a Hendry Slytherin isn’t entirely implausible.

Penelope does a few minor things to directly resist Hogwarts’ administrations, like tearing down posters that are barely-disguised Death Eater propaganda pieces, but perhaps more important is her role in comforting and reassuring other students who are worried about what lies ahead. She tells every distraught student that things aren’t as bad as they seem, that everything’s going to be okay, even when Penelope herself is very much unsure of the validity of those statements.

Callie speaks her mind, getting into loud arguments about the rights of Muggles and Muggleborns whenever she’s given the opportunity to do so, and some of those arguments turn into outright fights, exchanges of words turning into exchanges of spells. She also doesn’t even bother to pretend to follow rules that she disagrees with, even when it’s clear that she’ll be caught if she breaks them. Callie spends a lot of time in detention as a result, but she doesn’t mind; in fact, it’s something she prides herself on.

During the Battle of Hogwarts, Lance, Callie, or both lose their lives. If it’s Lance, it’s because he gets in the way of a spell launched at a younger Weasley, whether that be one of his siblings or a more distant relative, willing to protect them even at the cost of his own life. If it’s Callie, she dies as she lived, fighting with all her might for what she believes is right, doing her best to prove that she’s more than just a weak little kid, and willing to face whatever consequences await her for doing so.

[wildmagicplant]

Oct. 8 (prompt from Oct. 3) - bait

continuation of my writing using the inktober prompts! some mixed YJ/comics verse batfam today

“Bruce, you have to tell me what happened out there. I can’t help unless I know what’s happened.” Dinah’s voice was quiet, but insistent. Bruce had had the occasional thought that perhaps her powers weren’t as limited as she thought they were, that maybe there was some subtler gift of persuasiveness hidden in her voice, but that was nonsense. She was just a good therapist and a friend.

“I was investigating a lead that Superman had passed along. We had a suspicion that some of the recent disappearances in both the Gotham metro area and in Metropolis may have been the work of the same�� entity. Superman thought he had identified a possible suspect near the outskirts of Bludhaven, so Nightwing and I went to go see what was there.” Bruce hesitated. He suspected it would be harder to keep up his typical detached debrief style for the rest of this story. “When we entered the building, it seemed abandoned, but Nightwing thought he noticed some signs of a presence. We took precautions before going upstairs, where we assumed our suspect was hiding. We—I was unprepared.”

Bruce didn’t realize he’d gotten lost in his memory until Dinah said, “Unprepared for what?” She wasn’t gentle, which was the quality Bruce appreciated most about her. She could be kind, but rarely gentle.

Bruce took a deep breath. “It looked and sounded empty upstairs. Nightwing and I split up, and I had made it through my half of the floor when I heard D—Nightwing scream. I ran towards the noise, and I believe the—the suspect was waiting for me past the door. I briefly saw Nightwing on the floor, and humanoid shapes past him, but then I was— somewhere else.” He didn’t know exactly how to describe it, but he’ll need to write this up eventually, so he’ll have to try eventually. Might as well start now. Bruce didn’t look at Dinah as he said, “It seemed as if I was in a void. Not floating, I was standing on a solid surface that felt like concrete but I couldn’t make out any visible difference in any of my surroundings. There was no wind, no air movement of any sort, almost no sensory input of any kind. I could hear a voice but there was no direction to it. I didn’t recognize anything about the voice.” Bruce tried very hard to keep his voice even. “It said it could give me anything I wanted. It asked what I would give up.” He didn’t think he’d sleep without hearing that voice in his head for a very long time. “It kept speaking. I don’t know how much longer it went on for, my experience was muddled. It can’t have been long. The next thing I remember is Dick shaking me awake, and everyone else was around me. As far as we can ascertain, the suspect was some sort of magical entity that managed to summon the others as bait for us.” 

“Do you know if they experienced the same thing as you did?” Dinah asked.

Curtly, Bruce nodded. God, what had his children seen? What had the thing offered them?

-----

“Ah, the newest of the family. Is that what you would like? Would you like to have a place again? To know that you belong in this new family of heroes and legends? You could have that.”

Duke shook his head, trying to shake the voice itself out. It was so dark here.

“Oh, I see. You don’t want a new place, you want your old place back. I can do that. I can restore your parents. Free them of the venom that now smothers the life from them, make it so they never had to experience that. It would be easy. What would you give up for them?”

“I don’t need to give up anything for them. We’re going to find a cure. It’s going to happen. I don’t need you.”

-----

“What would you love most? I can erase the knowledge of death from your mind. Or I could let you speak with ease, never to feel left out or laughed at again. What would you give me to have grown up in a loving family? Or maybe… I can see you, you know. I can read the trembling of your body, see the way you hold your jaw closed as if you know you might betray yourself at any moment. It would be easy, I could make it so everyone could understand you exactly as you wish. They find it so hard to see when you’re scared or sad or lonely, but I don’t. I can see exactly what you are.”

Cass was silent, but she let herself shake, clutching her arms around her stomach as she tried to ignore the thing. “No,” she choked out. “No.”

-----

“I can give you—”

“No,” Jason said. “I don’t know what the fuck this is, but no.”

“Are you sure? I can make it so you never died, never went unavenged, never had to suffer the unimaginable. Or would it be earlier? I could make it so she never died. I could give you a real childhood, a chance to grow without being responsible for a parent, never had to be in the position that led to your death at all.”

Jason snorted. “If it hadn’t been—that, it would just have been something else. I was never going to make it. Go sell to someone else. I’m not buying.”

-----

“It’s simple, like so many things in your life aren’t. What if the rope had never snapped? Your parents would be alive, you would still be with them, the circus would never have had troubles, and everything would be easier.”

Dick scoffed. “You think I just want things easier?”

“Not exclusively. But you want people to stay. You lose everyone, don’t you? Your parents, your siblings, your loves, your friends… they all slip out of your grasp. All you want to do is catch them. I could give you that.”

“Which ones?” Dick asked, and he didn’t mind the crack in his voice. There was no one else here to hear it.

“Whoever you picked. It could be unlimited, anyone you can think of. You would never have to lose someone again. What would you give me for that?”

“I…” Dick hesitated. He thought he saw a glimpse of faces in the darkness. He shook his head. “No. No, you can’t give me that. You can’t give me all of them, and I won’t pick and choose who deserves to live.”

-----

“Little prince.”

“Don’t call me that,” Damian hissed, trying to search out the source of the voice.

“But that is what I could give you. Your parents, united at last. A whole family and all the attention you could ever wish for. The might of your father and the power of your mother, there to support you and love you for as long as they should live.”

Damian grinned even as his stomach twisted at the thought. “But you wouldn’t guarantee how long that life would be, would you? No,” he spat. “I don’t need your help.”

-----

“So many options. Where to start? Your friends, all alive and remembered. Your parents, present and loving for once. Your role, assured and secure. Take your pick.”

Tim shook his head.

“Perhaps you would prefer something for the cause. What if Batman had never been necessary? What if the world was better? That’s what you want, after all, a better world.”

“Even you can’t give me that,” Tim said. “Batman will always be necessary, and so will the rest of us. It’s all worth it because of that. So, you asked where to start? Nowhere. Let me go.”

-----

Dinah’s eyes were kind. “I’ll talk to them separately, then.” It was quiet for a moment, and Bruce didn’t think he’s ever hated the silence as much as he did right then. The thing’s words played in his head, over and over.

“They could be safe, they could all be happy. All of your children, healthy and alive and unafraid, forever and ever.” Bruce thought about it, imagined his children happy with other families, their own or theirs by choice or ones unknown to him now, but safely away from Gotham, from Batman. He wasn’t foolish enough to think the thing would let him keep them. “What would you give up?”

“Bruce, you don’t have to tell me what it offered you, but if you don’t mind me asking, how did you know to turn it down?”

Bruce smiled, and he could feel that it was empty and pained. He felt like crying. “I never did.”

[sleepyfan-blog]

warnings: Betrayal, cursing

Fandom: Underverse, 

characters: Dust, Killer, Horror, Cross, Dream, Baby Blasters Sans and Papyrus

word count: 2,891

summary: Dream wakes up to an argument, and realizes that he fled to the wrong au. Can he talk Cross into letting him go?

Dream woke to the sound of three voices arguing, low and fast, their emotions tense, fearful and uncertain and mixed with confusion. But he couldn't focus on what they were saying, as he felt as if his bones had been pulled from him one by one, soaked and acid, before being roughly shoved back. He was low on magic and curled around something in a very uncomfortable position. The guardian of positivity frowned at himself, took in a couple of deep, calming breaths and did his best to focus through the slowly receding pain to try to listen in on who was arguing. Their magic was somewhat familiar to him - but not in a good way.

"-and I'm telling you, one of us needs to teleport to boss, right now, and tell him." A rough, growling voice muttered angrily, sounding as if he was a couple of feet to Dream's left.

"Yeah, and I don't want to be the one to do it! You know how tetchy he gets whenever his name is mentioned around him, and he's going to lose his shit if he finds out that the ball of fuckin' sunshine is actually here. Why the hell he's here, I don't know." A second, lighter voice hissed from a little bit further away.

"I didn't realize that Sunny D knew where this timeline was. You'd think that boss would have picked a timeline that none of the Star Shits had been to before, given that our main base is here." A third voice purred "And wouldn't it be better if we just dragged him to boss in the first place? Because if we go and tell Nightmare that he's here, there's a chance that Dream will wake up and teleport off. And then Boss'll really be pissed."

"I can barely sense him though. Which means he's probably got like... Next to no magic. Do you really think he could walk in that state, much less create a portal to leave?" The first voice pointed out musingly.

Dream tried not to flinch as he realized that he'd... He'd come back to Dreamtale - and the memories of why he had instinctively fled to his former home caused the positivity guardian to try to suppress a violent flinch and a sob - Horror, Killer and Dust hadn't seemed to notice that he was awake yet - and he needed to make sure that the tiny, abused children that he'd rescued would be safe. And they really weren't here. He also realized that he had somehow managed to turn back into his original form - but at least he wasn't dog-shaped. At least it wasn't immediately apparent that

Cross spoke up - because of course all four of Nightmare's main minions were crowded around him - saying quietly "What I want to know is why are his clothes shredded? I've never seen his boots torn up like that - and his pants are all messed up as well."

"... That's a good point. Welp, something to ask him when he wakes up. Heh, we might be able to have a bit of fun with him before we tell boss." Dust responded, and Dream could hear the sadistic glee in the other's voice, not just in the other's magic. There was a dull smacking sound of bone against bone and Dust hissed "Oww! What was that for?"

"Don't be weird and gross, Dust." Cross scolded, discomfort in the other's magic as he spoke "I think that earns you the dubious honor of telling bo-"

Dream could hear the ringing of an interdimensional cell phone, and Dust answered "What's up, boss? ... Right now? I mean, we kind of... Okay! Okay fiiine... Yes boss... Recon and report. By myself or-? Got it. Yes boss." It felt like an eternity of silence before Dust spoke up again "Well, Horror and I have a mission - and he wants us to leave now... And there's the portal. I'll tell you the details once we get through. Have fun sorting this mess out you two."

The positivity guardian heard two sets of footsteps walk away from him, before their magical signatures vanished. Despite desperately wanting to try to get up - to try to move into a less vulnerable position, Dream was hoping that the two remaining Bad Sanses were still under the impression that he was asleep, and might give him an opportunity to flee with the very young Sans and Papyrus he was still holding carefully. Thankfully, both of the pups were still asleep, snuggled into one another and nestled in his arms. He didn't dare to even activate his eye lights in an attempt to see what was going on, as that would reveal, if one of them was looking at his face, that he was awake. He knew that he would have exactly one chance to try to escape with how little magic he had - and the fact that both Killer and Cross were efficient hunters.

"Soo... Let's fight to see who has to tell boss. Loser has to give him the news." Killer suggested.

"No. For one thing, Nightmare doesn't like it when we fight each other... Besides, you'll be the one going to speak to him anyways." Cross responded.

"Are you implying that you're stronger than me, Crossy-boy?" Killer hissed, irritation and indignation spiking in the other's magic.

"Yes. I know for a fact that I'm stronger than you are, Killer." The monochromatic skeleton answered back, supremely unconcerned about his teammate's annoyance.

"Then put your gold where your mouth is, you shit!" Killer growled, and Dream felt the other's irritation turn into rage and bloodlust.

"I don't need to prove myself to you, Killer." Cross responded back, his voice still calm. "One of us needs to tell Nightmare that Dream - and whoever he's got with him - is here and I don't trust you not to try to stab one of the three of them while I'm away. You've stabbed prisoners out of boredom before, and I don't think that Nightmare would take it well if you were hurting Dream. He's..."

"Really strange when it comes to that particular Star Shit? Yeah. I've noticed that much. I've been working with Boss for a lot longer than you have... And what do you mean by whoever's with him? It's just Dream." Killer growled, confused.

"He has two beings with him. A Sans and Papyrus who I've never sensed before. He's hidden their magical presence with his own, but I can sense them." Cross answered back.

"... Both of them must be really tiny, if that's true. Because I certainly don't see another Papyrus laying down next to him, and they're always tall... If they're full grown." Killer grumbled "Fine. I... I'll go talk to boss."

Moments later, Dream felt the tell-tale flash of magic distinctive to teleportation. With only one of the bad Sanses watching him, now was definitely the time to-

"I know you're awake, Dream. I noticed the difference in your breathing pattern, earlier." Cross spoke up, his voice suddenly much closer and more directly above him than normal. "So you might as well get up.”

Dream hesitated for a moment before turning on his eye lights and looking up at Cross - startled that the other was kneeling directly in front of him. After a moment of awkwardly starting at the other's mis-matched eye lights, the older skeleton shifted his hold on the sleeping Sans and Papyrus in his arms so that he was holding both of them with one arm, using the other to slowly and painfully push himself up into a sitting position, a quiet groan of pain leaving him as his joints snapped and popped a little bit as he straightened his spine, staring blearily at the other. He didn't know Cross very well - but he knew that Ink did... And that the other had counted the other as a friend. Perhaps he could reach out to the other, while he had the chance? Keeping his voice low so that he hopefully didn't wake up the sleeping children, he pleaded quietly "Please let me leave, Cross. I hadn't meant to come here - I've... I've never spoken of this place to Ink or Blue, ever and I... It's vanishingly unlikely that I ever will. Please I-I've got to get the little ones to safety!"

Cross stared at him, the other's eye lights widening and Dream could feel the horror and confusion within the other's soul as the younger skeleton seemed to be at an utter loss. "I... What... What the actual fuck happened to you, Dream?"

Ah. Time to lie. "I... N-nothing much, I just... Uhm..." Dream looked down at himself - Cross's horrified staring was... Oh no. His clothes were ripped to shreds, and since he'd moved, his cape wasn't covering much anymore. A bright gold blush appeared on his face and with his free hand he tugged his cape over himself (and the pups) "I... Cross please..."

"No. Seriously. What the hell happened?" Cross growled, his eye lights intense "What did he do to you? I can sense traces of his magic on you, but I wasn't going to say anything in front of the others. What the fuck did a Gaster do to you?" The other grabbed one of his shoulders, shaking him a little.

The sudden movement startled Dream, causing him to flinch and curl in on himself, and the rough movements forced a whimper of pain to leave him "I... P-please... I-It's p-probably n-not as bad as you th-think! I just... The G-Gaster b-briefly experimented on m-me but he c-couldn't keep me contained for v-very long. I f-found the Sans and Papyrus in a cell and broke them o-out and... I was r-running on instinct and I h-had only enough m-magic to 'port us to one AU and I... I-I went home... I d-didn't remember at the t-time that it's n-not safe here anymore. It ha-hasn't in a long time but I... I-I fled here to Nigh..." Dream immediately stopped talking, shifting his hold on the pups again, so that he was holding them in his arms again "But that's not important. What is, i-is getting the children to safety. Please let me leave so I can get them to safety. I-I'll bring you along too! S-so you won't get into trouble for letting me escape."

"I... I don't..." Cross responded, his facial expression - half hidden by his scarf - showing absolutely nothing. But the other's emotions were unsettled and unsure - as if the other was trying to figure out what to do. The other's gaze fixated on the tiny bone puppies in Dream's arms. "Why do they look like that?"

"Oh... You've never been to a Baby Blaster Beast AU?" The guardian of positivity asked, blinking a little in surprise "Or even a Gaster Blaster Beast AU before? I... I'll explain but please - at least let me open a portal to set the children in a safer world, Cross?"

"No, I haven't... they're... So small..." The monocrhomatic skeleton responded, his red and white eye lights still focused on the very young skeletal creatures in Dream's arms. "I... I can see why you'd want to protect them. I... I can't open portals, you know. And I'm not going to try to summon that treacherous, two-faced bastard. He'd probably force you to try to put them back in their own au... Despite the fact that you've clearly just rescued them from somewhere terrible because he doesn't like to interfere or some bullshit like that. But... I... Sure, I'll help you." There was a strange emotional flutter in the other's magic that Dream wasn't aware enough to identify, much as the positivity guardian tried to keep as in tune with his surroundings as possible.

"I know that... But I can - but you'd have to not attack me while I'm trying to summon up enough magic to do that, so I don't lose concentration." Dream explained, hope building in his chest. He had no idea how much time he had left before Nightmare showed up - it depended on how reluctant Killer was to talk to the fallen guardian. But he suspected that he didn't have much left.

"I... I wouldn't attack you, not when you're carrying helpless children. I've... Done a lot, for Nightmare. But I... That's a line I'm not going to cross." The monocrhomatic skeleton responded, nodding definitively as he stared at the tiny skele-pups.

Dream could sense a rising determination within the other, and despite the seriousness of the situation, he couldn't help but chuckle a little, commenting "Nice pun, Cross." If he were less tired, he might have tried to respond back, but he was already focusing on making a portal.

The other groaned, burying his face in his hands "I didn't do that on purpose! The others make way too many cracks about my name as it is! I'm just glad that none of the others heard me say that. Otherwise I'd never hear the end of it."

Dream smiled kindly at the younger skeleton before responding "I'm sorry to hear that the others tease you for your name, but again, tha-" His eye lights widened as he felt his magic rush out of him and fizzle. "No... Why... Why can't I open a portal? I.. I sh-should be able to... To do so..." He felt himself falling over again, Cross' arms wrapping around him as darkness started to envelop him.

The positive guardian heard Cross speaking, his voice apologetic, and the feelings in the other's magic and soul guilty and determined "I'm sorry... But I can't go against Boss. I need him to fix my timeline."

"But... You... You promised to help me..." Dream responded, a look of betrayal flashing across his eyes. He should have known better than to hope that one of Nightmare's people really would help him - but Cross had genuinely seemed intent on wanting to help the children... "But... Please... At least make sure that the children are safe, Cross. I don't... I don't know what he'll do to them."

"I... I'll try. That I am genuinely promising you. I don't know how much I'll actually be able to do." Cross promised, grabbing Dream as he stood up, the shorter skeleton's feet dangling a couple of inches in the air. "I've just gotten a text from Killer. Nightmare's expecting you."

Dream struggled against the other's grip, kicking the taller skeleton, but the violent movements caused more pain to course through the positivity guardian "No... No! I won't... Won't be captured without a fight..."

"You barely have enough energy to keep conscious, much less to actually fight me. You won't be able to escape, even if you manage to get away from me." Cross pointed out, his tone of voice almost sounding as if he was thinking that Dream was being unreasonable. "If you continue to fight like this, you'll wake up the kids - and you don't want to upset or distress them, do you?"

"A-As if the three of them being captured by Nightmare will be any better." Dream hissed, still struggling and fighting against the other as best as he could - kicking at Cross's knees, trying to get the other to fall over - or at least stumble, barring that. He also felt no shame whatsoever in shifting a little and biting one of the other's arms that was restraining, unaware at first that he was growling .

"Ouch! What the fuck?" Cross swore, startled that the other bit him - he hadn't thought that the guardian of positivity was one to do something like that "You bit me!... And you're growling." He was... Really surprised. He'd never seen the other in such a... Feral? State. He'd expect this sort of thing out of one of the Fells, but not Dream.

"You're trying to capture me, and it's one of the few ways I can fight back." Dream hissed. He needed to save every bit of what little magic he had left for the teleport out to a different AU, which was why he wasn't trying to use his magic on the other. The positive guardian was continuing to hold the sleeping skeletal puppies as gently as he could, not wanting to wake them up.

Cross yelped again as Dream continued to bite him and growl, teleporting into Nightmare's castle "Oww, fuck! Stop that!"

"{NO!}" Dream growled in Hands, unaware that he was doing so, his form shifting and cracking, warping and prompting pained whimpers from the frustrated guardian as he was forcefully turned back into Gaster blaster beast form, shrinking to half the size of the Sans-pup, who was ten inches snout to tail.

Cross cursed colorfully in shock, using his gravitational magic to hold all three of the small dog-things before they crashed to the floor. He scooped them up in his arms and headed straight to Nightmare., making sure to wrap all three of them up in Dream's cape, grabbing the stubborn guardian's crown just before it hit the ground as well. Not a single damn thing about this situation made a single bit of sense. Hopefully someone would explain. He felt three squirming lumps in the cape and murmured quietly in hands “{Settle down, would you? The kids won’t be hurt. That much, I did earnestly promise, Dream. As for what happens to you, that’s Nightmare’s decision, not mine.}”

[uclavapae]

Emmanuel Galvez Machuca | Teaching Artist of April 2019

Hometown: Mexico City

Major: Fine Arts and Minor in Arts Education  

Q: How did you discover your interest in the arts and how did you know that it was something that you wanted to pursue professionally, as an artist or as a teaching artist?

A:  I started skateboarding in middle school and came to understand that to learn how to do a trick, I had to keep trying. That if I fell on the ground, I had to get up and try again. Eventually, I was able to land a trick. And, if I continued to work, I could perfect my style. When I began to draw cartoons, I naturally fell back on the lessons learned while skateboarding. My first drawings were clumsy, but eventually, through sheer determination and work, I became rather good at drawing cartoons. So, I learned that working on a skill, despite a failure, could lead to expertise.

I used this same process in art making. When I first start an art project I may not be successful, but if I spend time working, it improves. And the more I work, the better it gets. Generating new concepts also comes after much soul searching and mining memories. From 2010 to 2015 I have been involved in creating a series of paintings on the concept of “Pan Dulce.” The concept came to me as I thought of the days when I lived in Mexico City as a child and I walked with my Mom to the bakery where I could smell the fresh aromas of bread and see a beautiful spread of pan dulce. Those memories touched me so personally that I decided to set up a still life of these breads. As a result of these works, I now have gallery representation and have had two solo shows. Searching through my past experiences solidified what I wanted to do: to connect more closely with my childhood memories.

My success pushes me to work harder and make better art. I plan to become the first person in my family to receive a college degree. My motivation and hunger for knowledge inspires me to explore who I am as an artist, a teacher, and a student. I remember my mother’s words, “Echale ganas, mijo!” which means to [work hard, son!]. Her words allow me to push forward, to keep going, to perfect my greatest talent: art.

Q: Describe what the student artists in your VAPAE Afterschool or Arts Enrichment Program are working on and the process they’re using.

A:   Before I transferred to UCLA, I was working with two nonprofits. One of them was Heart of Los Angeles (HOLA), a nonprofit organization dedicated to K-12 underrepresented students interested in sports, music, and the arts. As the artist in residence at HOLA, I assisted in teaching art classes from teaching drawing, mix-medium and mentoring individual students. In 2010, Dan McCleary started Art Division, a nonprofit organization dedicated to training and supporting underserved artistically inclined youth in the Rampart district where I have been an active participant since its inception. HOLA and Art Division have given me the tools and practice to give back to the community.

Because of my experience working with these nonprofits, I was offered the opportunity to work with one of the VAPAE Afterschool programs where I worked with another nonprofit. Latino Producers Action Network (LPAN) is a program that provides art workshops by Fabian Debora that brings youth from various communities together with their parents to collaborate in art projects. It was my pleasure working with the East Los Angeles community. In this VAPAE Program, I worked as a teaching artist assistant with Fabian Debora and I was able to learn several skills how to work with this is specific community intergenerational families. While in my participation at the program, I had the chance to assist every person and see them grow in their process and skills. I was really impressed with the mothers and daughters and how well they work with each other. I thought that the daughters would end up helping the mothers more but both of them created an equal balance.

Q: Why is an enrichment opportunity like this important for those participating? What do they gain?

A:  If I had not had Heart of Los Angeles (HOLA) program when I was younger and Art Division as a young adult, I probably would not have followed my dream as an artist. Today, as a result of these opportunities, I have confidence in my art skills and in my capacity as a student of the arts.

Since I participated similar programs, I understand the value and the impact that it can provide to a student's lives. I think students can gain so much knowledge, critical thinking, and work collaboratively. Understanding these basic elements can help students discover the different possibilities of creating art pieces. Therefore, applying similar process outside of the arts into different environment allows students to navigate their own personal experiences. At a very personal level, art has always been there for me. The role of art can definitely play a huge role in students’ lives.

Q: Did you have an opportunity like this when you were a younger artist? If yes, how did it help shape your love of art? If no, in what ways could a program like this have helped you?

A: In middle school, I found my voice by drawing cartoons. I would often lose myself in my drawings, especially during English classes. “You’re going to be good, but without reading and writing you’re never going to be successful,” my English teacher would say. I knew I should have listened, but I chose not to. Instead, I continued with the pattern of doodling and daydreaming and kept wishing of one day being an artist. The possibility of becoming an artist became more real when at 14 years old I found Heart of Los Angeles (HOLA). HOLA had tutors, classes, and other support systems to help usher us to college. Through college prep programming I discovered the possibility of the arts as a potential career with social benefits.   

Q: What do you personally gain as a teaching artist, arts facilitator?

A:  Even though I already have some experience teaching, I don't have words to describe the amount of knowledge that I gained from completing the Arts Education Teaching Sequence in VAPAE. It has reinforced my teaching philosophy and enriched my practice as artist. Personally, I have gained more structure of how to create lesson plans. And also I had the opportunity to work with a public school. When I came to this country I went to public school. Having this opportunity to teach at a public school, it was very rich experience. Many of the students whom I taught were their first time having art lessons. Another reason why I want to continue to teaching because I understand that not every community has access to the arts. Therefore, I do see myself working with marginalized communities. The VAPAE minor would reinforce my practice as an educator and artist. I hope my discipline in the arts and my educational pursuits serve as a model and that we can all continue to make our community a better place.

Q: What are the benefits to you as a student/graduate in the UCLA VAPAE program? Was this program a good choice for you? If so, why?

A: Even though I already have some experience teaching, I don't have words to describe the amount of knowledge that I gained from working with Fabian Debora through the VAPAE Program. I know for sure that everything that I learned will be reinforced and enrich my practice as both an educator and artist. When I started teaching I never took a formal class about art education. Through my previous history of volunteering for the arts as a teacher assistant, I was able to learn a lot of knowledge from both the classroom and the teacher. When I was offered a position of teaching art, of course, I said yes. Even though I did not have the proper training I still wanted to do it. It was not easy from the beginning. The more I communicated with other teachers and also with my supervisor, I was able to understand and get little more training about art education.

Once I transferred to UCLA, I was interested in taking classes in art education, and also became interested in completing the Visual and Performing Arts Education program. When I came to this country, I was part of the after school program, HOLA. I learned a lot from their academic education, especially when taking their art classes. Art has its own language, and not having been able to speak English, the arts allowed me to express and share my ideas with my classmates without language interfering. From my personal experience I want to complete the VAPAE program because I do see myself teaching art to kids and adults while still being able to continue with practice in the studio.

Q: Are there any anecdotes from your time as a VAPAE Teaching Artist at an Afterschool or Arts Enrichment Programs that stand out to you? Perhaps you had a breakthrough with a student or saw some particularly noticeable growth in that student through this program, collaboration etc. Maybe something surprised you or made you think about art or teaching in a new way.

A: Since I already have some experience working with nonprofits, I was able to adopt Fabian's style of teaching. Basically, he would give me instructions of what would the class be working before the class would start. For the most part, a lot of his lessons are very straightforward. Having my own artistic practice definitely helps me to follow him with his approach of having a responsive style of teaching that feels really community-based instead of a student vs. teacher approach. Within the two classes that I have taken at UCLA through art education, the way we approach art is so different than Fabian’s style of teaching. It was really interesting to see both styles of teaching. But as a teaching assistant, I have to recognize that one is working with the community and the other one it focuses on the education system. And also with various philosophies of teaching. As educators, we have to recognize the circumstances of this community such as understanding and learning how we help these communities. During my sessions, I was just starting to understand the difference between these teaching styles working both with Fabian and the community.

Q: What are your short-term and long‐term career goals?

A: One of my short-term goal is completing the Visual and Performing Art Education program. I would love to continue teaching with VAPAE after school programs. Another long-term goal is getting ready to apply graduate school. My dream would to one day go back to Mexico City and teach arts in communities that do not have access to the arts.

[greekstreetart-talks]

Giorgos Wake Beleveslis

The beginning of the new season comes with the architect in profession and street artist Giorgos Wake Beleveslis from Thessaloniki, permanently living in Berlin. Particularly polite and friendly he discusses with us about his start, Yakuza (a group with great interest since as a result of it several artists with remarkable works appeared ), the characters he creates in the public space and the way of life in the big urban centers.

When and how does your relation with visual art begin? Does the environment that you grew up affected you or is it a personal need which you evolved? I discovered my interest in painting only when graffiti knocked my door. I was 14 years old and suddenly found myself with a tool in my hands with which I could express myself and communicate in a new way. I didn’t have any direct influence from my family, we all together discovered what this is and where it could take me. Then I studied at the Architecture university of Volos and also met RTMone. These two have shaped a more structured and multifaceted relationship with visual arts.

When did you start to create in public space and what was the need that pushed you to? What does the street offer to an artist and what kind of difficulties come up? The year of 1998 in the basketball courts of Thessaloniki I began to observe the painted walls and realizing that from all the hip hop elements in my life this was the most surprising. At that time the book “Color of the City 1” came to my hands and everything cleared up: SGB, 114, I was totally hooked. The relation of a street artist with the street is a constantly changing situation. I started overwhelmed by the adrenalin and the immediate relation I develop with my city. A writer receives a great amount of knowledge when it comes to the urban fabric where he acts, that’s always a potential advantage. The endless hours spent outside is an educational procedure. In spite of the difficulties, all this situation can’t  have but positive influence on the style of our work, on how we perceive people and our place in society. There comes a moment when this long-term life experience gives you back the stimuli you need growing up to continue  being creative.

Member of Yakuza. A Greek crew that has great interest. When was it created, who does it consist of, how did it start and how do you imagine its future? Since 2003, the first core was born in Volos where with RTMone and Sive we developed a long friendship and through the “chill vibe” of countryside we could focus on character design and experiment with the surrounding area. The fact that we were far away from the grind of the competitive graffiti community in Athens, gave us the creative freedom to try new things, while we were still in the shadows.

As the workload was increasing, our personal style was becoming more defined and as the internet was making its way in our lives, our desire to introduce ourselves in a wider audience was growing.In 2006 the second core of the crew was making in parallel its own way in Thessaloniki with Amok, Risk, Rasel, Spike to produce high quality work attracting our interest. Us meeting each other led to the creation of a very explosive mix of traditional graffiti and a new school approach between street art and contemporary muralism. Perhaps it was the first time for all of us when there were all the elements that we liked in the wall. This coexistence seemed to have another dynamic. It was only a matter of time for Amok  to say it out loud: Let’s give it a chance and let it roll.

Our course led us to a series of travels, participation in exhibitions and festivals and mainly many chances to produce new material. This interaction morphed in many ways the members of the group that now belong in a wide spectrum of arts: painting, muralism (Sive), illustration, teaching and organizing workshops (Rtmone), architecture, installations (Wake), tattoo, graphic design (Amok, Rasel), lettering (Risk, Spike), music and break-dance (12os Pithikos aka Winte)

You give the impression that there’s a lot of love and deep appreciation between you. How important is it for people with the same vision and goal to create together from scratch? The fact that we created YKZ in a more mature age made us very open-minded and flexible in the way we worked as a group, while we had the chance to begin our friendship on a strong groundwork. Under the umbrella of the group we exchanged knowledge and energy. Graffiti after all is a celebration and a team game. The feeling that you share this journey with similar weird types of people is priceless. For me the crew is the wider circle of friends that directly or indirectly has its own creating contribution all these years: Simao, Larry Gus, Ihad, Sad, Jamer, Apset, Ionas, Rino and the list goes on.

Your characters are probably geometrical, strict, most of the times giving the impression of being melancholic and hypotonic. Tell us about them! Is there each time a different story they “narrate”? The strictness in geometry comes from my architectonical background and my tendency to classify the anatomy in basic typologies. My color palette is more earthy, graffiti is aggressive and I try to minimize the tension and enter smoothly on the wall. Many times my characters are hypotonic, exhausted from the modern lifestyle and the hyper-exposure to information. There exists a feeling of bittersweetness, an incurable sense of nostalgia with references to the adventure of living away from your home. They contain experiential elements, they are illustrations of a notebook I leave on the street to start a dialogue: today I lived and felt that, you?

How much does an artist illustrate oneself or better the stimuli of ones everyday life? Maybe after all art isn’t a product of imagination, something that existed or never will. On the contrary, it’s the most genuine and sincere way to describe the naked reality as it is through a more subjective prism. Everyday life itself, us ourselves and the people with which we correlate is the most endless source of inspiration.

In the last few years you live and work abroad. Is art your main occupation? If not what  is? How much does one influence the other? Since 2011 I live and work in Vienna as an architect. My master studies on urban design gave me the chance to go to avant-garde architecture offices like CoopHimmelb(l)au, where I could remain creative and participate on something I believe in. Architecture and graffiti are communicating vessels through which I exchange knowledge relative to the urban environment and design itself. Many of my projects maintain a dynamic geometry that comes from the deconstructivistic language of graffiti. However architecture is an object with clear limits and the cases that there’s a level of freedom are minimum. I’ ve never tried to make a living exclusively through art, recently I moved to Berlin in search of a better balance between these two.

Austria and Germany until now, right? Which are the differences with the Greek scene but also the reaction of the people to the public artworks? There’s a different tolerance towards graffiti in Greece, not because of the public appreciation for the art but because of the different prioritization of problems of the city, thinking that we have more serious problems to solve. Conditions make Greek graffiti more politicized and emotionally charged, they offer space and motivate a large amount of artists to take action and the quantity gradually brings quality. Berlin has some similarities in that regard but it also has the infrastructures and the history to evolve the Berlin scene in an international level through organizations, galleries, events etc  that familiarize the –already educated- public even more. On the contrary Vienna isn’t the urban scenery in which graffiti will blossom, it passes any creative energy in the Halls of Fame, therefore it’s a city that concentrates on the cultural activities and offers to the public organized murals more and more.

Urban lifestyle where grey dominates, stress and fast-paced way of life. Isolation and distancing between people and nature. Is street art an essential need for a more pleasant daily life? That’s true. The occupation with street art is beneficial, it gives me the ability to mentally return to pleasant memories, it’s a type of psychoanalysis and externalization of a great deal of emotions. It’s a great way of socialization and the most interesting way to discover and be a part of the urban scenery. It’s an escape, a selfless offer on the city and its citizens with whom you’re in dialogue.

In ten years from now? I wish to remain restless, curious and see more. Also live by the sea.

Follow Giorgos Wake Beleveslis Website \ Instagram \ Fb Profile

_

Ξεκίνημα της νέας σεζόν με τον αρχιτέκτονα στο επάγγελμα και street artist Γιώργο Wake Μπελεβεσλή από την Θεσσαλονίκη, μόνιμα εγκατεστημένο πλέον στο Βερολίνο. Ιδιαίτερα ευγενικός και φιλικός συζητάει μαζί μας για το ξεκίνημα του, τους Yakuza, (μια ομάδα με μεγάλο ενδιαφέρον καθώς μέσα από αυτή εμφανίστηκαν στην συνέχεια αρκετοί καλλιτέχνες με αξιόλογα έργα), τους χαρακτήρες που δημιουργεί στον δημόσιο χώρο αλλά και τον τρόπο ζωής στα μεγάλα αστικά κέντρα.

Πότε κ πως ξεκινάει η σχέση σου με τα εικαστικά; Σε επηρέασε το περιβάλλον που μεγάλωσες ή είναι μια δίκη σου ανάγκη την οποία καλλιέργησες; Ανακάλυψα το ενδιαφέρον μου για τη ζωγραφική μόνο όταν το graffiti μου χτύπησε την πόρτα. Ήμουν 14 και ξαφνικά βρέθηκα με ένα εργαλείο στα χέρια με το οποίο μπορούσα να εκφραστώ και να επικοινωνήσω με έναν πρωτόγνωρο τρόπο. Δεν είχα κάποια άμεση επιρροή από την οικογένεια μου, κι αυτοί μαζί με μένα ανακαλύπταμε τι είναι αυτό και που μπορεί να με πάει. Ακολούθησαν οι σπουδές μου στην Αρχιτεκτονική του Βόλου και η γνωριμία μου με τον RTMone. Αυτά τα 2 διαμόρφωσαν μια πιο δομημένη και πολύπλευρη σχέση με τα εικαστικά.

Πότε ξεκινάς να δημιουργείς στον δημόσιο χώρο και ποια η ανάγκη για αυτό; Τι διαφορετικό προσφέρει σ’ έναν καλλιτέχνη ο δρόμος και ποιες οι δυσκολίες που προκύπτουν; Το 1998 στα κλειστά γήπεδα μπάσκετ της Θεσσαλονίκης άρχισα να παρατηρώ τους βαμμένους τοίχους και να συνειδητοποιώ ότι από τα στοιχεία της hiphop που είχαν μπει στη ζωή μου αυτό ήταν το πιο ουρανοκατέβατο. Κάπου εκεί προσγειώθηκε στα χέρια μου το βιβλίο Χρώμα της Πόλης 1 και ξεκαθάρισαν όλα: SGB, 114, το μικρόβιο μπήκε για τα καλά. Η σχέση ενός street artist με το δρόμο είναι μια διαρκώς μεταβαλλόμενη κατάσταση. Ξεκίνησα συνεπαρμένος από την αδρεναλίνη και την άμεση σχέση που αποκτάω με την πόλη μου. Ένας writer αναπτύσσει φοβέρες γνώσεις σχετικά με τον αστικό ιστό όπου δρα, αυτό είναι πάντα ένα δυνητικό πλεονέκτημα. Ο ατέλειωτος χρόνος στο έξω είναι μια εκπαιδευτική διαδικασία. Παρόλη τη δυσκολία, όλο αυτό δε μπορεί παρά να έχει μια ευεργετική επίδραση στο ύφος της δουλειάς μας, στο πως αντιλαμβανόμαστε τους ανθρώπους και τη θέση μας μέσα στο κοινωνικό σύνολο. Έρχεται η στιγμή που αυτή η πολύχρονη βιωματική εμπειρία σού επιστρέφει απλόχερα τα ερεθίσματα που χρειάζεσαι μεγαλώνοντας για να συνεχίζεις να είσαι δημιουργικός.

Μέλος των Yakuza. Μια ελληνική ομάδα που έχει μεγάλο ενδιαφέρον. Πότε δημιουργήθηκε, από ποιους απαρτίζεται πως ξεκίνησε και πως βλέπεις το μέλλον της; Από το 2003 ο ένας πυρήνας σιγόκαιγε στο Βόλο όπου μαζί με τον RTMone και τον Sive αναπτύξαμε μια πολύχρονη φιλία και είχαμε τον χρόνο μέσα από τους αργούς ρυθμούς της επαρχίας να εστιάσουμε στο character design και να πειραματιστούμε με τον περιβάλλοντα χώρο. Το γεγονός ότι ήμασταν μακριά από την τριβή της ανταγωνιστικής graffiti κοινότητας στην Αθήνα, μας έδωσε τη δημιουργική ελευθερία να δοκιμάζουμε πράγματα όντας ακόμα στη σκιά.

Όσο ο όγκος της δουλειάς μεγάλωνε τόσο προσδιοριζόταν και το προσωπικό μας ύφος, και όσο το internet έμπαινε στη ζωή μας, τόσο μεγάλωνε και η όρεξη μας να συστηθούμε σε ένα ευρύτερο πια κοινό. Το 2006 ο δεύτερος πυρήνας του crew διέγραφε παράλληλα τη δική του πορεία στη Θεσσαλονίκη, με τον Amok, Risk, Rasel, Spike, να παράγουν πολύ ποιοτική δουλειά κεντρίζοντας το ενδιαφέρον μας. Η γνωριμία μας ήταν ένα πολύ εκρηκτικό μείγμα από παραδοσιακό graffiti και μια new school προσέγγιση που ακροβατούσε ανάμεσα στη street art και το contemporary muralism. Ίσως ήταν η πρώτη φορά για όλους μας όπου στον τοίχο υπήρχαν όλα τα στοιχεία που μας αρέσουν. Aυτή η συνύπαρξη φάνηκε να έχει μια άλλη δυναμική. Ήταν θέμα χρόνου για τον Amok να το πει δυνατά: Ας του δώσουμε ένα όνομα κι ας το αφήσουμε να τσουλήσει.

Η πορεία μας μάς έφερε μια σειρά από ταξίδια, συμμετοχή σε εκθέσεις και φεστιβάλ και κυρίως πολλές αφορμές για να παράγουμε καινούριο υλικό. Αυτή η αλληλεπίδραση διαμόρφωσε κατά πολύ τα μέλη του crew που πλέον ανήκουν σε ένα ευρύ φάσμα των τεχνών: ζωγραφική, muralism (Sive),  illustration, διδασκαλία και οργάνωση workshops (Rtmone), αρχιτεκτονική, installations (Wake), tattoo, γραφιστική (Amok, Rasel ), lettering (Risk, Spike), μουσική και breakdance (12ος Πίθηκος aka Winte).

Δίνετε την εντύπωση πως υπάρχει πολλή αγάπη και βαθιά εκτίμηση μεταξύ σας. Ποσό σημαντικό είναι για ανθρώπους με το ίδιο όραμα και στόχο να δημιουργούν μαζί κάτι από το μηδέν; To γεγονός ότι φτιάξαμε τους ΥΚΖ σε μια πιο ώριμη ηλικία μας έκανε πολύ ανοιχτούς και ευέλικτους στον τρόπο που δουλεύουμε μεταξύ μας, ενώ είχαμε την ευκαιρία να ξεκινήσουμε τη φιλία μας σε πολύ γερές βάσεις. Υπό την ομπρέλα του crew ανταλλάξαμε γνώση και ενέργεια. Tο graffiti εξάλλου είναι γιορτή και ομαδικό παιχνίδι και το συναίσθημα ότι μοιράζεσαι αυτό το ταξίδι με παρόμοιους αλλόκοτους τύπους είναι ανεκτίμητο. Για μένα το crew είναι και ο ευρύτερος φιλικός μας κύκλος που έμμεσά ή άμεσα έχει τη δική του δημιουργική συνεισφορά όλα αυτά χρόνια: Simao, Larry Gus, Ihad, Sad, Jamer, Apset, Ionas, Rino, δεν τελειώνει η λίστα.

Οι χαρακτήρες σου είναι μάλλον γεωμετρικοί, αυστηροί, τις περισσότερες φορές δίνουν την εντύπωση ότι είναι μελαγχολικοί και λίγο υποτονικοί. Μίλησε μας για αυτούς! Υπάρχει μια διαφορετική ιστορία κάθε φορά που αφηγούνται; Η αυστηρότητα στη γεωμετρία προέρχεται από το αρχιτεκτονικό μου υπόβαθρο και την τάση μου να αναγάγω την ανατομία σε βασικές τυπολογίες. Η χρωματική που παλέτα είναι πιο γήινη, το graffiti είναι εξ’ ορισμού επιθετικό και προσπαθώ να μετριάσω τις εντάσεις και να μπω πιο ομαλά στον τοίχο. Πολλές φορές οι χαρακτήρες μου είναι υποτονικοί, εξουθενωμένοι από το σύγχρονο τρόπο ζωής και την υπερέκθεση σε πληροφορία. Υπάρχει μια χαρμολύπη, μια αθεράπευτη νοσταλγία με αναφορές στην περιπέτεια του να ζει κανείς μακριά από τον τόπο του. Περιέχουν βιωματικά στοιχεία, είναι εικονογραφήσεις ενός ημερολογίου που αφήνω στο δρόμο για να ανοίξω έναν διάλογο: Εγώ σήμερα έζησα και αισθάνθηκα αυτό, εσείς;

Ποσό εικονογραφεί ένας καλλιτέχνης τον εαυτό του ή καλύτερα τα ερεθίσματα από την καθημερινότητα του? Ίσως τελικά η τέχνη δεν είναι ένα προϊόν φαντασίας, κάτι που δεν υπήρξε ή δεν θα υπάρξει. Αντιθέτως, είναι ο πιο γνήσιος και ειλικρινής τρόπος για να περιγράψεις την πραγματικότητα γυμνή, ως έχει, μέσα από ένα υποκειμενικό πρίσμα. Η ίδια η καθημερινότητα, ο ίδιος μας ο εαυτός και οι άνθρωποι με τους οποίους συσχετιζόμαστε είναι η πιο αστείρευτη πηγή έμπνευσης.

Τα τελευταία χρόνια ζεις και εργάζεσαι στο εξωτερικό. Η τέχνη είναι η βασική σου εργασία; Αν όχι με τι ασχολείσαι και πόσο επηρεάζει η μια δουλειά την άλλη; Από το 2011 ζω και εργάζομαι στη Βιέννη ως αρχιτέκτονας. Οι μεταπτυχιακές σπουδές μου πάνω στον αστικό σχεδιασμό μού έδωσαν την ευκαιρία να βρεθώ σε avant-garde αρχιτεκτονικά γραφεία όπως οι CoopHimmelb(l)au, όπου μπόρεσα να παραμείνω δημιουργικός και να συμμετέχω σε κάτι που το πιστεύω. Η αρχιτεκτονική και το graffiti είναι για μένα συγκοινωνούντα δοχεία από τα οποία ανταλλάσσω γνώση σχετικά με το αστικό περιβάλλον και τον ίδιο το σχεδιασμό. Πολλά από τα projects μου διατηρούν μια δυναμική γεωμετρία που πηγάζει από την ντεκονστρουκτιβιστική γλώσσα του graffiti. Ωστόσο η αρχιτεκτονική είναι ένα αντικείμενο με σαφείς περιορισμούς και οι περιπτώσεις που υπάρχει ένας βαθμός ελευθερίας είναι ελάχιστες. Δεν έχω προσπαθήσει ποτέ να βιοποριστώ αποκλειστικά από την τέχνη, πρόσφατα μετακόμισα στο Βερολίνο για να βρω μια καλύτερη ισορροπία ανάμεσα στα δυο.

Αυστρία και Γερμανία μέχρι στιγμής, σωστά; Ποιες οι διάφορες με την ελληνική σκηνή αλλά και την αντιμετώπιση του κόσμου στα έργα που γίνονται στον δημόσιο χώρο; Υπάρχει μια διαφορετική ανεκτικότητα απέναντι στο graffiti στην Ελλάδα, όχι τόσο λόγω της εκτίμησης του κοινού για την τέχνη όσο της διαφορετικής ιεράρχησης των προβλημάτων της πόλης, υπό την έννοια ότι έχουμε πιο σοβαρά πράγματα να λύσουμε. Οι συνθήκες κάνουν το ελληνικό graffiti πιο πολιτικοποιημένο και συναισθηματικά φορτισμένο, προσφέρουν χώρο και δίνουν ερέθισμα σε έναν μεγάλο αριθμό καλλιτεχνών να δράσουν και η ποσότητα φέρνει σταδιακά και ποιότητα. Το Βερολίνο έχει κάποιες ομοιότητες ως προς αυτό το κομμάτι, αλλά έχει και τις υποδομές και την ιστορία να εξελίξει την βερολινέζική σκηνή σε διεθνές επίπεδο, μέσα από φορείς, galleries και events που εξοικειώνουν το -έτσι κι αλλιώς εκπαιδευμένο- κοινό ακόμα παραπάνω. Αντιθέτως η Βιέννη δεν είναι το αστικό τοπίο στο οποίο το graffiti θα ανθίσει, διοχετεύει την όποια δημιουργική ενέργεια στα Halls of Fame, συνεπώς δεν θα έλεγα ότι υπάρχει μια μαζική σκηνή που να ταράσσει τα νερά. Ωστόσο, είναι μια πόλη που εστιάζει στις πολιτιστικές δραστηριότητες και προσφέρει στο κοινό οργανωμένες τοιχογραφίες ολοένα και περισσότερο.

Αστικός τρόπος ζωής, πολύ γκρι, άγχος και γρήγοροι ρυθμοί. Απομόνωση αλλά και απομάκρυνση του ανθρώπου από την φύση. Η street art είναι ουσιαστική ανάγκη για μια πιο ευχάριστη καθημερινότητα; Ισχύει αυτό. Η ενασχόληση με τη street art είναι ευεργετική, μου δίνει τη δυνατότητα να επιστρέφω νοερά σε ωραίες αναμνήσεις, είναι ένα είδος ψυχανάλυσης και εξωτερίκευσης μεγάλου όγκου συναισθημάτων. Είναι σπουδαίος φορέας κοινωνικοποίησης και ο πιο ενδιαφέρον τρόπος να ανακαλύψεις και να συμμετέχεις στο αστικό τοπίο. Είναι διαφυγή, είναι μια ανιδιοτελής προσφορά στην πόλη και τους κατοίκους της με τους οποίους βρίσκεσαι σε διάλογο. 

Σε 10 χρόνια από τώρα; Να παραμείνω ανήσυχος και περίεργος να δω κι άλλα. Να ζω κοντά στη θάλασσα.

[heartslogos]

newfragile yellows [1099]

The locals call it a corpse tree.

When Ellana and Mahanon were younger this had made them awfully angry. And in their youth, before they learned better, this anger may have directed them to some actions that haven’t exactly engendered positive feelings from others their age. Their tempers have gotten better over time, and some of the bridges have been mended. But the fact that they are Lavellans and the fact that they defended the ancient tree on the hill so ardently remains.

The locals are not incorrect in their choise of name. The tree possesses a thick, pale girth. its bark looks almost petrified, and during fall and winter it strikes an uneerie image with its bare branches. But during spring and summer when its leaves are full and its crown blots out the sky, it is very beautiful. The tree’s gnarled roots spread and snake out over the hill.

The burial mound.

Ellana pours wine over the tree’s roots, taking note of the several burned down wax stumps molded to the tree that she’ll have to carefully cut and peel away to replace with new candles.

This tree has stood sentinel over the graves of Lavellans for centuries. Perhaps since the age of Arlathan. Perhaps when the gods themselves walked the earth.

Even when members of their clan travel far and wide, they do their damn best to return here and pass. And when they can’t they try and find a way to get at least part of their remains here.

Ellana sets down the empty wine jar to the side and sits on a relatively empty divot of land formed between roots and raised soil.

“I am here to seek guidance from those who came before me.” Ellana turns her face up towards the boughs of the tree. Leaves have begun to loosen and fall: brown and red and amber in all variations. She breathes in the cool autumn air and the heady, musk-like smell of damp soil, layers upon layers of wet and rotting leaves, and rain mixed together.

The locals call it a corpse tree because it looks like the skeletal figure of one, trying to snatch the sky. And for those who know of the open-secret of the burial mound under it, maybe it’s a little more accurate.

But for Ellana and the rest of her clan, this tree is the conduit to their history. Their medium. The vast collection of memory and experience and knowledge that generations have lived and died to preserve and grow.

So Ellana pours out libations for her ancestors. She tends the roots. She cleans the bark she can reach. And she asks as politely as one should from one family member to another — though distant in blood and time.

“I am going far away,” Ellana says. The Lavellans may have a sedentary life here because of the tree and the burial mound. But they are nomads at heart. Travelers. Adventurers. Explorers. “And Mahanon will not be with me. It will be my first time going far away for so long without him. But I think it will be worth it. The experience. This is something I want, but I am also afraid. How do I overcome this fear?”

The tree looms over her, ponderous and sublime.

Ellana listens to the faint whistle of wind through its branches, the rustle of the wind jostling loosened leaves as they gently fall. She listens to the sound of roots, slowly moving underneath her — deep, deep underneath her. She listens to the sound of bark twisting, bending.

Ellana’s eyes move from the crown to the trunk and her eyes take in the shape of eyes, mouths, noses, beginning to form.

The first one to speak has a male voice.

“I walked the land when your mother’s mother was still a babe on the hip of her yaya,” the face says. “I was the fourth of seven siblings. I had never known silence or solitude in my life before I left my mother’s hearth. I was afraid and mistrustful of others for a long time — fed on stories of human barbarism and dwarven tricks. And that did me much more harm than good. There is kindness in this world but you must first allow yourself the chance to find it. Be wary, daughter, but do not permit your fear to block your road.”

The next one to speak has a voice like a whistle, airy and faint. Ellana struggles to hear.

“When I was your age I was already with my fourth child. I had always wanted to travel and see the ocean. I wanted to listen to the waves that birthed Mythal and I wanted to see the storms upon which she danced. I wanted to see what it looked like where water met sky. But I had three whelps and a fourth on the way and was not fit for travel. By the time my children had grown enough that I could, they had children of their own that I helped tend. And then my husband fell ill and so I tended to that as well. There was no shortage of happiness to be found in my busy hearth. I do not regret it. But even as I died in the bed I had lived almost my entire life in, I still wondered about the sea. You are young. You do not yet have any responsibilities to hold you. Wander this earth. Drink in its joys. Devour its mysteries.”

The final voice to speak is very deep. Ellana wonders how old this elder was, how many other Lavellans they have woken from their eternal slumber to answer.

“You are a child of our blood and bone,” they say, “Go as far as you can, go to the moons and the sun and beyond. But you will always be a Lavellan. Do not fear being alone. We are as many as stars in the sky and fish in the sea. You carry us in you, as we carry you with us.”

And the tree speaks no more.

Ellana breathes, centering herself. She doesn’t know if she feels better or not.

But she does feel certain that she’s making a good choice for herself. If not the right one.

[webseoadd]

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