#I can’t find anyone else who has a similar problem to me why is this happening
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Guess who bought the steam version of rpg maker MV after trying the free trial version finally plays it and encounters several game breaking bugs by running autorun events causing the player to be unable to move after the event finishes even if I add a switch to stop the event and making the game unplayable thanks rpgmaker MV.
What the fuck.
#rpgmaker#rpg maker#rpgmaker mv#the trial version worked perfectly but the payed version doesn’t work properly what the fuck#I can’t find anyone else who has a similar problem to me why is this happening#anyone who uses rpgmaker MV on steam could you please help me try to understand what the fuck is wrong with my version of the game#I’ve already asked this on another forum I’m mainly posting this just to vent#game dev#gamedev
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Can you do an autistic trans(if you do that) male reader who doesn’t really get social cues but is overall pretty quiet and reserved with the people from the Hazbin hotel?
𝕊𝕚𝕝𝕖𝕟𝕥 𝔹𝕦𝕥 𝔽𝕣𝕚𝕖𝕟𝕕𝕝𝕪
Words: 1111
𝔸𝕝𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕠𝕣:
He will be unaware at first, so his first impression about you is not good. Thinks you’re being rude on purpose, but when he finds out that's not the case he’ll feel slightly bad.
For his assumptions he’ll subtly apologize by dropping presents in your room (Unnamed of course.) and lending you a helping hand.
If you two become close he will take you to his tailor to get matching suits, different colours obviously, can’t have you taking his signature colour now, can we?
***
For the first few days you’ve been at the hotel Alastor has been weirdly stand offish. Others didn’t mind, often glad he’s staying away rather than closer. But you wanted to know why, so you asked Charlie.
Who asked Alastor, to which he gracefully answered.
“Well, I don’t enjoy seeing terrible manners around the hotel, surely you don’t either?” At his words the reason for avoidance clicked in her head.
“Why didn't you say so? Well knowing you, you wouldn’t… But Y/N isn’t that good with social cues, so he doesn’t mean any of, whatever he’s been doing.”
“Oh…” At her words he left the room, finding you. “Well hello my Handsome fellow,”
“Hi?” After his most recent actions you didn’t expect him to just waltz up to you.
“Unfortunately someone has ruined my suit,” Correct, a good chunk was missing. “And hopefully you would accompany me?”
“Sure, I guess?”
“Perfect!”
ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕣𝕝𝕚𝕖:
She's unsurprisingly similar when it comes to social cues.
When it comes to you being autistic or trans she won’t notice, that’ll be the last thing she knows.
You two can not be left alone, someone will need to supervise you both.
***
It has been barely a week since you fell into hell and it’s been terrible. There were too many things happen that you could say or even recall, so today was meant to be relaxing. Or at least somewhat close, until someone pulled you around.
They were your only friend here, so of course you had to follow. After a few hours walking around you found you both in front of a hotel, one called the ‘Hazbin hotel.’ Excitedly knocking at the door while you watched.
Within seconds the door swung open revealing an excited blonde.
“Oh my, hi!” Pulling you both in as she spoke, which allowed you to see other people hanging around. “I’m Charlie, and welcome to the Hazbin Hotel!”
“Told ya you’d like it here.”
You were both aware nothing was said beforehand but you didn’t confront them. Seemed like the others knew something was up, so they had Charlie pull you away.
“Since you're new, how about a private tour of the Hazbin Hotel?”
𝕍𝕒𝕘𝕘𝕚𝕖:
Compared to the other hotel residents your quietness is a surprise, but a welcome one at that.
If you ask or signal at all to her she’ll be at your side to subtly help you with social cues and anything else needed.
Especially if you’re new (Also if not) she’ll help you get masculine clothing, although she might have to get others help as she isn’t the most masculine either.
***
Charlie had just brought you to the hotel in a… not so good condition. She wasn’t sure what you went through to look like that but she knew you needed some help, and she was going to help where she could.
“Alastor, I need your help”
“Hmm?”
“You know the newbie, I have to get him some clothes. Problem is I have no clue where to go.” At her words his smile increases slightly.
“I could help, for a price…”
“Nevermind.”
While she wanted to help she wouldn’t risk anything with Alastor, maybe Angel would be better.
𝔸𝕟𝕘𝕖𝕝 𝔻𝕦𝕤𝕥:
He’s seen some shit during his time down in hell, so your actions and attitude isn’t seen as weird to him.
To a degree he’ll take advantage of you. Never anything you wouldn’t want, but to keep him safe from Vaggie or Alastor.
But only he can do it, if anyone else even tries he’ll be there to protect you.
***
“Vaggie, why would I do that?”
“Oh I don’t know, maybe you–”
“Doesn’t matter, I would never when Y/N is with me!”
At his words Vaggie looked down at you, finding you wrapped in Angels pairs of arms. You had a few blooming bruises around your face but otherwise seemed alright.
“Just… Don’t do it again, I don’t want to see Y/N or Charlie get mad at you.”
“Really, Y/N mad at me? Never!” One pair of hands had come up to cup your cheeks, able to leave multiple kisses. Causing Vaggie to leave quickly.
“Now, let me take care of those bruises.”
𝕊𝕚𝕣 ℙ𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕦𝕤:
He’s been thrown into the same boat as you, has absolutely no understanding of social cues.
If anything the eggs make it worse, as they are somehow worse than sir pentious.
He has accidentally hurt the both of you at once somehow, no one is sure how that happened.
***
The streets didn’t seem too busy, which was weird for hell. But it might’ve been the fact you and Sir Pentious just weren’t aware of them walking. His tail was swaying dangerously behind him, knocking over any people.
During this his eggs were scattered around the both of you. Some stayed behind, in between and some strayed next to you. Which caused an even bigger barrier to form, now people had to step off the path.
ℍ𝕦𝕤𝕜:
When he first meets you he won’t really care, he’s had worst people hang around.
If he’s being honest he understands and gets social cues, but majority of the time he just doesn’t care about them.
Even then he knows with your lack of awareness you’re likely to get into some unwanted trouble, so he hangs around a lot more.
***
Husk never had the heart to blame you for any trouble, he knew you never meant it. So tonight he accompanied you to a nearby bar, intending for at least a semi-nice night out. But of course someone had to ruin it.
A drunk demon decided he wanted to bother you for the night, ignoring Husk the whole time. But over time his anger rose, you weren’t even looking at him and you didn’t seem interested.
In which you weren’t, but he seemed so incessant that you spoke, even if you didn’t. His attitude quickly became clear very quickly, except you didn’t notice. As he reached for you Husk was quicker, sending a card flying into his head.
That caused everyone to start their own fights. Which gave you two the chance to leave, with minimal injuries of course. Taking the chance you both ran out, luckily no one else was waiting outside.
“We’re going back.”
#hazbin hotel x reader#hazbin hotel x male reader#hazbin hotel alastor#alastor x reader#hazbin hotel charlie#charlie x reader#hazbin hotel vaggie#vaggie x reader#hazbin hotel angel dust#angle dust x reader#hazbin hotel sir pentious#sir pentious x reader#hazbin hotel husk#husk x reader#wisteria♥
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it’s more than a little disturbing to me how many people loudly proclaim how much they hate or don’t care about Nate and his character journey, while with the same breath proclaiming how much they love Jamie’s. “Oh boo hoo, Nate has daddy issues,” i’ve actually seen adult people actually say. “So does Jamie and look at him!”
Similarly: “Nate’s gonna be saved by the love of a woman? How boring and cliche!”
Or: “Nate doesn’t have to be such a jerk. He has Ted as a role model. He should know better!”
to anyone capable of saying that, you’re absolutely right. You don’t care about Nate or his journey and that couldn’t be more obvious. What’s interesting though is why.
because here’s the thing about Jamie, and also about Ted. Two things they have in common--a massive ego and a rock-solid sense of self.
remember Jamie in like the second episode of the whole series? “Coach, I’m me. Why would I want to be anything else?”
yes, Jamie has a shit dad and he’s had a shit time of it in many ways because of his shit dad. But what Jamie has never had to face is a crisis of identity. He knows who he is and he knows his value. He can take hits and come back from them, he can acknowledge his mistakes and learn from them because at his core he still and always has that knowledge that he’s a superstar.
then there’s Ted. Anyone who doubts that Ted is a full-fledged egomaniac, ask yourselves how much confidence it takes to preface every single useful thing you have to say with a meandering, folksy anecdote and be absolutely certain that every single person you speak to is going to not only put up with that but actively listen. That’s the kind of confidence that can only come from a particular kind of privilege, and while Ted also has been through tough times and experienced trauma he's a white man from a place where white men are at the top of every ladder and he has very clearly never doubted who he is or the value he possesses.
Nate can't be Jamie and he can’t be Ted. Not just because it’s ridiculous to expect different humans to behave identically in situations that are only vaguely similar, but because Nate’s core problem isn’t that his dad withholds love or that the hostess at a restaurant is snide to him.
his problem--which incidentally we’ve been shown from the absolute very beginning--is that he doesn’t have any confidence. He doesn’t know who he is, and the who that he thinks he is, is a who he doesn’t especially like. Nate can't be Jamie because to him every mistake he makes reduces his worth, and he doesn’t have that superstar core to shore him up. Nate can’t be Ted because the entirety of his lifetime experience has assured him that no one wants to listen to anything he has to say. Nate can only be Nate because he is Nate, and the only thing that he or any of us can be is ourselves.
and yeah, who Nate is isn’t always especially pleasant. He’s shown he can be mean and he can be spiteful. So what? He’s flawed, as all the characters are. As all humans are. Plenty of us have meanness and spite in us, that doesn’t make us irredeemable monsters. Nate’s journey is about realising his value and finally receiving recognition for it. He’s a clever, capable strategist and a talented coach. Now that he’s finally seeing and being seen for that, he’s finding in himself the capacity to recognise and work on his flaws. Which he is doing. It’s not about getting the girl or finding redemption through the love of a woman. It’s about having the confidence to trust that another human is going to see him and like him for who he is.
Nate isn’t flawed in a sexy asshole way like Jamie or a folksy wholesome way like Ted. He’s flawed in an uncomfortably human way that probably hits too close to home for many people. Jamie and Ted are larger-than-life characters. Nate is one of us. So in a way i guess it’s understandable that people have a harder time forgiving him his trespasses or “caring” about his redemption.
on the other hand, however, you all might want to ask yourselves why you’re so willing to extend endless grace to the hyperconfident white men while offering the anxious brown one none at all.
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Takashi Morinozuka x fem reader -> crush/early dating stage head-canons (sfw)
honestly, i fuckn hate hcs, but i’m gonna put them out there anyway, since mine are simply better cuz i said so
- Takashi isn’t the type of guy to just go up to a girl and ask her out because he thinks she’s cute or anything, so you would 100% have to start off as friends before he made a move (and even then, you’d probably be waiting a while)
- Probably would not initiate a conversation with you on his own (shocking)
- I could see Honey noticing Takashi’s special interest in a girl (you can make up the reason why, or request and i’ll write for it lmao) and deciding to talk to her, and maybe even invite her to the club
- If he did this with Takashi present, he’d be super nervous(though that wouldn’t be apparent to anyone but Honey), but he’d be secretly grateful that his cousin set him up, cuz lord knows it wouldn’t have happened otherwise
- Once Honey had Takashi’s future wife crush engaged in a conversation, he’d start trying to, not so subtly, gauge whether or not she’s a good fit for Takashi
- If Honey doesn’t like you, then you don’t get to be with Takashi, period.
- If anyone asks at any point during your friendship if Takashi has feelings for you, he’ll either outright deny it or just stay silent, even though it’d be super obvious to anyone who knows him to any capacity
- He would be more engaged in conversations with you than anyone else, MAYBE aside from Honey
- He’d help with anything he thought you may be struggling with (you don’t even have to ask)
- Need help finding something? He’s got you. Pickle jar too hard to open? No problem. Can’t reach something on a high shelf? Well, thank god a certain giant has nothing better to do cuz he was just admiring you anyway
- Once the club catches on, any possible privacy the two of you had is gone. Especially if they can tell the feelings are reciprocated
- Tamaki, the twins, and Honey would all try to get the both of you into situations where you’d be alone together, or they’d talk about how cute you would be together, or how cute your kids would be, etc.
- Even before a relationship begins, Takashi will think it’s disloyal or unfaithful to interact flirt with any other girls, so he would be extra quiet during club hours (unless you’re there 🥰)
- Speaking of relationships, when Takashi does finally ask you out, expect it to be a simple question, such as: “Would you like to get coffee with me tomorrow?” or something similar. He’d probably also do so when you two are completely alone so that the other club members don’t try to trail you on your date
- If the date went well, and he felt like you were interested afterwards, that’s when he’d ask you to be his girlfriend.
- The poor guy’s heart would be pounding out of his chest and he’d be blushing like crazy, which would only get worse when if you said yes
- Once you’re official, any reservations he previously had regarding closeness are gone. He wants to hold your hand and just be near you all the time
- He’s not into the PDA shit, though. It’s not like he’d pull you into a make out sesh in public, but he does like to be near you at all times
- Honey absolutely loves that Takashi found someone he truly cares for, especially since he thinks you’re fun to be around, so he and Takashi can still be close as ever
- The other members (mainly Tamaki) are ecstatic about the relationship as well
- Seeing the strong, silent type all head over heals for you is just too sweet
- Once you start dating, it isn’t long before he wants you over to meet his parents and vice versa
- He doesn’t even see it as a huge step or anything. I mean, of course he wants his family to meet his darling partner
———————————————————————
Alright, I’m gonna call this a part one, and basically just write others to be more tailored to a reader with specific personality traits, cuz writing so vaguely is driving me insane.
(I have no writing experience, but I promise I’ll try harder next time, so hopefully they’ll get better after this 😭)
If there’s anything specific you want to see, feel free to request headcanons or fics for Takashi (or any of the other characters for that matter), as that’ll make it way easier to write something worthwhile lmao
#takashi morinozuka#takashi morinozuka x reader#ohshc#ouran high school host club#mori senpai#ohshc mori#headcanon#my hcs#romance#dating#anime and manga
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Give me your head-canons:
How do you solve the Orpheus problem?
[And as always: Send me asks about everything Sandman-related!]
As in: It’s the elephant in the room in so many canon-compliant or -adjacent fanfics I read (we obviously don’t need to talk about coffee shop AUs) and Orpheus either keeps on existing somehow (and no one cares, because Dream and whatever love interest just literally fuck off into the sunset and pretend everything’s okay), or he gets killed by someone else who quite strictly wouldn’t be able to kill him.
Is it a solvable problem?
If he keeps existing as a severed head, it’s honestly a bit shite for him, isn’t it? So these are the fics where we keep on visiting severed heads. I don’t know, I find that… dissatisfying.
If Dream kills him, it’s over. Unless he stays in the Dreaming and lets the storm blow over. Will it though? I mean yeah, he could sit there for all eternity (groan), not take Death’s hand and make sure he doesn’t conveniently leave so the Kindly Ones get in and start ripping the Dreaming to shreds. But that doesn’t really sound like a solution to me either, because the problem won’t go away. Also: Probably no meetings in the waking world with you-know-who ever again. Plot hole, people, it doesn’t work that way.
If someone else kills him: Who? Please don’t say Hob, I know he’s immortal (so was Murphy), but the very idea is that no one can kill the poor kid because he made a deal with Death, which she apparently can’t revoke. Is there an entity who could? Which links in to the question: Why could Dream (somewhat rhetorical question)? Could any similar entity do it if they also had to grant him a boon? But don’t forget: Can’t be one of the Endless, they’re all family. Unless one sacrifices themselves. I mean, I think I’ve seen Death doing that in a fic somewhere, I think the assumption was she’s okay with dying a mortal death, but I also felt that’s not quite right, since it’s just not the same (also: in her mortal form, she wouldn’t have those powers). Does it have to be The Presence/Glory? Why would they care?
Yeah, he could use the Saeculum I guess, but really? If the problem never existed, it would also feel… wrong? Plus, we all know that changing the past always has implications on the future that go far beyond the thing we want to change. Plus plus: I honestly think it would be a bit OOC for him because he’d feel there’s not enough at stake (like a whole universe imploding) to ever justify that. So no, that’s, IMHO, making him into someone he really isn’t (can of course be an option in fanfic I guess).
Same goes for the Dream of a Thousand Cats Spiel. Someone who is so wrapped up in his duty just wouldn’t do that for his own personal gain, and not even for one loved one (he also wouldn’t be allowed to kick it off by telling anyone, and what 1,000 dreamers would dream that? I mean, WE all would, but that’s a bit… meta?😂). I said what I said.
Or is it some sort of magic? Like, he’s still a severed head, but we make him *think* he isn’t, give him back a body (in his own mind, or maybe even for real)? But that’s also… not great and feels like gaslighting him. Really not keen.
So what say you?
Is this just a case of: Unsolvable problem, hence we might as well pretend we solve it in some ridiculous way or pretend it doesn’t exist in the first place?
#the sandman#dream of the endless#morpheus#orpheus#sandman meta#<<<sort of but not really#the sandman spoilers#sandman spoilers#sandman headcanons#how do you solve a problem like orpheus#<<<that’s a sound of music reference#just in case-you never know these days
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Why Not Ship Sonic with Knuckles Instead?
Why is it that, when Shadow and Knuckles have such similar personalities and dynamics with Sonic, do some people prefer to ship Sonic with Shadow instead of Knuckles? Wouldn’t a Sonic and Knuckles relationship offer the same thing and be more believable since those two are friends?
The answer (in my opinion) is no, it would not, and here’s why I find a Sonic and Knuckles relationship both less believable and less interesting.
(Disclaimer that I’m not knocking anyone who does like the ship. I have no problem with it; it’s just not for me)
Now the first issue I would see with a Sonic and Knuckles pairing is logistics. Knuckles is stationary; Sonic is free-roaming. Never being able to stay in one place for long is a big part of Sonic’s character, and staying in one place for a long time is kind of Knuckles’ whole thing. He guards the Master Emerald and never leaves Angel Island unless he has to, and never for very long if he can help it. Having to stay in an isolated place for a long time would drive Sonic crazy. Maybe a good fanfic writer could reconcile this by playing up the “being in love with you makes me want to stay” schtick, but even that I think would only work for so long. Knuckles wants to stay where he is because that’s his home and he feels an obligation to it. Sonic wants to travel and go where he pleases. And while we don’t know where Shadow lives, it’s safe to assume he’s probably living at least a somewhat nomadic lifestyle because the one permanent home he did have was destroyed. So I think he and Sonic would work better just from that standpoint if nothing else. Shadow has moved on from his past, but Knuckles is still very much tethered to his.
My other issue is that these characters don’t clash over the same things. As I mentioned in my Sonadow post, Sonic and Shadow fight over serious ideological differences that both are equally passionate about defending. When Sonic and Knuckles fight, however, it’s usually because Knuckles got tricked into falling for an Eggman scheme that almost any other character would have immediately seen right through. There are exceptions to this, I’m sure, like in the movie where they fight over which parent was on the right side in the war, but a lot of times they fight because Knuckles is just so dang gullible. Instead of both of them being passionate, it’s more one-sided where Knuckles is passionate but Sonic is smirking at what a dumbass he thinks his friend is. I don’t find that nearly as satisfying to explore and write about.
There’s other factors as well. I think Shadow would be drawn to Sonic because he reminds him of Maria. They’re both blue and kind-hearted, they both love the world and want to protect it, and they both want to explore and hate being trapped in one place for a long time (only in Maria’s case, she can’t really do anything about it). Knuckles doesn’t really have anyone like that in his life. There’s not really any reason for him to be drawn to Sonic in that way, at least no more so than he would be drawn to Amy, Tails, or any other good-hearted person in the series. He admires Sonic for his bravery and good morals, sure, but I imagine he admires Cream for the same reason. The only family we see Knuckles have (outside the Ken Penders comics) is his dad, who always just kinda seems like an older version of Knuckles. Shadow being with Maria makes me think of Shadow being with Sonic, while Knuckles being with his dad just makes me think of Knuckles being with his future self.
And finally, there’s the speed. Only Shadow is a match for Sonic in a race. Knuckles could beat Sonic in a fight, where it’s a contest of strength and power, but he could never beat Sonic in a race. Only Shadow can keep up with him in a race. And I just think there’s something romantic and cool about that.
Knuckles and Shadow may have a lot in common, but they are not the same character. And neither is their dynamic with Sonic.
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What’s your opinion on people who think 2012 raph is an abusive bully? I think personally they are only children and it shows. People with siblings see this as normal.
I think that people with an opinion on any type of Hamato abuse in the show either haven’t done proper research on the show, they have a rough family life that twists it, or they don’t have siblings.
Since you opened the door for me to get ranty, Imma be a little ranty about more than simple TMNT data.
Now, some people DO have siblings and see this show as abusive, but that’s because of a number of other reasons.
The biggest problem, to me, is the fandom itself.
Let me explain:
You go outside for the first time. When you ask what color the grass is, your entire neighborhood says, “orange.” You accept this as correct, and now you would see all grass as orange. You could hear this for weeks before leaving the neighborhood. At the store, someone tells you, “Actually, it’s green, and here’s why.”
And here you hesitate.
Because wouldn’t that mean your neighbors are wrong? After they all believe it? Everyone says grass is orange. How dare this person say otherwise. You aren’t stupid. You know grass is orange. They’re attacking you and your neighbors. Why would you listen to them?
Likely, you wouldn’t believe them. You’d be more inclined to assume that what you always hear is correct. You would continue to spread what everyone says because it’s what you heard.
This is similar to how people see Mikey. 2012TMNT seasons and certain episodes were hard for me to find when I started looking for the show. Many people rely on the fandom more than show for opinions on it. Negative clips get taken out of context and the favorite moments like Parasitica are blown up until it’s all the fandom can see. I’ve spoken to people who write fanfics about the show, but haven’t seen past the second season.
They rely on the fandom to write, so if the fandom and their friends preaches that Mikey is abused and Raph is the abuser, why would they believe otherwise?
(It’s funny, how Mikey has been ‘abused’ by Raph for years, and yet, he never hesitates to do all of the things that will tick his brother off. He does not waste a moment pushing the buttons of the one person that he ‘fears’ more than anyone else, and turns to his ‘abuser’ before any of his other family members when he’s upset and looking for comfort. Even more interesting, is that the ‘abuser’ will not hesitate to help and comfort the brother that he ‘takes pride in hurting’.)
Everyone who has talked bad about the show has had strings for me to pull at. Not one “Mikey is abused” fan has made a solid argument as to why Mikey feels unloved and unwanted. When they talk about Raph, they often default to- well, Raph is mean to Mikey and that makes him upset. But he doesn’t stand up for himself, so he must be depressed and sad and I’m depressed that my life is bad so if you say he’s not than you’re attacking me. (True story)
It’s exhausting. I don’t like these kind of arguements. Because there’s a different between me saying that a character who is not you and does not share your exact thoughts and feels as well as not knowing the trauma of your home life is not depressed and me saying you are not depressed. Me saying a character is not depressed does not make your feelings any less real.
It just means that the character that I am analyzing from a show that has nothing to do with you in its creation isn’t depressed.
As well as saying that the character that I am analyzing from a show that has nothing to do with you in its creation isn’t abused.
Maybe it isn’t that Mikey doesn’t stand up for himself. (He does.)
Maybe, more often than not, there’s nothing to stand up to.
And, no, I’m not saying you can’t headcanon Mikey as depressed. Or convince the fandom that he’s abused.
I’m saying that if you truly believe that he is, you better be able to give me a cohesive debate and plenty of picture proof that he feels unloved and unwanted or has any depression symptoms laced through the show. And you should also be ready to have me attack that with my own opinion to defend my beliefs.
I have nothing against someone who says Raph is abusive. I’m sure they have their reasons and I’m sympathetic to the trauma and respect whatever reasoning that they give.
I respect them and their right to opinion. I have nothing against that person. I’m not against any person.
I’m against, to quote 2018Leon, “Everything you stand for.”
#IS Asks#i hope this makes sense#tmnt 2012#tmnt 2k12#teenage mutant ninja turtles 2012#tmnt fandom#tmnt raph 2012#teenage mutant ninja turtles#raph and mikey#raph 2012#tmnt 2012 raph#tmnt 2012 raphael#2012 raphael#tmnt 2012 mikey#2012 michelangelo#2012 mikey#tmnt mikey 2012#mikey 2012#2012 tmnt#ninja turtles#2012 tmnt raph#2012 tmnt mikey#2012 teenage mutant ninja turtles
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Comparing Omniscient Reader's Viewpoint and I Want To Eat Your Pancreas [SPOILERS]
I will be mostly discussing themes of choice and love, so if you have not already I implore you to read my post about orv and themes of choice here.
I Want To Eat Your Pancreas is about a girl named Sakura who is terminally ill. A boy named Haruki stumbled upon her diary during a hospital visit. It was titled “Living with Dying.” He is the only one aside from her family that knows of her illness. Because of this, a special bond forms between them. She begins to pester him by getting a job in the library he works at. She tells him a story about how if someone were to eat a healthy version of the infected part of their body, they’d be cured of their ailments.
She begins to show up everywhere and tells him that she wants to spend the rest of her life hanging out with him. Haruki does not have friends. Much like Kim Dokja, he spends his days with his nose in a book—he thinks people do not want to know him.
Despite his expressing annoyance at her insistence, he still finds himself accompanying her. Fulfilling this list of things she wanted to do before she died. When hanging out, they have the following conversation:
He says no one is interested in him and so he isn’t interested in others. He is happy to let all relationships start and die in his head. She says immediately that she is interested in him—something that leaves him speechless. She actually lectures him on his poor habit of deciding everyone dislikes him. He doesn’t /let/ people love him. This is much like Kim Dokja’s mindset in the sense that he refuses to let people know him. He can’t comprehend the idea that anyone would /want/ to know him.
Sakura’s friends tell her they could find her someone better. Someone more interesting and not as boring. But she continues to hang out with him. They keep asking her why and she just says “we just get along.” There doesn’t need to be a reason to like someone. You don’t need to be extraordinary to be worthy of someone’s care and attention. Like Kim Dokja, whose life was another tragedy. Kim Dokja who was just a salaryman; a lousy employee who liked to read. A boy who avoided the complexities of relationships with fiction. Both Kim Dokja and Haruki think relationships bring problems. They are physically incapable of imagining a world where someone could care for someone are average as them. Being alone is easier. It’s easier to assume no one will like you because then you don’t face rejection.
Sakura tells him to stop spending so much time reading books and instead focus on spending time with /people/. Something he doesn’t do until the end of the film. In fact, one boy continuously reached out to Haruki by offering gum and he always refused.
With this continuous refusal, he does continue to accompany Sakura. After the two spend a spontaneous vacation together, Haruki even has a moment of honesty. A moment where he admits that he had fun.
This reminds me of Dokja coming to terms with the fact that even though he doesn’t believe in fantasies, he wants to enjoy his time with his companions. He never lets himself /want/ anything, but the safety and companionship these people provide him give him hope. As seen below, Kim Dokja says it’s easier to survive alone. Comfortable even. But he ends it with a “but..” I want to be with you. I want to love you despite all the problems that come with being by your side. Because with love comes pain, but I’ll carry that pain.
Later in the film, Haruki and Sakura argue and he proclaims that he should’ve never tried to interact with others. All he brings to others is pain. It’s similar to Kim Dokja coping with the fact that the novel that brought him these companions also ruined them.
She tells him that’s not true and he insists she should be with someone else who can care for her more. They just met by chance. Their relationship wasn’t special. She says it wasn’t a coincidence—that everyone is what they are because of the choices they’ve made.
“You're wrong. It wasn't chance. Everyone is where they are because of the choices they've made. Our choices led us to being in the same class. Our choices brought us to the hospital. Not chance. There's no such thing as fate. All the choices you've made and all the choices I've made brought us together. You and I met by our own decisions.”
Much like I say in my orv and the power of choice analysis, choosing to love someone is the most powerful act of free will we can choose as human beings. To /choose/ to love someone. How every day, every moment, every second is made up of countless choices we've made. How coincidences don't truly exist, because we end up where we are at each moment because of a choice someone made. Life is full of choices. Some are worse than others. It matters what we do with the next choice. It matters what we do with the choices we make. It matters how we factor in others' thoughts and feelings into the choices we make. Life is nothing without human connection. Making the choice to continue living.. the choice to have those relationships even though they're scary and uncertain. That’s what living is all about.
“Living...... Means having bonds with others. Paying attention to someone. Loving someone. Hating someone. Having fun being with someone. Taking someone’s hand. That’s what it means to live. If you’re all alone, you cant tell that you exist. Your relationship with others, is what defines being alive. I know my mind exists, since I can interact with others. I know my body exists, because others touch me. That’s where the purpose of being alive comes from. Just like we’ve been chosen to live out this moment here and now.”
Sakura asks Haruki: you want me to live? And he says yes, very much. Just like how orv teaches its readers that someone out there wants you to exist. Someone out there desperately wants to write you a story. Someone out there wants you to know that they love you.
Letting yourself want something. Wanting someone else to live. It reminds me of Kim Dokja proclaiming his wish of living in a big house with everyone. It’s not selfish to want to be loved. It’s not selfish to crave human interaction. Someone out there /wants/ to give that to you.
After this, Haruki begins to let people in. He finally accepts the gum. He expresses his care that normally goes unspoken to Sakura. He begins to truly live. When the destruction of the world began in orv, it was the start of Kim Dokja’s life. He began to let people love him.
Haruki chose to pick up that diary. Kim Dokja chose to read that story. Haruki chose to accompany Sakura. Kim Dokja chose to stick by his companions. They chose to walk alongside these people which cause them unbearable pain, but show them how beautiful life can be.
When he’s waiting for her at the cafe, he says he’s thinking about her. He says she is so much more amazing than him, and he wants to become like her. able to love and acknowledge others. Able to /be/ loved. He sends her one final message: “I want to eat your pancreas.”
He waits and waits and she never arrives. He leaves the cafe and comes home to the news that she’s been murdered.
A man who at the beginning said he didn’t care for others, suddenly unable to walk up the stairs. Overtaken with grief. Clutching his phone with that final message as he cried. The book he promised to read and return still sitting on his shelf.
Sakura’s mother gave him her diary after the funeral, and in it contained a farewell letter addressed to him.
Haruki thought as he read the letter that he wanted to know her epilogue. She said there were many times she thought she had fallen in love with him. But that their relationship couldn’t be summed up by simple terms like love or friendship.
In her letter, she says she thinks he’s a really amazing person. In turn he says it’s not true, he’s a coward. Just like how Kim Dokja had viewed himself as average, unlovable, and impossible to be cared for. But Sakura loved Haruki. Han Sooyoung loved Kim Dokja. Despite there being almost nothing special about these two, someone saw a light within them that even themselves couldn’t locate.
Sakura always thought of herself as an average girl with a shorter lifespan. “But you cared for an uninteresting girl like me. You, who have no need for relationships like friendship or love, chose none other than me. Perhaps I’ve spent 17 years waiting to be needed by you.”
She reiterates that their relationship can’t be summed up with stuffy words, so she decides on one final message: I want to eat your pancreas. He opens her phone and finds tearfully that his final message, the same she wished to send to him, reached her.
After reading her diary and seeing the message was received. He turns to her mother and asks: “Can I cry now?” Letting himself sit in the grief he refused to feel. Grief is all the unspoken love we have for those who have left us. He proclaims: I lived my life just to meet you. Thank you.
Her mother invited him and Kyoko (Sakurra's best friend) to come have dinner at the house sometime. After that he makes attempts to connect with Kyoko, despite her outward dislike for him. Sakura had always wished for them to get along. He tells her the truth of their relationship, and let’s her see Sakura’s diary. He chases after her when she flees the cafe where they met and asks that for her to forgive him one day. He asks that one day they can be friends like Sakura had wished.
I Want To Eat Your Pancreas and orv both tell stories of unremarkable people. Ordinary individuals who hide away from the complexities of human relationships to protect themselves. But these stories show their readers that you don’t have to be anything other than yourself to be worthy of love. You don’t need to be class president to be friends with someone, you don’t need to be the protagonist to do something amazing. You don’t need to do anything other than be yourself for someone out there to see you for who you are and choose to love you. Someone out there wants to read your epilogue. Someone out there wants you to exist just as you are.
#orv#orv novel#orv omniscient reader's view point#kim dokja#omniscient reader's viewpoint#i want to eat your pancreas#orv analysis#irlkdj
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Recognizing Your Own Skill
When you write a story, you often have to ask yourself, “Is this tale good enough to send to editors or agents? Is it ready to publish? Could it be a bestseller?” Oddly enough, you as the author may be a terrible judge of your own work.
This principle was brought up to me years ago by my mentor, Algis Budrys. He was a leading critic for a major newspaper and a magazine, so he read widely. He once mentioned to me that, “For 20 years, I’ve asked well-known authors, ‘Which one of your books do you think is the best?’ Almost always they get it wrong. They don’t pick the books that the public likes best, or that the critics like best, but choose instead something that deals with conflicts that are especially powerful to them. Almost always, the author chooses some . . . obscure book that no one else would look at twice.”
It’s an important principle to remember when you finish a novel. You may think that it’s great. After having just gone through your “birthing pains,” you look at your newborn and it seems beautiful to you. But maybe it’s not quite so beautiful to others.
Most people are pretty bad judges of their own efforts. Years ago, there was a newspaper story about a man who believed that if he rubbed lemon juice on his face, it would make him invisible to cameras. So he rubbed some lemon juice on his face and went out and robbed some banks. When the police caught him, he was astonished that they had been able to recognize him.
Some researchers at Cornell University learned of the incident and wondered how the man could be so self-deluded. So they performed a study in which they tested people’s powers of logic, recognition of humor, and so on.
What they found was fascinating. The people who scored lowest, in the bottom 12 percentile, very often thought that they had performed fantastic!
In the same way, we as authors sometimes delude ourselves. People who need a lot of work sometimes act like prima donnas. They can’t figure out why the rest of the world doesn’t recognize their talent—including editors, agents, literary critics, and their own spouses.
You’ve probably met such a person. Very often they will attach themselves to writing groups, trying to feed their egos, and then promptly drive away anyone who has any common sense.
But, amazingly, I often find that the opposite is true: many truly great authors often don’t recognize their own gifts. If they really are great, they seem to doubt it, and therefore belittle themselves. They might be too frightened to send stories to editors or agents, fearing rejection.
Now, it’s interesting that in the study that I mentioned, many people who were painfully unaware of their own inabilities often proved to be quite successful. For example, managers in companies might be terrible at many tasks, but their own sense of self-importance assures them of a measure of success. You remember the saying, “Fools rush in where angels fear to tread”? I’ve had bosses who did that. They’d promise a customer, “Sure, we can get the job done by tomorrow,” hoping to add some functionality to an existing bit of software, and suddenly they had to pull a team of a hundred programmers together to try to do the impossible. Sometimes, our teams even managed to do the impossible—and that’s the genius of it!
But usually, our old manager ended up with a bit of egg on his face.
Now, incompetent writers will make similar promises. They overpromise and under-deliver. But at least they deliver.
An author who suffers from low self-esteem, on the other hand, may not deliver at all.
So what are we to do? I think that we need to find the courage to work at our writing. Sometimes, look to others for opinions. If you give a manuscript to ten people and three of them tell you that you’ve got a problem, then fix the dang problem. Don’t argue and sashay around and call them all idiots.
Meanwhile, if you write a story and ten people tell you that you’re amazing, then use it as fuel to get yourself writing, to push harder and work longer, so that you continue to improve and write more amazing works.
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can I get Peter b and the younger!autistic!spider!reader where the reader has a meltdown or something similar? I really love their dynamic I think it's so cute
I don't know if this is cute but it is something. It's not like what I want or nothing. That would be unprofessional.
Peter B handling a meltdown
As much as you trusted him you didn’t tell him everything, half out of an unsure understanding of if it was important enough to bother, half being too upset to be able to. That's why he made it very clear that he liked it when you came to him. And it took time to get to that place, going to him when the light was getting too much or you wanted a hug, but having a meltdown was a whole level of embarrassment you couldn't deal with. You didn't want him or anyone to see that lack of control.
There were a few things that happened to get you there. You thought you could handle it so you went on a mission because it didn't feel like a sensory thing, it was just a weird feeling. You always hated being wrong. You didn't know the people you were going with, you were repeatedly told to stay out of the way for reconnaissance but nothing happened so you did nothing while you were waiting and ready, then you were told you couldn't leave during the debrief when you said you didn't do anything.
And another thing was being judged for wanting to go home. "Come on, let's celebrate. You can't be tired, you didn’t even do anything." Your eye twitched and you just walked away trying to get to your apartment. They were confused and you knew they would find it rude but that wasn’t your problem, at least not at that moment.
It wasn’t like you’d never had one but it had been so long and by the time you realized what it was it was too late. Something or someone dropped you to the floor, you didn't know which. Laying on your back you lifted your hand and threw it down, cracking the floor over and over again. When you were able to get up people got in your way asking if you were good. Those people got thrown into walls.
There was so much talking and moving, things were in your way and not all of them were able to be thrown. What were you even doing? Where were you even going?
A sound cracked through all the noise and stopped a lot of it. The heat of the room was going away and your breath heaved the weight of your entire being. All the remaining noise seemed to pass you to go somewhere else so you ignored it. But cracking the wall with your head made the noise snap again. “-id, st-op.”
Like that you knew what was happening. “Peter?”
He was in civilian clothes that made him look like a dude who would go running at the park and his arms held up and forward, an invitation and a promise to not cross. “Yeah, it’s me, it’s just me here.” The room was empty, just the two of you and the destruction in your wake. When you saw that you close your fists again and he stepped closer. “We don’t have to do that. You want to go home, right?” Through your panting you nodded so he took that as a sign to get you. “Okay, let’s go home then.”
You didn’t want to be touched so the walk was a lot brisker than he would have done. Being like this was new to him, he didn’t know what to do or what the rules were. Immediately after stepping through the door he looked over you, grabbing you and checking if the scratches were anything serious. You didn’t like that so you tried to shake him off. “Come on, I just want to see if- Quit fussing." The second that left his mouth you brought your hands down on his shoulders and made him let go. If he was anyone else that would have broken bone.
“No.” You screamed. “I’m not.”
It was a vague statement that he assumed was about his fussing comment. So he did what he always did. “What do you need?” He asked, holding his chest after you punched the air out of him.
“I don’t know.” You were holding yourself while pacing. “I don’t- I can’t understand what can’t.”
The answers didn’t help, all they did was prove to him you were lost in a way he was woefully unqualified to handle. Uncharted territories. “Can you come here?”
“I don’t want a hug.”
“I’m not asking for one.” You stepped into his space and he carefully lifted off the mask. Your mouth was in a tight frown and your eyes were huge, entire face hot and wet from crying. It wasn’t pretty, it was undirected and unbridled. “Do you want to hit something? Would hitting me make it better?”
Your breathing hitched and got faster. So he readied for it, opened his arms enough to be a clear target but tight enough that it wouldn’t hurt too much. If he knew anything it was how to take a hit. Then you leaned forward and gently hit your head on his chest. “No.” It was defeated. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to”
“I know.” He dropped his arms to his sides.
“Can I say sorry again?”
“Go for it.”
“I’m sorry.” He pushed his luck and brought his hand up to hold the back of your head against his chest. “Can I say it again?”
“You’ve said it enough.” He kept his one arm to his side but let his other tangle in your hair and scratch slowly. “Let's get some food.”
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Beloved (Part I)
“She was the only woman who saw all of him—the good, the bad and the ugly—and wanted all of it. From the moment she arrived in our village, everyone else never really stood a chance. Honestly, I don’t believe anyone ever will.”
OR
Rebekah tells Hayley the story of the first and only woman Elijah Mikaelson has ever truly loved, and why he can never love her the way she wants him to.
Elijah Mikaelson x Witch!OC/10th century AU/Unreliable Narrator (mostly Rebekah, though)
Find it on AO3: here.
(+ so many more tags and nerding it out in the notes :) come say hi)
Hayley was sulking again, listlessly watching the fire crackle back to life as Rebekah poked at it, the scent of firewood filling the air as the flames soared higher, licking up at the blackened bricks. With a sigh, the vampire sat back into the leather armchair closest to the fireplace, occasionally prodding the heavy iron grate closer to the hearth, as if keeping the crackling embers from escaping would somehow prevent the werewolf from asking her the question she knew she wanted to ask.
Rebekah sank deeper into the comforting depths of the armchair, eyeing her companion from above the rim of her glass. The scowl on Hayley’s face was enough to indicate just what had transpired between her big brother and the young werewolf.
“It’s not your fault, you know,” she said, taking a sip of… whatever it was Nik kept around the study.
Hayley looked up, frowning. There was a world of hurt in her eyes that Rebekah knew all too well. She’d seen it time and time again in face after face. All the women who fell for her brother inevitably ended up wearing a similar expression on their face when they finally understood that Elijah would never give himself to them completely.
Honestly, had he been anyone else, Rebekah would have accused him of having serious commitment issues.
But this was her brother. Loyal to a fault, fiercely protective of those he loved, dotting uncle to his little niece. And so, as much as she’d rather be just about anywhere else right now, it was both her duty and burden to explain the situation.
Especially to this particular woman, seeing as she wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon and her remaining in the dark would only cause more problems in the future; both for her and for the entire family.
Rebekah sighed again, downing the rest of her drink.
“Just so you’re aware: Elijah would have my head for even broaching the subject with him, let alone with you, so if you rat me out, I’ll make Mikael look like the easter bunny.”
The corners of Hayley’s mouth twitched, threatening a smile—an all too rare occurrence these days. It dimmed almost immediately, the kind of pain only unrequited love could bring swimming in her eyes. The werewolf sighed, propping up her chin on her knees, returning her gaze to the fire.
“I just—” she closed her eyes, taking a breath and letting it out before trusting her voice again, “I thought we could be going somewhere, y’know?” She shrugged, tucking her fingers inside the sleeves of her sweater, “But he’s just so… remote. It’s like I can’t reach him, or something. Every time I try, he just… closes off.”
Rebekah poured herself another drink, taking a fortifying breath.
“He wasn’t always that way.” Seeing Hayley’s eyebrows shoot up all the way to her hairline, she scoffed. “A thousand years is a very long time, you know.” Tilting her head, she decided to rip the band aid off in one clean swipe. Better to have it over and done with as quickly as possible. “When we were human, Elijah fell in love with a woman named Svala. She was…” she took a long breath, echoes of agonized screams clawing at her mind, losing herself to old memories as she gazed down at her glass. Rebekah watched them swirl in the dark amber liquid, swallowing the lump in her throat when she realized she couldn’t quite remember her face, sharp features and laughing grey eyes tangling together in soft hues, pulling her back in time despite herself.
“She was his wife, and the love of his life.”
Present-day Virginia, c. 990 A.D.
It was just after Álfablót, during the month of Haustmánuður, that the boats arrived, narrowly escaping winter at sea. Ayana had already foretold their arrival and entire families had left the village to go greet their loved ones from the old countries. The village itself waited, the old and the young, and all those whose kin had not been onboard the boats. New homes had been built—as many as possible—and there were still logs of timber scattered around in expectation for more, covered by pine needles and leaves to keep most of the coming ice at bay.
Preparations for winter were well underway by the time the first travelers were spotted, able-bodied men and women carrying young children in their arms or on their backs, with the more travel-weary stragglers lagging behind. Only the more adventurous children seemed to have any energy left, gazing at the welcoming party with wide eyes, tugging at each other’s sleeves.
The head of the village had gone with them and there was a collective sigh of relief at his safe return. Some of the werewolves had gone too, eager to see new faces—and to warn them of what life with them would entail.
Not that it mattered. After such a long voyage, all would have been glad of a simple meal, the warmth of a fire and the comfort of family they had not seen in years.
Carrying her pack on her back, Svala looked up at the tall pine trees, so different from the wide oak trees of her home. She didn’t know what to make of them—she didn’t know what to make of any of it.
Her mother had convened with her Sisters, sensing the dangers in the new religion that had made its way to their homeland, swaying their people and changing their ways. She had come back with a haunted look, telling her to pack whatever it was she loved most, and that they were leaving. Svala had raged and raged, tears in her eyes, refusing to leave and digging her heels into the ground until her mother had all but dragged her onto the boat.
It was a great hulking beast, larger than the ships she had grown up around. It was meant for a sea voyage that would last weeks, where storms would rage and winds would blow, threatening to drown them into seas she had only ever heard about in stories. Her mother’s presence had calmed her, the hand on her shoulder heavy enough to pull her from her thoughts.
No völva would let her people drown.
It still hadn’t been enough to save her, though, and Yrsa Anundottir had died a week before they reached their destination, leaving her young daughter alone, cold, and scared in a new world she knew nothing about.
A young couple, Ulf and Asta, had taken Svala under their wing. Asta, like her mother, was a völva; and quite good at it too, though she dabbled more in incantations and less in the art of divination.
Svala had always been thankful her own powers had strayed more towards healing than the more arcane arts. She had never envied her mother’s power and, as she stood looking up at the trees in her new home, all she felt was hatred for it. Divination had brought her here, all alone, without her mother. She couldn’t help but suspect Yrsa had known all along she would not make it this far, and it only made her angrier.
A small boy tugging on her skirts distracted her from her thoughts, his wide smile and big brown eyes warming her despite the autumn winds whipping her hair around her face. She tucked an errant curl behind her ear and smiled back, waving at him. He smiled even wider and ran back to those she assumed must be his family. He tugged on the sleeve of one of the older men, whispering in his ear something that made him laugh.
He was handsome, with shoulder-length dark hair braided back from his face, revealing balanced features, most prominent of which sharp cheekbones and an even sharper jawline. She averted her eyes when she inadvertently met his own, the same warm brown as those of his… brother? Son? He was old enough that it could be both.
Svala felt the pressure of Asta’s hand at the small of her back, guiding her to a clearing where an open fire pit had been lit, casting a warm glow on the charred ground beneath it. The village leader, a well-built man called Harald whom she had grown to respect over the past few weeks, had opened the welcome feast, and she noticed that those whose families had left their homeland years ago had at long last been reunited. She smiled, dropping her pack against the trunk of a nearby tree, as she observed Ulf greet his brother Magnar, the two men embracing each other. Magnar then turned to Asta, opening his arms to her and welcoming her, and Svala felt a small twinge of jealousy.
It was petty, she knew, but she wished someone was there to greet her like that. But all she had was her small pack and the memory of her mother.
Averting her eyes to hide the sting of tears she refused to spill for a woman who had abandoned her, Svala turned back to her meagre belongings, rummaging in search of something a little warmer. Earlier this week, they’d stopped at a stream to wash and repair their clothes, and she had taken the opportunity to refresh her winter clothes, not knowing when she’d next have the chance.
Still, fall here seemed milder than at home, where the first snows had surely already fallen. She was hit by another wave of sadness and tied the strings of her pack with such vigor that she nearly snapped them, biting back tears when a small hand braced itself on the bark of the tree in front of her.
“Mother says you can leave your belongings at our home. It’s not wise to leave them about like that.”
It was the little boy from earlier, bouncing back and forth on the balls of his feet, observing her with a far more intelligent gaze then she’d come to expect for a child his age. Their speech differed slightly from hers, but she understood him well enough, and she thought she could actually make out the slight inflections of her homeland.
“Why? Would someone steal it?”
He shook his head and bent towards her, mischief in his eyes. “No, but the landvaettir might take it and hide it inside an old tree and then we’d never see it again.”
Svala blinked, then laughed. The boy’s eyes lit up, and she had the sneaking suspicion he had been trying to cheer her up. It certainly had worked—it felt so very good to express joy again.
“Well, we wouldn’t want that, would we?” She whispered conspiratorially, winking at him.
Elated, the little boy ran back towards his family, who had dispersed into the throng of people gathered in the clearing. She saw him gesture wildly to the same man as earlier, caught the amused smile on his face before he started to make his way towards her. She dropped her gaze back to her pack, tying it off with one final tug and hoisting it on her shoulders.
The man was tall; taller than she’d expected. He towered over her, the top of her head barely reaching his shoulders. Instead of making her feel caged in, it made her feel safer, an odd sensation tingling up her spine.
Svala finally dared to meet his eyes, finding them darker than his brother’s but full of the same earnestness. He inclined his head towards her, a lopsided smile tugging at his lips. It made him appear younger, his eyes crinkling slightly at the corners. She smiled back tentatively, her lips stinging, chapped raw by the wind and the salt.
Before she had even taken one step, he took her pack from her, swinging it over his shoulder as if it weighed next to nothing. The little boy grabbed her hand, tugging her along to meet the rest of their family, babbling happily about how he would take her to see the clearing tomorrow, before all the leaves had fallen and Svala couldn’t help but smile at him.
“Perhaps we should let her decide for herself what she would like to do first, little brother?”
The boy stopped, eyeing her as he would a particularly complicated puzzle, a little storm gathering in his eyes, and she knew enough of children to recognize the beginnings of a tantrum.
“I’ll be happy to come with you to the clearing, little one,” Svala said, smiling at the glee in his eyes, “on one condition.” He looked on with rapt attention, his eyes widening. She smiled wider, “I will go, but only if you tell me your name.”
She heard the man beside her huff out a laugh. The boy snuck his tongue out at him, narrowly escaping a smack upside the head as he danced around them, avoiding his brother’s hand deftly. He reminded her of a wood sprite.
“This impolite little imp is Henrik,” his brother said, giving up and tugging his little brother into his side, ruffling his hair. He turned towards her, warm brown eyes mirthful.
“I’m Elijah.”
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“And that’s how they met,” Rebekah sighed, getting up to refill her glass. It was a good thing she couldn’t get drunk easily; she had a feeling she would need that tolerance as the evening wore on. “Svala charmed Henrik as soon as she stepped foot inside our village and our little brother was the way to Elijah’s heart.” She took a small sip, fingers drumming on the table. “I honestly think it was instantaneous, at least on his part. I could tell he was smitten almost immediately.”
She sighed again, leaning back against the table. Hayley was silent, staring at her—although Rebekah was ready to bet the other woman wasn’t really seeing her at all. The Original suppressed another sigh. She disliked the idea of hurting her but it was unavoidable. Hayley was young, and on the cusp of love. She deserved to be pulled from the edge before she well and truly fell for her brother, a path which only ever led to heartbreak.
“Svala’s mother had died during the crossing,” Rebekah continued, seating down on the table, “and our own mother took pity on her, I suppose. I think she could also sense Svala’s powers, which were strong even for a völva, and—”
“You used that word before, but what does it mean?” Hayley asked, straightening up and tugging the fabric of her dress around her knees, visibly shaking herself from her thoughts.
“Völur—that’s the plural form—were witches (mostly), but also sometimes warlocks, who traveled the old countries, stopping here and there to dispense their services. Another term for a völva is seiðkona—wielder of seiðr, what you’d call magic.”
“So she was a witch?”
Rebekah hummed, taking another sip. “Yes, but also something more. You see, modern-day witches seem to have largely lost their powers of divination. At least the ones I’ve met.” She shrugged. “Kol’s been to the East, I’m sure he would tell you more about ancient magical powers, if he could.” Rebekah cleared her throat, pushing away thoughts of her brother. “But in any case, a seiðkona could, under the right circumstances, predict the future with reasonable accuracy.” She paused, eyeing the werewolf. “Svala was one such witch, although we didn’t discover that until much later.”
Hayley nodded pensively. “So your family took her in?”
“Early on, yes. She stayed with us for a while, helping our mother and myself with household chores—don’t give me that look, it was like that, back then—and we grew close.” Rebekah swallowed the lump in her throat as the memories came rushing back. “I always had wanted a sister.”
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“I do believe my brother fancies you,” Rebekah said as they crouched near the frozen stream, their fingers red and stinging from the cold.
“Which one? You have many,” her friend answered with an impish grin.
“Oh, stop it! You know which one!”
“Why, Rebekah,” Svala stood, batting her eyelashes innocently in her best impression of Tatia, the woman who hung on Elijah’s and Nik’s every word, “I had no idea Henrik saw me in such a way.”
That earned her a handful of freezing water to the face. Shrieking, she kicked fallen leaves at Rebekah in retaliation.
The beautiful blonde, the only sister in a large brood of brothers, had been Svala’s salvation these past few months. They were around the same age, with Svala only a few years older than Rebekah, and of vastly different temperaments. That did nothing to stop the budding friendship between them as Rebekah helped Svala navigate life in her new environment, introducing her to their neighbors and helping her to make friends. In return, Svala had taken to helping the younger woman with her chores, lending a hand where she was needed.
Esther, too, had been glad of the help, saying jokingly that she wasn’t getting any younger, and thus welcoming Svala with open arms. She suspected that the older witch would have wanted more daughters. Together with Asta and Ayana, Esther had also taken to perfecting the young witch’s understanding of seiðr, the trio easily stepping into her mother’s shoes. Of the three, Svala was most at ease with Asta, given that they shared a common past—or as common as anyone around here, anyway. Ayana scared her a little, but she rather thought her mother and her would have been fast friends. As for Esther, she remained undecided.
She was grateful to the older woman—more than grateful, really—but there was still something about her that Svala couldn’t quite shake. She wondered distractedly if she should be worried that her mother’s power had managed to make its way to her, and what it was trying to tell her if it had.
“You know perfectly well which of my brothers I was referring to.”
She did.
Elijah was still somewhat of a mystery to her. A man of few words, the only signs of his partiality came in other forms. He would help her with the more physical tasks, such as carrying buckets filled with water and snow for washing and cooking. Or he would help her skin and tan the hide of the animals the men caught on their hunts, fashioning coats and pouches from the leather. He had introduced her to his friend, the smithy, a tall, muscular man named Leif, who showed her how he made the arrowheads and knives used for hunting.
These people did not raid, although, far from the sea as they were, she supposed it wasn’t all that unusual. They appeared to trade with some neighboring settlements, although most of these were nomadic in nature. The only other village near them was the one led by the werewolves—a people Svala had only heard her mother speak about very infrequently. There were some clans in the old country, but they lived far from towns and villages in self-inflicted exile.
This was not the case here, where the two villages cohabited peacefully. There was, however, an undeniable current of fear around the full moon, when those not afflicted by the Curse would withdraw to the cave systems underneath their village, magical boundaries and wards in place, to wait out the moon. She supposed she understood the high status that Ayana and Esther seemed to enjoy. When faced with fangs and claws, seiðr was an attractive defense.
She was pulled from her musings by the feeling of a strong hand on her arm. Elijah swooped in and took the heavy bucket from her, barely straining under its weight. He gave her a gentle smile and fell into step alongside her. Rebekah, the little minx, winked at her—in full view of her brother!—and escaped up the path, grumbling about how she too could use someone to help her with her own burden. As if summoned, Nik appeared at her side, easily bracing against its weight. Svala huffed a laugh when he threw her a long suffering look over his shoulder.
“Your brother seems to never be too far from your sister,” she told Elijah quietly, laughter brightening her dark eyes.
Those eyes of hers, the color of dark stormy skies, had been an object of fascination to him ever since he had met her. They seemed almost alive, wisps of grey and brown and blue all interweaving together, one peeking through more than the others depending on the weather.
Of course, her eyes were not the only beautiful thing about her. It seemed to him that the gods had crafted this woman solely to plague his dreams. She filled his mind so completely, he had began to wonder about his sanity. On one occasion, he had heard her sing quietly to herself as she gathered wood for the fire, her long brown hair tumbling down her back, framing her petite frame and highlighting the curves of her body; and Elijah had almost believed he’d been taken in by a forest spirit.
But such stories were the ones he told his youngest brother on nights he could not sleep, and he knew better.
He did not know what love felt like; at least, not that kind of love. He knew the deep devotion he felt towards his siblings, and the lust for a warm, soft, body; but this was uncharted territory. Every time Svala was near, Elijah lost the ability to speak, unable to string more than two sentences together for fear of appearing an utter fool. His silence did not seem to bother her, so he took it as encouragement to remain just as he was, comfortable with admiring from afar.
Which was exactly what he was doing right now. Svala was eyeing him curiously, no doubt wondering what was taking him so long. Little did she know (he very much hoped) that all he wanted to do was kiss her to find out whether her lips were as soft as they appeared.
“Rebekah and Niklaus have always been very close,” he answered slowly, returning his gaze to his siblings in front of them, “it used to make Henrik quite jealous.”
“Is that why he’s so attached to you?”
Elijah chuckled. “No, Henrik is rather fickle in his affections. One week, he won’t leave me alone, the next, he’ll be glued to Kol’s side.” He leaned in closer, his voice dropping a few octaves. “Although I think that’s mainly so he can learn new tricks and cause more trouble.”
Svala laughed. “Yes, he’s rather good at finding trouble.”
“Oh, I’m sure he would say trouble finds him.”
“An answer only a troublemaker would know to give,” she said, nodding sagely.
They had reached the village, passing through a denser copse of old trees, the scent of pine needles overwhelming. It was one Svala had taken time to get used to, but now that she had, it filled her with a strange sort of warmth. She wasn’t sure if she could call that feeling “belonging”, but it certainly felt close to it.
Between Rebekah’s freely given friendship, Henrik’s childlike love and Elijah’s quiet company, she had began to ease into this new life her mother had thrown her into. She still missed her home, and the wide, tall oak trees behind her homestead, but the ache was cooling, little by little.
Of the Mikealsons, only Finn and Kol remained a little aloof. The former because it was simply his personality and the latter, she suspected, was a little shy about talking to a völva. Svala wanted to tell him he had nothing to worry about: she couldn’t predict his future even if she tried, and she had no desire to do so. The topic hadn’t even been discussed by any of her three teachers yet, although she knew Asta, at least, had some knowledge of the divination arts. Ayana and Esther seemed to think it was best left alone and Svala would tend to agree, given where her own mother’s gift had led her.
Then again, she thought, chancing a glance at the man beside her to find him looking back at her with a small smile on his lips, perhaps that was not an entirely bad thing.
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“They kept dancing each other for weeks,” Rebekah said, shaking her head fondly in an effort to drive away memories of her friend. “It drove Nik and I absolutely mad.”
The Original sighed, raking a hand through her blonde curls to briefly massage the back of her neck. Sitting still for so long rarely took a toll on her body anymore—she was, quite simply, too old to care—but she suspected the current topic of discussion drained her more than she’d like to admit.
Talking about Svala was forbidden. Everybody in the family knew it, and even Nik never ever dared to speak her name when Elijah was within earshot. Her death had been a blow their older brother had never recovered from and even now, nearly a millennium after he’d buried her, she would still catch him bracing himself against some pain she couldn’t see and she knew he was thinking of her.
“Their courtship was long, by our standards,” she continued, turning her back to Hayley as she refilled her glass for the umpteenth time that evening, “but that’s Elijah for you.”
“Why do you say that?” Hayley asked. “He’s always seemed like a man who makes up his mind quickly to me.”
Rebekah hummed into her glass. “Oh, his mind was made up, believe me. He was going to marry her, none of us—least of all him, at least at the unconscious level—had any doubts about that.” She turned back to her companion. “But you forget about one thing.”
“What’s that?”
Eyeing her friend, the vampire sighed, looking down at her glass. “Our father.” She took a deep breath, hating that even now the man had such a hold on her as to make her afraid of speaking his name. “Mikael wasn’t a kind man, as I’m sure you’ve noticed,” she said drily, smiling slightly at the werewolf’s quiet snort, “and he wasn’t then either. I think Elijah was afraid to bring Svala into a family with such a man at the head of it.”
Rebekah sat back into her original seat, bringing her forearms to rest on her thighs, rolling her glass between her hands. “Perhaps he was right to be worried, considering everything that happened.”
“Did Mikael hurt her?”
The Original chuckled bitterly. “Who didn’t he hurt? He hurt Nik, most of all, but he took it out on others too. Our mother never moved against him,” she bit out angrily, “and even back then, I didn’t understand why. He was strong, but she was a witch, so what was she afraid of?” She huffed. “Obviously, now, I know she was scared her little secret would come to light.”
Hayley nodded, shifting in her seat. “Klaus’ real father?”
“The leader of the neighboring village,” Rebekah answered, noting the disbelieving look the other woman shot her. “Yes, rather stupid of both of them really, but oh well.” She shook her head, willing herself to get back on track. “But no, Mikael never laid a hand on Svala. Elijah would probably not have stopped me from trying to kill him if he had.”
Hayley’s eyes grew wide. “You tried to kill your dad?”
Rebekah nodded darkly. “And I wish to god Elijah had let me finish the job.”
“That’s wild.”
“Welcome to the family, love.” Rebekah gulped down the rest of her drink, thinking that she might just have to slow down if she was going to survive waking up tomorrow. “Anyway, after a few months of tentative smiles and furtive glances, Elijah finally made the first move, to our family’s collective relief."
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Midsommerblót was fast approaching and with it, the height of the summer months. Offerings for the landvaettirs had been prepared, crops stood tall or sprawled over and under the soil, birds were chirping in the tall trees and it seemed every living thing was bustling in preparation for the harvest months.
Svala herself had not been idle since the arrival of spring. With help from Elijah and Nik, as well as Leif and Ulf, she had moved into her own cottage, not too far from the Mikaelsons. It was small, but sturdy, the last of the new homes built for the newcomers.
She would miss Rebekah’s constant companionship and the easy routine she had fallen into amongst the family, but she was glad to have a space to herself. She’d never really had that before. The home she had shared with her mother was smaller than her new one, even if her youth had been spent mostly following her mother in her travels.
Besides, given the current climate in the Mikaelson home, Svala had no doubt Rebekah would end up sleeping here more often than not in the upcoming months, personal space be damned. Mikael had been in an even fouler mood than usual, and she had been glad to escape. Svala knew her friend well enough by now to know that her new home was about to become Rebekah’s new home too.
Unless her brother beat her to it.
The distance between Elijah and her was long gone, replaced by open smiles and slower touches; the kind that lingered a little too long and left her a little too breathless. As the summer solstice approached and Midsommer drew nearer, she’d began to feel the telltale pull of desire more forcefully every time he stood next to her. It grew so strong at times that she worried the others would feel it, like the current pushing her towards him. She was entirely powerless to resist it but felt no need to battle it, if only they could find themselves alone.
But, as things would have it, between moving into her new home and preparing for the festival—as well as her daily chores and Henrik’s and Rebekah’s constant demand for her attention—she had barely had any time to herself. Let alone with Elijah.
And yet, the infuriating man wouldn’t leave her thoughts.
Svala shook her head ruefully, spotting Nik down the path.
Gathering wildflowers was a task she and Nik enjoyed doing together. He always kept some tucked away for Tatia, she knew, and he’d give them to her tonight, at the feast. The others were for Rebekah, who’d just turned sixteen last week, a true child of summer.
Together, they kept an eye on Henrik, who amused himself by crafting what flowers they brought him into crowns and bouquets. Svala had a sneaking suspicion one of these was for her, but she wouldn’t ruin his joy at giving it to her tonight.
“So, has my brother finally kissed you?” Nik asked her out of the blue, just as they settled into the routine of their task.
She sputtered, her cheeks glowing red, and he had the audacity to laugh at her.
“Nik!”
“Svala!”
Speechless, her eyes wide and mouth hanging open, she rather reminded him of a fish before she burst into a fit of laughter.
“You haven’t answered my question,” he said shrewdly.
Looking down at the handful of flowers in her basket, Svala pondered how best to answer him, when she felt a hand settle on her shoulder. She looked up, momentarily confused by his sudden change in attitude. Gone was the impish grin, instead, he looked very serious.
“My brother is often too noble for his own good,” he said, somewhat cryptically (and here she thought Esther was the only one with a penchant for the mysterious), “and has a tendency to let that get in the way of his happiness.” He paused, blue eyes studying her. “But he’s in love with you, of that I have no doubt, and if he lets you go because of our father, I will personally make him regret it.”
Svala smiled back tentatively, before her brain catches up. “Your father? Why? Is he… opposed to me?” She couldn’t fathom what it was she’s done to incur the man’s disapproval.
She didn’t say that she was also secretly scared of not being good enough for Elijah.
Nik shook his head, bending to pick some more flowers. “No, as a rule, I don’t believe he is but he’s a difficult man…” he hesitated, debating whether or not to share something else with her, before sighing, lowering his eyes to the ground. “He’s… violent. And unforgiving of weakness. He views love as such, and has already told Elijah off multiple times for spending too much time around you. Not that it stopped him.” He shrugged, “I think Elijah is worried about you joining our family because of how Father is.”
Svala blushed at the mention of her ‘joining’ the family.
It’s not that the thought hadn’t entered her mind since she’d met Elijah, but völvas rarely married or had children. Asta and her mother were exceptions. And Svala herself had never met her father. All her mother would tell her was that he was a good man, a Dane, powerful, and that was that. She didn’t even know his name and probably never would.
Not that it mattered now. She was an ocean away.
“Is he that bad?” she asked quietly, redirecting her thoughts to the present. She knew Mikael was a hard man, but all of the men she’s met before, save for Elijah and his brothers, were—in one way or another—hard men as well. And yet, everyone seemed to tiptoe around the Mikaelson patriarch as if he was Hel* come to drag them all down to her realm.
Nik sighed, about to speak, but suddenly froze, catching sight of something she couldn’t see. Turning around, she saw Mikael looking at them, face unreadable but eyes like thunder. He truly did look like a Viking: cold and hard, like the ice. Svala wondered if it didn’t run in his veins. Nik sighed dejectedly next to her, no doubt expecting a humiliating tongue-lashing once they got back to the village.
No, Mikael did not seem like the type of man who would be pleased to see a son of his picking flowers with a woman.
She held the man’s gaze, daring him to come forward. She may not be her mother, but she could hold her own if he tried anything. She didn’t miss the way Nik tensed as his father’s gaze shifts to her. Svala was half tempted to send a little jolt of magic through the man, but stopped herself when Nik’s hand slid into hers. Glancing at him, she took her eyes off Mikael and in the time it took for him to glance back, his father was already gone past the tree line.
“Please don’t provoke him,” he begged softly, his eyes a little frantic, “Elijah would never forgive himself if Father did something to you.”
Svala stared at him, dumbfounded. Would he dare?
Nik seemed to understand exactly what she was asking, and shook his head. She relaxed slightly, until her friend sighed again, rubbing his neck. The motion dislodged the fabric of his tunic, pushing it aside. Horrified, Svala got a glimpse of what looked like the healed marks of a lashing, scarring the flesh across his upper back. She stopped herself from rushing forward, unsure whether he meant for her to see the evidence of his father’s abuse or not.
Nik might not share his father’s disdain for weakness but that did not mean he would welcome her pity.
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“After that, when she wasn’t with Elijah, Svala rarely left Nik’s side,” Rebekah whispered, staring into the fire as if she could will her friend back to life. “I don’t think she ever told either of them she’d seen his wounds, but she told me.”
Together, the two women had tried to shield her brother from Mikael’s wrath as much as possible. But neither had been able to stop her parents from doing the unthinkable: binding his brother’s wolf form, denying him all ties to the man he would have been better off being raised by.
Standing up, the Original stoked the fire, watching as the flames soar higher, losing herself to memories of another fire, in another place, a thousand years ago.
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A little off to the side, Svala watched as people danced around the bonfire that stood proudly at the center of the clearing she had arrived in only months prior. It was the biggest fire she’d ever seen, stacks and stacks of wood burning high into the night. Gathered around the clearing were the elders, amongst them Ayana and Esther, who looked on fondly as the young danced.
There was one more house on the far left side to where Svala stood and the ground was now littered with old pine needles and wildflowers. She could hardly believe it had almost been a year since her arrival in the village. So much had changed since then: the harsh bite of the cold winds was a distant memory, her loneliness was gone, and she hadn’t missed the sea for a few weeks now. There were still times were homesickness would find her, creeping into her heart when she least expected it, but those were growing few and far between.
The man largely responsible for such a change stood on the other side of the clearing, Rebekah by his side, her hair braided prettily in the style Svala knew she liked. Kol and Nik were arguing with each other, but judging by the fondly exasperated expression on Elijah’s face, it wasn’t anything she needed to worry about.
Her own hair was swept back from her temples in two braids, barely strong enough to contain the rest of her mane as it swept down her back. Svala rarely wore it down, preferring the tightly braided style some of the shieldmaidens had worn back home. It was practical, but Midsommer was not about being practical. It was about revelry and fun, partaking in the joys of summer and enjoying the fruits of a year’s worth of hard work.
She’d even worn her best dress, the one her mother had sewn for her back home, during one of those cold winter nights that felt like a lifetime ago. Yrsa had always been partial to green, for herself, as it highlighted her red hair, but red had always been Svala’s color, bringing out the color of her eyes and the warmer tones in her hair. But the pigments for red dye were expensive, even when supplemented with wild berries, and so this dress had only ever been meant to be worn on special occasions. Svala thought her first Midsommerblót in her new home was a rather good time to try it on.
She giggled when Henrik ran up to her, tugging Rebekah with him, and dragged them both to the center of the clearing, where the warmth of the fire was almost unbearable, to dance. The little boy spun around them in a circle, tugging at their skirts until Svala caught him, tickling him mercilessly. He shrieked with laughter, trying to escape her and drawing the attention of his older brothers. Absorbed as she was by her revenge, Svala completely missed the look of complete adoration that overtook Elijah’s face, but Rebekah certainly did not.
She hoped someone would look at her like that too, one day.
Bending down to swoop her little brother up into her arms, Rebekah tugged at Svala’s hand, drawing the older girl into the wide circles of the dance, turning around each other in turn as Henrik clung to her, tucked between them. Laughing, Svala came to a stop, her cheeks red from exertion, and disappeared briefly, coming back with two cups of ale. The beverage was more than welcome, a relief against the heat. Henrik clamored for a sip and Svala had all the trouble in the world keeping him off, her eyes widening playfully as she downed the rest of her cup, taunting him.
“That’s not fair!” Henrik whined, kicking his little legs, “I wanted some too!”
“Not just yet, little one” Svala said, swooping him up to let Rebekah enjoy her own drink in peace, “but there’s some very tasty berry juice over there.”
The bribe worked, as it always did on children. Pacified, Henrik allowed himself to be led to the large oak tables, bending under the weight of the harvest. While Svala poured him a cup of fresh juice, Rebekah saw her older brother approach and, in a moment of uncharacteristic generosity of spirit, whisked Henrik away from the couple the first chance she got.
Passing by Elijah, Henrik nearly thwarted her plan when he reached for him. Knowing her brother was powerless to refuse him, Rebekah twirled around on herself, laughing and drawing a giggle from the child, effectively distracting him from their older brother’s presence. She made her way to another table, sitting herself and Henrik down to let him pilfer the entire platter of wild berries, stuffing them into his mouth as fast as a squirrel, his eyes growing bigger by the second as he looked at the sudden influx of people dancing around the bonfire.
It seemed like the entire village had collectively decided to join in, couples dancing together and wider circles of people skipping together hand in hand, their chants joining the music, growing louder and louder. Had she not been familiar with Midsommer and its merrymaking, Svala would have thought herself addled by the ale. Eyeing her cup, she shrugged and took another drink, closing her eyes.
The thing she liked the most about Midsommerblót was the music and dancing. Everyone was happy, indulging in the warmth of the summer months, enjoying the fact that it would last for some more still before the return of the cold.
Autumns here were less colorful than in the old country. The pines did not shed their leaves and so they never turned into the bright yellows, oranges and reds Svala had known all her life, but the evergreens held a certain beauty to them. It was mostly noticeable in the winter, when everything else was dead and still, they held on.
The one tree she always found herself drawn to, no matter the season, was the one standing tall behind the fire, its branches sweeping over the clearing, full of the green of summer.
The villagers called it “white oak”, for the light finish of its wood when harvested, and it was magnificent. Svala thought it must have been the oldest tree here, allowed to grow into itself as the clearing was cleared of other trees some centuries ago. In the fall, its leaves turned as bright as the trees of her old home, and she never felt homesick in its presence.
Lost in thought, she jumped slightly when she felt the press of a strong hand at her back, relaxing almost immediately when a deep chuckle sounded from just behind her.
“Forgive me, I did not mean to startle you.”
She turned her head to the side, watching under thick lashes as Elijah’s profile came into view, his high cheekbones highlighted by the glow of the fire. Where they were standing, by the tables, its warmth was more distant, but the shiver that tingled down her spine had nothing to do with the chill. She felt the weight of his hand where it still was, pressed into her back, between her shoulder blades.
His eyes turned to her, taking her in.
Svala had always been beautiful, but tonight, in her red dress, her cheeks warmed by more than just drink, she was even more so. Her grey eyes sparkled when she looked up at him, shimmering in the low light. They were tender, excruciatingly so, wide and open. He felt like he could lose himself to her and it would still feel like home.
She caught her breath, noticing the way his hand slipped lower, pulling her closer until her back rested against his chest. She could still hear the music, but the sound was drowned out by the feeling of his hand caressing down her back, settling on her waist. She was pulled more firmly against him, a possessive touch to the way his fingers dug into her side.
Slowly, Svala finished her drink, setting it down on the table beside her. Seeing that everyone else’s attention was taken up by the feast, she allowed herself to rest against Elijah’s chest, his warmth a comforting presence against her back. Her head came to rest just above his heart. If she focused hard enough, she could feel its beat against her ear. It was steady; as steady as the man it belonged to, and she knew, in that moment, that she was the one who held it.
She felt his chin touch her hair, in a kiss or just resting there, she wasn’t sure. She simply savored the moment—the first one they’d shared since he had helped her down from the newly finished roof her house, preventing her from falling and catching her in his arms.
His arm snaked around her, ensnaring her, his finger splayed on her hip, close to where their bodies touched. She felt that pull again, the same one she always felt when he was near, begging her to bring him closer still, until it felt like she was going to meld herself to him.
Turning in his grasp, Svala brought their joined hands to her lips, kissing his knuckles. Elijah’s breath hitched above her and when she looked up, all she saw before his lips claimed hers was the devotion shining in his eyes.
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“I was looking right at them,” Rebekah said, the mischievous look only a younger sibling could have written all over her face. “I never told Svala, but I couldn’t resist telling Elijah. I never saw him blush harder.” She laughed, shaking her head fondly. “Mostly, we were relieved he’d finally done it; their little courtship was exhausting to watch, honestly.”
The Original looked back at Hayley, eyeing the werewolf. She was calmer, now, less jittery, and more focused on Rebekah. She honestly was’t sure if it was because of her stellar storytelling, or because the other woman was desperate for any morsel of anything related to Elijah. She couldn’t fault her for that; she knew her brother was a hard man to forget, even when it was for the best.
She heard the telltale whoosh of another vampiric presence even before Hayley did, hybrid senses and all.
“I do believe your squeal managed to gather everybody’s attention, sister mine.”
Rolling her eyes, Rebekah looked over at her tyrant of an older brother, busy pouring himself a drink, and nearly snorted at the way Hayley’s own eyes rolled almost all the way back into her skull.
“Thankfully, by this point, everyone was too far gone to see what was really going on,” Klaus said, the twinkle in his eye almost fond as he looked back at her, “but, alas, I wasn’t.”
“Oh yes, because you were never one to indulge.”
Her annoying twat of a brother eyed the drink in her hand meaningfully—her sixth of the evening, she believed. Rebekah shrugged, and he softened. Of all of them, herself and Elijah excepted, Nik had been closest with Svala. She didn’t think her brother would have joined in on their conversation willingly—in fact, she rather thought he would have ran from it.
He did love to surprise her.
“You see, Little Wolf,” he said, the moniker falling easily from his lips, “our brother as he is today, noble to a fault and—if you squint—nearly caring, is revolting enough, but Elijah back then…” he shivered, “now that was positively nauseating.”
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Elijah’s hand cushioned the back of her head against the wood behind her, his grasp there gentle even as his mouth did sinful things to hers, gliding against her lips, teasing her. He’d backed her against the side of house, away from the gathering, when neither of them had been able to contain themselves anymore.
As soon as they had been in relative privacy, Elijah had crusher her to him, framing her face with his much larger hands and kissed her with an urgency Svala had not thought him capable of.
She could not have been more wrong.
His hands were all over her, sweeping over her stomach up to her breasts, and all the way into her hair, tangling in the long strands, bringing her face closer still, his kiss growing more desperate. All it had taken was for her to arch into him, drawing the length of her body against his, for him to press her against the wooden wall, a low moan escaping him.
The tether between them was vibrating, the need to possess and be possessed urging them closer until all they could feel was each other. Her brows furrowed and Svala made a small sound of protest when Elijah pulled away, his breathing ragged against the side of her face. She felt the weight of his hips against hers, the evidence of his desire pressing deliciously on her stomach.
Feeling bold, she let her hands wonder, sweeping over his lean hips and around to pull him towards her, arching into him when he let out another low sound of pleasure. He settled into her embrace, letting her caress up and down his back, the touch more calming than it was meant to arouse and yet managing both at the same time.
She was so small, compared to him, he felt like he could pull her into his arms and no one would ever be able to harm her.
Svala nibbled at his jaw, letting her head fall back to allow him to press slow kisses all along her neck. Breathing in her scent, Elijah let himself fall deeper into her arms, resting most of his much larger weight against her, but she never made a single sound of protest.
They were both breathing more calmly now, letting the heat of their bodies cool before he did something unforgivable and made love to her for the first time right up against her house. Elijah would not let himself go enough to allow for anything else than absolute perfection whenever they did decide on sharing this moment together.
Kissing her collarbone one last time, it took all of his willpower to pull away from her. Svala allowed it, dropping her arms from around his neck until they rested against his sides. He smirked when he realized that she was just as unwilling to part from him completely.
Elijah let himself feel up her body once more, lingering on her soft breasts until he heard her breathing speed up again, and he knew that if she kissed him again, he would forget his resolve and drop to his knees in front of her, hide under her dress and make her forget any other name but his.
The thought alone was the sweetest torture.
For now, he felt contented enough to breath in her scent, pine needles and smoke mixed with the flowers she’d picked this morning, his thoughts turned to a future they would share together.
#the originals#elijah mikaelson#the vampire diaries#tvd#tvdu#elijah mikaelson fanfic#elijah mikaelson x oc#elijah mikaelson x female oc#original female character#vikings#10th century AU#the originals AU#tvd AU#(i guess?)#unreliable narrator
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So I don’t usually handle this particular day very well, and I’m not gonna get into why, but we’ll say I usually just ignore it and let it go by.
But today I find myself musing about Quill and Maren - not as a couple, but as two people on a double date with Marco and Katakuri.
And Marco and Kata are stuck “suffering” as Quill and Maren are both locked in some kind of contest for who is dating the “better” guy. They’re not being rude toward anyone (there’s no putting down going on, we’re all getting along), but it’s a lot “oh yeah? [my man] did something even (cooler/sweeter/smoother).” Going on xD
Marco and Kata just completely embarrassed but I feel like Maren and Quill are really just using it as cover to boast about their loves to anyone else within ear shot. And woe be to anyone who bad mouths Marco or Katakuri, they’d both be on said offender like the little rat gremlins they can totally be.
(Woe unto anyone who bad mouths Quill or Maren, I can’t imagine surviving that “I’m smiling because I’m furious” mood from Marco or Katakuri.)
Anyway, you did this to me and I just wanted to share and thank you for it.
omg QUIN I'm having violent cute aggression, this is absolutely adorable! thank you so much for sharing and I'm happy you could have something fun to think about instead of having to avoid it!
this dynamic is so funny and Maren would haha. he doesn't prescribe to the "perfect" katakuri at all but in a way has a whole other "perfect" view of katakuri that includes his imperfections. he thinks so, so highly of him, honestly repeatedly insulting katakuri is like the only way to make him angry. he's the most chill dude otherwise, but this is a topic he cannot let go. katakuri is the sun he wants to orbit around. and kata is just embarassed by that but he's also used to it.
this works on so many levels with what I already have for Maren and Marco too, I have this vision that Maren is a bit. mmm. competitive?? with Marco? like Maren is basically a younger brother and their personalities are actually quite similar in ways, but therein lies a problem. I think they grate on each other a bit in the way that siblings do. so I think it makes total sense he'd be that way with Marco's partner too if she had the right personality haha.
and gosh, i love the image of "I'm smiling because I'm furious" haha, katakuri with a creepy smile after he's used jelly beans to knock out 3 people who said something bad about Maren 2 seconds into the future. acts like nothing even happened and Maren just like "I TOLD YOU TO STOP DOING THAT" dlfkghdfg.
thank u for sharing again!! this made me happy :D
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earth bender todo is a no brainer he’s built like a rock lol. curious about your views on the other elements for the rest of the cast?
Airbenders: Satoru, Yuuta
Gojo is everybody’s problem. Just hovers (literally) around people’s conversations, makes wind to mess up your hair, “Why would I walk over there when I could float over there?,” already tall enough to hold something over someone else’s head and the added advantage of air bending would not help. Absolutely the fucking worst. Besides, can’t you see him having an Appa… pray for the greater good of the world.
Poor, poor Yuuta quite literally only has Satoru as his mentor because where are the other airbenders? Who knows, but not here. He’s a little clumsy for an airbender at first, but eventually finds his footing. He’s also too timid at first, not wanting to use bending to attack because what if he accidentally takes the air out or someone’s lungs? What if he uses air bending and pushes someone too far and they get seriously hurt? What if he makes someone choke or suffocate? He would hate himself :(
It takes sometime, but he gets comfortable. Definitely no wise air nomad, but pretty strong with Satoru’s help. He still trips and falls, but at least now he knows how to make one of those little air balls to cushion his fall. Never learns to use a glider for everyone’s safety.
Waterbenders: Inumaki, Megumi, Nanami?
Toge just makes sense here. Give him a backstory similar to Amon in tlok, minus the whole villain arc; his family basically forced him to train and use his water bending/blood bending to their advantage. Makes him hesitant to use to later to seriously harm someone, even if it would save him. He’s not above using his bending for pranks like splashing Maki’s tea in her face, tho.
Don’t know if Megumi ever quite gets the bloodbending thing down, but he does learn to heal pretty proficiently. Still holds a grudge against Satoru for sending him half way across the world to hone his healing abilities, but he admits it made him better in the end. Despite the fact that waterbenders hail from the polar ends of the Earth, Megumi does not like the cold and he will let it be known.
Nanami is a toss up bc I feel like he fits both the water bending and fire bending roles :// he’s just that good :// the waterbender version of him is definitely a healer like Megumi, but the firebending version of him 100% has Azula’s blue flames. Doesn’t consider himself a true “master” regardless, even though anyone who has ever met him would beg to differ.
Earthbenders: Todo, Yuuji?
Todo is a no brainer. Doesn’t have the refined taste for metal bending, but lavabending? Yeah. Complains about getting called to do all the manual labor, but loves knowing that he’s literally strong enough to move the Earth underneath him and that even a volcano doesn’t stand a chance against him. Fantastic, 10/10
The Bolin to Yuuji pipeline is real and it will be studied. Yuuji would accidentally discover he can metalbend and then can never bring himself to do it when he needs to 😭😭 he’s trying his best. Nobara frequently says he’s dumb as a rock and laughs because she thinks it’s clever.
Firebenders: Nobara, Nanami?, Shoko, hear me out when I say Yuuji too but at this point I think avatar Yuuji is the supreme concept
Only other path for Nobara is an earth bender akin to Toph, but something about her being Azula’s less evil reincarnate sits so right with me, but also with Ty Lee’s… whatever that acrobatic shit she had going on was. She’s just that good, she’s just that girl. Refuses to make Yuuji’s drink hot again just because he forgot about it and it got cold—unless he promises to make her a bracelet out of a good gemstone she finds.
Once again, torn for Nanami. You already know the Iroh comparison is there, too. He’s not as flashy of a bender as someone like Nobara, but that doesn’t mean he’s not talented. He knows that he has to be precise in his firebending lest he destroy something or burn someone he cares about. Uses other bending forms to enhance his use and understanding of firebending.
It seems easy to make Shoko a waterbender and healer, but something about her smoking leads me down the firebender with combustion path. Maybe not… from her forehead like the ones we’ve seen in atla and tlok, but somehow it’s still there. Plus this way she doesn’t need to rely on anyone to light her cigarette to begin with, winwin, girlboss on the move.
Back again with Yuuji, but like I said, I think we just need to accept that avatar Yuuji is the only route that will truly suffice. Maybe we just start by saying he was born a firebender, and Nanami starts out at his first and primary tutor. He’s the one who introduces Yuuji to Satoru—and even though Kento threatens Satoru when he finds out he’s had Yuuji working on an air ball instead of any technical air bending for the past month—it all works out in the end. Yuuji’s a playful airbender, but hones in on the spiritual importance in the end, too. Megumi protests for months against being his waterbending master, until he finally breaks down. Todo through a rock at Yuuji the first time they were introduced, but Yuuji managed to throw it back without any knowledge of earthbending at that point and it was smooth sailing from there.
Non-benders: Maki, Mai
If Nobara is our un-evil Azula, then Maki and Mai are her Mai and Ty Lee, respectively. Maki never misses her targets and Mai has too much fun reducing benders to non-bending puddles with just a few punches.
#anonymous#here u go u didn’t ask for this much detail but i have many thoughts when it comes to avatar teehee#nobara my most beloved <333#kinda want megumi to solo and have both bloodbending and healing but i think one is enough for him he’s tired. he’s tired.#i don’t like geto but if i had to put him somewhere he’s either a non bender who keeps trying to kidnap other benders#or he’s firelord ozai’s less successful cousin in law#jjk x reader
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So it’s not the same thing at all but I am also currently dealing with a ridiculous medicine-and-bureaucracy problem and I have no idea what I’m gonna do about it, so I feel your pain.
I got laid off in May and I just started a new job, but the benefits haven’t kicked in yet and won’t for a few weeks. I’m not clear on the exact date because I technically didn’t work full-time hours for the first two weeks during training and the offer letter has kind of vague wording about that. Meanwhile, my prescription for birth control needs to be renewed and I can’t go to my doctor because I’m currently on Medicaid, the awful government insurance that covers nothing, and fsr my doctor’s office doesn’t take it even though just last year their website specifically said they DO and I picked them out specifically because it said that (my bf has had Medicaid for years and I wanted us to have the option to go to the same place, that’s why I know this even though I had better insurance at the time). But I couldn’t find that page and I messaged her office to confirm and they basically admitted it had been a lie.
Anyway I really really like my new doctor and I don’t want to make my appt anywhere else. I spent so long picking out a doctor last year and it was the first time I was actually able to do that myself instead of one being assigned to me in one way or another.
But I only have enough pills for the next three weeks and I just KNOW even if I do get onto the new insurance before I run out, there’s no way it will be processed in time for me to actually make an appt and then pick up the prescription. (I can’t even BOOK the appt without proof of insurance.)
(I think I recently heard something or other about a new OTC birth control pill, and I haven’t looked into it yet but I’m not sure if it’s even available yet or sold near me if so. But even if it is, idk how to tell if it’s similar enough to mine that I can just switch over to it for a month with no problems. I would just ASK MY DOCTOR, but this is America and I can’t even do THAT without the right insurance.)
In THEORY I could go a month without and just be super careful, but I have no idea if that’s safe or what effects it could have or if I’d need to time it a certain way when I started up again.
Universal health care NOW.
girl i have universal healthcare and bureaucracy still finds a way to fuck with me none of us are safe
but if you're wondering it's perfectly fine to start and stop the birth control pill whenever you like. you just won't be protected from pregnancy until you take it for 7 consecutive days again
if you start it right at the beginning of your cycle it's 5 days but any other time it's 7 so really it doesn't matter just start it whenever and give it a week
(if you just happen to randomly miss a day then you should equally be careful for the next 2-3 days just like in general. psa for anyone who didn't know)
#the only effects (besides regaining the capacity to be pregnant) would be that like.#you will start returning to whatever your periods were like when you weren't on the pill. which is a process that takes time#so might initially be heavier or more irregular#and then when you start again you'll get whatever (if any) side effects you had before#it won't medically do you any harm but the lack of hormone suppression for the next few weeks and Actuallt Having A Cycle again might#make you a bit tetchy or pimply. you know. normal hormone shit#see ive had the implant for over a decade now so i only have to think about it once every 3 years
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Riverdale, Ep. 7x09- Betty and Veronica Double Digest (spoilers)
Ok, well. Wasn't going to have much of a recap...and then the last few minutes happened. Also, do the previews next week mean we might actually get into the plot of the season? We're almost half way through.
So, the episode focuses on Betty and Veronica (and a bit of Jughead). Going to start with Jughead. He's basically sitting in a booth at Pop's, mourning the death of Radberry. He also is able to give Betty some information about the book Lolita and give Veronica advice about her theater problem (both of which have to do with their stories). At the end of the episode, Jughead tells Pop's he's ready to move on from grief; when Tom comes in and says he needs help with Radberry's case.
Veronica is trying to get her theater off the ground. But wouldn't you know it, Hiram has had all the film companies blacklist her? Veronica, with some help from Jughead, is able to find a way make the theater popular and so all the companies want to show their films there now. Because of this, Hiram has the locks changed on the apartment and Veronica starts to live in her theater. Yes, we're back to this shit.
Betty's story is...complicated. Well, the first half isn't. The therapist is trying to figure out why Betty wants sex so much, but Betty is coming to the realization that what she really wants is to figure out who she is. And what better way then to figure out then through someone's desires? A person could write a whole dissertation about how the writers managed to find the worst way to explore something that may not be completely inaccurate. I am not that person.
Also, Betty's first experience? Seriously, Riverdale got really close to loosing another viewer. Now, maybe, that could have been Betty's first time have a crush. Sure, fine. But that's not how they put it. And there is a difference.
And I never want to find out what's in the therapist's notebook. The Lolita part was enough thanks.
But then there's Betty's personality in this episode. While, again, the worst way to do this...I can't be the only one thinking that the way Betty handled things...that's the most Betty has been Riverdale Betty in a long time. I am hoping, at least, with Betty's self discovery of what she really wants we will start to move away from horney Betty. Don't get me wrong, I have no problem with a women who is in to her own sexual discovery...but it shouldn't be her only trait.
And then there's the one moment between Alice and Betty, where Betty is trying to get Alice to open up. So, does it feel to anyone else like...when Betty was saying Alice said she was afraid for Betty...we weren't talking about the 1950s; like real Riverdale was trying to break in? Because Alice has said something similar to Betty in Riverdale. However, it was also in reference to her being Hal's daughter, which who should end up stopping this conversation; but Hal? I mean, it's clear that the writers want us to recognize something here; but I don't know if we're supposed to question if they're starting to remember or if Hal's about to start killing again.
In the end of the episode, Betty tries to reason with Alice again and Alice tells Betty she's no longer her mother. You know, I thought I would be more happy when Alice finally pulled this crap as it may mean Betty could get away from her toxic ass. However, I don't think this is going to end well for Betty.
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I want to talk about outbreaks, poverty, and medical oppression.
I’m sure most of you are aware of long covid, the phenomenon that people who were infected with covid are having health problems they didn’t before infection that are now following them through their life. A lot of these situations have been disabling; I myself now have an extra disability tacked onto the list as well as many of my once abled friends joining me. Even my grandpa has developed a disability because of his infection. And this is something our family is not new to.
For the purpose of this story I’m going to call her aunt M. Aunt M was my grandma’s aunt, so technically my great aunt I believe. When she was a little girl she was completely able bodied like most of her immediate family. They had no known health problems that would cause anything like what happened to her. By this time polio was very well known about, vaccines were starting to be rolled out and treatments had started to become available to more people according to my uncle (her older brother). One day aunt M and her siblings go outside and find that their neighbors yard had flooded, so like a group of five kids in a small town with nothing else to do they play in the water. They had no idea that something so small would completely change the course of their little sister’s life. She ended up contracting polio, the only source anyone could think of was the standing water. As far as I’m aware no one else got sick or at the very least as sick as she did. It completely destroyed her lungs and her ability to walk, the muscles in her legs contracted and got stuck in a bent position and could hardly handle any weight. Aunt M spent the rest of her life using an oxygen machine and a power wheelchair once her family was able to save enough for one, and while you will not give her any pity because she never wanted any, I will tell her story to remind everyone of her. She shouldn’t have been disabled. She wouldn’t have lived a life of pain if not for one reason: poverty. You see the rich neighborhood a couple miles away had the resources. Any kids there were properly vaccinated and given treatments like leg braces to help them. Their family didn’t have any of that. No access to medication. No way to help her. She was very lucky that her symptoms didn’t get worse, she could’ve very easily died.
Aunt M passed away during the covid pandemics first year, it was very sudden and unexpected, we were all devastated. But part of me thinks it was slightly a blessing, a blessing that she wouldn’t have to watch her nephew go through the same thing. I was already disabled when this whole thing started, I already used a wheelchair and she knew that, I always felt a closeness to her because of it even though I hardly got to see her. But I got sick, more sick than usual, and ended up developing severe POTS. I have much less energy than I did before and that’s saying a lot, I have trouble pushing my wheelchair now because of my lung capacity and overall weakness. Hopefully soon I will be getting a power chair. And I can’t help but think of Aunt M.
I can’t help but think of all of the people like her, just innocent people who were living and then suddenly now their life is changed forever. I feel like it was easier for me because I had already accepted being disabled, sure more to worry about isn’t ideal but at least I’m no stranger to it. But think about that and think about aunt M. How a little less than a hundred years ago the same fucking thing happened.
Post polio syndrome and post covid syndrome are one in the same in a lot of ways. The effects they cause are surprisingly similar, at least in my family and experience, and it took years for people to admit post polio existed like it will for post covid. This is why it’s called a mass disabling event, people go into it relatively healthy and come out with health problems and disabilities that will never go away. The wealthier people can try out the experimental treatments and possibly be helped or cured, while the rest of us have to live with the proof that our government doesn’t know how to take care of their own people.
While POTS does effect the body differently than how polio effected their lungs and chests we need to comprehend how serious this is. Some people live with POTS and can mitigate their symptoms to the point of it barely effecting them, and some of us need to use wheelchairs because we can’t breathe or think while standing for longer than three minutes. It’s a syndrome with a wide variety of presentations and effects on patients, and it is a nervous system disorder so it may have more lasting effects than we can even think of right now.
Honestly I don’t have a point to summarize into, but just remember how the government handled polio and how it’s handled covid so far, I predict that when those of us who are young adults now are my aunt M’s age we’ll see the same fucking thing happen all over again. And we’ll sit there, with our long covid impacts and know, we haven’t learned a god damn thing.
I’ll end you with reiterating, do not hold any pity for my Aunt M, she was a very strong willed person who wouldn’t accept any amount of other people feeling bad for her, direct your emotions to the government who did this to her and us. Aunt M was healthy, she should’ve stayed healthy. Government inaction decided her fate for her.
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