#had this urge to draw the starry scene..

[punkeduppirate]

look at you, you're gorgeous💥

#had this urge to draw the starry scene.. #i love outer space thingy and happy angel crowley's so damn cute he's so excited for it😔 #pardon me idk how to nebula so i'll just go with gay clouds in space #good omens #good omens 2 #good omens fanart #crowley #aziraphale #aziracrow #ineffable husbands #fanart #my art #nandsbox

[garoujo]

・✶ ｡ﾟgojo wants to make sure you can only ever think about him when he’s not there.

♱ warnings — f!reader, shower scenes >< gojo uses the shower head on you, it’s been so long since i’ve written him so pls forgive me if i’m a little rusty sob. / note. as u can assume this idea hit me during my shower 2day sob . i’ve missed him sm !

it would be crazy of you to think that you could just have a relaxing, intimate sort of shower with gojo — especially when the man is hellbent on teasing you, poking at your sides and insisting that he be the one to help you lather up your body,

but it seems gojo’s thought up another way of getting to you, especially considering he’s taken his time to get you particularly sudsy as his chest presses snug against your back — letting you melt into the needy ministrations of his hands as he lathers you in soap.

it’s felt like so long since you’ve felt gojo like this, felt his hands on your body and the twitch of his cock against your skin — pressing tight against your back as he reaches forward to grab the shower head to wash you off.

you should’ve been more suspicious considering how rock fucking hard he already feels against you, leaning down to graze his lips along your shoulder as he begins to rinse the bubbles off of you. his hands smooth along your abdomen as the soothing, warm stream of water follows after — his touch making goosebumps burst along your skin as you sigh.

“that feel good, sweet thing?” gojo goads as he whispers lowly against the shell of your ear, humming when you nod in reply and let your head fall back to rest against his shoulder — so pliant and pretty for him already and he’s barely touched you, yet.

that’s when it starts, his palm smoothes lower as he washes the soap off of you — easing your thighs to spread slightly where you stand as he soothes you with presses of his lips along your shoulder and neck. but it’s almost too fast, the way his fingertips cut down through your folds before he spreads you lewdly, followed by the sudden spray from the shower head along your intimate skin that makes you jolt.

“fuck.. ‘toru.” you hiss at the surge of pleasure the stream of water feels like it shoots through you, but it only urges gojo to hum like he’s pleased before he’s pressing his face into the crook of your neck and hooking his free arm around your waist — to keep you upright.

“oh? ‘s this what my sweet girl does when she misses my cock, hm?” he smirks, teases before his words are followed by another precise spray from the shower head along your folds — his feet kicking your legs wider as he pulls you even tighter into him.

ofcourse gojo knows how you please yourself when he’s gone, he’d seen you himself — walking into you soaking in your bath, looking starry-eyed and fucked out with the shower head in your hand, acting like he’d just walked in on you committing a crime. but fuck—he thinks you look so good right now, it should be fucking criminal.

the beads of water are racing down your tits and abdomen, pretty thighs spread so he can see the way the water against your clit makes them twitch and shake. but he’s got you, held tight in his hold so he can press deeper into you, letting you feel the hard strain of his cock against your back as he mouths at your jawline.

but he thinks you still look even better on the end of his cock.

“heh—not the same, huh? thought i had some competition. guess nothings quite like me, that right, princess?” you’re nodding and huffing, sweet little uh huhs pouring from your lips with every flick of his wrist, letting the water press hard against your cunt with how high he’s put the water pressure.

gojo gives you a few more seconds before he draws his hips back, feels you jolt in his hold when he turns you to face him — hooded lids and parted lips as you send him a pretty little look that has him wrapping your arms around his shoulders so he can kiss you.

you’re already fucked out as you press your chest tight against his, letting him cage you tight against the damp shower wall behind you before he’s hooking one of your thighs up so he can line up his cock. he bites on your lower lip as he pulls away, waiting until you’re blinking up at him to finally sink into you so he can watch your features break with that pretty, lewd expression.

“looks like you’re made for me after all, sweet thing. know you best, yeah? are you my girl?” gojo hums with the first saccharine squeeze of your walls around him, pressing deeper into you like he’s trying to draw out the answer he wants so bad. your lips part as you nod, head resting back against the wall before he’s tilting his head down at you and giving you another inch, deeper.

“say it then. real loud f’ me.” he knows you’re struggling, hanging onto that last little thread of sanity that’s threatening to snap with the thick spread of his cock. you both gasp and moan when his hips finally press tight against yours and you’re breathing deep when your nails scratch along the ivory skin of his shoulders, followed by a sweet little “i’m your girl, ‘toru.” that makes him fucking throb.

gojo grins at you, one of his more handsome smirks through pink cheeks before he draws his hips back and sinks into you again, and it feels like he reaches even deeper when you feel the sudden spray from the shower head return to your cunt. 

the snowy peaks of his hair are wet as they frame his features, hooded lids gazing down at you as he begins a pace and he knows you’re already so fucking close when your pussy grips his cock tight — urging him back in as he ups the pressure of the water against your puffy clit with a chuckle.

“oh, you’re being real good for me, my sweet girl. wanna see how pretty you look when you cry f’ me.” every smack of gojo’s hips sounds even louder as it echos around the bathroom, your cries muffled against his lips as he licks into your mouth. you feel dizzy with the ruthless pressure along your clit aswell as his cock grazing along the sweet spots inside of you, feeling it push you towards your orgasm alarmingly quick as you cry out for him.

“already squeezin’ real tight, have i got you feeling that good? hm?” he thinks you’re fucking adorable actually, his name falling from your lips like a half-hormone drunken prayer that he rewards with another particularly sharp, deep kiss of his cock along your swollen spots. he buries kisses into your skin like he wants the spots to remember him, working your body with pure desire to feel you cum for him.

“oh, looks like you wont be able to use this without me thinking ‘bout me now. such a shame, princess.”

© 2022 garoujo. please do not copy any of my layouts or writing and translate or repost onto any other sites.

#݁ . ࿓ : sealed #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x you #gojo x reader #gojo smut #gojo x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru x you

[solargoose]

I wrote and illustrated a scene from this AU :) Under the read more cause it’s a bit long with both the writing and the pictures.

The moonpool was lit with a bright, starry glow, out of which stepped three cats. A fluffy, silver tom, an elegant black she-cat, and wiry brown tabby she-cat. The three sat on the surface of the water, still haloed in the blue light of Starclan, and dipped their heads in greeting to Jayfeather and Lionblaze.

Lionblaze stepped back a pace, startled by the sudden appearance of the Starclan cats. He glanced quickly at his brother. Jayfeather’s jaws were parted, drawing in the scent of the visitors. A moment later, his fur lay flat and he turned towards Lionblaze.

“I recognize their scent from Leafpool’s memory. These are the cats that appeared when we were born.” He murmured.

The silver Starclan cat nodded. “Yes, we were there. My name is Riverstar, and this is Shadowstar and Windstar. We witnessed your birth, and gave you your powers.”

“How? Why?” Lionblaze couldn’t help but ask. “We’ve heard the prophecy but it doesn’t explain anything.”

“Time is like a river. The banks are steady, and the river flows the same way. But the individual raindrops that make up the river? Those are constantly changing. The wind blows a different way and raindrops that would have joined the river soak into the ground instead.” Riverstar explained calmly. “Those raindrops are cats, the wind is life - the choices made by cats and other creatures, nature, the weather, any number of things. A cat decides to go for a walk in one area instead of another and meets a different mate, has different kits than they might have otherwise. Some raindrops reach the river, others don’t.”

Lionblaze fought the urge to roll his eyes. “I guess I understand that, sure.  But what does that have to do with our powers? We just happened to be a group of three ‘raindrops’ when you needed them?”

“No, you three aren’t raindrops. For whatever reason, you’re part of the river bank. The raindrops around you shift - who your parents are, what other apprentices you train with, even what clan you’re from. But the three of you are always together.”

Lionblaze turned again to look at his brother. His expression was unreadable, but Lionblaze didn’t think he looked surprised. I guess it’s nice, knowing that, no matter what, we’re meant to be together. 

“If we were always meant to have these powers, then why wasn’t Hollyleaf given hers?” Jayfeather demanded quietly. “And if it had to be three, how were we able to contact you without her?” His tail was flicking angrily, but his voice remained impassive.

Shadowstar stepped forward to answer him, her ears flat. “We didn’t hold her gift back as punishment, if that’s what you’re implying.” She lifted her chin. “Our connection is fragile, and your birth was difficult. By the time Hollyleaf was born, we weren’t able to reach her anymore. As for why we can communicate now, Thunderstar is assisting.”

“But this connection won’t last long either. We need to pass on the third gift now, or we may never get the chance.” Windstar warned.

Lionblaze’s shoulders drooped. “Hollyleaf is gone. Surely you know that. So how…” His words trailed off, his throat suddenly tight with the thought of his sister. Her tail disappearing into the falling rocks…we don’t even know if she’s alive or not.

Shadowstar spoke up again. “Now that we’re closer to the prophecy’s completion, it doesn’t have to be Hollyleaf. Any cat that shares blood with Firestar or some of Firestar’s kin will do. But they’ll need to be brought to us quickly.”

“Lionblaze.” Jayfeather said quietly. “Go get Goldencloud.”

Lionblaze’s eyes widened with shock. “Are you sure? Will she…” He thought of the rift that had opened between them and the cat they’d thought of as their sister. “Will she even come?” he finished softly.

Jayfeather turned to face him, a knowing look in his bright blue eyes, made all the brighter by the glow of Starclan. “She’ll come.” He declared.

Turning, feeling the shadows wrap comfortably around him, Lionblaze raced up the slope. As he neared the top of the hollow, his thoughts were so firmly fixed on Goldencloud that he nearly tripped over the two small shapes huddled at the entrance.

Startled, he scrambled to a halt and stared down at them. It was Dovekit and Ivykit, staring back at him with wide eyes.

“What are you doing here?” Lionblaze yelled, trying not to snarl at the young kits. He didn’t want to scare them, but he was startled and stressed.

The kits’ eyes widened even further. It was obvious to Lionblaze that they hadn’t really thought about what would happen if they were caught.

“We just…we wanted to know where you were going.” Dovekit mewed softly, her voice shaking slightly.

Oh no, Lionblaze thought, trying to look less intimidating in the hopes of calming the kit. Powers or no, Whitewing is going to claw my ears off when we get back.

“It’s ok, it’s ok.” He murmured quickly. “Just stay here and…”

In the hollow below, Lionblaze saw the light dim and flicker. We’re running out of time. Lionblaze thought, panic squeezing his chest. Knowing it wasn’t a good idea, he made a quick choice.

Scooping up Dovekit by her scruff, Lionblaze turned and ran back into the hollow. Behind him, he heard Ivykit cry out and begin to give chase, her tiny paws thudding against the stone as she ran as hard as she could. Guilt spiked through Lionblaze, but he kept running. 

It’s the only option. There isn’t time to run back to the camp and convince Goldencloud or someone else to follow me. This is what we have to do, to save the clans. Lionblaze thought, trying to convince himself. 

At the moonpool, Jayfeather turned in surprise, his ears pricked at the sound of Lionblaze’s return and the shrill cries of Ivykit. Dovekit had remained quiet, whether out of shock or simply because she trusted Lionblaze he wasn’t sure.

“What are you-” Jayfeather began to say as Lionblaze placed Dovekit on the ground in front of the moonpool.

“We’re running out of time. They followed us here and - Whitewing is Cloudtail’s daughter, they fit the prophecy.” Lionblaze explained in a rush.

Windstar stepped forward, leaning down to touch her nose to Dovekit’s head. The blue glow briefly enveloped the tiny gray kit, and Lionblaze heard Ivykit wail softly.

“May sight and sound come to you as swiftly as the wind.” Windstar murmured. 

The light flared, then faded slowly. Dovekit uttered a small whimper as Windstar pulled back. Ivykit, finally reaching them, sprawled onto the ground beside her, panting hard. 

“Stay away - from my - sister!” Ivykit gasped out.

“Worry not, little one.” Riverstar purred, leaning down to lick Ivykit gently on the head. “Your sister is fine.”

She doesn’t really look fine. Lionblaze noted, feeling the guilt he’d tried to push away come rushing back. Dovekit was huddled silently on the ground. Every few heartbeats she flinched, her tail bristling and her eyes darting wildly. 

“Is that it, then?” Jayfeather spat, lashing his tail. “All the gifts are given and we can fix whatever’s gone wrong now?”

Shadowstar nodded and opened her mouth to speak. Before she could, the light around them flickered, then went out completely. The Starclan cats disappeared along with it, leaving the four Thunderclan cats alone in the hollow.

(ID: Three cats outlines in silvery-blue and surrounded by a blue glow with stars. From left to right, the cats are Riverstar, a fluffy silver cat with green eyes, Shadowstar, a black cat with dark green eyes, and Windstar, and brown tabby cat with yellow eyes. End ID.)

(ID: Jayfeather, a gray tabby cat with blue eyes, and Lionblaze, a golden brown tabby with amber eyes, in profile, facing the blue starry light. Jayfeather’s mouth is open, and Lionblaze has his ears back in fear or concern. End ID.)

(ID. Lionblaze running up a rocky slope. Tendrils of shadow wrap around him. End ID.)

(ID: From Lionblaze’s point of view, looking down at two kittens sitting in front of his paws. The kittens are Dovekit, a gray kit with white paws and blue eyes, and Ivykit, a white and gray tabby kit with blue eyes. Both are wide-eyed and frowning. End ID.)

(ID: Dovekit sitting in front of Windstar, who is bent over to touch her nose to Dovekit. Dovekit’s ears are back in fear. In the background, Ivykit stands looking frightened, her mouth open and ears flat. End ID.)

#warrior cats #warrior cats au #Scrambled Rewrite

[inkandpen22]

Otherworldly Kings and Queens (4/?)

Pairing: Peter Pevensie x Female!Reader  / Prince Caspian x Female!Reader  

Warnings: mentiones of violence, mentions of death 

Word Count: 2.4k

Part Summary: As the group arrives at Aslan’s How, it’s evident that Caspian and Peter won’t exactly see eye-to-eye. When Peter 

Masterlist

Arriving at Aslan’s How is truly like something out of a picture book. We stop just before the archway. I stand beside Peter, observing him as he watches the scene unfold before him. Centaurs line the path and draw their swords in honor of the Pevensies, their Kings and Queens of Narnia. Peter appears unfazed, as though this is normal life. Then I realize, this is normal to him. He starts to walk along with his siblings. When he comprehends that I’ve stayed put, he turns to me in confusion. I release his hand and urge him to go out with a nod of my head. I’m not a Queen of Narnia. An unfamiliar expression crosses his face before he snaps out of it and hurries to rejoin his siblings. I glance over Caspian and his head falls as the siblings walk ahead.

“Don’t worry, you’re needed here too,” I assure him quietly.

His eyes meet mine and I offer him a soft smile. After all, if it weren’t for him, the Pevensies would’ve never made it back here. I can tell he’s unsure of himself, worried about all of the pressure on him. Caspian and the Pevensies are supposed to lead a revolution. I can’t help but wonder if it’s truly feasible. We’re just a couple of kids.

I nod my head toward the How and the two of us start walking together with Trumpkin following along.

After a tour of the hideout and Caspian showing us the shrine to Aslan, there’s a war meeting. Peter and Caspian are butting heads, not much of a surprise there. The presence of a power struggle between the two leaders is evident as day. Caspian believes we should wait for the Telmarines to make the first move. Peter thinks it’s best if we attack first with the element of surprise.

I sit with my knees close to my chest against a pillar with Ed. I rest my head on his shoulder, growing tired of this back and forth tennis match between royals. Plus, I haven’t slept in two days. 

“If we dig in, we can hold them off indefinitely,” Susan sides with Caspian.

“But if they’re smart, they could starve us out,” Edmund voices.

Centaurs give their unwavering support if Peter does decide to lead a raid. They guarantee that they will fight to the death. I shake my head, earning the attention of Edmund who feels the motion against his shoulder. He can likely predict what I’m thinking. Brotherly, he places his hand over mine, rubbing his thumb over my skin gently. 

“That’s what I’m worried about,” Lucy interjects under her breath.

Peter turns to her, “I’m sorry?”

“Well, you’re all acting like there are only two options, dying here or dying there.”

Again, Lucy is the youngest, but still the wisest. I’m on team Lucy.

“I’m not sure you’ve been listening Lu,” Peter dismisses, much to my frustration.

“No, you’re not listening,” she fires back uncharacteristically. “Or have you forgotten who really defeated the White Witch?”

Lucy has a point there. I raise my brows, suppressing a smirk. Out of my peripheral vision I see Edmund checking for my reaction. I glance at the youngest boy. 

“You should say something,” he advice. 

I shake my head, denying the chance. There’s no way am I doing that. 

“I believe we’ve waited for Aslan long enough,” Peter states to his sister.

What happened to the Peter who spoke so highly of the Guardian of Narnia? He praised Aslan and now he’s losing faith in him.

“Y/N, what do you think?”

I’m pulled from my train of thought upon hearing Peter saying my name. I scan the room and everyone’s eyes are on me, even the squirrels.

“Me?” I laugh nervously, rising to my feet. “I’m not sure I’m the best person to talk to.”

“But you are the fairest,” Susan compliments.

“Definitely the most patient,” Edmund adds by my feet.

Rubbing my hands together anxiously, I steadily approach Peter. I know what he wants me to say, he wants my support. I do support Peter as an individual, no matter what, but I can’t condone war. He likely knows what I’m going to say, he knew when he asked for my opinion. Yet, he asked for it anyway, perhaps out of hope that I’ve had a change of heart in the circumstance.

The room falls silent as Peter and I study each other’s face, silently pleading with the other to comply.

“You know I don’t believe violence is ever the answer,” I reason with him calmly. 

“But we’re at war!” He fusses, pacing away from me in frustration.

I scoff, pausing to processes his words. He can’t be serious right now? After the last three years, he doesn’t think I’m well acquainted with what war means?

I lose my temper. “You don’t think I know that?!”

Peter whips his head around furiously and murmurs erupt amongst the Narnians. I’ve just yelled at their High King.

“We’ve been at war in our world for years now!” I shout at ‘King Peter,’ more like self-righteous Peter. “I know war! I understand war! What I don’t understand is creating more damage than necessary! Miraz is your problem? Target him! Attack him, not the entire palace where innocent lives could be taken!”

Peter pants, his red with anger as he restrains himself from yelling. Peter and I have only argued like this perhaps twice in our lives. Even in those instances, the reasons were never as imperative as this one. We argued about childish things, jealousy, and sharing. Now, we’re arguing about war and the priority of life. I’m only a teenager, these are conversations for adults.

I shake my head and my face falls in disappointment as I continue to look at my best friend. His eyes shift from expressing overpowering aggravation to guilt. Silently, I rush to the hall leading to the rest of the hideout. Peter reaches for me as I pass him, but I slip my wrist from his grip.

“Y/N!” Peter calls pleadingly to which I ignore.

I won’t participate in this discussion further. Peter and everyone else knows where I stand now, no need to stick around.

____________________________________________

The sunsets over Aslan’s How and soon the starry sky hangs overhead. I’ve been hiding on top of the How on the patches of grass since the meeting. At first, I was fuming. Peter isn’t being reasonable! He’s trying to prove himself to the Narnians and Caspian that he’s still this great king from before. I can tell he’s guilt-ridden because of his accidental return to our world, all of the Pevensies are.

“Why are you awake so late?”

A voice pulls me from my train of thought. Caspian strolls over to me and sits down on the grass next to me, resting against the rocks of the fortress.

“I can’t sleep,” I mumble as I play with a blade of grass. “I haven’t been able to.”

“I can assure you you’re safe here,” Caspian smiles faintly.

It’s not that I feel unsafe here per se. It’s my mind, it won’t stop wondering. Whenever I close my eyes, I’m afraid of what I’ll dream of.

“I don’t doubt it. I just...” I release a deep sigh, looking out over the field ahead. “It’s all just overwhelming.”

One minute, I’m on my way to school as I do each day, nothing exciting there. Then the next, I’m in some foreign land surrounded by mythical creatures who I was led to believe only existed in fantasy novels.

I turn my head to Caspian, admiring his side profile. “What keeps you up?” I ask him quietly.

He shifts, relaxing more into his position, and turns his head to meet my gaze. His jet black eyes that match his hair glisten under the stars. Little specks of white glimmer in them like stars.

“I uh... “ he swallows hard, his eyes flickering to the bit of ground between us. “Whenever I close my eyes I see my uncle’s face. When I try to sleep, I...”

I place my hand over him without a second thought. His sight returns to mine with a hint of surprise. Yet, he still appears troubled. I offer him a comforting smile, hoping it will grant him peace of mind.

“Nightmares are perfectly normal, Caspian.”

He nods, coming to terms with it. “Would you mind if I stay here with you for a little while?”

My smile grows and ease of relief across his features. “Not at all.”

______________________________________

Chatter, the sound of pounding metal, and birds chirping increase at a rapid rate. I shift a little, groaning at the sudden surge of disturbing sound. I can see light behind my closed eyes, so I hide my eyes in my hands. Utterly exhausted, I grant myself five more minutes. I moan, stretching out slightly to get comfortable again. I feel a weight on my waist and it tightens around me. Then, I feel something against my back and hear a deep sigh as warm breath brushes against my shoulder. I relax, a faint smile appearing across my lips.

Similar to a blast, I fly up from my laid position. My eyes adjust to the bright light of day slowly and I frantically search the area around me. Caspian awakes beside me in a panic due to my sudden surge of movement. Oh no, this is not good!

“Oh no, by all means, don’t scurry on my account” Trumpkin makes himself known a few feet away. “I was just about to throw up!”

i growl at the dwarf and rise from the ground. “Must you be so crude?”

Brushing down my dress, I march off to the path leading down to the How’s entrance. I hear Caspian chase after me.

“Y/N wait!” He calls.

Ignoring him, I continue my hurried pace down to the ground.  Peter is likely having a fit wondering where I am. Falling asleep with Caspian on top of the How was not on my to-do list.

Right as I reach the stone path leading into the alcove, Caspian grabs my wrist. “Do you think we can train together today?”

I laugh, does he think me to be Joan of Arc? I’ve never fought a day in my life!

“Me? Train with you? I’m no soldier, I would ask Edmund or Peter. They’re far better than me,” I suggest as I start to walk away.

The Prince jogs ahead and blocks my path, placing his hand gently on my arm. “Well maybe so, but then we can learn together.”

Peter wouldn’t like it, that much I know for sure. He hardly let me borrow Edmund’s Katana. Since then, I’ve never actually used it. I drew it in the woods when Caspian and Peter were fighting, but I don’t know the first thing about defending myself.

“Alright,” I comply, much to Caspian’s pleasure. Perhaps it is to my benefit to training. After all, I suppose there will be a battle eventually, though I’ll do everything I can to stop it. “But I don’t think we should do it here,” I add.

He frowns, “why not?”

I raise my brows at the boy. “Have you met Peter?”

He snickers, understanding my point. “Okay, maybe you’re right. We could try by the river!”

“Alright,” I nod. “We should go now.”

I cautiously check around us to make sure no one overheard before heading inside. Other than a few Narnians transporting supplies and weaponry, we’re in the clear. As long as none of the Pevensies find out, especially Peter, Caspian and I should be okay.

__________________________________

Caspian and I have been training all afternoon by the river. I’m actually better than I thought I’d be. Once Caspian taught me some basic motions, I learned I could build off of them. At first, he was going easy on me, changing positions slower than he really would in a fight. As I started to get used to having a weapon in my hand, I could imagine it as an extension of my arm like Caspian instructed. Soon, I was putting up a real fight against Caspian. I spin and swing my sword to meet his blade at an angle.

Face to face, Caspian laughs breathlessly. “And you swear you’ve never used a sword!”

“No, we don’t exactly need them in Finchley,” I snicker.

“What is your world like?” He asks as he changes our position and nearly knocks my katana from my hands.

“It’s not necessarily exciting,” I grunt as I drop to a squat to sweep his legs.

He jumps to dodge the move, landing on his feet perfectly. “Tell me about it. What do you like to do there?”

I snicker, stepping to the side to swing my blade down onto his shoulder. “Are you wanting to know more about my world or more about me?”

Caspian takes advantage of my uneven stance and grabs my arm. Swiftly he spins me around and yanks me into his chest. I accidentally drop my sword and his hand wraps around my neck.

“You,” he whispers in my ear.

I swallow hard, glancing down at my katana laying in the plush grass just a few feet away. Keeping the status quo, I play along. “I like the ocean, but your’s here is far prettier,” I distract him. “When I was younger, my father used to take my family sailing on holiday... but that was years ago.”

His grasp around my neck eases up slightly and I take the chance to slip from his hold. I fall to my knees and reach for my Katana. I grip it’s handled right as Caspian rolls me over onto my back and climbs on top of me. He pins my wrists above my head.

“Why did you stop going?” He pants, referring to my story.

“The war,” I answer softly, my breathing uneven. “He died in a battle in France.”

His face falters sorrowly and his pressure on my wrists subsides. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s alright,” I mutter, not seeking his sympathy. “But now you understand why I don’t believe in war.”

“I lost my father many years ago too,” he confesses.

The despair in his eyes nearly breaks my strong facade. No one should have to lose a parent, especially at a young age. Losing a father leaves a greater hole in one’s heart than most can predict. There are far more long-lasting effects deeply rooted in the experience than meets the eye. I’ve put on a strong face for my family and friends for so long that I’ve grown used to it. None of them understand. Yet here, I’m faced with someone who does.

“Then you truly understand.”

My words release in a whisper, the relief evident in my voice. Caspian nods gently, then his eyes flicker down at my lips. I bite down on the lower, tempted. No, I can’t do it. Peter’s face flashes across my mind. Yet, I can’t deny the alluring feel I have in Caspian's presence. At this moment it’s never been stronger. Caspian leans down, hovering over my face closer than before. My eyes uncontrollably fall to his parted lips. If he kissed me, I wouldn’t deny him. In fact, I find myself wishing he would. My eyes fall shut and his lips brush against mine.

“Y/N!” Peter’s voice booms over the otherwise peaceful wood.

__________

Masterlist

Tags:  @blackbirddaredevil23 @rangergranger11 @hyperactiveravenclaw

[nutty1005]

Xiao Zhan – Beijing Beijing

Translator’s Note: This article comes from PEOPLE Magazine 2020 2nd Issue.

In between “seems beautiful” and “very beautiful”, there can be one or many different views. For example, the phrase “famous after a battle” (TN: Xiao Zhan’s “Zhan” sounds like battle in Chinese), we could analyze the keywords in many ways.

Xiao Zhan, born 1991. Could you imagine how you and I would be when we were 28? Xiao Zhan is like this –

Fan View

“His looks are totally my type” “As warm and gentle as jade, a gentleman who is peerless” “A precious boy with the soul as crystalline as prismatic glass”

“Famous after a battle”, is the most effective “wartime story”. Using this analogy in the entertainment business, there are many who had been battling for quite a while. Xiao Zhan is like this as well…

Audience View

The summer of 2019, the antihero Wei Wuxian (portrayed by Xiao Zhan), came from “The Untamed” into the living rooms of countless viewers, and straight into their hearts;

Platform View

As the Beijing TV Spring Night Spokesperson, as a celebrity with more than 20 million fans on Weibo, as Tencent’s “Most Popular Artist of 2019” and “Drama Actor of the Year”, as iQiyi’s “Breakthrough Popularity Actor of the Year”…

When we change our point of view, will the world become more interesting?

With regards to his looks, Xiao Zhan said he is “ordinary”, and only scored himself a 6.

With regards to his age, Xiao Zhan said his mother’s method of urging him to start a family has went from straight-to-the-point to indirect and tactful.

With regards to “famous after one battle”, is it really as straightforward as standing out from the big data and being ahead of everyone else? Xiao Zhan, who is 1.83m, reduced his weight from 70kg to 58kg for his outstanding portrayal of Wei Wuxian – is this really the result of a day’s work? Does anyone remember the hardworking youth, with a caption “Designer from Chongqing”, from the 2015 idol search variety show “X-Fire”? Does anyone remember that in 2016, after debuting as the lead singer for X9, Xiao Zhan admitted that there were instances of zero income, zero entertainment and zero social activities?

No matter whether it was “very beautiful” or it “seemed beautiful”, would it be free of worries?

Xiao Zhan looked down and smiled, slightly bashful, his expression serene, “Sweet worries.”

He actually loves Beijing so much

On 28 Feb 2019, I (a reporter) entered a dressing room in Beijing TV. The narrow and long dressing room had been split in the middle into two narrower sections. Near the corner, after the staff has dispersed, I finally set my eyes on Xiao Zhan, who sat obediently on a chair while styling his hair.

The stylist stood on the right of Xiao Zhan; to the left of Xiao Zhan was a giant suitcase. After we tried to push the suitcase aside, I managed to stand in the gap. In such a tight space, I could only put the phone in front of Xiao Zhan, on top of the opened makeup case, for voice recording. After some more effort from everyone, there was finally space for the phone.

He was covered in a white hairdresser cape, his long legs enveloped by a pair of black pants – his thick black hair was being kept in order, his handsome side profile, relaxed and natural attitude, polite words, and after some close observation, no piercings on his ears.

How did this unguarded Xiao Zhan look like?

There was no need for exquisite words, just simple and pure wonderfulness.

If it remained unimaginable, it would not be too complex to imagine the warm smiles of the good looking youths on the streets of Beijing. All of these people could have been born in Beijing or traveled to Beijing from their hometowns.

“Chongqinger” Xiao Zhan said, “Beijing, in fact, besides my hometown Chongqing, is my longest lived in city. If we use 2020 to calculate, it would have been 5 years. Beijing, is a striving city, and like any other youths, Beijing means dreams and endeavors to us – this is a city of ambition. Hence, as Beijing TV’s Spring Night spokesperson, I feel that this special meaning, I’m very happy and very excited.”

Indeed, during the release conference in the afternoon, when being asked about how he felt spending his “Year of the Rat” Spring Night with Beijing TV, and expressing that by singing, Xiao Zhan, who was nicknamed “The Little Chinese Music Archive”, thought about it seriously and suddenly sang, “I’m beautiful, beautiful, beautiful……”

Haha, this quick wit and humor was almost as cute as “The Chipmunks”.

Spring Night is a big event, and it required absolute secrecy. We secretly asked Xiao Zhan about Beijing TV Spring Night from his personal point of view. Xiao Zhan continued to be witty, “I feel it’ll be exciting, at least I’ll be performing with a… senior that I really like.” When asked who it would be, Xiao Zhan smiled, “Let’s keep it a mystery, and we welcome everyone to watch Beijing TV Spring Night!”

This “Chongqinger”, who still could not confirm if he could return to his hometown for Chinese New Year, would sometimes show his inner thoughts – “If I could go back I definitely would”, but yet his words lingered on Beijing TV Spring Night.

Xiao Zhan, he actually loves Beijing so much.

He actually likes Zhou Xun so much

Who are the actors that Xiao Zhan admires the most? If he were to pick two, it would be Zhou Xun and Tony Leung.

Xiao Zhan said, “I really like Zhou Xun, her views, her experiences, are all mesmerizing to me. She has many performances that give me the urge to rush into the screen to rescue her. Her performances are very vivacious, it feels like you’re beside her experiencing her performances with her, my attention is all on her, she just has great charisma.”

Xiao Zhan emphasized that he liked Zhou Xun all along, and as we stood and studied his side profile, his face, we suddenly remembered a classic scene from “Palace of Desire”, where the young Princess Taiping removed Xue Shao’s mask.

That year, Zhou Xun was 26, Winston Chao was 40, but it did not prevent her from portraying a young girl’s infatuation. This drama was almost 20 years old, and the female audiences at that time would exclaim that Winston Chao was “as warm and gentle as jade, a gentleman who is peerless”. If this seemed familiar, this phrase was also used by many of Xiao Zhan’s fans to describe him.

Time, in the long river of ages, cycles endlessly Memories, in our past and present lives, crosses endlessly

– Lyrics from “Yu Nian”

This is the lyrics from Xiao Zhan’s song “Yu Nian”, which is the ending song for “Joy of Life”. Who knew that time cycles? Who knew that memories crosses paths?

As of now, Xiao Zhan is similar in age to Zhou Xun’s age then. If we could time travel and Xiao Zhan were to act as Xue Shao, could we guess the ending?

And since we are at this point, we could add another statement – “Traffic” / “Celebrity” / “Actor” – what difference do they make in the face of time? If there are no answers, why not listen to Xiao Zhan’s “Yu Nian”.

Time will tell, it is just that we are too impatient – regardless of our need for speed, we still ought to seek the truth.

He actually admires Vincent van Gogh so much

Xiao Zhan, like many of us, went through the tough period of studying overnight for university entry examinations. He became a student of Chongqing Business and Technology University, majoring in Design. However, this did not prevent Xiao Zhan from becoming a “Top 10 Inter-school Singer”, he self mockingly called himself a “literary enthusiast”, but in fact became one of the stars in many girls’ eyes – someone who was good looking, tall, stylish and could sing and take photographs. Immediately after he graduated, he became a designer, but he would still be brought up by his ex-teachers, one of whom recommended him to participate in “X-Fire”.

When reviewing “X-Fire”, you would realize that Xiao Zhan had a round face, an obedient expression and mild temperament – in fact, you would think that he did not pose much of a threat. But as one by one, the youths started getting eliminated, as their teams were getting regrouped, as they were getting more and more difficult tasks, it seemed as though Xiao Zhan was being sculpted on the spot – his face became more chiselled, he started slimming down, his eyes started having the steady gaze of ambition… Talent search variety shows are, in fact, cruel and all the participants were getting re-sculpted and remodeled – whatever that was removed was not the meant to be in the final product.

So what did Xiao Zhan keep in his heart? These were all the passwords to his past – drawing, design and art. Like anyone who learnt design, they all had an artist that they favored, and they were all different. Xiao Zhan’s answer – Vincent van Gogh.

Xiao Zhan said, “I was asked previously – if I could have a conversation with a past personality, who would it be? I would just choose Vincent van Gogh, because I want to listen to what he had experienced then, how he lived then, such that he was able to create such a beautiful world and paintings. Such as “Starry Night” or “Self Portrait”, I feel that he was able to step away from himself, into very amazing angles, and then create them.”

Those who learned design would usually be able to draw quite well, and usually beyond the levels of self taught hobbyists. Hence, these would also become part of his self cultivation.

Xiao Zhan confirmed this, “Yes, I think starting from aesthetic views to detailed observation, I feel that there were definitely influences.”

On whether Xiao Zhan still went to art exhibitions, the question seemed like a luxury to him – his eyes widened, he straightened himself, and he started smiling widely, “There is very little time now for art exhibitions, I would see them via friends who went and posted in their social media, or those art-related media accounts.”

There could be no burden I could sway my head I could stay my steps I could surrender to you

– Lyrics from “Two Tigers”

This is the promotion song from movie “Two Tigers” sung by Xiao Zhan. There was once in a variety show that he was requested to use his facial muscles to move a cookie on the side of his face into his mouth, while singing. Before the game started, Xiao Zhan pointed at the camera and laughed, “I really do have an idol’s image burden! I really do have an idol’s image burden!” However, after the game started, you see no sign of his “burden”, just 100% into moving his facial muscles, working hard to get to the cookie.

What is an idol’s image burden? Is there art in an idol’s image burden? There are no answers, but we can look for it in Xiao Zhan’s “Two Tigers”.

Art often gave the answers to philosophy. For example, an idol’s image burden could be thrown away, hence it is definitely not art; Art follows the heartbeat, follows life, just like the Vincent van Gogh, a man whose life bloomed and withered like the summer flowers, in the hearts of people like Xiao Zhan.

This phrase “A designer who can’t sing isn’t a good actor” seemed nonsensical, but if you think about it, it seemed to suit Xiao Zhan a lot.

He actually yearns the audiences’ recognition so much

It seemed like Xiao Zhan did gain fame after a single battle, but it was not just one battle – there were more raging battles before then.

The dancing spirit, wearing bright red and green clothes, in “Monster Hunt 2” – the camera panned past him without a HD shot; The minor role of a special agent in “The Rookies” – with some onscreen time less than a minute… And there were more, such as “Star Academy”, “Oh! My Emperor”, “Battle Through the Heaven”, “Shuttle Love Millennium”… Never heard of them? Eh, well this proved a problem – how could there be so many people who became “famous after a battle”?

What next? Xiao Zhan happily shared, “If everything goes well, there would be three roles coming to meet everyone, two period, one modern.”

Alright, the modern role would be Doctor Gu of “Oath of Love”. In fact, there were already naughty fans yelling that they were going to register for Doctor Gu’s hospital. Two period roles from “Douluo Continent” and “The Wolf”. Which do Xiao Zhan like the most? Xiao Zhan was unable to answer, “I feel like I like them all. Three different roles, three different pace!”

So, for the audiences who are already familiar with the two roles from “Joy of Life” and “The Untamed”, which are the ones that are closest to Xiao Zhan himself?

Xiao Zhan shook his head, “They weren’t quite similar to me.”

With regards to his roles, his works, let us get to some quick Q&A.

Q: After experiencing the life of the role, would that some what affect yourself? A: I feel that there are some influences to my usual personality.

Q: Would it make you mature faster? A: I feel that it makes my life richer, it means that I have experienced multiple different lives.

Q: What is your long term goal as an actor? A: If we are talking about long term goal, it is definitely being able to act in a drama that I love, and then gain audiences’ recognition for that. I feel that this is my ultimate term goal.

Q: Which role do you like? How do you live with your roles? A: I feel that there isn’t the most loved, I’m just someone who enjoys the moment. For example, when I’m in the current role, I will invest myself entirely into that role, and then I will cherish him and love him. But when I have to go to my next battle, I will put him down and let him go. And then, I will invest all of my passion for the next one.

He actually likes to smile so much

Observing Xiao Zhan up close and personal – his head narrow, his face small and firm, the folded long legs were especially straight and long. Xiao Zhan, is really thin.

When asked if he was at his thinnest, Xiao Zhan smiled, “No, I was the lightest during ‘The Untamed’, it was shot with ‘Joy of Life’, that was the period. I feel like I’ve regained more than what I’ve lost.”

Wei Wuxian in “The Untamed” liked to smile, all the time, everywhere; Yan Bingyun in “Joy of Life” was cold, all the time, as cold as ice. These two roles shot at the same time, just the emotions were already poles apart – the effort in switching in between them definitely exhausted a lot of brain cells.

When asked if he remembered his longest working day ever since his debut, Xiao Zhan looked down and smiled, then exclaimed at the same time with me, “A few days!”

Whether he could mentally sustain the current pace was not the main point – whether he could physically sustain was hotly debated. On this, Xiao Zhan replied especially fast, “I could adjust to it, really! I personally preferred a busier schedule, the feeling of being busy, makes me feel more fulfilling, and more sense of security.”

“Sense of security” – Xiao Zhan used this phrase, how did he understand it?

For example, Xiao Zhan said that there were instances of him in bad temper, and then he was asked if he would flip tables. Xiao Zhan was slightly taken aback, and answered with a smile, “I can see that you’ve never done design, a designer is a contractor working for his clients, if the clients have opinions, you need to communicate properly and slowly convince them…”

Everyone has a different understanding and adaptation when it comes to “bad temper”, a lot of it came from experience and self control of emotions – similarly, our understanding and adaptation of “sense of security” would be different as well, because everyone’s sense of responsibility and experiences would be different. For a youth to openly bring up “sense of security” and fight for that, we could only choose to give him our blessings. Because, in the blur of the mind, we could almost see ourselves in him.

Before I could give him my well wishes, Xiao Zhan gave the readers and audiences an especially down-to-earth and warm blessing, “I feel that more well wishes are repeated too often. I will simply wish everyone a smooth path ahead, and then peace and safety would be nice!”

Finally, we would emphasize one point – Xiao Zhan really likes to smile!

Moreover, Xiao Zhan’s smiles are varied – there is gentle, healing, mischievous, surprising, confident, hearty, shy, embarrassed… and every one of these smiles could be extended into a language of its own.

There is this saying about a child who likes to smile…

His luck will never be lacking.

#xiao zhan #sean xiao #xiaozhan #肖战

[tetsurobunni]

IDK You Yet

☞ songfic based off of the song IDK You Yet by Alexander 23 // 3.1k words

☼ slight angst, mentions of bullying, just wanting somebody to love (insert queen song here), tsukki being tsukki, akiteru being cute, freckles

☼ pairing : tsukishima kei x yamaguchi tadashi

☞ notes : sigh this song...yea // in this story, tsukki and yamaguchi weren’t childhood friends

this text = song lyrics

italics = flashbacks and inner thoughts

The sun cast a golden haze over the empty park in which Yamaguchi Tadashi sat. Gentle birdsong could be heard in the distance, a slight breeze swayed the branches of trees. A volleyball danced in between the boy's hands absentmindedly as he sat alone on a bench.

Today had been hard, just like any other day. The bullies he faced just seemed to never know when to stop; they continuously poked fun at him and made the poor boy feel like dirt. He had hoped that as he got older his tormentors would cease their attacks, but alas, his hopes never came true.

Yamaguchi had no one to call a friend. He tried to stay as translucent as possible as to not draw any attention to himself. It was the same routine for him every day; the only thing he found happiness in was volleyball.

You can see how that would be a problem, right? Loving a team sport when you have absolutely no friends? What a joke.

He sighed, stilling the movement of the ball between his hands. The sun was setting, the sky now a light pink and purple. 'I should start back home soon,' he thought, closing his eyes. Even though he knew the approaching darkness meant the temperature would drop and dinner would be ready soon, he didn't feel any urge to go home.

After all, there was no one there that understood him, or his pain for that matter.

He leaned his head back against the wooden bench, the lingering smell of cherry blossoms floating through the air.

'It would be so nice to have someone to enjoy this with,'

He couldn't help but imagine sitting in this park with the person he loved, sitting close as they watched the sun set.

How can you miss someone you've never met?

His lips curled upwards at the thought. Some would think that was cringeworthy, or too cookie-cutter; but that didn’t matter to him. Yamaguchi just needed someone to be there.

Because I need you now, but I don’t know you yet.

He had placed love on a pedestal for as long as he could remember. His mother and father’s relationship was nothing less than perfect-the love they had for each other practically radiated throughout any setting.

Seeing his two biggest role models share something so special like that made him want it too. No, not want. Need.

He needed the passion, the validation. He needed to be wanted by somebody. That’s all he could ever dream of. He didn’t care what gender, or if they were taller or shorter, bigger or smaller.

Yamaguchi just needed somebody to love him.

But can you find me soon because I’m in my head

When he opened his eyes, the first thing he was met with was the dark starry sky. He jumped, startled, and checked the time on his watch. ‘My parents are going to kill me!’ He thought, frantically gathering his things off of the bench.

He ran down the sidewalk, taking in heavy breaths as he passed by the homes on his street. Lights shone through curtains, shielding from prying eyes. The sidewalk was dimly lit with street lamps, the lone car passing by every so often.

Straightening out his jacket the best he could, Yamaguchi stepped into the door of his house. A lone light was on in the kitchen. He peered into the living room to find it empty, no noises to be heard. ‘They must have already went to bed,’ he thought, flicking the switch to turn off the light.

Yamaguchi padded up the stairs in sock feet, treading lightly as to not wake his parents. As he passed the door to their shared room, he noticed the door was slightly ajar. Peeking into the small crack, he could see the two cuddled up tightly in each others embrace as they slept. Sighing, he gently shut the door.

‘It would be amazing have someone to do that with’

Yea I need you now, but I don’t know you yet.

As he entered his room, he took a second to scan the blank walls of his room. Spaces where pictures of friends and teammates should be were instead replaced by the pale gray of wallpaper.

He sat down on his bed with a sigh, running his hands through his dark hair. It seemed as though loneliness was a routine for him by this point, just the same empty feeling day after day.

To say he was tired of it was an understatement.

But thats exactly what his tormentors said, right?

“You’re such a loner”

“No wonder no one likes you”

“You couldn’t even pay someone to be friends with you”

“You’ll always be alone.”

And lately its been hard

It seemed that no matter how hard Yamaguchi tried not to recall the words thrown at him, they still came crashing over him in waves, beating him down over and over until he felt like he couldn’t breathe.

They’re selling me for parts

“Please just stop, j-just-stop,” he whispered, voice strained as tears rolled down his cheeks. He dug his palms into his eyes to try and stop the waterfall of emotions, but like every time before, it didn’t work.

He didn’t want to go through this anymore. He really, really didn’t. He wished that he was strong; that he could stand up to those people and tell them that he wasn’t worthless.

And I don’t wanna be modern art

The only thing that kept him sane was the feeling in his heart that there was someone out there for him. There had to be. Someone that could mend his broken parts and dry his eyes when the world got too much. He hoped and wished and dreamed about finding his person

He just hoped that they were okay with being the other half of his wounded heart.

But I’ve only got half a heart, to give, to you.

He hoped that, for once, he would be enough for somebody.

~~~~~ Tsukki’s POV~~~~~

Tsukkishima walked down the bustling street, vendors selling various foods and treats filling the air with delightful smells. It wasn't really his scene, per se, but Akiteru had paid him to get some meat buns from his favorite store. There's no way he'd pass up money and free food.

As he rounded the corner, the familiar little shop his brother had sent him to numerous times came into view. He stepped inside, the warm air and lively chatter washing over him.

He swiveled his head side to side, noticing something strange. At almost every table sat a couple sharing a meal, girls giggling at their boyfriends as they shared conversation.

For the first time since he left the house he took notice of the bright pink and red hearts that decorated the walls and windows.

'Of course, it's Valentine's day. Disgusting.'

He rolled his eyes at his realization. Valentine's Day was just stupid. Why would anyone want to celebrate such an idiotic holiday? He managed to shove past a couple who was standing just a little too close for comfort mumbling a 'tch, you're in public' as he walked past.

Not looking back to see their reactions, he walked up to the counter and quickly ordered 4 meat buns- he knew his brother would want more than two and since it wasn't his money, he decided he'd get one for himself.

Tsukki didn't know if he was jinxed by the shop or what, but as soon as he walked outside all he saw were couples. Couples here, couples there, talking, laughing, hugging, kissing. He'd never admit it, but it made him feel just the tiniest bit lonely.

He had never been one for relationships and romantics- or even feelings at that. He had always despised Valentine's Day ever since he could remember. The girls in lower secondary school would give letters sealed with bright pink and red envelopes to the boys they liked. Tsukki himself had even received a few, but he always turned them down.

No one seemed to ever catch his eye, or grasp his attention. All the girls were plain, boring, and dull. Too energetic, too shy, talked too loud- the list could go on and on.

The door creaked open as he stepped into his house, and Akiteru yelled an 'in here!' from the living room. The latter was practically drooling at the plastic bag in Tsukki's hand, basically begging like a puppy for a treat.

"Here, you nuisance, I got three for you. The other one is mine, don't even think about eating it," he said, tossing the bag to Akiteru, who instantly started digging through it to get his food.

Tsukki sat down cross-legged on the opposite side of the table, opening the package on his meat bun. Suddenly Akiteru got a sly look on his face. "Oh, I forgot to mention that today was Valentines Day, sorry for sending you out in that."

Tsukki narrowed his eyes at his brother, knowing good and well that he didn't tell him on purpose. "Whatever, I'm keeping the change from our order as payment for sending me out in that mess."

Akiteru just laughed, shaking his head slightly. "C'mon Tsukki, do you really hate Valentine's Day that much?"

"Yes."

"Well, okay then," the elder grumbled, taking a bite out of his second meat bun. "But answer this, why do you hate it so much?"

Tsukki faltered for a moment. There were many reasons as to why he hated the holiday, such as the PDA, too much giggling, confessions, all of the god awful pink-

"Is it just because you never found someone you like?"

Tsukki's eyes widened. He had never thought about it. No- there was no way he was pissed because he had never met someone he had feelings for; and he for sure wasn't upset about it.

How can you miss someone you've never seen?

"Ah, hit the nail on the hammer, huh?" Akiteru said, his face showing signs of pity.

"Shutup, will you? I don't care about liking someone, or someone liking me, or being in a relationship, or-"

"Tsukki. You're rambling. You never ramble."

The blonde stopped in his tracks. Why was he rambling? He didn't care, so why did what his brother say have such an impact his mood? He let out a quiet 'tch', moving to get up from the table.

"Tsukki, wait."

The latter faltered from his place at the entrance of the door to his bedroom, waiting for his brother to speak.

"I don't like Valentine's Day all that much either. It makes me feel super lonely, and I get into this sad funk that I can't get out of. But, sometimes, I think about the person that'll love me someday. What they look like, what their personality is, all that; it helps a little. You should try it," Akiteru said, a soft smile on his face.

The blonde responded by opening his door, walking in, and shutting it behind him. Was his brother serious?! There was no way he'd entertain such silly ideas. He'd do what he always did: ignore everyone else and keep to himself. No thoughts, just his music.

After he changed into more comfortable clothes, he slipped his headphones on and laid on his bed, letting the sounds of his music flood into his ears. Without noticing, he started to think about all the couples he saw today at the market.

He remembered seeing a girl with blonde hair and brown eyes, much like himself.

'There's no way I'd be with someone who looked like me- wait, why am I even thinking about this-'

He scolded himself in his head, took his glasses off then proceeded to run a hand down his face. He continued listening to his music... that is until he started thinking again.

He tried everything, listening to god awful rock, cleaning his already clean room, he even tried working out in order to get his brother's words out of his head. No matter how hard he tried, his brother's smiling face saying those words seemed to pop up in his mind.

"Y'know what, fine. Fine! I'll do it!" He whisper-yelled, laying down on his bed yet again. Closing his eyes, he thought back again.

"I think about what they look like."

Okay fine, he could do that.

Tell me are your eyes brown, blue, or green?

Again, he couldn't imagine his...person...having the same light, amber eyes as him.

‘Blue? No, too bright...maybe brown? Hazel? Yea...hazel is nice...’

After he got past the eye color part, he came to a standstill. He didn't really care about hair as long as it wasn't blonde... but what else? Would they have a mole? Freckles? Would they wear glasses, like him?

Suddenly Tsukki brought a pillow to his face and hit himself with it. 'I can't believe I let something that my brother said affect me so much."

Nonetheless, he continued.

"I imagine what their personality is like"

This was tricky. 'They couldn't be too loud. Loud people get on my nerves. They couldn't be too quiet either, I can't stand when someone just looks at me and doesn't say anything.'

He thought a little bit harder. 'Maybe they'd like volleyball? That means Akiteru would love them. I wonder if they would like the same food as me...'

And do you like it with sugar and cream?

'Akiteru makes coffee sometimes, I wonder if they put a lot of stuff in it,' he shriveled up his face in disgust at the thought. He couldn't stand all that sugary stuff in his coffee, preferring the bitter taste instead.

Or do you take it straight, oh just like me?

'Okay, I'm done imagining things that won't happen. This was stupid anyways," he thought, sighing and turning over on his side. For some strange reason, he felt utterly exhausted. It's not like he did a lot of physical activity today, so why did he feel so...tired?

His brain decided to play the images of the couples again in his head, and he realized why he felt the way he did. This was the first time he had actually thought about having a "special someone."

The thought made him want to hit his head against the wall.

He never thought that imagining about the person he might be with one day would make him feel so lonely.

Cause lately it's been hard

For the first time, he noticed the utter and complete lack of important people in his life. Of course there was his brother, that was a given, but he had no one he had ever considered a friend. He never talked to one person for longer than he had to, and even ignored some.

He was completely shut off from the rest of the world...

And it was his own fault.

They're selling me for parts

'It's better this way. You know it is. No getting your hopes up, no disappointment, no keeping up an image. It's better this way. All you need is yourself, not anyone else.’

"But having someone there for me really wouldn't hurt... right?"

And I don't wanna be modern art,

His phone screen lit up with a notification. 'FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL' popped up on his screen, and the blonde groaned once he saw the time.

'Two in the morning? Great. I've wasted my sleep on nothing.’

But deep down, Tsukki knew it wasn't 'nothing'. He just made the pit of loneliness in his stomach larger and harder to ignore.

How could he even imagine the person he would love when he was so pathetic?

"You're so stupid Tsukishima Kei, so, so, so mind-numbingly STUPID!"

But I've only got half a heart, to give, to you.

~~~~~Both POV~~~~~~

Yamaguchi tugged the straps of his backpack tighter as he walked towards the staff room. Students shuffled in the halls, chatter and laughter filled the air. Of course, the green haired boy kept to himself. He had already dodged one of his bullies this morning, so he was on high alert.

As if the first day wasn't nerve racking enough, for some awful reason he decided he was going to join the volleyball club.

'This was such a stupid decision you should just turn around right now,' he thought to himself, slightly panicking as he saw the sign that said 'staff room' on the door in front of him.

He just stood there, staring, unmoving, at the door handle. His heart was racing in his chest, all the air seeming to exit his lungs.

"Oi, are you just gonna stand there?"

Yamaguchi jumped from the sudden voice that came from behind him. He jerked his head, meeting amber eyes behind black frames. He tripped on his words, becoming a blubbering mess, finally spitting out a 'Gomen!'

Tsukki raised a brow at the slightly shorter boy, wondering why he was just staring at the door.

"Tch, why were you just staring at the door like a weirdo?" Yamaguchi bowed his head in apology, contemplating whether to tell this complete stranger the truth, but he finally decided he would.

"Um, I was...uh...going to... to join the volleyball club," he stammered, not meeting the taller boy's eyes. He felt highly embarrassed for some reason, like him wanting to join was humorous. Honestly, he half expected the guy to laugh at him.

"Hm, I am too."

Tsukki moved past the green haired boy and opened the door, walking in a little ways before he realized the latter was still standing there.

"Oi, c'mon. Unless you're not actually going to join..."

Yamaguchi's ears perked up at that. He decided, that for once, he was going to do something he wanted.

"Gomen, I'm coming."

Even though it wasn't visible, Tsukki slightly smiled. He wasn't actually coming to the staff room to join the volleyball club, but when he heard that this boy was going to be joining, he decided that maybe he would.

The shorter boy suddenly turned around, hands flailing.

"Oh! I'm sorry for being rude, I'm Tadashi Yamaguchi!" he said, a bright smile presented onto his freckled face.

'Hm, freckles...'

"Tsukishima Kei."

And I hope it's enough.

#tsukkiyama #tsukishima x yamaguchi #yamaguchi tadashi #tsukishima kei #slight angst #songfic #idk you yet

[cosmiclix]

10:46 pm

genre: fluff | felix x neutral!reader a/n: this piece is the beginning of everything, the reason i began this blog + began to write. it all began with this. i love felix, and i thank the universe every day that i get to live under the same stars he does. 

-

the night sky is a vast expanse of purples, blues and whites, a scene that leaves you feeling as if you’re seeing the universe yet not seeing enough of it. you can’t keep your eyes off of it all. 

while your eyes search the stars, felix studies you; the way your mouth fell slightly agape at the expanse of stars, and the soft gasp that quickly followed. your body trembles from the chill in the air, even though it’s bundled in your sweater that’s under felix’s hoodie. he reaches behind him, careful to not distract your stare, to grab a big blanket. you sit crisscrossed, feeling the warmth of felix as he scoots closer to you, wrapping the other side of the blanket around his shoulders. he drapes it over your shoulder, heat rising in his cheeks when his face gets so close to yours. your eyes leave the universe to meet his, a soft smile growing towards him as you pull the blanket more over you.

you begin to feel bashful then, becoming more aware of every move you make. you thank the stars that you met felix, the shy, kind boy that sat next you in lecture. the same boy who stumbled over every word when asking if you had wanted to spend time with him tonight; the same boy who knew you loved the same stars he saw in your eyes the first time he met you. 

-

“h-hey, y/n! wait up,” 

you turn your heels to meet felix, who was catching up to you as you made your way out of the building. you suck in a breath, amazed he even knew your name. nevertheless, you greet him with a soft smile and pray to the stars that the heat in your cheeks wasn’t visible. 

“hey, fe-“ “hey, y/-“

you both stop then, felix chuckling at the silliness of it all. you find yourself giggling along with him, as if the nervousness you both felt was unspoken but completely understood. “i wanted to ask if you maybe wanted to,” he pauses, his hand reaching up to run through his light pinkish hair, eyes falling to the floor. “would you like to go stargazing with me on sunday night? i know a nice area a little ways out of town where the stars are so bright. you can see so many stars, maybe even all of them.” you laugh lightly at that, which felix smiles in response to. 

“you’d be willing to drive us all the way out, just to see the stars?” you ask, hoping the heat in your cheeks isn’t too visible, willing yourself to keep it cool. he chuckles a bit, reaching up to run his hands through his hair as his eyes leave yours. 

“well, you’ve always got your nose in that book of yours,” he responds, gaze directed at the worn astronomy book clutched in your arms. “i figured it would be nice for you to see the real thing instead of just reading about it.” 

a smile spreads on your face, one that you quickly try to hide with an arm hidden in your oversized sleeve. felix notices this and only smiles in return. “i would really like that, felix,” you say, smiling at him as the smile on his face widens into a grin. 

“great!” he says, with more excitement in his voice than he had anticipated on expressing. “i’ll pick you up at 7. can we exchange numbers so we can keep in touch before then?” 

-

you smile to yourself, reminded of the silly messages you and felix sent one another in the days leading up to tonight. you even began speaking to each other more in class, and you found yourself growing more and more excited to be under the stars with the starry skinned boy. 

“you see that, up over there?” you ask, pointing up towards a prominent arrangement of stars. “that’s orion! you can tell by the line of stars there, it’s called orion’s belt. it’s one of the easiest constellations to see up in the night sky.”

felix turns his head to listen to you, following your fascinated gaze. in the corner of your eye, the blue white hues glisten in it; the dull glow of the light illuminating your figure in such a way that leaves felix breathless. to him, there is not a more beautiful sight.

“and see that cluster up over there?” you continue, interrupting felix's observation of you, pointing up towards a particularly bright bundle of stars just a ways northwest of orion. “if you squint, that’s the pleiades! they are most visible during the winter; i’m so glad i’m able to see them!” 

his hand follows yours, leaning forward and squinting in an effort to see the cluster. “those up over there?” he asks, and you nod, smile still focused on the sky. felix smiles at you, noticing your lightly shivering frame. “are you still cold?”  

you chuckle in response, smiling at him and making him feel warm despite the harsh chill of the night. “it’s really just my hands,” you respond, looking down at your frozen hands nestled in your lap. “and my nose, too.” 

he huffs a laugh, overwhelmed by the sudden urge to hold you; to keep you as warm as he can, to keep you close. though your knees touch, and your shoulders brush past one another, you’re so close and yet felix longs to be closer. he decides in that moment that maybe the stars would be on his side, and he reaches over to let his left hand to rest on your thigh, palm facing upward as an open invitation. “i think i can do something about that,” he says softly, and you draw in a breath as you realize his intentions. you move your hand from the inside of your sleeve and intertwine your hands together, heart beat growing quicker as you feel warmth weave into your cheeks. 

your hands are cold, colder than felix had assumed, but the way you hand fits in his leaves him with a growing, warm feeling in his chest. he looks up at the array of the universe before him and quietly thanks it for giving him a chance like this. you smile to yourself, feeling almost overwhelmed by the emotions you feel, yet so thankful that you’re even able to feel them. you take the opportunity to rest your head against his shoulder, eyes searching the stars with a soft smile on your face. 

“i’m sorry if you’re bored by my star talk,” you say, still smiling as felix huffs a laugh. “i just can’t get over how beautiful they are. i sometimes feel so lucky to be alive because i get to live under them.” 

“i’m not bored at all, y/n,” he replies surely, leaning his head against yours, making your heart flutter. “i always wondered what fascinated you so much that you’d spend all lecture reading about it instead of listening in class.” you squeeze his hand lightly as you chuckle, leaning into him a bit more. “i pay more attention than you,” you huff, moving your head from his shoulder. not buying your claim, felix cocks a brow at you, making you stick your tongue out at him. 

suddenly you find yourselves face to face, no more than inches apart. your breath stills, becoming all too aware of the many stars that decorate felix’s face, the curve of his lips, and the way he looks at you as if you’re the only thing that matters in the whole universe. the stars above you highlight him subtly, but it leaves you in awe at how beautiful he appears before you. 

his hand in yours tightens just a bit, but enough to make you direct your gaze back into his. he swallows slightly, willing himself to breathe. he leans closer, not too close, but close enough that his heart swells in anticipation. he begins to feel bashful now that his intentions are obvious. 

“fel-“ “y/-“

you both pause and back away slightly, hands still intertwined. the silence doesn’t last long as you find yourselves giggling at the situation, the unspoken but mutual understanding that leaves you with a growing warmth in your chest. you meet his eyes again, seeing the stars reflect in them as his soft smile widens into a grin. your return a smile just as wide, leaning closer to him with a newfound confidence. felix’s gaze travels to your lips and back to your eyes, heart beat so strong he prays you can’t hear it. 

“y/n, would it be okay if i kis-“

and before he can finish, your eyes flutter shut as you lean in, kissing him softly. the kiss is quick, and you’re pulling away before felix can even register what just happened. your eyes are wide, and you’re thankful the starlight isn’t bright enough to expose the rosy tint you feel on your cheeks. you want to say something, suddenly afraid you’ve done too much; but then the hand not intertwined in yours is cupping your cheek, pulling you into another, more passionate kiss. his hand leaves yours but only to cup the other side of your face, making you smile against his lips. 

he kisses you once more, softer than the last, before pulling away. you find yourselves smiling at each other, hands intertwining once more. felix looks up at the stars with a newfound love for them; silently thanking them once more for bringing you two together. - you fall asleep in the passenger seat as felix drives you home, your hand clutched in his as he drives down the empty strip of road. he glances over at you, your head rested against the window. you're illuminated every time felix passes a streetlamp, the warm glow making you appear so softly. felix almost wants to wake you; to tell you how cute you are in this exact moment and kiss you until you’re flustered and smiling. 

instead, he makes sure to slow down a bit, not wanting to wake you. it’s just a few more miles until he reaches the city, and he cherishes the time he’s been given to fall just a little bit more for you as your hand warms his, and his heart. 

felix prayed to the stars that he’d get even the smallest opportunity to be with you; to have the courage to tell you how he felt, to let you know that he thought you were unlike anything the universe had ever known, and that he’d give you every single star in the sky if it meant you’d give him even just the time of day. 

the universe has a funny way of showing us things that were simply meant to be in life. with no emotion, no regard to past, present or future, it’s decided; what is, is. and what is meant to be, will be. as the hum of the radio plays softly, the stars decorating the sky as his car drives you both home, your hand still in his as you dream next to him, snuggled in his hoodie, felix is sure.

the stars above guided him to you. 

#hello #finally finished and polished this enough for me to be satisfied with it #i've had this idea for months #before i even made this blog #please be kind to this #stray kids fluff #lee felix fluff #lee felix imagines

[gumnut-logic]

Wings & Water (Part One)

Title: Wings & Water

Part One

Author: Gumnut

Feb 2020

Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go 2015/ Thunderbirds TOS

Rating: Teen

Summary: “I needed to get your attention.”

Word count: 5451

Spoilers & warnings: Marks & Wings AU, Wing!fic, shapeshifting, Virgil/Kayo, Gordon/Penelope (eventually)

Timeline: Sometime post-‘John’. All the fics can be found on Ao3, the timeline order and artwork can be found on my website.

Author’s note: This is the universe I write when I’m feeling tired, off or unable to write anything else. It is little more than self-indulgence usually, an exercise to find my writing mojo, to play with sensation and description. So tired one night a few nights back I scribbled down what was supposed to be just a scene with Kay and Virgil on the beach. The characters apparently had other ideas and now I have another WIP ::headdesk:: Why do I even try? So, I’ve given up trying to write it in one go and now offer you Part One instead of a complete fic. Fortunately, it does not end on a cliffhanger or anything and could almost be considered complete except for one serious plot thread which is actually quite subtle anyway..

Many thanks to both @scribbles97​ and @vegetacide​ for the read throughs and advice ::hugs you both:: I got wibbly and those who read my Tumblr may recall the ‘floppy’ Virgil post I made in the middle of writing this. Here be the Floppy Virgil I was talking about. I hope you enjoy it anyway.

Disclaimer: Mine? You’ve got to be kidding. Money? Don’t have any, don’t bother.

-o-o-o-

It had been a long mission.

Virgil hit the locker rooms with a drawn out sigh. The irrational part of him just wanted to shed uniform in a trail behind him, but his disciplined mind refused to let him. So his baldric was shed and stowed for cleaning and redeployment along with his tool kit and harness. His boots did get kicked under the bench and he would no doubt get words about it later, but at this point he didn’t care.

His mark ached.

And his mind was a battlefield for angry brothers.

He shed his uniform, draping the heavy material over the bench. His black undershirt quickly followed and the cool air of the room hit his skin causing it to goose pimple in response.

His groan as he bent over, stretching the dark lines sculpted into his back, came from somewhere deep inside. He needed to lift, but god, he was tired.

A glance at the shower stalls and he longed for the water drumming on his skin, but the cubicle was too small, too confining. He had to stretch out.

The smallest of groans.

It had been a rockslide. Steep mountain side. Small village.

Children.

He closed his eyes.

They didn’t often lift during rescues. The whole mystic behind their wings was something that either terrified the rescuees more or resulted in amazement and a hailstorm of questions, most of which none of them had time or care to answer.

And god forbid if the media was there.

Which in this day and age only had to be a phone.

A little boy had fallen from a height and Virgil had reacted on instinct. Lifting his massive eight metre span within an eye blink, he launched himself into the air just in time to save the toddler from the sharp rocks below.

The film was still showing on loop on CNN.

The questions of his heritage, their history, previous shots of the Tracy brothers flying...it all came up again.

None of them were happy.

John and Eos did their best to contain the outbreak, but there were limits.

Virgil just wanted to hide.

Kay was still inbound. Alan was up with John, and Scott was still on site at the rock slide. Gordon had come home with Virgil, but his brother had spent the whole trip mentally kicking himself and the aquanaut had promptly disappeared after the necessary post-flight tasks.

And was currently circling the Island waterbound.

Water.

A frown as he bent over to pick up his uniform. Perhaps Gordon had the right of it. A swim, to rinse the clammy feeling from his skin, to stretch out, to relax.

The uniform was chucked in the laundry chute and he grabbed a towel, throwing it over his shoulder. Deciding his undershorts satisfactory, he headed down to the lagoon.

-o-o-o-

Shadow was a beautiful ‘bird to fly. Kayo had flown all the Thunderbirds at one time or another, but Shadow was just elegance in the air, a ballerina up against the rest of the fleet’s brute strength.

Of course, this had its downsides. She was quiet, but not as strong as her sisters. More prone to engine damage under stress and she could carry much less. But these were small sacrifices to let her dance in the sky. More the bird of prey she emulated than should ever be possible.

Kayo flew out of the setting sun on approach to Tracy Island, killing her ‘bird’s forward momentum and activating the docking platform, ready to receive. As was her practise, she flew a standard sensory loop around the perimeter of the Island on approach. She took the opportunity to double check the Island’s security sensors with those highly sensitive scanners built into her ‘bird.

It was reassuring to see all the check sums add up nicely.

Particularly considering the media shit storm currently underway.

She had been on the other side of the planet, liaising with Penny. But the moment she saw Virgil on the nets...Penny had urged her to go. Kayo had no doubts the aristocrat would follow shortly as soon as she could tie up their business.

The Tracys hated what the media could do to them.

This wasn’t the first time. Probably not the last. But that didn’t stop it from hurting.

She knew Virgil. She knew it would get to him first.

Scott would rant and rave. John would steam in his station until Eos called for help. Fortunately Alan was already up there so would probably drag him down with the first excuse he could come up with. Gordon would disappear into the ocean.

Penny would have to go fishing, literally.

Alan, out of all of them, cared the least. She wasn’t sure why, but the youngest just turned a blind eye and shrugged the rest off. Though she did have some knowledge regarding an anonymous caller on a late night talk show the last time this had happened. It hadn’t sounded anything like Alan, but the presenter had been verbally shredded in a very exacting way.

Alan was a smart young man. He didn’t take well to his big brothers being compared to water fowl or chickens.

It was the chickens that probably did it.

But no one other than her and Eos knew he was responsible and she planned to keep it that way.

As Shadow banked she flew over one of the beaches and Kayo got a glimpse of a figure in the water. For a split second she assumed it was Gordon, but the more familiar and intimate profile sank into her mind as she turned back for docking.

It was Virgil.

Her heart tightened.

It had definitely gotten to him.

She hurried through docking procedures and post-flight, hitting the lockers and shedding her uniform as quickly as possible. She unpinned her hair, threw on a sports bra and shorts and darted through the house and out into the trail that led down to the beach.

It was the same beach where he did his regular workout. The same beach he had caught her out and kissed her silly so long ago.

It was a beach with wonderful memories. No doubt the reason why he had chosen to come here.

She wasn’t quiet on approach this time. Her flip flops cracked twig and gravel alike. She wanted him to know she was there.

She needn’t have bothered.

He was waist deep, staring out into the water. His whole upper torso was cast in the gold from the setting sun, leaving his mark an iridescent intricacy of a starry midnight of lines and swirls across his back, shoulders and biceps. The light couldn’t touch it and, as always, she found it mesmerising.

Her feet reached the edge of the water and the wavelets of the lagoon caressed her toes.

She opened her mouth to call his name, but he suddenly hunched a little and lifted.

Black feathers splashed into the water and he groaned aloud, startling her.

God, he was hurting.

But before she could say anything, his wings unfolded to their full span, flinging water in every direction.

They never failed to impress her. Black, iridescent and just huge. He stretched them out to their full extent and held them there. His arms appeared above his head and he stretched with another groan.

Kayo threw herself into the water, wading in behind him, reaching up to rest her hands on his shoulders, brush her cheek against his soft downy back feathers.

He tensed for just that second before recognition set in and he melted under her touch.

“Kay.” His voice was rough and ever so weary. His arms came down and his wings drooped slightly into the water.

Her hands slid from his shoulders, brushing gently across feathers enough to make him shiver, before slipping up under his wings and arms to curl around his chest where he caught them and held her close.

She exhaled amongst down. “I’m sorry, love.”

His breath came out as a soft sigh, his body wilting just a little more against her. “Had to do it. Had to save him.”

“I know.”

His head dropped a little more and she needed to see his expression.

Ducking, she dove under his wing and surfaced in front of him, pushing to her feet as water ran off her body.

His eyes were ever so sad.

Touching a finger to his cheek, she leant up and kissed him gently.

His response was immediate, drawing her in with his arms, his wings leaving wake as they skipped across the water surface to encircle her. His kiss drew her in, his passion feeding hers and for a moment there, it was just the two of them.

But reality quickly intruded at that thought because it never really was just the two of them.

She broke off the kiss, wrapping herself around him, drawing his forehead down to touch hers. “Tell me.”

Another soft groan and he looked down.

“C’mon, love.”

“Gordon blames himself. He feels he should have been in place to prevent the child from falling. John disagrees. I disagree. But he won’t listen. He’s hurting and I can’t help him.”

She had done her best to understand the three brothers and their connection. They could hear each other. Not words, just sensations, emotions. The impressions Virgil described were ever so visual, so tied into how her lover’s mind worked, they were quite frankly amazing. He spoke of starlit blues and magnesium bright golds when speaking of his brothers. But how he processed these into interpretations of what they were thinking, she did not know.”

“Can you tell where he is?”

“Circling the Island like a lost soul.”

“Penny will be here soon.”

“Thank god.”

She brushed the back of her fingers against his cheek, nails dancing over two days’ stubble. He was so tired. He needed sleep. But she knew he wouldn’t be able to until his brother found some peace.

A decision and she straightened slightly. “Swim with me?”

He leant in and kissed her forehead, her eyebrow, her temple, her cheek...he trailed his lips all the way down to her mouth and again took moments, his tongue slipping in between her teeth seeking hers. His arms tightened around her, lifting her in the water, almost clinging.

Her eyes closed and her only sensation was him.

-o-o-o-

Virgil sometimes wondered how he had survived before finding Kay’s love. Obviously, he had, and he had been happy as a member of an extraordinary family, but now her touch was capable of consuming him, blocking the world out and giving such comfort to his soul.

He broke off the kiss and ran his fingers through her wet hair. Her hands moved to his chest, brushing through fine feathers and hair alike.

The need to rest was aching in his bones, but the tired spark who was his younger brother was fizzling in the back of his mind and the silent fury of John so far above them was a burn that gave him no relief.

He didn’t blame them. No, there was no fault in this, either in the effect or the reason. All he wanted to do was reach out and reassure. But Gordon wasn’t listening, John was still juggling the after effects as he and Eos took out copies of that damned video and the commentary that came with it.

There were no fuzzy or poorly caught video files. Technology compensated for lighting and speed and the footage of himself running, his feathers sprouting through his uniform as he moved was ever so clear. His yell as he launched himself into the air, even the sound of straining wing beats as he took off almost vertically could be heard. He weighed more with all his kit strapped to his body and it had been hard work to get airborne at that angle and speed.

But he had managed it. Caught the screaming child mid air. He had been forced to gain more height to even out his flight before banking in an arc to land beside a screaming parent.

He didn’t speak her language, but the terror in her eyes as handed the boy over was not only for his safety, but for the man who had saved him.

There had been murmuring as he folded his wings and walked away. He had let his wings go and forced himself back into routine. Just another rescue. Just save as many as he could.

But the staring, the wide eyes, the touch of fear, the question of ‘what are you’ that hung in the air hovering over his bent back as he worked to save a young girl.

The whispering.

The remorse stirring in his younger brother.

He could feel Gordon on approach. He wasn’t far away, still looping the Island. Perhaps...

He shook himself and found Kay staring up at him, worry in her eyes. Her fingers, once again brushed his cheek and he kissed them. Hands on her waist, he turned in the water, taking her with him until he was facing the shore, his back to the horizon. He stepped back and let her go.

“Virgil?”

“I need...” He needed her. God, he longed for her touch. But he also needed his brothers. He needed rest.

He took another step back, moving deeper, his wingtips dragging against the swell.

She frowned at him in worry. “Virgil, what?”

A flash of midnight alarm and he let himself fall backwards into the water.

Virgil closed his eyes.

-o-o-o-

This was all his fault. The child had been part of a group of villagers whose homes were on the top of the cliff that had fractured, taking out the the rest of the village below. Virgil had identified the area unsafe with Two’s scanners while on approach and Gordon had been assigned to shore up the cliff edge with nanocrete. Which he had, using a pod. But he had returned on foot, not convinced it was fully secured and filled a few more cracks to make sure the cliff wasn’t about to collapse before Virgil could finish the evacuation below.

His back had been turned to the village behind him. He should have kept an eye out. Several families had refused to leave their homes no matter what John broadcast across Two’s external loudspeakers in any language.

He had seen the little boy out the corner of his eye and moved to stop him, but the toddler had taken a fright at the sight of Gordon dressed in his protective equipment and the long snake of delivery tube in his hands.

He had yelled in caution, but the child only startled more, a mother screaming somewhere off to the left. The little boy stepped backwards...and was gone.

Gordon’s shock screamed across to his brothers and Virgil responded.

As Gordon hurried to the edge, his brother was already airborne, great black wings beating hard to gain height and the intense concentration of he had to do, foremost.

Virgil caught the little boy, shooting up past the edge of the cliff and Gordon in a great black-blue-green streak.

The little boy was screaming.

His brother circled around and brought himself into land gracefully in front of a tearful mother.

She took her son, obviously terrified and hurried away.

Virgil’s shoulders dropped just enough for Gordon to notice before those wings folded and vanished.

People were talking. Muttering. Words of fear. At least one obvious obscenity despite the language barrier. As Virgil approached Gordon, the words grew louder.

Someone threw something.

Virgil helped him finish securing the cliff edge and then they had flown back down with the pod.

Scott was liaising with local emergency services, but the questions being flung at him when Gordon arrived to report, had nothing to do with the emergency.

“I’m sorry, what you are asking is our private business and I repeat we have no comment. Now can we please save these people.”

One emergency services officer was replaying Virgil’s flight on his phone with several of his buddies hovering around.

While Virgil had donned his exo-suit and was shifting rubble off a trapped family not twenty metres away.

Scott lost it in the calm and deadly way only Scott could two seconds later. Another two seconds and all those emergency personnel were fleeing from Commander Tracy whether they could understand him not.

“Is the cliff secure?” Those angry blue eyes were glaring at him.

“Yes.”

A swallow and a red flush to his cheeks. “Assist Virgil, deploy the pod for anything he can’t lift.”

“FAB.”

Gordon spent the next three hours doing exactly that.

Hardly a word was said between the brothers beyond the necessary. Virgil was very quiet and Gordon even more.

John, so far above them was spikes of anger as he wrestled with both the networks and the language on site. Gordon didn’t need a translation of what was being said with his brother so highly tuned to understanding.

And it was all Gordon’s fault.

If he had been paying more attention.

If he had been fast enough to stop the child.

If he hadn’t scared him further.

Gordon did not have wings. The world did not know of his ability and he was damn glad they didn’t. But his gentle brother had been cornered into lifting a handful of times on rescues and every time it was the same. Curiosity and terror.

Scott had lifted in public before as well, but Johnny hadn’t been seen since the attack and Alan had never been seen at all.

Of course, that didn’t stop the press. There was artwork out there guessing what colour both Gordon and Alan’s wings were, not to mention the conspiracy theories surrounding John’s absence.

If they knew Gordon grew fins instead...

They weren’t the only Aves out there, but the ability was so rare, it was a novelty.

The depressive and exhausted cloud hovering over Virgil just drove Gordon’s guilt deeper.

John instinctively tried to calm him, but the man wasn’t great himself, slowly approaching boiling point like a pot simmering on the stove. There was only so much his brother could tolerate and no doubt the slander was vile.

On the way back to the Island, Virgil had tried to talk to him, but by then Gordon was too angry with himself to respond intelligently. As soon as they landed, he was out the hatch and headed to the water where he shifted and let himself go.

He flew through the ocean, his wings those of his eagle ray form. His change muted his brothers somewhat, though not entirely and he had no doubt they could still feel him.

It was just stupid. He could have easily prevented it, yet he hadn’t and Virgil had been exposed again.

The water blurred around him as his thoughts took him in as many circles as those he made around the Island.

He knew the moment his brother stepped into the water.

Virg.

For god’s sake.

He just wanted to be alone. To think.

An emerald spark shot across the ocean at him. It was full of worry and love and so his big brother his heart clenched.

But he didn’t deserve it.

That didn’t stop Virgil.

A wave of exhaustion, fear for his safety and concern followed that spark.

Virgil was such a motherhen.

And he loved him for it.

But he didn’t deserve it. If anything, he should be apologising to his brother. It was all his fault!

Virgil’s mental sigh was almost a physical thing.

Gordon arced away from the Island and further out into the sea.

As he looped around the familiar beaches and outcrops, anger again sparked from far above and Gordon wondered what the hell his star brother had found now.

All his damn fault.

A spark of blue-grey suddenly radiated from Virgil’s direction followed by a wash of relief and desperate love.

Gordon mentally blinked and smiled. Tin had his brother.

Her touch was like fire to the gentle man. Gordon could not feel her at all, but Virgil’s reactions were enough to alert both John and himself to her presence...which led to interesting times...sometimes.

But for the moment, Gordon was only grateful she had his brother in hand. She would look after him.

Gordon dove deeper, revelling in the cool water streaming across his body.

Tin and Virgil had been a surprise to both John and Gordon. A spark of which neither of them had been aware, burst into flame and both of them reeled as their brother lit up.

Gordon felt it was truly something beautiful. Virgil deserved so much happiness and his sister blossomed as their relationship developed. Gordon wasn’t one to pry much beyond blackmail material, but his brother’s joy just overflowed into everything and everyone around him.

So it was with some shock that he received the first flickers of panic and a sensation of...drowning!

The eagle ray shifted mid beat and was replaced with a shark, the mako’s slim and speed-designed form throwing him through the water towards the beach where his brother was now struggling.

What the hell had happened?

It only took moments for Gordon to reach the waterlogged Ave, Tin struggling to pull Virgil out of the water, his fully spread wings hampering her efforts, his weight and drag formidable.

A leap and Gordon shifted mid-air, landing smoothly on his feet in the chest high water behind his brother and grabbing his feathered shoulders as Tin pulled desperately at his arms.

Between them, they got him upright, his wings still hanging in the water.

“What the hell, Virgil?!”

John was sparking all over the place, fear and fury, the astronaut was getting closer. No doubt, heading down on the elevator.

“What were you thinking?!”

They were both supporting him, one on each side, step by step dragging him towards shore.

“I needed to get your attention.”

“What the hell? By drowning yourself?!”

“I knew where you were. I was safe.”

Gordon stopped in the knee high water, waves muttering at his legs. “Why?!”

Tin’s expression was fast morphing from fear to rage and she yanked on her lover causing him to stumble.

Eight metres of black wings were dragged out of the water and onto the sand. The winged brothers were as nimble in the water with their wings spread as Gordon was in the sky in his ray form. In other words, not at all. They weren’t sea Aves. Their wings were not waterproof and while they did possess enough natural oils to prevent any damage to the feathers, they were extremely cumbersome underwater, heavy and that was why all the brothers let their wings go before diving into the ocean.

“Why didn’t you let them go?!” Tin was furious.

Gordon found it totally understandable since he shared the feeling.

A distant murmur off to the east suddenly swelled to a roar and Thunderbird One shot into the Island’s airspace, hovering a moment before rising up in preparation to dock.

John had obviously let the cat out of the bag. None of the three middle brothers could sense the eldest or the youngest.

But that was what comms were for.

As if to emphasise the point, the faint dot of the descending elevator appeared far above the volcanic peaks and made its way down between the jagged rocks.

A matter of minutes and they would be mobbed by brothers.

Gordon stood in front of his brother and glared. “Explain it to me now.”

Virgil’s whole posture was one of exhaustion. His eyes bloodshot, eyelids at half mast, his wings dragging on the sand. “I needed to break the cycle. you were so angry with yourself.” A hand reached out and landed on his shoulder. “It wasn’t your fault, Gordon. Let it rest. Let me rest.” Please. And Virgil was folding himself up, crouching down to sit on the sand his wings were covered in.

“Why didn’t you just call me?”

“I did. Again and again. You wouldn’t answer.” A sigh. “Too angry.”

Gordon opened his mouth to retort, but nothing came out. A pause. “You could have drowned!”

“No. It wouldn’t have gone that far.”

“How do you know?!” Tin was livid. “That was stupid, Virgil. You made me watch and I couldn’t pull you up-“ She broke off, struggling to compose herself.

Virgil reached up and pulled her to him. She resisted, but he insisted, and swearing through her teeth, she folded down beside him. He tucked her under his chin, muttering quiet apologies over and over again, his eyes closing.

Gordon took a step back, sensitive to what had suddenly become a private moment.

He looked up as his sense of John swelled above him, to see three brothers gliding over the palm trees. A rush of backwing breeze as six feet hit the sand.

Scott’s silver grey wings folded and vanished first, followed by Alan’s gold-blond flicker of feathers. John’s prosthetics whispered closed with just enough difference to the others to declare them artificial, ever reminding them of what had been done to their brother.

Gordon stepped in between Virgil and their brothers, holding up his hands.

Scott frowned, eyes barely leaving the pair curled up on the sand. “What happened?”

“He’s tired. Leave it. Probably my fault.”

That only served to narrow his older brother’s attention on Gordon. “What happened?”

John broke off with a flash of frustration and stormed past to crouch beside Virgil, his hand coming to rest on his brother’s shoulder. Murmured words Gordon couldn’t hear, but flashes of emotion danced around his head.

It was then Gordon realised that it wasn’t only Virgil who was exhausted.

“Scott, he did it to get my attention. He was successful, if overly dramatic. Blame it on the day if you have to. I’ll kick his ass later, I promise. If he survives Tin, that is.” Gordon eyed the pair. He knew his sister. This wasn’t over and he didn’t begrudge her at all. Of all the stupid things for his brother to do...

“Are you okay?” Alan’s voice sounded a little small.

Gordon sighed and strode over to his little brother who looked even smaller with the lack of shirt. His bro really needed more sun. Too much time spent in space. If he wasn’t careful, he’d end up glowing in the dark like Johnny.

He dropped a damp arm around Alan’s shoulders and grinned as his brother squirmed.

“You’re all cold and wet.”

“Comes with the territory, little bro.”

“Ergh.”

But he didn’t pull away.

Scott eyed the both of them, but his lips thinned anyway and he turned towards the huddle of brothers and sister on the ground.

“Scott?”

His brother turned to him.

“Be kind.”

The man frowned a little before nodding once and turning back, his silver mark glittering in the shadow of the vanishing sun.

-o-o-o-

Okay, it was a stupid thing to do.

John’s hand gripped his shoulder like a vice and the short sharp words cut at him. What had he been thinking?

“I don’t know, John. I just...don’t know.” He curled himself around Kay. His wings were sodden and covered in sand, he desperately need to preen them clean, but so, so tired.

He closed his eyes.

The midnight sun of his younger brother swelled and enveloped him. The intensity of worry, anger and love that came with it, his brother’s fingers on his feathered shoulder and two words.

It’s okay.

Virgil’s eyes shot open, seeking turquoise in the dimming light. “John?”

His brother’s eyes widened. Standing beside Alan, Gordon’s head shot up, a worried query thrown directly at the both of them.

But John still hadn’t answered him. John?

Oh, shit.

What the hell?

But Scott interrupted and John shook his head just enough to stop Virgil saying anything.

Kay was staring at the both of them.

The eldest was oblivious to the entire exchange, his focus still on a younger brother who had done something stupid.

“Virgil, I need to know what happened.” His big brother’s voice was calm, but demanding. “John said you were in some difficulty. That you were drowning. Why were you in the water with your wings lifted in the first place?”

“I...” Turquoise, blue, green and brown were all staring at him in the approaching darkness. “It was nothing.” He looked down shaking his head. Please, I just need sleep. God, please just let me rest.

John straightened, his hand still on Virgil’s shoulder. Voice quiet. “Scott, maybe later? We’re all exhausted. Virgil has been awake for almost thirty-six hours.”

Scott’s eyes glittered in the darkness for a moment as they darted to his middle brother. The commander’s lips thinned even further. “We debrief first thing in the morning.” Back to Virgil, his eyes softening with worry. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Virgil blinked, his tired mind frozen in shock. What? He didn’t have to explain?

Be thankful and move. John was lifting him under one shoulder while Kay had slid under his other one. Somewhat dazed, he found himself on his feet, turned around and led back into the water.

Suddenly Gordon was there with Kay. John stepped back and let Virgil go as they stepped into the waves. They went in deep enough for him to fully submerge his feathers, Kay and Gordon helping him wash off the sand.

They didn’t let go of him once.

God, these feathers are huge. Must be heavy. How the hell does he support them? Tank body, tank wings, I guess.

Virgil frowned and stared at Gordon. What?

They’re darker than night, yet catch the light. Gordon had one gentle hand on Virgil’s forewing and was combing ever so carefully through his flight feathers.

Stealth wings. The thought was humorous, but no smile appeared on his little brother’s face, his frown of concentration dominant.

Virgil continued to stare.

Gordon shook his feathers ever so gently. “Okay, bro, I think I’ve got most of it out. Tin, you’re side done?”

Virgil turned to find his beloved Kay finishing up, her touch soft and loving despite the anger on her face. “We’re good.”

“They’re all yours, Virg.” Gordon moved in closer and gently squeezed his shoulder. “Don’t drown yourself again.” A small smile and he walked back to shore.

Something slipped away with him.

Kay was less liking to let him go, scooting in and grabbing his hand, leading him back to shore. As they approached, the four brothers on shore stepped back and gave Virgil room.

The sand was firm under the soles of his feet.

Kay stepped out of reach and he was clear.

Bracing his feet, he expanded his wings fully, ignoring their tired complaint, and shook them. Leaning over slightly, he pushed them through the air, their huge beats threatening to lift him off the beach.

Water scattered everywhere. Wingdraft caught the tideline detritus and flung it across the beach. Two of his brother complained as sand was tossed with it.

Alan ended up with seaweed in his hair.

But god, it felt good.

He wanted to jump into the sky, to fully stretch himself out, the feel the wind in his face.

“Virgil!”

John and Gordon said his name together, both of them frowning as if twinned. It would have made a great photographic moment if they weren’t projecting so much worry.

Or if Kay wasn’t standing beside them, her expression even worse.

He didn’t need to look at Scott to know what he would be thinking, lack of mental connection or not.

Okay.

He slowed his wings, enjoying the feel of the air rifling through his drying feathers. As the draft lessened, Kay approached him, her hands landing on his bare chest, only to slide up to his shoulders and the back of his neck.

Her fingers climbed into his hair and she brought his forehead down to hers.

“Let them go, love.”

He closed his eyes, his hands landing at her waist. One more stretch of his wing muscles and he shook his feathers before folding them neatly across his back.

Then he let them go.

To say she kept him on his feet wouldn’t have been a lie.

So stupid.

So tired.

Kay slipped under one arm and he suddenly found Scott under his other.

Virgil frowned. “I’m fine. I’m not sick.”

“I’ll let the medscanner reassure me anyway.”

“Scott-“

“Virgil, home, medical scan, bed. That’s an order.”

Mumbled. “Not on duty.”

Kay poked him in the ribs. “Move your ass.”

“Well, in that case...”

Gordon snorted and his brothers and his Kay took him home.

-o-o-o-

End Part One

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #Virgil Tracy #Gordon Tracy #John Tracy #marks and wings

[ask-the-apocalypse-kids]

Marlon’s Trial

(Based on The trial by Pink Floyd)

(We start with a shot of Marlon sleeping in his bed. We can see him twisting and turning in his sleep due to a nightmare. We switch scenes to a dark room. A figure walks up to a lone podium and a light shines on the figure. The figure is revealed to be Louis. He has a wide smile on his face and his eyes are a ghostly white. He opens his mouth to speak)

Good morning worm, your honor!

The crowd will plainly show the prisoner who now stands before you.

Was caught red handed showing feelings!

(On the word “feelings” another light shines down in front of the podium to reveal Marlon on his knees, a terrified look on his face. Louis continues speaking to an unknown figure)

Showing feelings of an almost human nature!

This will not do.

Call the schoolmaster!

(The spotlight fades on Louis and shines down on another figure standing nearby Marlon. He is recognized as the old headmaster of Ericson’s. He looks angry as he speaks)

I always said he’d come to no good in the end, your honor!

If they’d let me have my way, I could have flayed him into shape!

(The schoolmaster circles Marlon as he spits these words at him)

But my hands were tied.

The bleeding hearts and artists let him get away with murder!

Let me hammer him today!

(The schoolmaster walks up to Marlon as he says this, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and glaring at him before suddenly disappearing into darkness, leaving Marlon alone. He stands alone in the single spotlight and looks around fearfully. He then opens his mouth and starts to speak)

Crazy

Toys in the attic

I am crazy

Truly gone fishing

(Marlon looks up, looking past the bright spotlight to see a night sky full of many beautiful stars. He tearfully continues to speak)

They must have taken my marbles away!

(Suddenly the spirits of all the kids who died at the school and the twins appear behind him. All of them have sorrowful expressions on their face as they speak)

Crazy

Toys in the attic

He is crazy

(The spirits disappear and and another bright light shines down next to Marlon, revealing Brody standing right beside him. There’s blood dripping down her face from where Marlon hit her. She starts to spit hateful words at him)

You little shit

You’re in it now

I hope they throw away the key

You should have talked to me more often than you did

But no!

(Brody circles around him, her fearsome gaze never leaving his)

You had to go your own way!

Have you broken any homes up lately?

Just five minutes worm, your honor

Him and me alone.

(Brody suddenly disappears into darkness as she finishes. Marlon turns around when he hears a loud cry. He is shocked to see his mother running to him)

Babe!

Come to mother baby!

Let me hold you in my arms!

(Marlon’s mother pulls him close in a tight embrace as she weeps loudly)

M’lud, I never meant for him to get in any trouble

Why’d he ever have to leave me?!

Worm, your honor, let me take him home…

(Marlon’s mother disappears just as the others have before. Marlon is alone again and he starts to cry out)

Crazy

Over the rainbow

I am crazy

Bars at the window

(Marlon looks up again, seeing the beautiful starry sky. He starts to sob loudly)

There must have been a door there in the wall!

When I came in!

(Marlon falls to his knees. Once again the spirits of the school children appear behind him. But the twins stand on either side of him, looking down at him distastefully as they speak)

Crazy

Over the rainbow

He is crazy

(Suddenly all the light fades away and Marlon is left alone in darkness. The scene shifts and Marlon is suddenly outside the school. The beautiful starry sky was changed to a deep blood red with dark clouds floating in the sky. The school is in shambles and is completely destroyed. But suddenly the ground starts to rumble as a large figure rises from the rubble. Marlon looks up in horror as he recognizes the figure. It’s Clementine. She stares down at him with large, white, hate filled eyes. She opens her mouth and starts to yell at him)

The evidence before the court is incontrovertible!

There’s no need for the jury to retire!

In all my years of judging,

I have never heard before

Of someone more deserving of the full penalty of law

(Marlon seems to shrink under her harsh words. He continues to stare up at her in fear as he listens to her)

The way you made them suffer

Your exquisite wife and mother

Fills me with the urge to defecate!

Since, my friend, you have revealed your deepest fear

I sentence you to be exposed before your peers!

Tear down the wall!

(Marlon turns around when he suddenly hears chanting. Emerging from the woods is all of the school kids, dead and alive, his family, everyone he ever loved or cared about. They all have looks of malice and hatred on their faces as they chant the words “Tear down the wall.” Marlon panics as they draw closer to him. He turns and tries to run away from them deeper into the school. He runs and runs until their chanting goes quieter. But he suddenly stops when he runs into a little boy. He recognizes the little boy as AJ. He can see that AJ has something in his hands. Marlon stares in horror as AJ raises the item up, revealing it to be a gun. AJ has the gun pointed directly at Marlon’s head. Before Marlon can do anything or run away, AJ pulls the trigger. A loud bang is heard. The scene shifts to Marlon sitting up sharply in his bed. He breathes heavily and grabs at his shirt. The bang of the gun still rings in his ears. Once he realizes he in the safety of his room, he breaks down and starts to cry)

#twdg #the walking dead game #twdg s4 #twdg season 4 #the walking dead #twdg marlon #pink floyd

[redroseinsanity]

Ōmagatoki  - Day 6

@daisugaweek2019​ | Day 6 - Fashion/History

Chapters: 6/7

Summary: In the Kamakura period, a fallen samurai undertakes a journey to pray for the mountain god’s mercy as a famine threatens his people, but instead meets an enchanting tree spirit. Daichi knows that the kodama is possibly the most dangerous being he has ever encountered, and yet, he falls.

—

“What if I told you that there’s a price to pay for saving your people?”

“What kind of price?”

“A sacrifice.”

One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven

Daichi’s legs jerked into a half step, wooden and uncoordinated as his heart lurched ahead of him, pulling onward to where Suga was. 

It took another clumsy jolt before Daichi was tumbling over himself, cursing his bad leg as he discarded his last tool in the grass and ran. 

Or tried to at least. The months of building and plowing had made him stronger than ever, but an old wound was still a wound. He began with a trot, then throwing dignity to the wind along with all reason, broke into a slightly unbalanced jog that favoured his injured leg. Around him, workers carried on, eager to finish and get home, uncaring that their young lord had decided to take his leave in an urgent manner or if he had simply lost it and sprung for the hills. 

Only a handful raised their heads to watch as the third son raced across the plantation grounds, sunlight bouncing off gleaming, sweaty, tan skin, and Daichi, breathless more with the anticipation than the exertion, drew close to a smiling Suga. 

He could see the faint summer breeze ruffle light hair and even without that distinctive trait, he would know the figure anywhere, would recognise the tilt of that head, the glow of that smile. 

And he watched, aghast, in the last several strides that would have taken him there, as the wind collected all those features in a gentle gust. Feeling the back of his throat close up, Daichi arrived just as the silhouette fragmented into a flurry of leaves and petals that were cycled upward and away. 

Thrusting a desperate hand upward, his fingers closed on nothing more than air and a single, pale pink petal. 

—

“He’s in danger." 

Daichi spun in a circle, struggling to locate the voice that tickled at the back of his mind.

"He’s in danger and so are you.”

The fog thinned enough for Daichi to orient himself and he found himself somewhere resembling the clearing that he had last seen Suga in, all those months ago. 

Stepping out of the mist-like shroud, the speaker looked immaculately divine and yet, the slightest bit worn. 

“Tooru?” Daichi squinted. Tooru seemed to throw a disdainful glance over before promenading over to the edges of the cliff, almost disappearing from sight. 

“You both are fools. I’m only trying you because that imbecile is not heeding my words,” Tooru appeared to grow in height and presence. The sense of power that diffused from him threatened to overwhelm and drown Daichi, “The mountain god will discover what he has done for you and then you will both suffer his wrath. It is only a matter of time.”

As Tooru vanished into the mist, Daichi started forward, mouth open with questions overflowing and woke with a jerk, hand stretched above him as though still reaching for the dream figure that he sought. 

He buried his face in his hands, only looking up when something fell from his hair, shaken loose by his movement. Illuminated by the moonlight, a limp leaf, yellowing at the edges sat in his palm. 

Keep reading on AO3 or after the cut

Light. Although the evening was drawing near, the colourful lanterns and lamps that lined the streets fended off the edges of twilight. The village was awash with colour and cheer, with a smorgasbord of food and a myriad of activities laid out. 

At Daichi’s behest, the village was holding a festival for the summer equinox and to give further thanks to that which had given their crops life. 

With the Sawamuras’ backing, their people had gone all out and there were tables of summer snacks being sold, games to be played and small handcrafted wares for purchase. It had been a day of rest and preparation, and it showed in the liveliness of the atmosphere, with laughter filling the air and the shouts of children ringing out occasionally. 

Daichi strolled along the fringes of the festive area, hardly registering the scene other than the muffled noise that it emanated. He had done his checks earlier in the day and was satisfied with it, leaving his family to make their own rounds and bask in the ambience. 

Beside him, the rich, sweet aroma of roasting chestnuts and sweet potatoes wafted from where several were being grilled. Inhaling deeply, Daichi reminded himself that he should be focused on living here, that it would make no sense to dwell on what had happened in the mountainside, that he needed to gather himself in order to keep going. Toward what?  

Painfully, the way it is to pry a scab from a cut that has not yet healed, Daichi wrested his thoughts away from Suga and stepped decisively into a bustling lane, finding a faint smile on his lips as laughter infused the air and bright chatter followed. 

He nodded to a few farmhands who were now manning a game stall and awkwardly waved off another’s attempts to push free wine on him. Chuckling, he extracted himself and then held back a step as two children dodged past him, shrieking in glee. 

Looking up, the world slowed as his gaze foundered on the very person he had just firmly put aside. There, in the middle of the alley, resplendent and with those smiling hazel eyes, was Suga. 

Time seemed to trickle around Daichi as he took the other in, emotions brawling within, demanding to be felt. Though normally clad in pale green, tonight’s Suga was in robes of the most exquisite blue, ornate and far too extravagant for even someone of Daichi’s standing to own. 

Daichi straightened, a samurai’s excellent posture taking over as he pulled shoulders back and lifted his chin. Then he walked directly past the spirit, holding his breath and waiting, waiting, waiting for the instant that Suga would crumble to nothing but flora. 

He was prepared this time, had braced himself with disappointment in the set of his brows and the press of his lips. He was, however, not at all prepared for a hand to shoot out and clasp his wrist, loose in its grasp but warm and real. 

Staring at where Suga’s hand had to be underneath the sleeves of Daichi’s hitatare, he traced it to its owner, dumbfounded and reeling. 

“Do you not know me?” Suga asked, as gentle as a leaf settling on the surface of water with the barest ripple.

Daichi faltered as his feelings staged a revolution, tearing down his reason and engulfing him with the staggering desire to reach for Suga and pull him into an embrace, to hold him and talk him out of disappearing again, to beg for him not to go somewhere Daichi could not follow. 

“Are you real?” Daichi wheezed, “If you are not, I implore you not to give me any more false hope.”

Suga’s eyes softened infinitesimally before he pulled closer and ran a single finger down the line of Daichi’s jaw.

“Real enough for you?” He teased as Daichi’s entire body flared. 

“What-” Daichi stopped to clear his throat and tried again, “What are you doing here?”

“You vowed that we would meet again,” Suga’s eyes were dancing, “All I’m doing is making sure that you do not break your promise.”

Haven’t I been seeing you? Daichi wanted to ask. 

“It feels as though every day that I do not keep that promise is torture. Have you been punishing me? Or is being apart from you simply that painful?” Was what came out instead. 

Suga stared at him, surprise lifting his brows and the beginnings of delight tugging at his lips while Daichi fought the urge to exile his tongue for being so brutally honest. 

Belatedly, he remembered where they were and he glanced around with some concern. 

“Are you- Can they see you? How are you here?” He asked, suddenly struck by the possibility that people might see the young Sawamura talking to himself on a busy street. 

“Only those who want to,” Suga replied, waving to a small boy who shyly bowed back as his mother led the way toward a pottery stall. 

Up close, Daichi could see the elaborate design of Suga’s outfit even in the dying rays of the sunset. Rich blue shot with silver that highlighted his ethereal features and emphasised his moonlit hair. The material itself was soft and clearly high in caliber, sighing every time Suga took a step and falling over his lean frame just right. 

Just as those around him, Daichi included, had put on their best clothes for the festival, Daichi had the hunch that Suga had come for a specific purpose but exactly what, he failed to fathom. Questions bubbled to Daichi’s lips and clung there, on the verge of falling out. 

“Are you here for the festival?” He blurted, then felt like hitting himself because surely a kodama had more important things than a measly human festival to think about.

To his surprise, Suga grinned, instantly putting all of the festival’s beautiful decorations to shame. 

“Show me around?”

So he did. Watched as Suga’s eyes teared and then went enraptured as he tasted a spicy specialty of his town, one that made Daichi’s entire mouth burn. He trailed behind a fascinated Suga as the kodama made it a point to touch all the handicrafts they passed, eyes wide and wondering as he marvelled at the tiny figurines detailed with fine touches and the soft woven mats. 

They stopped for quite a while to watch an elder do elegant strokes of calligraphy with absolute control and grace. Initially, Daichi had assumed that Suga was intrigued by the writing aspect, however, the kodama had carefully rubbed a part of the parchment between thumb and forefinger before nodding pensively and walking away. 

The villagers were thrilled that Daichi came by to play a few games, gathering round to cheer him on as he tried his hand at things that he hadn’t played since he was a child. But with Suga beside him, excited and starry-eyed, it was reminiscent of Daichi’s most carefree days. So intent was he on committing every single charmed expression on Suga’s face to memory that he missed the whispered gossip of the villagers who had never seen this Sawamura smile so much in a long time. 

By late evening, they had wandered far from the village, munching on candied nuts and sweet plums as they settled beneath a wide tree at the base of the mountain, resting in the undrawn border between Suga’s home and Daichi’s. There, Daichi imagined that if he tried hard enough, he could believe that they were suspended in a timeless frame, some liminal space that allowed him to stay here with Suga indefinitely.

Under the cover of darkness, Daichi found the courage to pose the question he had withheld earlier.

“This robe,” He hedged, “Is it special? I’ve never seen you wear it before.”

“I suppose it’s special because we assign it meaning,” Suga hummed, “Now it is special because I have worn it to see you.”

“Oh, you- I meant-” Daichi flailed, not expecting such a frank and yet, convoluted response, “It seems to be of excellent quality,” He finished weakly. 

“Oh, it is,” In the shadows, Suga’s entire demeanour turned mischievous as he began undoing his obi, “Would you like to try it on?”

Daichi’s hands flew to catch Suga’s, making a rough estimate in the dark and colliding with cool knuckles and incredibly soft fabric.

“No! No, it’s fine,” He yelped, as Suga cackled. Suga’s robes whispered as he shifted closer, so close that Daichi felt the warm exhalation of the other when he spoke.

“Are you afraid of what you’ll find underneath?”

“I will never be afraid of you,” Daichi told him honestly, “I only fear myself, for I cannot trust myself when I’m around you.”

The hand that was in Daichi’s slipped from his grasp to cup his cheek as Suga leaned in and fit his lips flush against Daichi’s. For a beat, Daichi’s mind struggled to comprehend, to react, and then he was sweeping an arm out and cradling Suga to him in a bundle of silky material and pliant warmth. 

Daichi had known, had told Suga, that he had scarce control over himself around the kodama, but he was still surprised by his own boldness when he was the one to deepen the kiss, nipping at soft lips to elicit a gasp from Suga, his fingers taking the liberty to run through hair he knew looked like liquid silver. 

Suga’s other hand took a path across his chest, over a broad shoulder to graze over Daichi’s neck and there it rested, nails gently scraping the sensitive skin at the nape of Daichi’s neck as he reciprocated, lips moving in ways that had Daichi’s head spinning. He planted kisses down the length of Suga’s neck, savouring the cedar perfumed smoothness as he worshipped every exposed bit of skin until he got to a delicate collarbone. Resting his forehead against Suga’s shoulder, he nosed along the line of bone before summoning what was left of his restraint. Then, leaving a small kiss where he stopped, he tugged Suga’s stunning robes back into place, fingers lingering a little too long at times, but eventually managing to restore a semblance of order to the rumpled kodama. 

“Look,” Suga breathed, still folded into Daichi, the two tangled in a mess of coloured cloth and heated skin. 

A firefly had lit up near them, and as if by signal, tens of tiny floating lights appeared as Daichi gazed up in awe. The fireflies hovered and moved in steady patterns, filling the immediate area with a soft iridescence and giving the pair’s faces a luminescent quality.   

Slowly, reluctantly, Suga pulled away, releasing Daichi and drawing a deep breath. 

“The light from the fireflies will be sufficient for you to find your way home,” His hand stroked Daichi’s face before retreating into wide sleeves, “You should go now. Go.”

There was a measure of insistence in Suga’s tone had Daichi on his feet before he could stop himself, and yet, he could not bring himself to go. 

“Will I see you again?” He asked, a desperate note finding its way into his voice.

“Only if you promise to,” Though it was the same answer he had given all those months ago, Suga didn’t sound as certain as before, his pitch low and wavering. 

“Then I do,” Daichi swore, steady and hopeful, still giddy from the rush of how intoxicating Suga was. With one last glance back, he headed for home, his feet taking him in one direction while every fibre of his being yearned to go in another. 

About thirty paces away, he halted, heart thudding and the feel of Suga’s lips still a phantom weight on his. Then he whirled, tearing through the forest in the way he came from, feet moving faster than ever and still not fast enough. 

He skidded to a stop in front of the tree that he had left Suga, a few straggling fireflies floating about. 

But Suga was gone. 

#daisuga #sawamura daichi #sugawara koushi #haikyuu!! #daisugaweek2019 #haikyuu fanfiction #redwrites #haikyuufanfics

[obsidianarchives]

Game of Thrones Recap: S8E4 - "The Last of the Starks"

Didn’t we almost have it all? At the moment I’m not sure I’m talking about the episode, this season, or (if you really want to get spicy) the first four seasons of the series, but this show started off SO WELL and then devolved into an unfounded attack on everything I love and believe in. We’re back to split locations this week so let’s get into it, and trust we’ll be discussing that ending. TW: There is brief discussion about the use of rape as a narrative tactic in the “Winterfell” section.

Winterfell

The episode picks up right where we left off last week as the survivors of the Great War bid farewell to those who paid the ultimate sacrifice for loss. As much as I’ve never seen it for either of them, Daenerys’s sadness over Jorah — her first friend and a man (for all his MANY faults) who was a constant throughout her adult life — and Sansa tearfully placing a Stark pin on Theon’s corpse were touching and earned conclusions of their character journeys. But there’s still no country for slave traders and child murderers so, bye!

Leading the ceremony, Jon puts some bass in his voice, does his best Captain America impression, and delivers the most impassioned and leaderly speech we’ve heard from him yet as he modifies the Night’s Watch farewell to begin lighting the pyres of fallen heroes outside the castle. Ramin Djawadi put his foot all the way in the score on this scene as we see just how much the fight took out of the survivors. All of our main characters are bruised and bloody, poor Ghost lost an ear, and Rhaegal has holes in his wings and is still too weak to fly without a bit of a hook. Everyone needs a drink.

And what an after party it is! Gendry suffers through awkward dinner conversations with his girlfriend’s father (we’ll get there) the Hound while he awaits Arya who’s a no-show at the feast. Daenerys sees him and takes the opportunity to note that he’s the unknown bastard son of a King. For a moment, I thought she was trying to make a point to Jon about the validity or lack thereof about his claim to the throne, but she instead legitimizes Gendry and proclaims him Lord of the Baratheon’s old seat of Storm’s End. By raising up the former blacksmith she not only installs a Lord Paramount of the Stormlands forever loyal to her, creating allies she desperately needs, she also buries another potential claimant against her crown.

For some reason Sansa is confused and disgusted by this and Tyrion clocks it but says nothing. As the drinking continues, Dany realizes how isolated she truly is as she listens to Jon be toasted by Tormund, a Kobe stan during a LeBron James championship parade. Instead of being a proud aunt towards her baby dragon riding nephew, Queen Daenerys sees how little she is loved by the Westorosi, an awakening that began with her witnessing Lord Royce and Theon’s admiration for Sansa earlier this season. Lurking dramatically behind her and observing all of this is, of course, Varys because he stays in the mess.

Ser Brienne, Podrick, and the Lannister brothers are playing Tyrion’s drinking game where they guess facts about each other, which is fun until the lord imp surmises that the newest knight from Tarth is a virgin. Brienne leaves in anger and shame while Jaime follows after her, leaving Tormund to finally realize where he stands as the third wheel, crying to the Hound. After Clegane chases him off into the arms of a willing Northern girl, Sansa and the Hound share their first conversation since season two and the Battle of Blackwater. When he acknowledges that the “little bird” has grown and changed as much as Arya, she tells him that without the horrors she’s had to endure she wouldn’t be the person she is today. There’s been a great deal of frustration with that line, as the notion that rape can be a tool to make a woman stronger, or that she owes her growth to the men in her life, is demonstrably false. I didn’t initially read the scene that way simply because the theme of terrible things and regrets forming people into who they are has been a repeated one this season (with Jaime, Bran, Theon, etc.), but it is a mark of poor and male-centric writing to not recognize the difference between intentional actions the male characters chose themselves and cruelty done to a character against their will that they’ve had to survive. But this wouldn’t be the last time the writers failed to understand context.

Gendry finally finds Arya in the castle working on her archery instead of reveling in the feast (Big Introvert Energy) and tells her that not only is he the son of a King, he’s now a proper lord himself. Kissing her, he gets down on one knee and tells her it doesn’t mean a thing without her by his side and proposes. Maisie Williams sells the scene with just her eyes, as she kisses Gendry back onto his feet, but has to let him down gently that being a lady is just not her. It calls back to what she constantly told Ned in season one, and the realization she had in her reunion with Nymeria last season.

Jaime channels his inner Drake and brings a flagon of wine to Brienne thee Stallion’s room, reminding her that she hasn’t finished the game. Brienne keeps her room nice and hot, so the Kingslayer starts to take off all his clothes, while probing her interest in Tormund. Always one to keep her guard up, Brienne finally realizes what’s about to happen and helps him take his shirt off as she joins him in disrobing and they finally consummate the years-long dance around and to each other’s hearts.

Daenerys and Jon finally have a heart to heart where Rhaegar’s son reiterates that he has no desire for the throne and is pledged to her. She then begs him to not tell anyone else (specifically Sansa and Arya) and to swear Samwell and Bran to secrecy lest the truth of a rival with a stronger claim gets out and threatens her position. So of course, Jon does the opposite and, forcing Sansa and Arya to promise to keep the secret in the family, has Bran divulge that he’s actually Aegon Targaryen. The scene cuts to black before we get to see their reactions to the news, but hold that thought.

With the demise of the Night King (who we’ll have to wait on the books which shall never be written to learn more about) and his army of the dead, Daenerys finally begins drawing up battle plans to take King’s Landing. As is her wont, the Dragon Queen wants ALL of the smoke and is ready to take Cersei out, whatever it takes. Ever the idealistic pacifist, Tyrion urges the long game of a siege to turn the people against her by starving the Lannisters out. Jon, who at this point doesn’t want to be in the middle of any other squabbles, concedes the feasibility of the plan but then in comes the maester of checking people in public, Lady Sansa. She councils a bit of patience on Dany’s part since her troops are dead tired from fighting zombies, one of her dragons is flying with a limp, and she really has no plan other than “I want the throne.” Admittedly, I’ve been #SansaHive for a while now, but the show seems intent on driving this division between the two matriarchs for no other reason than to manufacture tension and rush towards this narrative that Dany is the Mad Queen that has not been justified. Trying to get back in her good graces (or her bed), Jon however pulls rank and reminds the room that the North is pledged to Daenerys and will follow her to whatever end.

Ser Bronn finally arrives in Winterfell and displays the level-headed pragmatism that I’ve said more than once will put him on the Iron Throne. Rather than outright killing the Lannister men as Cersei wanted, he negotiates. While we finally discover the Queen offered him Riverrun and presumably reign of the Riverlands, Tyrion counters with Highgarden and the seat of the Reach. Less out of an affinity for the brothers and more because he’s seen what dragons can do to an army, he accepts the side he thinks is more likely to win, but promises his bill will come due once the war is over. Another thing this episode has done is remind us just how many Great Houses have fallen in Westeros. Daenerys mentions the support of a new, unnamed Prince in Dorne, and Edmure Tully is possibly still alive in a dungeon somewhere or hiding in oblivion with young Robin Arryn, but almost all of the ruling southern houses have been wiped out.

On the road from Winterfell, the Hound is riding south alone until he’s joined by Arya, and it seems they both have unfinished business back in the capital. If they’re pump faking us and we don’t get Cleganebowl, somebody has to square up. For now, the best buddy duo is back on the road again and neither have plans on coming back alive. Sansa, on the other hand, almost immediately tells Tyrion the ONE thing she promised not to and confides Jon’s secret identity. That’s how we know he wasn’t Ned’s son. Eddard managed to take decades of hate from his own wife to protect his nephew, Jon couldn’t even last a damn week.

The goodbyes continue as Tormund finally takes the wildlings back home to the REAL north to settle down and repopulate now that the threat of the White Walkers is gone. The show, choosing to emphasize his embrace of his Targaryen roots (and that he’s probably going to die soon) has Jon send Ghost north of the Wall as well, since a direwolf has no place in the South and would be happier. This is where the disrespect began and we should have seen the okey doke coming. The relationship between Jon and Ghost is one the show has always underplayed but my man would never! He didn’t even give his beloved companion a goodbye hug, simply looking on as Ghost whines for his friend. We also find out Gilly is pregnant with Sam’s baby for real this time, and if it’s a boy they’ll name him Jon. Yeah, he’s definitely going to die.

Hearing what went down at Dragonstone, Jaime, after knocking the sheen off of Brienne’s starry sapphire again for good measure, leaves in the middle of the night bound for King’s Landing. She runs out in her housecoat and slippers begging an ain’t shit man to come back into her life after just 24 hours; men are a curse. Jaime reads through the litany of things he’s done in the name of his love for Cersei and insists he’s not the good man Brienne thinks he is. It seems clear he’s going back to try to stop her this time (and possibly fulfill the prediction of the valonqar), but he doesn’t tell that to his new boo, who very uncharacteristically breaks down in tears.

Dragonstone

With her fleet preparing to invade King’s Landing and take back the throne, Daenerys and crew set sail to her birthplace on Dragonstone. Tyrion couldn’t even wait to make it to shore and immediately tells the news of Jon’s true parentage to the Benita Buttrell of Westeros in Varys, but he ain't one to gossip, so you ain't heard it from him. As the ships drop anchor in the port however, Drogon and Rhaegal are attacked by Euron Greyjoy’s suspiciously sneaky Iron Fleet now outfitted with improved Scorpions which catch Rhaegal unaware, killing yet another dragon. Gotta pour one out for the homie as we’re now down to one and I am inconsolable. Daenerys in a rage is tempted to fly Drogon straight on to light them all up, but facing another round of fire is forced to flee. Euron being the trash panda he is then targets the ships themselves, sinking most of them and forcing the Unsullied to swim to shore. A distraught Grey Worm is left to panic as he screams for Missandei, who was not among those who washed up on the beach.

On the verge of losing everything, Daenerys is understandably tired of being checked by her advisors and is finally ready to burn the Red Keep to the ground if she can sit on the ashes. In a private conversation, Tyrion keeps trying to push the obvious solution that Jon and Dany, who are in love as it is, should just get married, solving all their problems. As infuriating as it may be that the simplest answer is the one that will never happen, even he realizes the futility of hoping for logic to win out. Varys stops short of admitting he’s putting a hit out on Dany, but the Spider, going back to his defense of the realm, is obviously ready to move on to a new leader and leaves Tyrion to drink.

King’s Landing

Meanwhile, back in the capital Cersei has been opening the Red Keep to the common folk in an attempt to call Dany’s bluff that she wouldn’t burn the city with so many people inside the castle walls. Congratulating walking STD Euron on his successful mission Cersei tells him she’s carrying his child (as Qyburn confirms), and hides her disgust as Greyjoy is overwhelmed with new daddy glee.

The writers then lose the plot entirely as they cut to Missandei, back in shackles, Cersei’s prisoner as the queen remarks “so much for the breaker of chains.” We’ll get to it soon but it goes without saying that seeing a Black woman, the ONLY Black woman on the show, placed back into bondage when her story arc has been one of rising above her enslavement is reprehensible. That said, this is a show about reprehensible people doing reprehensible things. It hurts no less, but what used to elevate the series was that these actions were grounded in an internal logic and narrative fullness that resonated with character motivation and agency for both sides. This was simply done for shock value, both in-universe for Daenerys and out of it for the viewers.

Outside the Red Keep, the walls of which we see have also been outfitted with Scorpions, the two Hands of the Queen meet to discuss terms, and when it’s clear that Cersei will not be surrendering, Tyrion tries to speak directly to his sister and beg for her better nature to avoid bloodshed, insisting that she’s not a monster. WHAT WOMAN DOES HE THINK HE’S BEEN DEALING WITH FOR ALL THIS TIME? Of course that nonsense doesn’t work and Tyrion’s inability to recognize that villainy is possible even under the guise of white womanhood is what should get him killed. Instead it’s Missandei who is caught in the crosshairs of the 53% as she utters her last words, “Dracarys,” before being beheaded by the Mountain.

My personal affinity for Missandei should be well known, so you can imagine how I reacted to seeing this mess. To clarify, it's not just that she died that was so galling. If you read the episode two review we called that happening, and I’d assume most of you weren’t shocked either, even though it doesn’t hurt any less. It’s the how and why that was so poorly handled that added insult to injury of the pain that's inherent when you have so few people of color in the cast in general, but Black women specifically. Had she had the agency to choose her own end and her death come as the result of her story arc, so be it. This is a show of terrors and loved characters die everyday, B. Had she died in the crypts of Winterfell fighting for her life and the Queen she believed in, and Daenerys and Grey Worm had gotten to mourn her the way they gave tired, rockface Jorah his final respects it would have been better. Had her Dracarys command gotten Drogon to start the roast of the city? We outchea! But for it to be simply the impetus to justify razing King’s Landing, and as a pawn in a war of aggression between two white women while she’s placed back in bondage, was a perfect storm of disrespect, to the character and the audience. We've established for seven seasons that that city is a rathole, filled with people we haven't seen in years. I don't care about Dany burning the castle to the ground, but NOW? I need Thanos to show up because I want nothing left but ashes. For a blog whose motto is MORE Black Girls MORE Dragons, this episode was always going to be particularly painful, but the fact that there was no greater narrative purpose for it makes it even worse.

#Game of Thrones #Season 8 #Recap

[a-mutual-killing]

hunker down, boys - she’s fifty five spenserian stanzas of shelley mourning keats in the most absurd english way and i’m fucking screaming. someone come put me out of my misery before i have enough time to think about the social masochism behind shelley inviting an ill keats to italy. 

I       I weep for Adonais—he is dead!       Oh, weep for Adonais! though our tears       Thaw not the frost which binds so dear a head!       And thou, sad Hour, selected from all years       To mourn our loss, rouse thy obscure compeers,       And teach them thine own sorrow, say: "With me       Died Adonais; till the Future dares       Forget the Past, his fate and fame shall be An echo and a light unto eternity!"

II       Where wert thou, mighty Mother, when he lay,       When thy Son lay, pierc'd by the shaft which flies       In darkness? where was lorn Urania       When Adonais died? With veiled eyes,       'Mid listening Echoes, in her Paradise       She sate, while one, with soft enamour'd breath,       Rekindled all the fading melodies,       With which, like flowers that mock the corse beneath, He had adorn'd and hid the coming bulk of Death.

III       Oh, weep for Adonais—he is dead!       Wake, melancholy Mother, wake and weep!       Yet wherefore? Quench within their burning bed       Thy fiery tears, and let thy loud heart keep       Like his, a mute and uncomplaining sleep;       For he is gone, where all things wise and fair       Descend—oh, dream not that the amorous Deep       Will yet restore him to the vital air; Death feeds on his mute voice, and laughs at our despair.

IV       Most musical of mourners, weep again!       Lament anew, Urania! He died,       Who was the Sire of an immortal strain,       Blind, old and lonely, when his country's pride,       The priest, the slave and the liberticide,       Trampled and mock'd with many a loathed rite       Of lust and blood; he went, unterrified,       Into the gulf of death; but his clear Sprite Yet reigns o'er earth; the third among the sons of light.

V       Most musical of mourners, weep anew!       Not all to that bright station dar'd to climb;       And happier they their happiness who knew,       Whose tapers yet burn through that night of time       In which suns perish'd; others more sublime,       Struck by the envious wrath of man or god,       Have sunk, extinct in their refulgent prime;       And some yet live, treading the thorny road, Which leads, through toil and hate, to Fame's serene abode.

VI       But now, thy youngest, dearest one, has perish'd,       The nursling of thy widowhood, who grew,       Like a pale flower by some sad maiden cherish'd,       And fed with true-love tears, instead of dew;       Most musical of mourners, weep anew!       Thy extreme hope, the loveliest and the last,       The bloom, whose petals nipp'd before they blew       Died on the promise of the fruit, is waste; The broken lily lies—the storm is overpast.

VII       To that high Capital, where kingly Death       Keeps his pale court in beauty and decay,       He came; and bought, with price of purest breath,       A grave among the eternal.—Come away!       Haste, while the vault of blue Italian day       Is yet his fitting charnel-roof! while still       He lies, as if in dewy sleep he lay;       Awake him not! surely he takes his fill Of deep and liquid rest, forgetful of all ill.

VIII       He will awake no more, oh, never more!       Within the twilight chamber spreads apace       The shadow of white Death, and at the door       Invisible Corruption waits to trace       His extreme way to her dim dwelling-place;       The eternal Hunger sits, but pity and awe       Soothe her pale rage, nor dares she to deface       So fair a prey, till darkness and the law Of change shall o'er his sleep the mortal curtain draw.

IX       Oh, weep for Adonais! The quick Dreams,       The passion-winged Ministers of thought,       Who were his flocks, whom near the living streams       Of his young spirit he fed, and whom he taught       The love which was its music, wander not—       Wander no more, from kindling brain to brain,       But droop there, whence they sprung; and mourn their lot       Round the cold heart, where, after their sweet pain, They ne'er will gather strength, or find a home again.

X       And one with trembling hands clasps his cold head,       And fans him with her moonlight wings, and cries,       "Our love, our hope, our sorrow, is not dead;       See, on the silken fringe of his faint eyes,       Like dew upon a sleeping flower, there lies       A tear some Dream has loosen'd from his brain."       Lost Angel of a ruin'd Paradise!       She knew not 'twas her own; as with no stain She faded, like a cloud which had outwept its rain.

XI       One from a lucid urn of starry dew       Wash'd his light limbs as if embalming them;       Another clipp'd her profuse locks, and threw       The wreath upon him, like an anadem,       Which frozen tears instead of pearls begem;       Another in her wilful grief would break       Her bow and winged reeds, as if to stem       A greater loss with one which was more weak; And dull the barbed fire against his frozen cheek.

XII       Another Splendour on his mouth alit,       That mouth, whence it was wont to draw the breath       Which gave it strength to pierce the guarded wit,       And pass into the panting heart beneath       With lightning and with music: the damp death       Quench'd its caress upon his icy lips;       And, as a dying meteor stains a wreath       Of moonlight vapour, which the cold night clips, It flush'd through his pale limbs, and pass'd to its eclipse.

XIII       And others came . . . Desires and Adorations,       Winged Persuasions and veil'd Destinies,       Splendours, and Glooms, and glimmering Incarnations       Of hopes and fears, and twilight Phantasies;       And Sorrow, with her family of Sighs,       And Pleasure, blind with tears, led by the gleam       Of her own dying smile instead of eyes,       Came in slow pomp; the moving pomp might seem Like pageantry of mist on an autumnal stream.

XIV       All he had lov'd, and moulded into thought,       From shape, and hue, and odour, and sweet sound,       Lamented Adonais. Morning sought       Her eastern watch-tower, and her hair unbound,       Wet with the tears which should adorn the ground,       Dimm'd the aëreal eyes that kindle day;       Afar the melancholy thunder moan'd,       Pale Ocean in unquiet slumber lay, And the wild Winds flew round, sobbing in their dismay.

XV       Lost Echo sits amid the voiceless mountains,       And feeds her grief with his remember'd lay,       And will no more reply to winds or fountains,       Or amorous birds perch'd on the young green spray,       Or herdsman's horn, or bell at closing day;       Since she can mimic not his lips, more dear       Than those for whose disdain she pin'd away       Into a shadow of all sounds: a drear Murmur, between their songs, is all the woodmen hear.

XVI       Grief made the young Spring wild, and she threw down       Her kindling buds, as if she Autumn were,       Or they dead leaves; since her delight is flown,       For whom should she have wak'd the sullen year?       To Phoebus was not Hyacinth so dear       Nor to himself Narcissus, as to both       Thou, Adonais: wan they stand and sere       Amid the faint companions of their youth, With dew all turn'd to tears; odour, to sighing ruth.

XVII       Thy spirit's sister, the lorn nightingale       Mourns not her mate with such melodious pain;       Not so the eagle, who like thee could scale       Heaven, and could nourish in the sun's domain       Her mighty youth with morning, doth complain,       Soaring and screaming round her empty nest,       As Albion wails for thee: the curse of Cain       Light on his head who pierc'd thy innocent breast, And scar'd the angel soul that was its earthly guest!

XVIII       Ah, woe is me! Winter is come and gone,       But grief returns with the revolving year;       The airs and streams renew their joyous tone;       The ants, the bees, the swallows reappear;       Fresh leaves and flowers deck the dead Seasons' bier;       The amorous birds now pair in every brake,       And build their mossy homes in field and brere;       And the green lizard, and the golden snake, Like unimprison'd flames, out of their trance awake.

XIX       Through wood and stream and field and hill and Ocean       A quickening life from the Earth's heart has burst       As it has ever done, with change and motion,       From the great morning of the world when first       God dawn'd on Chaos; in its stream immers'd,       The lamps of Heaven flash with a softer light;       All baser things pant with life's sacred thirst;       Diffuse themselves; and spend in love's delight, The beauty and the joy of their renewed might.

XX       The leprous corpse, touch'd by this spirit tender,       Exhales itself in flowers of gentle breath;       Like incarnations of the stars, when splendour       Is chang'd to fragrance, they illumine death       And mock the merry worm that wakes beneath;       Nought we know, dies. Shall that alone which knows       Be as a sword consum'd before the sheath       By sightless lightning?—the intense atom glows A moment, then is quench'd in a most cold repose.

XXI       Alas! that all we lov'd of him should be,       But for our grief, as if it had not been,       And grief itself be mortal! Woe is me!       Whence are we, and why are we? of what scene       The actors or spectators? Great and mean       Meet mass'd in death, who lends what life must borrow.       As long as skies are blue, and fields are green,       Evening must usher night, night urge the morrow, Month follow month with woe, and year wake year to sorrow.

XXII       He will awake no more, oh, never more!       "Wake thou," cried Misery, "childless Mother, rise       Out of thy sleep, and slake, in thy heart's core,       A wound more fierce than his, with tears and sighs."       And all the Dreams that watch'd Urania's eyes,       And all the Echoes whom their sister's song       Had held in holy silence, cried: "Arise!"       Swift as a Thought by the snake Memory stung, From her ambrosial rest the fading Splendour sprung.

XXIII       She rose like an autumnal Night, that springs       Out of the East, and follows wild and drear       The golden Day, which, on eternal wings,       Even as a ghost abandoning a bier,       Had left the Earth a corpse. Sorrow and fear       So struck, so rous'd, so rapt Urania;       So sadden'd round her like an atmosphere       Of stormy mist; so swept her on her way Even to the mournful place where Adonais lay.

XXIV       Out of her secret Paradise she sped,       Through camps and cities rough with stone, and steel,       And human hearts, which to her aery tread       Yielding not, wounded the invisible       Palms of her tender feet where'er they fell:       And barbed tongues, and thoughts more sharp than they,       Rent the soft Form they never could repel,       Whose sacred blood, like the young tears of May, Pav'd with eternal flowers that undeserving way.

XXV       In the death-chamber for a moment Death,       Sham'd by the presence of that living Might,       Blush'd to annihilation, and the breath       Revisited those lips, and Life's pale light       Flash'd through those limbs, so late her dear delight.       "Leave me not wild and drear and comfortless,       As silent lightning leaves the starless night!       Leave me not!" cried Urania: her distress Rous'd Death: Death rose and smil'd, and met her vain caress.

XXVI       "Stay yet awhile! speak to me once again;       Kiss me, so long but as a kiss may live;       And in my heartless breast and burning brain       That word, that kiss, shall all thoughts else survive,       With food of saddest memory kept alive,       Now thou art dead, as if it were a part       Of thee, my Adonais! I would give       All that I am to be as thou now art! But I am chain'd to Time, and cannot thence depart!

XXVII       "O gentle child, beautiful as thou wert,       Why didst thou leave the trodden paths of men       Too soon, and with weak hands though mighty heart       Dare the unpastur'd dragon in his den?       Defenceless as thou wert, oh, where was then       Wisdom the mirror'd shield, or scorn the spear?       Or hadst thou waited the full cycle, when       Thy spirit should have fill'd its crescent sphere, The monsters of life's waste had fled from thee like deer.

XXVIII       "The herded wolves, bold only to pursue;       The obscene ravens, clamorous o'er the dead;       The vultures to the conqueror's banner true       Who feed where Desolation first has fed,       And whose wings rain contagion; how they fled,       When, like Apollo, from his golden bow       The Pythian of the age one arrow sped       And smil'd! The spoilers tempt no second blow, They fawn on the proud feet that spurn them lying low.

XXIX       "The sun comes forth, and many reptiles spawn;       He sets, and each ephemeral insect then       Is gather'd into death without a dawn,       And the immortal stars awake again;       So is it in the world of living men:       A godlike mind soars forth, in its delight       Making earth bare and veiling heaven, and when       It sinks, the swarms that dimm'd or shar'd its light Leave to its kindred lamps the spirit's awful night."

XXX       Thus ceas'd she: and the mountain shepherds came,       Their garlands sere, their magic mantles rent;       The Pilgrim of Eternity, whose fame       Over his living head like Heaven is bent,       An early but enduring monument,       Came, veiling all the lightnings of his song       In sorrow; from her wilds Ierne sent       The sweetest lyrist of her saddest wrong, And Love taught Grief to fall like music from his tongue.

XXXI       Midst others of less note, came one frail Form,       A phantom among men; companionless       As the last cloud of an expiring storm       Whose thunder is its knell; he, as I guess,       Had gaz'd on Nature's naked loveliness,       Actaeon-like, and now he fled astray       With feeble steps o'er the world's wilderness,       And his own thoughts, along that rugged way, Pursu'd, like raging hounds, their father and their prey.

XXXII       A pardlike Spirit beautiful and swift—       A Love in desolation mask'd—a Power       Girt round with weakness—it can scarce uplift       The weight of the superincumbent hour;       It is a dying lamp, a falling shower,       A breaking billow; even whilst we speak       Is it not broken? On the withering flower       The killing sun smiles brightly: on a cheek The life can burn in blood, even while the heart may break.

XXXIII       His head was bound with pansies overblown,       And faded violets, white, and pied, and blue;       And a light spear topp'd with a cypress cone,       Round whose rude shaft dark ivy-tresses grew       Yet dripping with the forest's noonday dew,       Vibrated, as the ever-beating heart       Shook the weak hand that grasp'd it; of that crew       He came the last, neglected and apart; A herd-abandon'd deer struck by the hunter's dart.

XXXIV       All stood aloof, and at his partial moan       Smil'd through their tears; well knew that gentle band       Who in another's fate now wept his own,       As in the accents of an unknown land       He sung new sorrow; sad Urania scann'd       The Stranger's mien, and murmur'd: "Who art thou?"       He answer'd not, but with a sudden hand       Made bare his branded and ensanguin'd brow, Which was like Cain's or Christ's—oh! that it should be so!

XXXV       What softer voice is hush'd over the dead?       Athwart what brow is that dark mantle thrown?       What form leans sadly o'er the white death-bed,       In mockery of monumental stone,       The heavy heart heaving without a moan?       If it be He, who, gentlest of the wise,       Taught, sooth'd, lov'd, honour'd the departed one,       Let me not vex, with inharmonious sighs, The silence of that heart's accepted sacrifice.

XXXVI       Our Adonais has drunk poison—oh!       What deaf and viperous murderer could crown       Life's early cup with such a draught of woe?       The nameless worm would now itself disown:       It felt, yet could escape, the magic tone       Whose prelude held all envy, hate and wrong,       But what was howling in one breast alone,       Silent with expectation of the song, Whose master's hand is cold, whose silver lyre unstrung.

XXXVII       Live thou, whose infamy is not thy fame!       Live! fear no heavier chastisement from me,       Thou noteless blot on a remember'd name!       But be thyself, and know thyself to be!       And ever at thy season be thou free       To spill the venom when thy fangs o'erflow;       Remorse and Self-contempt shall cling to thee;       Hot Shame shall burn upon thy secret brow, And like a beaten hound tremble thou shalt—as now.

XXXVIII       Nor let us weep that our delight is fled       Far from these carrion kites that scream below;       He wakes or sleeps with the enduring dead;       Thou canst not soar where he is sitting now.       Dust to the dust! but the pure spirit shall flow       Back to the burning fountain whence it came,       A portion of the Eternal, which must glow       Through time and change, unquenchably the same, Whilst thy cold embers choke the sordid hearth of shame.

XXXIX       Peace, peace! he is not dead, he doth not sleep,       He hath awaken'd from the dream of life;       'Tis we, who lost in stormy visions, keep       With phantoms an unprofitable strife,       And in mad trance, strike with our spirit's knife       Invulnerable nothings. We decay       Like corpses in a charnel; fear and grief       Convulse us and consume us day by day, And cold hopes swarm like worms within our living clay.

XL       He has outsoar'd the shadow of our night;       Envy and calumny and hate and pain,       And that unrest which men miscall delight,       Can touch him not and torture not again;       From the contagion of the world's slow stain       He is secure, and now can never mourn       A heart grown cold, a head grown gray in vain;       Nor, when the spirit's self has ceas'd to burn, With sparkless ashes load an unlamented urn.

XLI       He lives, he wakes—'tis Death is dead, not he;       Mourn not for Adonais. Thou young Dawn,       Turn all thy dew to splendour, for from thee       The spirit thou lamentest is not gone;       Ye caverns and ye forests, cease to moan!       Cease, ye faint flowers and fountains, and thou Air,       Which like a mourning veil thy scarf hadst thrown       O'er the abandon'd Earth, now leave it bare Even to the joyous stars which smile on its despair!

XLII       He is made one with Nature: there is heard       His voice in all her music, from the moan       Of thunder, to the song of night's sweet bird;       He is a presence to be felt and known       In darkness and in light, from herb and stone,       Spreading itself where'er that Power may move       Which has withdrawn his being to its own;       Which wields the world with never-wearied love, Sustains it from beneath, and kindles it above.

XLIII       He is a portion of the loveliness       Which once he made more lovely: he doth bear       His part, while the one Spirit's plastic stress       Sweeps through the dull dense world, compelling there       All new successions to the forms they wear;       Torturing th' unwilling dross that checks its flight       To its own likeness, as each mass may bear;       And bursting in its beauty and its might From trees and beasts and men into the Heaven's light.

XLIV       The splendours of the firmament of time       May be eclips'd, but are extinguish'd not;       Like stars to their appointed height they climb,       And death is a low mist which cannot blot       The brightness it may veil. When lofty thought       Lifts a young heart above its mortal lair,       And love and life contend in it for what       Shall be its earthly doom, the dead live there And move like winds of light on dark and stormy air.

XLV       The inheritors of unfulfill'd renown       Rose from their thrones, built beyond mortal thought,       Far in the Unapparent. Chatterton       Rose pale, his solemn agony had not       Yet faded from him; Sidney, as he fought       And as he fell and as he liv'd and lov'd       Sublimely mild, a Spirit without spot,       Arose; and Lucan, by his death approv'd: Oblivion as they rose shrank like a thing reprov'd.

XLVI       And many more, whose names on Earth are dark,       But whose transmitted effluence cannot die       So long as fire outlives the parent spark,       Rose, rob'd in dazzling immortality.       "Thou art become as one of us," they cry,       "It was for thee yon kingless sphere has long       Swung blind in unascended majesty,       Silent alone amid a Heaven of Song. Assume thy winged throne, thou Vesper of our throng!"

XLVII       Who mourns for Adonais? Oh, come forth,       Fond wretch! and know thyself and him aright.       Clasp with thy panting soul the pendulous Earth;       As from a centre, dart thy spirit's light       Beyond all worlds, until its spacious might       Satiate the void circumference: then shrink       Even to a point within our day and night;       And keep thy heart light lest it make thee sink When hope has kindled hope, and lur'd thee to the brink.

XLVIII       Or go to Rome, which is the sepulchre,       Oh, not of him, but of our joy: 'tis nought       That ages, empires and religions there       Lie buried in the ravage they have wrought;       For such as he can lend—they borrow not       Glory from those who made the world their prey;       And he is gather'd to the kings of thought       Who wag'd contention with their time's decay, And of the past are all that cannot pass away.

XLIX       Go thou to Rome—at once the Paradise,       The grave, the city, and the wilderness;       And where its wrecks like shatter'd mountains rise,       And flowering weeds, and fragrant copses dress       The bones of Desolation's nakedness       Pass, till the spirit of the spot shall lead       Thy footsteps to a slope of green access       Where, like an infant's smile, over the dead A light of laughing flowers along the grass is spread;

L       And gray walls moulder round, on which dull Time       Feeds, like slow fire upon a hoary brand;       And one keen pyramid with wedge sublime,       Pavilioning the dust of him who plann'd       This refuge for his memory, doth stand       Like flame transform'd to marble; and beneath,       A field is spread, on which a newer band       Have pitch'd in Heaven's smile their camp of death, Welcoming him we lose with scarce extinguish'd breath.

LI       Here pause: these graves are all too young as yet       To have outgrown the sorrow which consign'd       Its charge to each; and if the seal is set,       Here, on one fountain of a mourning mind,       Break it not thou! too surely shalt thou find       Thine own well full, if thou returnest home,       Of tears and gall. From the world's bitter wind       Seek shelter in the shadow of the tomb. What Adonais is, why fear we to become?

LII       The One remains, the many change and pass;       Heaven's light forever shines, Earth's shadows fly;       Life, like a dome of many-colour'd glass,       Stains the white radiance of Eternity,       Until Death tramples it to fragments.—Die,       If thou wouldst be with that which thou dost seek!       Follow where all is fled!—Rome's azure sky,       Flowers, ruins, statues, music, words, are weak The glory they transfuse with fitting truth to speak.

LIII       Why linger, why turn back, why shrink, my Heart?       Thy hopes are gone before: from all things here       They have departed; thou shouldst now depart!       A light is pass'd from the revolving year,       And man, and woman; and what still is dear       Attracts to crush, repels to make thee wither.       The soft sky smiles, the low wind whispers near:       'Tis Adonais calls! oh, hasten thither, No more let Life divide what Death can join together.

LIV       That Light whose smile kindles the Universe,       That Beauty in which all things work and move,       That Benediction which the eclipsing Curse       Of birth can quench not, that sustaining Love       Which through the web of being blindly wove       By man and beast and earth and air and sea,       Burns bright or dim, as each are mirrors of       The fire for which all thirst; now beams on me, Consuming the last clouds of cold mortality.

LV       The breath whose might I have invok'd in song       Descends on me; my spirit's bark is driven,       Far from the shore, far from the trembling throng       Whose sails were never to the tempest given;       The massy earth and sphered skies are riven!       I am borne darkly, fearfully, afar;       Whilst, burning through the inmost veil of Heaven,       The soul of Adonais, like a star, Beacons from the abode where the Eternal are.

—Percy Bysshe Shelley, Adonaïs: An Elegy on the Death of John Keats

#percy bysshe shelley #adonais: an elegy on the death of john keats #if youre dead too its okay #i think i left my eyes back at stanza 6 #this is a selfish post #whos main purpose is so i can have a reminder to revist the idea of a creator returning to and being mourned by their creation #but also because i love the alexandrian lines and need to have the rest of it as context #its fine #were fine #i can handle reading 495 lines from shelley #hes nothing #what is time ammirite #oh god shoot me down #i dont want to look at this much less analyze it #and wrap it in a cozy blanket with what i already have #charlie if you see this i hope you go to hell #i cant believe you picked this out of that stupid hat #this is the worst surprise challenge ive ever gotten #literature #pastoral elegy #i am not having fun. #i dont even know if its technically legal to post this in its entirety like i have #but if i get tied up in a lawsuit it just means that god heard my prayers and decided to kill me #i dont even like keats

[unholyhelbiglinked]

Camp Beaverbrook | 008

CHECK OUT THE STORY FROM THE START HERE

Hey Dad,

Oh my god, it’s so unfair that you’re already on your way to the Bahama’s! I know that Miss Henderson from down the block is picking up the mail right now- so there’s a huge chance she’ll read this before you do. Anyway, I really hope you catch all the rays and take advantage of that buffet… On a darker note, that camper, Jane, she hasn’t been found yet. Here’s to hoping.

Love you lots,

Chloe.

Chloe’s fingers ran against the grooved wood of the cabin wall. She could feel the subtle coolness soaking in through the glass paned window. Her breath clouded the surface, she could drag her finger across it and draw a lopsided heart as she used to when she was younger. Instead, she kept her eyes trained on the camp sign.

The engraved lettering was washed in a mix of blue and red every few moments, blinking and flashing to the point of morphing into a dark purple. It shaded Chloe’s features and made them look dark and cynical, she breathed out, letting the sheer white curtains in the cabin fall back to their resting place.

She cast her stare over to the tables that were filled with campers, some of them had the sense to awkwardly look back down at the ribbon they were weaving, the others openly gawked and even shifted their chairs to get a better look at the sheriff’s car that had pulled up a few moments ago.

Chloe cleared her throat evenly, shoving her hands in the pockets over her woven green shorts. She wishes she wore something longer. But Aubrey had pulled her aside and instructed her to keep her campers longer than usual. They were all blinking silently at her, those who hadn’t caught up quickly averted their attention.

Hayley, an older camper with a pension for anger and bribery was sitting in the corner, her feet up and a magazine in front of her face. They had moved her from her cabin, taken her away from a potential crime scene that made Chloe’s stomach churn.

“Miss Beale?” Anthony spoke up from his seat at the end of the table. He was a slight boy that was often swallowed up by his clothes. His mother hovered too much and had a whole list of things he couldn’t do. Aubrey practically ignored all the demands except for the peanut allergy.

“Yeah, bud?” She asked, squatting down so she could get a good look at the bracelet that he was struggling with. “Need some help?”

“No… What are the police doing here?” Hayley scoffed and turned the page of her magazine, Chloe fought the urge to turn around and shoot her a glare. Instead, she lifted both of her eyebrows, her stare moving over to the window once more. Anthony blinked a few times and shifted in his seat to the point of draping his arm over the back of the chair. “Did someone drown?”

“Wha- No,” Chloe stood, shaking her head as the rest of the room stared at her evenly. She had a dozen tiny eyes blinking and hoping for an explanation. Aubrey had prepped her on how to keep them busy, but not what to say if they started to ask questions. No one counted on the questions. “Everything is fine, the Sheriff is just visiting.”

Anna picked up a pair of safety scissors “No he’s not, something is wrong, my dad says that cops never show up unless someone is guilty of something.”  

“Your dad sounds like he watches too much Barney Miller.”

Chloe folded her arms over her chest and directs her attention towards the door to the crafting cabin. She scrunched up her features as Anna shrugged her shoulders and went back to cutting the lengths of string. Stacie Conrad was leaning against the door, her nose raw and red from the chilly night air, flashes of purple dominating her stance. She lifted her chin, sullen eyes shifting towards the front of the cabin.

“Hayley,”

“Yeah, yeah” She responded setting down the magazine and leaning forward to talk to the kids. She didn’t look like the caring type, but at this moment, Chloe didn’t’ seem to care. There was a certain jarring effect to the quad being bathed in the cold atmosphere of police lights. One that settled against the inside of her stomach and made her feel hollow the second she shut the door behind her. Stacie was leaning against the railing of the porch, a worried look etched upon her features.

She had underestimated the effect of the cold chill in the air, hugging her arms close.

“People are asking a lot of questions.” Stacie finally said, voice sullen. “Gail has been in that cabin fortress of hers talking to the sheriff for close to an hour now. It looks like they called someone up from the state too.”

Chloe dug her nails into the wood of the railing and leaned forward, trying to get a better look at the silver and blue car that had its headlights trained at the mess hall. Next to that was a black El Dorado that reminded Chloe of a supervillain, or someone who would pop the collar of his trench coat.

A stranger did lean against the front of the car, making it tilt to one side. He had a cigar trapped between his teeth as smoke rose into the starry sky almost as if it belonged. His hands were crossed over his chest and his lungs puffed out little rings. Beca Mitchell stood close by him, talking animatedly about something. He kept a calm composure compared to her arms cutting through the air.

He shook his head and put a hand on her shoulder before stomping out the cigar. Beca glared at the contact but didn’t’ make a move to shove him off. “You think that guy is with the state?”

“Don’t see why else he would come up to a small camp like this over someone who probably ran away in the middle of the night.”

Chloe pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and rocked back and forth on her heels. The man glanced towards them, giving a half-hearted wave before Beca lowered her eyes into her palm, rubbing her temples. “I don’t understand why he’d be talking to Beca.”

“She was the last one to see Jane, Chloe. I’m sure that’s it.”  

Chloe put all her weight on her hands and let the wood dig into soft palms. Beca still hadn’t looked up from her own grasp, and the man had removed his cigar before shoving the burning embers into the painted hood of the car. He dusted his hands off and gave her roommate one last squeeze on the shoulder pulled his car door open. Even from here, Chloe cringed at the way the El Dorado groaned.

“You ever notice how Beca just kind of sneaks off all the time?”

Chloe knit her brow together. She didn’t’ think it was all of the time. There were moments where she would run out on a meal and end up begging Jesse to let her eat the dry cereal that was kept on top of the fridge. Times where Chloe would wake up to Beca grasping a flashlight before dawn even broke and heading into the foggy hills. But she wouldn’t say it was all the time.

“No, I can’t say I have.”

Beca Mitchell was an enigma in herself; she was rough around the edges, a tough nut to crack as far as Chloe was concerned. Everything about the woman was enough to send her heart into overdrive. She would sneak into the placid throws of a forest without light and it would make Chloe question everything- question her well being and her blind trust in a woman she had just met.

But then, Beca Mitchell would cover her up when she got into the cabin, smelling like enough pine to stir Chloe’s senses. She would pull the edges of the blanket over her shoulders and ever give it a slight squeeze before silently slipping off her converse. They had flames on them. She would gently talk to a crying child and apply a bandage, and she would help Jesse in the mess hall with dishes in sparing conversation. But maybe Stacie had a point. Maybe Beca did harbor something other than a caged heart and a pension to get under Aubrey Posen’s skin.

They watched Beca as she watched the man. His headlights ignited the dirt kicked up by rubber tires in a smoky mess that would irritate anyone. The silver bumper of his car came close enough to clip the belt buckle on Beca’s frayed jean shorts, but she refused to move, a worried scowl on her face and her arms crossed over her chest.

The stranger seemed to light another cigar, it’s angry red end glowing like a demon with prey in its vision, jaws dripping and engine growling. He said something to her through an open window leaking acid smoke. Beca Mitchell simply nodded, and Chloe Beale hugged herself closer.

#Beca Mitchell #Chloe Beale #bechloe fic rec #bechloe #Emily Junk #Aubrey Posen #junksen #junksen fanfic

[myouki]

Heat of the Moment: Chapter 1

Okay, so I was going to draw pictures for this story, but final projects are kicking my a** (shenanigans with GUIs and tkinter) among other things and I haven’t gotten to post any stories for almost a month because I haven’t had time to draw out the scenes. So screw it, you guys get a story without pictures.

I might go back and edit pictures in after the semester’s over, but for now, enjoy~

Chapter Warning:

Fire-related character death 

Credits:

Goth: @nekophy

Palette: @angeutblogo

***

"We were here first, so we should be seated first!" A high-pitched voice shrieked.

Goth turned in his seat to see a brunette woman yelling at a harried host at the front of the restaurant he and Palette decided to end their hangout day at. A man and two children were standing next to her with a monster and their companion standing opposition.

"Ma'am, they're being sat first because they're being seated for a two-person table, your party needs a four-person table," the host explained.

"I don't care, why can't you just pull up another table and seat us?!" the woman screeched. Goth groaned internally at the woman's behavior.

Why did this have to happen? This was supposed to be a nice, relaxing lunch after spending the day hanging out.

"Wow, she sounds really angry," Palette's voice dragged the small skeleton's attention away from the fight. He was watching the spectacle from his own seat, having a better vantage point since he was facing the front. The look on his face seemed to be a mix of uncomfortable and confused.

Goth sighed as he laid his arms on the table, resting his skull upon them, "If she's going to make an idiot out of herself, she could at least be a little more quiet about it."

Can't I have one day where I can hang out with my crush without things going backwards?

As the woman's voice rose in volume, prompting Goth to bury his face in his arms, Palette grimaced, "It doesn't look like she's calming down. They haven't taken our food order yet, do you want to go find somewhere else instead?"

"... Yeah," the smaller huffed, rising from his chair. A crash startled him mid-motion, forcing him to use the table to balance himself as he swiveled toward the source.

The host had been pushed into his computer station... which had begun sparking violently. Before anyone could react, the sparks burst into an explosion, setting the front of the restaurant ablaze and sending the customers into a panic.

"Goth-!" Palette called out frantically, only for his voice to become lost in the din of chaos the explosion created. The small skeleton was jostled by a panicked customer, quickly becoming lost in the crowd despite his best efforts as flames climbed the walls and white smoke began to billow along the ceiling.

Goth gasped as a shove to the back sent him to the floor. He scrambled to avoid being stepped on, eventually finding himself pressed against a wall.

"Palette?!" he tried to yell, standing on his tiptoes to see over the crowd in hopes of spotting his companion. His soul sank as the seconds ticked by with no results.

Where's Palette? Did he already make it outside? What if he's not, though? What if he's still in here looking for me? What if something happened to him? What if he needs help? I can't just leave him. I can't-

He was startled out of his thoughts when someone ran past him, set ablaze and screaming for someone to help them. The skeleton cringed away from the sharp smell of burning flesh, his legs frozen in horror as the body crumpled and fell to dust.

He was used to seeing dead bodies, having tagged along on his dad's reaping duties a few times... but he only ever saw the aftermath and soul collection. This was his first experience witnessing another being in the throes of death.

A monster... died. They're dead. This is... I... I'm...

Goth clutched his chest as his sockets began to water from the heat and smoke surrounding him joining the fear growing inside him.

"...oth!"

Goth's skull shot up at the familiar sound, a watery smile lighting up his face as he barely made out the sight of Palette through the flames and darkening smoke, his scarf pulled haphazardly over his nasal ridge and mouth as a makeshift gas mask.

He's alive... he's here and he's alive!

"Palette!" The small skeleton yelled, staggering away from the burning wall to search for a path that would lead to Palette as the taller attempted to do the same, pulling his own scarf against his face to stave off the smokey air trying to invade his body.

It'll be alright... I'm almost there... we can-

"Look out!" The starry-eyed skeleton yelled, diving forward to shove the smaller, sending him skidding to the ground as a wave of heat rose up around him. Picking himself back up, the words he had been preparing died in his throat at the sight before him.

Palette. Pinned under a charred beam.

The ceiling collapsed. Palette pushed me away. He saved me. And now...

"Goth...," the trapped monster gasped from where he laid beneath the debris, "You have to go... it's dangerous here... get out..."

The words snapped him out of his shock. Shaking his skull in vigorous refusal, he scrambled over to his fallen companion.

The fire blazed wildly around the pair as Goth dug his fingers under the smoldering wood, coughing into the red fabric he was attempting to use to block out the smoke. Palette struggled as the smaller attempted to lift it, wincing as it dug into his bones.

This wasn't supposed to happen! We were supposed to be having fun, hanging out, grabbing a bite to eat... not fighting for our lives...

"Goth, stop... It's not-" *cough* "working," Palette choked into his scarf as he sent the smaller a pleading look, "You have to get out of here... please!"

The hooded monster ignored him, continuing his task undaunted. Another piece of wood fell by his left foot, sending up searing sparks that made Goth flinch at the proximity.

Palette yelled, "Goth!"

"I can't!" the small skeleton shouted back, fighting the urge to cough.

"Yes you can!" the taller retorted, his expression taking on a rare anger.

Goth matched the expression as he reaffirmed his statement, "No, I can't... not without you!"

Palette huffed in frustration through his beige scarf, "Goth... be reasonable-"

"No, you be reasonable!" The hooded skeleton grunted, summoning a pair of bones to aid in lifting the beam higher, "I know you wouldn't leave me, so-" *cough* "what makes you think I would leave you?"

"Stars...," Palette wheezed, "Why do you... have to be so stubborn?"

"Because you're important to me!" Goth blurted out, choking on the sudden intake of polluted air despite his makeshift mask and missing the pinned skeleton's stunned expression.

By the time the smaller recovered his breath, the taller skeleton replied in a subdued tone, "Goth... I get it... but even if I'm-"

"No, you don't get it!" the smaller shouted, clenching his sockets and ignoring how the words irritated his throat. Heaving the wood a few inches higher, he summoned another pair of bones to support the new angle as he continued, "You never got it! You aren't just a-" *cough* "a be-"

His sentence cut out as he began hacking and coughing, fighting to maintain his grip and keep the wood from coming down on Palette's spine.

He regained his breath and resumed scratchily, mindlessly attempting to make Palette understand, "You're not just a best friend to me! I love you! I-" *cough, cough* "I love when you get that silly lopsided grin... when you laugh so hard you start to wheeze, your op-" *cough, cough* "... optimism toward others... how you stick out your tongue... when you concentrate... h... how you get exci-" *cough* "... excited when you learn some... something new... how you can't sing, b... but you still do it-" *cough, cough* "because you have fun do... doing it. Everything about you is special to me!

"I want to-" *cough* "... want to spend every day with you... live with you... m... marry you... have kids with you! I don't want a fu... future... where you aren't there... so... if I have to-" *cough* "... to give up on you to save myself... then I'd rather die! We either leave together or n-" *cough, cough* "not at all!"

Placing more bone supports, Goth risked a glance at Palette. Their eye lights locked, the scarf covering the taller's face falling askew, his eye lights mere pinpricks. The small skeleton broke contact, his cheeks burning while tears pricked at his sockets as he returned his focus solely to the pillar.

I knew it. I knew he doesn't feel the same way. I'm so stupid. We were only ever friends... and now I've ruined that too...

Whatever. Even if he doesn't see me that way, I still won't let him die.

Crouching low, Goth forced his shoulder under the debris, lifting up for what he hoped would be the last push needed to free his unrequited love... all the while stubbornly willing himself to believe the tears streaming down his face were from the noxious air.

#Poth #Goth #Palette Roller #HofM #Short stories #MyWriting #Writing coughing in dialogue sucks #TW: fire

[anneesfolleshq]

Bonjour et bienvenue!

Paris welcomes you, our Forger, Séphora Zuckermandel! May we say, you’re the spitting image of Jenny Slate! Please make your presence known within 24 hours, and do have a look at our checklist before setting out into the city on your own.

                                                                                  À bientôt!

MUN

Name/Alias: Jem

Preferred Pronouns: she/her

Age: 21

Timezone: EST, and I generally will check in online every day

MUSE

Chosen Skeleton: The Forger

Muse Name: Séphora Zuckermandel

Muse Age: Thirty Six

Chosen FC: Jenny Slate

Muse Occupation: Art Dealer

Muse Affiliation & Frequent Haunts:

Is really all that prudent to linger outside of the studio when there’s work to be done? The reflexive answer might be that Séphora never ventures out of Montmartre as nothing utilitarian necessitates it, but Séphora is anything but utilitarian. Montparnasse glistens with the charm of other-worldly enchantment, and Séphora (as if she was a dutiful anthropologist) studies the sights in minutiae. Starry-eyed and smiling, she can be found slinking through the crowds of Cafe Etoileor Le Gnome Qui Rit. But of course, her professional character will always be a staple in the halls of Bateau Lavoir, and the aura follows her to Sacre-Coeur’s Basilica as she sketches the architecture, and all the way to Street Market as she haggles with the vendors for miscellaneous… painting supplies.

Direct from Le Petit Journal:

When do you think they’re going to change the name from Zuckermandel and Son to Zuckermandel and… Daughter? It’s been more than a year since the art dealership has come under new ownership, with the original protege leaving the family business for undisclosed medical reasons. Despite all doubts that a woman could successfully inherit the business, Séphora Zuckermandel has turned Zuckermandel and Son into one of the most esteemed art sellers for the discerning connoisseurs of Paris.

BIOGRAPHY

[ CW // mentions of parental death ] Fatalistically, Séphora’s life had been outlined before she was born. Cliché and entrenched, isn’t it? That the daughter of a wealthy art dealer would unknowingly utilize the social tapestry of her family to enrich herself. I was always painting—she thinks. From an early age: the point at which I could sit upright and pay attention to the canvas that was placed in front of me. That kind of enrichment was how you got child prodigies, as Michael and Miryam learned with Elias—Séphora’s older brother who, by the time Séphora had been born, was reading Descartes and Kant instead of playing with the boys in the yard. Practice, patience, and encouragement. Discipline, however, was rather lacking—as Michael was always too busy with the family business to stand guard as a firm sentinel, and in his place, Miryam was a dilettante who had a hard time compelling herself to stay anchored to domestic life. This, of course, changed when Séphora was born.

Spoiled and dotted on, it was apparent that the precocious baby born in January was more enthralling than her moody older brother (what do you expect after exposing a child to existentialism?). The private tutors that homeschooled the Zuckermandel children had nothing but praise for brilliant little Séphora, who, to nobody’s surprise, was inclined to the arts more than any other subject. Elias arbitrarily diverted his interest from philosophy to mathematics to spite his parents, but the concept of logic that had been so rigorously ingrained in him was only a precursor to his affinity for numbers. Michael and Miryam, though disappointed, were never worried that Elias wouldn’t find his way in life. Comparably, Séphora never suffered from indignation, as her moments of weakness were the result of gentle rejections from her parents when voicing her juvenile needs. Her bubbling tears all she needed to convince them otherwise.

But such sweet droplets couldn’t force her parents to enroll her in the arts academy when she had come of age. Galvanized by Elias moving to the city to go to university, a compromise was met: they would ship her off as well, to one of the finest programs for young women’s higher education. Arts academy adjacent. The best we can do… considering the circumstance. It was enough to placate Séphora for the time being, as the glamour of independence and the attention of her peers was enough of a distraction from the easel. Which, she did bring one—and it sat empty for several months in her dormitory. Collecting dust and getting better use as a coat hanger.

What would end Séphora’s detour from fate was the chain of events that transpired over a lackadaisical weekend—nothing wild, or out of the ordinary. In fact, she had done this all before. An art gallery opening, and a picnic on the grounds of the museum lawn. While most of her peers were more concerned about what they were wearing, who they were going with, Séphora found herself left to converse with the paintings. Garish, bright, new. They said they were inspired by the French—wild and untamed swaths of color that ran through the room like a bull in a china shop. Was it appealing to draw like a child? Séphora couldn’t help but snicker and gawk. The halls of mythology and heroes felt more like home than the thrill of new fads. There’s a way art is supposed to be—she thought to herself. An order to the madness.

Such an order, especially of worldly concern, would come crashing down with the outbreak of war. Of course, her family had moved to Paris just a few years prior, urging her to stop dragging her feet and finish up her studies to come live with them. Elias isn’t in Hamburg anymore, he’s helping Michael with the business—there’s a better market in Paris! Séphora, frankly, did not care. If it’s a market in paint splatters, then I’ll just sneeze on a napkin and sell that instead. Reunion would be delayed by four long years. She was cut off from her family’s support and forced to sell cheap landscapes to anyone who would buy them. It wasn’t glamourous, and it certainly wasn’t the kind of painting she wanted to be doing, but the war put her exactly where she needed to be. Befriending the neurotic researchers and students who weren’t fit to fight—who were left to guard the vaults of antiquity for the motherland. The last line of defense. When the tides of war receded, Séphora was one of the first women admitted to an arts university, and when her family heard what she had done they almost disowned her.

From the starry-eyed girl who didn’t take no for an answer, Séphora had sharpened herself in the echelons of prestige and pedagogy. The handsome men of her youth who were keen on playing a perpetual game of cat and mouse were replaced by frigid stoics who were slightly more concerned with objects of antiquity than they were with a woman in their midst. Séphora learned that no matter what the encounter, or the circumstance, they all had a profound mistrust (maybe even dislike) of women. Beyond cerebral discussions of the spiritual will of art, or an iconography of German artwork, Séphora knew she had a dwindling desire to stay locked up in the ivory tower she had broken into. The worsening conditions in the Weimar Republic convinced her further to swallow her pride and move to Paris.

There was a dream she had—over and over again. A showing of the work she had made in Germany at the Beaux-Arts, and her family selling coveted Zuckermandel portraits with her signature. Séphora, even as an adult, spent more time indulged in an unrealistic dream than she did in the logistics of landing on her feet in a city like Paris. Nothing could have prepared her for the shock of Cubism. Sure, there was talk of what was going on in Germany with the Bauhaus and the wild Russian artists who had been scarred by the revolution, but Séphora couldn’t comprehend how the bastion of classical artwork had been tainted by the rubbish of the modern world. While her measly landscapes and modest bible scenes would have at least sold to the commoner in Germany, no one in Paris cared for Séphora Zuckermandel’s homey works. After much fanfare and resistance—being dragged along kicking and screaming—Séphora succumbed to the reality that was the modern world. She resented all the abstract artists under her breath as they were featured in her family’s showroom, with Séphora herself relegated to the back to manage inventory and preservation.

The silver lining of it all was that Séphora could still have her affair with the old masters—sometimes a beautiful Ingres would pass through. Or a dignified Rubens and Rembrandt. It was only once that she held an immaculate Titian in her hands, and instead of feeling joy or bewilderment she choked up with an immeasurable sense of loss.

Such wallowing and sweet tears would continue, if only long enough to mourn the passing of Michael and Miryam Zuckermandel. As Séphora stood in the office, with her hand on her weeping brother’s shoulder, she reasoned with herself that something had to change. I was meant for art, she thought. I was born at the wrong time—just a little too late…

Despite all indications that it was Séphora who was going to quit and leave the business, Elias beat her too it, suffering from a nervous breakdown and leaving for a sanitorium in the countryside. That traitorous bastard! What was Séphora to do, tasked with caring for a room filled with things she absolutely hated? Sell it, of course—at a discounted price. Gutting the inventory to fund her own dismal painting career that never took off. At least, not in the sense that she had ever anticipated.

The series of events is muddied, and even in recollection Séphora can’t make sense of when and how she executed the idea of forging a Da Vinci. A tangent in a book she read at university, her own yellowing paints drying out faster than she could use them, and the old canvas that had been so generously donated despite Séphora repeatedly telling the patron she did not deal in junk. Of course, there was a bottle of wine involved in there somewhere, and Séphora, thinking her little work of art was just hilarious, decided to display her joke along the windowsill display. A genuine Da Vinci! Won’t everybody love that?

And they did, much to Séphora’s dismay.

So, fatalistically, Séphora became the artist she was meant to be. Not an Angelica Kauffman posing beautiful allegories, or an Élisabeth Vigée Le Brun rendering the likeness of European nobility. Not even one of her contemporaries who she genuinely admired—a Mary Cassatt with an ephemeral tenderness that had eluded all the artists of western history before her.

Séphora became a forger, an artificer. Perhaps it was foolish of her to think that the only way people would like her paintings was if she signed her name and not someone else’s.

POTENTIAL PLOTS/CONNECTIONS

Séphora is a curious person who, due to her artistic training, is drawn to all sorts of “visuals” (especially if they’re novel). Of course, a lot of those novel things don’t belong on paintings, but she does love sketching the day to day of Paris, and she could meet people whom she is secretly (or not so secretly) sketching.

Anyone who’s looking to buy a painting, whether that’s the avant-garde stuff or something a little bit more classical. Maybe someone could have an original Séphora Zeuckermandel from when she was painting in Germany and they actually like or love her original work.

I would love connections with other characters that have nothing to do with art or history, as she tends to be a bit of a flirt to both genders and will go out to various cafes and clubs on her own just for the fun of it. She needs something to distract her from her… not so legal or moral business!

#accepted

[postwarhogwarts]

Hogwarts Welcoming Ball: A New Era Recap✵

     As the students flocked into the Great Hall to enjoy a night for celebration, many were not prepared for the events that unexpectedly took place. Below, you will find a quick summary recapping the group chat event that happened last night if you were not there to follow along. If your character did not attend, you can pretend like they did and plot amongst yourselves to fit in the storyline. A new post will go up sometime today or tomorrow announcing what this event will contain.

Scene: The Great Hall is decorated in lavish gold accents, circular tables scattered around the hall instead of the regular long bench tables. Everything seems to be a wave of white, too pure as if bleach, gold dripping from everywhere. Many lingered around tables, some at the food spread, others watching the performers. At the back of the hall where the professors’ table normally resides, a live band was setting up their kits, and many assumed they were the Weird Sisters, the band that also performed during the Triwizard Tournament. The air is tense, the dance floor is ready, and forced chatter begins as the rest of the student body makes their way to the ball.

As more students make their way through and the ambient becomes lively, the Weird Sisters begin their performance, inviting everyone to the dance floor.

The Weird Sisters being to play louder, the music light and catchy. Many of the professors are seen dancing on the dance floor. Flitwick levitates a few inches off the ground as he does the moonwalk. Hagrid bounced and clapped at his colleague, impressed with his magic. The scene causes a lot of the lingering students to turn their heads, watching intensely.

McGonagall starts to walk around the edges of the hall, her eyes lingering at the windows as they were fogging from the heat of the room. She could have sworn, from the corner of her eye, saw one of the panes start to freeze.

The Weird Sisters ended the first half of their set, thanking the crowd as they announced the second performers that would take over the intermission. A girl group called Cordially Wicked took the stage. The crowd cheered.

Suddenly, the lights blow out, leaving the students in complete darkness, nothing but the faint hue from the starry reflection of the ceiling. All around the hall, students begin to light their wands out of fear. The air is filled with panic.

Angelina questions George if this is one of his jokes. He denies.

From the back of the crowd, a voice pertaining to a 6th year calls out towards the Slytherins, accusing them of turning off the lights. A choir of agreements ring through the hall. McGonagall is seen rushing around trying to figure out why nothing is working, calling out to some of the professors for help.

Ginny and Anthony accuse the Slytherins.

Pansy denies that the Slytherins have anything to do with the lights turning off. She blames George and Fred.

The walls begin to freeze, the temperature dropping in the room. The starry sky above vanishes and all that is left is the regular Great Hall Ceiling. Shortly after, another voice calls out, singling out Viktor Krum. They accuse him of dark arts, the perpetrator for the interruption. A student tries to push open the doors but they’re locked in. Panic continues to rise as the voices grow louder around them, the students pointing their wand at Krum.

George raises his wand at the students, prepared to fight if they attack Krum.

Pansy points her wand at Krum.

Astoria and Daphne find each other in the crowd, Astoria proclaims she thinks this has something to do with someone outside and not with the students in the hall.

Hermione walks to the Great Hall doors to try and unlock them.

The walls begin to freeze as icicles form from the ceiling, a couple fell in the corner of the rooms but did not harm anyone.

Viktor steps in front of George and pushes his wand low.

Harry makes his way to the middle of the dance floor. Ginny joins him.

Hermione concludes that the doors are frozen shut by the ice, so strong and magical that nothing was breaking them. She makes her way over to Ginny and Harry.

A shriek is heard and the crowd's head turns to look at a gathering by Hagrid, who, in his arms, held Headmistress McGonagall. She had fainted, and the other professors were deeply trying to revive her, but it was rather a deep sleep and a magic so powerful they could not reverse it.

Hermione reveals what she discovered about the ice on the doors.

Viktor rushes over to the other professors and tries to revive McGonagall.

Many of the students are arguing and blaming each other, most have their wands ready to fight as they wait for what happens next. They are frustrated over the lack of help from the professors.

Daphne questions Draco’s whereabouts and Pansy reassures he is not in the Great Hall. Draco is not a suspect.

Once again, darkness fills the room. All the wand tips flicker and turn off, leaving the students in complete and utter darkness. For a split moment, there is silence, until a sliver of blue light, small and dainty, appears in the middle of the dance floor in front of Harry Potter.

Magic does not work.

Ginny urges that everyone tries to cast a spell, but no one else can do magic.

Anthony wonders why Harry is always the center of every comotion.

Pansy questions Harry and asks him why he’s causing all of this. Harry is unsure why the blue orb appeared in front of him.

The blue light, ghostly, almost like a patronus, took the form of a Serpent, it's mouth wide open and it's eyes glowing red.

The room falls silent again as ghastly voice echoes in the room, "The door has opened," it boomed, shivering down the spines of many as the voice chilled and shook the icicles hanging from the ceiling.

One student tries to push open the great hall door but it is still frozen shut.

Pansy questions Astoria’s loyalty to the Slytherins.

The serpent reshaped and took the form of an eagle, the mouth still wide open and the eyes glowing red.

"One has proven themselves worthy tonight, for only one can achieve a power so strong to fulfil their wildest of dreams. Only one can win and make good with their deed, for the Hogwarts four will always please." The Eagle spoke before it reformed into the shape of a badger.

The students are confused as they try to make sense of the riddle.

Neville move towards Harry and the patronus, proclaiming it’s the founders.

The tiny creature, mouth wide open, eyes glowing red as its others, began to speak just as loudly and eerily, "For many years the wish has been granted to those who prove they are valuable. You all have desires deep within you, ones you dreamed could be fixed with a simple wish. For many years the Hogwarts Four have always proven themselves loyal to their students."

Daphne asks if they’re getting wishes.

The Badger transfigured itself into its last form-- a lion, and this time it turned to look straight at Harry Potter, eyes still glowing red.

Ginny throws the ladle from the punch bowl at the badger. It goes right through it and crashes to the floor.

Harry draws his wand towards the Lion, frustrated his magic doesn’t work.

Neville does not want Harry to comply with the patronus.

"We will offer one wish to one student who can complete our tasks. Anything they desire will be theirs, but the wish will only be given to one who has achieved a most noble and powerful skill in magic. As our time soon comes to an end, the quest has only begun. A riddle will form when we have left, and reveal the first task to the Chosen One."

Ginny agrees with Neville.

The lion burst into blue flames and in its ashes remained a single parchment, empty without a riddle, at the feet of Harry Potter.

The wands relit themselves, lights turning on back around the dining hall, and the icicles slowly started to melt as water dropped from the ceilings and walls.

Neville wants to leave the parchment on the ground.

Viktor tries Revelio on the parchment. The parchment does nothing.

Harry does not trust the parchment and agrees with Neville and Ginny.

Neville asks to pick it up, Hermione warns him not to. Viktor advises no one to touch it.

The doors are still locked.

Hermione tells Harry to pick up the parchment. She realised the only way to fix everything is to do as the riddle said. She tells him to pick it up again.

Hermione explains that the task will reveal itself to the Chosen One.

Ginny asks if it’s cursed., if it’s a follower of You-Know-Who trying to get revenge. Hermione explains this isn’t about You-Know-Who, the magic they saw that night was more powerful than anything they have ever seen. It was a charm placed by the Founders of Hogwarts.

Harry picks up the parchment.

Anthony reminds everyone of the basilisk hidden underneath the school from the Founders.

As Harry picked up the parchment, ink began to swirl around the paper, as if someone poured a jar over it. Eventually, it formed into a little stanza.

Harry reads the stanza: The first task is simple, for those who are sly, only the most cunning and pure can prove their worth for the wish. Beneath waters, hidden within a cave, lies a secret to help obtain the next clue. Those who seek the wish must travel far, and outsmart the monster that peeks in the dark.

Anthony asks Viktor and Harry what they saw beneath the Black Lake during their TriWizard task.

Ginny announces that the Giant Squid lives in the lake. George and Fred have seen him.

As the riddle is read aloud, McGonagall awakes from her sleep, light headed and flushed. The doors unlock and a few students fall back from pushing against the wooden barriers.

Hermione wonders why the charm revealed itself during the ball, and wonders what could have caused it.

Anthony questions the number of tasks.

Viktor tells him four. The first animal to appear was a snake and the first task was Slytherin-theme.

Hermione agrees with Viktor.

Ginny asks if each task will be themed for each house. Hermione explains that the first patronus to appear was a serpent and the parchment gave a Slytherin clue. Three tasks should be left, each with a theme to their respected Houses.

Hermione continues to explain that in the beginning the patronus said the task will grant anyone one wish, whoever the wish thought was the most worthy. She questions whether someone had something tonight to trigger the enchantment.

Hermione proposes everyone leave and head back to the common rooms. She does not want to reveal her thoughts on the riddle to people she did not trust with the wish.

Viktor and George ask all the students to return to their houses, threatening the deduction of points.

The chat ends as everyone leaves.

#event 001 #event 002 #hogwarts welcoming ball: a new era #recap