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writemyaceattorneys · 3 years

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hi! ohh could i request for some yandere miles headcanons

Of course you can anon! One set of Yandere Miles Headcanons coming right up for you! I hope that you enjoy them, I know I sure will and I’m the one writing them! 🤣🤣🤣🤣. Also feel free to ID yourself and give your preferred pronouns if you want to and I’ll add you to my anon list :)

I do apologise that these are a bit all over the place, I really just talk about things as and when they come to mind so I hope that these aren’t too confusing.

Spoilers: Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney Trilogy, ‘The Dark Age of the Law’

TW: Obsessive and Possessive Behaviours, Controlling Behaviours, Abuse of Power

♟Miles Edgeworth♟

♟ Just like what I said in my normal Miles Edgeworth headcanons, Miles Edgeworth is absolutely inexperienced when it comes to romance and would probably find it very hard to deal with these sudden and very intense feelings that are caused by being around S/O for long periods of time.

♟ It would be very much within Miles’ nature to try and avoid S/O as much as he can, keeping them at arm’s length in order to try and limit these feelings so that they do not further develop. He already feels deeply ashamed of himself for feeling so intensely about one person and after spending the entirety of his adolescence and a good amount of his adult life wanting to impress his mentor, he isn’t the best equipped to try and work on these feelings.

♟ His feelings would probably be made more intense if S/O refuses to take his distance as a hint that he wants to stay away from them. S/O might see their persistence as necessary to get Miles to open up to new people, but these good intentions will only cause him to fall more and more in love with them over a period of several months,

♟ Miles is definitely the type of person to try and interfere in his S/O’s life as unobtrusively as possible. It wouldn’t be his intention to completely smother S/O, although he would see it as his duty to make sure that they are looked after and protected from any form of threat. If S/O was in a position where they were financially insecure, he’d send them money anonymously and offer them a job at the Prosecutor’s office to stay afloat.

♟ As S/O becomes a lot closer to him, he might start pushing the boundaries a bit in terms of his involvement in their personal life. Performing his own background checks on their friends and family and secretly interfering in their romantic pursuits if their choice in partners doesn’t meet his very high standards. S/O wouldn’t be surprised to see an order for them to work some overtime on the night that they are going on a date.

♟ If S/O were to ever confront Miles about his strange behaviours and actions in the last few months, he’d be quick to shut them down. It’s his job to argue his point in court and he’d be very quick to dismiss their ‘evidence’ of his meddling as ridiculous. He would rationalise his actions as necessary in keeping those that are considered close to him safe.

♕ “There are people out there who are looking for any excuse to get to me by using those that I closely associate with, I am only looking to keep those people away from you.”

♟ Miles would only ever kidnap S/O as the last resort. He knows that he would be causing more damage than anything by forcing S/O to stay trapped within his home. He would be more likely to kidnap his S/O during the Dark Age of the Law, as he would be in the front seats as California’s Legal system seemed to break down before his own eyes and that’s only because he wouldn’t want anything to happen to them, lest some corrupt defence attorney or prosecutor get involved with their case.

♟ If anyone were to actually threaten S/O or someone made an attempt on their life, Miles would absolutely strike down on them with the full force of the law. His desire to get a guilty verdict above anything else would absolutely make a return. He would use every weapon in his arsenal to ensure that the person who tried to put his S/O at risk would be sent down for a very long time.

♟ Once the criminal got the guilty verdict that they deserved, he’d do something very uncharacteristic of himself and swoop S/O into a tight hold. His fear of losing them for good disperses slightly as he feels them wrapped in his arms.

♟ If Miles did end up kidnapping S/O, he’d be fully aware that they’d probably be less than agreeable at first, thankfully he’s a very tough nut to crack so S/O hurling insults at him probably wouldn’t get them very far, or at least, he wouldn’t show S/O if their words were affecting him.

♕ “You are acting irrationally, my dear. I’m doing this for your own safety and I understand that it’ll take you a while to realise this but please don’t think that I am doing this out of any kind of spite.”

♟ Of course, Miles would be very hurt if S/O never truly accepted his love for them, it would only go to prove that his mentor had been right about the fact that love was a weakness. He would do everything within his power to try and gain their favour over time to avoid this happening, he’d try to provide S/O with as much normality as he can.

♕ Walking out in his garden with the dog would be a big thing for him, he doesn’t want S/O to go stir crazy by just staying inside all of the time, plus the exercise is beneficial.

♟ In terms of punishments, he would never lay a hand on S/O. People who love each other don’t do that and despite Miles’ lack of love experience he at least knows that much. He’d probably be delusional enough to think that S/O was acting unreasonably and would just keep them in their room until they had calmed down enough to have a proper conversation.

♟ If S/O came to eventually accept and reciprocate Miles’ feelings, he’d absolutely be over the moon! S/O would still be the one to initiate a lot of the more outward displays of affection, however, Miles would be a lot quicker to reciprocate and initiate his own affections onto S/O, so expect him to pull S/O into his arms after a long day of work just to feel their presence by him.

♟ Once he sees that S/O is happy with him and willing to stay, he would definitely slack on some of his rules about them leaving the house. He would absolutely still monitor their every move but as long as they don’t try to escape, he would allow them to readjust back into society and start going out more.

#anon ask #yandere ace attorney x reader #ace attorney x reader #miles edgeworth #miles edgeworth x reader #yandere miles edgeworth x reader #yandere #ace attorney #x reader #its simping hour for Mod Miles #I really enjoyed writing these and it shows because they are 3 pages long on my google doc #Mod Miles needs to stop writing their requests at 1am

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seventhstrife · 3 years

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SubScorp Week 2021 Day 3: AU Part 2

I hate that I have no self-control and have to make multiple posts for this lolololol

On AO3.

Part 1

When Hanzo woke, he knew immediately that he was not alone.

His eyes snapped open and he lurched upright, disoriented and tense.

His surroundings were unfamiliar, a fact that filled him with certain dread. His last memory was of trying to leave the bed of snow he'd been pushed into, how the dragon had only allowed him to stand so that it could nestle him into its side and curl up as if for a long rest. He remembered the deep, content cadence of its sigh as it settled with its huge head on Hanzo's lap.

As cold as it was, smothered in the dragon's hold, he'd been oddly...warm. And while Hanzo was no one's pet or prisoner, he was not so foolish as to disturb such a fearsome creature when its mood was in such a mercurial state, weakened and tired as it was. He'd resigned himself to being a dragon's pillow and had fallen asleep right there, hopeful that he could slip away in the small hours of the morning.

But waking up in an entirely new place had not been part of the plan. He barely took in the dark, polished stone of the room he was in or the thick furs that covered him across the lavish four-poster bed.

His surroundings were terrible for their strangeness, but what was worse was the man seated on the bed beside him, legs crossed, watching him. It was hard to see in the scant light that poured through the window as the sun just barely began to rise, but he thought he could just detect a small smile on those bearded lips.

"Good morning," the man greeted in a low, pleasant tone.

Hanzo went rigid. His hand snapped down to his side, but his weapons were gone—of course.

He risked exposing himself, but allowing capture was worse.

He summoned his flames, of a mind to send the man across the room with a ball of fire before he could so much as twitch—but the moment his light banished the shadows from the man's face, Hanzo stilled.

...It was his eyes. Pale white, nearly translucent, but in the flickering pulse of Hanzo's flames, they shined with a breathtaking iridescence that shifted with countless colors.

Pale-skinned and broad-shouldered, muscular arms bared by his dark robes, thick black hair pushed back from his face and beard trimmed short—he truly was a stranger to Hanzo in every sense of the word.

But, that scar. Those eyes. Hanzo knew those eyes.

The man's smile grew slightly, as if he knew exactly what Hanzo was thinking, and he threaded his fingers together, planted his elbows on his spread knees and perched his chin atop his hands, as if to better study Hanzo.

"Do you recognize me, pyromancer?"

Hanzo pursed his lips, wary. But even when he glared harder, tried to see some sort of flaw or deception, his eyes continued to scream a single truth.

But he did not have to admit it.

"I—I am clearly unwell," Hanzo said instead.

Without taking his eyes off of the man, he backed up until he was at the edge of the bed and quickly stood, head darting around as he tried to get his bearings, find the door. He looked back to the stranger and curled his fingers into a fist, flames threatening on the horizon.

"Why have you brought me here?"

"As impressive as your fire magic is," the man answered, "You would have succumbed to the cold. I thought it best to bring you to my home."

His home? Just judging from the simple, yet refined furnishings and ornate, carved walls, Hanzo assumed he was in some sort of palace.

His brow furrowed. This was making less and less sense. Some traveling lord had stumbled upon Hanzo and had simply—taken him in? In what appeared to be his own chambers?

No nobleman was that kind or giving. Hanzo knew.

Hanzo's skin itched with the desire to flee. Unfamiliar surroundings, unfamiliar company—he did not have any wish to linger here, at the mercy of this strange man and his stranger (familiar) eyes.

"Whatever you intended by bringing me here, it does not matter." Hanzo's face hardened. "You will not keep me here."

"No," the man agreed softly, making Hanzo pause. He was still smiling. "I imagine you do not succumb to anyone's will but your own."

The words caused a flicker of uncertainty to pass through him, though he did not allow it to show on his face. Why was nothing about this man proceeding as he expected? If Hanzo woke up, kidnapped to some strange, impossible palace in a snow-plagued, forsaken mountain, he should be caged. His captor should be talking to him through the bars of a prison, in his personal dungeon, not casually and comfortably sitting on his bed while Hanzo threatened to burn him.

...Somehow, some way, this is a trick. It must be.

It felt safer not to speak, so Hanzo did not. His eyes darted to the door, waiting across the room and, unfortunately, behind the man.

"Your weapons are there," the man said, gesturing with a wide sweep of his arm behind Hanzo, and indeed, when he warily glanced over his shoulder, he saw the overlooked table tucked into the corner of the room, where his blades had been laid neatly and carefully across a length of soft cloth. "Forgive me for taking the liberty, but I thought it best to divest you of them so you could rest more comfortably."

Hanzo glared at the man for a long moment. He only slept comfortably when he was armed these days.

Still, Hanzo accepted the invitation to take his things and he did so in quick, efficient movements, keeping the stranger in his line of sight at all times—not that it mattered, as the man did not so much as a twitch from the moment he'd awoken. His eyes tracked Hanzo without a blink and it was perhaps that which kept Hanzo on his guard. His utter stillness, the watching—Hanzo was rested, armed, and could think of a dozen ways to incapacitate this man in a few seconds, yet he felt overwhelmingly like an unwitting creature, soft and vulnerable, ignorant of the hunter in his midst, readying for the pounce.

Hanzo glanced at the door, had no more than thought of taking his first step towards the exit when the man spoke once more.

"Of course, you may leave whenever you wish," he said genially. "But you did not answer my question, pyromancer."

Hanzo's lips thinned. Uncertainty and unease blossomed in his chest.

"...no, I did not. I will not."

The stranger's head tilted and an expression of open amusement alighted on his face.

"Is it so terrible to accept?"

"It is impossible," Hanzo stressed, eyes narrowing. But, despite himself, his determination to fight faltered. He could not deny a certain curiosity, for all that he did not believe in magic such as this.

The man shrugged, affable as ever. It made Hanzo glare at him even more fiercely. It was irksome, how agreeable he was being...

Finally, the man moved, gave his back to Hanzo as he swung his legs off the bed and rose. Hanzo tensed when the man faced him and approached.

"That is far enough," Hanzo said in warning, raising two burning fists when the man was just outside of arm's reach.

"I have sheltered you and returned your weapons," the man pointed out. "Can you not accept I mean you no harm?"

"That remains to be seen," Hanzo replied, stiff.

Still, the man only seemed amused. He placed a palm on his breast, directly over his heart, and bowed, deeply.

"Then allow me to introduce myself. I am Kuai Liang."

A strange name for a strange man. It was oddly fitting.

Kuai Liang rose and those pale eyes of his fixed on Hanzo with the same intensity that had yet to lessen since Hanzo had first met them.

"May I know your name, pyromancer?"

Hanzo almost refused him, simply on principle. But...Kuai Liang had sheltered him in his home, had given him back his weapons, and he had shown no sign of wishing harm upon him.

It went against every instinct within him, but slowly, warily, Hanzo lowered his arms as the flames in his hands gutted, leaving behind smooth, unblemished skin.

"...Hanzo. Hanzo Hisashi."

Kuai Liang's eyes brightened with pleasure.

"Hanzo Hisashi," he repeated. The way he seemed to savor it—Hanzo could feel his hackles rising once more. "It is a pleasure to meet you." Kuai Liang stepped to the side, gestured with an open palm to the door. "Allow me to escort you," he said. "I'm afraid you will be easily lost without a guide."

Hearing that this building was that great a size did nothing to ease Hanzo's unease, but he supposed he had no choice.

"Very well."

Kuai Liang smiled.

Hanzo had hoped for a quick, silent walk, and to be able to put this entire strange encounter from his mind forever. Instead, when they'd only just left Kuai Liang's chambers, his stomach gave a loud, insistent cry.

Hanzo kept his gaze firmly on the ground, mortified as Kaui Liang turned to him in a sharp, surprised movement.

After a slight pause, Kuai Liang offered, "I have food if you wish—"

"No." Hanzo took a deep breath, tried to will back the rise of heat he could feel on his face. It was more important to leave this place. He could hunt for something once he was gone. "I am fine."

And, of course, his body chose that moment to betray him once more with another growl, sudden and painful enough he could not check the urge to hold his aching stomach. He could not remember the last time he had a decent, filling meal...

"I'm afraid I must insist," Kuai Liang said in a tone that brooked no argument. "I would be a poor host if I did not see you fed and prepped for your long journey down the mountain.”

Hanzo attempted to protest, but it was a losing battle and he was forced to follow after Kuai Liang, lest he truly be lost in his vast palace.

It was harder to remember the urgent need to be gone from this place when the smell of cooked meat grew stronger the further they went, and then impossible when Kuai Liang opened the door to a small cooking room, where a large flank of meat was still roasting over an open fire against the far wall.

The smell was heavenly and Hanzo was briefly hypnotized by the sight of hot, sizzling fat dripping from the meat, how it fell into the fire with a soft hiss and caused new bursts of the incredible aroma to permeate the room.

Perhaps...there was no harm in eating—so that he would not collapse on his hike, of course. It was only sensible to accept a meal when it was offered freely.

He tried not to seem too eager when he sat at the small wooden table Kuai Liang beckoned him to, but when Kuai Liang carved a generous portion of meat onto a large platter and served it to him, his smile twitched, threatening to grow wider at whatever expression Hanzo had.

It was slightly embarrassing, being caught so obviously, but Hanzo did not care the moment the meat first touched his tongue. Hot, tender venison, succulent and delicious. If he were a weaker man, he might weep.

For a while, there was only silence as he ate. It was not until he'd partially satiated his aching stomach that he realized Kuai Liang had not served himself.

He glanced up, unnerved to find Kuai Liang watching him, chin propped in one hand, a slight smile still lingering on his lips.

He appeared so...satisfied, by the sight of Hanzo eating. It made Hanzo freeze.

He glared.

"...Stop watching me," Hanzo demanded.

Kuai Liang's smile widened, but he acquiesced, leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. He tilted his head back against the back of his chair and closed his eyes, looked for all the world as if he were simply meditating.

The way he kept instantly accomodating Hanzo—it was very annoying.

Hanzo resumed eating but did not stop glaring at Kuai Liang, trying—in vain—to puzzle him out. If Kuai Liang was aware of his staring, he did not seem bothered by it in the least.

This vast palace, Kuai Liang's own status, seemingly that of a man of wealth and power—he did not make sense. In Hanzo's travels, he had never heard of such a person having domain over this corner of the land, and yet here he was.

Who are you, truly?

His curiosity could not be denied, no matter how much he tried to quell it.

"Where are the people?" Hanzo finally asked.

It was perhaps not his most pressing question, but it was the one that was safer to ask. Down the labyrinthine halls to this modest cook's area, Hanzo had not seen nor heard so much as a whisper of another soul. Even here, in what was clearly a servant's domain, there was no one else to be found. Yet, a palace so large would need a large staff to maintain it.

Kuai Liang's eyes opened. "There are none."

Hanzo frowned, chews slowing, but Kuai Liang did not take back his words, just watched Hanzo back.

"...You live here by yourself?"

Kuai Liang inclined his head.

"How is that possible?"

Finally, Kuai Liang glanced away from him. His eyes dropped and his entire demeanor was suddenly—dampened, somehow. A subtle sort of sadness crept over Kuai Liang and it made Hanzo forget all about the sharp hunger pains that had burrowed into the pit of his stomach.

"Like you, I am the last of my kind."

...Oh. It was no secret that Hanzo's people were long gone—hunted to the brink of extinction for nothing more than sport. Mercenaries and outlaws, lowlifes and lords alike had participated in the massacre, eager to boast their fighting skills and claim the prestige of slaying an exotic, powerful pyromancer. If any of Hanzo's people still walked the lands, Hanzo had not met them. He hoped he never would. They were safer—he was safer, alone.

A life of constant movement, never settling anywhere, never staying in one town long enough for anyone to learn his name—it was a life he'd resigned himself to, one he thought, perhaps, suited him, even, but there were times when he felt the aching bite of loneliness. Of a muted, mourning despair that he would pass from this world without a single soul to notice his absence.

It was not a life he would wish on anyone.

"I...I am sorry," Hanzo finally said. At least he traveled, could outrun his feelings when they threatened to unmake him completely. To walk the same empty halls, day after day, ceaselessly reminded of a time they were full of life—he shied from even imagining it.

Kuai Liang blinked and a rueful smile replaced the understated, melancholic expression. Somehow, the smile made Hanzo's chest ache more.

"It was a long time ago," Kuai Liang dismissed.

Hanzo was not placated. He looked straight into Kuai Liang's eyes.

"But it is still difficult," he observed quietly, and Kuai Liang's smile, absurdly, stretched just a little bigger.

"You see right through me."

He stood, took Hanzo's demolished plate and returned to the roasting spit.

"No man is a fortress, and I am afraid I am no exception to this rule."

His voice was soft and steady as he refilled Hanzo's plate with another generous portion, but even when he set the dish before him, Hanzo could not move his eyes from Kuai Liang, aware of how something more lingered in the air, the same something that had remained unspoken since he'd awoken.

Kuai Liang did not return to his seat. He stood, looking down at Hanzo, and the impression that his next words would be important grew.

"I rarely leave my home. I hunt what I need and want for little else. But I have grown weary of solitude. And, if you'll forgive my forwardness," and here Kuai Liang broke eye contact, straightened, and crossed his arms behind his back. He took a moment, and Hanzo found himself all but holding his breath.

"I came down from the mountain in search of a mate." Kuai Liang's pale eyes met his, and the earlier look of determination intensified. "And I have found one. You."

A ringing silence stretched.

Hanzo's mouth opened, closed. Opened again. But there were no words. He could not think of a single thing he could say to such a proclamation.

His face felt hot.

Kuai Liang's head tilted. "Have I broken you?" he asked, amused.

His tone finally snapped Hanzo out of his shocked stupor and he stood, his chair scraping loudly against the wood floor.

"I—You—NO."

"We are well-suited for one another," Kuai Liang argued.

"You know nothing about me and—" Abruptly, Hanzo realized how completely absurd this conversation was. "Absolutely not."

"I know that you are brave, honorable, and compassionate." When Hanzo opened his mouth to protest, Kuai Liang stepped closer, just past the bounds of propriety, but Hanzo could not muster the will to burn him. "It would have been easier to leave me to die, but you intervened on my behalf, and even tended to my wounds. What more proof do I need of your worthiness?"

Hanzo stared at Kuai Liang, stricken. He had been ignoring the obvious, glaring fact that had been shouting at him since he'd first met Kuai Liang's eyes, but now that truth refused to be ignored.

His brow furrowed and he stared into Kuai Liang's eyes, wished he could doubt his own, but could not.

"You...you really are the dragon from before..." It was impossible, ridiculous—but the evidence was too plain to ignore.

Kuai Liang smiled. "I knew you were the one the moment we looked at one another." Another step closer, where their chests nearly touched, and Hanzo told himself he would push Kuai Liang away and run—in just a moment. "My ice, it can be unpleasant for a normal human. And in moments of passion, even harmful."

Kuai Liang raised his hand, slowly, tentatively, and though a part of Hanzo's mind, defensive and wary, screamed that he use his flames, now, he did not want to harm Kuai Liang.

The gentle, cool touch of Kuai Liang's fingers brushed across the stubble on his cheek, whisper-soft.

"But with your abilities, you could withstand me." Kuai Liang's eyes fell, hooded and dark with desire. His gaze seemed to pierce straight through. "Yes, you could withstand me well. You are very strong."

"We are complete opposites," Hanzo argued, because clearly he was the only one who had not taken leave of his senses.

"Opposites, yes," Kuai Liang agreed. "But also equals. Compliments. I would have it no other way."

"Well, I will not have you," Hanzo claimed hotly, and his eyes narrowed in a fierce glare.

Far from seeming dismayed by his refusal, Kuai Liang only watched Hanzo as if he were an intriguing puzzle.

"You find me unsuitable in some way?" he asked. "Or, perhaps, you bear the claim of another?"

"I—" It would have been better, to lie, but that was one skill Hanzo had never possessed. "That is not—"

Triumph surged to Kuai Liang's gaze. "If I must prove myself, you need only say so. I can offer you much."

Hanzo finally pushed away Kuai Liang's touch with a sweep of his arm and took a few steps back. He would not hear any more.

"I do not want anything from you. I do not belong here, with you, in—that way. Whatever you believe you see in me, you are mistaken."

"I see only that which you have shown me." Kuai Liang watched him steadily, so sure. "You could have a home here. You would no longer have to hide who you truly are, or be forced to run any longer. You could be free."

Hanzo sucked in a sharp breath, shook his head harshly in the next instant. "You—you can not promise that."

"I can," Kuai Liang simply said.

He pushed Hanzo's chair out of his way, closed the distance between them once more. Hanzo flinched away the first time Kuai Liang reached for him, but Kuai Liang only paused, waited patiently, before resuming the movement. And the look in his eyes, gentle yet firm, kept Hanzo still when he took Hanzo's hand.

Kuai Liang raised Hanzo's hand, placed his palm atop it so he cradled him in his grip like something precious. Hanzo could not recall ever being touched in such a way. He wanted to hate it, but he did not.

"A few days," Kuai Liang proposed, voice a low, beseeching murmur. "Stay with me here, for just a few days. Let me show you what it could be like to share a life together. If you still wish to leave after that, I will respect your wishes. I will take you down the mountain myself."

An automatic denial sprung to his lips, but one look at Kuai Liang's eyes—pleading, soft, and filled with lonely, naked longing—killed the words before he could draw breath.

Hanzo looked away, to the strong, slightly cool and affectionate clasp of Kuai's hands around his. The weariness he always battled in his long journey, heart-sick from constant flight and avoidance, bloomed to an almost unbearable degree, threatened to swallow him completely.

"...A few days?" Hanzo eventually asked, voice unsure and wary.

Kuai Liang squeezed his hand and hope brightened his gaze.

"That is all I ask."

If Hanzo had not been wavering before, that expression would have unmade him; never, had he been beneath the force of such great, bare hope. To say anything else would be cruel.

"...Very well." He darted a quick look at Kuai Liang, glanced away immediately at the sight of his warm, wide smile. "Do not make me regret this," Hanzo warned.

Kuai Liang raised his arm, only smirked when Hanzo's eyes went wide, and placed a gentle, unbearably lingering kiss on the back of his fingers.

"I would not dream of it, Hanzo Hisashi."

#subscorpweek #@summertrapped #@maagspies #@subscorp-week #my stuff #my fics #subscorp

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lawfulpride · 4 years

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Back by popular demand! A conversation between Davos and Thor, Part II. Thor played by @honourablebravery.

captaincoffee07/25/2020

Thor, never the best at 'reading a room', is not foolish enough to be entirely oblivious. Good at this? Nah, probably not. Oblivious? Not so. The slight crease in his brow furrows further and further inward, before he moves to seat himself beside Davos-keeping a good forearm of space between them so Davos doesn't feel crowded in. "Well, you scarcely know me now, generally I have learned that speaking with someone on friendly terms can change that." They clearly have some sort of shared ground, and Davos seems to burn with the need to speak. Perhaps as Loki, he's forever been unheard Thor thinks, a pin-prick of bitterness touching his heart. "Is it something that you would wish to discuss? I am no wordsmith, but I have a gentle ear, and the ability for pragmatism."

Hopeful07/25/2020

"It's . . .. . " Davos ducks his head. He's been working on this: hard. But revelations of his personal struggles remain shameful terrain he was trained for 28 solid years to keep to himself. "It's. Not." He sighs, and looks up. "It's not seemly. For someone like me. I am. I am still learning that I have the right to be." He blinks. "Well. Human."

He gives Thor a long look. " . . . the person I put all my faith and trust in was my brother. When we turned 28, we were the two final contestants, out of all the monks in our temple, to go to trial for the most prestigious title--and responsibility--of my homeland. I was winning. Winning, but I couldn't kill him, even though that was the custom, so I begged him to yield. He was losing badly, but he still wouldn't listen to me, he kept fighting. And I kept winning. And then the light passed over the windows of the temple, and blinded me for but a moment. And Danny . . . his name is Danny, Danny Rand . . . .you've surely heard of him, he is as rich and at least half as famous as Mr. Stark . . . . he took the advantage and disarmed me, and won."

"In that one moment everything I had ever wanted, everything I had ever dreamt of becoming, was gone." He grinds his jaw. "But I was still willing to stand by his side as he took the Iron Fist . . . .the title and the duty of which I spoke. And he thanked me by abandoning us. Abandoning me."

"Coming back here. To play white Kung Fu hero to a city full of reprobates."

captaincoffee07/25/2020

Something about Davos not even being 30 yet both startles and alarms, Thor's brow knitting continually, until it's nearly a flattened line of scrunch. "Siblings are not forged in blood alone, family is family, a lack of a blood bond means little when the pain is so true, the experiences so raw, and the moments so introspective, sharp and clear. Birth right can only account for so much, it's what we know and experience that makes a relationship. This man, Danny, he is your brother, in the truest of it's definition. And you have bene hurt, both by his betrayal and abandonment, and by he effectively sneering in the face of your love and accomplishments." Thor blinks, seemingly startled by how much he's said. "Of course..I can only know this from an outsiders view' He says, quickly. Aware that-regardless of what Davos currently describes, he'd probably not appreciate Thor actually insulting the man. He knew that feeling all too well. "Davos..if I may..what is it you wish to ask him? Can it even be quantified in singular statements? What drives you now?" He saw Davos was indeed human, but he keeps this quiet, not sure how this moral complex is for the other, or what about it disturbs him so. He hasn't enough information yet for that.

Hopeful07/26/2020

Davos folds his arms across his chest. As he is wont to do, he listens closely to Thor's ruminating. The god clearly speaks from experience. "Of course." He looks up suddenly, eyes bright with a different kind of light, one not altogether gentle. "Your brother is the sorcerer who attacked this city in 2012." He would love to do battle with such a formidable creature, but he also knows that to say or even think such a thing toward this good man's beloved family member is unkind. " . . . . as for your question, I don't. I don't know."

"I cannot imagine what I would say."

captaincoffee07/26/2020

There is anger there. Thor can sense it. What he cannot discern is it's direction, and he is not about to make the situation escalate by asking. He feels pain, but he doesn't know quite why he feels pain. For a moment, he wishes he understood people, emotions, nuances better. He tries, and he hopes that is something. "Yes, Loki attacked New York here..in 2012..he was..unwell..very very unwell, that is not..I wish to not make it sound as if I'm excusing him, but much has come to light, since that moment." He chuckles, fondly, almost, reaching for his ice coffee. "You know.' Having a small sip. "It's entirely possible you won't know until you are within five inches of Danny's face that you'll know exactly what you wish to say"

Hopeful07/26/2020

"it might be unwise for me to ever see him again." Davos looks down at his right fist. He flexes it, over and over, slowly, as though something there is missing: the hand that, briefly, held the Iron Fist, when for a time he stole it from Danny. A twitch of muscles, that meditates on what might have been. "I have spent many months rebalancing my chi, recovering my self-control and my....clarity...in knowing right from wrong. Seeing Danny makes me violent and irrational."

"...it did not used to."

captaincoffee07/26/2020

Thor nods, slow, steady, and hopefully with understanding. "Unwise..yes, but are you settled?" He asks, "If you think that it would be possible to never see him, to never have that moment again and carry out your life with something else on your mind, could you do so? I would never advise anything that could hurt you, but I only ask, does it feel wise to you?" He continues, a little quickly. "You seem a man whom carries burdens like brands, Davos. A man who will always feel the burn of things that fester, that he believes wrong, because not having the resolution to something you believed in so deeply..I don't know if you'd be content, letting it go..because to you, it'll always feel like some slow moving knife taking pieces from your spine until someone yanks it back out." He could be wrong, and he truly has little clue where this babbling he speaks comes from..maybe Davos had a way of making everyone more introspective.

Hopeful07/26/2020

Davos sets his jaw. He stands, and moves to the door. But he pauses, and turns. His hand tightens into a fist at his side. He turns it and examines his palm. And he returns to the couch, and sinks back onto it. "You are right."

captaincoffee07/26/2020

He worries for a brief moment if he's said something upsetting, but then Davos just..sits back down. "I cannot speak for you, nor your best interests, Davos..but..I do..I cannot say I do not worry. Your energy is very..intense"

Hopeful07/27/2020

The Steel Serpent looks at the Thunder God in his gauging, serious way. "I was born to protect, and I must find something to protect, or I will run mad." It's a confession, a tacit agreement.

captaincoffee07/27/2020

Something to protect. It seems there could be a double meaning to that..but it feels..rude to ask. He's not sure how to respond, precisely. "What about protecting yourself..and what you believe in? It may..I feel that there are causes, things you sympathize with, perhaps, if devotion is what drives you..looking somewhere to it?"

Hopeful07/27/2020

"That is why I am a shifu at several training centers now." He rubs a palm down the back of his scalp, and inclines his head toward Thor in a single nod. "That is what I seek. Truth to my purpose. To be devout, to the people who need to learn to protect themselves. Some of them are children. Some women battered by the pigs who have abused the sanctity of marriage. Some teenagers."

"It's only...Can you miss the person who abandoned and betrayed you? I fear that is my dilemma. Yet I don't trust myself to speak to him without reverting to shameful ways."

captaincoffee07/27/2020

Norns, what a loaded question. And such a question does not have a simple response-it cannot, at the heart, have any response not loaded and situation-based. He decides to hone in on the most simplistic part of the question (or what Thor thinks is the most simple) "Yes, I think you can' He says, gently, 'But you and I both know there is more to it than that..is there not?" The set up is a clear opening I can expand upon this should you desire it. You are safe in my company.

Hopeful07/27/2020

"Please explain." Davos takes the opening, finally sipping his nearly forgotten tea.

captaincoffee07/27/2020

"Betrayal..is not a black and white issue, and it of course, determines on the type of betrayal." He's hesitating, but it's clearly in result of thinking how best to word what he desires to bring to the table here. "And how badly you are hurt by said betrayal. I think that, if one is to look for forgiveness after a betrayal has occurred, then context is utterly crucial."

Hopeful07/27/2020

"I don't want forgiveness, I want him to beg it! And I want to still tell him to go to hell!" Davos speaks ferociously but his whole body tightens, trying to regulate the emotions he keeps too constantly locked up in the dark. "I want him to have never left, I want us to be home! I would have gladly yielded him the honor he was bestowed if he had just taken it seriously!"

A long pause and he draws out a shaky exhale. "Forgive me, I should not have raised my voice."

captaincoffee07/27/2020

Thor's first instinct is to reach out, he's tactile, after all. But he doesn't have consent and he's not sure what a man like Davos thinks of such things. Knowing full well some individuals hated touch. His fingers flex against his own leg, a slight inward curl, "Anger is not always something shameful" He points out, gently, "Sometimes it is good to let it out..lest it consumes us." Unless Davos believed anger a shameful thing, "You are not..." No He puzzles, then tries again, "This is a safe haven, Davos"

Hopeful07/27/2020

"A weapon does not know anger." The words are hollow and come from a dead place behind Davos's now shuttered and lightless eyes. "A weapon does not indulge in emotions. It is dangerous. I do not think you unsafe. On the contrary, you are .....you are quite kind."

"I want him to have valued me...as much as I valued him." That's the root of it all. That's the bottom line.

captaincoffee07/27/2020

"You're a human first, Davos" He lets that sit, a moment. 'I was not always good...maybe this is why I make such an effort now..maybe I always had goodness inside, but could never access it..or..something." Words are not his strong suit. "You know the truth that you cannot force him to value you...Davos, it hurts..but Danny's blindness is not because of you, but him, and whatever has completely clouded his mind, his vision, his everything."

Hopeful07/27/2020

Davos bites his tongue halfway to saying "I know that!" because. Does he? Intellectually, perhaps, but not in his heart of hearts. "I have never been exposed to what...the Western world, I believe, refers to as 'positive reinforcement,' but I shall attempt to believe your words are true."

captaincoffee07/27/2020

"In truth..I do not quite grasp that concept either. My..my father's belief to me..was that..as long as you did what he claimed was 'good' then..it meant something. But it had to align with his personal visions. Order, regulation, he saw the future, did he? Maybe he claimed such, not sure...but I was so brash, so arrogant. And after years of encouragement from him to be so, he tells me no, it is too much, humble yourself..and I do..but it still did not align with his beliefs" "Loki suffered worse for it. He saw right through him at points..he always was to clever.."

Hopeful07/27/2020

Davos lifts his head from where it's been resting, in his hands, and studies Thor perceptively. "My parents are like your father. It's exhausting. I'm very sorry. The price of being the model pupil, always, is steep. But I succeeded often in being what my mother and father...mostly my mother, demanded. It was just that it was never quite enough. I could always be more perfect. And when I was not, I did not exist."

captaincoffee07/27/2020

"And I, to you, I am sorry..but if I may?" He has no idea how to preface it, simply launching himself head-long into words and hoping it sticks "I have learned, and I cannot claim this to be universal, these parents of ours..they have ideas, they want things accomplished. My father wanted a King, and he molded me to be just that, but when I started to eek from his mold, he punished me. He had two sons..well, Loki is Loki, but we grew up..side by side..and he made it seem as if the throne was allowed to both of us, but he deliberately kept the truth at bay. I was to take the throne, Loki not, and in his eyes we both failed because of what? Because HE couldn't be arsed to communicate openly? Because he treated fatherhood like putting pieces into a puzzle? Adding sealant to a sculpture? How can we do wrong or right when to him, sharing his thoughts was not..we were never worthy of his true voice, only spiels I have to wonder were rehearsed, he even banished our sister and told NOBODY." Now Thor is raging, that tell-tale fiery personality that still lingers beneath the surface, even to this day, rising like an encroaching flame. "She was too powerful..for him..' he scoffs, 'Imagine.." Lies, lies, deceit. Half truths. "Davos, we..we could never live up to what our parents desire, because their desires are not tangible, they are unrealistic, they always were. To the offspring are a means to an end, a continuation in a storyline they've crafted and could never finish, because we have agency. If they wanted someone to carry out legacies, whatever, to their exact specifications, make models, or something, do not expect that people with brains and feelings and hearts are blank slates waiting to be guided about like dogs!"

Hopeful07/27/2020

Davos watches Thor storm around his own lodgings, his inspirational words turning into a blaze of still unresolved emotions. The Kung Fu master blinks slowly once. He then smiles, a small soft smile, almost modest in nature. This is so familiar. Danny has a temper like this, too. Danny likes to rail against injustices, too, albeit a bit more sanctimoniously than this Thor fellow does.

Something about it is as comforting as the commiseration, the empathy, within the words themselves. He stands and walks over to the ranting god, and lays a hand on his bicep. "Are you alright?" he asks, and it's clear he actually cares. Davos isn't much of a deceiver.

captaincoffee07/27/2020

The touch does not startle him, it is both welcome and relieving. "..Are you?" He asks, quietly. "I.." He chuckles, 'I am a Thunder God for a reason, it appears." Aware that the moment is radiating tension, but comfort in the same shared space. 'Our lives seem oddly similar, Davos, in some ways."

Hopeful07/27/2020

"I am, in fact." Davos huffs a laugh through his nose, and nods. "Perhaps we are."

captaincoffee07/27/2020

Thor's grin turns downright radiant, pleased with the good discussion, moving to turn himself more fully, his own wide-palmed hand loosely grasping Davos's shoulder. "I am glad, to have given you some chance to alleviate some burdens, and I would be honoured to have you as a friend."

HopefulToday at 2:17 PM

Davos reddens. Particularly his cheeks and ears. They aren't especially large ears, but with his shaved head, they become prominent. He could face down any foe with his fists, and with his keen wits, he could navigate nearly any delicate intellectual scenario as well. But being told by a friendly behemoth that he wants to be his friend, that it would be his honor? That's intimidating to someone trained to disregard emotional attachments altogether, save those which pertain to loyalty, and to devotion. "I." Oh, but it's very good for him, this scenario. "I would also be honored." He grasps Thor's shoulder, in return. He has to stand on his tiptoes.

#Interactions: Thor Odinson #ic #Davos #Davos Iron fist

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circe-poetica · 4 years

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13.Arise

Arise, from the RUMI Oracle Card deck, by Alana Fairchild, artwork by Rassouli

“Wings of hope languish from lack of use. When wings dissipate and weaken, Life begins to lose its value.

Every cell in your body is created to rise to challenges. Your life is meant to confront everything that holds you captive.

Don’t sit at the bottom of the well, not caring about salvation.

Listen to the voice within calling to you. Reach for eminence beyond your own maturity!”

~RUMI

“I dance before you in sacred spectacle, hoping to garner your attention.

‘Look at me!’ I cry to your ailing spirit and despondent flesh, ‘Look at me!’

If you were to look up you would see that I am a mirror of your own being, your light, your heart, your spirit, your all. Yes, there is pain; yes there is a letting go taking place and you are frightened and uncertain sometimes. But you make this mean something that it does not! It means that you are to turn your head away from what is dying; do this gently but firmly. Turn your head towards what is living.

Look at me! I will show you truth and you shall laugh your deepest belly laughter with so much glee, sharing in my secret that the only force at work in your life is unconditionally loving divinity.”

“I see in you a divine wild child and sacred heart. You have gumption! Chutzpah! Guts! You dare to love where others only see pain. You dare to believe that everything will somehow work out where others see only what they judge to be wrong. You see love where others see ply fear. You seek freedom where the world still buys into manipulation and propaganda.

Don’t lose heart, beloved wild child. Dare to believe! You are right to do so. It is the divine rebel in you that refuses to surrender hope. Give up the fight perhaps, the battle that comes from a place of fear, but never give up hope. That hope in your heart, that optimism and patience for growth into love creates a light within you that helps the world see through darkness. It becomes a candle that shimmers contentedly upon the windowsill of your heart temple. There it is, more obvious even in darkness.

The stars do appear to shine brighter at night, beloved, but don’t become consumed by your nightmares. They will pass with the coming dawn, you’ll see. Don’t give them too much stock. Instead, put your attention towards that defiant candle of hope that burns, as is its nature and purpose, within you. Can you sense its warmth, even in the presence of cold fear? Ah, it shall warm you now. And if not, then I come to remind you; you are a blazing angel! You are filled with gold fire and you shall prevail.

Oh the joy of you, the expanse of you! You fill my own heart with your magnificent essence. I see and know the Great Beloved in you. There the Great Beloved is – looking out at me from behind your eyes! I see the candlelight of your heart temple flicker within your gaze. That is what the candle of hope honours – the workings of the Great Beloved, so creative and crazed with love for you that all circumstances of your life, down to the tiniest detail, are evoked out of love. Love out of passionate desire takes you from despair into hope – from holding on to letting go, from turning away to opening up – so the Great Beloved takes you across the moonlit ocean into the temple of the Cosmic Heart. Here, an eternal flame burns bright with hope, igniting the light within the hearts of all humanity.

You are being asked to trust, to gently lay to rest the suffering that has been – perhaps because of what you have labelled as the failure, the doubt, the losses and setbacks. They are so little in the greater scheme of you. Put them aside; allow them to rot and become the fertilizer for life, but do not try to keep them alive beyond their earthly expiry date, lest you become tainted or poisoned by the rot. Let them go and instead focus on what is alive now.

Can you sense that before you is a great being of light, a greater pathway opening up? This is truth, blazing angel. This is truth. Take the step. So easy is it when the light of the heart is felt within, reminding you of your own divine nature. The world is here for you to experience so that you may realize divinity in its majesty, mystery and love – more so than ever. All serves that sacred purpose, so embrace it. Find your faith. Be at peace. Know that no matter what appears to be, all is well. You are so loved; it cannot even begin to be translated sufficiently into words, but it can be transmitted from my heart to yours, just as the sun catches dried tinder and sets it aflame.

This oracle comes with a message for you: arise. You have been downtrodden for long enough now. Perhaps you have been feeling defeated, put upon, underestimated, or walked over in mind, body or spirit by others or your own doubts and fears. Enough now – you are liberated through the hope in your heart, the defiant optimism that buoys your spirit and demands that you shall have your dawn. You shall rise like the sun and and begin anew now. Step up; it is your time.”

Sacred Honouring Ritual: “Stand up and turn behind you. Say aloud: ‘With gratitude and deep soul-daring, I choose to say thank you and good bye to my past. What has been has been, and is no longer to be. I am at peace with this, for what has been is nothing more than fertilizer for life to flourish now. With complete forgiveness and acceptance, I allow this letting go to happen. With all of my heart, I ask for unconditional love to assist me in this sacred surrender now.’

Turn now to face forward. Say aloud” ‘I invite in life. I invite in love. I invite in what is required for my own spiritual success and thriving divinity. Through unconditional love and divine mercy, through the guiding spirit of my soul brother, RUMI, may this now be so.’

Then place one hand on your heart ans say aloud: ‘In this present moment life thrives. It is within this thriving grace that I choose to place my consciousness now. I am an angel ablaze. I trust in the benevolent divinity guiding my way.’

Place both hands in prayer and when you are ready, simply bow your head for a moment. You have finished your honouring ritual.”*

~ By Alana Fairchild

Did you read all those words above? All those beautiful words, that powerful message…. it is for you. Yes, you. Maybe you should slow down. Read it again. Savour each word, let it roll around in your head until you grasp the full meaning. Breathe it deeply into your Being. Hear it now… I promise, the message is for you. Are you listening? Is it the confirmation that you have been waiting for? What is that old cliche… don’t look in your rearview mirror, you aren’t going that way? Yes, that is the message. Look to the light, it burns brightly AHEAD of you… don’t look back.

A door is closing as it should. As it must in order for the next door to open. Yes, there is a chance that there is a journey between the doors. Time to heal. Time to regroup. Time to shed and release the old and time to make space for the new. What will get you from one door to the next? Faith. Trust in yourself and in this process. What will keep your own light burning? Hope; even a shred is enough to get you there.

You are a powerful warrior. And if you don’t feel like one now, then that is part of your task at hand. You are blazing new trails. You are here to lead. To heal. To inspire. To transform. Do not shy away from this, it is your duty. Do you remember why you came here?

Awaken. Arise. Move forward fearlessly and be the catalyst for your own growth, healing and magic.

Rise up out of the ashes Dear Phoenix, it is time for your rebirth.

Arise

Namaste

Dee https://archangeloracle.com/2017/11/14/arise/

#arise #14 december 19 #rumi oracle

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shogetsus · 6 years

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Stripes of Auburn, Eye of Sapphire

Prologue Pt. VI

Read on Ao3 | Read on FFN | Masterlist

Summary: "My lord, I bring Mai Mizusaki and Lord Masamune…"

Gulping hard and pretty much frozen in her spot, all she can do is stare at the very Devil King, Nobunaga Oda, as he fixes his fiery, very intimidating eyes on her and her only.

"You kept me waiting, Mai…" He says, his face unreadable, before his gaze falls further down to her hand, and then up again to acknowledge the warlord who brought her before him. A brow quirks up, yet barely and almost imperceptibly, but enough to make her lose her unconsciously very tight grip on Masamune's hand and flinch away from him as if he just burned her.

Mai

It’s worth to mention she had someone to guide her through the place in the first place, otherwise she’d have gotten hopelessly lost in no more than five minutes. Whoa, so this is what they call a castle, huh.

Once inside the castle, Masamune gets into a quarrel with Mitsunari and Hideyoshi about who should take her to her assigned room, but the former finally gives up as Mitsunari’s insistence for all of them to attend to their own recently arrived vassals instead. Easily enough, the warlords scramble away one by one, leaving Mai with the only company of the sweet Mitsunari.

She shakes her head, partially amused by that situation. “Are they really always like that?”

After apparently noticing she’s not disturbed by such friendly display, he smiles brightly. “Indeed they are. It has been some time since my lords’ last reunion, so as you may figure out, there is a lot to catch up on,” With his companionable guide, Mai’s lead to a spacious and quite comfortable looking room. “This room is yours to use as you like, Lady Mai. I hope it’s enough for you.”

She spares a moment to admire the decoration. “Wow, it’s more than enough! In fact, it’s almost too much,” Despite refusing to be there, she can’t help but be truly surprised at the commodities offered—too regal and even royalty-like, with expensive tatami mats spread all over and a huge futon at the center, nearly inviting her to throw herself over in an unceremonious way with how comfy it looks. “But please, it’s alright with the formalities. Just call me Mai, alright?”

Mitsunari seems to flush at that, “Oh, but I couldn’t possibly! You’re a lady and Lord Nobunaga’s savior…” He avoids his eyes and Mai’s not sure if to be flattered or concerned.

“It’s really fine, though. I’m not truly used to titles and all this fancy treatment, it kind of makes me uncomfortable. And, to be honest, I don’t need them either…” She just shrugs, trying to make her point clear.

He seems to relax at that statement. “Then… I agree on the condition as long as you stay as familiar and informal with me. Is that alright, Mai?”

Finally, she smiles back. “You’ve got a deal, Mitsunari.” It’s not like she could really say no to that angelical face of his, for the matter.

“Thank you. Now, take your leisure. Someone will come to fetch you soon,” The polite smile remains on Mitsunari’s face until he leaves the room with a courteous bow and closes the door behind him.

Once she’s left to her own devices, her brain makes fast work of filling on the gaps, sinking into the futon with a deep sigh. For how spacious and stately the room is like, it’s actually too quiet for her liking, her thoughts running wild and very loud in her head. There’s been absolutely not a single clue of Sasuke’s whereabouts since she last met him, and there’s no way of knowing what to really do next without him.

Lost for anything else, Mai empties her belongings onto the futon, looking for the best way out of the concerning situation she’s into; or at the very least, a distraction. Her only possessions are her guide, cellphone—pretty much dead for all it takes, naturally—wallet, house key, makeup bag, pads, sewing kit, and her test piece, Bearsace, looking back at her with warm acrylic eyes. Mai happens to have it with her as an example of her sewing skills, along with her dress designs inside a notebook, piled up for a job interview, and it’s been in her purse ever since.

She lets out another longing sigh, raking a hand through her copper hair. I was so excited to start my dream job. Why did this have to happen? Am I really the most unlucky girl in the world? A heavy feeling settles in her chest, beginning to truly realize how she can pretty much scratch that down her list.

Until a sharp ‘tock, tock’ sound startles her thoughts, looking up to the ceiling and the source of that noise just in time to see a panel slide open. Her hand scrambles for the closest object to grab on, happening to be her house key, deftly holding it between her knuckles and leaning back to prepare for whoever’s about to invade her room.

A familiar face appears in the opening, and Mai’s shoulders sag down in sheer relief.

“Hey there,” As if being summoned, Sasuke shows up, removing his mask and cracking up a friendly smile, “I’m not bothering you, am I?”

“Sasuke! I’m so glad to see you!” Brightening up at the mere sight, she makes room for him to get down the ceiling. “Did you follow me here?”

He climbs down with a certain grace Mai couldn’t possibly have expected in him, reminding her of the vocation he happened to take on in this timeline, landing without a single sound. “Yes. I just hid when those men arrived and kept up following your trail,”

“Oh, thank heavens you did!” She truly feels like hugging him tight, but refrains herself just so, lest she’d be accidentally pushing some boundaries she shouldn’t—only the gods know how many awful times she’s done so in the past. In the end he notices the gesture and leans down himself, trapping her arms in a warm hug, if politely brief.

“It’s good to see you safe and sound, Mai,” He says to her hair before letting her go, an honest look in his face. “I’ve already pieced together much of what happened,” His genuine smile falters a bit, “I see you’ve got yourself into some trouble.”

“Well, I’m sure you’ve been through worse in your four years here,” Mai gives him a thoughtful once-over, “I mean, it made you into a textbook ninja after all,”

“Yeah, there’s trouble, and then there’s Trouble,” Sasuke snorts, looking like appreciating her concerns, “Anyways, I’m here because I forgot to tell you something really important back at the forest.”

Her brow quirks up in sheer curiosity. Gods, let it be good news, please, please. “I did mention I was researching a way for us to get home, right?” Mai only nods, waiting for him to continue, “Well, recently, I was able to confirm that the wormhole opens here at fixed periods.”

“Oh, really?” That tidbit really catches her undivided attention, “Then that means—!”

“Ssh, keep your voice down, please. I’m not supposed to be here, remember?” Right; finding what is obviously an enemy ninja in someone else’s castle would be, classically and naturally, bad. ��I’ll keep it short. The next wormhole will most likely provide our way home.”

Her eyes go wide, mindful of not making much noise this time and covering her mouth with both hands to muffle an incoming gasp. “So, there’s actually a way to get back home!”

“All in all, yes. Leaving the reasoning behind its recurrence aside, according to my data, the next traversable wormhole will appear in six months from now.” He explains solemnly. “I’m still calculating its location, but chances are good that if we make contact with it, it’ll return us to our original timeline.”

“Sasuke, honestly… all you just needed to tell me is that we can get back,” Mai brings her hands up to her chest, already feeling a terrible weight being put off her shoulders. “I’m so relieved I can’t even explain it,”

He smiles again in return, but only briefly, before adjusting his glasses, “However, it’s best if you spend your next six months here.”

Blinking twice, she frowns slightly, “You mean, here in Azuchi? Why don’t I just come with you? Isn’t it best if we team up or something?”

“Mai, we’re in the midst of a chaotic civil war. One that’s now further away from ending than the one in our timeline due to Nobunaga Oda’s survival…” Right, that’s another point she’s accidentally left out. “Besides, Nobunaga and his men seem rather fond of you, isn’t it? I doubt they’d let you go that easily,”

She winces, but naturally he’s not wrong. “Yeah, given their penchant for hunting me and handling me as a trophy woman, I suppose you’re right…” Her shoulders slump down, recalling the dire situation she’s into. “I don’t like the idea of staying here, though,”

“My employer’s base of operations isn’t here, but what I can promise is that I’ll try my best to stay in Azuchi for as long as I can. You can send a smoke signal if you run into any trouble!” He jests as if to cheer her up, giving her two thumbs up.

“Yeah, right… after I figure out how to make one, though,” She snorts, appreciating his will to help regardless.

“Oh, there’s one more little thing,” Mai notices how much the quirk of Sasuke adjusting his glasses are a sort of signal that he’s about to get serious, “Mai, don’t get deeply involved with people in this time.”

“Deeply involved?” Her brows knit into a frown, “Sasuke, I’m going to be in close contact with them for the next six months…”

He shakes his head, “I’ll be blunt, then—don’t fall in love, alright?” His lips purse, giving her a solemn look, “Doing so may cloud your desire to return to the future…”

A second of silence goes by, then two, and then three, before Mai has to cover her mouth with her two hands so to muffle a loud laughter bubbling up from the bottom of her throat.

“Hahaha, oh, Sasuke…” As she wipes tears of mirth with the back of her hand, she realizes he’s not really joking. “Love? Are you serious? How can you possibly worry about that happening? Like, really, have you talked to any of this people?”

“… All right,” For what’s worth, Sasuke doesn’t find that remotely funny, however, but decides to drop the matter for the moment. “I also recommend you keep the fact you come from the future a secret too.”

That tidbit makes the most sense as for their whole conversation. “Yeah, well, about that…” She bites her lip worryingly, “I’ve already told that to Nobunaga and Mitsunari. Not like they find it believable in the slightest, though.” She’s quick to add, “In fact, they didn’t even consider it for a moment. I think they took it as me having taken a hit in the head, or smoke-addled, but regardless, they didn’t buy it, that’s for sure.”

He nods in understanding, clapping a friendly hand on her arm. “Hmm, well. Best to keep it that way,” Then, he rolls his shoulders before propping himself up, “Anyways, my employer is in the city below and I’m staying with him. I’ll be able to come to your aid quickly should you need it, for now.” He flashes her a warm smile and adds, “Best if you learn fast how to make smoke signals, right?”

“Haha, alright, will do. But, what’s that your employer? What are you here for…?”

However, her question goes unanswered as Sasuke’s gaze shoots to the door at their left. Mai hears it too—footsteps approaching and fast. Faster than a gust of wind, her only ally is up in the ceiling before she can even notice.

“I’ll come back in another time. See you!” Pulling his mask up with one hand, he hushes in a whisper before becoming one with the shadows right in the nick of time.

Mai can’t help but startle as there are three sharp knocks on the door before it’s burst open, a man with silver hair sauntering in. His golden eyes are as cunning as they come, such as like that sly smirk crossing his face as he gives her a thorough look.

“I see you weren’t able to get away from Nobunaga after all,” He observes, his expression leaving nothing to make of. And this one is… right, Mitsuhide Akechi. “He’s calling for you…”

“I-I… beg your pardon?” Mai stammers, whatever words she had for him caught in her tongue, intimidated by that intense gaze examining her all over. All in a sudden, she feels very small and poorly dressed.

Until a second figure approaches, leaning nonchalantly onto the doorframe, chuckling softly, “Don’t mind this kitsune, lass. He meant to say Nobunaga is requesting you,” Masamune Date, all the ever charming, bats away the growing tension inside Mai’s room with the help of his playful smirk only—definitely more open and inviting to talk to than her former visitor, though.

However, Masamune has to step aside as, per the other warlord’s sign, a couple of maids politely walk inside the room. The two of them hold another set of a more regal kimono than the one she’s currently wearing as well as hairpins and some more accessories.

“’She can’t go dressed like that. Take this to lady Mai,’, is what Hideyoshi said, and pushed them onto me,” Mitsuhide explains to the group, that ever so sly expression never leaving his face.

“Sounds pretty much like Hideyoshi,” Masamune seems to feel inclined to admit, shrugging before addressing his associate. “Are you going to stand there while she gets changed? Come on, man, let’s wait outside. She’s not going anywhere…”

“Of course,” It’s all Mitsuhide says before leaving her with the maids, closing the door behind him.

With a dejected huff, Mai is left once again without a choice in the matter, submitting to the ladies attending her as if she were a royal figure from a faraway land. The maids praise her for helping prevent Nobunaga’s demise all the way into fitting her into what certainly looks—and feels like, to Mai’s embarrassment—a very expensive kimono. Then, they proceed to brush and adorn her hair, leaving her copper locks down and loose over her back, adding some quick yet elegant braids on the sides of her head.

After quite enough pampering than she’d be able to endure for much longer, the women finally leave her to meet the pair of warlords awaiting her on the hallway. A set of very pleased smirks meet her once the door slides open, but there’s definitely something smugger in Masamune’s face as he all but ignores his associate, sauntering past him in a moment’s notice.

She feels those sharp golden eyes straight on her as Masamune gracefully offers his hand to her, adding up some teasing exaggeration in the gesture. “Shall we go, Mai?”

His sapphire eye gleams in a delighting expectation, drawing her into its spell. It’s in that very precise moment—somewhere between when a blush creeps onto her cheeks and when her fingers slip into his palm all as if but having a life on its own—when she knows it with absolute certainty.

She’s undeniably doomed.

And by the looks of that wicked smile plastered all over Masamune’s face, she can tell it’s precisely what he was looking forward to doing to her.

Guided by his hand, all she can do is follow Masamune’s lead, flanked by a very amused Mitsuhide. “No sense of self-preservation at all…” He comments to no one in particular, hands clasped on his back, eyes straight ahead, just as relaxed as if they were taking a nice stroll across a park.

The words hang in the air, nagging her if briefly, before Masamune’s soft chuckle brushes them away. “Still with this tendency of always having the last words, I see,”

“Says the one who still manages to be fashionably late to every gathering he’s summoned to,” Mitsuhide spices up the little prodding game between them.

Truth be told, Mai’s still not quite sure what to make of Mitsuhide Akechi. He’s betrayed Nobunaga and arranged his gruesome assassination from the history she knows of, yet the fact of having seen someone else at Honno-ji doesn’t truly make him innocent of any possible scheming against his lord. But for some reason, the one man among them all who she’s slowly growing a genuine liking to seems to be alright around Mitsuhide, just as how he is around every warlord in Azuchi—and naturally, Masamune does know them better, after all.

Deep in the castle and after taking a set of turns that mostly loses her for a reasonable attempt to retrace her steps back to her room, they come to a stop in front of a wall of gorgeously painted screens. Mitsuhide then shoots them a curious look, apparently in sheer expectation of something, yet it’s as he swings the screens aside when Mai’s feet suddenly lose their will to move.

“My lord, I bring Mai Mizusaki and Lord Masamune…”

Gulping hard and pretty much frozen in her spot, all she can do is stare at the very Devil King, Nobunaga Oda, as he fixes his fiery, very intimidating eyes on her and her only.

“You kept me waiting, Mai…” He says, his face unreadable, before his gaze falls further down to her hand, and then up again to acknowledge the warlord who brought her before him.

A brow quirks up, yet barely and almost imperceptibly, but enough to make her lose her unconsciously very tight grip on Masamune’s hand and flinch away from him as if he just burned her. She doesn’t dare meeting his face, growing flustered like a child just caught on a mischief, but either way, she can practically feel his sheer amusement from miles away. That gesture alone seems to please Nobunaga, the dais void of any people but him—although the power of his presence practically fills the very room nonetheless.

Not long after and forming rows on either side of him, appear Hideyoshi Toyotomi, Mitsunari Ishida, and Ieyasu Tokugawa, coming up with Mitsuhide as well and Masamune for last. The sight is just baffling for any mortal eyes; some of the country’s brightest minds, stronger warlords and infamous conquerors, all but in one single room.

“Don’t just stand there. Approach me,” Nobunaga insists in a commanding tone, one that clearly isn’t up to a negative, a voice so deep it sends an unnerving chill down her spine.

Ever so careful, Mai forces her feet to move and waltzes across, doing her absolute best in shoving down her mortification, unable to meet anyone’s eye as she gets on her knees before him. For all it takes, the whole scenario seems like she’s about to be sentenced for a crime unbeknownst to her, feeling about to pass out in any moment.

When a satisfied gleam crosses Nobunaga’s copper-ish eyes, the look almost confirms her suspicions. “Henceforth, Mai Mizusaki, you are to reside in Azuchi Castle and give your service to me.” He proclaims; his speech—as becoming so very usual—not allowing any objection from anybody.

His assertion makes her all the more nervous. “I, um, thought I was up to hearing an offer from your part, my Lord…” Mai observes, worrying her lower lip, anxiety dangerously creeping its way up and threatening to get the best of her. “I said before I have another job. Am I allowed to… politely decline this, then?”

Judging by the ice cold in his gaze, it clearly doesn’t look like it. “That is of no matter to me. All you have to do is say ‘Yes, my Lord’.”

She gulps hard, bearing in mind her options. All things considered, she’s in a very precarious position; surely Nobunaga wasn’t going to be so gracious if she ran away once again—that thing being precisely what her mind is all but screaming to do as of then. But perhaps Sasuke is right, and her best shot is to spend her next six months in Azuchi.

For some reason, her thoughts drift to her father—as it tends to happen when she’s in a particularly concerning situation. What would dad do? The picture of Haru Mizusaki’s determined gaze falls upon her, always steering her resolve.

“If the world falls into chaos all around you, remember that sometimes the very eye of the storm is the safest place to take shelter on.”

Her eyes shoot to the left, catching up the striking blue and black patterns of a kimono, a hakama tied up by a golden crescent moon in the middle; regardless, Mai still doesn’t dare to bring her gaze further up to meet the wearer’s face. The sight does strengthen her resolve, though, bolstering her father’s words clinging to her mind.

“So be it.” It hardly is the wisest thing she’d done, but resigning to her fate is the best card she can play for the further moment. “Yes, my Lord,” She says to Nobunaga’s face, “I do have a question though. How exactly am I going to serve you?”

Nobunaga shows no hesitation, naturally. “However you like.” He says as if it’s obvious. At her confused look, he leans down and catches her wrist, pulling her nearer and onto his lap—his fingers remarkably and elegantly long. “Your only duty is to stay nearby. That is what I need of you.” His low voice turns to become surprisingly pleasant to her ears this time, yet there’s still not a bare hint of kindness in his words. “You will be my lucky charm as I unify this nation and all that lies under the sun.”

She flusters, mortified by the undignified treatment. However—and judging by no one in the room seems to bat an eye about it—it all pinpoints for her to contain herself and not slap that haughtiness out of his face, swallowing down her disgust.

Although the last comment makes her curious, “Um, you only want me around because I’m lucky?”

“Exactly. But fear not,” A devious smirk makes its way across his face, “You shall be known as a princess from afar and will be treated as such.” He spares a glance at his subordinates as if to make sure they all properly understood. “Spend your days on makeup, or Hanafuda games if it suits you…”

Am I just supposed to loaf around for six months and do ‘girly’ things? That’s almost preposterous to her. “No, thank you. I’ll go stir crazy if that’s all I can do here.”

“What?” Oddly enough, that single word question seems to start becoming the only one Nobunaga’s capable to make to her.

A musical laughter makes its glorious return to cut down the tension, though. “I agree with you, Mai. I feel the same way,” Masamune nods in earnest approval, and Mai has no idea how he—or any of them, for that matter—is so collected and easygoing around such an intimidating man as Nobunaga Oda.

It’s another sort of concern with the One-eyed Dragon, however. Isn’t his so very flirty bantering with her kind of getting in the way of his lord’s wishes? Sure enough, she may not know much of proper decorum in the Sengoku period, but historically, crossing a superior has never fared well for anyone.

Either way, regardless of the way he does it, Masamune’s addition seems to do it, prompting a sigh from Nobunaga. “So be it, then. I shall appoint you as my chatelaine.”

She makes a quick rundown of the word. That’s the caretaker of a castle, right?

Mitsunari steps in, brightening the room with that angelic smile of his. “What an excellent idea! Mai, count on me to provide you with all the support you need to get started!”

Ieyasu doesn’t seem to be in agreement, as very characteristic of him. “How could this waif possibly be of any use?”

Hideyoshi, as the ever admirer of Nobunaga, scoffs beside him, “It’s Lord Nobunaga’s decision, Ieyasu. Hold your tongue.” Luckily, no one seems to notice Mai’s exasperated eye roll at that, “Though only time will tell if we can trust her…”

“Who says you have to?” Mitsuhide points out, shrugging nonchalantly, “Just keep an eye on her. You’re good at that, right?” He directs a brief yet all the same mischievous glance at Masamune before adding, “She may surprise you.”

Masamune’s flashes a wicked smile, but thankfully doesn’t comment back on it. “Then it’s decided.” Nobunaga concludes, chin straight and looking pleased, “Work hard and prove your worth to me, Mai.” ‘Or else…’, his tone seems to slip on, but that goes without saying.

She opts for letting them bicker on without interrupting, hyper-aware of having the unrelenting gaze of Nobunaga upon her, adding that intimidating smile playing across his face. I only need to put up with them for six months. Just six months. I can take it as an internship! Plus, I’ll have Sasuke around, so it’ll be alright. Although that could hurt more than it helps, considering he just disclosed his employers seem to be nosing around and stirring trouble—and that’s without contemplating the true reasons why they’re in Azuchi all along.

Then again, if she allows her thoughts to run wild she knows she’ll never be able to stop.

“I won’t let you down.” She settles for saying, as collected and resolute as she can.

And true enough, she can do it. She’s faced hard challenges many times before and while not always she has come out unscathed, that doesn’t mean she’d be brought down by this. She will endure and learn from the waging war of this time and survive enough to make it back to the present time, making it all an incredible adventure to get a good laugh from. She has to live to tell it, it’s even preposterous to think otherwise.

Besides, having to spend six months of her life in a chaotic period such as the Sengoku doesn’t truly mean she wouldn’t be able to have some entertainment in the process. And if a playful look from a sapphire eye is anything to go by, fun times seem more than assured.

Hanafuda: Playing cards of Japanese origin that are used to play a number of games. The name translates to "flower cards”. The name also refers to games played with the cards.

#Cassie writes #Stripes fic #Ikesen #Ikemen Sengoku #Ikesen Masamune x MC #Ikesen Shingen x MC #Ikesen fanfiction #Ikesennw reblog #Hoo boy it gets so much better from here onward :D #MitsuMasa as Best Power Couple in Sengoku period #That's all I'm saying lol

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yukiwrites · 6 years

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A Dance for Their Family

Thank you so much for commissioning me again, @xpegasusuniverse! This was such a cute prompt! I hope you like it ;D

Summary: Being married to Frederick brought Olivia so much happiness, she wanted to give it back to him tenfold. But what could she do when she couldn’t even massage away the exhaustion from his body? Perhaps with Inigo’s help, she could...

Commission info HERE and HERE!

After the Fell Dragon's defeat, Ylisse could finally enjoy long years of peace. Their relationship with the neighboring kingdoms couldn't be better, the frequency which crimes happened plummeted and the new generation could enjoy growing up in a land that knows no fighting.

Still, the Commander of the Exaltsguard wasn't named Frederick the Wary for nothing -- he continued to train the new recruits with the same fervor he did during the war days. The only differing aspect would be that instead of being called 'Frederick's Fanatical Fitness Hour', it was 'Frederick's Fanatical Fitness Morning', since he worked the poor men and women to the bone from reveille until breakfast. After it, he would still train them until lunchtime, then give each of them assignments to work on their body-building and dispatch them to work with a veteran in patrolling the city to make sure it would remain safe.

During the evening, he would receive the veteran's reports, file them on each recruit's documents and prepare for the next morning's FFFM. Of course, he still had his duties as Exalt Chrom's personal guard, so he always made sure to be his lord's shadow during the day, though still making time to go back to his quarters and shower his wife Olivia and toddler Inigo with love and bear hugs.

Since a few days ago, he had noticed how startled Olivia would look the moment he entered the room.

"F-Frederick!" She would squirm and zoom-in on their son, picking him up from wherever he stood, usually near her. "It's already this late?"

His wife was a terrible secret-keeper as much as she was stubborn. No matter how many times he asked, she would try and fail to play it cool, changing the subject.

"You were doing something again, were you not, my adorable wife?" He asked for the seventh time that week, ready to ask seven more times on the next one. He could somehow guess what she was doing -- perhaps practicing a new dance she was still too embarrassed to share, for one -- but it always amused him to see her cheeks flush with the slight pink.

To see her averting her eyes from him, growing more and more embarrassed as he approached silently, biting her lower lip as though to keep herself from spilling the beans. "M-m-m-me? Y-you must be imagining things, Frederick. Y-yes. Imagining! I'm not someone who hides... things." She would stutter, looking at his approaching lips with a helplessly agape mouth, always excitedly expecting his I'm-home kiss.

Once their lips conjoined, he would enjoy feeling her melt inside his hug, not being able to stop the growing smirk under the kiss. Whatever it was that she was hiding, he was actually having too much fun seeing her all flustered about it to dig too deeply into learning what it was about.

Inigo would usually choose that time to pout and hug his father's leg, also wanting an I'm-home kiss.

That was also the finishing blow to make Frederick drop the subject altogether -- seeing his tiny little son pout and demand attention made his father's heart turn to mush, his body quickly picking the toddler up and covering him with kisses.

After dinner, the both of them would put Inigo to sleep in their bed first, always taking some time of the night to simply spend in each other's presences.

As Frederick had been a soldier and a knight for most of his life, his body was naturally stiff -- no matter how much pressure Olivia applied to his 'knots', as she called them, she could never truly relax them. Yet, every night she tried, taking it upon herself to massage her husband's wide and powerful back. Sometimes her mind would wander to the gutter and her strokes would lose strength as she blushed -- such times usually led to other... heated activities -- but she mostly always tried and failed to make his body relax the way she knew how to.

He would laugh and enjoy his tiny wife's struggles, her small fingers all but tickling him.

To Frederick, these days couldn't be more fulfilling: He was performing his duty as best as he could and would go back to a loving wife and an adorable child. It was the perfect lifestyle.

To Olivia, she couldn't be happier -- she lived in the castle with her husband and son, while still being an official performer for the kingdom. She danced to heart's desire in front of huge crowds every now and then, her life's dream achieved to its utmost, especially with her little family giving her support. However, she always felt the need to do more and more to the one who made it all possible: her husband and love of her life, Frederick.

She tried to take his exhaustion away every night by massaging his shoulders, but it never seemed enough, so now she had to take... extreme measures.

The following morning, after finishing the FFFM for the day, Frederick dismissed the recruits after having a long talk with each of them regarding the previous day's reports.

The sky was bright, the sun almost at its peak, making the knight finally break a sweat. He used his handkerchief to try his forehead, looking up at the clear weather. Maybe he would recommend a picnic so his Lord could take his wife and children.

Yes, that was what he would do. That way, he would also be able to bring Olivia and Inigo to enjoy themselves as well-

As the thoughts of their family flooded his mind, Frederick heard his wife's shy voice stuttering from afar.

"W-wait, Frederick! You w-walk to fast!" She panted, holding little Inigo like her life depended on it.

The knight smiled widely, turning back so as to welcome his wife with open arms. "My dear! I was just thinking of you," he meant to take Inigo from her, "what are you two doing here?"

"Oh, um!" Catching her breath, Olivia took a step back lest she lost herself in her husband's arms and forgot what she went there to do. "I- We have something to show you!" She glanced down to the little toddler. "Don't we, Inigo?"

"Yesh!" He raised his chubby hands, kicking his feet. "Show Daddy!" He giggled happily as Olivia placed him on the ground.

The sides of Frederick's mouth hurt from how wide his smile was. "What's this?" He placed both arms behind his back, eager to watch whatever performance his wife and child had been rehearsing for that long.

"A-hem!" Olivia cleared her throat, swaying her arms up with fluidity. She tilted her head to the side, getting on the tip of her toes.

"A-hum!" Inigo followed as closely as his disorganized limbs could, mimicking his mother from behind.

Frederick was already beside himself with happiness, wanting to kiss the both of them to death.

Olivia took a deep breath and started singing a lullaby-esque melody, moving slowly so their son could follow.

When monsters lurked beneath my bed,

And scary dreams ran through my head,

When thunder growled those sounds I dread,

There you were,

My father.

They pointed to Frederick, clutching their hearts right after. He almost cried.

When scuffed up knees made me cry,

Soft hankies wiped my sad eyes dry,

Coaxing me each time I tried,

You were always there,

My mother.

Inigo jumped to Olivia's arms, sharing a heart-warming hug. She twirled around themselves, placing him on the ground carefully for the last stanza.

In times of trouble, times of need,

I feel such strength surrounding me,

Without whose love I can't succeed,

I love you all my family

They opened their arms finally, the toddler's movements stiff and stumbly, but charming as a thousand kittens.

Frederick sniffled, running to his family and accepting their hug. "Olivia! Inigo!" He cried, tears rolling down his face with astounding speed. "I love you!" He squeezed them hard, too hard for a child and a frail woman to take.

"D-daddy!! Hurts!!" Inigo threatened to cry, tears welling up on his eyes.

"F-Forgive me, little one." The knight flinched, loosening the hug. "I was just... so happy..."

"Oh, Frederick... You're crying!" Olivia dried her husband's cheeks with her thumbs, her own eyes shining with unshed tears. "Are your burdens lessened? Are you feeling better now?"

Frederick replied with a kiss, tender at first, desperate as it progressed. "Oh, my darling wife! I could not be happier! And I meant not only now -- ever since you accepted my proposal, my life's only known happiness."

A shiny tear fell from one of Olivia's eyes. "T-truly? I thought you were so burdened..."

"Never!" He laughed, twirling them in his bear hug. "Your love has always been enough for me, my dear wife. Yet, I am moved to tears by your consideration." He kissed her once again, then proceeded to shower Olivia and Inigo both with kisses.

To think he could be happier than he already was!

Original poem extracted from familyfriendpoems.

#frederick #olivia #frederick x olivia #inigo #fire emblem awakening #my writings #Yuki's Commissions

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two-faces-story · 7 years

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Two Faces - Chapter 5

Hangover

Wattpad link in FAQ

Just breathe, he thought. It was morning, it was hot, and Henry Jekyll wanted to throw up. He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, his head swimming. Slowly, feeling like he was weighed down by anchors, he sat up and rubbed his eyes, sighing heavily. The memories of the night before, vivid, colorful, and passionate, swirled through his mind like a whirlwind. His hair was short and dark again, the bruise like shadows under his eyes had vanished, and once again Henry found that his clothes fit properly. A dull ache was throbbing in his head and in his bones, one the sign of regret and horrible things to come, the other a clear symptom of a hangover. A knock at the door again and it opened, "Sir? Are you awake? It is nearly eight and breakfast is ready." Henry looked up, squinting into the morning light as Ms. Poole looked around the door at him, "Oh good, you are here. When you returned late in the night, I thought it was a burglar and nearly attacked you." I wish you had, Jekyll thought as he rubbed his neck. "I, should've left a note, I had forgotten to tell you when I would return. I was called away on business, something urgent." He didn't notice Ms. Poole's face go scarlet. "I-it is not my business to pry," Poole said, smiling awkwardly. "Would you like me to bring you breakfast or-?" "No no I will be down shortly," he answered, waving a hand dismissively and reaching for his glasses. "Thank you Violet." "O-of course sir!" she said, hurrying out of the room. He slipped on his glasses and watched her go, frowning in confusion. Only then did he realize that his nightshirt was completely open and he wasn't wearing trousers, his own face went hot with embarrassment. How ridiculous! She must think he'd lied to her face about his actions the night before! And while he had, Violet had no need to know that. He must apologize when he joined her for breakfast. With his face bright red, Jekyll set about readying himself, taking note that his room seemed to be slightly dissheveled and there was a mysterious ache in his neck. The notes he'd written before passing out were noticeably intoxicated, but still clear and scientific; he found himself chuckling at them before putting the notebook away. He thought over the night before, and in remembering some of his ruder and more scandalous actions, he cursed himself for being foolish and irrational. Henry dressed in a clean shirt and trousers, making sure both were buttoned completely, when he realized something. He wasn't completely and utterly exhausted beyond the hangover of the night before, which was something surprising since his mental state still seemed covered by the gloom of the days before. Certainly an effect of the serum, for he'd never felt this, well rested while in a melancholic slump before. In fact, if it weren't for the constant self-deprecating thoughts and numb feeling in his chest, Jekyll would almost believe himself to be wholly normal. He glanced at himself in the mirror hanging on the wall and frowned, his own reflection stared back with only the barest traces of Hyde. The only things that remained from the night before was some half-tied bandages around the bite on his hand, a bruise forming on his neck, and the scruff of a half-grown goatee. So perfect was the transformation that the two could be wholly separate, yet the same. Without another thought to the night before, setting it aside to be considered at a time when he wasn't being waited on by so patient a friend, Jekyll hurried out of the room and jogged downstairs to the small dining room. A few letters were sitting, unopened on the table, and sitting with them was Hastie Lanyon. Henry stopped short, "I, Jacob? What, what are you doing here?" Lanyon looked up from his tea and smiled, he seemed incredibly relieved. "You didn't look well last night I, I came by to see you were alright. You, don't have the best record of making smart decisions, so I came by early this morning." "I do hope I haven't kept you then," Henry said, frowning. Lanyon shrugged, "When I arrived Miss Poole greeted me, we've been chatting. She's quite kind to make breakfast for me when you were not even awake yet." He frowned, "What, are you alright?" Henry looked at his hand, "I? Oh yes I'm fine, accidentally cut myself with some broken glass last night." "I was referring to the bruising," Lanyon said, smirking. Jekyll swallowed hard and shrugged, "I, honestly don't remember. Given the state of my room, I feel as if I must've been sleep walking or something similar because I honestly don't recall where I got it." It had been when Lilly- and he- not the time! He grinned awkwardly, "I appreciate knowing you care for me so deeply Lanyon." Jacob snorted, shaking his head as Jekyll took a seat at the small dining room table beside him. "Of course! You are a dear friend of mine, you look as if you've been working non stop for all night! And, given your past of destructive habits, can you blame me for being concerned?" "No I cannot," Henry said, shrugging solemnly. How worried would he be if I shared news of the results? No, I'd best keep them to myself, lest he misunderstand me. If he were to describe that night, to Lanyon, to Poole, they'd believe him mad! They'd believe he'd taken some sort of drug and gone on a wild run while intoxicated, they wouldn't understand the pure freedom he'd felt because of it. They wouldn't, couldn't understand, not right now, not when he understood so little of it himself. They spoke over breakfast of small things, none of it felt real though. Henry watched everything from behind the lenses of his glasses, as if they walled him off from the rest of the world. His mind was pulled away time and time again by the events of the night before, the feelings of freedom, the running, the excruciating pain and unforgettable pleasure, all of it was followed by the same thought. He had to try again, didn't he? If not for the experiment, he just wanted to. No, no no no, that thought alone was enough to drive the whole experiment to the ground! His desire to feel that freedom again was already far to akin to an addiction to be safe. If he tried it again, so soon, he foresaw a spiral downwards into being consumed by the serum and permanently slipping into his more impulsive side. As freeing as it was, that was not the goal of the experiment was it? The goal was to rid himself of melancholy, and getting addicted to a transformative serum was not going to help him in any way. What Jekyll needed to do was wait some time until he was certain his body was free of the powerful serum to see if there were any kinds of drawbacks or side affects from it. One could not hope to make a successful medicine if it killed whoever took it now could they? What if he slipped away completely after only one dose? Regardless, he'd also have to sort through his drunken notes from the night before and make sure there wasn't something vital he'd forgotten in the hangover sleep. "What do you say Henry?" He blinked and looked up in surprise, "Sorry, come again?" Lanyon laughed, "I simply said, I'm sure there's something we could do to resume your experiments that doesn't require, you know, as much magic minerals and human testing. Have you any ideas?" "I've, discontinued the project actually," Henry lied, shrugging slightly. One more lie, what difference could it make? "The Board had a point to their denials." They couldn't know anyway, not yet. "So, I'm going to see if there's something else my discoveries could be good for." Like some kind of drug probably. Jekyll shook his head, "Nevertheless, I don't doubt you'll be seeing more of me. This new path is, vague and open, I intend to take my time with it." "And you have the funds?" "Plenty saved from over the years. And I don't intend to sell the shop anytime soon, so as long as they remain in business, I should be fine." Henry shrugged, "I do wish there was a way to be more than one place at once, as if you could be two people." "I should think that would be even more chaotic than being one person," Lanyon added with knowing smile. "Indeed, the world does not need a second Henry Jekyll." Nor would it ever want one. ~ September 28th This is a new, strange sensation. While the shadow of melancholy has not left me, for I remain numb and emotionally exhausted, I have a new surplus of physical energy that I recall lacking before. My second personality is impulsive and reckless, there is nearly enough difference for us to be considered two individuals. However, I was still aware of myself and my identity while under the influence of the serum, leading me to believe that it was simply the change of face and energy that lead to my actions. It was as if I was wearing a mask of some sort, for I was still myself, but without the responsibilities and respect that is so required of Henry Jekyll. Edward Hyde was free to be whoever and do whatever he pleased, for he has no reputation to protect and no loyalties to guard. He can do what he likes, and through his mask, so may I. What I write implies that Hyde is an entity of his own, but he is not, he is myself through and through, despite how different he seems. As him, as that persona, I was not afraid to go without my gloves, something I have not done for more than eight years, or my glasses which was just a moronic decision. In any case, my behavior was far less than gentlemanly and would be the start of gossip that would cause me quite a problem. Due to this, it will be some time before I try the serum again. This is to both see if there is some sort of side effect from not using the serum after the first dose and to see just how addictive it is. This, could also be a test of my own will power which, if the past is an judge, has never been something to admire. I am concerned that as this experiment progresses, I will lose control of it and do something unwise while under the influence of the serum. Of course, no study is without some degree of risk, and it is a risk I take willingly in the name of science. I also must remember to shave afterwards next time. For some reason, while the serum was in effect, the hair atop my head grew at an accelerated rate and even a small beard sprouted on my chin. However, when I woke as Henry Jekyll again, my hair had returned to an ordinary length and color while the facial hair did not. Very curious.

#Two Faces Story #mod art #mod writing #Henry Jekyll #Violet Poole #Hastie Jacob Lanyon #Jekyll and Hyde #Jekyll & Hyde #the strange case of dr jekyll and mr hyde #the strange case of dr. jekyll and mr. hyde #dr. jekyll and mr. hyde #dr jekyll and mr hyde

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moonlit-maiden · 7 years

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The Archer’s 1000 Picspam —> 62: Asexual Cinderella

Fairy Re-Tellings

There was once a kind merchant with a wife he cherished and a daughter named Ella they both loved dearly. During one cruel winter in Ella’s 6th year, her mother fell ill and perished. Ella was devastated and cried for her mother’s reassuring smile and wise words. Seeing how in need Ella was for a mother figure, the merchant remarried to a widowed Countess who had two daughters of her own around Ella’s age. Feeling at ease that his new wife and step-daughters would care for Ella, the merchant set off once more to travel and trade.

Unknown to the merchant, his new wife was cruel, preferring her own daughters to the fair Ella. She chased Ella to the attic and demanded she make her keep by serving as a maid; cooking, cleaning and mending while in rags. The attic was cold and drafty, forcing the young girl to curl up by the dying hearth at night. She would awake with soot all over her hair and body due to moving in her sleep and soon her step-sisters teased her with a new nickname; Cinder Ella. The step-mother delighted in the demeaning change in name and so the little girl was stripped of even her name and became the maid Cinderella.

Years went by, Cinderella abused and harassed by her step-family. Whenever her father returned from traveling she would be cleaned, the bruises hidden and dressed in finery as was her due. And for a while Cinderella would pretend everything was okay, that maybe this time she would be allowed to live with her family. Alas, each time her father left she was sent back to her duties with a slap in the face and laughter.

When she turned age 12, her sisters would sneak boys their age and sometimes a little older into the house as their mother slept. These boy would be retiring from their day at school and leave their schoolbooks behind. Curious and desperately not wanting to hear the wanton sounds being made in the bedroom, she secreted those books away. Before her mother had died she had been taught the basics of reading and writing. Meticulously Cinderella copied from those books meant only for boys, covering for her sisters as she slowly began to learn. Soon dreams of growing up and opening a school to teach girls began to fill her mind and the nights by the sooty hearth weren’t as unbearable as before.

At age 16 it was announced that the Prince would be holding a ball to find his future wife and that all of-age girls were to attend. Excited at the prospect of having an evening off and speaking with other people, Cinderella was devastated to learn she would not go. After aiding her sisters in dressing her step-mother locked her in the drafty attic with no way out, lest she wish to jump from five stories to the ground. Cinderella wept, for all she wished was to go to the ball and have a night of peace. As her tears fell, they shimmered and turned into the spitting image of her deceased mother, though now with fairy wings and shimmering skin. ‘My dear maiden. Your heart is pure and your wish gentle; I shall grant your wish’. The girl stared in pained confusion. ‘Who are you?’ she asked. ‘I am your Fairy Godmother. And tonight, you will find your Prince and live happily ever after.’

Cinderella looked away, embarrassed. ‘While I wish to go to the ball, I do not want a Prince. Relations of the body hold no interest. Rather, I wish to go and meet a friend. That would be more than enough for my happiness.’ The fairy was a bit surprised but nodded, thinking of something even better. ‘Then tonight you will go and find someone who can make your dearest wish come true.’ With that, she unlocked the door and instructed Cinderella to bring her a large pumpkin, six mice and two lizards. Once all was collected in the front yard the Fairy Godmother who looked like Cinderella’s mother snapped her fingers and the pumpkin became a carriage. She waved her hand and the mice became white horses. She wiggled her fingers at the lizards and they became a footman and carriage driver. Finally, the fairy turned to Cinderella and blew at her. Blue, shimmering smoke tendrils wrapped around the girl and became a rich, blue gown complete with magical crystal shoes.

‘When midnight strikes you must flee. For the magic shall go away.’ the fairy warned. ‘Why midnight? Why not when I return?’ Cinderella asked. ‘At midnight the world resets and all magic is dispelled, I am sad to say. Otherwise I would be more than happy to let you stay as long as your heart desires.’ Satisfied, Cinderella climbed into the carriage and went to the ball. When she arrived it was in full swing. Food was plentiful and the atmosphere was cheerful. While all the girls vied for the Prince’s attention, Cinderella simply chatted with the other young men and women who had been ignored by the Prince. She felt her heart swell as she laughed and danced and made new friends. But soon the Prince took notice of the vibrant young woman who did not pant after him but rather enjoyed herself. Feeling bold, he asked Cinderella to dance to which she agreed. He asked what she had been laughing at and Cinderella re-told the joke a Count had just shared with her. The Prince laughed and Cinderella smiled, happy the future King had a sense of humor.

Through the night the two became inseparable, swapping stories and discussing current events. The Prince relaxed, feeling deeply at home with the mysterious maiden in blue. But Cinderella had lost track of time, enjoying spending time with people too much, and as the large clock struck 12 she fled in a panic. The Prince ran after, realizing he had never even asked the girl her name. As she ran, Cinderella stumbled down the stairs, losing one of her magical crystal shoes as well as getting quite a few new bruises. Having no time to spare, she left the shoe behind, jumping into the carriage as it sped off towards home. Halfway down the road the magic disappeared, popping like a soap bubble and Cinderella was in rags again. However, she kept the other crystal slipper and smiled, glad to have a token of her joyous night. ‘Thank you… for everything…’ she whispered as she looked behind at the dark silhouette of the palace.

A few weeks later it was announced the Prince would be visiting all the ladies in the land that were unmarried and of eligible age. For he had become obsessed with the blue maiden who had left behind her shoe. He desperately wished to see her again and keep her close; no other outside of his family had made him feel so at ease. When the royal procession came to Cinderella’s house she was locked once more in the attic. Angered, she bid her time, knowing she would need to yell as loud as she could from the attic window to get his attention. The two step-sisters meanwhile were fighting. The eldest shoved the younger and tried to put on the shoe. The magic shoe shrank, refusing to fit the false claimant as it had done for all others. The elder sister fumed as the younger was given a chance. She asked for a moment and, once alone, took a knife and cut her toes off. The magic of the shoe was violated by the dripping blood and stopped working, allowing the younger sister to fit the small shoe. She came out, triumphant and wincing in pain. The solider in charge nodded in satisfaction and began to escort the girl out. As they exited, Cinderella yelled from the window, pointing out the blood seeping from the shoe the step-sister was trying to hide with her skirts. Upon seeing this, the step-sister was sent back and the solider demanded Cinderella try the shoe.

When she came down, the shoe was cleaned and thus the magic could work again. The shoe fit with ease and Cinderella produced the sister-shoe to her step-family’s horror. With a smile Cinderella left for the castle, planning her next steps. When she arrived at the palace the Prince was overjoyed and attempted to kiss her. Instead the maiden took a step back. ‘My Prince, I am sorry but I cannot marry you. For though our time at the ball was wonderful and I care for you deeply, I do not wish to marry.’ The Prince was shocked at the rejection. ‘Then why bother to come at all!’ he exclaimed. ‘Because you are the only one who can make my dream come true. Though it is paltry, I can offer you my hand in friendship. Nothing more.’ The Prince asked for some time to think and for a few days he pondered this. For though his ego stung at the rejection, the maiden still wished to spend time with him. Could he be content with this?

After a few days Cinderella was summoned from her guest quarters. ‘Convince me.’ the Prince said. ‘Convince me why marrying you in unwise.’ And so she did, stating how she could never return in body his love, only in heart. How he was a kind man and generous, deserving a woman who could love him fully and give him heirs as she did not wish to. And finally, how her dream was to open a school for young girls, something only he could allow. The Prince agreed, realizing that though he loved Cinderella, he loved her enough to let her find happiness in her own way. And so he funded her and granted permission to open an all-girls school, the first of its kind.

In a few years the Prince found another to marry, a gentle woman who loved him with all her heart and body. The Prince kept in contact with Cinderella, his passion for her cooling and becoming a warm friendship. When the royal daughter was born the Prince knew exactly who would tutor her; his first love and best friend. Cinderella lived happily ever after, running her all-girls school and continuing her friendship with the King and Queen for years to come in the peaceful kingdom.

#thearchers1000picspam #fairy retelling series #cinderella #asexual #ace #blue #clock #magic #blood #tw blood

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genewrecker · 7 years

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Homosexuals Accelerated Democracy

(Skip to bottom for tl-dr)

One of the oldest known classics and pieces of Western literature, Homer's "Iliad," is one of the oldest and clearest examples of homosexual literature that not only inspired later authors to develop upon humanistic concepts of being responsible for your actions and your fate, but also paved the path towards democracy and theater.

In the story, which tells of the mortal demi-divine culture hero Achilles and his wrath, the Trojan War is in its tenth and last year (the war being fought because the Trojan prince Paris had taken the Spartan(Greek) king, Menelaus', wife Helen). Greek/Achaean commander Agememnon insults Achilles by saying that regardless of how much harder he fights for his leader, the leader's word is law, and the leader takes whatever he wants and however much he wants. Demonstrating this lack of honor, he takes Achilles' treasures of war and his concubine. Flabbergasted that even the best warrior of Greeks can be disposed of without care or concern, Achilles refuses to fight for Greeks in the last stretch of the Trojan War. Agememnon is foolish and callous and forces the Greeks into a compromising situation deep in Trojan territory. Fights occur, the gods join here and there, but Achilles is unmovable and nihilistic. He is aware, from his mother, that returning to the battlefield would assure glory and success, but wind up with his death (which, as a warrior, is what he strives for- to fight and die with honor). If he stays out, he will become rich, and live long, but be deemed a coward forever (which pains him). He wants to fight, but not for Agememnon, who tries to bribe him to work for him. He realizes that whether you're a rich king, a brave warrior, or a common farmer, death is the ultimate equalizer, so there is no point in life, except honor or legacies. Enter Patroclus- Achilles loves Patroclus and grew up with him, willing to protect him and listen to him above all else. Patroclus dons Achilles' armor to try and rout the enemy, but is ultimately killed. News of this reaches Achilles. Up to this point, his comrades and beloved friends have fought in the war, many of whom the Trojans felled, yet he did not mourn them openly. It was with the death of Patroclus that he suddenly mourns very viscerally, by pulling his hair, pouring dirt on himself and dying inside, sobbing and crumbling unto the ground next to him so as to be like the dead. Above all else, of all the people lost, of all he stood for before, of the great equalizer of death- that no longer mattered. Holding Patroclus' body, his rage towards Agememnon and the loss of his honor no longer spoke to him. He entered the war once more because he had nothing else to live for except to kill the people who had killed Patroclus, and only Patroclus. Achilles was a very cultured man, not a savage. He loved his brothers and his comrades and his heart rang out with pain seeing them fight and knowing he could not fight with them. Yet strangely it was only Patroclus that incites Achilles, not for the glory of war, but out of hatred. This wasnt to win a battle for the Greeks- he singlehandedly destroys the Trojan army and kills the Trojan prince Hector, and violently and publicly desecrates his corpse for days, out of sheer hatred for these people who took something much much more important to him than honor. His wrath was only satiated when Troy was in flames, and Hectors father, Trojan king Priam, begs on his knees to have his sons body back to be buried.

Scholars both ancient and modern have debated the meaning of Achilles sudden turn in the war in the Iliad, but the almost unanimous consensus was that Achilles and Patroclus were very much involved in a deeply romantic relationship. Homer, a poet who emphasized order and the macronarrative, didn't explicitly state the relationship of Patroclus to Achilles. His style was more focused on the consequences of Achilles enraged. He uses the micronarrative (Achilles focused on having honor returned, Patroclus' death and Achilles mourning) to tie Achilles back into the macro, and tries not to use monologues or soliloquies to unnecessarily explain the mindstates of the characters. Instead he uses Achilles' reaction to Patroclus' death to describe the relationship between the two, thus having no need to explain it (also it was widely known in the folktales that Homer had grown up with that a homoromantic relation with Patroclus was often the catalyst for his onslaught on Trojans after his lovers death. To omit these feelings in verse and instead capitalize on the wrath was more poetic in a sense to Homer, because it reflected the relationship between the two warriors AND delved right into narrative where Achilles murders an entire city for killing his boyfriend.)

How does Achilles and the Iliad relate to democracy? Well, the first theaters would be established in Athens around 6th century BC, some time after Homer. Theaters, which often performed tragedies in reverence to the Greek god of tragedy, revelry, and chaos, Dionysus, were the first open stage frrom which a small group of educated people (actors, who were priests and temple aides) could speak and deliver uninterrupted information to a greater group of people. The story of the Iliad and the tragedy of Achilles demonstrated the point to both the nobles and the common folk that kings and war generals were human-simple, mortal, and corrupt- and that just because they held power, did not mean they were pure. Rather, the power of aristocrats can be outright appalling if they do not hold themselves to a code of honor, and any common man or great athlete would be made to suffer to fight a pointless war if their leaders were corrupt, selfish, and entitled. The story of Achilles made people question why they should fight in war. Everyone dies, and wars were games of honor for nobles, the only people who could vote and have a voice in politics, so what was in it for the common man to fight? Especially if a king could turn corrupt and take everything you do for granted and claim all your spoils of war for themselves?

As a middle class developed in Athens, and the common man could now afford weapons and armor (but not horses. Horses and chariots were still the symbols of nobles), common folk were conscripted into armies as foot soldiers (hoplites). But after several hundred years of interpretting the Greek tragedies, and being told the story of the glorious Achilles who was screwed by Agememnon, people were suspicious of the rich and indifferent towards fighting wars that did not concern them. A compromise was eventually reached so as to have the advantage of numbers (nobles+commoners) if any war were to arise with Athens: whoever signs up to be a soldier gets the right to vote.

This change was immense. For the first time we see rights of voting being extended to the common man in exchange for their service to their king. People grew wiser. They caught on. And now they were content. The common man can now risk their life on the battlefield, but not for the glory of a warriors death-but rather for the opportunity to mould policies in their favor at home and to shape their nation.

Ultimately there is no true glory in death. Both the brave hero and the cowardly man die. In death they both return to the soil. They are both flesh and susceptible to injury. Riches mean nothing, for death removes us from every treasure we can accrue from battle. No, the honorable man needs an honorable reason to fight. That is Achilles. He refused to be treated injuriously for all of his service to his king, and protested fighting if it meant fighting for the dishonorable. An apology, a concession from a noble to a lower ranking soldier, would suffice to have him fight again. It is an equal exchange- me saying and everyone recognizing that "with all my power, I can be wrong and I am not infallible" in exchange for your years of military service. Even more important was Patroclus, a man who he loved who should not have died, and whos death influences Achilles to act in vengeance equal to the loss: the destruction of Troy and prince Hector. Fight for what you know is important, and take what you know is fair. That is the message of Achilles to the Greeks. Fight for equality. Only fight if you intend to have gains that are equal to your service and your life, and if someone takes from you unjustly, be ready to repay them in full.

tl:dr- In Homer's "Iliad," Greek king Agememnon insults Achilles, who then refuses to fight for him due to him not treating his army with respect for risking their lives for him. It is only when his homoromantic love, Patroclus, dies, (even after being indifferent towards the many deaths of his comrades) that he breaks down in mourning and repays them with what he feels is fair: killing their strongest warrior, desecrating his corpse for days, decimating their army, and burning their city to ashes. The tragedy is performed in theaters two centuries later for everyone to see, and Athens begins to have a middle class who can afford weapons. Seeing this, nobles try and conscript commoners into their armies, but commoners, knowing many Greeks tales, including the popular Iliad, are familiar with the corruption of aristocrats and their disrespect towards the service of those below them. Suspicious, they desire voting rights in exchange for fighting the wars of nobles, and seeing no other choice lest Athens lose out on tripling its army, the aristocrats comply: if you fight, you vote. Achilles is not only one of the first and most important culture heroes in Greece, he is also the bisexual/gay culture hero who shaped the minds of Greek citizens by protesting elitism, leveling a city and its army for the death of his beloved Patroclus, and paved the way for democratic thought for years to come.

#Achilles #Patroclus #iliad #gay #achilles gay #LGBT #lgbt literature #lgbt history #greek history #greek literature #Homer #gay rights #democracy #Achilles is my gay hero #yes pun intended

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