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whinlatter · 10 months

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sirius and ginny: a meta (part 1)

“Excuse me, but I care what happens to Sirius as much as you do!” said Ginny, her jaw set so that her resemblance to Fred and George was suddenly striking.’

are you a very brave, very reckless, very hot self-destructive rebel with a treacherous sibling and a flair for christmas decoration, harbouring complex feelings about your mother, close ties to crookshanks the cat and spend your days plagued by the memory of your worst mistakes and dark past? do you find yourself constantly being begged to stay in a state of protective confinement to save your life by a young man with a lightning scar, bad hair and crippling abandonment issues? if so, congratulations! you might be one of harry potter's chosen family members, sirius black and ginevra molly weasley!

basically - i want to talk about sirius and ginny. these are two characters who don’t share a lot of scenes in canon but who, i think, have some clear (if overlooked) parallels: stubborn, fiercely protective of harry, self-sacrificing, admired, principled, haunted (in different ways) by traumatic pasts and betrayals, with complicated relationships with their families and entirely uncomplicated devoted relationships with someone else’s cat. their narrative arcs are successive, with ginny ascending in significance in the series during sirius’ period of decline and ultimate death. and ultimately, they’re also the two people who become, over the course of the canon series, family to a protagonist desperately seeking to build one. sirius and ginny are the two people harry in canon most worries about, wants to protect, and thinks of as someone who embodies the promise of family and home.

sirius and ginny aren’t mirror images of each other. ofc, ginny also has parallels with the only other family members harry claims in the series, lily and james (i mean, especially james - she’s literally a cocky funny flirtatious chaser with a years-long debilitating mega crush who can also catch a snitch like a champ. come on now). it’s also clear in canon that sirius means more to ginny as a hero/role model/ally against her mother than ginny ever means to sirius. nevertheless, the text puts in work to let the reader know we should think about these characters together as somehow aligned. from the beginning of ootp, there are clues and signals in the text that foreshadow ginny’s emergence as someone important to harry, and that subtly let the reader know that the baton of being harry’s ‘person’ is about to be passed from sirius to ginny, two kindred spirits, after sirius’ death. so that's what this meta is about! (consider this my 700th attempt to show that, as the popular fandom complaint/all of reddit still insist, ginny as a character, and especially the harry/ginny romance, did not ‘come out of nowhere’.)

the following meta is part one of two (and yet it's still too long! sorry about it). o in this part, i look at the period from the end of goblet of fire thru the start of half blood prince, exploring how the text sets up the sirius and ginny parallels as a way of foreshadowing ginny’s emergence as harry’s main love interest and place as a family substitute. the second part (tbc) will be what the memory of sirius does for harry’s view of his relationship with ginny, and the kind of positive - and negative - ways this shapes harry’s ideas about love and what family do for each other. i wrote this meta as a way of thinking through some characterisation choices for my current WIP, beasts. if you're following along with that fic, this meta can be seen as a companion piece especially to my thinking behind chapters ten and eleven, so hope proves helpful for some of my thinking behind the sirius and ginny friendship that appears in that project. it's also dedicated to @ashesandhackles, queen of metas, who has reminded me to post this meta precisely 9 million times because she is a long-suffering saint.

ok - sirius and ginny. let’s goooooo!

sirius and ginny before ootp

before OotP, ginny is absent from any plot connected to sirius. ginny doesn’t know the truth about sirius’ innocence, nor does she know that harry, her brother and her friend are in regular contact with sirius and that harry now as a surrogate father/big brother figure to confide in and seek comfort in. in fact, in one of ginny’s few appearances in GoF, the narration is unusually insistent that the reader knows how little ginny knows about sirius:

“And have you heard from — ?” Ron began, but at a look from Hermione he fell silent. Harry knew Ron had been about to ask about Sirius. Ron and Hermione had been so deeply involved in helping Sirius escape from the Ministry of Magic that they were almost as concerned about Harry’s godfather as he was. However, discussing him in front of Ginny was a bad idea. Nobody but themselves and Professor Dumbledore knew about how Sirius had escaped, or believed in his innocence. “I think they’ve stopped arguing,” said Hermione, to cover the awkward moment, because Ginny was looking curiously from Ron to Harry. “Shall we go down and help your mum with dinner?”

the only other tiny crumb of sirius and ginny we get is the news that the owl sirius bought in PoA and gifted to ron as a replacement pet for scabbers has been embraced and named by ginny. sirius gifting a tiny little spitfire of an owl that annoys ron? it's giving foreshadowing, your honour.

the reader, though, knows who sirius is to harry by GoF. throughout this book, for the first time in the series, harry has a person he can claim as something like a family: someone to worry about, someone who cares about him,who can advise, guide and mentor him, as well as offer him support and consolation in difficult times (‘someone like a parent…’) although sirius has not been able to offer harry a stable alternative home to the dursleys due to his status as a wanted man, he’s still filling a role that previously had been vacant in the series: he’s harry’s person, the surrogate parent chosen for him by james and lily. he’s close by, either by the floo or eventually living (at great personal cost) as padfoot in hogsmeade, and he’s present emotionally for harry in ways that prove incredibly meaningful to his young godson. in times of great of distress, sirius is there for harry to meet emotional needs that ron and hermione (understandably, no shade to them) can’t always meet. the floo scene early on in GoF, during harry’s row with ron, is a particularly good example of this:

“Never mind me, how are you?” said Sirius seriously. “I’m —” For a second, Harry tried to say “fine” — but he couldn’t do it. …Before he could stop himself, he was talking more than he’d talked in days — about how no one believed he hadn’t entered the tournament of his own free will, how Rita Skeeter had lied about him in the Daily Prophet, how he couldn’t walk down a corridor without being sneered at — and about Ron, Ron not believing him, Ron’s jealousy . . . Sirius looked at him, eyes full of concern… He had let Harry talk himself into silence without interruption’.

harry derives enormous comfort from sirius’ presence in his life during GoF. he writes to sirius, he repeatedly turns to him for advice, he worries for him more than he does any other person. sirius fulfils harry’s desire to be kept abreast of important information about voldemort and death eaters, doesn’t sugarcoat news for harry, and makes him feel important, cared for and understood. (harry even shows off to sirius telling him about how much of a slay the first task was. ugh). by the time of the third task, sirius is sending harry daily owls, a constant flow of reassurance and concern (‘He reminded Harry in every letter that whatever might be going on outside the walls of Hogwarts was not Harry’s responsibility, nor was it within his power to influence it. If Voldemort is really getting stronger again, he wrote, my priority is to ensure your safety.’) when harry returns from the graveyard at the novel’s end, it’s sirius who races to his side to advocate for him and offer him both words of comfort and physical affection as he processes the traumatic series of events that constitute the climax of the book’s plot. (my personal favourite part is where harry says ‘wormtail cut me with a knife’ and the text says sirius made a ‘vehement exclamation’, which i can only assume is children’s book speak for ‘fucking hell’.) harry goes to bed: sirius stays with him, a literal guard dog as he recuperates. after the most traumatic events of the series to date, the reader is at least consoled that harry potter has a person now, someone he loves for him to worry about and to worry for him, who catches him on the other side of traumatic events and makes them that bit much more bearable.

sirius and ginny during ootp

with sirius' role in harry's life established in GoF, OotP begins with harry, cooped up and restless at privet drive, angry with ron, hermione, sirius, and dumbledore for abandoning him at privet drive and keeping him in the dark. harry arrives at grimmauld place to find an anxious ron and hermione, with whom harry is angry and frustrated for having left him out of their summer hangs and having neglected him, by his assessment, in surrey. it’s the most conflict we’ve seen in the trio in terms of harry vs ron and hermione, and sets up one of the important themes of the book, which is harry no longer being solely emotionally fulfilled by the people he is closest to, including his two surrogate parents best mates but also his godfather. when he encounters sirius for the first time after the order meeting, he finds him surly, bitter, and depressed, furious that he is confined to his childhood home, and (understandably) much less able or willing to offer harry much in the way of comfort, apology or cheering words (‘Harry, who had expected a better welcome, noted how hard and bitter Sirius’s voice sounded.’) in this sense, the book opens with harry disappointed and/or more distant from all the people on whom he most depends and is usually closest to, and that there therefore is already an absence of a certain kind of emotional support in harry’s life that the plot demands be filled.

fresh off the back of harry’s row with ron and hermione is ginny’s reintroduction to the reader. after years of being so shy in harry’s presence she was often nearly mute, the reader finds that ginny is not only now speaking, but that her presence turns out to be remarkably refreshing. from her opening scene where ginny enters harry’s bedroom at grimmauld place, the reader discovers the new ginny is confident, up to no good, in cahoots with her most troublemaking brothers trying to intercept the order meeting, enterprising in her mischief (and very happy to lie to her mother’s face about it). she’s thoroughly unfazed by harry’s great display of rage that has just startled and upset ron and hermione. (side note: in both ootp and hbp, ginny’s opening scene is her entering harry’s bedroom, which is the kind of foreshadowing i personally find delicious). everyone else is behaving pretty much as they have been up to this point, but it’s ginny who is showcasing behaviours new to the reader, a signal that she might be about to play a different role in the series than she has done up to this point.

cut to the dinner scene. sirius and ginny are in the room together for the first time. sirius is moody: though he’s still able to laugh, enjoying displays of mischief and humour (the twins and the knife), he’s more bitter than harry and the reader have seen him since PoA. it’s an important scene for lots of reasons (not least the sirius v molly beef), but it’s also one where sirius and ginny are repeatedly drawn into mental association in the reader’s mind. it’s also a great scene because the behaviour of crookshanks the cat literally serves to foreshadow the behaviour of harry james potter in ways that are frankly extremely fun.

so! the sirius and ginny hints start small. from the start of the scene, ginny is amused by mundungus the crook (a man, we will learn, so disdained by her mother):

“Some’n say m’ name?” Mundungus mumbled sleepily. “I ’gree with Sirius. . . .” He raised a very grubby hand in the air as though voting, his droopy, bloodshot eyes unfocused. Ginny giggled. “The meeting’s over, Dung,” said Sirius, as they all sat down around him at the table. “Harry’s arrived.”

sirius and harry, sat at the end of the table, are both greeted by crookshanks, sirius’ old accomplice from PoA:

'Harry felt something brush against his knees and started, but it was only Crookshanks, Hermione’s bandy-legged ginger cat, who wound himself once around Harry’s legs, purring, then jumped onto Sirius’s lap and curled up. Sirius scratched him absentmindedly behind the ears as he turned, still grim-faced, to Harry…

when fred and george’s levitation goes awry, flinging a knife at sirius (now that’s how you foreshadow a death), crookshanks bolts:

‘Harry and Sirius were both laughing… Crookshanks had given an angry hiss and shot off under the dresser, from whence his large yellow eyes glowed in the darkness…’

during the meal, ginny’s with hermione, having a laugh with tonks, a character harry has just met but whom he has already decided to both admire and like. after the meal, when harry’s cheered up a bit and had his crumble (the man loves dessert), crookshanks finally emerges from his hiding place, having been coaxed out from his sulk by - you guessed it - one g. m. weasley:

‘…Ginny, who had lured Crookshanks out from under the dresser, was sitting cross-legged on the floor, rolling butterbeer corks for him to chase.’

a grouchy character, initially drawn to sirius, but prone to lashing out and locking himself away, only to be lured back out into comfort and safety by ginny weasley? wow………. radical

after dinner, the argument between sirius and molly kicks off. sirius is arguing hard for harry’s right to know, though he makes no attempt to advocate for any of the other weasleys or for hermione. ginny’s noticeably singled out in her reaction to this scene, the text highlighting that she is particularly struck by this conflict as if it is of particular personal resonance, including someone standing up to her famously overprotective mother for once:

‘Ron, Hermione, Fred, and George’s heads turned from Sirius to Mrs. Weasley as though following a tennis rally. Ginny was kneeling amid a pile of abandoned butterbeer corks, watching the conversation with her mouth slightly open. Lupin’s eyes were fixed on Sirius.’

of course, molly loses the argument: harry gets to stay for juicy order deets (‘Sirius was right, he was not a child.’) after the row, ginny is the only person forbidden from hearing information about the order’s activities. suddenly, the roles are switched: it’s ginny who’s now furious and bitter to be kept out of the action:

‘“Fine!” shouted Mrs. Weasley. “Fine! Ginny — BED!” Ginny did not go quietly. They could hear her raging and storming at her mother all the way up the stairs, and when she reached the hall Mrs. Black’s earsplitting shrieks were added to the din. Lupin hurried off to the portrait to restore calm. It was only after he had returned, closing the kitchen door behind him and taking his seat at the table again, that Sirius spoke. “Okay, Harry . . . what do you want to know?”’

it’s not just the parallels of confinement between harry, sirius and ginny that are so revealing, it’s also the dual maternal conflicts. ginny loud raging at her own mother sets off the howling relic of sirius’, serving to underline two characters who continue to grapple with maternal relationships that are complex and full of conflict, though by no means solely negative (sirius i see you sleeping in your mother’s bedroom babe. don’t think i think your relationship with walburga is just one of straight hate ok). when ginny later gets knocked down the stairs by fred and george, there’s more direct mrs weasley/walburga parallels, with the two of them literally shouting over each other during the ordeal lol. as such, the readers see that the conflicts being set up for sirius’ character in this book - frustration at confinement, conflict with a mother figure, drawn to more reckless and arguably irresponsible characters (mundungus, the twins) and courses of action - are also conflicts subtly playing out with the new ginny we’re meeting, too.

as the rest of the summer at grimmauld wears on, there are more examples of sirius and ginny foreshadowing. the scenes where the two characters interact serve to place ginny and sirius firmly in the same camp of people harry admires and has fun with, the troublemakers and the rebels. over the prefects issue, ginny not only is sat chatting with the troublemaking adults harry likes most, but actively draws sirius into conversation on the issue, likely knowing the answer will comfort harry, but also showing a curiosity and interest in sirius that suggests she admires him:

“I was never a prefect myself,” said Tonks brightly from behind Harry as everybody moved toward the table to help themselves to food. Her hair was tomato-red and waist length today; she looked like Ginny’s older sister. “My Head of House said I lacked certain necessary qualities.” “Like what?” said Ginny, who was choosing a baked potato. “Like the ability to behave myself,” said Tonks. Ginny laughed; Hermione looked as though she did not know whether to smile or not and compromised by taking an extra large gulp of butterbeer and choking on it. “What about you, Sirius?” Ginny asked, thumping Hermione on the back. Sirius, who was right beside Harry, let out his usual barklike laugh…’

ginny’s choice to try and draw sirius into the conversation bears fruit: sirius confirms james was never a prefect, and harry’s sour mood is suddenly lifted. (‘All at once the party seemed much more enjoyable; he loaded up his plate, feeling unusually fond of everyone in the room.’) ginny is thus beginning to provide harry with subtle comfort and reassurance, especially as sirius, struggling with his own confinement, is taking a less active role in trying to cheer harry up. what i also like is that we have evidence of how ginny views sirius - she’s curious about him and his past, she clearly thinks he and the other new rebellious adults are cool as shit, and she’s drawn increasingly away from her mother’s cautious overprotective approach towards these resistance fighters who prioritise the fight over safety. (it is noticeable to me that ginny does not become a prefect in HBP, suggesting sirius' example proved instructive).

we see more small parallels between sirius and ginny during the cleaning scenes. the battle against grimmauld place is an important symbol of one of the important themes of OotP as a book: a battle over past traumas and their persistent and unwieldy symptoms that are seemingly never-ending. while it’s harry’s experiences that, of course, take centre stage, sirius’, too, loom omnipresent throughout the text. it’s significant, then, that ginny’s own past gets brought up for the first time in three books here, albeit briefly:

'They found an unpleasant-looking silver instrument, something like a many-legged pair of tweezers, which scuttled up Harry’s arm like a spider when he picked it up, and attempted to puncture his skin; Sirius seized it and smashed it with a heavy book entitled Nature’s Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy. There was a musical box that emitted a faintly sinister, tinkling tune when wound, and they all found themselves becoming curiously weak and sleepy until Ginny had the sense to slam the lid shut…'

in this moment, we see sirius and ginny singled in the larger group as quick-thinking, shrewd characters, with a good instincts and common sense (if a bit of a tendency to get scrappy). their respective dark pasts are subtly alluded to. sirius whacks a spider trying to attack harry with a book that might as well be entitled my big book of family trauma. ginny, meanwhile, steps in when everybody present starts to be enchanted by a mysterious object luring them into danger by whacking it shut (gee i wonder why!) given this is the book that will see ginny mention the events of CoS for the first time in errrrr three years, it’s significant that the text is careful to draw ginny into this broader theme that unites sirius and harry, the constant reminders of traumatic pasts at every turn. we also see here the revelation that regulus black was a death eater. coming after news of percy weasley’s betrayal, sirius’ bitter dismissal of his younger brother deliberately mirrors ginny and the other weasleys’ attitude towards percy, this sense of pureblood families split over wizarding politics, often fatally.

while harry fears his expulsion from hogwarts prior his hearing, he continues to fantasise about coming to live with sirius at grimmauld, and about being with a family member and finding an alternative home to hogwarts. sirius, as hermione astutely observes, tries to manage harry’s expectations and not to get his own hopes up: still, when harry is exonerated, sirius is visibly depressed, showing the beginnings of an emotional dependency on harry that harry feels great guilt over.when leaving grimmauld for the start of the school year, sirius, as padfoot, accompanies harry to king’s cross: unlike in GoF, though, he is spotted, and harry begins to worry much more actively about sirius’ vulnerability to capture, about his recklessness and about his judgement. concerned for sirius, and absent ron and hermione, who are in the prefects carriage, the person who stays with harry and offers him company is ginny. she sacrifices her own train journey (presumably with her own boyfriend) to find a carriage with harry and make sure he’s not lonely, bringing him to neville and luna and sorting him out after his embarassing cho run-in. it’s not a coincidence that once again we see ginny here taking care of harry crookshanks:

'“Where’s Crookshanks?” “Ginny’s got him,” said Harry. “There she is. . . .” Ginny had just emerged from the crowd, clutching a squirming Crookshanks. “Thanks,” said Hermione, relieving Ginny of the cat. “Come on, let’s get a carriage together before they all fill up. . . '

once harry’s back at school, having left sirius behind to languish miserably in london, we see he's more isolated and alone than ever. he’s tormented by umbridge, endlessly (though often unfairly) frustrated with ron and hermione, ghosted by dumbledore, yet absent the more stable, reassuring sirius he came to know in GoF, unable to write candidly to him and faced with a much less well sirius in the opportunities they do have to speak face-to-face. as sirius’ mental health declines as he is shut up at grimmauld, his ability to support harry and comfort him starts to falter, and he becomes a much more uneven source of advice and support, particularly during his car crash floo appearance, where he’s much ruder than he has previously been (cutting off, ignoring their pleas for him to be more cautious, the infamous ‘the risk would have made it fun for james’ moment). this new sirius, clearly struggling, is much more happy to do up guilt trip to his godson than we have seen him to up this point (‘I’ll write to tell you a time I can make it back into the fire, then, shall I? If you can stand to risk it?’ - you petty little shit, padfoot). all of this serves to increase harry’s anxiety about sirius’ wellbeing and reinforce harry’s sense of emotional isolation. even sirius’ encouragement on the DA is, as hermione points out, partly bound up in more selfish motivations (‘I think he’s really frustrated at how little he can do where he is… so I think he’s keen to kind of… egg us on.’)

ginny’s largely absent in this section of the novel. in the brief moments she does appear, it’s to inject humour (eg. her impressions at the DA meeting) and in little reminders that she now has a boyfriend, no longer harbours romantic feelings for harry, making sure the reader continues to hold her mentally apart from harry. harry, meanwhile, misguidedly tries to seek out a relationship with cho chang, who is showing clear signs of her own emotional distress and inability to meet harry’s emotional needs given her own grief. still, among this, there’s still room for some small subtle sirius/ginny parallels. once the DA plot picks up, we have another little sign that ginny weasley and sirius black think somewhat alike:

“Yeah, the D.A.’s good,” said Ginny. “Only let’s make it stand for Dumbledore’s Army because that’s the Ministry’s worst fear, isn’t it?”

“Trained in combat?” repeated Harry incredulously. “What does he think we’re doing here, forming some sort of wizard army? “That’s exactly what he thinks you’re doing,” said Sirius, “or rather, that’s exactly what he’s afraid Dumbledore’s doing — forming his own private army, with which he will be able to take on the Ministry of Magic.”

with harry's isolation and need for more emotional support established in this first term, christmas at grimmauld offers more opportunity to subtly develop the sirius and ginny parallels, as well as to highlight ginny’s ability to fill the gaps left by sirius’ decline. after the attack on arthur weasley, the group arrive back at grimmauld:

‘Sirius was hurrying toward them all, looking anxious. He was unshaven and still in his day clothes; there was also a slightly Mundungus-like whiff of stale drink about him. “What’s going on?” he said, stretching out a hand to help Ginny up. “Phineas Nigellus said Arthur’s been badly injured —”

could this be sirius literally lifting ginny up into plot significance? why yes it could

ofc the weasleys then argue with sirius about their right to go see their father. despite his own frustrations at being trapped at grimmauld, sirius proves the voice of reason and rational decision making against both ginny and the twins’ hotheadedness (ginny asks to borrow cloaks to go to the hospital: sirius: ‘Hang on, you can’t go tearing off to St. Mungo’s!’) crucially, though, when sirius points out that there are bigger things at stake - the work of the order and the resistance movement - it’s ginny who listens:

“Your father knew what he was getting into, and he won’t thank you for messing things up for the Order!” said Sirius angrily in his turn. “This is how it is — this is why you’re not in the Order — you don’t understand — there are things worth dying for!” “Easy for you to say, stuck here!” bellowed Fred. “I don’t see you risking your neck!” The little colour remaining in Sirius’s face drained from it. He looked for a moment as though he would quite like to hit Fred, but when he spoke, it was in a voice of determined calm. “I know it’s hard, but we’ve all got to act as though we don’t know anything yet. We’ve got to stay put, at least until we hear from your mother, all right?” Fred and George still looked mutinous. Ginny, however, took a few steps over to the nearest chair and sank into it. Harry looked at Ron, who made a funny movement somewhere between a nod and shrug, and they sat down too. The twins glared at Sirius for another minute, then took seats on either side of Ginny. “That’s right,” said Sirius encouragingly, “come on, let’s all . . . let’s all have a drink while we’re waiting…’

there’s a lot going on here: ginny’s willingness to follow sirius’ orders, but also her willingness to accept an argument based on some idea of the greater good before any of her brothers. she and sirius are aligned here, and it’s her decision to accept sirius’ reasoning that proves the catalyst for her brothers to follow. we see here how ginny has come to see sirius: someone she looks up to and admires, an adult whose judgement she trusts and whose worldview she subscribes to. (as a character prone to hero worship - see her view of her big brother bill - i think this is noteworthy, and is behind a lot of my characterisation choices for ginny towards sirius in beasts). but we also see that ginny agrees with sirius' worldview. there are some things worth dying for, and self-sacrifice is part of that.

when harry goes to sirius for reassurance about witnessing arthur’s attack, he finds sirius unable to properly console him and convince him that he was not to blame for arthur’s attack. the reader gets the impression of sirius withholding information from harry (‘He could only see a sliver of Sirius’s face; the rest was in darkness’), and the scene ends with sirius clapping harry on the shoulder and leaving him ‘standing alone in the dark’. while sirius throws himself into christmas preparations, obviously delighted to have company, harry shrinks from the cheer and isolates himself. in the end, ofc, the only person that manages to pull harry out of his dark, brooding thoughts is ginny. the text is careful to note she’s sitting beside him on the tube back from st mungo’s, when he looks very unwell. then, in the ‘lucky you’ scene, she showcases some of the same skills harry first came to appreciate in sirius in GoF. she tells it to him straight: she’s sympathetic, but not overly gushing, and she reminds him of her own intensely frightening experience which she endured alone, something harry can relate to, even if the experience of possession is not. it’s an important scene for lots of reasons, but it’s also, crucially, the intervention that causes harry’s mood to lift, and he gets to enjoy a christmas with his godfather, the thing he had most wanted in the run-up to christmas, and which becomes the only holiday period harry and sirius ever spend together:

‘I’m not the weapon after all, thought Harry. His heart swelled with happiness and relief, and he felt like joining in as they heard Sirius tramping past their door toward Buckbeak’s room, singing “God Rest Ye Merry, Hippogriffs” at the top of his voice.’

of course, once christmas is over, sirius slips back into a depressed, gloomy state. harry wants a better goodbye than he gives him, merely giving him a quick one armed hug (there’s a real theme throughout harry and sirius’ relationship of very sparing physical contact on sirius’ part, which is obviously a hole in harry's life ginny will fill in - er - a big way). back at school, harry returns to umbridge’s increasingly draconian rule, maks a disastrous attempt at forging a relationship with cho, and continues to feel lonely, paranoid, and angry. unable to speak to sirius properly via letter or floo - and unwilling to open the present sirius has given him to communicate directly with him, the two-way mirror - harry is increasingly sullen, a mood that only worsens after seeing snape's worst memory.

the easter egg scene is obviously important for hinny for lots of different reasons. but here i just want to highlight how the scene serves to show ginny as both the conduit to sirius for harry, and someone whose behaviour echoes that of sirius in GoF when harry first began to open up to and seek comfort in him. harry is distressed by his now complicated feelings both towards the father he previously revered and towards sirius, who seemed to encourage james’ bullying behaviour. ginny hands harry a chocolate easter egg covered in snitches: chocolate, a canonical source of comfort against dark thoughts, and an egg that reminds him of the love of parent. the act makes him suddenly emotional, though he at first denies he’s upset. ginny presses carefully and sensitively, asking the right questions to get him to confess the source of his worry, waiting for harry to take his time to speak - all behaviours that echo sirius’ own effective listening techniques. ginny’s acquaintance with sirius, and knowledge of how significant he is to harry, is important here, too, and a subtle sign to the reader that he trusts ginny with knowledge about sirius after a long time of having her in the dark about his godfather. the reader leaves the scene having seen ginny breakthrough to harry emotionally in a way for the second time in the novel, in a way no other character has done (‘he felt a bit more hopeful…’)

of course, the course of action ginny has set in motion is itself risky and reckless (‘anything is possible if you’ve got enough nerve’ is very marauders as a philosophy). the decision to go ahead with the plan the twins come up with is one harry sees as a decision on whether to be more like james and sirius - a risk taker - or to abandon the hero worship for the marauders he has lived with for so long. in the end, of course, it’s a win for the reckless troublemakers: he chooses to go ahead with the plan the twins have crafted and that ginny has set in motion, and to speak to sirius.

and yet. sirius is still alive - there is not need for ginny yet. for the remainder of the book, ginny has to beg to be included in the trio's plans and to be allowed to be a part of the plot to rescue sirius. she’s is often in conflict with harry, showing a lot of sirius’ bitterness at attempts at containment and to keep her out of the fighting. she grates against harry’s insistence that she is too young and inexperienced, and having to remind the trio that she, too, has come to care about sirius and wants to see him safe:

“I’ve got a broom!” said Ginny. “Yeah, but you’re not coming,” said Ron angrily. “Excuse me, but I care what happens to Sirius as much as you do!” said Ginny, her jaw set so that her resemblance to Fred and George was suddenly striking.

of course, it all ends in tragedy: sirius, desperate to go to harry’s aid and absolutely gunning for a fight after months of confinement, is killed, leaving harry alone. there a subtle clues that something has shifted in ginny’s relationship to harry and the trio in the scenes after sirius’ death, including ginny positioned as the mirror image to harry in the hospital:

‘Harry was sitting on the end of Ron’s bed and they were both listening to Hermione read the front page of the Sunday Prophet. Ginny, whose ankle had been mended in a trice by Madam Pomfrey, was curled up at the foot of Hermione’s bed…’

despite this, in the immediate aftermath of sirius’ death, harry is extremely alone. he is unable to work out what he needs (‘Whenever he was in company he wanted to get away, and whenever he was alone he wanted company.’) he tries to go to hagrid’s, but regrets it (‘He was starting to wish he was alone again’), leaving after hagrid reminds him of sirius’ core traits, an inability to stay out of the fight when he believes in the cause:

“But still, Harry . . . he was never one ter sit around at home an’ let other people do the fightin’. He couldn’ have lived with himself if he hadn’ gone ter help —”

unlike at the end of GoF, harry is isolated by his grief and the revelation of the prophecy's contents by the end of this book. he goes alone to a secluded corner of the lakeshore, ‘sheltered from the gaze of passersby behind a tangle of shrubs’, and ‘[stares] out over the gleaming water’, and cries alone. there is no sirius or other person to catch him and console him in his grief. his person has died, and there’s a gap in his life again, just waiting to be filled:

‘Wanting to impress Cho seemed to belong to a past that was no longer quite connected with him. So much of what he had wanted before Sirius’s death felt that way these days. . . . The week that had elapsed since he had last seen Sirius seemed to have lasted much, much longer: It stretched across two universes, the one with Sirius in it, and the one without.’

ginny and sirius parallels in HBP and DH

after sirius’ death, the parallels between sirius and ginny become more important as ginny moves into the centre frame as a character. at the start of HBP, harry arrives at the burrow and discusses his grief over sirius’ death with dumbledore in the burrow broom shed, acknowledging how profoundly the loss of a family member who cares singularly about him is affecting him. ('He felt stupid for admitting it, but the fact that he had had someone outside Hogwarts who cared what happened to him, almost like a parent, had been one of the best things about discovering his godfather . . . and now the post owls would never bring him that comfort again. . . .' beasts readers: there's a reason harry clings to letters!) of course, having reminded the reader of the gap in harry’s life that now needs to be filled, harry goes to sleep, the active reflection on his grief for sirius put to one side so the novel's plot can get underway. he'll go to bed mourning sirius and wake up in a sunlit bedroom. of course, ginny will walk into this bedroom too, only now things will be different: harry potter is back to the search for a loved one, for a family, and he's about to realise ginny is the one he wants to fill it. thus the start of the plot of ginny stepping into the role vacated by sirius beginneth.

so much of who ginny is in HBP is reminiscent of sirius. she frequently leaps into battle as harry’s protector (‘You’re taking orders from something someone wrote in a book?’, ‘Give it a rest, Hermione’), she’s scrappy (RIP zacharias smith), she’s funny and laughs easily in a way that less recalls sirius in the time harry knew him than sirius as harry sees him as a young man, in photographs or memories. she's the one who commits to the insane christmas decorations, determined to cheer everyone up over the festive period as sirius did the year before. she even enjoys the widespread admiration and lust of her peers, a trait that directly recalls sirius being eyed up by his peers in snape's memory. by the novel’s end, after dumbledore’s death, it will be ginny who goes to harry’s side after the climax of the plot and catch him in his grief just as sirius did in GoF, this time over dumbledore’s death:

‘He did not want to leave Dumbledore’s side, he did not want to move anywhere. Hagrid’s hand on his shoulder was trembling. Then another voice said, “Harry, come on.’ A much smaller and warmer hand had enclosed his and was pulling him upward. He obeyed its pressure without really thinking about it.’

their breakup has sirius all over it. taking place at the lakeshore, the place where harry wept alone over sirius a year prior, harry draws on the circumstances of sirius’ demise as a reason he must break up with ginny (‘Voldemort uses people his enemies are close to.’) the breakup does little to shift what ginny has become in harry’s mind, though, and he spends all of DH thinking of her as he once thought of sirius: the person whose safety he most craves, the person he misses, someone he claims as his, and whom he associates with (now banished) hopes of a home and a family:

“It’s not a problem,” said Harry, sickened by the pain in his head. “It’s your family, ’course you’re worried. I’d feel the same way.” He thought of Ginny. “I do feel the same way.”

of course, echoes of sirius will also come into play during open war. it’s now ginny, not sirius, who is the one left behind for her own protection: in the run-up to the battle, harry finds himself once again faced with the prospect of confining his loved one for their safety, despite their desperation to fight and do the right thing. but these are thoughts for part 2…….

#meta #sirius black #ginny weasley #it's not NOT an aged up sinevra ship agenda #hp meta #hp analysis #hinny #marauders #black family #beasts

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zegrasdrysdale · 10 months

Note

Hi! I wanted to ask if you could write a request for cole caufield! So him and reader are like newly public but have been dating for a couple months, but she’s getting hate on the internet bc her ex is someone who’s famous (idk who lol) but anyways she goes onto like a podcast and talks about how much better of a boyfriend cole was to her than her ex and when she gets home he’s just so in awe of her and the way she feels and speaks about him (I’m so sorry if this didn’t make sense) 😭

[ to love and to be loved ] c. caufield

paring : Cole Caufield x influencer!fem!reader

summary : tired of the hate she's been getting, (Y/N) goes on a podcast to talk about her life, her past relationship, and her new public relationship with Canadians star Cole Caufield

warning(s) : language, mentions of cheating

author’s note : my first time ever writing for cole so pls tell me if i did okay :)

༺═──────────────═༻

She didn't know what she thought would happen when she and Cole went public with their relationship a few months after they started dating. There were a few hours where all she saw was support, until her TikToker ex decided to say something about the announcement she and Cole made.

All she sees right now is hate from thousands of people after her ex's comments on his Instagram story. He called her a bitch and said she used him to gain fame and use his money to get what she wanted. He even tagged Cole in a second Instagram story to warn him about her "manipulative ways". His millions of fans agreed with him and have started to flood her feed with hate and negative messages.

She can't even imagine what Cole's comments and DMs look like.

It's been a week since that day, and she's only grown tired of seeing all the hate. She's hasn't spoken out about her ex's accusations about her despite her having more serious accusations about him and his own girlfriend.

As soon as she was invited to go on one of her friends' podcasts, she jumped at the opportunity to speak out about what's been going on. It's time to speak out, and that's the reason her friend invited her on to the podcast.

The set is comfortable. She sits on the couch next to her friend and her friend's podcast partner. A microphone sits in front of her on a stand. A table sits at her feet that holds cups of coffee for the three of them. It's a cozy set up.

"Thank you for inviting me," (Y/N) says to her friend. "I'm sorry Cole wasn't available to come on with me. He flew in this morning from his road trip and has practice today. He didn't want to risk being late to the rink."

Her friend Demi says, "It's not a problem. I understand that he has a busy schedule. Thank you for agreeing to come on."

"It's time I spoke up about this," she tells her friend. "Don't be afraid to ask the hard questions. I'll happily answer any of them."

One of the crew members tells them they're going live in less than a minute. (Y/N) throws her curls behind her shoulder and sits back to get comfortable on the couch.

The same crew member counts down from five before pointing at Demi and her podcast partner. Demi is the one that gives this episode's greeting.

"Welcome back to TikTok Stuff You Should Know," she says into her own microphone. "To my left is Payton, which is not surprising at all because she's glued to my side. Today we have a very special guest joining us. She is a very close friend of mine who has been dealing with a lot of hate recently after launching her relationship online last week. Please welcome (Y/N) (L/N) to the podcast."

Payton looks over at (Y/N) and speaks. "Welcome, (Y/N). We're very happy you're able to join us today."

"Happy to be here."

Demi smiles at her and says, "So, we're all dying to know. How is your relationship with Cole Caufield? How have the two of you been dealing with the past week?"

There it is. Starting out strong.

"Cole has been super supportive of me," she replies. "He's been doing his best in trying to distract me over the past week. I think we've both been trying to stay off social media this week and focus on making sure we're both okay. He's been playing really well recently too, which makes it very easy to distract myself from everything that's been happening on social media. I think he's been using hockey as his own distraction."

Payton nods along as (Y/N) speaks. Demi's eyes are on her. They're both listening to everything she's been saying.

That's only a fraction of what's been happening.

(Y/N) has been in tears almost every night, especially since Cole has been on a roadie for the past four days. The first three days after all hell broke loose were perfect. She laid in Cole's arms every night and woke up next to him every morning. It made the days a lot easier.

Since he left, she's been in tears on FaceTime with him. It hasn't been as easy without him near her. It actually kind of sucks. She didn't even get to see him before she left.

"What made you want to come out about your seemingly new relationship with him?" Payton asks. "Did you think that Ethan would say something about it when you and Cole posted about it?"

She shakes her head. "I always thought Ethan was a really nice guy," she explains. "I certainly didn't expect this out of him. Especially after everything he did throughout our relationship. Cole and I really love each other and we both got tired of hiding that from the public. It was his idea to make out "

"That's an interesting comment," Demi slowly says like she doesn't know what her ex did. "What did Ethan do during your relationship?"

(Y/N) bites her bottom lip for a second. "He cheated on me," she tells the two of them. "All the time at the end of our relationship. Actually, his new girlfriend is just one of the girls he fucked while we were in a relationship. He would have a new girl every weekend and I would look the other way because I loved him."

"It wasn't because you didn't want to lose your constant source of followers and money?" Payton asks. "I'm not taking a shot, by the way. He accused you of using him for fame and money so I just want you to be able to clear the air."

"No, I understand," she replies after being caught off guard by the way the question was worded. "Um, no. I never once used him for followers or money. I made my own money by posting my own content across social media. I stayed with him because I wanted to believe he was a better person and that he could change. I truly loved him and I wanted a future with him. After nearly three months of this, I couldn't do it anymore and I ended things with him."

She notes that Payton looks genuinely surprised by her words. Demi looks annoyed because she and (Y/N) are actually very close friends so she was one of the first people that she told what was going on. She was one of the people that told (Y/N) to end the relationship when Ethan started cheating on her.

"That's crazy," Payton drawls. "Holy shit." She looks over at Demi. "Did you know about all of this?"

"(Y/N) is one of the most genuine people I have ever known," Demi says. "I hated seeing her in that relationship at the end, and I hate that she's being accused of using someone for followers and money. There was a reason she rarely ever posted Ethan on any of her social media. She didn't want to constantly post him because she was afraid to be labeled as a user. She loves creating content and videos. She's so much happier now."

A small smile forms on her lips as she thinks about Cole. She thinks about how he actually loves her and isn't afraid to show it.

"I am so much happier now," she echoes. "I mean, Cole is the best thing that has ever happened to me. He was so patient with me at the beginning of our relationship because I was still healing from my last relationship. He spent so long trying to show me that it's okay to love and be loved by someone that I gave my heart to him. I trust him with my everything, which is not something I would've said this time last year."

Demi smiles at her and Payton mirrors it. "That's so good to hear," Payton says. "Sounds like you caught a good one, (Y/N)."

"I absolutely did," she replies with a smile on her own face. "He is the best boyfriend. I've been so emotional this past week and he has made sure to be there for me the entire time. He checked in on me while he was on the road for the past few games. I am so in love with him, and he helped me believe in love again. I am so grateful for him."

One of the crew members tells them to begin wrapping up. Payton takes over. "Well, thank you for talking with us, (Y/N)," she says. "Where can we find you and Cole?"

"You can find Cole on the ice tomorrow night at seven when he and the Canadians take on the Calgary Flames," she says. "You can find him on social media at colecaufield. You can find me on social media as well at yourusername. Or you can find me somewhere in the stands at Cole's home hockey games."

༺═──────────────═༻

It feels like an eternity since she's been home when she walks into her apartment in downtown Montreal. She shuts the door behind her with a sigh and leans against it.

When she throws her keys in the bowl by the door, she sees Cole's car keys. "Coley?" she calls. "Are you here?"

She walks into the living room to see Cole sitting on the couch. He looks back at her and smiles. "You are freaking amazing, baby," he tells her. "I listened to the podcast on the way home and holy shit. I have never heard anyone talk about me the way you do. I swear I fall in love with you more every single day."

"You listened?" she asks.

Cole stands up with a nod. "To the whole thing," he replies. "I helped you believe in love again?"

"Yeah," (Y/N) breathes out. "You did. You showed me that it's okay to love someone without being afraid they're going to hurt you. I thought that for a long time, Cole. You helped me realize that it's okay to love someone again."

Without realizing it, tears begin to roll down her cheeks. She tries to wipe them away quickly but Cole notices them before she can wipe them away. He walks around the couch to get to her and he envelopes him in a hug. "I'm so proud of you, baby," he whispers in her ear.

She lets out a quiet sob and buries her face in his chest. "I'm so grateful for you," she replies.

"You're so brave for talking about the whole situation," Cole tells her. "I can't believe how well you're handling it. I'm in awe, (Y/N). I wish I had your strength. I wish I could've been there to witness the whole podcast."

"I'm only brave because you're here," she admits as she pulls her face out of his chest. Cole moves his hands to her jaw and his thumbs wipe away more tears that escaped. "I don't know where I'd be if you weren't here. I don't know if I'd even be here if you weren't, Cole."

Cole presses a kiss to her forehead and mumbles, "I love you. More than you'll ever know. You're so strong."

She closes her eyes and whispers, "I love you too."

(Y/N) isn't afraid to say those three words anymore. Not like she was last year. Cole has showed her that she doesn't need to be afraid anymore.

༺═──────────────═༻

MASTERLIST

have a request ? check out the guidelines !

#hockey imagines #hockey imagine #hockey fanfiction #hockey fic #hockey oneshot #nhl imagines #nhl imagine #nhl fanfiction #nhl fic #nhl oneshot #cole caufield #cole caufield x reader #cole caufield fluff #zegrasdrysdale request

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supernaturalscribe67 · 4 months

Text

Unwarranted

Words: 4,983

POV: 3rd Person

Pairing: Team Free Will x Male!ExAngel!Reader [Platonic]

Warning(s): Mention of past sexual harassment, sexual harassment, angst, hurt/comfort

Summary: Humans are interesting and complex creatures, and ever since the reader lost his grace, he had to learn to become one. Luckily, he had his friends by his side to help him through his trials and tribulations. What happens when he's face-to-face with a human experience he never anticipated, and how will Team Free Will help him resolve his issue?

Request:

Hi! I hope you're having a good day/night. This request is very specific. I would write it myself, but im awful at it. I hope you don't mind, lol.

May you do (ex?)Angel!Male!reader x TFW (platonic obv). You can make it where Reader joined after the angels fell and was castiels past battle partner and was good friends with him, or something else if you'd like.

Reader lost his grace after a rogue angel took it from him. He has no idea how to be human and struggles a lot, even with the help of Dean, Sam, and Castiel. Anyways, to get to the point- Reader picked a pretty attractive vessel, so both men and women hit on him a lot when the group goes to diners or bars and most of the time Reader wanders off to explore since hes never really gone to earth before so the boys never notice, and he doesn't know how to react or what to do when they start to get touchy, only that he doesn't feel comfortable with it at all, but he thinks if he tells them to stop its a form of being rude, so he never says so. the person usually stops when they realize Reader isn't having the type of reaction they were looking for.

When Reader mentioned this to the boys randomly, they realized that Reader didn't know that it was bad that they were touching him and explained what it was, what to say, and do when that happens and comforts him when he finally cries as a human.

Anonymous

A/N: I am so sorry for going off the grid for a while! Honestly, keeping track of dates and time frames has not been my strong point, especially with everything going on with work. Luckily I'm almost done with another request as well and will have that up by this weekend! I hope this gives the request justice. As always, feedback is very much appreciated!

~ Much Love!

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.

Humans are interesting and complex creatures, each with their own thoughts, wants, needs, and interests. When (Y/N) first joined Castiel on Earth two years prior, he was amazed by the array of personalities and emotions. No two people are alike, but, due to the vast differences, many of them can be categorized under three distinct titles; good, neutral, and evil.

The good people are the ones who are selfless. They take the first step when it comes to helping others. They aren’t perfect but they are as close as anyone can be. Only a small amount of people fit into the category of ‘good’, most of which find themselves canonized into sainthood years after death. Many strive to be classified under such a prestige title, but few make the cut. However, just because someone isn’t worthy of the title, doesn’t make them a bad person automatically.

Neutral individuals are what most would describe as your ‘average Joe’. It is the category in which most people lie. They are neither good nor bad. The choices they make in life come with a mix of positive and negative intentions. An example of a neutral person could be someone’s English teacher, who partakes in volunteer work after hours, or your boss, who had just been caught cheating on his wife with Jim from the mailroom. Just because people do bad things, doesn’t make them inherently evil.

True evil is much darker. An individual who would put a demon to shame with their actions, thoughts, and desires. One with little regard for the well-being of others. Ones that hurt others purely for self-gratification. To gain an advantage. Those are the ones that end up in prison or a seat in Congress. They’re usually manipulative, have a silver tongue placed in their mouth at birth, and can easily coerce those who are weak and gullible.

(Y/N) had met his fair share of individuals from all three categories throughout his time on Earth, supernatural entities excluded. At first, with his angelic powers, he was able to make an assumption of others based solely on their thoughts. Ever since the fall, however, his judgments on people had become rather askew. He was able to get the full experience of being human - not able to truly tell what one was thinking during various interactions - and he would be lying if he said he enjoyed it. Rather, the lack of understanding when it came to others caused him to develop a sense of paranoia. The last thing he wanted was for others to assume the worst of him. Even as an angel, he would treat the worst of the worst with as much kindness as he could muster.

Little did he know that the paranoia would lead to his downfall and a deep realization of how evil some people could be.

The first couple of weeks after his grace was stolen, (Y/N) was lost. He knew next to nothing about maintaining the necessary needs to keep his body alive. It was all tedious in his eyes. Why did humans need to eat, drink, and go to the bathroom so much throughout the day? Who possibly had the time to do so? Do they have to thread their needs into their schedules for work and school? On top of that, why did humans need to pay for food and water? Were they not necessities? Why would someone need to pay to survive? (Y/N) held a plethora of questions in his mind that still go unanswered.

Thankfully, Castiel, Sam, and Dean were all there for him, guiding him through the processes necessary to provide for his new form. It took a while for him to get the hang of it - the most overwhelming thing was when he was introduced to a large variety of foods. All the new flavors and textures send his tongue into sensory overdrive. Dean was more than happy to realize, though, that the two of them were rather fond of the same flavor of pie.

With the loss of his grace came the depletion of his strength. He was no longer invincible to man-made weaponry. Because of this, and since Sam and Dean’s jobs were so physically demanding, they spent weeks in training. Blades, firearms, and hand-to-hand all had their challenges, but (Y/N) was a quick learner, something the brothers respected him highly for. Within a month and a half, he was on the road with them, hopping from case to case.

Saving people, hunting things, the family business.

And true it was. The time he had spent with Castiel and the Winchesters was extensive, and there was never a dull moment. Away from the darkness and the monsters that crept in the night, Sam and Dean were playful jokesters. Childish, yet mature when they needed to be. It was noticeable that Castiel had also developed certain aspects of their personalities, as he was more lighthearted than when (Y/N) first met him. As time passed, (Y/N), too, started to display those characteristics. He felt like a member of the team. A real Winchester. For the first time since the fall, he felt at home.

*~*

(Y/N) had been to a handful of bars since he turned human, before becoming an honorary member of the Winchester family, and there was one fact he could confidently state; he didn’t like them.

Sure, he met some rather nice people while at said bars, mainly the middle-aged female bartenders who gave off a motherly aura, but with every kind individual he saw, he encountered twice as many assholes. Those were the ones that drunkenly called him slurs even though they knew nothing about him, the ones that shoved him out of the way when they wanted to get to the bar, or the ones that continuously pushed their limits on his personal boundaries.

Unfortunately, he had experienced the latter more than he would have liked.

He couldn’t quite describe how he felt when he had those interactions. When a bar patron would press themselves against his back or chest, touch his ass or thighs, or even leave kisses on his neck, shoulders, cheeks, and lips. It was decided, though, that he was extremely uncomfortable. Why would he possibly feel that way? He assumed that touches and kisses were how humans expressed affection towards one another. So, why didn’t he like it? He chalked it up to not being used to that form of affection or affection in general. Surely, he was bound to get comfortable with it eventually.

After-hunt celebrations were common with the Winchesters. Either the day of or the night after, they would all gather at the nearest watering hole, grab a drink or two, and then head back to the motel. Sometimes, Sam or Dean would abandon the group to retreat with a romantic partner, but (Y/N) would always stick with Castiel and the remaining brother. He never had any interest in human relations. It was a new, complex situation outside of learning to be human. He was just getting used to that concept, and he had no desire to learn about other aspects of humanity yet.

Classy Cline’s sat on the edge of a small town in Washington state. While its name suggested an upscale establishment, the place was, in all actuality, a shit hole. The booths and barstools were ripped at every corner of the seam, the tables were chipped and scuffed, and it appeared as if the employees hadn’t swept or mopped the floor in well over a decade. They had all been to nasty bars in the past, but Classy Cline’s took the cake.

“I don’t even wanna drink from this glass,” Sam mumbled as he eyed the pint glass Dean had placed in front of him.

While aesthetics weren’t on Cline’s side, the beer looked more than appetizing. An amber/gold liquid, topped with a beautiful, white head. Any beer enthusiast would foam at the mouth at the sight. The glasses, contrary to the floors, looked spotless. If they had put as much effort into cleaning the building as they did disinfecting the glassware, lines would be out the door, and Cline would be a millionaire.

“Oh, don’t be a baby, Sammy,” Dean rolled his eyes and gave a beer to (Y/N) and Castiel. “It may not live up to its name, but the beer sure looks good.”

“Thank you, Dean,” (Y/N) and Castiel spoke in unison.

“I’ll never get used to that,” Dean shook his head and sat down next to his brother. “It’s as if you two are constantly in sync.”

(Y/N) furrowed his brows as he cupped the glass with one hand, condensation coating his palm. “We’re an American boy band from the 90’s?” He cocked his head to the side.

Dean froze, the glass inches from his lips as he shot him a questioning glance. “While I’m proud of you for remembering what I taught you about music, that’s not what I meant. ‘In sync’. Two separate words.”

“Oh…”

“(Y/N) and I have worked together for well over a century. We’re bound to have some similarities.” Castiel explained.

Dean shrugged. “I guess you’re right,” he took a sip of his beer.

(Y/N) noted Sam’s hesitancy to drink, so he took a moment to examine the liquid himself. It looked clean, safe, and better than many other beers he had drank before. He took a swig and was pleasantly surprised to find that it was still very cold. A layer of foam coated his upper lip. Sam picked up his glass and examined the bottom.

“Will you stop that?” Dean scolded. “The beer is fine, Sam, you’re not going to die. You look like an idiot.”

“Well, excuse me for being skeptical, Dean! Have you seen the state of this place? I believe I have a right to be concerned.” Sam hissed.

“The beer is very pleasant, Sam,” (Y/N) smiled as he took another long swig, downing half the pint.

Sam slowly nodded. “I can tell,” he mumbled and glanced down at his glass. He hesitated for a moment before he took a careful sip, letting the liquid rest against his tastebuds before he swallowed. He hummed and raised his brows. “Wow, that’s pretty good.”

“See? Your big brother knows a thing or two about beer,” Dean smiled.

A bartender waltzed into view - an overworked twenty-something with her dirty blonde hair tossed back into a bun that she should have fixed hours ago. She sat a rocks glass in front of (Y/N), the ice emanating a clink inside as it shifted. He stared and intensely studied the dark liquid.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but I didn’t order this,” he looked up at her.

The bartender sighed and gestured towards the bar. “The man over there sent it,” she grumbled, her voice unenthusiastic and laced with exhaustion. She didn’t give him any time to further investigate before she swiveled through the booths and tables, vanishing into the crowd of regulars.

The group looked at the drink with curiosity before their attention shifted to the bar. Only one of the patrons had their gaze glued to the hunters. He looked to be in his mid-forties, with short, salt-and-pepper hair decorating the top of his head and a beard to match. Age lines crinkled the corners of his mouth and eyes. A leather jacket covered his broad shoulders and the jeans he wore left little to the imagination. When (Y/N)’s eyes connected with the stranger’s, the man smirked and winked. (Y/N) continued to stare at him, lips slightly parted, until he felt an elbow in his side. His gaze shot over to the eldest Winchester.

“Give him a smile and a wave. That shows him you appreciate it.” Dean said through a smile.

“Oh,” (Y/N) raised his brows and looked back at the man, whose eyes were still on him. He gave a small smile, followed by a timid wave.

The stranger grinned before he turned his head away. (Y/N) looked down and studied the glass once more. The liquid was a slightly darker shade than the beer, but more transparent. When he picked it up, the liquid sloshed inside. The smell was strong but slightly sweet. Whiskey. A sip of it caused him to cringe. It was Fireball. Not the best choice to send a stranger across the bar, but to each their own.

Dean leaned in close to him, his cheeky grin still prominent. “You should go over and talk to him.”

“Why?”

“He just gave you a drink. He wants to talk to you.”

(Y/N) gave Dean a confused stare. “How does that-”

“It doesn’t matter.” Dean waved him off. “He’s flirting with you by sending over the drink! You should go flirt back.”

(Y/N) looked from the drink to Dean, from Dean to the stranger. He was a very attractive man, but (Y/N) was far from interested in flirtation. However, if Dean thought he should, what could go wrong? He trusted Dean’s advice.

Hesitantly, (Y/N) stood, the glass of Fireball in hand, and made his way over to the bar where the gentleman sat. He took the empty barstool next to him. The man looked at him out of the corner of his eye and smirked.

“Good to see you up close,” he said and turned his body to face (Y/N). “You’re even cuter than I thought. Chris,” he held out his hand.

This is a handshake. This is how strangers greet each other.

(Y/n) grasped Chris’ hand and shook it gently. He noticed how firm his grip was. “My name is (Y/N),” he said.

Chris smirked. “A beautiful name for a beautiful man,” he pulled his hand away and casually placed it on (Y/N)’s knee. “I’ve been coming here for, close to, fifteen years, and I have never seen anyone as good-looking as yourself. You new around here?”

(Y/N)’s eyes shifted to Chris’ hand before they returned to his face. “My friends and I are on a trip.” He replied. It’s a classic lie most hunters use and one that was taught to him early on in his training.

“Ah, and how long will you be staying?”

“I believe this is the last night we’re here.”

“You’re not sure?”

“My friend, Dean, drives us. He knows more about our itinerary than I do.”

“A ‘go with the flow’ kind of man. I like it.”

As they continued to talk, Chris’ hand ventured further up (Y/N)’s thigh, squeezing the flesh on his leg from time to time. Simple conversation switched to flirting rather quickly, the majority of it one-sided. What started as cheesy ‘first date’ type questions turned risque in the blink of an eye. At first, they were easy questions that (Y/N) could answer without an issue, but once they started to get dirty, his mind turned blank. Half the vocabulary Chris used was new to him. While he knew all of them revolved around sex, he couldn’t quite pinpoint the definition, regardless of the context clues provided.

He could feel the familiar pit in his stomach as the questions droned on. The sensation that he couldn’t quite give a title to yet. At least, not an accurate one. ‘Uncomfortable’ seemed as if it fit too loosely for the circumstance. It felt as if there were a swarm of bees buzzing around in his stomach, moving from his gut to his chest periodically.

Chris leaned in close to (Y/N)’s ear, his warm, whiskey-filled breath caressing his cheek. (Y/N)’s eyes were cast down. He had lost the ability to maintain constant eye contact when the mood shifted, and the bees began their attack.

“What do you say we get out of here?” Chris asked. “I could show you a thing or two.”

When Chris’s hand landed on (Y/N)’s crotch, every muscle in his body was on fire as they clenched tightly. (Y/N)’s eyes went wide and his body froze. The bees didn’t just fly, they infiltrated his entire nervous system. He felt an overwhelming need to retreat like one would in a battle they knew they couldn’t win. But he wasn’t in a battle. It was a simple conversation. Why did he feel like that?

Chris pressed small kisses on the back of (Y/N)’s ear. (Y/N) inhaled and turned his head slightly, the need to get away from Chris strong. Chris immediately stopped and opened his eyes. He paused for a moment before he pulled away and sighed.

“I see you’re not as interested as I thought you were,” he gave a tight smile, pulled out his wallet, and slammed a twenty on the bar. “Thanks for nothing.” He grumbled before he got up and stormed away.

With his presence gone, (Y/N) felt a sense of peace and ease wash over him. The beating of his heart inside his chest began to lessen and return to a normal pace. With a glance down at his hand, he noticed the way his fingertips trembled. That hadn’t been the first time someone else had gotten so bold with touching him, and he was certain it wouldn’t be the last. When was that feeling going to go away?

After a minute or so passed, he was able to compose himself enough to stand from the barstool and wander back to the table where Sam, Dean, and Castiel sat. He joined them without a word, not wanting to interrupt their conversation, and grabbed his lukewarm beer. There was no chance he was going to drink anymore that night. Not with his stomach as uneasy as it was.

“Hey, you okay?” Sam asked.

“I’m fine,” (Y/N) spoke.

“You sure?” Dean chimed in. “Guy looked like he had a stick up his ass when he left.

(Y/N) shrugged. “I believe he just wanted to leave.” He tried to keep his voice as straight as possible. He could tell his nerves hadn’t fully recovered.

Dean shook his head. “Well, his loss.”

*~*

One thing (Y/N) adored about being human was the way showers made him feel after a hunt. He never quite realized how tense his muscles could get until the hot water caressed his limbs. It was as if all the adrenaline was washed from his body. It made him feel refreshed. Renewed.

That night, he got the last shower. The water wasn’t as hot as other showers he had taken, but he would accept warm any day. By the time he left the bathroom, clad in a pair of night pants and a loose t-shirt courtesy of the youngest Winchester, Sam, Dean, and Castiel were dressed to leave. Another post-hunt celebration. Dean glanced at (Y/N).

“You’re not coming?” He asked.

(Y/N) shook his head and walked over to his bed. “Not tonight, no.”

“Why not? You never miss out on a bar.”

(Y/N) settled into the bed, and sat up with his legs crossed. “I notice that humans get very physical when they are at bars. I’m not quite used to it yet, so I think I’m going to wait until I’m ready.”

“Ready for what, (Y/N)?” Castiel asked.

“The touching.”

The three of them shared a concerned look before Sam waved his hand dramatically, eyes closed tightly.

“Wait,” he reached a hand up and pinched the bridge of his nose. “What do you mean ‘get used to’?”

“Well, I’m not accustomed to the way humans express attraction. I surely wasn’t aware that there was as much physical contact involved. So, I figured it was something I would be more comfortable with as time went on. I mean, I never knew strangers were so interested in touching each other’s genitalia.”

They all furrowed their brows, confusion etched perfectly on their faces, and slowly made their way over to the bed. Sam sat at the edge next to (Y/N), Dean stood next to him, and Castiel sat on the opposite side of the bed from Sam.

“(Y/N),” Sam started, his voice soft and steady, the same voice he used when talking to the families of victims. “Have you…given these people permission to touch you?”

(Y/N) cocked his head to the side, slightly taken aback by the question, as it was something he had never even considered before. Had he permitted them to touch him? He could not recall. Then again, he didn’t remember them asking. He took a moment to think back on the times he had been in bars since he became human.

“No,” he answered. “The first couple of times it happened, I pulled away from the touch, as it made me rather uncomfortable, but they would just get upset. One man told me it was wrong to ‘lead him on’ and then deny his touch. After that, I let people touch me. I would like a break from it for tonight.”

“(Y/N), other humans need permission to touch you,” Castiel said.

“But they get upset-”

“To Hell with them being upset,” Dean interjected. “No one has a right to touch you, especially if you don’t want them to.”

“Is that why that one guy left the last bar we went to left? You wouldn’t let him touch you?” Sam asked.

(Y/N) could feel his cheeks and neck heat up. He suddenly felt an overwhelming urge to hide his face. Was it because of the answer to the question? Was it because of the question itself? He couldn’t quite pinpoint the origin of the sense of dread, but he knew it wasn’t going to vanish anytime soon.

He shook his head, eyes cast down to his hands. “I let him touch me. I assume it was because I didn’t respond when he asked me to leave with him.”

Dean’s jaw clenched as he ran a hand down his face. “Son of a bitch,” he growled and began to lightly pace between the motel beds.

Sam slowly shook his head. “(Y/N), those people are horrible. You should never touch someone without consent, and you should never let anyone touch you if you are uncomfortable with it. Do you understand?” His eyes were laced with sympathy.

(Y/N) went to say something, but he felt a lump in his throat prevent him from doing so. Instead, he just gave a short, brief nod.

“I can only imagine how tough it was to become human. To lose all that power. You may not have the power to heal us anymore or read others’ minds, but you are still your own person, (Y/N). You have the power to tell people to keep their hands off of you. You have the power to let yourself have a good time at these places. It doesn’t matter what other people think about your choices. In the end, all that matters is you, okay?”

“Okay,” he replied, his voice shaky and barely above a whisper.

(Y/N) sniffled, and he felt as if his head was pulsing. Tears sprung to the corner of his eyes and cascaded down his cheeks. For the first time since he lost his grace, he cried. It wasn’t loud and dramatic, but, rather, soft.

It explained so much. How he hated the way bar patrons touched him, the sinking feeling when they got too close, the panic that coursed through his veins. That was no flaw on his part, but a flaw on the strangers. What they did was wrong, not him.

And that validation broke him.

(Y/N) immediately knew he hated crying. His chest ached as the silent sobs racked his body. In a way, it was relieving, though. It felt as if all of the pent-up discomfort was being released. As if he was reborn. Still, it hurt worse than it did comfort him.

Castiel was the first to respond as he placed a gentle hand against (Y/N)’s back, Sam, being the closest, engulfed him in a near bone-shattering embrace, and Dean halted his paces to kneel beside the bed, one of his hands landing on the small of his back. (Y/N) closed his eyes tight and leaned his head against Sam’s chest. Their touch made him feel safe. This was a good touch. This was how touch should make him feel. He shouldn’t be forced to feel uncomfortable to please others, because, in reality, some people aren’t going to like him, even if the reasons are far from valid. It was a harsh reality, but as long as he had his family by his side, he didn’t mind if the whole world hated him.

After a few quiet minutes, filled with silent cries, the tears stopped. (Y/N)’s eyes were bright red and puffy, and he occasionally sniffled.

“Hey,” Dean said, his voice soothing.

(Y/N) lifted his head from Sam’s chest and glanced over at him. Sam pulled back a bit so the embrace wasn’t nearly as intense.

“If you’re ever in a situation like that, where some douchebag won’t keep his hands off of you, all you have to do is say the word and we’ll kick his ass for you.”

“What if it’s a woman?” He asked quietly.

Dean opened his mouth to give a quick answer but shut it as he thought about it. “Then we will have Cas bring Jody or Charlie in to kick her ass. The point is; fuck everyone else.”

(Y/N) furrowed his brows. “Does that not mean to have intercourse with them?”

Dean sighed. “Sam, Cas, a little help?”

“What Dean is trying to say,” Castiel chimed in. “Is that you should not prioritize other peoples’ desires over your comfort. You are more important than a stranger. They are not important, you are, and what other people think doesn’t matter. If someone does not listen to you when you deny them, we will do everything in our power to protect you. We still care about you, and want what’s best for you.”

Dean pressed his lips together and nodded. “Couldn’t have said it better myself. That’s exactly what I meant.”

Sam rolled his eyes, but couldn’t hold back his smirk. “Look, we know how tough it is to be human. Dean and I have been dealing with this our whole lives. We know that there are setbacks that come with the package, but there are also a ton of fun experiences. We don’t want some jackass to ruin it for you. Cas said it better than Dean or I could. We care about you and want to do everything we can to look out for you. You deserve it.”

The tears reappeared, but they weren’t tears of sadness. They were tears of joy. Of relief. As if his heart would burst with all the love and care his friends will it with. (Y/N) took a moment to wrap his arms around each of them in an individual hug to show his appreciation.

“Thank you. I am very grateful to have friends like you.” He smiled warmly.

Dean smiled before he cleared his throat and waved him off. “Alright, enough of the chick-flick crap,” he said as he stood from his spot on the floor, a groan escaping his throat that he tried not to make too noticeable. “What do you say we skip the bar tonight, order some takeout, and watch a movie? I hear Roadhouse is on at seven.”

(Y/N) cocked his head to the side. “What’s Roadhouse?”

Dean froze, wide-eyed. His jaw dropped in shock. “‘What’s Roadhouse’?” He repeated in disbelief. “Action movie? Patrick Swayze? Sam Elliott? Kelly Lumch? Julie Michaels? Keith David!?” With each name, his voice got louder.

“Are those actors?”

“I-” Dean threw his hands up as he turned his back on him and began to pace around the room once more.

(Y/N) flashed a worried look at Castiel, then Sam. Sam shook his head and chuckled.

“Dean’s just being dramatic,” he whispered, which caused (Y/N) to let out a sigh of relief.

“I am not being dramatic!” Dean retorted before he stopped, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. “This is all my fault. I was so focused on teaching him about good music that movies never crossed my mind. Have you at least seen Indiana Jones?”

“Indiana…as in the state?”

“If it makes you feel any better, (Y/N), I, too, have yet to see Roadhouse or Indiana Jones,” Castiel said.

Dean deadpanned. “I have some work to do. Sam, go get us some food. I need to make a list of movies for them to watch.”

Sam snorted as he stood from his spot on the bed. “Yeah, yeah. Just text me what you guys want.” He mumbled and retrieved his jacket from the back of one of the chairs.

As Sam left to get them food, Dean began to ramble on about movies he determined (Y/N) and Castiel had to watch, most of which were either action or old westerns. He talked with such passion regarding the films that (Y/N) couldn’t help but smile. Dean was right, the opinions of others didn’t matter, especially those whose only goal was to satisfy their selfish desires, disregarding others’ wellbeing. They were foolish, scum, true lions in sheep’s clothing. Those hidden evil beings could make themselves look innocent. (Y/N) didn’t need to please them. Didn’t need to make them happy. He only wanted to make his family happy, just as they did him. For how much they’ve helped him on his treacherous journey into manhood, they deserve it, for they have taught him the most valuable lesson of all;

His worth was priceless.

…

“Hey, are you even listening?”

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skelliko · 7 months

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Hello! I hope you're doing well!🪄

I wanted to request some head-canons? For both Ran and Rindou ...

How would they act with a s/o that has BPD? Which one would feel more hesitant about the relationship? How do they act when the s/o pushes them away but immediately clings on them when they try to leave?

If you don't feel like writing this it's totally understandable so no worries!!! Love you<3

a/n: sorry if I got anything wrong here I do apologise if I have, i tried to gain as much information as I could about it but also not add a lot, I don't mean to offend anyone. love you too stay safe <3

ran + rindou haitani |°- s/o with BPD

°- Rindou Haitani

• he would test the waters from a distance, I reckon he's more smarter and closed off than ran when it comes to relationships and knowing of your bpd makes all the difference from thinking it over and playing out scenarios about what you would be like even with very little information about the disorder. all he knows is bpd makes someone think in black and white, but is that really true?

• he'd get close to you but then take a huge step backwards to recollect his thoughts about you, he's aware on how complex the disorder is but he only knows the surface levels of bpd not what could potentially uncover. but part of him wants to try and not think too much about it and rather think about you as a person

• sometimes he's a busy person and has to cancel plans that the two of you have made, at this point he knew you could turn to be upset but he didn't expect that part of your perspective on him to turn south. now he triple makes sure that when you make plans it'd be consistent and not on days when rindou is supposed to do other things.

• he gives into your clinginess, he tried to match the energy but the way you love him is unmatched but he loves that part about you. but after some amount it gets tiring, he's taken consideration of that beforehand but wasn't aware of how much negativity you can also bring out if rindou did something that made you switch up. always thinking about his words and what to do to show you that he loves you the way you love him. even despite asking himself on how fast you can love, but he goes along with it either way.

• when he's in a position where you want to be left alone as if your battery has gone past it's drained limit, he ponders a little. standing in the middle of the room 🧍 wondering if that's truly what you want but doesn't verbally ask. all before turning his direction towards the door to leave. he probably made at least 10 steps away from your home before he felt his phone go off with your messages popping up to tell you to come back and how you're sorry for making him leave like that.

• he complied though. with a few complaints in his mind but he didn't exactly want to you leave you like that and upon feeling your tightening and warm grasp after stepping foot in again it made him feel certain emotions. something like that will happen again he just knows it, but hes not mad, maybe a little annoyed but he will come turning back towards you if you plead nicely. he just only hopes that it stays to this sort of extent and not anything more.

°- Ran Haitani

• I feel like he would be curious about you, he'd dive in and test the waters with a hand and then fall in but ponder whether or not if he should get out of the water. he wants to know how deep the pool is and if theres anything he could find that he doesn't see from the surface. he's daring himself to find out what you're like.

• previously he knew so little about bpd, he only knew things from what he's heard and the stereotypical things that people say, but over time he realised that there's so much more to you than what he's heard, and that's what made him more curious than hesitant in wanting to hold your hand.

• when he realised that he became, on what people call, to be your 'favourite person' he had a small intrigued smile on his face but his brain was running in different directions, is that a good or bad thing? hes more than noticed your loving side towards him and despite all that curiosity and wanting to know more, that doesn't mean that he doesn't feel anything for you.

• he feels hurt when you push him away to be left alone but then gets confused and a little annoyed when he follows through but you end up not liking that, or how you don't respond to his messages but get angry when he doesn't reply to yours. it's like you're always contradicting yourself.

• he couldn't keep up with you isolating yourself and not knowing if your alright. but if it's a request that you want to happen with no questions then he'll follow by it to not make you any more upset than you already are at the moment. even though he wishes he doesn't have to.

• though after turning his back on you and to make his way to the door he heard your voice and next thing he knows your trying to make him stay longer, hugging him with so much emotion to the point where if you squeezed harder you would have merged your soles together.

• he's trying his best to make you happy though, sure sometimes it's hard for the both of you to keep up but if space is what you want then he'll give it, and if you want him with you then hell also give you himself. he's hard on himself and is in a state of wishing that he could know what the next day would be like for you two but he doesn't and won't cast you aside if that helps, despite how confusing and anxious ran gets.

♡----

#out of character for sure #tokyo revengers #ran haitani #rindou haitani #rindou x reader #ran x reader #haitani brothers #ran #rindou #tokyo revengers headcanons

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pleaseeeimjustagirl · 9 months

Text

♡Weekly Chronicles♡

Hey babes! I've missed you guysss I am so happy I had an amazing trip it was so nice. I went to a convention in Maryland for 5 days it was so nice. I definitely left with a lot of knowledge so many amazing people spoke at the lectures<3 and I'm sorry I missed the weekly affirmations for this week.

♡Education♡

I applied for all my classes for next semester before my trip. I’m low-key excited about the classes I have coming up. Lot of different courses since I'm almost done with my major required classes now I need to fill the rest of my credits with electives. I have an art class next semester just for fun. I can't wait to meet the people in my classes. I have to take this math class I am not excited for at all I hate math lol so every time I update you girliesss on this class I'll probably be complaining lol.

♡Mental♡

Interacting with different people this past week has been very good for me mentally. It brought me back to pre-quarantine Khadija who was such a big extrovert. After covid, I started to have mild social anxiety so this was needed. I dealt with a little insecurities while on my trip interacting with so many beautiful women I started to doubt my looks comparison is the thief of joy, I practiced a lot of the methods my therapist recommended like canceling one negative thought with two positive thoughts. I realized I was all in my head for no reason. I love watching Leo Skepi when I am feeling this way he always gets me together. I highly recommend him if you are dealing with a lack of discipline, self-confidence, or just need someone to get you together with tough love he is that guyyy. Side noteee I missed my antidepressant dose twice in a row because of traveling back to New York and it low-key made me hazy like it was super weird but I took it today.

♡Physical♡

While I was away I ate super bad! The event was an African-focused event so the food there wasn’t healthy at all. I was going to stick to my diet while on my trip but I decided I'm on a trip let me relax and I don't regret it at all. But I am seeing the consequences of my food choices now I am soooo bloated lol. So I am starting a cleanse tomorrow for the next 14 days I already prepped my ginger shot for the morning I want to flush my system out completely going into the new year. I don't recommend cleanses especially to my babes that have dealt with ED’s always consult your doctors before starting anything. I just do what works for me.

♡Hobbies♡

Now that I am back I can get back to being consistent with my Italian, pilates, and weight lifting. I was so sad I could not lift I feel like I'm low-key obsessed with lifting lol it feels so good and I've been seeing results, especially in my lower body. While I was gone I didn't have any time to do my hobbies they had us in lectures and events constantly. I practiced my Italian once which I'm happy about. I plan on starting jewelry making next week I'm super excited it was one of my favorite hobbies when I was in middle school. I used to make earrings and bracelets.

♡Plans For The Weekend♡

My birthday is Sunday, December 31st! I am turning 21 yay! I am super excited I don't have anything planned for my birthday. I am going to have a mini celebration with my family and watch the ball drop my siblings bought me presents so I'm excited to open everything. I'm starting my cleanse so I'll be working out and taking good care of my body internally and externally so I'll be off social media this weekend and focused on my mental and physical health. I plan on creating my vision board and listing my goals this year. My dad is ordering my camera I used to have a YouTube channel but I took a break to work on my self-improvement journey I do plan on getting back on my YouTube grind soon lol so look out for that coming out in 2024!

This week's little journal entrieee a lot happened this week and I'm excited to see what this new year brings babesss. Comment your plans this weekend and how did your week go?

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coolingrosa · 5 days

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Honestly about nightmare....it upset me quite a bit how he just didn't at all understand why Killer was acting out like this. It felt so obvious? Like with Dust showing up and Killer acting out in response to it....Unless this is a common occurrence? I am really wondering what nightmare thought about this, if he even tried to read Killer and his behaviour or perhaps ask Dust about the relationship between the two. Did he just not think anything about it? Just assume "oh its a kid throwing a tantrum, it'll pass"? Man i'd rly like to know it from his perspective. Maybe he is used to ppl throwing tantrums, considering I am pretty sure error flips out a lot too. I guess the problem hereby lies with the fact error is an immortal and an adult and killer,.,,is not. and nightmare just simple doesn't distinguish the two properly.

But honestly I think nightmare should have known better than to snap at Killer ToT..... I believe that him snapping did ultimately the most damage, error just kinda added a bit more salt to it to be put it simple. After all Killer favoured Nightmare obviously a lot more than Error, he was like a parent figure for him basically. So Nightmare snapping would mean a lot more than what Error says. I don't like how error told Killer that advice though, he basically just told him to "suck it up", in the pretense of "caring" for nightmare and not wanting to see him upset. It feels wrong to say that error cares though, because of how he is STILL stuck in the past. It almost feels like he is talking and giving advice to Killer more for himself than for nightmares sake.

Both error and nightmare are so inexperienced with mortals and so fucking mentally fucked up themselves, I doubt they will act any different unless someone who is a mortal corrects them...And I honestly thought Dust would do it? At one point it felt like he knew why Killer did it, but then it felt like he did not?

ultimate question however: how will nightmare react to Killers change? I wonder if alarm bells will ring or if he will just think that Killers "phase" finally passed. And I fear it'll be the latter.... So sorry for the long ass essay, I have SO many questions AND IT IS SO HARD TO TELL WHAT IS GOING TO HAPPEN AND HOW THIS MESS OF A MAKE-SHIFT FAMILY IS GOING TO DEVELOPE.....

You’re analysis is so wonderful and definitely the mixed emotions I wanted to give. Especially since good and evil doesn’t exist in Roseverse, just people and their actions. A lot of my YouTube and tiktok dragged on Dream solely for a while due to the limited knowledge, so chapter four was a big drop as it showed just how out of depth and horrible Nightmare and Error could be as well. I’m gonna try to answer each part of this the best I can without revealing too much!

1. Nightmare is used to Killer acting out, which happened a lot in the pilot, so he doesn’t put two and two together that these moments are connected- especially since Killer has never been put in a situation around him to show that he ALSO has jealousy issues as well as self esteem issues. For a while it was just them and sometimes Error in the castle, which Killer never showed an act of jealously towards- only distrust.

2. Nightmare’s perspective won’t be shown a lot in the next Bad Sanses chapter unfortunately, so I’ll try my best to explain his reasoning here. Don’t take it as a defense. I may explain characters and their actions, but at the end of the day, Nightmare is a adult and has a responsibility.

Nightmare’s main flaw (and I can now finally state this) is that he doesn’t care for people who are not under his radar. Saying he doesn’t know much about negative emotions is redundant, but his abilities to help with them have long since faded ever since the loss of Ink. Killer clearly is the product of a teenager with intense mental health issues, and Nightmare never got to see Ink as a bratty teenager. Killer is the only example around him and so he quite frankly sucks at it and sees his outbursts as…well…tantrums. He can’t fully see Killer for what he is and constantly sees him as a child due to his own age, and that belittling makes Killer’s emotions and rightful feelings come across as childish to Nightmare.

The mention of Error is also correct. Nightmare is used to emotional and violent outbursts since he was thirteen- especially from those close to him. Error and Nightmare as children weren’t healthy and Error was an abusive friend. I will always state that. However, though Error improved his ways, Nightmare never fully blamed him for such things and therefore never saw anything wrong with the people he loved lashing out and being hurtful. It’s normal for him- and also not smth to be addressed in his eyes. However, Killer is a child and as the adult, Nightmare has a responsibility to step in and correct his behavior with disciplinary action rather than passiveness. But, of course, he doesn’t until he finally snaps

3. Yeahhh I will say what Error told Killer didn’t bother him too much until he made the comment about Dust. Killer is far too use to the verbal abuse Error shoots at him that it rolled off of him and he was more annoyed Error was still in the room. Error and Killer just aren’t and will never be close enough for their fights to leave any impact. Nightmare, though? After finding out truly what Nightmare is capable of and then being told that? Oh, yeah, Killer is crushed.

4. This was one of the few times Error tried to actually help in his own way. Error doesn’t word himself well, even when being vulnerable. He hoped Killer would understand it as “there’s no need to lash out as ur already here and cared for. So just stop hating urself and others and finally feel secure. “ Was it not so great advice and easy to be misunderstood from what he actually meant? Yea. Did he just COMPLETELY miss the mark on mental health and the struggles of slowly getting over the fear of abandonment and the steps it takes to FEEL that security? YEAH LMAO. But Killer definitely misunderstood him as well. And Error also misunderstood something about Dust as well. I’ll expand more on that in my last point.

5. Dust may be smart, but he can’t put together a case without solid evidence and explanation and due to him not being there from the start, he doesn’t truly understand why Killer is acting like he is. He knows it has something to do with Nightmare, but what that actually is? He can’t know. I believe this won’t be a shock, but Dust does think Killer was being abused by Nightmare and therefore becomes like a guard dog. When Killer jumps him, that ideas gets thrown out the window and Dust is left utterly confused on the motives. He doesn’t hate him, though. He’s just confused, and hurt.

6. And unfortunately, Dust isn’t empathetic enough to be the one to truly understand things. Wonder who will be, though…

7. I cant say too much as that’s a chapter seven thing, but I will say it’s where Gus the immortal frog comes in (Killer’s pet) and given by Nightmare. I’m sure you can put two and two together as to why Nightmare, who is clueless about everything teenager related, is stooping to giving the apathetic Killer a pet 😭

8. Almost forgot this part but Killer is an unreliable narrator. He will always be, and the next bad Sanses chapter will see that, as it won’t be in his perspective solely. Everything he sees and thinks is unreliable. For example, when they reach the au and Dust is slowly blinking at him while Killer demands to know why he came too, Killer takes it as a threat. What if Dust actually doing? Blinking at him like he’s a angry cat bc Dust doesn’t understand emotions and defeats to animal behaviors to help soothe this teenager LMAO

#undertale #undertaleau #undertale multiverse #roseverse #cooling rosa answers silly stuff #nightmare sans #killer sans #error sans #dust sans #chapter 4 roseverse

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thesilliestangel4ever · 1 year

Text

" angel statues " everytime he sees you, you're always by an angel statue sketching away, looking up every once in a while to gaze upon the sculpture once more. one day, he finds you've drawn one who eerily resembles him.

Includes: g/n reader, pomefiore

Warnings: cringe, ooc [ i have not made it past book 6. . . Apologies!]

[ Vil Schoenheit ✿ ]

Of course Vil would notice you, with you hunched over your sketch book like a shrimp. He fixed up your posture and scolded you about it.

He had seen you drawing near sculptures, most commonly around angel statues and perhaps even gargoyles. Though he never thought much on it, thinking you were likely studying them or just happened to be near them.

One day, he comes over to correct your posture once more, but not without his gaze hovering over to your sketchbook. What he saw was an unfinished drawing of the statue before you, but something was off. The hair was different.

He then realized, how the hair and even some of the facial features resembled his own. He huffs and leaves, deciding not to comment. Though he cannot deny that he feels flattered that you'd compare him to the likes of an angel.

You truly are a specimen, aren't you?

_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_

[ Rook Hunt ✧]

Rook is well... A guy. Yep, he's a guy indeed. I think it's quite obvious that he would realize your habit of drawing angel statues and other sculptures alike.

In fact, he may already know that you draw him– but let's pretend he doesn't know that yet, okay?

It's after all your classes have ended, and you're sitting on a bench eith your sketchbook. He, of course, decides to approach you slowly.

And he happens to see the page, and it really doesn't take him long to see it's meant to be him. He thinks it's so beautiful–

And if you haven't noticed his presence now, you definitely will now because hes yelling praises at you, and telling you how talented you are.

"Beauté!"

_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_

[ Epel Felmier ♡ ]

Epel already knows you like to draw sculptures, since you show him your sketches sometimes because you're classmates and pretty good friends.

He's also seen you by said sculptures a lot of the time, but has never been able to approach you because he has to take those stupid etiquette lessons with Vil...

But one fateful day, he's finally able to approach you when you're drawing! He wants to see the process but you wont let him for some reason... But somehow, he gets a glimpse– either because you finally gave up or he managed to snatch the book–

Either way, what he sees is a super cool drawing! But... Why is the hair different? It doesn't take long for him to put two and two together to realize you're drawing him as the statue.

Epel is flustered, and apologizes before running off. He doesn't hate it ! He just doesn't know how he should feel... But not in a negative way!!!

Later on he apologizes for running off and he's very appreciative for the drawing.

_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_

Sorry for disappearing again! I will try to work on my current requests, but please give me more requests!!

Read my rules before requesting, please.

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sanctity-in-sexuality · 4 months

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Fair warning, this may be a heavy topic... but do you have any advice or suggested readings for individuals/couples with a history of sexual trauma? Sadly I have experienced past sexual abuse and assault involving both extremely painful penetration and disordered degrading practices. I've been open about this with my boyfriend (who has been nothing but an amazing non-judgmental and comforting listener) and we've discussed that we have both wondered about whether we may need to approach things in a special way once we are married. By the grace of God I'm grateful that my everyday mental health is actually exceptionally good for the severity of my past trauma, but we wonder if entering in a sexual context would dig up old, highly negative feelings. I guess for me it also doesn't feel like something I'd be able to just sort of naturally figure out... I don't want like a graphic gratuitous description but I wish I had a more specific concept of how it "starts happening" because my experience was so abnormal and I have no idea how couples ease into things slowly and safely, and not having any clue is sort of scary. This is a topic that's usually too personal and dark to broadly ask about, but I'd appreciate any guidance beyond general "be loving and patient" advice that applies to everyone... Thanks for reading <3

First off, I am so sorry that you experienced such a nightmare. I would hesitate to even call it sex, and mentally separating the two might help you. It is so wonderful that you're in a supportive place to work through it.

I do not have experience helping others with past sexual trauma, so my advice may not be well-curated to your situation. However, I can give some more broad advice about easing into it (and this doubles for anyone who's anxious about marital sex).

After you've made vows, it's okay to take it slow and wait until you're comfortable to try sex. That might be days, it might be months. It's more common than you'd think.

Sex is incredibly vulnerable. Easing into it is merely taking small steps of vulnerability at a time. Cuddling in pajamas, undressing/dressing where your spouse can see, taking a shower together. Just getting used to seeing each other naked. Then move on to gentle but intimate touches, such as kisses on the neck or thighs. The important thing is to communicate honestly and constantly; tell your spouse immediately if something makes you uncomfortable, if it hurts, or if it feels nice. Ask your spouse to consistently check in with you, too.

In regards to penetration, it honestly depends a lot on how tight the woman is and how large the penis is, but it does tend to hurt a bit at first. This could be triggering for you. A lot of the discomfort is friction. Use lube, trust me (we just use coconut oil). Personally, even 2.5years into marriage, I'm still too tight usually, and we have a practice where my husband very slowly eases into me like 1/2in at a time - then he pauses, lets my body adjust to it, and waits for me to give a go-ahead to continue. There's absolutely no shame if you husband needs to do something similar to make you feel safe and comfortable. And there's no shame if you have to call it quits and try again.

As for how it "starts happening"... Imma be frank, a lot of the times married couples just ask each other. Once you're practiced and established the art, you'll get moments where "one thing leads to another" or whatever, but (a) when you're starting out and don't know the rules/language it's easier to just verbally confirm, and (b) even practiced, it's still sometimes easier to just ask. E.g., "Do you want to make time for sex tonight?", "I'm in the mood, want to take this farther?", or "Let's try penetration now".

Again, the main thing is to communicate. Over-communicate. Tell your spouse ahead of time what your expectations are for having sex the first time (for you, very slow and with an emphasis on gentleness). It may take time before your negative associations with sex as degrading are replaced with positive ones that make you feel cherished. It may not be enjoyable at first while you're learning to overcome that but it should feel safe and comfortable.

I've recommended this before, but I honestly think reading the Song of Songs can be very healing for those struggling with negative associations with sex. It is a really beautiful depiction of how sexual intimacy should be experienced between spouses.

I hope this was helpful, feel free to follow up with any specific questions. God bless!

#nsfc #ask #marriage #catholic #practical advice

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stonegoldsxcrxt · 3 months

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Okay so I honestly haven’t been active on tumblr in forever. But if I’m ever thinking of star wars, I like to take a peek at your blog because I feel like you are one of the few who loves Luke as much as I do. But what I want rn is to give my two cents on this whole acolyte thing. And I hope you don’t think I am trying to come at/attack you or anything of the sort. This is just my (somewhat complicated?) take on things. Sorry if this gets super long. I have many thoughts. And I hope I don’t confuse at all while trying to explain! Unfortunately, I’m not very eloquent lol. Anyway:

Personally? I’m kinda intrigued by the Osha/Qimir dynamic. And this is coming from someone who honestly severely disliked the sequels—especially kylo and reylo (but a lot of it was due to fandom bs as well). I mean, I’ll admit some of it is due to my own bias because this time around I’m glad both of the actors are hot and they are both absolutely acting their asses off. And maybe there hasn’t been enough for you in the show (I get it tbh, the episodes are short and there’s only so much you can do with 8 episodes and this is honestly a problem with D+ and a lot of streaming services now), but I can see what Leslye was aiming for with the dynamic. Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon is one of my fave movies so I definitely see the influence. But Headland did also point out that a lot of enemies to lovers is about one character going “I know there’s good in you!” or what the hell ever—and Osha didn’t do that. That’s something I can appreciate whereas in TLJ it seemed like Rey was all about freaking Kylo and was convinced there was still good in him even though the literal day before he had nearly killed both her and Finn.

I do disagree about there being no manipulation, though. Qimir IS being honest and vulnerable, but clearly he hopes to gain something with Osha from that. But whereas I didn’t buy any of it with Rey and Kylo, I can see how and why Osha might fall to the dark side. She is clearly conflicted about everything from her emotions to her very own identity. But Qimir is offering her a sense of clarity about that AND on her past. Osha loves and admires Sol deeply of course, but he has obviously been keeping something huge from her. And if it turns out he was majorly involved with whatever happened to her coven, it makes sense that Osha would then embrace whatever negative emotions that are brewing within her (even if Sol was slightly less involved the fact that he knew and never told her should rightfully make her angry). It will obviously destroy whatever faith she had left in the Jedi, but imo she might begin to question how it makes the Jedi any different from Qimir.

And now that I’ve explained that, I also wanted to say how I felt about some of the discourse. Fandom feuds are always annoying, but now that I’m essentially on the other side...? I’ve gotta say I am low-key offended and high-key pissed over it. I mean, if ppl don’t like Qimir or the relationship between him and Osha—fine. But I’ve seen some absolutely disgusting comments over this. Like someone on twitter (who ss a post of yours too) who was calling Leslye Headland’s lesbianism into question. Like idc if you don’t like the ship but there is literally no need for discussing her sexuality like that just because she likes a problematic ship you hate (which she literally created so idk what ppl expected anyways)!!! And then there are the “fans” (I use that term lightly) insulting Manny Jacinto’s looks (which is ridiculous cause the man is hot idgaf). And I honestly think that shit is hypocritical af since a lot of these ppl are fans who were rightfully upset at reylo/kylo stans for saying similar disgusting things about actual people.

I like quite a few villains in multiple fandoms, so to me it seems like the same ridiculous arguments. There’s nothing wrong with liking a fictional character who happens to be a villain. As long as no one’s trying to make excuses for their heinous actions (jokes are another thing) I don’t think it matters. It’s literally not that deep imo. And liking said problematic characters does not have anything to do with people’s real life morals. That’s just bullshit.

And again, it’s actually INCREDIBLY fucking hypocritical, ESPECIALLY coming from star wars fans who have been sexualizing villains like Darth Maul, Thrawn, and a young freaking Darth Vader for YEARS. But now it’s a problem with Qimir????? Not to mention the romanticization of other literal problematic ships like anidala or reylo. And I’ll be honest—as a Filipina????? I do feel like some of this is racially motivated because literally WHAT is the difference with Qimir and Osha/Qimir versus all of these other characters and ships?????? I think that’s what gets me heated is the hypocrisy of it all. And of course the fact that it’s all fictional anyway so I don’t know why it should fucking matter to some people if fans like a character or ship that they don’t.

Anyways...I think this is essentially all of my thoughts on the matter. Again, I hope I didn’t come across as rude or like I was attacking you. Like I said, it IS a bit complicated for me. Because as someone who hardly liked anything from the sequels, I was definitely cringing at the multiple mentions of reylo and kylo in Leslye’s recent interview. And yet....I see the vision.

hey!! so, there's a lot here and I do actually want to talk about all of it! I really appreciate you approaching this with nuance and being open to have a conversation. I'm gonna number my responses just so I know I covered everything I wanted to talk about and everything you mentioned.

One: I don't think there's anything wrong with being intrigued by a character dynamic like Osha and Qimir's, in fact I actually do find it very interesting from a psychological standpoint myself. I also don't think there's anything wrong with depicting a character dynamic like Osha and Qimir's, with one caveat, which is that you have to recognize it for what it is. I truly would LOVE star wars to approach it with the angle of "hey, this is how people can weaponize your own emotions against you, especially how a man may try (and even succeed) in manipulating a woman this way," and particularly what that looks like with the Force, because a LOT of Jedi and Sith principles are based around the acceptance (or aggravation!) of emotions. I think that's a totally interesting plot line that would actually be super fascinating to see. I also find it believable that Osha could, theoretically, be convinced by Qimir and turn (in fact I think your entire third paragraph is a very valid interpretation of what has happened so far). It's not that I don't think these are fascinating possibilities to explore. It's not that I don't think Osha joining the dark side is out of the question or even unreasonable, whatever the reason.

In fact, pre-interview, almost all of my criticism was pointed at the way the fandom immediately jumps to believing everything Qimir is saying without thinking critically about how he could be lying to Osha to get her to act the way that he wants her to. This comes from an intense place of frustration dealing with fandom in general who excuse the violent actions of men towards women (which is the reason why that one post doesn't actually even name Qimir or Osha, even though I did tag their names, since it applies to like a half dozen ships I can think of off the top of my head). In fact, I praised the writing of the acolyte in my breakdown post, assuming that Headland was purposefully creating all the cunning ways Qimir talks to Osha and all the tactics he appears to be using to manipulate her, and that this would be plot relevant. Whether Osha realized she was being manipulated and snapped out of it, or whether she never realized it, and fell to the dark side, and what that would mean for her, etc.

However, post-interview, things are different. No more am I simply dealing with a fandom that is willfully misinterpreting a toxic relationship as romantic, I am now dealing with the showrunner herself saying lots of things that disturb me. I can give her credit for not pulling the "there's good in him" card, but that's about as good as I can do. Headland may say that she does not intend the relationship to be manipulative, that she intends for Osha and Qimir to be equals, but if what she has presented to us onscreen does not read that way, then she has failed to accurately convey her message as the showrunner. You and I agree that Qimir is manipulating Osha, yet Headland says the opposite. I now have a showrunner for Star Wars, a massive franchise viewed by thousands, giving interviews saying that there is nothing wrong with this man's relationship with this young woman, but continuing to show the opposite. She can't have it both ways. The statement "Osha and Qimir are equals," is simply so far removed from the reality of what Headland has presented Qimir to be (a conniving man who is strong enough in the Force to eliminate a dozen Jedi at a time, and is so callus that he calls a girl an "it" after he's murdered her) that it's such an unbelievable statement I actually can't even believe people are buying it. I'm not saying that to be mean; what makes Qimir and Osha equals? Genuinely? That he cooks soup sometimes? That he disrobed in front of her? What about this relationship is equal?

Here's my bottom line when it comes to this discourse: I am sick of seeing young women getting treated like shit by men, and it getting romanticized as hot and desirable instead of what it is. I am sick of it whether the fandom does it, I am sick of it whether the showrunner does it, I am sick of it whether people in real life or in fiction do it, and I am allowed to feel that way.

Two: I won't be insulting Manny Jacinto in any capacity. He's doing a good job as an actor. I have acknowledged in past posts that he is obviously an attractive man.

If you think Qimir is hot, please, by all means, feel free to sexualize him in the manner that others sexualize Thrawn or Maul or anyone else. I'm an advocate of self insert fanfiction and of course (within reason), would find nothing wrong with that.

I am generally not a villain-lover, but there is nothing wrong with finding villains attractive or compelling! I haven't said there is. I have said that there's a problem within fandom and now literally within the media itself, with recognizing when a young woman is being mistreated by someone, sometimes because a lot of you are far more lenient on attractive men. The reylo fandom took this about twenty steps too far from 2015-2019 to the point where if you ask some of them, they still don't think Kylo even WAS the villain, and Headland is rapidly encouraging fans to take that angle with Qimir though I have given evidence to the contrary in spades.

There is a lot to be said about whether or not fiction affects reality. I believe it does, but I obviously do not believe that liking an evil character makes you evil. That being said, while not all fiction has a moral, all fiction has a theme, and you as the audience do take lessons from themes, whether you realize it or not; it sticks with you and may help you form your opinion on a similar set of circumstances you may come face-to-face with later. Fiction affects our feelings on a situation. A disturbing theme I'm seeing a LOT of in Star Wars lately is men being cruel to women in one way or another and the women finding it attractive and acceptable. Of course, depiction is not automatically endorsement... until we have now literally seen this type of relationship fully endorsed by Lucasfilm showrunners and directors twice in a row. Tweens and teenage girls *will* watch the sequel trilogy and the acolyte... what are they taking away from it? From what the director or showrunner has said about it? Honestly, this is much less about fandom to me now, and more about how official creators are treating these dynamics.

Three and finally and most important: I'm sorry that you've been seeing things like that being said about Headland, I think that's bizarre, rude, and uncalled for. I often do not go looking in fandom spaces anymore so I have not seen this, but that doesn't mean it's not out there. I generally do not trust Headland's creative input anymore, nor do I necessarily even like her, HOWEVER, I have not and will not make any such comment on her sexuality as it has nothing to do with any of this. I don't know which post of mine they screenshot, and I'd like more information actually, if they are using my post to say I think those things too, but regardless, I would not say this about her, or about anyone, and I don't condone it.

This is absolutely not racially motivated from me and I want to make that absolutely clear. I have been vehemently anti-reylo since the day I learned it existed, so I hope that you do not feel as though I am speaking out against the way that the Osha and Qimir storyline has been handled out of such a place, and I would never want anything to come across that way in any of my analysis or critiques. You will find I usually have less to say about anidala, seeing as the majority of the fandom does not depict Anakin as "doing nothing wrong" in that relationship, nor does the source material, so I feel I do not have to explain as much as I do with reylo and now Osha/Qimir. I want to make that absolutely clear that this type of relationship being presented in this type of way is a huge red flag for me regardless of the races of the characters involved. If you refer to the fandom at large, I don't want to invalidate your experiences, and don't know what other people are saying or what their reasons are. Unfortunately the acolyte fandom has been riddled with homophobia and racism since before the first episode even aired, and I want to make it clear that I think all of that is entirely unacceptable and that my critiques have nothing to do with either of those hateful ideologies.

#btw Osha/Qimir does not approach the level of godawful r*ylo is #I could elaborate but I spent two and a half hours on this reponse already #but yeah anon I mean I wouldn't mind continuing to have a conversation with you #the acolyte #star wars #leslye headland

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axieta · 1 year

Text

Hungry eyes

Henry Winter x reader

Warnings: suggested auto-aggression, abuse and medicine abuse, thoughts of violence, breakdown (dni if you fell like any of the warnings mentioned, even described in a very roundabout way, may impact you negatively, please and thank you)

Chapter 9

Two points of view

Chapter 9

Hours passed. Days. Weeks. The snow fell, perched on my shoulders, on top of my head, in my hands, like a particularly annoying case of dandruff. Years, decades. I was sure that the white powder that made my skin turn pale and then red, that chased shivers all around my body should have already been gone after such a long time. Or maybe it was not snow, truly, but dandruff indeed. After all I had been standing there, in the dodgy parking lot outside of the Cherry flavour, that it might have been as well. Centuries. Lifetimes. All that I had witnessed on that evening and all of it before, the calm before the storm and its sorrowful, unnerving resolution, it all had flashed before me, in my mind’s eye. It all came and went so suddenly, so abruptly, that the screaming memories of the past appeared almost violent to me. Like a crazed stranger running your way along the pavement, screaming, tearing at his hair, tossing, and stumbling, zigzagging along his path, and then passing you and disappearing in the crowd, somewhere behind you, as you shiver once, push your eyelids together in the ultimate expression of horror and disgust.

God, please don’t let him touch me; you think. God don’t let him see me; you pray.

And then the stranger passes, his torn, dirty clothes, a marksman of a homeless bum, disappear from your field of vision, and the only thing that stays with you, the testament to his sorry existence, is that sweetly nauseating smell he leaves behind.

Millennia. Eons. It all passed me in a blink of an eye, or they had not passed at all, and I had just been imagining things. But my body hurt, my arms felt taunt, packed with an unmeasurable tension and my gums swirled with restless swarms of worms. An unwanted, painful reminder of what had been and what turned into ashes in matters of mere seconds.

Standing there, a few meters behind Henry it donned on me how terribly cold it was outside. Only garbed in the delicate, summer shirt I used to wear only at the inaugurations of school year, I started to shake uncontrollably. A full-body convulsion overtook me and a chirp chatter of my teeth, ones hitting the others, filled my ears. My body submitted to the rising wind and the falling temperatures, but I could not feel the cold at all. To the contrary, the pain that shook me so, was birthed directly by the iron-hot waves of heat washing all over my intestines, my skin, pulling over my brows in pearly droplets of sweat.

Henry’s cigarette hit the ground, then the heel of his impeccable, shiny Oxford smothered the last glimpse of flame still flickering with orange hope at the very end of the butt. Merciless stomp, half wet splash in the melting snow on the pavement. And that was it. His hands were shaking, but his face stilled in a terrifying grip of ever frost.

A few weeks later and nothing changed. Not really. We all acted normal, or at least appeared to act normal. Bunny was his usual cheery self, Camilla and Charles kept on with their Sunday dinners, of which we had two before the winter break came tearing us apart and throwing all around the world and Henry maintained his stoic, cold disposition. Nothing shook him no more. He froze in one moment and his face kept that taunt, expressionless grimace I saw right before the bar. His eyes turned sharp, strangely calm. He seemed both very aware of his surroundings and completely detached from them at the same time. In the matter of days, he regressed into the Henry I knew from my first encounter with him – chill, full of distaste and afloat, above all the filth of this world. Even Francis seemed unbothered, or worse, completely oblivious to what has happened in the Cherry flavour. To my deepest surprise, even she herself, wasn’t overly bothered. She talked, she smiled, even joked around. Some of her jokes landed punches against Bunny, but there was nothing aggressive in them, just her characteristically sarcastic remarks mixed with her usual witty climaxes. It was truly, as if nothing had happened. As if I, myself had thought out this elaborate drama in one of my drunken fantastic apparitions and convinced myself of its authenticity. But there was something more to this frozen normalcy of our group. Not only had they brushed the incident, like it was nothing, they had reset themselves to a state of complete neutrality, the one in which I had met them. All the characteristics of the group I came to know and adjusted myself to suddenly vanished leaving behind a bunch of empty, hollowed vessels, of which I knew nothing and whose lives had once again become a complete mystery to me. They changed the sitting places in Julian’s class once again. No longer was Henry besides her. What’s more, I don’t think I saw him anywhere near her since the night at the bar. Long forgotten were the brushes of hands, the solemn and longing stares thrown across tables. No one raced in the gathering snow anymore, nor did anyone read Argonautica Orphica, crammed into some dark corner of the library. No one mused in hushed tones to some other twin soul the passages of Greek dramas.

With time, even her jokes and laughs simmered down to an untaxing hum, and one day, I could not say which, but the paste of the change seemed so alarming I had to note that in my memory, they stopped all together.

I asked Francis about the bar once, mostly because after Henry’s silent resignation from his previous seat, the ginger boy seemed to be the closest to her.

‘Say,’ I had asked him one day, when we were all leaving class, and her coat had long vanished from my field of vision ‘What are you going to do with the whole Bunny situation?’

He threw me a look, a dumbfounded, confused look, one would expect from a pupil being called to the board and not a grown man asked a simple question, such as himself.

‘Whatever do you mean, Richard?’

I shrugged my shoulders forward and wagged my head from side to side with disappointment. Resigned, I had never asked him about that again.

It was as if the past few weeks had not happened at all. Well, I guess there was no more need for all that, because she herself seemed to be more and more absent from our private, antic world. She became quite unresponsive during the lessons, although she kept her marks up and if only asked, she responded with the same vigour and fervour as usual, there was a special air of vacancy around her, whenever her lips sealed into that thin, pensive line I adored so. Her interactions with us became more and more scarce and suddenly, right before the break had begun, I realised that for a few days now she had been coming into class, nodding in greeting, and then staying silent for as long as she possibly could. That one nod, sometimes two, if she remembered to draft it before leaving class, was the only remnant of her usual sunny and loud greetings. I could not remember how did her voice sound before, but I knew that slight rasp and a gravel undertone weren’t always there. But now, whenever she spoke those qualities seemed ubiquitous and synonymous with her. A dark smudge on the crystal timbre of her vocal cords.

I noticed that she had not decided on changing her shoes. The dark-shining vices gripped her feet at all times, mercilessly and gave her steps a slight rhythm akin to that of a lame. I could not understand why was she still insisting on torturing herself with this terrible choice of footwear, but seeing as she would not talk to anyone, not even Henry, I did not feel especially invited to starting a conversation with her about that. Especially when all I could focus on was the dubious existence of that fateful evening I witnessed. If I could not trust myself with remembering a night such as this correctly, what else must’ve my mind gotten wrong?

The pages of my sketchbook suddenly filled with frantic notes of recollection and quick, messy drafts of those boots. From side, front, back, upside, dark, atmospheric, and linear. Shiny noses, black shoelaces, bits of mud on the soles and slight blemishes of salt on the delicate leather. I saw them every day, and every day I committed them to paper, slowly perfecting the ovoid shape. And all the while my pen hit the yellowed, stylized pages, all my ears registered was the unrhythmic clack of her heels on the frozen pavement. I tried to remember every clack and every click. Every broken shade and glimmer of artificial light that reflected off that polished leather as they laid beneath the table in Cherry flavour. And the longer I thought of them, those two black holes consuming my every waking thought, the longer that sick obsession with the shoes’ glimmering noses unravelled into a twisted spiral over the pages of my notebook and transformed them into some sort of mythical regalia of martyrdom, the more I started to think that I might’ve been in fact overexaggerating a bit. After all, it was not the first time I would completely submerge myself into an obsession that would ultimately prove pointless and redundant.

Only, no! I had eyes, I could see, I was not a blind man, nor was I marginally stupid. It did not take a genius to mark the pain in her stride, to see, how her laugh and her smile did not bear any water, how they died on her cheeks, never reaching her eyes. How, when she finally stopped the charade and alongside it, stopped talking altogether, those shine-less eyes, those once magnificent pools of sheer starlight became empty and dark. How she shrivelled and thinned in the matter of weeks – days! – and how her hair matted over with a thin layer of patina. Like a beautiful, bronze statue, knocked down into the murky waters of a lake it once guarded, her whole being overgrew with pondweeds and widgeon grass. Something dimmed her, a duckweed casted deep shadows on the crystal-clear surface of her face, and yet I could not comprehend what could it be. Bunny choked her, that I got. But that… that silence, that burnout… it all seemed far too much. And then Henry. So cold, so angry… and then completely uninterested. It was all, at the same time too much and too little for what I had gathered from a few glances at them. I wasn’t close with neither of them, except for her. I could’ve asked her then, at the bar, but that ship has had already sailed by the time doubts gripped at my throat. I was just so sure that Henry was going to take care of things, weed the pond water, that I didn’t even think of doing anything myself. Even though I knew, I swear to gods, old and new, I knew she needed… something. Someone. And I knew they knew that as well.

But they kept quiet. Cheery even, submerged into the deep waters of the Red Sea, running alongside the mystical warriors, sons of gods, storming the beaches of Troy, focused solely on the past, they stayed blind to the unsteady march of their friend. Henry, most of them, seemed to be shockingly cut off from all that surrounded him. Once again, I saw him reading the Iliad, alone. Once again, I had heard his snarky comments cutting the air like knives swishing at warm butter. I glanced at his hasty, unnecessary translations of old books into even older languages. And in all of that he remained solitarily unified with what has been. He had not even so much as spared a glance towards her way since that night. Not even a discrete, throw-away look, or a passing stare. His eyes remained polarised, sharp, and empty, investigating the dark swirls of letters on the old papers. Amongst all the shine of the glory that once was he surrounded himself with, he appeared somehow ghostly. Pale skin turned almost grey, and as time went on, violet swirls of broken capillaries dusted it with random cracks, here and there. Deep shadows marked his face from the waterlines of his eyes, right to his immensely sharp cheekbones, as if he had not been getting enough sleep. And his hands, they shook. Constantly and perpetually, small temblors shook his palmar nerves, forcing him to close and open his fists. Pain painted on his face the most magnificent landscapes, even more frequently when she fell silent. Still, he kept on with his studies, unbothered, pinning his button, shark-like eyes onto the inanimate objects of his admiration.

Once, I even saw him picking Bunny up from some restaurant, dragging a bummed-out boy behind him. I knew the precedence. I recognised the apologetic scowl on his face, when he drove off with the boy crammed up in the passenger seat of his car and I wonder how such a heartless, blind person could ever be let behind a wheel. As his car glided over the dangerously slippery street, the glimmer of Bunny’s blonde head, turned in half-chirp caught my eyes. I gagged. I simply could not watch this flock surrounding Tiresias with a straight face. I might have not understood the situation at hand, might have even assessed it wrong, but what got me the worst was the collective dismissal of the state my Diogenes found herself in. the turning of a blind eye, the dismissal, it made my blood boil.

Getting more and more angry with the silence surrounding something I was absolutely sure of witnessing, I decided to go back to the bar. Looking for something, anything, even now I would not be able to describe what for exactly, I decided to snoop around there. And I would, I really would. If it wasn’t for the stomped-out butt that greeted me on the pavement right before the entrance. Pathetic and soaked it had already dissolved under the immense pressure of humidity and dirty water that had washed over it during the days of my absence. It was there, it was real. And it had red letters – Lucky Strikes – engraved on the white band dividing the ashy end from the orange body. It stared at me from the distance of approximately six feet. The same ciggy Henry had stomped out.

My knees popped when I squatted over that piece of evidence. I stared intently, with bated breath and hands covering my mouth, just not to somehow contaminate that butt. Like a careful investigator I examined the unexpected piece of evidence with utmost unction I looked and watched and glanced at it, considered all the ways it had creased, soaked in the dirty water. I wanted to notice something, somehow connect the dots, tie it all up with one swift revelation. Maybe notice a certain shape or conjure a poetic, dramatic metaphor that could somehow describe it, take that mystery to a higher plane on which I could finally achieve enlightenment and deeper understanding of the situation. I thought that staring at it would help me capture at least a bit of Henry’s essence, that clasping my hands at the phantom thread tied to his mind at the moment of him smoking it would allow me access to his mindset, explain what was going on inside of him, when he mulled over the Latin phrase. Desperately searching for the slightest trace of reason in it, or some kind of symbolism, like a pair of grey, ashy bunny ears or a cute, fluff tail poking out of the mangled cotton end of the ciggy which’s visual allegory would bring me any closer to an explanation. But nothing appeared. The butt was just a butt. Nothing more, nothing less.

Sudden anger gripped me by the throat, poked at my eyeballs from the inside of my pained skull and coloured the whole world before me in vivid splashes of red. For the simple fact of my ingenuousness, the unreasonable investigation that refused to bear any fruit at its infant stages, the way the others did not seemed to be bothered by the whole Cherry flavour situation, savage frenzy sprouted in me, took root in my brain, slithered around my muscles, and took all inhibition from the body that once had belonged to me. For a split moment I was not human. For a short second, in which I jumped to my feet and with a brutish yap escaping my mouth, felt my muscles convulse with unpredictable movement, I was not even an animal. The accumulated rage was not me, not my own, but a whole other entity, alive, smart, hungry, vicious. Akin to Ophiocordyceps unilateralis it wrapped its way round me and guided my whole body into a fit of purely obscure seizure. My brain, my mind, it was there, although set still and useless, as if numbed and enslaved by that foreign rage in a sort of gilded cage it revelled in. Oh, the golden splendour of my inhibition, the sudden servitude to my own emotions, it all left a deliciously sweet taste on my tongue. My foot, one I had not realised had been risen, hit the ground with a terrible wet splash, perfectly pinning the dreaded butt beneath itself. The scream that followed the spontaneous motion echoed uncomfortably against each and every building that surrounded me. Tearing my leg up once again I struck anew, well the fungal rage reigning my body did, with both viciousness and force doubled. After three more dealt kicks like that I was sure the butt was not only stomped out, but completely obliterated, and yet I could not stop myself. I could not stop the stabbing motion of my leg, nor could I muffle the thick, grating bays coming out of my throat at every hit I/it had dealt. Dirty thawed snow splashed miserably all around me and landed on my trousers, on the cars parked in the parking lot and the poles dividing pavement from the road.

It was not far. No fair at all.

Splash!

How were they treating her!

Smack!

How she looked!

Splat!

What Henry had said! What he promised! What he didn’t do!

Plop!

Henry, that bastard! Bastard-Henry! Henry-Bastard! Blind fool! King of fools!

Slam!

He and that insufferable brat Bunny! Bunny, Bunny, Bunny! Idiot! Moron!

Nothing coherent crossed my mind in that moment. Nothing of higher importance or sense. But I knew that what had, was the purest form of frustration, the truest vent for every single one of my doubts and problems that had snowballed during that year in Hampden. I knew that those frantic kicks, those incoherent bellows of mine, they were not just empty swings at an already burnt-out cigarette. No, each strike was a protest, a manifestation and a drub against the nature of every single person entangled in the pattern of neglect and disinterest surrounding my Diogenes. Angry stomps surrounded me whole and muffled all the other sounds with their hateful nosegay.

In my fevered state the butt became Henry’s head, his chest, his hands, and the dark hair sprouting above his white, aristocratic forehead morphed into the sunlit grains of Bunny’s coiffure. Images, imprints really, of his pastel, nauseating outfits inflamed my nostrils with a smoke-stained dragon breath. They sharpened my teeth, turned me further and equipped me with diamond-sharp claws, armoured me with thick scales. I was a mystical dragon of pure, liquid fury and I was ready to melt down mountains. What’s worse is that I always knew what I had felt towards Bunny. It was nothing new. Detestation, slight indifference, unease sneaking its way beneath my skin with terrible itch whenever he appeared somewhere near me – the purest form of unknowing discomfort. But the unadulterated, all-consuming hatred I felt towards Henry was. In all honesty I was willing to admit my distaste regarding the blonde quarterback, and yet to this day, I quiver before the thoughts that ghosted and rattled over my mind when the acrid taste of venomous loathing filled my mouth when I saw the dark eyes, the jet-black hair and the cynical grin of Henry Winter being stomped out by my own foot. Yet I did not falter in that moment, not one step back. I did not quelched my thirst for blood, stomping my foot around I did not stomp out the desire to melt those two until there was nothing left of them, and then further scorch them until even the memory of them, the last trace of it has been completely purified and forged anew. I was a monster willing to turn them into a breed of creatures of my sort. For a moment a violent fantasy, of me stepping up, cornering them, and tearing them apart in two-to-one combat, clouded my vision. Oh, what I could have given in that moment to possess any kind of skill in martial arts. Of even owning a knife with which I could threaten them with. A kidney, or a lung, or even a heart would not be equal to the bargain I was willing to make in order to suddenly become apt, athletic and strong. A whole world would not be a sacrifice big enough for my willingness to hurt nor was it enough to bring me the levels of courage and skill I needed to face and best those two. After all, I was but a boy. Not a dragon, not an investigator, and not an infection-ridden insect. Just an angry little scrawny boy, scared and confused stomping in the molten snow like a capricious brat. More than anything I was a pathetic child. My knees buckled beneath the weight of that realisation, and I collapsed into the disgusting greyish-brownish pulp. Wet matter soaked into my pants and despite the moderately mild weather I swear, I had never felt such seeping cold.

Once again time stopped and galloped around me with no rhyme or reason. I could not tell how long I was kneeling there, pinned to the ground by the sheer gravity of that tiny, obliterated butt. And I think I would stay there for far longer, until darkened sky came in the marvellous shade of indigo and frost coated the perimeter with spiky-white fur, until I’d had lost feeling in my toes and the overwhelming cold of the night steadily slowed and slowed my pulse to the point of a dangerously gentle halt if it wasn’t for the shy shadow creeping over my form.

Small and bleak shape of a person sliding carefully on the pavement, mixed with the strange fragrance of a muffled, warm scent, domestic in that slow creep, nice and soft with the cautious steps of its owner. I knew that scent, that shape, that rhythm, swayed slightly to the right, as if the person guiding it avoided putting their whole weight to the left. I knew it and I longed for it for so, so long. My head snapped back, eager, almost wanton, and my gaze was met with a slightly bent figure, big, hollowed eyes gazing right, no, trough, mine and tightly pressed pale lips. Her. The intensity of that sudden stare, despite its murky and diffused, or maybe precisely because of that thinly spread quality, forced goose-skin to come forth on my clothed arms. She was slimmer, so much so, that when her jaw clenched at the shock surfacing on my face, I could see and count the small bones of her skull sliding smoothly beneath her taunt skin. Paler and somehow yellow, like a thin, thin, thin papyrus left for too long on the scorching sun of a desert, the rosy fresh bloom of her skin, just an afterthought left in the broken capillaries of her eyes and the reddish rim of them. The hair that fell over her arm, when she leaned in some more into my private space, as if to sniff me or confirm that I was in fact me, slid over her shoulder with a quiet dry shuffle, akin to the jerk of wheat fields in the middle of July, forgotten or abandoned by their farmer. No more gilded halo, rather bone-dry empty stems. In that dimension she was not so far away from the ghostly grey shape her body casted over me, even more so, she herself seemed like a shadow of her former self. A vessel that would drag behind her a fortnight before. A shape that would break over silvery-white snow caps, hide and split under the influence of light seeping into the campus library. There was this newfound quality about her, an air I had no words to describe then. I just knew that she didn’t quite feel like herself, somehow hollow, unfilled, not really finished, just like she herself was not complete, not whole, like the part of herself that kept her whole being by the seams, suddenly vanished and her frame fell apart, spitting out that lively, sweet part of herself, the cottony filling that gives puppets their shape, and all that was left of her was that skin, those glossy eyes, gleaming like two polished buttons. All I could think of, while desperately trying to bear that bone-chilling stare of hers, was that she had cracked into two halves, and the one – the cold, silent, limping, and tight-lipped creature – was the only half that survived that tragic severance. The worse half.

Now, that I have assisted in an attempt on someone’s life, I know that she looked like what death feels like. Cold and un-personalised ghostly presence that hoovers over you, seeps into you and stays somewhere there, in your body, in the stems of your fingers, forever curved around an already non-existent neck, slots itself right between the globes of your brain, playing the imagine of body muddled in snow over and over again, sits in your ears, echoing the never-ending crack of neck, settles on your skin with sheer dust of dried blood, and holds you hostage in constant state of fear for the rest of your miserable life. Once you’ve tasted death, once you’ve looked into dead man’s eyes, it stays with you, just like that imagine of her stayed with me, imprinted forevermore in my being.

And I had said before, ever since that night in her apartment, when I laid on the couch, half-drunk and dumb with fascination, and she kissed Henry over that one-piece table, three deaths had been prescribed in her lifetime. What I was seeing then, in the dodgy parking lot of Cherry favour was a tell-tale sign of the first one.

‘What’s up, pup?’ Mors dicit. Or was it her? ‘A lovely weather we’re having, huh?’ She croaked my way, as she crouched next to me with a slight hiss.

The weather was nice indeed, not that I had noticed before she so gracefully pointed that out for me. Chilly, yes, and, courtesy of the lingering snow, covered in a thin tint of sepia, but overall nice. But none of that mattered. Not really, when she was there, so close that I could smell her, feel the faint warmth of her body leaving a shallow indentation on my arm.

‘Hey.’ My tongue darted to wet my horrid, chapped lips. She smelled naturally, of herself, like no other fragrance in this world, broken by slight notes of cigarette smoke and fresh coffee carried forth on her breath, although the smell was muffled, weathered and I had to breath unrealistically deeply to get a real sense of it. ‘Wasn’t expecting you here.’

Her brows furrowed, as if she had no idea of what I was talking about, and only when I pointed my finger up, to the neon sign, turned off for the time, had a sharp spark of comprehension light her eyes. For a second, she seemed suspended in time, when she considered and took in the sight of the establishment, and I thought she might break down crying, because her lower lip wobbled and the skin around her eyes tightened dangerously, but no, nothing like that happened. Instead, her white teeth peaked from beneath the pale barrier of her lips and a snarl, something I would take for a laugh if it wasn’t so primal, so angry, fell from between them.

‘Oh, that’s rich, that’s rich.’ She gurgled some more, before turning to me. Something in me, cowardly and slimy, suggested that I much preferred her giggling at the bar, and not looking at me. Truly, something in those washed-out, wandering eyes, did not feel quite… sane. ‘I was… out for a walk. Wanted to go to the post office. Guess I lost my way.’

I nodded, not knowing what else to say. And I wanted to say so many things. Maybe too many for any of them to come forth. Something in her face told me that she understood, and so I didn’t feel as restricted as before. Somehow, that one shift in the muscles on her face convinced me that she, the Diogenes I loved so much, the accomplice I adored with all my might, was still there.

‘What for?’

‘Oh, just… wanted to buy more letter writing paper. I’m writing a lot recently…’

I nodded and promptly decided I had to keep up the good karma of her talking, because with every word she uttered I heard that terrible rasp fading and fading away. I really wanted to hear that crystal-clear laugh of hers once more. Icy and fresh, like the coldest creaks flowing down from the highest of mountain tops. Although before I could ask her another question, she beat me to it, her ever perceptive gaze falling to my wet, dirtied knees. Something like a smile, real heartfelt smile and not a cynical crack of lips, flashed across her face and she cocked her chin towards that bizarre view.

‘You’re kneeling in the snow, Richard Papen, have you noticed?’

I nodded, again, and scoffed a little, noticing how strange that must’ve looked for someone who wasn’t privy to my melt-down, or anyone perfectly sane for that matter. Although, looking at her, I wasn’t sure I could apply the latter category to anything currently concerning her person.

‘Ya. I did. I just read somewhere that winter swims can work wonders for your nervous system. You know, I find it quite refreshing actually, the dirty water getting soaked in by my pants, I mean.’ I stomped my knees a few times, splashing the water around a bit, as if I was trying to paddle in real, deep water.

To my utter surprise, she giggled. And by gods, I’d be damned if I didn’t blush at that sweet, treacly laugh. My lips curved with hers, and widened even more, when she continued with her interrogation. Every second word she managed to utter was interrupted by a new wave of giggles.

‘No, really. Why are you… why are you kneeling like that? Come one, don’t give me that look, don’t look at me like you know something I don’t!’

She pulled me by my arms, her slim, tender fingers digging into my used and shabby overcoat with such surprising force I feared for the stitches that held it together. I grabbed her back, maybe out of that fear, or just simply because I missed the feel of her, her body somewhere near mine, the touch I could squeeze out of our short interactions, how her arms felt in the palms of my hand… I pulled her towards me, with the fullest intent of dragging her to the ground with me, but she was far stronger than I imagined. Now, the prospect of her catching Henry if he’d fall did not seem so abstract, when she somehow managed to maintain her equilibrium and slip from my grasp, jumping a few steps back, still, balancing perfectly of the balls of her feet. She flashed me a toothy grin, and I, the weak man that I was, tried again, just so I could see it again. I reached for her once more, but she was too agile for me, even with her limp, even in that state of suspended half-death, she jumped around me like an eager, young heifer, drafted circles as I wagged and dragged behind her.

‘Quick, Richard, you gotta be quick! Answer me, or you won’t catch me! Come on now, it’s not that hard, just tell me.’

After some more tittering coaxing, that went in a more-or-less similar tune to her first question, I finally gave in. Giddy myself with the marvellous melody of her happiness I could not help but tell her everything she wanted to know. Who was I to refuse her, after all? Before I started though, I waved my hand dismissively in order to lighten the impact of what I was going to say. I didn’t want her to take me for a hopeless case, but I figured that maybe the sheer ridiculousness of my behaviour might help in holding up that magnificent smile a while longer on her lips. I went for so long without seeing it, that now, that I finally got the chance to, I threw myself at it with abandon and hunger of a starving person.

‘I just had an epiphany. A pretty grim one.’ I admitted, pursing my lips, and nodding my head in a very pensive, over-the-top way. Her smile did not widen, but neither did it falter, so I took it for a small success. Her head tilted though, in that feline, interested burst of expression I had seen her making in classes before.

‘Grim? How come?’

Squaring my shoulders, I nodded. To be fair I did not really know if I wanted to tell her all about what just had gone through my head. The violence… the desperate need for it. But I figured that if I ever wanted her to open up to me, to keep on smiling, trusting me like she did a few weeks before, I had to give her something. So, like a coward, I went with the safest option, one that could give me the desired results.

‘Henry.’ I said, and her smile faltered until it faded completely. ‘He… he told me something, and I believed it, and now… well, now I know it not to be true. The epiphany, I guess, was about him.’ A dash of malevolence glimmered in her irises at the mention of his name. She craned her neck backwards, slowly, and very carefully like king cobra lazily hauling her body up and spreading the beige collar in the ultimate warning before dealing the lethal blow. Her hair electrified around her beautiful swan neck, seemingly willed by the sheer force of her ireful mind, and for a second, I thought I caught a glimpse of perilous white fangs, dripping with saliva down onto her tongue.

‘Guess you’re not the first one to be deceived.’ Venomous, was her comment. Stabbing and full of intent to kill. I nodded, half in understanding, half in agreement. ‘What has he said to you?’

I allowed myself a longer pause, just to swallow and gather my thoughts, although I already knew what I was going to say, the second his name left my lips.

‘Henry said he was going to help you. Deal with Bunny.’

‘What?’

‘Yeah, he said something like, an eye for an eye. You know, for choking you in the bar. I guess I thought he was going to scare him a bit, take him for a small tumble or…’

A spasm of fear run through my body when her face suddenly twisted and morphed, elongated by the purest iteration of despair. Her lips quivered and curved downwards, brows squeezing and releasing her high forehead in an iron grip of pain. Her eyes screwed up, until her face flooded in stramineous red and then popped back out, capillaries prominent, lashes fluttering, gathering unwanted wetness. She kind of choked, or gurgled, her throat waved and resonated with a snarl of an animal wounded and then a long, desperate whiz. Her hands, pale and thin, shot up, tangling her fingers into the already unruly coiffure. With another panicked exhale she pulled the tightly gripped strands over her face, strained them to their fullest length, and then some more, to the point where I saw the roots of her hair pulling the skin of her head up, and up. Her body convulsed, and then went completely taunt, her chest collapsing over her bent knees. Something in me broke, seeing her like that, something snapped. Not with the fiery, almost-too-cold rage of a mythical beast I felt before. Rather with soft, damp resignation that fills oneself when they find a dead mouse in the trap, they had set themselves the night before. I scooted closer, slowly, announcing my movement to her, so that she would not be scared with my presence, like a good hunter would do with a yet alive prey in need of a final blow. She nodded, still whimpering quietly as I shuffled across the wet pavement. I let my arms snake around her shoulders, tug her head to my chest, so that she would hear the steady beat of my heart, know that it was me, that I was real, and I was indeed there, by her side. She complied, fell forward into my embrace, as if longing for it. Her knees hit the ground, wet splash marked my lap, but none of us cared as I pressed my jaw to the crown of her head, as another wet splash hit my chest. Small, almost unnoticeable droplets slid from her eyes, from the bridge of her nose. The street was empty, just the two of us bundled to the side, shivering, pained and scared together. She could cry as much as she wanted, I shielded her from the rising wind.

‘Shhhhh, hey sweet thing. What’s happened? Come on. It’s all right. It’ll be all right.’ She sobbed into me, and I felt it, not in the physical when the waves of her voice went to crash over my body, but in a much more piercing way. My heart clenched at that. ‘I know, I know. Come one, let’s get up, you’ll catch a cold. See? your pants are already brown from the snow.’

Another froth of waves came crushing my chest, but I managed to haul her up. She nodded frantically over and over, clearly not knowing what to do. Embarrassed, or confused she begun to dry her face with quick, hard stokes, that left long red trails over her cheeks.

‘Yea, yea, you’re right Richard. It’s all so stupid, I’m so stupid, sorry… let me just… just… I’ll be fine in a second. Just. Can you stay a while longer?’ Her voice trembled and fluctuated between a nasal gags and whispery retches. Her head lunched forward and for a second, I thought she was vomiting, but she managed to straighten up. Iron heat rushed to my head, swirled in my stomach. ‘Just stay a bit longer, please. It’s stupid, it’ll pass.’

‘It’s not. You’re not. None of it is. You have every right…’ Red rimmed eyes shot to me, wet with all the things unsaid, undone, longing and hungry. The hunger of her soul reflected in those starry windows overwhelmed me, took my inhibitions, and threw them far, far away. Those were not the eyes of a human, of a mortal. Not with their sharp glints, soft edges, the magnificent colour, knowing glances. Older and wiser than any other eyes I’ve ever seen before. Kind but hardened by life. with the little lines at their corners, that stayed there as a testament to her laugh. But then, when she looked at me, when she mulled over my words and I saw her pupils retract, sag in helplessness and anticipation, to me those were the eyes of an immortal creature, burdened with ancient depth, the eyes of the magnificent daughter of Peneus. Sorrowful, forced to submit, yet unwilling. The eyes of a running Daphne. Then it clicked for me, and venom raised in furious fumes up my throat, bail-chased nausea spined me around, tightened my fists over her elbows, desperate to find a semblance of grounding, as the revelation, slipped the ground from beneath my feet. ‘Hey… you. Come, let’s get you home, how about that?’

One nod for her and I was already dragging her across the pavement, far, far away from the bar. I wanted to take her away, haul her to me and teleport to someplace safe. Salvage her from the dirt and gutter of the streets, from the gaze of people who might cross our way, from the words I, myself spoke. Her feet shuffled on the ground, disoriented and irregular. The shoe, I thought, the damned shoe. The limping leg, scratching the tumbling surface of pavement almost made my ears bleed.

‘I’m going to carry you now,’ I said, surprised at how deep my voice had come out.

Thankfully, she did not object to my statement, I don’t know what I would have done if she did. I took her into my arms, her legs hanging over one of my arms, head snug to my chest. Her arms snuck up and grabbed a hold of my shoulders, seemingly the straw that a drowning man is to clutch. I lunged forward then, my steps long, far apart, almost jumps. The streets passed me in a blur, the people, their wandering, bewildered stares. I did not care for them, for anything other than the slight flutter of her heart, beating slightly under my ribs, other than her warm body pressing into mine. She sobbed into my chest, and that gave me an edge, a mission to complete, a goal. Finally, I had something to do, some means to help. I had never walked as fast, stretched my legs as far apart, as I did when I devoured the steps of the stairwell of her apartment building, fort, sometimes five at a time. All the while I muttered to myself maybe more than to her, words of affirmation, calming phrases. And she was so small, holding onto me. God, so utterly small and shaky, I barely could feel her weight in my arms. I felt like sobbing myself. And my heels clacked along the pavement, and my breath bated, my heart clenched and aching, a steady drum of my steps, as I tore through the darkened bluish veil of night shine. She stayed cooped in my arms, small, sizzling out, yet still breathing. Her leg, the hurt one, marked with carnation-esque blemishes of copper blood, twitched over my bent elbow.

‘Hey, pretty thing, you hang in there, all right?’

I shook her body slightly in my grasp, just to make sure she heard what I said. Glancing down, I noticed that my breath had turned into a puff of grey mist, obscuring her silhouette a bit from me. But it didn’t matter, as long as I could feel the rise and fall of her chest, the small beat of her heart, so, so close to my own. She shrugged. The streets of Hampden appeared to be longer than I remembered. Stretched by a touch of an invisible hand. Darker, than I was used to. More cramped despite there being almost no sole in our field of vision. The unrelenting quiet of the eve, a sound box for my shaky tone. As I walked, the buildings before me appeared to be bending towards me, as if the same malicious hand pushed them with the force of gravity towards me, so that they could close over our heads, burry us in never ending piles of rubble. I would not complain if that was really the case. I would not mutter a word of defiance, only if she would speak to me, answer my question. But the silence between us stretched long and morbid, just like the distance I desperately tried to cover.

‘Are you okay?’

Her sad, big eyes gleamed at me through the canopy of our tangled breaths. Hers – short and shallow – mine – unsteady but deep.

‘No, Richard. I don’t think I am,’ she said, her voice snotty, clogged by the unrelenting stream of tears flooding her face. I had never heard her like that. The rasp, the croaking, all of that it seemed I could take. I could ignore it, or accept it even, purely because those screechy vowels, and high-pitched consonants, those sounds were hers. Formed a part of her, even if it was ugly, deterring. I still could see the beauty in them. Some sort of sardonic fascination, or grotesque appreciation for the abhorrent reality of her. But that mushed sob, she seemingly clawed out of her squeezed windpipes? That wasn’t her own, wasn’t of her making nor intention and so, as it wasn’t purely her, I could not bring myself to muffle the crump tearing my soul in two at the sound of it. I was sure, that if I only tried to respond in some kind of way, opened my mouth, the bone-chilling, banshee scream would fly out of it, scare her so utterly, that I would not be able to hold on to her squirming, scrambling form. And so, I stayed quiet, soaking the prolonged silence of stretched streets.

‘It’s opened,’ she murmured when we finally arrived at her door. By that time, she somehow managed to calm down, and now in her voice rung rather tiredness than the despair from before. ‘I left it open.’ Something in the way she said it, the numb undertone of resignation, when she announced it, chased shivers down my spine. I pushed; the door was indeed left open. Its hinges creaked slightly when they swung, revealing a whole other world to me. The ascetic landscape of her flat took me by surprise and made me stop in my tracks. Nothing, and I mean nothing was where it had been before. No plants, no coffee mugs or glasses, no ashtrays. The one-piece table had been pushed up to the window, while the couch with the glass coffee table stood, crocked and strangely in a line, in the middle of the space. Books, now stacked into neat piles had been gathered around the fireplace. Alarmingly – the Alexander the Great print was nowhere to be seen. Without it, the flat presented itself rather miserably. Like the Mona Lisa without her smile, or the Lady with an Ermine, with her companion scavenging for prey, somewhere outside the frame. I didn’t notice any plants either. Strange how a jungle-like kitchen turns to a complete replica of the Gobi Desert, in matter of mere days.

‘Where do you want me to…’

‘The couch. Please. Thank you.’

I let go of her, letting her body fall and submerge itself into the cushions of the meuble. As she laid back, the soft material of her dress slid over my arms, cold and silky, making me realise how hot, almost feverish, my skin had become. It was her, all her. Splayed in that mangled pose, her knees raised slightly up, hands thrown over the headrest, hair tangling everywhere, she looked most tragically. Most divine. Sudden hunger rumbled in my stomach, resonated along my spine and ribs, and I had to dip my head down, kneel before her in a mock attempt at loosening her shoelaces, in order to mask the scowl, it had produced on my face.

‘We should take off those shoes, you hear me. Matter of fact, we should burn them at once, or throw them into the river. See? How bloody your socks are? Completely soaked. No, you should never wear those again. Why didn’t you return them? They’re clearly too small for you.’

I tried to force every fibre of my body to bend into an apologetic, careful pose, one that would pose no threat to her. Not that I did, I just didn’t want her to feel uncomfortable, as I fiddled with the leather at her feet. I tried to be as small, as servile as possible. I wanted her to remember that moment, to rely on it in times of fear. Or then, right in that flat, squatted around the couch, I wanted her to see me as I was, Richard Papen, the most reliable, safe presence in her life. Better than Henry, than Bunny, than Charles or Camilla, or anyone else. Anyway, it did not matter what I did or did not do. She remained unresponsive to my every query. Only when, halfway through unlacing her second shoe, I proposed that I could maybe make some tea for the both of us, seeing as we were drenched in brownish-snowish pulp, head to toe, and our noses, resembled more a ripe set of cranberries in colour than a normal part of a human body, she murmured something, rather unbefitting of a lady, and I decided to take that as a ‘no’.

‘Aye, those are real torture devices, I really can’t understand why you keep wearing them.’

Her legs were daft, almost waxy as I gently slid off the shoes from her feet. It seemed as if I was catering to a giant doll, unable to bend her knees, or change positions. Like finest crockery her skin glistened with a sheer sheet of sweaty glaze, moon-kissed and pale, even at her lowest she rendered such a powerful aura around her, I, the sane and most certainly more empowered out of us two, felt like game. Game to the real hunter – my own desire.

‘Have you ever heard Richard… there is this thing those cool, riotous dads tell their children when they get slightly injured and raise inadequate ruckus. Something like… well, if your finger hurts, then hit your head, then the finger will stop hurting.’

I laughed, dryly, rather focused on the copper smudges soaked into the white cotton of her socks, than her. I knew that if I looked up, faced her beaming, pleading eyes, I would not be able to control myself. I would unravel before her, cry or wail or fall to the ground to roll in my gloom and ineptness, and that was the last thing she needed.

‘I don’t quite know what you mean. If I ever cried, my dad just told me to shut up and soak it up.’

‘That’s tough love for ya,’ Over my scoffing I heard her snort as well, although she had to snarl right afterwards and prevent snot from overflowing her nostrils. ‘But no, the bang your head method actually makes some sense, to me at least. If something hurts, like finger, and it hurts real bad, then maybe hurting your head more will, well not alleviate the pain from the finger, but focus your attention on the splitting headache you get next. A bait and bleed, but for pain.’

‘So, does your finger hurt?’

Her hands moved. One grabbed at the scarf woven around her neck, the other lifted the hem of her skirt, slowly bunching it upwards, cumulating the small creases into her fingers, one after the other. Agile and skilled like a tiny spider gathering its web. As the folds of her clothes compressed further, diminished, as they slid slowly against her body, the more and more of waxy-pale skin I saw. What I saw, at least up there, on her neck, I somehow anticipated. Black and blueish marks forming a faint shape of a hand, big and spread across her larynx, imprinted with conviction and goal – to muffle any sound that it might’ve produced. But down there, where her skit got hiked up to her hip, I could never prepare myself for what I saw there.

‘Finger. Fingers. Thighs. Neck, calves, wrists, ribs, ears, eyes, chest, lungs, stomach.’

Her monotone voice filled my ears with an oceanic roar. Purple stains, red scratches and spotty chafing jigged and bounced a pagan dance across her skin, I saw them and in a sort of semi-empiric sort of way I felt them stomp on my thighs, hurt, and twist my nerves in a hellish grip, dastardly burning through right to my bones like and acrid pools of venom. I could only suspect how much she was suffering. The muscle above my knee twitched and spasmed painfully, bringing me back, polarising on the here and now, as her daft fingers weaved through the silky waves of her skirt. And the bruises I saw there. Burgeoning, at the precipice of her thighs, in a bedlam of rioting, furious reds, nauseous greens and mournful purples. Vulgar motley splayed all the way from her bony knees to, as far as my eyes could reach, the slight peaks of her quadriceps. Brutish handprints grabbing at her with a phantom, everlasting grip, swallowed every paled inch of her skin, and looking at them I felt how they burned on me.

‘Everything hurts, Richard. The shoes though… they’re more physical.’

Then she looked away, into the void above my head, and it seemed she found some familiar comfort in that unfocused blank state.

‘We’ve all got good many things that pain us, I just never thought I would prefer the horrid burn of flesh over my ethereal torments.’

‘Lean back, sweet thing, all right?’ It was hard for me to take the skirts out of her fingers, but I managed to do so, even with the trembling of my stems, I pulled the material in most gentle manor and yet it staggered on her knee and stayed there. She didn’t mind. ‘You need anything else?’

For a second, I saw a shadow of focus march across her face. And then the stare came, the terrifyingly polarising, pulverising gaze that crossed universes and souls, crush them, crush me, the game to the hunter of her eyes. Contagious, like a mood that passes into you, a sound that creeps on the border of your mind a tune you repeat, on and on and on, and with time you begin to dread and hate it, until it loops, and you cannot hear naught, but that single melody. Her will, so strange and strong, shined amongst that onslaught of power stirring in her pupils like the tolling of a bell.

‘The pills. The ones in the cupboard. Right there.’

I followed the path her finger drafted in the air right to the kitchen. Clean, empty, eerily not her. I reached into the cupboard, surprisingly containing no cups, just a messy pile of packets and bottles with different kinds of medicine. Some of them green, others pink or purple or blue. Safe to say the cupboard seemed to be containing all the colour drained from the apartment. In the corner of the shelf, I thought I saw a greyish piece of cloth or canvas, like the one stretched over the hearth with Alexander on it, but I did not let myself linger on that.

‘Which ones do you want?’

I observed the back of her head from where I stood. She wasn’t moving and if she hadn’t responded to my question, I’d thought that the second I walked away, she transcended into the plain of death by the sheer power of her hollow stare.

‘Duragesic.’

‘Forte?’

‘Ye, ye. And water, please.’

‘I can bring you some in my hands, otherwise, I don’t see how.’

‘Oh, yeah, right. Then no water.’

She said that as if the marginal lack of any glasses or cups in her apartment was some cardinal truth, she just so happened to forget.

I brought the whole package to her, although I pondered a while if it would be safer to just squeeze a couple of the pills out and hand them to her like that. But I ultimately thought she wouldn’t like that. So, I just threw the silver leaflet her way, and like a starved animal she nearly tore her way to the pills through the plastic safety-packing. I watched in horror as she downed not one, not two and not three but four white, oval pills. And then she swallowed, without blinking an eye. She must’ve gathered some saliva in her mouth beforehand to help them go down, either way the bulge that painfully dragged down her throat went down uncomfortably slow, and I could see her face contorting at the unsavoury, bitter aftertaste. But then she moved, really moved, and smiled, like nothing I’ve seen her do on that day, or the weeks before. Her body loosened and lost a certain quality of strain as if some magical, invisible rope feel from it, releasing her consciousness into a more senile, easy state. Worry evaporated from me like dew on a hot, summer day, and I smiled back at her.

‘What now?’

‘Now, Richard dearest, I go to sleep. And you, you do what you want. Make it worthwhile. Be happy while you do it. Do not hurt.’

She started to shift clumsily on the sofa and so I came closer to lift her legs and help in making herself comfortable. Her head dragged along the pillows back and forth, heavily, filled with woolly haze of the medicine. Her eyelids fluttered in a drowsy rhythm, shoving away the waves of sleepiness as she stared at me and mouthed something, some kind of advice I could not read. I shuffled closer, bent my neck so that my ear could gather the soft nectar dripping from her lips.

‘Or take some pills, I’ve money for some more. And sleep. Sleep is the best solution for dwelling my dear. In sleep you don’t remember, you do not feel. It is just you and the dark void all around you.’

I jumped back at the slurring onslaught of her words, vicious and sad. In doing so I carelessly stepped on the tale of my coat and crumbled to the floor. Her laugh, deranged and dry followed me in my way down, resonated in my bones as I came into the contact with the cold, hard ground. Wind whistled in that cruel giggle as she quickly switched into a humming tune, mocking my fall. Any humour run away from me at the sound of that maddened croak, like liquids seeping out of a corpse. She was right, the physical pain of my backbone might’ve been grounding, comforting against the cruel tear I felt when she pointed at me and laughed.

‘Rappelez-vous l'objet que nous vîmes, mon âme, ce beau matin d'été si doux: au détour d'un sentier une charogne infâme sur un lit semé de Cailloux.’

Pointing an accusatory finger at me, as if I were the aforementioned carcass, she swayed to the rhythm of her words, wild smile stretching her face, pupils dilated and gleaming with a strange glow. Sweat came onto her forehead and her eyes bathed in a strange mist of pure delirium. I plucked my eyes away. It was like hand-picking them out of my skull.

‘Les jambes en l'air, comme une femme lubrique, come on, open your legs Richard, brûlante et suant les poisons, ouvrait d'une façon nonchalante et cynique son ventre plein d'exhalaisons.’

A strange lullaby, and so it was, but so was she. And she chanted like that for a second more, mesmerising me, pulling with the gravity of her flawless French and taunting words down, down the spiral with her, until her wrist limped, her hand slowly lowered, and her eyelids closed. Her breath steadied, deepened and soon I realized she fell asleep mid-sentence. I watched for a while, took a hold of her hand, and counted the pumps of her blood. Then her neck, as I studied the slow ticks on her face. She dreamed, I gathered, instead of sleeping, like she intended, but at least in that state she was left alone. Terrified of leaving her like that, in her solitude, to awake in an empty, cold apartment I stayed there for a while. But my body twitched and squirmed into action. As her breath came in, poisonous rage flowed into me, burning every inactive cell. The dragon-slaying knight in shining armour awakened inside of me once again and without thinking, I stumbled onto my feet, took off my coat to put something around her, so she would freeze, and staggered out of the flat. My gait strayed uneven, but my steps gained in audacity and purpose with every meter devoured. With bitter taste of upcoming glory, I directed myself towards Henry’s layer.

My head was light, soaring miles away from Earth, breaking through the cotton barriers of clouds, shoving stars out of my way, dispersing galaxies, I was hot and cold at the same time, waves of burning strain crashed within my muscles with every stretch and cramp, and the wind cooled my body, now bared to it, rid of the safe layer of a coat. Greatest discomfort resonated all the way from my feet to my knees, as the soles of my shoes slipped every now and again against the wet cobblestone of the streets. Every cant of every stone, every empty space left by a stray foundation of the pavement filled me with utter desperation and an emotion so strong, so indescribable, I nearly threw up. Everything was too tight on my body, too damp and too cold. My hands suddenly appeared to bony and fragile as I balled them into fists at my sides to stop the antsy ticks that dripped over the joint of my fingers. At the back of my skull formed a sort of pressure familiar to some, especially those suffering from strong migraines. I experienced pain like that before, mainly due to alcohol overuse or exhaustion, never like that though. I had never feared for my precious eyeballs so much, never dreaded and anticipated the moment the pressure would become too much, and they’d pop right out of my eye sockets. My cheeks hollowed out, pulled to the inside of my mouth and I nibbled at the soft tissue to distract myself from the growing dizziness radiating straight from my corneas. Iron floated to my tongue, brought out bitter taste of anger even more. Ire and pain fumed in me like twin forces spurring each other on, keeping their flames burning.

I don’t remember much of my journey, how I got to where I had to be, how I managed to not crush into anyone or anything or any particular details of the spaces I run through, just the angry swelling of the darkened sky, as the clouds gathered to bring forth a snowstorm. I prayed, all the way there, that Henry would be home. And if not, I was wholly ready to roam across different apartments, even the campus to find him and shove my fist as far back his throat, so that he could see the stars that currently jumped around my field of vision. Seething, manifesting I arrived at his door, and I don’t know if thanks to my stupid luck, or the power of divine beings listening in on my pleadings, he was. In a matter of seconds, he answered to my brazen knocking, his dark head poked through a crack of an opened door, gold, short chain of a lock resting slightly against his curls. And maybe it was the sheer existence of the chain, maybe the austere face beneath it, but my tongue suddenly stuck to the roof of my mouth, dry and stiff as a log. I had so many things I wanted to say, to do, so many scenarios I planned in my mind, a myriad of quips, of angry yaps and barks, and yet in the face of a real challenge, when he measured me with his cold, distant gaze, I found I had nothing to say to him. I took a breath and stopped. My lungs swelled, pushed my chest out, he stared, not even bothering to unlock the door, as if I was just some peddler, bothering him. I shifted, trying to gaze into the apartment, he moved with me, squaring his shoulders, and obscuring my view completely. Either way I would be able to see anything like that, the light inside was turned off.

‘Richard,’ he said finally, his voice empty and flat. ‘What brings you here?’

I wasn’t able to speak yet, not even force myself to breathe properly. So, through some strange, dreamy influence, I raised my hands to the sides of my head and wagged my fingers back and forth, like when little kids do, if they want to imitate a bunny, which gathered no reaction from him, so I lowered my make-believe ears and wrapped them around my throat. And when his brows soared across his forehead, clearly not understanding what I was trying to communicate, I started to toss my head around, squirm and convulse. Muffled gurgles escaped my throat as my fingers tightened and tightened, squeezing my larynx in a grip I would never suspect myself of being able to pull. This must’ve come as quite a shock to him, to see me choke myself right at his doorstep.

‘What the- Richard, Jesus Christ! What are you doing?’

In one swift motion he tore the chain out of its place and swinging the door open, pulled me in by the collar. The move was so unexpected and at once so strong that I staggered forward, struggling to find any footing and by the end of my tumble I swung in the grasp of his extended hand – the only thing that saved me from smashing my face against the floor. My shirt creaked and I think popped unexpectedly at the seam, right over my left scapula. I whined, baffled, loud enough for the two men sitting inside to turn towards me.

The room I found, or rather forced, myself into was dark. Not dark like the night, that snuck up on me, quiet like a thief, right outside the building. No, rather dark like lack of any light. The curtains were drawn and only the luminescent outer line of windows. The rest of the room got drowned out in a blue-black cold of darkness. The air inside was stuffy and reeked of alcohol mixed with sweaty fumes of tobacco, likely suspended in the small space of what I could only assume was a saloon, for long hours. To the sides, against the walls and between various shapes, most probably pieces of furniture, poked some strange, sharp, and fuzzy or delicate and swaying objects. Plants, I thought to myself as I saw that some of them stood proudly on lean wooden stems, and other chose to bend down and slither right into the murky embrace of dark sliding across the floor. Heavy mist of conspiracy wrapped itself around the whole space, tucked itself into every nook and cranny. What struck me the most about the apartment though, was the utterly perfect silence scattered across it, disturbed only periodically by the cars passing slowly by, down, down, down below. Against the backdrop of obscured rectangles of windows two man sat, lit from behind, their sharp features presented themselves disturbingly alien. Their hair, accumulated around their heads into thick manes of dark matter, lighter only at the ends, when the moon could tear through the sheerest layers and colour them in coronae of copper and gold. Long faces starved and caved in at the edges, bone-showing, dead-eyed, terrifying sculptures tasked me with unison judgment. The smaller, gilded boy nursed a glass against his abdomen, the other, red judge held up a smoking pipe. God, how I wished to be drunk in that moment.

‘Oh, Richard, fancy seeing you here.’

‘Do you really, Francis?’

Once Henry released me, I stumbled a bit forward then regained my balance. Somehow, I discovered it was much easier to regain my previous rebellious disposition when I didn’t have to face him. It was easier to be a dick towards Francis, than Henry. To spit all the venom the bile accumulated throughout the day, days, weeks. It was easier to speak the truth when the person I feared most telling it to wasn’t facing me. The boys in the chairs shuffled uncomfortably, Charles swirled the drink in his glass a couple of times. Dark liquid swirled into a small tornado and then fell back into its given shape. I bit the inside of my cheek.

‘Are you alone? Is it just the three of you?’

An uneven drag sounded somewhere behind me, most likely announcing that Henry chose to change positions or chose his sitting anew.

‘What’s it to you?’ He asked. ‘You come over unannounced, barge in, you don’t even answer our questions, and now you expect us to answer yours?’

Something in his voice, maybe the cold distance or the chilling indifference towards my exemplary rudeness, unnerved me. As if he wasn’t even bothered nor interested by it all, cut off completely from me, from the world, from its actions. Maybe it was his resignation that rendered him so inhuman, stirred him to ask and answer and act like a robot, inquiring on auto pilot, that took me to the hights of my ire.

‘I met her, I was at her apartment, she’s got the bruises still, she’s a mess. I’m here because you’re here. Sitting. Doing nothing, and she withers. I’m here because you don’t even know that, because you don’t even bother to check. So now, are you alone?’

A quick glance exchanged by the boys in the chairs told me they knew. Three steps and I was by them, starring daggers into the beautiful, alien aureoles of their heads. My hands gripped the headrests above them, ruffled them into my fists, successfully closing in on them, creating a circle of my arms so that they could not escape me.

‘She does not have water at her apartment, no lants, no books, nothing. It does not even look like her apartment no more. She lives there alone, sleeps on the couch, leaves the door open, and you won’t even talk to her, you talk to Bunny, miserable traitors.’

‘What traitors, Richard? We’re all friends here, she just focuses on her studies more right now, come on, why so angry?’

‘Oh, don’t give me that shit Francis. There is something terribly wrong going on inside of her, she faced and managed to get away from a terrible fate, we didn’t act in time and now you act like nothing happened?! You cut her off when she needed you, you let her disappear, you-‘

I spun on my heel, not carrying about the yaps of the boys raising from their chairs grabbing at me, when I already stepped away, decided on my new direction. I pointed an accusatory finger into the dark, where a lean dark shadow stood perched, no sign of shame seeded in its body. ‘You let her go you allowed to go away, you changed your school desks, you bastrad. You might as well be the reason for her being like this right now!’

Something hard and overwhelmingly heavy hit my back, settled between my shoulder blades. A sweet smell, floral and light hit my nostrils as I felt a sharp cheek bone digging into my jaw, bony hands sliding across it, trying to grip and close my mouth.

‘Stop screaming, stop fucking screaming, Richard, stop it, now I tell you!’

High-pitched squeals of Charles filled my ears as I dug my elbow into his ribs and shrugged his weight off my shoulders in an unbelievable fit of athletic prowess. Somewhere, in the corners of my eye I noticed that he stumbled a few steps back and knocked into Francis, who apparently was hot on my heels. I took the opportunity and lunged forward, tearing my throat out.

‘You shut up, you shut up, just shut up, and do something! You abandoned her, you-‘

I didn’t not expect the clash. Nor did I expect the arms, the bronze snarls, that wrapped around me, my nape, my head, auspiciously muffling my screams, tugging me into the grey mass that was my opponent. The tumble was unfair, predestined from the second I took my first step, I knew it, when Henry’s surprisingly hot breath fanned my ear. Funny, at this point I thought he would cough and wheezing with icy stilettos, instead he huffed pure fire. Matter of fact, his whole body fumed with ghastly feverish heat waves, unbalancing the air around us. I felt something rumbling in his chest, like a thunder, and then as his fingers comped through the locks at the back of my head and pulled it backwards, painfully far, strikingly ungentle, I saw his face clearly, for what I could gather, first time in weeks.

All fell silent when I met his gaze and the room, the boys, their animalistic pants, the plant, it all disappeared, and all that existed, all that lived, and breathed died and focused inside of those black, soulless shark eyes.

Scrupulously austere, locked into a heavy mask was his physiognomy. And yet, up close I could see the cracks. Harsh and deep in how his brows furrowed, how his lips turned down their corners, how a vein popped regularly on his forehead. His glasses cast no reflection, no shadows over his dark eyes as they filled with such torment, such ache I don’t think I would be ever able to gaze into them if he wasn’t holding me still, craning over me like a gargoyle swinging off a cathedral’s roof, judging the sinners, scaring off the unfaithful. In that bend he looked starved, famished and lonely for something. I though, in a brilliant second of sobriety, that, as I had noticed before, those eyes were a mirror image of hers. He too, surprisingly enough, had not took the severance too well. Maybe the half that she lost, and he so desperately searched for in my face, the filling they both lacked and without which they could not live, was one and the same.

I did not expect to see through his heart’s frosty discipline so easily, so abruptly and so it was not the grip truly, that had settled me into stillness, but that beggar’s stare. For a split moment we stood in silence, locked in a hug so uncomfortable, on both physical and metaphysical plane, I cringed. From the depths of me surged disgust, slimy and languid, and as his eyes flew over my form, I felt it crawling up my throat. Pathetic, I thought, he was pathetic gripping me like that, lazy for expecting me to hand him a dagger of words that could disembowel him. And yet between the irregular crack of his face, amongst the frosty spikes of hoar and rime I saw a soft spark of something strong, still not forged into completion, but nursed and thought over countless times. It was not ire, not anger, not pain. Calculated and mixed into a brew stronger than any combination of those emotions, he, probably yet not aware of the fact, has flung himself into a spiral of vicious madness, unrecognisable to those, who had not experienced misery. So, I spoke, handed him the tanto.

‘Where is your honour, Henry? What are you doing, pushing her away? Do you want to punish her, instead of him?’

With that, his guts spilled, the truth gushed out of his mouth. And his eyes, like the shark’s buttony orbs dilated at the smell of his own blood.

‘I’m not punishing her. I’m protecting her, keeping away from the just punishment I plan to deal.’

His voice sounded husky, gravely in my ear as he seeped venom into it. It burned, the temperature, the words, the slight tremble of his vocal cords as it all splashed against the shell and soaked into the eardrum.

‘I’m going to kill Bunny for what he had done to her, to us, to others, and she’ll have nothing to with this. With me.’

Stunned, I mulled over his words, I let the marinate inside my brain and I nibbled on every syllable like a capricious critic. I took them in, broke the pallet of tastes, analysed. Finally, after swallowing the context, after understanding the bitter flavour he has served me, slowly, I nodded.

‘But I will,’ not a question, a statement. ‘They will as well.’

Two shadows hummed in unison behind me, giving me an almost silent confirmation of what I’ve already figured out. A Cheshire, lucid grin cracked opened on Henry’s lips, as he too let out a pleased sound. His teeth, straight and white gleamed in the dark, two rows of beastly weapons.

‘I don’t think you have a choice, Richard, now you join us, or you join Bunny.’

Fear and trepidation scurried cross me as I realised, I had walked right into a murder council. Worse, elation washed over me with the realisation that the head of the jury, the demented predator, currently holding me in his grip, had no mercy to give to the swine I most desired to see dead.

#bunny corcoran #camilla macaulay #charles macaulay #francis abernathy #henry winter #henry winter x reader #richard papen #the secret history #afab reader #fanfic

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ariicandy · 2 years

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Hi hi! Can I please request Hanako or Tsusaka with an s/o who has trouble speaking sometimes and is insecure it :0 like sometimes they talk too fast for people to understand, or their lisp gets in the way! It's totally fine if not!! Your writing is amazing and i hope you have a wonderful day! Remember to drink water and eat something :D

HII! I’ll remember to drink and eat something <3 and what you requested is almost similar to me so I hope you don’t mind if it’s a bit sadder, feel free to ask me to rewrite this

Tried my best to make it gender neutral as possible, I’m sorry if there’s theirs/them/they a lot 😭

╭── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╮

Yugi Twins With An S/O who has trouble speaking/insecure on Speaking

Tsukasa

➶-͙˚ ༘✶- If you talk fast a lot then you n tsukasa would get along very well since he has his childish/cheery behavior. So once you got self-conscious about your fast speaking, he will ask you and question you who has been making you insecure about the way you speak.

➶-͙˚ ༘✶- if you are ever insecure about your voice on speaking, tsukasa would ask Sakura and Natsuhiko on how to make you talk and this can go two ways.

Way one - Sakura would have a little talk with you on why you’re quiet and you once you tell her why due to you being insecure on your voice, she will try to tell you that in the broadcasting room is a safe and comforting place to speak freely and no one is there to judge you. In hopes it cheers you up and start talking a little for tsukasa to try also to cheer you up by trying to do things you enjoy!

Way two - Way two - Tsukasa will desperately try to make you talk cause he wants to hear you talk, he’ll try getting you to laugh making a joke, tickling you until you cant hold it no more of your laughter, just things to try to make some sound of you. He’ll TRY, keyword try, to make you less insecure but due to him being the one who grants wishes of the supernatural, his personality and ways of helping might not be the best.

➶-͙˚ ༘✶- It might not be a big problem but tsukasa is the one to talk a lot and make silly pranks whenever he wants, but you being his s/o is very much different. He wants to have conversations with you, different than him being his usual personality with talking over people and get this ways, he wants to hear what you have to say and encourage you to talk more cause you do make a difference being his s/o and in the broadcast club.

Hanako

➶-͙˚ ༘✶ Similar to Tsukasa with your fast talking a bit, he would understand most of the time but there are times he’s thinking of other things/playing with the mokke playing cards. But that aside, when you got self-conscious about your voice you stopped midway hanako looked at you with a confusing and concerning look. He would ask you what’s wrong. Once you told him about your fast talking on being insecure about it, he will try to reassure you that to not let other negative/troublesome things to get to your head, to do whatever you like.

➶-͙˚ ༘✶- On what you said reminds me of his past and doesn’t want you to feel the same thing :(( please hug him to thank him he deserves it

➶-͙˚ ༘✶- Hanako would get his hakujoudai(if that’s how it spelt I had to search up) to watch you and to nudge you to reassure you that it’s okay to talk fast or how your voice is, just be yourself. In hopes that would work, his hakujoudai would also report if you try to be yourself on speaking and if not, it’s okay he’ll keep trying and watch you time to time to see if you done progress <3

➶-͙˚ ༘✶- he will try to make Yashiro and kou to help you speak a little more aka helping you cause hanako was begging them to help him due him can’t while class is happening and he doesn’t want his favorite person aka you, his s/o, feeling insecure on the most beautiful,amazing and magnificent voice of yours. So they try to help and report to hanako if you improve/consider their advice to improve a little, he would be relieved and happy that you make progress little everyday or every few days encouraging you to try <3

╰── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╯

#tbhk x reader #tbhk tsukasa #tbhk hanako #tbhk yashiro #tbhk teru #hanako x reader #tsukasa yugi #x reader #supernatural #tbhk headcanons #tbhk sakura #fluff #angst #request

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dykecubes · 4 months

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Sorry I’m gonna be slightly /neg about the egg “event” again so if you’re gonna get mad at me for that again just block me or scroll past

I’m still very much of the opinion that the eggs should’ve stayed as a short-term Easter-themed event since it was clear that was what they were intended to be: a short-term event to encourage communication and teamwork across languages, people gave me shit a while ago for saying that it felt like the egg “event” has gone on for much much longer than originally planned but I think it’s obvious that’s what happened here, I think it was clearly originally intended to only last a few months at best with the parents with the last egg standing winning, and I think they didn’t expect as many eggs to survive as long as they did, I think this is obvious in the way that the lore surrounding the eggs kept being retconned, the way the rules surrounding them kept being changed, and the way admins had to scramble (pun not intended) for an excuse as to why they inexplicably found new eggs every time new players showed up to the point where they seemingly gave up justifying it almost entirely with newer additions

The egg event was never going to be sustainable in the long-term like this and it really shouldn’t have gone on for this long, the admins behind them were working well over 40 hours a week every week due to the high demands for egg care, the hours themselves being very sporadic and requiring them to keep up with streamers’ schedules, getting in the way of school or other work, this not even mentioning the fact that they were being mistreated and underpaid behind the scenes and often did other admin work aside from the egg jobs, maybe for a couple of weeks or months in the summer it could’ve worked, but for over a year? It’s just unsustainable and it’s honestly commendable that it got this far

Aside from this, I feel like there’s something to be said about how over time the qsmp very obviously changed a lot, with the focus being less on the exchange of languages and cultures and more on the heavy lore that’s become omnipresent and almost mandatory for players, making the server very inaccessible for new players and fans alike when the very structure and mission statement of the server should require it to be accessible for all, truly some of the most memorable days on the server to me are the early ones, when people made an effort to communicate with and understand one another despite their differences in languages, or the cultural events, like Festa Junina

The eggs becoming a staple of the server as their intended purpose slowly drifted away from encouraging community and teamwork between cultures and towards vehicles for major lore resulted in them becoming almost a detriment to the server’s mission statement, now without them around the server is almost unable to function

This isn’t to say I’m not grateful for all their admins’ hard work over their time on the server or everything they put into their characters, quite the opposite actually, but at the rate it was going it was inevitable that it ended this way

On my other post someone had pointed out that they wish after a certain point the eggs would’ve just hatched and become cute dragon NPCs, no longer bound by the two-life system and no longer requiring parental care, making it easier for the admins to come and go as they please without the pressure to stay with the streamer all stream and honestly? That would’ve been the best possible ending in my opinion, had, after a couple of months of reaching some benchmark requirements for egg care, the eggs hatched into little dragons it probably would’ve been a better solution for everyone, instead the egg lore just kept going and going and going until it exhausted both itself and everyone involved

It’s just sad and frustrating to me to see a server that I really believed in and wanted to succeed repeatedly make such poor decisions because, really, had the egg lore gone differently, had they at least informed the members on what purgatory was and made it optional instead of mandatory, had they not forced everyone to abandon their projects and start over from scratch, had they not overworked and underpaid their admins the qsmp could’ve lasted far longer than most other mainstream servers today

#fae.txt #qsmp #long post #discourse #I guess #sorry I needed to write meta about this because I have a lot of thoughts and opinions

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moon-spirit-yue · 11 months

Text

Once Upon a Time, In a Land Far Away...

(So remember when I said I wouldn’t make an OUAT au? I was a liar. However, I am ending this fic after the first season or perhaps season two because ya girl can’t be writing all that. TW SMALL FIGHT SCENE IN THE BEGINNING ILL MAKE THE TW OBVIOUS!

READ THE NEW NAMES BECAUSE YOU WILL BE VERY CONFUSED IF YOU SKIP THIS! Raya’s Storybrooke name is Rose, Namaari’s is Natasha, Virana’s is Vanessa, Benja’s is just Ben, Sisu’s is Suki, Boun’s is Brian, Noi’s is Naomi, and Tong’s is Thomas. Please enjoy!)

“What the hell happened? I thought you managed to get lost or something,” Namaari hissed the second Raya came back into the room.

“It’s so much worse than we were hoping. Snow went into labor before they could finish the portal. The baby is being sent to this other world by herself,” Raya told her in a frenzied manner.

“Oh my god,” Namaari whispered, absolutely horrified.

“I just, I need to sit down,” Raya stated warily as she all but collapsed on the couch near the door.

Namaari shot up from the bed and rushed to Raya’s side. Just like she always does. Raya can always count on her.

“What does this mean?” Namaari asked worriedly.

“It means that Emma’s going to need to find a way to break the curse all on her own,” Raya sighed as she buried her face in her hands.

Namaari wrapped her arms around Raya and pulled her close. Immediately, Raya returned the embrace and squeezed tightly.

The Heart woman never wants to let go of her. Namaari. Her wife. But now she doesn’t have a choice.

When the Evil Queen threatened Snow White and Prince Charming on their wedding day, everyone was on edge. The Evil Queen does many things, but make empty threats are not one of them.

Snow knew the only way to guarantee the safety of the kingdom and her unborn child was to consult with Rumplestiltskin. Then they discovered that Snow White and Prince David’s daughter would be some magical curse breaker for them all. The original goal was to put Snow in the tree trunk so that she could raise the little princess curse free due, to the fact that there’s only enough magic to send one person. They just couldn’t make the tree fast enough.

“I can’t believe this. I run from Druun for six years, and now it’s all ruined because some bitch who’s in an eternal battle with her step daughter wants to even the score,” Raya spat.

She had to be angry. If she wasn’t enveloped in rage, she’d breakdown in tears, which wasn’t very appealing at the moment.

“Look, we’ve been through a hell of a lot in our lifetime, and we will get through this too,” Namaari assured her.

“I don’t understand how you could possibly be so confident about that. We’re putting our hopes, our lives, in the tiny hands of a baby that hasn’t even been alive for a full day. That’s too much of a burden for anyone to bear,” Raya huffed. She speaks from personal experience, after all.

“I know it is, but Rumplestiltskin already prophesied this all from the beginning. Which means that as long as Emma can escape, we've all got a chance," Namaari assured her.

Raya sighed and took a glance at the window. She has no idea where this curse is going to take them. Nobody does. They're at an utter disadvantage. The most information Raya's gotten from it is that everyone's memory is going to be wiped.

“I’m sorry I’m being so negative about this. You’re going to be cursed too, I should at least be attempting to comfort you,” Raya sighed, feeling so utterly defeated. “I just have no idea how we can make it past this.”

“Hey, you’re the most hopeful woman I’ve ever met. I mean, you hoped for six years that a dragon could bring your father back, and you were right. You hoped for all of a Kumandra. I can hope for us both right now. That’s what marriage is. Helping each other when the other is struggling,” Namaari told her.

Toi, Raya is so in love. She didn’t know it was possible to feel so much adoration for one person until Namaari. The Heart princess simply gave her wife a kiss. One that Namaari immediately returned.

“I’m going to miss this. Something tells me that in this cursed land, we won’t be newly weds,” Raya sighed, pulling Namaari in for a hug.

“You might be right about our marital status, but I’ll still be in love with you. I always have been, and I always will be. There are some things not even magic can change,” the Fang princess said in a soft, comforting voice.

“Yeah? Well if someone as lame as you can manage to love me in a cursed land, I bet I can love you so much more. Because, you know, I’m a lot cooler than you are,” Raya mumbled, trying not to cry her eyes out.

“As if. I’ll love you so much in this cursed land, you’ll be embarrassed at how lacking you were when the curse gets lifted,” she heard Namaari huff out.

“You know what? If you can somehow manage to get Rumplestiltskin off my back in the cursed land, I just might agree,” Raya snorted.

“Please. That guy’s like three feet tall. I can totally get him to back off from you in the new world. If I have to keep Rumplestiltskin away, then you have to help me deal with my mother. I bet she’s going to be especially difficult in the cursed land,” Namaari scoffed.

“I think we have ourselves a deal, binturi,” Raya giggled.

At that moment, David rushed into the room and quickly closed the door behind her. He was holding Emma in one arm and his sword in the other.

"My god, what the hell's happening out there?" Raya blurted as she and Namaari both stood up from the couch.

"The queen's guards. They infiltrated the castle. They're...there's so much more than just me. I don't know how I'll get past them all," the prince rambled while trying to catch his breathe.

"In and out David, in and out. Look, we've got your back. Raya and I will have gladly go out there to offer some backup," Namaari assured him.

"I can't ask you to do that," David said, trying to shoot the idea down.

"Hey, your fate isn't the only one that depends on getting her to this other world before the curse does. Besides, it's been a while since I've had a good fight," Raya smirked, trying to not panic at whatever was beyond those two doors.

"Hey, we sparred four days ago," Namaari reminded her with a frown.

"I know what I said," Raya grinned, feeling her nerves ease little bit more. It's like just looking at her wife is good for her health.

"Okay, less flirting, more preparing for battle," David reminded them.

"That's fair," Raya conceded as she grabbed her sword.

Namaari did the same. They never did go anywhere without a sword. That probably says something about themselves.

"Alright. We're good," Namaari nodded.

"Pause. I want a kiss for good luck," Raya told her.

Though no one was willing to say it outloud, they all knew that it was very possible this could be the last time any of them see each other. That's probably why David had no objection when Namaari used her free hand to cradle Raya's face and give her a deep kiss. Raya decided she liked that kiss so much that there was no way it'd be their last.

"I love you," Raya smiled as her wife pulled away.

"I love you too," Namaari whispered fondly.

Then a loud crash resounded from the outside, causing the trio to face the door with a deathly grip on their swords. When they decided no one would be breaking in, Raya and Namaari stepped out in front of David to take on whatever battle awaited them.

There were six guards at the end of the hall. They didn't look like they had a clue where they were going. Raya's pretty damn sure she could take these guys, especially with her badass wife beside her.

"Go ahead David, we'll hold them off," Namaari told him.

"Dep la, I was going to say that! Can you read my mind?" Raya grinned.

"I just know you too well, my love," Namaari responded with a small smile of her own.

"Thank you, I'm eternally in debt to the both of you. And for god's sake, focus on the fight instead of flirting!" the prince exclaimed before rushing off to send Emma into the wardrobe.

"Tell Emma Auntie Raya and Auntie Namaari love her!" Raya yelled as David sprinted away.

(TW WARNING START)

Okay, the Queen's armed forces were now right in front of them. No biggie. The first guy that came up to her was a cinch to beat. A solid kick in the chest made him slam against the wall and knock the guy out cold. Poor bastard must have been new.

Namaari was dealing with her own trio of guards as the remaining two ganged up on the Heart woman. They were fast, but clumsy. One guard managed to nick Raya's eyebrow and nose bridge. While it wasn't going to do any lasting damage, it'd certainly leave a mark. The force of their hits meeting air kept them off balance enough to give Raya a chance to swipe back.

She checked the corner of her eye to make sure Namaar was doing well and of course, she's beating their asses. After a couple good stabs through skin, Namaari knocked the other three off thier feet.

Raya had managed to stab the last guy in the leg when his guard was down. Hah. These guys are really bad fighters. Then she heard Namaari groan.

"Hey, do you think that," Namaari began, before she lunged herself at Raya.

A Queen's guard jumped out of the shadows and came hurtling to Raya when her back was turned. Namaari was able to interfere, but the guard just moved the blade the side and sliced Namaari's arm clean off. Raya's wife collapsed to the floor, crying from pure agony.

With absolutely zero hesitation, Raya raised her sword and pummeled it straight through the guard's heart. He was dead before he hit the floor.

Then left nothing for Raya to focus on except for her wife. She quickly took off her waist band and firmly tied it around the edge of the spot where the arm was cut off to prevent further blood loss. She's honestly not sure how she did it with her tears blurring her vision.

Once the band was tight enough, Raya moved Namaari so that her head was resting on Raya's lap. The screaming had stopped, there was only a pained whimper was coming from her now.

(TW WARNING STOP)

"Hey, hey, hey, look at me. Namaari, you have to stay awake, do you understand me? If I have to live through this stupid curse, then so do you!" Raya sobbed.

This can't be happened. They've been married for what, a month? It didn't matter that there was a curse or everyone would be miserable, Raya wanted to be cursed and miserable with Namaari. For the rest of their lives. One month is not enough.

"You're...so bossy. Even now," Namaari mustered out.

Raya couldn't hold back the extra tears seeing Namaari in so much pain from such a simple sentence. She's trying so hard to stay awake.

"Thanks for the defense back there. That guy totally would have sliced right through my heart if you hadn't done anything," Raya whispered, tears still stubbornly streaming down her face.

"I know. I'd rather lose an arm than lose you," Namaari said.

"I wish you didn't have to lose one at all," Raya told her honestly.

"Will you still love me even if I only have one arm?" Namaari blurted.

God, how stupid is this woman?

"That may have been the most ridiculous shit you've ever said in your entire life, Namaari. Of course I'll love you without the arm. Besides, you've seen what dragon magic can do with those metal arms. Once this curse business is settled, you can get a magical metal arm and you're gonna look so badass," Raya choked out with a small smile on her lips.

"You think I'd look hot with a metal arm?" Namaari grinned.

Even though the reason why is so painfully stupid, Raya's just happy to see that smile.

"Duh. I think you'd look hot with anything. Do you think I'll look hot with the eyebrow and nose scar? The wounds are kind of deep," Raya sniffled.

"You're always hot. The scars will add to it. I wanna kiss them when they're healed," Namaari mumbled, seeming to drift off.

"Aye! Stay with me, One Armed Wonder!" Raya snapped.

"Did you just call me One Armed Wonder?" Namaari mumbled incredulously.

"Too soon?" Raya sheepishly asked.

"I want that engraved on my metal arm," Namaari decided with a giggle.

Raya laughed a bit too. It's so hard to laugh knowing that the love of her life is in so much pain and there's nothing she can do about it.

The ground began to shake. Raya looked out the window to see the black and green fog slowly take over the whole kingdom.

"It's coming," was all Raya managed to say.

"Kiss me," Namaari said.

And how can Raya say no to that?

Raya leaned down and pressed a soft but firm kiss on Namaari's lips. She's feels so safe in the kiss. Even when the world is ending. No one's ever made Raya feel the way Namaari does. No one else ever will.

Raya gently broke away and gasped as the shaking grew more intense. Raya leaned over Namaari in order to protect her body from any more potential injury.

"I love you," Raya yelled as the fog approached.

"Love...," Namaari trailed off.

She was way too weak. It was a miracle the Fang warrior lasted this long. But that's okay, Raya doesn't need her to say it out load to know she means it.

All she could do was hold her wife tightly as they were swept into a land where they were never married in the first place.

************************

(27 years later)

Roseline Heart woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. Literally. There’s a spot on the mattress that has the spring sticking out because of how old it is and it ended up cutting Rose’s cheek. Now there’s a thin trail of blood coming from her face. Fantastic.

Groggily, Rose helplessly grabbed around for her glasses and shuffled to the bathroom. She’s pretty sure this is where the bandaids are. After actually putting on the glasses, success was Rose’s as she managed to get her hands the hello kitty band aid box. After cleaning up the cut as best as she could, she put her bright pink band aid on and headed out to the kitchen.

“Morning Sunshine! How’s-” Suki began before noticing bright ass bandaid on Rose’s face. “Okay, seriously, you gotta replace that mattress. Someone’s gonna call the sheriff on me for domestic violence if you keep this up!”

“Someone’s dramatic. I just forgot to put a thick pillow over it like usual. No big deal,” Rose said with a dismissive flick of the wrist.

“It feels like you never remember the pillow. Besides, you've already got a couple scars on your face. No reason to add on another,” Suki huffs while handing her an apple.

“Aye, don’t sass the hand that’s gonna be dying your hair blue tonight,” Rose warned.

Suki simply stuck her tongue out at her and began rummaging through the cabinets to find some of her cereal.

Suddenly a loud, obnoxious knocking at their door caused both girls to groan.

“You get the door, I’ll get the checkbook,” Rose said in defeat.

“You got it, bestie,” Suki huffed while headed to the door.

Rose heard the door open as Suki made idle chit chat with their intrud- guest. Beloved landlord. She found the checkbook resting on her living room couch. Rose grabbed a pen, wrote out her check, and tore it off the booklet.

“Mr. Gold. What a joy it is to see your wrinkly face so early in the morning,” Rose deadpanned.

“You’ve always known how to charm a man, haven’t you?” Gold mocked.

“Considering the fact that I’m a lesbian, I really hope not,” Rose grumbled while handing him the check.

Mr. Gold examined it, front and back, before deciding it was sufficient.

“Well, everything seems to be in order. As per usual,” Mr. Gold spat. “I’ll leave you girls to your morning, then. Ms. Datu, I’ll be expecting your half of the rent on the first,” Mr Gold told her.

“And that is when you will receive, sir,” Suki said with an uncomfortable polite smile.

“Wonderful. I’ll be off then. Have an excellent day, Dearie,” Mr. Gold smirked.

With that, he walked right of their apartment without bothering to close the door. Rose scowled and slammed the door shut. God, she wanted to take that cane from his hand and bash his face in with it.

Will Rose ever understand what Gold’s problem is with her? No. No she will not. Rose just doesn’t get it! She’s an excellent tenant. She’s never been late for a payment. Not once. Hell, sometimes she gives Sisu extra cash in case she falls short with her rent money.

Yet somehow, Mr. Gold is never satisfied with her stellar reputation. In fact, he seems to be quite irritated whenever Rose manages to deliver the rent. Which is every time he asks for it. In simpler words, Mr. Gold is always pissed at Rose and there is nothing she can do about it. Rose wins none and loses all.

It used to make woman want to rip her hair out from pure frustration. Here she is, always giving rent when she needs to and she smells like flowers all the time! What more could a landlord want?!

It wouldn’t be such an issue if he treated everyone else like this. But he doesn’t. Of course, just like any other landlord, he expects his tenants to pay rent on time and he tends to be a no nonsense kind of guy. But Mr. Gold’s willing to negotiate with others. He’s fine with coming to a compromise of some sort. But if Rose were to have issues?

She’d be on the streets faster than you can say ‘what a jackass’.

It’s not like there’s anything Rose can do about it, either. The only person that could match up to Mr. Gold in the realm of power in this town is Regina Mills, the mayor. Unfortunately, Mr. Gold has some sort of in with Mayor Mills, so Rose is totally screwed.

But, well, Rose has accepted her status as Gold Enemy Number One. Nothing she can do about it now.

“God, I hate that guy. Why the hell can’t he just lay off your back?” Suki scowled.

“Question of the century, truly. Think you can pick up some fruit while after work? Seems like we’re running low,” Rose asked her roommate.

“Got it. You better get dressed girl, aren’t you opening the store today?” Suki asked.

“Yeah, I need to move it,” Rose sighed while rushing into her room to get ready.

Rose hastily put on a green long sleeve shirt and blue jeans that were way too big for her, held up by a dark brown belt. She flew in and out of the bathroom in record time. Once she grabbed her satchel like bag, she was ready for work.

“Have fun, don’t hurt yourself!” Suki yelled as Rose put on her beat up sneakers.

“If anyone’s gonna hurt themselves today, it’s you. See you later!” Rose yelled as she exited the apartment.

Speed walking out of the building, Rose was so lost in her own world that she almost didn’t comprehend the fact that she nearly torpedoed into Mary Margaret.

“Crap, sorry! I had a late start today,” Rose apologetically stated.

“Oh it’s no problem, Rose. You know, I was actually hoping I would run into you today. I’ll be super quick, I promise,” Mary Margaret said.

“Yeah, for sure. What’s up?” Rose asked.

“Would you be able to tutor a kid in my class? His name is Henry, same age as Naomi, and he’s a really great kid. He’s just going through a bit of a hard time. He’s also a very quick study, the only reason why his grades have been slipping is because he lacks focus. His mother insisted on him getting a tutor and she has every intention of paying you. I only ask because of how great you are with Naomi and how much her grades improved after your tutoring,” Mary Margaret pleaded.

Huh. Rose really can't remember much of Namoi's progress. Well, Mary Margaret is her friend and a little extra cash couldn’t hurt. Besides, if she can help a kid out what’s the harm?

“That can work. I’m free after 4:30 on Mondays and Wednesdays, does that work out?” Rose asked.

“Oh that’ll be perfect! I can not thank you enough! Think it can start today?” Mary Margaret asked with hopeful eyes.

Rose frowned and checked her phone to come to the discovery that today is, in fact, Wednesday. Shit, all the days blend together.

“I can do that, I just need to text Suki that I’ll be home late,” Rose responded.

“You are seriously saving my life, thank you. Okay, meet me at Granny’s Diner at about 4:45 so that you two can get started,” Mary Margaret informed her.

“Granny’s at 4:45, on it. Alright, I gotta scatter before Moe has my head. See you later, Mary!” Rose yelled as she began a light jog to her car.

“Bye Rose! Thanks again!” Mary Margaret yelled.

Rose smiled and waved as she continued her jogging pace. The moment she got into her car, the pedal was to metal. Though she may have broke a couple speeding laws, Rose made it to work a whole two minutes early.

Once she hopped out of her car that should have been thrown the in the dump years ago, Rose opened the door to her beloved place of work.

Game of Thorns is her happy place. Surrounded by the soothing aromas of tulips and lilies, arranging the flowers to compliment each, and just staring at all the plants gives Rose a sense of peace. Besides, since the owner Moe French hates Mr. Gold, the old snake can’t set foot in this place. Here, Rose has solace.

Mostly.

There is, of course, the fact that Natasha Fang is one of the shop’s biggest customers.

The name Natasha is very fitting. Similarly to a gnat, Natasha does everything in her power to be as big of a nuisance to Rose as possible. The name quite literally speaks for itself.

Unfortunately, that would be very bad for business. The shop could just get rid of every single customer except for Natasha and they would still be kept afloat. She always orders in bulk and tips well, which is the only good thing Rose can say about her.

Natasha is just so.....awful! Rose will never forgive how that woman betrayed her. Natasha and her stupid undercut can take a long walk off a short pier.

“Rose, how are you on this fine morning?” Moe French asked as he walked through the door. That’s one way to snap Rose out of her thoughts.

“Morning Moe. I’m okay. I got my daily dose of Gold today, which was super fun for me,” Rose huffed as she set up the register.

“Ugh, that old bastard has no business harassing you! So what if he’s your landlord? He still has a job to treat his tenants with basic respect!” Moe rambled as he began to reorganize the flowers.

“You are preaching to the choir, my friend,” Rose sighed.

The two worked quietly together in order to set up the space for opening. Only a couple of customers came in the shop before Rose saw an unnecessarily flashy sports car parked right in front of the shop.

“The gnat is flying in!” Moe hissed when he also noticed this specific car.

Rose quickly retreated to the back room. It’s their fun little code word for saying that Natasha, the worst person ever, was entering the shop. Moe and the rest of Rose’s coworkers all understood the complicated dynamic between the two girls. Said dynamic being Natasha tries aggravating Rose at every possible opportunity while Rose does everything in her power to avoid her.

Rose is very grateful that her colleagues had her back and were willing to talk to Natasha instead. Does Rose realize that it's petty and childish to run from her problem? Yeah. But it works and gives Rose a better peace of mind.

"Mr. French, good to see you today," Rose heard Natasha say as she walked into the shop.

"Ms. Fang! And you as well. What can I do for you?" her boss asked.

"I'll need the usual, please. Carnations instead of peonies this time, though. One of our clients is obsessed with peonies so I'm trying to play to my audience. If you guys can help deliver them this Friday, that would be great," Natasha informed him. (Probably with her stupid fake smile.)

"Of course we can! Come on, I'll ring you up!" Moe excitedly stated as the footsteps got closer.

Ugh, Rose wishes Moe could be as anti Natasha as he was anti Gold. The girl does drop a lot of cash for this store at his core, Moe French is a business man. Rose knew this business would not be half as good without Natasha's participation. Doesn't mean she had to like it, though.

"Thank you for your business!" Moe said. Rose could practically hear the smile in his voice.

"Of course, Mr. French. I'll see you on Friday, Heart," Natasha said with way too much glee.

Though no one could see it, Rose scowled. She worked full time. When the shop is open, Rose is working. Of course Natasha knows that.

The young florist waited until she heard the door close before reentering the main part of the shop.

"I wanna punch her in her stupid face," Rose blatantly stated when she excited the room.

"All she'd need to is grab you with her prosthetic arm and it'd be over for you," Moe reminded her.

"Well I would have made the experience very stressful for her," Rose grumbled as she got back to work.

"I'm sure you would have, Rose," Moe nodded.

Rose internally groaned and mentally prepared herself for this Friday. Even it's only two days away, she needs all the help she can get. Rose is positive she doesn't work at the only flower shop in the world, so why can't Natasha go to literally any other?

It doesn't even matter. Rose is just going to do what she always does. Talk to Thomas exclusively, hide behind the flowers whenever Natasha's in eyesight, and teleport out there before any interaction can occur. It's in everyone's best interest.

The day droned on as usual. Moe decided to close up shop today, so Rose was able to get to Granny's Diner a tad earlier than expected. She saw Mary Margaret already at the diner, which was very convenient.

Rose walked up to the table where she was sitting and saw the kid also sitting with Mary Margaret. Huh, so the whole gang is here.

She was about to introduce herself when she caught sight of the woman sitting next to Henry. Can anyone explain why the ever loving fuck the mayor is sitting next to this little boy?

Rose gave the teacher a look and jutted her head to the side which is the nonverbal cue of 'get the hell over here right now'.

Mary Margaret, being used to Rose, knew what she was getting at walked over to greet her.

“Mary,” Rose said in an eerily calm tone.

“Yes, Rose?” Mary Margaret asked in a meek voice.

“Please do not tell me that Henry’s last name is Mills,” Rose hissed.

“Look, I’m sorry I wasn’t honest before, but he really needs the help and I was worried you’d judge him before meeting him!” the teacher exclaimed.

“I’m not judging him, I’m judging whether or not I’ll be able to even live in Storybrooke!” Rose snapped. “I can not afford to make this kid upset, Mary. I’ve already got Gold on my back for, I don’t know, breathing! If I manage to get on Mayor Mills’ bad side, I will quite literally have no choice but to leave town!”

“Rose, please, he’s not that kind of kid. Besides, one of the things he’s been struggling with is the relationship with his mother. Just give it a shot. One day trial. If you really think you can’t do it, then fine. But please, just try,” Mary Margaret begged.

Rose sighed at the kid that seemed absolutely miserable sitting next to his own mother. Just looking at him, Rose does feel bad for the little guy. And it’s not like Rose has anything better to do on a Wednesday afternoon...

“Fine. One day,” Rose agreed.

“You are a god send! Okay, get ready to meet the family!” Mary Margaret whispered as she tugged on Rose’s arm. “Mayor Mills! Henry! Here’s this fantastic tutor I was telling you guys about.”

Madame Mayor looked Rose up and down, examining her like she’s trying to decide whether she’s worthy of being in her and her son’s presence.

“Regina Mills. This is my son, Henry. Thank you for taking time out of your day to help him,” the mayor said in a drawled sort of voice. Then, Mayor Mills stuck her hand out to shake.

“Roseline Heart. Everyone calls me Rose. It’s a pleasure to make both of your acquaintances,” Rose said with a polite smile.

Rose then stuck her own arm out to shake. When she made contact with the mayor’s hand, Rose felt a vice like grip in the handshake. But she would not be the one to back down. As previously stated, she really can’t afford to.

“Firm handshake. Wonderful,” the mayor said as she let go with smile.

Rose isn’t sure exactly what kind of smile the mayor’s flashing, but she knows for a fact it’s not a genuine one.

“Well, with that I will be off. The job of Mayor never stops. Behave Henry. I love you. And for heaven’s sake, actually pay attention to what she says please,” the Mayor told her son.

After planting a quick kiss on her son’s forehead, the mayor was off. Probably to make an innocent man cry.

Rose stared at Henry. Henry stared right back.

“So. You wanna play go fish and every time you lose, we have to actually focus on your school work?”

At the prospect of a game, the boy’s eyes lit up with excitement.

“Uh, yeah!” he grinned as Rose brought out a deck of cards to shuffle.

It may seem stupid, but it works. Rose challenges Naomi to a battle of go fish all the time when she needs to get work done. The ability to make homework fun tends to make kids more inclined to comply.

Rose decided that she likes Henry after his mother picked him up. Mary Maragaret’s probably right. Just a good kid with a rough relationship with his mom, likely due to her job.

There’s just one more stop to Rose’s journey before heading home.

Rose took slow steps to Storybrooke’s general hospital where she briefly passed by Dr. Whale. After a quick greeting to the physician, she entered the hallway where the patients reside.

Calmly, Rose sat at the chair right at her father’s bedside. Without saying a word, Rose held his hand stared at his expressionless face.

God, what she wouldn’t give for just one expression to overcome her father’s face. Rose’s father has been comatose for who even knows how long. Dr. Whale insists there’s hope, but that may just be his way of sustaining his paycheck.

She wants her father back. More than anything, Rose wants her father to open his eyes.

But just like every single day before, Ben Heart does not open his eyes. He lays on the bed, still as a statue as he always does. Nothing has changed.

Rose mustered up the courage to tell her father about her day because maybe, just maybe, he’s listening. Once there was nothing more to say, she got up to drive back home.

As she left her father’s room, she looked to the side and saw yet another face that has yet to move. John Doe, he’s been in a comatose state for about as long as her father as, and no one’s ever claimed him. Talk about a bad break.

Rose figured it’d be best to leave before she gets too wrapped up in all the depressing thoughts. She managed to get home in one piece where Suki is waiting for her.

“Hey bestie! How’s your day?” Suki asked.

“The Henry kid is nice. I’ll continue tutoring him. Other than that, you know how my day went. Same as every other day.”

************************

(one year later)

Rose was scrolling through instagram on her phone, waiting for Henry to show up at Granny’s like usual. The kid was running late, which really isn’t like him. Rose contemplated calling him before the young boy burst through the doors.

“Hey Rose!” Henry exclaimed, practically vibrating with excitement.

Rose had to say, she’s surprised. She’s never seen Henry so....happy? Vibrant? Not utterly depressed?

“Hi Henry! What’s got you looking so positively gleeful after a long day of school?” Rose smiled.

“I’m not sure you can handle it,” Henry shrugged.

“Uh, I absolutely can,” Rose interjected.

“Whatever you say. Just know I won’t be offended when you won’t believe a word I say,” Henry sighed.

With that, the little nine year old boy plopped a thick leather book on the table. It was definitely old and had beautiful golden lettering with the words ‘once upon a time’ written on it.

“Oooo, fairytales? I loved this stuff as a kid. What about this is unbelievable?” Rose asked.

“I know this going to be a lot to digest and like I said, you won’t have to believe me. Have you ever wondered why the clock never moves? Why you can’t seem to remember just about anything from their past? Why no one ever leaves this town?” Henry inquired mysteriously.

“Uh, one is that your mother never hires anyone to fix the clock, two is just an age issue, and three is because we’re all too lazy or like this town,” Rose explained.

“All of your answers are incorrect! It’s actually because this whole town is cursed!” the young boy whispered.

Rose blinked once. Twice. Three times.

“Okay, I realize I’m not exactly in the height of my life right now, but I wouldn’t say I’m cursed,” Rose laughed.

“It’s not just you, it’s everyone in this town! They’re all characters in this book. You all just can’t remember anything and time doesn’t move,” Henry explained.

Now Rose wasn’t entirely sure to handle this. What Henry was saying is clearly some fantasy to cope with whatever issues he’s dealing with at home.

“Look, Henry,” Rose began.

“Just wait. Let me ask you something. Do you remember why exactly you hate Natasha? Do you remember who gave you that dragon pendant? Or the ring on your right hand? Can you remember how you met Suki? Or Ms. Blanchard?” Henry asked, quickly following one question after another.

“Well, Natasha betrayed me. When were kids. Yeah we were young, but she clearly lacks remorse,” Rose said.

Though she didn’t want to admit it, Rose only addressed the first question because it was the only question where she was certain of her answer.

“But what actually happened? What did Natasha do to betray you?” Henry pressed.

Now Rose had to admit, the details are.....fuzzy. Rose can say beyond the shadow of a doubt that Natasha is a traitorous snake that should be avoided at all costs.

But honestly? She doesn’t remember exactly what occurred during this awful betrayal. The person who gave her the ring and pendant were important to Rose. She’s kind of sure of that. Rose is also pretty sure whoever gifted her those items were from the same person. However, Rose isn't entirely sure who this person is. She thinks they were gifts from a relative.

The gold dragon pendant with a bright blue gem in the middle went matched well with gold band of the ring that also has a bright blue circular gem in the center. Little diamonds run along the band making it the most beautiful and valuable thing Rose owns.

“I have a terrible memory, Henry. Anyone that knows me can attest to that. So what if I can’t remember the exact bits of what Natasha did? Or who gave me jewelry? Or how I met my friends? Having the memory of a goldfish don’t mean there’s a curse,” Rose tried to remind him.

“I get why you don’t believe me. After all, you got wronged by a lot of people which made you very cautious and untrusting,” Henry sighed, looking incredibly disappointed.

Rose frowned at seeing the boy so dejected. She tried to think of a way to cheer him up without lying and saying she believed him.

“If you’re so intent on the idea everyone in this town is a story book character, who am I?” Rose asked just to humor him.

At this, Henry’s eyes lightened up. He opened the book and flipped to a page in big, fancy letters that read out to be ‘Raya and the Last Dragon’.

“This is your story. You’re Raya, untrusting heroine that has to learn to have faith in order to get her happy ending. In the book, after Namaari betrays you, you have to find the almighty dragon Sisu in order to return everyone from stone. Then Namaari proves herself by risking her life to save you and everyone else in Kumandra. After that, you two spent a lot of time together reuniting the five lands and eventually you two fall in love and get married! You were only married for a few weeks before the curse hit,” Henry informed her.

“Huh. Well, at least my story book life has a happily ever after before this supposed curse,” Rose huffed. “Wait, so who do you think Suki is? And Mary Margaret? Oh, you have to tell me who you think your mom is!”

“Suki is Sisu, the dragon that helped you save the world. Mary Margaret’s Snow White and my mom, well...,” Henry sighed, clearly hesitant to speak. “She’s the Evil Queen.”

Well this theory is most certainly going to drive an even bigger wedge between Henry and his mom than before. Though Rose has to admit, she finds the concept of Suki being a dragon very amusing.

“Wow. That...is a lot of information you dropped on me,” was all Rose could say after that.

“Yeah, I know,” Henry nodded.

“Alright, I’m still not quite convinced that everyone in this town is a cursed fairytale character and you’re fine with that. So I just have one last question for you,” Rose told him.

“Lay it on me,” Henry nodded.

“Who’s my wife? You know, the girl that’s really Namaari but got cursed and is now not my wife. According to you, because I am doubtful,” Rose grinned.

“You’re not gonna like my answer,” Henry admitted sheepishly.

“Oh no. Who is it?” Rose asked, weirdly afraid of who he was going to say.

“It’s Natasha Fang. She’s your wife before the curse,” Henry informed her.

“I want a new one,” Rose demanded.

“What,” Henry deadpanned.

“I said I want a new one. Natasha Fang can’t to be my wife, she sucks! So pick a different one,” Rose told him.

“I can’t just pick a different one, it’s who you married! You chose Natasha! She chose you! It already happened, there’s no take backsies!” Henry glared.

“Um, excuse you, if you get to tell me my entire life is one big curse, then I get to have a better wife! What about that girl who works at the electric company? She’s cute and she always gives me a discount whenever she needs to fix up my apartment! Make her my wife instead,” Rose whined childishly.

“That’s not- you know what? There’s no point in arguing with you. If there’s any hope of saving you and everyone else in this town, I need cold hard proof,” Henry sighed.

“.............................are you sure cute electrician girl can’t be my wife?”

“Yes, Rose. I am sure. Cute electrician girl is not and will never be your wife. Deal with it.”

“............................rude.”

#raya and the last dragon #rayaari #namaari #raya x namaari #namaari x raya #ratld #raya and namaari #ratld namaari #raya disney #ratld raya #ouat #once upon a time

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