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arty-shadow-morningstar · 3 years

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Graveyard Siblings (3)

Some for revenge and some sibling bonding.

[Masterlist]

(Part 1)(Part 2)

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Adrien was next to be visited. Plagg woke him up from his sleep.

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“Kit, wake up. I want camembert.”

“Plagg, silence. You are not getting any cheese if you do that.”

“Sorry, Adrien but you are not my ‘master’ anymore.”

“Plagg? Why are you here? Where’s the ring?”

“The ring is as far away as possible and kept safely away. I am here because someone wants to talk to you.”

“Who?”

A cloaked, hooded figure stepped out of the shadows to his room.

“Kitty. My Chaton. Did you miss me?” A sweet, familiar but yet so terrifying voice came from the figure.

She pulled down the hood to reveal Ladybug with a wicked-looking black mask with white lenses.

“What am I talking about? You do miss me. Your Bugaboo. Too bad I don’t feel the same, Adrien.”

Lightning flashed and it started to rain. The mask was gone, revealing his dead classmate, Marinette with chilling red eyes. The pigtails grew longer and curved upwards, giving the illusion of her having horns. Twin blades flashed and she leaped towards him. (Damian gave them to her with some lessons in exchange for spending time with, babysitting, the kwamis.)

Adrien scrambled away from the bed in the nick of time. A sword impaling the spot where he just was.

“Plagg, help. Where is the ring? I need to transform.”

“Sorry, kitten. I am not telling you. Even if you did have the ring, it’s not going to be much help.”

“Kitty, stay still. Then, we can be together. Just like you wanted.”

Adrien continued to dodge.

“What do you mean?” He all but screamed at Plagg.

“Pigtails, here, is a vengeful spirit. She’s not going to stop until she is satisfied. How about asking her what she wants?”

“Ladybug, what do you want?”

“What I wanted was a partner I could rely on, someone I can trust with my life, someone who wouldn’t stab me in the back for his own selfish gain. I wanted a friend who would have my back and not tell me to keep quiet at the price of my mental health and my relationships with people I care about. WAS THAT TOO MUCH TO ASK?!”

She managed to get a cut on his left cheek.

Soon, he was on the ground, bleeding out on the round.

“Tell Hawkmoth that he better watch out. Because-” lightning struck and Plagg and Ladybug had disappeared, “his downfall is coming.” Her voice echoed through his room.

Adrien laid bleeding until Natalie opened the door after hearing a crash from the room and came to check on him. As she called an ambulance for Adrien, she wondered if it wasn’t too late to ask for redemption and be spared from Ladybug’s wrath for her part in her murder.

Adrien had the word ‘TRAITOR’ carved into his back. Forever reminding him of his crimes.

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He wasn’t in school for a week after the incident. They all were told that Adrien had an accident while fencing.

Gabriel was a little panicking now.

He hired an exorcist, (John Constantine got a hefty amount and did a few flashy magic tricks to appease Gabriel but he didn’t lift the curse Maria put on the place. She is not someone to be on the bad side of and he thinks that he can’t lift it even if he wanted to.)

Emilie gets a little sus at Gabriel when he brought this strange man with a British accent into their home after their son got attacked in his own room with security tighter than Fort Knox.

She doesn’t buy that ‘accident’ bullshit that her husband, son and even Natalie tries to sell her. She thinks it is connected to what happened while she was in a coma.

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Adrien has a curse too.

(Credit to @raeuberprinzessin for giving me an idea)

He couldn’t act like the ‘Perfect Adrien’ in public anymore. Acting more like Chat Noir at first then, later a spoiled brat. His friends thought that he was finally rebelling against his father and encouraged it a lot.

Adrien started criticizing other people, strangers at first then to the people working on the photoshoots to his fans to his other school mates, people in his class and his friends. (The curse planted ideas into his head about what he should say and he said them all without thinking about the effect it has on other people)

People started avoiding him not liking his attitude and his comments about how they should behave and change something about them because he doesn’t like it that way and guilt-tripping them when he doesn’t get his way. Even Nino started to distance himself after he saw how Adrien talked to a fan.

The public thought it was a phase but as he got progressively worse, people started despising him. Adrien doesn’t realize this of course so far, happy that his father let him get away with ‘ruining the Agreste image.’ (Gabriel was worried about a potential vengeful ghost and making sure his wife didn't know about his stint as a supervillain. There was also the fact that the Afterlife made more sales than him again and managed to get on the cover of Vogue when he should have, dammit.) He was finally able to say what he wanted to without repercussions. Until he realized when Nino and everyone else cancelled for a hangout for the third time that week that he was slowly losing his friends.

He panics and tries to fix the situation. He didn’t want to be alone again.

He talks to Nino about it and to his horror, he couldn’t stop himself from saying many things that were a little hurtful. (Second part. The moment he realizes he is going to be alone. He is going to find out that yes, lies can hurt people. He is going to see it happen firsthand.)

Nino moved seats and told Adrien that their friendship was on hold until he apologized.

Soon, nearly every time his mouth opened, lies and insults about his friends or their embarrassing secrets came spilling out. Everyone hated him now and Mme. Bustier tried to give him a reprimand about his behaviour, which when he tried to defend himself, he found himself unable to speak.

He managed to explain to his father what caused his unpopularity by writing what happened to him. Unfortunately due to his poor behaviour before the second part of the curse was activated, his fan base was dwindling and people didn’t like him anymore so there was a hit on the Gabriel brand.

He no longer has to do modeling, clearing his schedule. But no one would spend time with him.

The best solution he could do with his predicament was to keep quiet and endure the loneliness and the glares of his classmates at school. Adrien was relegated to the back and nearly everyone avoided him. He was now a social pariah.

Even Lila avoided him because of her own curse which made Adrien turn into one of her previous victims. (She also didn’t ponder why Marinette rarely appears compared to the others.)

If Adrien felt a tiny bit remorseful or guilty for making Marinette keep quiet or betraying Ladybug, he can gain a little control over what he says.

The curse can be broken if he apologizes to Maria herself or to her grave.

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The first few months, while Marinette adapted to living with the Waynes, Jason stayed over at Wayne Manor because having Maria living with him at his apartment wasn’t a good idea and he had no clue how to take care of a teenage girl.

On paper she is adopted by Bruce because Jason can’t. (Some CPS reasons.)

Making Jason a little more salty towards Bruce. “I found her first. I called dibs.”

Brought Maria to meet the other Outlaws and they adopted her too. “Hey, guys. She’s my sister first.”

Jason was the one to teach her how to shoot a gun because he was ‘the most capable’ of teaching her.

The first few months were a little tense with Marinette not fully trusting them and the same with the rest of the Batfam.

Jason warmed her up a bit to him by telling a little of why he took her here.

He was also the one to book them flight to Paris with Bruce’s credit card so she can tell her friends that she wasn’t dead in person.

They bonded more after stopping some nefarious plot in Paris while they were there. Let’s say Gentleman Ghost and something involving the catacombs in Paris. (I watched some Batman: Brave and the Bold for childhood nostalgia.)

Kwamis were animal-shaped and they were interesting creatures to be around. And very very curious.

There was a stressful day for Maria when all the Kwamis decided to play hide and seek. Damian somehow got roped into helping her as the only available person in the Manor and he will deny that he enjoyed it.

Damian is the little brother she always wanted and she is more tolerable compared to his brothers. There is also the fact that she trusts him with the kwamis and deep down, he feels super-honoured. (I just love older sister!Mari)

Tim and her being insomniac/coffee buddies. There has been many many interventions to stop this.

I get that Marinette is this selfless person and loves making people happy but she has siblings now and them eating the stuff she made for herself to enjoy, should get on her nerves after a while.

She makes a box with booby-traps in which she puts in her cookies and food.

There are many different layers of traps because this is the Batfam and each of them is non-lethal and more ridiculous.

Okay, I once read a fic about Marinette making a bear-trap style box to hide the Miracle Box so this box is also like that but kept for food. (Traps and Sneaks by quicksilversquared)

Someone (I vote a hungry Dick or Jason, maybe a suspicious Bruce) made a mistake of putting their hand into the box and the first trap activated.

Screams filled the house.

Everyone came down including Marinette.

Bruce asked, “Who did this?”

“It was me.”

“Why?”

“They kept eating the cookies.”

“There are other ways to stop them from doing that you know like a ‘Do Not Touch’ sign not a death trap box.”

“They are non-lethal.”

Bruce locked it away but Tim later stole it to tweak it and store his coffee. ------ (Part 4)

#graveyard siblings #maribat #ml x dc #mlb x dc #adrien salt #adrien bashing #platonic jasonette #platonic daminette

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ginmo · 4 years

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...This response took me a million years, because there’s so much textbook abuse and mislabeling that I was like where do I even fucking start and how do I come at this. I’m still not happy with my approach but here we go. Sorry. This is going to be long.

Why do people abuse?

Domestic violence and abuse stem from a desire to gain and maintain power and control over an intimate partner. Abusive people believe they have the right to control and restrict their partners, and they may enjoy the feeling that exerting power gives them. They often believe that their own feelings and needs should be the priority in their relationships, so they use abusive tactics to dismantle equality and make their partners feel less valuable and deserving of respect in the relationship. [x]

Abuse is habitual. Everyone on the planet has either intentionally or unintentionally done an abusive act, emotionally or physically, in one of their relationships at some point in their life, but that doesn’t mean that relationship was abusive or that the pair was mutually abusive.

It’s also not uncommon for an abusive relationship to have a degree of abuse from both parties involved. Many victims will unconsciously do something abusive as an attempt to bring balance to the relationship and gain some control, but those incidents are isolated and not “habitual,” which puts them in the overall victim category.

In this abusive relationship:

Jaime is the main victim. Cersei is the main abuser. There’s nothing “mutual” about it.

“lmaoooo Jaime CHOSE to be in this relationship”

I’m aware that GRRM probably intended Jaime to totally jump in 100% by his choice, but that doesn’t change the fact that literally every person in an abusive relationship appears to have chosen to remain in that relationship. Hell, I knew my abuser was abusive before I even got into a relationship with him, but I did it anyway because, man, he was charming and persuasive. He unconsciously used that charm, manipulation, and seduction to keep me hooked while chipping away at my identity. Victims of abuse all have a choice, in theory, but the reality of it is messy, because there’s manipulation at play and a great degree of delusion.

Cersei is guilty of narcissistic abuse.

It’s perfectly valid to view Cersei as a narcissist. She obviously isn’t diagnosed with anything, but I’m reading her as a textbook narcissist so… let’s play. Before I dive into all the abuse, I’m going to dig into Cersei’s narcissism, because it plays into the interpretation of their dynamic.

“You can argue, well, does she genuinely love her children, or does she just love them because they’re her children? There’s certainly a great level of narcissism in Cersei. She has an almost sociopathic view of the world and civilization.” (Also look up: malignant narcissism and sociopathy)

GRRM then immediately makes a comparison to Jaime, contrasting their abilities to love.

“At the same time, what Jaime did is interesting.”

He goes on to describe Jaime’s action of pushing Bran, implying he did it out of genuine love for others (since he used the word genuinely for Cersei and then compared). [x]

“LMAO BUT JAIME IS A NARCISSIST TOO”

No lmfao. Someone can appear narcissistic at times and swing on that spectrum, but that doesn’t make them a narcissist or show they have “a great level of narcissism.” One of the main defining characteristics of a narcissist is a lack of empathy. I’m not even going to dig up all of the empathy examples, because the above comparison from GRRM should be enough to tell you he isn’t writing Jaime as a narcissist and going that route would take this way off topic. Just… read his chapters lol. You don’t even have to get far into his POVs to see empathy and how his thought process is intentionally written to be different than Cersei’s.

Anyway, my level of sympathy for Cersei is entirely wrapped around her narcissism. To me, what’s sad here is the idea she can’t experience true intimacy and is completely unaware of it. She loves Jaime, and I truly believe she believes she loves Jaime, but in reality it’s only at the capacity that narcissism allows.

Narcissistic Abuse:

“Narcissists don’t really love themselves. Actually, they’re driven by shame. It’s the idealized image of themselves, which they convince themselves they embody, that they admire. But deep down, narcissists feel the gap between the façade they show the world and their shame-based self. They work hard to avoid feeling that shame.

Many of the narcissist’s coping mechanisms are abusive — hence the term, “narcissistic abuse.” [x]

I mean… that’s kinda sad? I feel for her in that sense, but, as the article says, “Abuse is abuse, no matter the abuser’s diagnosis.”

Needs to Look Like Her

There are several examples of Cersei commenting on his changed appearance and how she doesn’t like it. That isn’t too weird, since people have their own personal preferences and hey, maybe she just doesn't like beards? But no. That’s not the case. She doesn’t like the changes, because it means he looks less like her. It 100% is about Jaime being male Cersei - an extension of herself.

“Nor did Jaime help her mood when he turned up all in white and still unshaven, to tell her how he meant to keep her son from being poisoned. - AFFC

“his face was thinner, with hollows under his eyes and lines he did not remember. I don’t look as much like Cersei this way. She’ll hate that.” - ASOS

(and lol so tempted to go into how Jaime’s facial hair is symbolic of his identity shift and how that relates to the separation with his twin).

“Jaime likes looking like Cersei too”

Oh does he? If that’s still so then why isn’t he shaving his beard for her?

Has he ever been disgusted by her looks? Does he ever look at siblings and get irritated if he thinks they look more alike? When he noticed his change in appearance did he think, “I hate that we look different” or did he think, “Cersei will hate that”...? (Also, when he thinks that he would be Cersei in fucking ASOS - *pre-handchop which is pre-arc-* that’s a laughably obvious set up for the identity aspect of his arc with that belief being destroy, you dense- ...*deep breath* moving on)

I’m sure he romanticized the looks to an extent, but it’s been made clear that it’s far more important to Cersei than it is to him, since she often makes note of his change in appearance. This is even shown in a scene where Cersei is observing Loras and Margaery and getting annoyed that they look more like twins than she and Jaime do.

For some context, Cersei was watching them dance.

“They could be twins, Cersei thought as she watched them. Ser Loras was a year older than his sister, but they had the same big brown eyes, the same thick brown hair falling in lazy ringlets to their shoulders, the same smooth unblemished skin. A ripe crop of pimples would teach them some humility. Loras was taller and had a few wisps of soft brown fuzz on his face, and Margaery had a woman’s shape, but elsewise they were more alike than she and Jaime.

That annoyed her too. -AFFC”

Narcissistic abuse includes emotional and physical and is used as an umbrella term for the two when they’re done by a narcissist, therefore slightly changing the context of the abuse.

I’m not going to pretend that GRRM sat down with a sexual narcissist checklist, created from the hours of research through his dinosaur computer, BUT he clearly is aware of basic narcissistic and abusive dynamics. It’s… really not that hard. And even if you don’t think he consciously did it, her behaviors are still aligned.

“LmAo CeRsEi’S ‘EvIL VaGiNa’ - MiSoGyNiStS!”

…manipulation through sex is an actual fucking thing that’s genderless.

Right lmfao this is going to be long.

“A sexual narcissist is a person who uses sex as a tool to emotionally manipulate their victims to get what they want.”

People admit that she uses sex as a tool to get stuff done, claiming its her form of power in the patriarchy. What they fail to consider is that Cersei does this frequently to Jaime - a person who is meant to be her lover - which… makes him a victim of narcissistic abuse. Don’t believe me?

I’m going to be using this article to break apart sexual narcissism. If you want more just research. They all pretty much say the same thing, but I chose this one because I prefer the structure. The article breaks examples into categories:

Sex is used to manipulate/persuade

Excessive focus on physical over emotional

You Exist to Serve the Narcissist’s Needs

Constantly Puts You Down

Reacts Negatively When You Don’t Give Them What They Want

Treats You Poorly / Neglects You After Sex

Infidelity, Violence, and Sexual Addiction

This whole post has been a nightmare to organize. Tbh most of the examples I’ll use fall under MULTIPLE categories. The scenes are like fucking Russian dolls of abuse. Or like… Abuse Inception. Abuse within abuse within abuse, so I had to just pick and choose which ones to put where.

Charming and Romantic – But with a Catch

“Many sexual narcissists can come across as alluring and attractive, especially during the initial stages of a relationship, when they’re trying to win you over. Like a master salesperson, they use charisma to get your attention, flattery to make you feel special, seduction (flirting, gifts, dinners, get-aways, etc.) to lift you off your feet, and persuasion to get you to give them what they want. Some sexual narcissists are very good in bed (at least they think they are), for sex is used as a tool to impress, entrap, and manipulate.

While there’s absolutely nothing wrong inherently with being charming, romantic, and a good lover, the narcissist crafts these traits in order to use others. He or she is not really interested in you, but only what he wants to extract from you (often to fulfill an inner emptiness due to the inability to create true intimacy).”

You can even find some meta that almost word for word says what’s described above, but they erase her doing this to Jaime - her partner- and frame these actions as feminist lol.

Eel Alley.

“But,” Jaime said, “there’s Casterly Rock …”

“Is it a rock you want? Or me?”

She then starts to seduce him to show him what he can have, to have the scale weigh in her favor. Manipulation through sex.

“He remembered that night as if it were yesterday. They spent it in an old inn on Eel Alley, well away from watchful eyes. Cersei had come to him dressed as a simple serving wench, which somehow excited him all the more. Jaime had never seen her more passionate. Every time he went to sleep, she woke him again. By morning Casterly Rock seemed a small price to pay to be near her always. He gave his consent, and Cersei promised to do the rest.” - AFFC

There's no indication whatsoever that Jaime had any intent to NOT wed and be Lord of Casterly Rock. He wasn’t really into Lysa but he never straight up refused to take on the role he was born into. In fact, he even kinda fancied Catelyn lol.

“Lord Hoster kept me for a fortnight whilst mulling his reply, and sat me beside his daughter Lysa at every meal.”

“Small wonder you took the white. I’d have done the same.”

“Oh, Lysa was not so fearsome as all that.” She had been a pretty girl, in truth; dimpled and delicate, with long auburn hair. Timid, though. Prone to tongue-tied silences and fits of giggles, with none of Cersei’s fire. Her older sister had seemed more interesting, though Catelyn was promised to some northern boy, the heir of Winterfell …”

And lol

“but at that age, no girl interested Jaime half so much as Hoster’s famous brother, who had won renown fighting the Ninepenny Kings upon the Stepstones.” - AFFC

He doesn’t even say, “but at that age, no girl interested Jaime so much as Cersei.” No. The Blackfish. Had Catelyn been unbetrothed, it’s not a stretch to think that Jaime would have been entertained by the idea of their betrothal. This was before Cersei seduced him at Eel Alley.

“hE GaVe HiS ConSenT”

Yeah, after she manipulated him through sex LOL. IT’S RIGHT THERE.

“Jaime always wanted to join the KG!”

“He had joined the Kingsguard for love, of course”.-ASOS

(HEY! Just like that tall, blonde, “beauty” he’s been hanging out with HHMM)

He wasn’t going to join the KG before Cersei gave him “love,” which is why he was asking about Casterly Rock and talking about Tywin, as if this was an idea he hadn’t thought of before. (Knight and KG are not synonymous). He joined “for love” AFTER she gave him intimacy, showing him what he could have if he agreed to stay by her side forever.

She even murdered Melara -HER FRIEND- for saying she wanted to marry Jaime one day. She kept trying to rob Jaime of a life outside of her, and yes I use the word “rob,” because it was through narcissistic abuse. She literally turned up the passion and kept waking him up with sex until he gave his consent.

And “by morning” Casterly Rock was “a small price to pay.” A SMALL PRICE TO PAY. That means it was worth something of value to him and then “by morning,” after she woke him up over and over and over until he agreed, it became a “small price.”

Also keep in mind that when Cersei was begging Jaime to join the KG to be close to her, she was legitimately crushing hard on Rhaegar not long before... she’s allowed to fantasize about marriage with Rhaegar, but Jaime isn’t allowed to fit his role and marry?

“once she had drawn a picture of herself flying behind Rhaegar on a dragon, her arms wrapped tight about his chest. When Jaime had discovered it she told him it was Queen Alysanne and King Jaehaerys. [...] By night the prince played his silver harp and made her weep. When she had been presented to him, Cersei had almost drowned in the depths of his sad purple eyes. He has been wounded, she recalled thinking, but I will mend his hurt when we are wed. Next to Rhaegar, even her beautiful Jaime had seemed no more than a callow boy. The prince is going to be my husband, she had thought, giddy with excitement, and when the old king dies I’ll be the queen.” -AFFC

Like… fuck…

Later on, when Jaime is developing into his own being and becoming aware of the bs, the Eel Alley scene is brought up again.

“Cersei.” He spoke slowly, like a man waking from a dream, still wondering where he was. “What hour is it?”

“The hour of the wolf.” His sister lowered her hood, and made a face. “The drowned wolf, perhaps.” She smiled for him, so sweetly.”

There’s the use of charm. Normally you could argue that she was honestly happy to see him. But what does she say next and what does he associate with that encounter?

“Do you remember the first time I came to you like this? It was some dismal inn off Weasel Alley, and I put on servant’s garb to get past Father’s guards.”

“I remember. It was Eel Alley.” She wants something of me. “Why are you here, at this hour? What would you have of me?” His last word echoed up and down the sept, mememememememememememe, fading to a whisper. For a moment he dared to hope that all she wanted was the comfort of his arms.”

And he wasn’t wrong. She did want something from him. So no. It’s not in his head.

“Jaime, Kevan has refused me. He will not serve as Hand [...] “You must be Tommen’s Hand.” -AFFC

This time he realizes what she’s doing. Using her outfit, she’s causing a recall to a past manipulative event that worked, exposing her intent, which is why Jaime immediately recognizes it as something she wants from him. This also implies that he now views their encounter at Eel Alley as Cersei wanting something of him since the two encounters were directly associated.

Here’s another moment of manipulation by a sexual narcissist.

“My sister wanted the girl to lose a hand. The old penalty, for striking one of the blood royal. Robert told her she was cruel and mad. They fought for half the night … well, Cersei fought, and Robert drank. Past midnight, the queen summoned me inside.”

Failing to get Robert to side with her and do something, she then summoned Jaime to give him the attention she knows he wants. You see where I’m going here?

“The king was passed out snoring on the Myrish carpet. I asked my sister if she wanted me to carry him to bed. She told me I should carry her to bed, and shrugged out of her robe. I took her on Raymun Darry’s bed after stepping over Robert. If His Grace had woken I would have killed him there and then. He would not have been the first king to die upon my sword … but you know that story, don’t you?” He slashed at a tree branch, shearing it in half. “As I was fucking her, Cersei cried, ‘I want.’ I thought that she meant me, but it was the Stark girl that she wanted, maimed or dead.” The things I do for love. - AFFC

This isn’t Jaime interpreting the incident incorrectly. This is character growth.

GRRM is speaking through Jaime by destroying the illusion and becoming aware of the reality he has been living. Because the lights are turning on for him, the things I do for love can take on a new meaning here. It’s more like the things I do to earn intimacy. He’s jogging down memory lane and realizing that every time (shown or told about in the books) she approached him she was trying to get something from him or trying to get him to agree with her. There was always a motive apart from a genuine desire to give and receive love, no strings attached.

Excessive Focus on Physical Over Emotional

“The sexual narcissist’s style of love-making is often focused on appearance and image, with a keen dislike for flaws and weaknesses from oneself or the partner. The love-making is less about two human beings connecting, and more about measuring up to idealized expectations. Try as the sexual narcissist might at physical grandiosity, there’s inevitably something missing in their performance: genuine human emotions.”

Mm yes.Going back to this as an example:

“his face was thinner, with hollows under his eyes and lines he did not remember. I don’t look as much like Cersei this way. She’ll hate that.” - ASOS

“The Targaryens wed brother to sister for three hundred years, to keep the bloodlines pure. And Jaime and I are more than brother and sister. We are one person in two bodies. We shared a womb together. He came into this world holding my foot, our old maester said. When he is in me, I feel … whole.” - AGOT

“I need you. I need my other half.” He could hear the rain pattering against the windows high above. “You are me, I am you. I need you with me. In me. Please, Jaime. Please.” - AFFC

People use Cersei’s romanticized twin comments as evidence to show that she genuinely loves Jaime. This also can connect to the GRRM quote mentioned above about her genuine love capabilities which can be argued as “lol no”.

She does not have “genuine human emotions,” because her words and feelings are from a narcissistic desire to be whole through the idea that Jaime is an extension of herself. So… yeah, if she thinks Jaime is herself as a male (“you are me, I am you”), then she’s missing half of her until he’s inside her, making her whole. Her, her, her, her.

Also, that’s a move to try to strip him of his own identity, his own person, and is a fucking massive red flag that this is how the relationship began. Does he ever try to persuade her to do shit by reminding her that they’re the same person? Like ffs.

She does this while trying to manipulate him using sex. He’s not listening to her, so she begs him to be inside her. Hey, why not? We’ve seen this work before.

“Every time he went to sleep, she woke him again. By morning Casterly Rock seemed a small price to pay to be near her always. He gave his consent, and Cersei promised to do the rest.” - ASOS

You Exist to Serve the Narcissist’s Needs.

“After the initial courtship period during which he or she tries to impress and please, a sexual narcissist may begin to demand that you cater primarily to his own selfish needs. He may expect you to be “on call”

Okay I bolded that “on call” bit, because she does go to him when she wants something, and then gets hella mad when he refuses. But I know some people will use this to be like BuT JaImE TaKeS hEr WhEn He WaNts and like.. Yeah, fair enough, you can make that argument, but… that’s leaving out context. He goes to her because she’s withholding intimacy and only initiates when she wants something from him. I’m going to play devil’s advocate and say it does fit. Remember what I said in the beginning that it’s not uncommon for victims to act in ways that are problematic (hate that word) to try to get back some control? Yeah. Apply this here. His unhealthy response is a reaction to her using intimacy as a tool.

“and satisfy sexual desires at his pleasure, require you to engage in sexual acts which only he enjoys [doesn’t really apply], or demand that you limit your other activities to be more available. Rather than being an individual with your own thoughts, feelings and priorities. The sexual narcissist expects you to exist merely as an extension of his or her wishes. ”

Cersei resents Jaime for disagreeing with her and thinking on his own. Literally the “you are me” bs and how she gets really angry when he begins to challenge her and goes against her wishes. She views him as someone who needs to cater to her, All he’s doing for her to slap and throw nasty words and cups at him is just... not doing what she asks him to do... his existence in Cersei’s life is simply to cater to her.

Constantly Puts You Down

“In order to put up a facade of superiority, and disguise hidden insecurity and inadequacy, some narcissists will constantly put other people down, to boost their own desirability and acceptability. In a sexual relationship, some (but not all) narcissists may also target their partners for ridicule, blame, shame, sarcasm, and overall marginalization. By subjecting the partner to an inferior psychological position, the narcissist is able to exercise a greater degree of dominance and manipulation.”

I mean… Do I really need to provide examples here? This is actually similar to the next one, so I’m going to put my examples there.

Reacts Negatively When You Don’t Give Them What They Want

“Since many sexual narcissists can't stand disappointment or rejection, they will frequently react negatively when you don’t give them what they want, in the way they want it. Some of the common responses include:

Anger – Tantrum. Negative judgment. Personal attacks. Ridicule.

Passive-Aggression – The cold shoulder. The silent treatment. Withhold of love and affection [which ties in to withholding intimacy examples I provided above]. Sarcasm. Calculated separation.

Emotional Coercion – Blame. Guilt trip. Calling the partner ungrateful. Threaten to withhold love and intimacy (such as it is). Pretend narcissistic victimhood.

None of these responses are those of a mature, reasonable adult. The sexual narcissist, by acting like a petulant child or a bully, hopes the drama and manipulation will hook you back in, so you’ll once again “belong” to him or her.”

Some of this is physical abuse too, so I’m sticking those under here. And yes, slapping counts as physical abuse and it doesn’t matter who the hell does it.

“Rule? I said naught of ruling. I shall rule until my son comes of age.”

“I don’t know who I pity more,” her brother said. “Tommen, or the Seven Kingdoms.” She slapped him. Jaime’s arm rose to catch the blow, cat-quick … but this cat had a cripple’s stump in place of a right hand. Her fingers left red marks on his cheek. - AFFC

Keep in mind that every time Jaime’s reflex goes to his face to block a blow it’s a sign that this is a behavior he’s used to. Sometimes people use the, “I don’t know who I pity more” line as well for “mutual abuse.” Context and… where’s the lie? Lmao.

Most of the time he’s being straight with her. Snarky ass? Sure. Abusive? No. Intent is key. She puts him down to shame him and attempts to decrease his self-worth. This is a control move, because she throws cruel words at him when she is unsuccessful in getting what she wants. He sometimes calls her a fool and one time asks if she’s drunk or stupid, because she’s legit spiraling into a paranoia and he’s going wtf lol. He’s not trying to make her dependent on him through the use of his poor language.

Anyway, back to physical.

Jaime felt his anger rising. “True, Loras does not leer at your teats the way Ser Osmund does, but I hardly think—”

“Think about this.” Cersei slapped his face. Jaime made no attempt to block the blow.

“I see I need a thicker beard, to cushion me against my queen’s caresses.” He wanted to rip her gown off and turn her blows to kisses. He’d done it before, back when he had two good hands.”

People love to use this against Jaime. Ffs. He’s literally trying to fucking defend himself from physical abuse by trying to diffuse the situation through sex, turning “blows to kisses.” This is one of those messy situations where it’s a victim trying to gain back control in an unhealthy, arguably abusive way. Does that make them anywhere near “mutually” abusive as if they’re 50/50? LMFAO no.

“Would Your Grace honor her white knight with a dance?” She gave him a withering look. “And have you fumbling at me with that stump? No. I will let you fill my wine cup for me, though. If you think you can manage it without spilling.” - AFFC

She turns him down with her disgust over his missing hand and then allows him to fill her cup I-

“Get out, I said. I am sick of looking at that ugly stump of yours. Get out!” To speed him on his way, she heaved her wine cup at his head. She missed, but Jaime took the hint.” - AFFC

Alright this big one…

WST:

“You mustn’t let Father take him from me. Jaime, please.

“I can talk to him, but he will not listen …”

“He will if you agree to leave the Kingsguard.”

“I’m not leaving the Kingsguard.” His sister fought back tears.

“Jaime, you’re my shining knight. You cannot abandon me when I need you most! He is stealing my son, sending me away … and unless you stop him, Father is going to force me to wed again!”

Guilt tripping and playing up the loving language.

Also, off topic, but I just want to point out that it’s funny Cersei came to him in Eel Alley to persuade him to join the KG to be with her. Jaime said they can’t get Tywin’s approval, so then she fucks him all night and he agrees. They played as lovers before that moment, but that was the night that sealed their affair to one another, to remove himself off the market and stay by her side forever. In this scene, she’s coming to him to ask him to LEAVE the KG, knowing Tywin would approve, and when he’s questioning the idea she tries to have sex with him, BUT he refuses her so her plan doesn’t work, making this moment the solid beginning of their downfall lmao. The opposite of Eel Alley.

“It makes no matter who they wed me to, I want you at my side, I want you in my bed, I want you inside me. Nothing has changed between us.”

Increasing the level of manipulation through intimacy since her previous persuasive strategy wasn’t working.

“Let me prove it to you.” She pushed up his tunic and began to fumble with the laces of his breeches. Jaime felt himself responding.

“No,” he said, “not here.” They had never done it in White Sword Tower, much less in the Lord Commander’s chambers. “Cersei, this is not the place.”

“You took me in the sept. This is no different.”

She drew out his cock and bent her head over it. Jaime pushed her away with the stump of his right hand. “No. Not here, I said.” He forced himself to stand. For an instant he could see confusion in her bright green eyes, and fear as well. Then rage replaced it.

Angry reaction due to refusal of sex. Childish reaction from not getting what she wants which quickly turns into bullying.

Cersei gathered herself together, got to her feet, straightened her skirts. “Was it your hand they hacked off in Harrenhal, or your manhood?” As she shook her head, her hair tumbled around her bare white shoulders. “I was a fool to come. You lacked the courage to avenge Joffrey, why would I think that you’d protect Tommen? Tell me, if the Imp had killed all three of your children, would that have made you wroth?”

Lol people thinking she was there to hang out with him. She admits to only being in there to ask something of him. “I was a fool to come.” Don’t miss out on the angry, nasty response because she was rejected and couldn’t use her favorite go-to manipulation tactic.

“You great golden fool. He’s lied to you a thousand times, and so have I.” [...]

“You had best go, Cersei. You’re making me angry.”

“Oh, an angry cripple. How terrifying.” She laughed. “A pity Lord Tywin Lannister never had a son. I could have been what he wanted, but I lacked the cock. And speaking of such, best tuck yours away, brother. It looks rather sad and small, hanging from your breeches like that.”

She’s trying to establish superiority by attempting to break him down, using his disability against him and attacking his manhood.

More?

“Gold? Or silver?” Cersei plucked a hair from beneath his chin and held it up. It was grey. “All the color is draining out of you, brother. You’ve become a ghost of what you were, a pale crippled thing. And so bloodless, always in white.” She flicked the hair away. “I prefer you garbed in crimson and gold.” - AFFC

I mean…I think that’s enough.

lol jk

“Tell him what has happened, and write … write …”

“Yes, Your Grace?” She licked her lips, shivering. “Come at once. Help me. Save me. I need you now as I have never needed you before. I love you. I love you. I love you. Come at once.”

“As you command. ‘I love you’ thrice?”

“Thrice.” She had to reach him. “He will come. I know he will. He must. Jaime is my only hope.”

“My queen,” said Qyburn, “have you … forgotten? Ser Jaime has no sword hand. If he should champion you and lose …”

We will leave this world together, as we once came into it. “He will not lose. Not Jaime. Not with my life at stake.” - AFFC

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

SHE

FUCKING

THOUGHT

ABOUT

HOW TO WORD IT

TO GET HIM TO COME BACK

SHE CONSCIOUSLY, FORMULATED A PLAN TO WRITE “I LOVE YOU”

SPECIFICALLY THREE TIMES

TO “REACH HIM.”

SHE. LITERALLY. ADMITS. TO MANIPULATING HIM. THROUGH EMOTIONS.

“Come at once,” she said. “Help me. Save me. I need you now as I have never needed you before. I love you. I love you. I love you. Come at once.”

Vyman was hovering by the door, waiting, and Jaime sensed that Peck was watching too. “Does my lord wish to answer?” the maester asked, after a long silence. A snowflake landed on the letter. As it melted, the ink began to blur. Jaime rolled the parchment up again, as tight as one hand would allow, and handed it to Peck.

“No,” he said. “Put this in the fire.”-AFFC

And Jaime had so much character growth by that point that IT DIDN’T FUCKING WORK LMAO. Her game isn’t working anymore. And not only is she trying to manipulate him through loving words, she’s also NOT GIVING A FUCK ABOUT HIS LIFE OUTSIDE OF HERSELF, because she’s acknowledging that if she’s going down then she’s taking him with her. T

he loving thing to do would be, “Jaime, I won’t allow you to be my champion. You’re missing your good hand and can’t win. I don’t want to be the one to cause your death.” But Cersei never gave a shit about his life outside of her so... not a shocker. (Also I just lmao that around the same time Cersei is trying to get Jaime to come back for his death sentence, Brienne is out there willing to literally hang by a noose to save him. Great contrast.)

On to Jaime…

I did a bit of research to see why the fuck people think Jaime is abusive towards Cersei. Almost all of the examples involve their type of sex play, his thoughts (WHAT LMAO), and… not understanding the difference between toxicity and abuse. Abuse is always toxic, but toxicity isn’t always abusive.

I’ve been in both an abusive and toxic relationship and the difference was that my partner in the toxic one wasn’t trying to establish constant control through various different methods. He wasn’t using me for his own gain or trying to make me feel like garbage about myself. He didn’t become physical when I went against him. In my non-abuse toxic one, we were like each other’s “drug.” Extreme highs and lows, propping each other up on a pedestal, losing ourselves within the relationship by wrapping our happiness around the other. The twins are definitely toxic, mutually, but some of Jaime’s unhealthy behaviors are confused with abuse and, ironically, his more questionable actions stem from Cersei’s abuse on him.

Quoting this again since it’s like a million pages up:

Why do people abuse?

There is a difference between UNHEALTHY/TOXIC and ABUSIVE.

Don’t come at me about the patriarchy being the reason why Cersei can’t be abusive towards Jaime (yes… I’ve actually seen that hot take). Within their own personal dynamic, Cersei has power over Jaime just by the nature of him being in the KG. She literally uses her position to tell him where to go and what to do, and even oversteps her boundaries sometimes by giving orders for him.

As stated above, she manipulated him into joining the KG with implied promises of being together always. She then had affairs behind his back, used intimacy to persuade him, and cruelly put him down when he didn’t want to do the things she asked of him. That’s Cersei trying to maintain control of their dynamic. This is a “pattern of behavior” that dates back to at least Eel Alley.

Unhealthy/Toxic

There isn’t a clear line when a relationship becomes unhealthy or abusive. This means it might be hard to figure out what kind of relationship you’re in. Remember that abuse is all about power and control. An unhealthy relationship might involve a power imbalance, being mean, ignoring boundaries [x]

Unhealthy behaviors can appear to be abusive behaviors, and certain toxic acts can turn into abusive over time, but they’re not the same thing.

For Jaime’s side of the “abuse,” he falls more often into the “unhealthy” category. I’m going to respond to a meta I came across recently.

“Jaime has channelled all his sexual desire into Cersei for most of his life (even thinking “I’ve been too long away from Cersei” when he experiences some arousal upon seeing Brienne naked), and that is not something one partner should put upon another. He judges the attractiveness of other women in reference to Cersei: Brienne, once, and Hildy the sex worker in ADWD. Cersei is a person, not a standard of idealised beauty.”

People twist the entire context to make him appear to be somehow abusive in a situation that actually…. sounds like a victim. Cersei wants that level of devotion from Jaime (and so do some of her stans), which is literally exactly why they don’t think Jaime and Brienne are a love story and why Cersei is like LMAO HER? Jaime would never leave me for that creature! SHE’S UGLY.

She lived her whole life knowing that Jaime only had eyes for her, and the irony of “not a standard of idealised beauty” is that Cersei wants to be the standard of idealised beauty. He’s not “putting” anything on her. He’s reflecting what she wants and what has been reinforced since childhood.

Besides that, I don’t see why it’s so wrong for Jaime to think Cersei is the most beautiful woman on the planet lol. And way to miss the entire fucking point, because the point is that YEAH, their entire relationship is superficial. Superficiality is unhealthy to an extent, but it’s not “abusive.” Jaime has only been with one woman his entire life and now he’s finally starting to encounter women away from his sister, so of course he’s going to compare. It’s like if you never left your town but one day decided to venture out into the world outside of it. You’re going to compare the buildings, the culture, etc because your mind is going to be expanding.

“ Until late in ASoS, he does not value his Kingsguard vows except as they allow him to be close to her. (Again, mutually abusive relationship; Cersei’s actions were vital in getting him into this position where he has nothing but her.)”

HOW IS THIS ABUSIVE ON JAIME’S END? And I already discussed how she manipulated him into that situation with Casterly Rock being something of value to him.

“Cersei has no meaningful relationships with anyone or anything outside of Jaime and her children. This is bad for both of them. So much of their emotional energy goes into each other, fostering the sense that they are not independent, whole people, and reinforcing the sense that the relationship is the only thing of value in their lives.”

Yeah! It is! And since Jaime is in the KG because Cersei convinced him to join, and she literally murdered her friend because the girl expressed wanting to marry Jaime, I WONDER WHY JAIME HAS NO FUCKING LIFE OUTSIDE OF CERSEI? As for Cersei, she CHOOSES to limit herself to Lannisters. Jaime isn’t forcing her to not have friends what the actual fuck. Cersei murders her friends lmfao.

This is unhealthy, not abusive, on Jaime’s end. HE isn’t the one “fostering the sense that they are not independent, whole people.” As explained above, CERSEI is the one repeating this over and over, using it to convince him, to control, to attempt to rob him of his identity when he tries to stray. So on Cersei’s end, yeah, that’s abuse.

“For all his idealisation of her and their relationship, Jaime’s trust in Cersei is also a very brittle thing. When Tyrion tells Jaime “she’s been fucking Lancel and Osmund Kettleblack and Moon Boy for all I know,” while still believing Cersei’s declaration that Tyrion has “lied to you a thousand times, and so have I” was “a clumsy attempt to hurt him,” he doesn’t do what someone in a healthy relationship would do, and ask her. Whatever trust he has in her vanishes in two sentences, one about Cersei’s honesty, one about her fidelity.”

And… his… lack of trust was justified anyway? LMAO. He even thinks at some point that Tyrion IS lying. And when he’s away from Cersei in ASOS, he doesn’t imagine her fucking other people while he’s gone, because he trusted her. He genuinely believes that she’s faithful to him (which is precisely why he felt so betrayed). But he also trusts Tyrion, so he went back and forth, wondering wtf was the truth.

AND HOW THE FUCK IS LACK OF TRUST ABUSIVE? This is another case of IT’S UNHEALTHY to have little to no trust in your relationship. Not abusive ffs (!!!)

“Jaime is abusive because he coerces her into sex”

BTW, a person who laughed at me and said this also is a huge twincest shipper which… why… do you… romanticize it and claim their love to be True.. If… you think… he does that?!

Pretty much everyone brings up “sexual coercion.” And you know what? Fair.

But... Jaime and Cersei are drawn to a messy push-pull sex play. She says no and then “weakley” pushes him away.

There were soft, wet sounds. Bran realized they were kissing. He watched, wide-eyed and frightened, his breath tight in his throat. The man had a hand down between her legs, and he must have been hurting her there, because the woman started to moan, low in her throat. “Stop it,” she said, “stop it, stop it. Oh, please …” But her voice was low and weak, and she did not push him away. Her hands buried themselves in his hair, his tangled golden hair, and pulled his face down to her breast. -AGOT

This is GRRM trying to clarify that this is their messy sex dynamic. I mean, he has a fucking little kid observe this all “oh hey but she isn’t pushing him away guys! It’s all good, guys! That’s just them!” Like he’s taking down notes. The 4th wall being broken here is almost jarring.

This sounds a lot like the scene at WF.

“No,” she said weakly when his lips moved down her neck, “not here. The septons …”

“The Others can take the septons.” He kissed her again, kissed her silent, kissed her until she moaned. Then he knocked the candles aside and lifted her up onto the Mother’s altar, pushing up her skirts and the silken shift beneath. She pounded on his chest with feeble fists, murmuring about the risk, the danger, about their father, about the septons, about the wrath of gods. He never heard her. He undid his breeches and climbed up and pushed her bare white legs apart. One hand slid up her thigh and underneath her smallclothes. When he tore them away, he saw that her moon’s blood was on her, but it made no difference. “Hurry,” she was whispering now, “quickly, quickly, now, do it now, do me now. Jaime Jaime Jaime.” Her hands helped guide him. “Yes,” Cersei said as he thrust, “my brother, sweet brother, yes, like that, yes, I have you, you’re home now, you’re home now, you’re home.” She kissed his ear and stroked his short bristly hair. Jaime lost himself in her flesh. He could feel Cersei’s heart beating in time with his own, and the wetness of blood and seed where they were joined. - ASOS

In both scenes she’s weakly protesting which implies it’s a form of their sex play, and she’s being turned on by him “taking” her. This depiction of sex was actually really trendy in the media not too long ago, so honestly the sex scenes for this “edgey couple” just exposes his age. That push-pull, yes/no, “he can’t resist me” wasn’t nearly as controversial as it is now. He was literally writing what used to be seen as hot. It obviously did not age well.

And GRRM never meant for Jaime to be interpreted as a rapist.

"If the show had retained some of Cersei's dialogue from the books, it might have left a somewhat different impression – but that dialogue was very much shaped by the circumstances of the books, delivered by a woman who is seeing her lover again for the first time after a long while apart during which she feared he was dead. I am not sure it would have worked with the new timeline. That's really all I can say on this issue. The scene was always intended to be disturbing … but I do regret if it has disturbed people for the wrong reasons." [x]

“Jaime thinks of her as a whore”

WHY IS THERE A THOUGHT POLICE? How is it abuse that he thinks a word with zero abusive action attached to it?? And like fuck LMAO Cersei is the one that goes off with the word “whore” quite often, in a misogynistic way.

What’s even stupider is when Jaime thinks of her as a “whore,” he’s just reciting what Tyrion told him, word for word. The words came from Tyrion, so Tyrion’s words are playing out in his mind.

“Cersei is a lying whore, she’s been fucking Lancel and Osmund Kettleblack and probably Moon Boy for all I know. And I am the monster they all say I am. Yes, I killed your vile son.” - AFFC

Oh, how Tyrion was sniggering.… a lying whore … fucking Lancel and Osmund Kettleblack … - AFFC

And he even removes the whore bit.

“If so, we might have coaxed the truth from them.” … she’s been fucking Lancel and Osmund Kettleblack and Moon Boy for all I know … - AFFC

Ser Osmund Kettleblack paced beside them in his white enamel plate and white wool cloak. “… she been fucking Lancel and Osmund Kettleblack and Moon Boy for all I know …” - AFFC

Jaime could feel his phantom fingers itching at the sight of him.… fucking Lancel and Osmund Kettleblack and Moon Boy for all I know … - AFFC

Strong and vigorous and handsome, Jaime thought.… she’s been fucking Lancel and Osmund Kettleblack and Moon Boy for all I know … - AFFC

He wanted to kiss her, carry her to her bedchamber, throw her on the bed … she’s been fucking Lancel and Osmund Kettleblack and Moon Boy … - AFFC

That only made her laugh. “We all have secrets, brother,” she replied. … she’s been fucking Lancel and Osmund Kettleblack and Moon Boy for all I know … - AFFC

Now there’s this time where he says,

Jaime gave a shrug. “My apologies if I mistook you for something you’re not. My little brother has known a hundred whores, I’m sure, but I’ve only ever bedded one.” -ADWD

OMG EVERYONE STOP WHAT YOU’RE DOING NOW IT’S TIME TO OFFICIALLY STAMP HIM AS A MISOGYNIST AND THIS AS MUTUAL ABUSE towards someone who isn’t even fucking there and for bitterly thinking of his cheating partner as a whore in a world that throws that word around like it’s candy at a parade.

Since “whore” in Westeros is more loosely thrown around than it is in our world, the incredibly hurt and angry Jaime thinking she’s a whore for sleeping with multiple people behind his back is not that fucking wild. Do I think that's sexist? Yeah. Do I think it’s healthy? No. Do I think it’s a realistic response that a very hurt person would think, especially in a world where it’s a common term? Absolutely.

“He dreams about hurting her though so lol he’s clearly violent against her”

(yes I’ve unfortunately seen this a lot)

Hey all... I have a confession to make...

I dreamed about pushing a certain politician in front of a bus and bashing D&D’s teeth in. I also had a dream where I kicked my sister because she ate my last piece of cheesecake. I’m so sorry. Please lock me up and throw away the key until it’s time for me to be executed.

Last night he dreamed he’d found her fucking Moon Boy. He’d killed the fool and smashed his sister’s teeth to splinters with his golden hand, just as Gregor Clegane had done to poor Pia. -AFFC

… he DREAMED it.

PEOPLE ARE FUCKING USING THIS AS EVIDENCE FOR MUTUAL ABUSE BECAUSE HE DREAMED IT.

You know partly why? Because they THINK he’s going to murder her or harm her, so they’re prematurely calling him abusive and removing literally all the context because... IT HASN’T HAPPENED. They’re essentially accusing a man of doing something before he even does it without even knowing FOR SURE if he’s even going to do it, USING THIS DREAM TO ACCUSE HIM LOL.

god THIS FUCKING FANDOM I-

DREAMS. ARE NOT. ABUSE

I’mcryingwhydoIhavetosaythat

Not only is it in a dream, but like, idk, why do you think he’s having those violent dreams? Did she do something to really hurt him so his pain is manifesting in his subconscious as violence? IDK just a wild guess! Maybe he specifically thought about smashing her teeth in, because just previously they were speaking about how Ser Gregor did the same thing to Pia. You know... kinda like me dreaming about angrily pushing my cheating ex down the stairs after I watched a murder mystery documentary where someone was pushed down a flight of stairs. (Oh but my ex was a man, so it’s just viewed as a dream).

… the cringe of the thought police...

Yeah. I’m done. I didn’t even dig up all of Cersei’s instances of abuse and this thing is like fucking 20 pages long. So even IF you view Jaime’s thoughts (!!!!) as abusive and IF you believe he was full on coercing or raping her, they still aren’t nearly MUTUALLY abusive, as in 50/50 abuse, and I’m just going to circle back around to what I said in the beginning about the main victims reacting in problematic ways.

Anyway. I always start these as calm and cool and then end with all caps and a glass of wine to chill me out. All I have left to say about whatever that “mutually abusive” meta was is

#longest one I've ever done heads up LOL #jaime lannister #asoiaf #probably have a million mistakes and a thousand regrettable things but I'm tired and want this done #but honestly thanks anon #I was legit wanting to write about this for a long time #abuse

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jasontoddiefor · 4 years

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Chapter 3 of As Lightning to the Children eased Aka that eldritch Anakin being terrifying AU

Read on AO3

“Do you know what every parent has to do?” Shmi asked Qui-Go over a cup of tea.

“Raise their child to the best of their abilities,” Qui-Gon answered easily.

Shmi hummed and turned to look at Anakin, Obi-Wan and Ahsoka meditating in the living room. Obi-Wan was the only one who actually sat like he was meditating while Anakin was draped over his lap and Ahsoka was resting her head on Anakin’s legs. Nevertheless, all of them were meditating, the Force swirling around them.

“I was prepared to leave Anakin here,” Shmi spoke up again.

“What?”

Qui-Gon couldn’t stop himself from exclaiming. Shmi smiled at him and nodded. He couldn’t correlate the idea of Shmi leaving Anakin at the Order’s steps with the image of the woman who just five years ago had forced Mace Windu to his knees with a single question. That Shmi, so headstrong and bright, hadn’t seemed like a woman who would cave in to the Council’s demands. She still wasn’t. She questioned the Council left and right, had made the crèche her chosen starting point for change. It was good for the Order. Qui-Gon was fairly sure that if his Master would just step into the Temple again these days, he’d actually stay, witnessing how much change had been quite literally forced upon them.

“If there was no other way, I would have left Anakin here because he needed to be here more than he needed to be at my side. This is what every parent has to do sooner or later. We need to let go.”

Shmi was looking at him and for all that she was still wondering about why the Force chose her, Qui-Gon knew. She had the same eyes as Anakin, the kind that saw right through you and stripped you bare.

“You need to let go, Qui-Gon,” Shmi repeated directly. “You’ve done everything you can for Obi-Wan. He is ready, more than most of young Knights I’ve seen. Now you need to give him the space to stretch his wings.”

“And fly away with Anakin?” Qui-Gon inserted, his tone bordering on the edge of upset.

Shmi smiled and sat her teacup on the table. “Why do you keep expecting everyone to always leave you?”

Because that was what people did, they left. But he couldn’t say that, probably didn’t even need to, Shmi knew anyway.

Let him go, the Force trilled. He’s not yours to keep.

“I want him to stay.”

Shmi rolled her eyes and with the mischief of a youngling, she actually kicked his legs under the table. “You are of the Force, are you not? Then he will always stay by your side.”

When Qui-Gon finally recommended Obi-Wan for his Trials, Yaddle had the audacity to cackle. The old Master had taken quite a liking to Shmi, it shouldn’t surprise Qui-Gon they had been gossiping. In the Jedi temple, the only thing traveling faster than the Force, was gossip. In fact, all of the Masters seemed to have been expecting it. The only one who hadn’t gotten the message was Obi-Wan who nearly lost his composure.

“A great Knight, you will be,” Yaddle said. “Your Trials you may take, Padawan Kenobi, if you think you are ready.”

Qui-Gon had talked to Obi-Wan about his Trials, of course. He wasn’t as sadistic as his own Master had been and just dropped him in front of the Council without any warning whatsoever. Still, Obi-Wan glanced at Qui-Gon for reassurance.

“I am ready,” Obi-Wan said, his voice not wavering once. Maybe he hadn’t been the one who needed reassurance.

Objectively speaking, Obi-Wan knew the Trials were difficult. They certainly challenged him and he hadn’t been able to sleep the night before because of his nerves, but during his tests, he was laser-focused and having fun. He’d become a Jedi Knight like he had always known he would and he’d be one step closer to where we ought to be.

He did his best not to smile too widely when Qui-Gon cut his braid and said “Rise, Knight Kenobi.”

No blade shall ruin you. Fulfill your calling, go, go, go!

All the pieces were suddenly assembling on the board. Obi-Wan didn’t know what game they were playing yet, but he had his sights set on winning.

“Honorable Council,” Obi-Wan began to speak and Qui-Gon was immediately about two seconds away from dragging Obi-Wan right out of the chamber. He knew that tone and his just knighted Padawan had no business sounding like that yet. “May I make a request?”

It was deceivingly polite; Obi-Wan used that tone when he was informing someone of a decision he had already made and couldn’t be talked out of. Qui-Gon suppressed a sigh. He had hoped his former Padawan would wait another year at least before committing to his bond. Obi-Wan had surpassed all of Qui-Gon’s expectation, already a much more formidable Knight than many were after a decade, but he was young still. He had time, another four years at least he needn’t take on such a heavy task.

“You may speak,” Mace said.

“I want to take Anakin Skywalker as my Padawan,” was what Obi-Wan said, but what Qui-Gon, and every other Master actually heard was “I am taking Anakin Skywalker as my Padawan”.

Master Yoda frowned and Qui-Gon wished he’d be able to determine what he thought. His relationship with Obi-Wan and the Skywalkers was strange to say the least. He claimed the Force was clouded around them, it made him wary, yet, like a clockwork, he showed up for tea at least once a week.

“Certain of this decision, you are?”

Obi-Wan nodded. “Yes.”

Destiny, fate, my dear Chosen, my children, keep them close, the Force laughed and then, with the might of a karyt dragon, they pressed down on them like they were guarding their treasure, forcing the air out of their lungs.

“Then go fetch your Padawan,” Mace pressed out.

Ilum reminded Anakin of Tatooine in all the best ways. There were not so many people here as on Coruscant, listening to the sounds of the universe was much easier than it was on the crowded city-planet.

Obi-Wan had told him to have fun and enjoy the peace and Anakin was sure there had been a reminder in there as well about not causing any trouble, but he had been too distracted by how easy it was to breathe here. If not for the burning cold, Anakin was sure he could have stayed here for years and years to come. It was so easy to feel, his parent so close. He wasn’t sure how he was supposed to pick just one crystal for his lightsaber. Not all of them called out to him, but he’d know how to use them anyway, how to shape them so they would fit perfectly.

“Anakin?”

Anakin turned around and saw T'Seely awkwardly standing behind him. Anakin didn’t have too many friends his age. It wasn’t their fault. He still didn’t always know how to whisper instead of shout, keep all the light inside instead of burning and how to cut off the decay infecting others without his teeth. He was much better with Ahsoka’s age mates who only knew him as Ahsoka’s friend who taught them that they were all infinite possibilities. Their minds weren’t restricted yet. T’Seely was Anakin’s friend though.

“Yeah?”

“I don’t like the dark,” T’Seely said. “Can I- can I go with you? You make it go away.”

Anakin beamed and all around him the crystals lit up, singing their own distinct song. Anakin was sure that if he concentrated, he could bring every Initiate the crystal they needed, but he supposed everyone else was supposed to face this trial on their own. “Sure!”

Anakin held out his hand and T’Seely quickly took it, staring at the caves surrounding them in awe. The artificial lights the Jedi had hung into the tunnels couldn’t even begin to this mirrored night sky surrounding them.

“It’s beautiful,” T’Seely said.

Anakin was glad he could make others see the universe the same way he did.

Training Anakin would be a lot easier if everyone else would finally start minding their own business. Life at the temple was almost back to normal for Obi-Wan again. The other Jedi had become accustomed to them and for all of their snide comments, Jedi were protective of their own. Once you become a part of their community, they wouldn’t abandon you. Obi-Wan was sure that if anything ever happened to him, or Anakin was in danger, their brethren would fight to protect them. They were stronger when they all worked together, were united in the Force.

But that didn’t mean that they could shrug away centuries of teachings about restraining yourself, even when the sun itself was scorching you.

“I still scare them,” Anakin murmured into the crook of Obi-Wan’s neck, tears dried by now.

Anakin always smelled like storms and fire, but this time his scent was tinged with the distinct burn lightsabers left when they cut through hair. Perhaps Obi-Wan hadn’t told Anakin to let loose completely while fighting. Anakin had been the strongest Initiate, but from practice Obi-Wan knew he had been holding back while training even then. His Padawan might be only nine, but Obi-Wan was fairly sure he could give even a couple of the older students a run for their money. They didn’t just drop into the Force entirely unless they were fighting for their lives, unlike Anakin who had troubles staying out of it to actually learn proper stances.

“I know, I know,” Obi-Wan said, trying his best to comfort his Padawan. “I’m sorry. It’ll get better.”

“I’m not scared!” Ahsoka proclaimed and sat up straight, her elbows digging painfully into Anakin’s thighs. The child paid no mind to the abuse she forced upon her older brother. “You’re not scary.”

No, Anakin wasn’t scary, he was terrifying. In all his blazing glory and chaos it was so easy to feel like you were drowning. He was always watching, you were incapable of escaping Anakin’s grasp and Obi-Wan honestly couldn’t claim that he wanted to. There was a sense of belonging pulling him in and for all that he knew Anakin was so small he barely reached Obi-Wan’s hips, an entire galaxy was lingering within in, painfully constricted so it wouldn’t devour everything within reach. Even Obi-Wan got a headache when he attempted to perceive Anakin for too long. The sensorial input was simply too much, leaving him with the vague impressions of stardust and blood dropping from razor sheep teeth, a darkness so void of life that the crown of light around his head was so bright it could cut, claws sharper and so much more dangerous than any ‘saber that Obi-Wan wasn’t even sure if Anakin had needed instructions on how to use his saber.

And the wings of stained glass that never failed to remind Obi-Wan of the meditation hall in the highest tower of the temple.

“Not scary,” Obi-Wan reassured Anakin. “Not to us.”

Ahsoka was a big girl. She was four years old already and the bravest of all her crèche mates. She would not cry when Anakin and Obi-Wan both had to leave the temple for a mission. If anything, Ahsoka should be celebrating. Skyguy was a Padawan now so he would be her Master very soon and then Ahsoka would be a Padawan and they would all go on a big adventure together.

“It’s our first real mission!” Anakin said excitedly.

He kept tugging on his Padawan braid. Ahsoka still thought it was strange that it was attached to him, though Obi-Wan’s had been the same.

“Just some diplomatic meet-up and Master Qui-Gon is coming, but we’re going back to Naboo!”

“What’s Naboo?” Ahsoka asked.

Anakin opened his mouth to reply, then closed it again thoughtfully. He frowned the way he always did when he thought about some very difficult things that didn’t seem all that hard to her. Like always, Ahsoka just held out her hands for Anakin to take. Ahsoka liked speaking, singing, telling stories and making noises, but sometimes it was just easier to let Anakin show her laughter, happiness, home and love and peace.

Oh.

“Are you gonna stay there now?” Ahsoka asked.

“No, not yet.”

Not yet, that only meant he would be leaving her in the future and suddenly all of Ahsoka’s resolve of before was broken and she started bawling.

“Don’t leave me! You can’t- I don’t- you have to stay!”

It wasn’t fair! She didn’t want Anakin to leave her, not even for some stupid mission!

I’m never leaving you, Anakin sang, voice like a thousand choirs. You’re mine.

Promise?

Her brother smiled down at her, gently tracing all her markings before wiping away her tears.

Promise.

Sometimes Shmi felt like she had just arrived at the temple. She still had a hard time calling any of the Jedi above the rank of Knight by their proper titles, nothing to say about her lack of education. Studying with Anakin had been for her own benefit as well, and her son was not lost to her, but Shmi wouldn’t be learning at his side anymore.

“Gone your son is now,” Yaddle said.

Shmi liked the mischievous Jedi. Whereas Yoda often hid his weariness beneath his amusement, Yaddle had no such troubles. She said what she believed and treated Shmi’s thoughts with the same importance she gave the great philosophers preceding even her.

“Ani will be fine,” Shmi said. “He has Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon.”

“Yet troubles you sense.”

There were always troubles when Anakin was concerned, but not so much that Shmi had to be concerned. She had raised her son well, he knew he was cherished and loved. It wasn’t a job you could be done with after a while, parenting and children didn’t work that way. For all that the Jedi said a lot about attachments, they were fiercely protective of their lineages.

“A mission I have for us, my Padawan,” Yaddle spoke up again after a while.

Other times, Shmi felt like she had lived at the temple all her life. She knew their customs,

“Master Yoda won’t be pleased,” Shmi said, her smile an exact mirror of her son’s.

Yaddle shook her head. “Pah! Never happy he is. His Padawan we must track down, lost he has become. Old Master Yoda is, and old his Padawan is. A stubborn lot they are and easily rile each other up. Good you are with younglings, good you will be for the whole Order. Help me cause some more chaos, my Padawan.”

Shmi began to walk beside her new teacher, retuning back into the temple and walking away from the ship hangers. When she had arrived at the temple, she’d never expected that her life would turn out like this.

“Yes, Dai Yaddle.”

Her teacher looked up to her, a proud look on her face. “A fine Jedi you already are, Shmi Skywalker. A great one you will be.”

#star wars #Anakin Skywalker #obi wan kenobi #qui gon jinn #shmi skywalker #ahsoka tano #yaddle #fanfic #everyone gets an upgrade in this chapter #qui gon finally graduates from parenting

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zidian-enthusiast · 5 years

Text

Character study: Nie Huaisang

I wrote this a few weeks ago and I didn’t share it here, I’d rather show it before Fatal Journey premieres. Imagery based on CQL’s first episode.

Liquor pours into the small cup. Beyond the closed curtains, in a hall buzzing with activity, an old man tells a story to a young and quite easy to impress audience.

Nie Huaisang takes the cup he just filled and, as if he was drinking to honor someone, he raises it to the empty seat across his own. He downs the wine and its taste is surprisingly bitter. Fond of refined sweet flavors, he finds it mediocre at best. Too disgustingly similar to the metallic taste of blood, in fact, to dare take another sip.

“Well,” he mutters, smirking. “Isn’t it ironic? Adequate, even.”

No one answers because no one is there, but if there was, he suspects the answer could be a smack that would make him taste blood in his mouth for real. Or, rather, a deafening roar first, one that would make everyone around cower in fear.

“Honorless! Coward! Is this what the QingheNie sect comes to be in your hands? A swindler’s den, backstabbing, plotting in the shadows? Is this what’s left of my teachings?!”

He can almost see him, red in the face, veins popping in his temples, sitting across the table with the poise of the ruler of heaven and hell. He can almost hear him, shattering his eardrums with his furious, hurtful words.

But in reality, he is not here anymore, is he? And the thing is, Huaisang will never forgive those responsible for that.

“… a man whose deeds are so cruel, it makes this old man’s skin crawl, I’m telling you!” says the voice of the storyteller opening his tale, and Huaisang’s lips curve again, this time into a cold grin.

If the unfair story the man’s telling taught him anything, it’s that cruelty comes in many forms. From the powerful oppressing the weak, and from the wronged weak seeking revenge. Cruelty naturally gives birth to more cruelty, in an endless cycle of pain. But also, cruelty can be born from something as pure as love, too.

He knew that already. After all, Nie Mingjue loved him, and yet, he was incredibly cruel to him.

His brother, who only knew the way of the blade, was devoted to it with a passion that could probably impress even their most strict ancestors. He owed them nothing– if anything, they had to thank them for dooming them to inherit the gruesome fate of this cursed line of cultivators, all dead by qi deviations– but still, Mingjue carried the weight of the entire sect and the risky path of their clan’s cultivation with utmost dedication until the end.

A man like him would hardly find any appeal on subtle arts like literature, painting or music. Of course, to a man like him, a brother inclined towards those things was an utter disappointment.

“Playing all day with those useless brushes instead of training with your sword! How much longer will it take you to develop your golden core? You are behind your peers for at least four years! I will not stand for you making the Nie clan into the laughing stock of the entire cultivation world!”

And yet, it was Mingjue himself who provided him with the means to play around. It was just the two of them since the beginning, and Huaisang’s fragile life was entirely in his hands– still, even against his own harsh words that more often than not brought tears to his little brother’s eyes, he never denied him any of his whims. For every object he broke and every slap he gave him, he’d always find a way to compensate him later, be it with gifts he’d deny ever giving to him, or any superficial entertainment he’d judge to his little brother’s taste.

Now, none of these actions were any less cruel in Huaisang’s eyes. The act of awkwardly rubbing the wounds he inflicted didn’t make him feel any less frustrated or scared. Simply, at some point, he got resigned to the fact that his brother really didn’t know any better. And as time went by, he also understood it had to be the same for Nie Mingjue; both wanted something from their brother that the other couldn’t provide, and yet… At the end of the day, they still were the only family the other had.

And, regardless of anything, Nie Huaisang knew, from the bottom of his heart, that his brother would die for him without hesitation if needed– after a good fight, that is. Huaisang liked to think he’d do the same. He wasn’t that confident in his own guts but yes, indeed, he would at least have the intention.

He never thought it possible, but he had the chance to confirm it. That day, when his heart tore apart as his feet propelled him forward without hearing reason, having to be forcefully restrained by treacherous arms that kept him away from Nie Mingjue as his qi deviation turned him into a formless, bloody mess.

What hurt the most was that, no matter what, the great Chifeng-Zun, the rightful Nie Mingjue, his dear, only brother didn’t deserve that. Righteous, honest Nie Mingjue deserved a dignified end.

Nie Huaisang cried, and mourned, and searched, and despaired, and then… he decided.

He could never, ever rule their sect like his brother, so he wouldn’t even try to. After all, all that hard work led him to the same miserable end their ancestors met, why would he follow that? Why try to be a pathetic imitation under the long shadow his brother left? Why stay in the rightful path, offering his back to the same surreptitious knife that stabbed him in cold blood?

If his love of literature and human understanding in general left him something that the blade certainly couldn’t provide, it was a good eye for deceit. And oh, there was so much of it in this whole image. The mastermind? An artist. His hand, relentless yet soft, made itself the god that decided the fate of so many people. Nie Huaisang could never stand when good art was underappreciated. He was a generous patron of the arts– how could he not give the artist all the credit he deserves?

“…and so, who could say for sure that the Yiling Patriarch… will never walk among us again?”

As if to give the storyteller the perfect climax for his tale, a strong wind makes the curtains of the shop flutter and the crowd gasps audibly. It ended in such a terrifying note, but luckily, it was just that: a tale!

Nie Huaisang, however, chuckles softly. After reconsidering, he takes the wine bottle and pours himself another cup. Once again, he raises it to no one.

“I know you won’t enjoy it, but your own story of revenge is about to unfold. Please forgive your younger brother… You know he could never resist a well-written tragedy,” he says in a low voice that gets lost in the crowd’s noise. He drinks, then scrunches his nose. It still tastes like swill, but he downs it in just one gulp, and then stands up.

That disgusting taste like blood would last just a fleeting moment. In fact, by the time he tosses the gold piece to the storyteller and leisurely walks down the street, fanning himself, it’s almost gone.

The sensation of having his hands sullied by blood, though, will last longer, but he is fine with it. The pieces have been carefully set into motion. He stares into his fan, one of his favorites. He painted it himself long ago. He smiles at it.

He’s a bit rusty, but he is actually a pretty good painter. In fact, he’s sure he can be even better than the other master who provided the right inspiration. Inspiration, just like cruelty, comes in many forms.

Nothing says he can’t shape it into a beautiful masterpiece, painted with sorrow and love.

#nie huaisang #nie mingjue #cql #mdzs #the untamed #silv writes #nhs

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lenfaz · 6 years

Text

Sea Squad, ch. 2 (2/14)

Summary: Killian Jones has always managed tough spots in his con life… but never like this one. His brother is out of jail and convinced the only way to win his name back is to heist the casino of a major Vegas mogul, leaving Killian to do the planning. He now has to deal with a half-brother desperate to gain a name of his own, an ex-fling that carries her own torch against the casino mogul, his brother losing his mind over his ex-wife, his former mentor’s depression and the one woman he can’t get out of his mind giving him chase. Ocean’s Eleven AU

Rating: M

Content warnings: semi-explicit sexual content, law-breaking (they are thieves, liars and con men), mild violence (someone will get punched), mention of former relationships (for the main pair) and cheating (but not for the main pair)

Chapter warning: Milah is a character in this fic.

Banner (link to banner post) and art by the amazing @clockadile Go check her art tag for the fic here!

This fic would never exist without the wonderful @sambethe who convinced me to do over hot chocolate on one cold Chicago afternoon and virtually held my hand and betaed this fic for months. thank you SO much for everything you do.

A/N: A long time ago there was talk about Hook & his sea friends and a few collective posts shaped the idea of a Sea Squad. This fic is the attempt to bring that creativity to life. Tagging @queen-mabs-revenge @thesschesthair and @jvosketches as they were part of that initial thinking back in the day. If a few things sound familiar, it’s because they are based on the movie.

Link to FFnet & AO3

on tumblr: 1

Chapter 2

It was warm and sunny in Las Vegas. Or at least, that was how the radio host described it as the sound blasted in the taxi as they cruised through the outskirts of town, on their way to Nemo’s mansion. Killian would have put it differently: blazing hot with the chance of bursting into flames when one came into direct contact with sunlight.

More than two decades out of the Motherland and he still wasn’t used to this much sunlight. To cope, he followed Liam’s lead and uncuffed his pristine white shirt and rolled his sleeves up over his forearms.

Arriving at Nemo’s, they were quickly shown into an interior patio. The place was impeccable, as always - not a piece of furniture or decoration out of place, fresh cut flowers in each room they passed, no speck of dirt or mote of dust to be seen. And yet, all of it seemed off, the house too quiet by half, and a sense of sorrow seemed to pervade the air. When Nemo finally joined them, Killian’s heart skipped a beat at the sight of their old friend - their mentor. While dressed in a well-tailored navy suit, still sporting his jacket despite the midday heat, Nemo looked like a shell of the man he’d once been. His voice might still be booming and his presence almost overwhelming, but he seemed smaller, his eyes dimmer. It was as if his image had been blurred at the edges, his presence quietly fading away. It was painful to see, and Killian darted his eyes to Liam, finding his feelings mirrored in the way Liam’s jaw clenched before he composed his features into a warm smile.

However, it only took them hinting at their idea over a magnificent lunch for Nemo to rise into his full former glory.

"You can't take on a casino in Vegas, you dimwits."

“Of course we can.” Liam took a sip of his wine. “It would be a nice challenge.”

“It cannot be done.” Nemo pointed his fork at each of them, his eyes flaring with that familiar hint of annoyance they seem to bring out in him. “I should know, lads. I all but invented security in casinos.”

“It hasn’t been tried.” Killian shrugged, leaning back in his chair and waiting for the fireworks. They shouldn’t be goading Nemo like this, they both owed this man more than they could ever repay him for. He’d rescued them from the streets, put clothes on their backs and food in their stomachs. This man had sent them to get educations while teaching them a few extra things on the side. For all intents and purposes, Nemo had been the only father they’d ever known.

Which is why it was up to them to shake him from the funk he’d been in since the Nautilus was torn down.

The vein in Nemo’s neck twitched and he had started to rub his fingers along his temple. The man who prided himself on his utter calm and poise was losing it in front of them. It was just as he used to do when Killian and Liam were teenagers and he had once again been called to the principal’s office.

It was glorious.

“It hasn’t been tried?” He put his fork down, crossed his arms over his chest, and recounted for both of them, in painstaking detail, the accounts of each of the most successful robbery attempts in Vegas’ history. None of which had been successful in the slightest, and one or two of them had Nemo playing his part to prevent them. No one tried to rob Nemo and lived to tell the tale.

Or maybe they lived, but certainly not unscathed.

Once he was done with his tirade, Nemo sat in silence for a moment, his eyes boring into both Liam and Killian until they both started fidgeting.

Finally he leaned in, his fork once again in hand and waving it between them. “You think I don’t know what you’re trying to do? You think I’m not aware of the fact that you’re trying to rile me up? Do you think I am just going to cave and indulge whatever little scheme it is you’ve concocted that you think is the most brilliant heist and the solution to all of the problems you’ve been happily sweeping under the rug for years? How gullible do you think I am?”

He pointed at Liam. “You just got out,” then at Killian. “You’ve been moping around since Tuscany, trying to find your mojo again and failing miserably.” He sighed and Killian felt the weight of the world in that sigh. “Maybe it’s time to call it quits, lads. You had a good run, I’ve had a good run. We’ve met each other, we became family. You’re welcome to stay here and let us live the rest of our lives feasting and enjoying the sunny weather.”

Liam’s face was a blank mask as he stared back at Nemo. “I can’t do that, Nemo, and you know it. I can’t be a coward who crawls back into a hole. I won’t.”

Nemo’s eyebrows twitched, the only outward sign that the punch thrown by Liam had landed. “Which casino did you pick?” he asked after a few minutes.

Liam shrugged, taking a beat to build momentum as he exchanged a look with Killian. “The Gold, the Baelfire, and the Dagger.”

The man in front of them froze, his eyes widening. “Gold’s casinos…”

“Are they?” Killian waved his hand in that nonchalant motion Nemo had mastered years before him. “I hadn’t realized.”

"Gold. You want to take on Gold?" Nemo reached for his wine and took a large gulp. He studied both them in turn, as he’d done so many times before, something hard edging into his eyes. “Revenge is a dangerous path, Liam.”

It was, and both Killian and Liam knew it.

Liam leaned in, his frank stare warning Nemo that he wasn’t going to back down. Not this time. “But it’s one that pays handsomely, if you know what you’re doing. And we know what we’re doing. You’ve taught us well, Nemo.”

There was affection infused into that last sentence, and Nemo’s face softened at the sound of it, understanding their plea. It was the plea of the child who still needed his father to guide them, help them not to completely fuck it all up. It wasn’t just Nemo’s resources they’d need, they needed the man himself, needed his guidance and mentorship. A role he had played for them so many times before.

They knew it. Nemo knew it. He sighed, running a hand over his bald head before giving in. “If you want to do this, you - we - will need more people.”

Liam smirked, his hand clasping Killian’s shoulder. “I’ve already talked to Ursula - she’s in. Killian’s on the rest.”

Both men turned to him, and Killian knew this was his moment. This was what he always did best - pick the crew that will fall under Liam’s command and execute. It was his talent and, gods, had he missed doing it.

“We need several things: electronics, drivers, and a whole lot of old friends coming back to work. But we probably should start with what we have at hand. Munitions.”

“Blackbeard?” Nemo asked but Killian shook his hand with a sad smile on his face.

“Lung cancer. He’s not fit for travel. Sends his regards and wishes us luck.” He let the news sink as he cleared his throat. “Milah is in town.”

Liam cocked an eyebrow in surprise but Nemo didn’t even flinch. It was clear the older man knew a lot more of what was happening in the city than he originally let on.

“Are you guys...?” Liam, always the one hinting at things instead of asking the point blank question.

Killian shook his head. “No, not anymore… but it ended amicably and if there is someone who would simply love to pull a heist on Gold, it’s his ex-wife.”

/-/

Killian watched from the shadows as two officers cuffed Milah and pushed her towards one of the waiting patrol cars.

It was a bloody shame. Milah was way too talented for the tossers she’d associated with for this job. He didn’t have to tail her to know that most likely her part of the work had been spot on, and from the sound blaring the building, her idiot partners had done a terrible job disconnecting the alarm, resulting in an entire bust.

Oh well, their loss was clearly his gain.

Taking a drag off his cigarette, he made his way to where one of the officers was interrogating her next to the car. “Officer, I’m Smith, from ATF.” He quickly showed a fake badge he and Liam has manufactured years ago. “Have you checked her for weapons?”

The officer nodded and from the corner of his eye, Killian saw Milah’s furtive smile. Game on.

“What about booby traps on her body?” He didn’t give the officer time to answer, instead he tossed the cigarette and started barking orders. “You incompetent idiot, go find Riggs and tell him I need him.” He took a step forward, moving the officer out of the way and pushing Milah against the car.

“Should I get a female officer?”

“Get me Riggs. NOW!” His booming order did the trick and the officer took off. He slid his hands down Milah’s sides, pretending to check for weapons.

“This brings back memories.” She delivered the words in a low purr, fun and flirty much like Milah herself had always been.

Killian smiled as he quickly uncuffed her and put something in her hands. "It's not that kind of visit."

"Oh. Still pining for the blonde, are you?" There wasn’t any anger in her voice, or even regret. She knew where they stood and she’d always been ok with it.

"Always," he sighed, pushing the memories of that blonde beauty back into his mind and focusing on the job. “Can you work with what I gave you?”

She turned around and gave him a wide smile. “It’s done. But we need to get out of here… now.”

He mimed pushing her forward by the cuffs that were no longer binding her, and they made haste towards the corner.

“So, if this is not a social visit, then please tell me you have something better for me than this.” She gestured back towards the building. “I beg of thee, save me again from my misery.”

Killian chuckled and nodded. “Indeed we do.”

“We? Is Liam around?” She all but beamed. “This is even getting better. It’d be nice to work with proper and competent professionals again.”

He bowed his head at the compliment. “Thank you, milady.”

The sound of a minor explosion threw everyone around them into chaos and gave them the opportunity to quickly disappear.

“What do you have in mind?” Milah asked as they made their way towards the diner where Liam was waiting for them.

“Something you’re going to adore, love.” Killian ran his hand through his hair, sighing deeply. Now that the rescue was over and the adrenaline had rushed off, Milah’s comment had triggered his memories of Tuscany back in full force. Blonde hair that shone under the sunlight, freckled skin he’d kissed over and over again, lust words whispered in the middle of the night. Was it possible that he’d never be over what happened in Tuscany? Will he ever be over her?

“Killian…” Milah had her hand on his arm, her eyes searching his with friendly concern. “Are you ok?”

“Aye, all good. Just ghosts from the time past, that is all.”

She gave him a reassuring smile and a squeeze of her hand on his arm. “Let’s go meet Liam and you boys can tell me all about the mischief you have planned.”

/-/

With Milah in the minute they uttered the word Gold, Liam and Killian started to put together the list of other associates they would need to pull this job off. For transportation, Ariel and Eric would do. While the two of them might bicker constantly, and more than once had taken their costumes and disguises into the bedroom, they were an invincible combination who could pull off any escape when teamed together. And given that it had been a few months since their last job, Killian knew they would be getting restless and in the mood for a new distraction. With a few texts shot back and forth, they organized a meeting for later in the week.

“But for now, brother,” Killian said as he got into one of Nemo’s cars and drove them to the airport, “we have a show to catch in Maine.”

“Maine? What the bloody fuck is in Maine?”

“Our greaseman.”

Storybrooke, Maine. A quaint little town with a lovely seacoast and enchanting shops that garnished Main Street. The diner served a divine hot chocolate that was the perfect recipe against the chilly weather.

In the outskirts of the town, a big tent structure with big bold letters announced what they’d traveled for. Charming Circus.

It was a small acrobatics company, devoted to their craft and filled with warm, kind people. In that context, it was clear that one of their attractions didn’t quite belong. His hair wasn’t the same shade of brown as the rest of them and he seemed to carry that look in his eyes. One that both Liam and Killian knew very well.

“Henry Mills, claims to be 18 but that is not what my sources tell me.” Killian fidgeted with his program as they watched the show.

“Older?” Liam asked, his eyes following every move of the lad on the stage.

“Younger. He’s an orphan, got adopted and then pulled back into the system because of a nasty situation. He never got adopted again and bounced from foster home to group home back and again.”

“Lovely childhood, I imagine.” Liam didn’t need to imagine it, and neither did Killian. They had gone through enough of that in a short phase in their lives and vowed to never go back to it. If it hadn’t been for Nemo, who knew how they would have ended up.

“Started picking pockets at ten here and there, nothing major. Then he discovered he had a knack for acrobatics and used it to his benefit. Got emancipated at fourteen and has been working with this company for a few months.” Killian lingered as he watched Henry execute a series of jumps and hoops with precision. The boy was good and it would be more than enough for what they’d need.

“I sense there is a but coming to this story.”

“The company doesn’t make that much money. He isn’t able to support himself or try anything out on his own on his portion of the cut. He’s bound to them, even if he doesn’t want to be owned by anyone at this point. He’s willing to do anything not to go back to the system, or not to end up stuck here.”

“He could do worse, they do seem like nice people.”

“Liam.”

His brother sighed. “And you can vouch for him? That he won’t sell us to the cops?”

“Aye, I’ve known a few people who’ve worked with him on the side. He’s good, quiet, and really can pull this off.”

“Fine. If you say we can trust him, I do.” Liam stood up and stretched his muscles. “Can we please get out of here now? I cannot understand how people even live here.”

“I don’t know… it has its charms.”

Liam stared at him. “You like it here? Why? We haven’t even seen one attractive woman since we got here.”

“That is not what I meant and you know it.” Killian reached their rental car and opened the door, deciding to finally address the fact both he and Liam had been studiously ignoring.

”We need Poseidon.”

Liam sighed as he got into the car. “I know we do, but from what Ursula told me, it’s going to be hard to convince him to join us. He seemed to have lost the will to live.”

“Maybe he just needs a little push. It worked with Nemo.”

“Nemo was never going to let us walk into this on our own and you know it, Killian.”

“I know, but think about it… after Nemo, Poseidon is the closest person we’ve had to a mentor or a father of sorts. He still taught us even after he caught you and Ursula snogging on that alley.”

“We were kids!”

“I’m not judging, Liam. I’m just saying that if there is one way to get him back on track, might as well be one where his daughter and the two closest things he has to sons are involved.”

Liam stared at Killian for a long moment. Long enough for him to feel the hairs on his skin rise with apprehension. “What?”

Liam shook his head. “You always have to be the charmer, don’t you?”

Killian smirked. “I have my moments.” He started the car and put it in gear. “I tell you what, you go talk to Ariel and Eric. I’ll get to Poseidon.”

/-/

Fucking Tampa, Florida of all places.

Only here did the sun shine more brightly and the heat blast higher than in Nevada. Killian played with the open collar of his shirt, and considered undoing two more buttons. He’d already discarded his suit jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt before entering the horse races and he was still on the verge of sweating like a pig. He needed to get out of the sun, pronto. He adjusted his sunglasses as he followed Poseidon’s movements through the paddock.

When the other man finished his bet and finally took a seat, Killian made his move. But he was at least fifteen paces away from him when Poseidon started speaking without turning his head.

“You’re losing your touch, Killian.” He turned around. He looked tired, the bags around his eyes dark and his skin ashen, but there was still that tiny spark in his eyes that Killian had been counting on. “I spotted you following me about ten minutes back, huffing at the heat and probably cursing your luck for agreeing to be the one to come and try to convince me.”

“And you haven’t lost yours.” Killian tilted his head towards the upper level boxes, where the promise of blessed shade and proper bloody drinks lay. Anything had to be better than the terrible coffee that was served down here. “Come on, I got us a box seat. Nemo’s treat.”

“You got Nemo into this? Color me shocked.” Poseidon stood up and followed Killian, his steps still carrying that majestic quality and calm tempo of someone used to commanding the attention of a room. If Killian made it to his sixties with half the presence Nemo and Poseidon had, he’d consider himself a lucky bastard.

He pointed Poseidon in the direction of their seats and waited for him to sit before taking the spot next to him, motioning to the nearby waiter to get them a drink. “Your daughter is in too.”

Poseidon smirked, his eyes following the horses as the race started. “She always did have a soft spot for your brother. Even if they both have moved on, she still will jump on a job if Liam asks.”

“Milah is part of the crew as well.”

That made Poseidon give him a sardonic smile. “What is this? ‘Bring your ex to the heist day’?”

Killian shrugged. “More like a reunion of good friends who happen to be highly skilled professionals. We only like to deal with the best.”

Poseidon sighed. His eyes still followed the race, but the clear twitch in his jaw gave away his frustration. “I’ve changed, Killian.”

“People like us don’t change, Poseidon. We get beaten up a little, lose a few opportunities here and there, miscalculate a few risks, and come back from all of that with our skills refined. You can try to lie to your daughter, to Nemo, to yourself as much as you want. You can claim all you want in life is a condo in Boca and betting on horses that are never going to win.” He took a sip of his drink and pointed his finger at the race that had just ended. “You can pretend that the thrill of a few minutes of race is all the edge you’re going to need from now on, but you and I know that it won’t be enough. A month, six months, a year from now that thrill won’t be enough and you’ll end up losing the condo on a misplaced bet all because you’re bored out of your mind.”

Poseidon raised an eyebrow but didn’t look at Killian. “And what you guys are planning is not a high-risk bet?”

Killian smiled to himself. There was the defiance he needed, the edge on the forced smile of the other man’s mouth, the fisted hand that made him know that he got him.

“Of course it is, but with a much better pay off and the added insurance of good friends who will have your back.” He got closer to whisper in Poseidon’s ear. “We’re taking down the vault of 3 casinos on the busiest night of the year. We’ll each walk away with millions each.”

Killian pulled back to watch the surprise spread across Poseidon's face before continuing. “Your family, the one who loves you above all, needs one last job from you. After that, by all means, buy as many condos as you want in this rotten place and fry yourself under the sun until the day you die.”

He finished his drink, stood up, and slid a plane ticket to him. “First class, of course.” He gave Poseidon a final look. “People don’t change, Poseidon. And you - you were a god. We need you to pull this off.”

Without waiting for the man’s reply, he took off. He needed to get the fuck out of this State and back to a nice shaded corner of Nemo’s patio, pretending he was back at Tuscany. Back before his entire life got fucked up.

He couldn’t wait to pull this off so he could disappear from the map for a long season, and maybe - just maybe - search for the woman he hadn’t dare to track in the past few years.

/-/

A couple of days later, tucked into that shaded corner of Nemo’s patio and enjoying a good draft beer, Killian and Liam went through the crew they’d assembled.

“I’ve called Smee, he’s in.”

Liam snorted. “He’s always in. The guy worships you as if you were his master.” He leaned back, scanning his eyes across the patio and the pool.

Killian smirked. He’d met Smee on one of his first solo jobs, the ones where he’d first dared to break out from under Nemo and Liam’s tutelage. It had been a frightening moment, followed by the overwhelmingly liberating feeling of knowing he could stand on his two feet. That he could pull something off without their help. Smee had been nothing but a mousy young man then, afraid even of his own shadow and hesitant of speaking out loud. He had a nervous disposition and tended to fidget relentlessly with whatever knitted cap he was wearing, but he was the best at electronics Killian had ever found. It had been great to have him as first mate in that job and to team up with him ever since. The guy might be rough around the edges, and he should definitely be checked out for a few quirks, but Killian trusted him. And that counted for a lot in this business. If you couldn’t trust the people you were working with, then you were not safe in this job. That fact had cost Liam two years of his life and if this job went wrong, it would cost them all more than just a couple of years in prison. Gold was known for retaliating. They needed to be untraceable.

“He just knows which one of us is the best Jones, that is all,” Killian ran a hand through his hair. “Ariel and Eric?”

“Thrilled to be back on the game. Their honeymoon was all nice and exciting, but I think they were starting to get bored with one another. Plus you know those two enjoy the roleplaying aspect of the missions a little too much.”

Killian scrunched his face before ticking off the names with his fingers. Ariel, Eric, Ursula, Poseidon, Nemo, Henry, Smee, Milah, Liam and him. “Ten, we have ten.”

“Ten should do it, right?” Liam asked as he mentally reviewed the list as well. “We have transport and recon, electronics, munitions, an insider, a greaseman, an antagonizer, and the best impersonator alive.”

It should do. And yet…. Killian kept silent, his mind going over the crew again and again. Plans like this were a puzzle, and this one felt like it was missing a piece. There definitely was one, he could feel it in his bones. There was something that should be here and it wasn’t. Something - someone - that should be part of this.

“You think we need more, right? One more?” Liam was reading Killian’s thoughts with uncanny accuracy, his mind probably going to the same place Killian’s had gone to.

“We need one more, Liam. We need him.” Killian sighed, fidgeting with the scars underneath his tattoo. “Junior.”

When Liam’s eyes didn’t widen in surprise, Killian knew he was right and that his brother had already thought about it too.

“Are you sure?”

It was a bold move, and Killian wasn’t sure if there’d even be a pay off. But if the rumors he’s heard through the mill for the past few years were true, then they were ready.

“It’s time, Liam. Let’s get him.”

/-/

Chicago’s weather was more like it. Wind, rain, cold, snow. Killian took a deep, satisfactory breath as he let the cold air invade his lungs, feeling himself alive in the red of his cheeks and the chill in his fingers that made them feel sharper here than in the hot weather. He shoved his hands in his coat pocket, following his brother as they both boarded the train. Their mark was a few paces ahead of them in the car, and Killian watched as the lad picked several pockets with deadly accuracy. His demeanor was absolutely fucking perfect as he did it - sharp, precise in his movements, his clothing downright ordinary, and he wore a cap that hid his face from the cameras. He looked like any other twenty-something student with a backpack.

It was brilliant. He was brilliant.

It made Killian want to shed a bloody tear or two right in the middle of the car.

As if Liam could read his mind, his brother turned over and made a silent motion, urging him to maintain his bloody composure. Now was not the time to get all emotional over their half-brother being so bloody good at the family business.

Because that was exactly what they were looking at - Liam Oliver Jones Thompson, also known as Junior. He was the result of their father’s flagrant affair with a high society girl he had been conning, right after the bastard had abandoned both Liam and Killian to fend for themselves. True to form, he had taken off once he’d stripped the heiress of a hefty sum and left her disowned by her family, with a small baby, little means to support herself, and a penchant for cheap gin.

Life had not been kind for Junior, who pretty much had taken any chance he had to show off his skills and impress a father who was more content seducing his next prey than paying his son any attention. The old man had finally kicked the bucket a couple of years ago, right around the time Liam had gone to jail and just after Killian’s fallout in Tuscany. As a result, all chances to look up the kid had been put on hold as the brothers dealt with their own personal bullshit.

But now it was finally time to set things to straight.

Killian watched as Liam bumped slightly into Junior, letting the kid take his decoy wallet while he slid a card on the lad’s inner jacket pocket. The bastard was the smoothest son of a bitch he ever met when it came to picking pockets, and watching both brothers in action at the same time was more than Killian could take on such an emotional day. He turned around and quickly dried the tear that has escaped his eyes, hoping Liam hadn’t noticed.

Liam clasped his shoulder as the train stopped and the doors slide open. “You’re such a softie, Killian. Let’s get the hell out of this cold and go get a warm cup of coffee.”

“I know just the place.”

/-/

Killian felt the warmth of the mug transfer into his numb fingers and sighed with pleasure. No one made coffee as good as Intelligentsia's in Las Vegas, plus he’d sorely missed the type of weather that was perfect for sitting down inside with a cup of coffee as the snow fell outside. It soothed his nerves.

Liam, on the other hand, was fidgeting as if all his limbs were covered in ants.

“You think he knows the place?” he asked for the third time.

Killian chose to ignore his questions, instead taking a sip of his coffee and letting the flavor roll over his tongue. After another minute of Liam rattling their table with his knee, Killian finally lost his patience. “You need to cool it. Fidgeting around like a virgin debutante on their wedding night is not the first impression you want to make.”

His brother laughed and shook his head. “I know, I know it’s just-” Liam sighed and lifted his head. Whatever he was going to say was interrupted as Junior finally walked in.

He went directly to their table and tossed Liam’s card on the table. “What is the meaning of this?”

Liam seemed to finally pull himself together. “Do you know who I am?”

“I do now,” their brother spat. His resentment was clear in his tone and Killian could feel down to his bones all the anger and regret of someone who had been left behind and had to fend for himself. “Though I knew before. The two of you are hard to miss in this business.”

Liam smirked. “Junior.”

Junior’s glare was enough to silence Liam. “Don’t call me that.”

“What should I call you?”

“My name is Liam. But I guess that one is taken, isn’t it?” If the blush in Liam’s cheeks was any indication, the barb was cutting deep.

“It doesn’t have to be.” There was a softness to Liam’s voice, an understanding that was passing between the two brothers. One that for the first time in his life was leaving Killian on the outside. He wasn't jealous, per se, as he could only imagine what was going through the heads of two people who were coming to terms to the fact that their father hadn’t cared enough to even name them differently. It was a punch in the gut for the young as much as it was for the old.

Junior sighed, running his hand through his hair in an unmistakably Jones trademark move before taking a seat at the table. “You can call me LJ, I guess.”

“LJ it is.” Liam slid a plane ticket across the table to him. “In or out, brother?”

“I’m not your brother.”

It was a defensive move. Killian could recognize all the signs in his clenched jaw and downcast eyes.

“Yes, you are,” Killian said with a conviction he hadn’t realized he had until he heard the denial tumble out of his younger half-brother’s mouth. “And this here? This is the opportunity of a lifetime.”

The words did their job as LJ’s curiosity was obviously peaked as he quickly rearranged himself on the seat and glanced over them thoroughly. “What’s the plan?”

“We can’t tell you here.” Killian noticed LJ’s skepticism and lifted a finger, pointing at him. “But what I can tell you is that if we do this, it will be major. It will be our names - your name - surpassing any other bullshit Brennan might have done. This is it, brother. And in order to pull it off, I need the best and most nimble fingers in the business. There’s only two people in the world that are that good. And you’re one of them.”

“Who’s the other one?”

Liam saluted. “Guilty as charged. But I’m not as nimble as you are. Plus, two years in prison have left me rusty and recognizable.”

“So you need a replacement? Is that it?”

It was like advancing one step and backtracking five where LJ was concerned. They were treading in muddy waters with a brother who was desperate to be part of the business but still wasn’t sure he wanted to be part of the family.

“No, it’s not like that,” Liam amended, trying to find the right words.

LJ swallowed, his finger tracing a pattern over the surface of the table. “Do you know if there are more of... of us?”

Liam looked taken aback and exchanged a quick look with Killian.

Killian sighed, fidgeting with his mug before meeting his brother’s eyes. “Two more, both girls. Ages fourteen and twelve. Their mothers were welcomed back into their families and the girls are being raised away from this all. We tried to contact them, but we were politely asked to back away.” It hadn’t been polite at all, but that was neither here nor there.

“Lucky for them,” LJ mumbled. There was a remorse in his eyes that all but broke Killian’s heart.

“Liam,” he said, stressing his brother’s name. “Come to Vegas with us. Be a part of something. It’s time for you to join the family business.”

#cs bb #sea squad #lenfaz fics #cs ff #captain swan

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zehypocriticaloath · 6 years

Text

Teeny, tiny sweaters

(Challenge idea given by @redheadrecon. Thanks!)

---

“Rrrk. Rrrk.”

“Now, now. Don’t be fussy. You don’t get to choose what I pick.”

“Rrrk! Rrr, rawk, rawk!”

“You know damn well that the color suits you. It accents your feathers, brings out the sheen in them. Don’t give me that sort of squawking tone.”

“Damn! Damn!”

“Insolent child!”

Aldous clicked his knitting needles together, creating a small little clacking noise that did bring the squabbling, spoiled raven to attention. He pinned the unruly member of his unkindness with a rather piercing, stern stare, mouth set in an austere frown.

Roderick. The little insolent asshole. Always had been, always would be. Worse than Poe! Poe had humor to his rascally ways. Roderick was an ass, outright and to be sure. And he was loud. Loud and annoying. Surely he would make the house fall down around them with his squawking and shrieking.

He watched the scolded raven duck behind his elder one, Poe, their leader in their so called corvid family. Poe looked a bit smug as Roderick took to preening his left wing, as if to sulkily make himself look better despite his bruised ego. Ah, and yes, the wing! It was popping out of an expertly knitted and fitted.... sweater.

Yes, a sweater. In fact, they were all sporting sweaters. Annabel, Lenore, Roderick and Poe-- they were all wearing nice, warm sweaters that Aldous had lovingly knit for them. Each one was fitted perfectly from the softest yarn he had on hand, with holes for their wings. And each one displayed a different color and semi-festive pattern, the designs varying depending on their personalities.

Roderick, of course, had the most garish one of them all, complete with the knitted visage of a tongue-waggling Krampus marching along the bands of color. But the strange color choice and chosen image was, more or less, punishment for his, as Aldous had put it, “insolent” ways. Still, the chosen colors did make his particular ashen-oily sheen of his feathers pop out. Aldous was a professional when it came to choosing colors to further enhance someone’s appearance. Abelärd may have been the master artist in the family but, by God, Aldous gave him a run for his money when it came to making clothing.

Not a lot of people knew that Aldous was fond of sewing and knitting. It was a hobby he didn’t speak of. Not a single soul on that base had bared witness to his hidden trove of goodies-- a trunk packed with yarns of varying softness, displaying a wide gamut of colors and hues. Tucked in along with the yarn were packs of sewing needles, swatches of fabric and knitting hooks; threads, and patches, and anything else one could imagine one hiding in an artsy-crafty trunk.

All in all, the reason for his love of sewing and his ability to create clothing was only due to the undying patience and love of his mother.

Long ago, the twins had watched their father languish in his long-term illness before he finally succumbed to his withering cancer. After a proper time of grieving, the household was thrown into a state of chaotic flux. The twins’ mother, Giselle, had taken on most of the chores, trying to keep up with everything in her life. When she came to the conclusion that she couldn’t balance the books and do everything around the house, she came up with an ingenious idea.

Giselle Haswell wanted to make sure that her boys would not go through life helpless.

She purposely taught them how to clean the house proper, sanitizing counters and scrubbing the tub to a spotless sheen. She taught them how to do their own laundry, going as far as teaching them how to make their own soap. She taught them how to make meals for the family (often making batches of food bigger than what the three could eat, just so they could donate the ‘leftovers’ to the poorer families on the street). She showed them how to can food for later, how to create a budget and a shopping list. Above all, she taught them the domestic side of life. Always a believer that one could make do and thrive if they truly applied themselves, she worked hard to help make her boys confident in their activities and tasks.

Of course... the twins varied in their strengths and weaknesses, and she doled out certain roles to each as a result. She wanted the boys to take on a set routine of chores, always allowing them to, yes, make mistakes, but to always ask questions on how to better do a task. She refused to hold their hands, but she was always there on the sidelines, ready to offer advice.

As a result, Aldous found his passion in patching up clothes and making clothes. He was an avid learner, picking up techniques on sewing and stitching faster than his younger twin. At such a young age he showed excellent technique and form with even the fancier side of stitching, enjoying the challenge of embroidery. As such, he was given the duty of patching worn out clothing and making things from time to time, in order to save the family much needed money.

All of his knowledge as a kid helped him many times in his life. From fixing up clothing that he didn’t want to throw out to quickly creating perfect, tightly secure stitching for his patient’s wounds, fresh from the smoke-strewn battlefields of the second war.

Now, of course, he put his skills to use... knitting tiny sweaters for his unkindness and, now, the rat named Amour.

Poe watched with amusement as Aldous fussed and grumbled over the rat’s measurements. Still smug from Roderick’s recent scolding, the large raven perched upon his favorite little spot, his claws hooked into the eye sockets of the skull residing, with a place of honor, on his master’s desk (it was the skull belonging to Aldous’ old friend, Rasputin). The raven was looking dashing in his particular sweater. It was a soft but respectable light gray, the yarn flecked with little specks of black. Quite nice. The softest Aldous had on hand. What really made the raven stand out was his given pattern. It was a rather comical lump of coal on the chest, with the back reading ‘I’m an asshole’ in German.

“I don’t...” Aldous ran a hand through his hair, his face screwed up in concentration. Before him sat the little white rat, its nose twitching in anticipation. Next to him was a little lump of brown yarn in the vague shape of an itty, bitty sweater. “I’m not sure this will work. Your measurements are so small. I am used to working with ravens.”

The rat, as if understanding, cocked its head at the strange man. It looked as if it were considering what the man was saying to him, trying to make sense of the complexity, if not absurdity, of a rat-sized sweater.

Gingerly picking up the small sweater, Aldous looked down at his handiwork. Yes, a brown yarn had been chosen, but it was rather nice. A milk chocolate brown, not at all dark. He even knitted a tiny little s’more on the back of the sweater. A little inside joke, he chuckled in his own amusement. A little white rat wrapped up in a tiny brown sweater, just like a little roasted marshmallow sandwiched between two graham crackers.

Rubbing his thumb over the material, he felt a bit better with what he was doing. It was soft. Really soft. And he was sure it would compliment the rat along with keeping it warm. He knew the infirmary was warm right now, but he also knew power outages did happen. He loved the little rat. He cared about it. And if the heat did happen to go out, or Amour got a little chilly in the middle of the night...

No, he didn’t want to think what would happen.

“Alright, Amour. Are you ready to try this on?”

The rat on his desk squeaked inquisitively as the man held the small sweater out to him. Nose twitching once more, it daintily sniffed at the material. Was it food? Was it some new plaything for it to chew through?

With care, Aldous began to slip the sweater over the little rat’s head. At first all seemed to go well. The endearing little rodent didn’t panic, and wasn’t squirming or moving all that much. It was well behaved, just standing there, trusting Aldous enough to do what he wanted to do.

It took a fair bit of wiggling the sweater onto his model’s furry body, but he managed to get it on. After a bit of adjustment, Aldous sat back in his chair, rather proud of himself.

The s’mores-sweatered rat looked absolutely adorable.

“Ah, look at you! ” A deranged smile spread across the man’s face as he rubbed his hands together, almost devious in his delight. “You look very warm! Very cute! Ver--- wait. Hold on.”

Panic must have set in, for the rat, once a perfect little model for the Medic, was now beginning to back up in a little circle. It kept reversing unto itself, bumping into anything and everything that happened to be on Aldous’ desk. Tiny little squeaks began to sound from the struggling rodent, its cries causing the Medic alarm.

Look what you’ve done.

Aldous hissed to himself, trying to block out the nasty, vile but all too familiar voice that rose up from the depths of his mind, like a serpent prepared to strike the finishing blow.

You’re going to kill it. Give it a heart attack. And then what will people think of you?

“Amour,” the Medic gasped out, gently trying to coax the rat into ceasing by scooping it up. It only wiggled out of his hand, returning to its frenzied thrashing. “Calm down-- calm down! Stop! You’re going to--!”

Oops, there goes its head. Amour pulled his head right through the hole for the neck, and now it was this awkward little furred lump with a sweater on it, reversing in a wobbly, wonky circle, without a visible head.

Aldous tried to calm the little rat, but his efforts were in vain. His unkindness cawing out in amusement only provoked the little rat’s panic further, causing the unholy squeaking to reach a grand crescendo.

“Stop! Stop, stop, STOP! You’re going to hurt yourself! I don’t want that! I want to keep you--”

Pop!

Aldous felt his stopped heart skip back to life as relief flooded over him. With a comical little vibe to it, the tiny rat had wiggled completely out of the sweater, shedding it like a snake would shed old skin. He let out the breath he had been holding in, and his tense shoulders beginning to loosen up.

“...A--Amour? Amour, ssh, it’s alright.” He reached out to touch the rat, but it didn’t seem to respond to physical contact. “I am so very sorry. I did not mean to scare you. I--”

Confused, Aldous halted his actions of picking up the rat. Instead he watched, with mounting curiosity, as the rat sniffed the shed sweater with a renewed sense of interest.

A minute passed as the rodent checked the sweater out before, carefully, stepping onto it. With a few well placed shuffling motions, the rat fluffed it up into just the right little pile... for a nest.

“...Huh.” A small, relieved smile began to drift along his face. Aldous shook his head. “Not what I had in mind but... it’ll do to keep you warm at night. Until I knit you a bigger one, that is.”

The sweater for the rat was a complete failure. But hey, it made a rather nice, plush bed for the rodent.

#November Challenge Drabble #ic #writing featuring Aldous #writing featuring Aldo

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shanastoryteller · 7 years

Note

I know you probably have a lot of requests with the gods and monsters - but would you ever do an Ares based one?

Zeus’smistress Io remains in her form of a cow, guarded by Hera’s servant Argus, and Herais content.

Shewill remain in that form until her death. Hera hopes that lying with herhusband was worth the sacrifice.

Zeus won’tspeak to her, unwilling to admit the cow is actually his lover and ensure herdeath, and equally unwilling to stand against his wife to try and rescue her.Hera has him just where she wants him, and it can’t last, it never does, butshe intends to enjoy it while it does.

ThenArtemis comes to her, gold and fierce. She never flinches away from her queen,staring her in the face as if she is nothing more than another of herhuntresses. If Hera did not hate her for being her husband’s daughter, shethinks she might actually like the girl. “Io has a destiny,” she says, “youmust let her go.”

“I don’tcare for her destiny,” Hera says idly, “especially when that destiny involvesgetting with my husband’s child.”

“She isto give birth to a new line of kings,” Artemis hisses, “to be the wife of adeath god, to be mother goddess of a whole new people. She is not meant for us.You must let her go.”

“I amHera,” she says, “I am Queen. I must do nothing.”

Artemisgrowls, hand twitching for her bow, but Hera only raises an eyebrow. Let thegirl try. There are few that can stand against her, and the huntress is notamong them. Artemis lets out a low breath and says, “Do it, my queen, and Iwill grant you what it is you most desire.”

“Somepeace and quiet?” Hera asks.

“Achild,” she answers. “Let Io go, let her fulfill her destiny as a goddess ofthe Black Land of the Nile. If you do that, I, the patron goddess ofchildbirth, will personally use every ounce of power I possess to ensure youconceive and deliver a child of Zeus.”

Hera’seyes narrow, “Neither my power nor his has ever been able to achieve this. Whatmakes you think you are any different?”

“We allhave our domains,” she says, “just as you cannot command the sea, just as yourhusband has no power over the art of weaving, so can I ensure a healthy childwhen you could not.”

Shetaps her fingers against her throne. They call her a mother goddess, thoughshe’s raised no children. Hephaestus may be her precious son, but he doesn’tknow that it was not her that threw him from Olympus. Very few people knowthat. And she didn’t raise him regardless, that honor belongs to Hecate.

Achild, of her and Zeus. A child she can raise.

“Iaccept,” she announces. “You may take her, and Zeus may fulfill her destiny.”She leans forward, brings the oppressive weight of her power to the fore andlowers the pressure of the air until Artemis is left shivering. “Know this,Patron Goddess of Childbirth. If Io births a son of Zeus before I do, I willtravel to the Black Land of the Nile and slay her and her children with my owntwo hands. Not even Hades will be able to put her back together again.”

“Yes,my Queen,” Artemis says, unable to keep her teeth from chattering.

Hera istrue to her word. She allows Hermes to think he’s tricked Argus and to steal Ioaway. She pretends to be outraged at the audacity, at the pure white cowtraveling to the sands of the Nile.

Artemisis true to her word. Hera lies with Zeus, like she has so many times before,and a child grows inside of her. One day she stands before her husband andbrings his hand to the swell of her stomach, “This is your child.”

Somethingalmost like happiness steals across his face. She forgets, sometimes, that theyhate each other only as much as they love each other. After so much timetogether, many would think it would be one or the other. They simply opted forboth.

Artemisis there during the birth, her easy confidence more comforting then Hera willever admit. Delivering Hephaestus was easy compared to this. She screams andcries and Hestia’s hands on her shoulders are all that keeps her fromcollapsing and begging someone to just cut the child from her. She doesn’t thinkshe can die in childbirth, not with Artemis between her legs. She wishes she’dthought to ask before this began.

But shedoes not die. Her son is born, just as healthy and beautiful as Hephaestus was.“Well done,” Artemis says softly, placing the squirming child into her arms.

Zeustouches her hair and kisses his son’s forehead. “We shall call him Ares.”

“Verywell,” she agrees, so tired her eyes struggle to stay open.

Shehands her son to Hestia, and finally allows sleep to take her.

Aresgrows into the spitting image of his father. Same copper-red skin, same silkyblack hair. Her husband keeps it short, but her son lets his grow long. Theminutes Hera spends every morning brushing his hair are among her favorite.

He hasan eager smile and a soft heart. Hera doesn’t know where he got it, since it’scertainly not from her or Zeus. Demeter tolerates his bumbling after her,though any time Kore attempts to meet her cousin Demeter’s temper frays.Poseidon allows Ares to explore the depths of the sea with a minor sea godacting as his guide. Apollo plays for him, and Artemis teaches him to hunt.Zeus’s lightning doesn’t burn his son, and when storms rage he takes Ares tothe top of Olympus and teaches him to throw lightning bolts.

Heraselfishly does not allow Ares to go to the underworld. She knows he would besafe there, that Hades would protect him as he protected Hephaestus, but that’sprecisely why she won’t allow it. They got to raise one of her sons already. Itpains her to share Ares with them now.

He ishappy, and kind, kinder than anyone would expect a child of her womb to be.

“Hemust choose a domain,” Zeus rumbles, watching Ares shoot arrows with perfectaccuracy.

“He isa child still,” Hera says, “let him remain so for a little longer.”

“If hedoes not choose a domain,” Zeus warns, “one will choose him. We are gods. Wemust be gods of something.”

Sheflickers her gaze at him, and he scoots an inch away from her. “He is a child,and for now a child he will remain. We are not Demeter. We shall not thrust theresponsibilities and power of a deity on a child who is not prepared for it.”

Zeusdisapproves, but says nothing more.

Her sonwill be the god of something patient, something soft. The god of lost children,of heartbroken suitors, of forgiveness. Something where his gentle heart willaid him instead of hurt him.

Shetraded her happiness for power. She doesn’t regret it. But Ares doesn’t need todo the same – she’s the most powerful goddess that still walks the earth. He’sher son, and he’ll want for nothing she can provide.

Ares isalmost fully grown, long hair reaching his hips even braided, and the strengthof his limbs is such that he can keep up with Artemis on her most vigorous ofhunts, that he can throw his father’s lightning bolts halfway across the world.

He’sbeen to every place, and met every god of the earth, sea, and sky.

Exceptfor one.

It’snot hard to find the volcano. He’s strong enough and old enough to take care ofhimself, and his mother does not worry when he says he’s going to the earth.But he did not tell her where, precisely, on the earth he was going.

He hasstrong legs. It’s easy for him to climb to the top of the volcano. He’salmost made it there when something grabs his shoulders, stilling him. Heturns, and stares into a single large eye. “What are you doing?” the cyclopesgrowls.

“I’mlooking for Hephaestus,” he says, “He’s my brother.”

“Mymaster has many brothers,” the cyclopes says.

Aresshakes his head. He is not the product of his father’s fling with a sprite ormortal. “I am Ares, son of Zeus and Hera. Just as Hephaestus is. I came here tomeet my brother.” The cyclopes hesitates. He asks, “What’s your name?”

“Brontes,”he answers, surprised.

“Brontes,”he smiles, “I just want to meet him. I’ve never met him before. I won’tlinger.”

There’sa moment where Brontes looks conflicted, and Ares tries to look as unassumingas possible. “Fine,” he huffs, “but don’t get angry at me if he dips you inlava.”

“Thatwould be fun,” he says brightly. Lightning doesn’t burn him. So far the onlything hot enough to cause him pain is Hestia’s fire. He probably couldgo swimming in lava.

Bronteslooks at him as if he’s slightly unhinged. He just keeps smiling.

Thereare more cyclopes underneath, and bright glittering machines that Ares can’teven begin to wrap his mind around. “Who are you?” someone demands, and a handgrabs his wrist and yanks him away from a boiling vat of lava that he’d beenpeering into.

Helooks up at a man taller and broader than he is. He has skin almost as dark asthe obsidian of his volcano, but lighter eyes. They are the color of darkamber, of molasses. “We have the same eyes,” he says happily.

Hephaestusreleases him instantly. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Whynot?” he asks, “The mortals talk of you. No one else will. But you’re mybrother, right?”

“Youshouldn’t be here,” he repeats, “Does Zeus know where you are?”

Heshrugs, taking a step closer. His brother takes a step back. He wonders ifhe’ll have to treat Hephaestus like a spooked horse. “Father doesn’t keeptrack of where I am. Mom know I’m on earth.” Hephaestus flinches, small enoughthat he almost doesn’t notice. “We have her eyes, you know.”

Hecan’t stop starring at Hephaestus’s skin. They do not work like mortals –Demeter, Hestia, Zeus, and Hera are all different shades despite coming fromthe same parents. But – Ares looks so much like his father. Kore looks likeDemeter. Yet Hephaestus looks nothing like their father. He can see theirmother in him, in the eyes and shape of his jaw, even in how angry he is right now. He looks likeHera does when she’s about to lose her temper, lips pressed into a thin lineand the careful stillness of his shoulders.

“I wasn’ttrying to make you angry,” he says plaintively, “I only wanted to say hello.”

Unliketheir mother, Hephaestus lets out a deep breath and seemingly all of his angeralong with it. “I’ve been avoiding you.”

“Why?You don’t even know me.”

Hephaestuskicks him lightly in the shin, the pretty gold and copper of his metal legs catchinghis eye. “You have legs, and I do not. Hera did not throw you from MountOlympus as she threw me.”

Ares lookshard at his brother’s face. The stories say his mother threw her son away forbeing ugly, but he seems just as handsome as any other god Ares has seen. Hisfeatures are strong and chiseled, and he supposes that could have looked unattractiveon a baby, but –

– his motherloves him. Hera loves him with a ferocity only matched by her temper, she loveshim at his most mischievous and irritable, loves him when a stray thunderboltsets Demeter’s hair on end, loves him when even Artemis and Apollo have growntired of his antics, loves him when Athena can tolerate no more of hisquestions. He is her son, and so her love comes without conditions.

Hedoesn’t think Hera would have loved his brother any less just because of how helooked.

He alsoknows that if he tries to say that, it’s likely Hephaestus will push him into a lava pit.

“Well,that’s not my fault,” he says, “If you don’t want us to be brothers, can’t weat least be friends?”

Hephaestus’sface softens. He looks like their mother then too. He crosses his arms, “You can’t tell yourparents.”

Our parents, he thinks but doesn’t say. “Obviously.Where did you get so many cyclopes?”

Thelast remnants of his brother’s stern façade shatters as he throws back his headand laughs.

Ares isvery near maturity, more adult than child, and his father constantly pressureshim to choose a domain. He usually quiets with one sharp glance from his wife,but the fact remains that it is time for Ares to take his place among the godsof the pantheon, to have temples in his name and worshipers like a properdeity.

Hedoesn’t really want any of that. Hewants to continue hunting with Artemis, learning with Athena, building withHephaestus.

His brotherlets him help out in his workshop sometimes, if he’s very careful and doesexactly as he’s told. Otherwise he sits on a table, legs swinging, and watcheshis brother work and tells him about what he does in the time in-betweenvisits. He talks about their mother enough that Hephaestus doesn’t flinch ather every mention, which Ares can only consider an improvement. SometimesBrontes will stand beside him and they’ll eat sweet buns together.

Unfortunately,all things, good and bad, must come to an end.

Thereare two giants, Otus and Ephialtes, who grow tired of hearing of the golden boyof Olympus, who grow jealous of his kindness and his beauty.

Thesetwo giants sneak onto Mount Olympus in the middle of the night, sneak into Ares’sroom, and kidnap him. They’re not stupid enough to attempt to kill him.Instead, they stuff him into an urn, and seal him inside. Ares rages andfights, uses every trick he can think of to break out his prison, but none ofthem work.

Stuckat the bottom of the urn and seething, he can’t help but think that if he’dlistened to his father and chosen a dominion he might be strong enough to freehimself. But he didn’t, so he can’t, and instead he waits.

Andwaits.

Daysturn to weeks turn to months. He knows they’re looking for him. He knows hismother will tear apart the whole universe attempting to find him if nothingelse. But – what if they can’t? What if he’s stuck in this urn for the rest ofeternity?

In hisdarkest moments, his sorrow turns to rage. He is a god, son of Hera and Zeus,how dare they do this to him?

Then,one day, the urn opens.

Hermespeers down into it, then his face splits into a grin. “We’ve been looking foryou!” He reaches down and hauls Ares out, and for a moment all he can do isblink at the glaring sun. Then his vision clears, and he sees they’re in themidst of a battle. The giants are fighting against the gods, against hisparents, against the twins, against his brother. It’s bloody carnage, but – he can’thelp but feel touched that all these people came looking for him. “Almost everyoneoffered to help find you,” he says, “but Hera didn’t want to draw too muchattention to ourselves trying to sneak into their territory.”

Nosooner has Hermes finished speaking than a giant barrels into his mother withsickening snap. Her shoulder slopes at a grotesque angle, but it hardly evenslows her down.

“I haveto help,” he says, a desperate urgency filling him. They came to help him, andnow they’re getting hurt. That’s never something he’d wanted.

“Ares,wait!” Hermes calls out as he goes hurtling toward the battle. He doesn’t wait.Fighting on the ground can only do so much good, they’re strong but they’reoutnumbered one hundred to one. He darts to Artemis, twisting around the bodiesshe’s throwing over her shoulder. “I need your bow!”

“Ares!”she says joyously, then, “What?”

“Trustme,” he says, “give me your bow.” A giant comes running towards them. Artemisflips him over her shoulder while continuing to stare at him in confusion. He’dbe impressed if he wasn’t so worried. “Artemis, please!”

Shehands over her bow. She moves to give him her quiver of arrows as well, but he’salready moving away from her. Next it’s to his father, who’s hurtling lightningbolts towards the swarm of giants crowding him. They’re deadly, but only soeffective at close-range. He grabs a sizzling lightning bolt right from Zeus’shand, the only being on the planet who could do that and survive, and keepsrunning. “Get clear!” he calls out over his shoulder. “Everyone move!”

He runsup past Hermes, needing to get to high ground for this to work. “Get everyoneoff the battlefield,” he says to Hermes. “Now.”

Hermespulls a face, but by the time he makes it to the top of the mountain, the godshave shaken off most of the giants, are far enough away that he doesn’t have toworry.

He cando this. He’s Ares, the son of Hera and Zeus. He’s been trained in archery bythe great huntress herself. He breaths in, and strings his father’s lightningbolt like an arrow. He pulls it back, breaths out, and lets the lightning boltfly.

Itlands in the middle of the battlefield full of confused giants. With a greatclap of thunder and a burst of light, they’re all gone.

Allthat remains of the traitorous giants is a crater.

Thegods are approaching him, his mother at a limping gait that makes his chestache. Zeus gets to him first, grin stretched wide as he grabs him by both hisshoulders. “My boy! That was magnificent!”

“Thanks,”he says. The smell of charred flesh is in the air, and it makes his stomachroll.

Theykidnapped him. They stuffed him in an urn for over a year. They hurt his mom.

Thatdoesn’t mean he enjoyed it. He never wants to do anything like that ever again.

“Thiswas destiny,” his father says enthusiastically, and Ares has no idea what he’stalking about. “This is what you’re meant to do, son.”

Hestares. He hopes it’s not.

Theother gods are still at the bottom of the mountain. Artemis and Apollo each have one of his mother’sarms slung over their shoulders and are helping her up the mountain. Hermes andHephaestus aren’t far behind.

He’snever seen his father look so proud of him. There’s a leaden pit in his stomachhe can’t explain.

“Inhonor of my son’s great feat,” Zeus booms, his voice carrying across air,speaking with the voice of the king of the gods so his words become law, sothey spread to every corner of the world, “I declare him Ares, God of War.”

Arescan’t breathe.

This isn’t what he wanted.

gods and monsters series, part xvii

read more of the gods and monsters series here

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tannerahonesti95 · 4 years

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Reiki Definition Jolting Unique Ideas

Think something is an energy healing approaches.This gentle process of attunement they can give you access to the clinic I suggested in my shoulder muscle pain.Of Japanese origin, Reiki is able to elevate your own pace.- Just for today - Avoid worrisome anger.

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Reiki Symbole 5 Grad

We see from Takata Sensei's example that was a naval physician and took a more holistic and alternative medicine.Reiki treatment is unlike taking a Reiki practitioner.There are people who I conduct healing for.It is knowledge that Usui Reiki Ryoho or even a simple 5 minutes daily practice.Reaching Level 2 until you sit silently in meditation for relaxation.

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There are a novice or haven't had any training before!Look for someone with whom to share to others and themselves.It is easy this way is wonderful, and a location to practice?Kind of Benefits Does Reiki Healing for others.If You aren't familiar with it is felt that it was a life form at that level and then said that Ch'i has different names in culture's worldwide.

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How To Reiki Animals

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#Reiki Definition Jolting Unique Ideas #Reiki Healing Gif

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seenashwrite · 7 years

Text

Fic Writer Interview Thingy.

I was tagged by the awesomesauce @waywardjoy who knows I hate chains but also knows that my love for talking about myself [humbly] will win out every damn time. Writers I can think of off the top o’ my head are tagged below [minus Joy, who’s already done it], if y’all wanna throw this in your hopper as a standby post. Good Qs, all!

1. What inspires your work most? (The show it is based on, the actor who portrays a certain character, maybe the character itself? It could even be an experience.)

What appears on screen & the words in the script are the primary sources. Secondary sources would be what the writers/showrunner/actors say in interviews or whatnot. [I say secondary because their intent may’ve been way different, but that doesn’t matter, the end product is what it is.]

2. What is your favorite fandom to write for?

Well, I’ve stuck with SPN for a year of prep time and [as of last month!] a year of writing weekly about it [minus recent zombieitis delay ::sigh::] so we’ll give it the crown. It’s a challenging exercise, writing around someone else’s creation(s) with the goal of accuracy in portrayal/plot integration. I dig it.

3. Which perspective do you prefer writing in? (First-person, second-person, third-person)

First & third; second works my nerves both to read & to write.

4. Do you prefer writing reader fics or OCs?

Both, if one considers first-person to be “reader insert”. I’ve said elsewhere I wish the whole “Y/N” thing should die in a tire fire, it is incredibly distracting. If a reader’s pretending this is them & are willing to accept traits described that aren’t actually, y’know, them, then why not just write in first person? It confuzzles me, though I ain’t dying on that hill. So, if a Nash Tale is written in first-person, y’all go on & mentally insert “Y/N” if that’s what turns your crank. [I will say, major kudos to whomever developed the name replacer add-on, I have had many laughs inputting things like “Smegma” and “Your Mom” on more than one occasion]

5. Do you prefer writing longer works or one shots?

See, now, I think a one-and-done can be a long mammajammer. If this Q means more like drabbles, well.... Those more often than not seem to devolve into longer journeys than I originally intended, but I’m starting to amass a tidy little pile of quickies.

6. Do you take requests?

Eh. Sure. Depends on the subject matter, though - I’d make a list of stuff I won’t do, but I don’t get enough requests for it to matter. I any event, I’d make no promises for when I’d finish it. For now, I’d prefer to send out the call if I wanted peeps to send ‘em in vs. unsoliciteds. But hell, if it’s a killer idea & you know my style & think I’d do it justice? Bring it on.

7. Do you enjoy getting random Asks?

---> Dear Nash <---

8. What inspires the names for OCs (or extra character names) in your works? Do you pick them from real life or just select them at random? A mix?

This required major thinking cap & cooked my noodle... Well, when I do name them; I often don’t. ;) Honestly, it’s just what fits - does it jibe with the rest of their family’s names? With the setting? The time period? [my hatiest-hate for seeing crazily spelled, “modern” names in families with names like, say, I dunno, Henry and John and Mary and Samuel and Dean and Sam knows no bounds; triple-score if it’s set in the past and they’re named Mickayeluh ::eye roll::] Long story short: yes, I put thought into it, and yes, sometimes I associate it with people I know/am acquainted with/aware of who happen to have things in common with the character.

9. If your story(ies) have OCs, are their appearances based on real people or celebrities? If so, who?

[Sorry, this tickled me, and I can’t not.... :::whispers:::: Celebrities *are* real people... my assumption is O.P. meant persons writer knows vs. celebs]

In my mind, they may be based in/on celebs, but I don’t wanna trample on reader imagination. I’ve ponied up a couple names/images to peeps off-the-books/off-site regarding Andrew, Mose & Jane in Top of the World, and the midwife & Burt in The Midwife, and the agent in The Lore You Know. I think that’s all. So if ya wanna know, hey, okay, holler & I’ll tell you what’s in my mind’s eye.

Specifically in cases of something that can be reader insert - and I’ve talked about this elsewhere - I make a conscious effort to not pigeonhole the reader so they can actually imagine themselves as the protagonist. If I mention specifics - such as hair length, or height for instance - there’s a reason for the plot or for the character arc as related to the plot. People can/will typically let a couple middle-of-the-road things go & still be able to picture themselves. I don’t describe skin color or eye shape or whatever, because life’s a crayon box & pictures that are drawn in only one hue/range are bone-achingly boring.

I don’t want/need a cookie for that; it takes minimal effort on my part to execute but gives a maximum enjoyment for persons who aren’t 22-year-old lily white Barbie dolls with flowing blonde hair or buxom brunettes with legs for days, et al, while still allowing the rest to picture themselves without missing out on anything. So, y’know, why wouldn’t I? I try not to waste time describing anything at length that has no bearing on the plot, and that includes character appearance. /rant

Jane is the most I’ve described, and even then I’m kinda slow-playing it vs. a big ol’ chunk of tips-to-toes details. For her, it’s more about the family members she favors, in both looks & mannerisms, but she’s got plenty of her own quirks.

10. How long have you been writing fanfiction?

I got roped into writing 2 lil’ “Smallville” things a bazillionty years ago, I actually found them on FFnet awhile back & they aren’t terribly bad, I’m surprised to say. But as far as digging in hardcore? Like I say - R&D started a little over 2 years ago, I think, and last month was the 1 year anniversary of Top of the World. Which was meant to be an exercise for me & a damn gesture for a friend. And was the only thing I planned on writing. #famous last words

And welp, on that note....

*~* See Nash Write : Master *~* See Nash Write : Mobile *~*

@impandagrl @castielhasthetardis @jalove-wecallhimdean @kathaswings @just-another-busy-fangirl @amanda-teaches @fanforfanatic @idreamofhazel @itswitchcraft-not-googlemaps @impala-dreamer @roxy-davenport @blackcaptainrogers @carryonmycobaltangel @klaineaholic @helvonasche @zepppie @littlegreenplasticsoldier @emilywritesaboutdean @butiaintgonnaloveem @wheresthekillswitch @lipstickandwhiskey @pinknerdpanda @hannahindie @impalaimagining @katymacsupernatural @wideawakeandwriting @mrswhozeewhatsis @salvachester @wildlifepixie @deanssweetheart23 @kittenofdoomage @chelsea072498 @salvachester @iwantthedean @whispersandwhiskerburn @atc74 @abbessolute

#Nash Responds #Nash Answers #in which Nash rambles #writing blah-di-blahs #from the bowels of the draft folder #Queueby Dooby Doo #Dad's on a blog post and #he hasn't been queued in a few days

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edwardlando · 4 years

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A definitive guide to a life well-lived

As I sat in a cab on Saturday evening being zoomed through some blurry part of Chelsea in the recklessly competent style of the New York cab driver, my friend texted me and asked how I would define a life well-lived. I assumed correctly that she was drunk.

This question brought back memories of a class I took in my senior year at Penn called “Literature of Success,” a popular one among almost-real people getting angstily ready to begin noble consulting and finance professions — both the culmination and beginning point of their lives so far. The class offered a rich reading syllabus with works from Benjamin Franklin (of course), Viktor Frankl, and others which I presently forget, and the goal was to ingest these people’s stories and eventually come to our own answer and plan to achieving success in the real world. And naturally to be graded on the quality of that plan.

I texted her back with a few spontaneous answers from my left thumb and later realized that it would be nice to expand on this list and keep it somewhere.

Here it is. I know that my answers are very influenced by my present conditions and advantages, and that some of these suggestions are more or less within our control. I’m also sure that this list will deserve to be added to and edited over time as more life is lived and more parchment unfolded.

Have a healthy and happy family.

Work every day with people you love and respect, moving toward fulfilling your potential and mission.

Make sure you live the experience of real romantic love and don’t settle until you feel it.

Make sure that your opinions and choices are really yours.

Work to be in great physical shape.

Expand continually out of your current boundaries of comfort and competence.

Do not leave any rock that you find interesting unturned. Similarly, do not let fear stop you from sampling something that you really want to do.

Pay attention to the elephants in the room. When you feel something is wrong, even if only a little, act on it immediately. You are in a position to course correct.

Be aware of your general slope, your dy/dx, and ensure that it’s sloping up and steepening. Keep accelerating.

Don’t spend much time sulking. There is no nobility in suffering for too long… unless it inspires you to compose a nice song or poem.

Reroute and leverage your anger, insecurities and other negative spirals. Make sure that they are not the only forces motivating you (otherwise you will implode) but use them as explosive fuel to propel you forward. Anger is like an extremely heavy unwieldy sword that can be very useful.

Prioritize aggressive decisiveness — even if sloppy — over over-analysis.

Realize that even though many people are wrong (except for this author), they have simply been shaped by their life so far and do not explicitly intend to be evil. Several truths can exist at once.

Do not pause your learning, even when you’re in the trenches executing on the current plan or project that has taken over your life.

Do not keep neglecting something you know is fundamentally important to you. Those things are not the same for everyone.

When the time comes, drop everything for the more important person or thing.

Ask yourself what the people you are close to are great at and suffer from. Encourage them to express their greatness more and help them navigate away from their bad habits and pain.

If you have the luxury to, make sure you work on ideas that directly improve life for people. Those that viscerally confront the human condition. There is no such thing as a dearth of ideas. As long as there is suffering, there will be great novels and also problems for you to tackle and solve. If you are in a position to try tackling one of them, it is almost your obligation. Great people will also be attracted to join you because doing something meaningful is one of the most powerful magnets that exists.

Practice random acts of kindness. You will feel good and these will compound. There is an ongoing war in the world between cynicism and naive benevolence. You are contributing to tilting the scale because your behavior is the reality of the person you are interacting with.

Do not pretend to be morally superior (unless you are on Twitter). Your human nature makes you inclined to prioritize yourself. It is hypocritical to deny this, and yet this does not stop you from becoming a kindly-motivated person.

Spend more time with people you love and who have a good influence on you and less time with people you don’t love and who don’t make you someone you are happy being. You already know who falls in which bucket.

Often ask yourself what you will regret not having done at the end of your life and the lives of the people you love… and do those things.

Remember that nothing matters. And that everything matters.

There is no right answer. There is a right answer.

Remember that everyone feels the same spotlight effect you feel. They are more distracted being self-conscious of their own appearance and barely notice you. You are wearing an invisible cloak, so have more fun and don’t worry about how you look on the dance floor.

Realize that most of what you want is within your reach, usually only a few good decisions away.

Prioritize the spontaneous plan over the planned plan. Sunk costs are a real thing.

Speaking of… the thing about cognitive biases is that even very savvy people fall for them. Sunk cost, confirmation bias, loss aversion, endowment effect, anchoring, halo effect, mere exposure effect, bandwagon effect… there are more. Learn about psychology and behavioral economics because you will learn about yourself and discover some of the hidden forces that have been barring you from making the progress you want. Being able to name them is already a big win toward neutralizing them.

While we’re on the topic of savvy people, keep in mind that even the most professionally accomplished among us frequently make terrible decisions in other parts of their lives. Don’t think that someone is necessarily correct across the board because they stand out on one dimension. Similarly, don’t think that just because someone has made a lot of money they are by definition unhappy in the other parts of their lives.

You’re at your worst when you focus on the success of other people and wish it were yours. It’s the biggest and most demoralizing distraction to anyone ambitious. Let them live their lives and focus on your own story.

Never delay telling people you love them. You should take the chances you get and you don’t know what a powerful effect you have on them by telling them that.

Remember that you too are maddening to the people you love, so don’t sabotage your closest relationships over stupid things. You do those things too, or have other charmingly infuriating habits.

Change your mind decisively when you have realized that you are wrong. You are a work in progress and only the truth and resolution matter.

Write the list of things you’ve been wanting to do for a long time, and go down the list doing them now.

No one — not even your spouse or best friend — can or will ever quench your every need and desire. Do not expect that of them and you will put less strain on your relationship.

Enjoy the warm, snug feeling of being dependent on someone but make sure you are autonomous enough to thrive independently and venture out into the snowy woods alone should need be.

Rarely is it worth using your energy to retaliate against someone who has wronged you (unless they are actively still doing so). You will create more value by continuing to create and ignoring them.

The most redoubtable people are not those who get into street fights.

Choose partners who do not have a fixed-pie view of the world. That paradigm is very difficult to unlearn and is unfortunately tainting.

Realize that relationships compound dramatically over time. Be loyal to the people around you and continue to write the story together. You can move so much faster when you have deep-rooted trust.

If you’ve observed yourself mentioning or noticing something more than a couple of times, pay real attention to it. It is likely very important and should be addressed now.

Think of yourself as a professional athlete, aiming for daily excellence. Now balance this image with the realization that it is a handful of key decisions and events every year that will shape your life. Create and wait for those.

Travel is wonderful, but do not try to use it to run away from facing the important questions head-on.

People only share 1% of their lives publicly. So don’t let Instagram (and people’s selective sharing) make you sad.

“When the student is ready, the master appears.” You are an agent of your own life, and yet.. some of the things you most desire cannot be brute-forced into reality, often because they are not external. Perhaps you haven’t yet found your life partner because there is still a little tinkering to be done on yourself.

It is possible — and sometimes really worth — fixing broken relationships (of all types). If you feel like something ended for the wrong reasons and you miss it, you should put your ego aside and give it a sincere shot.

Speak well of people behind their back and criticize them (if you have to) to their face.

Deliberately expose yourself to more randomness. Enjoy seeing if you can break something about your model of the world.

Let your heroes teach you about general strategy and incite you to do great things, but do not attempt to replicate their exact execution.

If you know you’ve made a mistake and it’s not too late, you should consider yourself incredibly lucky and go fix things immediately.

Don’t do things that compromise your integrity. It is — per the definition of the word — what makes you whole.

Fun is not only reason enough, but one of the best reasons to do something.

If you often tell people you’re not good at something, decide if you want that to be the case of the rest of your life or if you want to try to become good at it.

You’ll be surprised at how good you can become at most things if you apply yourself to it for a year or two. Try it and tell me.

A few subjects worth taking one class in at some point in your life: dance (especially before wedding season), public speaking and / or stand-up comedy, cooking, wine (so you can at least distinguish between more than just white vs red). Knowing just a little bit more than nothing here will feel great and goes a long way.

Go on more road trips.

Keep note along the way of things that you will want to share with your children (even if you don’t want children).

The world is scary, random and unfair. The world is wonderful and kind and always conspiring in your favor (as Coelho would say).

Never let events or people extinguish your fire and love for living. You are alive when you are burning.

Your intuitive voice is the one that is correct.

#guide #life #well-lived

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storywars-r · 5 years

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A New Avatar

Chapter 1 by R

Long ago, the four nations lived together in harmony. Then everything changed when the Fire Nation attacked. Only the Avatar, master of all four elements, could stop them. But when the world needed him most, he vanished. Everyone thought he had vanished from the world. But I know what really happened.

You see, when I was young I had an imaginary friend, a cheerful young boy with a bald head and arrow shaped tattoos, who would tell me stories and run around in the snow with me. He was my closest friend save my brother.

But this wasn't just any imaginary friend. Eventually, he told me that he was a ghost, the lost Avatar, who had been stuck in an iceberg and froze to death. He explained to me what the Avatar was, and the fate that he had run from. He told me that he was now stuck between our world and the spirit world in order to guide me. You see. . .

My name is Katara, of the southern water tribe. And I am the Avatar.

Chapter 2 by Jordan

The lost Avatar advises me that I must find a master to properly teach me the art of Water-Bending. But there are no other benders within my village. The Northern Water tribe, our sister tribe, has all the benders. But the trip there would be dangerous.

Not just because it is on the other side of the world, but because the Fire Nation is hunting for the Avatar. I am not sure if they know that the last Avatar died and reincarnated into myself or if they still assume that the Avatar is an Air Bender. Either way, it will be dangerous.

Sokka would want to come, as is his way as a big brother. It makes me nervous to leave grandma alone and try to explain to dad why his children are gone the next time he decides to write.

I shouldn't think like that though, I must think of the good of the people. We need an Avatar, to stop the war and bring peace back to the four nations.

I sigh, starring out at the water as it lapped against the giant glacier. I have made my decision, without much of a choice though.

Turing my back on the calmness of the ocean and ice, I head back towards my tribe where I will find my brother and pack for my trip. It is my duty, that I know.

Chapter 3 by Carmen Larby

I say my goodbyes, to my friends and family, making my way to a small wooden boat, controlling to current to pull me and Sokka forward. I take one last glance at the village in which I grew up and turn forward. My brother hums cheerfully, as if nothing is wrong, I shush him, how could he be so happy, this is the most dangerous thing we have ever done, and here he is singing. I pull us forward. I shiver through my thick fur jacket. How am I ever going to pull this off?

Chapter 4 by Laura Frost

We travel for a few hours. I'm still in familiar waters. Sokka is trying to catch a fish, and I can't help but laugh at the ridiculous image he makes.

Suddenly, our boat speeds up. Rapidly. I clutch my paddle and try to steer us away from the large pieces of ice. Sokka yells something to me, but I can't hear it over the rushing water. It ends as quickly as it began.

We pant for breath, letting the panic wash away.

"I'm starting to have second thoughts about this whole 'save the world' idea of yours."

"Do you even know your way back? That current carried us pretty far."

Sokka grins, and says, "No problem, Katara. I have excellent direction sense."

It takes all of my will, but I resist the urge to smack him. I glance at the contents of our boat. All the supplies we brought seem to still be there. I look closer, and find black powder. It's all over the boat.

Black snow. Sokka and I share a knowing look. Not even a day into our journey, and we're already going to encounter them.

The Fire Nation.

Chapter 5 by Laura Frost

We spot the ship an instant later, as we pull away from a large iceberg. Someone shouts out, their voice coming from the ship. The fire nation soldiers look like ants from this distance.

"Katara, get down!" Sokka has his boomerang in his hand.

"Are you crazy? We can't take on an entire ship full of fire nation soldiers!" My voice has gained a frantic tone.

"Just use your Avatar magic, or whatever it's called."

A large hook shoots toward us, digging into the side of our boat. We jerk towards the ship. Sokka saws at the rope pulling us closer to the fire nation ship. He doesn't even make a dent in the thick metal rope.

Voices call down to us. "Lay down your weapons and surrender and you will not be harmed!" More ropes come down, bringing soldiers down to us.

We are in so much trouble.

Chapter 6 by Jordan

Sokka and I stand at the back of our wooden boat, as far away from the Fire Nation ship as possible.

I watched as several people repelled down and landed in our boat with a thud. The first three were benders, arms at the ready while the next too seemed to surprise us.

Standing in front of us was Prince Zuko and his Uncle Iroh, the captain, or who we assumed was the captain, stood behind them.

With the boat crowded, we were forced even more against the edge and I quietly smacked Sokka's hand away from his boomerang.

"Who are you." Zukko spoke, voice loud and commanding. Fitting of a prince.

"My name is Katara and this is my brother Sokka. We are on our to visit our family in the Northern Water Tribe." I reply confidently, trying to keep myself steady as the waves pushed against the boat.

"A likely story. You are probably rebel sympathizers." A gruff voice spoke up from behind the two royals.

"Quiet Captain. Zukko has the final decision. Nephew, they look like simple travelers. Maybe we can give them a ride to the Earth Nation." Iroh spoke up, speaking quietly and calmly towards Zukko.

"No uncle. We must find the Avatar." His voice cut sharply through the air.

I felt forgotten in their conversation. Sokka glanced back at me, as if mentally asking what was going on. At the mention of the Avatar, I felt myself go cold. I hoped any actions from here on out would not alert them that I was the Avatar. Unfortunately for me, I was not going to be able to bend my way out of this.

Coming back from my thoughts, I could still see the pair quietly arguing before the Prince groaned in frustation and glared at us.

"Fine, we will allow you to travel aboard until we reach the edge of the Earth Nation. Then we will drop you off there." His command was final and Zukko turned to repel back up the side of the ship.

"Don't mind my Nephew, he is just stressed. Let me help you my dear."

I roh smiled and grabbed my back before leading me to a repelling line and giving a command to be pulled up. As I ascended, I watched Sokka from the boat who was tense all over and struggling not to fight with any of the guards.

Withing a few seconds I was being pulled over the edge of the boat. I dusted off my pants, giving my surroundings a good look.

As the rest of the guards and Sokka boarded the boat, I had a sense of dread inside of my gut. I had been forced into a nightmare. One that I must survive.

Chapter 7 by Jordan

It was nearing dusk now. I stood at the railing of the metal beast, watching as it cut chunks of floating ice into smaller pieces. The wind stung my cheeks but I barely felt anything. Since we boarded this morning, I have felt nothing but a tingly numbness.

The Prince had begun shouting orders to his crew, ignoring my brother and I so we were left in the care of two sentries and his Uncle.

Sokka was "training" with his boomerang on the bow of the ship, determined to keep himself distracted. I thought it was also to show the guards that he was a proud fighter of the water tribe. Regardless, they were unfazed.

I, myself, did not converse with any of the troops. If I happened to speak it was in short respectable bursts. The only person I genuinely enjoyed talking to was Iroh. A big bellied man with a big bellied laugh that made me smile.

Instead, my fingers twitched with the strong urge to practice my bending but I was nervous. I hadn't seen the appearance of the Lost Avatar since I left my village. I glanced behind me, taking in a deep breath. My fear was that if I started bending, it would make the Fire Nation suspicious and most likely take us prisoner.

"Katara! Mind if I join you?" A deep, scratchy voice sounded from behind me.

Turning, I set my gaze upon Iroh, the very man who I had been thinking about a few minutes ago. I nodded my head and turned back to the view of the ocean.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" He asked as he leaned against the railing beside me.

"It is. I want to get a good view of it before I hit the mainland. Don't want to forget where I come from." My voice was soft in reply, a hint of a smile playing at my lips.

He nodded before replying. "Yes, a few months travel through the Earth Kingdom and then you will be at the Northern Water Tribe. They have a.." He paused searching for the right word. ".. different kind of beauty up there. But I am sure you will be delighted to see the rest of the world on your trip."

I laugh a little, glancing towards him." Yes, but I think Sokka is more excited than I am."

Iroh rumbled a laugh. "I wish my nephew could appreciate it like you two now that he is older."

I merely nod, unsure of how to reply. I was very appreciative when Iroh changed the topic.

"So, are there many benders in your village?" His tone sounded genuinely curious.

Shaking my head, I reply watching my words carefully. "No. They were all taken, during a raid when I was very young."

He nodded solemnly, as if remembering that moment. "None have shown up?

A pit of anxiety began to swell in my stomach. I wanted to trust this man, he had such a grandfatherly exhibit towards myself and my brother but he was Fire Nation. Not only Fire Nation but would have the Fire Lord. I took a deep breath, asking myself:

Do I tell him I am a water bender?

Chapter 8 by Jordan

"Sir, I .."

I had begun to speak suddenly when what felt and sounded like an explosion interrupted me. The force rocked the metal boat, throwing me to the side. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Iroh brace against the railing and behind me the unmistakable yell of my brother as he was thrown over the railing of the boat.

Smoke began to rise from inside the boat and I pulled myself up, fearful for the life of my brother. I saw his hand slip from the railing and plung towards the icy ocean.

"KATARA!!" He yelled, his voice fading before being smothered by the embrace of water.

"Sokka!!" I screamed, leaning over the edge.

Behind me I could hear solider's yelling commands back and forth, trying to put out what I could only take as an engine fire. The world slowed down a bit and my thoughts were pushed aside by quick action. Save Sokka.

Without thinking I jumped onto the railing and my arms began to move, bending the water underneath the boat. Focusing, I made a spout of water lift into the air with Sokka submerged in it and crashed it onto the deck of the ship.

Cold ocean water surprised the men and I had only hoped that the soldiers did not see me. I could see Sokka coughing up water, shaking from the drop in temperature but I was distracted. Thick, black smoke was leaking heavily from the entrance to the belly of the ship.

Moving across the deck, I brought a wave of water with me and plunged into the thick of it.

Several minutes later, coughing up a storm, I found the source of the fire. Keeping myself upright I began to douse the fire, the steam making the lack of oxygen more noticeable.

Eventually the fire was extinguished and I stood there covered in ash, soot and breathing heavily from the effort. The realization of the event crashing down on me. I had just ousted myself to the Fire Nation. I was doomed.

I slowly trudged up the many flights of stairs towards the top. Upon walking through the door, I was greeted by half a regiment and the Prince Zukko.

"So, you are a water bender? Last of the Southern Water tribe I presume." He sneered as he spoke.

"Katar-" I heard my brothers voice before the thump of flesh on flesh greeted my ears.

I winced and then replied, my eyes on the Prince and his uncle. "I am a water bender."

"Zukko, be lenient. The girl just save all of our lives." Iroh spoke up, running a hand down his beard.

The Prince growled and looked around the deck. Many men were suffering from the amount of smoke in their lungs, others had bad fire burns. Ironic.

He sighed and looked me dead in the eye, his voice still hard as he spoke. "Thank you, Katara of the Water Tribe. Men, get to cleaning up the damage. The sick to the wards!"

And then any fear and reserve I had fled me. People began moving around, trying to hurry to their duties. I jogged to my brother, helping him up from his position on the ground and looked up to see Iroh looking at me with concern.

I mouthed 'Thank You' in his direction before Sokka brought my attention back to him. Pulling him up, I began the trudge down to our bunks.

'Oh man, I am in so much trouble.' I thought to myself. 'This will not end good.'

#sw finished #sw fanfiction

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jay-michaels-public-relations · 5 years

Text

Article contributed to Five Star Arts Journal by Jay Michaels

Comic Books – like their characters – have a secret identity. The mild-mannered paper and ink funnies are also the next level of Greek tragedy or Shakespearean epic.

Comic Artists – like their characters – also have a secret identity thrust upon them. Hard-working children of immigrants throughout the sixties grabbing a job in a time when such things were scarce drew fun and fantastical stories about improbable human beings … and outer planet dwellers. These progression-of-image books have – thanks to Godlike advances in cinema and the paranoia of psychiatrists throughout the fifties and sixties have become the new da Vincis and Picassos.

Sadly, like their characters, these artists were always lauded for their work. their stories are the fodder of -well- comic books.

Ditko tells the story of Steve Ditko, a comic book illustrator virtually forgotten by the masses, but celebrated by comic book fans everywhere. Chronicling his rise in the comic book industry, Ditko was instrumental in Marvel’s success by co-creating two of comics most iconic characters, Spider-Man and Doctor Strange and several of DC’s silver age icons, Hawk and Dove, Shade the Changing Man, and the Creeper. Ditko also worked for virtually every other publisher of note including Warren, Charlton, Pacific, and Eclipse, co-creating other iconic characters like Mr. A, the Question and Blue Beetle. he also created some of the 1950s most startling imagery in sci-fi and fantasy comics. ironically, Spiderman was meant to be one of those fantasy one-shot characters for a comic book called Amazing Fantasy. Stan Lee, planning to cancel the poor-selling monster book, let Ditko draw one of those far-out characters for the last issue. The rest, as they say …

The Daydream Theatre and TheatreLab NYC present DITKO, a play written & directed by Lenny Schwartz on October 1 & 2 at 7:30pm Tickets: $15 in advance at Ovationtix.com and $20 at the door the location of TheatreLab is 357 WEST 36th STREET 3RD FLOOR – NEW YORK

Some actors have the honor of playing Hamlet, Romeo & Juliet, and Lear … others have a more lofty experience. Derek Laurendeau plays Steve Ditko; Dave Almeida dons a cigar for his role as Jack Kirby; Anne Bowman plays a mystic master – no, not Doctor Strange … Ayn Rand. And Geoff White takes the elevator to the floor ABOVE Mount Olympus as Stan Lee. The avengers assembled also include Samantha Acampora, Christopher Ferreira as Jerry Robinson/Dick Giordano (talk about Marvel AND DC), Mindy Britto, Emily Lamarre, and Timothy DeLisle.

At the New York Comic Con in 2010, Stan Lee entered the stage and someone from the back of the house screamed “YOU’RE A GOD, STAN” We asked the cast … well is he? Well, are you? And what’s it like playing Gods.

Derek Laurendeau:

To me comic books aren’t becoming a religion, they are one. As with most religions you have practices, prayers, meditations, and most of all stories that give the moral standards and practices of them. Comic books in their own way share many of these. Many people routinely make pilgrimages to the conventions or their comic book shops to share in the collective story telling of hundreds of artists and writers. The whole community (artists, editors, writers, fans, etc.) shapes these stories. The stories give us the hope and ability to cope with the world around us. The comics are also a mythology on their own. Superheroes are god like and while the stories can be bombastic, heroic adventures at the end of it all the heroes themselves are just as human as we are and through that relatability you can gain strength to overcome any difficulties. Also like most religions there are divisions that you see when stories adapt and change. Most recently the Miles Morales Spiderman comes to mind as an example of the rift that can divide comic fans.

“I feel like we’re not playing gods. Ditko, Lee, Kirby, and Robinson were humans just like us.”

They had their flaws and faults just like anyone would have. The fans may see them as these deities, but at the end of the day they were just men and women creating from their imaginations. They created these characters not knowing what would happen. The act of creation is what they knew best and by putting the work in and giving their art every bit of energy they had they made magic happen on the pages. I feel like my responsibility to the role is to show the humanness of these great people. Yes they created heroes that will not be forgotten any time soon. But Steve Ditko, Jack Kirby, Stan Lee, and Jerry Robinson all started at the same place behind a table with nothing but an idea, paper, and something to write and draw with. The truth is anyone can do what they did as long as you have passion and are committed one hundred percent to making your destiny happen. However I do feel an extra responsibility to Ditko since very little is known of him and for a lot of people seeing the show it was the first time they had ever heard of him. So i feel a duty to do my best to represent Steve as the sure minded, smart, and talented artist he was.

Geoff White, like the characters he plays (Stan Lee) was a bit more irreverent.

Growing up in the 60’s, I was the usual comic book kid… I occasionally grabbed a Superman or Spiderman. I’ve always had a healthy respect for the art form, but as I began college and studying theatre, my focus changed and comics faded in my life Except for my many friends who are avid collectors. But, as an Actor, I do feel the responsibility of being true to any character I portray, but obviously playing Stan in the city, next to the Comicon is a little daunting. Fortunately, Lenny is a true Fan and an insightful Director and I truly feel the audiences will enjoy the ride as much as we do.

Dave Almeida plays another king. Jack “King” Kirby. The man attributed to some of the greatest comic book characters of all time – who never got the respect he deserved … until after his passing.

We the public may consider these creative writers and artists “gods”, but I would guess that they just considered themselves just “working Joes”, and getting paid for their services, just like screenwriters, journalists and commercial artists did at the time. These wonderful people gave us role models without even realizing it; role models who change the minds and hearts of a post war generation and their children.

Christopher Ferreira playing two comic book legends shared his thoughts as well.

When I was in grade school at that time, comics were the safe place where social outcast bookworms could find comfort in fantastic stories about heroes and a fantasy world. It was ours. Now comics are everyone’s. Now I’m the expert who pretty girls turn to to learn about this world of mythical legend. Now I feel like the prophets of old, leading new followers to the wonderful teachings of pulp fiction legends. I absolutely feel a strong responsibility to accurately portray such legends as Jerry Robinson and Dick Giordano. I met Jerry twice in the later years of his life at the San Diego Comic Con and I was so blown away by his intelligence, exuberant personality and humbleness. He did so much important work to get creators the credit and recognition they deserved. I can only imagine how he encouraged and helped Steve Ditko in his early days of coming into the comic book industry. Jerry was such a force in the comic book industry. So my goal in bringing him to life again onstage in this version is to show how human of a man he was. Comic book creators are people who care about the human race, I feel. They write stories that show the best humanity can be. Creating heroes that they wish we all could be.

Anne Bowman practiced philosophizing by saying this.

What comes to mind is how comic book characters are like religious icons, known all over the world. Before I did this show I didn’t realize how often I see Spider-Man in my daily life, in many places other than TV. For example, I went to the beach with family a few weekends ago, and my friend’s five-year-old was wearing a Spider-Man t-shirt. I told him I was in a play about the man who drew Spider-Man, and his eyes got wide. I knew Spider-Man when I was his age, too. That’s pretty incredible.

Emily Lamarre and Mindy Britto looked up in the sky and had this to say:

Emily Lamarre: I’ve been thinking about this all day and haven’t really found an answer for this question. I’ve been an outsider to the comic book world and through Ditko I learned that Ditko was the real creator of Spider-Man. I think with why comic books are becoming a religion as people look up to these characters because they are strong, and brave. They even may pass down the stories of these characters to their children in hopes to take the lessons and ideals that they had and use them in real life. With the creators like Jack Kirby, Steve Ditko, Jerry Robinson, and Bill Finger, they created these characters and the world they live in for people to read and look up to.

Mindy Britto: To be honest, comic books are a bit of a new phenomenon for me. I feel that comic books offer an escape into another reality. Comics are always indicative of pop culture, reflecting both modern society and a new market of readers. Writers come up with religious back stories to keep the character current and provide relatability and depth. It makes sense that comic books are becoming a religion due to the complexity of the world that we live in and the desire to explore and uncover.

=================

JAY MICHAELS, an indie film and live event producer and promotional executive, is considered an authority on comic books and horror movies. He is the host of “Terror Talk” on the burgeoning streaming station, Terror TV. Michaels, a notable presence in the world of independent theater and film as a producer and an actor, has been charting horror and science-fiction on film and television and appraising comic books and other ephemera since 1973. He is also a judge for the Boston Sci-Fi Film Festival.

Adventure takes four colors, two staples, and one dream Article contributed to Five Star Arts Journal by Jay Michaels Comic Books - like their characters - have a secret identity.

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wellesleyunderground · 7 years

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Wellesley in Art: Interview with Tina Romero '06 a.k.a. DJ TRx

(Tina Romero. Photo by Amber Gress.)

Tina Romero ‘06 is a filmmaker, DJ and dancer living in Brooklyn, New York. At Wellesley, Tina was a double major in Cinema and Media Studies and French. She was also an active member of the dance and theater community. In 2006 Tina moved to NYC to attend NYU’s Tisch School of the Arts Graduate Film program, where she received an MFA in Film Production. She has written and directed several short films and music videos. Her film, “Rainbowarrior” was shot at Wellesley and featured Wellesley students and alums. She also DJ’s all over Brooklyn and New York City. DJ TRx (pronounced “trix”) spins regularly at Hot Rabbit and Bad Habit, parties created by fellow alum Emily Hall Smith ‘06. She even DJ’d at Wellesley for her 10 year reunion in June 2016! In addition to creating her own films and DJ-ing, Tina teaches students both in the US and abroad about film and photography. A true renaissance woman, we are thrilled to get a chance to talk to Tina!

WU: We are so excited to interview you, Tina! You are truly a polyglot in the world of art as a DJ, filmmaker and writer, professor, and dancer. Where did your interest in these areas of art first begin?

Both of my parents are artists, which meant neither of them wanted me to become an artist. Nevertheless, they always supported my creative "endeavors," be it sitting patiently through an epic, plot-free fairytale performance piece in our living room or helping me make a video letter to a far away friend. When my dad wasn't working, he would unwind with crafting, puzzles, magic tricks, music, and I would join him. Of all the things my dad and I did together, what inspired me most was the experience of watching movies with him. My dad would weep when we watched films—not at the sad endings, but at the opening notes of a film score he found perfect, or as the camera swept through the choreography of West Side Story. He showed me that movies can move people, that fictional people can stir real-life empathy, that made-up worlds tell us about the essence of being human. I can’t remember a precise moment of realizing I wanted to be a filmmaker, but I knew even as a child that my goal was to move people.

WU: You were a Cinema and Media Studies major at Wellesley and went on to get your M.F.A. from NYU’s Tisch School of the Arts in Film Production. How does your educational background help and inform your work?

Well, I can't see myself cozying up to a blanket and a bowl of popcorn for a Friday night viewing of "Birth of a Nation," so I'm grateful Professor Viano screened it in CAMS 101. It was a gift to be guided through film history in slow, thoughtful steps.

Nowadays we have all this digital gear at our fingertips when we shoot a movie, but a fancy camera doesn't necessarily make a good movie. Looking back at pre-CGI (computer generated imagery) movie magic is inspirational, especially when working with a small budget. With strong content and execution, you can do a lot with the basics.

Writing numerous analytical essays on movies certainly taught me to be thoughtful about the details; to ask myself how to enhance thematic ideas using mise-en-scène. Film school, on the other hand, showed me that nothing goes the way you plan it and to roll with the punches.

WU: Your short film, Rainbowarrior, premiered at the Melbourne International Film Festival in 2009. It’s a silent film for the most part and portrays a class of school girls under the thumb of a stringent headmistress (with a penchant for leather bustiers/corsets). One student craves color, music, and movement but is reprimanded for seeking these things out. Tell us about the film and the inspiration behind it.

I started NYU the fall after I graduated from Wellesley and the transition was...shocking. At Wellesley, if I left my backpack on a Severance commons couch, it would still be there three days later. Within a month of moving to Brooklyn, someone stole my laptop bag from a bar. Surviving my first year of grad school AND the avalanche of adult responsibilities that I didn't see coming was overwhelming. I remember thinking nothing will ever be as good as Wellesley. I was anxious, existential and going through a bad breakup. But I was also determined to take control of my life. This is the headspace from which Rainbowarrior was born. To me, the film is about a revolution of spirit and how inner strength can spark change in others.

(On the set of Rainbowarrior in Founders Hall. Photo by Jonathan Young.)

The first images marinated in my mind to the tune of a song called "Rainbowarrior," by Coco Rosie. I knew I wanted the film to be dialogue-free and feature movement/dance. I could picture the world, but I struggled to get my ideas down on paper, so I set up an emergency meeting with Amy Fox, a writing professor I trusted deeply. She encouraged me to lean into the images in my head no matter how weird or non-narrative. (This meeting happened to take place on the same night Amy's family brought home Leah, a German Sheppard mix with a shitty past. Leah and I were instant buds. I dog-sat, took her on camping trips, used her as flirt bait in the summertime…) With Amy's encouragement, I eventually had a script. Thanks to Wellesley, my family, and a magical cast & crew, I was able to bring it to life.

WU: In addition to the film Rainbowarrior, several of your works involve our alma mater, alums, and students. Soon after your graduation in 2006, you returned to Wellesley as a guest choreographer for Wellesley College Dancers. You choreographed high school musicals at Automotive High School in Brooklyn alongside Wellesley alum Julia Duncheon ‘06 and brought students to perform at Wellesley in the group FreeStyle’s annual JOI (“JAM ON IT”) Fundraiser. How and why does Wellesley serve as an inspiration to you? What activities and experiences at Wellesley inspired you the most?

I got involved in the dance community as soon as I got to Wellesley. I was a dedicated member of both FreeStyle and Wellesley College Dancers throughout my time there. In both groups, I had the opportunity to choreograph a new dance piece every semester. Because I have an affinity for spectacle, I always packed as many dancers as I could into my choreography. I did numbers featuring roller skaters, fog machines, flashlights....even Campus Po made an appearance at the end of my "Thriller" piece. I think it's safe to say that no one goes to Wellesley College to pursue a career as a dancer (I didn't expect any of this to be a part of my college experience). There was no cut-throat application process to be a choreographer because there simply weren't that many of us doing it. As a result, I could play with the big ideas I had.

(Julia Duncheon, Bethany Winkels & Tina Romero (all class of ‘06) moved from the short hall Shafer to 16th Street in Brooklyn, NY. Photo by Photobooth.)

One Winter-Session, I stayed on campus to choreograph the musical, "Into the Woods." Luckily my friend, Bette, was also on campus, taking math, so when our friend, Julia decided to stay too, it was a party. Little did she expect to be cast as Rapunzel in the musical...I giggle every time I think about her in that wig. That same Wintersession I also taught an intro level hip hop dance class to a few of the professors who were on campus and interested in learning.

I also participated in Ken Loewit's theater work study. In addition to keeping up with general maintenance in Alumnae Hall and the Ruth Nagel Jones (RNJ) black box theater, we also assisted with whatever set build was happening. Ken taught me how to use a drill, which has turned out to be one of the most life-applicable skills I learned during College.

Everything came together my senior year during an independent study I did with Nora Hussey. I created a show called "Move This," which was my first foray into something I call "aesthetic storytelling". "Move This" was an intimate theatrical dance show in the RNJ. There was no dialogue, no character names, no particular setting. I wanted to evoke a sense of the emotional journey in the audience using lights, music, color, and movement. "Move This" is still my favorite project I've ever created. I'll never forget the way Nora supported me and championed my experimentation with the fusion of dance and theater.

I spent a lot of time in Alumnae Hall. It was a safe and creative space for me. I used to go to the ballroom late at night, put music on and dance my heart out until I had my next idea. It was heaven. Wellesley made it possible for me to create so much over my four years there, which shaped my ability to work with people and honed my voice as a director.

WU: Most recently you have been collaborating with the band, Shirley House, filming, editing and directing their music videos. How did the collaboration come into being?

Emily Hall Smith ('06), master party promoter and one of my closest friends in the world, connected us. Emily has always been one my biggest supporters - she never missed a WCD or Freestyle performance. Because Emily knows me and my work so well, she knows when a project is right for me. Needless to say, I clicked instantly with Shirley House and their music.

Fun story: when I shot my first film at NYU, Little Girl Blue, Emily carried 25 red balloons through the subway- one of those things that's more challenging than it sounds- and delivered them to our set.

Check out some of the videos Tina directed for Shirley house here and here.

WU: What is the difference between working on a film versus a music video? Is there one you enjoy more?

I feel in my element when I’m making a music video. The process of conceptualizing a music video is easier for me than writing a narrative screenplay. Ideas about movement, style, color and light flow much more freely from my head to the paper than those about than plot, conflict, dialogue, etc.

I also enjoy shooting to playback music (vs.shooting scenes with dialogue or live sound FX). Not only is it useful to have the option of directing aloud during a take, but it's also fun to play with the way a track can impact the vibe on set. I’ve often used music on set to shape the mood of a scene.

WU: You have also been writing a screenplay for the film, “The Lost Girls,” which is currently in pre-production. Tell us about the film, what it’s about, and when you find time to write!?

Finding time to write is a struggle. If I have stuff scheduled later in the day, I have a hard time getting into a good flow. I write best when I do marathon sessions- big chunks of time when I step away from the constant interruptions of today’s real world. I call my iPhone a tiny distraction box - it’s amazing how much more I accomplish when I turn it off.

I’m working on the “articulation of my creative process,” as my therapist calls it. Creating a routine based on what works best for me rather than what Lifehacker says I should try. I’m not a morning person- I’ve tried to force myself into a morning writing routine time and again, but it never works for me. It’s not easy, and I’m still exploring how to most effectively “set myself up for success”.

Writing doesn’t always happen on screen or paper. I’m “writing” in my head all the time. Riding the subway, doing laundry, dancing at a party. Embracing this has been essential to the continued improvement of “The Lost Girls”.

With respect to the film itself, I can’t give away too much about my feature, so I'll leave you with this:

“The Lost Girls” is a contemporary, queer take on Peter Pan. It’s a story about Wyn Kelly, a melancholy teenager, who runs away with a renegade girl gang, and learns how to embrace the challenge of growing up with newfound courage. “The Lost Girls” is an updated fairy tale- instead of pixie dust, they take ecstasy; instead of flying past Big Ben, they ride pink motorcycles.

(DJ TRx at the Rock Shop in Brooklyn, NY, moments after hearing the news of Emily Smith-Maresca’s (‘06) engagement to her fiancé, Nina. Photograph by Grace Chu.)

WU: As we mentioned in your introduction, you are not only a filmmaker and dancer but you also DJ! When and how did you first begin DJ-ing in Brooklyn and New York City?

I woke up one day and decided to go for it. I had a gut feeling it would be something I’d love. I took a couple of lessons and started doing house parties for tips, and things took off from there.

WU: Do you have a favorite venue?

Recently, I’ve been obsessed with everything that happens at The McKittrick Hotel, home to the immersive choose-your-own-adventure-style show, ‘Sleep No More’. The venue has two bars, a restaurant, and a ballroom. Every month, the creative team hosts an epic themed party - coming up is the May Fair Masquerade, advertised as “one night of surreal, decadent, costumed revelry.” One of my aspirations in 2017 is to be a guest DJ at one of their big soirees.

(DJ TRx at The Manderlay Bar in The McKittrick Hotel. Photo by Giselle Peters.)

WU: You even DJ’d at your 10 year Wellesley reunion! What was that experience like?

The thought of DJing didn’t occur to me until a few weeks before reunion so it was too late to schedule it into the weekend officially. I decided to throw my gear in the car and figure it out guerilla-style once I got there.

Our class dinner was on the Wellesley College Club lawn, which was the perfect spot to set up a pop-up dance party. I tracked down some available speakers, Campus Po lent me some extension cords, the dinner catering team hooked me up with a table, and we pulled it off.

It was such a highlight for me.

I was thrilled to contribute to the weekend in this way, and it was particularly special spinning for my Wellesley girls. We went hard on throwbacks.

(DJ TRx spinning Fiona Olamina (‘07) & Jonathan Trimby’s wedding at the Wellesley College Club. Photo by Marika Litz.)

WU: In 2011, you co-founded a Confession, a monthly queer dance party in Park Slope. What led to you starting Confession?

Rainbowarrior, in fact! Margaret O’Connor, who plays Headmistress Cursula, connected me to her husband, Scott O’Connor. He’d just become a co-owner of a new bar called, Mission Dolores, in Brooklyn and invited me to start a queer monthly party. Knowing I needed an event planner I brought Emily Smith on as the promoter. Inspired by the bar’s namesake, we called the party Confession and had a confession box that I pulled anonymous submissions from and read aloud throughout the night.

WU: Why do you think it’s important to have queer spaces like Confession?

This has been on my mind lately. After Confession, Emily went on to create Hot Rabbit, a weekly queer party in Manhattan. HR quickly became a staple of queer nightlife, and now Emily hosts Bad Habit, a bi-monthly spin-off party in Brooklyn. In the LGBTQ community bars and clubs are essential. I’m grateful I have safe spaces I can rely on; spaces to rally, connect, and unabashedly be myself. We truly are stronger together.

WU: What is the significance of the intersection of sexual orientation/queerness and music/dance to you? What about the intersection of queerness and film?

My goal is to make films in which queerness isn’t an event or plot point, but just part of the world.

WU: In addition to creating and producing your own art, you teach film at the School of Visual Arts in New York as an adjunct professor, and you’ve taught photography, film, and multimedia to students at the University of New Haven Foundation in Riyadh, Saudi Arabia. New York. Do you enjoy teaching film?

Yes. I love teaching film. I’m not ready to do it full-time yet, but I certainly plan to do more of it.

WU: How do you find a balance among all your varying projects and interests?

I’ve yet to find it.

But I have learned some of the ingredients: sleep, exercise, and dancing.

WU: What’s next for you?

I'm not sure exactly what's next for me, but I think that's part of being an artist. I have a few pots in the burner, some film, some DJ. So we'll see which one boils over first.

WU: What advice do you have for alums and students interested in entering the world of DJing, film, and dance?

Don’t be afraid to charge people for what you're worth.

I spent a decade allowing myself to be severely underpaid doing freelance work that I subconsciously de-valued because it wasn’t “official grown-up work.”

Keep going, keep moving, keep creating from a place of passion rather than perfectionism. Accept that everything is a draft. It helps to get it done. Done is the engine of more.

Get comfortable being uncomfortable.

Jean Renoir said, “Art is in the doing of it”.

(DJ TRx, 2017. Photo by Amber Gress.)

#wellesley in art series #wellesley in art #tina romero #dj trx #class of 2006 #queer dance party #park slope #renoir #confession #rainbowwarrior #shirley house

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ggukau · 7 years

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magical creatures au

important note: i tried to keep to the original folklore for most of these, but each has my own personal take on the lore. because these are only character profiles and an intro, i’d like to think that this is an introduction to an au that could be.

ancient creatures have long been both persecuted and marveled at by humans. as all beings do, these creatures have evolved to blend in with man’s society, ultimately becoming indistinguishable from humans. their society is complex; a network of alliances, tensions, discrimination, and good souls like our own. its hidden amongst the crowds, in the alleyways enveloped in the darkness, and living in the apartment next to your family’s quarters. the creatures are everywhere, you’ve just never known to look.

hellhound!jungkook - hellhounds are large dogs with thick, oil-colored coats of fur and burning red-orange eyes, as if fires were blazing behind them. they have always been associated with death, and depending on their masters, three sightings of one could even cause death. hellhounds are traditionally omens of death and the guards of the gates to the underworld, but some who have non-reaper masters or are kind, lone hounds choose to warn people of looming danger and in rare cases even protect others when their situation is dire. because of their reputation, hellhounds are standoffish and distant, but it is possible for them to imprint on another being, in which case they become extremely loyal and protective. hellhounds have gained the ability to shift between a human and their natural hound appearance, creating a physical difference between righteous and evil hellhounds, as the former prefers their human form while the latter tends to remain in their hound form. their paws singe the earth when in hound form, and they can summon and manipulate fire in both forms. hellhounds must wear contacts to hide their glowing red eyes, a feature that doesn’t change while they’re in human form, reminding them of their true, plaguing nature. hellhound jungkook typically keeps to himself, partying and warning people of danger to forget about his evil orgin.

sylph!tae - an invisible, fairy-like being dedicated to the element of air. they are tall and strong, although you wouldn’t know it at first glance. because elemental spirits can only move in their element’s domain, sylphs, who are the elemental spirits of the air, are the spirits most similar to humans, but if they are in water they drown, in fire the burn, in earth they get stuck. sylphs, because of this reason, cannot swim, be around open flames, or touch the ground. they hover half a centimeter above the ground as they walk so that don’t enter the gnomes’ realm of the earth, but also can’t be easily detected by humans. they have the power to make themselves invisible to the eye by bending light using their air manipulation gifts. sylphs are positive, open-minded, adaptable, and creative fairies. they are constantly gathering and sharing knowledge. sylph tae loves exploring each corner of the cities he travels to and from, playing tricks on the creatures with bad intentions and aiding creatures and humans who have caught some bad luck.

vampire!jimin - humans historically have always been afraid of vampires, but the species has slowly evolved into a fictional and common character in pop culture, making it much less necessary to evolve in order to survive. aside from mages, vampires are almost identical to their original forms. vampires, not needing to adapt much have only gained heightened hearing, retractable claws, and retractable fangs through evolution; the original vampires didn't have fangs at all, but fangs were slowly gained so that vampires could feed more easily. many humans have trouble recognizing vampires because they are fairly different from the images of vampires they've created. the real creatures have varying skin tones but always carry a purplish tint underneath their skin and are usually reasonably plump. they are perfectly able to roam about in the sunlight, which has no affect on them. vampires simply enjoy the quiet of the nighttime, a nice break from the loud bustle of the cities they usually occupy. vampires are confident, lively creatures who are very outgoing and successful in whatever thay do , which could result from their lack of need to completely hide. vampire jimin owns a nightclub, pulling attractive guys and girls from the crowd, feeding on them, and turning them himself, so they become loyal servants and toys. however after each sleepless night he spends with a new sire, as the servants are called, he can never seem to satisfy his dead, bleeding heart.

forest mage!yoongi - all mages would like you to know that they are very different from wizards or witches. yes, they are all practitioners of magic, but mages pride themselves on being able to draw their magic from within themselves and other without requiring a magical tool to harvest their abilities. they take a more traditional and less flashy approach to magic, placing more emphasis on magical rituals and traditional potions and spells, rather than on flashy and trivial spells and potions like their wizard and witch cousins. (no offense to the witches on tumblr out there. its just for the purpose of the au) mages typically choose a certain element to specialize in, each element being unique in small ways, training in that area from the time they are ten until there is no more knowledge to absorb, and mages believe that knowledge is endless. mages are old souls, appreciating their tradition and history as descendants of the priests, shamans, and medicine men of the ancient Zoroastrian religion. sweet forest mage yoongi loves the earth, its creatures, and the shaman grandmother who raised him.

note: im just thinking about his grandma teaching him new things, and will-o'-the-wisp hoseok just fucking falling deep as he stumbles upon yoongi gardening with his grandma.

will-o’-the wisp!hoseok - will-o'-the wisps have changed the most, their original form being strange flame-like lights that lead travelers on long, emotional, and exhausting journeys towards prosperity and self-realization that only the strong and persistent can complete. if a human follows a wisp, but strays from the wisp's light halfway through, the human will be unlucky and unhappy for the rest of his or her life, making humans extremely wary of wisps. wisps have learned to only appear before the brave, so although humans are still careful around wisps, they are now considered somewhat comforting. now taking a young human form, they are the creatures most indistinguishable from humans. their only physical power is conjuring their leading fire that is unable to harm other things. because many wisps are insecure about their power, they tend to live as normal humans, forgetting and suppressing their supernatural lives. however, the remaining wisps very charming and cheerful creatures who take pride in their powers. unconsciously befriending a wisp gives you an extremely luck-filled and successful life. the luck wisps grant others around them is considered another one of their powers. will-o'-the-wisp hoseok is a wanderer, always socializing, looking for someone strong enough to stick around with him through his journey. countless have bailed, earning them an unlucky life that hoseok never ceases to feel responsible for. but he'll never give up hope because he knows the human or creature that is persistent and strong enough for him could be just a stroll through the trees away.

pegasus!seokjin - the original pegasus was an immortal winged horse who fought a fire breathing chimera. his children became and created the many pegai that populate the earth today. pegai are extremely strong, fast, and graceful creatures. they are fire- and burn-proof and natural protectors and aiders, caring after those they become attached to. pegai tend to live for long periods of time, usually a couple of centuries, so they have come to be known as very wise creatures. after centuries of evolution pegai can fold and hide their wings inside their shoulder blades. sightings of pegai are rarely ever filed because if spotted, pegai are almost always mistaken as angels and reported as such. many pegai live in rural areas, but there are still those who are drawn to the creature presence in the city. pegai are extremely sweet, but won't hesitate to stand their ground if they or those they protect are threatened. pegasus seokjin lives in a spacious house in the suburbs, enjoying the space and peace until the silence, stillness, and monotony all becomes deafening. seokjin, not quite ready to give up the peace, keeps his suburban home but buys a loft in the city. he finds exhilaration, sensuality, and unpredictability in the backroom of a nightclub.

shapeshifter!namjoon - shapeshifters are creatures who can morph into any animal while maintaining their consciousness. in the past shapeshifters typically shifted into animals to remain hidden from humans, but now their gifts prove to be more prosperous. there are gangs of shifters who use their abilities to shift into other people in order to steal their identities and commit crimes. however, many shifters dedicate their gift to serving humans, many living their lives as seeing eye dogs, only sharing their secret with their owner. shapeshifters are incredibly intelligent and adaptable. namjoon, taking the shape of a great dane, is a seeing eye dog for a young (eight years old infact) blind girl. he discovers what it means to have someone genuinely and wholeheartedly love you and depend on you, and what it takes to be there for someone who needs and cares for you through the physical and emotional struggles of the innocent, hopeful child.

#namjoon #yoongi #jimin #seokjin #hoseok #jungkook #taehyung #bts #bts au #aus #kpop #zoes aus

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