#BUT. ITS still a side effect. healing plants is something too good to be true for humans to do by themselves | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

codename-adler · 3 years

Text

Death of Heroes

Because not even Neil can outrun the ephemerality of men.

Renee is the first one to go.

Nearing sixty but never reaching it, she is outlived by Abby and Wymack. At least Stephanie Walker is waiting for her at the gates of Heaven, but for the rest of her Foxes, the loss is heavy.

It’s cancer. Leukemia.

It started with the bruises from her sparring matches with Andrew not healing very well. Then not at all. After decades of maintaining these monthly meetings, of keeping her body healthy, Renee finally has to give it up. She knows something is wrong, and she knows that these sessions won’t be of any help, now.

Then the extreme fatigue starts. Still, Renee doesn’t do a thing about it. Or at least, she lets life go its own course. She looses weight, which she already doesn’t have much of. But then the nosebleeds begin, and it’s no use telling Allison to stop worrying. The diagnosis is unsurprising, yet still shattering. And it’s not a good prognosis either, but it’s still not bad enough for the doctor to give up the Five-Year survival plan.

Renee has to speak up. Ally, I don’t want to do this. She has to put her foot down. Allison, my love, it’ll be okay. I won’t get better, you and I both know that. But it can be okay. It can still be good.

Renee doesn’t get treatment. Renee doesn’t tell anybody, except Andrew. Because Andrew knows, somehow, that she made a terrible, irreversible choice. Because Andrew only deals in truths. Because Andrew is Andrew, and just as he needed her all those years ago, she needs him now.

A little more than six months pass, with less and less outings from Renee and more and more excuses from Allison, and Renee gets sick. Really sick. It starts like a regular cold. Then it looks more like the flu. And suddenly it’s pneumonia, and respiratory difficulties, and lung failure. She’s in that hospital bed, wearing that gown, breathing in that mask. Renee finally nods to Allison, giving her consent.

Ally makes the call.

Only Andrew and Dan make it in time.

Renee Walker goes out like a light.

The Foxes, who had once upon a time been used to murders, life-threatening schemes and acts of extreme violence, had never really known Death itself. The simple, yet inevitable fate of human lives. Of going quietly into the night. It’s all so quiet. So anticlimactic. It’s so quiet, too quiet, too heavy with silence. This time, there is no one to blame, no one to punish, no one to take responsibility.

It’s just life. It’s just death.

Wymack and Abby can’t believe that one of their Foxes, on of their kids, left before them. Renee’s Korean roots made her look barely a day over forty, which made it all so much worse. Renee’s death takes a toll on every single one of them. Because it’s Renee, the best of them. Because all her papers are in orders, her will to date, her wishes known; just as when she was alive, she leaves no chaos behind her.

There is nothing and no one to be mad at, except life.

In the cemetery where Stephanie Walker is buried, Andrew buys a large lot of land. (Large enough to one day welcome all the Foxes) The tomb is moved over there, and Renee’s name is added. A tree is planted above her scattered ashes. It’s very small, very fragile, but with the years, it grows strong.

For the first time, the Foxes realize that, despite going through Hell and back in their youth, they are not immortal. There is nothing to be done about that, but it hurts. It hurts to lose their angel this way, so soon, so suddenly. It hurts to lose, period. It feels like a failure, like giving up. They lost her. They lost.

But somehow, they gained something else they might never know about. Renee might have been the only religious one among them, but that didn’t stop her from becoming their Guardian Angel. Because somehow, from then on, the Foxes were spared.

Let me show you.

Just as Bee had a few years before Renee, Abby, then Wymack, simply die in their sleep, no fight, no agony. None of them have to see another Fox go before them. They don’t have to go through that indescribable ordeal ever again. They are spared the pain.

Then decades pass, enough for the remaining Foxes to grow very old, and live very long. Not infinitely, but long enough.

Matt is the next one to go.

Matt has worked hard all his life, both mentally and physically. It comes to no surprise, then, that arthritis chose to invade his body. For the first few years living with the diagnosis, natural medicine and osteopathy are enough to keep the pain at bay. It doesn’t stop Matt from doing anything. He babysits his 9 grandchildren with Dan every week; he goes on roadtrips with Dan every summer; he goes on a light jog with Dan every day.

It’s just that one day, it’s not enough anymore. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the pain becomes too much for Matt to do his day-to-day activities. And really, the pain, he could take; it was an old friend, a familiar feeling, almost like a sixth sense.

It was the mental toll of it all that he couldn’t take. To have to say no to seeing his grandchildren. No to driving around endlessly and aimlessly for hours. No to waking up in sync with Dan every morning, and no to their routine, and no, and no, and just- not living.

For the first time in a long time, Matt doesn’t want to do this anymore.

But he does, still. He smiles, and he lies, and he tries to will away the pain.

It all comes down to one afternoon, when he takes his painful walk of the day around the neighborhood. There are three little kids playing Exy in their driveway, when suddenly a ball escapes their racquets and rolls down in the street. The smallest kid runs after it, runs and runs and runs, without looking. Kind of like Neil, Matt thinks to himself before his body acts of his own. The kid doesn’t see the car, and the car doesn’t see the kid. Matt sees both.

The BMW is going way over the limit, its sleek black sides reflecting the sun too brightly. Despite his pain, despite his age, despite his now slow reflexes, Matt leaps. He screams at the kid to stop and turn around, to let the ball roll away, but to no avail.

Matt pushes the kid away in time for the car to hit him instead, and only him.

The rest becomes a blur, but the final verdict is as such: broken hip, shattered leg, probably won’t walk ever again, even with surgery. The doctors and surgeons warn Matt that with his age, his pre-existing condition, and his drug history, surgery might kill him. But Matt refuses to be bedridden for the rest of his already miserable life. Dan knows that. She knows that he has to try. Knows that he might not pull through. She also knows that Matt wants to go, has wanted to for a while now.

She calls Neil. She calls Allison. From there, all the Foxes are bound to get the news. Matt promises to wait until their arrival before going into surgery. In the meantime, the nurses start a morphine line, after warning the couple very strongly about the side effects and the risks. But Matt is in pain, terrible pain, and it’s a compromise to wait for his Foxes. It takes about a week for all of them to come to his bedside, with Nicky being last, coming all the way from Germany. Neil and Allison barely leave his room; Dan doesn’t at all. The others take turns, leaving as much space for Matt’s kids and grandkids as their hearts can allow.

The open spot for Matt’s surgery is on a Friday.

Matt Boyd does not make it to Friday.

The morphine is too heavy on his heart. It was a possible outcome, not as alarming as the upcoming surgery, but... Matt had secretely wished to go ever since and- maybe, up there in Heaven, someone heard him...

Dan and Matt had had a mutual understanding, that it was okay, but it doesn’t make it any more easy to let go.

Two months into Matt’s departure, Allison moves in with Dan. She walks her through every stage of grief. She grieves all over again herself, too. But they make it.

Same goes for Andrew with Neil. Neil doesn’t know loss like this. Death like this.

And yet. And yet. Deep, deep down, Neil is scared. That after all his years of running, and fighting, and lying, he won’t get that peaceful ending Matt was granted.

But Neil lives.

And Nicky leaves.

A few months after Matt, he and Erik simply stay in the States. They say it’s because they want to be close, because they don’t want to miss anything, because they don’t want to risk a Fox leaving without a chance at saying goodbye. Because Nicky misses his Aaron and his Andrew.

Which are all valid and true motives. It’s just not the whole truth.

Nicky has dementia. Alzheimer’s, to be precise. Diagnosed about a year ago. It’s not bad yet, but- It’s the endless back-and-forth between the house and “der Supermarkt” because Nicky forgot what he drove there for in the first place. It’s forgetting words in all the languages Nicky speaks. It’s freaking out at all the Germans speaking German, because Nicky sometimes believe he is still living in America. It’s not finding the Columbia house and panicking when Nicky can’t get a hold of Andrew or Aaron.

It’s hard, it’s heartbreaking, it’s terrifying, but it’s manageable.

Once Nicky and Erik settle back down in North Carolina, they both wonder how long it’ll take before the twins figure it out, because there is no way Nicky is telling them, but he also knows nothing can get past his twins.

And he’s right. Between Aaron’s acute knowledge of Medicine and Andrew’s reknown lie-detector skills, it takes about 14 days for them to take Nicky hostage and demand the truth.

As the year comes to an end, Nicky’s dementia doesn’t seem to progress that much. He seems to escape the worst. He doesn’t forget anyone. He doesn’t become aggressive, doesn’t go missing, doesn’t lose any function of his body. Without looking too closely, Nicky is simply getting old.

The twin girls he and Erik adopted get to move back in for a little while, having lived in the U.S. all their lives and seeing their parents fly to Germany after their retirement. They know, too, and try to make the most of it. They are lucky. They are so lucky. Nicky is a miracle patient.

In the end, though, it’s Nicky’s body rather than his mind that gives out. Once you reach a certain point in time living with the disease, but without the general complications of it, eventually the brain has trouble managing all the organs of the body. So instead of forgetting to eat, or forgetting names and faces, sometimes your brain doesn’t remember how to make your heart beat. Or how to make make your lungs breathe.

Nicky Hemmick stops breathing in the middle of the night, after having wished his twin daughters goodnight, texted his other set of twins goodnight, and kissed his husband goodnight. Nicky had thought, then, that it was indeed, a good night.

Just as he had remembered his Foxes until the end, he was remembered by them as the big-hearted lover that Heaven had just gained as its new angel.

Too soon after him, though, it’s Allison’s turn.

It’s not that she’d simply been waiting around for the day she could be reunited with Renee. She just didn’t understand why her Foxes kept leaving, and why she was still stuck here without her other half.

She didn’t just wait, though. She helps Dan out with the grandkids, and sometimes the grown-up kids too. She volunteers a lot. She gives back to the Columbia community, and all around the world. She travels to places she’s never been, places that remind her of Renee, but are void of painful memories. She empties their bucket list, and much more. The last thing Allison has yet to do, the only thing left to do, is mending her relationship with her parents. Or parent. Singular. In spite of everything, including the death of her husband, Francesca Reynolds was still standing strong at the head of the Reynolds empire. 100 years old was nothing when you lived in spite.

In a twisted way, Allison believed that maybe her mother was the last piece she needed to mend before she was allowed to go. That despite being gone for years, Renee was still there somewhere, looking out for her and making sure she didn’t have any regrets.

So Allison accomplished the unthinkable, the unimaginable, the impossible. For the first time in decades, she flew back to the Reynolds estate and spoke to her mother. In person.

It was not the emotional reunion Renee might have hoped for, but it was a reunion still. That was more than enough for Allison. They didn’t talk about the big things. The important things. But they talked. They talked. And they scheduled another talk.

Back home with Dan, Allison embraced her friend and let the tears fall. She was grateful for her friend, but both of them knew that these were not the arms Allison wished to be held in. She went to rest a bit before dinner, and she tried to imagine how it would feel like to have Renee hold her again.

For someone as loud, as present and as strong as she was, Allison Walker slipped quietly from time.

When Dan found her, she could only smile tearfully. She played with her hair one last time as she called her Foxes.

Allison left Dan in charge of her finances, and so she took over her charity duties and went above and beyond to honor her friend’s memory. Her sister.

Dan thought she would be next. She wished, she hoped, she prayed to be next.

She wasn’t.

Kevin was.

He might have been the biggest and hardest loss to weather. It wasn’t a feeling that could be explained. As painful as it had been to lose Renee, and Matt, and Nicky, and Allison, losing Kevin was... the great and terrible 10, as they’d say.

Kevin should have died way sooner. His liver should have given out because of all the alcohol it had endured in Kevin’s youth. His heart should have given out because of all the stress it had faced for most of Kevin’s life. All the bad things that could happen with old age should have happened to Kevin, but they didn’t. They didn’t.

Death came knocking one day, and politely asked him if he would please follow them, and Kevin simply took it as a sign that his time was up.

That day, Kevin had felt a numbing pain in his chest all morning long. Used to little injuries here and there, he hadn’t thought anything of it. And he certainly wasn’t about to worry his doctor of a husband...

However, as the sun reached it’s highest in the sky, Kevin couldn’t really hide his pain any longer. He had lain down on their couch for a bit, but he couldn’t seem to get back up. It was too exhausting. So he called for Aaron, as loud as he could in the state he was.

As Aaron stumbled into the living room, Kevin tried to use his softest voice to inform his husband of the situation. Aaron immediately called an ambulance, and when the vehicle took them both away, he reached for his phone again to make, once again, a terrible call to their Foxes. But through his oxygen mask, Kevin reached out to grap his wrist and whispered, with difficulty, just Neil... just Andrew...

Because here’s the thing: Kevin loved his Foxes, and his Foxes loved him back. Immensely.

He loved them so much he had married one, with another one of them as best man (Neil), another as his husband’s (Andrew), and yet another one as their celebrant (Renee).

They loved him so much that it was only short of worship by a hair or two. And Kevin knew that. He loved Dan like a sister. And by extension, he loved Erik like a brother, too. And he loved all the Foxes’ children and grandchildren like his own, despite never being a parent himself.

But Neil and Andrew... There were no words for what they were to him. He knew that he wouldn’t have to talk them through it. He knew they would be the only ones strong enough and close enough to hold Aaron up in case it all turned to shit the moment he passed the hospital doors.

And being the History nerd he had always been, Kevin had written letters, a long time ago. To his Foxes. Most of them had left before him, and so he could never give them their letters, but Dan, and Erik for Nicky, could still have those letters. Kevin poured everything into these letters. It had taken him years, ever since Renee’s departure. He wrote, and threw away, and started again, until he got it right. Nine letters, for his nine Foxes. Andrew knew about it. He’d give Nicky’s and the upperclassmen’s to Dan and Erik, and they’d understand. Kevin didn’t want them to be there, at the very end of it all. He just wanted Aaron. And Neil. And Andrew.

Those three had letters waiting for them, too. Andrew would hand them over a month later. But he would never open his.

Andrew and Neil arrived just before 1 PM. Kevin was hooked on all sorts of IVs and still had the oxygen mask on. His heart monitor was beeping very, very slowly, erratically. He was still Kevin Day in all his gloriousness, but he was much more Kevin, their beloved Kevin.

On one side of the hospital bed, Aaron never let go of Kevin’s hand. On the other side, Kevin removed the mask and weakly motioned for Neil to take the other hand. But Neil was stunned. Frozen. So Andrew came up behind him, and held Kevin’s hand.

It would be the first, and the last time.

Just as Neil finally sprung into action and went to put a hand on Kevin’s shoulder, feeling his wiry muscles and his fragile bones underneath the hospital gown, Kevin closed his eyes.

The heart monitor began flatlining.

Neil looked at the monitor, then to Kevin. He looked at Andrew, then back at Kevin, and then at Aaron. His eyes couldn’t stay focused on one thing. He was still hoping. He was still refusing.

Aaron lowered his head. Kissed Kevin’s hand.

Andrew held on tighter to Kevin’s other hand. Gripped the back of Neil’s neck.

Kevin took Death’s hand, which felt a lot like Aaron’s, and Andrew’s, and Renee’s, and walked away.

Aaron unplugged the monitor. And called it.

Time of death: 13:01.

It took exaclty one month, day for day, for Aaron to leave as well. They called it the Broken Heart Syndrome. On the surface, Aaron had held it together. But Andrew knew. He saw. That he was losing him as well.

Some could say that, by handing over Kevin’s letter, Andrew killed his brother. But those who would say that didn’t even begin to understand the complexity of the bond between twin brothers. Especially not the Minyards.

Because what Andrew really did, with that letter, was gifting Aaron with relief.

Peace. Quiet.

Love.

Aaron could exhale, now. He would see Kevin soon, now.

And so in the same room, in the same bed as his husband’s, Aaron Minyard forced Death’s hand and demanded to see Kevin again.

And then there were three.

Dan lived for so long that she started to fear outliving her children. She felt old, so old. In her head and in her heart. She did not believe in a God, but she often found herself praying to someone, anyone. She did not believe in angels and demons, but she often wondered how long they would keep her from Death.

So she waited. For the days to go and the nights to pass. She barely ate anymore. She barely moved. She was only feeling okay when she slept outside, in her chair in the backyard, the sun shinning on her beautiful face. She could sleep for hours there, surrounded by her lively garden. The wind swayed her skirts, the trees whispered in her ears. It was okay.

And at the same time, it wasn’t.

She was tired. She was lonely. Even Erik, a couple of years ago, had gone to rejoin his husband. Neil visited her at least once a week, but he still had Andrew. He couldn’t understand, nor could he stay away from him for too long. He would miss him too much.

Every year she celebrated another birthday, and every year she blew her candles wishing they were her last.

And at last, her wish came true.

Dan was expecting one of her kids to come by in the afternoon. The Carolina sun was shinning quite hard on her, so she had placed her chair in way that let the sunlight hit the back of her head, turned away completely from her house. Her daughter knew exactly where to find her when she arrived, and so she didn’t wait for a response to her presence before making her way down into the garden. She had called her mother multiple times, and had assumed she was sleeping when she hadn’t answered.

Dan was not sleeping.

Dan Wilds had left this world, the sunlight pouring down on her like the radiant goddess that she was.

Being one of the last Foxes, it took a day before Neil and Andrew got the news of her death. They don’t get involved in the funeral preparations, but they show up. And that’s enough.

People don’t really bother them anymore, so they can bid farewell to their Captain in relative peace. They come by Dan’s house aftwerwards, too, and help her kids out with everything. Yes, even Andrew.

Dan’s death makes them reflect the most.

About the Foxes. About each of their departures. How they all lived a good and long life. How they all died a good and quiet death.

They think about how they were always the ones nearing death, always fighting to stay alive. About how they died a million deaths before the age of 18.

They think about how they are the last ones standing, even after everything.

They survived. They lived.

(They loved)

Neil and Andrew should not have gotten this far. They should not have lived this long. They shouldn’t have. But somehow, somewhere above, someone has watched over them and made sure that they didn’t get the ending they should’ve had, but the ending they deserved.

Neil and Andrew don’t really want to die. They don’t really want to live on either. But they take every day that they are given, to be with each other, to mend their hearts still, to breathe.

They take every breath they can.

They wonder who will leave first. Who will have to say goodbye and stay behind, who will have to wait.

It’s a fear neither of them had ever thought they’d have. Not like that.

And it’s only a matter of time before they get their answer. They are, after all, getting very old. It is both a blessing and a curse.

After decades of partnership, Neil and Andrew still go to bed the same way they did when they were eighteen. Both facing each other, their hands joined in the middle, their nose a breath apart.

After decades of peace, Neil and Andrew still wake from sleep at the slightest abnormality.

Which is why the minute Neil Josten gives out his last breath, Andrew awakes.

Neil’s hand in his is still warm and his skin is still soft. His hair, although completely white for quite some years now, still have that bronze glow to them. They’re still curly, and soft to the touch. Andrew passes a hand through them before resting it on the back of Neil’s neck.

He looks at Neil like it’s the first time, tries to memorize every detail of his beautiful face. He rubs circle in his skin, and takes in everything that was, that is Neil. His husband. His junkie. His rabbit. His pipedream. His lover. His love.

Andrew doesn’t move from their bed.

When he has finally spoken everything that he feels to Neil, from the safety of his mind, Andrew moves closer to him so their foreheads touch and noses align. He takes Neil’s lifeless hand again, and kisses it. He sets their hands back down, between the two of them, and looks at Neil one last time.

And slowly, Andrew Minyard closes his eyes, forever.

466 notes · View notes

ordinaryschmuck · 3 years

Text

What I Thought About "Eda's Requiem" from The Owl House

Salutations, random people on the internet who certainly won’t read this! I am an Ordinary Schmuck. I write stories and reviews and draw comics and cartoons.

...

...HOW IS SEASON TWO SO GOOD?! WE'VE HAD SEVEN EPISODES SO FAR, AND EACH ONE OF THEM WAS A HIT!

Take "Eda's Requiem," for example. It's yet another episode where I have NOTHING bad to say about it! That's two weeks in a row where that happened! HOW DOES THIS HAPPEN?!

HOW!

...But anyways, "Eda's Requiem." It's another fantastic episode, and I'm about to dive into explaining how and why. Just keep in mind, it's gonna require spoilers to do so, so be wary of that as you keep reading.

Now, let's review, shall we?

WHAT I LIKED

Eda’s Checklist and Grom Photo: Within the first second, "Eda's Requiem" perfectly sets up Eda's central conflict in the episode. Despite spending years being on her own and looking after herself, she now has two kids that she's constantly caring over. Eda can try all she wants to say that she doesn't care, and I bet she has in the past. But given the hard work she's putting into getting King and Luz what they need and having a grom photo of the three of them together pinned in her mirror, it's pretty clear that those two knuckleheads wormed their way into her heart and are never getting out.

Eda’s Worried About King and Luz Leaving: And thus, that's precisely why something like this bothers her so much. Eda inadvertently adopted two rambunctious rapscallions (Yeah, I know. I'll get to it), so the idea of them not being around her anymore is going to be terrifying. That is a situation most parents, especially mothers, can identify with. It’s called empty nest syndrome and it proves just how much Eda loves Luz and King that she can't stand the thought of her babies leaving the nest. It's yet another well-made, wholesome, found-family moment that this series continues to excel at each week, making me extra excited for more like it to come...while also readying myself for heartbreak when one of them eventually does leave Eda.

Eda and Raine’s Music: Ok, I don't know the exact instruments that were played during this episode, but I also don't care because it was all (for lack of a better term) music to my ears. Every time Eda and Raine played resulted in melodies that are so beautiful and filled with so much emotion and feeling that I'm honestly tempted to listen to them again, multiple times, on repeat. Shows rarely do that for me, as background music doesn't always draw me in as much as lyrical songs do. Usually, it takes something so extraordinarily composed to give me the desire to listen again, and that's the case here. So huge congrats to Brad Breek for doing so. Seriously, the man's been killing it this season.

Eda’s Bard Magic Causing Things to Turn to Ash: This was assuredly a surprise side-effect of the curse. The fact that Eda can sort of do magic at all was its own shock. To then reveal that a specific type can do dangerous things to people and environments is...Well, it definitely brings up its own fair share of questions. Like, how can she do this? Will she do it again, one day? And are there other types of spells that can be negatively affected by Eda's curse? We don't get answers for any of these questions, and odds are, we never will. But that's alright with me. Because if a show makes me consider these many possibilities after a brief amount of time, it is a show that has to be doing something right. Even if I don't get the answers I want, the fact that it caused such a reaction makes me less willing to care.

Raine Whispers: Hey, would you look at that. Another fun, interesting, and compelling character added to the list of this shows' other fun, interesting, and compelling characters...how is this series so good at this!?

Joking aside, Raine's pretty good. I like Raine. They could have been this super serious leader who lost all their fun after years apart from Eda, but I'm glad that they're not. There are moments when Raine takes their job as leader of the BATs seriously, as one would, but I still prefer the fact that they kept a jovial nature despite how grim their situation is. It's an admirable trait to have, and it avoids the trope of making leader characters boring just because they're the ones who have to take things seriously.

Oh, and also, Raine's Disney's first non-binary character who has a stake in the plot. This is a tremendous deal, as you don't usually see that many non-binary characters in children's animation, let alone ones that hold importance to the story. So it's pretty cool for the writers to feature Raine, as it helps several kids feel as though they're finally seen and respected. And the fact that Disney of all companies gave the thumbs up is even more impressive. I hear people say that Dana Terrace should have pitched The Owl House to more progressive networks to avoid pushback, and while I absolutely see your point, I'll have to respectfully disagree. Disney is the largest entertainment industry of all time, so if you want to make LGBTQA+ representation normalized, you gotta stop making splashes and start making waves. Because if the same company that made three racist cats in the span of a few years manages to say that being gay is a-ok, then you know there's something wrong with you. Yes, Disney ended up screwing over the show anyway. But for that one moment, when kids felt pride after seeing a character like Raine, then, in the end, it's kind of worth it.

Also, if you're still having issues with more representation like this popping up in kids' shows, then allow me to redirect you to the complaint department.

...I made that post earlier today for this bit. YOU HAVE BETTER APPRECIATED IT!

Day of Unity is meant to be a Secret: At least, that's what I got when Raine stumbled over their own words. So if it's true, then I wonder why? Why does Belos want to keep the most critical change in the Boiling Isles a secret? Does he want to make it a surprise for his grateful subjects, or does he not want to spread worry and fear amongst the wild witches? It has to be something big if he doesn't want his followers to even say the words "Day of Unity." Whatever reason he has, we most likely won't know until the future. A future that I grow more and more afraid of each week.

Hooty Eating Echo Mouse: My heart sank in that brief moment when I thought that Hooty intensely screwed Luz over in getting back home. But looking back...it is pretty funny.

Just the suddenness of Hooty eating the poor creature that Luz desperately tried to earn its trust is priceless in how shocking it was. And also, Luz's expression.

That was the look of a young girl who immediately shoved her hand down an owl demon's throat the second the scene cut away. The Owl House may not always be a hit in the comedy department, but scenes like this prove that when it's funny, it is hilarious.

Luz and King Entering the Grand Prix: Not much to discuss here. It's just a cute subplot that adds frivolity to the intensity of what's going on through Eda and Raine's story. But I will say that I love how both stories occasionally interconnect with each other through the many moments of Eda being worried about King wanting to leave to find his father and avoiding any conversation about it. It helps both plotlines feel like they belong together, without being something like "Through the Looking Glass Ruins," whereas both stories could have been in their own episode. Which is neat.

How Bard Magic Works: I really love how this season is diving into how the other magic types work. More specifically, the ones that seem a little vague. I mean, stuff like healing, potions, and plants are easy to figure out, but what does it mean when a witch's talents are construction, beast keeping, and bard magic? We've been getting a lot of clearing up lately, with bard magic looking like a witch can control their environments and enemies through the power of music. Which is fair. Music is pretty powerful in the metaphorical sense, and I actually love that it's powerful in the literal sense when in the Boiling Isles.

The BATs: Not much to comment on these three either. The BATs have the potential to have an entertaining dynamic, but they do very little in this episode that I can't say much other than I hope they make a return in the future. But I will make this claim: Amber is my favorite. I'm sorry, but her screaming "You're not our mom!" to then go, "Bye, mommy Eda" is just too precious for me not to love.

I'm a simple man who falls for cute s**t. Leave me alone.

Raeda (RainexEda): Well, EdaxCamila, you were a fun crack ship while it lasted, but I'm afraid that this is now goodbye. The current canon has provided an incredibly adorable and believable relationship that I would be a monster not to support with my whole bi-heart. It's been real.

Ok, back in serious mode: I love these two together. Eda and Raine are grown-ups, and they still act all flustered near each other as if they were still Luz and Amity's age. It's definitive proof that you're never too old to get flustered near a crush, and seeing them interact adds a sense of wholesomeness when seeing them together as well as heartbreak when they're forced apart. Plus, we get confirmation that Eda's LGBTQA+! Whether she's bi, pan, or whatever, now that we know Eda can catch feelings for someone like Raine, it's yet another case that The Owl House is the most important series to the community. Because having the main character be queer is fantastic in its own right. But having the same apply to the motherly mentor figure? That's is an extra bit of normalization that anybody would be willing to appreciate.

Unique Guard Designs: Not many fans are going to appreciate this, primarily compared to everything else this episode does perfectly. For me, I actually like that you see a few Coven Guards looking differently from the others, as it helps make them less like clones and makes it seem like anybody of any body type could be a part of the coven.

Gus Looking Uninterested when Presenting Grand Prix with his Dad: I am positive that you didn't notice this (I didn't even notice it until someone else pointed it out), but there's something to dissect here. It hints that perhaps Gus isn't as interested in his father's field of work as one might think. If he did, he would look a lot less bored and much more excited to be helping Perry Porter present the race. It could just be the race itself, but judging from Gus' expression, it really seems like the kid would prefer to be anywhere but there. And why would he have that reaction to a race that his best friend is competing in? To me, this seems like an inkling of what Gus' relationship with Perry could be, which may not actually get time to shine, what with how little wiggle room the series has now (Thanks Disney). Regardless, it is interesting to notice, and it will certainly have fans thinking for a while.

Bump Being Smug of Luz Being in the Lead: That's it. Principal Bump looking smug as his human student is beating the students of his rivals is yet another moment that proves why Bump is easily the best cartoon principal.

Darius: First of all, this guy is f**king fabulous, and I love him. *Snaps*

Second, he is definitive proof that you do NOT want to f**k around with Coven Leaders. Lilith may have had her intimidating moments, but none of them compare to the guy who can turn himself into an abomination monster where only magic that hasn't existed before can take him down. It's genuinely scary to see Darius lose control, and I fear for the day when Luz inevitably ends up in his crosshairs.

With that said, Darius' still a ton of fun! He may be threatening, but he's just a flamboyant guy that hates the idea of getting his outfit the tiniest bit dirty. And I love that. I love that these Coven Heads have actual personalities instead of being generically evil. I consider it preferable to make villains entertaining rather than blatantly scary as I'll remember the personalities first and the villainous acts last.

Eberwolf: But this one's my favorite. I told you: I'm a simple man who gets easily swayed by cute s**t. And Eber? I mean, just look at her:

She's just a cute widdle rascal! I just want to pinch her cheeks, give her a belly rub, and--

...Eberwolf is not a cute widdle rascal. She is a strong, independent woman, and I will respect her as such from this moment forward...lest I feel her wrath.

That is all. Let's move on.

Eda and Raine Attempting a Final Performance: This was the best scene of the episode. It looked gorgeous, it shows the dedication Eda and Raine have for stopping Belos, and it says so much through so little. Go back and look at how Eda and Raine regard one another when performing Eda's requiem. Through their expressions and a few short words, you know they understand that if they complete the song/spell, they probably won't make it in the end. And yet, they don't care. They both know bad stuff will happen if Belos wins, so Eda and Raine put everything to the side, both their feelings for one another and the people they leave behind if it means putting an end to a tyrant. That level of dedication...Words can't fully describe how powerful that is.

Raine Sacrificing Themselves Instead: But in the end, Raine can't do it. Not when they know the life that Eda has and the people she'll be leaving behind. It's an extra bit of nobleness to the character seeing that Raine refuses to take away a woman from two kids who need her the most. A tad bit selfish, sure, knowing what Belos has planned. But when it comes to love, the romantic, familial, or platonic, the best decisions aren't always the logical ones.

Eda Crying: Luz crying tears me up, but seeing Eda cry is a whole different level of heartbreak. Like Lilith, Eda has her emotions locked up tight, with the closest she came to weeping were those two tears in "Young Blood, Old Souls." In "Eda's Requiem," she cries but almost quickly stops herself. As if she knows that doing so isn't going to save Raine. That is...even worse than seeing Luz break down after losing Eda. The fact that Eda refuses to give herself time to mourn losing someone she loved is tragic because crying is the most natural way of showing grief. Turning that off isn't healthy, and seeing her do it with little resistance is sad to me. It's sad to see a character I love can easily shut off all emotions despite how badly she may want to embrace them. It's one of those moments that, again, by doing so little, it shows so much.

“No one watches Crystal Balls anymore. It’s all about streaming.”: Oof. Even I felt that burn towards cable.

King’s Message: King's message was the pick-me-up I needed after the heart-wrenching sadness this episode put me through a few minutes ago. Seeing King say who he is and listing all the things he loves is nothing short of adorable. On top of that, I adore that Eda willingly recorded the whole thing. She may not want King to leave, but that doesn't mean she'll sabotage the one thing he wants. Especially not after Raine gave up everything so Eda could be with her kids. The opening scene may prove how much Eda cares about a rascal like King, but this heartwarmingly sweet moment reveals just how far she'll go to make him happy.

King’s Dad Reveal: ...ok, I'll be honest, I did not think we'd get that reveal this soon. Dumb of me to say, considering the number of times I've said that these writers don't waste time getting to the s**t, I know. But still, it's pretty cool knowing that King's dad is alive and well, added with the fact that we've got a fair idea of what he looks like. At this point, it's only a matter of time before we see him figure out where the Clawthorne residence is and witness the tear-jerking moments that will follow.

King Changing his Name to King Clawthorne: Not the official adoption I was expecting Eda to make...but DANG IT, is it still diabetes-inducing levels of sweetness!

Personally, I feel like the main reason why Eda breaks down this time is not only because she shouldn't be worried about King leaving her life, but also because Raine's sacrifice wasn't in vain. Her kids really do need Eda because no matter how far apart they'll be, she will always be a part of their life...dang it, I'm going to cry too!

What those Coven patches really do: Well...that was horrifying to see.

...Writers, if you kill off the best non-binary character in animation (it's a short list, I know), we are going to have PROBLEMS!

IN CONCLUSION

"Eda's Requiem" is--surprise surprise--another A+. The emotions hit hard, the representation hits harder, Raine is a fantastic addition to the cast, and it was all surprisingly cute at times. Season Two is currently on a hot streak, constantly winning with every episode that's come out so far. When a bad episode does eventually show up (IT'S GONNA HAPPEN!), I'll be sure to sing my requiem then. For now, I'm just gonna enjoy the ride.

#the owl house #the owl house season 2 #the owl house reviews #eda clawthorne #raine whispers #raeda #king of demons #toh darius #toh eberwolf #what i thought about

28 notes · View notes

whump-town · 3 years

Text

See, How The Most Dangerous Thing Is Love

Where you go I'm going So jump and I'm jumping Since there is no me without you

She can’t stop running and, like an idiot, he keeps chasing.

warnings: i don’t think there is anything to warn against which seems odd... considering... but I did use some weird fucking metaphors and I don’t know if they make any sense...

Hotchniss

If the tension between Aaron Hotchner and Emily Prentiss wasn’t apparent upon their reunion following Elle’s leave, it was painfully clear after Tobias. Eggshells be damned. He inquires around her compartmentalization, tone dark, and judging where JJ had just meant to build a bridge. He had aimed to tear one down. To remind her just how out of place she is in this unit.

There can only be one lone wolf in the pack.

“You came off of a desk job--”

She narrows her eyes, feet shifting. He’d come out of nowhere, as she’s finding he often does, and that just aggravates her even more. She’s a trained spy and Interpol agent, he shouldn’t be able to sneak up on her. The shield she throws between them does nothing when he already has his own firm in place. Feet planted in preparation for her attack.

Her revenge is sweet.

It starts with the way her back draws tight as a bow.

“No, stop. Stop. All right everybody right now-- what’s my worst quality?”

The flip of her dark hair, drawing the limp branch of a tree towards her chest. Poised ready to strike out towards him and the tight coil of childish glee derived from mischief in her chest. Her words the fiery snap of its release, the edge catches his cheek to leave an open, jagged wound. “You don’t trust women as much as men.” The room’s attention lays in the silence of that lashing. Their eyes watching the dark crimson of his blood trickle down his cheek.

And he wipes it away. Unflinching as he powers on. He can see it in their eyes, the way they keep looking back at the wound on his cheek. Thinking about the words and their implications. How they each drew back and laid into him with their strikes.

He can see it in Emily, the way she awaits her second chance. She’ll draw that branch back again. There are more branches, he suspects, in her forest of mistrust and impatience with him. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t have a few branches of his own he’d like to hit her with.

It is only in the most fundamental way that they trust one another.

“Don’t get me wrong, Johnny.”

A drop of sweat runs along his hairline and down the back of his neck. The heat of Alabama in August is worse than Virginia and even stripped of his suit jacket, the weather is insufferable. The rickety old pisshole of a house groans under the weight of the four adults standing in the attic. With no draft and dust covering every visible surface, it smells like something’s crawled up here and died. He suspects, if he were to look hard enough, he’d find that to be true.

Johnny and Mark Wrights have been murdering and raping teenage girls from the local high school. Grown men covered in grim and old denim-- the epitome of the white trash that comes to mind when they set out to solve these kinds of cases. It makes Hotch feel a deep shame for being raised anywhere near the south. Now, as he stands pinned to Johnny’s chest, the heavy scent of pig shit and sweat covering the man, he feels deep condemnation for the south.

He wants to get as far from this town as possible.

Prentiss’ gun is steady. As far as agents to come to have his back, he’s lucky that it’s her. Her brows raise a fraction when she steps into the room, surprised that it’s him. It takes him off guard that she’s choosing empathy with these men. She repeats her earlier statement. “Don’t get me wrong, boys,” she shakes her head and her eyes flicker to Hotch. “That’s my boss you have there.”

Johnny digs the barrel of his gun into Hotch’s face, the metal biting his flesh. He’s antsy. Emily must see that… surely, she must know that she won’t be able to talk her way out of this.

“Now,” she smirks. Her inflection has risen to nonchalance as if talking to a friend. Her shrug of indifference makes his chest feel dangerously tight. “He’s a dick,” she informs them. “Makes my life a living hell.” His eyes glued to her index finger. She’s talking and moving and if she’s distracted him with her words then she’s distracted the Unsubs too. “He’s got a little boy at home though,” her eyes flick to him.

He’s hit with a sudden understanding.

“So…” he watches her back once again. A bow, bending to snap. He ducks, this time, when her branch comes flying back at his face. Throwing his weight to the side, he takes Johnny by surprise, and before he can blink there are two quick shots that ring the end.

For a stunned moment, he’s laid out on his back. His eyes are on the ceiling just breathing and shaking.

She comes to stand at his side, offering him a hand up.

He takes it.

“Don’t,” she says before he can thank her. Her eyes are dark. She’s displeased. Not only with him and the stupidity that got them in this mess, to begin with, but for the girls. Emily had wanted to bring those girls justice. To sit at Johnny and Mark’s court hearings. To drink herself numb and to see them thrown in jail so they’d never see the light of day ever again.

Executed in the attack of some rickety old house just isn’t the same.

He nods his head.

They part ways.

But he can see her back.

And she sees his hands.

She lashes out and he pulls scabs apart. He agitates old wounds. His thumb works across his finger, picking at a scab, and then he draws blood and she watches as he dumbly looks down at his hands. As if he’s confused at why it would bleed.

A serial arson typically leaves little room for emotional collateral but, of course, he makes an exception. He digs his thumb into his finger, rubbing back and forth, voice breaking, and attention split as he makes connections that no one else sees. Gideon steps to his side, calming Hotch and stopping the trickle of blood over his callused hands. Holds his own hands over the wounds.

She sees that day, the scars that litter his ledger. The scabs… Aaron Hotchner is an open wound. He can’t let anything go. Won’t let the wounds heal. He needs the pain the way she needs the bows. She hates that she’s starting to understand this man that she hates so passionately.

Hearing him shout, the pain in his voice as he tears viciously after Evan Abby makes her falter. There he goes again, picking at wounds that should have healed. Who exactly is he saving? It’s not Abby. The man is a walking corpse, riddled with cancer. Watching as Hotch sinks into Morgan’s arms, his dread and hopelessness bringing him to his knees.

The blood falls down his hands.

But he picks at a wound that makes her bow and all is right, once again, in their little world.

“I want you on that plane with me.”

She finds him on a bender a few days later. The case is solved but that doesn’t mean she feels any better about the way that they left things. A boy swept up in their carnage-- “the boy brought me this last one. Didn’t even ask him to.” She sits down one barstool away from him and wonders if he’s thinking about that too.

But he’s scratching. Not at his hands but at the tumbler he twirls lazily around, mesmerized by the amber liquid in it. He throws what little is left into his mouth and grimaces, not at the taste but at the scab he’s just pulled free. She watches the blood fall.

He gets good at stopping her attacks.

“There’s nothing we could have done,” he breathes, the hurt in his voice the only reason she doesn’t shoot him down with a scowl. For some reason, he takes the seat across from her and pushes a coffee to her. She looks at the mug and then at him. His head dipped, eyes on the sludge he’s calling a peace treaty.

She wraps her hands around the mug. The effect of the warmth is immediate. “I know,” she admits, sipping at the liquid. God, that pisses her off. He always makes the coffee perfect. She can’t even make her coffee the way she likes.

He hums, shaking his head. “I think…” he glances at her and looks out the window. “I think I’m still trying to convince myself that.” The soft admission is so… unlike him. Where is the gruff push? The fire in his eyes. She finds only hard truth. Standing rooted where he is, he frowns with something he can’t convince himself isn’t worry.

Where does she go? Tonight, he will go home and find it empty. Which is fine because he can’t be around Haley and Jack on a night like this. He is no husband. No father. He needs to remind himself of the emptiness that is Aaron Hotchner. The pain and the torture. He’s not meant to be a father and he pushes his father’s legacy a little harder each day he pretends his marriage is a happy one.

If she can not get lost in these faux realities… What does she do?

Him. She does him.

For a month he convinces himself that he can fix the little pieces of his marriage but finds his hands covered in the jagged wounds of the glass carnage. As it turns out, some things simply refuse to go back together. He bleeds and bleeds and Emily, of all people, comes to mend his aches. Moving him away from the fragments, forcing him to let go.

The sex is harsh. He’s rough and she lets him. Urging him on with the roll of her own hips, his hair gripped tightly in her hand. They’ve hurt one another gravely and to know his weaknesses makes her that much better at drowning out his pleasure. She’s surprised to find that his mouth isn’t just good for smart ass remarks.

It sparks something deep within them both.

“Garcia thought she heard…” JJ tightens her mouth, forcing her smile down. She glances over at Garcia, the two sharing smiles that can’t be hidden. For the first time in a while, Garcia came with them on a case. Meaning their usual splitting of the rooms didn’t work so Emily, instead of rooming with JJ, roomed with Hotch.

Garcia smirks at Emily, “I just heard someone up last night.”

Emily knows exactly what they heard. She feigns innocence none-the-less. “Late?” she asks. “I was in bed as soon as we got back.” Which is true because she had Hotch pinned to the wall with a hand down his trousers before the door could swing completely shut behind them. It didn’t take long for him to flip the script and have her on the bed. “I doubt it was anyone from the team, weren’t you all exhausted?”

Garcia accepts that as an answer. For now, that’s reasonable enough. It’s rather silly, is it not, to assume something is going on between Hotch and Emily, of all people. They really sell their pitch with the heated, just under their breath, argument that they have only an hour later. Though it isn’t to save face but because he’s an asshole sleep-deprived and she’s, truly, exhausted for the same reason. JJ and Garcia both feel rather stupid for having thought the commotion the night before could be them.

Six months later, it happens again.

“We were arguing,” Emily offers with hefty-sigh. She’s not just selling her role. Lately, they’ve had to repeatedly come to a heated, uncomfortable debate. Their relationship, what it is and what is really isn’t, is being questioned. Are they enough to power through the last year? Should they be something that makes it through the next?

She rubs at her eyes, careful to keep her hair brushed over her neck. While she’d checked and double checked this morning for any marks on her neck, Hotch has been rather nippy (in all sense of that word) and the last thing she needs is explaining some rogue hickey he’s placed. Unlike him, she doesn’t have a high collar to hide behind.

JJ raises an eyebrow but says nothing. The two of them are going through something, the whole team has noticed. Though, if they’re honest, they don’t suspect the rocks and tumbles of a relationship getting onto its feet. They’re waiting for one of them to snap. Whether it be Emily, who will likely pack up her belongings and leave. Regardless of her love for the team. Hotch… well, he’s losing his grip on his so solidly built and reinforced shields. His pain and discontent are slipping through his armor.

“Arguing?”

Emily sighs, nodding. “He’s an asshole,” she mumbles. “What do you want me to say?” Her tone, tense and defensive, raises a little more attention than she meant it to. Lowering her head, she digs her fingers into her temples. She’s not sure if it’s better or worse that Hotch notices immediately as he walks into the room. There’s a tense moment, the two of them just staring at each other, before he clears his throat and jumps right back into the problem at hand.

The case always comes first. Their relationship after every other conceivable thing.

It makes sense, for them, until it doesn’t.

“This isn’t what you signed up for.”

Up until that moment, he’d considered himself hiding fairly well behind his scowl. Aaron is safely nestled where Hotch can’t hurt him and, what scares him even more, is how protected he is from Prentiss. Because Emily might have tears streaming down her face right now but he knows he’s looking at Prentiss. From the steel in her dark eyes to the conviction that feels, and is, so misplaced.

He swallows around the stupidity that tries to come fumbling out of his mouth. Something sentimental, foolish. “I don’t understand,” he manages. It has taken him his entire adult life to admit to that. To find the courage to say when he doesn’t follow and all for what? To sit here, at her hospital bedside, and grit out the confession. He can’t fucking say I love you but he can consume the poison of letting go.

To succumb where he should fight.

“Please,” she whispers, softly. But she hadn’t been the other half watching. Unable to do a damn thing while her screams, the muffled sounds of her body hitting the walls, had filled his head. He’d listened as Cyrus beat her. In a way, no he didn't sign up for this. No one in a relationship wants every thought about their partner to be about the end. Will it come soon? Leaving one partner to grieve the other longer than they knew each other? To answer to that mourning call-- what is left when all you are is taken? What parts of him are really her?

“If it’s what you want.” he rasps.

She turns her head, barring to him the sight of the bruise that takes up the right side of her jaw. That’s answer enough.

Dave takes her home from the hospital that evening, wondering what exactly it is that’s happened. He noticed the two of them today. He’s not stupid. “How are you feeling?” he asks, looking over at her on his passenger seat. Getting hurt happens but this is the first time she’s ever had to call someone to pick her up. Dave knows, in that way a parent knows that the silence of their children spells encroaching doom, who was supposed to drive her home tonight. One might call it, also, parental intuition.

She doesn’t lift her head from the window. Doesn’t even look at him. “Fine.”

Dave knows Hotch will answer with the same answer Monday when they return from the office.

Calling the two of them tense is an understatement.

Emily returns to work and they steer clear of her. The whispers follow her weary body around like a cloak. That she can manage. That is nothing.

It’s his absence that she feels.

Her coffee tastes odd. She’s grown used to the way that he makes it. Too strong and with no creamer but no matter what she does it just doesn’t taste the same. He’s even ruined tea. His mouth always tasted of Earl Grey or the bitter remnants of his coffee. Now, even smelling Earl Grey twists a knife within her. One she buried herself.

He’s fucking everywhere.

It’s driving her mad.

The worst part is that he’s not there.

In her bed, she rolls over. Throwing a leg over where his hips would usually be. She finds nothing but soft, used cotton. Not even the pillow carries the lingering scent of him.

His sweater hangs over a chair in her room but it’s absent of his warmth. She’s worn it too often and now she can’t even bring it to her face to pretend he’s here.

Nightmares plague her sleep and she wonders if this is penance for breaking his heart or if he’d just kept them away.

She watches, one night, as her nightmares crawl out of her ears sneer right back at her.

“Where’s Hotch?” Emily falls into step with JJ.

The blonde shrugs, “I called him twice. He’ll just have to meet us here when he wakes up.”

Though she falters, body stiffening and pausing, she tries to carry on unbothered. Seemingly unbothered by this progression. Hotch never lets his phone go to voicemail.

She’s the one that finds him four hours later. Lying supine, unresponsive in a hospital bed. The doctor’s words roll right off her, she takes in only that he will, eventually, be okay. And she wonders what it would have been like to really lose him. Not to just yearn for him but to not even avoid his eye in the hall. To hover with her finger over his contact and for there to be no possibility that he’ll answer.

Dead.

He could have died.

Stupidly, foolishly, she takes his hand. His eyes crack open and she pretends she doesn’t see his immediate relief followed far too closely by the pain. Physically brought on by the wounds of both her hands and Foyet’s. “I almost lost you,” she says.

He closes his eyes when she kisses him but when they pull apart he grimaces. Consciousness is painful, miserable. Her hand clutched by his, he manages a few weak breaths. Each one builds the strength to speak. “You can’t lose what you never had,” he answers, a moment later. By the time the cruelness of his truth has hit her, he’s slipped back under the drugs. His hand limp and clammy.

He’s right, though.

They both knew where he was coming in. The ins and outs of his embrace. That he’d pull her in and push her away in the same breath. Afraid, too afraid, to try at this again and, yet, he’d tried. He might not have had the strength to manage love but he’d held her through the nights. He knew her favorite foods and was never shy about tearing her apartment apart for missing the heating pad if she needed.

And what had she done for him?

She’d tricked him. Lured him in with the lies that she could do this. But she’s still drawn tightly. A bow that lashes out. Hurting others before they have a chance to hurt her and, as a result, she’s killed him more than Foyet could have dreamed.

Mostly, what he means is that she never allowed herself to have him. She never had him and, yet, she misses him every step of the way.

They have one another one last time.

She settles her hips over his and looks everywhere but the agitated, raised scars across his chest. He’s not cleared for strenuous activity but if he can’t have her, can’t feel her lips moving up his jaw and her fingers snaking up his side he’s certain that will kill him far sooner than any strain to his body. He’d rather die by her hand anyhow.

After that, there is no more, but it lingers thickly in the air.

She’s still Emily when her name comes out of his mouth. She still watches his lips, wondering if she were to capture them with her own if they would still taste the same. He looks for her first when things get dangerous and it’s his name she wakes up crying.

Haley dies. Emily puts distance between them but he still looks for her first.

“Please,” she places her hands on his chest. Forcing his body away even though just the feeling of her palms pressed to his chest sends yearning straight down her spine. “Aaron,” his name comes choked. “Please, if you knew me, if you had any idea of the things that I have done you’d run. I need you to run, don’t you understand that?”

He looks down at her, mouth open. Can she not see him? That he is a man made up of scars and scabs. A wound that bleeds. He picks and pokes and he bleeds all over everything. “I don’t run,” he says. He hadn’t run from the carnage of his marriage. Can’t she remember picking him up after that whole affair. Digging the glass from his hands where he’d stabbed and ripped himself to shreds to catch the falling debris of a life he thought he still had.

She deflates, sinking into the realization that her love is the worst thing for him right now. It’s a drug to him and she’s given him far too much. “I know,” she says, a tear slipping down her cheek. “Because you never know what’s good for you.”

His fingers ghost over her cheek and holds her face in his hand. “You let me decide what’s good for me,” he whispers. “I can protect myself, Emily.”

Not against this, she thinks. Not against her. He’s never known when to pull away and when to fight harder. It’s going to get him killed.

But it’s her laying on the ground, impaled, gasping for breath.

Hotch sees her blood all over Morgan’s hands. The hitch in the younger man’s choked breath as he recounts what happened. Attempting and failing to keep the details straight as he tells Hotch, in great detail, what happened. The way she’d lost reality for glimpses. Asked for him. Called out for Aaron, not Hotch, but Aaron. And Hotch doesn’t know what to say when Morgan rises to his feet and challenges-- “What the fuck was that about? What did you two do?”

But it’s fine because JJ comes out and places Morgan right back into his chair, silencing him with seven words. All hitting a little harder, too solidly across his shoulders. “She never made it off the table.”

Emily Prentiss never let herself love Aaron Hotchner but that never stopped him. And, in the end, she’d been there. Through Foyet, she’d been there. Where was he when she needed him?

He sends her to London with JJ, his goodbye rushed, and guilt.

She’s in London. He goes to Afghanistan. Neither make it home entirely alive.

She should have known.

Admittedly, she is a little wine drunk. Tipsy, really. Inhibitions lowered in the warmth of Dave’s living room. She’s missed them all so terribly that the ache of their absence being lifted has left her exhausted. She’d been in a near daze when she’d taken her wine and moved to the couch. Leaning into Dave’s side when he’d taken the seat beside her. While Jack and Henry recount the events of every day she’s missed according to their greatest accuracy.

Their silly little stories are well worth the soft laughter it draws from the others.

“Where are you going?”

So now, as she stands and leaves Dave’s side cold-- she’s not sure what she was expecting to find in the depths of his eyes but the fear is startling. “Water,” she says, holding up her empty glass. “Water and to pee, I’ve had way too much wine.” She tips the glass and winks at Jack. Trying her best to lighten the mood she hadn’t realized she’d tank just by standing.

Garcia peels herself from the chair she’s sharing with Morgan, ignoring the way he seems to startle at the aspect of losing her pressed into his side. “I’ll join you on the bathroom run, pumpkin,” she says, collecting her glass and Morgan’s from the table at their side. “Another drink, my chunky hunky?”

Morgan smirks but shakes his head, “no thanks, Baby Girl. Someone has to be sober for the drive home.”

As good as that plan sounds, Hotch still grunts. The room’s attention shifting to their leader. He’s been startlingly silent, even for him, all afternoon. Seemingly tucked away from every encounter they’ve had amongst themselves. “You’ve all had too much to drink to drive home,” he says. “You should… calls cabs.” The strength of his interjection leaves his voice as Emily meets his eyes. He lowers his gaze and with it, the point of his statement.

Dave does not fail to notice this. Clearing his throat, he agrees. “I’ll go call your cabs.” He stands, rubbing a hand down his face. Fingers working into the creases of his lips. “Aaron,” he nods his old friend over. “Give me a hand?”

That sets about the motion of the room.

Emily’s making her way down the hall when Garcia catches her. “What is it,” Emily asks, playfully. She waits for Garcia to catch up to her, holding out her hand for what she’s expecting to be a trip full of the secrets of her and Derek’s relationship. Something good. A win.

“Can you make him stay?”

Emily desperately wants to pull from Garcia’s hold. Her grip is intense, desperate. She tries to pull away from Garcia’s hold. “What?” she asks softly, looking over her shoulder for some help. “Who? Who needs to stay?”

The desperation in Garcia’s eyes is unsettling. She lowers her voice even more pulling them closer. Her voice breaks as she says it. Tears swelling and running against the mascara over her eyelashes-- “Hotch.” She clenches her teeth, showing the most self-restraint Emily’s seen since they stepped foot in this hall. “He left us,” she breathes, sadly. “A month after you were gone. I went to his office--” her eyes dart as she speaks. “I started bringing him coffee every morning to cheer him up.”

Emily swallows thickly around the guilt that creeps up. Her death had broken them. She’d known that, of course. She just hadn’t considered Hotch. Brave and strong and it’s so hard to tell when he’s hurting. Then to bare her lie? Another cross on his back. More weight on his shoulders.

“I went in--” the tears fall as Garcia’s voice shakes. “He wasn’t there. He’d cleaned his office up and you know how he is.” That big oak desk is always littered with paperwork. One side to the other. He stacks it everywhere. Leaving pens from one end of the room to the other. You can’t even sit on that old couch of his without getting stabbed in the ass by a pen he’s lost. “Clean,” Garcia whispers. “He just left, in the middle of the night. By the time we came in, by the time we could find him he was already over there. Afghanistan.”

The word makes Emily’s chest tighten. What the hell could he be doing over there? That station is always looking for profilers but it’s a death trap. Hotch had said it himself, warning her when they’d sent her the special request. They’ve been operational for five years and gone through seven profilers. All of which have died. No one makes it out of that station alive.

And he’d gone.

“Why would--” she doesn’t even want to finish the question. Doesn't want to put the truth into action. Admit that she knows exactly why he did it.

At least over there he’d die a hero. Leave his son a flag and another parent to bury.

It’s faster than anything he could swallow over here.

Garcia squeezes Emily’s arm, bringing her back to the present moment. To the thing in question. “Can you bring him back,” she whispers frantically. “Can you make him stay?”

Emily doesn’t honestly know. Has she ever been able to make him do anything? “Garcia, I--” Her mouth snaps shut as the man in question steps into the hall. His eyes dart between them and Emily feels rather like a mouse caught in a trap.

He clears his throat and scratches uncertainly at the beard he’s let grow back in. “I was just…” he looks at Garcia and then back at Emily. Clearly caught off guard. “Dave-- I… You’re, ah, the hotel is close to me. I thought I’d save you the cab fare if you wanted to ride back--”

“Yes.” Emily nods, far too quickly. “Thanks,” she says, looking anywhere but at him. “I’d, ugh, I’d appreciate that.”

Hotch looks between Garcia and Emily, before nodding and ducking his head. He leaves the hall, with a slightly awkward nod and steps out. Hands going to his pocket. Hiding.

“Will you try,” Garcia whispers.

Emily watches him walk away. The apprehension in his hesitant movements. His hand scratching at the back of his head until he can hide behind the shield of Jack’s eager talking. Sinking down beside the boy on the couch and hiding himself there. “I don’t know,” she admits, honestly.

The only person that can pull him from the ledge is Hotch and she’s seen him toe it once before.

Packing things up is simple enough.

Hotch stands towards the edge of the hall, Jack slowly falling asleep in his arms.

“Sleepy,” Emily asks Jack, running her fingers through his soft brown hair. Jack shakes his head but doesn’t raise it from Hotch’s shoulder. Hotch has wrapped him in his jacket rather than choosing to fight the boy into it. It’s more a blanket. She pulls it up around him a little better. “You’re not tired,” she asks. “I am. I can’t wait to get to bed.”

Jack smiles but doesn’t admit to the exhaustion weighing his little bones down. “Are you gonna sleep with us?” he asks. He looks down at her with the soft of his father’s. Same impossible depth is hidden behind light brown iris’. It breaks her heart to see the turmoil within him.

Emily frowns but she’s not forced to tell the little boy no. Instead, Hotch’s hand comes to the back of his head. Cupping his neck as Hotch turns to face her. “You don’t have to do anything,” he clarifies with an all too familiar look in his eyes. Mischief. A plan. “We do have the guest room. With clean sheets. You could come home with us.”

Home.

To a real bed.

“I…” she can’t force out the polite no her mother has solidified in her mind the answer to be. No because that’s not fair or right or-- she really wants to sleep in a normal bed.

He bumps her shoulder, “just say yes.”

She looks at him and then at Jack. It’s not a hard thing to want to go home with the two of them. After Foyet, she’d spent many nights camped out on their couch. Waiting for father or son to wake in a panic. He’d done the same in the hospital after Doyle, sleeping on an uncomfortable little cot just so the first thing she saw each time she woke up was someone she knew.

Now it’s different. The dynamic has changed. While he might not know the course of the night has changed, she does.

She just doesn’t know it’s a futile battle.

There is no use fighting over stupid things like sleeping. He tucks Jack into his bed and meets her in his room. She’s already pulled on his shirts over her head. Refraining, forcing herself from burying her face in the material.

It doesn’t stop her from curling into bed beside him. Pressing her face into his shoulder and focusing solely on his hand slipping under her shirt. “You tired…” he asks. She shakes her head. He hums as he thinks. Dragging his thumb over her hip bone, stroking the soft skin. “First crush,” he whispers, ghosting his lips over her neck.

She laughs at that, twisting in his grip to tilt her hips across his. Settling closer to his chest. Drawing her hand up she draws against his skin. “This girl named…” she taps at his chest as she fails to remember the girl’s name. “I can’t remember her name,” she admits, faintly. Blushing. “Does that surprise you?”

Hotch’s eyes have slipped shut, his face turned into her hair. He hums, scrunching his eyebrows. “Surprised about what,” he asks softly. “That you can’t remember her name or that it’s a she?” He pulls her closer, wrapping an arm around her hips.

Emily just… looks at him. He hasn’t even opened his eyes. He’s not even going to comment? She bites her lip and lowers her head back down. “What about you?”

“None. It’s… I’ve only ever--” he blushes, averting his eyes. “Only Haley and you.” He clears his throat… “That’s why I always tried,” he whispers. “Why I tried so hard…”

“It’s not like I didn’t try,” she defends, pulling away from his embrace. “I was trying to protect you from this whole mess. You’re the one who didn’t know when to stop.”

“I don’t know where you get off blaming me,” he says, pulling himself away. He sits up in the bed, turning himself so she can sit and stare at the wall of his back. Little scars marking up his back as he places his arms on his knees. “You ran, Emily. Every single time, you run. Not me.”

Neither look at the other.

“I’m sleeping on the couch,” he announces. “Stay. Don’t make me explain to Jack why you’re not here in the morning.”

She stays where she is. She turns this over in her mind. His words are an open palm slap to the face. She sleeps in his bed, holding onto his pillow and burying her face into the scent. She doesn’t leave but only because she doesn’t want to have to walk past him. This feels like winning so she stays. She eats breakfast with them in the morning, playing and laughing with Jack like she always has.

Like she always does.

“I leave Thursday, if you care.”

She says nothing which is perfect because he’s not sure he can handle anything she might think of.

She knows, without having to be told, that they blame her for not being to keep him here. And, maybe it’s her fault, because she didn’t really try, did she? She did what also does, she hurt him. Now she’s sitting here all alone, wondering what she could have done differently.

Everything.

“We’ll see you when you get home.”

She stands at the back of the group, watching the other’s pull him into hugs. Dave holds Hotch for a long moment, speaking softly so only the two of them can hear what’s being exchanged. Hotch pulls away from that hug with tears falling down his cheeks. “Don’t make me bury another son, Aaron. Please be careful.” And that’s when he sees her.

Derek pushes her forward and she feels all of them watching as she makes her way to him.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” he confesses. He doesn’t care that the others are watching. They know enough. They’ve always known.

She feels guilty and she should. “You told me goodbye,” she reminds him. He’d kissed her right before they sent her to London with a packet of new names and passports. To be someone other than Emily. For a second chance. “It--” she looks away. She’s running, again, she knows. And she has to stop running. “It was the only thing that kept me alive, Aaron. I couldn’t let you leave without having told you the truth--”’

He glances up and back to her. Just for a moment, he wonders if the others should be hearing all this but--maybe they’re past all that. Pretending is how people get killed, they learned that with Emily, and he really doesn’t feel like being their repeat.

“I love you,” she confesses. “I know you love me, you always have. I’m sorry that I keep--” fucking it up. “I love you and I need you to come home, okay? So I can stop running.”

He doesn’t believe her. He wants to believe her but everything about Emily Prentiss always hurts and he knows it’s stupid to trust her. “Okay,” he says, afraid anything more will send her for the hills before he can even leave the country. And like an idiot, he bends his neck into her touch. Letting her rise up on her toes to kiss him. “I promise,” he whispers.

Jessica gets the call at midnight. The Bachelor finale had ended hours ago but she’d been sucked into some History channel rerun about ancient Mesopotamia. It’s the haze of the light hour, the warmth of the undertones of sand, the steady deep voice narrating, and the blanket curled around her shoulders that puts her to sleep. She doesn’t stand a chance after the day she’s had.

The call comes at 12:34 and the urgent ringing of her cell-phone makes her heart kick painfully at her chest. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes with one hand, she accepts the call without looking to see who it is. Not that her tired eyes would have recognized the caller anyway.

Not serving as a soldier, the process for notifying the family of any health changes requires a different take. For Aaron Hotchner, it’s put into the FBI’s hand. He’s their tool after all, not the US Army’s.

“I’m sorry to wake you, ma’am,” the voice offers.

Jessica scowls at the formality, sitting up on the couch and desperately searching for the remote. She kills the screen and the room is bathed in silence, aiding her ability to understand and think about what’s going on. “Ugh, can I help you?” She pushes her hair up out of her face, searching the ground and coffee table for a spare hair tie.

“I’m calling in regards to Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner. I understand this number is supposed to be the personal line of Jessica Brookes? You’re his emergency contact--”

He deployed in October. Giving her only a week’s heads-up. He’d had the decency to look ashamed of himself, of the state of being he’s caused for them all. She’d understood his situation. Losing his friend had broken him irreparably and he’d wanted to talk about that even less than he had Haley. At least he’d warned her, she knows he hadn’t extended his team the same courtesy.

The man on the line goes on. Something about moving bases and a promise to get back to her as soon as possible.

“Thank you for your service,” the man concludes.

Jessica blinks, frowning at the phrasing. Aaron wasn’t serving. He was punishing himself. This was penance.

“Goodnight.”

She sits back on the couch, eyes vacantly taking in the wall in front of her. He’s on his way home. That’s good but she can’t help but… he’s hurt. Hurt enough for them to discard him back here. How bad is it?

Emily can’t deny her horror.

His eyes move to the blanket. To the empty space of where his limb once was. “It’s… It’s just a leg,” he whispers. He blinks heavily once, twice, and sighs softly as he fails to keep his eyes open. Humming, he parts his chapped lips but can’t find any more words. He’s too tired. “Could be…” his voice slurs and he exhales a heavy breath. “...worse.”

Emily wants to hit him but she’s done being defensive. She’s tired of being the first one to pull away. For once, she just needs to be the one that holds onto a hug a little longer. That lingers. “You could have died,” she whispers thickly. Gently, hesitantly she touches his hand. To her surprise he is the one to move, intertwining their fingers. She sits by his side, eyes glued the empty part of the bed. The nothing of where his leg is supposed to be. Does it really matter that much, though? A single leg?

Not to her. She’s had months to pretend. Every night she has escaped to a new reality with him. Come up with every variety of reality that might occur. What she’d do if he’d come perfectly fine and how they’d have kids and he’d never wake in the middle of the night with nightmares because she’d kill his monsters. How she would cope if he came home horribly disfigured or entirely different. Would it matter? They’d still be Aaron and Emily.

“I’ll never walk again,” he informs her. His head is tilted into the pillows, casually watching his news wash over her. He wants to know if she’ll stay if he can’t go. If all these years were about the chase, would she stay if he can no longer follow?

She sits down in the chair pulled up to the side of the bed. People have been in and out all afternoon but she’s the first one to receive this news. The other’s don’t really matter because he knows the script, can imagine how each of them react. Garcia will cry. JJ will too but not until she’s leaving. Dave will take it well but he’ll utter something strangely sentimental and sober with the realization that walking was never the priority of Hotch coming home. Morgan and Reid are his wild cards and he doesn’t want to tell them at all. But that’s just not how this works.

“At least you won’t go running off on me.”

He knows what she means, the implication and the diversion. With a huff he raises an eyebrow, “I’ve never been a runner, Emily.”

Emily.

No, she supposes, he never has. “If you can’t run,” she says, heart skipping around in her chest. She feels it pulsing in her throat, tossing itself around in her stomach. “If you can’t run then I won’t run.” She stands, swallowing thickly around the swell of fear in her throat. He watches her, looking up at her as she hovers for just a moment. When she kisses him there are no sparks. Something cold, icy runs it’s fingers into the grooves of her spine but she’s not gripped by any startling realizations.

It’s too late for that.

But he tastes like Aaron and to a girl who’s never had a home in one place, she’s only ever running. Here, against him, she knows what people mean they say a person can be a home. Because she wants to curl into him and forget the edges of Emily. Aaron. It’s always been Aaron.

It surprises him that she stays. She waited until things got hard.

“I’m going to have to go to physical therapy every week.”

She shrugs, “I’ve got a library of books waiting for me to read them. I’ll tackle my reading list.”

“I can’t walk,” he reminds her.

She raises an eyebrow, “so? I didn’t love you before because of your ability to walk.”

“Emily--” he needs her to understand this isn’t as easy as she’s making it. Using the bathroom, showering, sex isn’t even going to be easy. She can’t just brush it off like it’s not going to bother her. It’s bothering him! “Emily, I can’t hold your hand when we go downtown. I’m going to need your help taking a shower and getting to the bathroom. I’m going to have to look for a new apartment because the one I have, there’s no way I can work a wheelchair around in it. It’s-- I’m not the same! We’re not the same!”

She knows. Yesterday she asked Morgan to rig up something in the bathroom. She spent hours with Morgan trying to put a handle or a rail in beside the toilet without ruining the wall. Ordered a shower chair last week that Morgan is probably putting together right now. Garcia and JJ are looking for apartments with larger floor plans because she doesn’t want to be presumptuous and assume he’d want to move into a house with her. But she’s waiting for the right time to bring it up.

“Maybe that’s for the best,” she says. “That we’re not the same. I’m different too.” Does she need to create her own list? Dedicating it all to words for him to comb over. She can’t sleep through the night. Even though it had been a wooden stake that had “killed” she can’t hold a knife. Her hands tremble, this weakness she can’t explain. Her abdomen is just scars, riddled with ugly skin hardened by trauma. Is he prepared to see that?

“Look at me,” she says, squeezing his hand. “It’s been me and you for years. You’re the only thing I really know. So, I’ll take you as you come. However you come. You loved me when I ran, I can love you with a little baggage.”

He frowns, trying to find an out. Not or himself but for her. But she’s unwavering. “Baggage,” he finally caves. He smirks, shaking his head. “Of all the words in the language you know and you pick baggage?”

She cringes, shrugging, “I didn’t really think about it. It just came out.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

She smiles, “you love it.”

He hesitates for a moment but nods, “I do.”

#criminal minds #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #criminal minds fanfiction #hotchniss

87 notes · View notes

alittlewhump · 3 years

Text

Unbidden - Act 1, chapter 8

Masterlist | Previous | Next

Content warnings: death mention, possible minor body horror with regards to injury

It had been a fortnight since Andariel. Morgan was adjusting to his new reality, one where speaking much louder than a whisper for more than a few sentences made it feel like he'd been screaming his throat raw. Where pain was out of proportion to the damage that caused it. Where his left arm was all but useless. Although he felt well enough to get up and move around, the wound on his arm showed no signs of closing. An inky colouration had spread out from the puncture, extending up above his elbow and down to his wrist. It turned his stomach to look at it. Any remaining strength in the limb was negated by the pain that shot through it at the slightest jostle or pull. Akara's expertise in the healing arts was not sufficient to handle a wound like this, caused by a demon queen and determined to linger. She had offered her sympathies and a supply of bandages, which at least allowed him to bind the damned thing so he didn't have to see it. His own limited knowledge of medicine did not extend to this manner of injury either, so simply keeping it covered and clean seemed like the best option available.

Morgan had been spending most of his time and energy on meditation and geomancy. Physical pursuits were not very attractive at the moment, so instead he focused on improving his magic. He would need it more than ever now, given the state of his arm. Eventually he would return to the graveyard he'd marked, to check on the restless spirits there, but he wasn't yet well enough for that journey.

The ground around the encampment was largely untended, but the soil was good. Morgan had been using it to flex his magical abilities cautiously, not wanting them to suffer from disuse. He turned small patches at a time, shuffling the richer earth up toward the surface bit by bit, until eventually there was a respectable area prepared. Nobody had asked him to install a garden, but it felt like it might be a useful contribution. It also helped to ground him. He had often tended the gardens back home, and found now that he was missing that work.

Short forays into the surrounding fields were still within the scope of Morgan's ability. Over the course of about a week, he'd managed to successfully transplant a reasonable variety of usable plants. Comfrey, feverfew, yarrow, and chamomile had all been easy enough to spot, and each had at least one medicinal use. They also had the benefit of being reasonably hardy, taking root well in the freshly turned earth. He had also experimented a little with some preparations of other plants he'd found - an outcrop of sway grass by a small lake, some sage nestled in among a patch of bright trefoil, a little bark from the willow just outside the encampment - but despite following standard procedures for preparation, none of the resultant concoctions did anything to relieve the pain of his injury. He took some fruits from what looked like an oleaster, intending to dry them for another attempt in the future, but he kept his expectations low. If the wound wasn't going to heal properly, it stood to reason that the other effects would also linger.

Cain had been good company, stopping by often. He inquired about the garden as it was talking shape and seemed legitimately interested in the various applications of the plants filling it. Morgan took care not to speak at too much length on any one topic, endlessly interesting though they were. Equally fascinating were the tales Cain had to share in exchange. The story of Tristram had been a sobering one, between the king's corruption by Diablo and the destruction it had wrought. And it seemed that it was not yet concluded, given the hero-turned-dark-wanderer who had fled. It would be worth pursuing that tale to its conclusion; Morgan's original request had been duly fulfilled, but the evident threat to the Balance was more pressing than returning to the Necropolis.

He'd also been alternating between meditating on ways to improve his clay golems and creating small versions to test the changes he'd thought of. So far he had come up with a lot of failed designs, going too far to the extremes to test the boundaries. A build with above average mobility that would crumble in combat, a strong and sturdy make that could absorb a great deal of punishment but would be too slow to hit anything that wasn't standing still. Now it was time to rein it in, to tinker with proportions and the flow of magic through the construct until something better emerged. Morgan slipped easily into the in-between state, retreating into his mind while his body rested in a comfortable cross-legged position. A pleasant breeze ruffled the leaves of the tree he was leaning against. Today would be good for focusing on the smaller details. He lost himself for a time in the contemplation of his designs.

A crawling, prickling discomfort pulled him back into reality. The sun was getting low in the sky. Someone had put their hand on his shoulder, and they were speaking to him.

"- word I've said, have you?" It was Blaise, looking annoyed.

Morgan shifted away from her, and she let her hand fall. "I'm sorry," he said, "I didn't hear you. I was meditating." The rough sound of his voice was another thing he was still getting used to. He rubbed his throat gingerly. Should have thought to keep some water nearby.

"Of course you were. I said, I talked to Kashya and she's agreed to give you some training. If you're going to keep fighting monsters and demons, you'll need some help. With your swordplay. It's not very good."

She was right, of course. Now that he could no longer hold a shield, his sword would have to be defensive as well - and magic had always been his strength, not actual physical strength or coordination. He'd been planning to refocus himself entirely on the magical side of things, but this was undeniably a good idea even if he didn't relish the prospect of physical training. Any formal instruction in the use of a sword would be useful.

"When?"

"You're welcome. Whenever you're ready. As soon as tomorrow." Instead of turning to go, she sat next to him. He expected her to keep talking, but she didn't. Maybe she was working up to something. The silence stretched uncomfortably. She didn't like him, she'd often said as much - so why was she staying so near? He'd been doing his best to be avoidable, true to his word. She hadn't been taking advantage of it, instead crossing his path at least once a day. Probably some sort of sense of obligation. The Sisterhood had been treating him with a cautious, grudging respect since Andariel's defeat. It was... strange.

That reminded him of a question he'd been meaning to ask. Now seemed as good a time as any, so he turned to study her. "Blaise. Why did you tell everyone I killed Andariel?"

She startled visibly and raised a hand to shush him. "What the hell, Morgan," she hissed, "you can't just say-" she cut herself off, looking around furtively. Apparently satisfied that nobody was eavesdropping, she continued in hushed tones. "Look, if Akara and Kashya knew I killed that big ugly bitch, they'd never let me get away from this backwater. It's different for you. They're expecting you to go. And when you leave, I'm going with you. At least until I'm well away from here. This place... I'm not really cut out to be part of something like this."

"Ah." That explanation made enough sense. He hadn't realized she wanted to leave, but then he often didn't realize things about other people. Perhaps he'd misinterpreted her loyalty as fondness. There wasn't always a correlation there. She hadn't exactly been talkative during their time together - not to him, not about personal wishes and desires. It also explained the closeness; by spending time around him, she was putting on a front, laying the groundwork that would justify her departure. Satisfied, he turned away to look at the sky. It was starting to be tinged with pink, and it was lovely to see.

"How do you do it?" Now it was her turn to scrutinize him. She was staring intently at his face as though it was going to hold anything other than confusion. Do what? Had he slipped back into his thoughts and missed part of the conversation? "I mean, doesn't it bother you?" That clarified nothing. He stared blankly, and she huffed. "People don't like you. As a necromancer. I mean, we didn't exactly give you a warm welcome. But there's no way it's just us. Your kind are... well, hated."

Oh, that. It was just a fact. He'd come to accept it easily enough. People didn't usually take kindly to him even before they knew his particular area of specialization. He shrugged, wondering idly what had lead to the question. She didn't seem to like that response.

"It's normal," he offered.

"It's not normal! How could you think that's normal? How do you... live with it?" She gesticulated, as though the waving of her hands might clarify her meaning. It did not. How else would he live? He took a moment to search for the words to frame it.

"As followers of Rathma, we are driven by pursuit of the Balance. What others think of us is not important."

"Not im- Morgan, of course it's important! The way people treat you matters. You have to rely on other people all the time."

"I try not to."

Blaise pinched the bridge of her nose as though the conversation was giving her a headache. "Yeah, I know you do. But sometimes you don't have a choice. Like - there's no way you could have gone up against Andariel alone, she would have killed you in a second."

"Mm." While certainly true, it didn't change much. Alone, he would have been more cautious, planned better. Probably died anyway. Others would have come to take his place. His individual life only held value in the contribution it could make toward the Balance. Death came inevitably to all things; to die in service was at least honourable.

Blaise seemed agitated. "I don't think you understand - this is life and death stuff. For fuck's sake, you nearly did die! When-" she lowered her voice, which had risen in frustration. It shook a little. "When I brought you to Akara, she argued with me. She didn't want to waste her supplies on you. She was just going to let you die on her doorstep, because she doesn't like you. That's not normal. You can't just think that's okay."

It certainly wasn't extraordinary. That was why necromancers generally brewed their own potions, not that he'd had either the time or the forethought to reach for his own during the encounter. He started to shrug again. Akara had been pleasant enough since - oh. All the pieces came together suddenly, but the picture they formed didn't quite make sense. Blaise had lied to save him. She'd decided, probably on an impulse, out of desperation, to frame him as the hero because the healer wasn't going to touch him otherwise. She had wanted him to live, and had sacrificed her own part in the story to ensure his survival.

Of course, that type of instinctively selfless behaviour was part of the reason he'd decided she was a genuinely good person. But having that kindness extended to him - that was new. He didn't quite know what to make of it. People weren't kind to him, as a rule. That was familiar, at least, predictable. It didn't feel like he'd done anything to earn this special treatment. He'd have to tread carefully.

"It's what I'm used to," he said quietly. "Death comes to all things. We do not expect others to delay it for us. But you... are extraordinary." It didn't really feel adequate, but he would need some time to process this new information, and the moment would be long past by then. "Thank you," he added. That also felt shallow. He had no reference to draw from - what was the appropriate way to convey this tangle of feelings? Indebtedness, surprise, gratitude, admiration, and those were just the aspects he had names for. He purposely held her gaze for a moment, hoping she would be able to glean something from that since his words weren't doing the job.

Blaise opened her mouth as if to say something, then closed it again. Instead, she stood and stretched. "I bet you haven't even eaten today. Come on, Charsi made these beautiful rabbit pies. You have to try them." She extended her hand toward him. He didn't especially want to join a communal meal, but it would be rude to refuse such a rare offer. And he had, in fact, neglected to eat. He took her hand to pull himself up. Tomorrow he would attempt to train with Kashya, but right now he wouldn't worry about it.

#my writing #story: unbidden #death mention tw #body horror tw

14 notes · View notes

kristal-dawn-art · 3 years

Text

Jujutsu Kaisen OC Reika

I couldn’t resist, so here’s my OC for JJK.

Name: Kougetsu Reika (紅月霊花) Alias: Rei Species: Human; sorcerer Birthday: August 30 Zodiac sign: Virgo Age: 16 Gender: Female Height/Weight: 163cm/ (5’4” Hair/Eye Color: Deep auburn/dark gold Status: Alive Relatives: Kougetsu Toshihiro (father); Kougetsu Mika (mother); Gojou Satoru (distant relative); Okkotsu Yuta (distant relative) Occupation: Student/Jujutsu Sorcerer Affiliation: Kougetsu Clan; later Tokyo Prefectural Jujutsu High School

More info under the cut XD;

Appearance: Reika has fair skin, dark golden eyes, and deep auburn hair that she wears in a side ponytail with a 3-part fringe. She favors comfortable clothing that is easy to move in, with a typical outfit consisting of a purple shirt paired with a gray-and-pink jacket, denim skirt, dark leggings and running shoes. Her school uniform consists of a purple tank top tucked into a short pleated uniform skirt. Leggings, running shoes, and a short-sleeve uniform jacket complete the look.

Personality: Reika enjoys observing others as much as she loves interacting with them - well, as much as she can observe given her situation - and because of how sheltered she’d been before enrolling at Tokyo Prefectural Jujutsu High School (aka Jujutsu Tech), she jumps at the chance to befriend someone. She’s fairly straightforward in her words and actions, whichever is more appropriate in a given situation. While not too much of a conversationalist, she’s happy to keep someone company, if she feels they need it.

For the most part, she wears her emotions on her sleeve, and her tone of voice is a very good indicator of how she’s feeling. Rarely does she feel the need to hide her emotions, but when she does, she does it fairly well. Being a studious sort, she dislikes it when someone interrupts another person while they’re explaining something, and will often clap a hand over the offending party’s mouth.

She’s not that good at picking up on tension in a room, so to speak, but she can make a good guess at how people are feeling, and if they’re feeling down, she’ll try to help them feel better. Overall, she likes knowing she can help others, and is happy to play the support role whenever on assignment. She also hates ‘seeing’ someone get hurt, whether or not they show they’re in pain. Even while worrying for someone, she’s able to keep a cool head, and will choose her next actions in such a way that she’ll have time to tend to the injured person if necessary.

ABILITIES AND POWERS

Overall skill level: At present, Reika is a strong Grade 2 sorcerer, though her precise control of and sensitivity to cursed energy, plus the speed at which she masters different forms and applications of her inherited technique makes it possible for her to move on to being at least a semi-Grade 1.

Extreme sensitivity and energy control: Because she is both deaf and blind, Reika’s other senses plus her ability to sense cursed energy are all highly enhanced. She can feel movement through minute changes in air pressure and thanks to her Curse Sensing, and reading the flow of another’s cursed energy tells her also how much was expended. Training also helped her get a feel for how much energy she has to use to get a certain effect.

Enhanced mobility: Reika’s training to use cursed energy to fuel her movements has improved her speed and reflexes. So while not as fast as individuals like Yuuji or Maki who have innate physical talent, Reika is still able to move very well in combat, with little to no wasted movement.

Competent combatant: Even though her training and her personal preference had her focus on defensive applications of her technique, she can still do a reasonable amount of damage when necessary and thus can hold her own reasonably well.

JUJUTSU Cursed Energy Manipulation Great Cursed Energy: Reika’s inherited technique, overall, takes much cursed energy to use, even if the individual techniques don’t use a lot. Training further helped Reika learn to conserve her energy and use the appropriate technique for a situation. This, combined with the overall effect of the Kougetsu clan’s inherited technique, means that Reika has a high amount of cursed energy to work with at any given time. Drawn-out fights are challenging for her, but alternating between manipulating her opponent’s energy and her own can help her last longer, though not without taking a toll on her body.

Inherited Technique Hands of Tsukuyomi. Believed to be an offshoot of Limitless, this technique hinges on users being able to manipulate both their own cursed energy and an opponent’s to achieve a variety of effects. At its most basic and on the surface level, Hands of Tsukuyomi can disguise or suppress the user’s cursed energy, allowing them to pass as civilians. Users may also gain enhanced speed and mobility by fueling their movements with cursed energy, and increasing the impact of any physical attacks they may employ. The technique’s more advanced forms let users divert cursed energy, absorb it, and amplify the effects of an ally’s technique. Extremely advanced applications of the technique see users manipulating light to distort what opponents see, and even unleashing a barrage of compressed light over a desired area.

All forms fall under one of four phases, each one focusing on a particular general effect. Full Moon focuses on amplification, Waning Moon covers absorption, Crescent Moon deals with redirection, and New Moon focuses on negation. Regardless of form, the user needs precise control to achieve the desired effect. Only a handful of users are able to use more than 2 phases, and while they can and do master at least one, true Hands of Tsukuyomi masters are able to use forms from all four, flowing from one to another depending on the situation. Reika herself is regarded by her family to be a highly gifted user as she is only one of three Kougetsu sorcerers so far who have learned to use Hands of Tsukuyomi to heal themselves and others.

In most cases, activating a technique requires a specific series of hand seals from a fixed set of 12, based on the lunar zodiac, and the user concentrating on the desired effect, including range (if any) and the target. The only techniques so far that don’t require these seals are Reika’s Curse Sensing, Tidal Flow, and Shroud.

Benefits:

Users being able to reflect an opponent’s cursed energy and any effects of these back at the original user (e.g. a user would be able to deflect Mahito’s “Idle Transformation” and possibly cause him to transform instead into a form he wasn’t planning) along with the precise control of their own cursed energy allows them to last longer in combat, compared to if they were to rely on their cursed energy alone.

Users are also able to increase the effectiveness, strength, range, or duration of techniques when using more energy than typically required. For instance, users can move twice as fast when fueling their movements, or reflect more than one cursed technique simultaneously.

Drawbacks:

The stronger the opponent, the more difficult it is to make their technique rebound completely; the user will either have to use more cursed energy, or deal with the technique in a different way (absorb or negate it).

The more powerful forms take longer to master and use up a lot of cursed energy, so if they’re countered or don’t work out as well, the user may be worse off than if they hadn’t used said forms.

Overuse causes users to suffer from paralysis in one or two limbs, an inability to speak, blurred vision, muscle pain, or a combination of any of those. The more powerful the form that was last used, the bigger the toll it takes on the body. In the worst-case scenario, a user may pass out from the physical and mental strain.

Techniques:

Full Moon: Zenith (満月: 天頂 ; Mangetsu: Tenchou) After activating the technique, Reika lays a hand on an ally and channels some of her cursed energy into them the moment they deploy a technique of their own, thereby strengthening it (e.g. Fushiguro’s shikigami will be harder to destroy) or amplifying the effect (e.g. Inumaki’s cursed speech won’t create as much of a backlash).

Full Moon: Moonbeam (満月: 月光; Mangetsu: Gekkou) Reika compresses light and unleashes it in a barrage of beams that she can direct freely, and even redirect if they haven’t made contact yet. The bigger the area of effect, the fewer the projectiles launched.

Waning Moon: Afterimage (下弦の月: 残像 ; Kagen no Tsuki: Zanzou) -description to be added-

Waning Moon: Kaleidoscope (下弦の月: 万華鏡; Kagen no Tsuki: Mangekyou) Reika alters the surroundings to conceal her and her allies’ location while also setting up a protective barrier. While active, the barrier absorbs the energy from cursed techniques targeting her or her ally, creating a well for Reika to tap into later. This takes a lot of concentration, so if she’s distracted, the barrier fails to absorb the energy, thus exposing the illusion.

Crescent Moon: Mirror (三日月: 鏡; Mikazuki: Kagami) Reika controls the trajectory (?) of another individual’s cursed energy, turning it back on them or onto a different target. The effect is usually instantaneous and she doesn’t have to keep the technique activated, unless the user is of a higher grade. When that happens, she needs to keep it active until the redirected energy hits the new target. This technique doesn’t work against special-grade opponents, though, and is tricky to use when there are more than two opponents.

Crescent Moon: Haze (三日月: 朧; Mikazuki: Oboro) A more advanced form that Reika is still trying to master. In theory, she would be able to arrest the flow of cursed energy from multiple targets, making it appear as if their techniques were deactivated. Then, she’d redirect the trajectory of each one (e.g have Kamo’s arrows target someone else, or make Hanami’s plants grow in a different direction) before letting the attacks go through to their new targets. Reika left Jujutsu Tech not long after enrolling to learn this technique from a relative.

New Moon: Disruption (新月: 破壊; Shingetsu: Hakai) This technique enables Reika to negate or forcibly deactivate a technique deployed by someone else. However, both her feet need to be planted - similar to the Simple Domain - and the user whose technique she wishes to deactivate must be within 10 meters of her.

New Moon: Umbra (新月: 本影; Shingetsu: Honei) An advanced version of Disruption that Reika is still trying to master, it functions similarly to a Simple Domain, but instead of requiring the feet to stay set at the point the technique was deployed, it calls for Reika to keep her hands in the necessary seal and concentrating on keeping the flow of energy around her constant. Its range is just 3 meters, but Reika doesn’t need to stay grounded, so it’s more versatile and can be activated even in the air. This is another technique that Reika had to learn from a relative.

Others:

Energy Sensing. Reika’s energy grid that she uses primarily for navigation, but can be used in combat and to sense approaching cursed spirits. Reika can quickly react to whatever information she gets from it.

Tidal Flow. Reika uses cursed energy to enhance her actions in combat.

Tidal Strike. Reika channels cursed energy into her hands or feet and compresses it for precise strikes; the effect is more slicing or piercing compared to the blunt force from, say, Itadori’s.

Shroud. A reversed curse technique involving Reika surrounding herself or others with negative cursed energy to heal injuries.

Barrier Techniques Eclipsing Light (食の光; Shoku no Hikari) Reika creates a protective barrier of compressed light around her and the target. While active, the barrier steadily absorbs the target’s cursed energy, preventing them from using any techniques. She then reverses the flow of the energy, releasing it in either a barrage of multiple projectiles from above or as a single, focused beam originating from her outstretched palms. The domain is still incomplete.

Story: The only child of the current head of the Kougetsu Family, Reika was born both blind and deaf, which made both her parents reluctant to have her train as a sorcerer, even if she later proved to inherit their clan’s Cursed Technique.

As time passed, it became obvious that the little girl’s other senses were enhanced. Using vibrations in the ground and in the air, she was able to tell when someone nearby was talking or when something was being moved. She proved herself capable of using and controlling cursed energy earlier than other young sorcerers, soon figuring out how to lay strings of energy out in a grid pattern and using that to ‘see’ her surroundings.

Because of her clan’s stance on sorcerer society and her parents’ protectiveness, she lived a sheltered life, rarely leaving the family compound and interacting only with family members and teachers brought in to tutor her. Eventually, however, Reika asked that she train in both hand-to-hand combat and the use of her Inherited Technique, arguing that she needed to be able to rely on herself as well, not just on family members, to keep herself safe. Toshihiro and Mika agreed, making sure she learned to suppress her cursed energy so she’d appear as a civilian to any sorcerers and cursed spirits, even when using her energy grid to navigate. The last thing they wanted was for their only child to be endangered, or to draw the attention of other sorcerers.

As her skills improved, Reika took to going out on her own to explore the city, eventually encountering cursed spirits. The harmless ones she left alone, but not the more threatening ones. She often led these back to the Kougetsu family compound for more experienced sorcerers to exorcise. At some point, however, she grew confident enough in her abilities and began exorcising spirits herself when she perceived they had less energy than she did and she could do so without endangering civilians.

During one such outing, Gojou witnessed her luring a cursed spirit into an alley before exorcising it, and became intrigued when he learned the younger one could neither see nor hear - likely a result of a Heavenly Restriction. When his superiors learned of Reika, they called for her enrollment at Tokyo Prefectural Jujutsu High School, reasoning that she’d need field training her family might be unable to provide. Reika’s parents were reluctant to let her go, but the young teen was eager to leave. For her, it was a chance to live away from her protective family members, to test her abilities as much as possible while keeping others safe - civilian or sorcerer - and to learn more about her role as a sorcerer. She entered Jujutsu Tech soon after the Kyoto Sister School Goodwill Event.

Trivia

Reika has to touch someone’s face or throat to be able to tell what they’re saying, using the vibrations to interpret the words. Otherwise, someone needs to sign into her palm to give her information directly.

The Kougetsu Clan doesn’t condone the way sorcerers in Japan are treated, or how the society functions as a whole. Because of this, Kougetsu sorcerers went largely unregistered for 5 generations, their technique relatively unknown. Reika enrolling at Jujutsu Tech broke this pattern.

Reika aspires to be like Maki when it comes to hand-to-hand combat.

When meeting someone for the first time, she asks if she can touch their face. To her, Gojou has a lively face, Fushiguro and Itadori both have kind faces, while Kugisaki’s is determined. Panda’s is friendly, Maki’s is strong, and Inumaki’s is gentle.

Reika says that different colors feel different to her, and she picks out clothing based on that.

Seiyuu/VA: Nitta Emi (JPN)/Cherami Leigh (ENG)

#Kaedraws #dawnlitdrawings #myart #krisart #kristart #Jujutsu Kaisen #Jujutsu Kaisen OC #JJK #JJK OC #original character #fan character #digital art #Jujutsu Kaisen fan character #JJK sorcerer

40 notes · View notes

mor-beck-more-problems · 3 years

Text

Death Rings Twice || Morgan and Eilidh

TIMING: Current

PARTIES: @braindeacl @mor-beck-more-problems

SUMMARY: While searching for answers, Morgan and Eilidh realize the situation is worse than they realized.

CONTAINS: conversations with dead people

They came and went in waves. The first time, only the first time, Eilidh believed them to be just a part of being a ghost. James had done so many times—go in and out of view like the watts on a bulb. But those changes had been consensual, come upon by his own will, and he never truly left. Not like she had, and did, and still do. Moments of nothingness. Blink and she was gone, truly and ultimately gone. Blink and she was back, not even left with a memory. Just a faint recollection, a faint feeling of a blank. Like trying to recall a blackout. You knew it was there, you felt it too—pages torn from a book. But you also didn’t, couldn’t, for nothingness was all that remained. Nothingness that seemed to be her destination. Those blinks got longer, longer, longer. With no sign of slowing.

Eilidh knew Morgan was facing her own bouts of strangeness. Maybe they were connected. Morgan believed them to be—magic set loose like a wildfire, with them in its path. Consumed in its flames, would it burn them all the way to the ground? Or would they come out the other side, for the better? This curiosity, and a gnawing worry, compelled her forward, right into Morgan’s residence. She ventured through those great and winding halls, as if she already haunted the place. She ought to haunt at least one. Before it became too late. Passing by an open door, that familiar face was finally seen. Eilidh stopped, stared. Felt that nothingness threatening to claim her again. Visage flickered—like a light on its dying breath. But the feeling passed, leaving her there, shining on. The motion, or her very presence, must’ve caused a stir. The two women met each other’s eyes.

“Boo.”

Morgan just needed to find the right book. Zombies had been around for ages and so even if whatever was happening to her was obviously very rare, it must have happened to someone else before. And that someone must have wanted to write it down. Because magic directly affecting a zombie body at all was worth writing about; doing so in this cruel, backwards way defied everything she understood about magic and living matter. So, Morgan sat on the floor in the library, swimming through a large haul from the scriberary, searching. When Macleod appeared behind the volume she was holding, calling boo, Morgan yelped with surprise.

“Oh! Stars! That was--” she laughed uneasily. “That was something alright.” She sat back and looked at the other woman. She had believed everything Macleod had told her but seeing her friend, so wild and earthbound, so connected to her flesh, floating and transparent was uncanny in a way her mind struggled to process. “I wish I had good news on the funky magic boogaloo front, but there’s just lots of dead ends so far. But that can wait. Are you...okay? At least, relative to our situation?

Good-hearted chuckle lept out of Eilidh—breaking the illusion of the spooky ghost in the corner. She closed the distance between the two, eyes curiously scanning the cover and pages of the book nestled in Morgan’s lap. More were strewn across the room, circling Morgan in a protective barrier, or perhaps a tomb—either for future study or determined unsuited. Where one group ended and the other began, she wasn’t sure. Mouth parted to offer assistance, her hands and mind well-versed to such a skill, but the words quickly died just as her flesh had. Wouldn’t be much use when turning a page was a difficult endeavor. She had learned that fact rather quickly.

When attentions were placed on her, Eilidh perked. “Aye. Convinced this guy his cereal was sentient. And some lady she could control plants.” Snort of delight shot out her nose as their faces returned to memory. But as the chuckles faded, so too did this delight. That lingering worry remained. A hand brushed her lips, seemingly in thought. “Also…” In absence of external stimuli, she bit on a knuckle. But where a prick of sensation, a prick of life, would usually awaken her hand, only a mere acknowledgement greeted her. Fucking hell, how has James not gone mad by now? A low growl rumbled, and at least it felt nice in her chest. Familiar. “Been going in and out. Kinda like blinking. If you did that with a soul. James says it isn’t normal. And they’re getting longer.” Another knuckle met her teeth; that same hollow impact replayed. “Guess it’s soon time.” Her eyes scanned Morgan, transferring the focus back to the other woman. Wandering gaze found the darkness under her friend’s eyes. “What ‘bout you?”

For what seemed like a long time, Morgan could only stare at her friend. Or rather, through her friend. She could see every title on the shelf behind her if she concentrated enough, because Macleod, despite speaking and smiling and grinning and mischief-ing as much as she had ever done, was incorporeal and transparent. Like a ghost. A baby undead ghost. Which wasn’t supposed to exist. “..Blinking? What? Uh, that sounds bad. And weird. I’ve never heard of ghosts doing that before. They cross over, and they have some kind of teleportation thing, but they don’t play peek-a-boo with a whole plane of existence. That’s…” Another very strange, logic defying twist of magic.

Morgan cleared her head and tried to answer Macleod’s questions. “I woke up at the beginning of the week able to feel again. All my physical senses that went dull were back. It took some adjusting, but I think it was more or less how they were when I was alive. But then my body started decaying even when I was full, or more than full, and healing was fading and now it’s basically gone! So I’m basically rotting away for no discernable reason, and I get to be super physically aware of all of it. Also, I smell, so maybe it’s a good thing you don’t have any senses right now. When did your stuff start? I mean, none of this should be happening at all, because the undead are immune to spellcasting magic that engages with our body’s energy, as far as I can tell, and we’re immune to most drugs and toxins, and I haven’t found anyone else in town being effected like this, so it’s not the big cosmic town bullshit--but if we can get a timeline, maybe that will tell us...something.” She sighed and closed the book in her lap, staring off into anywhere but Macleod’s face. The whole world was slipping through their fingers, just when she’d thought it really did want them after all.

Curt laugh escaped Eilidh. “Yeah. You’re telling me.” Just her luck to be subjected to the worst game of peek-a-boo in existence. Maybe her soul truly did want to pass over, but this supposed magic was keeping her here? Maybe the universe was trying to remedy the fact she shouldn’t have remained—at least not in this form—but the magic tried to go against the very will of the cosmos? Thoughts followed that tangent until it caused a dizziness. Bah, there’s too many maybes and what-ifs. She snapped a finger, sharp noise bringing her back to the present. Mind focused on Morgan’s words, her own story. As such a tale unfolded, her face fell, allowing that worry bubbling inside to find itself in her eyes, her parted mouth. Just as quickly, her eyes tightened, mouth closed, jaws tightened. Resolve overcame the worry, gave her goal new fire. “Aye. That is real bad.” Especially when it started so promising—the worst kind. “Best we hop to it prompto, then. Know anything I can look over? Double-check? Triple-check?” The ways of magic, the ways others shifted the energies of the world to their will, was not a strong subject of hers. But perhaps there were other pieces of the puzzle her ever inquisitive eyes could find. She needed that hunt, after all. Needed something to do—when all things physical brought boredom at best, her mind frequently rushed into restlessness.

Eilidh recalled the start of this plight. “I died beginning of this week.” The same as Morgan’s own unfortunes; a fact that did not escape her. “Or alchemied this way. Or some other magic.” At this point, she wasn’t sure which was true. Death was more reasonable to her. Familiarity always felt more reasonable, and she was very familiar with death. But Morgan seemed convinced its cause was magically induced and, well, she was the expert in that regard. Not Eilidh. “Blinked out the first time a few days later. Didn’t think too much of it. ‘Til a few more days later when it kept happening.” How much longer would this affliction let her speak with Morgan? Would it rip her away mid-sentence, as it had with Milo? Sharp snap of fingers returned. Temptation to bite the nagging thoughts away surfaced—to subject another knuckle to her teeth. But the snap sufficed. For now.

Morgan sat back, thinking. The town had already been shifted in the cosmos by the time she and Macleod were affected. And no one else she spoke to, dead or undead, was feeling anything strange in their body. So why them? And how? It didn’t seem right that the universe should literally change its rules just to be cruel to them. And if an alchemy break-through was responsible for Macleod, it didn’t explain her progressive deterioration. She would have to be confined to a circle in order for that to be the case, and the energy required to continually re-write her body would be outrageous.

She looked over at Macleod, aching to give her an answer. “I only have a few general compendiums on the stuff, but maybe there’s some kind of sickness, or some kind of critter that can affect people like us. Like, bookwyrms and brain biters mess with people’s brains, and there’s plenty of necrophages out there maybe…” Some magic, universe defying critter happened to chomp on both of them without their noticing on the exact same night? Morgan could hardly stand to hope for the idea, it sounded ridiculous enough in her head. But she had to try. If she stopped trying, this thing would take her. “Maybe there’s one that can explain this. Weird abilities that make people incorporeal or mess with their magic composition. Um, it’s those thick ones back there--” She pointed. “Or you could check out the area, see if anything unusual is sniffing around. Every critter’s gotta eat and sleep somewhere.” She smiled feebly. “We’ll figure this out before it’s too late. We’ve got too much to live for, right?”

“Critters!” The word shot out like a bullet. That was more Eilidh’s forte. A hand returned thoughtfully to her lips, though a bite did not come. Her mind was moving far too fast to focus on anything physical. Feet began to pace without her knowledge, beating against the air as if they contributed to her movements anymore. “Those bees cause hallucinations…” What were they called again? Those dick-hive bees. She had still yet to encounter them personally—such a treat will have to wait when she finally visits… that woman. Knowledge was acquired specifically for said venture, so she really should remember… “Eintykara.” But as research came tumbling back into her mind, so did an issue. “No. Cold.” Such weathers would cause them to grow sluggish—springing into action now would make no sense. “Hm. Caballi?” Her encounter with one had been very brief, but James’ was much more intimate. And she had certainly heard stories that mimicked their own. Of ghosts being attacked by them. Or more accurately, being fed upon by them. Could be the cause of their deterioration, those astral feedings. Perhaps they can affect zombies too? “But never saw…” They weren’t exactly invisible, to people like them. But much of them was left unknown, on this world at least. Could be a special sort?

More ideas flowed into Eilidh’s mind. And just easily flowed back out—conflictions and contradictions found in every sort. Though the universe was vast and wide and full of exceptions. Hardly anything could be said with certainty. And hardly everything was stored in her mind—that vastness refusing to be contained in just one thing. Or even in one world; creatures not found in any book had laid just beyond those cracks in the air. One, or two, or more could’ve slipped through. “You could be onto something.” Her feet stilled, and it was only then she realized she had been on the move at all. But they already missed that constant motion. Focus turned to the mentioned books, causing a chuckle to stir. “Would. But these guys do whatever the hell they want.” She wiggled her fingers and they blended and meddled together, like waves crashing into each other. “I’ll look ‘round. You focus on the books. We’ll see this through.” There was an attempt to turn and leave, but something held her there just a moment longer. Those hints of decay sprinkled on Morgan’s form—some grown worse over the course of their conversation. “Think you’ll manage?” The question spanning far beyond just Morgan’s research capability.

With the way Macleod lit up at the suggestion, Morgan could actually start to believe they were onto something. The world was full of strange things and there was so much they didn’t know. Of course if it wasn’t someone it had to be something. Maybe even a creature from another dimension. Some of the critters in those portals had probably gotten stuck on this side when Adam closed them, too, and maybe that was why they couldn’t understand the rules this infection worked on.

Morgan met Macleod’s eyes bravely. They were looking for a needle in a haystack. It might take weeks to comb through all of White Crest and identify the exact creatures they were looking for, especially if they turned out to be beyond sapient record on this world. But they would figure it out, wouldn’t they?

Somewhere beyond them, bewildered geese flapped their way to the sky and called to each other for safety, snow crunched under tired feet, a wind blew through the hollow tunnels of the world. Morgan took it all in, staring through the frosted windows. This was a world that buried its secrets better than its dead, but it was also one where life persisted in the most bitter cold. If anyone was proof of that, surely it was her and Macleod. And Morgan had a future to get to; Macleod probably did too, and if she didn’t, she deserved to stick around long enough to come up with one. So she had to be okay. There wasn’t room in this scenario for her not to be.

Morgan summoned her best smile and hoped with all she had that Macleod believed it and let some of the warmth rub off on her. “I’ve got this. And so do you. Death cut us a break once, right? Twice should be just as easy.”

That smile filled the air, found its way on Eilidh’s face, lifting her spirits in turn. Hell yeah. They had this. That implication hung in the air, threatened to bring it all back down. The one where she died. This soul she carried certainly had—will again. And technically death had touched her a few days prior. But the implication ran deeper than that, tied her to an assumption she kept getting chained to. But she did not let that weight touch her; only a twitch of a brow, a tighten of lips, betrayed these thoughts. Resolve kept her steady—kept them both just the same. Fate may try to give them a losing hand, but she’ll keep playing until a full house. And if not, well, seems she’s had her time then. Her soul will enjoy more, if these pesky blinks didn’t consume her in totality. For fate was hungry this week—eating away at her very soul, at Morgan’s very flesh. Was it feeding on others? How far did this hunger spread? She had no mind, no time to worry about passerbyers on the street. Those teeth readied to pierce again, steal more of them away. But she’ll try her hand at dentistry and rip them out before all was taken. “Good to hear! Let’s give this a–”

She vanished.

#wr eilidh #wr chatzy #wr eilidh chatzy #death rings twice

10 notes · View notes

pinkcatharsis · 4 years

Text

I dunno if I should legit continue this because I can’t remember where I was going with it. Read a prompt at @sloaners anon or a comment in one of their posts (fantastic art btw go check it out!) about Tsunade adopting a bb Tenzou and well. I wrote this and it’s unfinished and yeah.

I actually don’t even have a title for it. Was supposed to be an eventual YamaIru, too. Oh well!

—

Names have power, they say.

Tenzou can agree to a certain point because his experience from his missions, his targets, countless reconnaissance on high profile politicians has proven that people tend to cower from the syllables of a name if they are a threat.

Names carry prestige more than an identity.Names give history, are the pillars for legacy provided it is a name the people can accept. More often than not, it is a vessel for fear, control

They’re also a convenient excuse for people to either sing with high praise or forget because the truth is always a pill too hard to swallow.

Sometimes it lies ignored despite its great sacrifice to stop a rampaging monster, when the womb still bleeds fresh and a goodbye too soon falls from crimson lips. It is ignored because it is easier to hate someone helpless than to acknowledge a name that saved everyone.

Sometimes it is indifferent, distant, as cold as the unreadable, white irises of its clansmen.

Sometimes it lies abandoned, walls cracking, dust collecting over blood stained tatami mats where the weight of shame fueled enough strength to slice through flesh. Shame because of a choice to save one’s comrades as opposed to prioritising the mission.

Sometimes it is soaking in blood, whispers of its massacre echoing loud, and towards the end of it, the word traitor.

And sometimes, they’re just old, only remembered through history that is a core subject within the Academy walls, a prerequisite in terms of knowledge for every Konoha shinobi. They’re faded, scattered, heirless, visually only present through the carvings of stone that towers over the village.

Tenzou is conditioned to not pay any heed to something as trivial as a name. Not when he’s been conditioned, trained extremely well, that the only thing that matters is servitude to the village. That the name Konoha is the only thing of true value.

Greater people have sacrificed themselves for the good of village and now, their heir wanders Konoha’s walls shunned, sneered, hated, ignored. Their names hardly mattered in the present -- it’s like the Yellow Flash only exists as a tier to be achieved in terms of talent, hard work and mission success and nothing else. As if the man behind the legacy hardly existed.

Legacy means nothing, Tenzou realizes, in the grand scheme of things.

When you die, you just die.

It’s okay to die nameless.

Tenzou hears about Tsunade’s arrival tucked behind the cover of an open locker door. Apparently, Tsunade-hime is in the village for a visit. And like always, she has spent her first day sitting with her former sensei, having tea until she had flung the table across the room, out the window in a fit of uncontrolled, roiling rage.

“I think it’s because sandaime is asking her to stay,” one fellow ANBU says.

“No, it’s got something to do with her gambling debt for sure,” another says.

“Monkey says it has something to do with the council pressuring her to produce an heir,” a softer voice says.

“I thought she couldn’t?”

“Or she doesn’t want to?”

The conversation explodes, only coming to a sudden stop when the sound of a door opening puts a halt on the outright gossip that Tenzou shamefully has been eavesdropping on. Someone dares throw a table out the window in front of the Hokage? And the Hokage does nothing? Tenzou thinks back to Danzou an Root -- if any of them dared show such insubordination, that would mean at least half a day’s worth of lashings under the scorching sun and then dry fasting isolation for thirty-six hours. Not many tend to survive that but that would just mean they’re too weak to remain in Root, anyway.

“Don’t you guys have better things to do?” Kakashi’s voice cuts through with a drawl. It is followed by a series of locker doors shutting, rapid shuffling and then silence. “Oi, Tenzou. The Hokage needs you.”

Tenzou straightens, tugging his clean armor on and running a comb through his damp hair. He slams his locker shut and gives his senpai a wordless nod, acknowledging the summon.

A summon that suddenly renders him not so nameless anymore.

Tsunade is a towering figure, heals almost five inches high, back straight, eyebrows narrowed, hands on her hip and staring down at him like he’s a two year old.

“How old are you?”

“Fourteen,” Tenzou responds, keeping perfectly still. He isn’t intimidated by Tsunade’s persona. He’s just feeling a little too awkward because if Tsunade leaned any closer to examine him, her breasts would be ten centimeters too close to his face to be called professional, let alone proper.

“You are awfully small for a fourteen year old,” Tsunade tartly says, almost disappointed.

“I am a hundred and twenty nine and a half centimeters,” Tenzou agrees, well aware of how stunted his growth is. Danzou always factored his slow growth to the radiation and chemical exposure, a side effect to the experimentation Tenzou miraculously survived. But small doesn’t mean weak, Danzou had said, one of the few times he had been encouraging.

“Do you even eat, boy?” Tsunade scoffs.

“Yes. Five meals a day when I am in the village, continuously supplemented by calorically dense ration bars that Danzou-sama advised to--”

“Hah! Which one -- the one that tastes like sweet wet newspaper or the one that tastes like mouldy bread?” Tsunade snorts.

Tenzou finds himself stammering a little, glancing a little cluelessly at the Sandaime who is taking a very, very long drag from his pipe. Tenzou’s mouth quickly clamps shut before he can voice out his confusion. He can’t honestly say he knows what mouldy bread tastes like nor can he say he’s actually tried eating wet newspaper, let alone a sweetened one. So he goes with what he thinks is the correct response to this kind of inquiry. “The N-4150?”

“Sweet, wet newspaper. At least that old fart chose the better formula.” Tsunade rolls her eyes before taking - thank heavens - a proper step back.

Tenzou blinks once, altering between Tsunade now very put-upon expression and the Sandaime who is standing there as if he were part of the book shelf. “Hokage-sama, should I not continue consuming the N-4150?”

Sandaime rumbles an amused noise, blowing out a slow stream of tobacco smoke before he stands, rounding the table. “Why don’t you demonstrate your Mokuton skills for Tsunade, Tenzou? After all, that is the reason you were summoned here.”

It gets another eyeroll, with a bit of a scoff from Tsunade, who crosses her arms under her breasts.

“Yes, Hokage-sama,” Tenzou acknowledges.

He puts his hands together, channels just enough chakra and forms a small pot in his hands, slowly filling it with roots coiling until it sprouts green leaves, topped with large, black centered white poppies.

“Oh, white poppies,” Sandaime smiles, his face wrinkling. “An interesting choice. You see, Tsunade, Tenzou here has been studying botany for a year now. He’s a bit of an artist with his gardening. Tenzou, didn’t you recently start studying architecture as well?”

“I have only started reading some reference books three months ago, Hokage-sama,” Tenzou responds, with a bit of a nod, as his fingers tightens a little bit around the pot in his hands, not quite sure what to do with his creation-demonstration.

“Hmmm,” Sandaime hums, a touch bemused before he brings his pipe back up to his lips. “Reminds you of someone, doesn’t it, Tsunade?”

Tenzou looks at Tsunade, who in a space of a heartbeat looks far too young in a show of vulnerability, as her throat bobs when he swallows. It gets washed away when he clicks her tongue and turns to look at Tenzou, giving him a once over.

“Well, no one fucks with grandfather’s DNA, gets away with it and then keep it from me. Had it been anyone else but Danzou, Root of all places, I wouldn’t take issue! When did you discover your Mokuton skills, boy?”

“A year before I graduated from the Academy.” Tenzou swallows. “I was five years old.”

“Nine years! With that creep!” Tsuande shouts.

Sandaime’s tobacco inhale had to be the longest one Tenzou has ever seen.

Sandaime exhales, responding with a sigh, “Better late than never, hmm?”

“Fine.” Tsaunde grouches. “I’ll do it. Tenzou, you can call me okaa-san when you’re ready.”

The pot drops from Tenzou’s hands.

“Eh?”

Tenzou thinks it's a good response. Given the proverbial punch to the face he’s just received.

It’s not that Tenzou wants to say he cares much for the idea of family.

It’s more like he doesn’t quite know what to do with it.

(What does family even mean?)

So Tenzou, much like every other time he gets moved around like he’s no more than a potted plant, agrees.

Not like it really matters, right?

He thinks of it as just having another sort of… superior?

A superior that Tenzou apparently now gets to live with after all of those paperwork.

In a large, inherited estate, closed off, covered in wildly growing flora and fauna. The estate does not look like it’s been lived in for decades. There is damage from the growth of vines, some of it poking through the tatami doors, and getting to the interior of the house. There are a few soda cans littered around the gate, some old, some new. Likely the result of dares from the younger crowd of Konoha.

The once heralded Senju estate that Hashirama and Tobirama and their families once resided in is now nothing more than a shadow of its former glory. Uncared for. Outdated. Obsolete.

“Well,” Tsunade huffs. “I haven’t seen this place in, hmm, ten years maybe? Maybe twelve? Tche, what a dump.”

Tsunade toes an old, faded orange soda can by her heel, kicking it further away.

Tenzou wishes he’s no more than a spore in the ground. Should he say something? He may be a Senju by name and by experimental DNA, but that doesn’t really make him a Senju-Senju.

It’s just circumstances.

“Well? What do you think, kid? You like the house?” Tsunade holds her hand out at the once upon a time regal grounds, now overgrown with weeds and littered with random junk.

Tenzou looks at the estate again and decides to go with the most diplomatically acceptable response there is in this case.

“It’s a lot bigger than my apartment,” Tenzou politely responds, as his eyes stray towards the patch of wildly growing rosary pea and oleander growing by the gate.

Tsunade’s booming laughter echoes throughout the entire compound, bemused and real. She doubles over, slapping a hand on her knee, her laugh tapering off to a bit of a wheeze. It almost sounds nervous. A little hysterical even.

Tenzou tilts his head to the side, staring up at this woman, this new mother of his, a legendary sannin, one of the most if not the best, medic there is in the country.

Would it be rude to ask her if she is okay?

“Kid,” Tsunade snorts, shaking her head, reaching out to ruffle Tenzou’s long hair. “I like your sense of humor. You and I are going to get along just fine.”

Tsunade asks to see his apartment.

And then proceeds to wear what Tenzou can only assume is her analytical face. It’s peppered with a little judgment, too.

Tenzou’s current apartment is a shoebox in size, with enough space for a single bed, a small sectioned off wall by the door turned to a makeshift kitchen and a connecting bathroom that Tsunade, no doubt, will have to carefully manage her long limbs.

“You like it here?” Tsunade asks, her lips twisting at the sight of the old hotplate on the tiny kitchen counter.

“It serves its purpose.” Tenzou shrugs.

“That wasn’t my question,” Tsaunde prompts, turning that analytical gaze back to Tenzou.

Tenzou frowns, resisting the urge to reach up and rub the back of his head in partial confusion, partial irritation. It’s a comfortable space -- what is she on about? Having an opinion on something as trivial as a living space serves no purpose in the betterment of Tenzou’s skills in the field. It has no correlation to his successful mission counts. Liking something or anything for that matter doesn’t make missions easier or harder, either.

Unsure of how to respond, Tenzou resorts to Danzou’s advice when it comes to undercover. If you’re caught in a tight spot, the easiest thing to slip out of attention is to either blend with your surroundings or mirror the person in front of you.

Tenzou goes for the mirror, sloping his eyebrows down the same way Tsunade is, relaxing his shoulder to what looks like a wary slump, canting his head just the tiniest bit to the side, and responds with what he hopes is a conclusion to this conversation, “It’s all right.”

Tsunade goes quiet for a while, before she sighs slowly and curses under her breath.

“Let’s try this again,” Tsunade sighs, gesticulating with her hand towards the entirety of the small apartment. “What do you think would make this space better suited for you? Take into consideration that you are also currently studying botany and architecture.”

Tenzou looks at the small stack of reference books he had borrowed from the public library, how he has to do most of his reading on the bed. If he had to sketch on drawing paper, he usually does so on the ceiling given the lack of floor space and a full flat wall that isn’t lined with bulging pipes or the sil of the window, with the paper taped on the corners. Makes it easier for him to get on his knees and practice his pencil sketches.

“Then that’s something you should consider when you fix our house, hmm?”

Oh. So he’s fixing it.

Well.

Okay, then.

—

And yeah that’s all I got. 🤷🏻‍♀️

#yamato tenzo #anbu tenzo #tenzou yamato #yamairu #tsunade adopts tenzou #tsunade is wine mama #senju tenzou #please help yamato

255 notes · View notes

loosescrewslefty · 5 years

Text

Miraculous Ladybug- Fixing the Powers

I’ve been very much bothered by the way that the writing team for Miraculous Ladybug has been handling powers for a long time now. It might not be as frustrating or offensive as how they sometimes treat the characters and their relationships, but it BOTHERS me. Because it doesn’t make sense that Adults are more powerful than kids just by the grace of being an adult if the magic comes from a kwami and the jewelry and as such the age of the wearer shouldn’t matter as much. And objectively speaking, there as several ‘minor’ miraculouses that seem WAY more powerful than the two that are supposed to be the most coveted, the Ladybug and Chat Noir miraculouses. Also both the addition of the potions AND the distinctions given to some of the miraculouses/kwamis (Such as Pollen being the ‘Kwami of Subjugation’) are just... ODD. So a while back I sat down and charted out a way to ‘fix’ the powers in Miraculous Ladybug, much like I’ve seen others fix plots and characters.

More Clearly based on Yin/Yang, Wu Xing, and the Zodiacs

I can’t tell you how much it annoys me that Astruc clearly chose these Chinese motifs for the aesthetic, and didn’t bother researching or properly applying any of the theology attached to them to his show. Ladybug and Chat Noir SHOULD be equal, and balance one another out, but they’re not. Instead, Ladybug gets way more power and importance than Chat Noir does. And the Wu Xing Cycle is an important one too, because that’s nature holding itself in check.

The Wu Xing has four different cycles attached to it; the Creation Cycle, the Destruction Cycle, the Insult Cycle, and the Controlling Cycle. It could have been interesting to lean into this, so that pairing two miraculous heroes together can lead to new powers being unlocked, depending on the two in question, and that if a Hawkmoth happens, there are two heroes other than Ladybug and Chat who’d be able to step up and confront him.

New Stations/Distinctions for the Kwamis

It bothers me that the distinctions chosen for the Kwami feel extremely random, and don’t fit together at all. Nooroo is “Generosity”, Trixx is “Deception”, Pollen is “Subjugation”, Wayzz is “Protection”, and Duusuu is “Emotion.” Like, on their own these are fine. But none of them really relate to one another in a way that makes sense, which the Wu Xing SHOULD. As much as it annoys me, I can sorta understand why it would be a bad idea to attach the specific elements themselves to each Miraculous, because then people will expect the powers of that miraculous to relate to that element, which is very limiting. The Wu Xing is about much more than just nature and the elements. It’s also used to reference the passing of time, physical parts of the body, emotions, cardinal directions and so much more.

But I still feel that the Distinctions for each Kwami and their powers should be presented in a what where it makes sense to see them relating to one another. One way I’ve suggested for people to do this is to include Ladybug and Chat in the consideration and base each of the Kwamis off of one of the Seven Chakras. But another way I like much better is to consider the kwamis in relation to what area their abilities will affect. For Example; Fox- Mind (Wood) Bee- Energy (Fire) Turtle- Body (Earth) Peacock- Soul (Metal) Butterfly- Heart (Water)

These are things you can tell at a glance relate to one another, without limiting the kwamis too much to being one trick ponies. And speaking of limits...

Limits are based on internal balance, not age

In an effort to make the sage figure that is supposed to be Fu NOT look like he has sand for brains and decided it’d be a good idea to give his chosen heroes a massive handicap against the villain right out of the gate, we’re going to change up the limiter for the Miraculouses. Rather than being based on age, the thing that determines how well you use a miraculous is your affiliation with the element/distinction that the Miraculous represents. Let’s use Kim as an example here. He’s very energetic and driven, so he’d have a great time with either the Bee or the Turtle, but give him the Peacock, the Butterfly, or the Fox, and things will get a hell of a lot harder for him. On the exact flip side, Juleka would be great with the Peacock, Butterfly, or Fox, but would struggle with the Bee or the Turtle.

Having the powers draw off of being able to synchronize with that power/ability due to personality makes sense, and is more true to the concepts that Miraculous Ladybug is trying to present than claiming that it’s because of age. And the beauty of this is that people can grow and change at any point in their life, which means that they can learn and change and miraculouses that they once struggled with can become easier for them to use while ones they once used easily can slip from their grasp if they begin to neglect that aspect of themselves.

More Clear and Understandable Power Pyramid

This is one of the things that bothers me MOST about how they’ve been handling the powers. We’re supposed to see Ladybug and Chat Noir’s miraculouses as the be all/end all, but many of the zodiac miraculouses seem much more powerful than them, and even the Peacock and Butterfly can create opponents that are more than a match for the Lucky Duo. Not to mention the fact that, as I said before, the Lucky Duo itself is imbalanced due to Ladybug getting all the power in their relationship. So the best way to fix that?

Power Pyramid.

By this, I mean that instead of all miraculouses just getting one power and calling it a day, it makes more sense to present the powers as an almost ‘trickle’ effect. To start off, Zodiacs get defined by a single element and whichever side of Yin/Yang they fall on, and get their power based on that. For example, the Dragon. That is a Yang/Earth (Body) Personality, who uses the elements in an aggressive way. Meanwhile, Snake is a Yin/Fire (Energy), so they require someone who comes across as passive, but is actually patient and knows to wait for the precise moment to strike.

Next level up from the Zodiac Miraculouses, we have the Wu Xing/Elemental Miraculouses. Rather than just one power, each Wu Xing Miraculous should get two, one based on it’s “Yin” Abilities, and one for it’s “Yang.” the way I broke it down when I was working this out for examples went like so;

Trixx

Fox Powers/Mind

Yang- Mirage

Creates an illusion of the user’s choosing.

Yin- Outfox

Gives the user the ability to convince the victim that anything they’re saying is true.

Pollen

Bee Powers/Energy

Yang- Nectar

Ability to heal injuries and cure illnesses (not as strong as Miraculous Cure)

Yin- Sting

Causes temporary paralysis

Wayzz

Turtle Powers/Body

Yang- Shell-ture

Creates an impenetrable shield

Yin- Withdraw

Teleportation ability that allows the user to put people and object of their desire in a pocket dimension of their own making for protection.

Duusu

Peacock Powers/Soul

Yang- Good Spirits

Creates a golem/familiar of sorts that is bonded to a certain person or object and protects them at all costs.

Yin- Soul Search

Allows the user to leave their body and enter another persons to take control of their actions and peer into their memories.

Nooroo

Butterfly Powers/Heart

Yang- Metamorphosis

Creates heroes to fight alongside the user

Yin- Butterfly Effect

Allows a brief glimpse into the future

And then after the Elements, at the top of the Pyramid we have Ladybug and Chat Noir, who get a whopping FIVE power each, but can only access those powers when they are in tune with that aspect of themselves, much like using the lesser miraculouses. For Example, Marinette’s Ladybug Can easily do the Mind, Energy, and Heart powers, but has a much, MUCH harder time with the Soul one, because she tends to read people at face value rather than trying to see beneath the surface. Adrien’s Chat Noir is excellent with the Body and Energy powers, but struggles much more with Mind (linked to one’s creativity) and Heart (Based on people’s abilities to connect with others, something Adrien struggles with after being home schooled his entire life) My idea for the Ladybug and Chat Noir powers look like this;

Tikki

Ladybug Powers:

Positive Heart- (Healing)

Miraculous Ladybug/Miraculous Cure

Heals all wounds, restores everything to its proper state

Positive Mind- (Inspiration)

Lucky Charm

Grants Ladybug an object to help her win

Positive Energy- (Creating)

Wish Come True

Allows Ladybug to will into existence something of her own choosing

Positive Body- (Protecting)

Elytron

Allows Ladybug to recreate both her own suit and the suits of her allies to help them fight (space suits, ice skating form, underwater suits, ect)

Positive Soul- (Life)

Red Thread

Ladybug has a limited ability to communicate with plants and animals, extending some of her power to them. Also works on humans, if the person trusts Ladybug enough to basically let her see into their very soul.

Plagg

Chat Noir Powers:

Negative Heart- (Toxicity)

Cat Scratch

Curses the victim with a lingering sickness that can only be healed by Ladybug.

Negative Mind- (Madness)

Cheshire Cat

Causes temporary insanity, which varies from victim to victim.

Negative Energy- (Destruction)

Cataclysm

Destroys anything the user touches.

Negative Body- (Weakness)

Catatonic

Puts the victim to sleep.

Negative Soul- (Death)

Catacomb

Allows the user to see, touch and summon spirits/ghosts

And that’s the basic breakdown of how I feel the powers of the ML universe SHOULD be handled instead. Feel free to comment with thoughts and inputs of your own and ask questions if any of this doesn’t make sense! ^^

#miraculous ladybug #marinette dupain-cheng #adrien agreste #gabriel agreste #master fu #hawkmoth #ml: ladybug #ml: chat noir #power fix #canon fix #yin/yang #wu xing #zodiacs

3K notes · View notes

woodlandelfuniverse · 4 years

Text

The Elf and the Man - Part 5

Far too long have you remained in the shadows, waiting to return to what you love. You have a quest at hand, but what comes after? Will your life be as before or will you choose another path?

A/N: Hi everyone! I am so sorry for the delay of this chapter, I have enjoyed summer as much as possible in these strange times. So finally I finished the fifth chapter. Hope you like it!

Word count: 1915

Bard was waiting for you to explain how you could be the elven Queen. But no words came out. You tried to form a sentence, but your mouth ran dry. He turned away from you and headed for the door, disappointed in your silence. You walked up to him and grabbed his hand before he could walk away. You reached for the book in his hand and said; “This book tells you all you need to know about me”. He shook his head and turned to the page that described your death. He pointed at the words and begged you for an explanation.

“How I’m still alive? Well it’s something I ask myself every day, call it faith or magic but here I am,” you answered and looked down at the floor. He sighed and put his fingers under your chin. He held a sorrowful expression.

“I’m sorry Y/N,” he simply responded. Suddenly you could hear the bells ring and shouting coming from outside. You both shared a look and knew what it was about. Of course, the company had to be discovered. The words discreet was never in their vocabulary. You and Bard ran to the town square to see the townsfolk surrounding the dwarves. But they were not hostile against them, they were cheering. Bard left your side and stepped through the crowd to walk up to Thorin.

“Death, that is what you will bring upon us!” he started. “Dragon fire and ruin, if you awaken that beast it will destroy us all,” he said with a serious tone. The commotion continued. Thorin promised wealth and prosperity and Bard tried to warn them of the dangers within the mountain. Suddenly the towns master said something interesting. Something you didn’t expect.

“Now. Now. We must not, any of us, be too quick to lay blame. Let us not forget, that it was Girion, Lord of Dale, your ancestor, who failed to kill the beast. Hm!” he said to Bard. You stepped forward and stood behind him in support. You had read about the day the dragon came. Lord Girion had hit the dragon, one more shoot and it would be dead. Much had been different if he had succeeded.

“It’s true, Sire. We all know the story. Arrow after arrow, he shot. Each one missing its mark,” Alfrid said. You put a hand on Bard’s shoulder for comfort, that is when Thorin acknowledge your presence, so did the town master.

“Ah a fair lady stands by your side, a play toy you picked up on the way eh Bard?” he said and smirked. You gave him a look while the dwarves and Bard stepped forward in your defense. Alfrid was terrified of what the master had called you, he who had been in your presence before.

“Sire, this maiden is not a simple-“Alfrid started but was cut off by the master. “She’s not what Alfrid, I believe her to be a whore, no one is that beautiful!” he answered. Thorin stepped forward and pointed at the master.

“Watch your tongue, this maiden deserves more respect than any of us. This is in fact Queen Y/N of the Woodland Realm…” he said and turned to you and stepped down of one knee. “…the Queen of stars,” he finished and bowed. The moons light emerged behind the clouds and with it you shone bright. You watched as everyone believed Thorin’s words and bowed as well. You shook your head, you didn’t want this attention. Everyone bowed even Bard, but he saw the fear in your eyes. When they all stood again, Thorin took your hands and smiled at you which you responded with a simple thank you for what he did. To greedy the town master stepped forward, not giving an apology for his insults against you but seeking something for his own gain.

“If she is in fact the Queen, couldn’t she provide us with an army, supplies and gold in time of need eh?” the master asked Thorin. Thorin hesitated, he glanced back at you and saw the same that Bard had seen. Fear, fear that your husband wouldn’t come to protect you or anyone else for that matter. He looked back at the towns master.

“Indeed,” Thorin simply stated.

“Then it’s settled, you go on to the mountain with our blessing and we get the protection from the Queen, yes?” he said. Thorin knew that is was wrong to leave you behind but this was necessary, you could handle it. Before he answered you took his hand.

“You know it’s not that simple Thorin,” you whispered. You were visibly hurt but at the same time you knew he had to agree.

“Forgive me Y/N,” he whispered to you before answering aloud. “Yes, we agree!”. The towns master held out his arms and cheered.

“Welcome, welcome!”. The crowd cheered in delight, all their misfortune would take a turn, or so they thought.

Balin walked up to you and took your hands. “I’m sorry lass, Thorin would never want to leave you behind,” he said apological. You sighed and looked at Thorin who was flooded with praise from the people. “And still he did.”

Everyone went back to their houses after deciding to help the dwarves. The company stayed in the master’s house, but you returned with Bard. You twisted and turned in your bed, feeling cold and alone. Then out of nowhere you felt at ease, as if someone was lulling you to sleep. You opened your eyes and suddenly you were back in the Woodland realm. You were back in your old bed, you looked to the side and saw bright blue eyes staring back at you. You smiled and touched his cheek.

“This is a dream,” you stated. He took your hand and kissed it gently. Thranduil had always made your heart swoon, even in dreams. The butterflies you felt the first time you met was still there. As they would always be.

“Then it is a good one,” he said and kissed you. You parted from him when you reminded yourself that this was not real, you would wake up without him. You sat up from the bed and walked out to the balcony. Thranduil followed you swiftly, snaking his arms around your waist, holding you tight.

“I feel alone Thranduil, many do count on me, but I don’t know if I have the strength to do it on my own,” you said and felt a tear escape your eye. He turned you around to face him and he watched you with sad eyes.

“Meleth I will always come for you, you know this, you are never alone,” he said and dried your tears. A sad smile took over your features.

“That is what I want you to say,” you said and brushed your fingers through his silky hair. You placed your hands on either side of his face. He was truly glorious, you missed him terribly. You sighed and continued. “But it’s only a dream”. You stepped away from Thranduil and closed your eyes. When you opened them again you were back in Lake Town, far away from your King.

“And I am still alone,” you whispered to yourself.

Later that morning the company traveled to the mountain, you didn’t say your goodbyes, you were to upset. You, Bard and the children were all in the house when a frantic knock came from the door. It was four of the dwarves. Bard dismissed them, but they stopped him from closing the door.

“Please Kili is sick, very sick!” you walked up to the door and the dwarves sighed in relief when they saw you.

“Thank the valar, Y/N please we need your expertise in healing,” Oin pleaded. You nodded, and Bard let the dwarves inside. They laid Kili on the bed, he was pail and in pain. You examined his wound.

“A morgul arrow,” you stated. The dwarves looked terrified, morgul poison could kill the strongest man. Hopelessness started to form in their eyes. You looked back at Kili and continued. “I can save him, but I need to get the herbs for it. Watch him closely until I get back and give him something for the pain!” you said and hurriedly went out for the healing plants. When you stepped out of the house you felt a vibration, almost like an earth quake. You looked up at the mountain in horror. Had they awoken the beast? Your thoughts were interrupted by Bard who ran out of the house with Bain close behind. He was holding a black arrow. He gave you an apologetic look and ran past you. You ran after him and reached for his hand.

“Bard, you cannot face that beast!” you said.

“I have too, it’s in my blood,” he answered. You shook your head and answered.

“What of your children, please don’t throw away your life like this!” you pleaded and looked at Bain. Bard looked at you with sad eyes and turned to Bain. He gave the arrow to him and told him to run ahead. When he was out of sight he stepped forward and placed his hands on your cheeks. As you had done with Thranduil in your dream.

“I need to do this, I need to save them and YOU from this inferno, you have to let me do this Y/N!” he said and kissed your forehead. You felt a tear fall but you nodded slightly and wiped it away.

“Will you do something for me?” he asked.

“Anything,” you answered.

“Can you please help them to safety, and if something would happen to me would you- could you…” trailed of but you knew what he wanted to ask. You nodded and simply answered “You have my word!”

He kissed your hand and the started to walk away. You watched as your hands parted and you felt empty without his touch. It hurt to see him go, all the odds were against him, you prayed in your heart for his safe return.

Suddenly you heard a scream from the house and was about to run back when someone grabbed you from behind and knocked you to the ground. You let out a pained noise and looked up at whatever had hit you. It was a large orc, you had never seen the like. It was three times bigger than an ordinary orc, it had a grimace that only meant one thing, the amusement to kill. You kicked its feet to make it unbalanced. All your weapons were in the house except for two small knifes, the same that Legolas had. You tried to fight it, but it was too strong. You had sliced the orc twice in the chest, but nothing effected it. It took a hold of your arm and threw you into the nearest wall. You were out of breath and couldn’t see clear. The orc walked up to you and grabbed its weapon. It said foul things in the orc language which you responded with “gurth an glamhoth (death to the din heard)” in Sindarin. It understood your threat and became angry. You thought your fate was sealed when an arrow was fired in its shoulder. The orc screamed in pain and fled. You turned your gaze in the direction of the arrow. You could hear light footsteps coming closer and when your rescuer stepped out of the shadows, tears of joy started to fall.

“Legolas,” you sobbed.

An elven King may or may not enter in the next chapter;)

#thranduil x bard x reader #thranduil x reader #thranduil x wife #Thranduil #Bard x Reader #Bard the Bowman #bard #the hobbit #the company #LOTR #lord of the rings

96 notes · View notes

fauzhee10069 · 3 years

Text

JoJolion chapter 107 review (starring Higashikata Caato)

Why not? This chapter does star her.

We’re finally almost free from the crap of Caato’s hypes because she finally does something right now. This chapter is about her fight against Tooru and more about her character.

Previously related post:

The Long-Awaited Most-Hyped Character Finally Made Her Appearance: Caato

MAJOR SPOILER AHEAD!! Don’t read more if you haven’t read the newest chapter (107) yet and don’t want to get spoiled!

JJL chapter 107: Kaato Higashikata's "Attack"

First, I’d like to try her recipe.

Actually, the reason she is in Higashikata’s house right now is to deliver Jobin’s favorite dish made by her… what a lovely mother. Too bad, instead she found her son’s dead body.

This actually should debunk some Caatofags silly idea of her as an evil person who doesn’t really care about her family. When it looks like more about Jobin, I think she does care to her daughters as well when she asked them to stay in their place.

Also, the speculation of Tooru’s tricking Caato also got debunked, obviously because Yasuho is there to tell her about what was really going on.

Yasuho in this chapter mostly just explains anything happened and her explanation regarding rock-humans and New Locacaca is because she has no reason to assume that Caato already knows about these things.

I like how Caato looks calm when Tooru was pointing knife (more like saw I think) at her, those tears in her eyes are still tears of grief over Jobin’s death, not due to her fear.

read it from left to right -->

That really sounds like a villain speech and it is said by Tooru. At this point I’m getting even more conviced that he is the true main villain of part 8.

Caato then revealed her Stand, the name is 「Space Trucking」 and I have explained its newest mechanism in my other post, so I won’t go in depth in discussing her Stand here. In short, she uses her Stand to hide some of Tooru’s limbs to incapacitate him.

Apparently, the one who called her “K-Kaato-san” in the last page of previous chapter was Yasuho and Tooru also knows about her (Caato). Just like what Maako, the girlfriend of Ojiro said that the news about her murdering a child 15 years ago is a well-known sensational news in Morioh, so it is not surprising if several characters in JJL know her.

I like Caato’s composure and softness here, kinda reminds me of Jolyne… yeah, she has been compared to Jolyne numerous times, her intro in prison is definitely a Jolyne’s reference. Araki once said that Norisuke IV is the JJL version of Josuke in part 4, as his elder counterpart so, what if Caato is also the elder counterpart of Jolyne in JJL? That kinda makes sense.

Caato already knows about the New Locacaca and so, does this mean that Caato was hiding another pot of the New Locacaca?? Or is that the same pot that Tooru and Yasuho had been fighting for in previous chapters?

My guess is that it is the ‘same’ pot, look how the pot that Caato reveals does not have any fruit either. I think Caato is just playing with her Stand’s ability while talking about the New Locacaca or… perhaps, while she looks like she is playing, she actually manages to hide and steal a part of the plants(?)

Look, a flashback of Caato and Jobin! I think it officially becomes her trait to always barge in unannounced and startled whoever was in the room. They were in Jobin’s beetle collection room where he hid the New Locacaca there.

Look at the window that still looks intact there, then this flashback happened before the fight between Jobin-Tsurugi and Ojiro.

This is so wholesome this scene basically tells that no matter how old Jobin is he is still Caato’s baby.

Okay, I’m not into symbolization but now I want to talk about it just a moment, while this could be simply a JoJo thing that Jobin was wearing such impractical design for the sake of fashion, with that outfit he basically locked his own wrist which might symbolize of being handcuffed.

If you’re willing to take a look at the flashback scene in chapter 64, Jobin started wearing such outfit when he was a teenager right before Caato got caught by the police. Is this a form of Jobin's empathy for his mother who was in prison? Even though this symbolization is slightly missed because he was already wearing that outfit just before Caato got caught.

Told ya, the window still wasn't broken yet.

So, Jobin eventually told everything to his mom, about the New Locacaca, its equivalent exchange ability, the orchard burning and Tsurugi’s involvement.. and the most important thing that’s being revealed here is that the sap has the same power as the fruit! Those beetles show that we don’t necessarily need to have the fruit to get the effect of perfect equivalent exchange!!

Also, this actively debunk those wild theory of Caato being the mastermind of everything, she did not seem to possess any Locacaca before, she did not know the existence of the New Locacaca (and possibly about the rock-humans either), she did not know what truly happened during the orchard burning, she doesn't look like she is a secret rock-wahmen either, etc.

She is not as mighty as those Caatofags want her to be, however…

…her character remains consistent since the early of her introduction, that she actually had a conflicting view with Norisuke IV regarding the family’s ethic and moral value. This is about what we call “selflessness vs selfishness” again, and Caato’s view is more dominant in influencing Jobin.

Caato is not the mastermind controlling Jobin like a puppet like those Caatofags was promoting. Everything Jobin has done in this story is of his own will, starting from his cooperation with rock-humans, the struggle of the New Locacaca and the burning orchards. However, Jobin's way of thinking, motivation and ambition have been influenced by Caato's views and how she has nurtured him.

And in this chapter, Caato is being supportive towards Jobin like she had always been (read: chapter 59 and 64). Plus, Caato and Jobin’s Stand names being references to Deep Purple’s songs may signify their close relationship.

Looks like she just basically activated her Stand on the plant, it could be hidden whenever someone tried to come and get it but it wasn’t truly activated, at least that’s what the translation implies.

read it from right to left <---

「Wonder of U」 starts appearing behind Caato, does it mean that Caato really start harming Tooru? Another new feat of her Stand’s ability that it is able to fully hide a living being, which she uses to hide her grandson Tsurugi.

She makes Tooru to do equivalent exchange with dying Tsurugi while 「Wonder of U」is seen rushing towards Caato… end in cliffhanger. Probably my favorite page here. Basically, what Caato does is ‘two birds in one stone’ movement, breaking the Higashikata family’s curse by saving her grandson while eliminating Tooru.

And what could happen next?

My thought…

This chapter shows how awesome Caato truly is, starting from her soft side as a mother to her toughness against the enemy.

Araki is really doing her well, I thought there was no need to turn her into an antagonist with great power/influence or a silly plot twist that this unassuming grannie is the mastermind behind anything.

Caatofags had once described her as a mother who directs Jobin like a puppet and supervises Tooru as her subordinate whereas in reality, Araki has been portraying the three of them in a more balanced way rather than one being above anothers.

I really like her relationship with Jobin, I once said that they would make good partners if they were to be the final antagonists after Tooru, but sadly at this point I feel that Jobin is permanently dead.

There won’t be Yoshihiro-Yoshikage(like)’s cooperation against Josuke in this part… however, Caato continues to carry out her supportive role towards Jobin by trying to fulfill his main goal of curing Tsurugi and breaking the family curse.

Even so far, I haven't considered Caato as an antagonist, I still think of her as a 'wild card' for Josuke and Yasuho.

The mystery and next chapter prediction…

If this goes well, it looks like Caato's action in doing equivalent exchange to Tooru and Tsurugi will succeed in curing Tsurugi. The cracks on Tsurugi's face seemed to be diminishing. But with the 「Wonder of U」 following behind her, it shows that Caato's life too is in danger.

Then what will happen to the fully healed Tsurugi? Considering that the fusion happened to Josefumi and Kira does not make any of them 'alive' with their consciousness and instead creates a new consciousness we called “Josuke”, the new Tsurugi might not be the Tsurugi we know all along.

Besides, the equivalent exchange that happened on Tooru and Tsurugi is an exchange between rock-human and normal human and so far we still don't know what the effect will be. Will this be the answer to Tsurugi's weird behavior in the flashforward of chapter 83?

Then I also questioned about the harvest countdown of the New Locacaca in the flashforward, that in the previous chapter (106), the fruit in the pot was already gone. But in this chapter, there could be a possibility that Caato might hide the other parts of the plant (perhaps some branches) using her cards.

I think that there is starting to appear a slight hint linking the current events to the flashforward in chapter 83.

#jojolion spoilers #chapter review #kaato higashikata #tooru jojo #tsurugi higashikata #jobin higashikata #jjba part 8 #jojo's bizarre adventure #caato

14 notes · View notes

hollyhomburg · 5 years

Text

What the Devil Doesn’t know

(Witch! Namjoon x Demon! Jimin x human! Reader) (Soulmate au)

Summary: when Jimin dies suddenly and mysteriously it leaves both you and namjoon devastated. But maybe Jimin’s story didn’t end there, maybe he’ll find a way to come back to you from beyond the grave.

Tags: MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, themes of grief, depression, nightmares, night terrors, devil characters, magical au, witch! namjoon, magic shop au. soulmate au, brief mention of shapeshifter! Yoongi, brief yoonkook.

W/C: 5.1k

A/n: this was heavily inspired by a dream that I had where Tae (or something posing as Tae in my dreams) said to me “I don’t care who you love in this life-but when you die- you’re mine” so yeah! when I die I’m getting that good demon dick! happy Halloween everyone!!

Playlist: Work song - Hozier, when we all fall asleep where do we go?- Billie Eilish, Devil like me- rainbow kitten surprise.

- As with most sweet things in life, It starts with a flower.

- Namjoon’s friend, Yoongi a shapeshifter, gives him it to him early one morning. though really, Namjoon shouldn’t be surprised that yoongi arrived just after sunrise, pawing at the window in his cat form until namjoon lets him in. he doesn’t shift until namjoon has a cup of coffee poured for him. One moment a cat and the next a very grumpy human. He barely says a thing before he plops the bulb onto Namjoon’s kitchen counter and raises an eyebrow at his unkempt hair over his coffee.

- Namjoon grumbles at that, unlike Yoongi- he doesn’t have anyone to be put together for at almost 5 in the morning. And his shop won’t open for a few more hours either- he has more than enough time to shower and be presentable before then.

- “You have better luck with flowers than I do” he justifies. And he’s not wrong- but this flower- is something peculiar of note. All Namjoon has to do is pick it up before he realizes what the blub is- and more importantly why Yoongi has brought it to Namjoon instead of trying to pawn it off or keep it for himself.

- The flower is none other than the species ‘Animus Videndceus’ or the ‘soul seeing flower’, and it has the unique ability to bloom according to one’s soulmate.

- It’s pretty much the only dead giveaway beyond blood magic that’s 100% accurate at determining the day in which someone will meet their soulmate. What’s even more curious is how Yoongi found this, even more, why he’s giving something so rare to Namjoon on a whim.

- Namjoon asks as much. “I don’t have a use for it,” Yoongi says, looking down and away, and ah- that makes sense too- for Yoongi has someone waiting for him at home. At this hour, his human mate Jungkook is probably sleeping with his curly hair pushed back against the pillow- arms reaching out for the man that leans across Namjoon’s kitchen counter, pawing at a glass-like the more feline part of him wants to push it off.

- Yoongi is a good mate, and will never leave Jungkook waiting for long. and yet- he lingers at Namjoon’s counter and casts the soulmate flower a long, lingering glance.

- Sometimes you’d rather not know if the one you’re with is your soulmate. But Namjoon has no such attachments and thanks Yoongi for the generous gift before he goes.

- Namjoon is a witch, owns a magic shop of his own tucked into a narrow back alley in the middle of Seoul- almost hidden, but sometimes his human patrons inform him at the right time of day- those who need namjoon can find it. And If you stand out on the main street you can see a hazy glow- not of neon or like smoke, that tempts them in the direction of Namjoon’s magic shop.

- There is a little apartment above the shop, Namjoon’s home with too much empty space for just him, he fills it with plants though to make himself feel less lonely. Its wide windows look out onto the street below and the plants on the windowsills chat with each other (and Namjoon when he’s not on the ground floor working in his workshop or managing the storefront).

- The soulflower gets its own special spot on the ground floor in the shop by the windowsill, so that he can watch it when he works.

- Every soulflower grows a little differently, and Namjoon watches over the first few weeks as it grows to accommodate the strength of Namjoon’s soul- it’s wide silvery leaves something like cyclamen but it’s flowers look different. Maybe slightly feathery like an agapanthus. It’s hard to tell- as neither of the blooms are open yet.

- Yes, you read that correctly- there are two blooms on Namjoons plant. This means Namjoon has two soulmates out there, waiting to meet him, and likewise- he can hardly wait!

- One bloom hangs slightly under the other but both are beautiful and silken. one ruby red and the other a buttery shade of pink. Namjoon sketches them in the spare pages of his grimoire while he waits for his appointments to show up some days.

- When he walks down the stairs one day and sees that one of the blooms has opened overnight- the body of it bright red with a creamy white center, it makes him fall the rest of the way down the narrow stairs, and knock his knee against the velvet chair in the corner.

- When a man with a high collar and lovely lips walks into his shop later that day, Namjoon understands, and already kind of half loves him. He forgives himself for the slight overreaction of his thrumming heart after he takes the man’s order (sleeping draft- nothing abnormal) after all- it’s not every day you meet your soulmate. Finds out his name- Jimin- when he hands over a black Amex to pay for the draft.

- Namjoon leans over the counter to flirt at him while the dialup rings the card through. “You know I have something for that cut” he says, gesturing to the hidden wound on Jimin’s forearm (one side effect of his powers is that he can always tell when people are in pain).

- Jimin blushes and Namjoon invites him up for coffee, which becomes a promise on Jimin’s part to check in so that Namjoon can verify it’s healing alright, which becomes Jimin’s promise of dinner in payment, and then eventually Namjoon looks up and half a year has passed, and Jimin has made a home in Namjoon’s apartment and in Namjoon’s heart.

- Jimin is secretive with what he does, but Namjoon sees the angry ghosts that follow him, sees more appear the longer they love each other, and knows enough not to ask. The worst is when they linger while he sleeps waking him up and making his soulmate sleep irregularly. But it’s nothing that a careful banishing spell can’t fix. and though jimin comment’s “I always sleep so well when you’re next to me” namjoon pretends to be endeared rather than concerned

- Though he does learn little tidbits about his soulmate. His only family his mother who died a few years back- no idea who his father was or where the rest of his family is.

- Namjoon and Jimin are happy, Jimin pecks his dimples when he goes to work and when Jimin gets home with a knot working it’s way down his back namjoon carefully massages it out, making Jimin groan and Namjoon’s plant’s hiss at them to get a room.

- But there is still one more bloom on the soulflower. Still, one more soulmate left to find their way here. And Namjoon worries in those moments when he finds Jimin asleep in his bed- that whoever his other soulmate is- that they won’t get along. Afterall- Jimin might be Namjoon’s soulmate, but might not be the soulmate of his soulmate.

- Jimin reassures him. “I know I can’t stick around as long as you need me to most of the time.” This is true, Jimin leaves for ‘work’ for weeks at a time, rarely lets Namjoon know when he’ll be back (most of the time he doesn’t know) and returns to the apartment with a tan or a new bullet wound sowed up. And Namjoon is…lonely when JImin can’t be there. “if you had someone else here- I wouldn’t feel nearly as guilty,” he says, looking down at his hands and biting his lip- and it’s the truth.

- Jimin loves Namjoon so much- the thought of him in pain makes Jimin hurt just as well. And if someone could be here- and take away that pain a little bit. then Jimin will allow Namjoon that freedom.

- Namjoon meets you before he realizes that the soulflower has bloomed.

- He’s out walking when he bumps into you- really it’s just bad luck or maybe fate, you end up sprawling and spraining your ankle. Namjoon is just treating you to an apology coffee when he gets a call from Jimin.

- “Your stupid plant bloomed,” Jimin says, though a smile plays on the edge of his words he too- is giddy- if not a little tired. He was out late the night before- doing god knows what.

- Falling in love with soulmates is easier than breathing, Namjoon has nothing to worry about when it comes to you and jimin, the first time you have dinner together- drunk off of Namjoon’s enchanted moonshine. you tip your shoulder into Jimin’s laughing, and namjoon catches a look on his face, struck with sudden affection- his cheeks turning as pink as your soulflower.

- Namjoon has nothing to worry about- except maybe- acquiring a larger bed that fits you.

- You’re a human, and though you know enough about the magical world it’s still mostly a mystery to you, but you love seeing what Joonie does, the light he can conjure- full-on stars for you and Jimin in that small bedroom, and his other little magic, powerful potions for good luck- jackets that repel rain.

- Namjoon doesn’t know why it’s the simpler magic that delights you so, but he’s happy to leave glowing flowers of sugar spinning in your coffee in the morning. To turn your hair different colors (and Jimin’s too- namjoon swears he’s gone through half the rainbow since they first started dating), and enchant little messages to open themselves and speak in his voice when you open them.

- The soulflower blooms always remain shiny and new, as if they’d bloomed that morning instead of weeks or even months ago. Your pink one the twin to Jimin’s ruby red. They seem to twinkle on the windowsill when you and Jimin are out (Jimin- doing whatever he does, and you- at the school where you teach kindergarten.)

- You cook dinner in the evenings sometimes, sometimes Jimin leaves for a few weeks and then come back with a new black eye, or a mysterious tan, or some fancy trinkets for you and Namjoon from halfway across the world. Namjoon should have realized he never had anything to worry about- because of course, you would be soulmates with each other too.

- There is nothing more that he loves better, watching the two of you cuddle close by the fire on the cold winter nights, watching the two of you steal his clothing and even argue over who gets to wear Namjoon’s, particularly soft grey sweater.

- The three of you are happy…for a while.

- Togeather, you and Jimin nurse Namjoon back to health after a particularly bad flue that results in him snorting out little puffballs of grey that skitter around the room without eyes bumping into the furniture and squeaking shrilly if you step too close.

- “I never thought accidental conjuring would be a side-affect of the flue but” you shrug, making Jimin laugh as Namjoon groans. “they’re just manifestations of how shitty I’m feeling- they’ll go away once I get better I promise.” jimin cups Namjoon’s cheeks flushed with fever. “our big baby” he croons, making namjoon let out a sound that’s half a groan and half a whine, “you just worry about getting better” Jimin reassures him, pressing a kiss to his forehead with a wry smile. His eyes twinkling with life. while in the background- you use a broom to sweep some of the puffballs outside.

- You return to Namjoon’s side to pull him close after you sit back against the armrest, his cheek pillowed against your shoulder, snuggled down in between your legs under a thick blanket while Jimin retreats to the kitchen. You and Namjoon sitting by the tv, Namjoon sniffling every now and then, and just listen to the sound of Jimin’s lovely lilting hum as he cooks. Something that he only does when he’s feeling at his most gentle- at his most true version of himself. After a while- you and Namjoon just turn off the tv and listen to him sing.

- Namjoon wishes he’d had a chance to savor that more, and you do too. The day comes. Namjoon wakes up and Jimin and you have already left for work. He feels groggy and sluggish and when he goes downstairs and Jimin’s flower is starting to wilt.

- Namjoon blinks sleepily at it, the ruby petals falling limp- Jimin’s soulflower is wilting.

- Just barely. Wilting. The ends drying up turning from red to brown, at first Namjoon thinks he’s imagining it until one of the petals starts to fall and fades completely, finally turning black.

- Jimin is late coming home. You and Namjoon call his phone and it goes to voicemail.

- The police find his car pulled off on the side of the road and Jimin in the front seat of the car- His brains blown out against the steering wheel. They said he never would have seen it coming. Whoever had killed him had come up behind.

- You barely catch Namjoon when he falls to the ground, the moment he realizes that something inside of him- something integral has been cut. And maybe if you were magical you could feel it- but maybe that awareness is more a curse than a gift- to know when your soulmate has truly gone from this world.

- More questions remain that are answered when you and Namjoon and Jimin’s few friends gather for his funeral. You and namjoon cling to each other- barely feeling but still- always crying.

- Who was Jimin really? Who did he work for? Who killed him? and why was there a will left- passing on a small fortune and a separate residence to you and namjoon? You both to Jimin’s separate apartment looking for answers, and find it grey-clad and barely lived in at all despite the fact that the date on the deed says he owned it for more than 10 years.

- “I’m so jealous of you- you got 5 more months with him than I did” you sob during a fight, broken plates litter the floor of the kitchen. weeks after the funeral when finally, neither of you can pretend that your lives haven’t fallen apart.

- Namjoon’s hands bleed from shattered glass, broken in his hands by his own too sharp mind, his powers are so hard to control when he’s angry. “At least you got to kiss him goodbye” he growls back. Angry tears sparking at the corners of his eyes.

- The next morning, you wake crushed against Namjoon’s chest despite the fact that you fell asleep on the chair in the living room. And he’ll apologize for snapping at you, and you’ll likewise make amends to breaking his things. life is too short to let any sort of fight linger for long, you both understand that now. You start crying when you have to say goodbye to him and go to work- so worried that it will be the last time you’ll see him.

- The soulflower has crumpled into the pot. Your bloom looking forlorn and smaller somehow. Jimin’s flower, once ruby red- still sits where it fell. After the first few weeks, Namjoon takes the dried petals and puts them in a glass vase and sets them on the mantle upstairs, in a place where he rarely is so that he doesn’t have to see them when he works.

- If Jimin’s death makes Namjoon numb. You pretend it makes you equally as unfeeling. But most nights You wake up crying after dreaming about him dying, horrified by the fact that he died alone- and so so early when you’d barely begun.

- You’d thought you’d have years together- not just a single one with him. Namjoon is always there, always wakes up when you do (or maybe he never sleeps) to rub away your tears but it’s not enough, he’s not Jimin and even though you love Joonie- Jimin’s absence is always going to leave a hole in you.

- And really- Namjoon is the same, there is a hole in him left by Jimin’s death that sort of kills him a little more every day, Namjoon is such a ghost after Jimin dies. Forgets to eat sometimes until he stands up from his desk and gets so dizzy he shouts for you to bring him a cup of tea. greif wears down namjoon’s vibrancy until he too- feels shriveled up and a shadow of who he was.

- He even contemplates necromancy- the highest crime in magical law, just to bring Jimin back as the months drag on and he watches you get closer and closer to the deep end.

- But as it turns out, he doesn’t need too.

- Jimin is always in your dreams, whenever you close your eyes he’s back with you again. It’s the only reason why you sleep at all anymore, so you can pretend that he never died, so that you can cup his cheeks again and just hold onto his hand- just the same size as yours, and perfect for holding.

- Even if the dreams always end the same way. With the sound of that bullet, and you watch in slow motion as a faceless shadow kills Jimin. it’s still worth dreaming if only to see him again, maybe that’s why some days you can’t get out of bed anymore.

- But then one day, he comes, and it’s different this time. If you had to put your finger on it you’d call it a nightmare- but it doesn’t feel that way to you because he’s there. If anything it feels calmer, more serene, with the warm black water underneath your feet ankle-deep soaking through the pant legs of your pajamas.

- Jimin doesn’t look normal either, sitting in a chair in front of you in black silk finer than anything he would have ever worn on earth. Black Horns curl away from his head, starkly contrasted with his silver hair. His eyes are different too, bright red when they should be brown- glowing with fire.

- When his lips part and he sighs, he rests a soft cheek on a black clawed hand. You see his teeth are pointer too, and his tongue when he licks out seems longer, more serpentine. He looks at you- and you can’t imagine you ever saw him look so tired when he was alive- Even with his insomnia.

- “Who are you? Why do I keep having dreams of you?” He asks in a tongue that seems hissing but more gentle- it almost feels like he’s musing more to himself than he is at you, unsure if you can even hear him. “They told me demons weren’t supposed to dream, let alone a prince of hell- but I guess I am a special case. But it’s been months? Who are you?”

- You don’t have a chance to speak before you’re waking, consciousness tugging you up from the depths of the dream. your cheeks are wet with tears but namjoon is there and he’s warm and real and his arms a familiar safe harbor.

- You don’t tell Namjoon about the dream because You don’t talk about Jimin anymore, those memories you have with him are too much of a minefield- but this-this almost seemed too real. But when you cry- namjoon holds onto you like it’s the only thing he can do- the only thing that will make his own grief better is to care for you.

- You shrug it off, try to forget about it- don’t tell Namjoon anything about the strange dreams- even when they persist and this new version of Jimin appears again. Little do you know, when Namjoon Wakes at the first sign of your usual nightmares (you always start by tossing your head against the pillow and trembling) He sees something in the corner of your room.

- It’s just a moment- just a second of a pair of glowing red eyes staring at Namjoon and you before they blink out and you wake. Namjoon knows better than to think they’re just a figment of his imagination. But spirits and even monsters have a habit of sticking around Namjoon because of his abilities- or even seeking him out to ask for help.

- They stick around people like you too- people that are depressed have a habit of being subject to that particular kind of haunting- their energy so easy to feed off of. Namjoon is too strong magically to be at risk of that. But you-you’re so achingly human- almost a perfect meal to the right monster.

- That- Namjoon decides- is what must be drawing whatever it is with red eyes that haunt you.

- Namjoon tries every spell he knows to keep the monster away, but why doesn’t anything work on the specter? One night it lingers even after Namjoon’s woken. It’s staring at him- wide-eyed too- and only seems to pause when he throws a pillow at it in desperation. “Go away! leave her alone- we’ve been through enough already.”

-The shadow seems to pause and almost- through the shadows- Namjoon thinks he recognizes the arch of those lips turned into a frown. But convinces himself that he just misses Jimin so much that he’d see him in every face- even that of a monster.

- You know you shouldn’t linger over the dreams. But they feel so real- you never- you never tell the figment of your imagination who he is, or the face he wears but you do talk with him more. The first night you manage to shake off the sleep paralysis enough to open your mouth the first thing that tumbles out of your mouth is the question that you’d always wanted to ask Jimin and never got the chance to.

- “Were you happy?” the demon that wears your dead lovers face scoffs, and rolls his eyes, and says “of course I don’t know if I was, haven’t you been paying attention? I only keep getting sent here when I fall asleep and I just want to know why- then I’ll leave your dreams or whatever.”

- That action alone is enough to tell you that this is definitely a dream. Because nothing but your brain could have conjured up the way Jimin looks- so heartbreakingly bratty and so him, rambly in the way that he only did when he was trying to work through something.

- It makes your heartache with how much you miss him. It’s definitely not real then no matter how it might feel so- because Jimin is dead and gone and even this- strangely accurate specter of him that your own head has made to save you from your crushing fate of loving someone who is dead is not enough. Even if it does ease that weight incrementally.

- Every night- you and the Jimin in your dreams- the one that looks more like a devil than the angel your boyfriend was, talk. He tells you about the throne that he sits on- so uncomfortable- like you’d understand or the dull diatribes he has to withstand from his other siblings.

- Though that mention in it’s self is a little strange you’d never known any of Jimins family- as all of them had died before you’d met.

- You never tell him where you know him from, or give a hint that you know anything about him at all. No matter how many times this dream version of Jimin asks, you play dumb. because if the only reason why he was there was to try and figure out how he knew you, then telling him would surely make him disappear again.

- And you don’t think you could live through losing Jimin a second time.

- In your daily life, you and namjoon hold onto each other as tightly as you can. it’s horrible to say- but after the first few months- you get used to not mentioning Jimin’s name anymore. Get used to it being just you two. you go out for holiday dinners and start to go on weekly date nights just to- get to know each other again. They say greif makes you a diffrent person and though thats mostly true, the one thing that remains constant is the fact that Namjoon loves you.

- One night, after you and namjoon sleep together in the more carnal sense, more lingering, the first time in a few months that you’d both let yourself put anything other than desperate passion into making love, you wake in the dream world even as you fall asleep bare in Namjoon’s arms,

- Dimly you can feel the cushion of Namjoon’s cheek as it rests against your chest (you know that he loves being able to fall asleep to your heartbeat) but in the dream world, you can feel the anger rolling off Jimin in waves. Especially when he’s suddenly so close, tilting your jaw to get a good look at the love bites on your neck, carried over from the real world into that dream.

- He pulls you close before you have a chance to say more than his name before he noses at the marks, a terrifying growl echoing as he bites his own marks over yours and though you can feel his sharp teeth sink into your skin it doesn’t hurt at all of anything- you think if you where conscious it would make you cum on the spot at the feeling, the white-hot pleasure that instantly flares over every inch of your skin.

- And when he pulls away he laves gentle licks over the mark with his too-long tongue. His growling words are almost feral, possessively so, “You can sleep with whoever you want in this life but remember when you die sunshine- you’re mine.”

- And you’re reached out of the dream so quickly by Namjooon’s shout- “no-get off of her!” As he throws the shadow off of you. The shadow raises a clawed hand to slash at Namjoon. But you get in between them grabbing his wrist. The words slipping out before you realize what they mean “Jimin! Stop! Don’t hurt him!”

- The second your skin touches his, the shadows cloaking jimin dissipate. And Namjoon almost staggers, uttering out Jimin’s name that turns In a shattered sob. And just then- the sound of his name on Namjoon’s tongue brings back a memory.

- The image of the three of you, Jimin’s head in Namjoon’s lap, with you next to them, the elders hand combing over his forehead. sitting out on the grass by the river in a seculded spot. You smile down at him, asking if he’d like some food from the street stands, a flower tucked into your hair. puffy seeds stuck to namjoons lips from blowing away a dandelion wish, a seed that Jimin reaches up to wipe away.

- And another memory, clicking the stock closed in the gun and pulling a bandana over his mouth to hide his identity. It’s only a second- and Jimin is so perplexed by the memories that aren’t his that he varnishes immediately.

- And you and Namjoon are left standing in your bedroom. Looking at each other that the devil’s mark- black as night and curling like smoke that is inked into your neck on the same spot where Jimin bit you in the dream. marking you as his forever (the mark never really goes away, even when you live)

- Namjoon immediately makes his way to the bathroom and hurls his guts up, so shocked- the adrenaline coursing through his system- so- Jimin is alive- well not alive but at least his soul is- his soul isn’t destroyed or being tortured in hell.

- Jimin’s soul is probably doing the torturing actually- if yes what you say he is. You and namjoon have a long conversation-

-“He said he didn’t remember- and I didn’t actually think it was him and I was just so glad to not be dreaming about him dying that I guess I just- convinced myself it was nothing. I’m sorry-I should have told you- i should have” Namjoon as always, gives you a heartbreaking understanding look and shakes his head. “no it’s fine i think i was just…suprised,” because he gets it you guys- you don’t talk about Jimin at all- it brings up too many painful memories.

- But this- why does this feel so much like hope?

-“Do you think he’s going to come back?” He asks you. Because really- this Jimin is one you’re more familiar with at this point than Namjoon is. “He’s still super curious about us I think” you smile- small but there, and Namjoon doesn’t realize until later that it’s the first time he’s seen you truely smile in nearly a year.

- “What I don’t get is why he suddenly like- became a demon right?” And Namjoon’s look darkens.

- “I didn’t want to tell you- because you’ve got to understand- you where so broken after he died and I just couldn’t tell you-“

- “Joonie what is it?”

- “Jimin never told us what he did for a living, but after he died I figured it out.”

- You had no idea that your boyfriend was an assasin, but as namjoon mentions the ghosts, you think things start to fall into place. it makes sense too then- why jimin would have ended up in hell and not in heaven. (later you’ll find out- that there is more too- that Jimin and his half brothers where sired by the devil himself, which is why he has so much free reighn and also the power to walk through nightmares.)

- Sure enough- a few days later Jimin appears at the foot of your bed, shadows no longer encasing him. You sleep on next to namjoon however- Joonie is the only one who waits, knowing by now that Jimin will appear when you sleep. you seem to be linked somehow- maybe it’s Namjoon’s protective charms and own maical soul that prevents Jimin from walking into Namjoon’s dreams as easily as he would yours. one day, Namjoon will have to ask- but for now he just looks at Jimin.

- Namjoon can’t stop starring, drinking in every inch, takeing in Jimin’s horns or at his pale skin unmarked by the accident that killed him, his horns and his teeth. All of him that says demon. The aggression he’d shown before isn’t there, only a quiet shyness as Jimin sits on the edge of the bed and gently rests a clawed hand on your exposed ancle.

- “You- you have memories of me don’t you? You know whoever I was before I went to hell,” Namjoon nodds, playing with a thread on the edge of the comforter. Casting a glance at where you sleep, undisturbed. “what is she dreaming about?” Namjoon asks, and has guessed by now, that Jimin has become some sort of sleep demon, can walk into your dreams and see if he wishes.

-“She’s dreaming the same dream she always does if I don’t-” he breaks off, looking down at you, biting on a plush lip that Namjoon wishes so badly he could cross the room and kiss. How many times had he wished before- that he’d been able to kiss Jimin goodbye? And now having him so close and not feeling able too was torture for Namjoon’s soul.

- He smiles as Jimin looks down at you, his eyes and his expression is so soft. he remembers before Jimin’s death- a night when Jimin looked at you like that, you asleep between the two of them in bed. The same look that always had Namjoon run his knuckles gently over his cheek.

- “She’s so special to us, do you think she knows?” Jimin had once whispered into the same quiet bedroom, his heart aching like it was bound to break from too much love inside. “We can only hope” Namjoon had answered, smiling even as he had kissed away the tears on Jimin’s cheeks. His heart so full of love that it had felt to Jimin like it was breaking.

- That same look now, on the same face even if some things are different- Jimin is still Jimin. “She’s making tea with you while you both wait for me to get home.” He turns those fire bright eyes up to Namjoon, mirth tugging at the corner of his lip as the sadness gives way to the joke. “But she didn’t dream you right, your nose is bigger in real life.”

- Namjoon laugh shocks out of him like a crack of lightning, but you barely stir even when he stands, “well then, would you like some tea? the actual kind?” Jimin nods and follows Namjoon into the kitchen. And when namjoon gives jimin the mug that used to be his favorite when he was alive (a little red one with little bumps running down the sides) Jimin’s clawed hands linger over those ridges, running over them again and again.

- “This was mine wasn’t it?” he asks, something thick in his throat. he looks around at the apartment and wonders what elce he has yet to remember.

- “I want you to show me them- your memories, I want to remember who I was before I died and went to hell.”

- And then later, after Jimin has had a thorough tour of Namjoon’s memories, wandered and wandered and lingered, and come up with more than a few of his own. Namjoon opens his eyes and sees that same softness directed at him. Jimin’s clawed hand cups Namjoon’s chin, a thumb tugging over his lips that part.

- “This was mine too? wasn’t it?” he says softly.

- Namjoon gets his kiss that he never got the day that jimin died. more even, endless kisses that taste like happy tears, soft small kissed that litter across namjoon’s cheekbones, small and fleeting, over his dimples, under his ear- everywhere.

- Everywhere but where he needs until he’s gasping over his tears begging, “kiss me- Jimin please- just-” the grief clogging up his heart and making his words come out in barely a whisper. How many times before had Jimin made him beg and this- this is the only thing he’s ever really wanted.

- Their lips work, desperate and with the will to consume the second they meet. the second that Jimin’s hands find Namjoon’s waist Jimin knows that he will never want them to leave. He doesn’t tease, doesn’t pull back. Jimin’s hands tangle in Namjoon’s hair as he pulls him as close as they can.

- later- more of Jimin’s memories will come back, almost all of them, but for now he’s content to kiss one of his soulmates in the muted grey light of predawn in Namjoon’s kitchen- to wait until you rouse from your dream and go to find them, sitting sideways across Jimin’s lap while Namjoon hovers above, hands in his hair, swapping thankful kisses both of you nod your agreement.

- The kisses are slow and special, and taste of healing and misfireing greif and joy all in one. Confusing and emotionally exhausting but gladly, always gladly had. More asked for, and more healing given. Such is the way with soulmates.

- And even though when the first light of morning touches him- Jimin fades like a mist in the oncoming light. You don’t have to worry- because you know he will always come back to you, in whatever form he may take.

- When Namjoon goes into the living room, he finds the soulflower- Jimin’s origional one no longer dried up and cracked brown. It looks Perfectly bloomed, fleshy and as fresh as it was the first day Namjoon ever saw it, sitting in it’s jar unattached to the rest of the soulflower but still alive like it never wilted at all.

- Only now, it’s black instead of red.

1K notes · View notes

shy-magpie · 3 years

Text

RQG 157

these things get long and are by definition one spoiler after another, so live blog under the cut

pre episode nonsense:

My hopes for this episode are mostly just the obvious: For Zolf to pull out of his spiral; for Azu to talk to someone about how she's doing; for Hamid to find his footing with the Kobolds (loving that they are devoting a proper arc to using unearned privilege/power rather than pretending it doesn't exist); more Cel lore; a Wug; and for someone to shake answers out of the Brorb. Not sure Alex is going to let us get to know the kids individually which makes sense as juggling 7 new NPCs would seriously cut into everyone else's screen time. I think we will get more of Skraak & Hamid working through their issues, and Skraak's helping the kids through recovery. If we are very lucky maybe Zolf & Skraak will talk rather than just have Zolf resent the Kobolds for putting Hamid in a place to fall into old habits. Okay lets hit play!

Episode live blogging:

Intros are quick: Zolf sounds low, Ben sounds higher energy than he was.

Oh the Brorb drawings come better when the other half is distracted but not thinking about the real topic.

Krakens are through out the globe, unknown numbers, not true instances of Shoin, network is down.

Cel and I both react to having Shoin be the one to come closest to a truly non physical form.*

Krakens are cloned brains in robot bodies. Specifically said Daleks not Jurassic Park.

Shoin thinks he sent a ransom note using the Kraken as a threat against the world.

Does not handle it well when Zolf hones in on that no one knows who he is, much less trembles at his name.**

Hamid follows Zolf's lead and twists it towards boasting about beating the Infection. The talking half doesn't seem to know how he did it as clearly as the drawing bit. Unfortunately its strictly surgical which would be hard to reproduce at scale even before you consider the side effects.

Quick huddle with the rest of the team:

Cel always wanted to go to London?

Zolf wants to ask more about how the infection works so they could prevent infection. Wilde thinks he is suggesting using Shoin's solution, I get Alex has to catch people up but I don't like Wilde being a paragraph behind me or underestimating Zolf.

Bryn wants to review the diary. Alex confirms the diary says he had a possible way to "end it" as a whole.

They go back and Cel feigns being extremely impressed that Shoin might have a way to stop the infection. I think having time to regroup cut him off from his memory of the infection again. Alex spells out Shoin loses coherence whenever they bring up the infection/the time period around when he was infected.

Heal check time. Zolf crit fails. Azu got a 29 and can see where his theory was better than his surgery. It may be an aphasia (issues to with communication. can't get to certain words, some can't be spoken even if he understands the concept; others he can't understand if he hears them even if he uses the word/concept himself. Brain trauma, memory problems more severe the more recent you get, sounds like unable to store short term memory properly so anything longer ago than a week but after surgery likely lost.)

Cel switches to the simulacrum. He verbally dismisses it as a waste of time. His hand keeps drawing based on the previous question re:stopping the infection.

Alex calls for a sense motive. Zolf & Azu see the latest drawing is a landscape using technical notation. Its a barren mine. Yes! it's the entrance to Svalbard. Cel can see its a circuit. Alex makes us/Lydia wait until after he's done with the simulacrum stuff.

Shoin thinks using humans as your base design to improve from is the wrong approach, gives some credit to Francois Henri for taking a different approach.

The circuit maybe to transmit something, it needs an organic component. Cel couldn't roll much better then that so they probably need to kick it towards the Harlequins to set a team on.

Shoin is moaning about paying the bills. Took on the contract to provide Simulacrum fluidics to Damascus for the money.

Drawings change shape get less technical and focus on the cavern entrance. Ben catches it sounds yonic, Alex was trying to not go there but did he really think you could go from cave imagery to seed imagry without stopping there?

Hamid tries to get more on how he caught the infection.

Bryn and Alex spell out that to get answers you ask a real question he won't answer verbally but will answer with his hand, with a decoy to keep the talking him distracted while the hand answers.

Decoy question is about Harrison Campell.

Concept drawing of a person, overwhelmed by an image of a huge figure with lines going from the small to the large? Is he suggesting they plant someone they prepare to be infected, and have them infect it back?

Proofs? Minor changes between the proofs and published version of early Campbell books.

Another review session upstairs. Hamid's red string wall got cited as being useful! Cult of Hades/Wellington may have been the one to hire Shoin to make parts for Damascus. Zolf and Hamid talk briefly, about work and as dry "stick to the subject" as possible but they are talking productively.

Oh Ben finally gets in that the interrogation is hard on Zolf's knees because he has to keep his legs out of the cell. He snaps a little at Cel when they comment on cell vs Cel. Carter suggests "naughty box" which nicely derails that point of tension. Cel refers to Shoin as being more pleasant to talk to than Carter. Not sure if that undermines the tiny Cel/Carter ship or fuels it with tension.

Cel asks who hired Shoin to make Sim parts. He can answer directly. Well directly for him, it seems to be mostly justifying stealing Tesla's work on the basis that Tesla wasn't going to implement his theory. Hamid snipes him with a shot praising Edison to get him back on topic. Shoin says Edison was being backed by a big investor. Is it to much to hope this is Alex finally consolidating the factions? If Hades is Edison's investor (leaving Edison & co as effectively their minions, rather than a faction of their own) and the factory owners we can cut down on sides considerably.

He goes on about how he spied on Henri, religion as money maker. Shoin was directly approached by Hades lot. Shoin made sure his bits won't work since he didn't want competition. Wellington was his contact with Hades. Wellington always had a pair of cloaked figures. Vinegar + squizard = funny? Could be useful.

Do not follow what is going on with the hand.

Shoin is still unstuck in time and thinks he is going to connect them. Cel unplugs the speaker on his villain speech. Cel induces a dream state by powering him down

~break~

Cel suggests painlessly killing him. Zolf seconds the idea because its immoral to keep him like that. Hamid points out the longer the keep him around the more likely it is for someone to be infected. Wilde rules they should kill and seal it off.

Cel & Zolf have an argument about having the Kobolds handle the remains. Cel calls Zolf out on his inconstant stance on whether the Kobolds can be infected because if he doesn't believe that then he is risking them.

Wilde is moving on? Cel suggests letting the Brorb die, putting it in a bag of holding, keeping the bag in the anti magic field.

They can't just call Einstein because using unofficial channels is bad when irregular behavior is a sign of infection(?)

Alex's unhealthy attitudes about productivity are called out when he refers to the time Wilde spends thinking/planning before getting their transport arranged as "working" (with the inverted commas) rather than considering it part of the work.

They work out possible paths if teleporting is off the table.

And the boys are snapping at each other again. Zolf, you can't flip out every time you are reminded that Hamid doesn't have the experience or expertise of a seasoned sailor. Yeah you did leave the team without your skills and maybe the kid was a bit green for a field promotion; but you know what? He did a fine job, and the other choices were Sasha, who wouldn't lead, and Bertie, who shouldn't. Just because stepping down was the right thing to do, doesn't mean you get to lose it when you are confronted with the mere allusion to the idea it had consequences.

Barnes tells Hamid why going over the pole is a really bad idea. That Azu's suggestion is carrying Hamid has troubling symbolism.

Zolf actually comes more or less to Hamid's defense by pointing out that all their options are bad options, so having a go at Hamid's idea in particular is unwarranted.

I'm not going to bother listing out options. They will pick one or won't need to pick one. If we have been a very good fandom Alex may reward us with Earhart coming back as their preferred transport.

There we go, Hamid suggests her, Zolf seizes on the idea compliments Hamid on it, and immediately takes it to Wilde. Thank God he isn't so far down he can't do that. If he isn't compulsively shooting down any hope (especially from Hamid) then he really is on the upswing from the low brought on by quarantine stress.

Lydia isn't happy that there isn't going to be an American chapter. Then again we wrote off Svalbard, so don't give up!

Its the Northwest Passage and its so weird realizing that not everyone has it as a cultural reference. Wonder if it's an Oregon thing or a US thing.

Yes it would have been cool, but I think Alex is not going to let us have cool new story arcs when we haven't played with the ones we have at home.

Einstein and Earhart are our two best transport options. I am a happy fan. Especially if Zolf has to use his family and Earhart’s reaching out to him near the end of the journey to appeal to her. I mean we did get more on Zolf's relationship with his family than I expected after Paris, so I'm not going to sulk if they don't pursue this, but it would be nice.

Conflicted as a fan, its hard to remember that this taking months extra is a bad thing when the end of the series is feeling too close for comfort.

Zolf, look at you leveraging your experience with moving even when things feel hopeless!

Cel I love you, kraken as submarine is brilliant. Air kraken is suggested by Carter.

Hamid plays with the ideas while Alex goes "why?". Because you are going to have to work a hell of a lot harder than that if you want Hamid to see it as a no win situation rather than proof he needs to redouble on cheerful creativity. Feeling like he had no options led to the worst parts of Hamid's life, the things he is truly ashamed of; having few losses outside of those, he is going to make Kirk's Kobayashi Maru hang ups look amateur.

Zolf is heading to the beach.

Cel is checking on their village.

Hamid wants to contact Einstein himself, Zolf says he should talk to Wilde about that. Hamid wants Zolf with him for that meeting. Zolf either doesn't want to be a safety blanket, wants Hamid to get used to dealing with Wilde directly, or completely missed Hamid offering a chance to work together because he is incapable of seeing Wilde as an opponent. He does say some nice things about being a team.

Hamid tells Cel to say hi to Jasper for them. He is good at the people side of leadership. Remembering names and relationships, knowing how to show he cares because it's important to Cel without overstepping. If Zolf can learn to let go of the rank stuff, they could be an unbeatable team of co leaders.

Zolf nods at Azu. Azu smiles proudly back. Alex jokes about not liking giving them time to heal because they coordinate.

Hamid offers hugs to both Cel and Zolf. Because this entire character is a "fuck you" to toxic masculinity and he is not afraid to openly show affection to his friends.

Cel gives him a great hug.

Zolf hesitates but gives him a pat on the shoulder. Hamid's has high enough charisma to make that not awkward. Good kid, accepting that Zolf is reaching out as far as he can.

Hamid talks to Skraak. Hamid is worried about taking the kids. Maybe Skraak can convince them to stay & help Jasper with science. Because RQG loves us and wants us to be happy, they are considering a fantasy some of us harbored since "science" as a serious possibility. Could solve the issue with Alex not wanting the kids to take up too much screen time too. Skraak is the perfect character for Hamid to have as his second. He believes in Hamid, and can be confided in, but isn't going to take an ounce of self pity or bullshit.

Alex that village better be okay. Smoke? Controlled burn. Ben lightens the mood. The tank is still guarding the village. The barricade is up but they are guarding about as well as a village of level 0(1?) characters can be expected to.

They are having a party and there is a bon fire. Because Alex knows we wouldn't have trusted him if there wasn't a little scare with the smoke. !puns

The village is visibly healing since the weather is fixed. They thank Cel but know better than to ask.

Jasper! Jasper is looking good. He stepped in as a leader of the village. Cel and I could burst with pride. Jasper thinks Cel is coming to stay, Cel tries to explain they are going to help save the other villages around the world and mentions that Jasper would like the Kobolds.

!puns

* One day I need to hunt down the right corner of SF because there has got to be a decent amount of trans humanist fiction for trans humans out there somewhere.

**Not sure if I should feel bad for hoping this gives him a safe target for his destructive tendencies. Ideally Zolf would get past that point without indulging his dark side lest he reinforce bad coping mechanisms. Ideally Zolf would have weekly therapy without the fate of the world on his shoulders too. Its the more personal version of looking forward to a fight after Hamid's been stressed because he seems to find cooking baddies cathartic.

#Rusty Quill Gaming #live blog thingy #RQG 157 #RQG Spoilers #RQG Season 4

5 notes · View notes

squidpro-quo · 4 years

Note

Hi I absolutely adore your writing, please never stop!! Also for prompts if you ever need some ideas; - Katsune Jaskier that follows Geralt like a shadow, which he's aware of but doesn't know who/what it is and it drives him mad until he finally sets a trap to catch him and lo and behold, it's a cute famous bard - THE HANAHAKI DISEASE AU BUT NOT FATAL - just Geralt secretly loving Jaskier's voice and pining for his singing - Feral Antisocial Geralt who's only Soft with Jaskier is my shitok

AN: I'm so sorry this took so long! The world went to shit and my brain went along with it, but I loved your prompt so much I needed to write it, even so late >.

It starts small. Geralt thinks it starts with the djinn but it really began much earlier, years earlier when Jaskier burrows past his defenses in a way that he barely even realizes and plants the seed that will turn Geralt’s life upside down. But it does start with the djinn, in a way.

The tickle in his throat had been growing for months, in hindsight its progress was likely inhibited by the twisted physiology of witchers, and Geralt ignores it in favor of working towards the next job, the next town, the next good night’s sleep. Until it turns to an itch that he can feel with every breath, keeping him tossing and turning on the spring earth like a dying beetle. He doesn’t sleep easy in the first place, even with swords in reach and Roach nearby, but the faint pressure in the back of his throat leaves him grasping for even the thinnest veil of peace every night.

Naturally, his only solution to this dilemma is to find a djinn. The net’s wet cords are unwieldy until he’s thrown it over three dozen times, more beyond that when he loses count until Jaskier’s voice cuts into his frustrated groans. He’d never admit that it might have been the bard’s lucky presence that wins him the amphora after so many hours of fruitless searching but even that thought is quickly tossed away when he sees what the djinn has wrought on Jaskier.

The long rides on his search for help are time enough for him to listen to the ragged breaths Jaskier fights to take and Geralt swears under his own at the foolishness his sleep-deprived brain had concocted as a solution. He’d bear the itch in his throat for the rest of his life if it meant Jaskier’s voice wasn’t torn to shreds between wheezes like this. His traitorous mind wonders if the solution to his problem of sleeplessness might have even happened if he’d had Jaskier’s strumming in the evenings to drift off to, that he’d gotten used to and only found he missed when the bard had left for the Countess de Stael. But it doesn’t matter, the hands weakly gripping his waist are what he should be focusing on.

He keeps a hand on Jaskier every second until he stands before the mage, the back of his throat scratched with how many times he’s cleared it in the past few hours and the exhaustion bleeds into his voice just slightly as he hears that haunting wheeze whistle from Jaskier’s lips again.

“Just a… friend?” Yennefer arches a brow with enough refined subtlety that he barely understands.

“Companion.”

“Ah.” The unimpressed look on her face doesn’t stand in the way of her offering help however, for a price Geralt would gladly pay many times over. The guilt that gnaws at him seems to crawl up out of his stomach and nestle in his lungs, his usually slow exhalations paced fast enough to almost be a normal human’s. The change would be disquieting if he wasn’t more worried about someone else’s chest rising and falling faster, and easier.

He’s standing over Jaskier, watching his eyelids flicker and trying to explain away why he’d rushed through a bath with a mage like Yennefer when she broaches the subject again.

“You care so much about what he’d die thinking, what did you say?”

Geralt considers not telling her but he could imagine what Jaskier would say. Brave enough to fight monsters as your day job but not enough to admit you cut me with a sharp quip? It would sound far better in Jaskier’s voice; Geralt’s mind had never been good at filling in Jaskier’s side of conversations unlike Jaskier himself was for Geralt’s. And maybe it was the sleepless nights that had brought back his habit of substitution, of trying to fill the hole in the everyday that had once been bursting at the seams.

“I insulted his singing.”

“He must be the bard then. The ‘humble bard’, no less. Well, I’m sure he’s heard worse.” Yennefer leaned against the post at the corner of the bed, arms wrapped around the wood as she pressed her face to the whorls carved into it.

“He shouldn’t—” He can’t finish the words, a cough disrupts his thoughts and forces him to focus on what had grown in the back of his throat. Swallowing hard, he feels something slip down from the force of it, a tightness as that of food eaten too fast.

“I’ve healed his ills, do I have to add yours to the bill?”

“No. This is nothing.” He braces himself on the post she’d abandoned, seeing the marking drawn on the floor and his mind scrabbles for something other than Jaskier to revolve around. “You’re planning to use him as bait.”

“He’ll get his last wish, fully healed. What happens after is a matter of circumstance,” Yennefer says, shrugging.

“It’ll make everything worse, trying to cage…” Geralt stops, this time from the cloying scent that’s flooded his nose.

“That was faster than I’d have thought. You, witcher, are distracted.” She sways towards him as his senses begin to cloud and her glance towards the bed has him jerking to intercept. “Hush. He’s got all of your attention already, I’m just borrowing you for a bit.”

The world goes dark and Jaskier returns. But it doesn’t stop Geralt from marching back into the building to save her in the end. She had saved Jaskier, and as much as he’ll deny any conclusions one could jump to about how much he cares, or as Jaskier creatively put “give a monkey’s about”, him, that act deserves some kind of repayment.

———

Once it starts, it takes far longer for it to end, however. His and Jaskier’s path weave together in the years after that and he sees the bard’s fame continue to grow and his ballads about him growing wilder, if still mostly true, while for him the only change is the tickle that grows into a cough with every sunny step Jaskier’s takes away from him when he leaves even as he tries to hide it.

By the time he meets Triss, he’s found out what he swallowed that night. He leaves them strewn around his campsites, when he can afford to simply hack them up and discard them, and keeps his mouth shut otherwise, breathing only thinly until he can weed out the fresh patch that grows over the course of the day. The only reprieve he ever found was in the slip of meditation when his senses dull just slightly and Jaskier’s wandering fingers pluck out tremulous notes of his latest creation. But that only lasts so long.

Triss frowns as soon as she sees what Geralt holds in his palm.

“If you weren’t a witcher, you might have died from this already,” she mutters, spinning the stem between her fingers.

“It won’t be what kills me directly. One good slash from a bruxa while I’m coughing these up and I’ll be the next piece of roadkill in the night.”

“I was talking about the poisoning. Buttercups are toxic, but at the rate your—You say you’re coughing them up so much that you swallow them instead, that might just be making it worse.”

“What am I supposed to do about it? What cursed me? Who? If I could solve this, I would have done it already. That’s why I’m asking for your help.”

“This isn’t something I can heal.”

“Then who?”

“You. Just like how symptoms of a sickness get worse the more you ignore them, so too with this. Except this time, your body isn’t what’s being repressed but rather your emotions.”

“That’s what the mutations did. Too late to undo that,” he growled, the soreness in his throat mounting in the now-familiar foretelling of a fit. He doubled over, coughing a shower of drifting yellow petals onto the frosted earth. Buttercups in the dead of winter, like a trail of breadcrumbs leading back to him, giving him away even more thoroughly than Jaskier’s singing usually did.

Triss continued once she saw he’d stopped. “This is something you’re deciding to do. Or more likely, something you’re deciding not to do.”

“There’s plenty I don’t do. Fight every human who sneers my way or cavort in the streets, for a start.”

“But something you want to, but decide not to. That’s your mystery to solve. Not mine.” She smiled. “Unless you really do have a fancy for dancing a jig in the main square, I’d surely watch that.”

He leaves her disgruntled but with an answer to his problem, even one he doesn’t like. While he racks his mind for what the solution is, the days start to blend together until he finds himself growing used to his condition. The flowers grow rampantly, but clearing his throat helps to at least keep the stems from clogging his breath for the hour it takes for them to grow back. It serves the same purpose as his usual monosyllabic sides in conversations about jobs, with the side effect of earning more than a fair share of stupefied, and disturbed, looks as the petals slip from his lips whenever he does open his mouth.

The only one who seems to ask him about it however, is Jaskier. He stumbles into Geralt’s campsite one dusk with a few of the flowers tucked behind his ear.

“I hear you’ve been spreading rumors without me! What’s this about the ‘Spring Witcher’? It’s like something from a fairytale, except instead of diamonds you get the burden of flowers dropping from your mouth. Shame it’s only the one kind. Pretty color though!”

Geralt doesn’t say what he can feel lying on his tongue, that with Jaskier’s sky-blue doublet, the same one from when he’d wished the bard silent and come closer to killing him than anything else, goes so well with the yellow in his hair. Instead, he coughs, leaving a dusting of buttercups on Roach’s back just as he’d finished brushing her down.

“The tales don’t tell of that. Is it a curse? Can you still talk? Is it painful?”

By the time Geralt clears his tongue of any more bitter stems, Jaskier’s stroking Roach’s nose and looking at him with concern. It takes a second for him to speak, caught in the relief of the weight of those eyes on him, something he hadn’t realized he’d missed.

“What are you doing here?”

“That answers one of my questions at least,” Jaskier sighs, but acquiesces, “I’m… wandering, for now. I don’t know, I happened to find you. Maybe it was destiny, although I know you don’t like that word. Maybe I can stick around for a bit before I go, help you get rid of those weeds.”

“You a healer now?”

“No, but I’ve taken care of plenty of other things for you.” Jaskier takes hold of Geralt’s wrist, raising it until the scar running to his elbow is shining white in the firelight. “Wouldn’t look as nice if I hadn’t taken that embroidery class all those years ago, you know. And the rash from the—”

“Yes, I remember the rash, Jaskier,” Geralt cuts in before he can continue down that vein any further. The tightness in his lungs eases just slightly in the moment, and he finds he doesn’t want it to be temporary. “Stay.”

“Where? Here? I mean I don’t mind holding your hand, Geralt, but I’m also not a dog.”

“Just… It helps.” It feels like he’s pulling the words out, slowly and methodically uprooting them from inside and shaking the dirt from them before offering them up.

“Does it really?” Jaskier’s eyes widen, his hand tightening slightly on Geralt’s skin and he relishes the warmth of those nimble fingers, but it feels like he still hasn’t finished clearing out the field.

“And it’s been too quiet. Roach is good company but…”

“She’s not the best conversationist? I’ve noticed that too. She’s all eye-rolls and huffing, with good reason but there’s only so much of that deadpan you can take.” Jaskier smiles, still holding onto his wrist as he talks, stopping only to pat Roach’s flank between sentences. “I’ve missed you too, Geralt. I’ve never met anyone who can brood so expressively. And insult me so bad I almost die.”

“Jaskier, I’m—”

“I kid. I can respect a good repartee as well as any jester. Besides, I flatter myself to think you may have learned such sharp wit from me.”

“I somehow doubt it.”

“See? That was good, but I bet if you spend another decade or so with me, you’ll be killing monsters with just your words.” Focusing back down on the scar that had been the first point to his argument, Jaskier runs the pad of his thumb over the beginning of the raised skin, turning thoughtful. The expression scares Geralt, his mind always returning to the conversation before the djinn, to all the points where he could have stopped what he was doing and spared Jaskier the ensuing pain. To all the hurts that Jaskier bared to him, without him even realizing it.

“By then, will you still be using ‘old friend’?” he asks, realizing his words are coming easier, as is his breathing. The dull ache that had sat inside his chest for almost a year had eased, the taste of pollen against his teeth waning with every clear breath.

“Maybe something different. I have a few ideas, but I’ll run them by you. See how you react.” He almost doesn’t see Jaskier’s wink, with the darkening sky and the thumb that has traveled from his wrist to his palm, but he catches it. By then, the only buttercups left are those in Jaskier’s hair and even those are knocked loose by his next gesture.

I’m open for prompts

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt #jaskier #dandelion #which i know i did buttercups instead of that but they're such cute little flowers #my writing #prompt response #ask tag #dwaalserenity #I'm working my way through the prompts

73 notes · View notes

middleinthenight21 · 4 years

Text

Ain't that the worst thing you ever heard?

@ravenfan1242 I don't know what I would do without your help. I have told you.

You are incredibly beautiful 💕

Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me.

"So funny." Garfield smiled and Raven grimaced.

The demons smiled when they saw that they had lost, and the angels looked away from the pain.

"Why are you with me? "

The phrase came out hard and cold, as if she were asking a criminal why he decided on that life. She was tired and angry, tired of going through the uncertainty that his voice loved her so much and not meeting her expectations, of wondering what would become of Garfield if Terra hadn't died and wanted to get him out of her veins.

She clearly saw the disinterest; it was tattooed on his soul and he did not realize it.

If he gave her a reason to stay ...

Garfield looked up. "Excuse me?"

It's now or never.

"Maybe you should free me." She leaned against the counter. Her hands dug into the soft fabric of her clothing, like an anchor; She hadn't expected her heart to squeeze, she kept screaming, hitting the walls to stop it, but her mind reminded her that she was the girl who survived hell. Gathering her strength "Why are you with me? " She repeated.

Suddenly she's tired of building walls around the relationship to watch them fall repeatedly. She no longer wants to murmur that they are okay with others when they ignored each other, from having rowdy arguments only to end up coming back, offering flowers and hugs, as if that was enough to convince her, she had wasted whole nights trying to square their differences, watching the heavens and whispering to their gods to end all this.

She had been taught in stories that love should hurt, otherwise it wouldn't be worth it in the end. You get to know him, you fall in love, you suffer until you get your happy ending, cost and prize.

Fuck this love.

If he's playing, just let her know.

He sent her a painful look, put his cell phone aside "Rae…"

No, they would not do this again.

She stepped back.

Garfield stood up, smoothing down his pajamas, and for the first time in months she saw him take on a serious expression. He walked slowly, like stepping on needles and spread his hands trying to join them, but she moved away, shaking her head repeatedly.

"I love you. Rae please. " One of his hands caressed her cheek. He brushed her short hair behind her ear. "I love only you. Nobody else. "

She stepped back, pulling his hands away, and muttered, "You know it's not true."

She didn't realize how much it hurt until the words left her mouth. They became a curse, a truth that turned hearts to dust, but for Raven it is not an unusual sensation, more like hearing the last words of a condemned man.

She crossed her arms ignoring his face "We both know this was going to end like this. "

Garfield shook his head and put their foreheads together, she could no longer fight this. She saw his aura weaving into deep blue, a shade she didn't often see, but it wasn't the same as when a certain person died in his arms, it's not that sadness.

It was not the same.

Her green hair was soft, heshe smelled of shampoo made of plants, like a forest, and his breath of milk, like a cat; his hands cupped her cheeks being tender and soft. She almost melted, a part of her wanted to be left alone to receive his attention and affection, it told her stories of how they could rebuild and evolve, she would eat from the leftovers for a while longer until she realized that she is malnourished and sick.

Her father teased her about being too silly, laughed at Garfield and the situation.

"Come on, Raven. I love you and I want to be with you" he said. One of his hands went down to her jaw to trace her neck and settle on the nape of her neck, wanting them to get even closer. "Don't stop this. Don't do this to us. "

She closed her eyes tight.

Get out of this. It's now or never.

She pulled away, denying with a broken voice and tear-clouded eyes. Perhaps this was a weakness, a vicious cycle, for a long time he was her toxin, a drug that was destroying her every day, but she continued to cling to the pleasurable effects, dependence and habit helped her ignore the adverse factors.

Something that made you feel so good couldn't hurt you, right?

"I will not return to the same. We've been like this a long time, Gar" He looked at her; Her green eyes reflecting pain and she swears she'll miss having him so close. "Think about the future, you would be unhappy by my side; be honest you will never love me. We will be miserable together"

"Why are you doing this? "

Why was he acting like it was her fault? He knew what she was talking about, he saw what was hurting them. She gave the final blow, but that fight already started long ago.

The answer was clear "Because I'm not her. "

He stepped back, opening his mouth and closing it, unable to answer. Garfield was hurt, her words were like daggers and she felt terrible, but it is the truth; Raven is not Terra and is exhausted from pretending that he loves her.

For eight months she was a ghost, a specter threatening in the corners, Raven felt her presence unnoticeable in the eyes of the boy who swore he loved her; He was running after someone who would never belong to him and turned his torment on her, carrying her bound in chains with caresses. The chains wouldn't hurt until they hurt her wrists, his caresses turned into pins, and he would never admit that it was his fault.

Okay, she would accept it.

She didn't directly name Terra, but it's not a taboo in her mouth. After two years, the name of the former Titans member still hurt, it was a wound that would never heal for Garfield, perhaps it would live forever, nailed to his bones and running through his veins.

She hit him hard in a vulnerable spot and it felt wrong, like desecrating a holy temple, but she had no other way to show him the truth. Before they were dating, they were friends and Raven ruined everything.

His friendship, his love and companionship.

She bowed her head.

"Hey, sweetheart."

Dick smiles at the door and his girlfriend frowns, realizing something is wrong, but by then Raven is already gone.

A million thoughts go through her mind, like a whirlpool. When she opens the door to the roof of the tower the sky is a thick gray soup, there are no traces of the sun's rays, but the promise of a rain.

***

She always returned to Riva Street every time a memory haunted her.

Gotham has the charm of a Francisco de Goya painting, somewhat dark and twisted, it has Wayne Tower, a standard of progress for the city; Raven remembers her open mouth trying to analyze the immensity of the fortune and the power of the millionaire family of the city of the bat, Metropolis shone like the sun in summer, it was beautiful and wide, guarded by the most powerful hero in the world, but not compared to the magnificence of Wayne Tower, the Daily Planet looked like just one more figure blending in with the city, in her time in Azarath she was surrounded by incredible beauty and temples, Jump City was insignificant compared to the places she saw with her eyes, it was a city with the smell of a port, whose inhabitants depended on the coast and tourism.

Gotham has Wayne Tower, Metropolis tot Daily Planet, and Azarath had its temples, but none have Riva Street.

When Raven joined the Titans, she was a hurt and scared girl, who saw deaths, destruction, and dwelt in hell, loving a being who was unable to feel, value, and deserve love, but she had. That was her mistake.

She felt like a stranger, an invisible entity wandering the streets of a foreign city; She looked like a girl, but inside she felt much older. Starfire had shaken her hand, as if she needed a direction, held it so sweetly that she almost cried because she had been stroked long ago with the same kind of love.

Emotions came to her like the wind, it was a strong current that pushed her back almost releasing the hand of the alien princess, but she just whispered that she shouldn’t be scared. Raven had frowned because she probably thought she was shocked by the number of people roaming the streets and that couldn't be further from the truth.

Dick smiled at the scene. Even meters away, she sensed the warmth, how the hero's heart beat strongly, like a horse's trot and almost fell to the melted ground, she believed that it could not be more clear, it was obvious that he wanted the newly baptized leader of the Titans.

She grimaced, wanting to get away from this situation.

Raven did not want this familiarity, she did not deserve it after her choices. Sooner or later it would go wrong, the prophecy was set in stone, it was impossible to erase, and it was the first time that she seriously considered getting lost in the streets and disappearing forever.

Starfire led her by the hand towards a store, eager to try on an outfit she saw on a mannequin, but the girl's vision was focused on an alley, it did not seem part of the city with its buildings and gray streets. It was a corner with the cobblestone floor, small houses painted in different colors, square like match boxes with beautiful terraces adorned with flowers and plants. The restaurants served pizzas, spaghetti and all kinds of typical dishes, people gathered around tables chatting with their friends and families.

She watched people reading, laughing with their children and couples shaking hands.

The aura was tinged with pink, a color that she had never seen before in a concentration that made the sky seem like a sunset.

"If you want, we can go," Dick interjected.

She nodded, showing no emotion.

Years later, she continued to walk down Riva Street, that hidden alley that did not correspond to the city, just like her. Riva street was her, with its relaxed atmosphere, small family restaurants, ice cream parlors and bookstores, it was her secret, nobody knew how much she liked it.

Raven had started and finished books at this place. She created memories, like a buried capsule that few knew about.

It was too intimate.

She knew that her home was with her friends, the people she considers as family, who would die for her and would protect her with their life. It is not a place, but if she would ever settle it would be on this street.

Raven would lease an apartment on Riva Street, perhaps on the second floor of that bookstore with the unpronounceable name that specializes in classics and mystery novels; She would have a cat or dog as a pet who would walk by her side, read on the benches and it would feel great. She would rebuild her relationship with herself.

It was a nice dream.

She sat in a chair waiting for her coffee.

She took the book out of her bag. The first edition of The Raven glowed with its worn cover, it had become a symbol, a sign that her feelings must be thrown away in the trash, the moment she realized it and ran a hand over the object, stroking the bird image.

She frowned.

Her heart gave a painful beat, but she was not ill. She had been through this situation before; She knew this emotion and she was not going to allow it to continue.

How did it make a difference if she started liking him or it was dumb confusion at a low time?

Not that she had much experience around relationships. Her previous relationship was living proof, since then she had made a calculation, perhaps the outcome was not entirely her fault, but Raven tended to cling to people who would never feel the same way about her, loved and hoped they would return it. Her father, her demonic brothers, Garfield ...

Damian would only be one more number on her list. He was already having a bad time for her to have confusion, he didn't need any more drama in his life, where did she come in? Raven was going to destroy their relationship, she had to end it all.

It hadn't been long since she had ended it with Garfield, this couldn't happen to her now. It was just a passing taste, a flutter, and it would go away, like a butterfly.

Did her heart so quickly forget about Beast Boy? She almost shook her head, her words still got stuck when she saw him and she wished that she would confess the truth to him., Give a better explanation of why she abandoned him, because she left him before he did and left him pained on the sidewalk, but it is different, it is that kind of affection accompanied by bad memories, the one that asks for an apology and demands it.

With Damian it's different, it was stupid of him ...

She couldn't help but feel terrible. She felt like a bad person, wanting a friend was the worst thing that could happen to her. She had seen him for years as her best friend, they helped each other when they collapsed due to some circumstance and boy, they had., They talked about books and movies, they could sit down; share a tea and chat about a period of history. With Damian and she would respond with the same interest.

Random, she was going to ruin everything.

Don't feel, she told himself. Don't start, if you do you will want more. You are not that kind of girl.

He deserved a young daughter from a wealthy family, a Gotham princess, and even a model. If they didn't notice her best friend because of his attractiveness, they would because of what he represents. She heard that such powerful family practice was usual (like a novel), although she couldn't imagine Bruce Wayne agreeing with that.

Raven was but a half-breed, half human and demon; someone who was unaware of many terrestrial customs, an anonymous name that was forged from the depths of hell. An abomination, a protégé, destruction and the girl who became a hero hidden under a hood.

A strange sensation invaded her body, as if someone or something was watching her. The air was a mix of pink and green, which she had seen in few people; It is not a secret that Raven can see the aura, they would normally be tinted red, yellow, blue, purple to gold, but green was difficult to find.

She had only seen this shade of green on one person.

"Blessed chance."

She looked up, suppressing a shiver. Out of sheer inertia the book slid forward, almost ripped it from her fingers, and a chill ran through her entire spine, like a fleeting fire; appeared and left instantly.

What was he doing here?

If it wasn't for the voice, she wouldn't recognize him. Damian Wayne stood next to her with dark glasses over his eyes, a thin white scarf with black patterns, and his usual black t-shirt folded neatly to the elbows.

Titus appeared with his tongue sticking out, apparently tired and when he became aware of her presence, he approached flapping his tail. She smiled at the emotion of the dog and stroked him, he licked her hand up to her arm.

He sat down in a chair in front of her. She was surprised to see him leave the tower, since the drama on social networks he had not wanted to pronounce on anything with any of his identities.

Batman, the Justice League, and the Titans suggested solutions, from official statements to videos giving their reasons, but he dismissed it with one hand and focused on training. He didn't do any more, locked himself in and improved his techniques (in her opinion, he didn't need it), now he was he, in front of her showing most of his face.

Maybe Damian got tired, he was an active person, she was pretty sure that in the time they met didn't see a single day of laziness, he kept his hands busy; When he was not on patrol, he trained, when he did not train, he devoted himself to research, or he cleaned the room, sharpened his weapons, or contacted Wayne Manor asking for an update on the events there.

"You must keep an eye on your enemies as well as your allies"

"We are talking about your family, Damian" she replied.

"It does not matter"

She raised an eyebrow "I would ask you about the scarf, but I don't want to insult your taste."

"This scarf is made to make me invisible to the cameras."

She bit her lip to keep from laughing. Damian wouldn't appreciate laughter at his expense but she found it funny.

"Like a superpower?"

He rolled his eyes.

"It was designed by ..." He looked at the table, more specifically at the book interrupting what he was going to say. His eyes traveled from the object to Raven, as if trying to square two different things in a single scene and she never wanted to take it out of her bag. "It's from an online store” he corrected himself. " Now his voice was much more comfortable. "Many celebrities use it to make it impossible for paparazzi to take photos. "

She thought about it.

People had calmed down a bit, basically because Robin disappeared assigning missions in remote places, what surprised her most was that he did not protest. At first she had believed that negativity did not affect him, that he would turn off all opinions and focus on himself, but Damian had acted like a wounded animal, every time a camera pointed at his face he transformed into a more sullen version., He bit with his words when talking about his reputation and he left the Titans to be seen only in short periods of the day.

She had not seen him in a week.

"I didn't know you knew this place."

For a long time, she thought that Riva street was hers. It is not a crowded place, when you compete against luxury shops, festivals and fairs, a cobbled street taken from an old movie is not a great novelty.

He raised an eyebrow.

"Grayson said they wouldn't harass me here."

"Dick?"

Shrugged.

His shoulders had widened, and his muscles were protruding under the thin fabric, she was jealous that the material would embrace him highlighting the perfection of his body. His tanned skin darkened over the years from exposure to unprotected sunlight, he was strong, and he was acquiring new scars.

She looked at his hands, a collection of scars like silver threads running through his fingers, one of them going through his wrists. She wanted to know what had happened, to ask if it was hurting from the cold and if it really led the other way.

It was like a faded flower imprinted on his skin. A scar is a patch of skin that grows on a wound, insensitive to touch, but would he feel anything if she touched it?

Do not start.

"He named this street." Damian didn't seem very impressed, although his expressions are difficult to read. At first she found this frustrating, it reminded her of Batman's aura, a cloud that could not fade to see the true color, but his son was a green color like his eyes, but his exterior had been sculpted based on hard training, emotional manipulation, control and pain. The green is dull now, like dried moss. “He promised me that no one would bother me.”

She looked at the scarf.

"So that's just as a precaution and ... "

She was interrupted by the waiter carrying her coffee, a donut dusted in sugar and the house specialty, some delicious focaccias. She felt the tug of hunger in her stomach as the smell of olive and spices reached her nose.

Damian frowned.

"What? " She took a sip of the coffee; the drink was at its perfect point. The Costa restaurant is small, rustic with that stone façade and the chairs made of hand-carved wood; she felt the urge to defend it. "Yes, it is…"

"I didn't say anything." He grimaced. He would say it "I was just wondering why you were so quiet and serious in the Tower, while here you show more emotion to that donut than to the Titans,” he said.

He put the coffee aside.

He was right.

"You too have been silent."

Damian crossed his arms supporting his back. Titus played around a fountain, drinking the water and letting some children caress him, from here she felt the laughter and affectionate names that were dedicated to him and the animal bathed with love, its owner almost smiled. Almost.

Right now, he looks like he's getting his weapons ready for battle, his expression was determined and wild, and he must ...

"Is it because of Garfield?"

She steps back, and a bucket of cold water falls on her body.

"What? "

Uncertainty passed over her face and hardened her.

Why was he doing this? Raven sees a feeling, believes her powers have touched him, and would go deep, but instantly he blocks it entirely, his emotions and feelings painted under a dark canvas. He left her blind, only believing that her had the confidence to reveal a portion of himself.

She was surprised that he named her former partner, since he did not express interest in their relationship. Damian was non-sentimental; He would probably scoff at the honeyed explanations his older brother so badly wanted to get into his head; Jason would have a dirtier one, full of inordinate sex and add treason to it, just for the drama; Tim would give a talk about the chemical processes that were triggered when someone liked you, but he was not interested, he saw it as a necessity, a small distraction in his eternal crusade.

"Did you finish?"

As if that would explain everything, but what if it did? After the breakup with Garfield, she plunged into meditation, turning off her father's voice, but it followed her everywhere, repeating what she really was.

She became like thorns. If someone got close enough, they would only get a prick, there were no flowers in the first season or leaves in the summer, so she kept herself alone and promised that she would not be touched.

Garfield's face turned into punishment, if only she hadn't hurt him. It was too late, she is alert when he is close and knows why.

She really understood it.

Damian looked her in the eye. "I know it was a difficult breakup."

She looked down.

"It was. "

She did not lie, there was no need. Her affirmation was like a consolation, she just needed to let him go.

"I'm sorry. "

She raised her head. She never heard Gotham's bat son apologize to anyone, those phrases were not in his mouth, his tone was soft, like calm after a storm.

She smiled.

They shared a long look. At first, he looked serious, despite not wearing his Robin mask it felt like an eye mask, hiding the true emotion reflected in his eyes.

Damian smiled.

A dimple left on his cheek, and wrinkles formed around his eyes, making them look smaller, his expression softened, as if he had never been through torment. It was unlike any other smile she had ever seen, it was not arrogant, nor of victory or conceit; This was not the trained assassin destined to turn the world into a dystopia, he was not the angry and vengeful boy struggling to find a place next to his father, emerging as Robin, he was not the son of a famous billionaire, nor the hero that everyone hated, but Damian. It was soft and beautiful.

The first time he saw a genuine Damian Wayne smile was on Riva Street.

So, she knew she made a mistake and would never see Riva Street the same way. This street had represented intimacy, the beginnings and ends of novels, the best coffee she had ever tasted, flavors that she had not tried before, reflections and the smile on someone's lips. He had become entangled in her soul, the memories lost relevance compared to this moment and a feeling of fear of loss settled in her stomach, like a blow.

The story ends. Now.

Raven's smile disappeared from her face.

***

Raven had come up the stairs when the sun was barely caressing the mountains, a blanket hanging from her shoulders, a steaming tea floating behind her, and a book under her arm.

The roof of the Tower of the Titans gave a general view of the city. The blowing of the wind was strong, charging from the north, the color-degraded sky and a handful of stars remained in the sky.

Seagulls flew around the construction, squawking as if announcing the start of the day. The air was frozen, like sticking her head into a refrigerator and her nose was kissed by the cold.

Years ago, she read here, with the tranquility and amazement at dawn. Normally, the tower was full of noise, screaming, and disorder, making it impossible to read and struggling to find solitude around seven quirky teens, plus an alien princess with a tendency to incinerate food and her boyfriend with a highly activated parental sense.

It was a strange combination, but it works.

She sat on the floor wrapping the blanket around her shoulders holding back a shiver, sipped a shot of green tea, and watched the sunrise, amazed by the colors.

Humpty Dumpty sat on the wall,

Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.

The pad of her fingers caressed the illustration, noticing the relief and ink of the illustration of the egg sitting on a wall with little Alice watching.

"Do you think it will disappear if you don't take it?"

Damian sat still in Robin's uniform; his face shows cuts and the purple colors began to manifest in the high point of his left cheek.

"What happened? "

"Patrol. "

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Always so expressive.

She watched him "You look tired. "

He snorts, but doesn't contradict her, and that's a confirmation. Damian had been behind a gang of robbers, and was recently called by Batman while away for two weeks; Photos surfaced in magazines and on social media about the charity event bringing the family together in honor of Martha Wayne, without However, if Bruce Wayne summoned him it would not be solely for that, the vigilante was having to contain the Joker.

Raven knew that it required the whole family.

When Damian arrived, he was angry and spent all his time on patrol, so he was living with his brothers and he needed to get rid of the teasing, arguments and annoyance.

Three days later she has him in front of her with his legs trembling and sweat dripping down his forehead.

"You should sleep," she recommended.

He clicks his tongue and his chest rises and falls. "When I was seven years old, I was awake for four days, just feeding on the vegetation of the place and the river water. This is nothing to me. "

She imagines a child abandoned in the middle of the forest, hungry and starving. It doesn't seem like an achievement.

She grimaces.

"What? "

She chose not to express it. He could take it as a criticism, or get irritated., Damian is not known for his tolerance of others' arguments, especially when it comes to his past, and equally who is she to argue about his story?

"Nothing. "

She reread the book.

All the king's horses

And all the king's men

Couldn't put Humpty

Together again.

"It's one of my favorite rhymes," he declares sleepily.

Raven grimaces.

He is looking at her, his eyes struggle to close, and she can see the struggle to stay seated… If only he wasn't so proud.

An impulse makes its way inside her and she thinks of the teenager who gave her a book. The one who appeared on Riva Street accompanied by his pet, who spoke about poetry and rhymes when tiredness is about to knock him down. She takes off the mask, it is soft and almost feels like a mass in her hands, he protests, but he is are just babbling.

"I'm going to hit Drake and-" "He can't tell enough; his head falls and heshe straightens his brow several times. Raven almost smiled. "Father and… They almost kidnapped Grayson…" He tries to formulate a complete sentence, but the voice simply leaves him. Before he falls to the floor, she gently grabs his arm and helps him lie down on the floor and balls her blanket into a pillow. "I like rhymes. "

Laughter echoes off the roof.

"Are you always so chatty in the morning?"

He growls.

"I must have a poem around here." She opened the book.

It is right in there

Betwixt and between

The orchard bare

And the orchard green,

When the boughs are right

In a flowery burst

Of pink and white,

That we fear the worst.

She took a breath to read the next paragraph when she was interrupted.

"Peril of Hope. Robert Frost. "

A memory greets her after years. When the world was almost over and her father had been inserted into the glass, she felt his stench emanating from that smallness, his power and evil in her palm, she could not be careless and silly like the last time; the world did not deserve destruction and her friends almost died, she agreed to stay in hell to protect them, but he convinced her as best he could, citing poetry by Robert Frost.

"You are full of surprises."

That permanent frown disappeared, and he buried his face in the blanket, closing his eyes.

She plunged into uncertainty for a few minutes.

She watched him sleep, muttering that she is not that girl and she would not fall so easily.

She drank her tea in one gulp.

He woke up an hour later, muttering and staggering to his room, he didn't go out all day.

Raven devoted herself to meditation, while Starfire and Dick trained together.

She could feel eyes from the other side of the room, even without opening her eyes she knew who it was. From a few meters she identified that aura and presence, the colors of his soul were a deep yellow like sand.

Garfield watched her apprehensively, as if aware of an unknown detail.

Her insides twisted like a worm, wanting to take his eyes off her. She just wants to push him away.

***

The next morning Robin appears on the roof, the next and subsequent.

Damian was there, she would have a new book waiting and she would feel that it became her new religion; They were like little children who shook their shoulders and tried to learn something new.

They don't talk much.

Raven drank her tea bathed in the rising rays of the sun behind the mountains, the wind would blow her hair in different directions and she would be covered by her thick blanket. She absorbed the silence when she watched him read Walt Whitman, Charles Dickens and Herman Melville after a night patrol where he hid from the eyes of the people.

No one has seen Damian Wayne in a month.

Robin is a vigilante who takes refuge in smoke and on missions with the Titans, would participate and walk away.

’’ Doesn't it bother you? ’” She asked one day pushed by bravery. Since the cancellation he was reserved, fleeing from the great masses and behaving like an invisible entity.

He didn't look up from his reading. "What are you talking about?"

’’ The hatred of people on the internet ’’

He frowned, processing her words. "The opinions of the despicable sheep are not worth it."

"You should print it on a card."

He smiled ‘’ ’I'm not an influencer, not a celebrity, Raven. I am a vigilante and did not need third party validation… I would just like to have privacy ’’

Raven understood that.

***

That morning it felt strange, like when you have a lump in your throat that is about to give way.

Damian had not returned for three days as he was on a mission with his brothers. Therefore, there were no conversations on the roof, books and herbal tea, lunches on Riva street and she realized how much she missed him. They did not spend all day together, she did not think about him for more than an hour, but she settled into her routine with those small and significant moments, they were pieces of her days that won against vacillations.

She was longing for more.

No one had to know.

In front of the Titans, two colleagues behaved as common as ever; there was a tacit agreement of silence between them. She discovered that she liked it that way. That she wanted that privacy, she said nothing, but she knew that for Damian's public life it is complicated that whatever they had was captured by a camera and exposed, stabbing the secret. Raven did not want to meet her face in teen magazines, or that they speculated around who she is, if she valued anything in her civil identity, it gave her a sense of normality.

Raven was terrified; her father's voice followed her every morning as she made her tea in the kitchen before going up to the roof. He brought back memories of her previous relationship, distant and sad green eyes, which made her feel so good she wouldn't have to tear him apart. With each fight she had a reason to leave Garfield and there were many, and she didn't want him anymore.

She knew he would never do anything to hurt her, she knew his heart and his intentions, but love can make you see roses instead of thorns. She only knew love in poems, books and performances, they said that love is a brilliant thing, but it is ardent. She always tried to see herself through the eyes of another person, it made her feel less dirty and that there was this story where after suffering there is a person waiting, with her heart in one hand and a smile painted on her face, like a pink brushstroke.

Maybe it only works on humans.

Now she thought that love was a golden cage, that makes you feel that you live in luxury and have all the comforts of the world, but you cannot go out without a fight, without facing the person who made you forget about yourself.

Her father was no longer using insults to destabilize her, he became crueler bringing memories that she was fighting to bury. It led her to the frustration, heartbreak, and anger she felt after the discussions, her mind formulating justifications and judgments, and her breakup.

Standing in the kitchen praying because she was doing well, not regretting and avoiding remembering this as a big one: what if?

She knew that it was her father taking advantage of her fear, but she could not help thinking that it was much better to look the truth in the eyes and that part of her is happy that Damian is not there.

She hoped that it would take him long enough to forget his smile, burn his presence on Riva Street and go up to the roof watching the sunset reading in silence, without feeling that something is missing. She felt he was getting under her skin, between the cuts of her past with something she has not known and does not know how to fight it; Damian takes what he wants, his defense mechanisms react in time.

She expects him to stay away days, weeks, months, and even years.

I am the only thing you have, ungrateful girl. I'm the only one who stays.

She growled and murmured a quick spell, dulling his voice.

She realized that she doesn't just want to have her father as her company, she still has friends who show her love, and they don't care about her love life just because of her condition. That thought brings her peace.

Raven lit the kettle. It is still night when she creeps into the kitchen in her pajamas, and the thin blanket around her shoulders like a makeshift cloak; she needed a tea to fully wake up, she still felt the tiredness in her body and her eyes closed when she leaned on the table.

She was ready to watch the sunrise alone and considered going back to sleep. With or without Damian it had become a habit, it was her, what did she gain by clinging as if he were an extension? She was sure that Damian would not like someone to consider him that way, she was also finished with that topic. She was better alone.

Someone cleared his throat.

She felt hesitation and fear. She turned, watching Garfield stand at the kitchen door, hesitating instead, as if fighting to run away or stay.

A heart beats.

It is like rereading a book with an unhappy ending, she had seen this a million times. She had already given up, but he came back every time she was healing and would be weak to fall under his love, as if that would fill her, even so, she felt that the end point had already been written.

She filled her cup with hot water "I left you the rest of the water, if you want. "

"Raven," Garfield scratches his hair, unsure. His head was down. "Can we talk? "

She shook your head.

"I woke up at five in the morning with a purpose." His eyes are marked by dark circles and puffy from lack of sleep. She gives in (just a little). "It will be a moment. "

The young woman sat down at the table holding her breath. Her hands traveled to the cup embracing the warmth, and she begged all the gods and spirits of Azarath not to end up in the same place as a month ago.

Aisha, the spinning spirit of Azarath's love and suffering is laughing at her. The monks illustrated her as a lonely old woman who lives in the high mountains, where the sun always shines, pulling the strings of love from mortals and immortals. She is temperamental, if she thought you were good, she could entangle your thread of love with others the easy way, her fingers would do the braid with details, but if she decided that you didn't deserve it, then she would make a tangle between love and suffering, condemning another innocent person; her tutors were afraid of her, they thought they had to atone for any offense against the spirit. She thinks Aisha hates her.

She remained silent, and inert.

The silence is uncomfortable, it keeps and brings conversations, memories and secrets.

"I'm sorry. "

He Frowned.

Raven raised an eyebrow, still surprised by what heshe was saying. On more than one occasion she imagined that at some point he would apologize, but she did not expect his voice to break, to feel the pain reflecting on his face.

She did not know what to say. She was never good at sharing her feelings.

He probably already knew that.

"I was a terrible boyfriend," he said. She is empathetic so she feels his conflicting emotions, but one of them predominates more than the others: Guilt. "You didn't deserve it."

She is about to speak, but he interrupts her with his hands up: "Let me finish, please" He keeps his eyes down. Her hands play with a napkin, folding and spreading the paper. "I wasted what we had. Don't think I didn't love you, in fact I did. I wish I could have loved you better. " He shrugs "I hurt you. "

She grimaced.

Beast Boy pursed his lips "Now you keep your guard high when I'm around you and I know why. I'm sorry for so many things and I understand if you don't want to have anything to do with me" His hands tremble. "Before we were dating, we were friends and I didn't think about you. I just want you to know that I come back to those mornings every day and I feel horrible about how I behaved. You didn't deserve everything I threw at you when you tried, the arguments, I ignored you for days to come back to your door asking for a chance and you forgave me. I really understand yes ... "

Before we were dating, we were friends ...

I'm the only thing you have, ungrateful girl.

She takes his hand, this time there are no artificial lights or contempt "I forgive you. "

Raven really says it. She does not want to live alone having her father as a constant, it would be a sad constant and now he is angry, insulting her and screaming because she is weak, gullible and stupid, yet she smiles.

He opens and closes his mouth, surprised "Really? "

She nods "It's not like I have any other choice, we live in the same place. "

Garfield laughs and exhales a big breath, touches his chest feeling his heart and snorts "God, I thought you were going to hate me. Maybe you would curse me for all eternity. "

She rolled her eyes.

"Maybe I will…"

"Let's be friends again!" He dances around the kitchen, ignoring her words. He turns to yellow and white again. "It's cool, baby. "

Raven stands up, deciding it's too much. She embraced the book and used her powers to make the cup levitate with her footsteps.

"You are so loud."

He is smiling.

She walks to the kitchen door to watch the sunrise, but he knocks on it and she turns around.

"What wrong? "

“You deserve someone who reads Shakespeare or something like that with you and kisses the ground where you step," Garfield smiles. "You may be half demon and your father is a monster, but not everything has to be suffering. Love is not pain, Rae. "

Again, she doesn't know what to say or do, so she nods.

When she leaves the kitchen, she realizes that the lump in her throat that she has been holding since she got up, no longer exists. She feels light, like dropping a load and all the bumps, cuts and infections are healing.

She still has her struggles but abandoning one she did not collapse. Sometimes getting rid of one makes the bag not explode.

She needed that talk.

She needed to let it go completely.

As she climbs the stairs to the roof, she feels the rays of the sun entering from the open door, the light wind on her face and the squawk of seagulls, agitated in the sky that is a beautiful combination of pinks, blues and golds.

Her steps are delicate, like the fall of a feather and she thinks of the crow as more than a bird that predicts tragedies, or its black feathers the consequence of the wrath of a god.

When she opens the door, she holds her breath. Sitting on the floor writing on a pad is Damian, dressed in his civilian clothes and a bruise above his eyebrow, he carries a coffee and frowns every time he sips his drink.

His hands are quick on the sheet of paper.

She didn't know he would be here; thought he’d be away for a couple more days.

"You are late. "

She does not answer.

"Selina had a daughter."

She raises her eyebrows.

"I thought your father had more than one girlfriend." Damian looks up for the first time. He frowns. "You know, Playboy. "

So, it wasn't just a mission with his brothers, the Bat family just got bigger. Honestly, she thought the world couldn't take another Wayne, but she was wrong.

He does not say anything.

Raven sits on the ground next to him, keeping her distance.

"How are you with the arrival of the new member? "

"Good. "

Oh.

"Congratulations. "

They remain silent and she thinks that is all the information that she is going to be able to obtain from Damian. She opens her poetry book right where she leaves the separator, which consists of a withered sheet.

"My father is happy, even if he doesn't say it" He continues writing, only this time it is slower. The pen in his hand runs smoothly, as if reflecting. "I thought Selina would be a strumpet, that she would give him carnal relief and then leave, but my father seems… comfortable. Dick says it makes him less intense. "

Dick.

For Azarath, Dick must be overflowing with joy.

"How is she? "

Damian grimaces.

"Pink. "

She laughs "Yes, I suppose all the babies at the beginning are. "

"Helena is small, like really small, so much so that my father fears that she will break if one of us carries her." When she is not crying, she is sleeping or eating" he pauses. "Selina says the first few months will be like this. "

She Smiled.

"What? " He asks defensively.

"You like her. "

He rolled his eyes.

"To be honest, my chips were on the end of their relationship, but she stayed." He shrugs. Damian makes it look like an unlikely result in an equation. "Drake and Grayson won. I suppose I are well. I can do nothing but endure. "

Raven laughs.

"It's not funny." His tone is not angry, he doesn't turn that red warning tone and she knows that everything is fine.

She looks down at the book and takes a sip of her tea.

She looked at Damian, who continued writing in his notebook; The sun's rays bathed his face, his skin is tan, and his green eyes roam the notebook, concentrating on whatever he wants to capture.

She closes your eyes and feels the taste of herbs in the mouth.

She feels his shoulders collide with her, it's a warm and dangerous pressure. Each of her molecules asks for more, and she shouldn't be allowing this, but she doesn't pull away, nor does she stop her heart from running wild.

No one has heard from Robin in two months and the internet is focused on the following drama.

Damian Wayne allows himself to be photographed, but the paparazzi are not interested in selling photos of a scarf to the big gossip magazines, so they disappear little by little.

Raven left a relationship behind and hesitantly asks: What is it about him here?

It is at this moment that he realizes that, if she bleeds, he would be the last to know.

#damirae #fanfiction #damian x raven #damian wayne #raven #dc animated universe

77 notes · View notes

fourletterworld · 3 years

Text

Getting Lost - Was a Big Brother

Cody, Myself, and four of our best friends hiked the fantasy trail of Big Sur, some 7 miles up into the sky. As night approached, we tucked down off the trail into a small camping area and safely lit a fire near a stream. Here we pumped drinking water into our bottles through a filter. I remember feeling so physically tired, it was the only feeling in me. We made dinner in flame light then made our tents in spotty shadows. It was cold, and we'd fallen asleep quickly.

The next day was crisp and beautiful. We'd made breakfast, coffee and tea and talked a while before heading out to walk off the path into the wilderness. We jumped across the creek where boulders stood out of the shallow depth. After the six of us got across my friend Bob passed out micro doses of mushrooms from a cloudy plastic bag. We chewed them up and continued walking into the trees along the creek. Nothing of note crept into my head, but I have a snapshot of looking back at my friends through the trees and seeing sunlight spill through the canopy onto the green forest floor. There was an Irish glow among the rich tree bark and moss.

Someone mentioned that it looked like we were in an old Skittles commercial. Slow unconscious laughs built as we smiled half-lucidly at one another. The effect began to slow some of us down until we stopped at a clearing and briefly sat. Cody and two others decided to keep hiking while I stayed with the other half.

We talked for a while and observed everything within eyeshot. I felt the stillness of a tree growing through my head. The misty sounds of nature began to strike out with colors of awareness. Suddenly I was conscious of the bird calls, and not in the ordinary way when their beauty serves as the backdrop to one of my moods. Instead, I heard their sounds as though they were strangers with first names I didn't know. They were communicating primal information with the worry of survival in their tone. They weren't having a pleasant day in the wild, they were locked in the grind of their reality. I felt sad for their consistent stress. The concern to live up to nature's expectations is so much to put on a creature. It wasn't their fault.

The plants around me gently moved in a soft breeze. Their limbs reached up to the skylight like a baby wanting its mother. They were as alive as starfish, having fixed themselves to the trunks of larger somber giants. The distant sun sat and burned like a far away look. A look that only time will snap someone out of. This sad poem is why we fall in love, I thought. It all hurts with the innocent anticipation of a loose tooth not ready to come out.

After a time of being unusually quiet in the presence of others, I crept away by myself down to the trickling stream we'd been following. In some sort of dreamy trance, I gently touched my face as I looked down into the water. There was a troubled curiosity in my tremendously large pupils. It was the little kid unwound inside of me; the one I'd twisted hard into a man. Currents pulled at my reflection like smeared paint clinging to an image. Shards of light formed on the folds of water like cuts.

The tired old question walked through my thoughts: "who am I?" This time, it didn't feel like the ethereal philosophical question. It was more like I was trying to make sense of the thing I saw reflecting in the water: The dark pool-eyed organic machine, the adult and the teen, the arrested development, the ill-defined aged of an angst ridden masculine spirit.

I've applied stereotypes to myself my whole life: being a punk rocker, a musician, an artist, a romantic, a good person, a drinker, and all sorts of things that maybe I'm not. They're all just lines of rope I've thrown out which I follow after to see where they might lead me. Being a big brother was something more than that. It was beyond me and rooted in the physical world. It was an anchor that'd dropped down as soon as Cody was born.

These thoughts swam through that river until concern began to gather and pulled me back into the moment. I'd begun to feel some kind of tension pulling at the line between Cody and I. He had hiked away and was possibly too far from me, and I started to wonder if he was okay.

"Hey guys! How long have they been gone?!" I shouted up the small ravine. "They're fine D." my friend Dave called, probably anticipating some psilocybin anxiousness. His assumption that I was paranoid was warranted, but I felt rational in my fear and knew it couldn't be articulated under scrutiny. I walked a short way in the direction the others continued hiking and looked. I didn't see anyone so I began calling Cody's name with my loud voice into the wilderness. I heard the emptiness of the hills as my voice faded through them, and a terrorizing feeling of finality landed. The fear was rooted in the possibility of never getting him back.

What if they'd eaten more mushrooms than I had and got confused and lost? I was worried for all of them, but I was responsible for my brother. The anchor was somewhere beneath dark water and I didn't know if the rope had been torn. I began making all sorts of promises to some God that I never kept. I started to feel the knot in my throat.

There was darkness growing in the mountains. Tall pine shadows loomed and collected over the retreating fragments of sunlight. The pleated hills began to look treacherously prosaic, as if no new word would ever come out of its ravine. It would never unearth my little brother or anything else ever again. I called again, deep and loud, and like a miracle transmission I heard Cody faintly calling back just as loudly from somewhere off in the trees. His voice, when he yelled, sounded just like mine.

"Oh, fucking Christ, thank god", I sighed.

Moments later he'd walked through the trees. Bleach blonde hair and emerald rimmed owl eyes, smiling at the corners. Cody came to me for an instinctive hug. "I'm sorry Dust" he'd said. He could hear the fear in my voice even at its highest threshold of volume.

"Don't be sorry, don't be sorry," I replied as I hugged him tightly. Later, shrouded in twilight, I sat next to him at the fire. I tried to express how tangibly worried I was for him. I’d felt him extracted from my life in that moment, and how terrified that made me.

I'd gone on longer, exhausting my point. The mushrooms hadn't completely waned and the panic continued to play, but the cause for fear was so present it was like I had suddenly felt through the material of time. I’d somehow grasped the shape of that fucked up day that waited for me years ahead. I had no way of aligning that sort of rationale at the time, but in hindsight it’s the best way to explain the reality of that scare. It never felt like it was in my head.

Cody listened, patient and contemplative with a lit cigarette. At some point he interjected, "Yeah, but Dust, I'm fine. Everything's okay. Everything was always okay the whole time. You were just worried over nothing".

He said this smiling, as though to model what emotion we should had both been feeling in that moment. He then leaned in and wrapped his arms around my shoulders and I took his two clasping hands with mine and closed my eyes. He saw the concern but not my fear, but I knew I had to concede in expressing my worry for him. I'd always have to learn when it was okay to get my point across and when to let life be life. I had to let go of control.

I've always had problems with control because it eludes me. My life has always been out of my control. Not really caring to embrace my strengths and desiring my weaknesses has put huge cracks throughout my being. My self-hood is like broken up continents, and my goal is to form it all back into Pangea. I move something to the center and something else floats away. It's like I don't have room for the whole being I want to be. I fall in love, I become dependent. I find peace, I become boring. I get inspired, I become manic. I have fun, I lose my way.

And I don't want balance. I see balance like a constant sacrifice. I want the choice to be all in, on one side or another, the good and the bad all at one time. I want the full glass now and no glass later.

That is, I had my mind made up in this way until Cody passed. Once I lost him, these fragmented continents weren't just staid floating islands. Gravity suddenly shut off, and they lifted from their watery globe and suspended in disorientation. I'd seen all parts of myself lift from the anchor of my brother and carry out above me and into the atmosphere. Now there is no center to draw things back into, and there are some pieces leaving my weak gravitational field forever. I lay in bed afraid of this new upheaval, not knowing my feelings anymore, and watching them continue to go and go and go.

They've been ripping away from me so consistently and slowly over this last 16 months that the pain has become ambience. My spirit has been tuned to the lowest universal frequency of heartbreak. The longest waves of sadness.

But I keep it together. All of life is too short to let anyone else get tangled in this chaotic orbit of mine, and I think I've become just strong enough to keep it in during the day. Meanwhile this slow-moving shrapnel drifts along, finely opening new aspects of a heart I'd never known. There are things that feel possible in ways that surprise and sometimes shock me. There are days now where I get out of the shower and rub away the fog on the mirror and remember looking into the water. Now it isn't a question of who I am, but who am I becoming, and will any of this ever land again? Did the universe set my heart so it can heal in alignment or is my true nature lost in some ethereal flux?

There's an animal body looking at me and the human has been knocked into a daze. The eyes in the coal mine sockets remind me of those prosaic hills, with the person behind the wheel having retreated inward to crippled shadowy memories. They don’t hold anything to the same beautiful standard any longer. It’s all become possible with nothing inside of myself to protect anymore. The gate has been left wide open and as I stare at my eyes I wonder if I'll ever really come back again.

4 notes · View notes