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moiraineswife · 3 years

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Autistic Allegories in Renarin’s Arc - Meta

s’up y’all, your favourite local rambler is back at it again. Diving straight in to this one. The motivation for this post is something that might be controversial, and I’m going to try and explain it as clearly as I can and make my intentions clear, but I get this is the internet and things get misinterpreted to fuck.

So, since Renarin was confirmed to be a queer character, I’ve seen a lot of posts and takes on pretty much every platform I frequent that equates all of Renarin’s traits/struggles in canon as being foreshadowing/parallels to his queer identity and experience.

I get this. I’m also queer. I understand the instinct to take, say, Renarin’s corrupted spren bond and his desire to keep his nature as a Radiant hidden/his lack of understanding initially and assume it to be queer foreshadowing/parallel. I big get that. And that’s not a bad interpretation.

The problem is, this is the ONLY interpretation people put forth. They ignore things explicitly said/connections made in canon to Renarin being autistic and say ‘this is it. this is what this means. it’s about him being gay’. When, actually, a good chunk of it is about his experience as an autistic man in an allistic society. Which I think is what Brandon wants to explore/has set up in the text.

So I decided to look at this in more depth from an autistic perspective - some of the moments that most clearly parallel Renarin’s autistic experience and explain how and why this is a thing, and hopefully just highlight this aspect of his character and explain things to folks.

Renarin’s Blade Screaming

Jumping right into it then: Renarin’s bond with Glys is very clearly paralleled with his autism. The text outlines this connection multiple times throughout the series, and explores it in interesting ways.

First up, Renarin first revealing himself as a Truthwatcher makes this pretty clear:

“And the Shardblade,” Dalinar said, stepping over and taking his son by the shoulder. “You hear screams. That’s what happened to you in the arena. You couldn’t fight because of those shouts in your head from summoning the Blade. Why? Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I thought it was me,” Renarin whispered. “My mind. But Glys, he says . . .” Renarin blinked. “Truthwatcher.” (WoR)

“Adolin,” he said softly. “I … um … I have to give you back the Shardblade you won for me.”

“Why?” Adolin said.

“It hurts to hold,” Renarin said. “It always has, to be honest. I thought it was just me, being strange. But it’s all of us.”

“Radiants, you mean.”

He nodded. (Oathbringer)

Renarin didn’t explain to his father or the others what was happening to him because he thought it was part of his autistic experience.

Being autistic you get used to experiencing a lot of in-brain things and not realising that other people don’t experience them, too. I have hypersensitivity to sound. I can hear things other people don’t, because their brains naturally filter them out - like electronics whining.

The experience of having a Shardblade scream inside your head is actually a pretty great parallel for sensory overload. It’s something intense, something frightening, and overwhelming, and even painful. But Renarin just endures it without comment because that’s what we’re conditioned to do.

“A group of shellheads tried to seize one of the bridges, Brightlord,” the bridgeman said softly. “Brightlord Renarin insisted on going to help. Sir, we tried hard to dissuade him. Then, when he got near and summoned his Blade, he just kind of . . . stood there. We got him away, sir, but he’s been sitting on that rock ever since.”

[...]

“I just stood there,” Renarin said. “I wasn’t frozen because of my . . . ailment. I’m just a coward.”

When Adolin hears about Renarin freezing up he assumes that he had a fit. Renarin corrects him on this, once he’s verbal again, but says that he was just a coward.

He froze up once he summoned his Blade. Because it would have started screaming in his head and this was overwhelming. When other Radiants have experienced this on-screen the screaming has been so intense they immediately dropped or dismissed the Blade, unable to hold it.

From this, I infer that Renarin believes everyone experiences this when they fight with a Shardblade. He doesn’t realise that it’s strange for him because he’s a Radiant. He thinks everyone experiences it, but they push through and overcome it. He can’t, and instead of thinking something strange is going on, he assumes that it’s a weakness of his and that he’s a coward.

This is a fairly common autistic experience. Why can’t you just get over this? Why is that overwhelming you? Just ignore the sound. Just ignore the lights. Stop being so weak/oversensitive.

That’s what Renarin thinks is happening. That’s why he doesn’t examine his experiences more closely, and realise he’s a Radiant. He thinks it’s part of him being autistic, and that he’s just being overly sensitive, until Glys is able to communicate with him and explain he’s a Truthwatcher.

The Rhyshadium Don’t Fit

“They don’t fit, you know.”

“Don’t fit?”

“Ryshadium have stone hooves,” Renarin said, “stronger than ordinary horses’. Never need to be shod.”

“And that makes them not fit? I’d say that makes them fit better.…” Adolin eyed Renarin. “You mean ordinary horses, don’t you?”

Renarin blushed, then nodded. (Oathbringer)

This, for me, is one of the most direct and obvious parallel between Renarin’s experience as an autistic man, and his experience as a Radiant.

Firstly, he comments on the Rhyshadium ‘not fitting’ with ordinary horses. They’re different. They have different hooves, which means they never need to be shod, like regular horses. In this case, being shod is something all horses do. It’s something natural for them, and the Rhyshadium not having it makes them stand out. This is similar to Renarin’s experience in society and in life.

The Rhyshadium are sometimes called ‘the third shard’ - they’re tied to the Radiants and to Stormlight. Renarin aligning himself with them, and his not fittng with them not fitting, mirrors his being Radiant stopping him from fitting in as he wants to.

A big part of his arc is his desire to fit in somewhere. His integration with Bridge Four is a huge boost to his confidence. He asks to join them to try and find somewhere to belong. The bridgemen are outcasts. They’re people who don’t fit in society, either, for various different reasons. Renarin fits with them, therefore, because he doesn’t fit elsewhere.

When he starts becoming a Radiant, and a different type of Radiant to the others, he starts to worry again. He worries that, yet again, he’s different for reasons he cannot control, and he’s worried the bridgemen will abandon or reject him as has happened frequently in noble society.

“So why are you embarrassed?”

“I’m … not?”

Adolin gave him a flat stare.

Renarin dismissed the Blade. “I simply … Adolin, I was starting to fit in. With Bridge Four, with being a Shardbearer. Now, I’m in the darkness again. Father expects me to be a Radiant, so I can help him unite the world. But how am I supposed to learn?”

Adolin scratched his chin with his good hand. “Huh. I assumed that it just kind of came to you. It hasn’t?”

“Some has. But it … frightens me, Adolin.” He held up his hand, and it started to glow, wisps of Stormlight trailing off it, like smoke from a fire. “What if I hurt someone, or ruin things?”

The conversation continues, and further solidifies the connection between the Rhyshadium not fitting with other horses, and Renarin not fitting in with other people.

He had become a Shardbearer, and was starting to fight and do what an Alethi man is expected to do in society. Go to war with Shards, with glory, etc etc etc. That didn’t quite work out.

For Renarin, whenever he gets closer to assimilating with the standard society and expectations, something happens to stop him. Initially it’s his epilepsy. He has fits, and his chronic illness makes him generally weaker and more frail, meaning that he can’t fight.

Once he’s given Shards to help mitigate those factors, he can’t use the Shards because his Radiant bond makes them scream inside his head. Again stopping him from fighting and becoming a soldier.

He then goes on to tell Adolin that he doesn’t really know how to Radiant. And Adolin says that he thought it would just come to him/he would instinctively know, but he doesn’t.

This is, again, a very classic autism thing. We struggle with doing things that allistic people find instinctive, and don’t need to be actively taught - such as reading and projecting the correct body language.

Adolin, who takes very naturally to all this stuff, just assumes that Renarin’s Radianting would just come to him, and Renarin has to explain that actually no, it hasn’t. This literally cannot get any clearer in forging an obvious link between his autism and his Radiant abilities.

Renarin’s ‘Corrupted’ Bond:

“What’s wrong with me?” Renarin asked. “Why do I see these things? I thought I was doing something right, with Glys, but somehow it’s all wrong.…” (Oathbringer)

[...]

“Does it strike you as cruel of fate, Father? My blood sickness gets healed, so I can finally be a soldier like I always wanted. But that same healing has given me another kind of fit. More dangerous than the other by far.” (Rhythm of War)

[...]

Lopen called out, asking Renarin to “look into the future and find out if I beat Huio at cards tomorrow.” It seemed a little crass to Dalinar, bringing up his son’s strange disorder, but Renarin took it with a chuckle.

[...]

It would be so much easier if he were like other Radiants. (RoW)

[...]

“And a blackness interfering, marring the beauty of the window. Like a sickness infecting both of you, at the edges.”

“Curious,” Dalinar said, looking where Renarin had pointed, though he’d see only empty air. “I wonder if we’ll ever know what that represents.”

“Oh, that one’s easy, Father,” Renarin said. “That’s me.”

“Renarin, I don’t think you should see yourself as—”

“You needn’t try to protect my ego, Father. When Glys and I bonded, we became … something new. We see the future. At first I was confused at my place—but I’ve come to understand. What I see interferes with Odium’s ability. Because I can see possibilities of the future, my knowledge changes what I will do. Therefore, his ability to see my future is obscured. Anyone close to me is difficult for him to read.”

“I find that comforting,” Dalinar said, putting his arm around Renarin’s shoulders. “Whatever you are, son, it’s a blessing. You might be a different kind of Radiant, but you’re Radiant all the same. You shouldn’t feel you need to hide this or your spren.”

Renarin ducked his head, embarrassed. His father knew not to touch him too quickly, too unexpectedly, so it wasn’t the arm around his shoulders. It was just that … well, Dalinar was so accustomed to being able to do whatever he wanted. He had written a storming book.

Renarin held no illusions that he would be similarly accepted. He and his father might be of similar rank, from the same family, but Renarin had never been able to navigate society like Dalinar did. True, his father at times “navigated” society like a chull marching through a crowd, but people got out of the way all the same.

Not for Renarin. The people of both Alethkar and Azir had thousands of years training them to fear and condemn anyone who claimed to be able to see the future. They weren’t going to put that aside easily, and particularly not for Renarin. (RoW)

Sorry for the quote barrage, but there was really no other way to do this, and I think it makes a nice little arc in how Renarin sees himself and his bond to Glys and, by extension, his autism.

In the temple, with Jasnah, he considers it to be something wrong. He’d thought he was finally fitting in, being like everyone else, doing something “right” but it turns out his bond is of Odium, and while he thought he fit with the others, he doesn’t. Again.

The RoW segments are what’s most interesting to me, because what we see here, I think, is Dalinar experiencing Renarin’s ‘disorder’ as he calls it and processing it/coming to terms with it in a way a lot of parents approach their kids’ autism. But this is a bit more approachable/less painful to look at because he’s considering him being a weird glowing power ranger, and not an autistic kid. Easier to examine more honestly.

So first of all Renarin, again, calls a direct link between his bond and his autism. The ‘healing’ that came with his bond gave him another kind of otherness. Another way he can’t be a soldier - which, for Renarin, in Alethi society, means him being like everyone else. I was going to go into this more here but this thing is already long as fuck, but in a nutshell being a soldier is Renarin’s dream because that’s him being “normal” and being like everyone else, which fate always conspires to stop him from being.

In Alethi society the peak of masculinity and of fitting in to the social order, which revolves around war and glory and battle courage blah blah blah - is being a soldier and fighting. Which Renarin has never been able to do. Which his father has always wanted him to do - wihich Renarin knows.

A lot of allistic people, especially allistic parents, think their autistic kids won’t pick up on their blatant ‘oh my god I wish my kid was normal’ vibes. They do. BELIEVE ME they do. This is a good little nod to that. Dalinar has never outright looked at Renarin and said ‘I want you to be a soldier to be worthy of my love and respect’ but it’s what Renarin grew up knowing and seeing from him.

The evolution of that through exploring Dalinar’s attitude to Renarin being bonded with an Odium-aligned spren is...Utterly fascinating, to say the least.

Here, for example, Dalinar sees it as a “strange disorder”. When Renarin calls a spade a spade and just goes ‘yeah no that weird thing right there that makes you comfortable? That’s me, buddy, get used to it’. Which is just. Absolutely effervescent. There’s a big instinct allistic people have to dance around autistic people. So many innuendos. So many fluffy phrase that I hate. “On the spectrum.” “On the autism spectrum”. “Differently abled” “Sees the world differently.” Just call me autistic and let me move on with life I do not have time to deal with your internalised issues.

He kind of comes around on it and gives him the whole “you might be a different Radiant but you’re still a Radiant to me, son”. Replace the word Radiant here with person and you’ll have a conversation I’ve experienced so many times. “Just because you’re a weird person doesn’t mean you’re not still a person!” Why thank you for pointing that out. I hadn’t noticed....Thank you for validating my humanity to my face?? As though I needed you to do that?

Contrast this with Renarin’s cheerful acceptance (ABSOLUTELY STUNNING DEVELOPMENT, HELL YES) - ‘yeah no that weird thing right there is me’. I cheered, dear reader, I CHEERED. It’s a little thing but it’s also a very very big thing.

So is Lopen making light of things - in a way that laughs with Renarin and not at him - wanting him to predict the outcome of his card game. Renarin laughs at this, and is obviously comfortable with the jokes and the camaraderie. Dalinar winces at this and thinks that it shouldn’t be made fun of this way, that it’s crass or wrong, Renarin has a disorder, it makes him weird and delicate, people shouldn’t joke around him with that, it’s not right. But Renarin is comfortable with it, and the Bridgemen are comfortable with him, which Dalinar obviously isn’t - though I get that he’s trying to go there.

Then, again, we draw a very direct parallel between Renarin’s Radiant experience othering him socially and autism othering a person socially. Absolutely exquisitely done mister sando, very nice indeed.

Renarin notes that there are ways to go through society. It’s nice to be like Dalinar and have the clout to buck the expectations, and not do what you’re supposed to, and still get away with it. Isn’t that nice? Bitch wrote and published a book and he’s still seen as masculine and worthy of respect and being yielded too.

Remember that Renarin can read and write as well - he learned so he could interpret his visions. But he hasn’t shared that with people. Because he knows that it won’t be accepted the way Dalinar was.

Sanderson sets up this idea rather nicely in Oathbringer, actually, with the scribes meeting.

Renarin glanced at his father. Dalinar responded with a raised fist.

He came so Renarin wouldn’t feel awkward, Shallan realized. It can’t be improper or feminine for the prince to be here if the storming Blackthorn decides to attend.

This part has always made my heart happy. Because it’s not just about Dalinar validating Renarin’s societally ‘feminine’ tendencies - which he gets subtly bullied/mocked for during that meeting by one of the other women in attendance. It’s about all of his differences, it’s about Dalinar validating his autistic experience as well, and helping to fit him in to a society that continually rejects and ousts him.

This idea evolves through RoW, however, with Renarin understanding that Dalinar can do things that he won’t be allowed to get away with. Dalinar isn’t so much breaking down barriers with Oathbringer as he is stomping through them because he has enough social privilege to do so, for the most part, unscathed.

Renarin keeps his reading a secret because, even after what Dalinar has done, it’s not going to change things for most men, and certainly not him.

Renarin has learned, throughout his life, that him being different is not going to break down any barriers. People are not going to change their world, or their worldview, for him and his differences. He knows that he has to adapt, and he knows that he won’t be afforded the same luxuries as others.

He’s more comfortable with this now. He’s learning to be himself, and learning that the world won’t fit itself to him, he just has to do what he’s going to do anyway, and find the places where he fits, rather than trying to change the ones where he doesn’t. It’s actually a really beautiful little arc, and I’m strongly tempted to look at it in more depth at some point. Renarin and Dalinar’s dynamic is actually incredibly deep, layerd, and complex, and it’s something I’ve been meaning to look at for a while. HOWEVER. NOW IS NOT THE TIME FOR THAT.

TL;DR: Renarin’s Radiant experience is a direct allegory and parallel to his autistic experience. This is explored and made blatant by canon repeatedly, throughout the series, and Renarin’s experience as a Radiant is clearly a vessel by which Sanderson intends to explore his autism. Stop erasing and ignoring this when you talk about Renarin and analyse his arc. His autism is as intrinsic to this as it is to identity. It’s part of him. Stop erasing it.

I’m not saying you can’t find parallels or comfort in Renarin’s arc as a queer person. I’m just saying you cannot look at it in isolation. As though the text is ONLY making a parallel between his queer identity and his bond. Because it’s very fucking blatantly not. His autism is obviously and canonically tied to his Radiant bond and this is something that MUST be noted whenever you talk about this aspect of Renarin’s character.

Note: if anyone has any questions or comments on this, I am happy to engage and to clarify what I meant/add further detail and supporting evidence for various different aspects. There’s only so much I can cover in one post! For my sanity as well as yours...But there’s absolutely more, and I’m happy to look at that as well.

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the-insomniac-emporium · 3 years

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Bound Blood (Cassandra Dimitrescu/Reader, Soulmate AU) Pt. 4

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: T+ for language, nudity (but, like, for art), and violence Warnings: Unhealthy dynamics, including violence between the shipped pair, leaning heavily into the "enemies" part of "enemies to friends to lovers" Summary: Local vampire discusses art, depictions of certain anatomy, and enjoys the company of her feral soulmate for 4.5 minutes. Then it goes to shit (as things tend to do). 0-60 Real goddamn quick. Previous Chapters: 1: Sharing Is (Not) Caring; 2: Bloodbath, Baby!, 3: Haunt Me Dearly

4: Portraits For Ghosts

“Am I really supposed to just… stay here? Did she honestly think that I, of all people, would behave? The universe gave me two good hands, and by God, I intend to make that someone else’s problem,” you mutter to yourself as you get dressed. It’s not that you necessarily had anything in mind, rather that you hated the idea of waiting around for who knows how long for Cassandra to return. Especially considering what she had done prior to leaving. Sure, you had laughed, but that hadn’t meant much in the end. At this point, you hadn’t even been out of the dungeon for a full day yet, and the memories of what happened there were fresh in your mind. Nightmares, too, even if you had pushed them aside to deal with Cassandra’s. Why did I bother? You wonder, frowning. There was hardly any point to comforting a monster, no matter the way they trembled.

Or at least that’s the lie you sold yourself.

Soon enough, a knock at the door brings you out of your head. Daphne, maybe, you think, remembering the maiden from yesterday. When you open the door, however, you’re met with an unfamiliar woman. She’s a few years your senior, at the very least, and appears surprised to see you. In her hands is a very enticing tray of food.

“Lady Cassandra wanted me to bring this to you. I am… I am glad to see you are feeling better already,” she says, voice shaking. What was with these maidens and assuming you were anything like your soulmate? Though that last part did catch your interest. Something told you that she wasn’t at all referring to your time in the dungeon. If you had learned anything from Daphne, it was that the best way to get information was to be indirect. So you graciously accepted the food, before speaking, dodging your way around your ignorance.

“Yes, it’s amazing what a bit of meditating can do for the soul- and body, that is,” you start, watching closely for any veiled reactions. Even within the first few words you can tell that this stranger wasn’t expecting you to be pleasant. “Out of curiosity, what did my Lady say about my condition? There are, uh, a few details that I hope she did not share. I’m sure you understand.” As soon as the words leave your mouth, the maiden is nodding, appearing eager to satisfy you. Maybe a hint of fear can be useful, after all.

“No worries, Lady Cassandra did well to respect your privacy, and we would not dare question her further. She simply explained, to her family, that you were dealing with a migraine. I only heard this because I was helping serve breakfast,” she explained, smiling softly. You’re quick to nod, mimicking her expression for maximum empathy. “Do you require anything else? I am here to serve, you must only ask.” Ah, perfect. Would she have offered this even if you hadn’t attempted to be charming? Probably, but your politeness certainly didn't hurt.

“Well, there is one thing… as long as it’s no trouble.”

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It had been a risk, asking the servant to take you to a room you weren’t sure existed, but one that had paid off brilliantly. Even if said room was nothing like you had anticipated. Who would have thought that Cassandra, you think, would be an artist? What’s far less surprising is the fact that the studio (or ‘study’, as you had called it) is a disorganized disaster. Discarded papers lie scattered around an overflowing trash can, a cabinet with an attached tool rack is missing pieces, and in one corner there are literally random shards of broken glass lying about. What is this, performance art? Part of you feels tempted to clean up the mess, if only to occupy your time. Instead, you decide to examine some of the pieces within the room. Maybe somehow they’d tell you something noteworthy about your soulmate.

First, you move to your left, where a workbench houses strange sculptures. For the most part they’re abstract, jagged edges contrasting with gentle curves, but there is one you think you understand. It’s very clearly a bust… of someone’s ‘bust’. Guess that solves the age old question of ‘boobs or ass’, you think, stifling a giggle. Moving on, you shift your attention to the exposed section of the cabinet. One row is dedicated to small vials, each labeled with a concerning ‘blood’, despite the fact that it’s clearly not refrigerated. Still, you have heard of artists painting with blood before, but you seem to recall them mixing it with something else. Perhaps Cassandra had done the same? Though you did wonder if she had any difficulty resisting the urge to drink the blood, at least prior to mixing it.

Shrugging, you continue to the other side of the studio, squatting to get a closer look at the broken glass. As expected, there’s no discernable pattern or purpose. Huh, you think, wonder why she doesn’t clean up. Maybe she’s waiting for a servant to do it? Guessing her reasoning was rather difficult, especially considering your lack of context, such as how long the mess had been here. Deciding that this was a pointless distraction, you move on to the only other thing of note in the room: An easel, in the center, with a canvas nearly as tall as yourself. So far, there’s little on it other than pencil lines, a sketch marking where to paint certain details. Only the (start of) the background has been colored. Understandably, it’s hard to make out what exactly the finished project would end up representing. Based on what you know of Cassandra and her family, however, you infer that this- with four figures, one larger than the others, protective- is a painting of the castle residents.

“Family means something to you, hmm?... I hope that mine does not miss me much, for I will never see them again,” you say to yourself, instinctively reaching out towards the art. Before you can touch it, or think better of it, the door to the studio is flying open. In storms Cassandra, fists clenched at her sides. As soon as she sees you, she’s rushing forward, pulling you away from the easel. “Hello, darling. Glad to see me feeling better, yes?” You teased, smiling wide at her. Feeling a bit emboldened by your earlier success, you go a step further, leaning in to give her a quick kiss on the cheek.

“I swear to fuck, if you touched any of my stuff-” Cassandra starts to say, intentionally ignoring the kiss, even though her cheeks get flush at the contact.

“Nope, not a single thing. Not even the broken glass. Nice touch, by the way, makes the whole space feel a helluva lot cozier,” you interject. For a few moments she holds you by your shirt collar, staring you in the eyes as if determining whether or not to believe you. Somehow, some way, she declares you innocent, releasing you with an irritated sigh. After pretending to dust yourself off, you return your attention to the central canvas. “Do you do a lot of art of your family? I passed by several pieces on my way here, though they were certainly in a different style.” Another pause, with Cassandra waiting for you to spring a verbal trap.

“Some of those are mother’s work,” she answers, tentatively, eying you closely. When you merely nod in reply, expecting her to elaborate, she starts to relax, little by little. “I doubt you passed any of mine. Mother tends to keep those closer to her quarters, or near the main entrance.” Interesting, you think, why hasn’t she addressed my original question?

“It sounds like she’s very proud of you,” you muse, still facing away from your soulmate. There’s a slight shakiness to your voice, as your mind starts to dwell on memories of your own family. Perhaps noticing this, Cassandra takes a few steps closer, one hand hovering over your shoulder, not quite sure if you needed (or perhaps deserved) any comfort. In this moment, you feel far more vulnerable than you had the day before. Taking a deep breath, you try to center yourself, before perfectly ruining whatever trust you had just established with Cassandra. “Something tells me she doesn’t know about the titty sculpture though, right? Can’t quite imagine that one being displayed where everyone can see it.”

To your immense surprise, Cassandra gives you a blank stare.

“You… you really don’t know anything about my mother, do you?” She says, after several awkward seconds. It feels strange to think that she had been furious, merely a handful of minutes ago. “If you actually behave for a while, I can show you some of her favorite pieces around the castle. Then maybe you’ll understand.” Intrigued, you debate how exactly to respond. On one hand, you did want to see the art, but on the other hand… misbehaving was your goal of the day.

“Sounds like a nice date to me. Why not start the tour right now?” You suggest, hoping to meet your ‘politeness quota’ earlier rather than later. Still, it is in your very nature to be chaotic, and you find yourself giving Cassandra an affectionate shoulder touch. It’s not at all genuine, but the two of you blush nonetheless. How could you not, when your blood was bound together, hearts made to race in sync?

“Don’t get friendly with me,” Cassandra stammers, unadjusted to the way her pulse pounded. “This isn’t a date. We’re just- it doesn’t matter, actually. As long as it means getting you out of my studio, I don’t care.” With that said, she takes your hand in her own, pulling you towards the exit. If she has any feelings about the soft touch, she hides them well… unlike yourself. Cheeks flushed, you’re half tempted to yank yourself out of her grip, hating the way your heart skips a few beats. Would I still feel this way if I didn’t know we were soulmates? You wonder, biting your lower lip to prevent any unwanted comments from slipping out. Soon enough you’d have art aplenty to distract yourself with. Hopefully.

---------------------------

“My God, you were not kidding. I don’t- I can’t even think of anything clever to say,” you chime, staring dumbfounded at the several statuettes of naked women. They seemed to fulfill some other purpose, one you couldn’t parse at the moment, but you could hardly think about the details right now. “I mean, good for your mother, for sticking to a theme, I suppose,” you continue, tripping over your own tongue, uncharacteristically quiet. Clearly amused by your flustered display, Cassandra lets out a hearty laugh.

“Good to know some things can shut you up. I’ll have to keep this in mind for next time you bother me,” she teases, light-heartedly. Her words only fluster you more, though they quickly give you room to counter, much to your joy.

“Is that so? Planning on carrying around a busty bust for the rest of your life, or thinking of going the more au naturel route?” You asked, briefly sticking your tongue out at Cassandra. It takes her a moment to understand what you’re getting at, but as soon as she does she’s smacking your arm with an offended huff. Despite her irritation, the blow is relatively soft, and you swear you can see her fighting to hide a smile. “Starting to go soft on me, are you? I hardly even felt that one.”

“So you’d prefer I hit you harder? And to think you called me kinky,” Cassandra fires back, without a hint of hesitation. Now both of you are laughing, softly, like old friends sharing fond memories. It’s… weirdly nice. A warmth fills your chest, even as you try to remind yourself that you shouldn’t be happy right now. Damn it, you think, suddenly frowning, hands clenching. We shouldn’t be having fun banter, back and forth like a real couple. Not when I’ve still got wounds from her hands on my skin. Instinctively you reach up to your face, thumb running over the marks Cassandra’s nails had left behind. The touch stings, bad, no matter how gentle you try to be. Noticing your shift in expression, your soulmate inches closer. “If your wounds are bothering you, I can have one of the servants get more ointment or whatever it is we have around. I don’t want you to-... There’s no reason for you to suffer more than you need to, besides, I don’t want you complaining all day.” Of course she couldn’t bring herself to imply that she cared. Of course. It wasn’t like the two of you were actually capable of being soft for each other, obviously. All of your confusion melts down, boiled by the warmth in your chest, turning to a familiar, albeit painful, rage.

“Right, right! Because you care so fucking much, yeah? What the fuck am I doing? Why am I-” you jab a finger towards her chest, accusatory- “talking to you? Why am I pretending you're not the one who did this to me? You’re the fucking reason my face hurts, my shoulder hurts, my brain-... I can’t stop thinking about everything that happened down there. I can’t get those goddamn images out of my head, every time I close my eyes, every time I look at you. I…” You trail off, chest heaving a little, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. Cassandra’s standing tall, unflinching, but there’s a noticeable regret in her expression.

“What. Are. You… going to do about it?” She asks, through clenched teeth, fighting back the full force of her emotions. You can’t tell what exactly she’s feeling, but you know that you want her to show you. Every part of you is itching for a fist fight, regardless of how stupid you know the idea is.

“Depends, dickwad, on whether or not these statuettes are properly secured,” you snap, already moving, fully abandoning all impulse control. By the time your hand grips the first sculpture, Cassandra has put you in a headlock, forcefully tugging you backwards. Panic sets in, making you try to jam your elbows into her stomach. Before long both of you are tumbling to the floor, bodies already aching, limbs flailing wildly in an attempt to hit a target, any target. In the end the air is knocked from your lungs as your head smacks against the ground. “Shit, shit, shit,” you grumble, coughing, finally processing just how much of a dumbass you were. It’s clear that at least one of the previous day’s wounds has reopened, and you feel something wet and sticky on your shirt.

“Finished, asshole?” Cassandra wheezes, sounding dazed, roughly pulling you up by your shirt collar. You nod, refusing to meet her gaze. Then she’s sighing in relief, letting you lean on her for support, holding you surprisingly close, considering the circumstances. “Let’s get you cleaned up. Again…”

#cassandra dimitrescu x reader #cassandra dimitrescu #resident evil: village #re8 village #enemies to friends to lovers #blunt teeth sharp tongue #got some fun banter in this one!#followed immediately by heartbreak #they want to be soft so bad #but they do not know how #i promise they will eventually be soft #you have to remember that this is still less than 24 hours after part 1 #the reader is traumatized

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young-dumb-and-vaccinated · 3 years

Text

The Cult Girl (Hannibal x Female!Reader) pt. 8

Sorry if this one is a bit shorter. I didn't want to make part 7 insanely long so I just split the story in a way that made sense to me. Y/n lets Hannibal take care of the mess and narrowly avoids a mental breakdown in a CVS.

Trigger warning: blood, violence, gaslighting, ⚠️emetophobia⚠️

You stood up from your seat, your brain refusing to process what just happened.

"Oh look." You said, pointing down. "Her face landed in the glass and there's blood everywhere."

Hannibal casually glanced over the table. The ends of his mouth turned up slightly. "So there is."

The reality of the situation was just starting to set in. You took a deep breath in, expecting to scream, but nothing came out. Instead, you finished your glass of wine.

Noticing your distress, Hannibal crossed the floor and took a knee beside her. He pressed his fingers against her neck.

“She’s alive.” He assured you. “For now.”

You didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed, and the indecision made you panic even more. “So what do we do now? What do I do now?”

“Well,” Hannibal stood up. “She’s pretty severely concussed and losing a lot of blood. We could call an ambulance. With proper medical care and immediate action, she’ll probably live.”

You froze in your spot and stared blankly off into the distance. You didn’t feel overly compelled to call for help. You were too overwhelmed with emotion to move much, anyway. You felt your soul leaving your body.

“...But I take it by your inaction,” Hannibal piped up. “That you’re open to an alternate plan?”

“Huh?” You snapped out of your trance.

Hannibal closed the space between you. He cupped your face in his hand, his thumb running comfortingly along your cheek. “Do you trust me?”

You didn’t fully know what you were agreeing to, but you didn’t care. “Of course I do.”

“Then listen to me very carefully, [Y/N].” Hannibal’s voice hardened with severity. “Go upstairs and change back into your day clothes. Then, I want you to drive to the pharmacy and withdraw some cash from the ATM. Then stay in the store until I call you, understood?”

You nodded.

“Go now.” He ordered, pulling away from you.

You sprinted up the stairs, tore off your gown and pulled the nearest pair of pants over your legs in one fluid motion. You grabbed a shirt and a hoodie hanging over a chair and snatched up your car keys. In a moment, you were out the door and behind the wheel, speeding away from the crime scene.

The pharmacy was the only place open so late at night. You pulled into the parking lot and selected one of the many vacant spots. You took your key out of the ignition and prepared yourself for an onslaught of emotion. But it didn’t come.

You sat in the driver’s seat, replaying the scene in your head over and over again. One second, the bottle was in your hand, the next, it was breaking every bone in Theresa’s face. You could have very well taken a life that day. But it wasn’t an innocent person on the road, it was Theresa. The same Theresa that put Nair in her sister’s shampoo and lobbied against child labor laws. And she died the way she lived; running her stupid mouth, waiting for someone to shut her up.

You were more terrified of Hannibal's response than anything else. He seemed too enthusiastic to cover your tracks for you. Like he was returning to some favorite game he hadn't picked up in a while.

You shuffled across the parking lot to the ATM. Why did Hannibal need cash? Was he going to pay someone off? He didn't specify how much he needed. Was $100 enough to bribe the police? You settled on $100.

The bright fluorescent lights scalded your eyes. You needed to look like you were there for a reason. Grabbing a basket, you tried to distract yourself by going through the shopping list for your apartment.

Toilet paper, hand sanitizer, and body wash. Pilar is allergic to coconut oil so we need to check the ingredients. You found yourself narrating the shopping list in your head, even though it was one you ran down hundreds of times. You knew which brand of body wash to get Pilar, but you were grabbing random soaps and thumbing through the ingredients anyway.

On your way to the cough syrups, you felt a terrible pain in your stomach. You caved around the pain, regretting devouring that pot-au-feu so quickly. When you opened your eyes again, you saw them: the pregnancy tests.

No. You said to yourself. I am not going to keep Theresa alive by letting her get into my head.

As if on cue, another pang of pain reverberated from your core. It was bad enough Theresa had you doubting your memories, now she had you doubting your own body. She couldn’t possibly know your own body better than you, and she was out of line to suggest so.

But, whether you wanted to accept it or not, Theresa had planted the seed in your brain. You wanted so badly to claw it out with your bare hands. The most painless route, though, was to purchase one of those tests and prove her wrong.

In the meantime, you assured yourself she was wrong. You hadn't missed a day of birth control since the tenth grade. Regardless, the pregnancy test in your basket weighed a ton.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket, sending you flying out of your skin. The lone cashier took notice.

"You okay, miss?"

You nodded, though you were so clearly not okay. With a trembling hand, you brought the phone up to your ear. "Hello?"

"It's safe now, darling." Hannibal said. "You can come home."

He said it so candidly, it was obvious that he'd done it before.

"Okay, baby, I'll see you at home." You answered, a little too loudly. As the words left your mouth you felt stupid. You'd never once called Hannibal 'baby' and you sure as hell weren't gonna start today.

You brought your items to the cashier, the pain in your stomach worsening. You made a point to waddle back to the medicine aisle and grab some painkillers before the cashier could finish ringing everything up.

By the time you were back behind the wheel, you were fighting the urge to drive off a cliff. The pain in your stomach was unbearable and you had no idea where it was coming from. It had to be psychosomatic. Your body was compensating for the shortcomings of your brain. You knew you were supposed to feel guilty but you just didn't, and your body was punishing you for it.

At home you were clutching the toilet, vomiting your guts out. Hannibal was at your side, gently stroking your hair. Again, acting as candidly as if he were nursing a hangover.

"I'm so sorry." You croaked, lifting your head from the toilet. "I don't know what this is. I didn't even drink that much."

"Don't apologize." He said, calmly. He stood up, filled a glass with water and offered it to you. "You're overwhelmed. It's natural."

"You say this like you've done this before." You joked, though you knew you were right. You clutched the glass with both hands, the coolness feeling good against your hot skin.

Hannibal took a knee beside you. His finger found a blade of your hair and tucked it behind your ear. "Now, we're not going to tell anyone about this, are we?"

He was fully aware of how intimidating he really was.

"I would never." You traced an x over your heart. "Swear on my grandfather's grave."

"Good girl." He traced your jawline with his finger. "Your intuition is as sharp as ever, I see."

You took a long sip of water. "Huh?"

"Don't insult your own intelligence, you know what I mean."

"You've hidden bodies before." You inferred, sitting up.

"I've done more than hide bodies, love, and I think you know that." Hannibal corrected.

Your first instinct was to stand up and get more wine, but moving too fast made you dizzy. "...so did it hurt?"

Hannibal raised an eyebrow. "I beg your pardon?"

"When Theresa died." You said, quietly. "Did she hurt at all?"

This pleased and surprised him to hear. "No. She was so heavily concussed, I doubt she felt anything."

You frowned. "Damn."

"Did you have something else in mind?"

Theresa's last words rung over in your head. 'I didn't think you had it in you'. The thoughts flooding your mind, about how Theresa would go were it up to you, assured you that you did in fact have it in you.

"I would have liked to see her suffer a little." You muttered under your breath.

"I'll keep that in mind for next time." He smiled and offered you his hand. "Come on, love. Let's get you cleaned up."

#hannibal lecter #hannibal nbc #hannibal x reader #hannibal x you #mads mikkelsen #cult girl

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vidavalor · 3 years

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Can we talk about how Sam is as useless at this as Bucky is, really, and it’s massively sweet?

Yeah, I’m writing about Sam because we all love us some brainwashed, century-old assassin endless array of hurt/comfort here but this idea that Sam, because he’s a therapist and not always a crying, nightmare-sweat-drenched mess, is Captain Got It All Together is not truth... because this poor broken-hearted kitten absolutely does not and it makes him so much more of a better-realized, fuller character...

I’m not trying to wade any ship wars here or any fandom strife over the Bucky slant to fic/sometimes erasure of Sam here... I love both of these characters equally and ship them but my point here is that I think that because Bucky’s trauma is more well-documented and, for lack of a better word, “flashier”, that some people might think Sam looks perfectly well-adjusted. By comparison, he probably is but this other, quieter story happening with Sam is necessary reading here if you’ve been sleeping on the complexities of one Sam Wilson that aren’t the ones the show is focusing on more explicitly relating to his lived experience as a Black man in America. (They’re not completely separate either but not only this part of his life.) What do I mean, exactly?

Been wondering how these two are falling in love but can mainly just get it from Bucky’s POV because Sam is awesome and Bucky is sad and need love? Not sure what Sam is getting out of his relationship with Bucky? Not totally sure you ship it but leaning that way? Yeah, pull up a seat because this thing I wrote after Ep 5 here (so spoilers through that) is basically an old-school ship manifesto at this point but comes at SamBucky/WinterFalcon from Sam’s side, rather than Bucky’s. (I have nothing *against* Bucky. I just think you’re missing half the goodness of this show and half the surprisingly tender romance of all of this if you are not focusing on Sam as much as Bucky.) If this interests you, then read on, being forewarned that it’s a little long...

So... Sam Wilson is a sweet, kind, warm-hearted, empathetic, drop-dead gorgeous superhero soldier flying military veteran therapist... whom the canon suggests is Bucky Barnes-level obsessed with his dead former partner (in some sense of the word), Riley. You thought it was just Bucky with the angsty past love? Oh no... oh, no no no....

Consider that Sam’s been back in Delacroix twice now in TFATWS and not once has his sister-- who adores him and who knows everyone in town-- suggested that she call up any one of the at least ten decent single people she has to know who live in the area to take her f*cking *dreamboat* of a brother out. Forget the show putting Sam in like twelve pieces of canon and not throwing a single human (not named Bucky) at him and what that implies-- we all know that Sarah wouldn’t care what kind of human her brother was attracted to and yet she and the entire community of Delacroix can’t seem to find this guy a date. He’s sweet and hot and an Avenger but our Sam’s a monk, you guys... More to the point... they don’t even try. They know better than to try anymore... which says a lot.

Going back awhile now, when Sam met Steve, he was still this equally dreamy and he didn’t even have any Avengers-related problems getting in the way of his potential dating life. He had a normal job working for the VA in DC. Yet, he clearly was seeing exactly no one and while I am willing to admit that pretty much any human would drop everything and follow Steve Rogers around the world, it’s clear that Sam wasn’t seeing anyone at the time because his life was able to be dropped in a second and he also had that file with Riley’s photo at the ready, man. At. the. ready...

He responded to the opportunity to follow Steve with no less need when it came to his own post-trauma-of-war identity as Bucky does. This isn’t to say that Sam is *as* lost as Bucky because it would be hard to out-do the once-brainwashed assassin who has been alive for a hundred years but Sam saw all sorts of hell. He’s a therapist for veterans because he’s had to get beyond *his own* PTSD and he’s really aware of how that is a journey that doesn’t exactly ever end. It gets significantly better and he knows how well it can-- that’s why he can tell Bucky that there is hope of that-- but it is very clear that Sam Wilson is still suffering his own kind of PTSD and his own grief for the death of a guy who likely couldn’t love him the way he needed him to.

I know we don’t know a ton about exactly what Sam and Riley were but I think there is enough to infer that they probably actually weren’t a couple. For one thing, Sarah never mentions him and even if the show wanted to be vague about things, they could phrase it like “it’s been forever since you brought back someone to the house, haven’t met any of them since Riley” or something. There are ways to infer that they were a thing and the nature of it, if the show wanted to do that but all they have suggested so far is that Sam was in love with Riley. We know he and Riley were friends and worked on the Falcon suit project together but what we are getting out of what they are giving to us is that Sam loved him but it’s not clear that they were even a couple. I’d even say the picture of them that he shows Steve and Natasha is supposed to evoke that they weren’t a couple-- it’s of Sam looking at Riley, smiling like he’s the moon and the stars, while Riley is smiling but just a bit and he’s looking at the camera, not at Sam.

In other words, remember Miller’s analogies from school? Sam is to Riley as Bucky is to Steve. I just offended every person reading this who thinks that Steve and Bucky weren’t an unrequited thing *ducks* but I feel like we’re supposed to take from what they give us that Sam knows a little something about being mad for a guy who thinks you are his best buddy but doesn’t look at you in a romantic or sexual way and you feel like you’re dying over it. Sam gets Bucky because Sam *is* Bucky when it comes to this.

If Sam and Riley were just the best of friends, Sam still would have mourned him greatly but it would not necessarily have impacted his love life the way it seems like it might have. I’m not necessarily saying there was no one but this is a man who even when it felt like Steve Rogers-- whom Sam obviously found attractive-- seemed like he was making Sam question whether or not he was coming onto him or just super-nice and making a new fellow veteran friend... even when that was happening, Sam’s response was that he didn’t hate it or anything and he was willing to help Steve with what he needed in this friendly, advice-giving sort of way and maybe they had a thing, who knows, but it was clear that Sam-- a guy who has to be hit on *all the time*-- wasn’t really used to the idea of there being someone in his life. So, he wasn’t letting anyone into his life. He would have had the chance, no doubt. He was choosing not to. Why would you choose not to? If you were grieving the loss of a man you couldn’t get over and you thought that you weren’t ever going to love anyone like that and maybe having someone wasn’t going to happen for you.

Like, imagine Sam’s surprise when The Winter Soldier turns up, nearly kills them all, disappears and they go on the run and he starts hearing Steve’s confessional stories about the guy who was his best friend and in love with him and Steve has literally never said those words aloud because they’re from the *1940s* and he’s felt guilty all this time for hurting him. Steve’s the kind of guy who would feel guilty for not being in love with someone who was in love with him. That’s when Sam, who thought he had more in common with Steve, realizes he’s actually *Bucky Barnes* in this story. He’s the damn Winter Soldier in the Steve-and-Bucky version of him and Riley.

That is how Bucky evolves from “the kind of guy you have to stop” in Sam’s mind to the guy he’s hanging out with in every fight and snarking over the car seats with. He’s like yeesh, I thought I had a few years of this ungodly pain and that was bad... this poor bastard’s been in love with a Riley who could and probably will live until he’s a hundred and thirty. Sam starts getting into this whole antagonist origin story of The Winter Soldier here because he realizes that one wrong move-- one case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time-- and he could have been captured during the war he was in. He could have been tortured like that, so easily, and he knows what it’s like to be tortured by love in that way.

Bucky, for his part, when he begins to get his mind back and more fully remember Steve and his past, takes one look at Sam and is thinking like... that poor SOB... oh, look, it’s 21st Century Me. So, you fell for Steve Rogers, huh? Welcome to the club. We meet every Tuesday at two to discuss being the pining best friend in love with a guy who, in all likelihood, is attracted to both of us but unless Tony Stark can shake loose a bit of the freak in The Star-Spangled Man With a Plan, we’re not getting anything but a most earnest and sincere friendship out of this (and if Stark can’t, no one can....)

Like, Bucky’s Steve love is pretty pure. He wants him to be happy. He’s hurt that Steve doesn’t love him the way he loves Steve but he does love him as his best friend as well and wants him to have what he wants out of life. If that’s going back in time to Peggy Carter (who wouldn’t, really?) and leaving him behind then, fine. He wishes he were still here but he’ll deal but he’s going to be keeping an eye out for the other guy left behind-- Steve’s new modern era best friend person. Bucky’s so gone over keeping Steve safe that he can’t even resent Sam’s presence-- he’s thrilled he exists. Someone good to look after Steve when Bucky couldn’t! Sam Wilson is heaven sent and must be protected at all costs! So frequently from some kid with webbed fingers, apparently!

Sam, meanwhile, is challenged by the dilemma that Bucky appears to think that they’re in the same boat while Sam, who for sure had a little crush on Steve as who doesn’t, has really come to realize that he is far, far more into the tragic one here. He’s so irritated about it. It would be simpler if he just fell for another blond soldier with red, white and blue blood who couldn’t love him. At least he’d just be completely hopeless then but the brainwashed one? The one that thinks he’s horrid but is so good that he can’t even bring himself to be that jealous of Sam when he clearly thinks Sam is sleeping with the guy he’s loved for years?

Oh, Sam’s gone on that one...

Bucky’s still a mess then so it’s harmless enough to just pretend he’s not writing himself into touch-starved Bucky fanfic in his own mind here but when Bucky keeps saving him in different fights? When he catches him looking once or twice. When the bickering is really flirting and Sam knows he means it that way, too? When the poor guy just gets his mind back, they all reunite and go to one battle and then the two of them disappear and miss *five years* of their lives? When then, soon after, Steve is gone, too?

When it begins to feel like *they* are now the story and meant to go through the rest of these things together? I mean, when everyone else is all on about the fate and destiny of it all-- Stark’s big sacrifice being the one way to save everyone, Doctor Strange going on about all the possibilities of the universe on a saving the world level but it so personal to the people Sam and Bucky know, Steve choosing to go back in time because he can and be with the woman he loved and never got to have...

...standing there in the funerals and aftermaths of all of this together, by virtue of being Steve’s Friends Who Aren’t Really Part of This Gang Exactly... are Sam and Bucky. What are the odds that they are supposed to be the rest of one another’s story? Sam was wondering it. He for sure hadn’t felt like this since Riley... he might not have really ever felt it at all before.

Can we just admit that while there’s been some guys in the past-- and it could be rephrased as ‘some people’, as while Sam is written to suggest he’s at least into men, he could be into people who don’t identify as men as well-- but there’s not been someone who has been able to love him the way he’s loved them.

He’s from the South and Black and the show taps into the racism he’s been through as a result. Not obviously in Delacroix, where he feels safe and seen, where people care about him and don’t care that he is not straight, but in other parts. He’s been in the military, where homophobia is still pretty rampant and it’s a culture of a lot of heterosexual machismo. (Hell, the show even has a kind of walking, talking example of a guy everyone knows was the epitome of that kind of culture, even if he’s been broken by that world, too-- John Walker.) It’s not even really clear if Sam is out and, if he is, to whom. He seems to be the kind of person to want to be himself as much as possible and Sarah likely knows because they are close but I’m not so sure that a lot of Sam’s military buddies actually did. He really strikes me as the guy who gets along with everybody and whom everybody loves-- but whom few people actually *know* because he keeps himself (all of himself, not just his sexuality) private from others...

...which is also a hell of a lot like one Bucky Barnes.

Guaranteed they became such fast friends not just from being sort of left with one another in the aftermath of Steve and their attraction but because Sam was amazed to find that Bucky was actually pretty funny and Sam just kept talking to him because while he has-- or had, anyways, before he ran off with Steve-- a ton of people he’d consider friends, he doesn’t really have anyone he’d consider to be a close friend and hasn’t since Riley. Bucky, just still stunned to be free of mind control and that there was another human being talking to him instead of looking at him as a weapon to program to kill, was eager to listen to and absolutely thrilled when he could find something sarcastic to say to make Sam laugh that surprised laugh and light up.

These two damaged couple of guys spent most of this show and the months before it just terrified by how much love they were feeling for one another and were very happy to let any conflict they could get in the way of it-- any excuse to claim they weren’t feeling totally seen and run for the hills back into their own trauma.

It’s not just Bucky doing this. He might have been the one not returning the texts at the start, the one who seemed to be withdrawing more, while Sam was texting him still to check in on him but how quickly that began to flip around by Episode 5.

Suddenly, the brave one is Bucky. It was Sam for the first few episodes-- he was stil trying and so hard, despite not getting what he needed in return and Bucky still sending signals that he wanted him but was happy to still revel in being too damaged and scared to try harder. By Episode 5, though? Bucky’s not only learned to trust himself again, it is proven to be what he was afraid of: not being able to protect and love Sam the way he wanted to and that Sam would leave him. Triggered by the shield as a metaphor for not caring about Bucky, not having a reason to still pursue him, Bucky thought he had successfully pushed Sam away and that Sam would really stop texting because to not do so would be to admit to one another that they wanted to be around one another and this wasn’t just about Steve/Captain America. By Episode 5, Bucky shows up in Delacroix not perfect by any stretch of the imagination but with eyes only for Sam and is every one of Sam’s favorite Bucky Barnes fantasies come to life.

It’s now Sam flipping out. Would you have expected the Sam of the first two episodes to be a babbling mess in the face of a flirty Bucky stretching and claiming it’s time for him to go get a hotel room? To try to be playing it cool but winding up asking him to stay forever and telling him he likes his tight t-shirts in the middle there? To get so nervous that he suddenly is babbling about six toes and flirting with Sarah, showing how jealous he was of Bucky just... smiling and being this guy Steve had said was under there but that Sam had only had small glimpses of so far? If he was gone for the broken Winter Soldier... he’s wrecked by a single smile from this Bucky.

This is the same guy who spent the first few episodes confident to a point of near-cockiness, loving flirting with and teasing Bucky, the one that seemed more well-adjusted and in control of himself. Overall, he is but there’s something there when Bucky shows up and White Wolfs Sam into a sputtering mess who is sending him little glances, as if they’ve switched bodies from the first few episodes. It shows *just how much* Sam is comfortable with Bucky and how rare it is for him because he would react differently to Bucky’s more overt flirting of Episode 5 if how he is with Bucky was his default in life. Instead, we see that some of it is posturing-- it’s the Sam equivalent of lifting heavy things and using power tools. His is the humor (what’s a better aphrodisiac than making the Winter Soldier laugh or flirt back or blush?) and the bicker-caring. We even see where it comes from, in a way. Sam is a soldier-- he knows how to help other traumatized soldiers and when we saw him in his VA group session when we met him, we saw him using that kind of machismo world and its language to communicate with the soldiers in the group. The difference for him with them versus him with Bucky is that he’s also flirting with Bucky. The buddy cop thing is intentional-- it’s Sam’s strategy, it’s been Bucky’s choice to respond to it and they’re playacting it as how they talk because it’s been easier than admitting that they are completely gone on another and just want all the soft things.

Up until recently anyway and now Sam’s reeling from a man he’s fallen in love with showing up and loving him back. Don’t think for a second that Bucky doesn’t know enough by now to know that it’d totally undo Sam but the surprise of it to the audience only really exists if you don’t think Sam and Bucky have anything in common besides their now-gone mutual friend. In reality, they’re endgame.

#tfatws #sam wilson #sambucky #bucky barnes #thefalconandthewintersoldier #marvel #bucky #buckysam #winterfalcon

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jalaluvsu · 3 years

Text

Interference

https://beautiful-disasters-sunshine.tumblr.com/post/631749044177403904/what-if-marinette-was-tims-little-sister-who-was

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“Y’know, just ‘cause Kori’s got a baby coming doesn’t mean you can boss us around Robin,” Beastboy whined as he stepped out of the Zeta Tube.

He scoffed at the notion, “That’s literally exactly what I can and will do, you absolute buffoon.”

“Oh, shutup.”

He sighed. There isn’t ever a moment where Garfield doesn’t wish Starfire still led the Titans. The past three weeks have gone by at an agonizingly slow pace, filled with never ending fights between him and Damian. And! Before you get the wrong impression, no, he did not start these fights. In fact, he was practically the one getting attacked!

Really, what’d you expect him to do when Damian insulted tofu during dinner at the Waynes’? Smile and wave?

Laughable.

Garfield will tell you what happened after, whether he’s proud is a matter of who asks. Let’s just say Alfred’s put him on a month-long ban from the dining room at the manor; worth it, nonetheless.

“Beastboy, earth to Beastboy,” He heard Raven chant over comms. Oh, right, the mission.

“Reporting for duty!” he saluted obediently, like the responsible hero he is.

“Stop standing there and you know, actually read the coordinates I sent to your navigator,” he grinned at her snark as he pulled out his compact. A hefty amount of unchecked notifications was in its wake.

Automated message coupons from the local pizza place at Jump City (hell yeah!)

Missed calls from Terra, he faltered at the offending contact; as if he would respond. The time for that has passed, long passed.

He scrolled down the small screen as he flitted his gaze past the hundreds of junk mail. Ah, and lastly, one lengthy preview of information regarding the mission. The text listed an address along with...enrollment details? Huh.

Garfield glanced both ways before crossing the busy street; him previously being in the too-bright alleyway.

Okay, see, he knows what you’re thinking. Someone like him- or rather someone who looked like him, would stick out like a sore thumb. Especially in a place like Paris. How common were metahumans here? Probably not as high as the rate in Metropolis, that’s for sure.

There were only so many green colored people, and a good ninety-nine percent was or is associated with heroes (vigilantes, fine) or even aliens. That being said, he was keeping it on the down-low. In Paris, he wasn’t the cool, collected, and most desired by all Garfield Logan. In Paris, he was just Grant Roth. What? It’s a good cover! And he was planning on taking Raven’s surname eventually anyways. (wink wink, nudge nudge)

A few spells and enchantments via Magical Goth Gf ™ prior to his ride in the tubes later; he practically looked uncanny to his appearance before the whole ‘failed experiment injection’ thing. You know, a mop of auburn hair, pale as paper skin, and cutesy little freckles (Blue Beetle’s words, not his) (Okay, maybe it was his too..)

Garfield pulled out his pocketed compact once he safely made it across the street. Now that he gave more than a glance at the address it looked...short. In fact, it was vague, extremely vague. He discreetly looked around for any eavesdroppers and lowered his voice to a whisper as he walked down the 21st arrondissement.

“Uh, guys? Where exactly am I supposed to go?”

He hated not knowing how to do something he was expected to, incredibly so.

“I was hoping you’d dispose of your body there,” he paused, "but since you asked so nicely, we’ll tell you.” Robin chimed in matter-of-factly.

Garfield could practically feel the next set of words. He didn’t know what they were, but they were going to suck. He just knew it.

Raven took a long swig of coffee before announcing the dreaded news, “We’ve signed you up for a foreign exchange student program,”

Ah,

“You what?!” he shrieked. A couple of onlookers gave him dirty glances, he smiled sheepishly.

Blue Beetle toggled his audio, “C’mon Gar-“ Robin interrupted,

“No names on field!”

“Shutuuuuup,” he drawled out.

“Anyways, Beastboy,’’ cue pointed glare at Robin,’’ did you really think we’d let you roam around without a leash for what? Three months? In a foreign country of all places?” Garfield could practically hear the smirk in his voice, the fucker.

“I was hoping, yeah!” Damn. He thought he would get away with them actually trusting him here alone, wishful thinking on his part.

He pouted at the idea as he scouted for a place to lounge in.

Raven huffed, “You’ll be living with a host family during your stay at Paris, if it wasn’t clear enough already.”

He froze; what other surprises were up their sleeves?!

“C’mon, be real for a sec. I’m a superhero, I don’t need to go to public school, I don’t need a couple of strangers!” he stressed as he weaved between crowds of Parisians.

Ooh, a bench. He sat with the intent of winning this argument, no matter the consequence. So what if he looked crazy, supposedly talking to himself? Priorities people, priorities.

“Doom Patrol’s strict orders, you know, ‘cause they can’t homeschool you a whole continent away,” Jamie deadpanned.

Garfield dragged a hand down his face. Stupid Doom Patrol, stupid worrying for his wellbeing. “But- it’s a mission!” he gestured rapidly, in clear exasperation.

Jaime tsked, “And? Gotta keep that brain of yours in tip-top shape, amigo!”

“Whatever, man;” he got up to dust himself off, “still don’t know how that’s related to the address on the Seine but- “

“They live there, your host family,” Raven supplied.

Garfield scratched his chin in wonder. Who lives in a body of water? That’s so- Wait. His friends were totally holding out on him!

“You guys didn’t tell me I’d be staying with Aquaman! That makes this ten times better!”

What were the chances that the man himself was in Paris too? They can bond over sea creatures, and Garfield could show him his animal transformations! This mission wasn’t so bad, it wasn’t bad at all. He had an extra skip in his step as he pranced down the pavement.

“Are you entirely brain dead?” Robin audibly face palmed,

”No, you’re not- you know what? Yes, you’re going to be living with Aquaman. At a river. In France,” quiet murmurs along the lines of ‘idiot, and ‘cómo adorable,’ sounded out from his remaining teammates.

“This is gonna be so awesome!” Garfield exclaimed giddily.

He spotted a boulangerie-pâtisserie a couple blocks away. Aha! Time to get him some sweet, sweet, treats. And hopefully, some directions.

“Robin spent weeks doing full analysis on the whole family,” Jaime grinned over the comm.

Raven cut in, “Even though it was incredibly self-destructive, “

Analysis? On the King of Atlantis? Boy, no one was safe from Damian’s wrath.

“Awww. You do care, Robin!” he cooed as he entered the bakery.

Robin gasped, affronted, “Don’t flatter yourself! I needed to make sure you wouldn’t feel obligated to blabber all our secrets, obviously.”

“Better than nothing, I suppose,” Garfield shrugged to himself, but quickly zipped his lips shut once someone came into view.

“The Couffaines are...adequate at best;” he quieted, “well, at least from what I could infer before I was so viciously torn away from my research!” was sniffed hotly.

Couffaines? Was that a code name?

“If I didn’t know any better Robin,” Jaime mused, “I’d think you were taking after Tim, especially with how many late nights you’ve had...”

A beat.

Garfield ignored the squabble taking place in his left ear, opting to chat with the kind looking, lady at the register.

“Hello! What can I do for-“ she looked up from tying her apron,

“Oh! You must be new here; I don’t recognize you,”

Garfield offered his hand, “Hah, yeah! I was just walkin’ around town. I’m Grant, by the way,’’ he silently praised himself for remembering his alias.

She shook it firmly, “Sabine.”

A warm smile was sent his way before she gestured to the variety of sweets on display. His mouth watered at the sight and contemplated his choices, no matter how hard it was. ‘’What would you recommend?’’ he whispered, completely in awe.

Sabine paused to give him a once-over before lighting up. ‘’Well, you don’t strike me as a tart kind of guy so, how do you feel about chocolate?’’

‘’Love it.’’

‘’Great! My husband just put out some fresh Pain Au Chocolates before you came in!’’ Score. His luck hadn’t completely run out.

‘’That sounds fire! I’ll have that,’’ he exclaimed cheerfully.

She blinked at his wording, ‘’Pardon?’’

What? Did she not unders- Oh.‘’Sorry, American slang. It means cool!’’ he rushed out.

She mulled it over, ‘’Ah, okay. Well, coming right up!’’ Sabine opened the glass in search of the Pain Au Chocolates.

“Don’t ever compare me to that insufferable fool, -“

He snickered, “Your brother?”

Robin fumed, “-you complete and utter nincompoop!”

“Now, now, don’t use big boy words on me,” Jaime taunted.

“I’ll show you ‘big boy’ words-! “

Garfield faux scratched his ear in favor of switching off the comm as he watched Sabine bag the treats. He grinned in thanks once handed to him.

“If that’ll be all...?” She trailed off.

He wasn’t really paying any mind as he took a big whiff of the sweets. His thoughts floated over to a haven filled with a never-ending overflow of pastries. Ah, what’s stopping him from staying here forever? A pat on his shoulder, apparently.

“Hm?” Garfield found the petite baker leaning over the counter with a patient smile.

“Sorry, I totally zoned out! Did you say something?” he rubbed his neck bashfully.

She chuckled, “I asked if there’s anything else I could do for you, sweetie.”

If there anything else she could- Right! Yes, he needed to know where the hell he was staying at. Garfield fumbled for his phone, luckily for him he copied the address into his Notes app.

“Yeah actually! Well, not food wise but, I’m here in Paris for,” he blanched momentarily, “uh, an exchange program; and I have a like host family here, right?” he gestured to his voice; the American accent evident.

She nodded.

He continued, “And I don’t really uh, like, know exactly where I’m supposed to meet them. I was wondering if you by chance knew someone who lived on the Seine around here?” Garfield shoveled a croissant into his mouth.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Marinette was a lot of things.

To some she was the sweet bakers’ daughter, insanely witty and clever, granted a bit scatterbrained, but she was your trophy student by all means of the word; to others though, she was someone to be wary of. A classmate’s spew of lies crawling under their skins, itching to be taken into account. Every move watched meticulously, waiting with bated breath for a slip up, for anything to grasp on to.

In simpler terms, Marinette was over it. Over being unable to speak her truth; over being villainized, constantly put under a spotlight. There was already enough on her plate, one of its regulars accumulating to a steadily-rising designer. One of her biggest flexes, if she was being honest; because really, what fourteen year old could say they constructed glasses for the Jagged Stone? Surely not the average bunch.

Oh, and did she mention superheroine? Yeah, she’s a superheroine.

The whole gig was shoved at her face, three months shy of her thirteenth birthday; and by gig she meant a brief guide, a blindingly red polka-dotted suit, a questionable choice of weapon (seriously, a yo-yo?), and an ill-timed partner.

Nonetheless, she worked with what she got. It's kept her alive so far already, why complain now?

She rubbed her eyes with a stifled yawn, ‘’Radiant....Carefree....Dreamy…’’

Marinette slammed the snooze button at the sound of that god forsaken jingle. Christ, she needed to change her alarm. All it did was make her reminisce of her former crush on Adrien Agreste; top teen Parisian model, son of fashion mogul Gabriel Agreste, and current boyfriend of future Olympiad, Kagami Tsurugi. Alas, old habits die hard, and this one was going to crash and burn any time soon; Marinette was sure of it.

A groan sounded out as she flopped to the floor, skillfully ignoring the tinkling laughter coming from her bedside. Ah, who was she kidding? It’d take some sort of absolute miracle to get over him completely. She would end up forever lonely, pining over a taken man, indefinitely getting dropped from position as lead designer for Jagged, friendless, Akumatized, disowned by her parents-

“None of those things are true, and you know it!”

She snapped her gaze up to the floating embodiment of creation, Tikki. Had her friend really thought that, that look could get Marinette to take back her spiel? She looked like an angry kitten for crying out loud!

Her cheeks reddened as she got up and dusted herself off, “Did I say that out loud?”

Judging by the narrowing of the tiny god's eyes, she’d say yes, it was said out loud. Damn, she was not looking forward to a morning lecture about her declining self esteem and her tendency of speaking her mind. Before Tikki could get even a word in, the Just In Case™ alarm for bad mornings went off. She shot the kwami a rueful grin and scurried over to the counter.

“Radian-“ the clock was chucked out of the three story building. Marinette watched from her window as it plummeted to its demise, in a heap of cheap metal and wires. Lovely.

A red blur zoomed to the front of her face, making her go cross-eyed, ‘’Marinette!’’ Tikki frowned shakily, struggling not to smile at her antics.

She shrugged and skipped over to her closet, in search for acceptable clothes,

‘’What? It was getting annoying! And besides, it’s not like it was worth that mu-!’’ They both froze at the pounding of the trap door.

Ugh, couldn’t they wait to bother her later?

‘‘You better get out of there soon, young lady! I don’t want another call from your school added to the list,’‘ Marinette was going to absolutely combust. It sucked enough that barely any of her ‘‘friends’’ stuck around, but Tom and Sabine? Really? Believing some complete stranger over her? It must be the lack of familial relation that makes it sting a bit less. It must.

She groaned tiredly, ‘’Yes, Sabine.’’

Once the descending pattering of her footsteps quieted, Tikki raced over to latch onto Marinette’s cheek. Her bluebell orbs peered up at her, filled with sympathy for her holder. She shook her head at the silent offer to talk; there’s no time for a pity party.

The kwami sighed sadly, before pecking her cheek and floating over to rest on her shoulder. Marinette plastered on an encouraging smile, ‘‘C’mon Tikks’, help me pick out and outfit for today! You know how indecisive I can be,”

After some thinking, they’ve come to the mutual decision of something completely out of Marinette’s alley. Instead of her usual pink capris, floral shirt, blazer, flats, and pigtails; she sported a plaid pleated skirt, a tucked in Queen Bee graphic tee, black two-inch heart buckled platform Mary Janes, and spacebuns. Who knew her wardrobe from Clara Nightingale’s on-set music video would come to use?

She ogled her reflection with a satisfied smirk, yeah, she was hot.

‘’Holy shit, Tikki, if I was still into Adrien,’’ she whistled, ‘’he’d drop to the floor as soon as he saw this; and that’s coming from me!’’

The kwami shook her head good naturedly, ‘’I’m glad you think so. I really like confident Marinette!’’ she nudged her shoulder, ‘’Although, I hope you aren’t doing this for your classmates’ approval...’’

She directed her gaze at Tikki; an other person’s approval? Why would she do something for another person’s approv- Oh. She actually wasn’t that far off.

‘‘Pssh. No, I would never! This is all me baby! The awesome, cool, and Pinterest board version, I mean,’‘ Marinette gave her little friend finger-guns and grabbed her purse. Enough about her, they needed to get to school before she was late again.

‘‘Get in Tikks’, if we wait any longer I’ll be,’‘ she checked the time on her phone, ‘‘like five minutes late to homeroom!’‘

She flitted into the bag as Marinette settled it onto her side. With one last look-over, she was off.

To say she struggled down the stairs was a complete and utter understatement. She almost died, multiple times. Maybe the platform shoes were a bad idea, a very, very, very bad idea. Marinette clutched onto the railing with an inhumane grip that could rival Alya’s on her phone; and that was telling you something.

Once she made it passed the death trap, or rather simply a few steps, she grabbed an espresso and a handful of cookies; the former being for her, and the latter for Tikki. She gave a fleeting wave to Sabine and Tom, not that they gave any mind.

She pulled out her phone, 8:26, she could work with that. Her phone buzzed with a text notification.

(っ◔◡◔)っ ♥ 𝖈𝖍𝖑𝖔𝖊 𝖇𝖔𝖚𝖇𝖎𝖙𝖈𝖍 ♥ ɴᴏᴡ

where the fuck are you

Marinette snorted and slid the cookies into her purse. She unlocked the screen and tapped the message icon.

{𝟖:𝟐𝟕} .•°¤*(¯`★´¯)*¤° 🎀 𝓃𝑒𝓉𝓉𝒾𝑒 🎀 °¤*)¯´★`¯(*¤°•.

wouldnt you like to know weather boy

{𝟖:𝟐𝟪} (っ◔◡◔)っ ♥ 𝖈𝖍𝖑𝖔𝖊 𝖇𝖔𝖚𝖇𝖎𝖙𝖈𝖍 ♥

wow ur so funny im literally laughing so hard rn 😐

{𝟖:𝟐8} .•°¤*(¯`★´¯)*¤° 🎀 𝓃𝑒𝓉𝓉𝒾𝑒 🎀 °¤*)¯´★`¯(*¤°•.

thank you, thank you, im here all night 🖤

Marinette looked both ways before crossing the intersection, Dupont just about a block away. She chugged her now-cold coffee and tossed it in the recycling bin, ‘’Score! And the crowd goes wil-!’’ the atmosphere suddenly stilted.

‘‘Dupain-Cheng,’‘ she swiveled around, and was met with the putrid swamp green slits shes grown to despise.

A snarl rolled off her tongue, ‘’Rossi.’’

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

omg guys so hi. im doing this. im actually doing the thing i said i would do here cuz im a bad bitch. 3k words i think. sorry for any mistakes i literally wrote this while watching pbs kids LMAOOOASODFWOEB @beautiful-disasters-sunshine idk if u still wanna be tagged when i do this kinda stuff but pm me if u dont <3

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rons-hermiones · 3 years

Text

Come Find Me

by rons-hermiones

Summary: Unplanned, Hermione is forced to spend Christmas at the Burrow due to her grandmother falling very ill. After being ignored by Hermione for weeks, Ron is determined to show her how much she means to him. Just before he gets the chance to tell her, Bellatrix Lestrange shows up with other plans for Hermione. Can Ron get to her before it's too late? (Ron/Hermione Half-Blood Prince AU)

Rating: M for language & dark themes in later chapters.

Chapter Two

Ginny slams the door to the sixth years boys dormitories, making Ron jump.

“Have you seen her? Hermione?” He questions, sounding a little broken hearted.

“Don’t do that,” she scathes, “don’t decide now to care.”

A look of hurt washes over him and for a moment the youngest Weasley wishes she could take it back.

“I’ve always cared! Don’t act like I haven’t!” His voice is growing angry.

“Alright then Ronald,” she sounds just like Molly, it makes him shiver, “if you care so much, then where were you when Lav-Lav called Hermione a fat cow last week!”

He didn’t know about that.

“Or that Hermione practically lives in the common room!”

Okay, that one he heard about. He thought it was a lie. Ron even asked Harry, who just shrugged, but in Harry’s defense, he asked while the black haired boy had been looking over the map. So in other words, Harry probably wasn’t even listening.

“Or when Cormac McLaggan groped her after Slughorn’s this weekend! Tore her dress and all!”

That one, he definitely did not know about.

Scrunching a fist, he began making a move for the door, until Ginny blocked his path.

“Move.” He spat.

“Where are you going?” She retorted.

“To kill McLaggen!” He exclaimed seriously.

She rolled her eyes, “don’t bother, Fred and George already helped out with that.”

He shrinks back, “they’re not even at Hogwarts, how’d they know?”

She scoffs, “goes to show how little you care, huh?” Ginny said nastily.

Feeling even more awful then before, if possible, Ron clambered to sit on the edge of his bed.

“I swear Gin, I didn’t know about that. If I did, I would’ve,” he began angrily

Sighing, she stepped over and sat next to him, “I know Ron. I know you care, I shouldn’t have said that.”

“It’s alright, I suppose I deserved it. I didn’t even know about that stuff, so you’re right, says a lot about me.”

Guilt was beginning to seep its way into the back of Ginny’s head. Tears stung her eyes.

“I have to tell you something.” her voice shook.

Ron looked over to her worriedly, Ginny rarely cried.

“I lied to you, that day in the hallway with Dean. I lied.” She confessed.

“What?” He feels like a dementors trying to suck his soul.

“Hermione and Viktor Krum... they never snogged.” She clarified, though Ron could sense she already knew what was coming.

He stood up, clearly ready to yell, before she stopped him, “he kissed her, but Hermione didn’t want him to.” She began.

“Did he...” Ron asked, fists clenching.

“No,” she assured quickly, “nothing like that, he went in and pecked her and she was taken off guard. When he tried again she told him she couldn’t. That there was someone else.”

“Someone else.” He repeats a surge of hope growing inside him, “me?” He dares to question. Feeling a little full of himself for it after.

This was Viktor ruddy Krum they were talking about here. Anyone who picks him, Ron Weasley, over the Bulgarian seeker must be mental.

And just like that, Ginny’s annoyed with him again, “yes Ron, you. Blokes are daft but you give a whole new meaning to the word.”

“Did she tell you that? That it was me?” He knows he sounds pathetic.

“She didn’t have to,” Ginny starts quickly, like it meant nothing, even though to her brother, it was everything, “that’s beside the point. Look, I’m telling you I’m sorry, what I did was wrong, but what you did, what you’re doing, isn’t right either.” She throws his way.

He bows his head, “yeah, your right, I didn’t mean those things about you, you know, getting around and whatnot. It’s just you’re my little sister Gin, it’s kinda hard to see you grow up, makes me feel like I have to do the same.”

Ginny offers a tight lipped smile, “thanks Ron, really, but I wasn’t talking about that.” Her voice is a little softer, “you know what I was talking about.”

He groans. Of course he knew what she really met. Part of him wanted to apologize to his little sister, but another part was avoiding the inevitable.

“I’m not saying you’re not entitled to date anyone, but we both know how wrong it is. You did it just hurt Hermione and you liked hurting her!” Her voice was growing louder.

He stood a little taller, “Oi Ginny! Don’t you ever tell me something like that again! Ever!”

She stepped closer, “it’s true isn’t it? Admit it!” The girl demanded.

“At first it felt good, I felt wanted!” He yelled before he could help himself, a look of disgust coming over his sisters face “I’m not proud of it,” Ron’s tone dropped, “I swear I only felt it for a second. Only after that snog after the match, now, now I feel like the biggest arse on the planet. I swear Ginny, I didn’t know about all that stuff, about the common room, about Lavender, McLaggen.” He barely got out.

“I know you didn’t Ron,” her tone matches his, “but that’s the problem isn’t it? Even if you didn’t feel anything like that for Hermione, she’s still supposed to be your best mate.” Ginny reminds.

He flops back onto the bed. He knows he fucked up. He known it from the moment he saw Hermione’s face that night of the Slytherin match. It was just a lot to take in because someone finally called him out on it rather than dancing around it like Harry and his roommates had been.

“I’ve gotta break up with Lavender.” He states.

Ginny let’s out a humorless laugh.

“I’ve been trying for weeks Ginny, I swear, she makes it bloody hard, can never get a word in with her.” Ron groans.

“You better. If you don’t Fred and George will take the mickey out of you all holiday.” She decides to go easy on him.

At this statement Ron feels a chill run up his spine. He thinks if he’s the center of Lavender taunts for the next few weeks he’ll have to jump off his broom.

They’re silent for a few moment, each reflecting on what just transpired.

Ron speaks first, “I know it’s wrong,” he starts with a gulp, “but I do feel that you know. I do think I lo,”

He’s cut off when the door swings open, causing the pair of siblings to jump to their feet.

“Neville!” Ginny exclaims, she forgot all about Harry’s plan for them.

He keeps over, grasping his knees, “give me a minute.” He gasps.

The red head rolls her eyes, “just tell me where to go. I can’t have you passing out, now can I?”

The brunette smiles gratefully, stepping aside for Ginny to go.

“Where is she?” She asks halfway to the door.

They glance at Ron’s awaiting eyes. The youngest Weasley leans over to Neville, beckoning him to whisper in her ear.

Once he does, she steps back, “I know my way, make sure he doesn’t go anywhere.” She tells lowly, a little worried whether if Neville will be able to contain her brother.

If either boy says anything, she doesn’t hear. Ginny’s running on the path to the potions stock closet, ducking behind a nearby tapestry she knows leads to that particular corridor.

Just as she approaches her destination, she notes the door cracked a little as voices float from it.

“I’ll just stay here. I can’t go.” She hears Hermione’s voice admit sadly.

“Can’t go where?” She asks before she can help herself, barging into the room.

The sight of Ginny makes Hermione sink further into Harry as the tears come again. It’s silly really, but part of her hoped it was Ron. The fact that he didn’t come solidifies how much has changed.

The curly haired witch doesn’t realize, but silently Harry passes over the piece of parchment as means to fill Ginny in.

She reads the letter with wide eyes. Once she takes in the last line, she can infer what Hermione meant when she first came in.

Ginny slouched to the other side of Hermione, “I’m so sorry about your grandma, you’re pretty close yeah?” She chooses to leave out the fact she knew this information from Ron.

Sadly, Hermione nods as she turns to rest her head on Ginny’s shoulder, welcoming the embrace.

After a few more minutes of crying, the brunette girls breathing slows and Ginny takes it as her opportunity to speak, “you can still come to the Burrow of course.”

“Ginny,” it’s Harry who scolds her.

Hermione lifts her head from the girls shoulder to look her in the eyes, expecting to see mischief behind them. Instead, she seems rather genuine.

“Harry,” she mocks his tone, “I am not letting Hermione stay at Hogwarts for holiday, alright?” The ginger turns back to her friend, “Hermione it seems as if everyone’s forgotten,” her eyes flick to Harry, “but the Burrow is just as much my house as it is Ron’s and you’re just as much my friend as you are his.”

Probably even more so as of late.

She sucks in a jittery breath and shakes her head, “I can’t impose really, they wouldn’t even be expecting me.” Hermione tries, not particularly wanting to bring him into it.

“I never told Mum you weren’t coming. It didn’t feel like my place, Merlin knows Ron doesn’t write home, so as far as they know you’re coming. They’re more excited to see you than Phlegm anyway.”

She manages a small chuckle at this before asking what everyone else is surely thinking, “but what about Ron?” She’s avoided speaking his name for weeks, it feels foreign on her tongue.

“I’ll talk to Ron.” They’re both surprised that it’s Harry who says it.

“I reckon he’ll be happy about it anyway. Maybe you two can finally talk.” Ginny comments what she hopes is casually. After her talk with her brother today, she knows not all hope is lost.

At this Hermione let’s out a small scoff in between hiccups.

“Just trust me Hermione,” The ginger says, “anyway, I don’t know about you, but I don’t fancy being caught and accused of stealing something in here.” She says standing.

Holding out her hands, Hermione takes them as she helps her up, Harry doing the same with a hand firmly pressed to her back.

They all begin to leave, ushering Hermione as they go. Ginny still holds one of her hands, Harry’s resting between her shoulders.

Then she stops.

“Is,” she can’t even get it out, “is Lavender going to be there?”

Ginny looks horrified and makes a noise of disgust, “Merlin no! I’d rather spend Christmas with the Malfoy’s!” She exclaims making gagging noises.

This illicits a small laugh from both Harry and Hermione.

They all fall into pace again, “you can use Hedwig to owl your parents Hermione, I’ll talk to Ron and find you after. Common room, yeah?” He asks as they near the portrait hole.

She nods solemnly as they part ways.

...

“Is she alright? Is everything okay?” Ron jumps from where he was sitting on his bed as Harry swings the door open.

He looks startled, the chosen one didn’t even have a moment to breathe before being bombarded with questions.

“I reckon I have the same questions mate.” Neville calls from where he's reading on his bed.

“She’s not hurt I guess, not psychically.” Harry shrugs lamely.

Neville places his book down. Ron looks as if he’s about to explode.

“It’s her grandma she’s ill, Hermione’s parents have sent word they’re going to France to make sure she’s comfortable, you know if...” he starts sadly.

Neville’s chest tightens for Hermione. He can’t imagine if that was his Gran.

Ron’s heart also breaks a little. He knows how close the two of them are.

“They also told her they didn’t want her to come, to see her like that, so some arrangements have been made.” He begins, bracing himself for what’s to come.

“Arrangements?” Ron asks eagerly.

Harry nods, “yeah, she’s uh, well she’s going to spend holiday at the Burrow.” He says it quickly.

Neville let’s his book roll to the ground with a thud, as he scrambles from his bed. “I’m just gonna go check on Hermione.” He squeaks, hurrying from the room.

“Ron.” Harry turns to face him tentatively.

“Brilliant.” Ron says.

Harry’s shocked to find no sarcasm in his tone. Instead, he’s wearing a lopsided grin.

“What?” The Boy-Who-Lived asks confused.

Ron stands happily, “well it’s brilliant! We’re sure to get all sorted if we’re gonna be in the same house for weeks. No library to run to. No lessons to go to. And bonus, the stairs at the Burrow won’t move if I try to get into her room.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Harry says again, taking in this information

“I don’t really get what’s so confusing mate.”

Harry looks like he wants to say something but doesn’t know how. Ron encourages him with a wave of his hand.

“It’s just that, look, I don’t wanna be the one to say it, but somebodies got to! I don’t think that, well, the thing is,” he doesn’t even know what he’s saying. He’s been doing his best to not interfere with whatever Ron does for weeks, “Lavender!” He settles for out of breath.

Surprisingly, Ron let’s out a chuckle at his friends word vomit, “you’re a little late to that one mate. I’m gonna chuck Lavender before we leave.”

“We leave tomorrow.” Harry reminds.

He cringes, he forgot about that, “right, well, I’ve been trying to do it for weeks, honest, but Ginny’s really made me realize what an arse I’ve been.” Ron drops his voice down, tone turning serious, “why didn’t you tell me about McLaggen?” His tones hurt.

Harry sighs, fiddling uncomfortably with the end of his shirt, “she didn’t want anyone to know. Neville was the one who found her and Ginny, Luna, and I had already been looking.” He informed.

“Come on Harry, I had a right, didn’t I?” He needed the reassurance. Part of him was unsure whether he still had the right to know.

Harry shrugs, “McLaggen’s been dealt with, you should be more worried about Lavender. Hermione’s taken to sleeping in the common room, she’s been awful to her.”

Doing his best not get angry, he responds, “I asked you if that were true two weeks ago, you shrugged.”

The chosen one looks apologetic, “I’m sorry Ron, I don’t remember that, honest.”

Weasley nods, he knew Harry wasn’t paying attention when he asked, and Ron never bothered bringing it up again, “what has Lavender been saying?”

This is the second time someone’s brought it to his attention. Not to mention, before he was running away from the blonde, she’d often mercilessly tease Hermione, which he’d always got upset at her for.

“I don’t think it’s my place to say. I’ve heard a few of my own though, in the halls, in class, in the common room.” Potter says.

“Can you at least tell me what you’ve heard?” He hopes he doesn’t sound as desperate as he feels.

“Hermione Stranger, that’s a favorite,” Ron cringes, he knows that’s a taunt she got before she came to Hogwarts, “it’s usually about how she looks, how she’s weird, or about,” he stops.

“About what?” He probes.

“About how you don’t want her. How you never would, Lavender tells her she’s too ugly, too strange.”

“Rubbish!” He exclaims.

“I know,” Harry soothes, “but it doesn’t really look that way, does it?” He points out.

Falling onto his bed in frustration for the umpteenth time that day, Ron groans.

“Ginny lied, did you know?” He started, “about Krum.”

Harry has witnessed the fight. He knew just how ugly the words and accusations were.

“What?” He asked shocked, he knew that row was what started this whole Lavender business. He wasn’t that daft.

“Yeah, turns out that git tried to kiss her at the ball, she told him there was someone else though.”

“Oh, wow.” Harry says, sounding winded. He knew as well as Ron that this changes everything.

“Right tosser aren’t I? Mione had some self control at the ripe age fourteen,” it felt nice to let the nickname slip after so long, “I’m gonna be seventeen soon and I can’t even break up with my,” the word girlfriend felt wrong at the moment, “with Lavender.”

“Ron,” Harry begins, a little unsure of what he’s gonna say, until like before, Neville intrudes on the moment.

“How is she?” Ron asks sitting up.

“She’s upset Ginny took her to Pomfrey. She’ll have a sleeping draught and a bed to sleep in. It’ll be a nice change from the couch,” he catches himself, “uh I mean, her couch bed, yeah, you know how she uh, talks about her bed, like a couch. Just an expression you know.”

“He knows Neville.” Harry interjects.

“Oh.”

Ron still feels horrible about it.

“Alright.” Is all Ron says, getting up to wipe his trousers and heading for the door.

“Where are you going?” Neville questions as Seamus and Dean saunter in.

“To break up with Lavender.” He states like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Someone finally realized they broke Granger’s heart.” Seamus comments.

Now that Ron’s mentioned it, it’s like the floodgates have opened.

Dean elbows him in the ribs, making the irish wizard yelp.

“No can do Ron, it’ll have to wait till tomorrow. It’s curfew.” Dean points out.

“I’m a prefect.” He retorts.

Dean shakes his head again, as much as he wanted Ron to break it off, he couldn’t right now, it wasn’t possible. “I don’t think the staircase cares that you’re a prefect.” He claps him on the shoulder with a sympathetic smile.

“Bloody effing stairs.” Ron curses. He’s also pissed he couldn’t go to the common room and at least apologize to Hermione about her grandma.

“Wait so he does care about something!” Seamus exclaims with mock excitement.

“Shut up Seamus.” Ron bites.

“Well everyone in here knows I’m right? You’ve been walking around for weeks caring less if dear old Hermione was miserable. And there’s no way you didn’t know! Even the Creevey’s picked up on it.” He bellowed.

Ron was getting annoyed, everyone kept insisting he could care less about Hermione when that was far from the truth.

He walked over to Seamus before Dean stood in between them, “let’s just all go to bed yeah?”

The ginger and the shorter brunette stared each other down for a few moments before both admitted defeat.

“Goodnight.” Neville called out as the lights dimmed, enveloping the room into black.

“Night.” Harry called, shoveling under his blankets to cast a ‘lumos’ and watch the map.

Ron and Dean chorused a goodnight, the latter sounding more cheery than the former.

“Goodnight boys,” he paused, “goodnight Hermione.” He said with a drawl.

Ron threw his sheets back before taking a deep breath and calming himself down. By tomorrow he would be on the right path to fix this.

By tomorrow him and Lavender would be done.

#romione #romione fanfic #ron x hermione #hermione granger #ron weasley #6th year #ron and hermione #rons hermiones come find me

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vampiresuns · 3 years

Text

The Stories Of Dead Kings | Prologue, Part 3

✴︎ THE STORIES OF DEAD KINGS ✴︎

4.5k words. In which the Palace continues to bring out things long ago buried within Anatole, the investigation commences and he makes an unlikely friend. CWs: Memory loss, death penalty.

You can read the rest of Anatole’s apprentice timeline series here.

Antu did not like the white dogs. A shame, because Anatole loved that breed — he had only seen pictures of it, drawings in books and a couple of paintings, but he thought it was a fantastic one all the same. They looked so funky and given his preference for raccoons, it was no surprise he favoured fuzzy, slightly funny looking but beautiful animals. He’d pet them later.

Antu liked the voice that called to Anatole even less. While he didn’t like it either, Antu reacted with a viciousness Anatole had never seen before.

Stay back! You’re not wanted! He threatened, his voice echoing in Anatole’s mind as he bared his teeth at the open air.

No! We don’t like it in there! You can’t make us go!

With the dogs pulling him through his clothes upstairs, he had to hold onto Antu for dear life, fearing his familiar would launch himself at the dogs. It made him a blur of hands, fur and hair.

“Ouch, Antupillán, don’t scratch me!”

As soon as they’re in the dark hallway, the dogs vanished, but Antu did not seem any more calm. Still in Anatole’s arms but ready to jump if needed, he was still growling at nothing and every time Anatole tried to make an advance, trying to walk down the hall to explore the room by the end of it, Antu tried to bite his hands.

“Fine, fine, fine, Antupillán, you win.”

When the ghostly voice purred behind them, Antu climbed over his shoulder before Antole could stop him. Of course his raccoon threw himself at an apparition, because demanding fair trials out of the Countess of Vesuvia wasn’t excitement enough for the furball he had for a familiar.

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Anatole tried very hard not to growl at Portia when she brought him breakfast, but the Palace kept hours that were too early, even for him, who had become a relatively early riser out of habit — waking up at dawn was too much, what had happened to seven AM? At least she had come with coffee, coffee he chugged while he listened carefully at her.

He had no clue about how to feel about the clothes, though the shirt was a dream come true. Cross-tied and with a V neck opening, big bishop sleeves, and matching, deep emerald green pants and a sleeveless long coat. The coat had a gold embroidered trim, and it reached his ankles, It would flutter deliciously as he walked down the hallways, the clack of the black boots with a golden plate shoe tip against the marbled floors.

Everything was miraculously his size; he didn’t still comprehend nor trust the Countess’ motives for giving him clothes, especially when he had brought his own. Anatole might not have a personal tailor, but he was very dedicated and careful about his clothing. He always strived to be well dressed, so what was the reason for it? Ease him after his opinions last-night? That felt too much like trying to buy him into the Countess' good side. However, while it was true he didn’t know how to feel about her, he felt it was unfair to automatically assume the worst. This required further analysis.

Portia left his room and he looked at the clothes with a sigh. He examined for a minute longer as he ate another pastry. He looked at Antu, who was still pretending to be an angel after jumping from his arms to fight a ghost out of all things.

He was eating some grapes.

It’s pretty.

“We don’t accept gifts from people we don’t trust.”

Who’s we?

“Oh, is that how it is?”

You have never been very good at lying to yourself.

“And you’re awfully insightful this morning, huh?”

Antupillán continued eating his grapes, this time in silence. He had a point, Anatole supposed. It was a gorgeous outfit but he hadn’t been lying to himself when he said he didn’t accept gifts from people he didn’t trust, and after last night, he wasn’t sure he was on the best terms with the Countess, even if she did seem civil enough afterwards. He couldn’t wear this, even if he really, really wanted to. It would be wrong, it would betray his principles, it would—

It would have to do because when he turned to check where he had left his clothes, he realised the Palace’s staff had taken all of them to laundry them. When Portia had mentioned that, he had assumed they’d only take the clothes he was wearing last night.

“Fuckers.”

He hated people rummaging through his stuff. He was very, very close to deciding to throw all caution and professionalism to the winds and be contrarian as could be. It was a bad idea, but there was a part inside himself which had been kept dormant for the most part. That part made him want to remind people he wasn’t trapped somewhere with them, they were trapped somewhere with him.

Perhaps another time.

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The Palace’s library was one of the most gorgeous places he had ever set a foot in. From its doors to its high shelves, with the high windows with stained glass and the plants, Anatole wished he had the entire day to get lost in it, explore every section, even the ones he wasn’t interested in. He wanted to ask why was the library locked up under so many keys, but he didn’t know if he’d get an answer, or if Portia knew, or if the Countess would be up to more of his really incisive questions about things she would deem out of Anatole’s range of incumbency.

If you asked him, Libraries should be public.

Despite how they left things last night, the Countess seemed to be in a great mood, complimenting his looks and treating him amiably. Anatole detected no deception nor flattery in her words; it threw him off for reasons he didn’t have the time to decode right now. Perhaps he had become too used to people shading half a light on things for reasons bigger than Anatole himself, perhaps the reason was another. It’d have to wait to be pried into.

“You told me you read.”

“Constantly, as long as my brain lets me.”

Silence fell between them. Well, this was starting to get awkward.

“Thank you,” the Countess said.

“What for?”

“You are very genuine,” she said. Anatole didn’t know what to do with that. Taking his silence as encouragement, the Countess continued. “Reading is a wonderful gift, shared by all citizens where I come from, but it’s woefully uncommon here.”

He hummed, squinting back at the Countess. He took a sharp breath as he made himself count to ten. He had felt the same need to speak without knowing what he would say as before, but this time he could anticipate it would be something angry. He didn’t need to know where these things were coming from to know he was about to ask the Countess whose fault was that, and then he’d be really, really done for.

He kept his mouth shut this time — Antu biting him softly (but strongly enough to make him hiss) helped. Time and place. He was better than this, he was taught better than this.

Wait, what? Taught what? By whom?

“Concentrate, for fuck’s sake,” he muttered between his teeth.

“Did you say something?”

“That this is truly a wonderful collection.”

“Anatole… you are my guest, if you wish to return here, you need only ask. But for the moment I would have your undivided attention here.”

There was something deeply intimate about prying into someone organisational systems. How they cluttered, why they cluttered, the organisation methods employed, the thought process behind it and what you could infer of it by looking. The way documents were studied and how and where notes were taken. In that sense, Dr. Devorak’s desk teemed with information.

It might have felt like prying a little too deep into him, but Anatole thought it was a fair exchange after he broke into his house. An eye for an eye wasn’t the best justice system, but hey, a little pettiness couldn’t hurt, besides, investigating the murder was his job now.

His musings were tampered by the mention of Asra working for the palace during the Red Plague. He didn’t remember living through it, though he had always assumed he must’ve been present for it, given their earliest memory was of a post-plague Vesuvia. It had ravaged everything. Plagues were like wars, they seldom discriminated. Not that Anatole knew of war beyond books. If that wasn’t the case this was, once again, nor the time or place to second-guess himself.

Do you know what an explosion sounds like, Asra?

After promising the Countess he would meet her for dinner, he set himself to work. Anatole loved few things more than a good puzzle without a solution, and once he grew determined he did nothing half-ways.

Lacing his fingers together, he stretched them, a waft of satisfaction dawning over him as his joints cracked.

“Let’s figure you out, Julian ‘Magic Cards’, hm?”

He didn’t expect his search to lead him back into the city, but with Antu in tow he’s determined to follow the trace his magic had cast into its streets. Vesuvia was a wild thing, a glimmering thing in the lowlights of dusk making Anatole wonder why hadn’t he insisted in seeing more of it, wondering how much memories of it could he be missing. What used to be his favourite spots? His favourite streets? His favourite garden?

He wasn’t one to dwell in the past, living in the past was no way of living, but that didn’t mean the past didn’t matter. He just wanted to be able to reclaim it, to say ‘this is mine, this took me where I am today, this made me myself, just like who I am today will make me the myself of tomorrow’. He looked at the past not with wistfulness but searching for an explanation.

The area he found himself in was crowded, urbanistically speaking, shabby, probably in need of repair, and while he didn’t stop chasing that trace something in his heart (and his temple) pulsed. Something unknown and caged, something which begged to be let out, something he couldn’t make out what it was. He hated not knowing, he was getting tired of getting all these feelings, these knowledge, these looks and these visions without any sort of explanation. This time he didn’t file it away for later, and yet whatever he felt, eluded him.

The word he was looking for and failed to find was Love. A word which would continue to escape him for a little longer, as Julian Devorak himself manifested out of an open door. Finally, he thought, throwing hypothesis and chasing them was starting to give him results.

Falling into a barrel and stepping on Antu’s tail were unforeseen outcomes. So was falling face first into Julian’s chest after he helped him out of the barrel, both of them looking at each other like deers startled by light.

After Julian let him go, he held Antu, petting him as a way to apologise for stepping on him by accident.

“I have a name, you know? Shopkeep isn’t it,” he said as he looked at the Rowdy Raven’s sign.

“Dare I ask what brings you to this neck of the woods, Not-Named-Shopkeep?”

Anatole caught himself smiling, but as he tried and failed to find a way to explain what had happened the smile faded from his face. Words eluded him and he had to admit he was very grateful for Julian taking it in stride. Because how could he explain any of this without giving away his new-found position? Or at all? He couldn’t find it in him to articulate such a thing — not to mention the glint in Julian’s eye as he turned to him was much more exciting.

It tied neatly to the trace of Anatole’s magic, like a master key he had been desperately looking for.

“Rumour has it you’re working for the Palace,” Julian sneered. “What happened to not being a snitch? I’m sure— well, by now— you’ve heard some interesting stories about me.”

“As interesting as you’re prone to not explaining yourself, though both of those might be gross understatements. And I take great offence in you thinking I’m a snitch. Don’t you think that had I told anyone you’d already be found?”

“I’m very slippery and you don’t know where to find me.”

“I found you now.”

“By accident I’m sure, not to say you aren’t talented and magnificent and all those things the rumours say… but you haven’t heard my side of the story.”

“Julian?”

“Yes?”

“Stop assuming the first thing about me and how I do things, will you, sweetheart?”

Julian’s cheeks went as red as his hair. Anatole let out a pained whine. Wherever that had come from, Anatole didn’t want to know and he expected it to not come forward again. He apologised; Julian, having composed himself, thought teasing him was a good idea but Anatole levelled a look at him that convinced him otherwise.

He sighed. Julian was right: he’d only heard things from the Palace and muddled rumours. A wanted poster was a statement of capture, not an absolute truth and it was obvious to him there was some sort of power imbalance playing against the doctor. So when Julian said he could get him a drink, to get the story and to pay him what he owes him from the reading, Anatole found it difficult to say no.

“I don’t usually accept trading payments unless previously discussed, or the party is in need, but you know what? I think I’m willing to do an exception for you.”

“Oh, please, you work for the Palace now, I think you’re set on the money.”

“You know, I haven’t discussed fees and wages with the Countess, do you think we’d be cell mates if I did?”

Julian laughed. One drink couldn’t hurt, right?

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The flurry that erupted after the caw of the Raven would be etched into Anatole’s mind forever, becoming part of his daydreams unsanctioned. It was the kind of chaos which brought the familiar thump of an inconclusive memory. The Doctor might not have told him his part of the story, Anatole was well aware, but he did give him some insight into his circles and his person. Not anyone who was wanted by the Palace would shield the Palace’s investigator in the shadows so they didn’t get in trouble for hanging out with said wanted person.

As he vanished after an awkward and unfinished thank-you-for-not-being-a-snitch, Anatole turned to make his way back to the Palace, only to be met with Ludovico, who introduced himself and tried not to stare at him while he hailed a carriage for Anatole.

Anatole paid no mind to the staring. Whether it’s leftover staring from the day before, or staring driven by having found him in such an odd quarter of the City, he chose to ignore it. His apology for summoning a carriage for him despite him being the one who said it was a bad idea to leave the Countess waiting, was another thing altogether.

It was true Anatole didn’t particularly enjoy carriage rides, but why would a Palace guard would know such a thing? Did it have to do with how he felt yesterday when crossing the gates? As he stepped into the carriage he tried not to think about it, afraid he’d overthink his way into a migraine.

Relieved as he realised he was in time for dinner, Anatole took in the exquisite smells of what is definitely too much food. He was too hungry to think about the quantity for now, perhaps he could inquire about it after he ate something.

His appetite seemed to hold itself back at the mention of the Courtiers, almost evaporating altogether. He still forced himself to eat, he needed it after such a day in the City, while he listened with rapt attention to the Countess' words. He dabbed his mouth with a napkin before taking a drink from his cup, doing the same afterwards. That he didn’t have any issue distinguishing the cutlery from one another somehow didn’t call to his attention like his next words did.

“I know, and I promise you I’ll be careful.”

“You already know my Courtiers?”

“Oh no, no such thing it’s just—”

“One can never second-guess one’s intuition, is it not right Anatole?”

For the first time in two days, when he smiled at the Countess it was genuine. “Exactly.”

Just like he knew the painting, the gardens, that other version of himself walking through them and his opinions on subjects which required more education than the one he thought he had, he somehow knew the Court — being equal times prepared to brace himself for meeting it, and unprepared for whatever he may find.

He knew deep inside he could trust the Countess to have his back on that, however. It’s the way the word ‘Courtiers’ felt from her mouth: she didn’t trust them.

The mention of Julian’s hanging brought him back from wherever place of commodity his mind had gone into. The faraway look in the Countess’ eyes almost eluded him. Almost.

“Countess…”

“I am thinking about what you said last night, Anatole, but I expect you to understand I must seek to tend to my people’s needs.”

“And you think they need executions?”

“I think they need to see justice done.”

While restricted and mild, Anatole couldn’t help to look at her with some semblance of disappointment, his unspoken question dancing between them.: And is this justice? Is justice confession and punishment?

She truly must’ve given it a thought to not react with the same impetu as last night. Instead she changed the topic with a weary sigh, claiming such were tomorrow’s matters and stating having questions for him — not of his day, like Anatole had feared, but of himself. Being surprised at the change of disposition the Countess had shown today didn’t cover it. Bewilderment might.

At the mention of friendship, bewilderment fell short too. Sensing his apprehension, she smiled at him invitingly, jovially, exposing her hands to him in a gesture of trust.

“I am afraid I do not have many friends, nor know enough people who fear not my position in order for them to tell me what their true opinions are.”

Anatole sighed. “Countess, I do not wish to antagonise you when I say those things, I find it hard to help it, that is all. I’d like to think if I was in such a position the responsibility was so heavy I needed council, I would wish it was sincere. It’s not up to us how history remembers us but that doesn’t mean we have no choice in the matter. I believe our choices make us who we are, whichever those choices might be.”

“You are awfully impertinent,” the Countess said with a playful tone, “which must surely give you an advantage at life.”

Anatole laughed with his mouth open, his head thrown back. “No, but it does give me a strong personality. Tell me Countess, what do you wish to know about me?”

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Out of all the things he found about the Countess, perhaps finding out she too understood the feeling of homesickness for a place you could no longer return to — because one couldn’t or one didn’t wish to — was the least expected out of them all. Anatole knew he had been born in Bgraz, Balkovia, but that’s all he remembered of his hometown. He didn’t even remember how he had ended up in Vesuvia, though the more he thought about it, the more he suspected he had some kind of relation to the City beyond his deceased Aunt having a shop there.

He didn’t tell the Countess as much, not even sure of how to word it aloud but it was refreshing to find someone with whom he could talk about these things.

The night was welcoming and cool. The stars were visible in the inky night sky, making Anatole wonder how they would look in Balkovia, that unknown homeland he couldn’t remember. The Countess’ words about Anatole not being quite like she had imagined him, or the intrigue she felt towards him pulled him away from his thoughts.

Anatole wondered if she, like Julian, was also a victim of the rumour mill. Word in town was she was a tyrant, yet she didn’t seem malicious — malice was something Anatole’s language filter picked up with incredible ease and it left a feeling in him hard to ignore. It didn’t just make him immediately stand on edge, it also felt like tarr on one’s skin. Hot, icky and venomous. The Countess felt lost, not malicious. Someone with good intentions and not enough turn out, as he had previously felt.

“Tell me, Anatole… Why did you come to the Palace? Why did you agree to help me?”

“I believe I said it was a matter of justice, last night.”

“You did, but when I asked you to come, you didn’t know what for.”

She got him there. The offer of trust from the Countess would not last if he wasn’t honest with her — perhaps if he was, he would be able to convince her to reconsider the way in which the Devorak affair was being conducted.

The answer was obvious, wasn’t it?

“Because it felt right. I knew that whichever answers I’ve been seeking, I would find them here.” Anatole existed in the liminal space between his heart and his head. They were extensions of one another. Living a full life required both.

When the Countess asked him if he had any questions for her, reassuring him he could speak freely, Anatole already knew what to ask and in his defence, the Countess shouldn’t have taken it as a vague question, because it wasn’t. The claim was just an excuse to elude the topic; the stage they were in, of whatever it was she, him and whatever else bigger than them had sent in motion was looking at them in the eye and avoidance would help exactly no one.

“You know I mean the murder investigation. The Count has been dead for years, so why now?”

“Ah, that is a right question to ask. Vesuvia is in dire need of help. Order needs to be restored… and I am in the unique position to restore it. However, I intend to lead by example, not fear. I must show the city I am capable. I have so many plans for Vesuvia. I was to see this city flourish… Perhaps you’ll be able to help me with those plans, Anatole. I could use more competent people on my side...”

Her loneliness was heavy, almost too heavy, the feeling pouring into her speech and threatening to cover Anatole under a heavy blanket, merge with his own unattended loneliness and trap him in place forever. Seen and unseen, craving connection and something more he couldn’t name nor grab, no matter how hard he tried to.

“It’s funny,” Anatole said, a knot in his throat. “I did not expect you to be as lonely as I am. I never allow myself to admit it out loud, let alone in front of someone else. Yet here I am.”

“You already know I won’t do things whatever way. I want to find justice, and I do not believe justice lies in a hanging. You are right, your position is unique, but it’s also risky,” Anatole paused to take the Countess hands in his. His next words came from the same unknown place as they did all those times he felt compelled to speak, though they were much kinder this time: “When we know something is not right, we do not settle. People like us, whatever that means, were not thrusted into the world to settle. Power wielded without reason, without justice, without kindness, without knowing the subject you must serve will always lack. I will not tell you what to do, you are capable enough, Countess, to figure that out on your own, but I will tell you this, as a friend: truth is the only thing worthy to be built on, and when we find that truth we plant ourselves in front of whomever dares us to move and we say they move. The truth can’t lead you astray, as unpalatable or hard to accept as it might sometimes be.”

Out of all the things he expects the Countess to tell him that he’s sweet is not one of them. He’ll take it.

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Just between you and me… I think Count Lucio had a lot of enemies, too. Alone in his bedroom, having returned from exploring and chatting around with her, Portia’s words swirled around him, letters formed by a light orange haze, forming and evaporating in front of his eyes. Portia’s words came from rumours but they were enough to cast reasonable doubt about what might have transpired that night. It was kind of her to look after Anatole, so the least he could do was to take her words to heart.

Originated in rumours or not, Portia was right.

Going out with her was as strange as it was enlightening. He was sure the Chef, Hestion, had said something to Portia along the lines of how he expected Anatole to remember his way around the kitchen, only he had called him ‘Secretary Radošević’. Perhaps it had something to do with the investigation, but it made Anatole feel odd.

The servants in the Veranda had been very welcoming, but almost too welcoming and he was sure he had caught a couple of them speaking about him —not as if this was his first time in the Palace, but as if this was him returning to it. Speaking of returning, someone had congratulated him for becoming the main investigator for the case and how it was nice to have him back. Ignoring the way his vision splotched as best as he could, Anatole had only thanked them and turned back to Portia feeling lost and ill.

Normally, Anatole paid no mind to out of place comments. If someone demanded something of him he couldn’t remember, he tried to remove himself from the situation as fast as possible, but these felt different, the words staying with him even though his and Portia’s nightly adventures had finished.

What weighed him down the most, though, was the Countess wanting him to join them for the announcement tomorrow. It made sense, but he had a terrible feeling about it.

Antupillán was nowhere to be found. Anatole hoped that he had a good reason to be missing at a time like this.

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concealeddarkness13 · 3 years

Text

WHG 15 Post-Games Imposter Syndrome Part 24

The day after part 23! Tagging: @sparkles-and-hens, @knmartinshouldbewriting, @maple-writes, @pen-of-roses (also thanks for Conor!), @thoughts-of-nora, and @ratracechronicler (also thanks for Hugo!)!

After such an exciting day, you’d think I would do something equally as exciting the next day, but that was not the case. There wasn’t anything to do, and I wasn’t going to endanger Hugo by going back there today. Anyway, he went in the afternoon, and it was the morning. And I couldn’t go out looking for the other tributes, or Bystander would do something. Shit. It was so boring just sitting here. So, I kept my door open, just in case someone wanted to talk.

But, of course, it was the wrong someone. Bystander knocked on the door, and he was dressed up again all fancy and holding purple hyacinths and a fancy invite. Oh great. What was going on now?

My lips twitched down before I could stop them, so I forced a smile afterwards. “And what is the purpose of this visit? I’m doing as you wished.”

“As much as I appreciate the attempt to spare my feelings—no don’t tell me that’s not the reason for that attempt at a smile, my ego simply will not take it—your ire will far more interesting than your acting. I am not here for that though, even if the flowers may betray that idea. I gather you’re probably not particularly interested in them, still seems such a waste to let things this wonderful go to waste, yes?” I internally cursed. What the hell did he want? But…at least I wouldn’t be bored. Maybe I could try to have fun with him at least.

But I still wanted to throw the flowers out the window. I stood up and took them, but I didn’t move back afterwards. I smiled a little wider and ignored what he had said about his ego. “You think it’s to spare your feelings? I don’t give a shit about your feelings.” I laughed a little. More like it was a good way to shield myself, hide what I was really feeling. “The Bystander hasn’t been much of a bystander recently. So, what is he up to now?”

He smiled wider when I laughed. “Ah, there we go. But what exactly have I done? Give pretty words and tales following the paths others already laid? What is your saying? Actions speak louder than words? If that was true then I am the quietest of all here. But you are right, I have sadly not come solely for the reason of seeing and hearing you once again.” How shocking. “No, I have a…proposal for you, or an opportunity maybe?” He dramatically presented the invitation with a bow.

I took it and read it, frowning. A masquerade? In a week and a half? When would the Capitol officially announce it and how? “Oh. The Capitol’s up to stupid shit again.” I smirked and looked up, cocking an eyebrow. “And I’m assuming we have to go as a couple? I must say that I have no idea how to dance. So, I’ll probably need some instruction at some point.”

“And here I will take offense that you read this as purely the Capitol’s hand. After all, everybody’s faces hidden, the mystery and flair of it all, though I’m sure some will fail to remember that everyone is supposed to be anonymous. Nevertheless. Yes, we will go as a couple, share a few dances where all eyes will be on you, and I assure you, it is a simple matter: follow my lead and I will not allow you to make a fool of yourself.” I had the suspicion that he didn’t just mean about dancing. “I would say you might even once again be the star of the night, but then, I’m sure or maybe hope you’ll be sharing the stage with others. If anyone will even know who it is of course.”

Ah. He was trying to give me “advice” about when I should try to escape. Great. I wasn’t going to play along. I shrugged. “Eh. I’d probably rather be one of the crowd.”

“Perhaps that will suit your plans better, yes.” He sighed dramatically. “Still, it would be such a shame to let a night like that go to waste as well. I do fear what this may mean for us of course, I have rather enjoyed all, or well, almost all, of our meetings.”

I couldn’t exactly say the same. But again, at least he was interesting, compared to my other Capitol visitors. I tossed the flowers on the bed and moved closer to him. “Almost?” I whispered. “You got your way in every meeting we had, so I’m surprised.”

“You’re quite certain of that aren’t you? That what I’m after is winning, as you put it last time.” He leaned in so that his face was inches from mine. “Have you ever considered I’m more a fan of the game itself and having a challenging opponent? It’s been such a long time since I’ve had one, and here I was rather hopeful, but getting so far with such little effort is tiresome and if it’s what I wanted I would find any member of the bejeweled sheep outside.”

Okay, now that was uncalled for. What had he given me to work with, especially last time I saw him? He had basically threatened my friends. I laughed, dark and sharp. “You want an opponent?” I placed my hand lightly on his chest, but he flinched slightly. Huh. Good to know. He just smirked down at me as if he hadn’t just flinched. Interesting. “Then give me something to work with instead of stupid threats.”

“When exactly, did I threaten anyone,” oh, he was up to this bullshit now, “versus warn you of others intentions and possibilities? You’re the one who inferred about—”

Of course, Hugo came in with a bag of apples, and he took in the scene before interrupting. “Well, I’m certainly glad I wasn’t interrupting anything important here.” His voice was venomously sweet.

Shit. It was okay if Bystander manipulated me and cut me down, but he couldn’t look at any of my friends. I jumped and looked over at Hugo, silently pleading for him to leave.

“Ah, we have a guest.” Bystander smirked and raised his eyebrows as he turned to look at Hugo.

And I sucked in a breath and moved so that I was between him and Hugo, and I glared at Bystander. I had no idea what I could do, but I would do something if he tried anything.

I wasn’t really watching Hugo, so I had no idea what he might have done. But when he spoke, he addressed me. “I thought the Capitol only used Avoxes for their janitors. Anyway, here—brought you some fruit if you want.”

That was appreciated, but not now. Not with Bystander here. Before I could say anything, Bystander’s grin turned a little sharp. “Funny, and here I thought the Districts instilled some form of manners at the very least, but alas, we must all be proven wrong at least once in our lives.”

“Must we now?” Shit. I glanced back at Hugo, trying to beg him to leave. But his grin was sharp too. Double shit. “What an honor and a privilege to be part of that experience for you. No, what the Districts instilled in me is not quite what you’d call manners and more something like complete and utter contempt for anyone who talks like he’s got a stick so far up his ass he’s growing oleanders in his larynx.”

My legs got weak as I started shaking. Was he trying to get killed? How the hell was I supposed to stop this?

Bystander didn’t respond right away. His grin just grew, and he tilted his head more. Then a giddy laugh escaped his lips. I braced and held my hand out protectively towards Hugo. As if that could do anything. “Oh you all are so much fun to watch. Indeed, I find myself more and more intrigued by the spirits this situation seems to have created, and how they will all play out. And my little thief,” he turned fully to me, and I shook harder, “you continue to inspire such fierce affection from those around you. I like this one,” Shit, would I have to punch him even though that wouldn’t do any good? “Almost a shame my attention was captured elsewhere. Still,” he turned back to Hugo, “I doubt it would have taken as much time for an attempt or two on my life with you.” Oh, I was going to have to punch him, wasn’t I? He wasn’t going to go near Hugo again.

I glared at Bystander. This probably wouldn’t help, but I had to try. “Don’t fucking touch him. Or talk to him.”

He turned his attention back to me with a smile. Good. Rather me than Hugo. “Of course, I will retake my role as a mere spectator for the moment. Your Bystander, as always. After all, my part has been played for the moment.”

Hugo just stared at him and then turned to me. “Anyway, you want these apples or nah?”

I responded to Bystander first. “Sure.” Then I turned to Hugo and smiled a little, taking the apples. “Thanks, but please go,” I whispered.

“Oh no, don’t kick him out on my account.” Fuck you. “In fact, I’ll take my cues to leave now, I believe a certain snake has more questions to hound me with soon anyway.”

Okay. That was better. He actually looked like he was leaving. I nodded. And Hugo smiled over his shoulder at him. “Don’t leave behind your bag of mixed metaphors, I beg you.”

Shit. He really needed to stop antagonizing him. Please. Bystander paused. “Of course not, and I will permit your thievery of a few as well.” He winked and left.

Shit. I looked away from Hugo and tried to take a few deep breaths, but I was still shaking. Hugo waved goodbye after Bystander.

He stayed near the door as I sat down on my bed again. I couldn’t stand any longer. I took a deep breath. “I’m sorry about that.”

“Me, too.” What was he sorry for? I shouldn’t have been able to do something about that. “Sometimes the bastard instinct just gets the better of me.” I didn’t blame him for that. “It’s tragic, really. I was born missing an angel on one shoulder. My entire back is totally messed up.” Unfortunately, I couldn’t appreciate his jokes right now. I was still shaking from the stress. He crossed his arms. “Do I need to…do anything more permanent about him? Because I will.”

I laughed a little. The offer was appreciated. “I don’t think that would work as well as you’d like. He can heal really quickly.” I took another deep breath. “As much as I wish that could work.”

“We could always just straighten him out a little like with the bosun. Teach him what kind of manners the Districts really instill in kids like us.”

Damn, I wish that could happen. “Already tried something like that. Didn’t work. He just kept being a smug bastard.” And he’d probably try it anyway. I looked him in the eyes. “Please be careful around him. He’s too manipulative and too willing to hurt others. I don’t want him to hurt you.”

His face smoothed out then pinched up. “O…okay. Alright. My first instinct was to go snooping and figure out what he’s up to or something, but if it saves you some sweat, I’ll back off.” He sighed. “I just feel like I’m not pulling my own weight.” Oh shit. What…what could I do? “I wish there was something I could do. Guess we uh, just keep waiting, looking for an opening, the right opportunity? And I’ll keep talking to the crew out there, see if I can really get anyone on our side—or at least the bosun off our backs. Uh. Any other way I can help?”

Shit. I wasn’t the only one who felt helpless. But there wasn’t anything I could say. I sniffled. I was about to cry again. “I don’t fucking know what to do. He’s…he’s the reason I’m not going out and searching for anyone. And I don’t know if there will be another opportunity.” I looked down at the invitation Bystander had given me. He had wanted me to try to escape then. So, it could be a trap, but it was a chance. I held it up so Hugo could read it. “I don’t know what’s going on with this. Maybe we’ll have a chance then. I’m sorry I can’t be much more help.”

He read over it and made a face. “Well, this is…new. I’ve never even been to a…I assume it’s a kind of party. You just focus on not letting him get to you, either. We’ll figure out something with this.” He walked back in and sat down, and I offered him some of the apples as I bit into one. We talked and discussed strategies until he had to leave.

#writeblr hunger games #writeblr

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seafleece · 4 years

Text

“I have feelings for Figueroth— Fig. Your friend. Your best friend. Mine too, transitively. Romantic ones. What do you think about that?”

It takes a second. It always does, when she gets like this. Garthy says that she always says the things she needs to, that’s not the problem, just that they end up in a different order than people are expecting.

(A different order, like being the mother of your friend, and then being looked after by them. She wonders how that Ayda managed, how she’s supposed to ever navigate the feelings that the version of her that came before felt for this person, how they’re the same and how they aren’t. Then, she remembers writing the contract.

She started writing it on Leviathan, is the part she won’t tell Fig. The no inferences part— that had been the first thing. She wasn’t sure what exactly it was she would be telling Fig, just that it was something that needed to exist outside of herself.

There was a girl who used to come to the library— she had long hair, dark and silky, and she kept needing the books Ayda was reading. We can read them together, she’d said, and that wasn’t how Ayda understood books to be, but something about the funny color in that girl’s eyes made her want to say yes.

She’d felt this roaring thing in her chest all at once when they’d both reached to turn the page at once and their fingers had brushed. Her hand was so cold it hurt to touch, but she found herself wanting to feel it again. She’d never felt that before, wanting to lean towards pain. It was strange, anomalous, she knew; she drew her hand back and let the girl turn the page. Her eyes tracked all over the next words, and didn’t take in a single one.

It occurred later that she might have hurt that girl, as well. That it might have been the reason she didn’t come back to the library again, or perhaps that she found another girl to read with, maybe one who understood the idea of reading together— she still doesn’t, you see. Or maybe she died. It was a pirate island.

(She’d had to read the whole book again— nothing had permeated beyond that feeling. A previous Ayda would have called the venture a waste.)

She’d never gotten to ask about the roaring. The sound it made, in her ears— blood, probably, or fire, or both, a previous Ayda said her body didn’t much differentiate between the two— is just like the feedback of Fig’s bass when she casts something. That's how she decides that she’ll tell her, because the thrum of the note Fig plays passes through her like the chill of another’s cold hand, and when it’s over she realizes it’s the same sound as in her head. It means something, she’s sure. She wants it so badly to mean something. She needs it to exist so badly she wishes she was a conjurer, just for a moment.)

It takes a moment. She waits.

“Well,” Adaine says, and schools her eyebrows back to a more reasonable level above her eyes, “at least you’re not a middle-aged man.”

“No, I am not,” she says. “Should I be? I do not want to be. Is that what she wants?”

“No, no,” Adaine waves her hand through the air almost desperately. “It was a joke.” Adaine Abernant is a kind soul— she looks at her after a moment, earnest and open, not like the Elven Oracle or even the Oracle for all of Spyre, but like a friend. “I don’t think she’s really thought about what she wants, but I hope when she does she finds out it’s you. You’re a good person to want.”

“Oh.”

She bursts into tears, of course.

“And you’re made of fire, too! Fig likes fire.”

“Yes.” She presses the back of her hand to her cheek. “That is very fortunate.”

(Fig’s hand slips into hers and squeezes, and she starts crying again. There's something to be said for reveling in a difference of temperature, but Fig isn’t cold, in the lattice of their fingers, and the relief she feels at it surprises her, both in presence and intensity.

“Huh,” Fig says. She’s close to unconsciousness— Fig hasn’t said anything about it, but she thinks they are entering the phase of the sleepover where the actual sleep is done.

“What is it?”

“I’ve never— your hand isn’t colder than mine. People’s always are.”

Her heart beats a rising tattoo against her ribs. “Is that bad?”

Fig smiles. Her head falls further against the pillow. “No, it’s— really nice, actually. One of those things you don’t even know you like, or want, until you have it, you know?”

“Yes,” she whispers, and feels hope building in her in this quiet sort of frenzy. “I do know.”)

—

“Do you know about the double bass?”

“Like, the instrument?”

“Yes.”

“Uh, yeah— I think they have a few at Aguefort, in the music department.”

Ayda rolls over to look at her. “I’m sorry.”

Their conversations are like this a lot— Ayda starts from the outside, sometimes. The things she says seem to exist entirely apart from another, and it’s not until Fig responds a few times that she starts to see where they spiral inward, towards something of more singular intention. In her mind’s eye, she starts to wind a thread between them. “For what?”

“You apologized for scrying on me, in the forest.”

There are too many things to envision, in that moment. Ayda, seeing the moment the marilith split from her. Confusing them. Ayda reaching out, in her mind, and finding Fig reaching back, and being afraid. Like looking into a mirror, and finding another reflected in its surface, over and over again, an unending volley of fear and confusion. She tries— she refuses, in that moment, to be lost to it. They’d wished for the same thing, believed the same thing. She chooses to believe it now, to trust.

“Yeah, I did.”

“Did you know there is copper? In your earrings?”

She blinks. Another point to wind the thread around. “No.”

“There were a lot of spells I tried to cast, while I was in the gallery. Divination spells are— well, they’re easier for me. And for detect thoughts, all you need is—”

“Copper.”

“Yes. I did not think it would work, but maybe it’s that you were reaching out to me, and that it was the last thing I tried to cast before you freed me.”

“So, you, uh—” She reaches up, suddenly shy, to scratch at her neck. Tries not to avert her eyes, and fails. “What’d you hear?”

“It’s—” Ayda’s hair flares a bit brighter, in the way she’s learned to read as embarrassment. “Fig, I believe you when you say you want to kiss me. Especially because, you know, you usually do after you say it. I just— I had never heard it like that. People think different things than they say, and it’s terrifying to think about, because I cannot— it’s already so hard to tell, when people talk to me. I don’t particularly like that spell, I don’t think I will use it again unless I have to, especially because Adaine gave me a much better one, but knowing you were thinking the same things that you say, the same things that you do, it is. Hard to explain, how it made me feel.”

She hazards a guess. “Incredible?”

“Yes,” Ayda says, immediately. “Incredible. Cool. Tight.”

She leans forward to kiss her— never sparing in intensity. Fig was never a religious kid— watching Kristen go through her whole thing sort of gave her the experience in miniature, and she hasn’t even begun to broach the idea that an archdevil is something people could believe in, that Hell is a metaphysical thing as much as a place. But, she thinks, as best as she knows, that Ayda kisses like prayer. Fervent, quiet, focused. All the things she believes, and hopes, brought to the forefront.

Her hands curl in Fig’s shirt and loosen again, and Fig wraps her fingers lazily along the curve of Ayda’s neck.

“What about the double bass?”

“Oh,” Ayda says, “Yes. I think it was something from earlier, from when you were— in the forest, but you said something about bass, and solos.”

Her throat closes a bit. The thread winds. “Right.”

“Every time you play at a concert venue, there are more people in the room than I have ever met in my life. All in the same place, for you. I do not know how much help it is— to hear it from me, that is, even if we are paramours— but I think the bass is a very good solo instrument.”

“Oh.”

“I don’t know how to describe it— it sounds like, like something inside of me. it sounds like how I feel.”

It’s hard to keep hold of the thread, when Ayda says things like that. “God, uh, okay. Cool.”

“Yes.” Ayda nods, head shifting along the pillow. “Cool. Tight.”

“So,” and she reminds herself that a spiral circles itself, to reach the center. “The double bass.”

“The double bass,” Ayda says, voice shifting into the flat, confident tone of Research Ayda, conveying information diligently collected. “Is like another version of the bass guitar— the predecessor, actually. It's used in orchestral settings, and sometimes jazz. It’s much larger, and has a different tone, but is tuned the same way. It would not be so difficult, to switch between them, though it seems that bow technique can take a long time to learn, and there are different styles of even holding it— the Fallinel bow style is the more widely accepted version, though I suppose that is reason enough not to use it—”

“You think I should play the double bass instead?”

“Oh,” Ayda says. “I see. I have led you to a misconception. I think you should do exactly what you want, Fig. I just— I wanted to find solos, for the bass, for you. Or, at least, proof that people want to hear them, enough to write them. People that aren’t just me.”

And just like that, the thread reaches the center. Fig smiles, and ties it off, crowds a little further into Ayda’s space so her wing reflexively curls out and across her. “You know what’s funny?”

“What is funny?”

“The thing that got me to leave the van so Aelwyn could escape, it was hearing you were upset. Because those stupid Kei Lumennura kids told you I, uh, I got around, because I was a rock star, or whatever.”

“Oh,” Ayda blinks. “That seems plausible, actually, I did not fully understand what it meant. If I heard that you were with other people, a lot, before I finished drafting up the contract, I think it would have upset me quite a bit.”

“It’s not a tour,” Fig says, “things need to settle down, but if you want to watch me practice, when we get home or even today, I think that would be cool.”

“This is not something you would normally do?”

“No, I always— I learned how to play by myself, in my room, because I didn’t want to see anyone and things were getting— bad, all around me. Even when I practice with Gorgug and everyone, it’s after I finish writing the songs, after I know I can play them.”

“I see.”

“Practicing takes a long time, it’s not as fun, and it kinda hurts, sometimes. But it’s real. Most of music is learning how to do it, performing is just— like a celebration, of all the work. I never really wanted someone to see that part, before, but if you want to, I think I want that.”

Then, they have to take a minute to smother the pillow where it’s caught fire— or rather, Fig does, and Ayda stands and tries to stop her tears from falling on anything else flammable.

“I think—“ Ayda says, thumbing under her eyes and coming away with only sparks. “I think I would like that. I think it would be incredible.”

“Great,” and Fig pulls her down onto the mattress, now pillow-less and covered only with those fancy Kei Lumennura sheets Fabian swears can’t catch fire. Really, they should’ve only had those the whole time. “Cool.”

“Tight,” Ayda supplies, and kisses her again.

#what's up gamers #my writing #fantasy high #dimension 20 #dimension 20 live #fantasy high sophomore year #figayda #figueroth faeth #ayda aguefort #we're ayda stans FIRST and NOTHING ELSE

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icharchivist · 3 years

Note

hello icha!!!!! learned from my mistakes and typed this out in a separate document. first i have to say im feeling a very deep connection with citron as of late bc i was giving myself a pep talk abt like physics and i told myself "face up and man the music!" and was like "...is that wrong. theres that song called man against the music isnt there... yeah it must be right" and. well i realized later. i also think the phrase "dont cry because it happened, smile because its over" is very good. also I’m halfway thru creating a very eclectic list of like. a Pokémon team for each a3 character which is… something. kinda knew it would happen to me. might take a while for me to finish it tho now that I’m halfway bc I’m suddenly having a crisis like “wait shit I’m only confident on my understanding and characterizing of like 4 characters am I good enough” so… it’s slow going lol. anyways. i finished that damn physics thing I was giving myself a pep talk about and so am treating myself to autumn/winter. happens that watching these events is also like. the only thing which reminds me to actually like. log into a3 lol. i am so bad at gacha games. probably a good thing in the long run. ok starting from the top!

hisoka going "zzz" as his reaction made me immediately go... oh dear, please dont fall asleep in the bath and guess what happened. yeah. good thing homare was there lol. speaking of i fucking adore homare and his poetry. id buy his collection. i also wish there was a collection like if there was a master list of every poem he says in like. at the very least main story. if not i will literally do it myself. i love homare so much im like him in that back when i had to play dodgeball id always be like kufufufu they cant hit me if im friendless enough that no one pays attention to me but like in my case it actually worked out. on the subject of the pillow fight tho, hisoka's crazy strong pillow fight throw... one more mark on the list for suspicious, maybe assassin occupation. this event made me realize how much i missed winter like. i saw the stranger pretty recently (which has caused the effect of be being like "taichi!! thats my boy!!" in my head everytime he shows up lol but anyways i havent gotten to a winter play yet so im VERY hype. especially bc this seems like it stars hisoka and homare??? like oh!! oh!!!! also detective fiction... im swooning. i also just enjoy the hisoka homare dynamic a whole fucking lot i think its nice how homare was like "yeah im ride or die for this funky lil amnesiac, why wouldnt you be?" and its just like. nice. feel like hes always reaching out to hisoka which is like. man homare is so nice.

back to chronology. ofc sakyo goes cheap for the hot springs lol. on brand as ever. was very hype for the azuma sakyo dynamic bc all i remember is like azuma trashing everyone including sakyo at some game or the other in one of the winter chapters and it was very good. or was this a clip in like a stage play? either way it was delightful. at first i misinterpreted taichi going "…" after azuma and sakyo said theyd never been on a field trip bc like. taichi being quiet or noncommunicative... after going thru autumn troupe act 1 it makes me fear for my life a little lol. anyways im glad he was just like planning fun times. speaking of taichi tho we got a tasuku taichi pair for etudes!!!! im not spoiling myself for later events but i hope to GOD tasuku and taichi do like a lead co lead in SOMETHING or at least like some mixed troupe event i want them to talk!!!

also dunno if this is an intentional pun but i enjoy that its called high spirits at the hot spring bc like oh theyre having fun but also bc like. "spirits" is used to refer to a certain type of alcohol i think? which is cool. dunno if its intentional but i liked that. anyways the talent show. taichis moving rendition of single ladies... ok i know it said single fellas but like. we know. wonder if that line was a different song in japanese? its not too old at ALL tho imo. anyways the way banri and juza being themselves Are the entertainment... flashback to when banri slaps juza live on stage instead of doing a stage slap lol. my reaction to azuma essentially went:

azuma: I can offer to bare my soul, and a little more ;)

izumi: what do u mean by that???

me: hey tasuku and omi were shirtless what's ur problem with azuma

anyways i reread and from what i understand they were maybe only flexing and doing a gun show? which like. no wonder it didnt last too long then lol. also explains why they didnt have shirtless sprites i suppose lmao. i am SO curious abt what azuma ended up doing tho that fade to black is so mysterious! did he tap dance? did he pole dance? the world will never know...

oh also im not like super familiar with azuma yet but my read on his personality is definitely like "I am so touch starved All The Time but I will be chill. :) :) this is fine :)" like he just seems to rly like being around people! just like basking in presence whether or not hes rly talking that much.

i enjoyed that juza mentioned pillow fighting with his lil brother... thats nice! i think a lot of this event was just focused on ppl having fun over the drama lol bc it got wrapped up sooo quick. i liked the bit where sakyos worried that izumi was out late searching for him tho it was so sweet. table tennis match was very fun although id argue calling hisoka and juza the two quietest tho lol like... banri exists so juza isnt quiet. just like inevitably. finally, the event cg!!! azumas hair tied up... so nice! thats how I tie my hair up sometimes tho it doesnt look nearly as nice lol. taichi rambling abt his first love for so long tho... lol. ill be honest i have to reread autumn bc i was not aware of this whole situation until it came up in the stranger and i like inferred from there. the end of this event was nice! it was cute. i dont rly have much thoughts on it but im so hype for the winter play

Hello:!!! so good to see you again, freshly learning from your mistakes then :3c

the connection with Citron is a BLAST to read about. I am glad that Citron is there, on your mind, supporting you at every turns of language. It's beautiful.

AND OH THE POKEMON LIST!!! thrilled to hear about it being a wip ongoing! take your time ofc and i hope you'll feel more confident as you go for your characters interpretation! i believe in you!

lmao i'm glad the events help you remember to play a3, i'm sure that by the time you'll be done with the events you will have unlocked so much of act 2 you won't have to worry too much about it. Anyway i'm glad you treat yourself to good things :3c

of course Hisoka fell asleep in the bath. tbh this event was a lot of "Hisoka almost dies in a spring house multiple times if it wasn't for his troupesmates". Between sleeping in the bath and almost swallowing the table tenis ball... where would we be without Winter, and especially Homare, taking care fo him.

I'm SO GLAD you like Homare that much! he's so so good! i'm sure there must be a masterlist somewhere, or well. can be done anytime i guess?? but yeah Homare is fantastic and LDJFDLKFJDF the evil plan to avoid dodgeball from both of you.. this is incredible DLKJFDLKF. But yeah alas he's loved by his own so he gets hit smh.

And yeah Hisoka is just acting sus huh.

BUT YEAH... YEAH... WINTER... BELOVED.... I feel regular and normal feelings for Winter as you know, s o .

(i'm so delighted that you feel that way about Taichi though, as he deserves!! what a good boy!!!)

But yeah Winter play next!!!!! i love the winter plays so much i hope you'll like it as well!! aND YEAH HISOKA AND HOMARE AS A DUO... for a DETECTIVE story?? so good.

I'm sO GLAD you like their dynamic! yeah i adore it too. Homare was so quick to leap into taking care of Hisoka? Like i mean he immediatly called him sleeping beauty when they first met, and immediately decided to be his roommates to watch over him, and then he did everything to take care of him and it's just so sweet. Homare has such a big heart he's so gentle with Hisoka. Homey and comfortable, whenever Hisoka admits it or not ahah.

ahah wouldn't be Sakyo if he didn't need to stay cheap. BUT YEAH the Sakyo/Azuma dynamic is pretty good. oh the event you talk about i think is in some of his very first backstage storyes (that you can read if you have them since they're at this point of the chronology). There's one where they play a mafia game and Sakyo is warry of Azuma because "people like him are those you need to worry about the most" and Azuma is just ":) you wound me :) i would never :)" and then Azuma wins the game and starts to mess with everyone. It was so fun. and yeah i see which clip you mean for the stage play!! it's so so fun they have such a neat dynamic and i loved to see it in this event as well.

and omg worrying about Taichi while he was just there preparing a fun time! this child really would have worried us all back then huh

but AHH YEAH TASUKU TAICHI.... It's such a neat dynamic! ofc i won't say anything but man i love the potential of their stories, as the two ex Godza boys. To see them bond and be comfortable with each other always make me so soft.

OH NICE CATCH FOR THE PUN! i think it must be the reason for it tbh, i love it! thanks for pointing it out!

The talent show was really fun yeah ahah! I wonder what it is in Japanese too but at least the localization was hella fun!

"anyways the way banri and juza being themselves Are the entertainment." THEY'RE SO SILLY I love them so much

AND LMAO YOUR REACTION AT AZUMA I LOVE IT. YEah i think Tasuku and Omi are just flexing (which is Still. SO FUNNY. Just there saying "our talents is.. our muscles...") meanwhile Azuma is like "my talent is that i'm crazy hot :)"

But YEAH Azuma... AZUMA WHAT DID YOU DO....

your read on Azuma's personality feels pretty spot on to me ahah omg. Staying with what you know about him, the fact that with his job and all, he seems like he's starving for connection while also terrified to make himself emotionally vulnerable. He loves staying with people, listening to them, caring for them, and he's touch starved as hell (i mean it's his job) but he doesn't seem to really know how to be on the receiving hand of affection. there's a flair talk, i can't remember where, with Omi at some point, where Azuma compliments him, and Omi is just "mhm.. but you know i think that it's more about you" and ends up complimenting Azuma in depth and it let Azuma dumbfounded because he didn't expect Omi to trick him at his own game, while Omi just genuinely don't get why Azuma is reacting that way. He gives he gives he gives, and he's genuinely happy with that, but he seems to have difficulties to take, or to demand for something, while also starving for it. I have so many emotions for Azuma.

Any mentions of Juza's little bro are the best things. I love this type of mention TwT

And yeah it was such a laid back event. Honestly deserved after the crying fest that was The Stranger imo. It's good to relax once in a while and it was nice to have them have fun. There was the bitterness of both Azuma and Sakyo's past that was always a bit looming but everyone was working so hard for them to enjoy themselves that the joy just overtake any sadness i loved it.

Sakyo worrying about Izumi is always adorable TwT

And yeah the Table Tennis match was so fun and chaotic LMAO. I love the dynamic between Juza and Hisoka. Just two usually quiet boys who like sweets. Except that yeah like you say, as long as Banri is around, Juza cannot be 100% quiet. Rip.

THE CG WAS SO PRETTY i loved seeing it. And omg you can share your hairtips with Azuma how nice :D Azuma manages to make everything look beautiful smh....

Oh yeah Taichi and his first love! if i recall he mentions it quickly at the begining, that Yuki reminds him of his first love, and he says that again at some point - then the fake Portrait he does he mentions his first love again. And since then it's been a reccuring topic so yeh :3c

but yeah! this event was really sweet and laid back, not much to say about it, but it was nice to have it at all!

Hope you'll like the winter play :3c

Take care and thank you again for your thoughts <33 i love reading them!! bless you!!

#ichafantalks a3 #sonnets of beauty #ichareply

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apex-academy · 3 years

Text

Chapter 5: Caring Is a Hazard to Your Health (#28)

Once our little break is over, everyone gathers to go to the gym.

Or actually, stop by the cafeteria first to grab a few supplies, and then to the gym. I end up getting volunteered to carry one of the little round tables. What kind of sports are we doing with these?

“...”

Moving on.

Kanagi has already made it to the top of the still-collapsed bleachers seconds after the rest of us step inside. She waves us down.

“You can set ‘em up wherever, dudes! We got three, right?”

“As far as I can tell.”

After a minute’s wandering, we set up the tables at vaguely regular intervals. Kanagi goes around giving them a kick—to make sure they don’t collapse, I guess??—but doesn’t pull up any chairs or anything else before returning to the bleachers.

“All right, dudes! We’re gonna kick this thing off with some arm wrestling!”

“Yaaaay!”

How are you excited? Your arms are freaking toothpicks.

“We’ve already determined our first matches! We’ll still go one at a time so we can all cheer each other on, but! If you’d like to wait at your tables!”

I don’t remember signing up for this. But three tables means two of us aren’t going, right?

...Betting Aidan’s one of them.

“Arright! At Table 1...”

“...whichever one that is...”

“...we’ve got Ich versus Yuks!”

“Okay...”

“Yay~”

The F-tier arm-wrestling league, I see. At least they’re trying to keep the first round fair. Ichiriki and Yuki head off for the closest table to get situated. Which is a sport of its own at at a low table too large to reach across easily, with no chairs.

“And then Table 2 isssss Kaich versus Kakumi!”

“Is it, now.”

“Nice.”

Kaichi heads for the table closest to the arbitrarily designated Table 1. I don’t have sufficient grounds to object, so I go over, too.

“And me and Iggy for Table 3!”

“Why is Kogamino the only one you don’t have to nickname?”

“Cuz she’s, like, kinda a butt about it.”

“And Mahavir isn’t?”

Well, whatever. Maybe she has trouble with foreign names. Or maybe she... just does whatever. I’m not here to try to figure her out.

“Oh... So Tsunyasha doesn’t get to play...?”

“A wise choice.”

“Any of you sinners attempting to make physical contact with the Holy Assassin... Well, it would only serve to burn you terribly.”

“Like, actually I was hoping you’d help Aid set up the next game?”

“You think—”

“Cool, thanks, dude!”

“I—excuse me?”

Did Kanagi just win the random-off? Steep competition, too.

“All right!! We’ll begin with Table 1! Mister Tokino, Miss Kurokame, please prepare to face off!”

Yuki gives Ichiriki a very slow yet fairly shallow bow.

“I’m sorry... if I’m not very good competition.”

“That’s okay!! I have no idea what I’m doing!”

“Like... You do know how you’re supposed to stand ‘n’ stuff at least, right?”

“Nope!”

“Hummmm... I think it’s like this...?”

Wow, no idea why this duo wasn’t chosen for the climactic final battle.

With Kanagi’s intervention, they manage to get set up, though.

“And—Go!”

It either takes them a minute to respond to the command, or they just can’t exert enough force to make a visible difference.

“Who am I supposed to root for again?”

“I usu’lly go with whoever’s winning.”

“Thanks.”

“Go go go go!”

“I’m trying...”

“This is fun!”

“It seems like an even match! Who will emerge victorious?”

I said no color commentary, but go off I guess.

It’s significantly more interesting to watch Tsunyasha bringing out tennis balls rather than the actual competition, but eventually we have a winner.

“Hahaha! I lost.”

“It was close, hummmm...”

“Nnnnnice.” I think she’s trying to wake up again. “Good job, Yuks!”

“Ohhh, is it Table 2′s turn now?!”

“Yup! You dudes ready?”

“ ‘S born ready, brah.”

“You do actually know what you’re supposed to be doing, right?”

“Oh, I never know what ‘m doing.”

He puts an elbow on the table and leans in. I stare for a minute.

“What, y’ bugging out ‘cause y’ get t’ hold a cute guy’s hand?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Gooooo, Kakumi!”

“Oh, right... we’re supposed to be cheering.”

“Um, go... everyone...?”

Weirdest sports day I’ve ever had.

I’ll get booed off the face of the planet if I don’t start soon, so I settle in and wait for Aidan’s countdown. Then the pressure is on. Literally. Kaichi may be a skinny guy, but what body mass he does have seems to be muscle.

I put in a passable effort, but it’s still over in a few more seconds. At least I offered enough resistance to keep my knuckles from getting crushed into the tabletop.

“Good game, brah.”

“Yeah...”

And once I’m out, I’m not paying attention to the rest. Guess I’m not a good spectator, but I don’t think any of us know who we’re supposed to be cheering for. It’s just weird to take sides for something like this. Or maybe it’s just me. I’ve never been that big on the whole sports scene.

For some reason, Yuki versus Kaichi is next—two guesses who wins that one—and then Kanagi versus Mahavir. Whether Mahavir would have won in better condition or not I’ll never know, but Kanagi sweeps it. And Kaichi’s no competition for her.

Not much of a tournament, huh? Probably comes with the territory when only one person in the class got invited as a Super High School Level athlete. Then again, that may not be a foregone conclusion. I’m pretty sure it’d be even less of a competition if Otoya was here.

“.......”

I’m not sure what hit me just now. Probably grief? Doesn’t quite sting enough. Guilt? Maybe. ...Wistfulness? I don’t know. It’s still too hard to untangle the emotions. The best description I can put together is just a sort of dull throb in my head.

I... miss him, I guess. Odd thing to say about someone I barely ever saw, but. You don’t have to hang out all the time to be friends.

“W-we’re… fr-fr-friends, r-right?”

"......”

Before the fourth case, I hadn’t really had to deal with this kind of loss. Kazusuke? Not even close to friends. Mary Jane? Same. Kokoro? Probably close, but we just didn’t have time to get to know each other. Aidan... betrayed me, I guess? At least, that was the easiest way to think about it. And...

...he’s also alive now, so not a great time to be thinking about his loss.

But then Arthur, Itsurou... still pretty neutral. And if we’re talking about betrayals...

“...”

I can’t even feel bad about sending her to the chair. Even if it seemed like we were basically friends, it was all a lie. Maybe she did care for me, but she sure wasn’t the person I cared for. She acted like someone else had done her harm instead of her doing the harm herself.

I hate people playing the victim. It just makes it harder for real victims to...

“Yo, brah?”

I jolt and find myself in the gym. Good to know I didn’t wander out.

“What?”

“You’re playing, right? Even if ‘s not really teams, might ‘s well keep ‘m even, yeah?”

“Uh...”

What are we doing now? Something with tennis balls that isn’t a team sport but vaguely is? That... What kind of inference can I make from that?

Is this what it’s like to be Kaichi? Horrifying.

“Uh, yeah, just give me a sec.”

“No prob.”

With that, I retie some laces that didn’t really need it and head to the side of the gym with fewer people lined up.

Let’s do whatever I signed up for now, I guess.

Beats thinking too much.

[BACK] [NEXT]

#apexplot #apex5 #fangan ronpa

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jokertrap-ran · 4 years

Photo

[Drama CD] AGF’19 Uta No Prince Sama: Sweets Vampire ~Key towards your heart~ Side: Mikaze Ai

Company: Broccoli CV: Aoi Shouta (蒼井翔太)

*Commissioned by Gryphy, Thank you! *Spoiler free: Translations under cut

Commissions are OPEN!!

A place where only the chosen can tread upon; a forbidden mansion. The enthralling scent of sweet chocolate and freshly baked confectioneries drifts in the air, enticing and ensnaring the poor souls that dare step foot into the mansion.

And sleeping within the tightly enclosed chocolate coffins…

Were none other than Vampires. Eternal, immortal, immaculate and seeking love forevermore. The only things that can awaken these slumbering being are a secret key and your sweet, delicious love.

And that key, is proof that you’ve entered a contract with one of the dwelling vampires in the mansion. Such an innocent and pure love you bring; so much power. Thus, the vampire will wait upon you. In exchange for the immense power they gain in return.

Now…

Use that burning passion of yours to melt these glacial icy hearts that never beat…

For a sought after, never-ending, immortally eternal love. I wonder if you know how long I’ve waited for such a moment to come. Proceed accordingly, follow your heart and tread lightly. For everything is within the palm of your hand.

Sweets Vampire: Key to melt your heart

⊹ ˚✩ ━━━━━━━ ༻ ✩ ༺ ━━━━━━━ ✩˚ ⊹

Nice to meet you. Welcome to this mansion. You’re warm. You have a body temperature. I see, you must be human then. And that key you’re holding…that’s the proof of contract. From the information I’m getting, I infer that you’re my master? Could I take a look at that key you have there? I wish to see if it’s authentic.

Hmm…Yes. It’s just as I deduced. Although, I did feel an odd sensation when I saw the key within your grasp. Something about it just told me that you were holding onto the real thing, without a doubt. This applies to when I first set my eyes on you as well. Or rather, this is the first time I’ve felt this way towards a human.

You’re not moving even a fraction of an inch. What’s wrong? Still breathing? Well, I suppose you’d be surprised by all of this. I’m pretty sure this is the first time you’re up face-to-face with a vampire too. Not to mention that they also do tell you that you should be prepared to lose your life when you encounter one.

Hm? You’re interested in the colour of my hair and eyes rather than the fact that I’m a living, breathing vampire? That’s the same reaction almost everyone has when they see me. I know it; I’m aware. It’s a strange colour to see around here, right? It’s beautiful? Well…that’s…I think that’s the first time anyone’s ever said that to me. Do you really think it’s beautiful? Don’t get so close to me. I don’t know what I’d do if you keep staring at me intensely. Would you please not indiscriminate me? It makes it hard for me to settle down if you do that. The colour entices you? My eyes? I don’t have the power of allurement, though. Yeah. I get it, so let’s just keep the praises at that, okay? Don’t try doing a round-about and use examples instead either. Don’t quote stories, tales and fables either. No, you were being so profoundly serious about it that I thought I should crack a joke.

Your eyes seem to view things in a different manner compared to the general populace. Everyone calls me a demon’s spawn, you see. I’m…kind? That’s the first I’m hearing of that too. You’re a really odd individual, aren’t you?

I wonder why…what’s this feeling I feel for you? I can’t really explain it well, but my chest…it’s starting to feel warm. And I feel like this isn’t because of that key you’re wielding. Your influence upon my being has caused some abnormalities within my being. I feel strange. I don’t know what to do… Hey? What should I do during times like this? I should just follow my heart and do whatever it tells me to do? I don’t really have a good grasp on human feelings. Actually, I don’t even know if I was originally a human in the first place. I heard that I was deemed as a “demon’s spawn” and abandoned soon after I was born. Or so I heard. I don’t remember anything from my past. No, I don’t have a single memory of my early days. Not even any childhood memories. Even if I try to remember, there’s absolutely nothing in my memory to recall. I can only remember things from after I became a vampire. Nothing has changed from what and how I am right now, though. I don’t know who turned me and I don’t know anything about myself either. Even my name, Ai. It just eventually became my name since everyone was calling me that. There’s absolutely nothing that proves that my real name’s actually Ai.

You might not believe it, but that’s the truth of it. But there was someone, a parental figure of mine. He was a tremendously strong vampire who taught me about the ins and outs of the world and how to survive it like he did in his long life. He came from a human lineage and he brought me up as if I was a human. He blended in with the humans and co-existed with them. But the others around him couldn’t really accept me into their fray. Perhaps it was the influence of the odd colouring of my hair and eyes, but everyone thought I was cursed. No one bothered about me; they ignored my existence and tried to steer away from me. Why are you pulling such an expression? You’re simply hearing out my story. Huh? That expression’s…for my sake? Somehow, my chest is starting to hurt when I see you feeling so down. I can’t really breathe, it’s a suffocating feeling. Could this feeling be what you humans call sadness…? If so, then… I suppose I’ve been sadder than I thought I originally was all this time.

Hey, don’t cry. I’ll make you smile; bring a smile onto your face. No, that’s a wrong way to put it. It’s not just for your sake, but I suppose I’m also doing it because I hate to see you sad. I don’t want to make you suffer from the feeling of being sad ever again. I want you to laugh! I want you to be happy! I wonder why…that’s what I feel really strongly about now at this moment in time.

Heh. That’s right. This expression looks way better on you. Ah, how warm. I can feel the feelings you’ve conveyed to me yet again. I think this is what they call happiness. I’ve only ever felt this many feelings in concession after having met Otoya and Cecil. They’re like family to me, because the one who made me into a vampire, made them into ones too. Otoya…he’s the polar opposite of me, so it took quite some time for me to get used to being around him. I think he got used to me real quick though. He’s quite hard-headed and I’ve never quite met another as persistent as him. We’ve been together for a long time now, but sometimes I still question his actions. And as for Cecil, he was persecuted for being a foreigner. We have similar woes of being alienated from others so we got along like a fish in water. He would often accommodate his actions according to my mood, so he was really easy to talk to. He sometimes surprises me with his bold actions, but I suppose that’s one of his good points. It’s really reassuring, being around him. Despite how he always shows up on a daily basis despite how long we’ve been living together, I don’t think I’ll ever get bored of his presence. His presence makes our long eternal life one of fun. For example, he’d drag both of us out on a walk every night. You’d think it normal, but then something unexpected happens out of the blue! The last time we did that, Otoya thought It’d be funny to jump-scare Cecil but ended up falling into the river nearby. And Cecil was of no help either since his biggest fear in this world’s water, of all things. So they both tried getting out of there by grabbing onto the nearby tree trunk. I suppose it has only been this fun so far thanks to the two of them being in my life. But…

I’ve found another side of myself ever since meeting you.

It’s not actually the first time I felt compelled to do something for others sake. Of course, I don’t normally think about it but even I do…once in a while. Still…These feelings I have for you are different from all those. You’re special. More so than anyone else out there.

I want to save you from the deep well of sadness. I want you to always keep on smiling. I think I’ll even do anything if that’s what it takes to make that a reality. I wonder what these feelings are…I want to learn more about it. Is it correct to call this “love”? I’m glad I got it right. And you…you feel the same too? What a miracle it must be! I never thought that a day with so much goodness in it would ever come…

Oh yes, I read about it in a book but they did say that two people in love with each other should kiss, yes? Um…like this? Sorry. I didn’t mean to surprise you. I just wanted to express my love to you, but it seems like I was going about it wrongly.

Thank you for your forgiveness. I’ll try my best to remember and learn. So we’ll exchange our feelings like this…I’ll give you my love and you’ll return it back in turn. We’ll continue on down this path until we come to understand each other, okay? We don’t have to follow any examples. I want to find something that’s just “us”. These feelings dwelling deep in my heart are mine, so…no, they are ours. It might take some time, but will you search for it together with me? A song of love, something fitting for us two.

#Drama CD #translations #commissions #Translation comission #Uta No Prince Sama #Uta No Prince Sama: Sweets Vampire #Utapri #Otome #Broccoli #Otomate #蒼井翔太 #Aoi Shouta #Mikaze Ai

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if-the-crown-fits-translate-it · 3 years

Text

Discord pt 68

[Date: 08/03, 8.38 PM - 08/03, 8.52 PM GMT]

[CW: Manipulation]

Marcus: “I guess you’re right, Max”

Marcus: “But if you get taken again, you won’t be Max”

Maxwell: “Look I don’t know okay I’m stressed ans this is a mess and I don’t wanna believe that baron has had to deal with similar shit I have”

boo: “i dont think having similar comforts inherently implies that

but

we dont know baron's comforts so”

Maxwell: “We don’t”

Marcus: “...”

boo: “any guesses”

Maxwell: “Well, we could look at the description he gave us?” [from an ask that Prince had answered earlier”]

sevnap: “Well, we can at least infer that he and Prince have similarcomforts, if they're compatible enough to share the room”

boo: “if its far enough from what i Think might be mine ill go in”

boo: “oh?”

Maxwell: “For baron: “the comfort room is covered in pillows and blankets and stuffed animals, and the ceiling is painted like the night sky, and there's shelves upon shelves of different books i've read and enjoyed and it always smells like freshly baked brownies!””

sevnap: “That's Prince's comfort room”

Maxwell: “Or yeah”

boo: “so thats something similar to what baron might see”

birb: “They have similar comforts”

Maxwell: “They have similar comforts though so it could help”

Maxwell: “Okay what does everyone like to do to calm down?”

Maxwell: “Wait...fetch said knight was almost like a younger version of him right?”

boo: “yea”

Marcus: “I believe I told you all the best way to calm everyone down”

Maxwell: “Was page anyway similar to that”

boo: “yeah uh”

Maxwell: “Like...childish”

Marcus: “When I said that “we can handle it from there” ...the solution is just to take that person to the room”

boo: “idk if i mixed stuff up

wow why am i not surprised”

sevnap: “Oh i see”

Marcus: “And let them be comforted by what they need most”

Maxwell: “Huh”

sevnap: “Prince, when fae first came here, must have spent a lot of time there, then”

Marcus: “It’s....easier”

boo: “so y'all never talk things out

never may be an exaggeration”

Marcus: “.....yes, I was very worried about joining the server after I saw how fae were reacting to it”

Marcus: “We would! ....after the person who was upset calmed down”

boo: “oh thats better than I thought

yikes lol my server has a bad rep

oh before I forget

did someone build this room

or was it always there”

Marcus: “I...don’t know

It was there when I met him

But i wasn’t the first”

boo: “yeah that makes sense

i just wonder if it's specifically catered to court members only or if anyone can walk in and just

yknow

use the room

Maxwell: “I think I might....take a little nap soon....but not for a while”

boo: “mmm dont get taken again”

Maxwell: “I’ll be fine fetch and Marcus are here”

Marcus: “I suppose it would also depend on whether or not one needs permission or access to view the mansion

Fetch is also asleep, Max

Don’t worry, I won’t let anything happen to you two”

sevnap: “Oh, Marcus, there's something I've been meaning to ask”

Maxwell: “You know...that almost sounds familiar ha...”

sevnap: “So”

#on:discord #by:maxwell #by:marcus #if the crown fits #by:page #by:viscount

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archdukecaleb · 4 years

Text

Monochrome Week 2020 — Day 4: Soulmate AU

Word Count: 1324

Weiss let out a drawn-out sigh. She never thought her simple office job could ever get this stressful. With far more hours a week than she bargained for on top of a boss who almost scolded her as much as her father, she was more than elated about going on her break for lunch.

As an added bonus, she would get to see her favorite person at the moment: a reserved, faunus girl named Blake. Every day, Weiss would go to the same café for lunch and order the same coffee from the same person. Just the way she liked it.

Weiss had been working her job for just under a month now, and in that time, she would like to say she knew Blake fairly well. Ever since she started, the café Blake worked at became her go-to coffee shop.

They had small chats every time Weiss came by for her coffee. It had gotten to the point where Blake would have her order ready seconds before she walked through the door.

As Weiss walked down the sidewalk to her favorite coffee shop, she noticed there were several couples walking around. Many of them were holding hands and giggling together.

What’s going on…?

Walking further down the street, Weiss came across a crowd of people surrounding a man with a megaphone.

“Find your soulmates here, folks! One of these people is bound to be the one for you!”

Weiss rolled her eyes and shook her head.

Soulmates…

The idea baffled her. How could there possibly be such a thing? That there was exactly one person out of billions on the planet that was supposed to be with you?

It was said that the moment someone touches their soulmate—whether it be a high five or a kick to the chin—as long as there is skin on skin contact, you will experience what your soulmate felt during the most important moment of their life so far.

As if.

Weiss made sure her hair was immaculate and her clothing was on straight as she approached the coffee shop. Before she even opened the door, her favorite faunus was smiling at her.

“Hello, Weiss,” Blake greeted as she placed a cup on the counter, “I’ve got your coffee right here.”

“Once again, you have proven why you are the best,” Weiss chuckled as she placed a few dollars on the counter and picked up her cup, “As always, you may keep the change.”

“You’re too kind,” Blake giggled as she collected the money and bowed her head, “Is work treating you alright? You look a little tired.”

“Oh, it’s been pretty busy, but it’s nothing I can’t handle,” Weiss sighed as she set her purse down on the counter and leaned against it, “The coffee helps.”

“I’m glad,” said Blake, “As you could probably infer… I haven’t been very busy today.”

Weiss took a moment to check her surroundings and realized they were completely alone, “Huh. I wonder where everyone went.”

“They’re all at that rally down the street. Some guy keeps claiming he can help people find their soulmates,” said Blake with a twinkle in her amber eye.

“Oh, yes! I walked by him on the way here!” Weiss huffed, “Can you believe there are actually people who believe in that nonsense?”

The smile on Blake’s face faltered, “Oh… Yeah, it’s pretty dumb, isn’t it,” she chuckled, softly.

The change in Blake’s demeanor was not missed by Weiss, and she quickly realized her mistake, “I—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to undermine what you believe in,” she apologized.

“It’s totally fine. Really,” said Blake, “I realize the idea of soulmates isn’t exactly without flaw.”

Weiss opened her mouth to say something but frowned instead.

“Weiss, it’s okay,” Blake laughed as the knocked on the countertop, “Don’t worry. I’ll still be here with your coffee every day.”

Weiss nodded and let out a breath she had not realized she was holding, “Good. I don’t know if there’s anyone on the planet that can get it right, besides you.”

Blake laughed, causing Weiss to smile.

“Well, I should probably head back to the office. My boss is going to kill me if I’m late again,” Weiss sighed as she turned to leave.

Just as Weiss opened the door to exit the establishment, Blake called after her.

“Weiss, wait!”

Weiss turned and saw Blake step around the counter with a purse in her hand.

“You forgot this,” Blake smirked and held out the bag.

“Of course I did,” Weiss rolled her eyes with a chuckle.

She reached out to take her purse from Blake when her vision went black.

When she could see again, she was in an unfamiliar room. Loud shouting and crashes boomed from outside.

She looked around, confused, and jumped as a door swung open. Two faunus, a man and a woman with black hair and amber eyes, rushed inside. The woman immediately snatched Weiss’ arm and led her to a closet.

“Everything is going to be okay, Sweetie,” the woman said as she opened the closet, “Stay in here and don’t make a sound, no matter what you hear. Mommy loves you.”

The woman kissed her forehead and closed the door.

Weiss looked around and found a pair of golden eyes watching her. She gasped as the figure she watched mimicked her movements.

A mirror…

Except Weiss was not looking at herself. Instead, she saw a young cat faunus with worn-out clothing and messy hair.

She heard a scream from outside and cracked the door open to see what was happening. There was fire in the windows and the two faunus were on the floor.

Weiss’ vision went black once again. As her sight cleared up, she found her thumb resting against Blake’s finger with her purse gripped tightly in them. Her coffee was spilled all over the floor and she did not realize she was crying until a single tear fell from her cheek.

“Blake… I am so sorry,” Weiss sniffled as she met Blake’s amber eyes.

“Sorry?” Blake giggled with a smile wider than any Weiss had seen before. Her smile fell as she furrowed her brows at Weiss, “Wait… What did you see?”

Weiss felt her heart break as she recalled her vision, “T-there was fire everywhere. People screaming. I… I…”

Blake hugged Weiss tightly and squeezed her eyes shut, “Stop… I know what you saw now.”

Weiss wrapped her arms around Blake and buried her face in the crook of her neck. She never wanted to experience that ever again.

“So… I guess we’re soulmates, then,” Blake chuckled as she rubbed her hand in circles on Weiss’ back.

Weiss could not contain the giggle that escaped her, “Now I feel even worse for thinking it was all nonsense.”

The two girls separated and Weiss looked down at the mess of coffee on the floor.

“I’m sorry I spilled my coffee,” said Weiss as she wiped at her eyes.

“I should be thanking you,” said Blake, “You’ve given me something to do after I make you another cup.”

“Oh, it’s alright. I feel energized enough after what just happened,” Weiss laughed and sniffled, “I really have to get back to the office… Can we talk about this whole soulmate thing later?”

“Of course,” nodded Blake as she held her finger up, “Oh, in the meantime…”

Blake reached into her back pocket and pulled out a slip of paper, handing it to Weiss.

“What’s this?” she asked as she accepted the paper.

“My phone number,” Blake blushed, “So we can chat outside of store hours.”

“You carry around your phone number on a slip of paper?” Weiss giggled.

“Nope. I was actually going to ask you out today… And I guess now that we’re soulmates you could say it was destiny.”

Weiss looked down at the slip and held it up with a smile.

“Well… I’ll text you tonight… Soulmate.”

#monochromeweek2020 #monosweek2020 #@monochromeweek #rwby #weiss schnee #blake bellodona #weiss x blake

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