#so any words i get written are a huge accomplishment for me and i shall celebrate them ALL

[altruistic-meme]

WIP friday, i guess. let's go!!!

here have some food. i am truly trying my hand out at some heavy hurt/comfort. we shall see if i ever finish and publish it

[txemrn]

Faded

Book/Pairing: The Royal Romance; Leo x Madeleine

Warning: angst (some dark discussion that would give away the plot); smut 🍋 (awkward, NOT sexy); language

Word Count: 3008 (+/-)

Song Inspiration: Faded by Alan Walker ft. Iselin Solheim (lyrics quoted in the text)

A/N: This is a Royal Roulette, technically, but then again, RR was created specifically for Wacky Drabbles, and I just couldn't get the word count down! Oops! Anyway, this idea came to me when I heard this song, and this story needed to be told. Some of it is canon; some of it is creative canon; some of it, well, we'll call it creativity. lol Any and all of these ideas came from my head, but I acknowledge that others have probably written similar stories (purely coincidental).

Huge special thanks to some of my sweet writing friends: @ao719, @charlotteg234, and @kat-tia801. This took a group effort, and I love you ladies so very much for pre-reading and making this story better. And as always, these characters belong to our friends at Pixelberry!

***

He was a rushing wind; my billowing sails drift me into the unknown, but I don’t care. He’s an incinerating inferno: every tradition I was taught was set ablaze by his touch. My caged heart was unlocked by him; he set the monsters running wild inside of me. In my world of propriety and decorum, he taught me to live; more importantly, he dared me to love.

He broke free: from the customs, our culture, the captivity of our world. He broke free.

Without me. And the mess is all mine to clean up, left with only a picture of our passion--a photo of the love we once shared together. But even that is fading, and will be lost.

I’m alone with my thoughts this morning on my walk. The bite of salt in the coastal breeze tickles my nose, inviting my platinum strands into a carefree dance amongst the sunrise. Adjusting my oversized tortoise-shell sunglasses, my bare toes leave the comfort of the white sand beach only to discover the sting of the barnacle laden steps to the stone jetty. But, the shallow waters never met what I needed. My soul craves to commune with the waves from the deep.

I’m lost; there isn’t enough time in the world to think this through, and yet somehow a decision has to be made. God, where are you now? Was it all in my fantasy? Were you imaginary?

Many described our relationship as ‘destiny’--no, not exactly the romance you read about in foolish fairy tales or hear about in silly love songs. Our families ran in the same spheres of wealth and power. Politics. We are royalty. Since we were close in age, we would spend countless hours together throughout our childhood and teenage years. Being the oldest son to the king, he is--well, he was--the crowned prince of Cordonia; an agreement to our nuptials started well-before my formal training specifically for his social season.

But, something was different about Leo and me. We grew quite fond of each other, a friendship that developed into sharing secret kisses in darkened corners. Was this normal for friendships? Or did we have something deeper? Was this love?

As long as I can remember, I was taught my body was not my own; I was born with a greater purpose, and in that purpose, I would bring honor to my family and my name. I would earn my place in history: a woman who gave of herself everything she could for the sake of a country. Even love.

My reputation is to be held in the highest regard. My efforts in style and wardrobe would be subject to conversation and scrutiny. My eloquence and table etiquette could determine whether or not I’d be fit to be a queen. Every eye movement, every smile, every response could bring honor or dishonor to my family. No one cared about me as long as I presented a pristine package to court, a sacrificial lamb for king and country.

But, when the moment came for me to be chosen as his bride, I felt the swelling of joy inside my chest, bursting like strobes of light for everyone to witness. Suddenly the ideas of ‘the one’ and ‘happily ever after’ that I read about in the great classics teased my senses; I wanted to cry, to scream, to laugh. My body had a sudden thirst, a yearning for him that I didn’t understand.

In my innocence, this could only be one thing.

“Countess Madeleine,” he knowingly grins, “will you do me this honor?”

Swallowing thickly, her jade eyes flutter open at the sound of her name. In a handsomely fit tux, adorning his family colors in full regalia, her future husband, the future king of Cordonia, takes a knee to present the stunning canary solitaire. The dread melts away as the butterflies overcome her nerves.

Keeping with propriety, she nods her head while curtly dabbing away tears. But, something is distracting her: she is to be relishing in her accomplishment of winning the honor, for winning all of the glory, for winning the crown. She is to be the next queen of Cordonia.

But she is overwhelmed by all thoughts of him, her husband-to-be, the father to their future children. Suddenly the life she had been training for didn’t matter; she was betrothed and in love.

Smoothing out the tightness of my heathered linen pants, I take a moment to stare at my empty ring finger. I feel soreness from the collection of tears, but I refuse to allow anymore drop on his behalf. Today is hard enough.

I hug my body, remembering the warmth of his intimate touch. I had kept myself pure for him. Until that night.

Within an hour of making his intentions known to the court, Leo scurries away with his future bride, leaving only a trail of giggles and whispers along the way to his chambers.

Shrugging off his jacket, Leo presses her petite body against the locked door. His hand gently cradles her head, his thumb tracing the length of her jaw. His lips hungrily search hers, wolfishly devouring her mouth before she can react.

“Is this okay?” he whispers under his breath, his smoldering gaze entraps her innocent eyes. Breathlessly focused on his swelling lips, she nods her head dutifully.

He places his hands on her waist before sliding them intently back onto the curves of her ass, grabbing at her fullness under her whimper. A growl becomes his breathing, staring at his prey.

“Do you love me, my future queen?”

Love. Was that love?

The hypnotic rise and fall of the waves is starting to sour my stomach, but the ocean spray is so inviting and calming on my clammy skin. Finding a smooth stone, I seek refuge from the surge of the sea’s tantrum. Relaxing under the gentle rays of the morning sunshine, I close my eyes, only to see him.

He cheats her out of her next breath, his tongue overwhelming her mouth. His eager fingers find the zipper to her ballgown. He paws at her back, his fingers brushing against the secret skin of her body.

Her bra tosses to the wayside; admiring his new found treasure, Leo’s hands plunder her supple curves. His mouth plummets to her hardening nipples, his teeth teasing her nerves with fear. The sudden twinge of pleasure thrashes her head against the door.

“Shall I continue, beautiful?” he exhales, catching his breath; but, before an answer is uttered, he stumbles back into the temptation of her perfect body. His fingers tease across the waistband of her petal pink briefs; her eyes cinch closed, her mouth unable to hold back a moan.

“Someone is enjoying themselves,” he chuckles, standing to tower over her. He kisses her cheek, leaning his mouth close to her ear. “Is this what you want?” He tucks a strand behind her ear.

“Mhmm,” her lips curl slightly, leaning into his touch.

“Do you like what I am doing for you?”

“Yes,” she softly groans.

“Yeah?” He reaches into her panties, her knees buckling to the wandering of his fingers. “Mmmm,” he pulls his hand out, licking his fingertips, “that’s my good girl. You love my touch.” He stands back, shaking off her body. Locking his eyes with hers, he casually steps backwards until he reaches the bed. He slides off his belt, unfastening his slacks.

“Come here,” he motions for her to step closer. “Show me your love for me.”

Madeleine’s eyes focus on his growing girth, bulging from his unzipped pants; but, then her gaze darts around the room. Surely he knows that she isn’t well-versed in such endeavors.

“Maddie?” he combs his fingers through her blonde tresses. “I love you. You know that, right?”

She closes her eyes. The words send a jolt of happiness through her veins. She was experiencing love. She was prepared for everything else, but this?

"Then, let me show you,” he growls, pushing her back onto the bed. Hungrily ripping off her panties, he exposes her to his touch. Youthful and pure. "Are you ready?"

He spreads her legs apart, her thighs trembling. She grips the sheets with her tiny fists. Her doe-like eyes stare into his hunting blues as she feels him touch her again; but this time, it wasn't his fingers.

With an inexperienced push of his hips, red flashes before Madeleine's eyes as she squints her eyes in pain, hiding the gathering of tears. He thrusts again; her teeth gnash at the breaking of her body. Her head thrashes back and forth, groaning as she serves a penance under his rhythmic plunges into her warm, narrow core again and again. Harder and harder. Faster. Deeper.

Without warning, the beating of her body stops, leaving her stretched, completely filled with him. Moaning her name in the company of obscenities, his breathing becomes quick and shallow despite his efforts to slow down. Sweat gathers across his brow as he savors the delicate tightness of her depths. Stumbling into his ecstasy, he loses control, pouring himself into her. The sudden rush of fullness makes her whimper, the sting begins to dull as a smile crawls across her face. His lips meet her soft, glowing skin. Finally, it’s over.

That night: it was so long ago. But, I can still feel it; I can still feel him. The smell and taste of him lingers on my tongue. I miss him.

And with that, my breathing labors as I choke out a sob. I press the back of my hand to my lips as tears cloud my vision from the Mediterranean horizon. A sour pang creeps up my throat as I cradle my tender belly with my other hand. Clenching my eyes closed, I hope to hold back the downpour of tears from my soul. God, please not again.

Madeleine's head rests on Leo's shoulder, his strong arm securely around her exposed body. Her marigold diamond catches the pale moonlight perfectly, it's brilliance mesmerizing the bride-to-be as she subtly teeters her hand on his well-structured chest. He suddenly engulfs her hand with his. Turning towards him, her lips meet his perfectly like the final piece of the puzzle, locking seamlessly in place.

"Runaway with me, Madeleine."

The flecks of evergreen in her eyes sparkle with curiosity. "What--?"

"This life, Maddie," he gently rubs her back, "is this really the life that you want-- that you'd want for us?"

She sits up, taken aback from the peculiar question. "You mean the life we're living right now? Us? Being engaged?”

“Yes--I mean, no. I--” Leo stumbles over his words, dragging his hand across his face. “I love you, and I want to be with you--” he pushes a platinum strand behind her ear, “--but do you ever wonder what it’s like out there? Out in the real world? Away from all of this pressure? Away from all of these rules?”

“Away from the public eye? Living life--” she titters into a big smile, “--like everyday people?"

"Yes." He sighs, pressing her hand against his heart. "Before long, we will be in charge. In charge, Maddie. Of an entire country." There is a quake in his voice, a quiver that even makes her feel chilled. "I don’t think I’m cut out for this,” a breath hitches in his chest. “Will I even be a good king?"

“Of course," she whispers, offering a doting smile, “Of course, Leo," her voice becomes stronger, authoritative. “You can do this. You were made for this. And while, yes, you are the king, you’re not alone.” She laces her fingers with his. “You’ll always have me. You have my support--” she kisses the back of his hand, “and most of all, you have my love.” She leans down to kiss his hand again, but rather he captures her in his arm, bringing her to his lips, making her squeal.

“I love you, Madeleine.”

She moans into his pout as he kisses her once more. “I love you, too, Leo.”

The creaminess to his baritone voice dissipates from my memory, fading away much like our love. How could I have been so foolish? I gave him everything--I promised him everything. My life, my whole existence was for him, and I naively thought that love would somehow stitch us together, that somehow we would be the monarchs that did have it all. Wealth. Power. Love. A happily-ever-after that could join the rankings of the greatest love stories ever told.

But, it wasn't enough. I wasn't enough.

The sudden rapping on the door abruptly wakes Madeleine from a deep sleep. The sunlight pours mercilessly through the windows as she grabs the sheets to cover herself.

The door suddenly tramples open, Constantine bounding first into the room, followed by his head guard Bastien. “Where is he? Where’s Leo?” The king sneers as the blonde trips out of bed, reaching for clothing. “For God’s sakes, couldn’t you two show some fucking self-control?”

Madeleine cinches the high-thread-count sheet around her body, leaving her slender shoulders and décolleté exposed. As a blush crawls across her face, the question begins to haunt her: where is Leo? He wasn’t in bed this morning. In fact, his clothes are missing from their disheveled heap that was next to her discarded dress. His watch and cell phone were missing from the bedside table. But, otherwise everything seemed to be in place.

Madeleine rushes to the ensuite bathroom, hoping to find a logical clue to Leo’s whereabouts there.

"Call him. Now," the king growls at the anxious countess.

"He's not answering us, Countess Madeleine. We assume given your current relationship with his majesty--" Madeleine nods in understanding.

"I'm sorry, but the phone number you're trying to reach has been disconnected or is no longer in service."

Her eyebrows furrow as she ends the call. "I--I--I don't understand," she stammers, rubbing her forehead with her fingers. "His phone has been disconnected--"

"Fucking ungrateful--” growls Constantine, ripping the phone from Madeleine's tiny hand, “--selfish son of a bitch!" He throws the phone against the wall, shattering it into pieces. He gruffly turns towards his future daughter-in-law. “Are you certain you dialed the right number?" He spits. Madeleine braces herself against a wall, turning her face away from him. She carefully nods, refusing to make eye contact. “Unbelievable!” Constantine knocks over some antique silver candelabras before exiting the room, leaving Bastien behind.

“Sir?’ Madeleine quietly calls to the guard, drawing closer to him, ensuring her body is covered. “What is all the commotion about? Where is Leo?”

“Leo failed to report to his morning engagements about last night festivities. According to our cameras, he left this morning through the northwest gate in an unmarked black Sudan around o’four hundred hours.”

Madeleine cups her mouth as she stumbles to sit down on the bed. She nervously combs her fingers through her tangled tresses. “What does this mean?” She spouts nervously, her body shaking with tears gathering in her eyes.

“Please try not to worry, ma’am,” Bastien carefully places a comforting hand on her bare shoulder, quickly withdrawing it when their eyes awkwardly meet at the gesture. “Um--” he clears his throat, “--I don’t know what he’s doing, but we will find him.” He turns on his heel to leave Madeleine alone when suddenly a thought hits him. “By any chance, did he mention anything to you?”

‘Runaway with me, Madeleine.’ One simple request. He asked me to just simply follow him. I thought he was joking or simply making a hypothetical request due to his uneasy nerves; but, my love for him aside, this was my calling: to serve him. If I had chosen to honor him rather than challenge him… if I had chosen to remind him of responsibility and duty rather than trying to win him over with ludicrous ideas of love in marriage…

Leo abdicated the throne.

No one speaks about royalty relinquishing their responsibilities. We’re born into this; we were made to do this. We spend our entire lives preparing, being told that it is an honor to bear such greatness, it is an honor to host such power. No one speaks of the alternative. Truth be told: if we knew there was a way to escape, to renounce such a life as this, how many of us would take that chance?

It’s been seven weeks since that awful morning. Seven weeks of silence and darkness. Seven weeks of broken dreams and false hope. Seven weeks of only one absolution: Leo had found his freedom. He wasn't coming back.

I pull out the photograph of our love just one more time as the tears gather once more in my eyes. Leo’s last words to me were ‘I love you;’ but somehow as I trace my fingers amongst the black and white print, I have to say, ‘goodbye’ for both of us this morning.

“Ms. Amaranth?”

“Yes, ma’am?” Madeleine wakes from her daydream, her voice trembling. She chews incessantly on her nails as her crossed legs bounce nervously. The sterile white walls around her seem to be closing in around her; the air grows thick, stifling. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”

The dark brunette stands to come closer to the blonde. She straightens out her white coat while fixing an endearing smile on her face. She sits down next to Madeleine, taking her hand. “I asked if you are sure about this decision?”

If Madeleine had learned anything in the past two months, it's that she could only be sure about nothing. She stares at her bobbing toe, hypnotically entranced with the clicking of the clock in the exam room.

“There are other options," the doctor continues. "Adoption. Keeping the baby.”

I tear up the ultrasound picture in my hands, letting the wind chase it to the sea. The tattered pieces drift for a place to rest, sinking to the depths my soul will forever crave, a secret place far too precious for this world. For my world.

Goodbye, love.

***

Tag List (please please please let me know if you need to be added or removed!): @ao719 @bbrandy2002 @burnsoslow @charlotteg234 @chemist-ana @choiceskatie @dcbbw @forallthatitsworth @gkittylove99 @glaimtruelovealways @iaminlovewithtrr @jessiembruno @kat-tia801 @khoicesbyk @lovelyladyk88 @lucy-268 @mainstreetreader @neotericthemis @nestledonthaveone @phoenixrising308 @sfb123 @shannonwrote @shewillreadyou @taniasethi @texaskitten30 @thefrenchiemama @twinkleallnight @yourmajesty09

[michaelbogild]

Quotes by Eleanor Roosevelt

A mature person is one who does not think only in absolutes, who is able to be objective even when deeply stirred emotionally, who has learned that there is both good and bad in all people and in all things, and who walks humbly and deals charitably with the circumstances of life, knowing that in this world no one is all knowing and therefore all of us need both love and charity.

A stumbling block to the pessimist is a stepping-stone to the optimist.

A woman is like a tea bag; you never know how strong it is until it's in hot water.

As for accomplishments, I just did what I had to do as things came along.

Be confident, not certain

Do one thing every day that scares you.

Do the things that interest you and do them with all your heart. Don't be concerned about whether people are watching you or criticizing you. The chances are that they aren't paying any attention to you. It's your attention to yourself that is so stultifying. But you have to disregard yourself as completely as possible. If you fail the first time then you'll just have to try harder the second time. After all, there's no real reason why you should fail. Just stop thinking about yourself.

Do whatever comes your way to do as well as you can. Think as little as possible about yourself. Think as much as possible about other people. Dwell on things that are interesting. Since you get more joy out of giving joy to others, you should put a good deal of thought into the happiness that you are able to give.

Every time you meet a situation you think at the time it is an impossibility and you go through the tortures of the damned, once you have met it and lived through it, you find that forever after you are freer than you were before.

Freedom makes a huge requirement of every human being. With freedom comes responsibility. For the person who is unwilling to grow up, the person who does not want to carry his own weight, this is a frightening prospect.

Great minds talk about ideas; small minds talk about people

He who learns but does not think is lost. He who thinks but does not learn is in great danger.

I am convinced that every effort must be made in childhood to teach the young to use their own minds. For one thing is sure: If they don't make up their minds, someone will do it for them.

I could never be content to take my place by the fireside and simply look on. Life was meant to be lived, and curiosity must be kept alive. One must never, for whatever reason, turn his back on life.

I know that we will be the sufferers if we let great wrongs occur without exerting ourselves to correct them.

If anyone were to ask me what I want out of life I would say- the opportunity for doing something useful, for in no other way, I am convinced, can true happiness be attained.

If someone betrays you once, it’s their fault; if they betray you twice, it’s your fault.

If you lose friends you lose more, If you lose faith you lose all

If you lose money you lose much,

It isn't enough to talk about peace. One must believe in it. And it isn't enough to believe in it. One must work at it.

It takes courage to love, but pain through love is the purifying fire which those who love generously know. We all know people who are so much afraid of pain that they shut themselves up like clams in a shell and, giving out nothing, receive nothing and therefore shrink until life is a mere living death.

It's your life-but only if you make it so.

Justice cannot be for one side alone, but must be for both.

Learn from the mistakes of others. You can't live long enough to make them all yourself.

Life was meant to be lived, and curiosity must be kept alive. One must never, for whatever reason, turn his back on life.

Light a candle instead of cursing the darkness.

Love can often be misguided and do as much harm as good, but respect can do only good. It assumes that the other person's stature is as large as one's own, his rights as reasonable, his needs as important.

Mozart, who was buried in a pauper’s grave, was one of the greatest successes we know of, a man who in his early thirties had poured out his inexhaustible gift of music, leaving the world richer because he had passed that way. To leave the world richer—that is the ultimate success.

Never be bored, and you will never be boring.

Never mistake knowledge for wisdom. One helps you make a living; the other helps you make a life.

No man is defeated without until he has first been defeated within.

No matter how plain a woman may be, if truth and honesty are written across her face, she will be beautiful.

No one can make you feel inferior without your permission.

One thing life has taught me: if you are interested, you never have to look for new interests. They come to you. When you are genuinely interested in one thing, it will always lead to something else.

One's philosophy is not best expressed in words; it is expressed in the choices one makes. In the long run, we shape our lives, and we shape ourselves. The process never ends until we die. And the choices we make are ultimately our own responsibility

Pit race against race, religion against religion, prejudice against prejudice. Divide and conquer! We must not let that happen here.

Remember always that you not only have the right to be an individual you have an obligation to be one.

The future belongs to those who believe in the beauty of their dreams.

The giving of love is an education in itself.

The purpose of life is to live it, to taste experience to the utmost, to reach out eagerly and without fear for newer and richer experience.

The reason that fiction is more interesting than any other form of literature, to those who really like to study people, is that in fiction the author can really tell the truth without humiliating himself.

There is not human being from whom we cannot learn something if we are interested enough to dig deep.

There is nothing to fear except fear it's self.

To handle yourself, use your head; to handle others, use your heart.

To me who dreamed so much as a child, who made a dreamworld in which I was the heroine of an unending story, the lives of people around me continued to have a certain storybook quality. I learned something which has stood me in good stead many times — The most important thing in any relationship is not what you get but what you give.

Today is the oldest you've ever been, and the youngest you'll ever be again.

Understanding is a two-way street.

We do not have to become heroes overnight. Just a step at a time, meeting each thing that comes up, seeing it as not as dreadful as it appears, discovering that we have the strength to stare it down.

We have to face the fact that either all of us are going to die together or we are going to learn to live together, and if we are to live together we have to talk.

What counts, in the long run, is not what you read; it is what you sift through your own mind; it is the ideas and impressions that are aroused in you by your reading. It is the ideas stirred in your own mind, the ideas which are a reflection of your own thinking, which make you an interesting person

What you don't do can be a destructive force.

When will our consciences grow so tender that we will act to prevent human misery rather than avenge it?

When you adopt the standards and the values of someone else … you surrender your own integrity. You become, to the extent of your surrender, less of a human being.

Where, after all, do universal human rights begin? In small places, close to home - so close and so small that they cannot be seen on any maps of the world. Yet they are the world of the individual person; the neighborhood he lives in; the school or college he attends; the factory, farm, or office where he works. Such are the places where every man, woman, and child seeks equal justice, equal opportunity, equal dignity without discrimination. Unless these rights have meaning there, they have little meaning anywhere. Without concerted citizen action to uphold them close to home, we shall look in vain for progress in the larger world.

Work is always an antidote to depression.

You always admire what you really don't understand.

You can never really live anyone else's life, not even your child's. The influence you exert is through your own life, and what you've become yourself.

You gain strength, courage and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face. You are able to say to yourself, 'I have lived through this horror. I can take the next thing that comes along.' You must do the thing you think you cannot do.

Your life is your own. You mold it. You make it.

[hanaasbananas]

Fanfic Year in Review 2020

thanks for the tag @2manyfandoms2count! This took me a while to get to but here we are!

Ok I feel like this is just gonna end up being a post where I just gush about Phantoms in the Dark but like...c'mon

This is gonna get long so i've put it under the cut:

1) List of fics completed this year in the order they were finished:

Most of my stories are one shots of varying lengths, but I did actually finish quite a few so we have:

A Chance Encounter and So it Goes- both zenmaster fics for That 70s Show

Touch the Rain: I honestly forget I wrote this last year, it feels like I wrote it years ago but it's just a standard identity reveal in the heat of an argument type thing.

Ladybug Luck? What's That? The fic that really started my spiral into writing for the ML fandom, and the birth of the Bollywood Playlist series.

Post reveal, where they didn't know each other irl, Marinette sees Adrien at a Gabriel party, realises who he is, and does some property damage in the process.

our eyes speak (but on our lips is silence) At a wedding where Adrien is best man and Marinette is a guest they immediately recognise the other as their partner. Pure fluff and giddiness ensue

The Seduction of Marinette Dupain-Cheng Post reveal-Chat bets Ladybug that he can woo her as a civilian, employing good old fashioned tactics like flowers and poetry

Pink Snapshots of an Adrinette relationship. I just wanted to see if I could write an entire fic with no dialogue whatsoever, and this one got a huge surge in popularity recently so...guess I can!

Exposed Another fic where they don't know each other as civilians. When their identities are revealed in the worst possible way, Ladybug and Chat Noir hide out in a hotel room as they try to process the situation.

This Red Love My first enemies au! In which Adrien joins Hawkmoth from the beginning, but still goes to school and ends up dating Marinette. When he realises who she is, he has to re-examine everything he thought he ever wanted.

i have found someone (like a nomad finds a home) In the last one, Adrien willingly sided with Gabriel, but in this one, he is forced to after Stoneheart. Years later, he meets Marinette, who makes him feel like he isn't a monster.

Memory Chat Blanc in the aftermath when there is nothing left.

Phantoms in the Dark My biggest accomplishment last year! And the longest story I've ever written at 30k words. A historical marichat story based off my favourite poem The Highwayman by Alfred Noyes. I'm currently working on the sequel.

I only bow down to worship (but I come to a stop when I see you) In which Adrien knows Marinette is Ladybug, and she knows he knows. However, he hasn't told her he's Chat Noir. This is just cute relationship stuff in the same vein as Pink

Collect your Courage, Loyalty, I'll never be the thief (to bring in hot scattered hell) Thought I'd branch out to other fandoms and landed on ATLA. This is a series (eventual zutara) where Zuko realises almost immediately post banishment that he can't follow in his father's footsteps and rebels.

Dancing Lessons Chat Noir and Ladybug decided to reveal their identities at age 20, and now Chat has chosen the venue as well. The only problem is he needs to teach Ladybug how to dance first.

Wish Ok I hurt a lot of people with this one but it's one where in the final fight, Adrien is mortally wounded and Marinette uses the miraculous to save his life, forfeiting her life in the process.Flashes back and forth between her death and how Adrien is coping in the aftermath.

2) Number of words written: 79663. I actually wanted to hit 100k by the end of the year but as those in the guild know, I spent most of December doing kitchen renovations and being pissed about my lack of free time lmao

3) Your most popular fic: Phantoms in the Dark. it has yet to surpass my all time most popular fic it's all a game of chance (they say in wonderland), but it's catching up

4) Your personal fav: Dancing Lessons I wrote this way back in July last year but only posted it in December and I just, it's so sweet I really like it with the flirty banter and just the two of them being SO CUTE

5) Your fav scene: The scene at the end of ch6 of Phantoms where Marinette and Chat talk after their kiss and realise they both are very much into each other.

6) A fic or scene that challenged you:

I am really bad at action sequences, and even though in Phantoms Adrien was out fighting people on the regular, I just sort of...glossed over them. Except for in chapter 8, where I wrote a proper duel between Chat and someone he was robbing.

What I struggled with was describing the movements, not wanting to make it too complicated whilst not having it be 'he feinted and stabbed' or something really simplistic. There was a lot of pen acting involved, but I think the end result is quite good, if I do say so myself.

7) A line of writing you’re proud of: From Phantoms (of course)

In every lifetime, in every land, we shall find each other.

8) A comment that touched you:

I love every single comment that I get, but someone left this on my musketeers fic Going Through the Motions (posted as a series on ao3 to motivate me to finish the fic but when it was done I compiled all the parts and posted it on ffnet as a oneshot lol and one of my absolute fave fics I've written-no surprise that it's historical 😅) on ffnet, which was a HUGE compliment:

"I like the way you wove dialogue from the series with your fiction. Your story gives us a more complete picture of Bonacieux and explains why Constance rejected D'Artagnan, which we did not get from the series. Your version is better. Well done!"

9) Something that inspired your writing:

I mean...I have an entire series on ao3 that is just fics inspired by bollywood songs/scenes-and those were my main inspiration for so many things. (I actually realised the other day that a scene from the movie Kalank is what inspired me to write Wonderland lmao)

10) Your proudest accomplishment (that one scene; finally finishing that one fic; posting your first fic; etc):

Honestly, just writing consistently! I graduated in 2019 and in the past, I've started and abandoned so many projects and ideas, and even the first fic I posted on ao3-it took me a year to get the second chapter up and then I only finished it because I wanted to post other stuff but didn't feel like I could until I finished that one lol.

So yeah, that, and of course, actually writing and finishing Phantoms instead of abandoning it like so many of my other ambitious projects. I'm really proud of the 30k I wrote for that story because it's the most I've ever written for a single thing

11) Do you have any writing goals for the next year?

I want to finish Forgotten Promises, and the third story in the series. I have the vague plot for that one, and know what's going in the epilogue to end the series but I just need to get there.

Oh! and see 100 ways to say I love you to the end.

This was fun! I tag @theanxiouscupcake @an-elysian-tree @quarantined-fics and anyone else who wants to have a go!

[raz-b-rose]

Hey so,, the Bible states that Eating burgers is a sin Women speaking in church is a sin Wearing blended fabric is a sin Eating SHRIMP is talked about more in the Bible as a sin than homisexuality is Women wearing pants is a sin Writing in your Bible or defacing it in any way is a sin Do some research on your own religion if you're going to preach it

Thank you for asking, I love this opportunity to help bring understanding to commands such as these. Thank you for your patience, lets get to it. 

I can understand the overwhelming presence that is Gods word. Its a big book full of a lot of things that take a lot of cross referencing on occasion. After all, it is just one continuous story of God who was and is and always will be. 

Warning, there's a lot.

Anyway there is a simple answer to all of those and it starts all the way back at Abraham. Some quick condensed history. God chose Abraham to establish the Hebrew/Jewish people. He faithfully followed Gods commands, and Isaac was born from his faithfulness and for Gods promise. A promise that Abraham’s offspring would cover the earth. 

Isaac then had Esau and Jacob. Jacob then had 12 sons, Joseph the youngest was used to bring the Israelite people to Egypt. Where the Egyptians turned them into slaves. 

Now enter Moses. God used this man to bring them out of Egypt and towards the promise land. This is where God starts to establish what would set his chosen people apart from the rest of the world. The old laws were there for their faithful obedience and for outsiders to know “thats an Israelite”. 

The entirety of the OT speaks of Gods character, plans for salvation, and absolute authority. The laws are a reflection of that as well. 

so now we have the group of laws God had Moses establish.

Now Jesus fulfilled the OT law. 

Matthew 5:17-20 (Jesus speaking)

17 “Do not think that I have come to abolish the Law or the Prophets; I have not come to abolish them but to fulfill them. 18 For truly, I say to you, until heaven and earth pass away, not an iota, not a dot, will pass from the Law until all is accomplished. 19 Therefore whoever relaxes one of the least of these commandments and teaches others to do the same will be called least vin the kingdom of heaven, but whoever does them and teaches them will be called great vin the kingdom of heaven. 20 For I tell you, unless your righteousness exceeds that of the scribes and Pharisees, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.

Part of that fulfillment was the laws on food. Food was used to represent Holiness/ cleanliness. Everything about them had to be clean (their bodies, their homes, their sacrifices, etc.) Blemish free. 

The Pharisees had twisted the laws to become legalistic and strict. An example would be here

Mark 7:14-23 (Jesus speaking)

14 And he called the people to him again and said to them, “Hear me, all of you, and understand: 15 There is nothing outside a person that by going into him can defile him, but the things that come out of a person are what defile him.”[e]17 And when he had entered the house and left the people, his disciples asked him about the parable. 18 And he said to them, “Then are you also without understanding? Do you not see that whatever goes into a person from outside cannot defile him, 19 since it enters not his heart but his stomach, and is expelled?”[f] (Thus he declared all foods clean.) 20 And he said, “What comes out of a person is what defiles him. 21 For from within, out of the heart of man, come evil thoughts, sexual immorality, theft, murder, adultery, 22 coveting, wickedness, deceit, sensuality, envy, slander, pride, foolishness. 23 All these evil things come from within, and they defile a person.”

Food isn't what makes us unclean anymore, but rather the condition of our heart. 

There is also a lot of debate over Acts 10:9-16

But I believe this passage has a double meaning. God is reminding Peter that he does not need to be legalistic to be “clean” anymore. Therefore the laws for food were fulfilled. This is reflected in his interpretation of the vision in verses 27-29. 

Remember there was clean food and unclean food. Same for people. You weren't to associate with “unclean people”. Jesus fulfilled this law by opening the path to God to everyone, not just Jews. God gave the great commission to go out into all the world to everyone to preach the good news. This meant that anyone now had direct access to God, and the Jews no longer had to go through the extra steps to seek forgiveness. Salvation is within everyone's grasp, no matter what. 

The command for blended fabric fits with these as well. 

Deuteronomy 22:9-11

“You shall not sow your vine yard with two kinds of seed, lest the whole yield be forfeited, the crop that you have sown and the yield of the vineyard. You shall not plow with an ox and a donkey together. You shall not wear cloth of wool and linen mixed together. 

By reading this we see the pattern that God is commanding that things that are different should be kept separate. Again we need context of the time. 

Pagans in the area believed that by mixing things together they would achieve “magical” results. So God made this law to set them apart from them. He reaffirms this command, even going as far as to say not to let cattle bread with different cattle, in Leviticus 19:19. 

In todays context, what sets us apart from others is our internal change that is projected outward. We become lights for God, and show Him through our change. Of course none of us are perfect, and if we aren't careful it can quickly become fake and legalistic. 

We can wear blended fabric because Jesus fulfilled this law. 

Next keeping with our fabric theme, clothing. This verse comes from Deuteronomy as well, so I will just put the link for both here. 

Deuteronomy 22:5

 “A woman shall not wear a man’s clothing, nor shall a man put on a woman’s clothing; for whoever does these things is utterly repulsive to the Lord your God.”

Some pretty strong language right there, but it's important to acknowledge why. We are sinners. God set very clear laws on what was and wasn't allowed. Remember that was to set His people apart, and to test their faithfulness. 

Historically at the time men and women dressed very similarly. There were cultural ways used to discern between genders and that is what this verse is talking about here. Men did not wear pants when this law was written (at least not by the Jewish people) so why would it be a sin for women to wear pants today? It simply isn't. (Just because human men decided to use the bible to push their weird sexist agenda via mistranslation, does not mean this is what this verse intended.)

To apply it to a modern setting, it would be “why are you wearing what you are? How do you want people to perceive you? What is your heart behind wearing these clothes?”

So really this is another verse directly tied to transgendered identity sin, again a pagan tradition at the time. 

ALL SIN is repulsive to the Lord. (The Hebrew word used in this verse is found all throughout the OT, with various uses.) Yes God established the laws, but He also established the sacrificial system for His people as well. He loved them, loved us, and gave them a way to atone for their sins and find forgiveness from God. 

But the sacrifice of animals could only go so far. That is why Jesus came to be the final sacrifice. The Lamb of Salvation for us. He willingly gave His life for us, just as we can willingly continue to sin against Him, or willingly give our lives to Him. 

Jesus fulfilled the laws and abolished the need for the sacrificial system.  

OK this one has no verse in the bible that God commands us to not write in our bibles. None. Unless I’m just having trouble finding it, it's not a thing. 

The sin is changing the words, as some translations do so you have to be very careful about which ones you use. 

I got a book from the library years ago that was like a devotional for teen girls. In the book it had a verse from Psalms that sounded weird to me and when I compared the translation to my ESV, it had removed the part about God's faithfulness and love. Took it right out. That is a huge problem! 

I know that translating the Hebrew and Greek to English is very difficult, especially given how the Greek had multiple words for love alone, and many other words. However, the languages are not so vastly different that you make changes like that without a prideful agenda. Good translations that I use, ESV, NASB, AMP for study purposes. As well as NKJV if you like a classic. I’m constantly comparing translations, and looking at original texts to get a feeling for what words were used. 

I encourage you to note your bible. Mark what speaks to you, the blessings, the commands, the warnings. Every time God, Jesus, and the Holy Spirit are mentioned, where verses intersect. Note everything. 

For some of our brothers and sisters around the world they may only have a few pages to pass between each other, or are able to have His full word and treasure God's words dearly and keep everything they can close. They want to remember it all, and remember what they learn. And God wants that for us. 

No writing in your bible is not a sin. Changing the words or removing them is a sin. 

Ok now onto your “woman can’t speak in church” debate. 1 Corinthians 14. But because of everything I’m about to get into, this answer will be longer than the others. Feel free to stop here and come back. I know I’ve already written a lot.  

First we need to look at the history of the city of Corinth, as when Paul wrote his letters, each one was tailored to the church in question and addressed their strengths and weaknesses. 

The city of Corinth was a trade city set in a key location for sailors from all over the world. Its citizens were from all over the world, though mostly Roman, Greek, Jewish, and even a considerable amount of Italians. Because there was such a mix of cultures, there were a mix of religions. 

The largest of these being the worship of the false goddess aphrodite. Sexual actions were common with her “temple” and prostitution was a rampant issue with the city. We have two sins of sexual nature and idol worship already. Within the church itself there were reports of incest, infighting, and drunkenness during services being reported as well.

Acts 10:1-23 is Paul's first visit to Corinth where he helped found the church. A family close to Paul and in the Corinthian church wrote to Paul with their concerns for how the church was conducting themselves. The 1 Corinthians letter (book) was written in response. 

The church was a blend of Jews and Gentiles. So practices such as the aforementioned were common practice within the city and the Gentiles were at a loss for how to conduct themselves because these things were common during the worship of false gods. 

Becoming Christ-like is a beautifully long process. It's not over night, no matter how much we wish it was. These people were still human and loved Christ but still knew very little about Him, and God the Father. (even some of the Jews had a lot of misconceptions they had to change) 

So at the very beginning of his letter, Paul reminds them of their new identity. (1:1-9) and reaffirms their forgiveness through Gods grace and faithfulness to our salvation. Nothing we do after we accept His gift can revoke it. It is ours for all time for one time. 

Woman and men were traditionally seated separately in synagogues so it makes sense that practice was still used in some new churches, such as that of the Corinthians, as they did have Jewish members. 

He is calling out woman for calling to their husbands during sermons and being disruptive. Paul is asking that they save their question for after. He is also teaching woman new to these practices, gentiles, how to be respectfully in the church. 

Paul encouraged woman to pray and praise in the church, chapter 11. So it would be contradictory for Paul to then turn around and say “woman can’t speak in church” in chapter 14. 

To answer, yes woman can speak in church, but not teach to a body of men. Women can teach women, but women can’t teach men. God established a order of command. 

God

Jesus

Men

Woman

Children

Following this upward, everyone is under authority of the role’s above them. That is how God designed the family unit, and in turn the church. The church is the body of Christ, and each of us have a purpose within his body for it function. Woman have a time and place to teach, and lead, but not to men. 

I am only addressing the command pertaining to women at this time. I would love to do an in-depth look at all of 1 Corinthians, there is so much to it. Really, thank you for the opportunity to study these passages deeper, and teach them to you. I hope I did, I hope these make sense now. 

I do need to add. When comparing these commands to the command of homosexuality, its important to remember the context. Homosexuality is a sin because it goes against Gods very direct design for mankind, how the family unit functions in direct relation to the church. These other ones however were established for a period of time to set the people apart from outsiders, and do not go against His intended purpose for creation. That is a very big difference.

Feel free to ask anything else, I loved doing this. I will try to get something for all of 1 Corinthians out, but I have a full life at the moment, so it will probably take awhile.

Praying and God bless 

[prettylittledi]

Higher vibe

There are things we do just for fun, because they make us feel good and so we prompt ourselves to do them and we seek to make them a constant in our lives. Sometimes however it’s not as easy and it’s important to know that we can summon those feelings by recalling the moments when we felt that much good and get back on our feet or simply turning back to those things and doing them all over. 

Having tried to record a video this morning and failed to accomplish it in th manners that I had idealized I decided to turn to my blog. This video was supposed to cover the things I do on a regular basis to keep my vibration high and feel mostly good throughout the day even in the face of disturbing challenges.

It’s all a matter of mindset, and it was this very premisse that compelled me to write this blog today. When I realized the videos I had just tried to record I thought almost instantaneously less than good feeling thoughts. And then intermediately afterwards I talked myself out of it and thought instead: “Okay, Di, what was it that you learnt from this? How can you benefit from this experience?” And it got me thinking, it really did.

Yesterday night when I was thinking about recording this video I thought I would first and foremost write about the subject of how I keep my vibration frequency high. And how funny is that, how ironical and instructing it feels to discover my patterns that make me feel less than positive about myself when going around this subject! 

So now I am going to write on this blog the very things that make me feel good on a regular basis.

The first thing that crosses my mind when I think of this is listening to audio-books. The first one I ever purchased was Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone about a year ago, before the first quarantine. Everyday, several times throughout the day I would put my hear-speakers on and listen to this fabulous story. Not before long I had the entire saga and was craving for more audio-books. So far I total a number of 22 purchases.  

So I guess it’s safe to say that Harry Potter is one of the things that makes me feel good. In fact it’s sort of an obsession, I don’t think life had much sense to me before J. K. Rolling came along into my life many years ago. Ahahahaha!

Daydreaming is another things that helps me feeling lighter and getting some relief sometimes. Lately I had been daydreaming about my moving to the States and I relish thinking that it might happen sooner than I expect. Listening to the History of United States on Audible - yes, another audio-book - is also another way to keep me lifted up and motivated. In fact it’s even deeper than that. I think I do it because it feels so good to get to know this culture. I remember when I was a little and I have written here on this blog about it, when my father and I would watch American movies together, Saturday-family movies that would make my heart swell and my soul dance. 

That’s how I feel when I think of moving and living in the United States. A whole new world in front to me to experiment. Completely different people with a completely different culture, many sets of cultures and a huge range of opportunities to learn from them.

Spending time in nature and meditating are two major things which I simply must do. In fact I mustn’t really, I just find myself doing it because it’s so intrinsic in me. Like breathing, Sometimes it just takes me lying down on the grass and watch the clouds passing by and I envision them as my thoughts, things that happened and I want to let go of and there and then I find relief. 

The one thing I really love and tend to procrastinate with is doing the manifesting exercises offered by Esther and Abraham Hicks. A while ago, when I was working at a supermarket - when the second quarantine was announced in Portugal - I decided to listen to her audio-book version of “Ask and You Shall Receive”. It was incredible! I haven’t yet finished it but I can promise you that it is an amazing read. One of the my “ahah” moments for me was when Esther offers the idea that our happiness is independent of any condition. In other words we must feel good for the sake of feeling good and not just so we can achieve a certain goal - which is a belief held by many people around these days. We don’t have to have things or people in our lives to be happy. I know this now because for far too long I had this crazy Idea that I would only be truly happy when I was living in London. And because I was so attached to my moving there I would feel horrible. And then I finally moved to London and even though It was amazing in many ways, it proved a different kind of experience. Completely different to what I had imagined. Or grown attached to think what London would be like.

As an actor I tend to turn to all things creative and so everyday I find myself dancing, singing and writing, sometimes even during work. I simply can’t help myself.

[illegiblewords]

5 Questions for Writers!

               5 Questions for Writers                                                        

I got tagged by @kunstpause, it looked like fun so figured I’d go for it! THANKS TO KUNST!

Tagging @wouldyouliketoseemymask, @nilim, @azwoodbomb, @peregrineroad, @frostmantle, @autumnslance, @strangefellows, @redbud-tree, @nozomikei​, and @rivenroad​. No obligation to anyone but full permission to steal granted to anyone else who might like to. I’ll literally be delighted if you pick this up spontaneously and blame me as an excuse lmao.

1. Do you have a favorite character to write? Who and why?

2. Do you have a favorite trope to write? Or one you want to write?

3. Share your favorite description you’ve written?

4. Share your favorite dialogue you’ve written?

5. Scene you haven’t written, but want to?

I made long answers so have a cut!

1. Do you have a favorite character to write? Who and why?

It depends heavily on what fandom and where I am mentally, but I’ve figured out I tend to love writing angsty lameass dudes with blonde hair who are prone to doing really silly things despite taking themselves entirely too seriously. Honestly, I have a pretty huge track record at this point. Harvey Dent, Vexen, Dmitri, Lahabrea, probably more besides. Every one of them fits the right balance of lameass to angst. I like seeing them grow and find fulfillment as people and they are very very cute while still having an edge of badassery and cleverness. Also they’re funny.

Lahabrea is my favorite at the moment, and him reaching that position is an accomplishment considering how stiff the competition is in FFXIV. Loser tricked his way to the top while I was busy laughing at him.

2. Do you have a favorite trope to write? Or one you want to write?

I really, really, really love redemption arcs and people recovering from fucked up experiences. Latter case especially I love seeing characters in those situations successfully connect to the people and world around them, especially if they get to grow together with a partner. I also LOVE “hero saves the villain and villain takes it to heart”.

(You may be sensing a theme here haha.)

There are a few reason these concepts resonate with me, the first being I think they’re really hopeful, inspiring, and something I always wanted to see growing up but rarely did.

People fuck up in life. People get hurt in horrible ways that bring out the worst in them. Sometimes when that happens they dig themselves deeper and deeper into ugliness. The more a person’s bad side comes out, the more hopeless it can feel. And for mental illness especially I’ve found this can be a major issue.

Everyone makes mistakes and everyone has flaws, but I think there’s something really significant in seeing someone who has hit rock bottom, who can no longer imagine a way out, get offered a hand for support and take it. While recovery and redemption (not synonymous of course) ultimately need to be carried by the individual struggling, I really can’t understate how important it is to know in those situations that you’re not alone and someone believes in you.

I think a big part of why this theme is important to me is because mental illness, both genetic and due to trauma, is something unbelievably difficult and painful not only for the sufferer but those around them. The most mentally ill characters in fiction tend to be villains, and are disproportionately more likely to be suffering severe trauma. It frustrated me since I was pretty young to see over and over again cases where a mess could have been avoided if there was any support system in place.

Seeing compassion and connection given that kind of power means a lot to me, as does recognizing that villains are people before they are villains. It’s also very reassuring in the sense of “If this person fucked up that badly but still tried to better themself, I can too. And odds are I’m also worthy of love and compassion, even when my issues make things harder for others. I just have to keep working to improve.”

3. Share your favorite description you’ve written?

Eff.

Straight up I think I’ve written too much to have just one favorite description. It’s been a lot of years and I have hundreds of fics and I’m lame. So I’m going to put a few of my favs.

Anytime there’s a gap in block quotes it’s a different section within the same fic.

22 - A Batman Fanfic

He trembles beneath the weight of their expectations but his smile never fades flashes before cameras microphones under his nose crowds screaming questions bleeding together he answers like clockwork the District Attorney who must bring justice to us all paying tribute to false idols with golden hair and silver tongues we the people bow down in worship to this guardian of the law with words and deeds I believe in Harvey Dent so he swears in hallowed halls to bring prosperity to smite the wicked to damn the criminal with authority invested in him by Gotham’s dutiful children and himself.

***

On the precipice of victory we stand united our voice raised like a torch like a spear like a golden arrow against the beast of Lerna we are gods and monsters we are so much more than good and evil we are order in the court cauterizing corruption our head held high and mighty manifest in Harvey of the doubletalk Harvey who writes himself into the fabric of Gotham’s history Harvey who will not bend before the Roman we command you the unworthy we condemn you the unrighteous we will not be merciful and you will fall before our eyes.

***

I am Dionysus divided at the altar of Tyche O Fortuna O Fortuna give me guidance in the light of the moon you dance sacred silver dollar I see and obey the wax and wane your whim Wheel of Fortune the card I am dealt your servant your slave venerated puppet of flesh blessed is your wisdom bestowed upon I am your disciple wine-mad twisted chanting your word becomes law holy splendor against gavels desecrating your name defiant in denial extend your will through me and we shall strike the innocent enlighten the ignorant or spare them all for now.

Doppelganger - A Spider-Man Fanfic

She asks him to tell the story of himself, and like Scheherazade he begins anew each day.

As with many other things, this comparison is imperfect. The Ravencroft Institute is hardly a palace and neither of them could pass for royalty. She sits in a chair across from him over a carpet the color of sawdust. Her walls are lined with insects pinned on display. Not many butterflies, quite a few beetles. On a bookshelf Dmitri sees The Metamorphosis nestled between non-fiction texts more relevant to her profession. He thinks maybe it's an inside joke she has with herself, but doesn't say so.

He's received an invitation to call her Ashley instead of Dr. Kafka and doesn't know whether to accept. It might be to make him more comfortable. It might be something else. In her late fifties Kafka is built from delicate features, and he suspects the lines around her eyes mean they crinkle when she smiles. Short black hair, beige suit, only jewelry a pair of diamond stud earrings. Dmitri thinks she looks like a mother, but not his.

Her weight sinks into leather, darker than the floor. The couch he rests on matches. He finds himself leaning forward with one elbow propped on his thigh, the other locked in a cast suspended by his neck. There is something reassuringly empty in the gray fabric of his uniform, cheap and utilitarian and harmless. Dmitri’s wrists are thin, but then he's lost a lot of weight recently. He probably wouldn't be able to run as fast as he used to, but then circumstances would be the same anywhere he went so that really doesn't matter. His espionage days are over. His free arm is shedding in flakes but at least his skin is dry. Clean.

Dmitri no longer looks like anyone, unrecognizable to himself. A face without much in the way of edges, short nose. Weak chin. Mismatched eyes that shift between green and blue and brown and every other natural hue as moments pass into minutes pass into hours. Dark blotches interrupt his forehead and chin. They will peel in new patterns across a span of days. For the most part though, he is pale enough to trace veins where his body seems on the brink of spilling out.

It's been a while since he shaved his head and the hair that grows back is almost foreign. An unruly mess of black, blond, brunet, and red—strands as unlike in texture as anything else. The mask that made him Chameleon was white plastic embedded with hardware. Left deformed after trying to resemble others in flesh too many times, it allowed him to duplicate any face, any body he could remember. More than holograms, the most complete sensory illusions technology could perform.

Without it, Dmitri feels stripped.

When Kafka looks at him she’s receiving constant signals and missing none of them. The moments he needs to turn away, flat monosyllabic turns of phrase he chooses or resorts to or blankly accepts as his own. It doesn’t have to be this way. It isn’t comfortable and he doesn’t even trust it’s not calculated. But she’s going to notice no matter what he does at this point, and lying about it doesn’t do anyone much good. They both know why he’s here.

***

“We were poor. We worked hard to keep ourselves fed and clothed and less than an embarrassment. I probably could have worked harder. Mother,” he begins before stumbling over himself.

The story he’s telling isn’t hers. Whatever else she was, Sonya Smerdyakov wasn’t Mrs. Bates. He remembers her voice as the beginning of an echo, forever following someone else’s lead.

And so he followed her.

She was bright like a light going out. She was gentle without being kind. Her fingers were short and delicate and she touched him as little as possible. He found her attention in the way she avoided his name.

***

In the privacy of his room, Dmitri began talking to himself.

Celebrities. Teachers. Children. The flat, steady rhythm of his father’s voice. The words and intonations favored by mother. Sergei’s laugh. He lost himself in a fantasy of conversations, strode through space to mimic confidence he didn’t feel, flashed teeth in front of his mirror like other people.

Once, Dmitri raised his voice. And when his older brother came, eyebrows knitting in confusion, he found himself full of stammered explanations, hands fumbling at his elbows, stumbling over his tongue to make sense of it.

Just making stories for himself. A game with no ending. That was all.

***

He would have died in that town under the eyes of speechless parents. Dmitri remembers the confusion that took his peers when he found a job for people who spoke for themselves. They thought he might be growing up.

He could lie. And when he began he understood it would always be a game with no ending.

Dmitri lost himself in a fantasy of conversations with real people and a voice that didn’t belong to him.

They asked a stranger to sign their yearbooks without even realizing it.

And then he was eighteen, and he left to continue elsewhere.

He didn’t announce his departure.

From Umbra - A Final Fantasy XIV Fanfic

It was probably a dream.

Lukewarm water crept down his throat, nearly making him choke. A skin pressed to his lips, insistent. He coughed, and for the first time there was moisture enough for resistance.

The face that obscured his vision was shrouded in white cloth. Cenric found he couldn’t focus on it. Mismatched eyes, one light and the other dark. Impossible to say if blindness caused the inconsistency.

A string of shells dangled from the figure’s neck, rattling gently. The skin pulled back for a moment. Careful. Patient.

It returned only once he'd grown quiet. Cenric drank for as long as he could. Impossibly, a great deal remained by the time he relinquished his hold.

There wasn't enough of him present to say thank you. Cenric barely registered being dragged, being carried onto a cart. Awareness was altogether gone by the time they started to move.

***

…to the blessed traders who enrich our lives we’re bound to pay with our lives in turn aether born fire-walker your will sees us to rest we entrust ourselves to your sight forged of oschon for peace and prosperity and an ending you do not weep for father azeyma lives in the earth with you her fan brings no breeze the air is hot and thick and breathless your domain a silent place that does not stir have you forgotten the sound of your own voice have you known what it is to live and fail have you been alone do you know what it is to die how can a god pass judgment without being judged nald’thal lord of departures of flame and sand whose coin purse overflows who knows not what it means to starve what it means to spoil the legacy of one who loved you nald’thal who holds shells and souls and precious stones as if their worth were equal nald’thal who cannot know mercy without knowing pain who are you to weigh mortal affairs?

***

In darkness he unwinds the black bandana, steps first from his slops and then his kurta. Yuyudana has provided robes, which rest neatly on a small rock nearby. It crosses Cenric’s mind that the bones of his knees, his hips, his wrists, even his face have all started to protrude strangely. He looks less hyuran than before, maybe less than he ever has. Closer to something priests would exorcise than anyone deserving aid.

He wonders if this idea has occurred to them.

The water, when he advances, is cold. Goosebumps raise across his skin as slowly, gingerly, he wades in to his waist.

Cenric ducks under.

His hair is a long and tangled wreck. Being wet only disguises this slightly. It drifts past his neck, comes to float near the surface. Cenric holds himself in silence, eyes open, watching the silver scatter of light over stones and plants and fish. He remains for as long as he can bear.

His vision stings afterward. Gasping, he can’t tell if the cause is exposure or something else. For a time he simply waits, breathing hard through his nose, hunched so that his lips are partially submerged.

He thinks of nothing, pretends that this time instead of no future he has no past.

Only one moon remains. Maybe the sky aches for losing Dalamud, but better that than the blow which scarred Eorzea.

Stalemate - A Final Fantasy XIV Fanfic

He is presented with impressions of a horse, gaunt and fetid and decayed. Spreading ruin wheresoever it goes. Occasionally it sloughs off portions of its own flesh, which collect flies and blacken any land that surrounds. On its back rests a world, and alongside it does the herd struggle under their own burdens. But even beasts of such endurance have limits. Theirs are reached. When the rotten steed lags, its companions cannot afford to falter. Cannot turn. Without its ability to bear loads, this aberration has no place. Falling is inevitable.

Yet a heart still beats and lungs yet swell.

The Ascian shivers in his grasp, but does not attempt escape.

Here, something festers. Something bleeds. An old wound exacerbated over time.

Fevered, coated in a film of self-disgust, the core of Lahabrea convulses.

 Don’t…

 Don’t leave me like this…

***

Teeth and tongue. Lingering, wet, disembodied. Another finds his hip. Another his thigh, slipping beneath what clothes remain.

And another.

And another.

Warm, human, seeking. The Warrior tightens his hold, uses the moan crawling from his own chest as incentive. Barred by naught but fabric, driving close as he can manage. Lahabrea makes a strangled sound, his gasp crushed empty. A new mouth finds the dark knight’s ear in response.

These are parts of him no one dares touch, no one dares acknowledge. Slick now, attended with something like reverence. Supplication.

He resolves to fuck the Ascian senseless for this, presses his intent deep into Lahabrea’s aether. He is going to steal all his fancy words away. Make him squirm.

“I… I…” Tight, airless, like a plucked string. The Warrior feels Lahabrea’s voice reverberate against the roof of his mouth.

The feeling is difficult to describe. Cracked ice. A fraying rope. Such is Lahabrea's response, fumbling and disoriented as it is.

The Warrior lets go.

4. Share your favorite dialogue you’ve written?

Just imagine me weeping over here lmao. Same deal as before, I’VE DONE TOO MUCH SHIT.

Spare Change - A Batman Fanfic

"Stop," he gasps, "I wouldn’t—"

"You would Harvey. You did. It’s what makes you such a damn good instrument. You had to test yourself, prove that you’re not a real person.” He can feel fingers grinding against bone. His knees bend. Harvey kneels, shuddering, gazing up into the destruction of his own visage. Two-Face meets his eyes, blue on blue. “People are weak. People are ruled by what they want and don’t want. You’re capable of anything if the wind blows just right. You can’t even stop yourself.”

"I wouldn’t," he repeats, numbly.

"Did you," demands Two-Face, forcing him down further, "or did you not flip for their lives, Harvey Dent?"

"We…We aren’t the same people anymore."

"Of COURSE we’re the same people!" Another shove and he’s on the ground, Two-Face sitting on his chest, teeth bared, coin clenched tight between them. "Do you really think you can close your eyes and pretend you aren’t capable of these things? They’re alive," and there is something hideous in his expression, something certain, "because they were lucky. No other reason.”

"The coin is gone! Even if I wanted to listen to it—I can’t!”

"If you’re so sure," says Two-Face, "then how about you improvise?”

And with one motion the silver dollar is under his tongue, forced back so hard he feels himself gag and begin to choke before his eyes open.

The Inquisitor’s Letters - A Dragon Age: Inquisition Fanfic

To His Worship Inquisitor Mahanon Lavellan of Skyhold, My name is Isell from Amaranthine and I’m seven. My mum is helping but says I can send you all by myself. Thank you for fixing the hole in the sky and also the one by the dead man’s house. There were demons but they’re mostly gone now and people are going outside now. Da says Amaranthine has been through too much and can survive anything and he says you’re an elf like us and the Hero of Ferelden was an elf too. He says people used to think elves can’t be heroes but now they don’t. Have you met the Hero of Ferelden? Also I heard that even though you’re Dalish Andraste helped you in the Fade and that humans let you be in the Chantry because anyone Andraste likes must be a really good person. What’s Andraste like? The Chant says a lot but it’s different meeting someone I think. Also I think I saw you a little before but Mum wasn’t sure because you had a helmet on and we were far away and there were a lot of people but I bet it was you. Da wasn’t sure I should write because he says the Dalish don’t like city elves like we are but I think you must be nice and Mum agrees with me. I’ve been playing demon hunters with my brother Arrion (he’s just five still) and Da said templars are who fights demons usually and elves can’t be templars. People thought elves couldn’t be heroes and inquisitors though and we are so I bet I could too. Is it hard fighting demons? Da says they’re real scary but I’m not scared. Thank you for helping us and everyone and I hope you kill lots of demons. Sincerely, Isell U’venlan

From Umbra - A Final Fantasy XIV Fanfic

Cenric sits on the floor, draped in a white cotton tunic. It might have been snug on a Roegadyn but anyone else would find ample room. Behind him, Memesu stands on a cot holding shears. Gold earrings dangle on either side of her face.

“I fought at Carteneau, you know,” she mentions casually. There is a soft hsssssshhhh. Click.

Hair hits the floor. Coils.

He starts to shake his head, aborts the gesture partway through. Stills. “…you saw Bahamut?”

Memesu snorts. “I’m sure everyone this side of Hydaelyn saw Bahamut.” Click.

“That’s probably true,” he concedes. The dragon is what everyone knows, everyone remembers. He can't imagine the proximity. “What about the Warriors of Light?”

“Pff.” Gentle tugging at his scalp. Cenric does not open his eyes but leans into the motion. “I wasn’t of rank to see their like. Not that I’d remember. Stop moving.” Click.

Cenric hesitates.

“What do you remember, then?”

For a time, the only sound comes from blades and a thousand strands cut short. This lasts for several minutes. Cenric resigns himself to secrets.

Then, “I used to think I was special too. As a twin. My sister was Memeni. We studied together.”

 Was.

The exhale hits him slowly, quietly.

“She died?”

He can feel the shrug in her hip against his shoulder.

“It was Carteneau,” says Memesu. “Of course she died.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Why?” Click. “It had nothing too do with you. If you keep trying to claim responsibility for every misfortune you find, you’re going to get self-important.”

Cenric only grunts, quiet and non-committal.

 Click.

 Click.

 Click.

“Carteneu was so much worse than people remember. Only four years later and already we hurry to dispose of details.” There is a hard undercurrent to Memesu’s voice, but what contact she makes remains light. Careful. “I remember the arcanist from Limsa who didn’t dodge a magitek canon in time. Miqo’te. Spells come faster in that discipline, so there’s less stress on distance than thaumaturgy. Girl got careless.” Click. “The mess smelled like rotten eggs and charcoal. Her face was… melted.” Click. “I try not to look in those situations. They only make casting harder. But she was so close.”

Cenric doesn’t move. Doesn’t say a word.

Memesu continues. “One of our own gladiators, an Ala Mhigan, took to mutilating any pureblooded Garleans he could catch. The man had a string of eyes hanging around his neck. I’m pretty sure one enemy officer wet himself before he started to beg. Not that it particularly mattered.”

 Click.

“Memeni… didn’t anticipate what she was getting herself into. She saw magic as a way of being useful to craftsmen. My focus has always been theoretical. Right side.” Startled, Cenric lets her guide his jaw to get a better view of his profile. Click. Click. “Meni used to think I was a priss. She preferred to develop magitek kettles alongside alchemists. See if she could find a way to capture light like the Mhachi did. She still enjoyed fishing when she could, even though it smelled awful. Never outgrew the braids she wore growing up. ” Memesu sighs. “…just understand she died afraid, in pain, and with things left undone. My sister didn’t even resemble herself at the end.”

Cenric is very still. Thinks carefully.

“…I wish it could have gone differently,” he says at last.

Memesu’s mouth slides up in a small, crooked smile. She tousles the neat, ear-length hair before her. “So do I.”

Eclipse - A Final Fantasy XIV Fanfic

It ends at Elidibus’ untimely arrival.

“Lord Zodiark,” he says, so smoothly that were he not searching for it that the anger would be undetectable, “appreciates your attentions.”  His gaze does not waver from Lahabrea as he speaks. “But there is work to be done and I’m afraid there are words I would have with your Speaker.”

They disperse.

Nabriales, careful and curious, folds himself out of sight beyond the chamber then makes his way back to its edge.

Lahabrea, farthest from the exit, attempts to steal some small dignity. Turns to face Elidibus.

The Emissary makes him wait. Expressionless red masks matched by those who wear them.

Then, with more speed and force than typical for his demeanor, the Emissary closes distance to trap his colleague against the wall.

“It was my error,” hisses Elidibus, leaning in, “to have stayed silent upon rescuing you. A mistake I will remedy now, so we can be on no uncertain terms.”

Lahabrea lowers his eyes. Nabriales notes that despite the dread they all share of such reprimands, the man does not brace.

“You know as well as I that these words offer less succor to our Lord than action,” continues Elidibus, his fury quiet and no less sharp for that, “just as we both know your thoughtless action is the cause of repeated missteps these past centuries. Make no mistake—for all the strides you’ve made, your fixation and your impatience have cost the rest of us considerable time.”

Silence.

“Do you truly think this is your best service to Him?” asks Elidibus. “To us? Compromising your ability to fill the hours? Even Emet-Selch agrees these displays are disgraceful. You have ever borne them poorly, but being a 'paragon among paragons' naturally you continue ignoring your own better judgment with ours to continue this exercise in futility. Idiot.”

A twitch of the head. Almost a flinch.

It is one of few moments Nabriales has seen the Emissary express his anger so openly. Even after the Thirteenth fell to Igeyorhm’s error, Elidibus allowed the Angel of Truth to lead and voiced his own reproach with a more typical icy demeanor. Scathing though it was.

“I can be of use,” says Lahabrea softly. “Only three of us remain, and I—“

“You,” Elidibus snaps, “cannot follow the most simple instructions for the good of us all. Not for Him, not for Amaurot, not even for yourself. Your pride has made you not simply an embarrassment but a liability.”

Neither man speaks for several moments after that.

And then, at length, Elidibus exhales.

Says the Speaker’s name.

Receives his attention.

“What would you have me do?” the Emissary asks. His tone now is almost weary. “Clearly it would be unreasonable to trust you’d simply listen. Must I mind you like a child?” This is what breaks Lahabrea’s composure.

Knowing the man’s temper, Nabriales had expected him to lash out. Even on the back foot their orator is perfectly capable of defending himself from insults.

Instead, he embraces Elidibus fiercely—face just within the bounds of his pauldrons. Jaw locked shut firmly enough to hurt. Expression downcast.

Elidibus remains perfectly still at first. In the absence of conversation it is possible to hear the rush of Lahabrea’s breathing. Only through the nose, withheld briefly between each inhale as if that offers some means to steady himself.

As if that would make it better.

Tentatively, Elidibus holds him back. Lahabrea's fingers contract, and though he remains upright when his knees begin to give it is the Emissary who helps him kneel.

“Easy,” he murmurs, and Lahabrea removes one hand to run it reflexively over his face—coming against the mask.

Nabriales finds himself staring, searching. A puzzle with missing pieces whose image he may yet divine

“It was not,” says Lahabrea roughly, “my intention to…”

Elidibus reaches beneath the other man’s cowl, finds the hair and skin beneath. Draws him in once more.

Naught that would be shared with or among the Sundered. Nothing so personal as that.

Nabriales has worn his own share of flesh. Bedded lovers, adopted companions and families of vessels to fulfill a purpose. Passable enough, perhaps, but never for him. Not in truth.

It’s as if he looks upon two strangers.

Parched - A Final Fantasy XIV Fanfic

The door closes behind them. Lahabrea, projecting his preferred likeness over the host, waits on a couch within.

It’s admittedly a surreal sight. Ishgardian finery with its gilded edges, its elaborate wallpapers and marble floors. A collection of creams and blues and greens, fine furniture with velvet seat cushions. All ostentatious in the extreme… and then Lahabrea. Masked and cowled. Pouring three glasses of La Noscean arrack.

Elidibus freezes, and though none of them can see his eyes the confusion is clear enough.

“What is this?”

“Your turn,” says Emet-Selch, lightly but less flippant than he might have been.

Lahabrea proffers a cup from where he sits.

Elidibus neither moves nor speaks.

Emet-Selch approaches. Takes the drink. Presses it carefully into the other man’s hand.

“Don’t think,” he says smoothly,” that I won’t let you drop it.”

Mercifully, Elidibus has a good grip.

“Sit,” says Lahabrea, gesturing with his own glass to the sofa across from him.

Elidibus sits.

Emet-Selch sits.

Takes his own glass, perhaps a bit pointedly.

Elidibus’ mouth is pressed tight. It opens briefly, as if to speak. Shuts again.

“Explain,” the Emissary manages eventually.

Lahabrea meets his co-conspirator’s eye. Downs his arrack in a single attempt.

It is a long attempt.

It lasts several moments.

The other Ascians watch.

“Elidibus,” says Emet-Selch as Lahabrea endeavors to catch his breath in the aftermath, “Lahabrea and I are concerned that you may be experiencing some difficulties in recent years.”

“I’m fine,” replies Elidibus coldly. Holding his drink. “Why did you think this necessary?”

“Because—“ wheezes Lahabrea.

“Because you’re practically a mammet,” says Emet-Selch, picking up Lahabrea’s glass. Moving it just out of reach. “Truly. It’s been what, two hundred years? Three? Neither of us can remember the last time you so much as spoke of matters unrelated to the Rejoining.”

Lahabrea reaches. Elidibus pours his arrack into the other man’s glass before nudging it back toward him.

Elidibus makes eye contact with Emet-Selch.

“I remain focused,” he says evenly. “Nothing more.”

Emet-Selch gestures to the bottle.

Elidibus sighs.

Refills his own glass.

“There are matters I must attend myself. As is the case with each of you.”

“Undoubtedly,” replies Lahabrea more evenly. “But with few exceptions, you haven’t done so.”

A hard stare from behind the mask.

“What would you have me do? I can’t very well take time off.”

Emet-Selch sips.

“A negligible amount of time,” he says, “taken sparingly, may be forgivable.”

5. Scene you haven’t written, but want to?

Lmao see this is a plus side/minus side deal. Minus side, it’s being asked just before I embark on a MASSIVE ASS FANFIC. And I basically am excited for all of it. Plus side, there are things I refuse to spoil.

So... putting it vaguely, in no particular order:

- Lahabrea and Hydaelyn meet a second time after Praetorium.

- Moonfire Faire

- Thancred

- Conversations over mulled wine

- Silvertear Lake

Some of these are sex scenes. Most aren’t. But I am very hyped.

[ineffably-good]

I Will Follow You Into The Dark (10/10) (GO Fics)

Go read the whole thing on AO3

Summary: In which Crowley and Aziraphale throw an awesome party, a few members of Hell's secretarial pool make an appearance, and gifts are given.

Spring turned into summer, and although Aziraphale continued to research and plot, manipulate energies and dig through arcane sources, they made no real progress in restoring Crowley’s lost powers. Crowley, for the most part, handled it well – he occasionally found himself instinctively snapping in response to an immediate problem before remembering that he no longer could, but one look at Aziraphale would remind him what he had done it for and why.

The whiled the summer away traveling a little, spending long weeks out of town with Frederick (who’s house arrest was apparently over) in tow, and enjoying as many long, leisurely dinners and late morning brunches as they could.

Crowley slowly came to the full awareness that he now had a husband. Despite being the one to initiate the almost shotgun-style wedding, it took a while to settle in that the angel – the same angel who curled up next to him to read all night every night, who kept trying to sneak small tartan accents into his wardrobe and claiming complete innocence when called upon it, who kept showering him in almost more love, warmth, and affection than he could handle (almost) – was now bonded to him for life.

He liked to say the word, to himself, roll it around on his tongue. Husband, he’d whisper. Husband, husband, husband. He found he loved the sound of it. He took to calling to make reservations for them at dinner (now that he could no longer miracle the best table) and asking for a table for “my husband and I.” He occasionally interrupted a store clerk who wasn’t being attentive enough to point out that “my husband needs assistance.” He definitely took to stepping between Aziraphale and any young lovestruck fool who was eyeing him and finding a way to throw the word “husband” into the next sentence that came out of his mouth.

Aziraphale, for his part, continued to watch and worry over Crowley during the transition from powers to no powers. He could tell sometimes that Crowley missed them, and he suspected this would become a larger issue in the winter when he couldn’t conserve body warmth by relegating himself to snake form, but he had to admit that for the most part, Crowley seemed to be doing than he had expected with the change. He slowly found himself relaxing, fraction by fraction, as he realized that the demon was not going to change his mind about the bargain he’d made.

“I forgot to tell you something, angel,” Crowley said one morning. “I can’t believe I forgot this, it was really important!”

Aziraphale frowned and put down his coffee cup. “What? What happened?”

“Nothing happened,” Crowley said. “It’s just something from the conversation with God.” 

“Oh?” Aziraphale said.

“She said something about you,” Crowley said, “when I said you were the best thing she’d ever created. I can’t believe I never told you this!”

Aziraphale dimpled up ridiculously and blushed a bright pink. “Oh, my dear,” he murmured. “You said that to her about me?”

Crowley grinned. “Don’t give yourself the vapors, angel,” he said, “and anyways, it’s the truth. But my POINT is, what she said next. I asked if I could tell you because I knew you would want to hear it.”

Aziraphale found he was holding his breath.

“She said that you had never disappointed her,” Crowley said. “Not once. Never.”

He watched as the angel took that in, first frowning a little as he considered it, then his face cleared as Crowley watched the most phenomenal look of peace pass over him. He raised his chin and squared his shoulders, giving Crowley a pleased smile.

“Well then,” he said. “That’s just lovely to hear.” He thought for a minute. “I don’t suppose she provided it in written form so we could send a copy to that bastard Gabriel, did she?”

Crowley laughed.

 ++

Soon it was August, and the date of their wedding reception rolled around. It was a perfect night for it; the champagne sparkled, the appetizers were scrumptious, and their friends gathered to share in their happiness. It appeared to be a wonderful success.

“Dudes!” came a familiar voice, as Crowley and Aziraphale were considering where and how to begin cutting the massive, four layered chocolate cake. They turned and found Rat, who had dressed up for the occasion in a slightly less dingy-looking suit and had clearly combed his ear-like points of hair until they were smooth and shiny. “Thank you so much for the invitation,” he said. “That was really decent of you.”

Aziraphale smiled. “Well, we are very grateful to you for the help,” he said. “Seemed like the least we could do was invite you to the party.”

Crowley nodded agreeably. “We are,” he said. “Enjoy yourself!”

“I brought a couple of my friends from the secretarial pool,” Rat said, pointing off to the side behind him. “Don’t worry,” he hurried to assure them as he saw Crowley’s eyebrows go up. “They won’t do anything to cause any problems. They’re HUGE fans of the yours, man.”

Crowley and Aziraphale followed his pointing arm to a cluster of three small, intimidated looking demons who were clustered around a single white plate and nervously poking at various appetizers as if they might be alive. When they saw Crowley looking at them, they each raised a hand and waved shyly, with smiles ranging from starstruck to terrified.

Crowley groaned and waved back, trying to ignore the way Aziraphale was grinning at him. He bid goodbye to Rat with a pat on the arm and literally pulled the angel away from the secretarial demons’ line of sight.

“I don’t want to hear a single word about that,” he warned him. “I mean it.”

Aziraphale giggled – he actually giggled, the bastard – but he made a locking gesture over his lips and tucked the imaginary key in his pocket. He knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that the existence of Crowley’s fan club was something he was going to get mileage out of for years to come. He could wait.

Crowley, knowing exactly what his spouse was thinking, pulled him out onto the dance floor to distract him. He pulled the angel close and laid a hand on the small of his back. Distraction accomplished, he thought, as the angel became soft and cuddly as they shared a couple of dances to the slower pieces that were being played.

Soon enough Anathema came up to cut in, dancing with each of them in turn, as did other guests, and after a while Crowley found he had lost sight of the angel all together. He scanned the crowd for him and was surprised to see a very familiar shock of blond hair jumping up and down to the beat of what Aziraphale would refer to as “bebop”, near the front of the dance floor. He grinned and made his way over to wrap an arm around the angel’s waist and kiss him from behind.

“Having fun, love?” he asked.

“Oh yes,” Aziraphale said, leaning up to plant a kiss on his cheek. “It’s almost as much fun as the gavotte!” He had ditched his suit coat somewhere, rolled up his sleeves, and loosened his bow tie. He was glowing with happiness and exertion and it was all Crowley could do not to eat him like a snack.

Second best, he decided, was to get his angel another glass of champagne. Which he did. Hydration was important, after all.  

Then Crowley found himself pulled back into the fray by Adam and his friends, and he lost sight of him again.  

 ++

Crowley found him a little bit later.

“Come with me,” he said, extending his hand. “It’s time.”

Aziraphale tossed back the rest of the champagne he was holding and allowed himself to be pulled out the side door and across the lawn. They moved away from the buildings and their light, and Aziraphale hand-waved a small miracle to dampen the light pollution from both the city and the full moon, so they could more easily see the sky.

Crowley had previous laid out a large, light blanket over the soft grass, and he plopped down on it and reclined onto his elbows, patting the space between his legs. “Come here, you,” he said. Aziraphale smiled and settled in, leaning back with his head resting against Crowley’s chest. They both looked up at the sky – and waited.

It wasn’t long before they saw the first one.

“Oooooh!” Aziraphale exclaimed, pointing as the first meteor appeared. “Did you see it? It was right there.”

It was the last day of the peak of the Perseid meteor shower.

“Oh, they’re always so lovely,” Aziraphale said fondly.

“I made them, you know,” Crowley said, quietly. “Well, I made the comet they came from.”

“You did?” Aziraphale said. “I don’t think I knew that.”

“One of my first creations, before the fall,” he said. “It was just for practice, making a comet. Baby steps. But I always loved it the most, because it was my first.”

“And every August, its trail of debris delights the humans,” Aziraphale said with a fond smile.

“Or frightens them,” Crowley said. “But most of us know meteors are good luck, not bad. It seemed like a good omen for starting a new phase of our lives.”

They sat silently for another twenty minutes, heartbeat to heartbeat, just watching each glimmering spark streak across the sky and feeling ineffably connected.

 ++

“Shall we go back to our guests?” Aziraphale asked eventually.

“If we must,” Crowley said, standing up and helping Aziraphale rise. Aziraphale gave him that soft, contented smile that he loved so much, and then they turned to cross the open field back toward the lights and music.

They’d only gone a few steps when a buzzing beam of light appeared behind them, infinitely bright.

They spun around, and Aziraphale instinctively stepped in front of Crowley in a defensive stance. Crowley might be the creator of the two, but he was the former soldier, and he knew better to let his powerless husband get in harm’s way.

To his shock and dismay, Aziraphale was met with the large, disembodied head of the Metatron.

"Greetings, Principality Aziraphale and Demon Crowley," he said, his voice pleasant but clinical.  "I bring you tidings from the Almighty on this the celebration of your nuptials."

Aziraphale and Crowley exchanged a shocked look.

“May – may we speak with her?” Aziraphale asked.

"To speak with me is to speak with the Almighty," he replied, unflappable in his composure and certitude.

I bet this asshole just LOVES Gabriel, Crowley thought as he stepped forward to stand directly beside Aziraphale, shoulder to shoulder. He reached out and grabbed the angel’s hand. “What’s the message?” he asked.

"The Almighty wishes you to know that she bids you joy in your union,” the Metatron said. “Furthermore, she wishes you to know that she is moved by the selflessness with which you’ve both cared for each other in the light of the Demon Crowley’s altered circumstances. Your sacrifices and sincere, unselfish love have not gone unnoticed.”

Aziraphale cleared his throat. “Uh… thank you?” he said.

 "Finally, in honor of your wedding, she wishes to offer you a nuptial gift."

The Metatron gestured vaguely with his eyes, leading them both to look up at a small, golden object that drifted slowly down from a point unseen. It appeared to be a box, Crowley thought, as it came to rest on the grass at their feet.

Crowley looked back at the Metatron. “What is it?” he asked suspiciously.

“It is a gift for you both from the Almighty,” the Metatron restated. “Do not dawdle in opening it, children. That is all.”

He faded away from sight.

 ++

They stood, staring wide-eyed at each other, then down at the golden box below them. Aziraphale, the first to recover his wits, bent down and picked it up, holding it away from his body as if he feared it might bite him.

“Should we go open it inside?” Crowley said.

“No,” Aziraphale said, shaking his head. “I think we should do this alone.” He pulled Crowley back to the blanket and they sat down, side-by-side, staring at the box still held in Aziraphale’s hands.

With unspoken agreement, they both reached for the lid and pulled it open.

A soft, golden glow filled the air, and a delicious aroma of roses became apparent. It took a moment to make out the contents against the glow, but soon Aziraphale lifted out a piece of parchment and a pair of small, golden cupcakes.

“Cupcakes??” Aziraphale said, puzzled.

“Cupcakes are for children!” Crowley said. “Didn’t we specifically say no cupcakes?”

“I believe we did,” Aziraphale hummed, unrolling the parchment. “’To a long and magical marriage’, it says.”

“A what?” Crowley said distractedly, still annoyed by the cupcakes. God and her ineffable sense of humor was getting on his last nerve.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said, grabbing him by the forearm with urgency. “It says to a long and magical marriage.”

Crowley blinked. “You don’t think…”

“I do.”

“No.”

“What else could it possibly mean?”

“Knowing the almighty,” Crowley muttered, trying to beat down a surge of something like hope and hating himself for feeling it, “nearly anything.”

“I think,” Aziraphale said quietly, “that we had better eat them.”

Crowley’s heart began to bound. “Should we, though?” he asked, peevishly. “I mean, should we really? Isn’t this just a bit too Alice in Wonderland for you? We’re going to take a bite and find ourselves too big for the Earth or too small to exist or fall down some kind of interdimensional rabbit hole and then —”

Aziraphale took Crowley’s face in his hands. “My dear,” he said softly, stilling him with his most loving look, “trust me. I have a feeling about this.”

Aziraphale had a feeling. Oh joy.

Crowley looked into Aziraphale’s eyes, his favorite sight in all the world, and noted the intensity of his trusting gaze. Every detail of the scene seemed to ingrain itself into his senses – the blue-black night sky still streaked by the quick milky spill of comets, the branches of the oak behind them susurrating in the warm breeze, the scent of crushed, warm grass beneath them, the gentle spill of music and laughter from the party on the other side of the field. The moment seemed to stretch and bend around them, infinitely, like they were poised together over a great chasm, deciding whether to fall.

Crowley shrugged, unable to resist both his love and whatever the hell this was, and picked up one of the confections. He crossed the fingers of his other hand.

“Ready, then?” he asked as Aziraphale did the same.

“Ready.”

And without further delay, they each took a bite.

Nothing happened for a moment, then Crowley felt a warmth bloom in his chest and spread through him. He felt its golden tendrils wrap around his physical being, then extend to his ethereal one. It should have burned, he thought, but instead it just felt like the most delightful touch of sunshine. It swirled through all of him and then it drifted away.

He opened his eyes to find Aziraphale watching him, an unreadable expression on his face. He almost looked, he thought, like he was praying.

“Did you feel that too?” Crowley asked.

“I did,” Aziraphale said, “but I think it was stronger for you.”

“Should I –” Crowley swallowed, unable to complete the thought.

“Try it,” Aziraphale said gently. “Try a miracle. The worst outcome is nothing’s changed, and we’ve already gotten used to that.”    

Crowley stood and raised the hand furthest away from Aziraphale to snapping position and pulled up from the ground in his usual fashion. Something did happen, but his hand emitted only a small spark rather than the flare of fire he’d been trying to raise.

“Wait,” he said. “That doesn’t feel quite right. I’m doing something wrong.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said carefully. “I think you need to try the other direction.”

Crowley froze. “I’m a demon,” he said. “I don’t pull my powers from Above.”

Aziraphale reached over and pulled Crowley’s now-clenched hand to his lips. “What if,” he said, “you’re something all together new?”

He placed Crowley’s hand in ready position at shoulder height and stepped back.

Crowley took a deep breath, snapped down, and then tossed a small, sparkling firework up into the sky over them. It broke into a golden chrysanthemum shape, and tiny gold petals drifted slowly to the ground around them.

Aziraphale gasped.

“I’m a DEMON,” Crowley repeated, desperately, feeling afraid and a little overwhelmed. “She didn’t just unfall me, did she? Because I don’t WANT that.”

Aziraphale frowned and scanned him with his more hidden senses. “I don’t think so,” he said. “You still smell like a demon. Pull out your wings.”

Crowley yanked his wings into their plane and Aziraphale caught his breath. They were still black and glossy, but sprinkled throughout them were tips of dove gray, just here and there, giving him a subtle, speckled appearance.

“What is it?” Crowley asked, craning his neck. “Oh, please tell me I’m not about to start really enjoying the Sound of Music for the love of –”

He caught sight of his wings and fell silent.

“Still a demon,” Aziraphale said, “or mostly so.”

“A demon who draws his powers from Heaven?” Crowley asked. “Who’s ever heard of such a thing?”

“You’re the very first,” Aziraphale said, beaming at him.

“What about you?” Crowley said. “What did you get?”

Aziraphale’s chin quivered with happiness. “I got you, fully restored, my love – what more could I possibly want?”

Crowley rolled his eyes, but gently. “Wings, angel,” he said. “Let me see ‘em.”

Aziraphale obediently pulled out his wings and Crowley circled him, observing. “Yours have changed too,” he said. “There’s some dove gray here and there that wasn’t there before.”

The angel looked thoughtful. “I wonder what it all means.”

Crowley took a deep breath and wrapped his arms around his husband. “We have, by my count, approximately forever to figure it all out, love.”

“As long as we figure it out together,” Aziraphale said. “Always.”

“Damn straight,” Crowley replied.

 ++

“I think it’s time to go bid our guests good night,” Aziraphale said. “You can miracle them up an endless supply of alcohol and we shall let the youngsters keep the party going until dawn. We’ve already paid for the cleaning crew in the morning.”

Crowley smiled. “And what will we do?”

He could hear Aziraphale’s answering smile even in the dark. “I would like to go home,” he said decisively, “and lie under the skylight in the bedroom with you and watch the rest of the meteors go by.”

“Home,” Crowley said, his heart as full as he had ever known it. “Home it is, then.”

[witchqueenofthemoon]

BODY AND SOUL Part 34 EPILOGUE (Duncan Shepherd/Mackenzie Stone Millory AU)

BODY AND SOUL MASTERPOST

Author’s Note: Here we are at the end. I keep imagining myself four months ago, on the edge of all of this--a completely different self, one that was so deeply discontent with everything in her life, unable to confront it all. I wonder what I would have said if you told me that soon not only would I have written a book, I’d have broken up with my partner of almost 8 years, changed my diet utterly, and tested the limits of my endurance for a broken heart. WELL, SELF, HERE WE ARE, ON THE EDGE OF OBLIVION. I’ve charged through all of it, and now I’m floating in the ether, unsure of where my path is going to lead next. To say I’m terrified is an understatement; but mostly I’m just drifting inside all of this, trying to take it an hour at a time. BODY AND SOUL was, and is, and always will be, about the bond between two luminous souls that cannot be broken by anyone or anything--a bond that is capable of changing the fabric of time with its strength and endurance. Love is everything. Love is the gold that you see in dappled sunlight and in the coolness of the evening and the sunset that floats down a horizon; it’s in the touch of hands, the quiet moments of stillness when you’re alone (yes, it’s there too), the earnest eyes of another heart seeing into yours. In the end, the love we give will always determine the love we’re capable of receiving--and if we can both take the love we’re given and give of ourselves with abandon, we’ve found the secret to life. My sincerest thanks to anyone and everyone who has supported this journey for me here on Tumblr specifically, but especially to these luminous beings: @misslunarayne, who has now become one of my dearest friends and closest confidantes, @ladywriter94 who has been my CONSTANT cheerleader and has sent me so many asks to rekindle my drive when my brain felt empty and my candle burned low, @surprisebitchwrites who was a ray of light from the beginning (and who coined Duckenzie--for which I am forever in her debt), @hi-ilovedamien who has been so earnest and attentive and made so many wonderful Instagram edits, @kahhlo who seemed to overcome her shyness along the way (hey baby doll), @deanfinite and @goddess-of-inferno who also felt moved to make edits, and last but certainly not least, @nat-de-lioncourt, who made the edit for my masterpost (the first one anyone did for my story), and was one of BODY AND SOUL’s most vocal supporters from Day 1. Without you, this story could never have been what it became. I’m indebted to all of you. Here, words fail me. I’m just so grateful.

When it comes to the garden house, it’s an idea most of all--I avoided too many details, because the garden house is what YOU want it to be. It’s my dream, but it’s your dream too. It’s the dream that comes to life when you open your heart to love and beauty. This is Kenzie’s dress in the painting. I made my AO3 (I’m @witchqueenofdarkness there too). Look for Part 1 there this week along with the BODY AND SOUL Spotify playlist (coming soon) and a masterpost that includes every BODY AND SOUL edit anyone has made for me. I’ll be seeing you.

EPILOGUE

ONE YEAR AFTER THE WEDDING

Kenzie was elbow-deep in her tomato plants. They were bursting with ripe fruits; tomatoes so large and red and perfectly formed they seemed unreal. All of her vegetables were growing that way; this was the first yield since the garden’s initial planting, and she still couldn’t quite believe how utterly spring and then summer had burst upon the house. There were a million flowers; the dahlias and lilies she and Duncan had planted together in March were blooming in lush rows along the south side of the greenhouse, stretching along its frosted glass facade. Beyond that, the house itself was surrounded by lavender and hydrangeas, towering sunflowers, yarrow and catnip, all growing with lush abandon, dazzling her eyes with their color under the shade of her straw sunhat.

We suspected this might happen, but we could have never imagined just how beautiful it would be. In this place, the laws of nature are greater. Held in the palm of Her hand, things grow endlessly. The Fates weave their endless tapestry through time and space; She creates and destroys, always.

Kenzie turned her head as she heard soft neighing behind her, the steady, slow sound of horseshoes on earth. Crocus was coming up to the fence, tossing his head at her. Whatcha doing? The soft drift of his low, large energy drifted across the yard to her; his tail flicked lazy flies from his hindquarters, silky cream in the June sunshine. Kenzie couldn’t quite hear the horse’s thoughts, but sometimes she felt like she could get small little pieces of his mood, tiny drifts of strange horsey contemplations; happy, she felt from him. Content. Kenzie stood, wiping the dark earth from her hands on the pair of old cut-off denim shorts she wore. She approached the post-rail fence, craning to look beyond Crocus for a moment to the field behind him.

“Where’re they, huh, honey-sweet?” She murmured, reaching two fingers to his damp nose. Crocus tossed his head; the braids in his mane slapped on his long neck. Beats me. Chasing dragonflies. Eating tidbits.

Kenzie stuck a finger in her lips, against her tongue, and whistled out into the low breeze. “Ivy! Pepper!” She whistled again, sending drifts of golden thought out beyond the hill the fence stretched around. She paused for a moment, hand drifting up Crocus’ long snout, then smiled as she heard the telltale sound of galloping horses; their two dark shapes drifted around the hillside and she grinned.

“Pepp, Ivy, come on over here, come on, come see me,” she chanted, hitching herself through the fence’s slats and carefully over the enclosure. Pepper made it first; his dark-chocolate coat shone in the haze of the afternoon, blindingly smooth, his flanks rippling. Black-eyed susans were woven into the darkness of his mane; Kenzie had spent hours with him yesterday, braiding them through. My sweet dark Pepper, she thought, turning an arm up to him; he pressed his long forehead into her hand and she cooed up at him. Ivy was tossing her head, eager for attention; her black coat was like a dark, reflectant pool, luxuriously smooth. She had tiny daisies in her mane; one of Kenzie’s favorite things to do this summer had been spending hours on their manes in the morning, hours with their quiet, huge spirits, the strong scent of them, their wide eyes, the overwhelming aura of them. My sweet Crocus, Pepper, Ivy. My beauties. She rode Crocus most often; Ivy had gravitated to Duncan from the start, eager to be near him, though he’d take Pepper out with Kenzie sometimes, beyond the field and through the woods to the far northwest of the property. Kenzie could often feel the presence of the Goddess in them; they were ever sweet and mild to her, far more inclined to be ill-behaved and mischievous toward Duncan. But I’m their beloved, Kenzie knew. Even they know who I am; who I was once. My sweet ones.

She turned away from them as she heard the screen door to the side of the garden house creak open; River stood there in a tulip-sleeve white summer dress with lemons printed on it, a floppy sun hat covering her straight black hair.

“Kenz, I got somemore paperwork from the court ordinance, I just need you to sign it when you get a chance. And Frederick called--he heard of some Waterhouse painting coming up for auction and wondered if you and Duncan would be interested in it.”

“Thanks, River, I’ll come in in a second, is that okay? Did they say anything about how Mr. Carothers is doing?”

“They said something about him doing well with the program, almost being done with it, I think. That was all, really.”

“That’s good. Can you call Frederick back and make an appointment for us with him next week? It’s a good excuse to visit him. I’d love to see the peacock again, anyway.”

“Sure, Kenz. I made some yerba mate iced tea a little while ago, if you want some.”

“Oo, that sounds lovely. I’ll be in soon, Riv.” Just giving my babies some love, she thought, and knew River understood without her needing to say it aloud. She turned back to Crocus and heard River swing the door shut; long, languid ivy was growing along that side of the house, dipping down through its stony facade, and the sight of it lingered in her mind as she stared into Crocus’ damp eyes. Her thoughts drifted to the court appearance several months ago; the time the man--his name was Jeremy Carothers, and he’d spiraled into deep alcoholism when he’d been fired from Shepherd Unlimited several years back--had broken into the Post building and accosted her seemed like ages ago, another life; revisiting it in the court room had been surreal. But as soon as she’d gotten to the court house that day, Kenzie had known she wouldn’t be pressing any charges; in fact, it had become clear to her that she wanted to pay for the man’s mental health services entirely. There’s no room for animosity in my heart, she thought. I am far too blessed. The point was always to share it with others. Always. The work the Foundation had been able to accomplish over the past two years was so extraordinary and moving; every major city in the United States was now implementing a solar program, and green house gas emissions, through the Foundation’s initiatives and new laws passed by the President with the help of Shepherd Unlimited and newly elected progressive candidates to public offices, were plummeting.

The world was changing.

Because of our love, Kenzie thought. Because of everything we’ve been able to do. Together. Spreading it far and wide and making it grow. Grow over everything. Touch everything with golden light.

Kenzie kissed her fingertips then pressed them to Crocus’ cool nose. The sun had become oppressively hot; she stepped towards the stable, beckoning to the horses.

“Come on, beauties, let’s get in the shade, shall we?” Ivy and Pepper eagerly followed Crocus, who was always the leader; he lumbered up lazily beside Kenzie as she made her way through the cool enclosure of the vaulted stable, carefully pushing the gates closed on each of the horses in turn, their paddocks side by side; a golden gate for Crocus, blue for Ivy, red for Pepper. She gathered their grain bags from the storage on the side-wall, pouring a cup full into each, attaching them to the hooks on inside walls of the three stalls; her eyes roved over the horses as they ate, pressing a fingernail against her mouth.

Miss you, baby, she thought out into the ether. Can’t wait for you to come home. Kenzie felt out with her mind; let her goldness drift through the stable doors, out and down to the beaten path that led in two directions, one to the house’s front gate (white-washed and covered in Zinnias this time of year), the other to the side greenhouse, its frosted, slanting rooftop glittering with sun; the double doors were open and she could almost smell the scent of the ginseng and ginger that were growing wildly within, her towering bamboo plants and pachira aquatica. She pushed her thoughts beyond; far, far beyond, out of the sphere of the property, beyond the forest that surrounded them, down the long roads and the highway to the city, where Duncan was working today. Come home, she thought. Come home and hold me, my love.

For a moment, she felt the drifting column of his blue energy falling against her, despite all the distance. Soon, beloved. Soon, my angel. On my way to you.

Kenzie trailed her fingers along each of the horses’ foreheads for a few moments; then she stepped outside of the stables, along the path towards the house; for a moment she took a detour through the greenhouse’s blown glass doorway, skirting under the canopies of ivy and through the palms that were growing with abandon now in the summer heat. My own little jungle, she thought, and not for the first time. She went on, past the daylilies, petunias and marigolds, bursting with color--here the backdoor led out to a little courtyard between the greenhouse and the main house, a fountain with the forms of Hades and Persephone in the center; Hades and Persephone, but made to look like us, Kenzie thought, gazing over it for a long moment as she passed through. It was Duncan’s face encased in stone there; and hers, hair falling back, petals drifting through its stony waves. His hands drifted at her arms, their faces turned up to each other. This stony Duncan wore an aegis; an aegis that had been carved in the likeness Duncan had described to the sculptor who created it. In the image of the one I saw in my dreams, he’d told her. The one I had in that other place, in that other time.

Kenzie went on into the house, sighing with relief from the heat. Here in the back hallway, there was no sound but the cool drift of a grandfather clock; in its face were the moon, sun and stars, and the likenesses of three women, one young, one of middle age, and one ancient; between them drifted gossamer threads in shining gold and blue. The triple-faced goddess. Her. And Time, which she created after we’d found our love; after we were the first true Soulmates. And now, everlasting.

Kenzie looked up as she heard soft music begin to drift down from the office at the end of the hall; River had put something on while she was working.

I’ll be seeing you, in all the old familiar places....that this heart of mine embraces...all day through...

The light was beginning to fall lower over the hall and the oaken staircase above the clock; evening was coming, and that meant Duncan would be home soon. Kenzie’s eyes drifted up to the end of the hallway beside the door to the office; a huge painting hung there, one that still took her breath away every time she saw it. It’s us, she thought, smiling, tears gathering in the corners of her vision. In the painting of them, commissioned over a year ago after their wedding, Duncan stood with his hand nestled gently at her shoulder; he wore a long black coat that dipped down over his chest at an angle, his curls on his forehead, his blue eyes piercing out towards the onlooker. Kenzie sat in a gold, gilded chair, her expression calm and discerning; the artist, who was known for his comparisons to Sargent, had painted her eyes with an ethereal golden glow, her honey-chestnut hair around her shoulders. Her dress was blush and rosy; flowers drifted through its tulle folds around her feet and the floor. Her hand was lifted around Duncan’s fingers, and her moonstone and diamond wedding band glinted there, painted to a lifelike perfection. The Young Royals, the artist had named it; anyone who beheld it regarded it with a sense of awe, often staring at it for a long while, seeming to lose themselves in their eyes, its calming aura.

In that small cafe, the park across the way…

Kenzie was reminded of taking Duncan to Emissary that morning two years ago; the softness of him as he pulled her against him on her constellation coverlet. She thought of how he’d kissed her with such abandon in front of One Franklin Square; in front of a crowd, and she smiled, blushing at the memory. We didn’t care at all.

I’ll be seeing you, in every lovely summer’s day, in everything that’s light and gay, I’ll always think of you that way…

The oak circle, she thought, clutching her hands around her waist--overcome, suddenly, in the drift of memory. That first time at the beach house. The Gala. That night at Le Diplomate, when my heart felt about to burst, his lips on my cheek. The first time I saw The Youth of Bacchus, the first time I saw him, in the roses, on that balcony. And I felt Her; I felt the hand of Fate. Rosemary. The knowledge of our destiny, our past, our future, our task. And we’ve begun to accomplish everything. Despite that other world, or our other selves, or our other fates in those other places; in this world we’re together, and we’ve accomplished wonders, and we’ll do more wonders still. It’s the love between us that did that. It’s the love between us that will go on and spread over this whole world--it’s love that heals everything.

She heard his footsteps on the pathway outside before she saw him; sensed him, drifting stormy blue. The door behind her opened; she turned and fell into Duncan’s arms, the jasmine and cedar of him causing the tears to fall from her eyes now, her mouth leaning up into his.

“Hey, baby,” he whispered into her lips. Here I am. Home with you.

I’ll find you in the morning sun, and when the night is new

I’ll be looking at the moon, but I’ll be seeing you

The light continued to fade over the painting at the end of the hall; if Kenzie and Duncan had been paying attention to it, they would have noticed the glowing, ethereal quality of the eyes of their likenesses in it, the way the gold and blue of them seemed to shimmer and pulse as they often did in the evening; they would have noticed how ethereal, incomprehensible wings seemed to shimmer behind their likenesses, how their painted clothing seemed to shift into impossible geometries; but they were too mesmerized with each other, too wrapped up in each other’s arms; there was nothing in this moment but the two of them. As it ever was.

I’ll be looking at the moon, but I’ll be seeing you

Evening came on the garden house.

[olivieblake]

More Erotica for everyone.

Should be prescribed by the Doctor, really.

You’re touching a very dear topic of mine, that I had wanted to discuss for a very long time, but as it never seems a topic that put at ease people, in general, I always refrain from sharing it. Mainly because people do not take it ‘seriously’, mainly they laugh at you, they just think you’re horny.

What strikes me badly is the shame/guilt women, especially young women, feel regarding such a topic. Having grown up in Italy, where the religion had dictated the common rules and etiquette for a very long while in the past centuries, I have found my difficulties in sharing this massive passion I have grown to have for written erotica. The simple use of words describing the action is to me, ten times better than any movies and/or music video. There is no comparison. But it’s not only that; as an incorrigible romantic I like to have my ‘true’ share of content in a book, otherwise, it feels very dull to me and the book itself loses a lot of its potential in narrating the whole story (That does not applied to all the romantic book, btw). Now I currently live in London, a very open-minded city, which presents a huge variety of people and beliefs where pretty much anything is welcomed and accepted and yet I don’t share such passion with others, especially book-readers friends, because I simply do not want to deal with their stares and wide eyes (and subtle judgement).

However, I think we couldn’t live on a better time in history to put aside shame and guilt and finally address sex and pleasuring themselves for what it is. A component of our life.

So here it goes.

First of all, I am extremely happy to see a person like you, publicly known, going out so openly about such a topic. Thank you.

Also, yes, please do write more about it, as I said earlier, more erotica for everyone! And please, keep on having girls with an open mind as characters of your stories, because, truth be told, those guys that know-it-all did not get the knowledge of ‘how-to & Not-to’ on their own, or amongst boys (there are exceptions, as for everything in life, of course). And we all know how those girls are addressed by society more often than necessary, and I believe, strongly, we shall all stop it. Man and women, boys and girls shouldn’t be judged for their sexuality and sexual life. Full stop. No further but.

So I wanted to understand what you think about erotica in books. Mainly how publisher and bookstore approach such genre. I personally feel like it is still addressed with a certain degree of ‘censure’.

Website for book readers, general reviews, general apps for book suggestions seems to be oblivious to the whole genre. I have to dig into the depth of people’s reviews to understand if the book I am looking for has explicit contents (like I am some kind of pervert who’s trying to get around illegal stuff). These apps are so well organised, yet, (god forbid) if there is an ‘erotica’ or ‘sexual content’ tag in the lengthy list they constructed.

Let’s not even start with bookstores. Went, freshly, last week on one of the biggest Foyles in central London, a four-floor store, filled with all the books you wished for, a true earthly heaven for book readers, and I have stumbled across the ‘erotica’ section: The most dreadful book-section a book lover could ever find himself wandering around. A two shelves section, stuck between ‘romance’ and ‘based on history’ department, well hidden behind walls and walls of other books of a completely different genre. Fifty shades of grey the most presentable book-cover amongst them. I felt really sad.

So I have wondered if the genre itself was not even a thing for bookstore and publishers. If really all the erotica you can find had to be confined in a meagre amount of few published books with the most ridiculous covers that you’d never EVER dare open in public, let along during the rush hours in the tube.

And I thought, what a shame.

I do believe writing erotica stories is an art as much as writing a good fiction story; perhaps it might be even more difficult to accomplish!

No wonder fanfiction websites are FULL with it. Where would we find this content otherwise, right?

I really believe it could be transformed into a successful way to inform and teach simultaneously younger generations of what sexuality is, even though through fiction stories. (I mean, if I would have to believe certain FF stories I have read, man, I should orgasm at the mere stare of a man, I should come 5 times in a row and faint every single time I come and should feel impaled all the way to my lungs every time I am having sex, otherwise, the size is not even acceptable, I mean it’s funny if you think about it, but not a tiny little bit close to reality)

Last but not least, it should be accepted as a respectable genre as much as crimes and cookbooks are, don’t you think so?

So I wanted to share with you my thoughts as you are so open to discuss it in every single detail of it and have written yourself some very good erotica stories, but more importantly I’d like to know what you think about it, and if perhaps, if you find there is a different approach in the U.S. than here in Europe.

Thank you so much for your time!

answered in this video! (well, in every video, but also this one)

[nicosmh]

╰ * ✧ ˖ SHE WAS LOVELY. THEN THINGS CHANGED. ‖ have you seen NICO HAMADA at the beach recently? i remember them being so PASSIONATE, but they seemed a little HESITANT today. it must be tough going through such hard times at only TWENTY-THREE. even then, they still remind me of PERMANENTLY EXHAUSTED FEATURES, MUSIC SHEETS SCATTERED ALL OVER THE ROOM, ODDLY SHAPED CLOUDS, and BALLS OF FLUFFY, PASTEL YARN.

i’m dee, and i never sleep. let’s get it started -- shall we ??

tl;dr and headcanons --- big family, big money and even bigger pressure. a whole ass cutie. true personification of an exclamation mark at times. memes, memes, memes. says and writes things that sometimes make one wish they were jared, nineteen. will steal your dog, cat or literally any animal, ever. a toss up between the mom friend and the wine aunt. most likely to befriend everyone’s parents ( probably because she can’t stand her own ). a terrible cook, -5/10 would not trust her in the kitchen. will refuse to get out of the car because her favourite song is playing on the radio. puns. yoda jumped out. many would say she’s a trust fund baby on the lowkey, and they would be two hundred percent right... unfortunately.

nico mei hamada was born to a pretty affluent and strict family that moved to the states when she was just five years old. she may have not experienced the so-called ‘culture shock’ too much, seeing as she was tiny, but she still kind of feels out of place to this day ( not that she would ever have the guts to admit it, though ).

with her mother being a composer, herself, nico’s parents decided to sign her up for piano classes. safe to say, she didn’t particularly enjoy being told what to do from day one, and she didn’t know what she disliked more -- the pressure to do something she didn’t want, or the classes themselves.

but... later, she grew to appreciate the fact that they’ve decided to put her through something like that. nico had found new hobby, her new passion -- something that she could possibly consider her one true love. she fell in love with the technique, the music and everything else that entailed the magical world of instruments. she could go ahead and admit that this was the only thing that was making her truly happy.

as the time went on, she had picked up guitar and violin, having been focused on piano nonetheless. she didn’t necessarily wanted to overwhelm herself with the amount of instruments she had to keep up with. but, was it really hard for her? not really. it was her hobby, something she genuinely enjoyed doing. she was convinced that if she ended up doing what she liked, she would never have to struggle with it.

juggling between attending private high school and music school didn’t exactly belong to the easiest of tasks, but she managed to find the perfect balance. she could admit that having one or two friends and that’s it was pretty helpful. if she wanted to be the best of the best in her craft, she had to make some sacrifices and nico was aware of it.

after years, upon years of hard work ( majoring in music production in college and so on ), nico joined the ranks of an orchestra and she finally felt like she’d accomplished something that could make her family proud. they weren’t necessarily as vocal about it as she’d wished them to be, so maybe this thing would change it? and it did. if one could only imagine her mother’s face when nico told her the good news...

unfortunately, having found it too stiff and boring ( her words, not mine ) for such a charismatic being she was, she decided to leave. no hard feelings. nothing. it was just that. even her parents expressed that they weren’t exactly that surprised about her decision. apparently, they knew her daughter all too well, and it showed. they were still, however, disappointed... which wasn’t a new thing to her. nico was grateful for their calm reaction, no matter what -- she wouldn’t know what to do if they reacted in a different way, really. 

her decision made her father think that she was thinking about taking over his business -- he couldn’t be any more wrong, though. it’s not that nico wouldn’t want to help her parents out with anything, it’s just that she clearly had no interest in anything business-related. and that made mr. hamada change from a supporting father to someone who was giving her an ultimatum. all or nothing, so to speak. she was supposed to either take up necessary classes and learn about everything that has to do with owning a tech company, or at least make sure to help them out when they needed it the most.

how could she do that when there was no prior motivation, nor reason for her to be there? why did they put her through music school and everything else if they wanted her to become a businesswoman? it made no sense to nico. when she explained her point of view to her father, he lashed out, deciding to end all the forms of contact with her -- not without telling the girl how disappointed in her he was, of course.

nico’s mom tries her best to keep in touch with her, but every single conversation they have just ends with an argument. that doesn’t necessarily stop her from allowing nico spend their money, though. she thinks this might be something that will persuade her to change her mind. little did she know... it won’t do anything. she wants nothing to do with it.

now, without that much to do, nico is considering having a little bit of a break to experience everything she didn’t have the chance to do when she was growing up -- whether it be parties, getting a first tattoo... chopping a huge chunk of her hair off, things like that. she figured, that having a social life will be so much easier now that she has the time to actually indulge in all of these things. she’s got a whole new world to explore, and she won’t stray from throwing her parents’ money around. 

once she decides that her time off moment is over, she wants to find a job that she will actually feel satisfied with. she sells the songs that she’s composed and written the lyrics for, but she also wants to start recording demos for herself, and maybe even do some odd jobs on the side. but... that is something she definitely needs to take her sweet time with -- nico had found herself enjoying the lavish lifestyle she secretly craved ever since she was a teenager.

it’s more than safe to say that her closet and most shelves are filled with notebooks containing unfinished songs and random thoughts that were too precious to her to throw away. lyrics about falling in love, heartbreak -- anything one could expect from someone who went through it in such a short amount of time.

during summer vacation, three years ago, nico met elise. the two quickly hit it off and became each other’s first everythings. the pair was inseparable for the time being -- with elise choosing to pursue her degree in politics, the girl had to move a couple of states away. they swore to each other that it would never let it affect their relationship. at first, everything was going swimmingly well, as it should, but then... things started to get messier and messier. obviously...

nico couldn’t possibly put the blame on the girl, at first. after all, she was busy, right? well... as the time went on, elise started to avoid any means of contact with her, chalking it up to being buried under the books and working on essays and whatnot. seemed believable enough. again, nico couldn’t really question it, because she knew that her major was one of the toughest ones out there. it wasn’t quite right, still.  

after a long month filled with nothing but waiting and sleepless nights, nico decided to officially end the relationship only to find out that her now ex had found someone new, someone who goes to the same university as her. safe to say, it drove nico mad. how could she even think she was good enough for someone like elise? it made her wonder whether she was just a temporary place in the other’s bed, and even if her feelings for her were real. at this point, it could literally be anything.

it’s already been a year since it all happened, and while she might not act like she’s been affected by her ex-girlfriend ghosting on her without giving her a reason and finding someone new, nico is definitely FEELING it all. she’s just... not vocal about it, because why should she be? apparently, that’s what happens when you trust someone so much, and let them lead you on for so long. nico was convinced that having a long distance relationship with someone would be a piece of cake, but boi, was she dead wrong...

nico decided not to look for any kind of consolation from people. she is just... there, aimlessly going through the day, making a complete fool out of herself, probably as a defense mechanism. despite not seeking help for herself, she’s always down to talk about everything with just about anyone, because she’s That kind of person, really. don’t let that fool you, though! she’s grown a backbone over the years of acting like a doormat, and she truly won’t hesitate to voice her opinion if something is bothering her. she is a nice person and that will truly never change, though. 

more headcanons:

she is, and i cannot stress this enough, baby

but you know, she’s a baby that can snap

( yes, that’s a thing, fight me )

a pretty good dancer ( duh ), doesn’t do anything about it, though

a gym rat -- eats healthy most of the time, works out four times a week

music-wise, nico’s songs are a mix of nina ne/sbitt, king pr/incess and to/ve lo

ghostwrote a couple of songs for famous and semi-famous artists

and with that come the royalties, obviously......

...royalties that can cover up the cost of everything she needs, but you know... she’s saving that up and still uses the family’s money -- very Smart™ of her, lbr

( still under an nda, so... she can’t talk about it... yet )

huuuuuuge paramore fan

doesn’t drink much, prefers to smoke a bowl... or five

has to wear glasses most of the time -- does not do that

fluent in three languages -- japanese, english and french

sarcasm is up in there, as well, but i am convinced that it doesn’t count

knits a LOT

connection ideas ( not limited to only that, of course !! ):

fellow musicians ;; you know these people that fire off the creativity fuse ?? jam sessions until the early hours of the morning ?? staying on the phone for hours on end ?? friendly banter on social media ?? things like that. and who knows ?? there might be a few collaborations on projects, too ?? ( open ;; 1/?? )

saltmates ;; honestly, their entire relationship is based around the two of them being bitter together. whenever one of them is pissed, they just let the other know and they get together, pour a glass of wine or juice or what-have-you, and hash it out. ( open ;; 1/?? )

bad timing ;; for some reason or another, something always gets in the way of whatever they have. maybe they’re just not ready to commit at the time when the other is, or one’s in a relationship with someone else when the other was finally available. ( open to f ;; 0/?? )

unrequited feelings ;; is it just friendly, or is there a lot of sexual tension? either way, this can be plotted whether nico is the one to have feelings, or vice versa. they’re not entirely deep where one person is madly in love with the other, but enough to the point where tension is sparked. ( open to f ;; 0/1 )

unlikely friend ;; someone nico thought she would never be friends with but finds herself being friends with regardless. she definitely admires them for being who they are and genuinely has a great time whenever she hangs out with them, despite all their differences. ( open ;; 0/?? )

acquaintance ;; if you asked nico about that person, she would probably say they just “know” each other. she doesn’t ask them any questions, they don’t talk or meet up as much, but they still somewhat do care about one another. they just trust each other like that. they seem to be passing each other by a lot. ( open ;; 0/?? )

[detroit-extended]

Youtuber!AU

the requests are done and ya’ll seem to really love this AU. pls enjoy part 2! Here’s a link to part 1 lmao

“You got this, okay? Breathe, you slut.”

“What North is trying to say is that you may be a slut, but you’re the slut. It’s just a video. You’re not getting married.”

“Josh is right. Stop sweating. Connor would be grossed out if your sweaty hands get all over his controller.”

“Oh fuck,” Markus said as he wiped his palms on his jeans.

“That’s not the only thing he’s getting his hands on, amiright- OW! That fucking hurt, Josh.”

“Sexual innuendos are what got us flagged, North.”

“So?”

“We got five videos removed, North.”

“So?”

“I worked hard editing those, North.”

“Oh, fine. You win. Whatever. I could probably edit better than you, anyway.”

“Using what? Powerpoint?”

“Children, please.”

“Sorry,” North and Josh muttered to simultaneously.

“What do I even do? Guys, I’ve drawn him with a six pack. I've drawn his bulge. I’ve read fanfiction. I’ve made fanfiction.”

“It means you’re creepy.”

“It means you’re dedicated.”

“Thanks, Simon. I just-”

“Looks like we’re here. Let’s go, gang”

“Wait, I thought we were going to his place to live stream a horror game?”

“No, you idiot. We’re putting you in a horror game.”

“North, you’re not making any sense.”

“We’re dumping you in an escape room with your lover. Thank us later.”

“Josh, let’s rethink this.”

“Isn’t that his car? I’m honking at him.”

“Simon, you monster.”

“Markus, you rude bitch, you’re making him come out to greet us!”

“But I-”

“Guys, he’s walking towards us!”

“Quick, Simon, open Markus’ window!”

“No, no, no-”

Simon pulled down the window beside Markus. The four were silent as a strikingly handsome young man approached them with an easy smile. He leaned down to greet them in the car.

“Hi. My name is Connor. I suppose you guys are Jericho?”

There was a pregnant pause. Markus was trembling and unabashedly gaping at his idol. His friends were trying to stifle their laughter.

“Um, yes! My name is Jericho- wait, no. My name is Markus. Yeah, Markus. You?”

His three companions groaned.

“Oh, um.” Connor awkwardly scratched the back of his head.

Markus panicked. “No! No! I’m so sorry! I know who you are! Well, I guess you just introduced yourself and I’m just a huge fan and can I please have your autograph?”

“Well,” he laughed and Markus wanted to cry, “I suppose we’ll see. Let’s get into the building, shall we?”

Before he could answer, his friends were already slamming their doors to get out.

“Pleasure meeting you, Mr. Anderson. I’m Simon. Markus definitely made sure I knew all about you.” Simon grinned teasingly and shook his hand. Markus was staring at them with growing horror from inside the vehicle.

“Hey, I’m Josh.” He waved. “Markus made me watch most of your videos with him. You’re pretty amazing!”

“Sup, I’m North.” She smirked. “I can get you quick access to all his love poems, fanfiction, and fanart dedicated to you. It’ll cost you, though.”

“I do like reading.” Connor said politely, although, his eyebrows were slightly furrowing in confusion due to the... strange introductions.

“So!” Markus finally exited the car, albeit with very little grace. “An escape room, eh? We should probably go.”

His eyes surveyed Connor, hoping for his approval. He sighed with relief when the said Youtuber agreed.

----

The door to the room was built to look like the entrance of a mausoleum. Markus willed himself to not look like an idiot. This was his chance! He’s played so many horror games. He wasn’t going to get one little room stop him.

“Are your cameras alright?” Connor asked. Markus fumbled with the GoPro strapped on his head and chest. He numbly nodded at him.

“Alright,” Simon called as he clasped his hands together, “You’ve got one hour to escape. There’s an intercom there if you want to use a hint or talk to us. Try not to break anything. Management is already a bit put off by North.”

“How was I not supposed to punch that stupid clown in the face?”

“Anyway, you think you guys can do this?”

Connor smirked determinedly. “I always accomplish my mission.”

“Oh, my god he said the thing,” Markus mumbled to himself.

“Great! Wear the blindfolds and hold each other’s hand please.”

“Why-”

“Just do it, Markus.”

“You guys-”

He shut himself up when he felt Connor tie a blindfold over his eyes. He could feel his skin gently skimming over the back of his neck. He shivered.

“We’re ready now,” he heard Connor say.

“Great!” North replied. “Now hold hands when you go in, please. It’s a safety precaution. Really.”

“You’re one big liar-”

Again, he quickly shut up when Connor’s fingers gently laced with his. His heart beat wildly. He was close to tears.

“We can do this,” Connor determinedly whispered into his ear.

Markus heard nothing. He just felt Connor’s breath teasing his skin.

“See you in an hour, guys!” That was the last thing they heard before they were unceremoniously shoved into the escape room.

The got rid of the blindfolds quickly. However, Markus noted, they were still holding hands.

“It’s very dark. There should be a flashlight here somewhere.” Connor muttered to his left. “Oh, there it is.” Markus was being dragged to the corner of a room. Suddenly, his idol’s face was blinking at him, illuminated by the sudden light. “Here, have one, too.” He gave Markus another flashlight.

“Thanks.” He praised whatever deities were out there that Connor couldn’t clearly see how much he was panicking.

They surveyed the room. It was fairly small and old fashioned, like a Victorian era grave yard for the aristocrats. There was a number of scattered objects. Blood and water smeared the wall. Eerie music played in the background.

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“W-what for?”

“I’m still holding your hand.”

“... It’s fine.”

“Really? Okay.”

He expected Connor to let go. 

He didn’t.

“Look at this, Markus! It’s a note!”

Markus was lead to a wall. Written in what looked like blood was a message.

‘I’m dead. Mommy killed me. She threw me in a well and watched me drown. I don’t like her very much. Did mommy send you here? Does she want to laugh at me again? No! I don’t like you! If you don’t leave, I’ll drown you, too!’

They heard child-like laughter echo within the room.

“Our best choice is to leave, I presume.”

“You’re not wrong.”

Markus was being pulled everywhere. He was barely even playing, really. He was simply following Connor as he solved every riddle and found every clue in a blink of an eye. Markus didn’t mind. He really liked listening to him.

“The buyer doesn’t want it, the seller doesn't- oh. Obviously a coffin. Does that mean the next clue is in the small coffin in the corner? Let’s see.”

Markus opened the coffin for Connor. There was a piece of paper inside. The handwriting was quite ugly and child-like. It contained the riddle:

Behind the words, behind the papers

I am the door of never-ending favours

“Behind the words...” Markus trailed off in contemplation.

Connor had his eyes narrowed, deep in thought. “What could it mean? We’re so close, Markus! I can feel it!”

Connor subconsciously tightened his grip on Markus’ hand. He didn’t mind in the slightest.

“Hold on. Behind the... papers? Connor, it’s behind the bookshelf! We gotta-” Connor quickly pulled themselves to the tall shelf stacked with books.

“Let’s try getting rid of the books. We might find something.” Connor meticulously picked off the literature.

Markus, however, was staring at one particular tome. It was titled ‘When I Drowned’. Could it..?

He gently attempted to pry it off, but instead, as he moved the book, it set off a mechanism that prompted the shelf to move. There was a hidden passage.

Connor gasped. “Markus, you’re brilliant!”

He didn’t get to reply because he was being pulled into the darkened halls. Connor was practically running with excitement, almost leaving him behind. Markus was careful to make sure neither of them tripped.

“It’s a well!” Connor said mostly to himself.

Markus raised an eyebrow. “The well where she died?”

“Most probably. What do we do now? There’s nothing else in here.”

Suddenly, from up above them, they hear the voice of a young girl.

“You’ve found me... Does mommy want to see me drown again? Well, I don’t want to! I will kill-”

“Wait a fucking minute. North, is that you?!”

Connor nudged him on the shoulder. “You can’t cut off ghosts, Markus. It’s impolite.”

“But it’s-”

“Be quiet! How will I know if you’re not here to hurt me?”

Connor was the one to answer. “We just want to escape. If you help us, we’ll be on our way. How can we prove that we’re good?”

“Mommy hates love... so she hated me! You need to prove to me that you’re capable of love!”

“I own a dog. I love him very much. I love Hank, too-”

“You’re lying! You need to prove it or I won’t believe your shit!”

Markus rolled his eyes. “Victorian-era aristocratic kids didn’t swear, North.”

With her normal voice, she replied. “Just shut up, will you? Anyway, ahem- prove to me that you know how to love!”

“But how?” Connor inclined his head to the side.

“Not you. I want the man next to you to prove it.”

“Why the hell-”

“Do as I say or I’ll drown you! No one will help you even if you cry! Even if you beg! Even if you scream!”

“Oh, whatever. Fine, what do I do?”

“Kiss your companion’s cheek.”

“Excuse you?!”

“Did I stutter? Kiss him, Markus.”

“You’re not even doing the voice anymore. Oh, god. I’m so sorry, Connor. My friends are awful and I just-”

“Just kiss me, you fool.”

“What.”

“What.”

“We need to escape,” Connor cheekily smiled at a dumbfounded Markus, “it’s okay. Just kiss me.”

“Oh my god, Simon do you hear this-” They heard North from the intercom.

Markus coughed. “I wouldn’t want to do anything that would make you uncomfortable!”

But Connor already prepared his cheek, slightly leaning it upwards for a better angle. Markus gulped. 

“FUCKING DO IT, YOU PIECE OF GARBAGE!”

“North, please.”

“GET OFF MY DICK, SIMON.”

The two ignored the bickering. Connor was waiting and Markus was panicking.

“Okay, if we’re really going to do this, I just want you to know that I’m so sorry-”

“Markus...”

“A-alright! Here I go!” Markus closed his eyes and leaned in to kiss his cheek.

Far too quickly, Connor moved his head to kiss Markus on the lips. Markus let out a gasp, but Connor held his hand tightly. They deepened the kiss.

“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH-”

The screams of three different people resonated within the room. They both jumped apart, their hands separated now. It felt lonely. Connor’s face was bright red whilst Markus was hyperventilating in the corner.

After a few seconds of silence, a door from seemingly out of nowhere opened.

“Guys, we just asked for a cheek kiss. Ya’ll are so horny.”

“Damn, Markus. You move quick. You got French kissed by the guy you’ve probably written smut about.”

“Let’s head outside, hmm? Congratulations, you two! You’ve escaped!”

The duo shared a glance and let out incredulous laughs.

“That was fun,” Connor said to Markus quietly as the exited.

He shyly grinned. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Would you... like to do this again sometime?”

Markus powered through the heart attack that was destroying his soul. “That’d be nice,” he answered as smoothly as he could.

Connor smiled softly and intertwined his fingers once more with Markus. They walked out of the building together hand-in-hand.

“Um... where are they going? We parked on the other side...?”

“Love leads you to mysterious places, North. Let’s not question it.”

[sethnakht]

more than a little on the slow side today, so haven’t read any commentary yet. but here are some raw thoughts on vader #25.

Difficult to know where to start, as the issue was overlaid with symbols and yet also rather stolidly straightforward. Perhaps as a beginning: I was expecting Soule to play things straight and hoping to be gloriously wrong about it. He played things straight. 

My working theory going into the comic, written in response to @micelle in the middle of the night a few days ago:

I personally would not be surprised if that moment of projection on Padmé’s ship - you know, where Vader sees the mask engraved into Little Ani’s flesh in a reverse of Luke’s cave adventure, marking the start of a theme of this arc, the engraving of a mask onto various bodies - were the key to it all, that is, if what he’s after is the opportunity to kill himself (a reverse Momin so to speak). (or change himself. the comic has been so focused on his selfishness, on mirrors of the self - I could picture him strolling past nodes of past moments in the “world between worlds” and peering into the highlights of his wretched life as he decides whether to save Shmi, interfere with Padmé, prevent himself from leaving Tatooine, etc)

Some of this prediction played out - Vader does indeed stroll past moments in his own life, starting with pregnant!Shmi and himself as little Ani. You could argue too that the end result of it all is that he the part of him who still thinks of himself as an Anakin to be Saved is killed, for the present moment, in a reverse Momin of sorts. Things were a little more complex than I had imagined them, however. The plane upon which Vader finds himself resembles some combination of the subjective landscape of his own dark-side-fueled meditations and the objective landscape of Mustafar. As in his meditations, the sky is filled with lightning and he himself is a burning, burnt husk with dead white space where his cybernetic limbs complete him. As on Mustafar, he walks the ground, and where lava would be is the dark, roiling sea over which he floated in meditation; memories having to do with himself are presented in circles of lava, corresponding to his own burning state.

There seem to be two different possible modes of interaction with this world, objective and subjective. On the one hand, Vader walks past nodes that objectively reflect his own life back at him as would a film, much like what Ezra and Ahsoka encountered in the World Between Worlds; it is in such a lava-encased node that he foresees his own confrontation with Ahsoka (!!). Were he to interact with these nodes as Ezra considered doing with Kanan, then he could potentially change the past or the future. But Vader does not interact with these nodes, he simply walks past them. Nor does he seem to make much of the voices from his own past, from the future (Kylo!) echoing around him. Instead, he interacts with subjective projections of the people he loves - Shmi, the Jedi, Palpatine, Obi-Wan, Padmé. I say subjective projections, as these are all people who matter to him and all people who play into his self-narrative, and thus also mirrors of the self to a degree, but suspect the status of these projections is about as complex as the vision Luke has in the Dagobah cave: what Vader sees is what he brings with him, but also what the Dark Side would have him see. Thus, he sees Shmi with Palpatine behind her as though to suggest that his origins are in the Dark Side, that he has always been “unnatural” and destined to serve. (This is also what Momin’s pretty speeches would imply, that this plane is a place controlled by the Dark Side; this is partly what I mean by Soule playing things straight.)

There’s a way in which I got what I wanted - Vader doesn’t - can’t, of course - consider changing the actual past, but he does interact with his own past in a very revealing manner. That is, he doesn’t hesitate to kill the Jedi again (no Younglings, however!), presumably because he thinks they are keeping him from Padmé (standing atop the tower that transforms before his eyes from his newly constructed Sith tower into the Jedi temple). He also doesn’t lift a finger to prevent Palpatine from killing Obi-Wan (which is possibly the most !! moment of this entire sequence for me - does he not want to fight Obi-Wan himself, or think he isn’t strong enough? is this the lesson he thinks he has learned, is this the way he wishes things had gone ...?). In a departure from the past that speaks hugely to the mistakes he thinks he made, he then turns on Palpatine instead of choosing to kneel and serve as he had, shooting Palpatine down with lightning, killing his father figure with the very method Palpatine will eventually use to try and kill his son (and successfully uses to kill Vader). By the time Vader reaches the top of the tower, he seems to have recovered a positive sense of self again. Everything has gone right, just as he imagined it, it would seem, and it is as Anakin Skywalker that he speaks to Padmé with words later echoed by Luke - “come with me”. But does he want to save them both, or just himself? Padmé, for her part, seems to be nothing more than a reflection of his own self, than a reflection of what he chose instead of her - she quotes his own words back to him, chokes herself as he had once choked her, and then is rendered apart by (red, suggesting a dark side vision?) lightning in yet another foreshadowing of Vader’s eventual death. “Not again!” he says, in what has to be the funniest line of this comic. In other words, I don’t think for a moment that we actually saw Padmé here, not in the way that we see Luke, who shows up next in a massive blue column of light. Luke seems to spring from a source outside of the self - his appearance brings light back into the empty, desolate landscape that Vader had emptied of all light from within, and it’s an unanticipated appearance, too powerful for Vader to control, driving Vader back into his body, into the prone position he assumed the last time he was struck by lightning to foreshadow his own death in this comic (#18).

So, for all that Vader hasn’t learned all that much from his own history, he was, apparently, after salvation - through Padmé, with Padmé, if only with a Padmé who reflected his narrative in a way that all previous subjective projections had. (Possibly that desire for salvation also allows for the light to enter his mental picture, even to overwhelm him or the Dark underpinnings of the vision in the very end.) He never considers doing anything with the nodes of the past - he stays fixated on what is incarnated before him. Which is of a piece of him, and his self-centeredness in this comic from the very beginning. The message might thus be interpreted as: Anakin chose himself, chose one path, and despite regrets he would make essentially the same choice all over again, and that choice leaves him on the one hand miserable and lonely and empty and blinded and on the other also creates the crack that will eventually motivate his self-sacrifice for Luke.

It’s all very consistent ... perhaps a bit too consistent for me, as someone who flirts constantly with depression and takes particular enjoyment in subversive fiction. One of the things this comic has consistently done is treat Vader as though his physical condition were of secondary importance, placing the stress instead on his continued and persistent character features, on his meditative sessions, on his presence in the Force; this finale was very much in that vein, spirit over body. Camuncoli and his team have produced incredible visuals to bring that mental landscape to life; I’ve really enjoyed seeing how much they’ve been able to make of basic elemental symbols, of empty plains and dark oceans. And there is something to be said for this mind-over-body philosophy, as Vader himself might well think that this is what the Dark Side has finally allowed him to accomplish - though it’s rather at odds with Vader seeking out Padmé and engaging all of his attachments.

It’s hard to bring out certain paradoxes in his self-understanding without considering the body, let’s put it that way. I suppose what I’m saying is that I’ll always feel there was an opportunity missed. Vader watching Padmé throw herself to her death, then start choking herself, thereby transforming into a corpse in front of his eyes, only to become incinerated by lightning - well, I mean, it’s a fantastic image. I do like that you could read her “suicide” as a rejection of him and his choices, even as you can also read it as a sign from the Dark Side. Like ... I like it, don’t get me wrong. Compare his passive spectatorship to the kill-switch moment in the 2015 run, however, to that brain-addled, deranged, yet horrifyingly logical mental slaughterfest where he kills himself, Obi-Wan, and Padmé to regain agency over his own body, and ... I find it hard not to prefer the messiness of that to the rather clean symbolism in Soule.

Anyway, as a tie-in connecting the PT with Rebels, this comic certainly offers context for understanding where he is mentally. As a take on how Vader becomes Vader, who is never just his mind to me, but a mind trapped in a machine, it satisfied me less. 

Am I glad I read it? A thousand times yes, because of the conversations it has generated here. Boundless thanks especially to @glompcat, @gffa, @thewillowbends, @micelle, @songofthestars and @sith-shame-shack for the immeasurable pleasure of your company along this readerly journey - it’s been an education - and a joy - I shall not long forget. 😍

[kairi-chan]

Fighting For You [7/?] - SasuSaku

[First Chapter]

Chapter 7: Lessons

Summary: They were from different worlds. They were both interested but knew a relationship between them was less than likely to happen, even if they both wanted it. Sasuke’s profession was dangerous, and Sakura was sheltered. Her parents’ did not approve of him. Slowly though, feelings started to take root and both of them were willing to fight for each other.

Genre: Romance / Humor

Rating: M

A/N: Co-written with @ss-tyytyy ! She posts it on her FFnet, while I post here on tumblr. :)

It was a lot colder than the previous morning. So much so that Sakura ran back into her house to change out of her shorts and opted for yoga pants instead and picked out a thicker jacket.

“Heading out again, dear?”

Sakura stopped midstep out of their door and grinned at her mother. “Yes, yoga first and then I’ll be going to the hospital. My usual.”

Her mother’s gaze softened and nodded. “Alright, darling. Make sure you register properly today at the studio. I don’t want a repeat of that billing statement fiasco that happened.”

The pinkette scratched the back of her head. “I thought the girl knew me well enough, but yeah! I will. I’ll remind them to do that automated quarterly billing thing they emailed me about.”

“Just because you go there every day doesn’t mean they always remember which classes you attend, Sakura!” Mebuki chided before walking over and handed Sakura a brown paper bag. “Don’t forget your fruits.”

She took it with a smile and kissed her mother’s cheek before heading out to their driveway.

.

.

.

Sakura pulled up to Sasuke’s home, taking in the details much easier now that it was early morning. It was a rather large stone home with black tin on the roof. He had a large porch that was painted white and wrapped around all the way to the garage, which was open. She parked right beside his car and got out, taking a deep breath before walking up to the door inside the garage. She knocked a few times and heard steps approaching seconds later.

The door opened and Sakura found her breath hitching at the sight of a shirtless Sasuke standing before her. He appeared to have just gotten out of the shower. His hair was still damp. He smelled of body wash and shampoo. So good that Sakura inhaled her next breath deeply. He was wearing only a pair of black training shorts. She finally looked up to meet those striking obsidian eyes only to find them trailing down her body slowly.

It was often that she caught him admiring her this same way.

“Good morning, Sakura. Come on in.” He held the door for her and she walked inside, feeling a little shy being invited to his home. It all felt so private and intimate.

His home was large on the outside, but seemingly even more spacious on the inside. Sakura took her shoes off once she was inside and then followed Sasuke through the open space that was the apparent living room area. She never expected his home to be so tidy, so neat. There wasn’t a picture frame out of place, not a speck of dust to be found.

Everything was made in neutral colors, the walls a light gray. Black curtains hung around the windows. The couch was black leather, as were the two chairs that sat across from it. There was a fireplace that sat just under a huge flat screen TV. The wall around the fireplace was set in a beautiful display of stone. The place even smelled clean, and of him… and Sasuke always smelled good.

The kitchen was made in stainless steel appliances, the walls there were white. More black curtains hung over the windows there and Sakura felt the place was very fitting for him. At first, she couldn’t really picture what the inside of his home would look like, but seeing it made so much sense.

This was Sasuke.

“I picked this up for you while I was out yesterday… I thought you might like to have this here, for when you come by.” Sasuke told her, handing over a pink water bottle.

“Oh, thank you.” She blinked for a few moments before a huge grin spread on her face. “And it’s pink!”

Sasuke smirked. “I thought you might like it.”

Sasuke led her out of the kitchen and into a sitting area. There were only a couple of chairs in the two corners of the room, the rest of the room was bare except for the two yoga mats set out on the floor next to each other. There were two large windows ahead, overlooking his back lawn. The morning sun poured in through the open blinds which were only one of the reasons Sakura was smiling. It wasn’t long until she broke out in a fit of giggles.

“I can’t believe you actually got a pink one!”

“Well… it’s what you wanted.” He said.

“I was just kidding,” she laughed. “Even I couldn’t find one. I had to ask my dad to find a contact. He couldn’t, either.”

Sakura didn’t miss the way his ears turned red at her admission. “Tch. It wasn’t hard to find.”

“I guess it’s because you’re just so good at everything, huh?” she teased.

“Damn right.” He said, his confidence returning effortlessly. “You ask for a pink yoga mat and that’s just what you will get.”

Sakura hummed in response, a light pink coming up to her cheeks. She had to hand it to him, he was dedicated. Even Ino couldn’t find a pink one for her, they both expended their resources and still came up with nothing. Here comes Sasuke, magically giving her one. She bit her lip, maybe he would give it to her if she asked nice enough. It was a lovely shade of blush, nearly matching her hair, just a few shades darker. It was made of good quality, too.

“Shall we start?”

“Certainly.” Sasuke nodded, gesturing for her to take the lead.

Sakura padded to the center of the mat and sat down, legs crossed. “Sasuke-kun, do you know what they mean when they say, ‘find your center?’”

“How would I know that?” He grumbled. “Like finding my inner strength?”

She smiled. “You’re so cute.”

“Cute?” Sasuke spat the word as if it were distasteful. “Only my mother has ever said such a thing.”

“At least I know your mom and I will agree on something,” she laughed. “Maybe I can convince her to show me your baby photos, too.”

“I don’t think so.” Sasuke scoffed, wishing like hell his mother would. “I’d have to see yours first.”

She smirked. “I don’t mind. I was even cuter.”

“I bet you were… though I wouldn’t call you cute now.” Sasuke said before quickly adding, “I mean… cute isn’t the right word.”

Heat rose to her face. Before she could embarrass herself further, Sasuke quickly cut, “Let’s just get started.” He sat on his black mat quickly before laying back and breathing in deeply to calm himself. Sakura followed suit and sat down on her pink one. She shifted on the mat, and he did too, so now they were facing each other.

Sakura did some research what was the best way to teach yoga, but it was all too complicated. For hours she read on history, benefits, as well as philosophies. It appealed to her at the moment, but now that she thought about it, Sasuke didn’t seem like the type to indulge in theories. Sasuke was a mystery to her still, but it was clear that he was a man of little words and big on action. Taking a deep breath, she decided it would be best to just jump right into it.

Demonstrating the poses, telling him the names, and then letting him try went much better than she anticipated. Sasuke was a fast learner and he was eager to get the poses right on the get-go. His piercing gaze made her blush more times than she could count, although Sakura tried to brush it off as much as she could.

He’s just looking intently because he needs to copy the pose, she rationalized. The way I look has nothing to do with it.

Even if she repeated in her head over and over again, she couldn’t help but feel his eyes roam over her entire body as she demonstrated the poses. His Low and High Lunge was much better with her corrections, but his Warrior Two needed more attention. She walked around him, inspecting his pose.

“Your stance doesn’t need to be too wide, Sasuke-kun,” Sakura’s voice was gentle, soothing. “Bend your knee a little more and don’t puff your chest out too much.”

Once Sasuke adjusted himself, his form looked so much better. “You’re doing great, Sasuke-kun!” she was genuinely pleased. Now she understood how much accomplishment the yoga instructors must feel after successfully correcting a student. “Feel the pull at your shoulder blades and gaze at your fingertips.”

“Like this?” Sasuke adjusted his position a little more and Sakura felt his chest brush against her shoulder.

She started. Sakura didn’t realize how close they were standing to each other, their faces only inches apart. For a moment, her gaze landed on his lips, and she forgot how to form words.

“Sakura?”

Abruptly, she took a step back and forced a smile on her face. “Yeah, perfect. You’re good at this.”

“Hn.”

A genuine smile came to her face when she noticed the light blush on his pale cheeks. Sakura stayed in the confines of her mat for the rest of the session and continued to teach him the cool down stretches. As she lay on her back, Sakura stared at the ceiling and continued her deep breathing exercises. It was nice spending time with him like this. Sakura imagined she would be a blushing mess, but Sasuke exuded such a calm and reassuring aura. She closed her eyes and listened to his calm breathing, allowing herself to match his pace, calming her beating heart down. It was in that moment Sakura felt their hearts were connected, beating together in perfect rhythm.

.

.

.

After a quick shower, Sakura was already heading out the door. Sasuke wanted her to stay a little longer but if she did, she would be late for her hospital shift. He didn’t insist any further and simply thanked her for the yoga session.

“You’re welcome, Sasuke-kun. I’ll text you.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

Sakura hopped into her car and started the engine. She hooked her phone up to her stereo before driving out of Sasuke’s driveway. Rolling her window down, she smiled and waved before driving off. Sasuke stayed by his door until she could no longer see him from the back mirror.

After a few minutes of driving, her music was cut off. Briefly, she took a look at her phone’s screen and found a photo of her best friend flashing. Sakura pressed a button on her steering wheel and started talking. “What is it, Pig? I’m driving.”

“Forehead! You weren’t at practice earlier! Where are you?”

Sakura sighed. “I had something to take care of. I’m driving to the hospital now.”

“Take care of?” Ino was not convinced. “What do you have to take care of at six in the morning? Did you do the walk of shame without me knowing?”

Sakura cringed. “Ino!”

Her friend laughed on the other end of the line and said, “seriously though? Aren’t you going to tell me what you’ve been up to?”

“There is nothing to tell, Pig.” Sakura sighed dramatically and continued, “if something were up, I would tell you. You know that.”

She felt the pit of her stomach fall.

Lies.

Something did happen, and now she’s lying through her teeth. Sakura would call Ino up in a heartbeat just to rant about a difficult patient, but now that she just had a private yoga session with Sasuke, she refused to say a word.

Ino sighed. “Alright, Forehead. I trust you.”

Sakura smiled. “Thanks. Hey, I gotta go. I’m already pulling into the parking lot. We can have dinner later if you want.”

Ino groaned. “You gotta tell me these things in advance. I already have plans with Naruto. You could come with if you like? Movie and then dinner.”

Sakura scrunched her nose at the thought of tagging along. “Eww. I don’t want to be your third wheel!”

“Then bring Sasuke-kun and it won’t need to be,” she replied casually.

Sakura stepped on the break. Hard. “Ino!”

She laughed and responded, “you’re far too easy to tease. Anyway, how about we dinner tomorrow? I can fetch you from work and we can go shopping, too. There’s this new boutique and—“

“Okay, okay. Sure.” Sakura sighed and pulled into a parking space. She really didn’t have enough energy to hear Ino go on about clothes right now. “I’m off at three tomorrow.”

There was a short pause on the other line before Ino spoke, “earlier than usual, huh? Perfect. More time for shopping.”

Sakura laughed. Even if things got crazy, she could always depend on her best friend to remain a constant.

As she got out of her car, she took a quick look at her watch. Her eyes went wide and she jumped out. “Oh shit!” She was late. Dr. Senju did not take kindly to tardiness.

Hastily, she grabbed her bag and rushed up to the East Wing. Sakura usually had time to say hi to the receptionist but not today. She just hoped Dr. Senju was too busy to notice. The door to her office was coming into view. Before she could hold on to the knob, the door snapped open and she was met by blazing, chocolate eyes.

“You’re late, Sakura!”

An audible, “eep!” escaped her throat and she hid her face behind her hands in shame. She bowed down and apologized, “I’m so sorry!”

“Hmph!” Tsundere crossed her arms and scolded her for a few seconds before giving her instructions to assist Shizune.

Her shoulders slumped, and her green eyes drooped. Not exactly how she wanted to start her day at the hospital.

.

.

.

“Sakura-chan,” Shizune chimes in.

The pinkette raised her head, as her nose was buried in a medical journal. “Hmm?”

“I’m going to the store to buy lunch. Do you want me to get you anything?”

“Ah, no thank you.” She grinned. “I brought my own lunch.”

“Alright then.” Shizune smiled back and left the office.

A quick look at the clock and she realized it was time for lunch. A few minutes early, but it would be fine to start now, better to have lunch when the pantry isn’t full.

She stood up and looked under her desk, only to notice that her lunch box was missing. Her eyes went wide, and a small gasp escaped her lips as she realized, “I left it at Sasuke-kun’s house.” Her hand flew to her forehead and she shut her eyes tightly. “Stupid stupid stupid!”

Great. Now, what was she going to do? Shizune just left, and if she went out to get lunch for herself now, the lines would be too long and Tsunade would snap at her for over breaking. And her lunch box… She supposed she could pick it up tomorrow, but what would her mother say if she lied and said she left it at work?

“Oh no…” Sakura sank back down on her chair and slumped over her desk. Her stomach grumbled, and she felt like she was ready to cry. Perhaps she was going to get her period, her mood had been rapidly changing since she woke up. Before she could wallow in her grief a little longer, her phone rang.

She was surprised to see Sasuke’s name on the screen. “H-hello?”

“Sakura.”

“Sasuke-kun?”

“What floor are you on?”

“Wh-what? Why do you ask?”

“Tch.” Silence for a few seconds before he replied. “I’m at the lobby, you left your lunch and I brought it over.”

Heat rushed to her cheeks, and her heart fluttered. Sasuke-kun was here. And he brought her lunch over! This was not happening. How could this be happening? Half of her colleagues knew him and idolized him. They would watch the reruns of his fights in the pantry for fuck’s sake. Everyone would recognize him in an instant! Her hand covered her mouth, trying to muffle her scream.

“Are you still there?”

She forgot he was still on the line. “I-I’ll go to you!” she stuttered. “Just… wait there.”

“No need,” Sasuke replied. “Just tell me where you are.”

“But I--”

“Sakura.” There was a hint of warning in his voice, and it made her bite her tongue.

“Third floor in the East Wing. Dr. Senju’s office. Three-oh-one.”

She heard him smirk before replying, “alright. I’ll be there in a while.”

Sakura sank even deeper into her chair and sighed. This was too much. Feeling this anxious wasn’t good for her health. Her heart was fluttering and her stomach twisted in knots at the thought of Sasuke going through the trouble just to bring her lunch. Which she left. Stupid. He probably thought she was stupid.

She crossed her arms on the desk and rested her forehead on them, heat refusing to leave her cheeks. He was here. This was the second time she would see him today. His gym was halfway across town. Why would Sasuke go through the trouble?

There were some muffled screams and squealing coming from the hallway and she snapped her head up. Sakura scrambled out of the office and threw the door open.

There Sasuke was. In a dark blue hoodie and dark grey sweats, holding on to a bright pink lunch box. She wanted to laugh, he looked so out of place in the white halls, and yet, she never knew it was possible someone could look so hot in sweats. It hung just right on his hips, and despite the hoodie being loose, his muscles still shone through. She gulped when his dark eyes met hers.

He ignored everyone around him, and a smirk came to his lips. “Sakura.”

“Hi,” she smiled shyly. “Thank you for… bringing my lunch over.”

He glided towards her and handed her her lunch box. “You were in a hurry to leave this morning.”

Everyone in the hall watched their exchange, and her cheeks burned even brighter. “I-I’m sorry! I was running late!” She held on to her lunch box a little too tight, and she stared at it like it was the most interesting object she had ever laid eyes on.

Sasuke only nodded and stuffed his hands in his hoodie’s pockets. “Plans for later?”

“What?”

He raised a brow at her, and she mentally kicked herself. Yup. He definitely thought she was stupid and deaf. “I--sorry, I thought you asked me if I had plans later…” that came out way softer than she would have liked.

Sasuke smirked. “I did.”

He what now? He what now? She opened her mouth to try to reply, but then nothing came out.

Sasuke smiled at her. “I’m going to take that as a no. Should I pick you up or let’s just meet at my place?”

Sakura shook her head to clear it and responded. “I have a car.”

“I know,” Sasuke replied. “Then I’ll just meet you at home.”

All she could do was nod. He smirked and flicked her forehead lightly with his index finger and thumb. “You should go eat, you’re spacing out.”

She never knew it was medically possible to turn crimson. Apparently, it was. Now she wanted to spearhead a study for finding if it was possible to die of embarrassment.

Sakura held on to the spot where his fingers brushed her forehead. “Okay.”

“Seven ‘o clock.” He turned to leave and waved at her before walking past the crowd.

Sakura’s gaze never left his back until he disappeared at the corner. All of her colleagues turned to face her, smug looks and teasing. She covered her flustered face with her hands again. How she wished the ground would open up to swallow her.

Now everyone knew she was dating someone. Even if it wasn’t true, that’s surely what everyone will be gossiping about for the rest of the week.

“Who was that Sakura?” A nurse gushed. “Is he your boyfriend?”

“Don’t be stupid, that was Sasuke Uchiha. You know, the MMA fighter?” A male staffer replied. “But seriously, how do you know him?”

“He brought her lunch. Of course, they’re together!” Another nursed chirped. “Oh, he’s so handsome. Sakura, you’re so lucky!”

All she wanted to do was curl up into a ball and disappear. This was too much. She wanted to keep her life as private as possible, but it looked like that wasn’t happening now. So many people kept asking her questions and she just wanted it to stop.

“What is going on here?” Tsunade barked. “Don’t crowd in front of my office!”

All the people straightened up and made way for her to walk through. “Sakura!”

“Yes!” Sakura stood up straight.

Tsunade looked at her with hard features but softened at her frightened expression. “I’m having lunch with the surgeons. Come and join us.”

Her eyes went wide. This was a great opportunity to meet them. The tension in her shoulders eased, and she found herself smiling again. “Yes, shishou.”

She’d worry about her date with Sasuke and her colleagues later. For now, her future colleagues awaited her.

A/N: Here’s the next chapter, loves! We hope you liked it! Do let us know what you think of it! 

You can read more of my stories in my master post, or visit my FFnet!

If you like my work, care to sit down and have a ko-fi with me?

[rebelwheels-blog]

Little Sparrow Freed From Its Cage

September 24, 2018

Per aspera ad astra - Through adversity to the stars

Hello there everyone! I have quite a bit of news to share with all of you lovely readers, as it has been quite a while since my last update. Hopefully my writing habits will be a bit more consistent now, due to the main reason I am writing this update. So grab a cup of tea, or coffee for you Americans, and be prepared for a lengthy blog entry.

Commencement to Independence

For the longest time, it was my belief that graduation was just another event where I would only witness others experience the joy of being released from the dictatorship of homework and the school setting.

Much of my student experience has been infringed upon due to various circumstances; whether illness was to blame, being placed in classes my superiors wrongly believed I belonged, or unwillingly leaving the only place I called home, as well as exiting the lives of many I held and hold close in my heart.

Not everyone experienced the same scenario as I did, which is wonderful. Even so, for much of my life there was a common denominator.

Adversity.

Due to my disability, my experiences and memories of the school setting are extremely unconventional.

Which leads to the less self-pitying part of my screed. If it weren’t for all those obstacles, and more, throughout my existence as a student, graduation would not grant me the same satisfaction and pride as it does now to declare to you all that I am no longer a high school student. September 21, 2018 was the day I was set free.

Although there are plenty of memories I have to look back on that made my school days less dreary, so I shall not admit that every second of my years at school were terrible, as I had the good fortune of making a few friends along the way as well as learning some lessons that allowed me to grow as a person.

So I thank all of you who have stuck with me through the good times and the not so good times, because I couldn’t have made it here without you.

I’d especially like to thank my first teacher who set me on the right path to homeschooling. You know who you are, with your huge green duffel bag full of wonderful toys each day as we sat in the garden room. Thank you for always being there for me academically and as a friend. You mean the universe to me.

Every experience and every person that one encounters affects the future, individually and worldly, good or bad, long or short. Because, who knows? Maybe one day someone who experienced something they perceived as awful will change the life of another so someone else will never experience what was already lived through by another.

Celebration?

To celebrate this momentous occasion, my grandmother and I designed what would normally have been the top of my cap to go along with my gown.

Then we made a message in a bottle, with the message being the poem The Road Not Taken as it is our favorite poem.

But the most important component to all of this is the timing of everything that has unfolded over the past few weeks.

Enjoy the first ever gif I have ever created, of course it’s to do with Stephen

I managed to finish the last of my exams the day directly before my grandmother’s birthday, which was coincidentally purposefully happened to be on my cousin’s birthday. Then, on Friday, I was officially set free from my classes on the birthday of my great grandfather. Everything took place over the course of three days, and three birthdays of three people that mean the world to me.

Funnily enough, exactly one week to the day, another event unfolded spontaneously. I was granted the most amazing graduation gift. A friend, a very old friend, of tremendous significance and value to me. We had not seen each other in almost nine years, but we always kept in touch. Last Wednesday, we broke our hiatus and had lunch together with our grandparents. I felt like I was in a dream. I couldn’t believe we were even in the same room. He has seen my old self, my pathetic self, and my happy self, and he never left. He’s one of a kind and I don’t know what I would do without him. Making him laugh after taking a nervous drink of water while we were at lunch and burping due to my liquid consumption was one of the highlights of our visit together. Hopefully we won’t have such a lengthy hiatus between seeing each other again, which neither of us believe will happen. I already can’t wait to see him again.

Then on the Saturday following that Wednesday, I swam with my other best friend who happened to come home from college that weekend. I honestly don’t remember the last time we just chilled out in the pool, or anywhere, and hung out like two normal teenage girls. Granted I did complain quite a bit about school work after we got out and had lunch, but that wasn’t the entire visit. It felt so normal to just hang out with my best friend, and I can’t thank you enough (you know who you are if you’re reading this). I couldn’t have asked for a better way to finish my classes.

But graduation is supposed to be a big deal, right? A huge celebration is supposed to take place, right? Well, I honestly have no idea how else to celebrate my accomplishment. I would love to have a party and do something the way everyone else does, but many of my friends and family live far, far away. So out goes that idea... Nevertheless, if no other celebration takes place, I am forever grateful for being able to visit with my friend from New Jersey thanks to his and my grandparents.

Moving Forward

Now that I have soooo much time on my hands, I don’t know what to do with it! Well, I do, but it’s only been almost a week since I finished my classes and it’s still rather odd. I spent the weekend creating and improving a sort of sketch that puts together my Halloween costume. Yes, I’ll be 19 by then and many will say I’m too old to do Halloween, but you know what? Adults are allowed to dress up and have fun too. Halloween is not just about the candy, well not to me anyway. To me, it’s about letting yourself be free to be whatever you want to be for one day of the year. As it seems that it is only socially acceptable to dress up when one is an adult around Halloween, if one were to dress up any other day of the year you end up being labeled as a psychopath.

Okay, maybe not a psychopath, but anyone dressed up as a character or dramatic makeup is worn outside a concert, theatre club, comic convention, or Halloween, etc., side glances and glares will be made.

I decided that I will be dressing up as my own version of Sherlock, as long coats are as much of a pain to get on as a dress. I have a few components of my costume together, but I still need the hat, scarf, and maybe shoes? I may just go with a pair of short boots that I have as finding shoes in my size is an entirely different story.

I wasn’t sure if the coat I had would look Sherlockian enough, so I decided that I would put together a sketch of my outfit to see how it would look. So I put this together.

Originally, as you can see, there was no face. But I worked on it and worked on it over the past few days and this the outcome. In the beginning I did trace the undershirt, but that’s it. I figured out the rest. I’m very proud of it, as it is the first drawing I’ve done in quite a while that I haven’t gotten angry with.

Having this freedom has made me realize that after a few days of numbly looking at social media, I am suddenly craving to learn new information and I miss my math and science classes. I think that within the next week I will unconsciously start to read books again just from the slight need I’ve had to expand my knowledge again. Maybe I’ll even start writing stories again due to new knowledge, as I have written down a few ideas for short stories the past few days. In the words of a good friend, the possibilities are endless.

Spinraza News

Luckily I have school finished to get through my next injection. I was reminded that I have to go through re-approval from the insurance, making my injection date is a week later than I wanted. This week I have to get blood drawn again as well as other tests.

Speaking of tests, I had to do a strength test last week, my first one after having Spinraza. My results have to either stay the same or improve in order for the insurance company to say I can keep having Spinraza. Needless to say, I was terrified that I wasn’t going to improve due to their standards. I’ve noticed more strength in my legs than my arms, granted my right arm is noticeably stronger, but I did not anticipate the evidence the strength test would grant me.

The first test was to tear a sheet of paper. No big deal, right? Wrong. I had to try to tear a piece of paper that was folded four times. I tried and it didn’t happen. So my physical therapist unfolded it so it was in half. I believed that I was trying to tear it wrong as I was using my nail to start the tear. But I was wrong. That’s how you physically tear a sheet of paper when you pinch it. So when it cooperated and I split the paper down the middle, I was like “okay, I could totally do that before Spinraza.” Again, I was wrong. When I did the baseline test, I was able to rip the paper but only if:

it was started for me

it was a single sheet unfolded

it only ripped sideways not straight down

My physical therapist kept my old paper and showed it to me to prove that I had improved. After I saw the paper, I felt like Captain America

Go ahead, enjoy that gif because Tumblr doesn’t allow more than 10 images so that’s the last one guys

Once I completed that question of the test, the test was gravy. I was actually able to do other things as well such as:

lifting a weight I couldn’t before

completing a short maze test without stopping my pen

pressing a stupid light button and making it stay on

opening a container that was entirely too difficult when I tried six months ago

I gained 5 points in the scoring system, from 11 to 16 points. I still can’t get over it. So much has been going on the past... Well, year, honestly. Between myself and my family members, it’s been nonstop.

Well, I think I’ve written enough for this update, probably too much... But whatever, if you guys enjoy these updates you don’t mind. If you don’t enjoy them... Well... ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[thecassidyclan]

                                    Introductions. 4/4/2018

Good afternoon and hello to everyone reading! I was going to upload a few more pictures but having three active boys and a baby that’s attention starved although she gets it all is a bit overwhelming...I’ll be honest, I’ve already written this whole post out at 4:00AM while having a toddler laying out across my legs and a baby on my chest; all while them being asleep.

Anyway, this is our tight knit family! We’ve been through some heavy loaded shit that I have no want to mention in an introduction post, let alone for everyone to see. So, let’s get through the basics, shall we?

My name is Aileen Elizabeth Cassidy, and I was born on April 1st, dubbing me 28 years old with four kids under the age of seven. I am a single mother who’s attempted to scrounge up any sort of job I could find, which ended me up in some diner as a waitress. My husband died a bit before my daughter was born, and I have no wish to talk about him or the reason of his passing...

Anyway, on to the good stuff! 

My eldest son, Ronan James Cassidy was born October 3rd and is a strong 7 year old who finds his joy in playing pretend and helping me to care for his siblings! He’s always up for meeting new people, only if they seem trust worthy and worth his time and attempts.

My second oldest is a young boy named Eoin Jasper Cassidy! He was born June 20th, which makes him a quiet 5 year old who’s usually glued to my hip or to his older brother, Ronny. Out of my four children (3 of them being able to have a relationship with their dad) he has been through the most trouble...He is often extremely quiet and would rather stay close with his family instead of striving and meeting new people like his older brother. Eoin takes some therapy classes due to our past and often stays to himself.

My youngest son, Alfred Otto Cassidy is the most bubbliest, wide eyed and ecstatic two year old I’ve ever met. Born on November 9th, making him two, he usually gibbers excitedly and narrowly accomplishes getting his words out without stuttering or babbling. He is a huge cuddle bug and accompanies Ronan with having a huge imagination.

Finally, down to the last Cassidy member, is our little doll Fiona Cade Cassidy. She was born on December 14th at the end of last year, making her 3 months old! She’s usually almost always grinning or cooing at anyone that offers even the slightest bit of attention to her...She has a strong love for her two Uncles, Aleks and Dimitri, and would most likely choose them over me in a quick heartbeat.

Anyway, that was our suck ass introduction! If you’ve made it this far, I applaud you and hope you’re still awake...I hope you don’t have a hellish day, just because a day is better than a bad one, and I wish to see you next time on our future posts!