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absolutelynochillonlydeath · 3 years

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Garden Wraith

3. On the Subject of Change...

The learning curve for his new normal was…interesting to say the least. He spent close to a week in the Unknown with Beatrice and her family, though mostly in the forest so as not to freak out her parents. It was there that he learned that his more…otherworldly features came out when he was upset, which then served to upset him more and it took a few minutes for Beatrice to calm him down again. Out of curiosity and a little bit of fear, they felt beneath the curls of his dark brown hair to see if there were any signs of the antlers the Beast had, and to Wirt’s horror and mortification, he felt little nubs growing from the sides of his head. Beatrice simply snorted and compared him to a newborn faun. The subject then came up of the lantern. Both looked at it in contempt since it was a source of so much of their fears.

“So, do you really think that your soul is in there?” Beatrice asked quietly as she looked at the flickering light behind the glass. Wirt looked at the flame nervously before nodding. Since he had gotten there, he felt eerily attached to the lantern in his hands, and if that was any indication, then the whispering he occasionally heard from the trees definitely settled the matter.

“Yeah. It is.” He said softly and Beatrice nodded somberly. Both knew what that meant. The most horrific thing about his nature was now he would have to depend on the oil of Edelwood trees to survive and their source wasn’t the most pleasant of things. Wirt’s skin crawled at the very notion of what he may have to do to survive and the girl patted his back sympathetically. For now, they pushed the thought into the back of their minds. They would find whatever Edelwoods left over from the previous Beast and use Beatrice’s mill to process it like the Woodsman had. For now, though, they focused on other aspects of his powers which still included his odd animal attracting ability that Beatrice laughed at when he mentioned his affinity to birds in particular. That power, though, served to comfort him in that with the old Beast, whenever he was there, it seemed that the area itself was devoid of life. Beatrice only smiled and teased that his poet soul was drawing them there, but both were relieved. If nothing else, it served as a reminder that while Wirt may have the Beast’s powers, they were not the same. Something else that Wirt found out was that he could cloak himself in pure shadow with only his eyes to provide light, much like his predecessor. It freaked them both out but was highly useful when it came to hiding and also teleporting to different points of the Unknown. It was almost something straight out of a horror film and explained as to how the Beast could seemingly appear out of nowhere. Suffice to say, discoveries were made and in between blinking in the Unknown and waking up to the morning light filtering in through his bedroom window, it was difficult to keep track of which reality he was in when he awoke.

A transition period was the best way he could describe this part of his life. It was a bit stressful and jarring and confusing as he switched between realities and realized that time was inconsequential in the Unknown. They lived in perpetual stillness since they were already dead, so the passing of seasons were only important for the holidays and crop gathering. Due to the growing confusion, Wirt started keeping a notebook with him to track the days and give him reminders as to what was going on. To his surprise, it seemed like if he slept with an object in hand and had the desire to bring the object with him, they would also show up with him in the Unknown. The same was true in reverse. It was startling, but useful and made his life easier when waking up again. Sadly, the transition not only affected him mentally and emotionally, it also attracted plenty of attention from his family. He was already under scrutiny for how different he now treated Greg. It was a welcome change, but Wirt swore that his mom sprinkled holy water on him one morning during breakfast. They weren’t really religious, it was more of a habit from his Irish grandparents and great grandparents than anything else, but it was the principle of the matter. Either way, his stepfather snickered and Greg asked if it was alright if he could splash water on Wirt too.

Speaking of Greg, the boy immediately caught on to his elder brother’s weird behavior. It was almost impossible for Wirt to keep anything from the child, especially since he knew that the younger boy only wanted to help and keep him safe, but Wirt didn’t want to scare him. Wirt now knew from experience and a general curiosity that he could manifest his more supernatural traits into reality and it sent him into a small panic attack in the bathroom that made him realize that his eyes were glowing brightly and his anxiety was what was making it manifest. After riding it out and calming down, his eyes dulled back to their normal grey and left him paranoid as to when it would happen again. He didn’t know when his eyes would flare at school or around Greg and that made him avoid his family for a while until he had another talk with Beatrice. The girl simply rolled her eyes and smacked him upside the head.

“Oww! What was that for?!” he complained, rubbing his head and she continued to glare at him.

“You doofus. You need to tell him or you’ll only make him more worried.” She huffed and he looked down and shook his head.

“I-If it tell him, he’ll only be more scared. I promised him that the Beast wouldn’t come back and now…that’s…it’s…what I am.” He said quietly, hands clenched and trembling at his hides. His mind flashed back to their moment in the hospital. The small boy had expressed his hidden fear so well. Until that moment, Wirt hadn’t known that Greg had realized the true danger he was in. The boy had such a positive outlook on their time in the Unknown and looked jovial through most of it, even when facing down the Beast. Wirt thought that the seven-year-old just didn’t understand what was going on, but Greg was much smarter than his brother gave him credit for. That moment told Wirt everything. Greg was strong and silly and brave because that was how he could process what was happening. He took enjoyment where he could because everything else was terrifying. He may not have had the full understanding of how the Beast was tricking him or how exactly to escape, but he knew that something bad was happening and that the Unknown wasn’t where they were supposed to be. Still, throughout all that, he never lost hope. Not like Wirt did. Greg had explained to him in the early hours of the morning when he snuck into the teenager’s bed after a nightmare what had happened in the time he went missing. The Queen of Clouds, his chance to escape, his wish for Wirt, and the ultimate deal with the Beast in an attempt at release. Wirt shuddered and hugged the boy tightly through whispered apologies and sobs. That wonderful, kind child had been willing to throw away every chance he had to let his older brother go free and Wirt had never felt lower. He promised again to himself that night that he wouldn’t allow his little brother to feel such terror ever again.

Beatrice stifled a sigh at her friend’s drama, but she understood where he was coming from. Her siblings, as much as they annoyed her, she would defend with her life and she knew that Wirt was the same with Greg. Still, she highly doubted that the boy would reject his brother over this and she opened her mouth to say as much.

“Wirt, if nothing else along your little adventure, I’d like to think that I got to know your brother pretty well. Does he seem like the type to be afraid of his dorky older brother? He’s much braver than you and as soon as he figures out that you’re the same lame guy, he’ll be fine.” She said gruffly, placing her hands on his shoulders. Wirt trembled under her hands and shook his head again.

“But what if he doesn’t? He was so scared, Beatrice! I-I-I don’t think I could handle it if he looked at me like he looked at the Beast…” he whispered sadly, his eyes now flickering with pearlescent colors. He could feel the black hazing over the edges of his vision as his breathing got more ragged and for a moment, he felt himself between asleep and awake, his awareness torn between his in the Unknown body and his body in the living world from the stress he felt.

“Oh, no you don’t! You’re not waking up till we’ve finished this conversation!” Beatrice called out, now crushing the shorter teen in a bear hug that knocked the breath out of him. In retrospect, that really should not have worked, but it did and when his vision cleared and air was properly flowing through his lungs, all he saw were the red curls of Beatrice’s hair.

“S-s-sorry…” he mumbled and clung tightly to her desperately as if she was his center of gravity and without her, he could be left to drift out into the vast sky or sink into the cold ground.

“Don’t apologize for that. I get that you’re worried, even if I think it’s over nothing.” She murmured back, her grip not loosening, but she was now rubbing soothing circles over his spine.

“It’s not nothing. Its Greg.” Wirt protested and Beatrice shook her head.

“You’re underestimating him. The kid’s got an unhealthy hero worship of you and I really doubt that a little thing like accidentally getting a freaky wooden death spirit’s powers is gonna deter him. He’s way more persistent than that.” he huffed, chuckling over her thoughts. In the time she got to know the two boys, she had tried her best not to get attached to them, but she had and thought of the boy as one of her own little brothers. He was charming in his odd childlike logic, was loyal to a fault, and his positivity was endearing. Even when she betrayed him, she knew he would forgive her and it made her guilty to think of afterwards. The boy was strong and resilient and there was no way he would be afraid. Not of Wirt. Never of Wirt.

“Just trust me and tell him. I guarantee he won’t be afraid. And if he is and things don’t go well, I’ll help you run away or something, okay?” she asked and Wirt blinked in surprise, pulling away from her embrace.

“Wait, what?” he asked, startled, but the iridescent colors were gone now.

“I mean, it would be kind of pathetic to run away from a seven-year-old, but I wouldn’t put it past you. Don’t think you’d make it very far either, but hey, you’re a stubborn jerk who beat a monster, so who knows? Still, running away from a kid is pretty lame. And that kid is also Greg, so I think he’d find you pretty easy too.” She continued on as Wirt started to sputter in indignation. There we go. Rile him up. If the gentle approach wasn’t breaking through to him, she would appeal to his stubborn streak. That and she was out of sentimental words for the week. She swore this kid was making her soft.

“Wh-what? No I wouldn’t! I would just, y’know, never talk to him again. Like, ever.” He stammered and Beatrice rolled her eyes, hand on her hips.

“You really think that’s gonna work with Greg? The human chatterbox and friend machine? Yeah, that’s definitely not gonna work.” She scoffed and Wirt sighed, nodding in agreement and kicking at the snow at his feet. She was right. Scared or not, repulsed or not, there was no stopping Gregory Cowan from opening his mouth and commenting about whatever was on his mind. The only times that Wirt had ever heard the boy silent was when he was either eating or sleeping and even then he still had a propensity to open his mouth and let sound come out.

“You’re right, you’re right… I just…I’m trying to be a good big brother to make up for the terrible one I’ve been for half of my life and all of his life. I just don’t want to scare him and never get the chance to make it up to him…” he said softly and Beatrice nodded.

“And you will. Just tell him the truth. He won’t leave you.” He said firmly and Wirt took a deep breath, feeling himself being firmly settled into the Unknown again, the edges of his vision clearing and he nodded.

“You’re right. I’ll…tell him…. He deserves to know.” He relented and Beatrice nodded in agreement, patting his shoulder.

“Of course I’m right. My ideas are always right.” She said and Wirt rolled his eyes.

“Adelaide was a good idea?” he asked and the girl’s cheeks flushed bright red.

“Ok, but that was once!” she argued and Wirt’s skepticism shot through the metaphorical roof along with his eyebrow.

“Getting turned into a bird, stealing from Endicott, sneaking onto the frog ferry…” he trailed on and the elder girl growled and slapped a hand over his smirking mouth.

“Hush. We don’t talk about those! And don’t chance the subject! We’re talking about you and Greg.” She said sternly, though the blush remained on her face and was now going to the tips of her ears. The mention of the subject at hand was sobering though and the smile soon faded from the boy’s face.

“I need to tell him.” he said quietly, resigned to his fate. Around them, the Unknown swayed with a phantom breeze, the snow blanketing whatever noise there might have been.

Wirt felt nauseous and he jittered in place on his bed. He had woken up that day with full determination to tell Greg about him, but that resolve was shaken as soon as he saw the boy at the table for breakfast. He had since shut himself up in his room, pacing nervously and trying not to imagine how much his eyes were glowing. He wanted to tell him. He needed to tell him. but the doubt still lingered in the back of his mind. Luckily, or unluckily for his nerves, his indecisiveness was no match for the curiosity and worry of a seven-year-old. The light knocking on the door was the only warning the teen got before the child burst into his room with all the enthusiasm and eagerness of a puppy.

“Wirt! Wirt! This is urgent business! Jason Funderburker is in need of your affection cuz it’s been so long!” the boy yelled, holding the frog up and waving him in his elder brother’s face.

“Wait-Greg-what?” Wirt stuttered and Greg climbed up on the bed, seating himself next to the other with a look of exasperation on his youthful face.

“We want to spend time in you! You’ve been in here so long, I thought you’d have grown a long white beard! Like Santa! Or a really old guy!” the boy exclaimed and Wirt rolled his eyes, chuckling.

“I haven’t been in here that long. I can’t grow a beard that fast!” he disputed and Greg looked at him skeptically, poking an inquisitive finger at his chin. Wirt pushed his hand away but the boy was persistent, continuing to poke him till Wirt was now actively trying to wrestle him to the bed in order to poke his chin. It sent both of them into a fit of giggles and they heard Jason Funderburker croak along with them. Finally they stopped to catch their breaths, the remnants of laughter leaving them.

“So, can you tell me why you’re not happy now?” Greg suddenly asked and Wirt froze in place but tried his best to force his body to relax and sound nonchalant.

“Wha-what do you mean? I, uh, I’m fine. It’s just the whole snow on the ground thing is all!” he squeaked, failing at looking casual. Greg didn’t look convinced and sat on his chest.

“Are you mad at me again?” he asked quietly and Wirt shot up immediately, practically bowling the boy off him before he snatched him close to hug him.

“What?! Of course not!” he shouted and Greg hugged him back tightly.

“So why are you sad?” the boy asked and Wirt took a breath, steeling what nerves he had and looking the boy dead in the eye.

“I-I’m not sad. Just a little, um…scared? I guess? But it’s nothing to do with you! You didn’t do anything wrong.” Wirt said frantically, the words tumbling out in a rush. Greg, for his part, simply looked confused.

“Greg, I promised I’d protect you no matter what. I don’t want to scare you, but I-I-I think you need to know…”he said quietly and Greg’s eyes seemed to light up in understanding.

“Oh. Is it about how you have the same pretty eyes the Beast had?” he asked innocently end Wirt nodded before freezing.

“Exact-wait, what? You know about that?” Wirt gasped and Greg snorted with laughter.

“Yupp! I saw your eyes when I woke you up a while ago, but you didn’t know yet. I’m glad you do now. Why do you have them? Do I have them? Are my eyes beautiful too?” the boy asked curiously, mind now wandering off in his own world and hugging his frog in contemplation. Wirt felt whatever tension and anxiety he had wash out of him, leaving him limp and almost collapsing back onto his bed. For lack of a better word, he was stunned. Greg knew? He had known for a long time and hadn’t said anything just to make Wirt comfortable.

He really did have the best brother, though he didn’t appreciate the anxiety that came from all of this.

“Why didn’t you tell me before? Weren’t you scared?” Wirt asked in a breathless rush, hugging his brother tightly. Greg looked up at him and shrugged, though he had a serious look on his face.

“I didn’t want to scare you. You were already not sleeping, so I didn’t want to make it worse.” the boy said simply and Wirt could only blink in shock.

“You…you weren’t scared? Of, y’know, what I am? Of my eyes?” the teen asked softly and Greg’s eyebrows scrunched a little in confusion and contemplation.

“Why would I be? I think you were more scared than I was.” Greg said innocently and once again, Wirt hugged the younger boy close, giving him a comforting squeeze.

“Thank you…” he whispered and Greg hugged back tightly, enjoying the affection and patting his brother’s back.

“No need to thank me, brother o’ mine!” he said cheerfully, but there was also relief running through his tiny body. He knew that the Beast was gone, the faint memories of his semi-conscious state echoing with the dying screams of the monster as its soul was snuffed out reminding him every time he dared remember it, but he wouldn’t deny that the glowing eyes of his brother had worried him. Now he knew that he shouldn’t have worried. Beast or not, weird tree powers or not, this was still his older, worried brother and nothing would change that.

“So does that mean you can be a tree now? Can you turn other people into trees? You really shouldn’t do that cuz it’s not nice.” Greg asked, continuing on with his musings as Wirt could only listen and laugh, the relief leaving him lose and willing to muse with him about his newfound powers.

The next two years until the next big change in the brothers’ lives was a series of highs and lows filled with making better friends, two different comings out and the parties that came afterwards, meeting witches, learning magic, and turning said friends into a makeshift witch coven. Turning fifteen was stressful in many ways and Wirt felt like he was on the verge of a breakdown from the secrets he was carrying and finally gave in when his friends finally confronted him. Luckily, both of his “coming out” gatherings went well. Sara and the rest of their friends took to him being a weird death tree being rather quickly, asking him questions and sympathizing about his and Greg’s trip to the Unknown. Telling them was also incredibly helpful in keeping his secret while in school since his anxiety tended to make his eyes flicker iridescent. Compared to that particularly nerve wracking reveal, Wirt’s sexuality seemed like nothing. By that, he meant that he still almost passed out from nerves and was only calmed down when his friends and Greg all surrounded him in a group hug.

Both brothers grew closer through all of that, learning Wirt’s new powers together with the younger boy delighting in each ability he showed. Their practice was done at the cemetery with the now dubbed “witch’s circle” among the graves of people they knew in the Unknown, the eyes of the dead watching Wirt’s progress with approval as he changed into something more, better, than the Beast his predecessor was. But that was a story for another time. In his sixteenth year, Wirt would start a new journey and it started with a few casual words spoken by his mother in the early morning over a bowl of cereal.

“Jonathan and I will be going on a honeymoon soon.” His mother announced and Wirt could only stare at her back in a sleepy haze, wondering if he heard right. “Ohhh! What’s what? Are you gonna dip the moon in honey? Is that why it goes yellow sometimes?” A now nine-year-old Greg asked excitedly from next to the elder boy, syrup from his pancakes sticking to his cheeks.

“No, Greg. It’s what married people do after they get married to, uh, spend time together.” Wirt answered quickly, refraining from telling most of the truth and hoping his explanation didn’t come out as awkward as he thought it was. Luckily, his brother seemed to gloss over that fact.

“Oh. But haven’t you been married for a while? Why now? And when? Can we go too?” the boy continued with his slew of questions. Their mother chuckled and ruffled his hair.

“Well, he and I have been planning it for a while but haven’t really found a good time to do it since the marriage and Greg’s birth was so close together.” She explained and turned back to the stove. “And no, honey. Like Wirt said, it’s for married people only. And we’ll be doing it over the summer!” She announced cheerfully, though Greg pouted in displeasure at not being able to go anywhere.

“Oh, well, um, good for you guys, I guess? So, does that mean that we’ll be, um, alone for a while in the summer?” Wirt asked and felt nervous when his mother sighed and turned to him, taking on the same nervous look he usually had. “Well, see, that’s what I wanted to talk to you both about.” She said hesitantly and that immediately knocked all tiredness from his body and he sat up straighter.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“Well, at first we were planning on making it a small trip for a week, but then we got so excited at the thought and since you two were getting along so much better recently, we figured that it would be fine to leave you two longer than that.” She rambled, smiling sheepishly as she explained in a rush. “Not without a guardian, of course! Jonathan has an uncle up in Oregon that we are sending you to and it might be an adventure for you boys too! Along with it being a good opportunity to get to know more family!” she finished and now both boys were stunned, though Greg recovered quicker, his trademark enthusiasm taking hold.

“Ohh! Really?! That’s amazing! We get to go up to Oregon for the summer? We get to meet another uncle! Maybe he’ll be an uncle like Uncle Endicott, Wirt! Do you think he has a big mansion too? Can I bring Jason Funberburker with us?” Greg burbled out excitedly.

“Wait, wait, wait. What? An uncle? Are you sure that’s a good idea? I mean, not that it’s a bad thing to meet relatives, or that you aren’t entitled to having some time for yourselves, because that’s good in theory, but we haven’t even met the man. I can take care of Greg here while you’re gone, so you don’t need to send us all the way to Oregon!” Wirt rambled right back to his mother, his anxieties flooding his thoughts. What if the man didn’t like him? What if he didn’t like Greg? Wirt didn’t think that would happen since everyone liked Greg, but it was still a fear. What if he didn’t like them bringing a frog with them? And what about his friends and his lack of summer plans he wanted to make with them? And what about the poetry he would have to hide from him? And his abilities! How would he manage to hide that when they were as blaringly obvious? He hid his face in his hands to cover his eyes as the stress seemed to work through his chest.

“Oh, sweetie! It’ll be alright!” his mother quickly rushed over and hugged him and he sank into her embrace gratefully, feeling the comfort beat back his fear.

“I know you aren’t comfortable with new places, but Oregon is a beautiful place! It has plenty of forests that you boys are fond of and would definitely appeal to your poetic soul, honey! And from what Jonathan has told me, his uncle is a little eccentric, but very nice, so there’s no need to worry!” she said reassuringly and pet his hair. Wirt felt himself relaxing with the attention and huffed a little when Greg joined in on the comfort.

“It’s just…are you sure we can’t just stay here? I’m sixteen. I can take care of Greg by myself. Don’t you trust me?” He said quietly as he looked up at his mother and she sighed and shook her head, dropping a kiss to his forehead.

“It’s not that I don’t trust you, Wirt. I know you’re a responsible young man, but I can’t just leave you alone for the whole summer unsupervised. Neither Jonathan or I have any relatives here and we’d both feel better if there was someone to look after you both.” She said softly, petting his hair. Wirt sighed and felt the trembling from her hand. He inherited his nervous nature from someone and it as only now that he was calming down that he realized his mother was just as freaked out about this as he was. Feeling his panic ebb, his shoulders slumped and he nodded slowly, looking down. He couldn’t deny her this. Not when she was so excited and he knew that if he really pushed this she would stay with them instead of going on her trip with his step-dad so they wouldn’t be left alone.

“…so it’s an uncle of Jonathan’s?” he asked quietly as he looked up again and he could feel her mother relax at his acceptance.

“Yupp! So, he would technically be your and Greg’s great uncle!” she said brightly, giving his shoulder squeeze and sending a grateful smile his way. He smiled back slightly in acknowledgement and returned to his now soggy cereal. “Really? So how is he a great uncle? Is that just the next step from a good uncle?” Greg asked curiously and made Wirt roll his eyes before patting his head.

“That’s not what mom means, Greg.” He explained and Greg looked at him skeptically.

“Are you sure? Just normal uncles are pretty good, so I can only expect that the uncles of our parents are great since they’re older.” He explained in the only way that an elementary school child could. With that, breakfast was concluded and more details of the plan were divulged and come the end of August, their bags were packed and it was a plane and a bus to their new destination. It was certainly an adventure to get their all on its own with Wirt keeping track of their traveling schedules, trying his best to keep a hyperactive Greg entertained until he finally crashed from the jetlag, checking a frog through the airport and bus terminals, and subsequently keeping his brother away from said frog while on the plane. On the bus, Wirt held his brother close while he slept, holding his frog like a stuffed animal, and looked at the ever-changing terrain through the window. The trees multiplied as time went on, growing thicker and thicker as they got closer, and he let his mind wander to something more poetic. The trees were different that those of the Unknown, but they seemed to give off a similar feeling of mystery, like they contained secrets that they dare not divulge for fear of retribution. Or perhaps they kept the secrets from those that were unworthy of learning them? Either way, he could feel this soul in the lantern flutter in excitement at the prospect of exploring this new forest and finding new inspiration. His mother was right, it truly was a beautiful place.

“Mmmm….Wirt?” came the sleepy voice beside him and Wirt turned to see his brother eyes flutter open and a yawn escape his lips.

“Right here, Greg.” He assured the younger boy and Greg relaxed from his slight tension.

“Are we there yet?” he asked and Wirt shook his head.

“No. Not yet. But I think we’re almost there. Look at how many trees there are.” He said and Greg brightened immediately, climbing over his brother’s lap to get a better look outside.

“Wow! There’re more trees here than back home! It’s like the Unknown! But the trees are different!” he said excitedly. In the recent years he had become fixated on learning the different types of trees and Wirt didn’t doubt that he could name every single tree in this forest.

“Oh yeah? Well, we’ll go exploring for a bit after we settle in, okay?” he assured Greg and the younger boy smiled brightly, squeezing his frog to him.

“You hear that, Jason Funderburker? We get to go on forest adventures with Wirt again!” he said excitedly and practically vibrated in place from excitement as soon as they saw the big sign passing them by, announcing their destination. Wirt huffed a laugh and gathered their things as the bus slowed, rumbling to a stop at what seemed like just the side of the road where a single car was parked.

“Oh. I guess that must be him. U-unless there’s someone else waiting for someone else here. I mean, that would probably make sense since we’re not the only ones on the bus that are probably headed here but maybe it is and-“

“Wirt, look! It’s our Uncle!” Greg cut his older brother off gleefully and dashed down the aisle to exit the bus.

“Wait, Greg!” Wirt yelled, scooping up their backpacks before dashing after the excitable child. The other riders looked at him in sympathy and let him pass which Wirt felt grateful for and he stumbled out of the bus as Greg waved excitedly with his frog.

“Hi, Uncle! It’s nice to meet you! I’m Greg and this is Wirt and this is Jason Funderburker! We’re here for the summer!” Greg announced happily to the two figures leaving the car.

“Greg! Don’t just go running off!” Wirt scolded before straightening himself out and settling his eyes on the thinner of the two older men. He recognized him vaguely from the picture Jonathan showed them before they left, though he was definitely more aged than the picture and there was something in his eyes that Wirt was a bit wary about.

“Hello, Sir. Thank you for having us here.” Wirt said politely and the other elder man scoffed a little. The boy’s Uncle gave a pleasant chuckle and waved his hand dismissively.

“Aww shucks, there’s no need fer any “sir” nonsense! The name’s McGucket. Fiddleford McGucket or just Uncle Fiddleford to you. Welcome to Gravity Falls, kids!”

AO3 handle: AbsolutelyNoChill_OnlyDeath

#over the garden wall #gravity falls #beast!wirt #Gregory Cowan #Wirt #fiddleford mcgucket

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drawbauchery · 4 years

Text

The Second Session

fic by cartoons-tothemoon

“So, let’s review, last session, we broke you down to many of your core traits and neuroses.”

“Thanks for reminding me, it’s not like I have the capacity to remember last week.” Skipper muttered.

“Well, now we’re here to build you back up, and work from that onwards.” Hans said. He had his hands folded plainly in his lap, and he’d changed the lighting in the office. Skipper hated it. He hated having to sit across from a smug as shit Hans as he waited calmly and quietly for Skipper to begin talking, with that terrible, blinding light that gave off a strangely clinical feel that makes him more uneasy than anything else. He wonders if Hans would let him sleep for the hour he was meant to spend here. Sure, he’d be paying $35 for a nap, which was crazy in of itself, but he knows from experience that sometimes all you need is a good nap to be a functioning person again.

“I’m not in the position to really diagnose you with anything, and even if I was, I’d still need more time to get to know your mind before I could really prescribe anything for your current conditions.”

“Conditions?”

“Plural. Like children trying to sneak into a cineplex in a trench coat, what was once one turned out to be two or more disorders standing on top of one another’s shoulders. Bouts of aggression and insomnia tied to intense paranoia, a complex that comes from being a leader, and a fear of depending on others. Abandonment issues, repression-“

Skipper waved his hands in a forceful sort of wave, “yes, thank you. Just tell me what to do about it already.”

“What?”

“Just fix me already.” Skipper seemed frustrated. “You’re the one who thinks I’m broken in the first place, the only reason I’m here in the first place is to prevent any future surprise tea parties.”

Hans sighed. They were barely even 5 minutes in, and Hans just knew he was going to be spending the rest of the session constructing arguments for statements Skipper constructed in seconds.

“If this was only to prevent any more…surprise visits from moi, then I would’ve been fine with just the first session. And I think you know that.”

He did. He did know that. Hans suggested the idea of a second session, and so did Skipper, in the way that you do when you’re bonding with people you have a rather hostile history with. No commitment was really stated, which left the ball in Skipper’s court, but what was he supposed to do after that thorough deconstruction, let it simmer in his soul for the rest of his known life?

He couldn’t even let it simmer for a whole week at this point, after all, he was already considering asking RICO of all people if he was too arrogant a leader and intentionally pushing people away.

RICO.

It made sense at the time, Kowalski would question where he was learning such jargon and be able to draw conclusions based on his recent absence, and Private would do nothing but validate him. Because he was just that nice, he supposed.

“Second, it’s not about being “broken” or “fixed” or what have you, the fact of the matter is that you have the most high-stress job in your already high-stress career. As much as I enjoyed our battles in the fish markets of Denmark, it’s not like the experience hasn’t done something to me, or you for that matter.”

Hans sighed, he was already just so exhausted by this…session. He’d even revealed that he too shared in mental health struggles if Skipper was willing to pick up the scraps left behind for him. Skipper looked a little surprised, sure, but fell back into an understood complacency sooner than later.

Was this the closest they were ever going to get to a true understanding of the other?

He supposed he’d have to take it.

“And lastly, I can’t tell you how to “fix” yourself. I’m a therapist, not a life coach. I’m not here to give advice, I’m here to examine your trauma, and give you a better perspective on how to move forward. However, I can’t take those steps for you. You kinda have to figure out a lot of those things on your own.”

Skipper looked positively moody about this, but less in a spoiled, petulant five-year-old sort of way, and more…accepting of it. He looked tired, and less because it was barely just a quarter past 1. It was an abstract tiredness, one not born of resting or restlessness, but a thing all its own.

Skipper sighed. “Then what am I supposed to do?”

“This is a timely process for a reason, Skipper. Many people can spend years in therapy trying to handle these exact issues.”

“I didn’t realize this was a life sentence in the making.” Skipper muttered.

God, this was already such a process. Hans could tell that Skipper couldn’t stand the vagueness of this all. He was an action guy, he wanted an easy solution of doing task A to accomplish thing B, and achieve reward C, and go on with his life.

No, not even an easy solution. A clear solution. Skipper was a problem solver. All of this was already so abstract, and he didn’t even know if he was so vehemently against this whole process just because it was him, or just because it was therapy at all. He even had a client who after a bad experience with a therapist in middle school decided to turn her sessions into stand-up, just because she was already so familiar and so bored with the process.

Maybe that’s what he needed to channel. Therapy in of itself was at the best of times uncomfortable and at the worst of times boring. He was already dealing with a high energy, high stress client, who was uncomfortable as all hell with being there. If he put him back into a comfortable situation, he may or may not get something out of him, and if he doesn’t, at the very least make him more comfortable with spending time with him at all, off the clock, at least.

“What do you like to do, Skipper? In your free-time?”

Skipper eyed him suspiciously. “Uh, why?”

“I’m trying something. Trust me here.”

That could’ve been phrased SO much better, from nemesis to nemesis, but Skipper seemed willing in the moment to run with that trust. “I like working on my combat capabilities, driving around, sometimes I watch TV and movies, I help Private bake when he feels like it, I nap, I gamble…”

Skipper seemed to be drawing a blank for whatever reason. Surely, he had things he did in his free time, right? It wasn’t like he was ALWAYS on the clock, he just never really thought of certain periods of time as…free. What even counted as free-time anyhow? Was it just time that wasn’t spent doing other things? Under that definition, no time was free.

“Can I say this to you as both a friend, an enemy, and somebody who’s known you for quite a few years at this point?”

Skipper nodded hesitantly.

“Jesus Christ, you need some hobbies.” Hans stated, matter of factly. “Working on your “combat capabilities,” as you put it, seems to be a literal constant considering your job as…however your job is defined, so it’s less play and more work than anything else. You mentioned helping Private bake “when he feels like it,” and I wouldn’t exactly call napping a hobby, or gambling a healthy one.”

Skipper shrugged. It’s not like “Stomp the Wombat” ever left the confines of the lair, anyhow.

“It just feels like you don’t have a lot of things you do just for yourself, you know? Driving around and watching TV are the only hobbies that feel wholly your own, something you don’t do for work or for others. Keep in mind that you can keep doing these things you enjoy, but perhaps you should find other things for yourself. Like an instrument, or a cooking class.”

“I told the boys that I joined a bowling league just to be here.”

“And did that seem believable enough for you to do to be here?”

His silence told Hans everything, but not the literal everything of Skipper “going to bed” at 8 just to climb through his window at 12:30, shimmy down the fire escape, and walk to Hans’s office.

But he probably could tell anyhow.

Of course, this kind of put a blight on Hans’s plans to make Skipper more comfortable while being here, and as he told him such, Skipper proceeded to lay down on the couch. Hans couldn’t tell the exact reason for the action, but it did seem to be a point of exasperation for him.

“Well, damn, sorry I “foiled your plot” to make myself comfortable in the den of the beast.”

“Skipper, you insult me. You really think I’d decorate my den with wooden sailboats? Absolutely criminal.”

“You seem to forget that.” He muttered. Hans ignored it.

“Although the hobby talk didn’t exactly lead where I thought it could…It did lead me elsewhere.”

“Goddamn it.”

“What skill have you always wanted to learn? What’s something that you’ve wanted to try for just, so long, and never got the chance to?”

Skipper began to pick at his lip. This whole talk already made him nervous, but now what was he supposed to say? That he figured he’d be in the back of a truck with is hand hanging out the taillight since he was 14, for whatever reason, so he didn’t even bother considering his top 3 colleges, let alone any future ambitions?

Still, if he was quiet for too long, either Hans would judge him, or he’d render his lips a bloody mess, and that’d be a whole different thing to deal with.

“…Archery sounds fun.” He said. Hans nodded.

“That’s interesting. It’s closely related to your pre-established interests but it’s closer to a sport now than something to be used in an actual combat situation, which sort of allows it to be separated from your work.”

Skipper nodded as well, allowing Hans to believe that that was his thought process from the start, and more of just curious to see if he could shoot a flame off a candle like Annie Oakley.

“You mentioned you liked baking with Private. Do you like the idea of baking itself, or just doing it with another person?”

“Food is meant to be shared?” Skipper seemed to be asking, but also stated in a very definitive way. “It’s a process. It’d be weird not to help in the process.”

Hans pulled his hand away from Skipper’s mouth, where a few small cuts were beginning to form. “If you’d like to have a session where we did a low-stress activity you wanted to do, and we talked while doing so, I think it’d put you in the best conductive environment possible to actually combat the problems that seem so visible to me. This was a good first development, though. I just don’t know if I can expect on accidental issues to identify and attack every time.”

Hans sighed and got up from his chair to stare out the window. Skipper didn’t know why he did this, outside of being a dramatic bitch, but it got him to look anyhow.

“It’s so incidental, many people struggle with balancing work and life as is, but this could easily be one of the main causes of your paranoia, as well as causing a level of detachment and depersonalization, which relates to how you relate to others.”

And well, damn. What was Skipper supposed to say to that?

“Our time’s almost up.” Hans said, checking his watch. Skipper was coming to realize how strange time in therapy was. It simultaneously felt like hours and seconds passing all at once. Perhaps it was because there were no clocks, like a casino. Or maybe it was because going to therapy at 1 in the morning didn’t exactly give you a sun to follow in terms of time. Hans handed Skipper a weird sort of rack with string on it, along with some tissues.

“It’s a loom. Fidget with something that won’t bleed for the next five minutes, if you would.”

Skipper glared at him for the snide comment, but Skipper didn’t exactly put it back where Hans had stored it originally. Picking at the strings inanely didn’t feel as satisfying as his usual fidgets, but it would work until he lost focus and the skin had time to heal.

“I’m giving you three assignments until our next session.” Skipper would’ve originally rolled his eyes at the idea of homework, but there was something that felt already strange about this session. Last session, he was so thoroughly antagonized and owned in such a way that his entire psychological history had been exposed, but this made last session feel like…a misstep. It was almost like Hans was trying to give the rug back to Skipper after it had already been so unceremoniously swept away from him.

He seemed as unsure about this as he was, he even confided about the state of his own mental health, something he probably wasn’t supposed to do. Which, honestly, made Skipper feel better about the whole thing. He didn’t like being guided, and as much as he detested having to do this whole thing with Hans in particular, the idea of having to figure out a stranger at the same time they were trying to figure out him sounded like a nightmare. More than this already was.

The whole session felt off, sure, but it wasn’t as off as it could’ve been, and he knows it could only be worse.

“I want you to begin researching archery, if you really want to pursue it as a hobby, you should try to learn what you can about it before jumping in and figuring out it isn’t what you thought it was.”

“I want you to pay a compliment to each of your team members in a casual way, this’ll strengthen your bonds with them, in a way that allows you to affirm that you appreciate them, as much as they appreciate you.”

Okay, that sounded like hippie nonsense, but who was he to judge at this point.

“And finally, I want you to pick out a recipe to prepare during our next session.”

“Wait, what?”

“A recipe. Something that’ll take less than an hour. I have a friend who’d give me access to their kitchen in the middle of the night, so we’ll be on neutral ground, and I’m sure it’ll be more believable to your “boys” that if you really are doing something in the middle of the night, that you have physical proof of it. Considering how weirdly secretive you are already, the idea you covered up secret cooking lessons with a bowling league doesn’t sound too far-fetched.” Hans was muttering at this point. All these things answered questions he figured he’d have, but nothing that helped with where he was NOW.

“I know it’s a weird idea, but the clients who have had the chance to do different, vaguely active things during our sessions tend to be more open and honest with me about things that they’re worried about, things that they struggle with, and they can make for more engaging sessions where you actually take in what I’m telling you, and makes it less of a lecture.” Hans sighed. “If you hate it, we never have to try anything like that again, but, I do really want you to give it a try. This is a two-way street, I can only give as much as I myself get. I just got lucky this week.”

Skipper stopped strumming the loom.

“Text me the address.” He said, and Hans would have burst with joy if such a thing was appropriate in present company, until he realized.

“I…don’t have your number?”

“Oh, no, session’s over! Wow, how did the time fly? Guess you’ll just have to figure that out for yourself, what a swell talk we had, doc,” Skipper yelled as he headed out the door.

“Pay at the front desk!” Hans yelled back before relaxing into his chair. Skipper was never going to be an easy client to deal with. Maybe he wouldn’t ALWAYS dance around the issues at hand, but he was never going to REALLY come clean about it. There may be things they never talk about, the same way Hans did.

And that was fine. Maybe it made what little he did learn all the more rewarding. Maybe it made what little he learned all the more meaningless if Skipper ever reached a point of complete and utter honesty with him, a fantasy he knew would never see come to light.

But who was to say, really?

It was all a matter of time.

After all, this was only the second session.

(Ahh! I can’t believe I didn’t post another fic for a whole! Month! I think it’s just because I didn’t really know what to do for the second session, and I think you can kinda tell, considering it’s not like Hans knows what to do either. Do you guys really want a whole fic series about Skipper going to therapy? I have no idea. It’s pretty fun, though. I don’t know how Hans became a therapist, either, but I guess that’s just what the dude does now. By the way, the client who turned her therapy sessions into stand-up comedy? That was just me in high school with my mandated therapist. I once gave a funeral to a squeaky toy I broke in the middle of the session. It was simultaneously so sad and so funny at the exact same time.

This fic will be up on my ao3, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tadstrangerthings, as soon as @drawbauchery posts it!)

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hamliet · 4 years

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Who are your top 10 female villains? And your top ten male villains? Thank you!

Oooooh. Well, in this list I am including antagonists (people I see as conflicted/not committed to like, the bad side, if there even is a bad side, but basically oppose the protagonist at some point). Also, they are in no particular order:

Female Villains:

Cersei Lannister (A Song of Ice and Fire)

She's sympathetic enough so that we understand how she came to be the way she is, yet terrifying and depraved enough that we fear for the characters around her. I don't think that's an easy balance to strike for a character: if you make them likable it's hard to keep audiences from rooting for them, but the balance is struck perfectly with Cersei.

Azula (Avatar: The Last Airbender)

As @aspoonofsugar wrote recently on Azula, I think she is a fantastic female villain. I think she is sympathetic despite her actions, and I wish the story had explored her redemption, which was clearly hinted.

Claudia (The Dragon Prince)

The first three seasons have kind of been Claudia's fall. While as a whole I don't think TDP is very well-written, I do think that Claudia, Viren, and Soren's family dynamic is a polished gem of writing that literally carries the story. I fully expect to see redemption for Claudia down the line, but not until she spirals further and further. At the end of season 3, Claudia resorts to killing someone to save her father's life when she has nothing and no one else left, and she makes this choice after her brother Soren (now redeemed himself) chooses to kill their father in front of Claudia, devastating her. Their choices are clear parallels and both are somewhat negative, somewhat sympathetic. Soren can't kill his past: he has to live with it, and Claudia can't cling to the past: she has to let it go.

Delores Umbridge (Harry Potter)

She is awful and I hate her, but you're also supposed to hate her. Her comeuppance is hilarious ad perfect, and just--I think she's a fantastic villain because she reminds every single one of us of an albeit exaggerated version of a teacher we all know.

Karren von Rosewald (Tokyo Ghoul:re)

Karren is TG:re's best written character in my opinion. Her tragic arc takes place throughout the first three arcs, which imo is also the highest point in the series. Karren just wanted to be loved, and if she had to die, at least she got to die as herself.

Nora (Noragami)

Nora! The reason I read Noragami is pretty much for Nora and her redemption arc. The fandom hates her for... reasons, but she's always been primed for redemption. Her name is in the title (which yes also refers to Yato, etc.) She's important. I wrote a few metas on Nora, notably here.

Enoshima Junko (Danganronpa)

Despair. It's fun to find a character who is, well, just plain fun, but who is also bored, despairing, cruel, and terrifying. She's unique and a brillaint character.

Toga Himiko (Boku no Hero Academia)

I'm not the first one to say that Toga is BNHA's best written female character, but I do agree that she is. She, like Junko, is fun and interesting, and she has an arc that is compelling. Her actions directly move the plot; she’s bloodthirsty and yet uniquely empathetic and compassionate.

Yoshimura Eto (Tokyo Ghoul)

Eto's backstory and her motivations were fascinating. She was one of the most complex characters in the entire story, and despite the fact that you understood why her father gave her up, you also understood her pain and justified anger at his doing so. She perfectly illustrated the divide between human and ghoul.

Male Villains:

Shigaraki Tomura (Boku no Hero Academia)

BNHA's best-written male character, imo. His backstory and the current chapters that focus on him are extremely well-done, thematic and full of character development, and detailed artistically. He gets so much focus that I can tell he's important to Horikoshi, and I'm excited to see where he goes.

Dabi (Boku no Hero Academia)

I'll admit there's a lot missing here. Namely, we don't know his identity for certain, but it seems basically certain that he's Todoroki Touya; however, we still don't have his backstory. Still, his fury at the presumed father who destroyed his family and yet has the audacity to be a "symbol of hope" is fascinating to me, and I'm excited to see how he develops as well. (Both Shigaraki and Dabi seem primed for some kind of redemption).

Adult Trio: Illumi Zoldyck, Hisoka Morow, Chrollo Lucilfer (Hunter x Hunter)

Am I counting these three as one so that I can get extra characters? Of course I am. In all honesty I really think all three of these antagonists are really well done, sympathetic and/or likable. They're the shadows of the three MCs they foil: for Illumi, Killua, for Hisoka, Gon, and for Chrollo, Kurapika. They represent the traits the three protagonists (sorry Leorio) don't want to acknowledge in themselves, and therefore their encounters with their shadows are particularly thematic and powerful. Also, one doesn't usually kill their shadow, but instead integrates with it, so I highly doubt the three of them will be killed by their respective protagonist.

Meruem (Hunter x Hunter)

Yes, again, HxH. It has great antagonists. But Meruem's development is literally one of the most powerful I've ever read about. I don't know anyone who starts his story not loathing him, hoping he dies, and then by the end of it, ebfore you've even realized it's happening, you're crying for him and Komugi. His arc explores human nature at its finest, most horrific, and ultimately most beautiful.

Furuta Nimura (Tokyo Ghoul:re)

Furuta's a fantastic villain whom I wish got a better ending (not even redeemed really, but just... something more). He was so damaged by the system of an unfair world that he made it his life goal to become the villain and burn the system down, destroy it no matter what it took--and also hoped to destroy himself in the process, as he was born knowing he would die young and longed for it. I wish he had been forced to live.

Mori Ougai (Bungo Stray Dogs)

Mori's utilitarianism is chilling. He's not exactly unlikable, despite being absolutely morally repugnant, and the Beast AU from Asagiri himself shows us that Mori is certainly capable of a positive life and positive change; however, within the canonical story, I don't see that for him. He's been set up IMO as the final boss of the series, and his habit of targeting the most vulnerable (especially children) to control people is almost certainly going to bite Dazai in the ass eventually.

Eren Jaeger (Shingeki no Kyojin)

I can't believe I'm writing this. I don't know what to call Eren: he's the protagonist, and he's sunk to becoming the final boss. While it's possible he, like Furuta and like Lelouch of Code Geass, is playing the villain, I really hope not, as I think the themes are much more powerful if Eren sincerely believes what he proclaims to believe. He's a kid who has always wanted to fight for freedom and for the people around him, and now we're seeing the dark side of those traits, wherein he's destroying the world via genocide to save the people close to him. He's driven by fear and by anger at the cruelty and unfairness of the world, and he's forgotten the beauty of it. I hope Mikasa can remind him before the end.

Fyodor Dostoyevsky (Bungo Stray Dogs)

MY BOY. Look if a character is named after my very favorite real-life author, I must stan. But actually I do think Fyodor is well written and a master manipulator. He's modeled after my favorite character in all of fiction, Dostoyesvky's Demons' Alexei Kirillov. He really seems to want human connection, to live, and has forgotten that empathy is an important and necessary part of both of those. I hope--and think it is likely given BSD's prolific redemption arcs--that he will remember eventually.

Lee Yut-Lung (Banana Fish)

Again,, he's less a villain than an antagonist. Like Ash, the main character, he is a teenage boy betrayed by the people who were supposed to protect him and abused his whole entire life. He's driven by a desperate need to be loved and jealousy that Ash is loved while he is not. His ending, when Sing finally tells him he will in fact be staying by Yut-Lung's side and will help Yut-Lung redeem himself, "because you're in pain... your soul's bleeding, even now" is literally the perfect ending for him.

Jin Guangyao (Mo Dao Zu Shi)

I've written a lot on Jin Guangyao, but he's a walking tragedy. He ties with Wei Wuxian, the protagonist, as my favorite, and the reason is because they are two sides of the same coin--in fact, they're the same side of the same coin. They're not very different, and the fact that he finally at least got empathy in the end and was able to push the person he loved most to safety because of that--well. Brb time to cry.

#ask hamliet #long post #villains #lists #faves #Anonymous

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recurring-polynya · 4 years

Note

Hi! thank you so much for all of these stories! I was wondering if you could write a one shot about the day Touma Kuchiki was born?

I can!

For those of you who don’t follow my every whimsy, Touma is Hisana and Byakuya’s toddler son in my lightweight, Austen-influenced Hisana-lived AU, a little in love, now and then.

I wasn’t sure what to do with this, whether to throw it in my pile of drabbles or what, but I decided to go ahead and put it right into the story proper and pretentiously call it an interlude, which of course, means that now I have to write more of them. I def plan to do at least one flashback to Rukia’s (surprisingly competent) rescue, but if you have any particular things you’re dying to see, hmu, you know I have no saving throw vs. reader requests.

Anyway, here you go, or if you prefer, you can find it on ao3 or ff.net, for convenient bookmarking and comment-leaving purposes (wags eyebrows). You don’t have to read any of the rest of the story to understand this.

“You should rest,” the 28th Head of the Kuchiki Clan informed Rukia, regarding her with his cold, grey eyes. She had found him sitting in the library, Hisana’s favorite room. It was dim and chilly. The shoji that led to the gardens were shut tight, and the shutters as well, but Rukia could feel the snow swirling roughly in the wind that battered the house. She could feel it in her heart.

“How can I rest now?” she tried to keep her tone measured.

“I did not say you should sleep,” Byakuya responded, nodding to the zabuton on the floor across the table from him. “I should hope that the Fourth Seat of Squad Thirteen would know how to rest her body while keeping her mind alert. It is the essence of tracking Hollows.”

Grudgingly, Rukia sank into seiza. The normally uncomfortable sitting position was a relief after hours of pacing the floorboards, the weight of her exhausted sister heavy against her shoulder.

“Tea?” Byakuya offered. “I am afraid it is a bit bracing.”

“Bracing is good,” Rukia nodded. She tried to look at his face without staring. Purple shadows limned his eyes. How long had Hisana labored, anyway? The hours of walking up and down the hallways had blurred together. Singing rowdy old Rukongai songs, mostly together, with Rukia taking over when Hisana needed to lean into the pain of a contraction. Breaks to rub Hisana’s back or feet. Holding bits of crushed ice to Hisana’s lips. Both Hisana and Rukia’s maids hovered nearby like loyal lieutenants, ready to fetch things or take over, should Rukia falter.

Rukia appreciated their presence, but she would never falter, not in this duty. She had held strong right until that stupid, noble doctor had declared that Hisana was “in transition” and ejected Rukia from the room.

Byakuya carefully poured her a cup and passed it over. Rukia couldn’t remember her brother-in-law ever pouring her a cup of tea before. Hisana was the one who poured the tea. “How does she fare?” he asked. “And you need not lie to me.”

Rukia wiggled her fingers around the cup. It was too hot to hold, really, but she didn’t want to put it down. “She is tired,” she replied. “But fierce. You underestimate her.”

“I do not. I merely trust your frankness over that of the doctor.”

“I do not trust the doctor, either,” Rukia was quick to announce. “He said that she has moved into the last stage. It is the shortest, but the most dangerous. He told her to lie down and said I could not stay.”

Byakuya’s grey eyes bored into her. “Have you assisted at a childbirth before?”

Rukia’s cheeks flushed red. “No,” she admitted, her voice defensive. In this, as in so many things, she had fallen down as a sister. All her life, she had thrown in with the boys instead of the women. She could gut a squirrel, climb a tree, purify a Hollow, heal or break an arm as the situation called for. She didn’t know how to braid hair or perform a dance or talk a sister out taking foolhardy risks with her precarious health.

“You resent me,” Byakuya said suddenly, and Rukia’s shoulders went stiff. Byakuya took a sip of his tea. “Believe me, you cannot harm me with that blade; I have cut myself with it enough already.”

“I didn’t…” Rukia started, and suddenly had nothing further to say.

What would it be like, she wondered, to live in this house, with this man, without Hisana’s warmth? She would like to think that she had nothing in common with him, but in fact, they shared a number of terrible personality traits: stubbornness, pride, cynicism, a tendency to close themselves off. Hisana was just as stubborn than either of them, though, and her brilliant, teasing humor brought color and joy to the household. Rukia knew that she and Byakuya would protect Hisana against a thousand enemies, but what could they do in a situation where swords were of no use? And where would they turn their swords, if there were nothing left to protect?

“She is a difficult person to love,” Byakuya broke Rukia from her reverie. “She does what she will. I could no sooner forbid her from this than I could dissuade her from scouring the Rukon for you.” He was silent for a moment. “I thought she would never regain her full health, but having you back again has given her strength. I cannot imagine how unstoppable she will be after bearing my son.”

Rukia wrinkled her nose, indignant at his presumptuousness. “It could be a girl.”

Byakuya contemplated this briefly. “I am sure she would take great glee in my being further outnumbered, but I feel that her desire to spite my aunts outweighs her love of exasperating me.”

Rukia narrowed her eyes at him. Do you even know how this works? she wanted to ask him, but instead, she sipped at her tea, which was just barely approaching a drinkable temperature. It was very strong, but delicious, floral, with a light, natural sweetness.

“The fool doctor said it’s taking so long because the baby is big and healthy and Sister is so small,” Rukia finally said. “If I had been around, I would have told her not to marry someone so stupidly tall.” Her mouth snapped shut in horror. Rukia did not say such things to her noble brother-in-law. Rukia hardly ever said anything to her noble brother-in-law. Hisana might tease him, but she was his Lady Wife, his best beloved. She knew where best to aim her blunted arrows to provoke a smile or a rejoinder without prodding the sleeping beast of his legendary pride. He’s going to kick me out, Rukia’s heart seized. Out of this room, possibly out of his house entirely.

But instead, the Kuchiki Clan Head snorted softly. “Your absence was very fortunate for me. I am sure she would have taken your advice to heart,” Byakuya replied, and Rukia had absolutely no idea if he was being serious or not.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “That wasn’t nice. You’ve always been very kind to my sister, and to me.”

Byakuya stared back at her, curiously. Finally, he said, “I am also sorry. Your presence here is always appreciated. Thank you for staying with Hisana.”

They sat in silence, sipping their tea, Rukia unsuccessfully willing her muscles to relax. Had he gone strange and punchy out of tiredness and concern for his wife? Had she always overestimated his coldness, too fearful of provoking his wrath to see past his fierce reputation? Or perhaps… perhaps, though she never would have guessed it, he did harbor a tiny bit of familial affection for her. He had lost most of his immediate family long ago, and she gathered that he was not truly close to the other stern, powerful men he called friends. He had been sitting here, alone, for hours.

“It’s cold in here,” Rukia finally observed. “Is the kotatsu out of charcoal?”

“I keep throwing the servants out,” Byakuya admitted. “I am sure they are needed elsewhere. If you are cold, I will have it relit immediately.”

“I don’t get cold,” Rukia replied. “But Sister will have my head if she finds out I let you sit in here being cold and moody.”

Byakuya gave off another little snort.

Suddenly, there was a shuffle of feet outside the door, and Byakuya and Rukia both sat up straight.

“What is it?” Byakuya demanded, on his feet before anyone even had a chance to knock.

The shoji slid open, Seike, the head of household staff entered, joy overwriting the age lines on his face. “Lord Byakuya,” he choked out. “Your Lady is delivered of a son.”

🌸 🌸 🌸

Hisana was sitting up in bed. Her face was a bit pale, but she otherwise looked as fresh as a daisy. Her eyes flickered upward as what sounded like two water buffalo tried to jostle their way into her room, but her face remained tilted down toward the bundle of white silk blankets in her arms. “Here is the moment of truth,” she hummed in a little sing-song. “As to who is more interested in you and who cares more about me.”

Rukia, jammed into the doorway by Byakuya’s elbow, was momentarily dumbfounded. Obviously, her sister was of the utmost importance, but how could she ignore her sister’s glory, this crowning achievement that Hisana had wished and worked for over so many years?

Byakuya evidently had no such compunctions. “You,” he gasped thickly, pushing past Rukia to fall at his wife’s bedside and press her hand to his face.

Hisana looked shocked, not having expected her sallies to have such an effect. “What did that doctor tell you?” she asked. “You weren’t worried for me, were you? Women have babies all the time, you know.”

“All women are not you,” Byakuya replied, softly.

Rukia hung back in the entrance, unsure of what to do. Should she leave? She should have waited, this moment was for her sister and brother-in-law. Just as her feet started to shuffle backwards, Hisana called out “Rukia! Come take this lump of lead with your big shinigami muscles! This child is too heavy to hold in one hand, and Byakuya won’t give me back my other one!”

Pulling herself together, Rukia dashed to her sister’s side, and took the bundle of blankets into her own arms. “Some people have no appreciation of all your hard work,” she announced boldly. The baby seemed mostly asleep, although he scrunched his wrinkly little face as he was passed over. “I have never seen a more perfect child, truly,” she went on. It was true, of course, in the sense that she had never actually seen a newborn before. “He has both your strength and good looks, Sister!”

“I should hope not, he looks rather red and smushy to me,” Hisana replied.

“A future Gotei captain!” Rukia went on. “Head-Captain, possibly! Probably a poet, as well and an artist, surely! A very credit to the Kuchiki!”

“Byakuya, please go admire your son before Rukia proclaims him the next Soul King,” Hisana ordered dryly.

“He could be,” Rukia protested as Byakuya rose to his full height on the other side of Hisana’s bed, and regarded her icily. Unwilling to give in to her brother-in-law’s theatrics, Rukia gave the baby a last cuddle and a kiss on the forehead. “I am your auntie,” she informed him. “I will teach you everything I know. Everything.”

As Rukia finally passed the baby over to his father, Hisana grabbed her arm and tugged her down onto the bed. Her older sister pulled her close, burying her face in her hair. “Ah, Rukia, thank you so much. I could not have done it without you.”

“I rather think you would have,” Rukia informed her. “But I am glad I could be with you. I will always be here for you. And him.”

“I know,” Hisana whispered back to her.

A bit embarrassed at all this emotion, Rukia chanced a look up at her brother-in-law, who had been strangely silent. Not that he wasn’t usually silent, but this was the sort of occasion he would usually take to pontificate a bit. He was examining the baby, a look of utter bushwackedness on his face. Rukia stifled a laugh. Byakuya reminded her of nothing so much as the time her childhood friend, Renji, had unexpectedly speared an absolutely massive carp-- the way he had stood there in the river, mouth slack, eyes wide, arms wrapped around a flopping two-foot long fish, unable to believe his good fortune.

Rukia was fairly certain Byakuya wouldn’t appreciate being compared to an Inuzuri street rat any more than he would appreciate his son and heir being compared to a carp.

“Well?” Hisana demanded in her rudest voice, the one she used when she was trying to get Byakuya riled up. “Did I do it right? Did I make a Kuchiki? Or is it back to the drawing board?”

“Rukia is correct,” Byakuya managed, his voice rough and low. “I see much of you in him. He is perfect.”

“Oh, thank goodness,” Hisana sighed dramatically, as if she had really been worried. She shot Rukia a conspiratorial glance and wagged her eyebrows slightly. “Remind me again, the name you picked out? Do you think it’s fitting?”

“You will find out,” Byakuya replied, in a gentle tone more directed at the baby than at his wife, “in seven days, at the naming ceremony, as is tradition.”

Hisana sighed. “It was worth a try. Well, I’ve got to call him something until then. Rukia, what shall it be?”

“Chappy,” Rukia replied automatically.

“Chappy, it is,” Hisana nodded curtly. “Seven days, or until we get a real name.”

“We must put up with them,” Byakuya solemnly informed his heir, “because we have no choice. But at least there are two of us against two of them, now.”

Rukia saw her sister opening her mouth again, so she slipped her arm around Hisana’s back and gave her a quick squeeze. “Let him have this,” she whispered, “we both know it won’t last long.”

Hisana just laughed and leaned back into her sister’s embrace.

#my writing #bleach fanfiction #byahisa #renruki #reader requests

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nickscxtch · 5 years

Text

SMITTEN ღ CHAPTER TWO

< chapter one

The academy had students from all over the world, and familiars were not permitted. Familiars were also goblins that took the form of animals to best help their witch masters. My mother's was a husky named Wolf. Classes like Herbalism and Latin can be curriculum majors, and students can choose what they wanted to study. Classes like Conjuring could only be taken once the Academy's general requirements were met.

That was information hurdled at me by my mother as she checked my bags to make sure I didn't forget anything.

The exterior of the school was Gehenna Station, and my mother accompanied me so she could introduce me to Father Blackwood.

"Also, my darling," she said before we entered. "If you happen to meet someone by the last name of Spellman, do try make friends. It was because of a Spellman that your father and I were allowed to be wed."

I was confused by the statement. She never really talked about the comings about of their marriage. I knew that witches and mortal were supposed to be separated, but the main part about witch life that my mother still spoke about would be her slang and her life at the academy.

We walked through the doors, and she looked around with a fond smile on her face.

"The academy was built according to the principles of sacred geometry," she said. "Each room is a perfectly proportioned pentagon that locks with the one next to it. No one knows how many pentagons there are, exactly, some say an infinite number."

We made it to a room where there was a statue of what my mother had shown me to be the Dark Lord, and two little children statues, a girl and a boy, looking up at him.

We entered Faustus Blackwood's office. He was the headmaster as well as the High Priest.

"Welcome to the Academy of Unseen Arts, Miss Hart, Mrs. Hart," he greeted my mother and I. "It's nice to see you here, being a full-time student after your signing of the Book of the Beast."

He handed me a paper, and said, "I've prepared your schedule. I hope they are to your liking."

I tried not to laugh with the way he pronounced "schedule", but he raised an eyebrow in question anyways, having noticed my amusement. He dismissed it while I looked over the classes.

I thought they were all appropriate, basic level classes for a witch who rarely even used her magic in her sixteen years of living. Of course, some incantations here and there, helping Archie and the gang solve the mysteries of Riverdale without them noticing what I was doing. I think that might also be a reason my mother sent me away, she thought I was too reckless, and that I would get the Riverdale and Greendale witches exposed.

"All is good?" he asked after a moment.

"All is perfect," I said.

He looked at his pocket watch and said, "Good. Mrs. Hart, if you would excuse your daughter and I, I'll take her to class and give her a tour."

"As long as the previous decision we discussed is still the same?" she asked, and I looked at her confused, but she gave me a 'don't ask' expression, so I didn't.

"Of course, anything for you, Esme," Faustus nodded to my mother. "If only the other child could be so willing the way yours is."

Again, confused.

My mother nodded, and she hugged me. She put her hands around my face and said, "Do have a good time here, darling. I had some of my best memories at this Academy. Welcome to the Path of Night, my dear. We're just a town over if you need some lovin', but do try to make some friends here first."

━━━━━━━ღ━━━━━━━

At lunch, I went back to my new bedroom. I didn't have a roommate, which made me happy enough, and I was yet to make any friends. Most people in my classes didn't pay any attention to me, which I was glad about. I thought that I would draw eyes because of the whole "half-breed" thing, but no one's even mentioned it.

I thought it was probably best to start unpacking as soon as possible. I opened my suitcase and there it was, the thing Archie asked me to take with me before I left: his varsity jacket with an R on the front to represent Riverdale High. He gave me it as a way to have him close, even though technically he was. The academy was in Greendale.

There was a knock, and I shouted a "come in" on reflex, as if I was back home and my father was behind the door. The door opened and the person leaned against the archway. I furrowed my eyebrows when I realized it was a boy with a slightly tanned complexion, dark brown hair side swept and a little wavy at the front, dressed in all black except for his white collar. If I wasn't so entranced with the randomness of him, maybe I would've noticed the fact that he had a baby face or the mole on his neck. Maybe.

"Hi," he said.

"Um, hi," I replied, standing up from my bed with the jacket in my hand. "Come in?"

He looked at the jacket, and I set it down. He took slow steps towards me, holding two trays of food.

"I saw that you came straight here, we have choir together," he said. "So I thought I'd grab you lunch, and I asked Father Blackwood which dorm you were in, sorry if this is creepy."

He hadn't even told me his name yet, and he was here bringing me food. I guess I didn't go as unnoticed as I thought.

"Thanks," I said, trailing off at the end because I didn't know his name, taking the tray from him and setting it on my bed next to the jacket.

"Nicholas, Nick, Scratch," he said, using his free hand to shake mine.

"Annalise, Annali, Hart," I said, shaking his with a smile.

"Anna-lee," he said, nodding as he overly pronounced it. "That's a cute nickname for a cute girl."

"Ah, he's a flirt," I said, sitting down on my bed and putting the tray in my lap. "And that's probably why he's here."

"No, no," he said, sitting down next to me. "I'm here because you're new here, and I don't like it when people are lonely in a place full of people."

"Ah, a flirt and a sweetheart," I said, patting his head.

"Normally, I'd be offended that I was just patted like a dog," he said, but then he nodded with an approving pout. "But I think it's adorable coming from you."

"Shut it, Scratch, that's enough charm for one day," I told him, laughing.

I didn't think much of his words, assuming that flirtatiousness was just one of his personality traits. It fit him, too, because he had a very mysterious aura and a flirty smile.

I think this one would make a great friend.

He motioned to the jacket with his head. "Riverdale High?"

"You know it?" I asked.

"I've heard about it. I've done some research on the mortal schools, Riverdale, Baxter, just for fun, I guess. I don't really leave the academy often, but it's interesting seeing what the mortals do for fun," he shrugged as I started to eat whatever food this academy served.

Definitely going home soon for home cooked meals.

"Did you do sports over there?" he asked.

"My best friend, Archie, he's a football player," I replied.

"Are you smitten for him?" he asked.

I laughed. "Who says smitten anymore?"

"Don't avoid the question."

I shook my head, and said, "No. Not for Archie Andrews."

"For anyone?"

"Nah."

Curious as to why no one's made half-breed comments about me, I asked slowly, "Have you heard about any half-witches, half-mortals?"

He nodded, and I thought he was going to say me, but instead, he said, "Sabrina Spellman? Everyone's heard of her. The daughter of the best conjurer ever, the great Edward Spellman, who chose his love of a mortal over being High Priest, which in my opinion, was really cute even though I don't understand the concept of actually loving. Witches don't really fall in love, so I don't know what any of that felt like. Sabrina doesn't go here, none of us have met her. She doesn't have her dark baptism until Halloween because that's when she turns 16."

Spellman? I wondered, thinking of when I heard the last name. I recalled when my mom told me to befriend anyone named Spellman because it was because of a Spellman, whom I am assuming is this Edward guy, that led to my parents being allowed to be together.

So, there was another half-witch, and her name was Sabrina. How come it was that everyone knew about her, but no one knew about me?

chapter three >

#nicholas scratch #nick scratch #nick scratch imagine #nick scratch fanfiction #nicholas scratch imagine #nicholas scratch fanfiction #chilling adventures of sabrina #sabrina spellman #chilling adventures of sabrina imagines #chilling adventures of sabrina fanfic #chilling adventures of sabrina fanfictions

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dholwrites · 6 years

Note

Okay Dad Headcannons for the usual boys! What are they like as a dad? Did they plan to become a father or was it an accident?

Hopefully this fills everything out

Aymeric

To say that you were in a rush was an understatement. Lucia has never seen you move as quickly as you did that moment, for well anything . No one was alarmed by your sudden appearance, you have become a common fixture in Ishgard. The both of you have been planning this for the past year. Smoothing out what wrinkles you can. Aymeric adored children, ‘the future of Ishgard’ he once called them. However, he never thought about having ones of his own. His mind had been set to organize the growing republic. But now, with everything going his way. it’s finally the time.

When you told him, you could see Aymeric gain back all the years lost worrying about the state of the city. He swept you in his arms in a blur of blue, setting you gently on top of his work table. Because, are you sure? Are you sure that you’re pregnant? He wants to hear you say it over and over again. The smile on his face looks almost permanent, he is practically glowing.

Leading up to the childbirth was all a blur. The servants and your adventuring friends were a good help on dealing with any symptoms. He doesn’t want you overexerting yourself in anyway. Asking your friends to help tame any strange cravings you would have. Aymeric would have gone as far as making sure that there is someone ready at home to get a midwife.

Once the child is born, Aymeric cherishes her like no other. By the time she is born, Aymeric would have wanted the Republic to become stable or finish up the final steps of it. He wants her to be able to run around and play on the streets of Ishgard without worry. While there is no guaranteed way to provide it, he wants to give her a normal childhood. When he has free time, he’ll leave his office to get her from her class and go on a walk. He’ll listen to all her troubles and joys, he knows the name of every one of her friends and their parents.

Aymeric gives her all the things she wants and more, to see the joy on her face that he didn’t have in his own. The combination of his black locks and your bright eyes paired with her pouting will bring him to his knees. So much that he would even share his stash of brych syrup with her. Showing her where he keeps it hidden to avoid you confiscating them. Yet whenever you return, it’s a race to hide it again. The foreign sweets you bring back is enough to bribe her into betraying him.

Estinien

The thought of having his own family never occurred to him. He lost his family when he was young, the idea of starting his own was strange to him. Now with a kid on the way, life feels more like a dream. The pregnancy may be an accident, but that doesn’t mean he’s planning to run away. You need him now, more than ever. He would rather level Eorzea before he leaves your side.

He didn’t have a chance to hide under his helmet when you told him, and the dead silence that follows grows deafening. You watch his eyes widen, then squint as his brow furrow together, before finally setting back down to his leveled glare. Silence. The second time you tell him, Estinien gives you a stiff nod. “A moment”, he whispers, pressing a kiss to your forehead only to stalk out of your shared home. Estinien returned home late into the night. Slightly wet, but still warm. He rustles you from your sleep to press small kisses onto your shoulder while trying to slip into bed.

He struggles to come to terms with this new found responsibility. Estinien doesn’t know how to deal with you. Do you need water? Food? A bucket? He doesn’t know where the pregnancy ends and illness begins. Chirurgeon became a frequent sight coming in and out of your shared home. They finally had enough when Estinien called them 10 times within a day. Whenever a call comes from your home, it’s easier to simply send a midwife.

You gave birth to a girl named Shiva Valgr Wyrmblood (after a lost friend), and a boy named Sormr Wyrmblood with the blessing of both great dragons. The children have plenty of tough love in front of them once they can walk. Estinien will put them in danger to teach them how to defend themselves. How to escape danger, and how to survive until you could come find them. It doesn’t mean he loves them any less. He encourages them to play fight, teaching them lessons through games. Even if they often get too caught up in a game of scavenger hunt to really notice the lesson.

He started a new family tradition. Everyone would head out and camp out under the stars. In the morning, you would be hiking and walking around in the wilderness. Pointing out birds and plants they’ve never seen before. He won't admit that he likes his pride being stroked. Easily striking down any beast that may have gotten too close to his family. At night, everyone would huddle in a giant tent with a lot of prepacked food. Sandwiches and candy to keep them motivated. At the end of the day, nothing makes them happier than a warm fire and stories about your adventures.

Thancred

Thancred doesn’t see himself as a father. He has an easier time dealing with scheming enemies than straight forward kids. He tells you, kids can see right through him. No amount of smiles and candy will convince them otherwise. Thancred doesn’t need to tell you that he spent a good part of his life making sure not to have kids. So now with the prospects of a child on the way, a good part of his mind tells him to get out. Run. Hide. Disappear. No. Thancred takes a step back. He’s not out in the field anymore. There’s no need to hide anymore. He could have a family. He should have a family. Why not with the very person he’s been with through thick and thin?

Y’shtola was the first to find out, before you even knew yourself. She thought it was a simple trick of the mind when you walked by. It wasn’t until you found yourself under her care over morning sickness that it became clear. Thancred had been reckless again. She had never seen him hit the ground so hard from the news. He rights himself before you wake up. Fumbling over his words, because “Come on, Y’shtola, this isn’t time for joking.” Her silence and stern look turns his blood cold. She could only watch as he freezes, and nearly pass out once more.

He knows what to do around a pregnant women. Sort of. He knows about the morning sickness and that your stomach grows bigger. What catches him by surprise is the mood swings and the cravings. Then the pains. Thancred is at your beck and call for every single matter. Back and foot rubs to chocolate and cheese cravings. He’ll get what he can, and maybe bribe your friends to bring your favorite food.

Thancred fell in love with your first daughter. Spending sleepless nights tending to every cry and demand for food and attention. It’s easy, he tells you one night, because she grips so tightly to his shirt and hair with her tiny fist. It’s easy to remember and promise that he’ll be there. Every step of their life. You end up having another daughter. Thancred adores the both of them as much as he does you.

He’s not the greatest father in the world. He’s good at thinking outside the box; giving them answers that they think answers the question. Thancred would encourage for them to think for themselves, it made them perceptive . It wasn't long before they could figure out who’s lying and who’s truthful. It didn’t help that they inherited his hair color and face, anyone who lives in Ul’dah would recognize who’s kids they are. As they get older and dating becomes a topic. Thancred is well equipped to ensure these ‘friends’ understand the gravity of laying hand on his daughters.

G’raha Tia

The both of you have been talking about the idea of kids not far into your relationship. But the idea of having one never really crossed his mind, among everything else, he wants to be able to pass on his eye trait. He also wants to pass on the stories he knows. So that Allagan stories aren’t just known to scholars and researchers, but tied to family. A heritage that he’s proud off.

He tries to focus on the text in front of him, reading the horribly small fine print over and over. Yet his tail wouldn’t stop wagging nervously behind him. It’s a dead giveaway. The day is looming over his head like a giant guillotine. You had just taken so long to find out the results. G’raha wonders if it would be too much to barge in to find out the results. Shortly after you told him, everyone else knew too. Cid, Wedge, Biggs, Rammbroes, every single person in NOAH if they’re unlucky enough to be in his path. “I’m gonna be a dad! A dad!” would be heard for days.

Baby name books were quick to fill the house. It takes ages to find a book that you had put down the night before. Likely buried under a mountain of books that G’raha had bought earlier that day. He couldn’t help himself, he wants for them to have the perfect name. In your language or in ancient Allagan if he could. Between all the pickle juice and cheesy toast, the both of you would lay in bed together. G’raha kissing and whispering all the things he would do for them. He’s hoping for a girl.

G’raha got his wish and more. Both a son and daughter. People had feared that the daughter who had inherited his red eyes would leave the son neglected. But he loves both of them equally, Allagan eyes or not. The children would always ask for him to tell a story or to sing before they go to sleep. His voice as calm and soothing as the first time you heard it, and it will always fill the home with comfort and joy.

G’raha is a supportive dad, encouraging his kids to pursue the things they’re interested in. He’s pursued what he wanted in life, why shouldn’t they? Adventuring, engineering, cooking or something he’s never heard of before. No matter what, they would always get his encouragement. Sure he really wishes that they pick up his trade, but he won’t force the idea on them. There would always be a ton of questions to ask and things for him to learn even as time passes on. Being genuinely interested in whatever his children do, he hopes that If he learns as much as possible, he’ll understand the kind of trouble they have and can offer advice.

Cid

He spent all his time believing that it would be impossible for him to be a dad. Cid sees himself as older than everyone around him. Along with being dedicated to his job means he doesn’t have time to have thoughts about settling down. He’s only thought of children in fleeting moments and daydreams. Now, he gets to watch his kids grow up and make him proud. You’ve made his dreams come true.

It took more than a minute for him to finally grasp what you meant. Because how, when, what? He didn’t think that it would even be possible for him to at his age. The wide smile on his face is filled with undeniable joy.Cid pulls you close, pressing kiss after teary kiss onto your cheeks and lips. The others soon find out on their own. Jessie first, when she accidentally intruded on a private moment, the both of you whispering about all the kind of names you would want. Wedge and Biggs second, when they discovered Cid drawing up plans to build a cradle. With Nero, Cid told him personally and is constantly rubbing the happy news in the blonde’s face.

As you start to hit the end of your first trimester, Cid is forced into the kitchen. He could barely make coffee and toast without help. Now with you barely able to get out of bed without pain, he needs to learn how to take care of you. That begins with breakfast in bed, how hard can eggs and toast be? There’s no way it would be more difficult than building an airship. It turns out he was wrong. He was very wrong. Eggs and toast are apparently high impossible to make if you don’t know how to properly use or time anything in the kitchen. Cid ended up rushing out of the house to buy you something from a bakery.

You gave birth to a son. Cid spent his entire life around machinery and no one younger than he is, so it left him confused and worried whenever you hand him your son to take care of. He handles the baby like the most fragile glass or the rarest crystals on earth. He’s a patient father, nurturing the child’s imagination and explaining everything to them to help them understand. Even when people say he looks more like a grandfather than anything else...

Once they were a little older, Cid would start spending a few late nights in his office. He would bring his son's drawings and make models based on them. Minions of different wind up fighters who would put up mock battles. Or small life like baby creatures that would play hide and seek with him. He managed to even make and program ones of the entire family; you, him, and the child. Together, the three wind up with cheer and hug each other, sometimes bumping their heads together in a mock kiss.

Alphinaud

Alphinaud had been given the talk about how important it is that he carries on the family name. To him, for a good while, starting a family of his own was more a duty than a wish. It felt so far away in the future that he never gave it much thought. His father didn’t mention a word of it when he left for Eorzea. Thus, he thought that it will simply something he will deal with when he got home. But standing beside you. Going through every ups and down to achieve his grandfather’s dream with you. Soon enough you invaded those ideas, starting a family with you became his own personal dream.

Alphinaud lets out an loud inhuman noise, sometime between a screech and a grasp. Followed quickly choking on a sob. It’s the weight of his duties finally bare down on him. Everything leading up that moment had just been a plan. A very detailed plan. All the doubts and worries that he had in the back of his mind launch itself forward. What if he mess up the kids? What if he says something stupid? Sevens, what if he puts them in danger? Every horrible problem possible would be running through his mind, turning him into a panicking mess. Despite being so much older now and having fully grown, he still stress and worry if he could be enough. A light touch shoulder from you would be enough to snap him out of his stupor. A reassuring kiss would ease the tension in his brow. His teary eyes would meet yours as he pulls you into his embrace. Alphinaud assures himself. With you beside him, just like all the times before, everything will turn out just fine.

He does everything by the book, and he has a lot of books. He got you a ton of blankets and even more pillows. He’ll try to have you eat better than pickles, ice cream, and fruits. But every suggestion he would offer would always be turned down from its strange smell or quickly thrown up. Alphinaud tries his best, but with everything he knows from the books he reads. It becomes more of a matter of trial and error.

Of course, the both of you got a pair of twins, a boy and a girl. Alphinaud wonders if it’s a twin curse. But it doesn’t matter, he doesn’t want them to grow up too fast. He became a textbook definition of a helicopter dad. He feels compelled to watch their every move, tending to every wound, and kissing away every tear. They’re perfect little angels in his eyes and will always will be until they die. Alphinaud will protect them from every single horrible comment or look thrown their way.

He likes to be around for every single milestone, to draw out the moment as they come. He tries to believe that they would never grow up. The realization never hit him so fast when your girl at the tender age of nine, lash out on Alphinaud using his own words and equally silver tongue. The look of shock was frozen to his face as she race off to hide. He turns to you with his mouth wide open while frantically motioning to her with his arms. Who destroyed his innocent angel? He did. He has taught her too well.

Haurchefant

Like Alphinaud the idea of kids never really occurred to him, until he met you. Being a bastard son makes his life difficult. Even though his father still treats him like one of his own, the rest of society still sees him as a Greystone. It’s simply easier to fake that he no longer cares. That knighthood and serving his country will be enough. Why have a child suffer like him? To suffer a life where society deems him unworthy. When you ask for his opinion, slipping in that you would like to have a kid there was Nothing that could stop him from turning into the sun. a chance to start a family with you? Yes, a thousand times yes. He’ll sweep you off your feet and tease you to see if you want to start right away. Anything you want and he will deliver. His private quarters is always ready for the both of you to start.

You gave him a sword and shield. An identical to his own, except small enough for someone like Tataru to wield. Someone her size. His head snapped towards your direction so fast that you feared that he would get whiplash. Wide, blue hopeful eyes stare at you. The words dying at the tip of his tongue before he could voice them. He got your message, loud and clear. The toys were quickly dropped to the floor for him to collapse on your lap. His slightly glazed eyes peek up at you as he rubs his face against your stomach. The entire camp knew within an hour of his realization.

There’s already a million presents for this child, ready to use by the time news got around. The both of you receiving tiny outfits, utensils, and books from your family and friends. There is more than a few chocobo onesies, that are“positively adorable!” according to Haurchefant. He's grown increasingly attached to a black one. Your friends would start pitching in advice on what to do with the nursery room. Offering color ideas and baby names. Count Edmont had even offered to commission a baby bassinet in your name. He was among the happiest to hear the news of your pregnancy.

You gave birth to a son in his family home. The best midwives and healers by your side, most under Count Edmont along with a few sent by Aymeric himself. Haurchefant is quick to gush over how adorable and tiny the child is. He couldn’t contain the giant smile on his face, stretched so wide he might split his lips. Tears start to run down his face as he cradles the newborn in his arms. While bouncing the child, already quietly singing a childhood lullaby to ease the baby’s cries. A lullaby he barely remembers the source, but it was sung from the heart. A piece of his childhood, he wants nothing more than to pass on. In memory of his mother.

It turns out that you did not have one child, you have two. Your energetic son and your equally loving husband. Haurchefant is your son’s best friend. Everyday after work, anyone within distance would be pulled into playing with them. Several rounds of snowball fights later, guards will start to drop excuses. The child doesn't hold anything against them. Haurchefant would usher them inside once their hands started going numb from cold. The rest of the day spent with mugs of hot chocolate and storytelling by the fireplace. What better story than the ones you star in.

Hien

He didn’t know what to expect when Yugiri called him outside. Her words were vague and cryptic on who needed him. What he didn’t expect is for the entire Doman Enclave to be gathered outside chatting excitedly among themselves. Everyone was there, including faces that he didn’t think he would see. He half wondered if Gotetsu was the person he was suppose to meet. A hush quickly falls as he steps up to them. Hien turns around to the sound of something unraveling.

“I’m pregnant? Who would be?” Hien turns away from the scroll hanging from the window to scan the crowd. Then he lock eyes with you. You standing at the edge of the group, smiling softly at him. That smile answered all his questions at once. Hien stood there stunned into a silence, his face doesn’t betray a single thought in his mind. Tension grew heavily on everyone as they wait with baited breath. A moment passes. Then another. Each one weighing down heavier on you than the last. His mask starts to crack. The shine in his eyes growing brighter as his face breaks out into his warm smile. Hien abandons all dignity and rushes right over to you. He picks you up, spinning you in the air as he lets out a loud cheer. Everyone cheers with him, circling around the both of you. When he finally sets you down, you were pulled into another hug. Gotetsu. Yugiri. Kozakura. Hakuro. The excited buzz lasts and spreads until every corner of the world knew about it.

You’ve known the second that you started dating him that he would want kids. Being the crown prince means he needs kids. His advisors told you so, Gotetsu once mentioned it, even Yuguricommented on the idea. Hien himself would love to have a lot of kids. After much discussion, Hien agreed to have 2 kids, a son and a daughter. Just enough. Simple even.

So you gave birth to a son, then another, and another, and another. Before you know it, you have 5 sons running about in the enclave, and likely another one on the way. Many of the inhabitants wonder if the both of you took it upon yourselves to repopulate the enclave. Some even questioned if he was trying to raise an army. Ultimately, you gave birth to your seventh child, the daughter that Hien has been waiting for.

Hien doesn’t know how to handle babies at first, how delicately he should be holding them, what things he should be teaching. As the days slowly slip by, he became more comfortable with them. Though they don’t become any easier to manage. The kids like to sit on his shoulders and hang from his arms. He can’t bring himself to say no to their large innocent eyes. Hien had fallen in love with every single one of them.

The flock of children is somewhat of a menace to officials and advisors. Hien has more than a million things on his plate that needs to be seen to at the end of the day. They soon learned that the sound of tiny feet padding across the hardwood flooring would be enough to distract him. Their light voice, questioning when their father would be free, would draw all his restraints to abandon the meeting. Looks like it'll be a little longer before they figure out what to do with the trade offers.

#ffxiv #g'raha tia #ffxiv headcanon #ffxiv fanfic #haurchefant #aymeric de borel #alphinaud leveilleur #alphinaud #estinien #lord hien #ffxiv hien #thancred #cid nan garlond #fanfic #thank you!#Anonymous

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lookinghbo · 6 years

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'Looking' Made Raúl Castillo A Sex Symbol. Sheer Force Made Him A Star.

In New York, in the middle of July, if the fickle subway system allows it, you’d be wise to arrive at a destination 10 minutes early. You’ll need that time to let the sweat evaporate, to stamp out the damp spots that have betrayed your outfit.

Raúl Castillo forfeited his chance to cool down before shaking my hand at a Manhattan hotel restaurant on a sweltering Thursday morning. I didn’t mind. It was an honest mistake.

The “Looking” star was running slightly late and looking slightly frazzled when he bounded toward our table. He’d confused this hotel for another within walking distance where, the previous night, Castillo had attended a screening of the new Alexander McQueen documentary with his girlfriend, the costume designer Alexis Forte, who has the late fashion maverick’s biography at their Brooklyn apartment.

It’s cute to see celebrities frayed, even ones who are still building their marquee value. Castillo is the type who hasn’t yet abandoned public transportation when navigating the city, even though it’s becoming harder to do so without attracting strangers’ gazes. While trekking home from the “McQueen” event, a Latina teenager tapped him to say she loved “Atypical,” the Netflix series in which Castillo played a charismatic bartender sleeping with Jennifer Jason Leigh’s married character. The teenager’s mother loved “Seven Seconds,” the Netflix series in which Castillo played a narcotics detective tending to a racially charged investigation.

Raúl Castillo: a guy you can bring home to Mom, punctual or otherwise.

It’s his voice that people recognize, the 40-year-old actor said, a modest notion considering his breakthrough role as the sensitive barber Richie on “Looking” made Castillo a veritable heartthrob, despite the HBO show’s modest ratings. But it’s true that his warm baritone gravel is a distinguishing trait. Earlier this year, when I saw “Unsane,” Steven Soderbergh’s scrappy iPhone thriller set inside a mental institution, I recognized Castillo’s intonation before his face appeared onscreen.

That’s a significant feat. Castillo mumbled so much as an adolescent that a teacher recommended he see a speech therapist. He refused, instead reminding himself to enunciate or else using the impediment as a defense mechanism. “I have all these things wrong with my voice,” Castillo said, though few today would agree.

Castillo’s cadence may be growing familiar, but fame hardly seems like his long game. This is, after all, a guy who studied playwriting ― hardly the creative pursuit that commands the brightest spotlight ― at Boston University, after which he paid about $300 a month to live in a garage in Austin and perform local Chicano theater. “We the Animals,” a Sundance indie opening this weekend, marks the first time Castillo is the one generating a project’s star power. He portrays the father of three tight-knit boys storming through a wooded town in upstate New York. The movie, adapted from Justin Torres’ autobiographical novel of the same name, combines elements of “Beasts of the Southern Wild” and “Moonlight” to capture a domestic home life that’s equal parts tender and volatile, where abuse and affection are equally common.

Castillo’s enthusiasm about “We the Animals,” and about the possibly of again working with its director, Jeremiah Zagar (“Captivated: The Trials of Pamela Smart”), speaks to his ambivalence toward the celebrity ecosystem.

“He could be like Tom Cruise without the child slavery,” Zagar said, roasting the “Mission: Impossible” moneymaker’s Scientology association (and its alleged history of forced manual labor). “Raúl’s that kind of a dude. He’s a perfect-looking dude, and yet he’s incredibly real and honest and true. There’s never a false note. He’s also incredibly collaborative. As a director, that’s a wonderful thing. I didn’t know what I was doing, really, because I had never directed a narrative before, and Raúl had a way of making me feel comfortable and confident in my own beliefs and my own material. He’s so seasoned and so clear about what he needs to do to make a scene work and a character work and to elevate other people around him.”

It’s a small movie with grainy aesthetics and an impressionistic lyricism ― in no way the kind of thing that will make a killing at the box office. For someone who first fell in love with theater by discovering the plays of Puerto Rican and Mexican writers like Miguel Piñero and Luis Valdez in his high school library, playing the complicated patriarch of a mixed-race family feels like a destiny fulfilled. (Sheila Vand, star of the Iranian horror gem “A Girl Walks Home Alone at Night,” plays Castillo’s wife.) At this point, opportunities to extend his commercial footprint ― guest spots as a cannibal on “Gotham” and a music teacher on “Riverdale,” for example ― will find Castillo one way or another.

“I’ve always felt that I was never cookie-cutter,” he said. “For as much as I tried to fit my square peg into round holes, constantly, my whole career, I could never do it. Whenever I read ‘We the Animals,’ I didn’t think I would be cast in that film. [...] I felt viewed more as a Richie. People think I tend to find those roles easier than I do a role like this, ’cause it’s harsh. I knew that I could do it. I’m so grateful for both Jeremiah and Justin, who did see that in me.”

Born in McAllen, Texas, a midsize agricultural town that sits on the Mexican border, Castillo’s triumphs were born out of people believing in him at the exact right moments. He belongs to a first-generation immigrant family, even if home was a mere 10 miles down the road. Castillo didn’t feel othered, but his dual identity instilled a sort of anti-establishment fluster.

“I just saw a lot of bullshit in the structures that were established for me,” he said. “I found a lot of hypocrisies. People valued money, and I think when I was very young, I valued money and I didn’t have it. I think I hated myself for it.”

Slowly shedding the Catholic mysticism that once awed him, he took up bass and played in punk bands. When his friend Tanya Saracho, who would go on to write for “Looking” and “How to Get Away with Murder,” likened his GPA to a lifeline out of McAllen, Castillo decided to care about school. But in Boston, he was suddenly the minority. His “bad attitude” kept him out of second-year acting courses, until mentorship from a professor of color let Castillo understand that he shouldn’t punish himself for being subjected to an overwhelmingly white institution. And when he moved to New York in 2002, his pal Mando Alvarado, now a writer for “Greenleaf” and “Vida” (on which Castillo will soon appear), posited presentation as a mark of self-worth; if he didn’t put care into his résumé and headshot, why should anyone put care into hiring him?

Of course, when success takes years to manifest, it’s easy to forget the lessons you’ve learned. Living with four or five roommates at once, Castillo worked his way into the Labyrinth Theater Company, an experimental off-Broadway troupe founded by Philip Seymour Hoffman and John Ortiz. He still wanted to be a writer ― in high school, Castillo only ever acted to impress girls anyway ― but in 2006 he found himself starring in a Labyrinth production of “School of the Americas,” a play by “Motorcycle Diaries” scribe José Rivera. The acting bug stuck. In 2009, his play “Knives and Other Sharp Objects,” a multigenerational drama about class in Texas, opened off-Broadway, earning a mixed review from The New York Times.

Still, nothing quite lasted. The business side of things was grueling, and his coffee-shop gigs were getting old, even if he did count Lili Taylor and RuPaul as customers. An agent sent him on auditions for “huge” Hollywood movies ― which ones, Castillo wouldn’t say ― but dropped him after none proved fruitful. He was ready to give up altogether when “Looking” came around. Castillo had starred in the short film that became a prototype for the series. Its director, Michael Lannan, called him to audition for Richie (the character he’d initially played) and Augustin (a more prominent Latino character who worked as an artist’s assistant). He didn’t land either role, even though he’d originated one of them.

But by the time “Looking” was a week away from shooting, a Richie still hadn’t been cast. The producers called Castillo to read for Andrew Haigh, the gifted English director who shepherded the half-hour dramedy. Haigh had seen Castillo in an indie mystery called “Cold Weather” that gave him “street cred.” Crashing on John Ortiz’s couch in Hell’s Kitchen, wondering what else he could do with his life, Castillo was at a bar one night when he received an email with a contract attached. He had no representation to negotiate his salary, but it didn’t matter: After living check to check, he was on HBO.

“I was like, ‘Yes. Take my soul. I don’t care. Pay me. I need money,’” Castillo recalled. “I needed not just a paycheck but the affirmation. I needed something artistically that I could sink my teeth into that had value to it. Something that was substantial. Something that had a real point of view. I needed a character that gave me a platform to do what I do in a really great scale in the best way possible. And it ended up being that. That show was such a great gift to me.”

All of Castillo’s ensuing fortune can be linked to “Looking.” It made him a sex symbol, a love interest, a fan favorite, a rising star whose claim to fame meant a great deal to anyone hungry for frank depictions of queer intimacy. Richie was the good-natured, self-righteous ideal ― a perfect counterpoint for Patrick (Jonathan Groff), the series’ unsettled protagonist. It became gay viewers’ great disappointment when they learned that Castillo, their anointed hunk, was in fact straight.

“His inability to be fake as a person translates directly into his acting,” Groff said. “There is nothing extraneous or false about Raúl, and he brought a grounded, honest integrity to the character that absolutely no one else could have. He’s also just innately magic on screen and has that ‘it’ factor.”

Perhaps it was Castillo’s dual identity as a Mexican-American that helped him shine as a gay, blue-collar Californian who was sure of himself despite being rejected by his family. It’s certainly what lets him shine as the cash-strapped paterfamilias, caught between unremitting love for his kin and an inescapable pattern of violence, in “We the Animals.” This dyad comes at time when Castillo sees his identity splashed across the evening news.

McAllen houses the U.S. Border Patrol’s busiest hub for detaining immigrants suspected of entering the country illegally. While Castillo was vacationing in Europe and playing make-believe on sets, children were being ripped from their parents’ arms in his hometown.

“I would always have to explain where McAllen was, and now it’s this name you’re seeing constantly in the news for all these reasons that represent, for me, everything that’s wrong with this country,” Castillo said. “It was paralyzing. I was sitting in a beach in Europe, wondering why I deserved to be there. My parents had access to this country in ways that people who are coming from longer distances don’t. We had the great gift of citizenship, which is an incredible privilege. But my parents were immigrants, and they navigated that dynamic our entire lives. I saw my mom and my dad deal with all the insecurities and all the precarious nature of what being an immigrant in this country is. [...] Having grown up going back and forth across the border throughout my whole life, it’s disheartening and upsetting to see what’s happening. And then to think about this particular movie that deals with children, who are especially in that age when their minds are being formed and their view of the world is taking shape, to think about [the ones] locked in cages is enraging.”

Castillo may be miles from that crisis now, but he’s done more to better the world for brown people than he can know. His goal hasn’t been to diversity Hollywood roles written for white ensembles; it’s been to find work that naturally accentuates the grooves of his Latino heritage. He saw almost no Chicano role models in popular culture growing up, and now he is writing and starring in artistic endeavors that paint all shades of the human experience ― gay, poor, brown, cannibalistic, whatever ― with a dynamic brush.

Which isn’t to say everything’s gotten easy. He was slated to play the lead in “Mix Tape” (a musical drama set in Los Angeles) and appear on “One Day at a Time” (the Norman Lear reboot), but has since exited both series and would rather not disclose why. I got the sense, during our two-hour breakfast, that Castillo is still protective of how he is perceived. Maybe he always will be. He’s comfortable reflecting on his upbringing and his relationship with race ― concepts he’s spent his whole life processing ― but being candid about recent setbacks, as routinely asked of celebrities in interviews, does not yet come easy.

It’s the “ego business bullshit” that still eats at him. It’s what eats at most of us. But when someone makes a name for himself, that burden slowly fades to the periphery, replaced by a newfound comfort, even power. The man who once served RuPaul coffee now shares an agent with the drag dignitary.

“For so long, it was all feast or famine,” Castillo said. “I just took work when I could take it. And at this point, I’m in a new place where I want to be more thoughtful about the roles that I take on from here on out. The projects, the roles, the people. I’ve learned so much in the journey that now I want to apply all that and also honor my experience, because at this point I want to work with people who challenge me in all the right ways and push me to become a better actor and a better artist.”

#looking hbo #looking #raul castillo #press #!

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littlemisssquiggles · 6 years

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Whit-ty Headcanons: Whitley’s Geist.

@parrot-with-a-mohawk reblogged your post and added:

I really like this musing, especially the Diamond in the Rough theory and also the one where he secretly manipulates Jacques himself. From what I’ve heard, Whitley was based of a book character named Artemis Fowl (don’t remember the book’s name though), who was very cunning, and he was using this trait in order to manipulate fairies, for a good purpose(don’t remember what it was though). He also had an ill mother or something, who didn’t remember who he was, and Artemis was very detached from her, but, towards the end, he became closer to her, as her illness healed(?)(don’t clearly remember this part). So, as you said, I would really love to see Whitley join the Rosebuds, and, might I add, form a trio of guts(Ruby), voice of reason(Oscar) and brains(Whitley).

I also have to correct you on a little something. The Summons are creatures that the Schnees who possess the Glyphs semblance have defeated in battle. This is why Weiss cand summon the giant suit of armour, that, according to the manga, was just a normal giant suit of armou which was possessed by a Geist, and also that Boarbatusk, that she defeated in Volume 1, that one time, during Port’s class. And I don’t think that Whitley has ever fought someone phisicaly, nevermind a Grimm. Imigine him though, once part of the trio, tring to fight one of those “ocasional small Grimm” that Oscar mentioned. That would be kind of funny.

Also, that is just my opinion, but I think that Whitley’s charm stands in his smarts and cunningness. It would be cool to see him support the main team from behind a desk, rather than together with them on the front lines, or, maybe, with a metaphorical utility belt, Batman style or by making plans and strategies for them to use. But this is just my opinion and I’m sorry if I seemed rude in some way.

Squiggles Answers:

@parrot-with-a-mohawk Eh? Rude? Whaddaya talking about? No rudeness detected RWBY fam. I see where you’re coming from so it’s cool m’dude.

I’m glad you enjoyed my Whitley musing so thank you for the compliments =) You’re not the only person to tell me that Whitley was based off of Artemis Fowl. Ironically enough, I’d heard of the character from before and I even own the first book in the series. Granted, I never finished the book but at least I know the character.

Did you see my RWBY remark about Team ROWZ? If Whitley were to form a team with Ruby and Oscar and the trio are then joined by Zwei, that’s what their team name would be...or at least, that’s how I see it XD

By the way, I actually do know that the Summons are the creatures that the Schnees with the Glyph semblance had defeated in combat. In my original draft of this musing, I’d included a point painting a scenario where perhaps Whitley was attacked by a Geist Grimm during his sisters’ absence and him defeating the beast was as a result of him unexpectedly unlocking his semblance in the heat of battle in order to protect himself.

I didn’t include this hunch in the final draft but that’s how I saw the tie in with my theory about Whitley’s summon being a Geist.

Imagine...one night, Whitley is left alone inside the Schnee Manor. His parents had gone out for the night on their own endeavours and Whitley is left to himself with only Klein around in case he needed anything. Perhaps this is a night where Whitley decides to entertain himself by practicing his pianist skills.

In V4, it was hinted that Whitley might know how to play the piano. We never actually witnessed him doing so, which was a wasted opportunity however his picture is hung up inside the music room inside the mansion.

So the implication is there. It’s sad. I wish they had taken advantage of Whitley’s own musical talents. If Whitley does know how to play then I wish we’d gotten a scene of him helping Weiss with her recital.

It would’ve been an amazing brother and sister bonding moment if Weiss is there singing her sweet swan song as Whitley’s fingers danced across the keyboard in coordination with his sister; casting their collaborated melodic spell over the audience. If only; am I right?

Anyways, just as Whitley is getting into the song, he hears a sudden strange noise from outside in music room. At first the young boy ignores the noise but when it became too prominent, he was forced to vacate in order to investigate it. Whitley’s search for the source of the disturbance brought him outside the house in the garden. He calls for Klein, thinking it may be the chubby man just tending to the bushes. No answer and it is at this point, Whitley was growing annoyed.

Long story short, Whitley finds Klein passed out in the gardens after being attacked by a Geist Grimm. In all the stories he’s heard of the Grimm, this is Whitley’s first encounter with one. With all his boosting about the benefits of the Atlesian Army, he never dreamt that he’d ever need to protect himself against a Grimm on his own, much less meet one in the flesh.

For the first time in his life, Whitley’s mind blanked. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t even breath. He had no means of protecting himself and with Klein passed out before him and everyone else in the manor gone, he was alone. No one was going to come to his aid.

He thought...of his sisters. Let’s say, when the Schnee siblings were younger---back in the days when there were good moments that displayed all three siblings actually caring about each other, Weiss and Winter were both protective of Whitley. Particularly Weiss.

Whenever he fell down, got a boo-boo or even just had a bad dream, his big sister Weiss was always there for him to be his comforter. Yeah, yeah, I know this sounds very uncharacteristic for Weiss and her relationship with her brother but let me have this one, alright?

I just need a reason---a deep, significant reason for Whitley to think of both of his sisters, or maybe just Weiss while being attacked by a Grimm---the thought resonating with such force that it’s enough for Whitley to unconsciously call out for Weiss to protect him...all the while awakening something else within him he didn’t know was there.

When Klein finally came to, he awakens to discover Whitley huddled in a corner of the garden, his breathing frantic as his body did its best to contain his fear. As Klein swiftly ran to the boy’s age, he arrived just in time to witness the Geist from earlier wither away. The infernal red eye of its cryptic mask imprinting a lasting effect in Whitley’s mind as it disappeared from his sight. Klein did not know what to make of this scene. He tried asking Whitley to explain what had happened after he’d passed out---how he managed to defeat the Geist on his own.

Instead of giving him an answer, Whitley silenced his erratic breathing and turned the question on Klein, asking him if he was alright. Once Klein confirmed that he wasn’t injured in any way, Whitley withdrew an unsteady sigh of relief before getting to his feet.

Shakily, Whitley left the garden and returned to the quiet solitude of the music room without another word to Klein. Even when the man returned shortly later with some refreshments for the young heir, the young Schnee said nothing more to him even as he stared him down in concern. Finally, then and there, Whitley gave Klein an answer but, not the one he was hoping for. Whitley told Klein to not speak of this moment to his father. He made some other point about discussing increasing security in the household to his father but beyond that, it became clear to Klein that Whitley was adamant on not discussing his feelings on the ‘grimm incident’ any further or at all for the future for that matter.

So with nod of understanding, Klein bowed himself out of the room; leaving Whitley to himself once more.

Taking a long swig from the warm beverage Klein had brought to him; Whitley returned his attention to the piano. With his fingers to the keys, he gave a strong intro to his chosen musical piece only to miss a note and stop abruptly again.

Whitley clutched his head, grimacing as the face of the beast---the Geist flashed across his mind. Why? He was used to putting things far out of his mind. Jacques Schnee had properly schooled him on the importance of that. Yet...why did that creature still...haunt him? What was that strange...power he display earlier? Where did it come from? Why did he have it? And more importantly, what did that mean for Whitley then?

In spite of the pressing questions swarming his mind, Whitley couldn’t think of any logical reasons as to why this was happening him. Nor...did he care to entertain the thought much further.

So for the third time, Whitley returned to the keyboard and started playing. And for the remainder of the night, he kept on playing, allowing the music to drown away any fear left following the encounter...even as the Beast’s watchful eye continued to scrutinize him from within the chained chambers of his mind.

That’s how I’d like to see it. Just a theory but an interesting one to think about, right?

I understand your point about Whitley’s charm being in his wit and to some extent, I agree with you in that regard. I just wanted to toy with the idea of...what if...he does have powers like his sisters? I can’t picture Whitley becoming a huntsman anytime soon but I do love the idea of him joining the team on the field from to time. Not often but whenever his skills are required. Even rocking a weapon of his own.

I like the idea of Whitley inheriting Nicholas Schnee’s weapon of choice from when he was a huntsman.

Like perhaps...Nicholas left his old weapon to his one and only grandson and that’s the weapon Whitley prefers to use in combat, if anything. I like the idea of Whitley sharing a bond with his grandfather.

Wouldn’t it be really cute if Whitley shares commonality with his grandson? It wouldn’t surprise me if Nicholas Schnee was the kind of guy who was only able to bare girls as his heirs. And while he loved his daughters dearly as his pride and joy, he also secretly wished for a son which would explain why he was so quick to pass the company to Jacques Schnee instead of his own daughter. So I figured Nicholas might harbour a bit of biasness towards Whitley as he’s his only grandson. Sure he loves Weiss and Winter too but it’s different with Whitley because perhaps Nicholas may share a deeper connection with his grandson. Perhaps Whitley looks a lot like his grandfather at that age---scrawny limbs and Big Bird legs and all.

And just like Whitley, Nicholas was very smart and cunning too which is why he was able to achieve his accomplishments as the original Founder of Schnee Dust Company.

I really like the idea of Whitley being like grandfather and perhaps, with a bit more guidance from the right people, he can be as good a person his grandfather was. Again, just another idea to toss out to the FNDM.

~LittleMissSquiggles (2018)

#squiggle answers #rwby theories #whitley schnee #whitley and weiss #rwby remarks #squiggles answers: rwby #whitty headcanons

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latestnews2018-blog · 6 years

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'Looking' Made Raúl Castillo A Sex Symbol. Sheer Force Made Him A Star.

New Post has been published on https://latestnews2018.com/looking-made-raul-castillo-a-sex-symbol-sheer-force-made-him-a-star/

'Looking' Made Raúl Castillo A Sex Symbol. Sheer Force Made Him A Star.

Raúl Castillo forfeited his chance to cool down before shaking my hand at a Manhattan hotel restaurant on a sweltering Thursday morning. I didn’t mind. It was an honest mistake.

Raúl Castillo: a guy you can bring home to Mom, punctual or otherwise.

Eric Ogden for HuffPost

Photo shoot produced by Christy Havranek; Grooming by Claudia Lake; Clothing courtesy of Theory

Eric Ogden for HuffPost

“I’ve always felt that I was never cookie-cutter,” he said. “For as much as I tried to fit my square peg into round holes, constantly, my whole career, I could never do it. Whenever I read ‘We the Animals,’ I didn’t think I would be cast in that film. […] I felt viewed more as a Richie. People think I tend to find those roles easier than I do a role like this, ’cause it’s harsh. I knew that I could do it. I’m so grateful for both Jeremiah and Justin, who did see that in me.”

Eric Ogden for HuffPost

“I would always have to explain where McAllen was, and now it’s this name you’re seeing constantly in the news for all these reasons that represent, for me, everything that’s wrong with this country,” Castillo said. “It was paralyzing. I was sitting in a beach in Europe, wondering why I deserved to be there. My parents had access to this country in ways that people who are coming from longer distances don’t. We had the great gift of citizenship, which is an incredible privilege. But my parents were immigrants, and they navigated that dynamic our entire lives. I saw my mom and my dad deal with all the insecurities and all the precarious nature of what being an immigrant in this country is. […] Having grown up going back and forth across the border throughout my whole life, it’s disheartening and upsetting to see what’s happening. And then to think about this particular movie that deals with children, who are especially in that age when their minds are being formed and their view of the world is taking shape, to think about [the ones] locked in cages is enraging.”

Eric Ogden for HuffPost

Photography by Eric Ogden. Photo shoot produced by Christy Havranek. Grooming by Claudia Lake. Clothing courtesy of Theory.

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trendingnewsb · 6 years

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4 Lazy Character Shortcuts Hollywood Can’t Stop Using

The best movie characters are usually the ones whom we sort of identify with. Whether they’re a simple middle-class teenager or a grizzled Matthew McConaughy playing a nihilistic detective trying to find aliens from the future inside a black hole, they work because when they make decisions, we get it. We learn who they are and understand them. Sometimes, though, writers don’t really have time for that shit. Instead, they use some kind of shorthand which (they hope) will have the same profound effect with far less effort. This usually doesn’t work at all. Particularly when …

Sudden Sacrifices Are A Substitute For Heroism

What is more powerful than one human being sacrificing their own life to save others, usually to the accompaniment of an orchestra that sounds like it’s about to parade through the screen? You could probably base a whole religion around it. In the world of Hollywood screenwriting, sacrifices can also be written in not to provide a satisfying end to a character’s arc, but to add instant heroism to a character we barely know.