#being hostile and aggressive and gathering resentment =

[herlondonboy]

pretty when you cry, clarisse la rue

summary: based on this post by @kitten-reader

warnings: aphrodite’s kids are pricks lol, erm it’s really bad…

wc: 2.8k

your hair was something that you prided yourself on.

it was no doubt that you were beautiful beyond comparison to your fellow demigods, what with being the daughter of aphrodite. people couldn’t even compare you to your godly siblings.

you believed that your hair was the reason that your beauty was so great, so you natural worked hard on it.

in the world of olympians, you found solace and pride in the strands of hair that cascaded down your shoulders like a cascade of silk. your hair, a manifestation of your divine heritage, was more than just a physical attribute— it was a symbol of your identity and a testament to the grace and allure that came with being the offspring of the goddess of love.

from the moment you discovered your parentage, you embraced the inherent charm that ran through your veins, and it manifested prominently in your hair. unlike the messy, unpredictable tresses of some demigods, yours seemed to have a life of its own, obeying your whims and desires with a luxurious sheen that captivated those around you.

the secret, as you often shared with your fellow campers at camp half-blood, lay in the meticulous care you bestowed upon your locks. your morning routine became a sacred ritual— a blend of enchanted hair care products and divine techniques passed down through generations of aphrodite's children. a symphony of sweet-scented potions and ethereal brushes transformed the routine into a dance of beauty, each stroke accentuating the natural glamour that radiated from your hair.

you revelled in the attention your hair garnered, the way it shimmered under the sunlight as if kissed by the gods themselves. it became a beacon of confidence, a tangible manifestation of your divine heritage that set you apart from the sea of demigods at the camp. the other campers often marvelled at your ability to maintain such perfection, unaware of the divine secrets woven into every strand.

however, your relationship with your hair wasn't purely superficial. it served as a connection to your mother, a link to the goddess whose legacy you carried. the act of caring for it became a ritual that grounded you, a reminder of the divine blood that coursed through your veins and the responsibilities that came with it.

not unbeknownst to you, the envy and resentment simmered beneath the surface of the camp. the adoration and attention that accompanied your divine beauty fuelled the flames of jealousy among your fellow aphrodite siblings. little did you realise, being the favourite child of the goddess of love came at a cost, and that cost was the disdain of your own kin.

as you moved through the camp with the grace of a deity, your radiant hair attracting attention like a beacon, you, though aware of the hostile whispers that followed in your wake, chose to ignore. the other children of aphrodite, who were accustomed to being the centre of attention, couldn't fathom the idea of sharing the spotlight with someone they perceived as the golden child.

the jealousy manifested in subtle acts of exclusion and passive-aggressive remarks. your attempts to connect with your half-siblings often met with cold shoulders and thinly veiled animosity. the communal vanity table, where aphrodite's children traditionally gathered, became a battlefield of unspoken rivalry as they vied for the elusive title of the most captivating demigod.

yet, you, in your innocence, continued to extend kindness and friendship to those around you, oblivious to the resentment building in the hearts of your fellow campers. the intricate braids and enchanting hairstyles you generously offered to create for others only fuelled their frustration, as they struggled to reconcile the warmth of your gestures with the envy burning within them.

within the intricate dynamics of camp half-blood, one particular relationship defied expectations and unfolded with a complexity that left others bewildered. clarisse la rue, known for her brusque demeanour and a reputation that preceded her, stood as an unexpected confidante in your life. despite her gruff exterior and the scathing remarks she directed towards most campers, clarisse treated you with an unusual gentleness, and a unique bond formed between you two.

it all began during a chance encounter near the armoury, where clarisse, with her characteristic scowl, found herself inexplicably drawn to you. to the surprise of everyone witnessing the scene, her rough hands delicately traced the contours of your locks, as if handling a precious artefact. the camp's collective gasp echoed through the air, and it was then that an unspoken connection began to weave itself between you and the formidable daughter of ares.

clarisse, who seldom allowed others into her personal space, not only tolerated but seemed to relish the moments spent running her fingers through your hair. your shared interactions defied the logic of the camp's social hierarchy, leaving fellow demigods perplexed and intrigued by the peculiar alliance that had blossomed between you two.

as your friendship with clarisse deepened, it became apparent that her seemingly abrasive exterior masked a vulnerability that few had the privilege to witness. she confided in you about the weight of expectations placed upon her shoulders as the daughter of ares, the god of war. your hair, with its calming allure, became an unexpected refuge for her, a sanctuary where she could momentarily escape the demands of her tumultuous life.

in the quiet moments shared between you and clarisse, amidst the backdrop of a camp constantly on guard against mythical threats, an unexpected emotion began to stir— love. the kind of love that transcended the lines drawn by parentage and reputations. it was a love born out of understanding, acceptance, and the shared vulnerability that only the tumultuous world of demigods could evoke.

the camp, initially taken aback by the unlikely friendship, eventually came to accept the profound connection that had blossomed between you and clarisse. the daughter of ares, who once stood as an enigma wrapped in hostility, softened in the presence of your divine beauty and the solace found within the cascade of your hair.

as your feelings for each other deepened, the two of you navigated the complexities of love in a world fraught with danger. clarisse's protective instincts, honed on the battlefield, as well as in camp. together, you became an unlikely force, a symbol of love's ability to bridge even the most unexpected divides.

there was a time when a group of your own siblings, fuelled by jealousy and resentment, conspired to disrupt the tranquil rhythm of your bonds with your mother and girlfriend. one day, your prized possession, a hairbrush gifted by your mother, disappeared from its usual place. panic set in as you scoured the cabin, realising that this wasn't just a casual prank— someone had deliberately taken something sacred to you.

as whispers of the stolen hairbrush circulated through the cabin, the undercurrents of jealousy among your siblings bubbled to the surface. the mischievous culprits revelled in their act of sabotage, convinced that stripping you of this cherished item would somehow diminish the radiance that surrounded you.

it didn't take long for clarisse to sense your distress. the unspoken bond between you two had woven itself into a tapestry of mutual understanding, and she recognised the significance of the pilfered hairbrush. determined to right the wrong, clarisse took it upon herself to investigate the matter.

she confronted your siblings with an intensity that left them quaking in their sandals. her stern gaze bore into their guilt-ridden souls, extracting the truth like a seasoned interrogator. clarisse's usually thunderous voice carried a solemn edge as she demanded the return of the stolen hairbrush and an apology befitting the gravity of their actions.

unbeknownst to the misguided thieves, clarisse's reputation for ferocity on the battlefield extended to her protective instincts off it. the very fear she instilled in her enemies on the front lines was now directed at those who dared to threaten the tranquility of your connection.

under the weight of clarisse's unwavering determination, the guilty siblings caved. they returned the stolen hairbrush with bowed heads, offering apologies that bordered on genuine remorse. clarisse, satisfied with the swift resolution, ensured that justice prevailed, safeguarding the sanctity of the connection between you and the divine gift bestowed upon you by aphrodite.

as the stolen hairbrush was returned to its rightful place, the bond between you and clarisse strengthened. the trials you faced together only deepened the roots of your connection, intertwining your destinies in a tale of love, loyalty, and the unyielding power of shared vulnerability. in the heart of camp half-blood, where demigods navigated the tumultuous waters of existence, your story became a testament to the resilience of love against the currents of jealousy and deceit.

-

the sun dipped low on the horizon, casting a fiery glow over camp half-blood, as clarisse la rue realised she hadn't seen you all day. a sense of unease settled in her chest, an unfamiliar concern that compelled her to seek you out. with each passing moment, her worry deepened, driven by a gut feeling that something was amiss.

clarisse traversed the familiar paths of the camp, her eyes scanning the bustling activity for a glimpse of your familiar figure. the ares cabin loomed in the distance, and a knot tightened in her stomach as she approached, not spotting you among the demigods sparring and training.

finally reaching the ares cabin, clarisse's unease morphed into genuine concern. where were you? why hadn't she seen you all day? the questions echoed in her mind, and she briskly entered the cabin, determined to uncover the mystery behind your absence.

there, in the dimly lit interior, she found you sitting on the edge of her bunk, your figure shrouded by a hood and a hat pulled low over your tearful eyes. the sight sent a ripple of worry through clarisse, and she rushed to your side, her gruff demeanour momentarily replaced by a genuine sense of care.

"hey, what happened?" clarisse asked, her voice softer than usual as she placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder. your tear-streaked face turned towards her, and the anguish in your eyes tugged at her heart.

"they took it away," you whispered, your voice choked with emotion. you repeated the words, a mantra of despair, and clarisse struggled to comprehend the source of your pain. "they took it away."

clarisse's brow furrowed, her eyes searching yours for an explanation. "took what away? what happened?"

with trembling hands, you reached up and pulled off the hood, revealing a mess of uneven strands that once cascaded in silky splendour. clarisse's eyes widened in realisation, her hand instinctively reaching to touch the shortened locks. the betrayal etched on your face told the story before you uttered a single word.

"they cut it," you sobbed, burying your face in clarisse's shoulder. "they cut it, clarisse. look at it, it's gone. all gone."

comprehension dawned on clarisse as she gently ran her fingers through the uneven strands. anger surged within her, a protective instinct for the one she cared about more than she ever thought possible. "who did this?" she growled, her gaze ablaze with fury.

you shook your head, unable to articulate the betrayal and cruelty that led to this moment. clarisse, however, needed no words. she wrapped her arms around you, pulling you into a comforting embrace as she vowed to make those responsible pay for the pain they inflicted.

in the sanctuary of the ares cabin, amid the echoes of your tearful revelation, clarisse became a pillar of strength, ready to stand by your side and face whatever challenges lay ahead. love, in its purest and most protective form, ignited within her, as the daughter of ares transformed into a fierce guardian of the broken and betrayed.

the night hung heavy with an air of tension as you cried yourself to sleep in clarisse's bed, the echoes of betrayal haunting your dreams. clarisse, ever the guardian, sat silently beside you, watching over your restless slumber. the flickering candlelight cast shadows on the determination etched into her face, fuelled by a fierce protectiveness that refused to be extinguished.

as your sobs eventually subsided into the quiet rhythm of sleep, clarisse rose from the bedside with a silent determination. in the dim light of the cabin, she retrieved her spear, its blade glinting with a subtle menace. the daughter of ares, had one mission— avenge you.

the night enveloped camp half-blood in a cloak of darkness as clarisse stealthily made her way towards the aphrodite cabin. the aura of the daughter of ares carried an intensity that reverberated through the quiet paths, heralding a confrontation fuelled by the depth of her feelings for you.

standing outside the cabin, clarisse's eyes narrowed with determination as she observed the shadows within. the miscreants who had dared to harm you needed to be taught a lesson—one they would not soon forget. gripping her spear tightly, clarisse pushed open the door, her gaze unwavering as she confronted your godly siblings.

the scene within was one of startled surprise as clarisse stormed into the cabin. her voice, usually thunderous on the battlefield, now carried a chilling calmness. "you touch her again, and i promise you, the consequences will be far worse than you can imagine."

the air in the cabin grew heavy with tension as the children of aphrodite, once filled with false bravado, now faced the unyielding force of clarisse's wrath. she recounted the pain you had endured, the tears that stained your face, and the betrayal that cut deeper than any blade.

in her hand, the spear gleamed ominously, a silent warning that spoke volumes. the children of aphrodite, their faces pale with fear, found themselves cornered by the very embodiment of wrath standing before them. clarisse's words echoed in the cavernous space, leaving an indelible mark on their consciousness.

with a final warning that carried the weight of a promise, clarisse turned on her heel, leaving the aphrodite cabin in her wake. the night embraced her as she returned to the ares cabin, a sense of satisfaction lingering in the air. the protective fire that burned within her had been unleashed, a fierce determination to shield you from further harm.

the following day, the morning light filtered through the windows of the ares cabin, casting a gentle glow over the space. you awoke with a heaviness in your heart, the memory of the previous day's betrayal lingering like a shadow. as you sat up in bed, clarisse entered the cabin, her eyes immediately locking onto yours. the weight of the night's events still etched on her features, but a newfound determination shone in her gaze.

"hey," clarisse greeted you, her voice softer than usual. she took a seat beside you, her hand gently resting on your shoulder. "we need to talk."

the air felt charged with a mix of vulnerability and strength as clarisse began to speak. "i know yesterday was rough, and i can't change what happened, but i need you to understand something." she took a deep breath, her eyes searching yours. "your beauty isn't defined by your hair. it's not just one thing that makes you pretty. it's everything."

clarisse began listing every part of you, her voice deliberate and unwavering. "your eyes– they hold a strength and depth that's beyond compare. your lips– they carry a warmth that can brighten the darkest days. your ears– they've heard laughter, pain, and everything in between. every part of you contributes to the unique beauty that is you."

you listened, the weight of her words sinking in, but doubt still lingered in your eyes. clarisse, undeterred, continued, "and, above all, it's your personality. your kindness, your strength, your resilience – that's what makes you truly beautiful."

a flicker of disbelief danced across your face, and clarisse recognised the challenge ahead. she persisted, her gaze unwavering. "say it. say you're beautiful because of your eyes, lips, ears, and every part of you."

you hesitated, the echoes of the previous day's betrayal still reverberating in your mind. "i can't- i can’t say that. not after what they did to me."

clarisse tightened her grip on your shoulder, her voice taking on a gentle insistence. "you need to believe it. it's not about them; it's about you. say it with me. you're beautiful because of your eyes, lips, ears, and every part of you."

it felt like a mantra, a repetition that tested the resilience of self-perception. clarisse didn't back down, patiently guiding you through each affirmation until the words became a declaration echoing within the walls of the ares cabin. "i'm beautiful because of my eyes, lips, ears, and every part of me."

as you repeated the words, something shifted within you. the doubt began to yield to the truth that clarisse so fervently believed. her unwavering support became a lifeline, anchoring you to a newfound understanding of your own beauty.

in that shared moment, surrounded by the strength of ares' cabin, you started to embrace the truth that beauty wasn't confined to a single aspect. it was a mosaic, a tapestry woven from the threads of every part that made you uniquely, undeniably yourself. clarisse, with her fierce love and unyielding determination, had become the mirror reflecting the truth you needed to see.

#clarisse la rue #clarisse pjo #clarisse x reader #clarisse la rue x reader #clarisse la rue x y/n #clarisse x y/n #daughter of aphrodite #gn reader #gn!reader #gn #pjo tv show #pjo series #pjo x reader #pjo x you #elijah writes #dior goodjohn #dior good john x reader

[sunflowerabyss]

Crescent Resurgence

Pairings: Older!Remus Lupin x Reader

Bitten by Remus Lupin after an attempt to comfort him many years ago, you are left to navigate the challenges of lycanthropy alone. The resurgence of Voldemort brings you back together in the Order of the Phoenix, forcing Remus to seek redemption after all those years.

Warning: Angst. Slight comfort?

____________________________________________________

The night hung heavy with the weight of secrets and regrets as the moon cast its silvery glow over Grimmauld Place. For fifteen years, Y/N had lived in the shadows, mastering the art of solitude and survival. The scars, both physical and emotional, bore witness to a life shaped by the bite of a werewolf, and the absence of the one who had inflicted the wound.

The transformation was always a dance with pain, but that fateful night, a month after the tragic events that had torn apart their world, it became a brutal confrontation with the demons that lingered within Remus Lupin. Y/N, in her panther form, had watched over him, determined to be the support he so desperately needed. Yet, the trauma of loss had rendered him careless and hostile. In a moment of unbridled aggression, he bit her, causing her panther form to shift back into a vulnerable human.

Acceptance of death had washed over Y/N as she slipped into unconsciousness that night, only to awaken the next morning in a haze of agony. Survival instincts kicked in, and she learned to navigate the torment of lycanthropy on her own, crafting a modified Wolfsbane potion that not only eased the pain but hastened the healing process.

The rage within her burned like an eternal flame, fueled not only by the pain of the bite but by Remus's inexplicable disappearance. He was a ghost, a memory, and for years, Y/N wrestled with the love that refused to fade and the fury that refused to be silenced.

The Order of the Phoenix, in its desperate search for allies, found Y/N. Moody tracked her down, relentless in his pursuit of warriors. Driven by a desire for revenge for the friends she had lost, Y/N agreed to join the cause. The journey led her back to Grimmauld Place 12, a place steeped in memories both bitter and sweet.

Sirius Black, alive and well, greeted her with open arms. The warmth of his embrace contrasted sharply with the chill that swept through her when she saw him – Remus Lupin. More scars adorned his tired face, his hair graying, and a visible weariness etched into his being. He was a reflection of the years they had spent apart, the years of silence that screamed louder than words.

The meeting began, a gathering of familiar faces and strangers bound by a common enemy. Harry Potter, the spitting image of his parents, entered the room, and Y/N couldn't help but marvel at the echoes of a past that seemed simultaneously distant and achingly close.

As the meeting concluded, Y/N made a swift exit, her heart pounding with a mix of emotions. The night air offered a temporary reprieve, but Remus followed her outside. The tension between them crackled like electricity as words, long unspoken, spilled into the air.

"You left without a word," Y/N accused, her voice steady but laden with years of hurt.

Remus, a shadow of his former self, nodded solemnly. "I couldn't face you. I couldn't face what I had done to you."

The confrontation escalated, a whirlwind of accusations and admissions. Remus, burdened by guilt, conceded to the pain he had caused. Y/N, refusing to be swayed by words alone, stood her ground, her heart torn between love and resentment.

"I will never forgive myself for the pain I've caused you," Remus confessed, his eyes reflecting the depth of his remorse.

A heavy silence hung between them before Y/N, her voice edged with sorrow, admitted, "I loved you. I never wanted to be apart."

The admission hung in the air, a fragile bridge between past wounds and uncertain futures. Remus, understanding the gravity of his sins, asked the question that loomed over them both. "Do you still love me?"

The answer, honest and raw, escaped Y/N's lips: "I don't know."

A nod passed between them, a silent acknowledgment of the fractures that time had failed to heal. Remus bid her goodnight, his figure disappearing into the shadows of Grimmauld Place.

_______________________________________________________

Weeks passed since that night and Y/N found herself standing alone in the courtyard of Grimmauld Place, a burdensome storm of emotions raging within her. The confrontation with Remus reverberated through her mind, and the weight of uncertainty pressed heavily on her chest. Sirius emerged from the dimly lit entrance, concern etched on his face as he approached her.

"Y/N," he said, his voice low and empathetic. "I know that seeing Remus again is difficult. He's been through a lot, and so have you."

She looked at Sirius, gratitude flickering in her eyes. "It's just… it's been so long, and I thought I had moved on, but seeing him again brought back everything."

Sirius placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "You don't have to have it all figured out right now. Give yourself time."

Feeling a mix of gratitude and sadness, Y/N nodded. She retreated to a quiet corner of the courtyard, taking deep breaths to steady her racing heart. The night air was cool, but the turmoil within her was hotter than any flame. It was a blend of love, resentment, and the jagged edges of memories that had never quite faded.

As she stood there lost in thought, Remus emerged from the shadows, his footsteps hesitant. He approached her, his eyes reflecting a myriad of emotions. Y/N steeled herself, preparing for another round of the emotional storm that seemed to follow him.

"I… I know I hurt you," Remus began, his voice filled with regret. "I can't change the past, but I want to make things right. If that means staying away, I'll do it. I just… I can't bear to see you in pain because of me."

Y/N met his gaze, her eyes a mixture of sadness and determination. "Remus, you don't get to decide what's right for me anymore. I've spent years learning to live with the consequences of your actions, and I've become stronger despite it all."

He sighed, a heavy acknowledgment of the truth in her words. "I never meant to leave you alone, to make you bear this burden on your own."

"And yet you did," Y/N replied, her voice firm. "You left without a word, and I had to learn to survive without you."

Remus ran a hand through his graying hair, a gesture of frustration and remorse. "I understand if you can't forgive me. I don't deserve it."

The air was thick with tension as Y/N considered his words. "Forgiveness is a process, Remus. It's not something that happens overnight. I need time to figure out what this means for both of us."

He nodded, a silent acceptance of the reality they faced. "I just want you to know that I never stopped caring about you."

Y/N looked away, a mixture of sadness and longing in her eyes. "Caring is not enough, Remus. I needed you to be there for me, and you weren't."

The conversation lingered, suspended in the night air like the unspoken words between them. Eventually, Y/N turned away, her resolve unwavering. "I need some time alone. Don't follow me."

Remus watched her retreating figure, a heavy heart filled with remorse. The courtyard remained silent, shadows playing on the stone walls, as both Y/N and Remus grappled with the ghosts of their shared past.

Days turned into nights, and Y/N navigated the war-torn world with a heart heavy with conflicting emotions. The Order of the Phoenix, bound by a common purpose, continued their fight against Voldemort's forces.

One day, as she stood by the fireplace at Grimmauld Place, watching the flickering flames dance, Remus approached her. The lines on his face spoke of battles fought, both internal and external.

"Y/N," he said quietly, his gaze searching hers. "I've been thinking a lot about what you said. I understand that I can't change the past, but I want to be there for you now. If you'll let me."

The room fell silent as Y/N considered his words. She saw sincerity in his eyes, a glimmer of the Remus she had once known. The wounds of the past still lingered, but perhaps, in the midst of the war, there was room for healing and reconciliation.

#remus lupin #remus x reader #remus lupin x you #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x y/n #older!remus lupin #older!remus lupin x reader

[thegreatzombieartisan]

Rings of Power: The Galadriel Dossier

The Mean Streets of Valinor: Was Galadriel bullied or is there a different message?

"... in [S1.01] an idyllic and innocent place, where [Galadriel] is nevertheless teased by her peers. As Galadriel rises to defy these bullies, she demonstrates she has strength of conviction, and is not intimidated when she knows she is right." -- Bear McCreary

The scene’s intent is clear: to introduce Galadriel as a confident outlier who is bullied for simply being better.

But did RoP creators actually bridge the intent-execution gap?

To begin with, definitions:

Bullying : ongoing and deliberate misuse of power in relationships through repeated verbal, physical and/or social behavior

Conviction : a firmly held belief or opinion

The scene opens with Galadriel sitting alone while she carries out her task with a single-minded focus: folding a magicked origami boat. She’s drawn to its ability to bend and be manipulated to her will until the paper achieves her desired vision.

In this seemingly innocent hobby, we first glimpse Galadriel’s unstoppable tenacity to manifest what she has decided should be.

A boy from the group: “Even you can’t do that!”

His contemptuous challenge is revealing:

The group is familiar with her capabilities and finds them advanced

Galadriel and the group have history

Galadriel and the group are not enemies yet not on friendly terms.

The boy sinks her boat. A naughty bit of rascally behavior and deserving of reprimand no doubt but largely harmless. He and the group could, after all, throw stones at Galadriel instead of a piece of paper that had already performed its function. Notice: the group doesn’t pick-up stones ad-hoc, so these were gathered beforehand. Her achievement had been anticipated yet they had no intention of recognizing it.

In response to this harmless tomfoolery, Galadriel becomes uncontrollably enraged, wrestles the boy to the ground and raises her fist. Finrod halts his sister from pulverizing the boy’s face.

Finrod: “Loose your footing again, Galadriel?”

“Again" might be interpreted as Galadriel having a pattern of aggressive retaliation (most likely) against other children. In any event, her right-hook appears to be well-rehearsed.

Is Galadriel being bulled?

No, as bullying is not a one-time event and we lack historical context to say it’s ongoing.

Consider this: if they knew she would retaliate with a Golden House ass-kicking, is it likely for her to be targeted?

What occur did occur between Galadriel and the group can be considered harassment and it’s not something to be dismissed.

Does Galadriel display strong conviction?

At face value, she appears to rationally justify herself and point out that the group is wrong.

However, if she believes in her ability to meet the group’s challenge, why does she choose to:

prove herself to those who resent her and show potential hostility prior to?

share something she is proud of with those who don't respect her?

repeatedly interact with those who don't like her in a non-forced scenario?

Because on a deeper level she can't bear being criticized. Nobody does but responding with violence needs course correction.

The urge to prove oneself in unneeded scenarios stems from feeling misunderstood, unaccepted, vulnerable or undermined. Which is Galadriel?

She doesn't feel misunderstood since the group acknowledge her skills; unaccepted as she shows no interest to be included; or vulnerable as she seems content to be alone and capable of defending herself.

Then, perhaps, she does feel is potentially undermined.

The scene actually shows not strong conviction but her pride, power, and will to power by reinforcing superior competency over the group.

If adult Galadriel's wasn’t such a show-off, and past isn't (usually) prologue, we can say the group is merely intimidated. Diving deeper, though, and we see her destroyed boat was an unkind signal that Galadriel needed greater self-awareness, emotional and social maturity. Growing pains.

To support that, Finrod should have swapped his boat-stone parable for accountability and coaching her to gain perspective — that which tempers pride and builds emotional resilience.

Intent vs. Execution

So RoP writers failed to execute on this scene’s intended message. And they don’t realize this. It says less about Galadriel, more about their own belief systems and possible insecurities.

#rings of power #rop galadriel #trop #galadriel #Galadriel rop #trop meta #watsonian

[oldgooddaysoldgooddays]

126

Thursday I drag myself to my car in the rain to be interviewed by the Financial Times at my studio. En route, I get a warning that my tire pressure is, once again, “low”. The same wheel as last time. I’m shielded from much of the world by money - crass but true - though every so often I am panicked by adulthood. It’s usually to do with my car. On City Road, learned helplessness sets in, and I think to abandon the vehicle at a petrol station with the keys in the ignition for whomever wants to take it, then purchase a new Jeep the following day The FT interviewer has an energy that doesn’t agree with me. It may be because I’m fatigued, but there is a specific type of flustered British woman that reminds me of an anorexic, divorced English teacher I was taught by when I was maybe 9 or 10. A type who indirectly pleads with you to make her feel at ease, lest she go over the edge. Karmically I’ve no doubt I’ll become this woman in 20 to 30 years. And honestly the mere layout of my studio yard does make flustered 99% of white people who visit. I am not in the mood for tact. I drag my hands across my face as though this will increase my sentience as I am asked questions. I try not to be mean about anybody the journalist hints may have wronged me. I bring up O and she says “that man takes up too much space”. Far from being O’s biggest cheerleader, I protest that comment because it feels similar to the racist hostility O was met with when he first began showing work. I am asked about my eating disorder. “Off the record”, she says, “when did you last throw up?” I smoke cigarettes and try to talk about my paintings. I nod at the connections the journalist makes between things I’m interested in and what she knows of my personal trauma, read about in my writing. She’s not really wrong about any of it, but she is talking as though we are friends and we aren’t. She laughs too hard at some of the things I say. I bristle. I can’t work out whether I’m a particularly tough crowd today of all days or whether there’s no world in which I’d enjoy this interview. I feel the creeping beginnings of resentment toward G who insisted I do this press, and toward myself for not saying no and appearing impossible. The journalist says “you know you write a lot about what’s happened to you but never about your feelings”. The two hours her questions last for feel like a therapy session I won in a charity raffle. There’s a scene in Transparent where the character of Sarah wins exactly this prize, and the therapist gets her name wrong, and the two women wield passive aggression to fight. It’s a genius TV moment. I notice the journalist has a similar skin graft to L’s, leaving the upper arm shiny and lightly dented Afterwards I am humming with anger that I have no real interest in unpacking or working through. I drive my car as angrily as is legal within the local speed limit. The police are gathered on the side of a road inspecting a collision. I see two people I know walking into Spitalfields market and I see my tire pressure warning. It is deeply lame

[crazylilmonster]

The Art of War

Part 5

Note: Reblogs are apriciated.

Pairing: Izana Kurokawa x female reader

Disclamer: This story is meant for the mature audience only. It contains some heavy teams like abuse, killing, aggression, consuming alcohol and cigarettes, swearing as well as sex. It is a bit of a slow burn regarding the smut but you still shouldn’t read it if you are under 18. Because I can’t stop the minors from reading please do not repeat any acts mentioned in the story and please practice safe sex as well as trying to keep your body healthy since it is still growing and it needs all the nutrients it can get.

Main Masterlist

The Art of War Masterlist

A full year of misery living in Sem Coração was just about to crush your spirit. You never realized how lonely a place filled with people could be. You were resented by the concubines and the king’s children while he didn’t bother to pay any of his attention to you. Not that you wanted any.

You were here because you father didn’t want you next to him and the king Silva wanted peace. Nothing else. You had to leave your friends and siblings because your father hated you.

“Is the greenhouse that the king had built here finished?” You heard one of the concubines question during the gathering for the concubines.

The king had two palaces one was for him and his older children and the second one was for the concubines and younger children who are not yet ready to separate from their mother for longer periods of time.

“Yes, but I don’t think anyone from the palace will go there.” Another concubine answered.

“Is it because of the snakes? I heard there were some really dangerous ones.” Yet another concubine spoke up.

‘Should I go there and end this?’ You though. By the law of Sem Coração you now belonged to the king and you had no business contacting your family or friends. You were supposed to rot here until the new king took over and either spared you stripping you of your title and position in the process or kill you.

That evening you asked your maid to take you to the greenhouse which was filled with trees, plants and flowers you have never seen. The air seemed different as if it was fresher and less claustrophobic than inside your bedroom.

Your maid was shaking behind you as you noticed a purple snake pass by her and stop beneath your feet. The snake raised its head looking at you with its black irises. It was rather small so you guessed it was still young, holding no fear or hostility towards you. Was it curious you couldn’t tell but you knew you were.

Bending at your waist you brought your hand closer to the snake’s head. The purple snake looked at your hand than looked at your face and slithered up your arm. It wrapped its tail around your forearm allowing you to touch its head.

You held no fear because you knew if you did the snake would start acting hostile. “My lady…” The maid said in a worried tone.

“I am fine.” You spoke as you rubbed your thumb against the scaly surface. “Did you know that snakes are supposed to be missing a part of their brain that allows them to feel affection?” You questioned the maid as you stared at the reptile.

“I-I d-d-didn’t…” She stuttered.

“Do they have names?” You question as you turned to your maid facing her.

“I-I do-don’t k-kn-know…”

You turned your attention back to the purple creature. “Can I give you a name?” You whispered underneath you breath.

Little did you know that you were being watched by every other snake in the greenhouse… And soon enough many brave slithering creatures made their way to you standing beneath your feet and watching you. From smallest newly hatched snakes to the biggest one in the greenhouse all in different forms and colors.

“My lady…!” The maid exclaimed in fear.

“Shh…” You raised the pointer finger of your free hand and pressed it against your lips suggesting her to be quiet. “Everything is alright. They are just curious. When they are satisfied they will go back.” The maid rushed outside leaving you alone with the cold blooded creatures.

Not much time has passed before the king rushed into the greenhouse with guards following him close behind. You turned your attention to the king and he couldn’t believe his eyes. A woman, a young woman at that was standing surrounded by some of the most poisonous snakes in the country without any sign of fear.

“Are you alright?” He questions you.

“I am…” You spoke quietly. “They will not harm me.” You stated.

“I can’t be sure…” The king hesitantly spoke.

“That was not a question. It was a statement.”

The king was amazed. Never had he met a woman not terrified of snakes and here you were a diamond in the rough ready to satisfy his greedy desires. “Well you should leave for the day since it is rather late.” He said making you sigh in disappointment. You didn’t have a chance to look at the snakes properly.

You lowered your hand in order to allow the snake to come down from your hand but it did not move, the snake just stared at you with curiosity. “I have to leave now…” You spoke softly and the snake only stared at you blankly.

You eyed the king and he was lost in thought. None of his concubines had ever taken an interest into snakes the way he did. “It can stay with you if you wish.” He spoke up and you smiled slightly.

“Does that mean that they do not have names?” You question.

“No, of course not, there is far too many of them to name them.” He cleared his throat and you turned your attention back to the purple snake.

“Zana…” You said and the snake showed of its tongue and snuggled against your cheek, which in return made you giggle.

The king was sure of it now. You were far more than he expected. You were going to be the one to fulfill his fantasies that no other woman could.

And that was how it all began. The king started paying more attention to you from something simple as a greeting when he would pass you by to sharing a meal and a walk in the garden with just the two of you.

You spent a lot of time in the greenhouses the king made especially for snakes and he could go off for hours on end about the slithering creatures. Zana however never left your side. She was either stuck to your arm, hanging around your shoulders or lying in your lap. She never once tried to hurt you and she was reminding you of Izana who you didn’t think you would miss as much as you did.

As the time passed by the king became bolder, touching you ever so slightly or pressing his lips against your cheeks or forehead. He wasn’t a bad man as far as you’ve seen but he was also a man who wanted you.

The other concubines of course noticed the change in his behavior over the couple of months that he had spent with you and they stared at you with envy. “Filthy little thing. Who do you think you are? Just because our king gives you attention and affection all of a sudden you think you are something?” The King Silva’s first concubine spoke up during yet another gathering of the concubines.

“I never asked for his affection and attention.” You said quietly but loud enough for her to hear you.

“Is that so?” She laughed. “Then why did you seduce him?”

“I didn’t…” You silenced yourself the moment you felt a familiar sting on your cheek. For some reason it hurt more than the one the first concubine of your father gave to you.

Zana hissed, showing off her teeth to the first concubine. The woman jumped and stumbled in fear. As you felt her detaching from your arm you held onto her whispering how you were fine.

“Maria!” You flinched when you heard the second concubine rise from her seat with furrowed eyebrows at the woman that slapped you. “You are really stepping over the line.” She warned.

“Oh don’t lecture me Juliana. She needs to know her place!” Maria yelled back.

“She is a concubine just how we are.” Juliana glared at her. “Now stop acting like a child and apologize.”

“I will not…!” Maria was interrupted by the second concubine.

“Maria! You are a fifty years old woman and you’re acting like someone stole your toy.” She scolded.

“There is no need.” You stood up from your seat. “If I learned anything from king Shiba’s concubines it’s that they all think they are above apologizing just because they fuck the king.“ You dropped the formal tone. You just felt so tired of being polite to the women who will never appreciate it. “After all that is all they are good for. Acting like fools and sucking dicks.” Your vulgar tone surprised the women. As you walked away you felt their eyes burning holes in the back of your head.

And a few days later you cursed yourself for speaking so vulgarly in front of those women because the king Silva decided to share a bath with his concubines. Your hand was shaking like crazy as you removed your bath robe and lowered yourself in the bath.

The women eyed you like hawks would mice and you felt uneasy as you were seated in the warm water. You made sure to be as far as it was appropriate while the rest of them were clinging to the king and each other.

“My king I apologize for being late.” Juliana walked into the room with her robes on.

“No worries…” King Silva spoke up with a kind smile. “Paula needed her mother I presume.” His expression seemed genuine like he actually cared about his daughter. You’ve never seen such expression your fathers face at least not meant for you.

Juliana passed by you to reach the king but she stopped in her tracks as her eyes met your back. A gasp left her lips as she covered her mouth. “(Y/N) dear would you mind helping me wash my hair first.” She placed her gentle hand on your shoulder.

You were uncomfortable anyway so you rose from the bath and followed after Juliana. Based on the gasps and mumbles you heard behind you, you could deduce that they too saw the scars. Juliana led you behind a wall separating the big bath from the much smaller ones.

“How long have you had those?” She questioned as she sat down and handed you the shampoo bottle.

You didn’t have to tell her but at this point your wounds healed and only scars are left. “It got worse two months before I came here.” You spoke up as you massaged the shampoo into her scalp as gently as possible.

You were nothing here. Sem Coração wasn’t much different from Thymos in the terms of concubine positions. First it is the king and the queen then the crown prince or candidates for the crown princes as well as the rest of the king’s children. After them the concubines whose authority depends on when they became the concubines. The first concubine has more authority than the second and third and so on.

Juliana stayed silent for a moment. “What exactly got worse?” She questioned.

“The abuse…” Your tone was uncharacteristically quiet.

“Would you mind telling me about it?” She acted as if she was your mother. Her eyes seemed sad and filled with pity.

“What difference does it make? Will you tell your offspring’s to stop spouting slurs at me? Will the other concubines back off? Will I finally be left alone?” You question the woman.

“I can’t guarantee that…” She spoke sighed.

“Then I don’t see the point in telling you.” It was disrespectful to speak to her that way however she never did anything that would make you trust her. Yes she would scold other concubines and even her children sometimes but nothing changed. They would get an earful and that would be back at it again the next day.

You got slapped here more in a year than when you were a princess in Thymos for your whole life. Of course you held a higher position back home but that didn’t stop them either way. You were just a young girl who acted like someone worthy of being in the same presence as them.

“I can try to convince them…” Juliana spoke up. “But I can do that only if I know what happened. Your hand was shaking…” She spoke the last sentence quietly making you flinch.

Not even your siblings noticed that little trait of yours. You let out a sigh. “It happens when I’m scared, angry, anxious, and nothing good really.” You explained. “To keep the story short and sweet I won’t go into details, not that I’m comfortable with sharing any.”

“That is completely fine.”

“King Shiba never liked me, I don’t know why exactly but I have some theories. I was just a little girl holding onto her mother’s dress every time I would see him. However when she died I took it upon myself to take care of my younger siblings and I did everything the way my mother would. His concubines didn’t like that I suppose. So they would do anything in their power to humiliate, hurt or even kill me.” Juliana gasped at your words covering her mouth with her hands. You couldn’t see her face but you knew it wasn’t as calm as yours.

“I was his firstborn child but he never treated me the way fathers should treat their children. So with every single mistake I would get either lashed or beaten with a stick.”

“You’ve barely stepped into adulthood when you came here what kind of mistakes could you possibly make?” She questioned.

“Most of them I don’t even remember. I do know they were ridiculous from holding my fork wrong to breathing too loudly…” Juliana interrupted you.

“I’m sorry; you got disciplined in this case beaten for breathing?” She turned to face you with wide eyes.

You let out a dry laugh. “I wouldn’t say beaten it was a slap on both my cheeks.”

“What did you do to get those?” She motioned to you back.

You sigh and explain the events that caused you to get lashed thirty times. Juliana’s eyes only grew wider the more words left your lips. By the time you were finished there were tears running down her cheeks.

Fear settled into your bones. If the word gets out that the second concubine cried because of you, your punishment will be far worse than the one you received in Thymos. “Please don’t cry…” Your shaking dominant hand attempted to wipe the tears of the concubine and she pulled you into the bath hugging you close like a mother would her daughter.

Zana who was resting beside you slithered into the bath wrapping herself around your shaking wrist. “It must have been difficult for you.” Juliana held your face with affection glimmering in her eyes. “We’ll take care of you.”

Just as she said the concubines didn’t bother you and some of them actually talked to you from time to time. Their children didn’t share the same sentiment and their torment continued even worse than before. It has gotten to the point when they would only come to the palace to see you and humiliate you out of their mother’s supervision. Apparently the king only thought of you and he wanted to make you his. In other words he wanted you to pleasure him during the night and it made you shiver.

Now you were lost. You were depressed. You wanted it to be over. Two years passed since you’ve last seen your friends and family. Since you saw Izana. You made a dreadful mistake and you realized it only after the two of you were separated. You cared for him more than you originally thought.

You thought you saved his life because he deserved it, because it was unfair, because he should have been treated better. But now you realize you saved him because he had everything you wanted your partner to have. He was strong, he was brave and the most important thing was he didn’t look down on you because you were a woman. He knew you were the one who saved him and he knew you weren’t weak. He saw your wounds and he was mad on your behalf.

Those purple eyes still hunt your dreams even if you haven’t seen them in such a long time. Now you realize you loved him. No matter how little time you spent with him, it was him who you thought about at night and it was his lips on yours that made your heart beat its way out of your chest.

So when the king kissed your lips for the first time you wanted to push him away, bite him, make him regret for touching you the way you wanted to be touched by Izana’s hands. However you couldn’t do that. King Silva was a man that owned you and you couldn’t do a thing about it.

On the other side King Silva was obsessed with you. He cursed himself for not paying more attention to you at the start. If he did you would be ready by now. You would be ready to please him at night. You would be ready to fulfill his fantasies. You would be ready for him to fuck you while both of your bodies are surrounded by snakes.

Because of you he became a bad king. Because of you his country was going into ruin within a year. His first born son was furious with you. It was your fault his father went mad. It was your fault his father was dead. It was your entire fault.

“Damned bitch…” The crown prince glared at you as you stood at the palace gates.

You were surrounded by snakes which like a whole year back protected you from the soldiers and the king. As if they knew the king would force you to pleasure him.

Earlier in the night the king came to your bedroom with baskets filled with snakes. He scattered them all over the bedroom and he force you out of your clothes. He kissed you as you silently cried and begged him to stop. And just as he was going to penetrate you Zana and many other snakes bit him and poisoned him to death.

His naked body fell on top of you and you pushed him off you. You put on your clothes as quickly as possible and the snakes kept devouring the king. Your body was stained with blood and you were terrified.

As if the devil called him the crown prince saw you as you were about to leave the palace stopping you dead in your tracks.

“I… I didn’t do it.” You stuttered.

“Maybe not but your snakes did.”

“They belong to the king…” He interrupted you.

“Oh really…? Then why are they here protecting you?”

He wasn’t wrong many snakes surrounded you the most poisonous ones standing closer to the guards hissing and showing of their fangs. The men were stepping back in fear as well as the crown prince. No one wants to die by the poison after all. This and only this allowed you to escape into the jungle and away from that wrenched palace.

“Leave her be, she won’t survive a single hour in that jungle.” The crown prince spoke up as he glared in the direction you ran off to. “Not with the savages running around like madmen.”

He declared you dead. He said he killed you with his own hands when he found out you killed his father the king. And everyone knows that bad word travels fast. So the news of your death reached Taiju’s ears within the same night. He didn’t take kindly to that news.

“(Y/N) is dead.” He said to his father the king.

“And…?”

“Don’t you understand? Sem Coração is mocking us. They think that they can kill the first princess who we graciously offered to them as a concubine without any countermeasures. They think you are pathetic. They think that you are weak.” It didn’t take long for Taiju to manipulate his father. All of the Shiba siblings knew that he was pathetic king and how to manipulate him.

“Having more land is not bad I suppose. They have good mines with rare stone too. What do you think darling? Would you like some more rare jewels?” The king questioned the first concubine who was clinging to him like a whore she was.

“I hear their animals are quite unique too… I could use an exotic pet.” She giggled.

“Then it is settled. Taiju I think the time to prove yourself if finally upon us.” The king smirked at your younger brother who was filled with fury. You finally loved him and now you were gone.

When the word reached Shinichiro’s ears even the town beneath the Sano mansion could hear his screams filled with agony. The first princess, (Y/N) Shiba, the most precious friend he ever had was now dead and no longer there to make fun of him and protect him in her own special way.

And as Shinichiro Sano screamed for the third time all three of his siblings were in his office with fear painting their expression. He was appointed as the new archduke and he wasn’t ready to pretend to be fine after hearing of your death.

“What is it?!” Izana shook him back to the reality. “Shinichiro, breathe and tell us what’s wrong?”

No words left the lips of the eldest Sano. He just handed the letter he got from Taiju to Izana. Izana’s purple irises scanned the parchment in a hurry. “I regret to inform you that my sister (Y/N) Shiba is no longer with us and will be joining our mother in the afterlife.” He read out loud.

Emma let out a scream as she fell to her knees with tears streaming down her pale cheeks. “I will be preparing for a war to avenge her wasted life and I hope you will join me.” He continued.

Izana noticed the smeared ink on the parchment and wet spots all over it. Taiju Shiba the third prince and a candidate to be the next heir to the throne was crying while writing this letter. And you would never know how much your younger brother cherished you.

And now Izana was about to let salty tears fall. He missed you dreadfully. He was furious when the king announced you will be going away and he was ready to kill. His savior was no longer.

As your friends were getting the news of your death you were lying on the ground in the jungle. Exhaustion was washing over you and the snakes that followed you strangely stayed by your side. You assumed that the snakes would leave you by now but no. no matter whatever came close to you the snakes would scare it away.

You noticed human feet in the field of your blurry vision. Like at any other animal the snakes were hissing at the person standing in front of you. However this person stayed in their place not bothered by the poisonous reptiles.

“Senju! Come on already! Where are you?” You heard yelling from further away and you flinched.

“Over here!” The voice was much louder this time so you assumed it was coming from the person in front of you.

“What?” The voice from before was now closer and you heard the same person running in your direction.

“The snakes are protecting her…” You felt Zana rushing and raising from around your arm and hissing at the two people. “Whoa… is that the orchid python?”

“Stay back; they are the children of the ancient beast.”

“And extremely dangerous I know, I know…” there was a bored tone in the voice of the person in front of you. “Hey if you want to live, you have to tell your snakes to back off.”

Should you trust these people you had no idea. “Zana…” You spoke up quietly. The purple snake turned to you with a glint of worry in her eyes for which you assumed was your imagination. Snakes don’t feel affection. “You did good…” You petted the head of your purple companion as you lost consciousness and fell into the pits of darkness.

~☆~☆~☆~

The sun in your eyes was what woke you up and the first thing you saw was a pair of green irises staring at you. You sat up and before you knew it a familiar purple snake slithered onto your shoulders and nuzzled its head into your cheek.

“She didn’t leave your side even while my brother was carrying you.” The person with green eyes spoke up.

“She never really does.” You offered them a small smile. “Thank you for helping me.”

You noticed a hint of a blush on the persons face. And now that you were looking at them you noticed that they were a young girl about your youngest brother’s age. Her hair was pale pink color and her big eyelashes reminded you of Izana. “It’s no big deal.” She looked away to hide the blush.

“Is your brother here? I’d like to thank him too.” You offered her a kind smile.

She gave you a small nod. “Omi!!!” She raised her tone and within couple of seconds a man about Shinichiro’s age walked into small hut like house.

His black and blond hair was slicked back and he had a big scar starting at his forehead making its way all the way down to the beneath the corner of his lips. He had a cigarette in his mouth as well as bored expression painted on his face.

“Thank you.” You spoke up and he raised one of his eyebrows at you.

“If you are really grateful as much as you seem to be will you do anything we ask of you?” He questioned.

You let out a dry laugh. “That depends what is it that you need form me?”

“You’ll answer every question I ask you and you will go to the ancient beast.” He spoke up and was kicked in his side by the young woman beside him.

“You can’t ask her to do that. She’ll die.” Her green eyes glared in his direction.

“And? She was abandoned by the king himself what can she do?” He turned his attention back to you. “You are not from Sem Coração are you?” A hint of a smirk made its way onto his lips.

“No, I’m from Thymos. I was sent here to be a concubine for the king Silva and he didn’t abandon me, he was killed.” You explained.

“Was he now?”

“Yeah… Zana started it and the rest of the snakes finished him off.” You petted the snake with the palm of your hand.

“Under your command?” The man questioned.

You sighed. “I don’t command them…”

“But they follow your orders?”

You stayed quiet for a moment. “I don’t order them what to do…”

“Why are they protecting you then?”

“I don’t know.” You raised both your hands in the air in frustration. “I just walked into the greenhouse one day and Zana came to me. I didn’t do anything worthy for them to protect me.”

He stayed quiet until a smirk made its way onto his lips. “Come with me.”

You got out of the makeshift bed following an older male like a child. The night has fallen, presumably after you slept the whole day and the big moon seemed shinier than most of the nights you spent in the palace.

“Here is the shorter version. There is an ancient beast for every type of animal you can think of and those beasts hold immense power. I am talking destroying empires with a sneeze. In this jungle not far from here is a snake ancient beast and my theory is if regular snakes protect you there has to be a reason yeah?” He seemed excited.

“I suppose…”

He led you to the cave where he stopped in his tracks. “You have to go without me.” He spoke up and you nodded.

Trusting a complete stranger living in the jungle was stupid and you knew that. But then again, if he wanted you dead he would kill you by now wouldn’t he? Unless this ancient beast was tormenting his village and you were a sacrifice he had to deliver. He couldn’t take you by force since the snakes were protecting you but was there a point in explaining where he was bringing you.

As you entered the dark cave and walked for longer period of time you saw snakes swarming the place. When they noticed you the snakes rushed to you in terrifying speed but you stayed still and the snakes stopped barely touching you.

Zana stared at the snakes and you felt a sense of authority coming from your poisonous companion. “My, my… Who would think that a human child dared to enter my domain?” the voice you heard was somewhat soft and not affectionate in the slightest. It sounded wise if anything else.

When you looked to see where the voice was coming from you were met eye to eye with the abyss that was the eyes of the creature. The scaly skin was white as snow and it stood out amongst the many multicolored snakes.

“I have long passed the age of a child.” You spoke up. “Are you perhaps the ancient beast?” You questioned.

“Indeed I am.” The snake slithered closer to you, barely centimeters separating you. “And who do you think you are?”

“I’m no one really…”

“My child is found of you? So how could you possibly be no one? Unless you are looking down on creatures such as I?” As scary as the snake was it seemed wise.

You sighed. “I used to be a princess in the kingdom of Thymos but I was sold off to be a concubine…” You spoke up.

“And what is it that you want with me?”

“I…” You sigh once again. “I want to kill my father the king.”

The snakes’ pupils slightly widened. “And why do you want to end your father’s life?”

“He is a king that does not care about his people, and he only chases his own pleasure and… and…” You could feel your chest tightening.

The snake stared at you. “So even humans hurt their own.” She spoke. “Very well… Prove yourself and I will be one with you. No human shall harm you ever again.”

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[hawkinsschoolcounselor]

“Why do you lie?”: A look at a gay Mike Wheeler

This is a sort of a companion post to Will Byers and Growing Up Gay in the Pre-Internet Era, which I posted last year. I looked into what could have possibly been going on with Will as someone with a gay identity at a time when there was little support. Now I’d like to look at Mike, who would have his own unique challenges towards accepting a positive identity. This isn’t meant to be a post for why Mike is gay, as I (and several others) have already addressed that. Instead, I want to look at some of the psychological processes that may be at work in how Mike develops through the series. I will be treating Mike as if he were a real person, rather than a fictional character, and, so, I will attempt to ignore narrative devices (foreshadowing, parallels, etc.) as much as possible.

“Friends don’t lie” is one of the prevailing messages in Stranger Things. It more or less becomes El’s personal motto, so it ultimately became associated more with her than the person who taught it to her: Mike. Despite attempting to instill this value onto El, Mike himself is shown to have a lot of trouble living up to it. While Mike spends quite a lot of time in Season 3 lying to El, she is not the biggest victim of his lies. No, the one he lies to the most is himself, and he seems to have been doing that since Season 1.

According to the Cass Identity Model, a journey to a positive gay identity requires several steps: confusion, comparison, tolerance, acceptance, pride, and synthesis. This is not a perfect model, but it is one of the better attempts to create a general framework for how it worked for many gay individuals, at least in the time it was created (1979). A general way to look at it is that, at least at the time, individuals would work their way through this process as they engaged with the gay and lesbian community and started to see it as less of a bad thing and more as something to be proud of until it finally becomes just another part of who they are.

As I mentioned in my Will post, there is little opportunity for a kid in Hawkins to engage with the gay and lesbian community. There is no internet, nor is there any (known) place for local gays to gather in Hawkins. This results in the only real mention of homosexuality being the slurs thrown around by school bullies and people like Lonnie. A town like Hawkins would be a very difficult place for a young gay person to grow up. This makes it hard for even the initial stage, confusion, even occurring. Mike has deep feelings for Will, but the confusion stage requires that he acknowledge his feelings as homosexual in nature. Instead, I think Mike has been hiding from his own feelings, and it may not have been until the finale of Season 3 that he finally acknowledged them for the first time. So what comes before the first stage? 

Lies! Well, sort of. Defense mechanisms are how our minds protect us from the anxiety and social consequences of unwanted thoughts and desires. We all use them, unconsciously, to some extent. The next time you come home from a hard day at work and yell at a family member, ask yourself why you’re angry. Odds are it’s nothing the family member did. Getting angry at work can be a risk to your employment, so, instead, you unconsciously find a “safer” target. In this case it’s still bad, but getting forgiveness from a family member is easier than talking a boss into rehiring you. Mike has similar processes going on to protect him from his budding attraction to Will.

It’s impossible to tell when exactly Mike started thinking of Will as more than a friend, even if he doesn’t label the thoughts as such. He already shows an intense concern for Will in Season 1. When the boyish-looking El shows up and provides an opportunity to find Will, Mike risks his friendships to make use of her powers. He also goes over the top in disguising her as, well, a girl. It probably would have been easier to disguise her as a boy, but Mike decided to put a wig and dress on her, and then apply makeup to her. This could be a combination of displacement and reaction formation. Mike is redirecting his feelings for Will onto El, and also making her as obviously female as he can. 

Mike’s bond with El came very quickly, and even caused a rift within the Party. While Dustin and Lucas would come around and value El as a trusted friend, their process with her is more natural than Mike’s rushed, forced relationship with her. Dustin and Lucas had no weird feelings to hide from. Their search for Will contained no unwanted implications, they simply wanted their friend back safe and sound. Still, we would see Mike on the opposite end of this type of interaction in Season 2.

Max is the first “normal” girl to show interest in the Party. Mike reacts to her presence and attempts to join the party with hostility. There is little reason for this, as he was more than willing to allow El to be their friend. He doesn’t truly hate her, and in his own words he can’t hate her as he doesn’t even know her. He simply wants nothing to do with her. His only given reason is that the party is full as it is, which seems to fall flat. It could be that the presence of a girl reminds him of El, but we don’t see him acting hostile to girls in general. It seems, instead, to be his friends’ interest in her that gets Mike to dislike her. While the theory that he is jealous at Will’s interest in Max is intriguing, there isn’t much to go on aside from Will showing a curiosity about her and then letting Dustin and Lucas bring her along for Halloween. Instead, Mike may be projecting here. He shows incredulity that Dustin and Lucas could be so interested in Max despite never having talked to her, suggesting that he thinks getting to know someone is important in regards to being romantically interested. This runs counter to his interactions with El in Season 1. He resents his own behavior, but takes his anger out on his friends and Max instead when he sees them doing something similar.

Mike is very protective of Will throughout Season 2. He also spends a lot of time reaching out to El via his SuperComm, though he admits it’s likely a fruitless effort. His guilt over what has happened to the both of them is another sign of his mixed up feelings for Will and El. On Halloween, Mike and Will open up to each other about how crazy they feel, and they share a smile at the end of a conversation that is arguably a masked love confession. However, as Mike twice brought up El as a part of their conversation, it further reinforces the displacement of Mike’s feelings to her. However, soon after this, Mike finds himself caught up in another Will-related crisis, and El is out of his thoughts until her return at the end of the season.

Mike also shows a lot of willingness to allow himself to be vulnerable with Will in Season 2, something which isn’t seen in his interactions with anyone else. In these moments, Mike’s body language shifts. His tone becomes softer, his head dips slightly, and he peers at Will through his lashes. His aforementioned conversation on Halloween is just one example, but it is also seen when Will is asked if he remembers Mike, when Mike recounts meeting Will as they try to break through to him, when they’re at the movies, and when Will is packing at the end of Season 3. The moment in the shed is perhaps Mike’s most vulnerable moment. He shares a cherished memory, and unashamedly cries while doing so, perhaps even so lost in the moment that he forgets other people are in the room. His feelings, driven into overdrive by the fear of losing Will for good, are beginning to overwhelm him, but he still maintains his “Will behavior.”

This shows an uncharacteristic degree of trust and/or submission. In interactions with other characters, even El, Mike often displays assertive, or even aggressive, tones and stances. Mike doesn’t realize he does this, but we do see him sometimes use similar body language with El, further suggesting that he is redirecting his affections.

Perhaps the biggest moment we see him act this way around El is at the Snow Ball at the end of Season 2. Mike had been having a great time at the dance until Will had gone off to dance. This is strange considering Mike seemed to urge him to go with the girl in the first place. He appears shocked as the pair walks to the dance floor, his mouth agape, and wide eyes staring off into space. This isn’t the body language of someone expressing pride at a friend’s unexpected boldness, but rather it suggests a disturbing revelation. It is at this point that Mike could potentially have moved into the Confusion stage of the Cass model, as he sits on the sidelines (despite Dustin briefly there for company) watching Will dance. Any progress he may have made is instead halted when El arrives unexpectedly. This allows for him to continue using her as an outlet, and gives him a convenient escape from where his thoughts would likely take him.

Season 3 is the first time Mike had to deal with having both El and Will in his life at the same time, and it’s where his defense mechanisms begin to break down. In therapy, the goal is to shine light onto defense mechanisms in order to deconstruct them, so the patient can see and deal with what is actually going on. 

We find out Mike has been largely ignoring his friends and spending most of his time with El. He makes a big show of his relationship with El, including leaving early after Dustin had returned from camp under the false pretense of a curfew. The others don’t buy it, and Mike likely knew this. He wanted them to know he was going off to make out with El. When we actually see them alone, they do indeed make out, but, curiously, Mike twice takes steps to make it less intimate. He stops to sing along to the music, for example, despite El not enjoying it. He also removes El’s hands from her face, leaving them both simply leaning forward at each other without additional contact. There is a suggestion here that Mike is not enjoying what he is doing and limiting just how intimate they get. 

We continue to see his lack of a desire to be close to El. For her part, El shows behavior that could only be considered clingy. It is she who initiates nearly all of their physical contact, and, at one point, she even literally clings to Mike as Dustin is showing off his gadgets. A close inspection shows that Mike is standing with his arms crossed during this, making no active attempt to return the physical contact. None of this physical intimacy is for his own benefit. While being with El means he doesn’t have to worry about his feelings for Will, it does not really allow him to express those feelings to his satisfaction. This may be why he goes on movie “double dates” with Will, Lucas, and Max in between spending time with El. 

The occurrence we see at the movies is clearly not the first due to Steve’s frustrated reaction and their familiarity with his threat. They are late, so there are not enough seats, but there is no hesitation as Mike goes with Will to sit apart from Max and Lucas. Mike is so comfortable with reaching into Will’s bag for the snacks that it suggests it’s happened multiple times before. We also see that, despite his reclusive behavior with El, Mike still has Will on his mind when he asks if Will is ok. His tone again soft, head slightly dipped as he peers up through his lashes. He glances briefly down, possibly at Will’s lips, suggesting he needs to remind himself that it’s not El he’s with at this moment. He is otherwise very content to be “alone” with Will at the movie. 

Mike ultimately needs the relationship with El to protect himself against his feelings for Will, and it all comes to a head when they fight after Will’s attempt at a campaign. Mike’s continuous theatrics lead to not only Hopper forcing him to spend less time with El, but to him getting busted as he allows Lucas to lead him through a plan to get El an apology gift. We later see that he has no difficulties apologizing when he feels he should, so his grand gesture is another sign that his relationship with El is more of a show. He puts up no fight when El dumps him, acting annoyed and accusing Max and El of conspiring against him. He’s hiding from his own complicity in order to avoid acknowledging that it doesn’t really bother him as much as it should. He wants El to come back to him to continue his show, but he can’t do anything about it without confronting his feelings. El leaving didn’t hurt him; it just made him angry. This complicates things for him. It was easier for him to shift his feelings to El when he didn’t actually need to do anything about it.

Will loses it at Mike’s disinterest in his campaign, particularly his attempt to abruptly end it. Mike seems to be trying to be just another too-cool ladies man, and he is disallowing himself to enjoy the game. Still, he can’t bare to have hurt Will, and he chases after him when Will tries to leave. Mike struggles to maintain the lie while trying to placate Will. When Will accuses him of ruining everything to make out with “a stupid girl,” we see Mike lash out, saying it’s not his fault Will doesn’t like girls. While this hurt Will, it was likely another case of projection. Mike hates himself for spending all of his time with El because he doesn’t actually like girls. He can’t even stay angry at Will when he sees how hurt Will was with what he said. He tries to explain that this is just how it needs to be, and he appears sad as Will leaves. Unlike with El, Mike is hurt when he loses Will, and he chased after him to apologize. We don’t actually get to see him apologize, however, as the threat-of-the-season kicks into gear, resulting in Mike needing to get El.

Mike thus is able to bounce his feelings back to El. He maintains a physical proximity to Will, but also tries to avoid interacting with him. The apology he never gets to make to Will ends up clumsily being offered to El. Mike’s vulnerable, genuine behavior is absent as he goofily attempts to make nice with his ex-girlfriend. He awkwardly attempts to invoke previous conversations with Will, suggesting an increasing desperation to re-establish El as the safe target for his affections. Cracks had already been forming in his carefully constructed subconscious defense mechanisms as a result of the contrast in how El and Will dumping him made him feel. Mike is starting to see the truth, and he needs to fix it.

Ultimately, the Byers decide to move away. A few months pass between the end of the season and the epilogue where they actually move. Mike seems to be on good terms with both El and Will, but we don’t really know what happened in the interim to get him there. Mike has conversations with both El and Will. His demeanor in each again demonstrate that, despite what he wants others to think, it’s Will who Mike can’t bear to part with. With Will, Mike again shows his vulnerability when Will goes to give away his D&D books. Mike is clearly afraid at the implications, that Will will move on from him, but Will is able to allay his fears, assuring him it’s “not possible” for him to find a new party, and that he expects to just use Mike’s set when he returns. Mike shows no vulnerability with El. In fact, he seems quite at ease as he explains how they’ll talk all the time, so everything will be ok. El suddenly attempts to bring up his previous attempts to talk about feelings, and he feigns ignorance, seeming uncomfortable. There’s a suggestion that they never re-established a romantic relationship. She says she loves him, and he seems perturbed. She kisses him, and he stands there, unresponsive. As she leaves, Mike stands confused and disturbed. He was not expecting that, nor did he enjoy it. Previously, after such a vulnerable moment with Will, Mike would have jumped at the opportunity to shift his feelings to El. Now it seems that he is finally accepting the truth. Defense mechanisms, being elaborate unintentional lies, only work when the individual remains unaware of them. Insight results in the truth being revealed.

As the Byers leave, Mike stares longingly at the cars. His friends all bike away, but he hangs back momentarily, looking back at Will’s house one last time with a pensive look on his face. All his walls have come crumbling down, and he can’t deny it anymore. He can’t pretend it’s El that he loves. He rides home, walking into his home in a daze. We last see him seeking comfort in his mother’s arms, seeking that unconditional love he craves so much. Mike is now confused, consciously aware that he loves Will, dealing with not only losing him, but also the acknowledgement that he’s likely gay. He’s no longer lying to himself, though it remains to be see how he reacts to the truth.

From here it’s all speculation, as we have little to no knowledge of Season 4. Based on the Cass model, Mike needs to explore his gay identity by meeting other gay people. He needs to see that not only is he not alone, but that being gay isn’t a bad thing. This process isn’t easy, and he will need to deal with the social implications of what it means. He may well choose to attempt to maintain a straight image. El being away means he can claim her as his girlfriend without them needing to be intimate. On the other hand, with support, he could work his way through the model and learn to love himself as he is. 

Note: I tried hard to stick to a conceptualization of Mike, but this does not mean this is how the writers see him. 

#stranger things #byler #mike wheeler #gay mike wheeler #byeler

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

‘A cultural-psychological disposition’

“A 2004 article by Walter Laqueur – a bridge between the older terrorism studies and the then-emerging radicalisation literature – provides a useful starting point to explore the concept of radicalisation. Laqueur, a seasoned Washington insider who first came to prominence in the 1950s as the Israeli representative for the CIA-funded Congress for Cultural Freedom, begins by asserting that, ‘al Qaeda was founded and September 11 occurred not because of a territorial dispute or the feeling of national oppression but because of a religious commandment – jihad and the establishment of shari’ah’. His argument for rejecting any linkage between terrorism and either poverty or causes such as Palestine is that there are many groups who suffer poverty or oppression, but not all resort to violence. With this, he moves away from a macro focus on economics or politics and descends to the level of the individual: ‘How to explain that out of 100 militants believing with equal intensity in the justice of their cause, only a very few will actually engage in terrorist actions?’

Here, we confront the founding question of the radicalisation discourse, which, Laqueur states, has been hitherto neglected. Answering it will provide a ‘root cause’ that no longer references the wider political context, but instead focuses on what he calls ‘a cultural-psychological disposition’. Framing the ‘root cause’ question in this way and providing a model of this ‘disposition’ also, of course, offer intelligence and law enforcement agencies the possibility of an analytical framework that can be used for surveillance purposes. Scholarship that associates a particular kind of ‘disposition’, be it ‘cultural’, ‘psychological’ or some combination of the two, with terrorist violence enables intelligence gatherers to use that disposition as a proxy for terrorist risk and to structure their surveillance efforts accordingly.

To illustrate the argument, Laqueur turns his attention to Europe, which he describes as ‘probably the most vulnerable battlefield’ and ‘the main base of terrorist support groups’. He claims that: ‘[T]his process has been facilitated by the growth of Muslim communities, the growing tensions with the native population, and the relative freedom with which radicals could organize in certain mosques and cultural organizations.’ The failure of ‘Muslim newcomers’ to integrate into Europe (‘cultural and social integration was certainly not what the newcomers wanted’) reflected a desire to maintain a separate religious and ethnic identity. This, in turn, led to ‘the radicalization of the second generation of immigrants’: acute feelings of ‘resentment and hostility’ towards the authorities and non-Muslim neighbours, nourished by underachievement and ‘sexual repression’. Hence, a ‘free-floating aggression’ underlies the ‘milieu in which Islamist terrorism and terrorist support groups in Western Europe developed’.

In this early account, the main components and confusions of the radicalisation discourse are already present: the focus on the religious beliefs and psychology of individuals and the downplaying of political factors; the view that terrorism is rooted in a wider youth culture of anger and aggression; and the listing of factors likely to drive individuals towards support for terrorism, such as anti-western attitudes, religious fundamentalism and self-segregation. Already, the term ‘radicalisation’ tends to merge a number of meanings – disaffection, youth alienation, radical dissent, religious fundamentalism, propensity to violence – which ought to be kept analytically distinct; already, unfounded and biased assumptions about the social and political history of Muslims in Europe are being introduced; and a causal process from a ‘cultural-psychological disposition’ to violence is being asserted without any substantial evidence. Finally, it is worth noting that there is no mention of US and UK government rhetoric on the need to fight a war against ‘radical Islam’, of the war on Iraq, of the uniting of millions of European Muslims and non-Muslims to actively oppose it, and the failure of these mobilisations to prevent the war by democratic means.

Later works in the radicalisation discourse can be seen as attempts to systematise the basic framework laid out by Laqueur in 2004 in a number of directions. For some, the question of religious belief – the ‘cultural’ part of Laqueur’s ‘disposition’ – is most significant. If a set of religious beliefs can be identified that terrorists share with a wider group of radicals, but which ‘moderate’ Muslims reject, then a model can be developed in which such beliefs are seen as ‘indicators’ of radicalisation, a point along a pathway to becoming a terrorist. This can be called the theological approach to radicalisation. For security officials, it offers the possibility of a formula for detecting future terrorist violence because holding a specific set of religious beliefs is regarded as a plausible indicator of terrorist risk. Intelligence agencies can then believe that they have a scientific basis for targeting surveillance and investigative resources at a specific group of people who happen to have these beliefs; say, for example, Salafi Muslims. The problem is that, if there is no real reason to think that these radical religious beliefs are associated with terrorist violence, then the theological radicalisation model is merely legitimising unwarranted state intrusion into the private religious lives of large numbers of citizens.

The other direction of travel from Laqueur’s 2004 paper is to attend to individual and group psychology. What is the process by which, for some individuals, mental states of alienation or resentment escalate to extremist beliefs, whereas for others they do not? This psychological approach to radicalisation offers the same predictive possibilities for security officials: if particular patterns of behaviour (for example, forming a close-knit group that isolates itself from wider society) can be scientifically associated with terrorist violence, then this can serve as another ‘indicator’ of risk, which intelligence agencies can exploit in their attempts to identify targets for surveillance. With this approach, a more complex account of radicalisation is developed in which a psychological process, such as a group dynamic or struggles with identity, is seen as interacting with a process of acquiring an extremist theology, so that a particular combination of psychological factors and religious beliefs is the best guide to identifying radicalisation.

Implicit in both the theological and psychological approaches is the notion that the ‘new terrorism’ of radical Islamism no longer organises itself in formal hierarchies, but instead operates through social networks. Rather than political propaganda recruiting individuals into a group organised with a clear command structure (as, for example, the Provisional IRA was assumed to function), the suggestion is that individuals are radicalised into supporting an ‘ideology’ as part of an informal social network. This is taken to be a fundamental change; the driver of terrorism becomes a set of ideas shared by an informal social network rather than a coherent organisation. Use of this model to inform counter-terrorist practices has obvious civil liberties consequences. Rather than the central focus on the activities of a criminal organisation, attention turns to the circulation of ‘extremist ideas’, seen as a kind of virus, able to turn people into violent radicals.

This then leads law enforcement agencies to try to prevent exposure to this virus, whether it be via books, websites, preachers or radical activists. But is the distinction between an older and newer organisational form, even if accurate, any more than a difference in tactics? Hierarchical organisations, as much as social networks, rely on ideology to bind them together; even if some terrorists appear to have learned that informal networks are harder for states to intercept, that does not imply that the underlying causes of terrorism have changed in any way.

One further point worth noting is that, because security officials are interested in patterns of belief and behaviour that correlate with terrorist risk, irrespective of whether they cause terrorism, questions of causality are usually left unaddressed in the radicalisation discourse, despite its claim to be interested in ‘root causes’. Instead of asking what causes terrorism – the key question demanded by Kant’s ‘public use of reason’ – radicalisation discourse claims predictive power, but lacks explanatory power: scholars generally talk of ‘factors’ or ‘indicators’ that are statistically associated with radicalisation and which intelligence agencies can put to use in their efforts to detect future threats, while tending to refrain from reflecting on the larger question of causality.”

- Arun Kundnani, “Radicalisation: the journey of a concept.” Race & Class, Vol 54 (2), 2012: pp. 8-11

#political violence #terrorism #terrorism studies #security state #radicalization #pathologizing resistance #spcial theory #political theory #war on terror #islamophobia #islamic terrorism #left wing terrorism #causes of politica; violence #academic research #academic quote #theology

[scrinja-moved]

some headcanons regarding sangwoo’s parents:

hyunwoo:

he grew up with a traditional perception of how a family should be & what role was a woman supposed to fulfil. his own father was absent more often than not due to his job & his mother took care of raising him for the most part. he developed his tender side from her, but in the long-run, he aspired to be like his father & become the provider when he finally formed a family of his own.

he was fairly popular among people due to his charismatic nature & generosity. he had quite the admirers growing up, but he was more of the type that looked for love rather than a one night thing. he treated all the women he saw / dated with the upmost respect. 

hyunwoo had the habit of always trying to help others & for that reason, many relied on him. whether it was emotionally or financially, he was always playing the role of hero.

he was well-educated & exceeded at school, landing him a job at a company similar to the one his father worked at. despite all this, he wasn’t an exceptional ‘business man’ like him, & he had picked up on the habit of going hiking / travelling whenever he could. he was an outdoors man.

his only vice growing up was to drink a little too much at parties / gatherings, but since that didn’t happen often, no one saw an issue with it. 

for hyunwoo, it was love at first sight when he met eunseo. he thought it was fate that caused them to meet & for that reason he pursued her, certain she was the one for him. he saw something broken in her & tried to ‘fix it’ with his love.

his parents disapproved of her & thought she’d bring him nothing but trouble due to the rumours surrounding her. he gave up his family for her, breaking contact after they got engaged.

he was beyond ecstatic when he learned about the pregnancy & insisted that whatever she was feeling would be momentarily & that things would get better from there. he tried to be understanding when it came to her mental state, but overall didn’t have a grasp on the magnitude of it. he undermined just how severe it was & believed that a child could fix their problems. 

he tried to take care of the baby when he was born, seeing as his wife struggled to do so, but at the end he went back to being the provider of the family & returned to work. he entrusted eunseo to take care of everything.  

after finding out about what his wife was trying to do to their child, things went downhill for them. hyunwoo became more aggressive with her, trying to force her to be a mother & put their child above hers, which ended up in her resenting both because of that. he began to undermine her mental state, but in his mind, it was for the best.

he became strict with sangwoo as well, but that was because of his wife’s influence over him. he couldn’t bear seeing his child ‘side up’ with her—couldn’t bear being antagonized by both.

hyunwoo began drinking after the incident & from there, he spiralled into alcoholism. his job performance was affected & with bills pilling up & eunseo’s lack of input, he grew frustrated & took his anger out on her. since she would hold onto sangwoo during these violent exchanges, he was affected too, but never directly. hyunwoo may have been hostile & strict towards sangwoo, but never hit him.

due to his inability to fix eunseo or their marriage, there were times in which hyunwoo almost killed his wife by drowning her in the bathtub or suffocating her. he’d stop himself before getting too far. he couldn’t cross that line ‘because of love’.

he died without ever forming a meaningful relationship to his son, putting him second for the sake of ‘putting his mother into place’. he wished he would’ve been closer to him, but due to his job & eunseo’s antagonism of him, it became impossible.

#.out of the basement #.headcanons / another story of the bitter pills of fate #alcoholism tw #long post

[everythingoesnk]

Once in Rockfield Farm (2/5)

summary; just roger being a cute little shit. hang on there because things will get spicy after this one i promise

word count; 5 365

warnings; none i believe?

part 1

********

After a hideous long day dealing with a professor about why he should consider giving extra credit in the assignment you presented, you came home feeling resentful.

The only goal up your mind now was to take a hot bath and shut out the world.

Exhausted, you yawned and headed to the dining room to greet the boys with Sherlock on your heels, finding extremely satisfying to hear the flames of the fireplace rustling.

The scene you encountered filled you with tenderness: Freddie, John and Roger were sitting on the carpet, playing Scrabble already in their pyjamas devouring a huge pizza with the fire glowing in their precious sleepy faces.

"If you're gonna cheat you can leave the way you came" Freddie noted, clearly irritated.

Roger clicked his tongue, bored. He knew from experience Freddie was a sore loser.

His eyes fell on you as soon as you showed up.

You smiled timidly and looked away when you saw him roaming your figure, baffled that you liked the attention. His lack of precariousness, too absorbed in your curves to even care if you caught him, made your stomach flutteri n a sweet way.

“Oh, darling, hi. I didn’t hear you come in” Freddie was gathering the tiles up to start a new game.

“Hello, (Y/N)” John smiled and stretched his legs.

“How was your day?” Roger questioned in a throaty voice, still recovering from how your entrance got him weak in the knees.

You placed a slice of the pizza on top of a napkin, watching with desire the cheese melting.

“Awful. Where’s Brian?”

“He’s asleep” John explained.

“It’s only nine p.m.” you replied, surprised that he went to bed so soon.

“We’ve had a tough day”

Ah, you didn’t need to hear more. The last few days for them in the studio had been nothing but intense and frustrating.

Freddie offered you to join the game, but you preferred to observe. Seeing them mess with each other was much more entertaining.

You laughed till your belly and cheeks hurt when Freddie threw a pack of cigarettes at Roger’s face, accusing him of cheating again. The other became defensive pointing out how many suspicious words Freddie tried to make them believe they existed. Poor John tried to get in between the discussion to hurry things up, but knowing very damn well they wouldn’t listen, he came to sit next to you on the sofa.

The look he was giving you was nothing but perturbing.

"When are you going to perform for us?" he asked, straight down to business.

You too, John?

Sherlock jumped and plopped down on his lap.

“Roger told us you have a wonderful voice. He said more things actually, but I don’t want to embarrass him”

Aggressively, your face turned a weird shade of pink. You hid it burying your head in your hands and peeked out at him through your fingers.

“Shut up”

John cackled.

“It’s rude only Rog got to listen to you. You’re not that good at hiding your favouritism, let me tell you” Freddie taunted.

“She’s awful at hiding her favouritism, but you two need to cut it off” Roger instructed, and sent a cocky grin your way.

“Yeah, leave me— what?” his eyes sparkled with playfulness. “I never said you were my favourite, don’t flatter yourself. And for the record, you were acting the same the other day”

He licked his lower lip, a not so innocent smile plastered on them.

“It didn’t take me more than two minutes to convince you”

“Oh, shoo” you laughed, covering your mouth. “He said I sounded like an angel, did he tell you guys this?” you asked, playfully peering at Roger from the corner of your eye to confirm if he was still looking at you.

He was. He couldn’t not to when you were around.

John wanted to say that he did, repeatedly, and that when he mentioned how enchanting your voice was, Roger himself sounded so proud and utterly devoted to it.

Freddie exchanged a look with his disco friend that spoke volumes. The latter had a small smile ghosting his lips as he watched the scene develop.

“What are you trying to imply? C’mon, I see how you look at me when we’re rehearsing” Roger provokingly pointed out, emphasizing his words with the most coquettish smile, messing with his hair.

His eyes felt so heavy on you, stare loaded with… something.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. You must be confused, I look at Brian” you assured, resting your chin on your palm, one big grin on your lips.

“Do you? Well, you leave no other option but to get rid of him. Where could I hide the body? I’m lucky you have plenty of land”

You giggled genuinely, and Roger felt the need to get up and kiss you.

“(Y/N)” John called.

You didn’t even realize he left your side until you saw him at the door.

“Someone’s asking for you” he stated, gesturing to the rotary phone in the entrance.

You stood up, and as you walked past him, a pouting Roger grabbed you by the ankle, earning a chuckle from you in return. He was upset you had to leave to answer the call. That little teasing game with you was making his day.

Boisterous chaos of voices erupted from the living room when you were gone, the boys annoying Roger with comments about his soft behaviour towards you.

Disappointment rushed over you when you heard who was on the other end of the line.

“Hi, dad”

“What kind of circus have you put up at home?” he asked in a rather unpleased tone.

You didn’t tell your parents about your decision to have a rockband move in. It had nothing to do with them anyway; it didn’t affect their day to day.

John probably had to properly introduce himself since he picked up, giving a little away about who he was and why he answered his daughter’s call. You were embarrassed about what your father could’ve said to him, knowing he could turn out to be very austere and unfriendly.

“It’s a long story, dad, but don’t worry. Everything’s fine, they’re not staying forever, y’know”

“How would I know?”

He had a point.

“We don’t want you near that kind of people, you listen?” he protested into the receiver.

You found it funny and exasperating at the same time that your father, being as clever as he was –you’d grown to know that being clever didn’t necessarily mean someone was intelligent—, heard the word "rocker" and instantly related it to a person with poor hygiene and an IQ below average. A beast whom you just aren’t able to have a normal conversation with because the only thing they know about is sex.

He probably assumed they lived half their life in prison as well, because why not.

“We’re coming over on Saturday” he continued.

“Okay”

“And they better be gone”

You had to control the urge to scream at him for being so stubborn.

“They’re staying as long as they need, period. My grades are as excellent as ever, by the way” you enunciated, hanging up on him in the middle of a word.

That hot bath was very much needed now.

//

Saturday came sooner than you thought.

And you were terrified.

Since it was pretty noticeable how stressed you were about the reunion with your parents, who were coming all the way from America, the boys volunteered to set the table and save you the work.

The temperature had dropped a little, but it wasn’t unpleasant either, so everyone voted democratically to eat outside next to the pool.

Brian and John were busy placing the cutlery, Freddie and Mary stayed in the kitchen keeping an eye on the chicken.

"I knew I’d meet them someday, but not so soon. I didn’t even ask you out yet" joked Roger, approaching you from behind.

He waited for a reaction to his attempt to make you laugh and hopefully go red like you always did when he made that type of comments.

A line appeared between his brows when you exhaled, your languid gaze stuck in a random spot in the distance, huddling to the door frame. Roger loomed closer to you, thoughtfully, as you two watched Sherlock chasing a rabbit from the front door.

“Are they that bad?”

“No, ‘f course not. They’re also vain, self-centred, insensitive, hostile,” you sighed in despair, “and horrible parents”

Roger opened his mouth but you weren’t done.

“Just let me do the talking. The less you interact with them, the better”

You closed the door with your foot, turned around and paced back and forth, biting your nails.

Roger couldn’t help but stare.

Despite how anxious you were and the permanent meditative expression in your face, he cocked his head as he stared at you with a teeny tiny grin on his lips.

How did you manage to look so truly gorgeous all the damn time? That question kept coming back to haunt him.

Roger got used to it, yet he didn’t found an answer. Perhaps you were just the prettiest and most stunning living creature he’d ever seen.

“Chill out, love”

You checked the clock hanging on the wall and spared Roger a glance.

He chuckled at you crossing your arms across your chest, finger tapping them nervously.

“When you meet them you’ll know what I mean”

“Everything’s ready” Brian announced, walking in. “I’ll check how’s the meal going, I don’t trust those two with anything”

John followed him, hands shoved in his pockets, and sent you the sweetest reassuring smile.

You were so glad and grateful that you had these people with you. Whenever you were alone with your parents you felt overwhelmingly depressed.

As you jerked your head in Roger’s direction for he hadn’t said a thing for a good minute, you saw him massaging his temple and eyeing you. Your heart began galloping like crazy. He looked fucking handsome like that.

Like if he were debating where to start devouring you.

“W-what?”

Roger walked up to you until he was just mere inches away.

“It’ll be alright, okay? We’re here”

A now familiar tingling feeling to your closeness invaded him when he slowly extended his hand to caress your cheek. You leaned into his touch, craving for him to don’t even considerate walking away now.

Tongue-tied, unable to produce a word, you were sure you were more than ready for him to do whatever he wanted to do with you at that very moment.

Roger rubbed his thumb against your skin, the only effective way he could think of to make you relax. What he didn’t know was that relaxing wasn’t in your dictionary at the moment, not when his docile fingertips were so incredibly soft, delicately and tenderly brushing your anxiety far away.

“How long’s it been since you last saw them?”

You sighed dramatically, disappointed when he dropped his hand to the side.

“One year, one and a half. I don’t remember”

Roger jabbed your side with his elbow.

“I don’t know if you know, but they have the most amazing daughter” he muttered, gaze fixed somewhere else, nodding to himself. “She’s about to graduate and has an enormous beautiful heart. And enough talent to end careers if she wanted to. Don’t tell her, but thank God she’s not releasing any records or we’d be screwed”

Every word he listed genuine, he expected more than anything to make you smile.

Hopeless to compliments as you were, you didn’t know what to respond. He was being so disgustingly sweet. It sent your heart rate beyond the damn Milky Way.

“‘Bottomless pit’, that’s what they said when she mentioned her intentions to become a musician”

Roger huffed.

“Fuck them, then” he spat without thinking,

Soon he regretted it, upsetting you being the last thing he wanted now, but he visibly relaxed when you snickered, making his stomach flip.

“Yeah, fuck ‘em”

Roger laughed and you laughed too.

He looked at you warmly.

“There you go. That’s what I was longing to hear, your cheeky and charming laugh”

It started to fade away moderately at his comment, and you furrowed an eyebrow.

“What?”

He grinned cheekily looking down at you.

“Nothing”

“My love, what are you doing?” Freddie asked Mary, who’d been peeking out the kitchen door for a while.

"Shh," she waved Freddie off, staring at you and Roger sharing a moment. She then returned to meet Brian, John and Freddie. "I didn't know Roger and (Y/N) were getting along this well”

A dark thought clouded her mind within milliseconds.

“You don’t look very pumped about it” Brian pointed out.

“We all know how he is”

“He won’t use her that way”

“How are you so sure?”

Brian raised an eyebrow when he found out he didn’t have a coherent answer for that. He just felt it in his guts that Roger wouldn’t treat you like one of his groupies.

“I just know”

“I second that” Freddie spoke, a little bit annoyed that Mary was so quick to jump to conclusions. “And honey, you were the first one to tell (Y/N) he’d bang her. I heard you two, you planted the seed”

“I never imagined she’d be into him, I thought she had a type. She prefers them a few years older… or used to” she added in a low voice.

“That’s just stupid, Mary” John interrupted.

The other two turned their heads and looked at him as if they were seeing John for the first time. Brian nodded; Freddie grinned.

“There’s no such thing as a ‘type’. When it comes to being attracted to another person you can never tell”

“I’m just surprised” she coughed, and grabbed a bowl to make a salad. “They do, then, like each other?”

“Roger’s into her, I think it’s obvious? I can’t read minds, so I’m-“

“Did he tell you?”

“-I’m not entirely sure about (Y/N). And no, he hasn’t. There’s really no need for him to verbalize it. One day I had to go get him because these two were arguing again,” he loitered around the door in case one of you would come, not wanting you to know they were talking about this, “and when I found him in the studio they were together”

“But that doesn’t mean anything“

“Mary, listen, if you’d seen what I saw, Roger’s face. I don’t know. I don’t know what they’d been talking about, but the way he was looking at her… I don’t know how to explain it”

“Try?” Mary glanced up at him.

He hesitated for a bit.

“Like if she were special”

Mary’s brows knitted.

The sound of the bell made your throat go dry.

You’d been listening patiently to Roger explaining that they were supposed to head to London for a meeting with Rheid the next day in the morning, hence why you didn’t hear them pull over.

“Please make sure everything’s good over there while I attend them”

Roger nodded and left, concerned on the inside when he noticed how the colour evacuated your face.

It felt like a kick in the stomach, the emptiness of where he stood seconds ago.

You needed him but you felt you couldn’t let him know, ‘cause it would be weird. Why would you need Roger for, exactly? To be by your side to welcome your parents? Stupid, right?

The relationship with them was… there wasn’t. One in which they fulfilled their function, better or worse? No. They never filled the mould.

With your father it was bad. With your mother, hard to explain.

But that didn’t mean you didn’t admire them as individuals for their accomplishments: your father was the owner of a law firm based in New York. Hadn’t lost a case in years, and that sure was the main reason behind the reputation of ‘untouchable’ he had. Your mother’d been a pilot for the USAF, but she was involved in an accident and in a wheelchair for life now, forcing her to retire earlier than suspected.

Awkwardly, you collected yourself, palms blooming with sweat as you twisted the handle.

Only your mother laid eyes on you when you starred their field of view.

“What were you up to? We’ve been waiting for a good five minutes”

Ignoring your father’s sharp comment, you tilted your body forwards for your mum to embrace you.

The thing about her was that deep down you were sure she was on your side about your inclinations concerning your future (she knew you inherited her father’s talent), but she wasn’t brave enough to let you know from her in case you’d use it in your favour against your father.

You wished the relationship with your future husband wasn’t based on the same pillars as their marriage.

“My sweet child”

Your father pushed her wheelchair inside and you hurried to close the door behind him.

"Father," you said politely, almost in a robotic manner, not really wanting to go through this.

And also because he didn't like hugs nor kisses on the cheek you kept the distance, conscious that that was what he expected from you.

“Make yourselves at home, I’ll get the others”

You turned around and quickly withdrew to the kitchen before they could say anything that challenged your nerves.

They looked at each other and you heard your mum whisper to him to “please behave”.

They seemed to loosen up a little when they recognized a familiar face, Mary’s, amongst the five people that followed you.

After introducing Queen, you offered everyone to take a seat at the table so you could start to serve lunch.

A sincere microscopic smile settled on your mother’s lips, but your father had his stern gaze upon Roger, who held his hand out to shake his.

“Hello, mister. It’s a pleasure”

With Roger’s hand still hanging in the air, your father looked at you stony eyed.

What was it about Roger that got him so creepy?

You took a fast glance at him to see what could possibly be your father’s source of irritation, and your eyes grew wider.

Father and Mother were wearing expensive, chic clothes, as per usual. Not a single wrinkle in his suit, her dress impeccable. Roger’s sense of style was everything, actually one of the many things that first attracted you to him. Regardless that, seeing him now made you close your eyes to internally pray for the ground to swallow you.

With a quick hand movement, you covertly gestured him to button up the blouse with floral motifs he was wearing, since he had his torso totally exposed.

A Mona Lisa expression was all he could pull off while working on getting it done.

At the head of the table sat your father, your mother next to him in the corner. Then Mary, Freddie and Brian, you in front of your mother, Roger on your left and John to conclude.

Uncorking the bottle of red wine, you listened as your mum and Mary established a pretty basic conversation to catch up. Luckily you had Mary to ease the mood.

You asked Freddie to help you with the starters and walked to the kitchen.

“They seem nice”

“Freddie I swear to God”

“We could always kick them out or have an orgy in front of them. Would that meet their standards of what rockstars do for a living?”

“There,” you handed him two plates, “do not drop ‘em, I plead you”

Freddie could finally settle down from going back and forth carrying things when you brought with you Roger’s and John’s food.

John muttered a ‘thank you’ and Roger scratched your back when you plopped onto the chair.

Maybe you were imagining things, but it sort of felt… different to a simply friendly rub.

You shook your head, shut up (Y/N).

“When’s the graduation ceremony?” wondered your dad before putting the first spoon of hummus in his mouth.

“The 19th”

“That’s around the corner, aren’t you excited?” your mum said.

“Very”

“I’ve already chosen my outfit. I won’t give any details away, though. Do you have yours?” Mary cheerfully interfered.

“Eh… no”

“Well, you should really go shopping with Mary. She has an eye for fashion” your mum remarked.

“Thank you. I’ve learned a lot from Freddie, I must say” she turned her head and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.

“M, make sure you bring the Nikon to take good photos. I don’t want them to miss a detail of such important day in my life” you sneered without mincing.

They wouldn’t make it to the ceremony and it made your blood boil that they were looking so forward to it. What for? They wouldn’t even be present to witness it themselves.

Mary’s smile turned into a grimace, and she suddenly found the bread positioned next to her fork the most interesting item her eyes ever registered.

"Shade's unnecessary, don't even begin," your dad said severely. "We won't be drinking fucking cocktails in Barbados; we've got responsibilities in the States"

“And I’m sure you tried by all efforts to make it possible” you took a sip of the wine, still not making any eye contact with them.

Instead, you looked at Mary. She was begging for you to take it easy; you knew her too well to be able to communicate without words.

“(Y/N)” your dad warned.

“No, it just shocks me that being the powerful businessman that you are you cannot pull strings out to be there”

Shit, you needed to stop. Your eyes started to water out of bitterness and that wasn’t fucking cool. You’d cried too much over the years because of them and were able to stop the tears from falling at this point, but it was infuriating.

A promise is a promise, and you promised yourself to not shed more tears when it came to them. They didn’t deserve it.

Towards the end of the meal things cooled down a bit thanks to Mary again, that kept everyone distracted talking about… you didn’t even know what the hell she was talking about, lost in your own world.

Your breaking point reached the verge when your dad came at Brian.

At motherfucking Brian. The sweetest human to walk the Earth.

“Apart from playing the guitar, is there anything else you can do? In case the band flops”

That was it. That was fucking it.

You slammed the table, palms settled down against it.

Roger wrapped his hand around your thigh below the table.

“What the heck? Who do you think you are? Do you really think you’re superior to them? To anyone sitting at this table?” you were all noisy breathing.

Shaking your head in disapproval, you were about to put him in his place, and neither your mother or Mary would make you back down.

Alongside a high chin and flaring nostrils, you dad’s eyes burned as he scrutinized you. The thing he hated the most was when someone embarrassed him in public –which didn’t happen often—, but he knew if he dared to speak now it’d only make things worse.

“Brian owns a PhD title in Astronomy, Freddie a diploma in Graphic Arts and Design, Rog a bachelor’s degree in Biology, and John a 1st Class Honours Degree in Electronics. Shut your ugly clown ass mouth for once”

“(Y/N), please…” your mum begged.

Your dad stood up, and you pulled yourself to your feet to not give him the satisfaction to appear bigger, which’d psychologically help his ego.

Roger rose from the chair and pressed his lips together at the wounded look in your face. He grabbed you by the waist instinctively and pulled you closer to him.

“Why don’t we go inside…” Mary recommended the rest in almost a whisper.

You screwed your eyes shut, and when you felt like opening them, thankfully it was only you and Roger.

"See what I've got to put up with? Fuckin' surreal. You may think I exaggerated but he's a crackhead and I wasn't going to let him say anything nasty about any of you. I'm only sorry for my mum, she doesn't deserve— I keep thinking about the what-ifs. What if they divorced. What if grandpa was still alive. Oh, Rog. You'd love him, he was a gift from heaven"

The world stopped together with your talking when you felt Roger’s arms enveloping you in a hug, drawing you into his chest.

“Shut up for a bit and breathe”

Roger’s scent induced you in a daze that wouldn’t allow you to collect your thoughts.

In hopes of helping, he stroked your hair and yet pulled you even closer to him, kissing the crown of your head.

What you didn’t know was that Roger was as stunned as you were, completely blown away by how gratifying it was to be attached to one another. You nuzzled your nose into the crook of his neck, closing your eyes. The ringlets in his hair tickling your forehead.

Seconds, a minute, half an hour, a day, centuries, you didn’t know how much time you spent like this, with him leisurely clutching at your body.

Slowly, you physically distanced yourself a little from the warmth that his body irradiated. Not too far away, though, still safe in his arms.

Locking eyes was probably the worst choice for your well being you could’ve had made: he’d been searching your face for a sign that you were less anxious, but once you looked up at him through your lashes, he was entirely yours.

Foreheads quite close but still at a reasonable extent, none of you looked away.

“Hey” Roger mumbled.

"Hi," you uttered, voice barely audible.

“You okay?”

“I’ve had better days” you laughed mirthlessly.

“How can I help?”

“You’re doing enough coping with me now”

His fingers slipped around your upper arms. Roger watched you, unsure about your very questionable answer.

You flashed a tired grin but he wasn’t buying any of it.

“Rog, I’m okay. It’s not the first time I quarrel with my dad, and it won’t be the last”

“Then why don’t you talk to him and lay cards on the table?”

“Do you really think I haven’t done that already? It’s like talking to a wall. And whenever I bring up the subject, he encourages me to stop with the bullshit because ‘it’s not funny anymore’”

Roger shook his head in disgust.

“Enrolling for university was my choice, anyway” you muttered.

“They brainwashed you! Goddammit, if it wasn’t for them you’d be filling stadiums with a sea of people singing your lyrics back at you” he said, raising his voice.

Nibbling on your lower lip, you dragged your gaze back to him. Did he really mean that?

“Do you… you believe so?”

“If everything you’ve written is nearly as good as what you sang to me the other day… yes, I do. You’d be ruling the world”

“Overdoing it much, ay?” you gave him an affectionate nudge, unable to stop a large smile from appearing.

“Am I?”

“A bit”

He smirked and bit his inside cheek. You giggled watching him looking up to the clouds, pretending to think of an answer.

“I’m your number one fan, what can I say”

Looping your arm around his neck, you pulled him close to your side.

He stared meaningfully at you, watching you ran your thumb over his cheek in admiration.

At that very moment, if it weren’t for the fact that you were an insecure and doubtful human being, you’d have kissed him without a second thought. And if it weren’t for the fact that he knew you deserved better than him, he’d have crushed his mouth into yours and told you he was madly crazy about you from day one.

“I don’t know how to thank you, Rog. You’ve been nothing but supportive. It doesn’t go unnoticed” you revealed, tipping your eyes up to him.

His heart skipped a beat.

During the first weeks, he wasn’t certain about why his heart kept skipping any beats because of you. That answer he’d been searching was most likely unleashed by now.

Building the courage to suggest you to go to dinner someday, he got interrupted by Mary, who reemerged from the sliding glass door that connected the backyard to the living room.

She couldn’t manage to speak for a moment, somewhat surprised and unpleased at the sight of you and Roger so relatively close.

“Your parents are leaving”

You frowned, freeing Roger from your grasp, and then put on an “I-Don’t-Really-Care” mask on.

“Fine”

They were already at the door. You sighed.

Mother had an expression of concern, and Father didn’t even bother to cover his discomfort and willing to get the hell out of there.

The farewell with your dad was short and full of negative energy, so you were relieved when he hurried out to the car after saying that he wished you well, with the “until next time” plain line afterwards. Your mum took your hand in hers, blinking her tears back.

You whispered a low apology, but she shook her head.

Why everything had to be so difficult with them?

Tears threatening to escape your eyes at the sudden jolt of sorrowness, you wiped your nose with the back of your free hand, since the other one was still being held steady by your mother’s.

“Your boyfriend…”

“Roger?” you lifted your eyebrow, dazed. “You mean Roger? He’s not my boyfriend”

Her eyes crinkled. If he weren’t at least someone important to you beyond the friendzone, you wouldn’t have been so quick to know she was referring to him.

“How he rushed to protect you from your dad back there… I thought he was. My bad”

By the mischievous half smile she had, you could tell she was implying that whatever the situation was, it wasn’t as innocent as you thought.

“Okay…” you trailed off.

“I love you, baby. Take care of yourself, please”

//

A series of busy sounds awakened you.

Sullenly checking the clock on the nightstand, you swore to the angels you'd kill whoever was making so much noise so freaking early.

You snarled and covered yourself aggressively again.

Someone opened the door, and just enough to see, you stuck your head over the top of the sheet.

That person didn’t turn on the light so they wouldn’t blind you, but you immediately sat down and turned it on yourself with the switch next to the headboard, in which you subsequently supported yourself against.

When you realized it was Roger, still with a face of drowsiness and hair without combing, the upset he’d caused you decreased precipitously.

It was unfair. He was so cute it hurt.

"Rog?"

An annoying heat rose to your cheeks. You were sure your look wasn’t the most flattering.

"Sorry, sorry"

"What’s it?” you asked, worried.

"Nothing bad, sorry I woke you up like that. But I have an idea"

"An idea? At six in the morning? It better be bloody good"

He smiled, visibly thrilled, and sat at the foot of your bed.

"Remember what I told you yesterday?"

"No, I don’t. Don’t make me think now" you groaned, wishing you could go back to sleeping.

"We have a meeting in London, we’ll spend the whole day there. I want you to come with me. Us… us”

"Me?” you rubbed your eyes, tired and surreptitiously having to fight back yawn after yawn. “What for? I’d be completely out of place in a Queen meeting"

"You cannot attend it. Though I wouldn’t mind"

"So? I have finals, and—"

"Jesus, (Y/N). I won’t take ‘no’ for an answer"

"Why do you insist so much? I simply don’t understand what the purpose of me going is"

"Please, come"

The glint in his eyes was irresistible.

It’d been a while since you’d mentally agreed, but you were dying to know what he was up to. Apparently it was a surprise, and knowing Roger, he wouldn’t give anything away.

If you wanted to know, you’d just have to trust and follow him.

********

hope y’all liked it. a reblog would help me a lot <3

tagging: @sweetdaisys @multifics @incorrcctqueen @namelesslosers

#roger taylor #roger meddows taylor #roger taylor x reader #roger taylor fanfic #roger taylor fanfiction #roger taylor imagine #rockfield farm #roger taylor 70s #queen band #a night at the opera #bohemian rhapsody #brian may #freddie mercury #john deacon #ben hardy #rami malek #lucy boynton #joe mazzello #gwilym lee #once in rockfield farm #tayloredstarr

[sepublic]

Kardas

           The mighty dragon of flame, reputed across Okotan legend for its hot, unrelenting breath, the Kardas Dragon is a titanic rahi of massive size, having made its home and den in the present-day Region of Fire.

           A powerful beast with a disposition towards greed, during the Creation Age Kardas was feared for his occasional attacks on Okotan villages and even cities, having an unusual desire for gold and treasures that his victims usually provided for. He remained a frequent enemy of the Protectors, but eventually found his match against the Mask-Makers Ekimu and Makuta, who managed to defeat him. Following the Great Cataclysm, Kardas’ main nest was destroyed, and he forged a new one for himself in the center of the Dragons’ Den, an eternally burning field of fire whose source laid underground from a cache of coal that had been lit by the Region of Fire. Within the heart of the Dragons’ Den, Kardas inhabited an abandoned, burnt-out castle, stoking the surrounding areas’ flames with his energy breath, which had direct access to the Dragons’ Den’s fuel source from the castle’s location. The energy from Kardas’ breath catalyzed the flames, making them burn even brighter and hotter the closer they were to Kardas’ lair.

           Comforted by the absurdly high temperatures, Kardas eventually resumed his flights out across the Region of Fire, desiring to explore the new landscape crafted by the Great Cataclysm. His eye for gold, shiny objects, and other treasures once more attracted him to many abandoned, scattered villages, with what few inhabitants he encountered too wounded from the Great Cataclysm to fight back. Kardas went on a rampage, seizing several troves of gold, treasure, and jewels, but his most prized trophies were Masks of Power, whose energy he could sense from afar.

A wide variety of Masks of Power and other Life Automatons, buried and scattered throughout the Region of Fire, were gathered and scavenged by Kardas’ treasure-seeking nose, and brought back to his lair to be compiled into a massive hoard that he regularly slept upon, the heat of his body frequently melting his treasures into a precious mound for himself. Only Masks of Power and a few other Life Automatons could withstand the sheer temperatures of Kardas’ nest, and they were hoarded most closely to Kardas’ bed within his abandoned castle.

Legend of Kardas and his frequent hunts for treasure spread across Okoto, until one day, the legendary knight and Protector of Fire, Flammik, rose to the charge. Desiring the various Masks of Power that Kardas had acquired for the Okotans, Flammik and a small army of her most trusted warriors ventured through the Dragons’ Den, fighting through Hikaki and various other animals, before finally confronting Kardas within his lair. What ensued afterwards was a fierce, unrelenting battle in which Flammik succeeded in dislodging one of Kardas’ teeth, seizing the fang for herself as a trophy alongside a few Masks of Power before retreating. Incensed by the pain in his jaw, Kardas nevertheless chose not to pursue the thieves, not wanting to risk leaving his hoard vulnerable after the losses incurred.

The legend and tale of Flammik’s battle against Kardas became enshrined in legend and on Okoto’s Wall of History, with the fang she won being put on display at the Mega-Village of Tawahi. Kardas, in turn, more closely attended to his lair, paranoid of potential intruders. He continued to go on the occasional hunt and foray out into the Region of Fire for more treasures to add to his collection, but nevertheless bore a bitter resentment towards the Tawahans.

When the Skull Spider wars began, Skull Spider attempts to access Kardas’ hoard resulted in inevitable failure, with even the most armored of Skull Spiders quickly succumbing to the heat and melting before reaching Kardas’ lair. With the threat, power, and rage of the dragon himself taken into consideration, the Brotherhood of Makuta eventually gave up on trying to access Kardas’ lair and focused efforts on scavenging elsewhere. At one point, Makuta attempted to make an ally of Kardas, the same way he had with the Nui-Jaga; However, Kardas’ memories of the Mask Hoarder’s battles against him remained etched into his brain, and the dragon furiously rejected him.

Following the Arrival of the Toa and the Okotans’ subsequent counter-attack against the Skull Spiders, attention was once more drawn to Kardas’ lair and his precious hoard, including the Masks of Power that could turn the tides in the conflict. Eventually, a group of Okotan warriors was put together, consisting of the Toa of Fire and Ice, Tahu and Kopaka, as well as their respective Protectors Narmoto and Izotor. The Tawahan Military, and a few members of the Sanctum Guard, ventured into the Dragons’ Den, with the Tawahan Military’s experience with fire and the Sanctum Guard’s access to the power of Ice helping carve a path to Kardas’ lair.

Eventually, the Okotans breached the castle and came into conflict with Kardas, who furiously defended his treasure hoard against the Okotans. Tahu and Kopaka combined their powers of Fire and Ice to defeat the dragon, eventually collapsing Kardas’ lair onto his own head while the Okotans escaped with the vast majority of his Masks of Power and Life Automatons. Combined with the cache of a rogue Digging Automaton in the Region of Earth, these Masks of Power proved instrumental in turning the tide against the Brotherhood of Makuta and allowing the Okotans to fight back.

Trapped beneath the ruins of his castle, the enraged, embittered Kardas simmered a white-hot grudge as he recovered from his wounds, desiring vengeance and to take back his lost treasures. During the Battle for the Mask of Creation, Kardas, sensing the Mask of Creation’s presence and privy to the chaos of the conflict, flew over to participate. Despite Kardas’ furious attack and attempts to seize the Mask of Creation for himself, he was eventually defeated by the combined efforts of all six Toa and their Okotan allies, who quickly felled the dragon. Once more wounded and beaten, Kardas would find himself buried underneath the eruption of the volcano containing the Mask of Creation after his Energy Breath catalyzed it, and would later be left for the dead in the ensuing chaos.

Having been defeated twice since the Arrival of the Toa, Kardas eventually dug his way out of the lava and volcanic rock and returned to his lair to lick his wounds, recovering. Following the Battle of the City of the Mask Makers and Ekimu’s awakening, Kardas eventually flew over to the city for a grudge match against the Okotans, but after coming into contact with his old foe the Mask Maker and an even stronger Okotan Alliance, was forced to retreat.

Although a legendary Rahi, Kardas’ sheer size and strength made Umarak opt not to bother hunting him down, with the Hunter planning to personally capture and absorb the dragon with the Darkness Below once it broke free of Okoto’s foundations. After Makuta possessed Umarak and unleashed the Elemental Horde upon Okoto to raze the island to its foundations, several Elemental Beasts made their way into the Dragons’ Den and came into conflict with Kardas.

Despite the dragon’s immense power, Kardas quickly found himself overwhelmed by the Elemental Beasts and was badly defeated and wounded. Following the defeat of Makuta and the shattering of the Elemental Beasts, Gali, Toa of Water, came across the wounded Kardas when travelling through the Region of Fire. Feeling sympathy for his plight, Gali gathered a team of Okotans, who managed to transport the injured beast all the way to the City of the Mask Makers, placing him within stasis as efforts were made to heal him. Currently, Kardas is still in recovery at the City of the Mask Makers. The plan is that once Kardas has recovered, the Okotans will let him go so he can return to his home in the Dragons’ Den. Hopefully, Kardas’ recent defeats, as well as the healing by the Okotans, will humble the dragon enough to prevent any future conflicts.

A colossal dragon of great strength, Kardas has a pair of powerful wings that enables him to fly through the air, as well as a long, writhing tail with a blade at the end, and several claws and spines to rend his foes with. His armored scales, colored gold, silver, and dark-blue, are nearly impenetrable, and Kardas’ powerful jaws and massive fangs, super-heated by his hot breath, are more than capable of tearing and apart and rending prey.

Of most worthy note was Kardas’ energy breath, a constantly-spewing stream of plasma-like energy. Its incredibly volatile nature allows it to catalyze and exacerbate reactions- When used against the flames of the Dragons’ Den, they were made hotter. When connected with the lava flows of the volcano containing the Mask of Creation, the Energy Breath super-heated the volcano’s core, triggering a powerful eruption that later buried Kardas. During the initial battle against Kardas within his lair, Tahu and Kopaka took advantage of these effects to collapse the castle onto the dragon.

Constantly generated within Kardas’ stomach, the Energy Breath has a unique nature in that it’s always being produced within Kardas’ internal functions- If he doesn’t regularly expel energy, it will eventually build up and explode, killing the dragon in a volatile explosion. This, combined with Kardas’ hostile and aggressive nature, contributes towards an incredibly destructive existence. From within his nest, Kardas has carved a tunnel through the abandoned castle to act as an exhaust port for his frequent bursts of Energy Breath, striking the flames surrounding his home and further igniting them to the point of plasma.

To work around this infinitely-generating issue while healing him in the City of the Mask Makers, Okotan engineers have hooked Kardas’ mouth up to a harvester that regularly absorbs his Energy Breath, converting it into power for the Okotans to use. Due to the Energy Breath’s limitless nature, some have suggested keeping Kardas in eternal stasis as a generator of clean energy for Okoto- However, due to the dragon’s dangerous nature and liability as a rampaging beast, such suggestions have quickly been shot down.

Curiously, Kardas has an affinity for gold, jewels, and various other treasures, with Masks of Power and their life energy being particularly high on his list. It is currently unknown as to why Kardas desires these sorts of things- All his recorded behavior with them has been to gather and stockpile them into massive hoards, which he occasionally sleeps upon. Many Okotan scholars have offered various theories- Some believe gold is a comfortable environment for Kardas that helps him regulate body heat, while others believe it is his way of making himself as a more attractive mate to a non-existent dragon. One explanation is that Kardas, like many Okotans, simply enjoys the perceived value and luster of gold, despite not being able to spend it, while others have even hypothesized that he eats treasure as a form of nourishment- However, Kardas has never been reported to do such a thing –although most observations are few and far-between- and is only confirmed to be carnivorous.

Inevitably, stories and fables of unknown merit have sprung up in an attempt to explain Kardas’ actions, with some legends claiming he was once a greedy king he was transformed into a destructive dragon as punishment for his avarice, while others claim Kardas is gathering treasure in the hopes of ‘buying’ his way into the Okotan pantheon. Many have speculated that Kardas himself doesn’t know, and that he is merely driven by instinct- Meaning attempts to ‘ask’ him (which would be practically impossible) are generally futile. Regardless, Kardas’ love for treasure is obvious and well-established, and in the past, many mining villages would attempt to pay Kardas tribute in the hopes of warding off further attacks, or even persuading him to destroy their enemies. Kardas’ greed, like his Energy Breath, seems to know no bounds, and attempted worshippers quickly find themselves overwhelmed by demands and eventual destruction.

Amidst his fearsome and horrific reputation, however, Kardas seems content to stay within his own nest, occasionally only going out to hunt, once his hoard has reached a certain amount. While he’ll still fly out every now and then in search for treasure, studies and legends have suggested that as his treasure hoard grows, so does the intensity, scope, and effort that goes into Kardas’ treasure hunts. This has led some Okotans to suggest appeasing him by anonymously donating gold and treasure, making sure Kardas doesn’t recognize where it’s coming from lest he go directly to the source for more, like a wild animal that has been fed by Okotans and becomes entitled towards nourishment. Overall, aside from his desire to attain and keep treasure, Kardas seems content with being left alone, a sentiment most can agree with.

#bionicle #Bionicle RaE #kardas #kardas dragon #rahi #dragon #dragons

[briggette-garabaldie]

The Tenets

(written with @basteala)

The classroom was well lit and full of eager new Dawnsmen. Most had given their oaths only days before. This was their first day in the classroom and there was an air of excitement from the individuals sitting within.

Knight Briggette Garabaldie had greeted each individual as they entered. She was dressed in simple but elegant robes, black and gold of the Dawn. Her hair pulled back in a neat bun, the scar on her neck covered only by the collar of her dress.  She stood at the front of the room, looking out at those present before clearing her throat softly and stepping forward. Her voice carried to the back of the room, “Good morning, Dawnsmen.” 

Rounds of “Good morning ma’am” came back to her before she continued. “You have joined one of the Alliance’s elite forces. The best of sword, bow, and magic surround you on this island. The Dawn’s creed, who can tell it to me?” Her blue eyes narrowing as she looked at those seated, finally someone spoke up. 

“We shall fear no evil, evil shall fear us.” 

She smiled and nodded, “Correct. But what does that mean? What does it mean to be a Dawnsman? What does it mean to be the thing that evil fears?” She held up a hand. “That is what you are here to learn. Being a Dawnsman is more than just knowing which end of your sword to hold up against an enemy.” A few snickers had her glancing once more around the room before it quieted. “You must also follow the right principles and values. The Light tells us to have Respect, Compassion, and Tenacity. But what do those words mean? And how do you have them? How do you show others that you follow that creed?” 

“On our first day here, I have with us a renowned Knight of the Dawn. Knight-Master Basteala Thayne is here to share with you all some of the ways, she lives up to those values.” Bri looked toward the doorway where the woman she loved with all her heart stood. A nod of her head and a little bit of a beckon to Bast as those in the classroom turned their eyes to the Knight being introduced. “Please give her your attention and welcome.” Bri stepped to the side to take a seat where she could view Bast but still be able to step up and speak, if needed. 

Basteala Thayne walked up to the front of the class, offering Briggette a warm smile of her own, but otherwise kept things professional. Perhaps by contrast to her title, the paladin was dressed very simply, wearing a clean, black button down shirt, and matching trousers. A gold medallion bearing the Dawn’s crest hung around her neck, and she wore the black and gold cloak of her office, but she was otherwise unadorned. Even her mark on her hand was covered in two black leather gloves. It was an honor she respected, but not one she wanted to flex, right now. Right now, she wanted to face the students as equals, to remove the barrier between mentor and learner, at least a little. To leave no confusion that Private, or Knight, or beyond, they were all children of the Light. That she too once stood where they were.

“Thank you, Briggette Garabaldie. As Briggette said, we’re here discuss the tenants of the Light, and, by extension, the values of the Dawn.Now I know not all of you share that faith, I see plenty of kaldorei among you, today, and quite a few Kul Tirans. That’s fine. I’m not here to convert you, but only to provide context. First off, who among you can tell me the Oaths of the Legion of the Dawn?” She smirks as she looks over the crowd. “Come now, don’t be shy~ This is your first day here, so most of you couldn’t have taken those oaths more than a week ago~”

A green skinned hand went into the air, a Kaldorei spoke softly but could be heard around the room, “By my Hand, as a private, and the Highlord's will, do I swear to you the Oaths of the Dawn. That my sword shall be a tool of judgment against the wicked. That my shield shall be a bulwark for the weak. That my knees shall never bend, and my will shall never break. And that the Dawn shall ever rise upon my shoulders.”  Her head tilted slightly to see if she had spoken correctly. 

Basteala smirks. “Word for word the oath of the Dawn.” She would step a little closer, and cant her head, looking the Kaldorei in the eye. “What do you think about those vows? What do they mean, to you?”

The elf smiled easily, “Well… since I use neither shield nor sword, I took them to mean that whatever weapon I wield will be used only to defend and protect. That I will stand fast against the evils of the world. And that I will not dishonor the people who have sworn the oath as well.” 

Basteala’s eyes glint with amusement as she mentioned the literal idea of a sword and shield. “I get that question a lot, if you can believe it. Some people take it as an idea that we’ll teach you how to use a sword and shield--and by the Light and Elune, we will, but there’s both less, and so much more, to those promises. It’s a solemn vow to protect the innocent, and to slay the wicked: a tenant that seems simple on the surface, but with two pillars that are so often at odds with each other.” Basteala takes her two hands, balls them into fists, and lightly thumps them against one another, to emphasize this last point.

“I’m going to address that point first. I doubt I need to remind anyone about the Fourth War, and the pain and death it brought to our people, yes?” She would look to the class, waiting for affirmations, or at least signs that they were paying attention, before continuing. “I joined the Dawn shortly after the war started to really heat up, when it was in full swing, and my homeland in Stromgarde turned into a meat grinder for both sides. Prominent in my thoughts at the time, and I’m sure in others that did their best in the war was this: what happens when this is over? To what point do we stop the Horde aggression?” Bast claps her hands together.

“Congratulations, you’re all promoted. For this day only, you are the minds behind the Alliance, the leaders, the heroes, the scholars. You’ve just won the war against the Horde. You now have a hostile foreign power that has surrendered, been bested, whatever, but the point is, you now stand before Orgrimmar, and have been asked to dispense justice in any way you see fit. What do you do?”

A brown haired Kul Tiran spoke up, “Kill any that don’t swear allegiance!” 

A gnome shook his head and said just after, “I’d think most soldiers would just want to go home, so those that gave up arms, send them home?” 

Another man spoke up, “What we did...do you think it wasn’t the right choice?” His question quieting the others that had started to speak up their opinions. The young man gave Bast a critical look waiting for her answer. 

Basteala folds her arms and waits as she listens to each student voice their opinions. Many of them spoke, she felt, emotions and sentiments that had danced about a hundred times. She could understand them all, expected them, and was about to speak up when one voice stood out among all the others. Challenged her. Her lips pulled into a small smirk.

“I would say we took a big risk, that day. We gave the Horde the peace they took from us. We met blades with understanding, and now try to rebuild a world that had no business being at war so shortly after repelling the Legion that demanded our extinction. We were merciful.” Basteala would look at the class again, taking, in particular, time to look at the Kaldorei, Gilneans, and even the Draenei that were gathered at the class today.

“But I don’t think justice was done that day. There are many night elves still without homes, parents who had to bury their children, loved ones wandering, alone and heartbroken, because a select few idiots selected a megalomaniac to lead, and then blindly followed her to set the world on fire. To those of you that were around during the war against Garrosh Hellscream, this may all sound very familiar. Some of you may even be wondering how long the peace will last, with such a volatile, violent neighbor.”

“And that’s the point I want to bring up right now. We were merciful. To have continued this violence would be to choose between one of two terrible choices: to kill every soldier, to destroy the Horde’s way to make war, to breed contempt among those that survived, until they found a way to make war again--and I’m sure to anyone who’s read your history about a certain group of Internment Camps, that may also sound familiar. We all know how well that went, right?” She smiles bitterly. “Which leads to option two: genocide.” She lets that word hang for some time. “I’m sure I don’t have to tell any of you, if you think about it enough, just what horrors that would mean.”

“And I’m sure there are other options and variations of those options, but in the end, our best option to move forward, to bring peace, was to offer it. We can’t control what resentment the Horde feels towards us over the war, but what we can control is ourselves. We denied ourselves justice, and we have to live with that. Remember what Bri said about the tenants of the Light? About Compassion, Respect, and Tenacity? That isn’t just about facing an evil trying to kick down our doors and kill our friends. Sometimes that evil, that very evil we need to defeat, lies within ourselves. Tenacity is as much about battling temptation, understanding that desires for justice that can twisted into revenge. Respect isn’t just about propriety and honoring your friends, but also your enemy. Compassion isn’t just the ability to turn around from those evils, and walk away, it’s about taking your opponent’s hand and leading them away from that darkness as well. It’s to lift someone out of the gutter. It’s to offer redemption. It’s to see the man, woman, and child behind every individual you see, and to connect with them. To help them at your own expense. To take the burdens of others, and make them our own, and shoulder them together.”

“And what’s what we did at the end of the Fourth War. We can’t control anyone’s thoughts or feelings but our own. When we offered the Horde peace, despite everything they had done, we took every scar, every burden, every pointless death and loss on us. We made a sacrifice that day, to bear the pain and regret of that war, and every war with the Horde before that. It’s on us now, to stand as wardens against that own resentment, so it may never again see the light of day, or poison Azeroth against itself. To deny ourselves justice, in order to act in a way that is just. That is respect, that is tenacity, and that is compassion made manifest.”

“And I want to stress that word: compassion. There’s a reason that it’s first of the Light’s tenants. The Light manifests itself in any of our good deeds. It’s through compassion that Elune shared her knowledge with the Kaldorei. Compassion brings Anshe’s bounty. And it is through compassion that we become one. The moment that Compassion is not what drives us first, we become separated from the Light. We become alone. We become blinded by the Light we’ve put behind us, even in that brief moment, and we become the very evils we are trying to stop.”

Bri sat watching both the classroom and Bast as the conversation deepened. As Bast stressed compassion she could be seen nodding along with the other’s words. As the other paladin finished, Bri pushed up from her chair and came to stand next to Bast looking out at the recruits. “The day will come, maybe not tomorrow. Maybe not for several years. But it will come, where you will have to choose. Choose the right path with compassion, respect and tenacity. And it I can’t promise it will be easy to choose compassion, respect or tenacity.” She paused, letting that sink in. 

“Each of these values, these tenants, they are more than just what those who practice with the Light follow. These are the core to being a part of the Dawn. Yes, you have sworn your oaths. Some of you have even seen combat before today. Some of you are paladins or priests very familiar with these virtues. Some of you may know them from whatever faith you practice by other names. But each of you, no matter your background must now understand and live up to what these three little words represent.” Her gaze shifted over each of the people in the room. 

 “So, now I want to ask you all a question. One that I want you all to think long and deep about. It will be one of your first assignments, and yes, I will ask that you write up your answer. Put to paper your thoughts on this. Why would evil fear compassion?” 

#bri #bast #teaching for the Dawn

[animxlity]

some verses notes:

Horace

v:Knight of England: Disney’s Robin Hood verse. Horace was one of the most trusted knights of King Richard of England, and he was asked to stay behind while Richard crusaded to keep his brother John in line. Almost immediately after the true King left, John demanded that Horace be executed for treason, and the badger was forced to flee into Sherwood forest where he lives as an outlaw.

Kaa

v:Africa: Kaa is an African rock python living in the jungle. Primarily for interactions with Lion King/Tarzan muses

v:The Zoo: Kaa is a huge old rock python who is the star attraction of the zoo’s reptile house. He holds the current record but the longest and heaviest snake in captivity. His exhibit is an enormous tank fitted with climbing branches and a pool with underwater viewing.

Tarzan

v:Modern: Tarzan is a young boy raised all his life in an adopted family. He loves them very much, although he sometimes wishes he knew the identity of his birth parents, and his relationship with his adoptive father is somewhat strained. His mother works at the local zoo as a keeper of the gorillas, and Tarzan spends a lot of time there observing them and getting to know the individuals.

As a somewhat strange kid, with long hair, gangly arms, and “funny” ways of speaking or acting, Tarzan was often picked on as a child. To escape his larger bullies, he learned and practiced parkour: a sport involving running and climbing across rooftops and buildings, which has gotten him into trouble with the law a few times, and disappointed his father even further. Around the age of 15, Tarzan was too strong to be picked on anymore, and his former tormentors were afraid of him, but he kept up the sport out of habit anyways: becoming locally famous for his daring gap-jumps and wall-scaling. He has a small fanclub, though he only ever really spends time with his friend Tantor and cousin Terk.

v:Son of the Lions: Set in a slightly more modern era. Tarzan’s parents were on safari in Kenya when their vehicle broke down in the middle of the bush. As night fell, they were attacked and killed by a pride of lions. But before Tarzan could be eaten as well, he was found by a young lioness. His lack of fear and curious disposition moved her, and she lifted him by his shawl and carried him out of the truck.

The other lioness moved aggressively towards her, but they were broken up by the dominant male. He sniffed the baby curiously, then dismissvely snorted and moved back to the feed: effectively granting the lioness and her new charge his protection.

Tarzan grew up among the pride, learning how to become like them. He was suckled alongside a litter of cubs, but they quickly outgrew him and were adults before he could walk. He grew up alongside a few separate generations of cubs, and by that point he had learned all the lessons he needed to survive twice over. There were those in the pride still hostile to him, but he had the protection of his mother and the pride male.

As he grew up, Tarzan was constantly shocking and surprising the pride, either for better or worse. He could pull thorns from their paws, and proved surprisingly effective in driving game towards them. He was a good guardian and playmate for the cubs, so they would not be left alone while the lionesses went to hunt. Yet he also made allies of the elephants: age-old enemies of the lions. He saw one particular calf return to their territory every year, and noticed he was growing at the same rate as her. They became friends despite the misgivings of both their parents.

When the largest crocodile on the river tried to pull a zebra carcass away from the pride, Tarzan swam underwater and jammed a rock into his underbelly, causing him to let go and relenquish it to the lions: yet a week later when Tarzan found him dying on the riverbank, he removed the rock and saved his life.

From the baboons he learned to use his hands to look for food and make tools and from the ostriches he learned the effectiveness of running and two legs. The lions taught him to fight and be proud, the elephants taught him to be patient and wise, the crocodile taught him to be cunning and resilient: Tarzan was quickly cementing his place among the wild animals. But not all were so happy for a human to be living among them, and such a strange creature could not stay hidden from the rest of the world forever.

Hiccup

v:Modern: Hiccup is a young boy living in a small town somewhere in the US (Pacific Northwest or forested New Hampshire). His family is of Scottish descent and his father works as an animal trainer/animal control for the small local zoo (notable residents include: a grizzly bear, a hippopotamus, an alligator, and a pair of wolves). His methods of “training” mainly involve negative reinforcement encouraging the animals to fear him.

Hiccup feels out of touch with his peer group and his father. His father is known in the town for being a legendary high-school football player, and everyone seems disappointed that Hiccup doesn’t seem to be following in his footsteps. The kids at school largely ignore him, but a girl called Astrid seems to actively resent the fact that he receives special treatment because of who his father is. He seems to be able to confide in his teacher and close family-friend Gobber more than anyone, but even still he never quite feels understood. He spends a lot of time alone in the forest.

One day it is announced that the zoo will be receiving a new attraction: a black jaguar that was found too close to human settlements in Brazil, and is allegedly a man-eater. Hiccup goes to see the panther arriving, and notices the crate shaking violently, accompanied by loud screeches and roars. Just as the crate door slides open to let the cat into its exhibit, the crate bucks violently and the jaguar runs into the crowd, escaping into the woods and wounding Stoic in the process.

A county-wide search for the animal begins, with fears that it could potentially propose a danger to humans. Stoic gets very involved, seemingly with a personal grudge against it. He forbids Hiccup to go outside after dark, but he is rarely home between the search and his job that this rule goes unforced. Discreetly, he shows Hiccup where the firearms are and how to use one if he needs to defend himself.

One night when he is home alone, Hiccup hears a noise in the garden outside: he looks out his window and just at the bottom where the forest begins; he sees the jaguar. Desperate to prove himself, he shoots it, but only succeeds in scaring the jaguar off. When his neighbors come to investigate and when his father and friends ask him what happened, no one believes him.

The following day while venturing into the woods, Hiccup happens upon the great cat lying on the ground, its back leg caught in a snare. Though it hisses at him when he approaches, it appears too weak to move. Hiccup comes to the conclusion that the jaguar only got caught in the snare because Hiccup had frightened it, and it would have been less careful where it stood in its panic. Feeling guilty, he removes the snare, fully expecting the cat to turn and maul him. The jaguar stands and prowls towards him, growling lowly, but once it pushes him to the ground and roars in his face, it leaps off of him and runs off into the forest.

Hiccup doesn’t tell anyone what he has known, knowing that the orders given were to shoot the jaguar dead on sight. The following day he goes into the woods again, with a slab of meat and a few slices of ham in his pocket. He manages to find the jaguar, who has been unable to hunt, and it seems to respond to being fed very well: at least it doesn’t attack him. Hiccup becomes the jaguar’s trainer of sorts, and slowly the two form a real bond. Hiccup names him Toothless when he notices that one of the jaguar’s canine teeth is missing.

A few weeks later, Stoic, exhausted from the weeks of searching, is called to deal with the zoo’s grizzly bear that is behaving aggressively. He goes to the exhibit armed with a long pole with a taser. When he tries to prod the bear it becomes even more aggressive and anxious, it rears up and grabs the pole, dragging Stoic down into its enclosure. He tries to defend himself, but the bear slashes him badly down the middle.

Hiccup is present to see this, and without thinking, jumps down into the pen and places himself between the bear and his father. Just as the grizzly charges, a loud screech is heard, and Toothless comes soaring over the gathered crowd and down into the bear pit. The grizzly and the jaguar have a fierce fight, and in the crossfire Hiccup’s leg is badly injured and later is amputated, but eventually, reinforcements arrive and both animals are tranquilized.

Toothless is put back into the zoo, but the keepers notice that he is much more docile and compliant than he ever was before. Hiccup admits to being the one to train him, and although he is chastised, he is offered a part-time job there as a keeper/trainer. Every day after school he heads straight to the zoo, and the huge black panther runs up to the wire fence to meet him.

#ooc. #//and by 'notes' I meant 'miniature fanfic' #//really all that needed to be said was 'Tarzan with lions' #//or 'How to Train Your Black Panther'. but no

[hannah-deserved-better]

Empty Vessels Chapter One

Pairing: Castiel/Hannah, Castiel/Caroline Johnson

Other characters: Jack, Nick (Lucifer’s vessel)

Rating: M PTSD, trauma, torture, graphic violence, angst, psychological issues

Summary: Season 14 spoilers! Nick is suffering from some deep traumatic psychological issues because of Lucifer. To satiate his need for the power he feels when he kills, he has found the perfect target to take out his aggressions on. Former angel's empty vessels. Castiel and Jack go on a hunt to track down some of these empty vessels before Nick does, as his killing spree heats up. Their attempts to save these humans leads them to rural Montana and one particular vessel that Castiel is particularly vested in saving. Caroline Johnson's life after Hannah has been tragic, to say the least. She is found homeless, suffering from the intense trauma of her own possession. This is a look at the traumatic effects of angel possession. It is also a chance for Caroline to be reunited with her angel, as she has never forgotten about Hannah and wants her back. And for Castiel- a chance to fall in love and find the happiness that the empty won't let him have.https://archiveofourown.org/works/16926783/chapters/39769992

Everyone please feel free to reblog, comment, leave kudos on AO3, comment on AO3, whatever. I would love to receive feedback about my writing.

It was snowing when she arrived in town. The biting cold stung at her skin as she wandered along the sidewalk. The holes in her shoes made her pace slightly lopsided as she shivered. No one much took notice of the woman, with her torn faded jeans, the white hospital gown which hung from her shoulders, and the stained and painfully thin black sweater she had found on an empty bench the other day. Her black ankle boots had so many holes in them that she was almost barefoot, the heels of her feet were worn as they made contact with the cold pavement. Her hair, the darkest chestnut brown it could be without being black, hung in limp matted tresses to her shoulders, her thick bangs blew with the wind. She thought she should be used to cold Montana weather having lived there her entire life, but that was before her life changed, before her world changed forever. Caroline. Her name was Caroline. It was Caroline Johnson, now she was Caroline Vermuellen, having felt the need to return to her maiden name after Joe left. There seemed to be a finality to that decision. A truth. She could never have her life back. The tiny southern Montana town seemed to be the place for the wary. Aside from some sneers and hard looks her way, no doubt as they scrutinized her appearance, she was largely ignored. People moved past her, going in and out of stores, to their cars, groups of them frequented restaurant entrances as they went about their lives. Caroline walked past them indignantly. She was innocent like them once. She was just like them. She had a husband, a career, interests. She remembered her favorite subject had always been history and that as a high school history teacher, demanding though it was, had been rewarding, opening young minds to the lessons of the past.   That was all before Hannah. Before the word yes fell from her mouth, changing everything forever. The angel who asked her to put her life aside, to give her body, her mind, her soul to be used. She often thought back to that year, the year she spent as a spectator to her own actions. She had no control over her arms, her legs, the words that came from her mouth, it was if she was watching everything from within and her only companion was the angel herself. “Hello!” the sudden greeting piercing through Caroline’s mind jolted her from her thoughts. She blinked, coming to an abrupt halt before nearly walking right into the young man who had suddenly appeared in her path. “I don’t have any money,” she informed him, looking him up and down. He seemed young, perhaps 16 or 17. The sandy blondish brown hair that fell into his crystal blue eyes- eyes that seemed oddly familiar- and the dimpled smile on his face seemed to diffuse any immediate hostility Caroline had towards him. “I don’t either,” the boy chirped. “But you… did you know you glow?” Caroline cocked her head, squinting quizzically. “I what?” it had never occurred to her that she might appear as anything other than a typical woman in her thirties, to anyone else. There was a time when she did indeed glow- glow with the brilliant blue energy of angelic grace. But that was so long ago. “Yes, its what made me notice you,” he explained. “I was standing outside waiting for my father, and I saw you go by… I’m Jack by the way.” Caroline glanced around at her surroundings. She was across the street from the parking lot of a run down motel. There were a few vehicles in the parking lot, clumps of snow gathered at their tires. “I think you should meet my father,” Jack brought her attention back to him. “We’ve been looking for you… well, not you specifically, but people like you.” “Look I don’t know what you want,” Caroline warned. “But I just arrived in town, I don’t know anything, and I don’t have anything you want. I’m… no one.” Jack cocked his head, puzzled. “But you are someone,” he insisted. “You are here, I can see you. Therefore, you are someone.” He paused for a moment, watching her shiver slightly in the wind. “Would you like a hot chocolate?” he offered. “I can get one for you.” The promise of warmth was tempting. She didn’t know this kid, didn’t know what his intentions might be, and she had been lured into situations gone sour before. But this kid had a kind face and a kind of familiarity with him. She almost felt as though she should know him. Reluctantly, she agreed and followed him across the street. He led her to a motel room, and when he opened the door, motioning for her to come inside, she stepped inside cautiously. It was a typical rundown motel reminiscent of small-town America. Two plain beds adorned with cheap floral patterned bedding, a small table under the window, a bathroom in the far back, a worn, faded, stained brown carpet. Thin curtains shielded thinned out the light from outside. But the warmth bellowing out from the wall heater was welcoming and she eagerly moved towards the heat source, her arms and legs had long gone numb in the cold and the chance to be warm, if even for a moment, was all the encouragement she needed. But as her eyes adjusted to the dimmer light inside the motel, she caught sight of the other individual in the room. She recognized him immediately, he looked just as he had when last she had seen him. Those same deep blue eyes- now she knew who Jack reminded her of- the beige trench coat and blue tie. That same soft smirk that wrinkled the skin under his eyes. “Castiel…” she murmured. She felt as though her heart had just dropped into the pit of her stomach on sight of him. Mixed emotions flooded her. Mostly fear and deep-seated resentment. She quickly turned towards the door. “Get away from me…” she warned. “Wait,” he stood up, holding up a hand. “Caroline… please. Your life is in danger.” Caroline scoffed as she whirled to face him. “My life?” she repeated. “You call this a life? Look at me Castiel… look at what your kind has reduced me to. And in all of these… what has it been, four years? I have not heard a word from anyone above. You just dumped me off and left, not bothering to help clean up the mess.” “I’m sorry,” he offered, genuinely. “It’s what she thought you wanted. Your life back.” “Yeah well, I didn’t get my life back,” Caroline said as she reluctantly sunk into a chair, resolved to stay and hear him out. “What about your husband?” Castiel wanted to know. “I thought you wanted to go back to him. It’s what she thought, its why she released you.” Caroline glanced to Jack who still stood by the door, but closed it and was listening carefully; his eyes fixed on her. “And how was I supposed to explain myself to him?” she asked, as she recalled the first few months after she had returned. “After he saw me with you… I tried to tell him the truth but how could he even be expected to believe me? I tried… for months, I tried. I did everything I could to try to save our marriage. But… the memories, the nightmares… the flashbacks… her thoughts. They never really left me.” She stood up and started pacing. A familiar lump formed in her throat as she internally berated herself for getting emotional, for digging the pain up again. “He never trusted me again. And when I walked in on him in bed with a co-worker… I think I ran…. I ran and ran. I wanted to run forever; I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going and when I woke up… in the hospital… they told me my injuries weren’t severe but that I had to stay for psychiatric evaluation…” Castiel stayed silent. His lips pursed in a thin line as he listened. The look of sympathy on his face was too much, and she turned, choosing to stare at the wall instead, as her vision blurred with hot tears. “All of that was three years ago…” she said, her voice low with emotion. “It’s been like this ever since.” “I’m sorry, Caroline,” Castiel offered. “I know that doesn’t help but… Jack spotted you because of what you are.” She looked at him, a single tear spilling from her eye. “What I am?” she scoffed indignantly. “What am I, Castiel?” “You are an empty vessel,” Jack explained as he moved from the door to one of the beds. “I could tell… you still glow with the trace of angel grace.” “What” she gasped. “But she’s gone, isn’t she?” Castiel sighed. Something passed in his eyes. Was it… sadness? Regret? “Hannah is gone,” he said. His expression seemed to say something more profoundly and Caroline suddenly needed to know. “Gone? She’s in heaven isn’t she?” she was almost dreading the answer. “No,” Castiel replied. “Hannah died. A few years ago. She’s… gone…” That hit her like a ton of bricks. Caroline fell back into the chair, with a gasp as if she had just been kicked in the stomach. She covered her face in her hands, squeezing her eyes shut as she struggled to compose herself. Caroline had spent these years thinking of Hannah. How much she hated and loved the angel, who shared her body. She hated her for destroying her life but loved her for… who she was. Hannah had the kind of strength Caroline never had. She was brave, confident, true. She had a compassion that, as Caroline came to know other angels, she had seen was a rare trait. Caroline knew Hannah had released her out of compassion, and the time they shared together was amazing, she had to admit. But it didn’t make up for the hardships she endured. Losing everything, being homeless, it made her bitter. Knowing Hannah was up there somewhere, fighting for heaven, it had always given her comfort. There was a kind of intimacy she had with Hannah that made her closer to the angel than any lover could ever be. And to know she was gone… Caroline wept hard. Harder than she had in a long time. She felt ashamed for being this distraught in front of Castiel and Jack, but she couldn’t help it. As she sobbed into her hands, she felt a hand gently touch her shoulder. She lifted her head to see Jack, kneeling in front of her, gazing up at her. “I might be able to bring her back,” he said. “After all, I brought him back.” He glanced to Castiel and Caroline met his gaze as the angel stepped closer. “You died too?” she asked. She realized she was four years out of the loop. When she was Hannah, she gained a kind of knowledge about the cosmos she hadn’t had before. She knew about angels, their true roles, the warriors that they were. That Hannah was. She knew about the empty, about heaven, everything. “Yes,” Castiel replied. He came over to stand next to Jack, gazing down at Caroline. “Caroline, I can explain everything to you, but it’s important we tell you why we are here first.” “He called you father,” Caroline glanced from Jack to Castiel. She frowned at the idea, not quite able to piece together how Castiel could have a son when she was sure he didn’t when she’d last seen him. She felt a slight ache at the meaning. She remembered Hannah’s feelings. She had felt them as if they were her own. “He’s not my biological son,” Castiel explained. “He’s Lucifer’s and-” he saw the look of horror spreading quickly across her face- “Lucifer and a human woman. Kelly Kline. She is Jack’s mother.” “She died,” Jack said sadly. “But Castiel is my father. And Dean and Sam.” “We sort of adopted each other,” Castiel explained. “But Caroline, Lucifer is why we are here. You are in danger because you are an empty vessel. Nick… you haven’t met him, but he is Lucifer’s vessel. He, like you, had a hard time adjusting to life without his angel.” “What does he have to do with me?” Caroline wanted to know. She wiped her eyes, taking in a breath as she sat there, the two men both looking at her carefully. “Because he is hunting,” Castiel explained. “He was left emotionally scarred by his experience with Lucifer, and it has caused some… psychological problems you might say. We have already determined he’s killed a number of people already. At first, they were all related to his wife and son’s murder but after that… he kept going. But he has a specific target. Empty vessels like himself. We’ve tracked down at least two empty vessels too late. He’s almost deranged… what he does to them… it's not pleasant, to say the least.” Caroline frowned. “And he wants to do the same to me?” Castiel nodded. “We’ve tracked him here so I think he has been looking for you. Somehow, he’s figured out who you are.” Caroline felt the waves of dread. Someone was hunting her; she didn’t even know who or what he looked like. “The empty is not as stable as it once was,” Castiel said. “Perhaps because of the way Jack brought me back. But we think Nick is using empty vessels, not only to act out his aggression but also to try to bring back Lucifer.” “I see…” she murmured. “So what… am I supposed to go into some sort of angel witness protection program or something? How exactly do you plan to protect me?” “We aren’t sure,” Castiel admitted. “But… bringing Hannah back would certainly be a good start. We just aren’t quite sure how yet.” “But you said you could,” Caroline looked at Jack. “Lucifer stole my mojo,” Jack said with a shrug. “I haven’t gotten it back yet, and I’m still not quite sure how I brought Castiel back. But… we can figure it out. We can try to bring her back if that’s what you want.” “I do…” Caroline said sadly. She realized then that she really meant it. She didn’t just want Hannah back; she needed her. She’d spent the past four years trying to forget Hannah, and the told herself she’d never say yes to an angel again. But she never forgot how Hannah made her feel- powerful. She wanted that again. Maybe, for better or for worse, Hannah was her life now. Hannah was her destiny. She didn’t think she’d be able to be whole again without her. “I’ll do whatever it takes to get her back,” she agreed.

#Castiel #season 14 #Hannah #Hanstiel #Jack Kline #Nick (Lucifer)

[geneticasseta]

ALTERNATE_VERSES.EXE

MODERN / NORMAL

Andrea “Pip” Morgan was raised in the foster system after she was left abandoned on the footsteps of a church when she was two years old. With no records of her identity or where she had come from, she was given the name Andrea Morgan and placed in an independent orphanage where she experienced extreme child neglect and harsh harassment and bullying from the older children present.

She was considered difficult as she would scream whenever someone attempted to touch her at which point people just stopped trying. She was moved into several foster homes growing up, bouncing from one unstable family dynamic to the other and never quite belonging. Eventually she began attending a kick boxing class five times a week and even began competing. Andrea’s ambition and drive caused her to shine in any task that she was given which caused her to be ostracized by many of her peers.

She would make one friend eventually, at sixteen years old, a girl called Mary. She was flamboyant, cheerful and kind hearted and constantly pushed Andrea to socialize and make friends, though she never did make the effort, she and Mary became closer and closer until eventually Mary fondly dubbed her “Pip”, as in the Pippin to her Merry, even despite their personality differences.

Andrea adopted the nickname as her preferred name, something she had found on her own instead of been branded with because no one bothered to think too hard. Pip would eventually fall in love with her dear friend Mary and they dated until their senior years at high school where upon Pip enlisted in the US Marines and Mary left for college. Pip still considers herself close to Mary, despite their distance and separation but understands that they moved on.

Pip remains enlisted and hopes to further her career as much as she can.

RIVERDALE

Andrea “Pip” Morgan was abandoned on the steps of The Sisters of Quiet Mercy when she was two years old with no name and no record of her identity or her heritage. She suffered from touch hunger, screaming, running or fighting whenever someone attempted to touch her, this touch hunger remained all through her childhood and early adolescence. She was considered one of their most violent, aggressive and rebellious children in that she would often run away only to be returned by local police departments. The longest she had managed to remain free of Quiet Mercy was when she was eleven years old and lived on the streets for almost eight months before finally being apprehended for trespassing and assault.

She met a girl called Mary Dumot who had been sent to the Sisters of Quiet Mercy to be reconditioned due to her sexuality, and the pair became extremely close. Their friendship blossoming into something more and Mary was the one who affectionately dubbed her Pip.

At twelve years old, Pip was taken in by the Deveraux family but her transferred guardianship was not done out of kindness or a want for a daughter but simply because the Deveraux wanted to present themselves as the kind, loving and all accepting good American white family by adopting a poor orphaned black girl. Pip hates them.

Her friendship with Mary continued through handwritten letters as the Deveraux’s lived in New York and Pip would visit her as often as she could, they would talk about running away together, about leaving their terrible families and going on adventures together. Pip eventually convinced the Deveraux’s to allow her to live in Riverdale, where she purchased a loft in the South Side to live so that she could visit Mary more often.

When she was sixteen their secret relationship was discovered and Mary’s family transferred her to a different monastery. Pip has tried to find her but to no avail.

She has lived in Riverdale for two years and was attending Southside High but was transferred to Riverdale High.

THE 100

please be aware that I haven’t watched past season 3

also not the biggest fan of octavia or clarke, soz

Andrea “Pip” Morgan, was born upon the space station, the Ark and resided in Mecha Station for the majority of her childhood and young adult life. Her mother died in childbirth and her father was unknown to her and so she was taken in by foster families all throughout Mecha Station. This allowed Pip to interact with several different cultures, religions and languages growing up and helped her create contacts throughout the station. As a girl Nygel approached her to work in her trade ring, giving her access to more of the station and helping her move her items throughout.

When Pip refused to prostitute herself at sixteen, Nygel set Pip up to be arrested for smuggling stolen goods. She was arrested after assaulting three Security Guards and putting one officer in the medical bay with a broken jaw and several lacerations to his torso. Since she was under eighteen, Pip wasn’t floated, and spent the majority of her sentence establishing herself amongst her peers. She began a romantic relationship with a fellow Prisoner, Mary, whom had been arrested for stealing medical supplies for her sick neighbor.

Mary was released from her sentence when she turned eighteen, six months before Pip’s own birthday but Pip was sent to the ground with the rest of the 100 three months before her birthday.

Pip is an exceptional combatant in hand-to-hand fighting and has taken up the sword and throwing knives since training with Lincoln. She has also begun teaching herself how to use a bow and arrow, crafting her own arrows and maintaining her own bow for hunting as well as fishing. Her fighting style is both extremely violent and brutal, as well as graceful and elegant.

Mary perished when Factory Station crash landed on Earth. Pip survived in the Second Dawn Bunker. During the Dark Year, Pip stood alongside Kane, refusing to eat, viewing the Cannibalism as a grotesque insult to the fighters as opposed to any ethical belief but was eventually forced to eat by Octavia.

Pip was forced to fight in the ring in her third year after starting a fight with Kara Cooper, one of Octavia’s personal guards. She won her life by killing every single one of her opponents but has grown to resent many of the people in the Bunker.

AGENTS OF S.H.I.E.L.D

Follows Pip’s modern / normal verse in which she was an orphan, raised within the foster system until she turned eighteen in which she enlisted with the US Marine Corp. Pip became a gunnery chief during her time enlisted and served two tours until she was honorably discharged and picked up Private Militia Contracts until she came into contact with fish oil tablets that had been interferred with the Terrigen mist. Upon consuming the tablets Pip went through Terragenesis and was reborn as an Inhuman with the ability to turn nearly anything she touches into an energized weapon.

Pip usually utilizes her powers with a wooden Korean Jikdo Sword, daggers and throwing knives. When these objects become sufficiently energized, they can easily cut through most materials with little resistance, including the barrels of guns. She can also phase by energizing her own physical body allowing her to pass through solid objects to a certain degree but this power is difficult for her to control.

She is apprehended by S.H.I.E.L.D alongside Joey Gutierrez and Elena Rodriguez and becomes a Secret Warrior with Lincoln Campbell and Daisy Johnson.

AGENTS OF S.H.I.E.L.D / DARK ANGEL CROSSOVER

Manticore is a deep cover organization funded by private government sponsorship and military contract that specialized in genetic engineering in which they designed and created supersoldiers known as the X5 series. These soldiers were used as assets to further their own agenda’s and the agenda’s of their sponsors until Manticore’s destruction.

X5-936, now known as Pip, was one such soldier who survived Manticore’s destruction and now works as an independent mercenary for hire. She has far superior physical and intellectual abilities than that of a skilled human and possesses several spliced dna markers from various different animals that give her a genetic boost of strength, speed, durability and an accelerated healing factor.

Pip was once working undercover within S.H.I.E.L.D as Kerra Mason, to gather information on the agency for Manticore before she was ordered to fake her own death and return to Manticore.

THE WALKING DEAD

Pip was deployed in a routine training operation when the outbreak was first sighted, her first contact with an active hostile engagement was with the dead. She took charge quickly, leading her team back to base several days ahead of schedule, attempting to make sense of the ordeal. Many of her squadmates seemed convinced that it was a joke, some sick and twisted prank pulled on them but as they came across more Infected it became clear that it wasn’t a joke.

They reached base in time for all hell to break loose. A quarantine zone being overrun, losing several superiors to the Infected or to desertion. Pip toughed it out, going with her team to secure the QZ and governed the QZ under martial law awaiting further orders. The QZ thrived for a time, the community adapting with charismatic and intelligent leadership until road bandits began attacking the perimeter. The firefight drawing the Infected and breaching the fence.

Pip has survived on her wits, ruthlessness and her ability to adapt and read a situation as well as integrating herself into strong groups and communities.

THE LAST OF US

Pip was born into the world of the Infected and raised in the Quarantine Zone’s military designated orphanage where she was trained and groomed into enlisting. She had one friend growing up in the QZ, the pair of them thick as thieves and inseparable. Mary and Pip were like fire and water, polar opposites that managed to work well together and even began dating. Together they survived the QZ, utilizing their skills and contacts to hustle, scam, trade and barter for food rations, ID’s, supplies and contraband smuggled into the QZ. They had quite the little operation going until a soldier accidentally shot and killed a young boy while scouting for Infected.

Tensions in the QZ rose, tempers fanned by the Fireflies and by the Militias violent response to protests until the QZ was shredded by the rioting where Mary was killed. Pip has struggled for a long time with Mary’s death, losing her made Pip meaner and colder.

Pip eventually left the QZ, running with several Hunting and Bandit crews until she was approached by the Fireflies.

X-MEN / THE GIFTED

Andrea “Pip” Morgan was born with the x-gene and raised in the foster system after she was left abandoned on the footsteps of a church when she was two years old. With no records of her identity or where she had come from, she was given the name Andrea Morgan and placed in an independent orphanage where she experienced extreme child neglect and harsh harassment and bullying from the older children present at which point she triggered her mutant powers.

Pip was transferred to The Essex Home for Mutant Rehabilitation which specialized in housing and containing young mutants. Under the direction of the Headmaster, Pip was physically and psychologically abused using religious indoctrination as well as extreme experimentation at the hands of the caregivers there until she escaped when she was fourteen years old.

Pip would live on the streets until she was twenty-two years old and is arrested by Sentinel Services and sentenced to ten years in a Mutant Rehabilitation facility in which she crosses paths with a mutant who claimed to be a part of the Mutant Underground. During a prison riot, Pip managed to escape her collar and flee the prison alongside a handful of other prisoners and has been on the run and searching for the Underground ever since.

Pip possesses “leeching” powers. Through physical contact Pip is able to drain people of their energy, she can absorb physical energy, emotions, pain and even anothers injuries, converting this energy into power for herself that can allow her temporary heightened physical abilities such as speed, strength and senses. She can drain a person to the point that they pass out, or until death by draining them of their life force and if she absorbs enough energy she can go as far as to drain entire buildings full of people without needing to touch them first.

THE VAMPIRE DIARIES / THE ORIGINALS

Andrea “Pip” Morgan was born into servitude and like her grandmother she had magic in her blood, however, Andrea was a siphon. She could only perform feats of magic if she was channeling magic through another witch, a magical object or another spell but this did not stop her from seeking ways to freedom not only for herself but for her family and those remaining of her community. Andrea heard tales of a man that was also a beast, who lived outside the city who could grant her power and one evening Andrea escaped the compound on foot. Chased by hunters and slavers, pursued through rivers and swamps, Andrea found the place where the creature was supposed to appear to her.

Martin was a vampire and Andrea demanded that he transform her into one of his kind. Once she entered transition, Andrea joined Martin in a blood bath of her pursuers and once she had transitioned completely into a vampire, she and Martin returned to the compound and slaughtered all within save for the slaves whom they freed.

Andrea donned the name Pip after helping her mother to the North and traveled for a time with Martin, as time past, Pip learned that she could channel her own vampiric nature to perform spells and magic. She used this to craft herself and Martin daylight rings and she explored the country studying and learning what magic she could. As Andrea was looked upon as an abomination by many witches and covens, Andrea became creative in her ways of deception.

#aus.

[differentworlds-fiction]

28

NICOLE

It was never my intention to give her the cold shoulder.

The sudden hiccup in communication between us was far from deliberate, yet my beloved maternal figure insisted otherwise.

I drew a line in the sand, Barbara concluded in one of the three-part passive-aggressive emails idling my inbox. A crippling sense of uncertainty riddled me the longer I pondered on what my reply should be. Responding back with a defensive tone would earn me nothing but a hostile talking to and me running the risk of potentially being motherless all over again. No matter how thorough the explanation and my reasonings behind failing to reach out by simply picking up the phone were, my behavior would always be deemed as ‘sketchy’.

I was on the losing end of the battle; criticized for the distance that had wedged between us.

“Our relationship is falling by the wayside because of your doing”, according to Barbara.

The statement like a harsh blow to the gut, weakening me more than she’d ever know.

Above all else, Barbara Dawson despised feeling slighted. And as mentioned in part two of her lengthy laundry list of discrepancies, we hadn’t spoken to each other in a month of Sundays.

Had it, been that long?

Sure enough, calls had been far and few between, much of that having to with the ironclad obligations taking up my schedule. In the instances where I wasn’t expected to tag along with Mya to dress alterations appointments or listening in on conference calls where the indecisive bride-to-be made changes to the reception menu, I enjoyed any bit of slumber I could take.

Being the close friend Mya Evans wasn’t the quintessential walk in the park as the public presumed it to be.

My fingers were set into motion across the phone’s hypersensitive touchscreen attempting to form some sort of response.

Silverware purposefully clanking together on the opposite side of the table prompted me to place my phone down altogether. I huffed inwardly, allowing my eyes to roam over the Caprese salad placed before me that had gone untouched. Soon the aimless din pervading Rosemary’s, an Italian hotspot for brunch located on Greenwich Avenue, became unbearable; a pair of eyes belonging to my recurring lay bore into mine.

Our shared silence bothersome, intensifying the moment he followed my stare downward.

Before I could raise my arm to pick the phone up again, he beat me to the punch and grasped it,  placing it to the left of him soon afterward.

“You’re awfully quiet.” He observed, fiddling with the small portion of smoked salmon lingering on his plate.

“I’m always ‘awfully quiet'. That isn’t so out of the norm.”

He offered the barest hint of a smile; the fact that--more times than not--our lulls sufficed, resonated the longer we stared at one another.

Our relationship hadn’t been built on typical courting.

Screwing each other’s brains out and the routine outing for a meal where we happened to engage in what seemed like contrived small talk just for the sake of being polite was more our forte.

Two weekends ago, however, a dramatic shift was initiated.

I accompanied him to Complex’s cover reveal for their highly anticipated summer issue.

Solange Knowles, their cover girl, was in attendance.

Not mixing in with the crowd and taking those expected snapshots in front of a blow-up photo of the magazine cover, but DJing. Most of the partygoers, permalance journalists as well as digital content editors and record label bigwigs who tended to scope out unsigned talent at those particular events, stood around in disbelief -- flabbergasted at the carefree creative and how down to earth she turned out to be.

She was personable and coy, all while playing R&B songs from the nineties.

The sweltering rooftop gathering erupted in nostalgic delight that evening as classics from yesteryear livened the sticky summer air.

It was a night to remember for many reasons, the most significant basis being that it rendered a shift in my dealings with Troy. Although we were successful in the aspect of not labeling our circumstance as dating, his arm remained draped across the small of my back throughout the entire night. I could’ve chalked it up to him wanting his colleague to witness him acting chummy with a model, but I didn’t.

It felt genuine.

It felt right.

At the same time, it also petrified me; feeling at the very moment develop actual sentiments for this man beyond lust. I was beginning to crave him beyond the encounters within the confines of my home. I wanted to know him, wholly.

Shrugging away the flurry of thoughts cluttering my mind, I picked up my fork and dug in. In comparison to Troy’s need to eat with gusto, I ate with apathy.

“So do you plan on holding my phone hostage over there, or do you intend on handing it back anytime soon?”

“Eat first.” He instructed, indicating my full with his fork. “It wouldn’t hurt to go few minutes without it. You haven’t looked up from that thing since we ordered.”

“Something of great importance must’ve had my attention then.”

“Perhaps. What’s so important that we can’t engage in conversation while we eat?”

“You don’t wanna know.”

“I asked, didn’t I?” He let out a timid chuckle. “Humor me, Nicole.”

“My mother,” I spoke in an even tone. “Hill’s mother. I should’ve specified beforehand--”

“--But you look to her as a mother.” He gathered.

“Very much so. During my childhood, I acquired guardians. What the foster care would deem as remarkable or promising maternal figures. I had a ‘father’ too once. But Barbara Dawson is my mother. The only mother I’ve ever had.” The statement hung in the air for quite some time. Stolen glances substituted for words that failed to be expressed. Her piercing brown eyes bore into mine, longing to inquire about why a former lover’s mother had been my epitome of a maternal figure. “My biological parents were never in my life. If by some chance they were walking alongside me on the street, I wouldn’t even be able to tell you what they look like.” My attention drifted towards the table able, perusing the Alaia laser cut tote bag. Its white exterior embossed by numerous punctures reminiscent of lily-white doilies. “Up until my teens I was in and out of foster homes,” I murmured, “I harbor a bit of resentment and anger because of that.”

“Given your circumstances, you had a lot to be angry about.”

“Right.” I reaffirmed without saying too much.

I would’ve gone on a spiel about the young interracial couple in Woodhaven and told him that I was their little introduction into parenting. They treated me like porcelain--as if I came equipped with directions to treat with delicacy. By the end of my year-long stay, none of that mattered, anyway. The truth of the matter remained that whenever I reached a point of normalcy, it was ripped right away from me.

By my tenth birthday, Olcott Street out in Forest Hills became my new home.

Due to my firm assertion to call her everything but ‘mommy’, we never quite meshed.

A series of school fist fights landed me at Sister Gloria’s doorstep. Social workers responsible for the livelihoods of other children referred to the Astoria resident as a Godsend due to a number of foster children raised in her three-bedroom home. At one time I vaguely remember there being six children living there; three boys and three girls, including myself. All of us were expected to carry out daily chores once homework was completed. Wednesdays evenings were devoted to bible study. The running joke amongst the congregation Sister Gloria and her children never missed Thursday choir rehearsal; rain or shine, sleet or snow. On Sundays, Sister Gloria woke us all before sunrise to prepare us for morning service. Aside from hearing the good word she sought out that the seven of us would occupy the second row of pews inside the sanctuary, right behind the deaconesses.

I could’ve bored Troy into a thoughtless story about Sister Gloria and her ultimately ending my cycle of being passed from promising parent to promising parent. Though she didn’t quite fit the mold of the mother I yearned to have, I was blessed to have crossed paths with her.

“I’ve been through some shit,” I declared, “Internal shit. I’ve been through more foster parents throughout my childhood than you can count. It wasn’t that I was some difficult child looking to act out at any given moment. It was either they acquired too many children at once, or a pair of doting foster parents fresh out of pre-service training realized taking in some random child carrying  wasn’t as easy as they perceived it to be.” I elaborated, lifting up my fork and placing a generous slice of mozzarella and basil. “You ever meet a person, and for whatever reason, you two just happen to click?”

“Sure.” Troy retorted sparingly, propping his head on his palms.

“Well, Barbara’s that person for me. From the moment Hill introduced me to his family, we clung to each other. And despite the fact that her son and I are no longer together, we’ve still maintained our relationship.”

“There was some uncertainty in your voice during that last part.”

Troy countered, his eyebrow-raising in suspicion.

“Was not.”

“Was so.”

“Eh,” I sensed where the conversation was beginning to shift eased down a bit in my seat, “How about I spare you the long-winded version?”

“Either way I’m all ears.”

Although he opted for either version, I refrained from dishing out too much.

Glancing at the practical wristwatch I donned, time was of the essence.

There was somewhere else I had to be.

Despite my best efforts to squeeze in an afternoon quickie, I was met with a docile kiss on the forehead; far more reserved than the ones we exchanged in the familiar setting of my apartment. “I have to run. Gotta finish this write-up,” He murmured against my skin, “Have fun at the bridal shower. Call me when you get back from the Hamptons.” We separated, rejoining only seconds after to kiss again.

My excruciating two-hour commute to East Hampton couldn’t have ended soon enough. Aside from fighting the urge to tell the driver that I wasn’t up for engaging in aimless conversation and being ill-equipped with nothing other than responding to work-related emails to keep me busy, regret set in the once a returning draft from the truck’s AC rushed against my skin.

Perhaps nixing a bra with the lace off-the-shoulder top I threw on at the last minute wasn’t such a good idea.

The SUV cruised onto the property along the stone pathway, parking under the porte-cochere supported by stark white columns.

Though he made the drive unbearable, I gave my thanks to the burly chauffeur and mentioned that I hadn’t to stay the whole duration of the party.

My mind was set on seeing Mya, handing her my gift, and leaving.

I arrived amidst a somewhat frantic transition from activities.

The host--chief editor of Blakewood Publishing Group and close peer of Mya--soon followed happy hour up with the gift portion of the party.

Subsequent to spotting yet another article of La Perla lingerie removed from a plain box, I decided I’ve had enough and ventured off, setting my sights on the bar.

That was, until, I discovered the bar located by the home’s waterfront entrance

At the bar, I indulged in a dirty martini.

One turned into two.

Two almost turned into three, but before beckoning over the brunette behind the bar for another martini, I acknowledged the set of eyes that had been peering over at me devouring an olive. “You’re staring?” I blurted out, sinking my teeth into the flesh of my bottom lip. Recoiling atop the lucite barstool, I pushed the empty glass aside with one hand, tossing the bare toothpick along with it.

“My apologies.” The woman with deep-set dimples uttered apologetically. The space between us lessened once she ditched her seat at the bar’s opposite end and claimed the empty seat beside me. “Eileen Darby.”

“Eileen Darby. Eileen Darby. I’ve heard that name before. Where have I heard that name? Ugh. Either I’m well past tipsy or my memory isn’t what it used to be.” I mumbled.

Delicate snickers floated through the thick air muddled with inebriated coos coming from the drunken pack of partygoers behind us.

A settled Mya sat clad on one of the multiple pieces of aqua patterned furniture, clad in a skintight midi dress that hugged every curve in her figure. Over low cut ‘do sat a personalized veil she was rumored to be given upon her early arrival; her forthcoming name change, ‘Mrs. Pratt’ was hand-stitched on its back in wide cursive.

“Media. You’re in media, aren’t you?”

“You can say that,” She pursed her lips into a thin line, nodding sparingly. “I worked in casting some years back but with some success, I’ve been lucky enough to executive produce a few hit reality shows.”

“Reality TV, huh?”

As the liquor sank in, a newfound courage emerged, fueling me to spar with a media juggernaut who force-fed dysfunctional behavior to the masses.

“Oh, a hmph from Nicole Warren. Interesting. Trust me I could detect the criticism.”

“That wasn’t criticism,” I paused, “Okay maybe it was. Could you blame a girl for having her assumptions about the madness you display on television?

“Entertainment.” She attempted to correct, earning a firm head shake.

“You consider drink throwing and belligerent women charging one another ‘entertainment’?”

“Personally no. But according to the average two million viewers any of the shows I’m the executive producer of, it is.”

“Is it really worth it though? What good is garnering millions of viewers every week when the castmates are being presented in a bad light because of the contrived situations they’ve been placed in?” I challenged, managing to not slur my words. My brow rose as Eileen and I engaged in a staredown.

Though I made it a priority to stay far from pursuing any form of reality television that involved an ensemble cast with ego inflated by meager accomplishments, I was hip to the behind the scenes antics production tended to pull on the individuals who hoped to establish themselves as household names.

The over-consumption of liquor during filming.

The contrived meetups with cast members that set the tone for anti-climatic squabbles that were always cut short due to on-site security.

In the grand scheme of things, none of the horrid behavior was worth the negative exposure.

“In some ways, it is worth it to these reality stars. They’re getting noticed-- some more than others, but still noticed nevertheless. It’s all about gaining publicity and getting the masses talking.”

“Early on in my career, I was told that all publicity isn’t good publicity.”

I learned that hard lesson in during London Fashion Week.

An after-party hosted by Burberry’s creative director left me sloppily teetering out into the paved streets with Hill guiding me into a town car parked nearby. The two of us were tossed into the throes of success at the same time and transitioned of those who were inexperienced to individuals who traveled out the country on a regular basis.

“Look at you, all drunk and shit...This ain’t you.” He reprimanded me like a parent reprimanded their child. “You’re gonna be plastered all over the internet by morning. Watch. Mark my words.”

Of course, I was too intoxicated to form a verbal reply then.

To acknowledge that I’d heard him I nodded just as my head hit up against the car’s window. Before a drunken cat nap pervaded me on the way back to our hotel, I remembered the slick utterance, “All publicity ain’t good publicity. Craig told me that.”

By that time I’d been just about sick hearing about the decrepit trainer he regarded as family.

Turns out he was right. By the morning, I was referred to as the runway model who couldn’t seem to handle her alcohol. For a week I was a public spectacle.

It was safe to say that that particular London Fashion Week, for me, was a complete dud.

I turned back to Eileen, shrugging Hill out of my thoughts. This time I traded in my tight-lipped smirk for a look of indifference.

“Maybe I shouldn’t judge all reality stars by lumping them all under the confrontational umbrella. But you have to admit they’re pretty extra. Are you okay with having your name attached to all that madness?”

She offered a halfhearted shrug, far too timid to outright answer at this point.

“Not all of my shows are centered around confrontation. I’ve co-produced a  family oriented mini-series following a rapper and his family.

“Oh you mean the rapper doing damage control after his multiple affairs and secret children were brought to light?”

“Yes, but the show was still centered around family. The children he and his wife shared met the children he had outside the marriage.”

“After the mothers got into a heated argument in a restaurant parking lot.” I tutted.

“For someone to be walking runways and posing for ad campaigns, you seem to know a lot about my shows.”

“I’ve watched a few,” I confessed with an earnest shrug, recalling the four-month long hiatus I’d taken from modeling. Amidst keeping tabs on Hill as he ventured from city to city on a frequent basis and caring for myself I binged watched a marathon in awe at the behavior displayed. It was as if I were witnessing a trainwreck. No matter how much I wanted to look away, I couldn’t seem to turn the channel. “Petty fighting aside, I could see why the average viewer tunes in every week. I’m guessing you and whoever’s head of casting orchestrate the tangled storylines --”

“I’m afraid not. You’d be surprised how little production has to do with the storyline. Yes, we might set up a scene where friends may meet up somewhere to film together. And unbeknownst to them a rival of theirs may or may not have also been listed on the call sheet and mandated to show up for air time.”

“So you’re saying, you and your production staff have -- to an extent-- contrived storylines.”

“I won’t say yes, and I won’t say no. Can I ask a question?” She didn’t bother to hear my answer before starting up again. “Why do you have such reservations about reality television --”

“Not all reality tv, just the ones you’ve happened to have a hand in producing,” I quipped, easing the jab with a glib grin.

“Well, as an individual who strives to do better, may I ask what I can do in order to improve my programming?”

“I don’t work in television so I wouldn’t know.”

“But you do watch tv, my shows specifically.” She added, countering my petty jab with one of her own. “So tell me what can I do to improve my programming.”

Before dishing her the answer Eileen sought out to receive, I beckoned the bartender over and ordered another dirty martini. “For starters, you can tone it down on all the alcohol I’m certain the castmates are being provided. All that liquor only fuels bad behavior. And if the people on your shows are striving to elevate their careers to the next level, being filmed with a glass of whatever in your hand will hurt them unless are they’re looking to do business-wise is earn a collaborative deal with a bottom-shelf liquor brand. Another thing would be to allow genuine situations to happen. Not of that manipulated bullshit should fly, like ever.  In a perfect world, production should let situations be organic.”

“Well said. Concise, even.” Eileen tilted her head. “Now if you were to be given a show what would be its premise?”

“I don’t know. Maybe me and a few of my girlfriends -- actual friends of mine by the way, not some people I halfway don’t know or like for the matter-- panning through our circumstances but also helping each other out at the same time. Sorting our own bullshit out, you know. Not in an unhealthy, belligerent way.”

“Funny. Mya said you’d say something like that.” Her hand adorned with gold plated midi rings motioned in Mya’s direction. “‘We’d been in close contact for some time now. I thought greenlighting eight episodes with the network about a show surrounding Mya Evans as she juggles the many hats of being a wife, career woman, and friend to an assorted group of women would be interesting. She wasn’t too fond of the other shows I’ve been attached to but she didn’t shy away from the pitch. We played with the idea of which of her friends would make it on. Your name was the first to be mentioned, of course. I think you’d be a great addition to the tv world.”

“Oh no, no, no…I couldn’t do that.”

“Why not? Just imagine if you graced millions of viewers’ TV screen every week. Of course, they’ll associate you with being just another pretty face. But once you open your mouth and articulate yourself, they’ll fall in love with you.”

“Me? Of all people why me?”

Eileen sighed, tugging a sandy brown wisp behind her ear. “I don’t know you on a personal level and I’m solely going off of what I’ve read in magazines and seen in interviews. Women would reason with you--connect with you, especially if you let that prissy guard down of yours and actually open up.”

“Prissy?”

“Oh please! Has no one ever called you prissy? I’ve heard stories about you being quite the diva.”

“Assertive bitch--maybe. Classifying me as a ‘diva’ is a bit of a stretch.”

“Don't shoot the messenger, darling. I'm only telling you what I've heard from photographers and their people.”

I pursed my lips into a snide grin. “I may have had a few choice words for an unpaid intern or two in my past..”

”You’d be surprised how much gossip I’ve heard about folks in the entertainment industry that I don’t care to follow up with and determine whether it's factual or not.”

Somewhere between laughing at a joke and Eileen recalling a squabble on set where extra security had to resolve two women pulling each other’s hair out, Mya removed herself from the party’s epicenter and joined us at the bar. “I’ve seen you met Eileen.” She took a sip from her champagne flute, her other hand running down the ivory colored number she wore for today’s festivities.

Eileen cleared her throat and downed the last bit of the brown liquor on the rocks she’d been nursing throughout our entire conversation.“Yes, we’ve been having a little pow-wow over here,”

I tussled my wavy wisps.  Mya’s eyes peered into mine, assessing whether there was something else on my mind, something that I wanted to say. Though our friendship hadn’t dated back as long as some of the women gifting her with the cliche silk monogrammed pajamas with her forthcoming married name on the back or high-priced jewelry Mya had the means of getting herself, she knew me well enough to know when I was holding back.

As Mya continued to assess me, Eileen stood up from the barstool and bid us farewell. We exchanged a firm handshake while Mya was quickly engrossed in a hug.

“So when were you planning on telling me about the reality show you’re doing with Eileen Darby?” I uttered the moment the cunning executive producer mingled with other guests.

“Eh, I hate the term reality show. It has such an ugly stigma. I prefer to refer to that project as a docu-series.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” I quipped. “Why was my name brought up in that conversation? And don’t lie and say that it wasn’t because Eileen herself told me.”

“Can’t we talk about this sometime later? Like tomorrow when there are fewer people around.” She attempted to walk away, taking quick, eager sips from her champagne glass, but I reached forward and lightly grasped her arm.

“No, we can talk about this right now.”

“Fine. Follow me.” She spat. We ventured away from the party and headed up a flight of stairs that led to the home’s second floor. With each step made, our footsteps made corresponding clicking noises that echoed the further we trudged along the hardwood. Two wooden chairs bedecked with patterned cushions that looked to be far too firm were located at the end of the hall, along with a row of potted plants positioned by the wide, sun soaking windows. Mya and I engaged in a staring match for what seemed to be an eternity until she gave in and sat down, unfastening both of her sandals’ ankle straps, tossing the high heeled shoes aside before retrieving her glass again.

“I was offered the deal after my co-writers and I submitted a few chapters of the book. I wasn’t sure how word got out there but maybe a week after that I ran into Eileen and an OK! Magazine event. We exchanged numbers and maybe went out to lunch once or twice. She presented the idea. I was completely turned off by it. And from there, we began discussing who’d be a great fit for the show. And that’s that. Nothing else.” She spoke, tilting the champagne flute’s base upwards. “I haven’t signed off on everything yet. My attorney’s still looking over everything. But if I were to sign on, I wouldn’t begin filming until after my honeymoon.”

“Where do I come in at in this whole thing?”

“However you wish to come in at, Nicole. You don’t have to come in at all if you don’t want to. I’d respect your wishes. Convincing someone to do anything they have reservations about was never my thing. It’s your life and your reputation on the line. Television could make or break you.” She rushed out before taking another gulp of champagne. “I should be back in Manhattan a week after the wedding. Jason finally settled on a location for the honeymoon.” She said, her eyes beaming with enthusiasm. “It’s looking like Santorini for us, and thank goodness it is because he strongly considered the Maldives even though we just spent my birthday weekend there last March...” She blabbered on.

Unbeknown to her, I tuned out at the mention of the moment the Maldives were mentioned.

The South Asian island arrayed with more sandbanks that I could count was where Hill and I had spent our last vacation together. A three-day two-night stay in an overwater villa was followed by a two da yacht ride along the waters of the Indian Ocean.

We conceived there.

Our relationship reached its peak there.

The reason behind its demise, among other aspects, had originated there.

A reciprocated passion wasn’t the uncompromising issue.

Our displays of affection never dwindled, whether we were at odds or working out over the periodic rough patches of an overzealous dispute. Kissing, groping and heated lovemaking were constants that bound us; it was the glue that held us together--that joined us from the very beginning.

We were doomed from the start.  

“Call me when you’ve thought it through. I guess I’ll present the idea to my other two girlfriends.”

“Hypothetically speaking, what happens after that?” Part of me wanted to prod around about the ‘other girlfriends’ that she considered to be part of the docu-series but decided against asking. Mya was fond of knowing the who’s who in the entertainment industry. From urban models to overly-privileged wives of record label execs.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to refill my glass. If I’m going to judge a damn contest based on which dress made of toilet paper is the prettiest then I need me a buzz.” She snickered before grabbing her heels and her glass. She paused and then reverted her gazed to me. “Thank you for the gift. No one’s ever gifted me with cooking classes before.”  She said prior to hurrying back down the hall.

#Different Worlds #Different Worlds Fiction #fiction

[shootingstarcipher-blog]

Before the Monsters Catch Up (M-Dash Fic)

It had been too long since Dash had last turned up on the Tellers’ doorstep unannounced, though Marshall would have feverishly disagreed. The longer they went without Syndi or his parents learning anything about the sneaky grey-haired boy they occasionally saw stealing from the local shops or brawling in the street with some other bedraggled pauper, the better – except that every time he approached him or burst into his house (often without even knocking) was another chance they’d find out they were acquainted.

A small sting of resentment struck him every time Marshall ducked out of the way so as not to be seen with him, or whenever he threw his hand over his mouth to silence him in case somebody overheard him and saw them together. Even Simon had started to be more cautious about where they met up and had become a lot more secretive since the incident with Mr Chaney a month or so ago. While Marshall seemed to want nothing more than to forget it entirely, Dash brought this incident up frequently, reminding him that he had saved his life more than once and to his reckoning, Marshall was therefore indebted to him.

He smirked, contemplating what to demand from him in return, as he raised his fist to knock, only to be startled when the door opened before he had the chance. And in front of him appeared Marshall Teller, the very person he’d been thinking about (in fact, he thought about him a lot more frequently than he would have liked to admit and he was making it his primary ambition never to let anyone find out about that so as not to appear in anyway humanised, and besides, he had no desire to explain his thoughts to anyone, including himself).

The last thing Dash expected was to be invited inside, and for good reason. The door quietly clicked shut as Marshall stepped outside, being careful not to draw the attention from his family members as they were gathered around the dinner table, waiting for him to re-join them. He looked less than ecstatic to see him, the notion of which making Dash smirk a little more devilishly.

His smirk disappeared when Marshall opened his mouth, immediately demanding to know what he was doing there. Because it wasn’t like he ever barged into his home unexpectedly, Dash sarcastically noted. It was how they’d met – with Marshall and Simon bursting into the Old Mill with a video camera, desperately filming everything in sight with the hope of getting footage of the alleged ghost of Grungy Bill. And they’d done it a fair few more times too, with little to no regard of Dash’s privacy (though the Old Mill didn’t technically belong to him).

“It’s freezing out here,” he snapped in response, though that had nothing to do with why he’d gone there. It was always freezing and it had been ever since the day he’d woken up in the Old Mill several months beforehand.

“I know,” was Marshall’s only (and extremely sullen response). He turned away then, towards the door, about to re-join his family in the dining room when the grey-haired pauper made a dash in the same direction, bursting into the house without giving Marshall the opportunity to stop him. He was stronger than him anyway and could easily fight him off if he felt it necessary. Once inside, he had half a mind to suddenly and extravagantly announce his presence to the rest of the Tellers simply to spite Marshall and wolf down his dinner on top of that, but something told him they wouldn’t react graciously to his intrusion and silently headed upstairs instead, being careful not to be seen by anyone else. Closing the door behind him, Marshall stopped and watched him for a moment before returning to his family without another word.

Muffled voices followed. Mumbled snippets of conversations, the majority of which he had no hope of making sense of. At the top of the stairs, listening intently, Dash stared down at the cream-coloured carpet in a peculiar concoction of both awe and disgust. Awe with regards to Marshall’s devotion to the beings he called his family and disgust with regards to the very same thing. Family.

He often wondered if he had one and, if he did, whether they were searching for him. For all he knew they could have been the ones to steal his memories and dump him there with nothing but the clothes on his back. He wondered if they’d ever loved him, if they still did and if he’d ever loved them, because from the moment his memories had gotten lost, he hadn’t been able to imagine loving anyone at all – even family. On occasion, he wondered if they had grey hair too – if his unusual appearance, including the markings on his hands, was hereditary.

When the conversation from downstairs died down and footsteps began leading away from the dining room, he scrambled to his feet and darted into the room closest to him – which turned out to not be a room at all, but a built-in storage cupboard filled with a vacuum cleaner, a couple of buckets, a mop, toolboxes containing things he knew nothing about and an awful lot of dust. This was much more like a home to Dash than the clean, carpeted rooms he’d caught glimpses of downstairs. If no-one (besides a few spiders) was living in it, he decided he might as well.

Remaining still and silent, his senses overcome by the sound of his own breathing, he waited behind the darkness, straining to hear the approaching footsteps as they ascended the stairs. There were two sets now – something he hadn’t noticed before. One went right passed him without a second thought, straight into the room at the end of the narrow hallway. The other stopped at the top of the stairs, as if its owner was waiting for something. A sharp, short hissing sound suddenly seeped in from the other side of the door and, after a brief moment of nothing happening, somebody knocked gently on the cupboard door and hissed again, louder this time.

“Dash!” Another knock. “Dash! Are you in there?” And then, under his breath, he heard him mutter, “If you’ve gone in my parents’ room, you’re dead.”

With a small smile playing on his lips, he pushed the cupboard door open and half-jokingly chuckled, “Why? What’s so important about your parents’ room?”

“Nothing. Now shut the hell up and get in here.” This was the first time Marshall had ever grabbed him so roughly and aggressively and Dash couldn’t help but despise it, though it would have been a lie to say that he wasn’t even vaguely impressed. Violence and hostility was his trademark attitude. Marshall was the compassion and approachability that balanced him out. He was the bad cop; Marshall was the good cop. And he hated it when a good cop tried to play bad.

But he brushed it off and – just this once – allowed him to shove him into the room on his left, which he instantly concluded must have been Marshall’s room. In the corner was the fabled evidence locker he occasionally heard Simon reference (he got the feeling Marshall wasn’t as open about it as Simon was, but he was in its presence now so he supposed he must have gotten over the idea of keeping it a secret from him) and across from him was an unmade bed that looked like heaven compared to sleeping on a dusty old wooden floor like he had been doing. Next to the bed was a desk with an open book lying on it, turned to a page about memory loss. Ignoring Marshall’s command that he kept away from his belongings (probably from a perfectly rational fear that he would steal something important to him) he took a closer at it, glancing at the front cover which explained that it was some sort of psychology book.

Memory loss? Letting go of the book, he frowned, and held onto the desk instead, noticing his hand shaking slightly as he did so. How many other people did Marshall know with memory loss? It couldn’t have been many, if any at all. That book looked like it was designed to diagnose people with psychiatric disorders. Like it was designed to spot insanity.

“I’m not crazy, if that’s what you’re thinking.” He spoke slowly, firmly, like a shrinking violet feigning extraversion. Trying to convince not just Marshall, but himself. Then his face broke out into a smile, he took his hand – no longer shaking – off the desk, and joked, “I’m mad, but I’m not crazy.” His smile was wide and toothy, like a shark’s, and his eyes dark but sparked with something menacing.

Marshall’s, on the other hand, alluded only fear. “Y- Yeah, I know,” he choked, barely able to speak with Dash’s gaze clawing viciously at his throat, suffocating him with just a glance. “It’s not about you… It’s- It’s Simon. Yeah, he’s been forgetting a lot lately. I’m just trying to help him.”

“Well,” Dash started, his voice its usual low, threatening growl. “We’d better get reading then. Don’t want anything to happen to old Shrimpenstein, do we?”

His dislike for Simon Holmes was Dash X’s worst kept secret; his best being his… whatever it was… for Marshall Teller. This was in spite of Simon being much friendlier towards him than Marshall (or anyone, really) had ever been. He was the one who had first pointed out that Marshall wouldn’t have survived his attack from Mr Chaney had it not been for Dash, as well as convincing him to let him into his home the first time. (He’d only been invited in for a minute or two because Syndi had been due home shortly afterwards, but since then Marshall had never let him into his house and it was plain to see that it had to have been because Simon hadn’t been there to convince him otherwise.)

Yes, he supposed he did acknowledge that having Simon around could occasionally be useful. He also supposed, however, that Marshall would focus a lot more attention on him should Simon to disappear from the picture for a while. Not that he’d ever try and make that happen, of course.

The book did intrigue him and he flicked through a couple of pages, not for Simon’s sake but to indulge in his fascination for what he assumed reflected Marshall’s opinion of him. He’d lied. He probably was crazy – or something like that. He couldn’t remember what. He could barely remember anything.

Even the last few days were a blur. It wasn’t just his entire life from before he’d found himself in the Old Mill that were blocked from his mind, it was nearly everything. Most of what he could remember was just him and Marshall, and Simon being irritating and friendly, which really was just another word for irritating as far as Dash was concerned. The rest was hazy and indecipherable. So, maybe he really was insane. Marshall certainly seemed to think so.

He was watching him intently, cautiously, like a deer prepared to flee at any sign of a sudden movement. Dash returned the favour by slamming down the book and glaring back, eyes aflame with something that wasn’t quite anger, but far from fear and even further from contentment. “I haven’t completely lost my mind yet, Marsh,” he spat, prompting a slow response of relief from him – a sigh that was still hesitant, still cautious, still fearful.

“Yet?” Marshall repeated questioningly. “Yet, as in…”

“As in I’m bound to lose it sometime.” He paused and looked thoughtful for a moment or two, gazing lazily around the room at everything he hadn’t seen yet – books, the wardrobe, the clothes scattered on the floor by the bed. “Speaking of Simon… I wonder where he is. Seen him lately?”

And of course Dash knew that he hadn’t – not because of what he’d done, but because he simply happened to know. No-one would have believed him though, regardless of all the other strange goings on in the town of Eerie. So aside from that one little jab he kept quiet, all the while keeping to himself a peculiar little secret he couldn’t wait to forget.

AO3 Link - https://archiveofourown.org/works/13036314/chapters/29818947

#m-dash #eerie indiana #fanfiction #dash x #marshall teller #marshall teller/dash x