#what I drew reflected heavily what I was interested in which is true for most artists I think but it was such an

[bytebun]

I think back on my own “talent” as an artist & it’s like. never seen such a complete lack of design sense or visual aesthetic in a kid so good at capturing forms

[thedeadflag]

I’m so confused! I know it’s not your responsibility to educate me but in your post bringing awareness to the negative aspects of g!p fanfic you say

“Why do these g!p characters rarely if ever involve experiences reflective of trans/intersex women? Why are they so utterly cis and perisex-washed? Why do nearly all writers have zero idea that tucking is a thing? “

Doesn’t that answer your original question? The reason they don’t reflect those groups of ppl is bc g!p isn’t trying to represent those groups of people or else it WOULD be transphobic to limit them to one specific fetish right? it just refers to a canonically female character with the addition of a penis (I don’t argue the name “g!p” should be changed bc that’s a no brainer why that could be offensive). But the fanfic in general, how could it be harmful? I’ve noticed in my time reading it as a non binary person it’s given me great gender euphoria reading a reader insert where reader has a penis while being a femme representing person just bc that’s a reflection of my personal experience. I don’t see anywhere where g!p fanfic ever references or tries to emulate the experiences of trans or intersex people so how could it be offensive?

Sorry this is way too long I’m just very confused

I'm going to try and lay this out as politely as I can. It's after 3:30 in the morning here, so this could be a bit disjointed and rambling. More under the cut:

In real life, ~99.999999% of women with penises are trans women. Which puts us in a tricky situation of (A) being the only women with penises around for media involving women with penises to reflect back on, and (B) being in the lovely position of precious few people actually having had meaningful real life exposure to trans women, meaning (C.) all those stigmas and all that misinformation are going to purely affect us and it’s going to be uncritically gobbled up by the masses, since they don’t have any meaningful information to fill in the blanks with instead.

When we peer into the depths of femslash fandoms and see all these folks who aren't trans women writing about women with penises, and using cis women’s bodies as platforms for these penises, it’s the simplest thing.

I mean, some of those folks might actually be struggling and confused about why they’re into it, what the real appeal is, why they get off on it, why they might have some feelings about wanting a penis of their own…

…but from our vantage point, it’s really easy to gauge 99.99% of the time. We can generally see valid, legitimate yearning to have a penis pretty damn easily in a piece of art/writing, and we can also see when people who create this media are just hung up on a boatload of baggage and fetishization.

And 99.9% of the time, the creators are just hung up on a boatload of baggage and fetishization, and see trans women’s bodies as a perfect vehicle to tap into that, generally due to deeply held cissexist views that link us and our bodies and genitals directly to cis men, to maleness. As if penises are rooted in maleness and masculinity (which is absolutely not true).

And I have sympathy for NB folks (certainly TME ones who have reached out to me in the past about this) who might be struggling with that, but just because they’re non-binary, it doesn’t mean they get to appropriate our bodies and reproduce transmisogyny and trans fetishization in their attempts at feeling better. Shit doesn't work like that.

Because again, the only women with penises in this world, essentially, are trans women. Meaning any woman with a penis in media is a trans woman, implicitly or explicitly. Meaning that when people who aren’t us want to write us, intent doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter if it’s just the writer’s fantasy, it’s still going to attach a variety of messages directly onto us.

And more often than not, due to cissexism, those messages are linking us to maleness, to toxic masculinity, etc..

While I do want to believe they're a fairly small minority, a lot of NB folks in fandom spaces like g!p characters in part because they see penises as male and the rest of the body as female and think that duality is interesting and would be comfortable, and is a nice balance of “both worlds” or a nice position “between male and female”, but that’s a wholly cissexist, transmisogynistic view to have, and it’s one that absolutely cannot be supported without directing sexual violence against trans women and invalidating our entire existence. Certainly not all NB folks into g!p like it for that reason, but holy shit a fair bit of them do and it’s weird and wrong and fetishistic.

g!p emerged from the idea that women can't have penises, and drew on the transmisogyny and cissexism of tr*nny porn to structure that frame of desire and the core patterns and trends within these works. It's always been trans women's bodies being used as a vehicle, whether or not the writers of these fics are explicitly aware of it, because the trope itself still holds true to its original patterns and cissexism. It's not the name that's the problem, it's the content; changing the name would be a surface level change that wouldn't affect anything.

g!p objectifies women with penises (trans women). A woman with a penis is more than just a woman with a penis, but the use of the term and trope is literally to (A) remind people that women don't have penises, otherwise the g!p term wouldn't be needed if people actually accepted women with penises as women, and that (B) this is a story centered on a scenario where there's a woman with a penis, with key focus on that genitalia specifically. it's the drawing point, it's the lure, it's what everything is centered on. It is a means for folks to write lesbian sex while also writing about penis in vagina and getting off to it. It's also no surprise that the penises so clearly emulate cis men's penises in these works, that is by design.

As I’ve said many times before, if you’re only writing trans women’s bodies to showcase cis men’s penises, you’re not respecting the womanhood of trans women, and this ultimately has nothing inherent to do with penis-owning women, it has to do with (cis) men and their penises, because trans women are just being used as a vehicle to emulate them. When NB folks do the same thing, and imagining themselves as those g!p characters, they are ultimately embodying cis men, their maleness, and often toxic masculinity, in a way that feels safe and distanced enough for them, a shell that they often code as cisnormative due to their own unprocessed cissexism.

And trans women don’t deserve that.

You seem caught in the idea that if something doesn't directly perfectly reflect trans women, that it can't be linked to us., which ignores the long long history of media being used to misrepresent marginalized peoples and cast us in insulting, dehumanizing lights. You show a lack of understanding of the g!p trope and the long history of its usage across a few other names, even if the content and patterns remained the same. It shows a lack of understanding of tr*nny porn and transmisogynistic stigmas, which the trope draws heavily from.

I think we can all recognize that most 'lesbian' prn that's made does not represent actual lesbians, it's overwhelmingly catered to the male gaze. We can also recognize that this category of porn has led to a lot of harassment towards lesbians from cis men who at the very least want to believe lesbians are just like they are in the porn he watches, that lesbians just need the right man. Lesbians are being used as a vehicle for a fantasy that was created externally to them, and doesn't represent their realities.

It's the same kind of situation here. The way g!p fics play out overwhelmingly doesn't reflect trans women's realities, but they are inherently linked to us regardless, as we're the vehicles for those fantasies, as unrealistic and harmful as they may be.

g!p characters are built in our fetishized image that’s based on a deeply cissexist misunderstanding of us, of the gender binary, and of bodies in general.

I mean, when 99% of cis folks don’t understand how trans women tend to be sexually intimate… when they don’t understand what dysphoria is and how it works and how it can affect us physically and emotionally…when they don’t understand almost any of our lived experiences…then they’re not going to be able to accurately portray us even if they wanted to.

And I’ve read enough g!p fics where authors wrote those as a means of trying to add trans rep, but because they didn’t understand us at all, it wasn’t remotely representative, and it was ultimately fetishistic, even if there was an undercurrent of sympathy and a lack of following certain common g!p patterns there that differentiated it from the norm.

If g!p fics were at all about reducing dysphoria or finding euphoria, then it wouldn’t be explicitly tied up in the performance of very specific sex acts, very specific forms of misogyny and toxic masculinity, very specific forms of sexual violence and exertion of sexual power, etc.

But it is.

So the notion that creating g!p fics helps NB folks? Nope. It CAN certainly prevent/delay those folks from facing a whole boatload of shit they’ve internalized, and coddle them at the expense of trans women.

Because if it was really about bodies and dysphoria/euphoria, there would be a considerable push (allying with out own) to end our fetishization and to represent us in and out of sexual contexts with accuracy, respect, and care. Because they wouldn’t care what sex acts were performed and what smut beats were hit, they’d just want to see someone with a body like their ideal being loved, being sexual, connecting, being authentic, etc. Which very much is not the case in the overwhelming majority of g!p fics. That's what we want, and it's not what g!p writers want, it's nothing they give a shit about.

Like, a ways back I started doing random pulls of g!p fics from various fandoms and assessing them for certain elements to provide some quantitative clarity. I started on The 100 here, and did OuaT here. Never finished the 100 one since the results leveled out and stayed pretty consistent as the sample size grew, so I didn't really see the point in continuing any further after about 140 fics when the data wasn't really changing much at all.

Lastly, media influences people. I've read countless posts and comments from people who use fanfiction as a sex ed guide, in essence. Which is ridiculous, but I also know sex ed curricula often isn't very accurate or extensive in a lot of areas, so people take what they can get. Representation in media can be powerful, and when it overwhelmingly misrepresents people, that's also powerful. Just because fandom is a bit smaller than televised media, it doesn't make that impact any lesser, certainly not for those whose primary media intake is within fandom.

Virtually all trans representation in f/f fanfiction is misrepresentative of us. That has a cost in how people understand us, how people react to us, and how people treat us. Not just online, but in physical spaces, and in intimate settings.

I invite you to read that post you referenced again, or perhaps this longer one which is a response to a trans guy who seemed to feel something similar to you with this trope.

All I can do is lay it out there and try to explain this. It's up to you how you handle this. All I know is whenever there's a big surge in g!p in a fandom, trans women generally leave it en masse, because it's a very clear and consistent message that we're not valued, respected, and that people value getting off on us over finding community with us.

[alexswak]

Notes on Tomonori Kogawa’s Influence

I’m not an expert on Kogawa and this post isn’t intended to specify exactly how he influenced the anime industry, but seeing that many people don’t even know who he is, and some of those who know misunderstand his contributions to anime, I thought I might try to shed some light on this topic.

Indeed, Kogawa’s influence is trickier to describe than, say, Kanada or Obari. His influence doesn’t exactly materialize in an obvious animation style or effects. However, I think that taking a look at the anime landscape during his time should help a lot in seeing how he indeed made important contributions to the development of anime, TV anime before anything.

Going back as far as 1963 and looking at Astro Boy, one could get a good idea of how anime on TV would look like for roughly the next 10 years. Astro Boy was as basic as it gets, sometimes an animation just in name, as it lacked any real sense of smooth motion or sophisticated drawings whatsoever. Now, animators working on Astro Boy didn’t suddenly unlearn animation, the type of project Astro Boy was, as the first weekly TV anime and in turn with a tight schedule, just didn’t allow for doing anything more than the basics of the basics. It’s a philosophy that carries on to this day in TV anime (and to an extent in movies too): getting it out comes first, anything else comes second. If you want to understand what I mean look no further than the short movie Mushi Pro produced in 1962, just a year before producing Astro Boy, to test limited animation, called Aru Machi Kado no Monogatari or “A Story of a Street Corner”. It’s of course not on the same level as Toei’s movies for example, but worlds apart from Astro Boy. And because of that some go as far as to say that Osamu Tezuka butchered the promising japanese animated movies industry led by Toei, which is, in a sense, sadly true.

An example from Aru Machi Kado no Monogatari.

And all the TV animes that followed did the same until this became the standard for anime in general, both televised and theatrical. The thing is, in an industry that relies on learning by doing, the new generations that grew in such an environment might actually not know how to “properly” animate or draw, and that’s what happened to Kogawa when his properly drawn faces were “corrected” to the standard of TV anime at the time. Kogawa didn’t need to learn animating the anime way, since he was an arts graduate before starting to work on anime, so he most definitely saw the shortcomings in the way anime was drawn.

Kogawa himself really emphasizes the importance of studying animating and in particular illustrating. Not necessarily in the sense of a university degree, but more like observing the surrounding world with a scrutinizing eye and always rethinking the way you draw instead of repeating the poor drawings you have been making. And although he may have deviated from this approach later on, I guess he was almost obsessed with accurate illustrating to the point where he wanted to dissect a human body in his 20s’.

What is the result of this mentality, then? How are Kogawa’s works any different than his counterparts at the time? This, too, is sometimes hard to pinpoint, but one of the most clear distinctions in his style are the way mouths and jaws work. This might sound obvious, but when you speak the whole jaw moves, not just your lips, and this is rarely reflected even in modern anime. Kogawa’s animes are different, and you can notice that in every scene. It’s such a small detail yet a very important one in convincing the viewer of the three dimensionality of the characters, and one that injects vividness into the scene somehow. Another important trademark of his are the shots where the character is looking up in a somewhat dramatic way. You must have seen it at least once if you ever watched a Tomino show from 1980 to 1984 since he always worked with Kogawa during that period (except on Gundam). His great attention to perspective and accurate anatomical drawings brings a level of realism other animes, either from back then or now, struggle to reach. It’s not that no one knew how to draw like that before, maybe everyone did, but it was very rarely if ever brought to TV anime, and most definitely not in the consistency Kogawa had.

Pay attention to jaws and mouths’ movements here.

Anatomy and perspective very on point. From Dunbine #10, AD: Tomonori Kogawa.

So is it correct to say that Kogawa’s influence was bringing this level of character animation to TV anime? I don’t know for sure, but it definitely was one of the main reasons why most Tomino shows of the era, Ideon, Xabungle, L-Gaim and Dunbine are classics that are still a joy to watch even today. Kogawa started to focus more on gags and funny animation starting presumably with Xabungle, and his special attention to character animation serves as a strong basis for the punchy somewhat comical character interactions, and this is very obvious in L-Gaim and Xabungle.

One more thing worth mentioning about Kogawa is his status as a teacher for younger animators around him, which stems from his personality. He once had to heavily correct one animator’s cut, who then, upon watching the final version on TV in the studio, said “Huh, not as bad as I thought.” Kogawa left his cut uncorrected next time to teach him a lesson. He did the same to Ichiro Itano in Ideon: Be Invoked climax, where he purposefully left the poor Solo ship Itano drew uncorrected. He didn’t only think of “delivering a good product”, he wanted to make a meaningful change in the industry, and probably the people who directly worked under Kogawa and their works in and of themselves best embody the mark he left on anime.

That Solo Ship.

Links:

If you want to learn more about Kogawa’s mentality as a creator go read this interview, it’s really interesting. 

As for the creators Kogawa influenced and his own studio, Bebow, I’d recommend this blog post.

Kogawa drawing Dunbine.

[twentiethcenturymoviesandtv]

The Goonies: A Product of the Times

Released in 1985, The Goonies came along right smack in the middle of a decade well-known for its movies centered on youth.  While there are plenty of fond memories of the ‘teen oriented’ films like The Breakfast Club, Ferris Bueller’s Day Off and Adventures in Babysitting, Hollywood of the 1980s was focused on more than just the teenagers: it was also pretty heavily focused on what it was like to be a kid.

From Flight of the Navigator, The Explorers, and The Monster Squad to E.T., the Extra-Terrestrial, a lot of the films of the 1980s were about the adventures of people under the age of 14: children.  Ranging from sci-fi to comedy, to horror, to adventure, the movies about kids during this decade of the new and untested were getting as big as everything else: more and more impressive as an entire subgenre of children’s movies starring up-and-coming child stars (Drew Barrymore, Fred Savage, River Phoenix, Corey Haim, and plenty more) sprouted up out of the ground, playing the gambit of genres and allowing children to act in ways that hadn’t been deeply explored before.  These weren’t adult films with roles for children: a lot of these were movies about kids.  

Instead of movies like The Champ or Aliens, starring children in side roles, films like The Goonies, Return to Oz, Stand By Me, and Time Bandits starred kids in the main roles, carrying the stories themselves with incredible performances, broadening the horizons for adventure films about kids, for kids.

Such is The Goonies, a film that really could only have been made in the 1980s.

How do I know that?

Simple.

As we’ve discussed before, no film ever made is separate from the culture it was created in.  Every single movie, television show, radio broadcast, book, newspaper, comic or song ever made has been directly impacted by the culture and other pieces of media surrounding it.

This seems pretty obvious: after all, a product made by people living in a certain kind of culture is going to reflect that culture.  No film is an island, and while that seems pretty self-explanatory and without much need for discussion, in an era with more and more pieces of media debated as to their worth to a modern viewpoint, it leaves those of us who enjoy older movies with a very important question:

How ‘dated’ is too dated?

It’s not as easy a question to answer as it might seem.

See, ‘dated’ is an interesting term.

Typically, the word ‘dated’ is used to apply to anything discernibly created in a specific time period.  It’s synonymous with ‘old fashioned’, when applied to a film, it carries the implication that the movie is less understandable by those looking from outside that particular culture or time period, worsened by the cultural drift.  This would be a film that hasn’t ‘aged well’, most often describing contemporary films of the day.  By contrast, a film that’s considered ‘timeless’ is the exact opposite: a film that remains completely understandable following a change in the culture.  This is a film without a cultural footprint or identity, without any actual context, able to be enjoyed no matter how much time has passed.

These are words that get thrown around a lot in the film world.  There are plenty of arguments over which films are timeless, and which are dated, whether Die Hard shows its age too much to be enjoyed, or whether Commando is too ridiculously ‘80s to be watched in any other context, but the fact is, the argument is a lot more complicated than it seems to be boiled down into.

We’ve talked a lot about definitions, but the fact is, by strict definitions, no movie, or any piece of media ever made, is actually ‘timeless’.  Every film is a product of its times, but that does not mean necessarily that they are defined by their times.  With this in mind, films like The Terminator and Predator, while set and made in the 1980s, are not exactly dated, because they are not defined by the 1980s.  Anyone with the slightest understanding of the idea that times change can accept things like hairstyles, music changes, and special effects.  Like I said, a film is considered ‘dated’ if it is less understandable or enjoyable in hindsight, from a place outside of that specific culture, and things like the movie tips and tricks of decades past are fairly easily forgiven.  

Less easily overlooked are ideas.

If a ‘timeless’ film is a movie not defined by its own times, then a ‘dated’ one is a film that is defined by its culture, typically in a negative way.  

So, the question is: which is The Goonies?

Timeless iconic kid’s adventure film, or dated ‘80s flick?

Well, it’s kind of hard to say at first glance.

By externals, there’s no question.  The way the kids are dressed and Mouth’s use of the word ‘gnarly’ pretty clearly set this film in the mid 1980s, as does the fact that nobody has a cell phone to call their parents.  But as we’ve already established, there’s a bit more to it than that.

The cast is fairly typical of its day: all white except for Rosalita, the Spanish-speaking housekeeper, and mostly male.  The two female Goonies do allow for a little more range than is sometimes portrayed in kid adventure films, with a Tomboy and Girly Girl dynamic that normalizes more than a standard Token Female per group, and even Mama Fratelli (although by no means a role model for young girls) balances out by being a memorable villain, bringing the gender ratio a tiny bit closer to even than a lot of contemporary films.  With that said though, there isn’t really anything that I’d argue idea wise in this sense that dates the film terribly badly, aside from a series of fat jokes at Chunk’s expense and a moment where Andy is given the unfortunately expected treatment of having her date try to look up her skirt, which was considerably more shrugged off at the time (although she does get him for it later, offscreen).

And there are other elements too that indicate that this film is from a different time:

A PG in 1985 for a kid’s film was very different from a PG now, and it shows.  The language used by a lot of the kids, as well as the violence, drug jokes, and other material has proven to shock more than one fan who went back to watch The Goonies as an adult.  And that’s not all: the basic concept of kids banding together in this way, while making a resurgence in the form of Stranger Things, hasn’t really stuck around for very long.

After the 1980s, the ‘band of kids’ adventure story somewhat died out.  By the 1990s, the ‘kid’ adventure stories calmed down, with lower stakes and less danger, and while the trope still appears in ‘retro’ nostalgia pieces, for the most part, we simply don’t see it anymore, and the idea still tends to bring to mind stories like Stand By Me, The Monster Squad, and even It.

It’s just a statement of fact, and not nostalgia, to look at this film and remark: “They don’t make them like this anymore.”  Because they don’t.

In most movies today, kids don’t run around in tunnels, having a blast and looking for buried treasure without their parents or any adult supervision, with their lives in danger, all the while quirky, peppy music assures the audience that everything’s going to be okay.  That’s not necessarily good or bad, it just means times have changed, and that the way that The Goonies was made was directly influenced by the types of movies coming out at the time.

However, while that style may bring to mind the 1980s, that doesn’t necessarily mean it’s specifically enjoyed in that era.

As a matter of fact, there’s a lot about The Goonies that’s like that.

The basic premise of the story, while not necessarily common anymore, is still understandable to people decades later.  Just because we no longer dress or talk like 1985 anymore doesn’t mean that the core essentials of the film are rendered completely unrelatable.  Kids still become friends and don’t want to move away from them, that much is understandable.  Even though the style of filmmaking has changed, the characters really haven’t: we all know a Data, or a Mouth, or a Chunk, or a Mikey, sometimes we even are one of them.  Kids understand the danger they’re in: not just losing their lives, but their homes, their friendships.  These characters and their story still ring true decades later, even if there are things about it that point to its creation being set in the mid ‘80s.

In short?

No, The Goonies probably couldn’t have been made today.  But that doesn’t mean it can’t still be enjoyed today.

There’s surprisingly little that actually harmfully dates the film itself, and the film is, in many ways, just as exciting and fun as it was when it was first released.  Honestly, there’s the possibility that due to the lack of movies like it made today, the film actually has a larger impact and is more unique and memorable now than it was in 1985.  

And while the quality of the film has not shifted, as the time around it does, I think we’ll find that as the film gets older, more audiences will continue to discover it, forty, fifty, sixty years later and find that the movie still tugs at a nostalgic part of them and makes them feel like children again.  

The Goonies is a fun, exciting, charming story that has remained beloved so long partially due to nostalgia, but also because people genuinely love the story and characters, proving that a film is ‘timeless’, not because you can tell what decade it was made in, but because it has endured, because people still enjoy it after the culture has changed.

If you can watch The Goonies and love these characters and enjoy their adventure, it doesn’t matter that Mouth is wearing parachute pants or that some of the character cliches haven’t been used in thirty years.  In the end, a film’s quality has little to do with how easily we can tell what time the film was made in, and a lot to do with what it’s about, and how well people remember it.  If that’s the criteria, then The Goonies is pretty timeless.

The Goonies has lasted this long as an ‘80s staple, and an adventure movie classic in general because no matter if it’s 1985 or 2085, people can understand it, enjoy it, and relate to the characters and themes.  And that’s the reason it will continue to endure.  

It’s been over thirty years since those kids first trekked into the caves to save the Goondocks, and the audience for this film has done nothing but grow since then.  The characters and the heart of the film have gone unchanged since then, still entertaining and even touching audience members who remember what it was like to be a kid and want ‘their time’, and they will continue to endure for decades.

Thank you guys so much for reading!  If you have something you’d like to add or say, don’t forget that the comment box is always open!  I hope to see you all in the next article.

[flutteringphalanges]

Summary:  “Am I in Hell?” Agatha’s voice was hoarse, a hint of fear in her tone. “That depends on your definition,” Dracula answered. “Perhaps.” His fingers felt cool against her burning skin, the fever raging through her body. “If you’re going to kill me, then do it,” she mumbled. The count chuckled, gazing into her eyes. “On the contrary,” he smirked. “I’m going to save you.”

((In which Dracula cares for a gravely ill Agatha))

Characters: Agatha Van Helsing/Dracula

Rating: M

Read on FFN and AO3

A/N: A little shorter than usual. I think I have a stomach bug, but I wanted to give you guys something! Thank you for all of your support! Feedback is greatly loved and appreciated! If you ever want an explanation about something after you read a chapter, my author’s notes at the end in my AO3 and FFN docs tend to have them! Hope you enjoy! -Jen

                                                Chapter Eight

Agatha was bitten by a snake once. Searching for eggs in the chicken coop, no older than six. When she slid her hand under her favorite hen, something clamped down. Sharp, needle like teeth burying themselves into her skin. It burned. Ached. And she screamed so loud one might even go as far to claim the entire town heard.

But in reality, it had mostly startled her. The bite nonvenomous. A black snake. The young girl watched as the tiny droplets of blood oozed from the bite marks. Such a curious sight to behold. A wound on flesh from mouth. As she watched it slither away, too quick for her father to catch, she couldn't help but wonder if it'd remember her taste. Liked the scent of her blood. Agatha, of course, would never know.

Agatha's eyes widened in shock as she felt Dracula's fangs dig into the sensitive flesh of her neck. Fueled off an adrenaline rush, she kicked herself back, slamming against the headboard as the vampire eyed her in a mixed expression of confusion and lust. Blood glistened off of his teeth. Coated his lips. Her blood. He'd bitten her. The bastard had actually bitten her!

"Agatha?" The Count began before she rammed her feet against his chest. It did nothing. "You seem upset."

"Upset?!" She panted holding a hand to her throat. "You BIT me!"

Dracula was silent for a minute, watching the fuming nun with keen interest. He then sat back almost as if nothing troubling had occurred. This only seemed to fuel Agatha's rage further. Not only was he acting so passively about this, but his lack of acknowledging the situation entirely was frustrating. Furiously so.

"If you are concerned about turning, Agatha, I can assure you that isn't going to happen." He spoke as if those words meant something. "If I wanted to change you, you'd have been dead long ago."

Her fingers ran down the indents in her neck. The pain had faded away leaving a cool, almost numbing feeling. It was almost...pleasant. Despite this, she frowned. Angry at him. And maybe, maybe just a little bit disappointed she made him stop. But she didn't want him to know this. Why had he done it? What were his intentions? She remembered Jonathan Harker. His former "brides" in their boxes below. Why hadn't he killed her too?

"Are you in pain?" And there was genuine concern in his tone.

"No…" What was that about not letting him know? "No, it...it doesn't hurt. Not anymore." Agatha looked at him, her eyes no longer holding malice. Only interest. Needing. "Why?"

"Because I didn't want it to." Dracula answered simply, reaching for the hand that covered the mark. "My plan isn't to make you suffer, Agatha." There was a quick flicker of a smirk on his face. "Most of the time."

Before she could react further, he leaned forward and licked the spot where his fangs had struck. Smooth, with purpose, a shiver ran down Agatha's spine as he drew back. She began to feel that familiar ache stemming from her core. Heat rising in her like the night fevers she vaguely remembered upon her arrival to the castle those many weeks ago. Ignoring them, she quickly slid out of the bed.

"I should wash up." Agatha told him quietly, knowing that if she didn't, she'd regret it later.

There was a bassin of cool water along with a cloth in the bathroom. Agatha didn't bother to warm it over the fire as she began to scrap the gore from her body. It wasn't a pleasant feeling, the icy liquid dripping against her skin. But it was something. Something other than the almost feral emotions she felt back in her bedroom. She couldn't help but wonder if he was still in there. Waiting for her. Or perhaps watching her from the shadows. Was it so wrong to think that she wouldn't much mind if he was?

The former nun gazed down at the murky liquid. With the lack of mirrors in the castle-courtesy of Dracula, it was hard to capture sight of her reflection. Maybe if she asked he'd give her one. It'd be the least he could do. Exhaling heavily, she dropped the soiled rag into the bucket and ran her fingers through her hair.

As she took a few steps outside of the room, she was surprised to find a nightgown nicely folded at her feet. Peering around, Agatha picked it up somewhat unsure. Was the Count being genuinely caring at this moment or did he have an ulterior motive? Slipping it on, she made her way back to the bedroom. Fresh sheets. No sign of the slime or mess from their actions. It was almost irritating how he fluctuated with generosity.

"You sure do think about Abraham Van Helsing don't you?"

Agatha stiffened at the name as she turned to see Dracula standing, now dressed, in the doorway. He was eyeing her in slight amusement as he stepped inside, his gaze not breaking from hers as he moved in close.

"The first time I tasted you, I can't say I really gave your backstory as much thought as I did." He smiled, but the former nun didn't return the favor. "When you cut your finger?" Dangerous territory. "He was rather hard on you."

"Don't bring him up." Her voice was cold.

"I'm truly not trying to start something. But after what we just did. That tiny mouthful of blood. I finally see where it comes from. What makes you you." And he was grinning. Smiling as if he just learned the best news in the world. "I think I'm finally beginning to figure you out, Agatha Van Helsing."

Confusion. Almost hurt. Anger. After what they did. What he did. What she gave him. Together. Now such an intimate moment was turning into this vampire's delight of a discovery?! Christ, she'd begun to trust him. Like an imbecile. Gave way into her emotions. A fool. An absolute fool.

"So this was all it ever was to you?" She asked in a low voice. "A game?" Hadn't it always? "Nothing more than a chess board where we knock each other's pieces off?"

His laughing began to fade. "I certainly didn't imply any of that." Dracula's voice was cool. "I was merely bringing up the fact that the apple doesn't fall far from the tree." Wrong response. Terrible answer. "I knew Abraham Van Helsing, and though he raised you to do what he couldn't, something in you changed." When he reached towards her, she recoiled instantly. "Agatha Van Helsing, I think you might have feelings for me." And once more the smile reappeared. "In a good way."

"Fuck you."

A strong word. A hateful sentence. After they literally had sex-or nearly until he bit her, things were fine. They were co-existing and she'd begun to accept that. Accept everything. But now suddenly, out of the blue he brought up her grandfather. The man who hounded her for years to be the vampire hunter that he was. A task she'd failed. That she'd pushed aside. And he had the audacity to remind her of it. And play with her emotions. It was true. It had always been true. Count Dracula was nothing more than a monster.

"Burn in Hell." The bite mark began to sting on her neck as she said it. "You should've let the fever kill me when you had the chance."

"Agatha…" But she ignored him. The sound of her name on his tongue bitter. "Agatha, don't be foolish."

She was storming out of the room with purpose, blocking out the sound of his voice. Why was she so upset? Christ, she was acting like a little school girl. Heart broken. Betrayed. Abraham was right. He was always right. The bruises from training. The endless nights of identifying what was needed to ward off vampires. Her childhood taken from her. All of these years and she'd thrown them away by sleeping with a vampire. Not once. Twice. Letting him devour any integrity she had built up as a nun.

"It's raining," Dracula called after her. "I am quite sure you don't wish to be struck by lightning." When she still didn't reply, he huffed. "I apologize for ruining the mood. Again. But how about we discuss things without you being swept away by a flash flood?"

"Oh, I'm not going out of the castle." She snapped back. "I'm going to go sit on the balcony. The sun will be rising soon and seeing as you will burn into a crisp, I can be alone." At least, she certainly hoped it'd stop raining by then and the clouds would dissipate. "And then I'm leaving for good." Before killing him first.

"You keep saying that and it has yet to happen," he countered. There was a pause before he quickly added. "If you need anything, I'll be in my study for a few hours before the morning." She shouldn't have given him the last word. Wasn't that how fights worked? "Agatha?"

But she had already thrust the heavy doors to the balcony open. Almost instantly a heavy spray of water hit her directly in the face. She coughed, the liquid burning her nose and throat from swallowing it wrong. With a grunt, she slammed them behind her and took a seat on the ground. Agatha pulled her knees up to her chest, just barely covered by the outcrop of the roof above.

How in a matter of minutes had passion turned to fury? Agatha inhaled and watched the water run through the crevices of the stone. She'd failed her mission. Time after time again. Failed her grandfather. The late nuns of St. Mary's Convent. Jonathan Harker. And Mina. Dear, sweet Mina who had relied on her all along. Glancing towards the sky, she made a promise to herself. It was time to push it aside. Everything aside. And do what she was bred from a young age to do. Kill Count Dracula.

Thunder rolled overhead and the vampire slayer eyed her healed hand, studying her now functioning knuckles. She thought about the stake she had handled just hours earlier sitting down the steps on the table below. Agatha smiled, her brain and her heart competing on what was the truly right decision. In her head Abraham Van Helsing's dying words repeated in her mind.

"...Finish what I couldn't…"

[donatello-writes]

Not Quite Human - Donatello x Reader

Part II can be found here --> (x)

The gentle glow of the television lit up your darkened apartment, you were wrapped up in a blanket on your couch hanging on every word of a news broadcast. Four mysterious vigilantes aided the police department in defeating the ominous alien spacecraft that threatened New York city not but a week ago. A smile crossed your lips as you entertained the idea that if aliens existed in this scenario, perhaps the vigilantes weren’t human either. Gossip flew regarding the identities of the heroes ranging from aliens to monsters, and many accounts claimed to have seen what were described as “swamp things”. A notion that delighted you, as matters of the occult and mythical creatures had always held your interest, even though you knew that none of it was real. 

“Maybe I’ll see one of those swamp things,” You voiced to your empty apartment and chuckled.

Deep down within the sewer systems, a certain nerdy turtle sneezed while in the midst of having the meltdown of his life. The champions secured their victory over the Krang, and they finally had some down time, but Donatello couldn’t relax. The brainy terrapin paced back and forth in the living room of the Lair so furiously, one would think he was attempting to wear a hole in the floor. He was understandably restless, as his thoughts on what his older sibling had done whipped around in his head like a maelstrom. A memory so vivid in his mind, it felt as if it’d happened yesterday. The vial of ooze shattering against the walls of the lair, lost forever.

“How could he do this?!–Don’t answer that, it was a rhetorical question…I know Raph is a doer not a thinker,” the teched-up turtle vented his frustrations to Michelangelo, the person he often turned to for emotional support. Much like himself, his little brother was more sensitive and empathetic than their other two brothers. 

“I dunno, dude…but hey, it’s not all that bad bein’ green,” the orange masked turtle smiled warmly, trying his best to comfort Donatello, as he always did. Despite his cheerful demeanor, he was hurting over the impulsive decision as well. Raphael meant no malice with his actions, he honestly had no idea what this meant to his younger siblings, but that fact didn’t make up for the outcome.

“Neither of them understand, but I know that you do, Mikey,” the fretful terrapin sighed heavily, meeting eyes with his brother. Both of the young turtles yearned to know what it felt like to be human, to be able to walk around topside without being viewed as freaks or, worse yet…monsters. With their only chance having been destroyed by an act of impulse, they were both understandably distraught.

“Yeah, I totally get it,” Mikey admitted, finally showing his disappointment with the situation. “But what can we do? The purple stuff that we had is gone now.” 

Donatello’s expression fell into anguish at the veracity of his brother’s statement. “That’s true, and it’d be impossible for us to successfully secure more from the Shredder…Not just the two of us, anyway,” The bespectacled turtle’s eyes focused downwards as he finally settled down into a seat. “Also, we don’t know for sure if they have more of the formula created.” 

Michelangelo’s face almost looked pained at this point, he didn’t want to think about the harsh reality of the situation for even a moment longer. He rose from the table, giving his brother one last half-hearted smile.“Well, it was a nice dream, but what-evs,” the now undeniably gloomy young terrapin patted his brother on the shell before getting up and trudging to his room. 

Donatello pinched the bridge of his snout as he sat alone in the common room, despair consuming him. All he wanted was to experience what it was like to be human, and he would never get that chance now. The ooze was unsalvageable, what little remained was now still splattered across the lair walls. His golden eyes became misty as they beheld Raphael’s masterpiece, in all it’s glory. Suddenly, a bit of light reflected off a small portion of the stain, grabbing the brooding turtle’s attention. Was it really still liquid? Impossible.

Jumping to his feet, he approached the wall, inspecting it thoroughly. The ooze had somehow remained viable, his jaw dropped in disbelief. The once sorrowful terrapin’s hope was renewed, all he needed was even the smallest amount for analysis and he could find a way to replicate it. Now filled with excitement, he bounded into his lab to retrieve a petri dish and swab to collect the ooze specimen. He scraped his prize from the surface with great precision, careful not to contaminate it with too much concrete from wall upon which it was affixed. After successfully recovering a sample, Donatello let out a relishing chuckle as he shut himself away in his lab, fueled by enthusiasm and determination. 

In the months following the start of his endeavor, he lied about the specifics of it, telling his brothers that he was working on some amazing invention that would aid them in their missions. It was obvious that he couldn’t tell Leonardo or Raphael, as they clearly didn’t understand. And after much debate, he finally came to the decision to leave Michelangelo in the dark as well, not wanting to get his hopes up; that, and he was awful at keeping secrets. The genius worked tirelessly, months rolled by, and before he knew it, a year had passed. He felt as though he wasn’t accomplishing anything, becoming increasingly frustrated with each passing day. 

It was 5:00 a.m. when a sleep deprived and starving Donatello stumbled out of his lab in pursuit of sustenance. He wore his purple mask as a necklace and groaned with every step that he took towards to the kitchen. Once there, he made a bee line for the coffee pot, his savior. Raphael had just finished his early morning workout and spotted the elusive mad scientist, stalking him into the kitchen. 

“Whaddaya doin’ outta yer geek den?” the question came in the form of a growl as the burly terrapin eyed his younger sibling, who simply responded by shooting a glare in his general direction. 

Choosing to ignore him, Donatello simply continued setting up his coffee, clicking the appliance on to work it’s magic, and then reached into one of the cabinets, to retrieve a box of blueberry flavored Pop-Tarts. 

“Whut eva…” the hot-headed turtle’s words trailed off as if he had more to say, but he stopped himself; this silence was fleeting, however. As always, he just couldn’t let sleeping dogs lie, so he started again,“Ya know…when I got a problem wit someone I tell ‘em, but I guess I’m just bawlsier than most.” the bait was set, and he waited for his younger brother to take it. The troublemaker used this tactic with frequent success, but Donatello was in no mood for his shenanigans, and the mechanical sputter of the busy coffee pot was the only thing to be heard between the two turtles. 

The still sleepy terrapin proceeded to pour his coffee, and munch on his breakfast, letting Raphael stand there and simmer. When it became apparent that he the he no interest in talking, the rageful reptile’s temper went through the roof. “FINE. I thought so! Avoidin’ any sawt of conflict like usual! Enjoy yer cawffee break.” He stormed out of the room grumbling.

“Conflict…” He muttered to himself as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes, the word turning over and over in his head before he had a sudden realization. “That’s…that’s it!!!” He exclaimed, rushing from the kitchen with his coffee mug in one hand, and half-eaten Pop-Tart in the other. The genius sped past Raphael, rattling off scientific terms to himself like a mad man. When he reached his lab, he turned and stopped to stare down his brother before grinning wide and slamming the doors shut. 

“DONNIIIIIIE!!!” Raphael roared, racing up to the large laboratory doors and thrusting his fists into them. The doors showed no signs of permitting entry from the assault, but he did leave a significant dent.

*****************************   

Across the city, you ran down the darkened streets dressed in a lab coat and business casual. You were late for work, but chose the sweet relief of alertness over punctuality, as you quickly slipped into a small coffee shop to grab a cup. And today, you needed that extra boost of energy more than any other. After securing your liquid adrenaline, you happily headed to work, not needing to walk far. You approached the gigantic facility that was TCRI, and walked inside. As always, you held up your credentials to the guards at the desk, who permitted entry, and touched your badge to an electronic pad which then granted you access through secure titanium doors. 

Doing your best to stifle the overwhelming stress that all but consumed you as of late, you drew in a deep breath and went about your normal routine at the laboratory. As the day wound down to a close, you prepared to carry out the mission you had been given. It was now late into the night, and all of your colleagues had long since left for the day. 

You remained, working on the latest project involving nano technology as a form of biological warfare. Subtly sabotaging the efforts of the project; in good conscience, you couldn’t allow it to be successful. The very idea of implementing this abhorrent tactic made you cringe, but you did what needed to be done in order to carry out a far more important assignment, retrieving a vial of Dr. Stockman’s highly sought after genetic modification formula. Tonight, you would secure a sample to bring back to your actual employer.

The security guards weren’t even a bother, all you needed was a little bit of Nitrous Oxide to temporarily take care of them. Slipping silently into the main laboratory, you did a quick survey of your surroundings before proceeding. Having already knocked out the security cameras, and programmed them to show previously recorded footage, you were not concerned. Knowing exactly where it was kept, you located the ooze and tucked the vial into your pants pocket posthaste. 

“Y/N?” Instantly recognizing that voice, you turned to see one of the head geneticists, Sampson, steadily approaching you from across the room.

“Hello, Sampson.” You greeted your colleague tactfully, showing not even an ounce of lost composure from his unanticipated presence.

“Why are you in here? This isn’t your working sector.” He inquired through narrowed eyes, all the while analyzing you skeptically.

“Doreen asked for my assistance with the centrifugation of subjects 2201XJ8 and 2243XW9.” You had glanced briefly at the recent project files earlier in the day to prepare yourself for just this type of scenario.

“That’s odd…2201XJ8 and 2243XW9 were contaminated and, thus, thrown away several hours ago…” suspicion piqued, he advanced towards you quicker than you could react. Attempts to flee came too late, and he managed to grab hold of your collar. Swiftly wriggling out of your lab coat, you gained freedom from his grasp. Thinking on your feet, you hit the conveniently placed bright red lock down button and slid underneath the door, trapping your coworker inside. Something told you that you weren’t the first person to do that. 

Sampson wasted no time dialing a contact in his phone as he watched you escape, “Yes…Hello, I heard that your gang will do pretty much anything for the right price…I have a job for you.” He knew full well that he couldn’t enlist the foot ninjas for assistance, admitting his incompetence to the Shredder was a fate worse than death. Completing the transaction with his hired thugs, he smiled deviously as they confirmed their pursuit of you. The sunrise met your eyes as you fled the building, taking off down the street knowing that you weren’t out of the woods just yet.

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

It had been over a year since Donatello began his quest for the ooze, and now the culmination of his hard work was finally coming to fruition. And in all irony of ironies he, partially, had Raphael to thank for it. The purple liquid bubbled within the beaker that housed it, begging to be tested, and the genius just couldn’t resist. He carried on like a kid who received the keys to a candy store. 

Unfortunately, he couldn’t test it right away, what with his brothers in the lair. With all of them present, it would be impossible for him to slip out in his human form unseen. So he waited. Several days later, the police scanner picked up a report of foot clan activity, and Leonardo called his brothers together to discuss plans to investigate. Donatello smooth talked his way out of going, claiming he was close to a breakthrough in his research, which wasn’t a complete lie. He simply neglected to mention that it pertained to the purple ooze.

With his brothers out chasing the foot, the brainy terrapin had the lair to himself, at long last! Well, with the exception of Master Splinter, but sneaking past him was a non-issue. Donatello was beaming as he ­­­peered into the vessel that contained his scientific masterpiece, just one sip should be enough…He knew that the effects of his synthetic ooze would be temporary, a purposeful attribute given to it by him, it’s creator. All the purple clad turtle wanted to do was experience what is was like to be human. If, following the testing phase, he felt as though he was meant to be that way, he’d later rework the formula to be permanent. That, however, was a venture for another day, now was the time for experimentation. 

Shutting his eyes tight, he drank from the vial. After waiting for a moment, he opened them, unsure of when it would take effect. Suddenly, his muscles began to ache, as a tense feeling surged throughout his body. He watched his fingers divided from three to five on each hand, just as he’d witnessed when he tested the formula previously. Gradually, his skin changed from green to a pale peach and his scales smoothed out into soft flesh. The excited lad tripped over himself while rushing into his bathroom, wanting to watch in the mirror as the transformation unfolded.  

Donatello stared back at himself in awe, he had ears! The oversized tortoise shell glasses he always wore slipped down his face more than usual as his snout took the shape of a much smaller, yet still prominent, human nose. Freckles dusted across his pale cheeks and shoulders as wavy raven black hair cascaded down from his head, delicately framing his face and stopping just a few inches past his jawline. He was so distracted by his new facial features that he didn’t even notice his shell had disappeared. 

Once the metamorphosis was complete, the triumphant brainiac threw his head back, and laughed like an evil genius. A slight reduction in body mass occurred during his shift in form, not enough to be discernible to the naked eye, however, it was enough to cause his pants to lose their grip on his hips. The villainous laughter was interrupted when his bottoms proceeded to slip from his slender human waist, and he grabbed his Millennium Falcon patterned boxers before those followed suit. 

“Oh no…what am I supposed to do? I can’t go topside in the nude.” to remedy his immediate and unexpected need for human clothing, he turned to Michelangelo’s room. That pack-rat of a turtle collected mundane artifacts as if they were valuable treasures to be hoarded, surely he’d be able to find something usable in that mess. Donatello entered the room, piles upon piles of clothing, unusable electronics, and other clutter filled it, along with several empty boxes of pizza. He scrunched his nose at the effluvia that hung in the air, his little brother somehow managed to make his particular corner of the sewer smell even fouler.

Holding his breath, the nerdy young man randomly chose one of the many mounds of oddments and rummaged through it. After some digging, he managed to find one black muscle tee that read “Rad Dude” in a trendy red colored font, a pair of very worn black converse shoes, and a pair of denim jeans, ripped at the knees. The best article of clothing he’d found in the stash being a flannel shirt in various shades of purple. Having no time to be picky, the thief made off with what he’d found.

While returning to his laboratory to get changed, the turtle turned human was nearly knocked out by the putrid clothing that he held in his arms. This was unacceptable, there was no way he was going to wear something that smelled worse than a sewer, he needed to wash the garments before he ventured to the surface. Stepping into the seldom used laundry room, Donatello flicked on the lights and blew the dust from the old machines. As he reached for detergent, he wondered if they even still worked. Tossing the clothing and soap into the washer, he turned it on to find, much to his surprise, that it was still fully functioning.

Now needing to wait for his clothing to go through the entire washing and drying process, the impatient turtle fidgeted in frustration at the unexpected delay. Coming to terms with his predicament, he passed the time by logging the alterations that occurred during his shift in form, to ensure he had enough information to further his research on the ooze’s effects. Making quick work of his notes, he then switched the laundry to the dryer. The waiting game began anew and he swiftly found himself consumed by boredom once more. He wondered what else he could do to fully immerse himself in the human experience. 

Thinking about how atrocious his clothing smelled, and worried the washing may not fully rid the garments of their stench, he decided to create a fragrance. Knowing full well that humans often wore scents to conceal smells, but also for the purpose of attracting potential partners. Donatello scoffed at the thought, the likelihood of him finding another person who shared mutual interest during the, more than likely short, duration of his experiment was slim at best. 

As if he were concocting a a witches brew, the bespectacled lad swirled together various scents into one of his unused beakers. In no time at all, he had a cologne with top notes of orange blossom and vanilla, middle hints of almond, and a musky base. More than satisfied with his Eau de Don, he dabbed it on gleefully.

All the sudden, a clatter came from the living room, and the sound of his brothers voices could be heard. Donatello’s smile dropped, there was no way they’d already returned from their mission, it felt as though they’d just left. The digital clock on one of his many computers proved him wrong, it was already 4:00am! He’d gotten so carried away in preparation for his excursion topside, that he paid no attention to how quickly the hours flew by. 

Thankfully, the time spent wasn’t a complete waste, he documented when he administered the ooze and was tracking the duration of it’s effectiveness. Exactly eight hours had elapsed, and he was still human. Quite an impressive lasting ability, he thought, giving himself a congratulatory pat on the back. Unfortunately, with his brothers now home, he was effectively trapped in his laboratory for the time being. He couldn’t just saunter out of his lab looking the way he did, what a spectacle that would be. 

“Looks like I have another sleepless night, er…well, day at this point.” He chuckled to himself, slumping back in his computer chair. It took two more hours before the potency of the ooze came to an end. The reversion from human to mutant being, unsurprisingly, more painful than the obverse. Now returned to his old turtle self, the purple masked ninja ventured out into the common room, only to find his brothers passed out on the couch and the floor. He stifled a laugh, turning on his heel back into his laboratory. Seizing this opportunity, he wasted no time administering himself more ooze and stealing up and away to the surface.

Wintry weather was drawing to a close, and a slight warmth danced on the breeze as spring began to move in. The mutant in human’s clothing relished in the glow of the sun, something he didn’t have the privilege of doing often. Strolling down the street like Toby McGuire in Spiderman, Donatello was smiling from ear to ear. He was topside in broad daylight and not a soul took notice of him, he couldn’t believe it, it almost felt like a dream.

Not paying attention to where he was going, the happy go lucky lad found himself lost in a more secluded side of town. Sure, he could easily navigate New York at night, but the city looked so different during the daytime. Suddenly, a cry of distress shattered his concentration. It came from somewhere nearby. Instinctively, the ninja rushed in the direction from which the voice originated. 

The shouts led him to an alleyway where two rough looking men circled around you, your hands poised to fight, but subtle shuddering alluded to hesitancy and fear. They were both very muscle bound, one slightly smaller than the other, with distinct purple dragon tattoos on their arms. When Donatello approached, they immediately took notice of his presence. 

“What’s going on here?” He demanded a response from the ne'er-do-wells, despite knowing the answer.

“Get outta here, four eyes.” the smaller thug scoffed, “You see, this little rat has something that we want.” and the larger man chimed in, “So, it’d be in your best interest if you left us to our business.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” Donatello stood his ground, “It’d be in your best interest if you left them alone.” He then assumed a fighting stance. 

The brawnier of the two men eyed the brave young man and laughed incredulously. “And just what exactly are you going to do to stop us, little man?” 

To which Donatello replied, “Looks can be deceiving.” aside from having a height advantage, there was no denying that the thugs had significant size over him. They were far more massive compared to his still muscular, yet lithe, build. Finally acknowledging their potential threat, the two men advanced towards their new target, leaving their prey behind.

The stranger turned hero locked eyes with you, “Run, you have to get out of here, it’s not safe!” an exclamation that was cut short by the smaller thug, who came rushing at him, brandishing a knife. With keen reflexes, Donatello deflected the attack, kicking upwards at just the right moment to send the knife whipping over his assailant’s shoulder. Once you’d seen that maneuver, there was no way you were about to leave. You were far too intrigued by this ridiculously tall young man with undeniably amazing fighting skills, you yearned to learn more.

“Alright, mister fancy feet, it’s time to dance.” the larger man jested as he cracked is fists, fitting brass knuckles onto them. Donatello scanned the area and grabbed a nearby pipe from the dumpster, twirling it through the air, just as he would his bow staff. If there’s one thing his father taught him, it was that anything can be used as a weapon if wielded properly. 

“Haha, look at this, I guess dance class is over, and now it’s time for baton practi–” using the metal pipe, Donatello knocked the wind out of the hulking hoodlum before he could even finish his taunt, sending him flying backwards into a pile of garbage. 

“I suppose I can strike ‘taking out the trash’ from my list of chores.” Donatello snorted at his own one-liner and his gaze happened upon you, as you watched with wonder. A smile played across your lips, and you laughed at his witticism, waving to him. The suddenly flustered hero awkwardly waved back.

The knife wielding thug recovered his weapon, catching Donatello off-guard as he flirted with you, slipping the knife to his throat from behind. The thug was unsuccessful in his attempt, however, when the captive drove his heel into the man’s foot, causing him to release the knife. While his assailant was distracted, he reached both arms around, heaved the man over his shoulder, and back dropped him onto the hard pavement. There was no recovering from that attack anytime soon. He then shifted his stance to face the other foe, who had since recuperated from the previous assault. The behemoth barreled towards him like a charging rhinoceros. 

“Bad move, I know exactly how to deal with this.” Donatello smirked as he anchored himself with the pipe, and delivered a swift low kick to the thug’s ankles, causing him to topple to the ground. Confident that he had both enemies disabled, your victorious rescuer turned his attention to you.

“Are you alright?” the lanky lad inquired as he sprinted to your side, adrenaline still pumping from the fight. He failed to stop soon enough, resulting in him accidentally knocking you against one of the brick walls in the alleyway. The two of you were nose-to-nose, so close that you could feel each other’s breath. His towering form would have been intimidating, if not for the goofy smile on his face. 

“Aaah, oh my god, I am so sorry!” He promptly leapt back, “You didn’t need that on top of what you’ve already been through today. I am really, really sorry, I’m such a klutz.” He apologized profusely, running his fingers through his purple tinged black hair, refusing to meet your gaze.

“Jeeze, that was like something straight out of a cheesy rom-com.” You jested, in an attempt to ease his nerves. 

Not the reaction that he was expecting, the nervous hero let out a sigh of relief. “Y-yeah, I suppose that it was, wasn’t it?” He stuttered, still a bit anxious, but less so thanks to your funny observation. 

“And you’re certainly no klutz, I saw the way you fought off those goons, you’re incredible! How’d you learn to fight like that?” You asked him, eyes filled with amazement and genuine curiosity. 

“Well, my father taught me, along with my brothers…” Donatello replied flatly, in an attempt not to appear worked up by your compliment, for fear that he’d make a fool of himself further. Butterflies were forming in his chest, he’d never spoken to another person so close to his age, aside from April and Casey. 

Unfortunately for him, you were eager to learn more about your happenstance hero, and before he knew it, he was being quizzed rapid-fire. “Oh, you have brothers? How many?” and with barely a breath in between, you rattled off more questions. “What are their names? What’s yours?”

“Uuuh…three…Leonardo, Raphael, and Michelangelo…And I’m--my names Donatello.”

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Donatello. My name is Y/N! What interesting names…are your parents big fans of Italian Renaissance artists?” You looked to him, eyes wide with curiosity.

“Okay, stop. STOP. I don’t recall agreeing to a game of 21 questions!” He put an end to your onslaught of inquiries. 

Enthusiasm quashed, you backed off, smiling at him sheepishly. Though it wasn’t long before you bounced back, and with one hand on your hip and the other pointing at Donatello, you offered a proposal. “Alright, then…Would you like to play 21 questions?” Your eyes flickering with anticipation, the same kind of unrelenting determination he frequently saw in his brother, Mikey. 

From experience with this personality type, Donatello knew it would be easier to simply humor you rather than try to get out of it. He was absolutely baffled by you, your intentions were unclear, and he was not certain that you were someone he could trust. Regardless, he reluctantly agreed to engage in your game. 

“I’m so sorry for that…sometimes I get a bit carried away. I enjoy meeting new people and learning about what factors lead to making that person into who they are.” You grinned, playfully kicking up your feet as you strolled down the street together. It was obvious that Donatello was trying to keep his distance, as the space between the two of you was fairly significant, to the point where it appeared as if you were walking separately. “You don’t trust me, do you?” He cursed at how perceptive you were. 

“Well, to be honest, no…not really. We’ve only just met.” He stated simply, his eyes scanning you up and down with suspicion. There was a long silence before you broke it with another question.

“How tall are you?” He was amused by the obvious question and quickly answered, “6'6”“ 

“You must garner a lot of attention walking down the street.” a comment that threw him into a fit of laughter as he thought about what he actually looked like. If only you knew how little he drew attention this way compared to if he strutted down the street in his real form. 

“What? HA! Me? No way. Now if I were–” Donatello clammed up, he nearly outed himself  to human that he’d just met. As if you’d ever believe him, but still…there was just something about you, you were easy to talk to. He laughed again at the thought before continuing, “Uuuh, so, you said that you have a dog, right?” He attempted to redirect your attention by also engaging in the game with his own inquiry. 

“What was that? You just trailed off mid-sentence.” an attempt to no avail, you demanded a reason for his inexplicable change of subject. “And…I don’t remember telling you that I have a dog.” in that moment, roles reversed, and you were the one suspicious of him. 

Another misstep, this was very out of character for Donatello; and for the first time in a while, he felt vulnerable. After some quick reflection, he realized that he’d picked up on the dog’s scent during your accidental close encounter in the alley earlier. Though his nose appeared human, his senses themselves, remained as sharp as they’d always been. 

“Are you a stalker?” You questioned him bluntly. 

“What? No, I’m not stalking you, I promise.” 

The sincerity of his answer confirmed your speculation to be false.“Alright…but I’m watching you!” You narrowed your eyes at him. 

“Who’s the stalker now?” the charming young man shot you a cheesy grin upon delivering his terrible joke. You stuck your tongue out at him, and he chuckled. A sudden breeze whipped up, startling the two of you. Even though the winter weather had mostly gone, a slight chill remained in the air. You shivered reflexively, realizing that you had sacrificed your coat amidst the chaos of escaping from Dr. Stockman’s laboratory. 

Donatello immediately noticed your discomfort and removed his flannel over-shirt, giving it to you with a warm smile. His cold blooded innards were not happy with his choice to shed clothing, and he was unable to disguise his own trembling reaction to the cold as he handed you his shirt. Without saying a word, you reached out a shaky hand and took it. While you were putting it on, a blush crossed you face for just a moment, as his scent wafted up from the clothing. 

“Thanks.” the pleasantry was all that you could muster for words as you fought hard to stave off your rosiness. 

“Purple looks good on you.” that sweet compliment pushed you over the edge, and your face flushed completely red as you turned away from him. 

“Y/N…Are you alri–” His sentence was brought to a halt as an all too familiar feeling hit him abruptly, indicating that the ooze’s potency was waning. Aware that his time as a human was now limited, he took a queue from his older brother, Raphael, and acted on instinct. The distressed young man proceeded to back away slowly before breaking out into a full sprint. With your back turned, you were none the wiser. Feeling suddenly alone, you finally turned to find that your escort had vanished, leaving only his flannel shirt to remember him by.

…to be continued.

[andiandyandee]

We Are Going to Be Friends Pt. 5

I finally finished this stupid chapter! And I have to apologize because it is not a happy one. (Not the saddest either, though. That’s reserved to the final chapter. Anyone who has read my other works in this AU knows what’s coming there.)

 Words: 2921

Tag List: @datfearlessfangirl @cas-is-a-hunter @princemesscharming @illogicalthinking (Let me know if you want tagged!

Here’s the last part if you missed it  and here’s the whole series on ao3

Okay, Here’s the Fic

     When Logan picked himself off the ground, he could tell by the black dots swimming in his vision something was very wrong. He carefully cleaned up the broken glass, ignoring the way his hands shook, and made his way outside. It had somehow gotten dark since he had last been out. He knew if he went to his room he would go to sleep, and he needed to stay awake until his brother got home. He made it to the end of his parent’s yard, to the staircase that led to the sidewalk. His bag sat next to him on the steps, but his homework was all but forgotten. He was mostly focusing on his breathing, actively trying to remain conscious. He did not notice the loud pair of teenagers wandering past his house, which was not uncommon anyway, Logan hadn’t realized it before, but Remus and Roman’s friend group had always been wandering around the town, and plenty of the neighbors complained about how loud they were, but most of the noise was just the twins, whose voices carried without them even trying. He did not notice the way they slowed to a stop and stared at him, calling out his name, trying to get his attention. He did not hear the whispered,

      “Is that Logan?” or the more panicked,

     “What the hell happened to him?” 

     When the twins made it to Logan, he was coherent enough to glare at them. He was not able to do much more than that. He did have enough of his parents' DNA in him to swing at Remus when he grabbed Logan’s arm, apparently. The glass embedded in Logan’s hand cut Remus’ jaw, but the punch itself didn’t have much power behind it. All it really managed to do was cause Logan to groan in pain. 

      “Jesus, Logan. What the hell is going on?” Roman was looking quickly between the two bleeding teenagers. Remus looked shocked more than hurt, and Logan looked hurt more than angry. 

      “Good news, little brother! We no longer have the same face!” Remus was looking at his reflection in his cell phone screen. “This is totally going to scar.” 

      “Rem. Need you to focus, buddy.” Roman was more than a little panicked. Logan was looking kind of grey, his eyes glassy and his brow shining with sweat. “What do we do?” Remus seemed to refocus when he heard Roman’s tone.

      “Oh! Uh, we should probably call someone, right? Is this his house? Maybe get his parents.” Logan shook his head violently at that. 

     “No no no I’m… I’m sorry plea..se. don’t send me back to the… them.” His words were slurred, and he was trying to move away from the brothers. 

      “Woah, hold on there nerdy wolverine.” Remus coaxed Logan back into a sitting position. “Nobody is going to make you go anywhere, but you’re gonna pass out if we don’t get your hand looked at. And your face, too. Did you try to go swimming in a bar trash can or something? You stink!” Roman gently smacked his brother’s arm. “Oh, sorry.”

      “What Remus means to say is you are bleeding and smell like beer, and need stitches probably. We need to know what happened, or who to call.” 

      “You don’t… you don’t need to call anyone. I’m... I… I’ll be fine until L.. til L gets off work. Go back to… go back to being farther away than this.” Logan was leaning heavily against Remus, who laughed in a way that was definitely more out of fear than amusement. 

      “How about I sit with you until L gets back, and Ro runs home to grab some first aid stuff?” Roman looked like he wanted to protest, but Remus ignored him. “What do you think we’d need to help you, Logan?” 

      “Tw...eezers? And water.” Logan nodded like that was obvious. “Maybe a… maybe a light? And bandaids.” Roman nodded, backing away about ten feet before turning and booking it around the corner. 

      “So, Three Days Glass- oh god that was awful sorry- You want to tell me what happened here?” 

      “I… went swimming in… a bar trash can,” Logan joked weakly. Remus was fully supporting his weight at this point.

      “So we aren’t going to talk about it then?” Logan was now staring at Remus’ face with mild curiosity.

      “I think you’re bleeding.” Remus laughed loudly at that.

      “Yeah, some asshole punched me with glass in his hand.” Logan nodded solemnly

      “I’ll fight them.” Roman was heading back towards them now, a first aid kit and a large sports bottle in his arms. “Your brother is.. Fast” Logan mumbled. “He doesn’t like me.” Remus looked over at the younger kid. 

      “What makes you think that?” Logan went to answer, but he was cut off by Roman’s loud voice.

      “Okay Logan, Do you want me to start with your face or hands?”

      “Actually, Ro, I think I should be the one to do this.” Remus gently took the supplies from Roman’s hands. “I’m better with blood than you are.” Roman’s eyes widened, but he nodded and flipped on the light instead, shining it at Logan’s cut face.  With the new light, the brothers could see the bruise forming on the side opposite the glass, but neither mentioned it. Logan talked Remus through the best way to remove the glass, explaining how to clean out the cuts with the water, the squeeze top on the sports bottle was very good at that, to get any small pieces out. Remus promptly ignored his brother, who was mumbling quietly about how much blood there was. 

      “We should call a doctor, Remus, this isn’t like when you come back from the woods with scrapes from trees and rocks, glass is serious” Roman was barely coherent. “We should call Dad, at least.” 

      “No.” Remus shot back without looking up from where he was not pulling glass from Logan’s hand. “He said not to call anyone, Roman. Just shine the damned light on his hand so I don’t fuck anything up.” Roman mumbled on ‘okay’ and shined the light back on Logan’s hand. “That big one probably needs stitches, but the rest aren’t as bad as they look. He’s probably like this more from the pain and shock than actual blood loss.” Remus muttered. Mostly to himself. “The hands are made up of thirty-four muscles, twenty-nine bones, three major nerves, and two major arteries, with around 2,500 nerve receptors per square centimeter in the hand” He shook his head. “Need to focus, focus” Logan looked up at Remus curiously. “ Glass injuries are exceptionally dangerous because small fragments of the glass can be missed, causing infections that can spread from the skin to the blood to the heart and brain, causing major organ damage and failure, eventually leading to-”

      “Did you know Mars has almost the same amount of landmass as Earth?” Logan asked Remus, who immediately cut off from his spiraling thoughts to look at him curiously.

      “Mars is way smaller than Earth,” Remus argued, still carefully cleaning each of the smaller cuts, most of which were on the palm of Logan’s hand, avoiding the biggest one, which was firmly set in between his knuckles.

     “That’s true. Mars... Mars only has 15% of Earth’s volume, but since... 70% of Earth is covered in water... They have about the same land.” Remus hummed at that. “Did you know that there have been signs of liquid water on Mars?” Roman looked at Logan incredulously. 

      “Specs, I appreciate a good martian lecture as much as the next guy, but why are we having it now? Aren’t there more important things to be talking about?” Logan ignored him, still focusing on Remus.

      “We know Mars has water in the form of ice, but because of the extreme temperatures, scientists assume the water is either incred..” He drew in a shaky breath, “incredibly salty or is otherwise high in something that prevents it from freezing. Its temperatures range from -153 to 20 °C with surface temperatures from -87 to -5 °C.” Remus had moved on to the largest injury in the hand. His voice wavered a little when he called out,

      “Roman, can you come here?” Roman moved closer, seeing the injury up close for the first time. 

      “Holy shit, Rem there is no way-” 

      “I know, Ro. What do I-” Logan finally looked at his hand properly. The largest glass shard, about an inch and a half and jagged, and still bleeding noticeably. The swing he had taken at Remus had probably set it much further into his hand than the rest. 

      “It’s going to hurt when it is removed.” Logan nodded, as if steeling himself to a resolution. 

      “Lo I don’t think I can pull that out. I don’t think I could get a good enough grip with these.” Remus held up the tweezers. 

      “No, I don’t imagine you could. Thank you for your assistance, Remus, Roman.” He nodded to each of the twins in turn. “Allow me to compensate you for the bandages.” Logan used his good hand to pull his wallet out of the bookbag next to him. 

      “What? Logan you don’t have to pay us for bandaids.” Remus looked shocked. “We’re your friends. We wanted to help. Come on, I’ll call Dad and he can take us to the ER. They’ll be able to get that big piece out and make sure there are no other bits we can’t see.” Logan recoiled from Remus’ hand on his arm and held out a twenty-dollar bill.

      “I appreciate your help, but we are not friends.” Both twins looked at him with identical looks of confusion.  “I have no interest in any companionship. Please, take the money.” Roman rolled his eyes and took the money, setting it down on the ground between them. 

      “Logan, I don’t know what makes you think we’re going to take that bullshit as an answer, but we aren’t and there’s no way we’re just going to take your money and leave you bleeding on the sidewalk, either.” Roman insisted.

      “Yeah! We’re trauma bonded now!” Remus replied, slightly too enthusiastically. Logan stood, ignoring the wave of nausea and vertigo that threatened to send him crashing back to the ground. 

      “No. I am not interested in being friends. Remus, make sure you take your medication when you get home, I believe you’re becoming manic.” Remus flushed red. “Have a good evening, gentlemen.” Logan grabbed his bag and went back to his parents’ house, avoiding the front door and walking around to the back yard. He could hear the twins arguing, but he ignored them in favor of searching the shed for the tool kit he knew was there but had never been used. It only took him a few minutes to find the pliers, still in their plastic packaging. His hands were still shaking, his head was pounding, and his heart was beating much too quickly as he pulled the package open with his teeth. It took another ten minutes and several failed attempts before he pulled the glass out. It took another forty-five minutes for L to find him, leaning against the workbench, eyes red and breaths coming in short, rattling sobs. 

      It took until Monday for him to leave his bed, his brother assuring him that he had let the school know he had been ‘mugged’ and had needed a few days to recover. But time passed, as it most always does, and Monday came, leaving Logan to walk into the high school with his chin held high, back perfectly straight, glasses sitting perfectly even, as if the deep purple bruise, which now had yellows and greens, was not there. As if his right hand, not his dominant hand, thankfully, wasn’t tightly bandaged. As if he wasn’t still far too pale. He wasn’t speaking much, only a few words here and there since Wednesday night. L was worried, but it wasn’t uncommon for Logan to go silent for a few days, and even up to a week, at a time, so he mostly let it go. 

      Logan didn’t bother saying goodbye to his brother as he turned into the freshman hallway. He saw his locker, which had several “Get well” cards taped to it. Small towns meant everyone knew everything. Or at the very least, they thought they knew everything. He didn’t bother to read them, pulling them down from the door and setting them on the top shelf. He hung up his jacket, leaving him in his navy blue dress shirt, his sleeves rolled halfway up and the top two buttons undone, showing just the collar of his t-shirt underneath it. Several of Remus and Roman’s friends tried to stop and talk to him as he made his way to homeroom, but he pretended to not notice. He brushed past every one of them, pointedly ignoring those who tried talking to him in classes, pretending like they weren’t waving him to their groups now that the first semester projects had begun. He spoke only when spoken to by a teacher, otherwise keeping his jaw clenched tightly closed. 

      By the time his English class had come around, most of the group had stopped trying to catch his attention. Remus looked at him as he walked in, giving him a ghost of a smile before looking back to Roman, who was facing away from the door. Logan didn’t acknowledge he saw it, stepping past them and sitting in his seat without saying a word. He ignored the way Roman’s eyes bored into him. He ignored the way his eyes burned and his throat tightened when Remus asked how his hand was. He took notes, didn’t answer any questions he wasn’t specifically asked, and pretended as if the Sanders twins weren’t both not so subtly trying to get his attention. When the bell rang, he flinched, only a little, as he did at most loud noises now. 

      ‘Trauma bonded’ Remus had joked, not realizing that there actually was genuine trauma. This had not been the first time his mother had lost her temper, no, but this was the first, and last, though Logan didn’t know that, time that she had caused actual physical damage. It had broken something in Logan, some sense of security he hadn’t even known he had. 

      When she had come to his room the next morning to apologize, panicked apologies had torn their way from his throat. They both were in shock, him lowering himself to be as small as possible, her trying her best to not scare him more. 

      By Sunday, Logan had managed to bite back any visible emotional response to her. He had done this by shoving down every visible emotional reaction he made. He had wondered if it was healthy to be quite so good at keeping his emotions swallowed down. 

      Now, Monday, his face was completely passive. Not even an eyebrow raise gave away what he was feeling. When he came into the lunchroom, there were many eyes on him, several people whispering about how anyone who talked to him said he sounded like a ‘robot’. His responses to ‘are you okay?’ ranged from ‘there will be no permanent damage’ to ‘yes, I am quite well, excuse me.’ but all answers were given in the same flat, bored tone. He went through the hot lunch line, getting what he suspected was supposed to be a chicken sandwich but looked more like a beige hockey puck. He sat at an empty table towards the front of the lunchroom, not far from the Sanders twin’s table, ignoring his brother, who had waved him over. He was sitting, picking at his food and listening to music when someone sat down next to him. He did not take his headphones off, refusing to even look to see who they were. He knew it was not L, so he suspected it was one of the people who had attempted to make ‘friends’ on his first day. If they tried to talk to him, he didn’t notice. They didn’t touch him and sat at least one seat away. When the lunch period was over, they got up and left before Logan had even taken his headphones off. 

      The rest of the day went similarly, him ignoring Elliot and Kai other than to discuss the lab they had been given.  The next week went exactly the same. He still didn’t look to see who sat with him at lunch, still didn’t speak to the twins, still answered questions with replies that sounded like they were written by an AI. Any answers to teachers' questions regarding class were answered as if he were reading them from the textbook. 

      Two weeks passed, nothing changed much. Remus stopped smiling at him, even a little when he entered English class. Whoever had been sitting with him at lunch apparently decided it wasn’t worth it. Teachers called on him to answer questions only when nobody else seemed to have an answer, knowing he would give them a flat, incredibly accurate explanation even if his hand wasn’t raised, which it never was. 

     By the end of the first semester, as far as anyone could tell, Logan Starr had no emotions. Even L had eventually given up on trying to get through to the younger teen. Logan told himself he wanted that. It was better to be alone. Emotions were unnecessary. Friends were unnecessary. Happiness was unnecessary. And frankly, Logan told himself, he was unnecessary too.

[admutual]

What do you think Roger’s childhood was like up in space?

oh god , i sdknsdkj have Some hcs for his childhood ,, but my hcs are kinda messy, so i’ll try to word this the best i can.

i’ll start with his relationship with his parents since i got a Lot to say here.

for starters,, his childhood was mostly ,, hh Not Great.

his mother was controlling, emotionally abusive, neglectful, and highly manipulative. she also kept roger a shut-in most of his childhood, so roger never really gained proper social skills and had to rely on her as his only source of interpersonal contact. she had this habit of bullying him and putting him down and just destroying his self-esteem, before softening up and drawing him back in with a faux sense of compassion and gentleness (she def tried to convince him that she was the only one who could possibly love him). she was sorta a ‘zira meets mother gothel meets rainflower from warrior cats, with a little frollo mixed in’ type. she was a mess.

his dad on the other hand was emotionally distant and absent and just utterly disinterested in roger, and the few times he was around he was loud, aggressive, and prone to fits of anger. he was also highly religious and it Showed. i don’t have the actual complete details for the religion he followed, all i really have is most of my inspiration for it stems from a lot of xenofiction i read (lapine mythology from watership down, starclan from warrior cats, the spirituality from tailchaser’s song ,, i’m like physically unable to make non-human creatures without drawing inspiration from xenofiction) and that roger definitely experiences some religious trauma from him.

his parents fought a Lot. and it did a number on roger,, kinda why i like to believe he’s so desperate for drama, it’s all he’s known and the peace of quiet living is unnerving to him.

roger was desperate to be on his parents’ good sides. his mother was unpredictable in this regard in that she bounced back and forth between being gentle and kind before switching to verbal abuse and aggression. his dad though never expressed any positive feelings for roger. rog tried really hard to earn his dad’s affection, but after he got older and started to realize that that just wasn’t gonna happen, his tone toward him shifted to disdain. it definitely helped that his mother was loud in her distaste for his father too and through her aforementioned behavior managed to keep roger on her side through it all. if his mom hated someone, roger did too.

that whole thing about roger eating his dad,, ye . gonna make that Edgier let’s go. i like to imagine it was long after roger had accepted that his dad sucked, he was alone with him, he got pushed a little too far, and he just snapped, killing him. as for the cannibalism thing, that religion i mentioned earlier? i still don’t have much details, but one thing i Do know is that one important belief in this religion is how their bodies are handled after death and it’s very important that funeral services are handled accordingly,, shit like don’t touch the body with bare skin after the passing, their grave must be lined with bark and leaves from a specific type of tree, no visiting the burial site for a set period of time after burial, etc. so roger, being the dramatic extreme petty bitch he is, decided to give one last ‘fuck you’ to his dad by eating him instead to fuck up the burial process. we love taking a generic primetime sitcom and making it edgier than it needs to be.

i kinda like to imagine roger’s relationships with his parents heavily influenced his relationship with stan and francine too:

for stan’s side, roger felt that stan reminded him a lot of his own father. like i said, roger felt a heavy resentment towards his father, and after coming to earth and finding he was going to be living with someone who all too closely resembled him, he put his foot down and refused to allow himself to keel over to what felt like mistreatment from him.

when roger first started to get to know stan, all he saw in him initially was the same anger and neglect he got from his own father, and in turn went out of his way to lash out and harass him as sort of a cathartic defense. but then time went on, the two started to see each other on their own level, and roger realized how stan below the surface was far from how his dad was, and he warmed up enough to view him as a close friend. i kinda like to think roger softened up to stan after finding out about jack too, as you know he could relate to him having a shitty neglectful dad himself.

as for francine, roger was drawn to her for the opposite reason in that she was nothing like his mom. roger was a total mama’s boy back home, like i said she kept him shut-in during his childhood to where she was the only one he could rely on. even after coming to earth, roger was still under the impression that she truly loved him and he had a habit of getting overly defensive of her (klaus makes a ‘your mom’ joke and roger’s in tears screaming at him to take it back). he started to question some of her treatment towards him the longer he stayed, especially with the more families he got close to where he got to observe other people’s parental relationships, but never enough to have an epiphany that she sucked. it wasn’t until after the events of ‘weiner of our discontent’ that he finally started to actively reflect on his past life on his home planet, now that he knew he was stuck on earth to stay, and he finally accepted that his mom wasn’t good to him.

as for how this influenced his relationship with francine, like i said francine was way different from roger’s mom. initially roger was super uncomfortable every time she treated him kindly and gently. he sorta held back from getting too close for a good month or two because he didn’t know which of her behavior was genuine and what was just a facade. but time went on, he decided to trust her by letting down his guard and allowing her to get close, and now the two are as tight-knit as can be. and roger’s still a total mama’s boy with her sometimes. also the aforementioned religious trauma roger experienced,, i like to believe that also drew him closer to francine after hearing her experiences growing up. roger’s just Shared Trauma Buddies with everyone.

anyways after years of constant abuse and neglect, he eventually finds a family that loves him unconditionally and he’s finally allowed to rest. i’m a slut for the ‘earn your happy ending’ trope and i’m pushing that onto roger.

(actually one last thing ,, this isn’t a set-in-stone hc, i’m not sure if i’m gonna keep it, but i like to bounce around the idea that maybe the reason his parents were so awful to him is because they believed he was responsible for a sibling’s death. like roger when he really little was out playing on the ice, things Went Wrong and it shattered, his older sib leaped in to rescue him, but things Went Even More Wrong, and his sibling managed to save him but not themself. and his parent’s (or at least his mom since i like to imagine his dad just from the start was pretty distant) immediately placed the blame on roger and never forgave. like i said idk if i’m gonna keep it as a hc, but whatevs thought i’d mention it anyway since the topic of roger’s childhood’s brought up)

and now that that’s done, the other stuff.

i like to believe because of roger’s kind’s practice of abduction, they have a decent enough study on various other planet’s species. and roger, from a young age, immediately built up a fascination with humans. he spent hours reading and rereading every study and book he could find on them. when he was given the choice to be The Decider, it was a complete dream come true for him, not only because he found what he felt was his life’s purpose, but also because he could finally study up close a species he’s admired all his life. (also once roger landed on earth his interest in humans quickly shifted from an ‘idk i just think they’re cute and fun and interesting creatures!!’ to an ‘oh fuck . o h god … humans are Hot what the hell ….’ like i make jokes about how ‘oh haha steve’s an alien fucker lol’ but tbh ……. roger’s the alien fucker in the relationship.)

bouncing off that, they definitely don’t have english as their main language. that’s always been a trope that’s annoyed me, the whole ‘every alien just inexplicably speaks english by default and can communicate with humans fluently’ trope. because of that, i like to believe roger self-taught himself multiple languages through earthling test subjects, listening to audio recordings and such. he wasn’t completely fluent, but it was enough that he could at least communicate enough once he landed on earth. and as for the mothership featured in ‘lost in space’,, hc that it’s installed with a universal translator. still kinda a lazy cop-out i guess, but whatever.

roger’s always been ,, idk,, softer than his species. not in an ‘uwu he’s actually a total sweetheart’ kinda way, but just in that unlike most of his kind, he can experience compassion (it’s rare and his conscience is still really weak, and empathy is still completely foreign to him, but he does experience compassion for those he allows to get close to him like the smiths), he’s always been too sensitive compared to most of his kind, he’s too emotionally-driven, he latches onto others and cares to much what others think of him, just a bunch of things that to most of his peers made him come across as ‘weaker’.

roger picked his own name!! i don’t really care for the trope of aliens having generic western names, so my hc is that when roger’s kind are born they’re given a placeholder name (or a title or something) and then they’re allowed to pick whatever name they want as they get older, which often times is influenced by other species. like i said earlier, roger’s always had a fascination with humans, and i like to think he decided to name himself after an abduction victim he read up on.

once roger was able to distance himself from his mom and was allowed on his own, he was a constant traveller, both in the sense of journeying across his home planet, and in finding any way possible to travel to other planets. sitting still for too long bored him and he needed to explore every possible place he could.

liste n ,,,,, roger loved building snowmen growing up. the few times he got the chance to get out was always spent building them and creating personalities for them. and he still finds himself building them on earth sometimes.

roger’s always loved reading. he can’t count how many times he flew through all the books they had around the house. and even now he just . really loves to read and can power through massive books in a matter of hours.

he loves watching the snow fall and blizzards always brought him a lot of comfort.

that whole thing about roger’s kind being 60% electricity? roger had a lot of trouble controlling excess electricity as a kid. his parents weren’t good teachers, so he just had a habit of accidentally jolting others on accident, sometimes while reading he’d get too excited and accidentally singe the papers a little, he was always pretty shaky as a kid just from how much electricity he had coursing through his body that he had zero clue how to process safely.

roger’s tendency towards playing characters came at a young age. he was always running around the house playing pretend as multiple characters and that habit just never went away.

i like to imagine roger enjoyed building little dens in the snow to chill in. for his kind, children tend to build snow dens to function in the same way human kids build treehouses,, just to vibe with their friends. and on earth sometimes during the winter roger will decide to build a den in the backyard and spend some of his nights down there.

roger’s kind love swimming. probably one of their more popular sports, hell some of them even choose to fish for their own food in the same way seals do. roger though? terrified of the water. nowadays he’s okay with it (still prefers to avoid it for the most part though), but as a kid it was one of his worst fears.

i feel like there’s something i’m missing? idk, this is long enough though so i’ll stop jsdgndks.

[atlantic-riona]

1, 2, 5-8

1. Describe your comfort zone—a typical you-fic.

It swings between a story with friendship/family dynamics, lots of humor mixed with drama, and ultimately a happy ending, and a story that’s philosophical, vaguely terrifying and/or depressing, and ultimately bittersweet/scary.

…The former tends to be longer stories, while the latter tends to be my short stories. I have no idea what that says about me!

2. Is there a trope you’ve yet to try your hand at, but really want to?

I would love to try my hand at writing faeries. I feel like a lot of modern stuff I’ve read tends to either crib off of Tolkien or be really badly done/uninspired (although for an excellent, wonderful interpretation of faeries, everybody reading this should go read @hobbitsetal‘s Mute, because it’s amazing and I will never stop talking about it).

However, I’m not sure that I could do it well? I don’t know. I have vague plans for something similar to faeries in The Raven’s Return, but these might get adapted as time goes on.

ALSO I would really want to try an arranged marriage story because secretly I ADORE them. it’s just!! their marriage is arranged!! but then!!! they fall in LOVE

5. Share one of your strengths.

I feel like dialogue is a strength of mine? It’s really easy for me to write, at any rate!

6. Share one of your weaknesses.

Description. I really struggle to write description. I’m never sure if I’ve overdone it, underdone it, or what.

7. Share a snippet from one of your favorite pieces of prose you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

A solitary figure stands forlorn, silhouetted against the sunset. The mass of curls on her head burns in the dying light, like a sputtering fire. It’s her. Helen of Troy.

“I know that’s what they call me,” Helen says without moving. Her gaze is fixed on the carnage below. Cassandra hadn’t meant to speak aloud, but now that she has…

She moves closer and Helen speaks again. “They used to call me Helen of Sparta.” Her lovely, hated, adored face remains turned away, shadowed and sorrowed. “And my husband–”

“Which one?” Cassandra interrupts, having assumed a careless position of relaxed leaning against the battlements, one elbow propping up her chin. At the tenseness of the other woman’s shoulders, she shrugs and looks away. “I mean, there are so many of them.” Despite the laxness of her appearance, her muscles are thrumming like a just-fired arrow. This woman is bringing murder and grief to her city, all for the sake of her stupid affair. Cassandra has no interest in hearing any sad story from this woman. Sad stories won’t resurrect the dead or comfort their grieving wives.

Helen turns to face her then. Cassandra stares coolly back at her. She’s beautiful, indeed, but beautiful like a snake. Cassandra has experience with snakes.

“Do you know what it’s like?” Helen of Troy asks her, advancing. “To have never had a choice?”

Cassandra says nothing, because her breath has been stolen away. As with Scáthach, though, she does not retreat. She is no coward.

“All my life,” Helen says, “I have been a prize. A prize to be fought over. First, I was a prize to Theseus at the tender age of seven. My brothers stormed his stronghold and won me back, and so I was again a prize for my father. Then I was a prize for all the kings of Greece. And so that no one would feel insulted, I was not left to choose one out of all of them. Instead my would-be husbands drew straws. And the man who won was not even there to claim me, his winnings–his brother was.”

“You’re still a prize,” Cassandra interrupts, taking a step forward. “Don’t you realize? You’re a prize that Aphrodite granted to my brother for saying that she was the most beautiful goddess. You’re still a prize, so why do it? Why give in to it? Why is it better to be a prize over here, in Troy–why is it better to destroy my city as Paris’ prize than to live quietly with your daughter as Menelaus’ prize? Tell me.”

The crows circle overhead. Helen remains still, frozen like carved ice. A moment later, when she moves, it is like ice shearing off to reveal a storming sea. “Because,” she says, her eyes reflecting the carnage below, “because I have chosen to be here. It may be my destiny to eternally be someone’s prize; but I’ll be damned if I don’t choose who wins me.” A single tear falls. It shatters on the stone like glass. “And I thought you might understand,” she says, “because you’re god-touched too.”

______

I really like this one because it was one of the few times in my life where the descriptions were exactly what I wanted, with barely any editing at all. I also like it because Helen of Troy and Cassandra have fascinated me for, like, ever and I always thought they were such intriguing characters to play with.

Like, Helen can be written as a victim or as a villain or somewhere in between (and when you read the Iliad, it’s pretty obvious that Aphrodite’s heavily involved and making Helen do stuff she doesn’t want to, but also Helen’s life has basically been plotted for her since the beginning–she’s the daughter of Zeus, she’s been kidnapped by Theseus, she’s going to be married off and she’s the most beautiful woman in all of Greece–who’s to say that maybe at the beginning, she chose to do something for herself? I think for this version I went a little more ‘ice queen’ and ‘selfish’ than how I would read the actual Helen in the Iliad, but I do think she can be seen that way). And for Cassandra–is she mad? Is she trapped? Is she going mad? (Wouldn’t you, if you could see everything that was coming, but nobody listened to you, and you couldn’t stop it?)

In I See It Crimson, I See It Red, I was playing with the idea of fate and destiny, and whether it was even possible to have free will if you could see the future and your destiny, so Helen was kind of an example of knowing one’s destiny but making a different choice.

Also, this was a really fun twist to write, because for the earlier parts of the story, Cassandra hates Helen, and Helen gets portrayed extremely negatively, but here, Helen makes the point that she and Cassandra are not so different–both of them have gods meddling with their lives–so that was something I really liked.

8. Share a snippet from one of your favorite dialogue scenes you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

“You shouldn’t curse people,” he said firmly. “That’s wrong.”

Great. The Raven had standards. “Sorry,” she said, getting up and brushing her knees off, “not all of us had the luxury of morals in the recent past.”

Milon was still warm to the touch when she pressed her hand to his forehead—a little cooler than before, or was that wishful thinking?

“I only meant,” came the Raven’s voice behind her, “that it’s not right. You shouldn’t have to hurt people for money.”

“Are you any better?” she shot back without turning around. “Seems to me you do the same thing, only a little more violently—that’s right, I heard about the massacre in Arciun. A little bit before my time here, true, but the others are still talking about it even now. How many people had to die for the money you and Noz gained?”

“That’s different. Those people—they deserved it.” Almost to himself, he muttered, “King’s blood, you should have seen what they’d done.”

“Oh, but the brother that screwed over his family didn’t? The drunkard who beat his wife and children didn’t? The wife who cheated on her husband and laughed at him when he cried didn’t? The girl who tormented every other child in her village until they were reduced to tears didn’t? At least I don’t kill all of my victims.”

He came over to look down at Milon. “Those Valaviri nobles in Arciun—they kept slaves. They’d practically enslaved everyone else, too. The children were starving. There were—” He stopped, cleared his throat. “There were more orphans than adults. The nobles had killed their parents for resisting, or sent them off to prison—and worse, in that prison, they’d be—” Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes. “I met the prisoners from Arciun. In prison, where we were all waiting to be killed. If you had heard their stories—” He broke off. “And we didn’t kill everyone, either. That’s a lie. Only the ones who were responsible.”

“And that justified making their children in turn orphans? Taking their wealth so they could take their own turn at starving?”

The Raven felt Milon’s forehead and bent over to listen to his breathing. “We didn’t take all of their money,” he argued as he straightened. “We left them enough to live on. More than enough.”

“Oh, yes, so very generous of you—leaving scared children in a province full of people looking to exact however many years of pent-up vengeance upon somebody. Noz feed you that line?” One of her friends had a brother who’d lived in Arciun—she’d cried for weeks when the news finally reached the Tower. “The way I heard it, nobody survived the second round of killings. Now the whole province is still in uproar—how many more orphans have you created? Noble rebels, my foot.”

He shoved his hair out of his eyes. “We—I—had nothing to do with that. You can’t—”

“If you hadn’t set everything in motion, none of that would have happened!”

“They were Valaviri,” he said, eyes flashing in rage. “You don’t know what they’re capable of, how cruel they can be!”

“For your information, I am Valaviri,” she told him coldly. “I may have been born in one of the outer provinces, but without the empire, do you know where I’d be right now?”

“Not running for your life?” he bit off.

She clenched her teeth. “I’d be slaving away on a farm somewhere, instead of knowing how to read—oh, and also how to throw literal lightning.”

The anger in his eyes hadn’t faded; Calista dug her nails into her palm, understanding suddenly why everybody in the camp was terrified of the Raven. He looked as though if she spoke one more word, he would leap across the tent and put her in the ground right then and there.

“Look,” she said, striving for a calmer tone, “I’m not here to make friends or debate politics. I appreciate your help with my little brother, really, I do. Just tell me what you want in return and my debt can be settled.”

He turned away, dismissing her. “I don’t want anything from you.”

Why had she expected anything different? Lulled by the banter between the two boys, exhausted from worry and late nights, she’d hoped—desperately, painfully hoped—for an ally, a friend; someone who could show basic human decency and understand her plight.

Instead, she had been bitterly reminded that she was surrounded by rebels who saw no harm in killing those she considered her friends and countrymen. Fine. She didn’t need them. She didn’t need anyone. She and Milon were just fine on their own, thank you.

“That’s what you say now,” she threw at his retreating back. “That’s what Noz said at first, too.”

“I’m nothing like him!”

____

Because the majority of characters in The Raven’s Return are Falian, we generally see a very anti-Valaviri perspective of the world. And there’s good reason for that, but that’s not the way reality works. For one thing, you can’t blame an entire people for something that their military or government decides to do–and even then, how do you blame an entire group like that? Are the people in the military only in the military because they need money? Is it a way to make their lives better? Did the people in the government make their decision based on what was best for their people? Since people don’t have the benefit of 20/20 hindsight like we do, would it have been feasible for them to take the alternative route like we think they should have? What were the available options that they knew of at the time? Obviously, there are definitely cases where we can look at an event and the people involved and say, “here’s what went wrong, here’s what would have been better for everybody involved, here’s who’s to blame,” but history is complex. People are complex. And for a lot of people, that’s hard to wrap their minds around, because a narrative with good guys and bad guys is so much easier to process and understand.

Part of what I’m trying to do with The Raven’s Return is show the complexity of history and the effect of that complexity. The nin Roys and other Falians hate the Valaviri because their land was invaded and their own culture was taken over. But Lucan wasn’t the one who did that–that invasion happened centuries ago. Plenty of Valaviri weren’t responsible for that. And there are elements of Valaviri culture to be admired–Cal brings up education, and how that improved her future. The issue here is messy, and it’s complicated, and both sides have some of it right and some of it wrong. There isn’t a clear cut “bad group” and a clear cut “good group.” There is an empire, and a lot of the characters hate it (pretty much all of the characters have some problems with how it is right now, but that’s pretty standard for anybody with their government), but it’s not an evil empire, and Falia isn’t the noble rebel nation. It’s messy, just like history.

So I like this conversation because it gets into that a little bit. Cal doesn’t like the government or the magicians right now, but she appreciates the empire nevertheless. Bran can’t understand that, and maybe he never will, but he needs to hear that the world is more complex than he might think.

Also, I love having characters with different worldviews have discussions without one character being a strawman. That’s really annoying to read, and seems so lazy to me. So I like this little snippet for doing that.

[artificialqueens]

To New Hytes (Group-fic) 5/? - Mac

AN: Meggie once again is an angel on this earth. Thank you my love for beta-ing this! You are the sweetest! <3

Summary: Nina is still reeling from her fuck up with Monet, Yvie’s joints are bad but Scarlet loves her anyway, Trixie’s sleep sechdule is ruined, and Brooke and Kameron reflect on their past.

Nina West was not good at this type of thing.

She was emotional as hell, sure. But explaining those emotions, dealing with them, not so much. She had always been a bit repressed. Her family had been uber-religious growing up, so being gay was kind of a no-go in her household. She went to church, sang the songs, did what she was supposed to do. Church had been a safe space for so long.

She didn’t have the usual falling out with religion that most people in her situation had. In fact, she had maybe leaned into it too much following the months of her coming out.

Luckily she had gotten through that stage pretty quickly.

She still had faith, still kept a Bible in her bedside table. Still sang the hymns to calm her nerves. Her faith hadn’t waned, it had just changed. She figured if all the other Christians could pick and choose passages to live by, Nina could too.

She had chosen to live by loving others as best she could.

But clearly she had messed this up somehow, because Monet wasn’t talking to her.

Monet was sitting in the back of the tour bus with Kameron and Blair talking quietly. Brooke was a row in front of them, turning around every now and then to say something.

Nina sat near the front with Vanessa and Dela, who were reassuring her that everything was going to be just fine. Well, assuring her as best they knew how to.

“I think I really fucked up guys.”

“No offense, chica, but you kinda did.”

“Vanjie!”

“Sorry! I just…” Vanessa sighed. “You know Monet, you had to know this coulda happened.”

“I did, I just… I just wanted it to be like the movies, you know? Where the main character makes the love interest jealous and that’s what prompts them to realize they’re in love.”

Vanessa nodded understandingly.

Dela did not. “Wait, you don’t understand why she’s mad, do you?”

“I was manipulative and selfish. I was trying to force her to make a move when she wasn’t ready.”

“Yes, and what else?”

Nina drew a blank.

Dela sighed. “She cares for you, I don’t know if she loves you, but she cares for you. You doing that, lying to her, well, it must have felt like you were dangling her feelings in front of her. Like you knew she had feelings for you and you were saying she couldn’t have you.”

“But she knows how I feel.”

“Does she? Cause if she did, wouldn’t you think she’d be sitting up here with you.”

Dela was right.

“Fuck.”

“Yeah.”

…

Yvie had always been strange. She didn’t mind that no one understood her. Couldn’t be bothered to care about their petty insults that reflected their own issues rather than hers. She didn’t mind that she was alone most of her life. People found her confrontational and erratic. She found herself brave and correct - most of the time.

Yvie was just herself.

She didn’t mind the others.

But sometimes, she did.

When they undermined her work or attacked her art. She knew she was strange and different and that scared people. And most of the time it didn’t bother her.

But Vanjie- Vanessa rather, had hit her where it hurt. Had attacked her art not because it was weird but because she couldn’t do it if it weren’t. Vanessa had said Yvie didn’t try to dance in any particular style because she couldn’t adhere to one. She was too sporadic, too ‘out there.’ She could never make it big dancing the way she did.

They both knew it wasn’t true, but it still stung.

Yvie had called her unlovable.

A low blow perhaps, but she was angry and sad.

Luckily they had Scarlet. The most forgiving woman in the world. She had brought them together.

The handshake had been a formality at first. The truce a false one until they decided to blow up at each other again.

Or at least, it had been.

Both Yvie and Vanessa were shocked when their mutual fake kindness turned into genuine friendship. Scarlet had smiled knowingly but held off making comments.

Yvie and Vanessa had gotten so close in fact that they sometimes did their pre-show together. They would sit in someone’s dressing room, usually Yvie’s, and laugh and talk and be late for their call times.

It was unexpected, but not unwelcome.

Yvie felt lucky to have a friend. Not that she hadn’t gotten along with the other girls, but Vanessa was different. She was so much like Yvie. They goteach other.

“You did a great job the other night. I swear I’ve never seen a crowd that hyped for a new girl.”

“Thanks. You didn’t look so bad yourself.” Vanessa winked.

Yvie laughed. “Thanks, sis.”

Yvie slid off her chair onto the floor to stretch. She began her usual routine of popping some of her joints, which sent Vanessa into a fit. “I know you can’t help it, but it’s so gross.”

Yvie was pulling her leg up and behind her head when she felt a sudden shooting pain.

It wasn’t the usual pain either, it was a pain that meant something was wrong.

When she tried to lower her leg back down, she couldn’t help but cry out.

Vanessa looked up from her phone, worry etched into her frown lines. “Yvie, what happened.”

“Fuck, fuck, shit. My hip it just- FUCK.”

Vanessa rushed over to Yvie’s side. “What do you need me to do? Call an ambulance? Get an ice pack? You need Scarlet?”

“No!” Yvie answered too quickly. Vanessa’s eyebrows shot up. “Don’t tell Scar, it’s fine, just let me- will you help me up?”

“Yeah, of course.”

Vanessa held out her hands and planted her feet firmly as Yvie clambered up. As soon as she stood upright, she nearly fell over into Vanessa’s arms. “Let’s get you to the couch.”

Yvie nodded and winced as she was practically dragged over to the plush seat in the dressing room.

“Can you- can you get me water?” Yvie’s voice had taken on a different tone. It was soft and pained, rather than her usual sarcastic droll.

Vanessa obliged.

She watched Yvie down the bottle in seconds.

Vanessa didn’t know what to do; if she should leave, if she should stay and talk, if she should whisper soothingly into Yvie’s ear.

Vanessa guessed the younger girl probably wouldn’t have appreciated the last one, but she didn’t know.

Yvie saw the emotions play out on Vanessa’s face.

“Sorry, just, sometimes-”

Vanessa cut her off. “You don’t gotta explain nothin’. I get it.”

Yvie kept talking; it must have been the pain. She felt she needed to explain herself. “I just don’t like telling Scar. She worries about me.”

Vanessa nodded. “Everybody sees how much she cares. You got a really great girl.”

“I know.” But Yvie could hear the doubt in her own voice.

…

Scarlet had always been adored by men and women alike. She was naturally charming. And naturally distant.

Scarlet was untouchable. Above it all. The princess in the tower, surrounded by thorns and knives and a dragon. She had suitors left and right throwing themselves at her. She never paid them any mind. One drunken night she had confessed to Yvie.

“You wanna know why everyone is in love with me?”

“Not really, but that’s never stopped you before.”

Scarlet ignored her and plowed ahead, counting off her fingers. “I’m quick-witted. I’m intelligent. I’m mysterious.” She paused.  “And no one will ever have me.”

“I don’t know if I agree with the first two, but go off, sis.”

Scarlet tried to punch Yvie in the arm, but Yvie caught her fist before she could. The younger girl twisted her wrist, and managed to get Scarlet on her back with her hand behind it. Yvie fell on top of her, breathing heavily.

The mood in the room shifted.

The air was like electricity, snapping and sparking everywhere Scarlet’s eyes touched.

“I’m starting to not agree with the last one either,” Yvie whispered.

“Yves-” Scarlet went to protest, or to encourage, or to… she didn’t know. Still didn’t know what she was trying to communicate.

Yvie kissed her.

Scarlet kissed back.

And suddenly the princess in the tower was back on the ground.

…

Ever since that night at the bar (meeting Katya), Trixie hadn’t put her phone down. She had even purchased an unlimited data plan she was using it so much.

Katya texted her sporadically. She blamed it on the time difference and her general scatter-brained nature.

Trixie would wake up from her four hours of sleep to twenty or so messages about Katya’s opinion on the oil crisis, or food insecurity, or even how good Trixie’s ass looked.

Having conversations with her was like being in fifty car crashes in a row. Her whiplash was severe.

But she was getting better at it. The banter.

Trixie had never really felt compelled to share her funny comments, content to sit back and be the quiet one - well, the other quiet one - Blair had first dibs on being the most silent of the cast and crew. But lately Trixie had been talking more, she was more bubbly, more open and energetic.

Her phone buzzed.

It was 5 a.m. and she had stayed awake nearly all night to hear from Katya. She felt stupid. It was stupid to be so involved with this girl she had known for less than an hour.

But she was.

So here she was, at 5 a.m. waiting for a text she knew she would get from a girl she met in a bar.

If she thought about it too much, it was sad. So she didn’t think about it.

She let herself be happy and giggly. She let herself live in the fantasy for just a little longer. Who knew how long it would take Katya to get bored of her. How long until she realized how normal and average and un-special Trixie was.

Her phone buzzed again.

K: What are your opinions on baby seals?

K: don’t answer that.

K: you should be asleep.

K: i’ll just say

K: they are a nuisance to the great waters of the world

K: a source you ask for? my source is my eyes.

Twenty minutes later…

K: A seal stole my sandwich.

K: i’m guessing he was a baby by the size

K: Also, I’m guessing he was a he because he stole my sandwich.

K: and men are dogs

K: or in this case

K: seals

Trixie chuckled to herself lightly, the screen on her phone illuminated her face. She felt that stupid silly rush again.

She let it wash over her.

Content to let herself be happy for now.

…

“Why the FUCK did I have to hear from Blair of all people that you aren’t performing tonight? Yves, what the fuck?”

“Baby, I-”

“No, no. Don’t ‘baby’ me.” Scarlet seemed to suddenly realize her girlfriend’s position. Yvie was lying on an ice pack sitting at what looked to be an uncomfortable angle. “You’re hurt, aren’t you?” Scarlet’s tone was suddenly softer.

Yvie waved her hand dismissively. “It’s nothing, really, the doctor said-”

“Doctor! You had to see a doctor?”

“It really isn’t-”

“Yves, why the fuck didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I knew you would act like this okay? There. Are you happy?” Yvie spat out.

“Act like what? Act like I care about you? God forbid I care about you! Is that it? Oh look at me I’m Yvie and no one can ever love me.”

“Scarlet.” Yvie tried to sound firm, but her voice cracked.

“No, you don’t get to talk right now.” Scarlet breathed in and out. “You are just gonna have to suck it up. I love you, you stupid asshole. I love you so fucking much my chest hurts.” Scarlet looked down at her hands. “I never thought… I never thought I’d love anybody. And here you are. Making everyday better just cause you exist.”

“Baby-”

A sharp look from Scarlet cut Yvie off again.

“I care about you. No matter how fucked up your joints are. You can’t get rid of me. I’m in it for the long run, Yves.”

Yvie nodded.

“So you can’t just not tell me these things. Yes, I worry about you, but it’s because I can’t stand the thought of losing you.”

Yvie nodded again. “Can I talk now?”

Scarlet let a small smile slip.

“I love you, too.”

“And?” Scarlet prompted, teasing smile on her face.

“And I’m sorry for worrying you.”

“And?”

Yvie rolled her eyes.

“And you are an angel on earth and I can’t imagine my life without you.”

“That’s more like it.”

….

Brooke and Kameron sat in the audience of the theatre.

They were in Toronto, Brooke’s home away from home.

Right after college she had moved out here to pursue her passion. She joined an up and coming ballet troupe. She had put in the hours, done the work, but something was still missing.

She was living her dream… but it didn’t feel right anymore. It didn’t even feel like her dream.

She stayed for a year.

She would walk Hospital Row at two in the morning, on legs that were begging her to sit down. She would walk and walk and walk until she physically couldn’t anymore. She would sit on the street corner with a water bottle and a longing in her chest for more. Her brain kept coming back to the night in Nina’s living room. A dance company of her own. Something the world had never seen before. The idea made her chest fill and her lungs empty.

Everyday she wore down just a bit more.

But then she got a call one night.

It was her new dream calling.

Well, it was technically Kameron that was calling, too out of breath from excitement to fully explain what she was doing, but Brooke understood. It was happening. This stupid silly drunken plan was taking shape. She said she couldn’t do it without Brooke, and Brooke, heaven help her, was just crazy and young enough to catch the next flight home.

She and Kameron spent the next months throwing their sleep schedule out the window. They stayed up and danced and joked and ate ramen noodles on a mattress on the floor. And they laughed and worked and dodged bill collectors.

And they did it together.

And they made it.

By some miracle they made it.

Brooke didn’t believe it.

Still sometimes didn’t believe it.

Kameron pinched her arm lightly, pulling her out of her head for a moment. “Earth to B, come in B.”

“Ow, Kam.”

Kameron smiled. “Whatcha thinkin bout?”

“This,” Brooke said vaguely.  She motioned to the stage, the seats, themselves. She turned to Kameron, trying to convey how thankful she was, how blessed she felt. “We did it. We really did this.”

Kameron smiled wider. “We really did.”

Brooke pulled her into a hug. It was awkward with how the seats were arranged but neither girl minded.

Kameron pulled back and looked away from Brooke, her eyes falling, as they always did, to the middle of the stage.

Brooke knew what she was thinking. After all these years she knew.

“I always thought we’d do it together though. You know? You and me. Tearing up the world with our troupe of dancers.”

Kameron’s smile vanished and she couldn’t look at Brooke. “B, you know I can’t.”

Brooke sighed. She had hoped, maybe stupidly, that Kameron would finally open up a bit. “Kam, you can’t keep letting what happened keep you from this.” Brooke motioned to the stage again. “I know you miss it.”

“Of course I miss it. But…”

“But what?”

“What if I’m not good at it anymore?”

Brooke gave her a doubtful look. “That’s not true. You know it isn’t true. What are you so scared of?”

Kameron stopped fidgeting with her hands and sighed. “I’m scared I’ll fucking love it. I’m scared if I do it again I won’t be able to stop. I’m scared it will happen again.”

Brooke softened her voice. “Kam, there was a tech issue. That stage light…”

“It shattered my foot, B.”

“I know, Kam, I know. But you-”

“I had a brain bleed from the fall.”

“Kam, I-”

“No, B. I’m sorry. I know you’re trying to help. But you’ll never understand what I went through.”

“I was beside you the whole time. I know what you went through.”

Kameron shook her head. “You don’t get it. You can’t. I couldn’t dance for a year! Can you even comprehend that?”

Brooke was quiet. “No.” Because she couldn’t comprehend it. Couldn’t imagine giving it up, not now, not ever. It was the only thing that was worth getting out of bed in the morning. It was her reason for being on this earth. She knew that for a fact.

She couldn’t imagine life without it.

She knows Kameron felt the same.

“No, you can’t.” Kameron spoke softly.

A silence fell between them.

“I’m sorry Kam.”

“Me too, B.”

[mastrechef]

This idea has been stewing in my mind for a while after a discussion my sister and I had about some of the more outrageous Kingdom Hearts theories. I finally decided to just go ahead and write it. I’m still fleshing things out as I’m currently rereading Otherland by Tad Williams, which this idea borrows heavily from (if you’ve never read it, I highly recommend it). I figured if I was going to take the time to write it, I might as well do it justice.

The moon shone brightly as he framed it with his fingers. It was nostalgic standing amongst the towering buildings and the myriad of glittering lights reflecting off rain drenched metal. Familiar streets snaked off in every direction in an intricate web, desolate and empty when in his memory they were always packed with life, no matter the time. This was a place he had once considered home. That was a lifetime ago. More than a lifetime it seemed some days.

"A far-off memory that’s like a scattered dream, isn’t that right?" he said to himself.

He shaped his hands into a heart as he held them up against the brilliant moon. The thing that started it all and the end goal everyone was charging towards. Kingdom Hearts.

Described as the collective heart of all worlds and all people, it was coveted by those who sought greatness. There were so many stories built around it, tales of immense power and wisdom granted to any who managed to claim it. Yet did anyone truly understand what that entailed?

He doubted it. The truth of Kingdom Hearts was such an elusive thing, something that defied imagination. As of yet no one had come close to learning that truth, nor to obtaining the true Kingdom Hearts.

From behind him, he could just make out the sound of a dark corridor opening over the gusting wind. Turning to look, a familiar figure stepped out to join him on the rooftop.

“So you finally decided to show your face again.”

“Luxu,” he exclaimed, dramatically clutching at his chest as though in pain. “I’m heartbroken you aren’t happier to see me.”

“As if!” scoffed his most faithful apprentice. “Maybe I would have been if you’d shown up in time for the reunion. Man, Aced is as hot-headed as ever and the others aren’t much better.”

The Master just smiled privately to himself. Luxu could deflect all he wanted, but they both knew his indifference to be false. There was no hiding the relieved glint in his eyes and the slight softening of his expression. For all that he acted rather laid back these days, it was different when he felt it in truth. He had been waiting a long time for this moment.

The Master was absolutely tickled that someone actually missed him.

Time was such a nebulous concept to someone like him, who drifted seamlessly between past, present, and future. He had known his students long before he ever met them and even after all this time it felt as though it was only yesterday that they had parted ways. Yet for them, it had been far longer. He wondered how the others would react to finally seeing him again.

“How'd the kid get here of all places?”

Luxu’s question broke him from his musing. He tucked his hands behind his back as he explained. “His little tumble down the rabbit hole from misusing the power of waking was interrupted. Someone was waiting for him and stepped in to give him a hand.”

“Someone from the outside?”

“Bingo! You're right on the money. Someone sent a proxy here with only the instructions to 'save Sora.'”

“Ha! Good luck with that. The kid’s pretty determined to do himself in.”

“I’m not too concerned,” he said with nonchalance. “But better to keep an eye out. Can’t have anyone getting impatient and moving before the time is right.”

…

Sora had been wandering for some time, but he couldn’t make heads or tails of the twisting streets of this strange city. No matter which way he went, he inevitably ended up back where he started in front of the building emblazoned with “104” in glowing red lights. He had woken up here after his rather disheartening defeat at the hands of Yozora. Wherever here was, it was the same place that they had fought in, although Sora had caught only the barest glimpse during the fight.

Since coming to in this lifeless city that was like a cold facsimile of San Fransokyo, Sora had encountered Yozora no less than three times. Each time Yozora has no recollection of their previous interactions, and each time they fought. Sora had not yet been able to beat him. It made him think of Riku, and of a childhood spent chasing after his best friend, who was always faster, always stronger.

Letting out a gusty sigh, he found a nearby park bench and sprawled across it, tilting his head back to gaze up into the unfamiliar night sky. “I wonder how they’re doing… Riku, Kairi, and the others…”

He grimaced as a pulse of not-quite-pain pulsed through his chest. Even before the final clash with Xehanort, he’d been feeling a phantom ache in his heart that had only worsened as he used the power of waking to save everyone from that horrible first confrontation with the Xehanort-possessed Terra. Sora may not be the smartest, but he was more perceptive than most people gave him credit for, at least when it came to matters of the heart, so he suspected that he knew the cause.

There were few things in his life that Sora had regrets about, but helping someone in need would never be one. Even if it was to his detriment. Ventus had needed a place to heal and Sora had happily offered his assistance. Of course, he didn’t actually remember that, but didn’t make the sentiment any less truthful. However, ever since waking Ventus, he’d had this lingering feeling of being hollowed out, like a piece of his own heart had broken off when Ventus left.

Sora would have been more surprised if he hadn’t felt any different. After all, Ventus had been with him for more than ten years.

By the end of the final battle he could feel the fragility of his heart and realized the truth in the younger Xehanort’s warnings. He really had overstepped his limits. The decision to go after Kairi was an easy one, if a little selfish. If he was already past the point of no return, the least he could do was make sure everyone else was safe first.

Sora hoped that Riku and Kairi would forgive him and that they didn’t blame themselves for his disappearance.

Echoing footsteps startled him into awareness. It seemed Yozora was back, since no one else ever showed up here. Getting to his feet, Sora turned to meet those eerie heterochromatic eyes. “Hello again, Yozora.”

“You know me?” Yozora asked, just as every time before. “Who are you?”

“I’m Sora, remember? We’ve met before.” He didn’t really know why he kept trying. So far, nothing has worked to spark any recognition.

“Sora? You’re Sora?” That same steely-eyed look of determination returned, that same look he always got as soon as he learned Sora’s name. Sora mentally prepared himself to fight once more, tuning out the rest of the repeated conversation.

Yozora drew his weapons and Sora made one last plea to resolve things peacefully, but the other was not deterred. Resigned, Sora summoned his keyblade.

“Time to end this.”

Having seen it multiple times now, Sora was ready for the lasers and dodged out of the way, regretful that he was out of practice with barrier magic. It would really be helpful right now. He kept bobbing and weaving, waiting for the slightest break in the relentless assault. There! With a yell, he rushed Yozora, putting the full force of his formidable strength into his swing. Yozora was knocked back, but it didn’t faze him for long. His opponent started teleporting, trying to catch him off guard, throwing around more lasers and appearing out of nowhere to engage him directly. Sora did his best to dodge and deflect as many attacks as he could, but Yozora was fast—faster than anyone he’d fought before.

He stumbled as a beam of energy grazed his side in a flash of white hot agony. Already, he felt fatigued and he hadn’t even been fighting for more than a few minutes. Gritting his teeth through the pain, Sora waited for another opening and charged Yozora again, his hits striking true.

It wasn’t enough. Yozora’s aggression only heightened, as did the intensity of his attacks. Everything became a blur. Between the pain and the exhaustion, Sora simply couldn’t keep up. For the fifth time, Yozora struck him down.

“Not again,” he groaned weakly. How was this guy so strong?

“Sorry, but I don’t lose.”

Sora was sick of this pattern. Nothing ever changed. Was this all just a dream he couldn’t wake up from? Is any of this for real or not? He didn’t know. None of this... makes sense to me. His thoughts trailed off as he once again succumbed to the encroaching darkness.

Some random side notes: I’m still on the fence about whether or not the Master of Masters is actually a villain or more of a Dumbledore-esk character, but he’s definitely going to come off as more of a villain in this.

As for Sora, I’m going to be playing around with his character a little bit. There’s nothing necessarily wrong with having a character who doesn’t change, but I still found it vaguely annoying that in KHIII he still acted like the same 14yo kid he was is KHI.

I do plan to bring Vanitas into this because I think he’s interesting and the way his fight in KHIII ended felt kind of unresolved.

Also, it seems that in cannon very little time passes between KHII and KHIII, which I find a little strange, so I may fudge the timeline a bit, though it’s not very explicit.

I think I’ll try to keep up with this in between my other writing. And maybe work on some more FFXV stuff. Maybe. Depends on if I have any actually good ideas.

[lesbianfeminists]

“March was women's History Month, and in the wake of the graduation-dress debate, Marlborough confronted self-image with a special all-school assembly featuring Dr. Joan Jacobs Brumberg, a professor at Cornell University. Dr. Brumberg had written two books about the collision between cultural pressures and a girl's sense of herself, Fasting Girls: The History of Anorexia Nervosa, and The Body Project: An Intimate History of American Girls. The title of her speech was 'From Corsets to Body Piercing.'

…

She started out with a rattling set of statistics: By the age of seventeen, according to her research, 78 percent of American girls reported that they disliked their bodies. Girls as young as eight and nine complained to their pediatricians that they were fat and needed to go on a diet.

Teenage girls had become 'appearance junkies, valuing their appearance over creativity, intelligence, generosity, kindness,' said Dr. Brumberg. 'And there's anecdotal evidence, though its not yet established in the literature, that it's worse in southern California than anywhere else in the country.’

There was in this country an epidemic of what she called 'bad body fever,' and she believed that they only way to eradicate it was to confront it. To bolster her argument, she read excerpts about New Year's resolutions from two different girls' diaries. The first spoke purely in terms of personality traits she wanted to improve, while the second girl wrote about how she wanted to look and what she hoped to buy. 'One diary projects good works,' said Dr. Brumberg. 'The other projects good looks.' The first diary, one of the ones she had collected for The Body Project, was from 1892; the second, the one that focused on appearance, was from 1982. The implication was that today's young women had replaced moral concerns with a narcissistic set of desires. 'So what's happened?' Dr. Brumberg asked her audience. 'Can we blame it all on Calvin Klein, on advertising? Can we blame Hollywood? MTV? Are you the first generation to feel this way? What was it like in the past to get your period, to develop acne, to start to feel sexual?'

She presented a slide show of 20th-century photographs and advertisements, designed to illustrate how the media defined femininity. She wanted the girls to see just how aggressive the message was, how pervasive the cult of physical beauty. If they understood the pressure they were under, they would be better able to defend themselves against it. 

…

Katie Tower and her friend Lisl came because they were furious. To them, all this talk of 'bad body fever' was a colossal insult, no better than a racial or religious slur. What right did a stranger have to suggest every girl in the auditorium was neurotic about her appearance? 

For the first ten minutes, the lunchtime session was a polite round of agreeable sentiment: Several girls wanted to talk about advertisements they hated, and one devoutly embraced the idea of 'being more aware of ourselves." Dr. Brumberg referred to herself as 'unlean,' and the girls chuckled. Dr. Morgan and Les Klein hovered in the background with a parent who had offered to serve as Dr. Brumberg's chaperone for the day.

Finally, Lisl could stand it no longer. She had strict criteria for true gender equality, and she saw insidious threats where most of her friends did not. She believed in hygiene-- her long, straight strawberry blond hair was always shiny and clean-- but beyond that, she took an almost belligerent stance about her appearance. She rarely bothered to tuck in her uniform shirt, and she preferred dark slacks to the more popular short skirt over boys' boxer shorts. She often wore a school blazer, as though happy for the extra camouflage, and favored heavy, lug-soled shoes. 

To her, all this talk about looks was somebody else's problem. It had nothing to do with her life. She was going to Brown University and intended to become an engineer. Gender and looks were irrelevant to that. In fact, she found Dr. Brumberg's presentation to be condescending-- a double standard masquerading as a commitment to equality.

'Using the terms like bad body fever and stuff, I think you're really emphasizing negative aspects,' Lisl said. 'Putting all this emphasis on how the female appears, and what the teenage girl appears to be. My question to you would be, Do you think you're adding to it? When you speak so fervently about how we have to stop this, or look at the impact-- don't you think you're simply adding to it?'

Dr. Brumberg was startled by Lisl's question. She picked her words carefully. 'I'm a historian,' she said, 'and I'm reporting on what the clinical establishment is saying. Do you follow what I'm saying? I didn't do the research. The data show-- and it may not be your problem, all right?-- that women in America are dissatisfied with themselves, and that they're more demanding about physical appearance than any other aspect of their lives: their creativity, their athleticism, their sociability, their relationships.'

Her voice tightened up. 'I didn't make that up, okay? I'm trying to explain why we might have come to that position. I'm not chastising you."

Lisl refused to yield. 'Doesn't dissatisfaction create change, though? So wouldn't that be beneficial change? Maybe we're in sort of a time of change.'

Dr. Brumberg cut Lisl off. How could anyone consider a negative self-image to be a tool of progress? 'Dissatisfaction about your body,' she said, incredulous. 'You think that is going to generate social change?'

'About whatever,' said Lisl. 'Any dissatisfaction moves people to change things.' She accused Dr. Brumberg of acting as though beauty were a bad thing, and attention to hygiene and athletics, evidence of a superficial nature. Perhaps girls were simply being practical about how the world worked. She brandished a magazine ad that touted yogurt. 'Look at this,' Lisl said. 'It says, 'You need yogurt or else you're not going to get a date.' In some ways isn't that true?' The girls Lisl knew who had boyfriends were slimmer and prettier than the other girls. Maybe the ads were merely a reflection of reality, not an attempt to define it.

Dr. Brumberg and the teachers hardly expected such antagonism, and Lisl was not finished. What really infuriated her was the implicit suggestion that Marlborough girls were no different that anyone else.

'We heard you say that external appearance came in lieu of good deeds and actions and stuff,' she said. 'I don't think you can say that vanity has totally disappeared from Marlborough's campus, but we're heavily motived people here. Its hard for us to look at somebody who's omitting that part of our life and saying--'

Dr. Brumberg cut her off. 'You're taking the thesis of my book as somewhat of an insult,' she said. 

'I'm not,' said Lisl. 'I'm just explaining to you, since you seem rather surprised-’

'You regard it as a charge that women of your generation are shallow.'

'Its personal,' said Katie. 'Maybe I feel better in makeup or certain clothes.'

'What's wrong with enjoying it?' chimed in another girl.

'There's nothing wrong with enjoying it,' replied Dr. Brumberg.

'That's the way you're coming off,' said Lisl.

Dr. Brumberg appealed to Dr. Morgan, who had arranged for her visit. 'In fairness to me,' she said, ' have these people read my book?'

Dr. Morgan sighed. One assigned chapter.

Dr. Brumberg decided to make her case one last time. 'The book is about the way in which in the twentieth century, not just young women but everybody, regards the body as perfectible,' she said. 'That's a change in our intellectual psyche. If you deny that the body is a critical piece of your self-identity, I think you're being pretty defensive. Your parents watch their cholesterol. Your grandparents may be counting their fat grams. This is the kind of culture in which we live. My charge is not that you're shallow and you don't have other interests. What I'm telling you is that if you looked at these diaries the way I have, from the 1830s to the 1980s, you'll find there is a big difference in the way girls think about themselves.'

Her stern tone of voice was a warning. As the session drew to a close, she would not tolerate interruption.

'This is not an argument against makeup, against earrings, against getting dressed up and taking care of yourself,' she said. 'But you are a little blind and a little defensive if you can't admit that there are people in this culture who become appearance junkies. I'm not saying you are all like that. I'm not saying you can't do wonderful things….I'm just telling you that girls beat themselves up today about appearance in ways they didn't in the nineteenth century. That's the thesis. If that is threatening and upsetting to you, I'm quite surprised.'

…

Her audience was plainly skeptical. For six years, they had lived in a world that considered them capable. The last thing they needed to hear, as they waited out the final weeks before the college letters arrived, was that they carried an internalized flaw, like a damaged gene, that rendered them not quite good enough: lacking in depth, concerned with frivolous things.

Their nerves were too raw to appreciate Dr. Brumberg's study. All they heard was a middle-aged woman telling them that they were narcissists. She was the universal bad mother, wagging a disapproving finger in their faces, and they simply did not want to hear what she had to say.

Erica's friend Chrissy, a gracious, soft-spoken girl, tried to lower the temperature in the room with a confession. People were always telling her she was not thin enough, or needed more makeup, or ought to color her hair, 'and they say its not for yourself-- its so a boy will like you.'

One of the other girls cut her off. There was no way to rid the world of people who said stupid things, but a smart girl refused to listen-- and she surrounded herself with like-minded people. A Marlborough girl did not need instruction. She just needed other girls who understood.

'You need a friend to say, 'No, no, you're plenty thin,' said one senior. 'Girls need to say that.'”

All Girls: Single-Sex Education and Why It Matters, Karen Stabiner. 2002.

[thedungeonsbat]

Muggle Love (Chapter 2)

A/N: Thanks for the response!! I love you all so much!!

Chapter 2

You, too, heard the sound of some approaching. Severus tensed and so did you. You then heard a 'whoosh' sound. The footsteps grew closer. And closer. Sweat drops were streaming down your face while Severus listened to their conversation very delicately. You could make very little out of it.

“It isn't here!” You heard one of them say. The man's voice was low and uncomforting.

"But we do not require it now. The Dark Lord's been gone for years." The other said in a deep and hoarse voice.

"But he will return to power soon enough."

“Right. We better move.”

And with another 'whoosh' sound, they were gone. Severus removed his hand from your mouth and you breathed a sigh of relief. His eyes still fixed on where the men stood and conversed.

"Who were they? Who's this 'Dark Lord' they speak of? And most importantly, do you know them?" You asked all that in nearly one breath.

"You.must.leave. You shouldn't have been here."

"Tell me what I ask!" You demanded. Although you tried to sound angry, you were terribly frightened.

"Leave at once!" He demanded in his low voice and gave you another one of his glares, deadlier than ever. You could clearly sense fear in him too. You knew you could get nothing out of him and also, you weren't comfortable in the place you found yourself in, so you obeyed. You went away. You looked back to have a last glance at him but he was gone already. Curiosity filled your mind. Why does he always appears out of nowhere and then disappears suddenly? Who was he?

______________________________

Months had passed since you met Severus the last time. He went away but left you with a huge mystery. A mystery unsolved by you. But his would change. You believed you would find him because you felt that there was a reason you met at the first place. You had a strong feeling that he would show up one day or another. Everyday you told yourself that and nothing happened but you weren't the one who gives up that easy.

It was your last exam today which went pretty well. You took a deep breath as you stepped out your college. You now had enough days to rest. You did not have a family in London as they lived in Liverpool. You used to live with your father and a little brother. For years now, you have been studying in London. You spent most of your time by yourself. You did have a few hobbies like writing and sketching. You drew things you found interesting and yup, you drew Severus too. He was the first person you ever drew in your special sketchbook. Special because your father gifted it to you.

You never gave up on looking for Severus. You visited the place you last met him and found out that the place was called Spinner's End. You never knew anything of it but now you visited it quite often, in hope you'd see him one day. The place had several brick houses which seemed to be deserted. There were a few broken street lamps and usually there was no sound except for the sound of water from a polluted river nearby.

Everyone you saw here was….different. Some of them even wore cloaks. "Just some weird people." you thought to yourself as you were afraid to walk among them, specially after Snape's warning. You caught a few staring at you and whispering something to each other. You even had a feeling someone was following you.

It got stronger. You were certain you were being followed. "Keep moving, keep moving. No one's gonna kidnap you." You kept reassuring yourself. You increased your pace. You breathed heavily. Sweatdrops trickled down your forehead. You, at last reached the dead-end of the road. Your hands reached your bag to grab your pepper spray bottle as you gathered up your courage.

You turned around quickly and sprayed it into the man's eyes without even looking.

"Aargh!! You stupid woman!" You heard him yelp in pain as you opened your eyes to see him. Who else could it be other than Severus.

"Merlin! You muggles are foolish!" He said trying to open his eyes. He rubbed them a bit but that made it worse.

"Oh God! I'm so very sorry. I didn't know it was you. I'm so so sorry." You apologised with pure guilt in your voice. You tried to approach him, only to help him but he raised his hand and took a step backwards.

"Don't!"

"Let me help, please. It's all my fault." You pleaded him to help you but he didn't let you. He didn't help from a muggle. He cleaned his eyes with a handkerchief and finally managed to open his eyes to meet yours. They were red. Because of the spray or anger, it was hard to tell.

"Why are you here again?" He asked you. Shivers sent down your spine as he spoke in his growling voice.

"Why were you following me?" You replied him with another question. You were still guilt-ridden by your act of foolishness.

"I saw you wandering here, where I clearly stated you shouldn't. So, I decided to follow you to see what you were up to. Now, why are you here?!"

"It's obvious, isn't it? I was looking for you."

He tilted his head in confusion. Why would someone be looking for him?

"Care to tell why, when I told you not to?"

"I- To be honest, I couldn't get you off my mind."

He raised his brow. You further added, "You see, you were the weir- most unusual man I've met with unusual clothes," you pointed at his robes and cloak, "with a strange name-"

"My name is NOT STRANGE!"

"Sorry, shouldn't have said that. You're just very different than all others."

"That clearly does not justify you stalking me. Look, you should not come here. Specially now, that you've been spotted with me."

You got puzzled and you demanded answers to a number of questions you had in mind. Severus, of course, just sort of read your mind and knew he had to answer your questions. He sighed.

"I know you have questions by they can not be answered here." You nodded.

"Let's get somewhere else then." He knew you weren't giving up. He agreed.

"Wait right there! You aren't going in those are you?" You pointed his robes and cloak.

"Obviously." He did seem to have forgotten he wasnt in his muggle clothes. He asked you to excuse him and walked into a small, dark house, not too big which you assumed to be his. He returned within minutes, clothes changed. You smiled at him. He didn't return it.

"You live here?" He in answer gave you a 'obviously' glare of his. You smiled again and he snarled. You actually liked it when he did that. You found almost everything about him pleasant. You just did not realise it yet.

After about a 10 minutes walk of awkward silence, you entered the city. He looked around to make sure no one was listening.

"Why don't we have some coffee?" You asked him.

"I want it to be quick. Now, tell me what you've seen and heard."

You nodded and began, "I heard a mention of some 'Dark Lord' and have no idea what that means. I saw people in cloaks including you and I know I may be in danger, if spotted with you." You told him everything so casually like it was nothing but Severus knew all of what was happening. He sighed. He didn't know what to do. Should he just 'obliviate' your memories. No. He couldn't do that, it was too risky.

"Listen, I don't know what it is that's bothering you but I know you need help and I can help you if it makes it any better. I'm a psychology student after all." Your eyes reflected with concern for him.

"There's nothing you can do and you know NOTHING about me!" He snapped. He didn't want to look weak in front of a no-maj.

"I do. You, Severus Snape, are a lonely person with no friends and you keep pretending you don't need one but you do! Everyone does. You are troubled by your past and don't want to show it because you think it'll make you look weak." You almost shouted at him and could see his eyes widened with surprise. Realising it didn't come out that good you added, "I just want to help."

He got very angered at your description about him, though it was true.

"I don't need your help. The biggest favour you could do me is to stay away and never show yourself again! Ever!" He screamed so loud, you almost jumped in terror. You looked down at your feet and then raised your head again, meeting his eyes. You felt tears forming in your eyes but did not let them escape.

You opened your mouth to say something but no words came out. He looked at you in your (y/e/c) eyes and saw them too. He just made you cry. Maybe he was too harsh.

You left without another word. Severus stood there in silence, looking at you walking away. He knew you were crying. He felt guilty. Why? He never feels bad for just making someone cry, many students have done that. Why now?

[kira-ani-mcgrath]

I am redeemed You set me free So I'll shake off these heavy chains And wipe away every stain Now I'm not who I used to be I am redeemed

"Redeemed" by Big Daddy Weave

I drew this picture specifically to go with the personal story below the cut. Thank you in advance if you take the time to read it, but no worries if you don't. Either way, have a wonderful day.

Late December 2018 was when the Frozen II calendar leak began circulating. Included in the leak was information on the Russian caption for the page, translated to be a vague movie summary. This plot teaser stated that the group (Anna, Elsa, Kristoff, Olaf, and Sven) would be heading north into the forest due to some Arendelle-related mystery.

This was a bit of a let-down for me. You see, since my initial introduction to Frozen in 2013, I have been hoping and praying that the inevitable sequel would include Hans' redemption as part of the narrative (for various reasons that are too lengthy to detail here). Such a plot thread would be easier to accomplish if Frozen II involved travel to some other kingdom (or multiple kingdoms), especially the Southern Isles. With the information revealed in the plot spoiler, it was harder to picture a scenario where Hans would join the rest of the gang for an adventure. Yes, it could be done, but it would be more convoluted, possibly to the point of not being an option altogether. Perhaps I was being too pessimistic, but there was no denying the fact that I was feeling rather down about Frozen II.

A few days later, I was driving home with the radio on, but I wasn't paying attention to it. Instead, I was once again mulling over various ways Hans could be redeemed in Frozen II. Yet the more I considered possible scenarios, the more it seemed that the movie's revealed plot would make Hans' redemption an unrealistic feat. I reached the end of my train of thought, and, feeling disheartened, mentally chided myself, "I should just give up. Hans isn't going to be redeemed in Frozen 2."

At that precise moment, the opening notes of "Redeemed" began to play on the radio. Being quite familiar with the song, I immediately laughed and pointed an index finger to the sky. Not only was the title of the song the exact word my mind had just used, but I have long associated this song with Hans (one of many songs, but also one of my favorites). I had no doubt this was the Lord confirming something to me, as this was not the first time such a "coincidental" occurrence has happened.

It's important to know that, in the years since Frozen, I have created (and am still creating) multiple fanworks that posit different takes on how a Hans redemption could come about (and that's not including all the ideas I've had that aren't developed enough for full-fledged works). There have been several times when I've questioned the value of creating such things, only to have affirmation of my work come from unexpected sources at just the right time. Additionally, I have had many such question-and-confirmation experiences in my life, as well as a noticeable increase in the quantity of such instances within the past several months (albeit unrelated to Frozen and instead dealing with various other matters, such as my faith, my most recent pregnancy, and random everyday life things). Thus, when this specific incident occurred, I immediately recognized it as yet another such moment.

Since that night in December, I'd been internally debating sharing this anecdote with the world. Every few days or so my mind would recall the incident and I'd consider posting about it, but I'd always end up deciding against it. After all, it is highly personal, and it takes quite a bit of explaining to impart the importance of this experience (and I'm still leaving out personal details which make it much more powerful to me). This went on for some time. In mid-late February, I was once again musing upon the occurrence and whether or not I should share it. I jokingly thought to God: "If I hear 'Redeemed' on the radio this morning I'll take it as a sign I'm supposed to share this." And, since you are reading this post, you must know where this is going. I already had the radio on, and after getting back in my vehicle after child drop-off, I flicked through my presets to find a song I wanted to listen to. And, lo and behold, my second-to-last preset was playing the first verse of "Redeemed." (Granted, all of my presets are Christian radio stations, so that does put the odds more in favor of my "wager" coming true. On the other hand, the song is from 2012. That means it's 7 years old, and I honestly didn’t hear the song very often at the time, as more recent songs get played much more frequently. In my mind, the proposition was a joke, but I suppose I should have known better, since a lot of my recent question-and-confirmation experiences have been me joking and God proceeding to do the thing.) And thus, here we are. The large time gap between the second occurrence and this post is because 1) I take a while to get my thoughts out and refine them into something fit for public eyes, especially in a personal case such as this one, 2) it seemed appropriate to do some art to go with this, since I've been lacking in productivity in the creative departments for some time, and 3) life things requiring my attention.

On an interesting side note, I had three additional confirmations of this post while I was working on it.

#1) When I said, "There have been several times when I've questioned the value of creating such things, only to have affirmation of my work come from unexpected sources at just the right time," there's a particular incident that sticks out to me. One night in 2016, I stayed up late finishing chapter nine of my fanfiction, Frozen: Sacrifice and Forgiveness. Even though I posted the chapter, I was really depressed about it. Thoughts such as, "Is this really something I should be investing so much time in?" and "Does God actually want me to write this story?" weighed heavily on my mind, though I kept them to myself. After some internal arguing, I directed an unspoken question to the Lord: "Is this really what I should be doing?" Not much later, before going to bed, I checked my phone and saw an email from FF.net saying I had a comment on the latest F:SaF chapter. The comment was from a fellow Christian who had read through the posted chapters and was very encouraging about my story. It was just the right kind of affirmation at precisely the right time. Fast-forward to Wednesday, February 27th, 2019. I checked my phone in the morning and saw an email from AO3 that someone has left a comment on the last posted chapter of F:SaF. This was quite surprising, as I haven't updated the fic since September 21st, 2017. The comment was very positive, and it immediately reminded me of this post, which was a WIP in a computer document at the time. Not only did the new comment correlate to the aforementioned unexpected sources of encouragement, but F:SaF has been on my mind recently in terms of working on it again. Then, as the cherry on top, I was listening to the daily scripture reading on the radio while driving to work that morning, and the song that came on immediately afterward was "Redeemed".

#2) On Friday, March 1st, I had finished this post to my general satisfaction (as I knew it still required minor edits, plus I still had to finish my drawing) before getting ready for work. Upon entering my vehicle, I thought, "Wouldn't it be funny if 'Redeemed' played on the radio again?" I then instantly berated myself: "That's dumb. You don't need to be looking for confirmation of things all the time." I then flicked through my presets, and the first verse of "Redeemed" was playing on my second-to-last preset — the same song position and the same preset as when I was debating whether or not to make this post.

#3) On Friday, March 8th, I thought to myself as I was getting ready for work, “I really need to finish that post.” When I started my car, the radio was on, but I didn’t care for the song it was playing, so I jumped to my first preset. “Redeemed” was playing, starting from the very first word of the first verse.

Now, the question is: what was being confirmed to me with the original occurrence in December? The most straightforward answer is Hans' redemption in Frozen II. Mind you, not a redemption based on worldly methods such as "cleaning yourself up" and "earning it," but rooted in the Christian standard of unconditional love, mercy, grace, and faith. I'll admit, it seems far-fetched, given the fact that Disney is not a Christian company and the creative team has no Christians on it (AFAIK). Then again, "What is impossible with man is possible with God." Still, I have thought of other meanings for this incident. Perhaps it was simply a reminder to not get so depressed over a fictional character. Perhaps it was merely encouragement to keep going with my various fan projects, despite Frozen II looming in the distance. Perhaps it was a nudge that the sequel would contain a small hint of a future Hans redemption. Of course, that all sounds like me trying to talk myself out of trusting God for something amazing, as I am prone to doing. It's a struggle to wait on the Lord (especially for someone like me who hates surprises and wants to know things ASAP), but the truth of this incident will be revealed when the time is right.

One may wonder why God would care about a fictional character or a fictional story. It's not that He cares about those things in and of themselves, it's that He cares about His children and the salvation of humanity. My prayers (which are mostly just God-directed thoughts as I go about my day) regarding Hans' redemption were always something along the lines of, "Hey, God, it'd be really awesome if Hans gets redeemed in a way that reflects how Jesus saved us." Then I would mentally argue with myself about even making such a request, and always end at a variation of "Whatever is best, Lord." Though a fictional character's redemption is trivial in the grand scheme of things, God can use the most unexpected means to reach someone regarding a matter of eternal importance. He knows that, for me, this isn't just about a fictional character — it's about using that character's story to connect real people with the hope of the Gospel. Frozen was a movie with weak morals and a character that is looked down upon as irredeemable by the majority of viewers. If, by the grace of God, the sequel displays true love and redemption, then perhaps one soul out there will see the truth: anyone can be saved because Jesus can save anyone.

Feel free to message me if you aren't comfortable utilizing public replies or reblogs. Thank you for reading, and God bless you.

Update (Sept. 4th, 2019): So I’ve been lurking on a few Discord servers for a while now in addition to my Tumblr lurking, and overall there is a very negative attitude regarding Hans returning in F2. It’s coming from all directions: antis/haters who don’t want him in it, neutral parties who don’t see an available role for him to play, and fans who have lost hope due to lack of news. Last night I had an unpleasant dream on the subject. While the specifics are hazy, I know it involved the fandom discussing Hans’ absence in the movie. When I was going about my business this morning, I thought about the dream, this post, and the incident that brought this post into being. I mentally argued with myself, as I often do, about the situation. Lately, I too have been feeling disheartened on this matter. As I said, the fandom as a whole has been negative about this, so it was starting to get to me. In addition to that, as new leaks reveal more of the story, the chances of Hans appearing in any meaningful fashion get slimmer. However, no matter how bleak the outlook, I was given a supernatural sign to keep hope in a Hans redemption. Still, there was always the possibility I had interpreted the incident incorrectly, and adding in the other factors at play, this morning I was once again questioning God. I wanted another sign or some kind of spoiler-type proof, then scolded myself for being greedy and for seeking worldly validation of what God has said (instead of trusting Him to fulfill His promises). I had the radio on KLOVE as I was driving, and one of my “Hans songs” came on. It was a “lower tier” one (a.k.a. one I don’t like quite as much as others), so as I listened to it I thought, “It’d be nice if the next song after this was another good song, but one of the top-tier ones. It’d make me feel better about this whole thing.” Of course, I then chided myself, thinking, “Why are you always asking for stuff? Isn’t what you have already enough?” The song came to an end, and the next song began to play. It was “Redeemed.”

[tswiftisgay]

my queer perspective and analysis of early TSwift discography 🏳‍🌈

Even though I was not in the south, my community was a lot like Taylor’s country fan base. I’m a bi woman who grew up in a Catholic family, going to Catholic school. My peers and teachers were largely conservative and homophobic. I would like to share my perspective on Taylor’s music and lyrics as I experienced them growing up.

I’ve included dated screenshots from my Facebook. (Please respect my privacy by not sharing these screenshots outside my post.) 

I identified with Taylor’s music beyond any other single artist. Her music was so cathartic for me. That’s not to say I didn’t connect other artists, but many of Taylor’s songs felt very intimate. I posted (cringy) things online about how Taylor was ripping lyrics from my diary.

My comment to a friend below this post emphasizes just how close to home her lyrics hit.

Everyone else said that Taylor Swift wrote like she was inside their heads so I figured everyone else felt the same way as me. But looking back, I likely had a lot more in common with Taylor than the average girl. 

Her songs lean heavily on a sense of longing, uncertainty, and loneliness that I felt every day as someone trying to figure out who I was with few people to talk to openly.  She also returns again and again to what I’m calling “friendship romance.” (This friendship theme is stronger than ever in her recent 1989 and Rep love songs.) We also see the start of a theme of forbidden love that only gets stronger in her later albums.

Let’s explore a few key songs from the Taylor Swift and Fearless albums!

Two caveats:

Liz Rose co-wrote most of the early songs with Taylor. However, she has said on record that she was more of an editor when it came to Taylor and lyrics. 

It’s not my goal to argue who Taylor wrote these songs about, merely to point out the gay feelings and themes in the songs through the lens of my experience. I do link to some other Gaylor analysis of these songs that does reference specific people if you are curious.

Taylor Swift

Tear Drops on My Guitar

I fake a smile so he won't see, What I want, what I need, And everything that we should be

I spent a lot of time listening to my girl friends talking about people they had crushes on. I was oddly possessive/protective of my friends but tried to hide it. That possessiveness came from non-platonic feelings for them even before I acknowledged it. They knew me and understood me. We were so close. I always wanted more of their time and attention and affection.

The only one who's got enough of me to break my heart, He's the song in the car I keep singing, don't know why I do

Because of my attachment, it felt like a betrayal when they turned their attention away from me to a cute boy, even though I knew it wasn’t really. I didn’t understand why this bothered me so much or why I thought about them so much. 

In my experience, the intimacy of female friendship (and thus the need to hide non-platonic feelings) is much stronger (and more painful) than between a guy and a girl.

It’s important that the demo version of this song is gender neutral. Instead of Drew, the song is addressed to “you.” Honestly, that’s really what I heard when I listened to the song anyway. It especially helps explain this line that I really connected to:

And there he you goes so perfectly, The kind of flawless I wish I could be

You can’t tell me this self-reflection of a lovers’ attractiveness is hetero. What straight girl ever looked at a guy and wished she could be as flawless as him? I know I looked at girls I wanted to like me and wished I was as beautiful/cool/perfect as them. I did not feel that way about the guys I was interested in. The only reason that I might feel that way about a guy was if I was enamored with his girlfriend and jealous that she liked him.

I’m Only Me When I’m with You This song describes an incredibly close friendship that is romantic, the most straightforward example of “friendship romance.” You feel everything this other person feels. You feel like you can’t live without them because they matter to you more than anything. I related to this song like crazy and still do.

I don't try to hide my tears My secrets or my deepest fears Through it all nobody gets me like you do

The romantic nature is emphasized in the chorus when Taylor describes trying to convey her feelings for this person. 

I'm only trying To let you know that what I feel is true And I'm only me when I'm with you

Less compelling, but I have to add, knowing everything about you includes knowing you are gay. Sharing that secret created a bond unlike any other. In a community where that was especially taboo, you couldn’t tell just anyone. So anyone who did know was extremely special. (I only told other gays initially and then subsequently fell in love with them because we shared everything.)

The Outside

You saw me there, but never knew That I would give it all up to be A part of this, a part of you

Besides the obvious trope of young queer people feeling different, I always felt like I was on the outside of social circles and cliques of girls I connected with. They tended to be freaked out by how much I liked them or just completely unaware of how much young sweaty-handed me was hanging on their every word. Not being included became extra painful when it was not only a social rejection but a romantic one as well. She writes that she wants to be “a part of this, a part of you,” which implies a romantic interest in addition to the more general social one. This really rang true to young gay me.

Invisible

She's never gonna love you like I want to And you just see right through me but if you only knew me We could be a beautiful, miracle, unbelievable Instead of just invisible

Like shadows in a faded light 

This song again focuses on pining for someone while they long for someone else. Taylor writes “if you only knew me,” but then says “we could be ... instead of just invisible”, implying that they do know each other just not in the way Taylor wants. This feeds back into this theme of unrequited (friendship) love that it so common for young queer women.

She can't see the way your eyes Light up when you smile She'll never notice how you stop and stare Whenever she walks by

This songs also brings in the idea that her (presumably) straight friend is pining after a boy--because who do we usually categorize as unobservant and careless with feelings? Not girls. The song makes a lot more sense with the pronouns switched around. *He can’t see the way your eyes light up, but I can!*

(Taylor even dedicated this song to the gays on Rep tour B-stage.❤)

Fearless

This was the album that I sat up at night listening to over and over again. I think it is extremely gay.

Fearless

On the most basic level, you don’t need to be fearless unless you would otherwise be afraid, as one might be when embracing the gay. One could argue it’s scary to be vulnerable and open yourself up to any new relationship, but she says this is unusual for her. So this song is about something new and different, something that could be scary but is so intoxicating.  This is exactly how I felt about embracing my desire to be with women. (This breathless feeling is also expressed on Jump Then Fall.)

Well you stood there with me in the doorway my hands shake I'm not usually this way but You pull me in and I'm a little more brave It's a first kiss, it's flawless, really something, it's fearless.

She describes having a first kiss, but it’s important to note she has stated her first kiss was when she was a freshman in high school at age 15, long before she was working on the Fearless album. So this was the first kiss of a relationship, or maybe as I’m inclined to believe, her first kiss with another woman.

You Belong with Me

This song again emphasizes that she knows this person better than anyone else and should be with them-- friendship romance anyone? Taylor told the media this was based on a phone call she overheard between her guy friend and his girlfriend, but I have to believe this was an extension of her many previous songs on this theme.

Love Story

Gaylor fans have written so much about this song, which is written partially from Romeo’s perspective about a forbidden romance. She says the love is difficult but real, a sentiment I attached to as a young gay navigating expressing my feelings under the watchful gaze of homophobic adults and teens. 

What I want to add is that it’s so important that she references the sense that this has been building up without words. 

 Is this in my head? I don't know what to think

If she was writing about a more typical relationship, this wouldn’t make sense, but between two closeted young gays, this makes perfect sense. I experienced “relationships” that were unspoken or only referenced in a joking tone, but when it came down to it, there was an acknowledged bond beyond any of our other friendships. We held hands and slept together at sleepovers. If she was upset, she came to me to be held. She was my someone. (And yes, she turned out to be gay, too.) Imagining a day when we both proclaimed our love was so cathartic. 

Forbidden desire is also the main theme of the deluxe version track Untouchable.

Breathe

And we know it's never simple, never easy Never a clean break, no one here to save me You're the only thing I know like the back of my hand

This song is another one of the exceptionally gay and well-discussed Gaylor songs. Taylor again refers to someone she knows better than anyone, similar to the above friendship love theme.

In the song she says goodbye to someone who wasn’t quite her someone--which is very gay. She chooses to sing “feeling like I just lost a friend,” rather than saying she actually just lost a friend. Despite how Colbie Callait described the song--“ it's about having to let someone go and say goodbye to a really good friend”--it’s clear this was more than a platonic bud. This resonated strongly with my unspoken romance experiences and the unspoken “breakups” that followed. 

She references a variety of different reasons for this situation in the verses, none of which are concrete. The gentle “sorry” repetition at the end further complicates our murky understanding of what caused this separation. It reads to me like a meditation on the “maybe” & “later” world of closeted gays and the repercussions that has on their relationships. 

The Way I Loved You

In The Way I Loved You, Taylor compares her current love interest (a guy who is sensible, charming, endearing, and everyone else likes) to her past flame who made her feel everything all at once. (Please see this eloquent lyric analysis from @all-my-possessions for more about this phenomenon of Taylor comparing relationships with vague pronouns in a super queer way.)

Breakin' down and comin' undone It's a roller-coaster kinda rush And I never knew I could feel that much And that's the way I loved you

This song has an easy gay reading but is still strongly relevant for this bi woman. (That is to say, whether gay or bi Taylor might have felt this way. Despite eventually realizing that I was bi, for a while I felt like I was gay simply because liking guys often felt so forced and dull in comparison.) Discovering your affection for women is intoxicating, and actually being involved with one is addictive. If you have repressed your feelings for women then suddenly allow yourself to feel and express it, those feelings come on strong. Any other relationship seems just “comfortable.”

Add in the pressure of hiding as I felt the need to do and a young country musician definitely did, a young gay romance makes for an intense, even explosive, relationship like she describes in this song and references throughout the album (on Tell Me Why, You’re Not Sorry, and The Other Side of the Door).

(x) (x)  suggested further reading

Change

This powerful anthem is about the sense that the world will improve and we will get what we deserve. There were so many “walls” politically and socially preventing gay people from being themselves, especially in a conservative community like mine. When I was exhausted from hiding my feelings, lying, and listening to nasty comments about gay people, I would listen to Change and think about how we would knock those down and be free.  

You can walk away, say we don't need this But there's something in your eyes says we can beat this

These walls that they put up to hold us back will fall down This revolution, the time will come For us to finally win 

It always reminded me strongly of the gay rights and gay marriage movement I read about in the news. With each new setback, activists rallied and came back stronger. 

(Taylor sang  an emotional version of this on Rep tour.)

White Horse

I used to really mourn the loss of the white picket fence life my friends and family all expected for me. I figured as a queer woman that wouldn’t be in the cards for me, especially if/when my community found out and rejected me. (Luckily that has not been the case, but it seemed likely at the time.) 

I'm not a princess, this ain't a fairy tale

This song hit that sore spot, but it also reminded me there was a lot more of the world out there. The opinions of some people were small and easy to leave behind for other dreams.

This is a big world, that was a small town There in my rear view mirror disappearing now And its too late for you and your white horse to catch me now

I’m not the only one who saw a broader homosexual theme to this song.

SuperStar

I didn’t know this song from the platinum version growing up, but the lyrics focus on forbidden love. 👀 

This is wrong but I can't help but feel like There ain't nothing more right babe Misty morning comes again and I can't Help but wish I could see your face And I knew from the first note played I'd be breaking all my rules to see you

I would love to follow up with more from Speak Now and Red, but this post is long enough for now! I spent a lot of time compiling and organizing this. Thank you to @all-my-possessions and @kaydar for inspiring me with super thoughtful queer lyric analysis and to my friend for feedback. I hope this is helpful. I can’t wait to hear your thoughts!

[rahab-of-the-sea]

It was a dark day to witness. The swirling sound of water against water never seemed to leave the vampire’s ears or mind as he drew in a long deep breath. The distant memory of a friend, a brother, now cast aside into the acidic pit of death as if he was nothing. And yet Rahab could do...nothing. What was worse was his yell, his agonizing plea as he descended down into the watery pit. That day had been a day Rahab could not look Turel or Dumah in the eye. For when Raziel had been cast into the abyss, Rahab knew that eventually someone would try to take his place. So when the small thin paper parchment arrived on his desk, Rahab could only trail his fingers across his lips and sigh softly knowing what was to come next.

“ All Razielim are to be executed. Any who dare to assist those that flee shall also be rewarded with death. For like their sire, they too must be destroyed. Raziels actions have doomed his own clan. Do not pity them, for they too committed the crime of blasphemy against Kain. But now is the time for Turelim to rise. For I am Secondborn to Kain and next in line. “

Arrogance, stubborn but worst of all prideful. Turel was asking for assistance in destroying the Razielim, Raziels last bloodline. Clawed fingers let go of the parchment and raised to gently rubbed against his scaled brow as Rahab watched the tiny paper gently fly in the air, downwards until it met its cruel fate, fire.

How could he of all others decide to commit such an act? Raziel had done one thing that might have been foolish, but it did not mean that his actions should damn a whole entire clan. To Rahab this didn’t seem tactile, it seemed like someone with an over zealous nature trying to rule in Raziels absence. A fear that Rahab had long had even before Raziel had been cast into the abyss.

For he always saw how Turel try to start a fight, at first it was brotherly and then over time...it seemed like rivalry.

“ Sire? “ A voice came from the distant darkness as Rahab raised his head and peered into the golden eyes of one of his own. Although the fledgling was unaware of the situation, Rahab himself could not stand to think of someone else destroying his own linage. It would be madness.

“ What is it? Speak your mind Fledgling. “ A welcoming tone was in Rahabs voice despite his stoic appearance as he glanced back to the dwindling flame where the paper had once been. Now turned to ash where it will forever burn...Just like the Razielim shall too...and most all, their sire.

If only Rahab had of tried harder, if only Rahab could have taught Raziel how to be immune to water. Was it even possible if Raziel was still alive? Perhaps a thought to dwindle on later

“ You ordered for the gates to be closed...we have secured them, but I must ask are we to prepare for hunters? Is their a siege to take place outside the Abbey? “ Curiosity was evident in the fledglings voice, perhaps he had a similar trait to his sire in that regards, as they seemed so eager to know the truth and yet Rahab would not let them know...not yet at least.

“ No, there is no siege but I fear there is a war to come. One between the clans. For now we shall remain in the Abbey and continue to evolve and enter the state of change. However we are to be prepared for deception, lies and trickery. Be mindful and inform the others of this. For now that is all I shall inform you of, but take my word fledgling. Trust only the Rahabim unless we can all be united under one cause which I deem fit. “ The Vampire overlord spoke with such ease even though his heart did not seem to reflect that outward appearance.

Raziel; handsome and the strongest of them all. Witty, cunning but strong and prideful in both body and soul. Arrogant at times too but even though Rahab had also been cautious of the others, mostly Raziel for he was envious of such looks and leadership skills his elder brother had once had. Always finding that Raziel was the one to seek advice from and share his interests with, especially in regards to their taste in wealth and riches.

Now all of that, much like the paper, would burn and be nothing more then an agonizing memory. There would no longer be someone to be envious of, there would no longer be someone to look up to when times where tough or even someone to talk to. Of all of his Brothers....all of them, it just had to be Raziel. Rahab recalled how the other had once joked about flying, but never did Rahab think his brother would try it.

“ Though if you are able to manipulate your gift, your evolution, then perhaps I can too…always been rather fond of the idea of flight…you, brother could rule the sea’s and I could rule the skies.”  The very words Raziel had spoken himself prior to attempting such a thing. Had Rahab doomed his own elder brother?

In many ways the vampire overlord felt that this was his own fault. After all he had evolved faster then the others due to his environment and need to become immune to the acidic touch of water. Had it been Rahabs fault that Raziel too had thought to do the same? Had Raziel believed that growing wings would allow him to travel better in his own keep, in The Fane ?

Lowering his head, Rahab took in a long deep breath as he heard the fledgling finally leave. War was coming, and with war meant sacrifice. A Trait to which Rahab knew all to well. At least Rahab could do one final act to honor his elder Brother. One that would cost him, but one he was prepared to take. For Rahabim could go anywhere, to places where all his other brothers couldn’t go. If it meant living in the water depths for a million years, then so be it.

Clawed fingers rested on the desk and pulled out a yellow stained parchment paper, in his other clawed hand was a beautiful peacock feathered pen with ink dripping from its end.

“ Dear Brother Zephon. “ Rahab began as he wrote on the parchment paper elegantly with such neat style and perfectly curved letters.

“ You of all of us have the perfect fortified location. To this I ask of you, your assistance. There are tunnels deep in the grounds, I know you know of these well enough considering your own mishaps. I ask of you something grave and dangerous. Perhaps even a little traitorous. But hear me out. Assist me in getting at least a few of Raziels fledglings out of The Fane. They do not deserve to perish like Raziel nor does Turel have the right to make such a call without our vote. For if you do this for me, I shall assist you in any battles or tactile advice you require to see to. I’ll even flood a hoard of humans in your direction, long enough to feast upon for hundreds of year. I’m even willing to defend your own keep against our own kind if it ever came to it. I’ll await your reply in due time, but make haste, we do not have a lot of time to spare. Kind regards, Brother Rahab. “ With a final signature at the end, Rahab paused and took another long deep breath as he re-read his own words.

Without a doubt Zephon would assist, he too was much like Rahab and probably had his own gates heavily fortified with spies out running around gathering information and resources. It was best to be aligned with someone like this, someone with information and use until the right time comes to dismiss such a thing.

Zephon would always hide in his little castle, thinking he is protected from the outside world and all its dangers. All it would take would be for Rahab to threaten to flood the place and Zephon would easily quiver in fear. Yet Rahab knew the other well enough to know that of course Zephon would have to agree without the use of fear, unlike Turel’ methods seem to be. It was either align himself with Rahab or end up as one of Turels pets, something Rahab knew Zephon did not like for there had always been a bitterness between them. Perhaps even Melchiah would assist in such an act and allow Turel and Dumah to focus on one another for a few hundred years while they try to assert who really tossed Raziel into the pit and who deserves to be next in line. However It would only be a matter of time before something would give, so why not start now.

At least their war with humanity can be held at bay for sometime, allowing their pathetic short existence to grow and reproduce food source long enough to sustain the vampire empire.

For this was the act that Rahab would commit, a crime to Turel but perhaps not one in Kains eyes. As much as he feared Turel, Rahabs heart was true to the core in respecting his former Brother Raziel and even his linage.

While in the darkness of the Abbey, where the water pooled in and it rained constantly, there was an ever growing darkness here. Someday it would be Rahabs tomb, and maybe even his own cell. For knowing Turel knew that there would be consequences, but Rahab would take the blame for Turel could never kill him. Or at least Rahab was counting on as he sealed the parchment with his signature sigil and prayed that nothing would go against him.